#and by insisting my pronouns to others who didn't use them it was outing me to them

[satansappendix]

Thinking about how dangerous it is to be trans, even online Even on an app where you feel safe because no one could find you there Because of algorithms and how much of you data is sold and shit people can honestly find you so easily 

Like I had a tiktok I used to use because some of the content was funny I have since abandoned it, But my sister who does still use tiktok got my account recommended to her because i was in he phone’s contacts like wtf And its not just tiktok basically all major social media is like that and its fucked up Thankfully my transness is not something that my sister will take issue with (she may say im confused or whatever but she like won’t out me to people) Its just so fucked 

[the-odd-shu]

Sky regrets trying to play wingman

A continuation of lab shenanigans.

Masterlist

Next part

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader, Sky

(Pre-Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

Summary: A sketchbook goes missing, Viktor and Jayce feel soft about it and Sky is fighting for her life.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

Lab Illustrator!Reader has a secret A5 sketchbook they don't use for assignments. It's a small thing, that they keep tucked beneath all of their other paperwork during the day, and take home with them every night.

It is as non-descript as sketchbooks come, with a plain, black cover and pages brimming with hundreds of sketches and stuck in sheets of paper.

But what makes it different from their professional sketchbook, you ask? And why does it need to be a secret?

Well, because it is a notebook solely dedicated to drawings and doodles of their co-workers. And neither of them know that Reader has been drawing them.

There are hundreds of stolen moments stuffed between these pages. Late night coffee breaks, where the pencil lines are thick and dark to accentuate the dimness of the lab against the stark light leaking out of the kitchenette, where backs are turned and coffee mugs steam, whilst eyes fall to half-mast from the sheer weight of the late hour.

There are a dozen or so slower, more carefully done doodles of Jayce sprawled out across the lab couch in various positions. Several cane studies, because Viktor had a habit of leaving it in more and more odd places when he has had a breakthrough, and sheer determination and spite keep him standing unaided before the whiteboard.

There are pages dedicated to Viktor reading. And pages brimming with Jayce's broad shoulders and winning smile.

There is a double page spread of Viktor stood before the chalkboard, cane in one hand, his other tucked under his chin with a piece of chalk tucked between two of his fingers, his lips pursed in thought as he tried to find a solution to the problem before him. The lines of this sketch are soft and gentle, almost dreamlike, as the image was teased out of the page.

The pages directly after it show a heavy handed pen drawing of Jayce bent over his desk, goggles over his eyes, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he welds pieces of metal together. A single, loose curl of hair having broken free of its slicked back appearance, and is now sprawled cutely down his forehead.

And that's only the beginning.

Neither of them know that Reader draws them. As far as they know, Reader can't even draw people. And Reader wants to keep it that way. Because if EITHER of them found the sketchbook, they just KNOW they would not let them live it down. Jayce would be embarrassed, no doubt asking stupid questions like, 'is my nose really like that from that angle' or 'why didn't you tell me I had soot on my cheek', which, how dare he, you'd spent hours learning how to draw him and picking out imperfections was just an insult to your skills. Whilst Viktor would make fun of your subject choices, and then make it one hundred times harder to sketch him without him getting suspicious and catching on and deliberately moving around MORE to make it seventeen times more difficult.

Out of everyone in the lab, Sky was the only other person remotely artistically inclined. She'd shown an interest in your work one afternoon, and let slip that she liked to draw in her spare time. And although she insisted her work was nothing like your professional illustrations, they were good! And you told her as such.

Unofficially, the pair of you had begun taking your lunches outside in the academy gardens together to chat and draw. She did not look it, but Sky was a mean gossip, and seemed to know everything that was going on in the science department. Such as who in the academy was currently trying to court who, or the latest experiment that blew up (literally) in a freshman's face, or that Councillor Medarda herself dabbled in painting.

The last one certainly caught your attention more than the drama on campus, which of course Sky was more than happy to provide more details for. Apparently, the Councillor's paintings were bold and striking. Depicting scenes from her childhood lands, and figures dressed in traditional Noxian-style garbs.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous." Sky said, tone bordering on wistful. "And large too. Councillor Medarda works on such a large scale, that some of her pieces literally command your attention the moment you step into the room. I'm sure you can talk Jayce into getting you a glimpse of some of her works. He and the Councillor have been growing close lately."

You ignored the suggestive hint to her voice, in favour of humming noncommittally and finishing up your lastest sketch of Sky perched on the wall beside you, waving her sandwich around as she talked animatedly. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice she was watching, when you flipped back towards the front of your sketchbook, only for her to choke on her next bite.

“Wait!" She blurted out between sharp coughing. "Is that Viktor!?” And then suddenly your sketchbook was no longer on your lap and the apprentice of the man you were always drawing was flipping through the pages. The pages that HEAVILY featured Viktor's face.

Your cheeks burned, and lunged for the sketchbook out of sheer panic, as Sky began discovering just how MANY sketches of Viktor you've been hoarding and that he's not the ONLY ONE you've been drawing.

"Jayce too I see." She mused, more to herself than you. And then she snorted. "Why are there so many?”

“Because I get bored sometimes, and they're always just there!" You defend yourself guiltily. "It's good anatomy practice.”

Which wasn't technically a lie. The lines never came as easily as they did when you’re sketching your co-workers. So much so, that now, it had almost become instinct to know when your pencil had drawn a line wrong, even before you glanced back to the reference themselves to check. The pair of them were just so effortlessly beautiful in their own ways. It would a a crime for you <i>not</i> to draw them, and focus solely on the things you're SUPPOSED to be illustrating instead.

Sky hummed along, having paused on a page with a rapid, barely recognisable pen sketch of Jayce ducking away with a cackling laugh as a furious Viktor swung his cane at his head. Her fingers idly slid down the sketchy lines, a fondness to her expression.

"Have you shown them these?" Sky asked, "they're really good. All loose and fun. I can practically hear Jayce laughing in this one with how you captured his expression."

“Of course not!" You were quick to deny as your cheeks heated. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to show someone you’ve drawn them? Jayce will pretend to be all impressed but subconsciously begin to pick out all the things I got wrong. Like the shape of his ears. And Viktor will tell me it's 'lovely' without looking up from his textbook."

You shuddered at the very thought, already seeing Viktor's disinterested frown and Jayce's tight grimace in your mind's eye.

Sky frowned, her eyes jumping between your down turned expression and the sketchbook in her hands. “I dunno about that."

“Can I have it back now?” She shook her head and went back to flipping through the pages, the other half of her sandwich forgotten in her lap. “You know, I think Viktor would be flattered if he knew you paid so much attention to him. And Jayce would probably try to steal a couple of these and frame them for his desk.” You scoffed.

Sky's frown deepened. "Why are you having such a hard time believing they might like these?"

“Because in the end it doesn’t matter how they'd react,” you decided sharply, “because they're not going to find out. Are they, Sky?”

“You’ve even drawn Viktor's canes!”

“Sky, focus!” “I am focused- IS THAT A JAYCE HAND STUDY-?!”

"OKAY ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOU!" You tackled her, and she went down screeching, drawing the attention of several passing students as the pair of you fell cleaningly off of the wall and landed in the flowerbeds below.

Sky did not keep her promise.

After a week or two of waiting to give the impression she'd forgotten about the whole ordeal, she sprung into action.

It was obvious now that she knew just how much Reader paid attention to their co-workers. It seemed like they were constantly sketching the boys throughout the day, a private, fond smile on their stupidly love-struck expression, as their pencil flew across the page, documenting coffee breaks and break throughs, and verbal spats. Now Sky has noticed that they did it, she couldn't stop seeing it, and it is driving her crazy. All three of them are so oblivious, and watching her superiors pine for one another whilst doing nothing to move things forward, was NOT the working environment she'd been hoping for during this internship.

So she took matters into her own hands.

When the hour was late, and the lights were dim, Jayce passed out at his desk for a quick nap, Viktor's attention on his textbooks at the chalkboard, and Reader in the kitchen cracking open a can of energy, Sky sidled over to the latter's desk. Her eyes immediately clocked the little, black sketchbook, easily overlooked amongst the other papers and opened notebooks with half complete drawings scrawled all over the place. It was a testament to how much they trusted each other in the lab, that no one questioned why she was lingering so close to a desk that was not her own.

It almost made it too easy for her to simply pluck the sketchbook out of the pile, add it to her pile of library books already balanced in one hand, all before loudly calling "good night" to the room and leaving.

Sky planned to be the first person in the next morning to plant the sketchbook, but the lab doors were unlocked when she turned up, and all three of her superiors were already in the room, looking in various states of exhaustion. Did they even go home last night?

Not to mention, half of the lab looked like a hoard of dogs had come tearing through. Come to think of it, Reader's desk was especially messy, with papers strewn everywhere and the drawers hanging on just barely- oh fuck! They had already noticed, hadn't they?

"Ah Sky, good morning." Viktor acknowledged her from where he was calmly sorting through a stack of books. Picking one up, and shaking it out before placing it onto a second stack and picking up the next. "Right on time." "Good morning," Sky greeted calmly, "what's going on here?" She motioned to the war zone that was the lab. To Jayce balanced precariously on a chair, checking a high book shelf, and the frantic shuffling sounds of Reader under their desk. They were out of view, but somehow, Sky could just envision the frenzy in their expression from the sound of their searching alone.

"Ah, well, Y/n appears to have misplaced a rather important sketchbook."

There was a yelp as a skull collided with the underside of a desk, before Reader's head popped up over the edge. "Sky! I can't find it!"

"Oh no." Sky replied, trying to ignore the burning weight of the 'it' in question, currently hiding in her backpack. "Where did you see it last?"

"They insisted it was on their desk." Jayce interjected, hopping down from his chair with a shake of his head.

"But I'm assuming it's grown legs," Sky joked, "judging by that picked over, barely standing, mess of a desk."

"This isn't funny Sky."

"No, you're right." She put down her backpack and began to help in the search. After all, not doing so would immediately out her as guilty, and she'd already come this far, why stop now. "Come on, it can't have gone far."

Of course, Viktor discovered it amongst his books and papers a couple of days later.

It was during one of those rare hours in the lab when he was alone. The hour was late, but the curtains were not yet drawn despite the darkening sky.

He frowned when his fingers brushed the unfamiliar notebook, tucked behind a stack of textbooks and scrunched up balls of notes. Pulling it out of its hiding place, his brows furrowed as his eyes tracked the state it was in. How the edges of the hardback covers were creased from numerous journeys in bags, whilst pencils marks and scuffs from countless hours of being opened and used, marred the covers.

At first, he assumed it was one of Jayce’s notebook. The material was expensive enough. Definitely of high quality. The paper itself was thick when he rubbed his finger along a page. But when he opened it, he quickly realised the pages are not lined, and were once blank before they had been filled in with hundreds of drawings.

The first few pages were illustrations of everything under the sun. Still life drawings. Animals. People. Silhouettes. Isolated body parts with detailed annotations encircling them, such as the names of muscles and tiny corrective comments like ‘fingers too long’ or ‘that muscle doesn’t stretch that far’. 

Then he turned a page, and was met with himself. And then Jayce. And then more and more sketches of himself and Jayce. Sometimes together and interacting. Sometimes just existing.

The drawings were skilfully done, as all of Reader's illustrations tended to be. A little rough in the beginning, from rushed pen strokes. But then the artist seemed to understand something. A break through of sorts, and he recognised himself more and more. The sketches held his likeness. From the way he stood, to the slouch of him sitting at his desk, to the way his hand held something as simple as a stick of chalk.

They were always sketches from behind or a side profile. Never head on. And any that did depict him as facing the artist, were drawn when his attention was elsewhere; focused down at a textbook, or fixing something on the table. 

It was flattering really. He looked good in the drawings. Confident, with an authoritative aura. Seemingly engrossed in every task he sat down to complete.

And Jayce, Jayce looks good in his drawings too. His sunny personality shining through in drawings where he was animatedly talking or debating with sketched Viktor. There seems to be a whole double page spread trying to figure out the shape of his slicked back hair, and then even more drawings of the gel softening throughout the day, causing strands to fall down around his ears and frame his eyes.

But what really catches Viktor's attention was the way the artist had caught their interactions. The way they have depicted Jayce's softened eyes when looking at Viktor when his attention was elsewhere. The way they caught Viktor's private little smile when Jayce got lost in a muttering spell and stopped including Viktor in the debate. It left him feeling a little raw in truth, like this person had seen something no one else had taken the time to notice before.

No wonder Reader had been so adamant about finding this sketchbook. This must have been hours upon hours of careful work.

Carefully, Viktor closed the sketchbook and sat back in his chair. It felt heavy in his hands, and he almost didn't want to put it down.

The door to the lab swung open then, and Jayce called out a greeting.

"What you got there V?"

And of course, Viktor was contractually obligated to show him. It would simply be criminal if he didn't show his partner just how well their resident illustrator managed to capture his winning smile. A much more accurate depiction of it, compared to the 'man of progress' merchandise the academy sold nowadays.

The sketchbook continued to go unfound.

Reader was growing more and more distraught.

The guilt gnawed at Sky and she confessed.

All hell broke loose.

An hour later, Skye came SPRINTING into the lab, the double doors CRASHING into the walls in her haste to get into the room.

Both Viktor and Jayce jumped in their seats in the kitchenette. Viktor barely managing to keep from spilling his sweetmilk everywhere. And Jayce almost THREW the little black sketchbook across the room, where he had been admiring its pages.

“Woah there, where’s the fire?” Jayce tried to joke, but Sky looked GENUINELY scared. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I left something in here, and the owner is NOT happy with me.” Sky scrambled to explain, as she charged towards Viktor’s desk and began pulling apart stacks of paperwork. Sweat beading on her brow.

“Hey, calm down. What is it? Where did you see it last?” “It was a sketchbook. Um, uh, black, hard cover, it was practically bulging with how many pages it had stuck in it.” Sky explained, "I could've sworn I left it on Viktor's desk." Viktor’s brows jump up in realisation. His eyes dart over to the sketchbook in Jayce's hands, before leaping up to meet the man's wide, knowing eyes.

“I take it that Y/n found out you took it then.” Viktor spoke up. Sky winced. “I may have let it slip-” her voice began to backpedal, before the distant stomp of approaching footsteps made her pale. The gait the recognisable, the tempo just a touch faster than its normal pace. “DON’T THINK HIDING BEHIND VIKTOR OR JAYCE WILL SAVE YOU NOW!” A booming voice hollered from down the hallway. 

Sky became frantic again. She redoubled her efforts.

Jayce very slowly lowered the sketchbook down to his lap, where the table would conceal it from view if anyone peered into the kitchenette. And Viktor just sighed as he got comfortable.

Heavy footsteps approached the laboratory door, which was then promptly kicked open, so fast that the door smacked into the opposite wall for the second time today. Y/n, brandishing a broom of all things, visibly seethed in the doorway. 

“Do you know how much <i>work</i> has gone into that sketchbook?” They demanded, more furious than Viktor had ever seen them before. “How many hours I’ve spent amongst those pages.” Sky looks appropriately guilty. “I know! And I’m so sorry I lost it, I really thought I was doing you a favour!”

Reader’s lip curls up into a furious snarl, eyes narrowing. “And I thought I told you to leave it alone!” They snarled.

“But they’re just so good. I seriously don’t think you should be hiding your talent. What if the right person managed to find it, like Councillor Medarda, imagine the connections-” “And how, pray tell, is Councillor Medarda, supposed to come across my sketchbook in the laboratory of all places.” Skye’s voice lowers. “Well, she does stop by to see Jayce often enough.”

Reader sighed heavily. "Side-stepping that poor excuse, because we both know you were just trying to embarrass me-" "I was not! They're good drawings!"

“Where is it Skye? For the final time.”

They stepped menacingly into the room then, broom clutched tightly in both hands, only to pause when a single sheet of paper slipped out of their pocket and fluttered to the ground. The action clearly held significance, because Sky winced.

Meanwhile, Reader took a deep, steadying breath, before slowly, calmly leaning down to pluck the paper off of the floor. It was only for a second, but Viktor could have sworn he saw yet ANOTHER sketch of him and Jayce, which HOW? They'd been with the pair of them in the lab ALL DAY!

“Now look at me, I’m shedding paper left and right without my sketchbook to keep all my thoughts ORGANISED!” “I’m sorry! I’ll buy you a new one.”

A groan. “Skye, that is NOT the point-!”

“Okay, okay! Time out! Let us all take a breath.” Viktor interjected to which both apprentice and Illustrator startled. 

Reader visibly seethed in place, whilst Sky just winced and ducked her head.

It was the former who spoke up first. “Sorry for the interruption.” They said sharply, eyes cutting over to Viktor and Jayce. To which Viktor just inclined his head, whilst Jayce very poorly concealed his guilty wince. Reader was too preoccupied with Sky however to notice as they turned back to her. “May we continue this debate outside? Preferably away from the workshops?” Skye seemed to shrink in on herself more. Eyes darting over to Viktor, then jumping up to Jayce. 

“Sky!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling.” She demanded. 

Reader breathed out forcefully through their nostrils. Expression thinning out, shoulders easing, although the tightness to their jaw remained stubbornly present. “Fine.”

"Leave the broom!" Viktor called after them, to which Reader audibly groaned but let the broom in the lab before stepping out into the hall with Sky. The door clicked shut behind them. 

Jayce and Viktor shared a look and held their breaths. Waiting. Listening. The conversation that inevitably started up once the door closes was fast paced, but in the promised quieter tone. 

"I'm just going to-" Jayce began to say before motioning to the desks out in the main lab. Viktor shrugged, and allowed his partner to stand, sketchbook in hand, only for both of them to freeze when a loose slip of paper fell out.

"Oh no." Jayce said aloud as Viktor quickly pinned the sheet to the floor with the toe of his shoe, before it could drift away. "This is going to be adorable, isn't it?"

Viktor did not reply, as he stooping to pick it up. He turned it over, and he and Jayce collectively sighed as they discovered yet another sketch of the pair of them.

They're stood in front of the chalkboard, which seemed to be Reader's favourite place to draw them without being discovered. And it was clear from the way the pair were facing each other that they were deep in one of their debates. But what really caught the pair's attention, was the way that their drawn selves were looking at one another.

Viktor's with a small, knowing smile and a visible twinkle in his eye - which should have been an impossible thing to capture with merely a pencil. And Jayce's who was staring down at Viktor with an intensity in his eye and a playful lift of his eyebrows that spoke of challenge. They looked happy together. Feeding off one another's energy.

And it was startling that an outside perspective had managed to capture such a moment without either of them noticing.

"We don't get that absorbed in our debates, do we?" Jayce asked tightly, a soft look in his eye now as he gazed down at the sketch with reverence.

Viktor did not bother to deny it, because they both knew that they did. Here was a sketchbook stuffed with the evidence right before them.

Jayce tucked the sketch back between the pages, his expression complicated and yet oh so fond for someone who was no longer in the room with them.

Jayce and Viktor put the sketchbook back on Reader's desk, who later comes back in, visibly more subdued, and Sky nowhere in sight.

Viktor cracks a joke about them having stuffed her in a supply closet somewhere.

To which they reassure him that, "no, she had a meeting," and he would still have an apprentice turning up to work tomorrow.

Jayce looks up from his work, as does Viktor, when they make a beeline for their desk. In time to watch Reader stiffen when they see the little, black sketchbook placed neatly on top of their larger, official lab sketchbook. Then they lunge forward, snatching it up and flipping through the pages, shoulders loosening when all seems to be in order.

"You found it!"

"Viktor found it." Jauce interjected.

To which Viktor just preens and makes another joke about Sky thinking twice about getting between Reader and their belongings. He also throws in a compliment on the penmanship, just to see how Reader reacts.

To both of their surprises, Reader locks up at the compliment. “Please tell me you didn’t look though it.”

“I liked them." He said truthfully, "you certainly captured my likeness.” They groan and drop eye contact. 

“Please don’t joke about it.” They plead, “it was just anatomy practice. But I completely understand if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“Uncomfortable?" Viktor parrots back, shooting Jayce a look. "Why would it make us uncomfortable?" "You might feel watched?" Reader offers.

Jayce shrugs. Viktor waves off their concern.

Jayce, "can we put some up on the pin board?" "No. None of these are remotely good enough to be hung up on display!" Reader is quick to deny.

By the end of the day, there are three new papers pinned to the pin board above Jayce's desk. One drawn by each of them in the lab. A chicken scratch drawing of Jayce, courtesy of Viktor. A carefully, but wonkily drawn Reader, courtesy of Jayce. And a recognisable and remarkably good drawing of Viktor done by Reader.

(Yes, they had a drawing competition and sat in a circle around someone's desk, simultaneously posing for and drawing each other. The boys had to do some major convincing so that Reader didn't assume they were being made fun of. And they all ended up having a great time).

Next part

[0luv9]

sugar rose || theodore nott

Summary: Fool in love, bright like silver, shinning for everyone to see. Life has never been this good for Theo and he'll go out of his way to keep it that way. Or Theodore being utterly and unapologetically in love with you.

Beware: fluff, a bit of smut (which I can't write to save my life), nicknames used (pretty, love), written in second person, no pronouns used, it's just sweet.

I hope this will warm your hearts up a bit, it's a cold winter this year.

Words: 2.1k

Everyone sees it, Theodore being absolutely smitten by you, it's obvious, he has made sure everyone knows that you are his for the taking. Nott was known to be level headed one in the group, like Blaise, never getting into fights but not doing much to stop them either. Unlike Enzo, who was on the other end of the spectrum from Matheo and Draco, always keeping the group out of conflict because he didn't want to lose the house cup, that is. Everyone knew not to mess with the Slytherins, their pride was always at stake.

You were his girlfriend, everyone knows, no-one knows the consequences of thinking otherwise. They'd rather not, it's quite evident that people loved their peace more than to spit some game over a taken girl. That's how it should be, that's how it'll be.

...

You were sitting in Theo's lap, he was reading you the study material for history of magic, you were quite literally bored but your boyfriend was insistent on studying, he was also insistent on doing it with you, he wouldn't let go of you. The common room was empty, it was lunch time and you didn't feel like eating lunch, since you didn't your boyfriend didn't either, so this is how you were spending your time. He was your yes-man, whatever you ask of him, he'll do it in a heartbeat. Infact, he also does things you just think of, as well as the things you expect him to do, he knows you too well, always compliant to your wishes.

You turn around facing him, he puts down the book the very second you smile at him, all his attention on you. The way you look at him, sitting in his lap, with such love, he can feel his heart race, no matter how long it has been with you, the sugar rush never leaves. Theo can spend an eternity looking at you and still not run out of love, he knows it too well, he's far gone, turned too soft but he doesn't seem to mind because it's you. He doesn't care if his jaw hurts, he'll stay smiling when you are around. He starts his day with you in his mind, ends his day the same, dreams of you through the night and is with you throughout the day. He's content like this, there's nothing else he could ask for, he has everything he wants right in front of his eyes.

He doesn't have control over himself when it comes to you, it's all sweet and honey smooth when you are with him, his eyes always drift to you. He isn't hesitant to show his love for you, in fact he's quite shameless with it. You are shy infront of others though, so he enjoys moments like this, when you are alone with him, not afraid to be openly affectionate. Theo likes it when you say his name, "Theo," you breath out, smiling at him as you fiddle with his uniform's collar, unable to look into his eyes for long letting your gaze falter, he nods at you, encouraging you to continue, holding your nape with his hand making you look at him, thumb holding your chin up. You shake your head, smiling again and let your head bump against his chest, blushing, "I'm just happy, Teddy" your face is hidden in his chest, he holds you close, why is it that you are the shy one but it's his heart doing somersaults? "Me too mi amor, me too."

...

Theodore is not a religious man but when he has you infront of him, he'd gladly sink to his knees, thanking the heavens above for their blessings. He's with you in his dorm room, sitting on the loveseat, you in his lap, trailing kisses down his neck. You pull away, sliding off his lap down to your knees looking up at him with such devotion, he feels like a king, you unbuckle his belt with such eager hands he feels his soul escape, as though it has found it's paradise, ready to leave the land of mere mortals.

You love to tease him, knew how to him rile up and you took advantage of it. You pucker your lips around the tip of his length, not giving in easily, your eyes are full of mischief when you look up at him, "Don't tease," he groaned, hand reaching to fist your hair, you giggle as you pull away making him hiss. "Be kind Bella," his jaw was clenched hard with tension, you decide that it's enough, you always think you can hold back from him, tease him a bit more than the last time but your heart just wants to please him. You take his dick in whole, the warmth of your mouth making his jaw fall slack, the tension lifting from his shoulders as you swirl your tongue around the base, dragging it up slowly. Kissing the tip, then pulling away- letting your hand do the work while you give him a coy look. It was fucking sinful, hellish even, the way you were looking up at him. Theo was not a good man he knew that but there has to be a special place in hell for him after this because fuck, the way he loves you on some days is pure filth, there's nothing pure in his mind, there's only his weak submission to carnal desires.

You work your mouth up and down his length, the tip hitting the back of your throat in a pleasurably painful way. "Merlin-" his eyes were blown off to pitch blacks, it was struggle to take him in fully but the fucked out look in his eyes only motivated you. Gagging and choking on his dick, on your knees for him, it was a sight only he could see, only he could take the pleasure of admiring, he relished in knowing that fact that you were only his. Your beauty was for everyone to see, therefore it was something special in seeing you, pretty like this, lips wrapped around him and tear stained cheeks. He loved you more each second, it was worrisome how much he loved you, it even scared him sometimes, he'd go to any lengths for you, it doesn't matter if the world hates him by the end of it, he'll be happy if it means you'll love him a bit more.

Few minutes later he warns you that he's going to reach his limit, you don't let go, hands, lips, tongue, all pushing him over the edge, soon he's coming undone under your touch, you swallow up his release, pulling away your mouth with a pop. You are looking up at him with cum stained lips, zipping him up then straddling him. "That was pure fucking filth, love," he smiles as he looks at your lips, smearing the spit and cum more with his thumb, then pushing his thumb against your lips making you roll your tongue around him, licking away the remains of him, "the only filth I love."

...

Nott wasn't a fan of herbology but when he learnt that you adored certain flowers, he went out of his way to have them potted in your room, asked the professor ways of keeping the plants evergreen, perfected the charm to keep them blooming 24/7, going against nature just to see you smile.

Sometimes you'd make rings out of them, one for him, one for you, he'd wear them till the stems gave out, even then he'd preserve the flowers between the pages of his diary. Some days you'd make pretty crowns for yourself and others, he loved seeing you smile, the way you'd happily run to Pansy and Daphne during your break placing the crowns on their heads. Even they couldn't resist your charm, matching with you throughout the day, smiling brightly at eachother, it was a different kind of pretty, you being happy with your friends. He liked knowing that you had others loving you yet you came back to him, that you loved him more than you loved anyone else, he took pride knowing that his feelings were reciprocated with the same intensity.

"Everyone," you said out of nowhere, standing in front of him with your hands behind your back but talking to his friends instead, the group only sniggered at Theo's reaction, he was trying to get you to look at him, "I have something to confess," you smirked at them, you were wearing one of your flower crowns today and bright clothes as well, quite opposite to the image of the house you belonged to, standing out, everyone played along humming and urging you to continue, "there's this guy I like, a year above mine," you scrunched your nose up, as your friends gasped, "How scandalous, please continue ," Draco smirked, looking at how you were ignoring Theo who just looked confused, "I thought of asking him out on a date, you know with some poppies and roses, how does that sound?" You ask them shyly, still not looking at Theo who was on his feet now, while the others were sitting on the ground, splayed in different positions, all comfortable and happy. "That sounds awfully romantic, he'll surely appreciate it," Pansy quipped, cooing at your blushing face, the others simply nodding and grinning at her words.

Theo called out your name, finally making you look at him, "What Theo?" You ask him, your voice full of innocence, "what are you talking about?" He looks at his friends who just shrug and laugh while he's standing there all clueless. "You know, just confessing to the love of my life, he really is the best" you brightly smile up at him, "it's me, right? Theo?" He laughed lightly,"Ofcourse not silly," now he was confused, what were you on about and why were his friends hollering on the ground.

His face just scrunched up in confusion, you move closer to him, your shoes against his, smiling up at him, eyes full of love. "It's the guy named, Theodore Nott, do you happen to know him?" You were acting up, while his eyes widened, realising that he was being toyed with, not receiving a response, you pull your hands infront, placing the poppy and rose crown you made on his brown curls, "Happy Valentine's Day to guy I love the mostest" it was corny, cheesy and what not but it was sweetest thing at the same time, you were often shy when it came to public display but here you were, telling the world that he was the guy you loved the most- no, the mostest.

Theo was still awestruck, unable to move, only a smitten look on his, you reached up, placing a soft kiss on his lips. All you guys' friends were cooing and cheering when he bent down to kiss you after recovering from the initial shock, poppies and roses on both of your heads, you smiled against his lips as you pulled him closer. You both had drowned the noises everyone was making in the background, which went from cheering to fake gagging when they realised that the kiss wasn't going to end anytime soon. Theo couldn't care less what Valentine's was, for all it meant that he got another reason to celebrate his love for you, "I love you, the mostest." He repeated your words, meaning each and every word, his forehead resting against yours, there was no place better than this, to have you in his arms for everyone to see, for him to see your pretty smile directed at him, full of love and all things sweet and mushy, his face equally as bright. Kissing you again because he could never get enough of you, his heart beating as though he had just ran miles, warmth taking over his body, he doesn't ever remember asking for a life this happy but he's glad his happiness found him because there's nothing better than exchanging stones for roses or maybe it's just you, the rose petals over his gravel, he doesn't care only if it means that he can have you like this, sweet against his lips for the rest of his life. Finding himself closing his eyes, making a promise to himself, of cherishing and protecting this happiness of his, the one he never wished for, being his only wish now.

...

[rustedhearts]

just friends (again) (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you’ve convinced everyone around you that you and steve are just friends. now you just have to convince yourself—but it proves difficult when steve finally admits how he feels.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ just friends (part one) ✶ the library

tags: pining, yearning, they want each other so bad they're so stupid, little angst/hurt/comfort, oh steve harrington the man that you are. didn't proofread so ignore any mistakes oops.

buy me a ko-fi! (my blurb commissions are also still open!)

“I’m having a little carpet picnic.”

Julia Roberts’ voice filled the living room with a familiar warmth. The pinks and whites of the Beverly Hills hotel room from Pretty Woman coated the couch and the surface of your face with a gentle glow. The Chinese food you ordered a few hours ago was starting to stink. Even Ted, who was curled at your feet for most of your movie marathon, could no longer stand the vegetative life and scampered away.

It had been a week since Eddie broke things off. After Steve punched him, you spent the Sunday post-knockout calling and texting, hoping to sort things out. But Eddie never picked up. Eddie never replied. You figured stopping by the shop was a bit too far—if he wanted to talk to you, he would’ve by now.

So here you were, spending another weekend on the couch. Single. Broke. Lonely.

“He thought I was cheating on him,” is the excuse you have for getting dumped.

But the look on Theresa’s face when you told her is the first time it made you recoil. The first time you doubted that Eddie was 100%, entirely out of his mind.

Theresa winced into the overpriced lattes you were drinking at a curbside patio on Wednesday. “Well…I mean…”

And you gasped, mouth agape and heart hammering in your chest. What the fuck did that mean? Because you were just friends. All Steve ever was and is: your best friend. Why did everyone act like you were having a secret affair when the doors were closed on the public?

“You’ve gotta be kidding me—“

“I’m not defending the prick,” Theresa justified. “He was an asshole for talking to you like that. But I can see why he might have thought that. You and Steve are really close. Like…very close.”

“We’re friends,” you insisted.

And Theresa dropped it, holding her hands above her latte with innocent agreement. But her words haunted you the entire week. Every time Steve filled your coffee and had it ready on the counter for your commute to work (he even used your favorite travel mug). Every time he came home with a bag of peanut m&ms when he dropped by the store because it was the little treat you always asked for, but he didn’t even need to be asked anymore.

But like any other Saturday, the apartment was void of him for most of the day. He mumbled some excuse about going to the mall through your door this morning, and when he came home twenty minutes into Pretty Woman with an Abercrombie shopping bag, you knew he’d been date shopping.

“Hey,” he called to you, door clamping closed behind him. His keys jingled on their toss toward the table cluttered with half-opened mail.

Cheek squished against a throw pillow, body splayed flat on the couch, you cut him a glance sideways and adjusted the volume. “Hey.”

Steve kicked off his shoes and set his bag near the door, making your chest tighten when he immediately sauntered toward the couch. He turned to the tv with his hands on his hips.

He asked what he always asked, despite his eyes watching the very thing. “Watchya watchin’?”

“Pretty Woman.”

“Did you already watch Mystic Pizza?”

“Yep.”

Steve sighed. “Damn. Alright, well, scooch over.”

When he plucked your feet up and flopped down under them, he smelled like the sickeningly sweet butter of a soft pretzel, and the overwhelming stench of Abercrombie & Fitch. You couldn’t believe he still shopped there.

His hands were still resting on your ankles, bracing your feet against his jean-clad thighs. His touch was warm, soft, all-encompassing—and suddenly all you could think about even as Richard Gere came on screen. Steve's touch, his heat, the body those hands came attached to resting just inches away. He was wearing blue today. He looked so good in blue.

You swallowed and coughed, cheek rubbing on the pillow. Steve’s finger twitched around your calf.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you croaked.

His eyes bored into you for a moment before he turned back to Julia Roberts. "Notting Hill or My Best Friend's Wedding after this?"

Your lips parted to reply, but then his finger began tracing shapes into the patch of skin between the bottom of your pant leg and the elastic of your sock. Air choked in your throat. Your eyes bulged on the glowing television screen. The muscles in the center of your body knotted and squeezed like nausea.

In your stock-still state, it didn't even occur to you that Steve somehow knew your entire I'm-sad-and-can-only-watch-Julia-Roberts-movies marathon setlist, but it certainly crossed your mind later on. You and Steve are really close. Maybe Theresa had a point.

"Um..." Your tongue darted out to lick your suddenly-dry lips.

"You good over there?" Steve chuckled, head tipping to gauge the features and their current predicament on your face.

You buried it further into the pillow, as far as it could go without hiding completely. "Yes, Steve, I'm fine."

Steve pulled back, settling into the couch again. "Jeez, oh-kay."

He waited a moment, and you inched free from your pillow enough to bring your eye back to the television, doing your best to focus on the movie you'd seen a million times and not Steve's hand sweeping under your pant leg. He'd done that a million times, too. Touched you. Felt you.

He held your hand when you crossed the road like a child that needed guidance. He braced your back to move you which way he wanted, and to pull you close when public situational occurrences arose that made him uncomfortable. He brushed your hair once when you were victim to an ungodly illness that had you picturing death. He removed your makeup on your birthday last year when you got so drunk you puked in the doorway.

His hands were always so gentle. His touch was always so soft.

But, God, why did it feel so different right now? Why did it feel so good?

"Want a mall haul?" Steve asked, too uncomfortable in the sudden silence of the living room. He was already standing and placing your feet back on their own before you could reply.

In your periphery, he headed toward the door to retrieve the bags he neglected. "Got a couple shirts to try. Also, am I too old for that store? I swear, everyone in there was like a little Taylor Lautner wannabe from 2012—meaning they were fourteen and on steroids—"

"Steve!"

He stopped. Standing at the edge of the rug with both hands on the corded handles of his Abercrombie & Fitch shopping bag to pull it open. The snicker gathering in his throat hitched into a snort, smirk drooping into wide-eyed surprise.

You never yelled. Not at him. Not at anyone that didn't deserve it, like the neighbors when they were arguing too loud again and you were trying to nap. Like the guy that tried to steal Steve's package a few months ago that you nearly tackled down the hall.

But never Steve.

You shot up on the couch, hands flying to your pounding head. "Just...please! I don't want a mall haul, I don't want to talk, I just...—I just wanna be alone."

Steve blinked, cheeks colored pink. He closed the bag slowly, paper crinkling as he went. He took it in one hand and backed up, stepping off the rug foot by foot. He glanced at Ted, who skittered in surprise at your outburst and was standing with an arched back and black pupils near the tv stand.

"Uh...yeah, okay. Sorry," he mumbled, scratching at the nape of his neck.

Your shoulders slumped, deflating into the couch as Steve turned his eyes to the floor and tugged at the back of his hair. That stress tick again—the one you hated causing. He turned slowly, caution stiff in his spine. You watched his finger twist and wind into a lock of chestnut hair as he trudged into the hall. His door clamped closed a moment later.

A heavy, moaning sigh shuddered from your mouth as you flopped back on the pillow. Two arms locked over your head, pressing down on your eyes to blind them and the horror you created.

"Slippery little suckers," Julia Roberts snickered on the screen.

"It happens all the time."

✶ ✶

You ate dinner separately. It was the first time you'd ever eaten dinner separately within the same four walls. Even the night you moved in together, when you were nothing but a pair of strangers gauging how weird it might be to live with the opposite sex without something romantic or sexual in the undertones—even then, you ate a greasy cheese pizza together on the living room floor with an empty box as makeshift table.

He asked all the right get-to-know-you questions, and when he successfully made you laugh with all his snarks and quips, you knew Steve Harrington would be an alright roommate. You never figured he'd become your best friend.

Tonight, you pouted into the salad you regretted purchasing yesterday because a "healthy" lifestyle was born and had died within the span of your forty minute shopping trip. And now, you wanted nothing but another wet, shiny pizza, and Steve Harrington's dumb jokes.

He ate in his room. Shuffled out while you were finishing Notting Hill and made another bland chicken-rice-and-broccoli dinner. And then he shuffled past you, shut his door, and ate it alone. Never even giving you a chance to tease his unseasoned plate for the purpose of "gains." You thought he could remain just as toned and handsome with flavor on his food.

By the time you were showered, redressed, and gurgling with lingering hunger, you were properly sour with guilt.

And maybe the black sweatpants with the bedazzled jewels on your ass were pulled on with manipulative purpose before you shuffled to Steve's door. You lingered there a while, gnawing on the skin around your thumbnail and glancing between the wood grain of Steve's door and the plush surface of your yellow slippers. At this proximity, you could hear the low hum of his radio behind the door. He had a strange affection for the 70s and 80s station.

If only you knew that it was because Steve knew "the all time hits of the 70s and 80s" were your favorite.

The radio dimmed, and a moment later Steve's voice called through the door. "I can hear you lingering out there."

You jumped, stepping away from the door. Your thumb returned to your mouth, teeth piercing the skin to nibble it away. The shuffle of feet and jingle of the doorknob came too swiftly for you to evade, and then the door swung open to reveal Steve in grey sweatpants and a tight red t-shirt. He looked good in red, too.

"Oh. Hi," you murmured, hand instantly dropping to your side.

Steve caged the doorway, biceps bulging on either side. You averted your eyes with a swallow.

He sighed. "Hi."

Steve watched you sweep a slippered foot back and forth like sloshing through water. He tipped his head and bit away a smile when he caught the edge of a jewel on your hip. His favorite sweatpants.

"Are you mad at me?"

Steve sighed again, this time a little shaken with laughter. "No, kid. I ain't mad at ya."

To prove his point, he nudged the door open with his palm and motioned toward the bedroom behind him. "Come on in."

You flopped on the edge of his bed, bounced up and down by old springs. Steve swung the door closed and joined you, easing back against his wooden headboard to reassume his rumpled position. He reached toward the nightstand and turned the knob on the radio to lower the Elton John song playing.

Steve snatched the small plastic basketball from behind the radio and tossed it in the air. "So, what's goin' on?"

You watched the ball soar into the air and come back down into his palm. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just...cranky."

Steve quirked a brow, catching your eye over an orange blur when he threw the ball again. "Yeah? That all?"

The corners of your mouth pulled down. "Yeah...? What else would it be."

Steve shrugged, chin turned up toward the ceiling as he watched the basketball fly toward it. Elton John died down and switched to Def Leppard. "Hysteria" was one of Steve's favorite songs.

"You tell me. You were having a Julia Roberts marathon."

"So?" Your thumb returned to your mouth, teeth ripping at the skin.

"You only watch Julia Roberts when you're sad."

"Not true."

Steve fixed his head straight again, eyes narrowing into a pointed look. The basketball sat in his right palm against his chest. You huffed, angling yourself toward the door to glare at it instead of your roommate and his smug, all knowing expression.

He waited a while, like he always did—waiting out your stubbornness and refusing to let it break him. You could talk to him, you knew that. He wanted you to know that.

"I guess..." You sighed, throwing yourself back on the bed with your arms locked over your eyes. "I guess I'm just upset that Eddie still hasn't called. I've been calling and texting him, but...he doesn't wanna see me."

Steve immediately felt every blood cell in his body curdle. Like they were burning and festering, irritated under his skin. He swallowed, bringing the basketball to sit between his knees where he could pick at the design with blunt fingernails.

"And you want to see him?"

You dropped your arms, letting them plop to your sides. "I mean...yeah."

Steve couldn't help it—he scoffed.

The sound had your head turning, brows furrowed his way. His head was shaking, eyes focused distinctly downward to avoid yours. All the smugness of his expression dimmed into something distasteful and angry.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Nothing."

"You scoffed."

"I sighed."

"No, you scoffed."

"Well—"

This time, Steve did sigh. He took the basketball in his hands and chucked it toward the door, causing it to boomerang off the wood and catapult back toward the mattress again. The sharp smack had you jolting upward, and your eyes widened on Steve when he hopped from the bed and stood to his feet.

"What the hell—"

"He's not good enough for you!"

You paused on weak wrists used to push you upward. Steve stood a foot away from the bed with pink cheeks and outstretched hands. They curled back toward him to sweep through his hair and tug hard at the roots.

"Steve—"

"He sucks. Alright? All your ex boyfriends sucked, but especially Eddie. He didn't understand you, he didn't appreciate you. He made you cry, for fuck's sake, and you want him back? I just don't get it."

Your lips parted, but it felt like gulping for water on dry land. And Steve watched, helplessly, as you stammered for words in the face of his impending and inevitable confession. Inevitably painful, he knew, but he could no longer stomach the tireless routine of finding the body closest to yours in another dark bar, hoping she would comfort him enough to soothe the ache he had for you.

You, who slept across the hall and shared the sofa with your head on his shoulder. You, who looked at him like some sort of light source with those little round eyes. You, who made his heart pound and weep endlessly every second that you were near, and every moment you were away—leaving him in a constant, centrifugal loop of torture.

So—knowing it might ruin every bit of good the pair of you worked so hard to keep—Steve stepped closer to the bed and swallowed. He prepared himself to form the words he'd practiced a million times over in his head.

"I just figured that eventually...you'd get tired of all the wrong guys, and realize that...I'm here. That it was me, that you loved me. Because I love you—don't you love me?"

He paused, but it would never have been enough time for your mind to process his proclamation. He had a look of such anguish embedded in his features, all scrunched and screwed together with wet, shiny eyes.

"And I figured it was easier to sleep my way around than sit and watch you waste your time with these idiots. But they were never you. And I never bothered to get to know them, because I only wanted to know you."

Your breath hitched when Steve crowded your corner of the bed, hands clasped over his chest. You had to tip your head back to meet his eye, and you felt your arms shake in their locked position holding you up. The sight of him blurred with the onset of your own hot, salty tears.

Steve sniffed: a wet slurp proceeded by a tear slipping down his cheek. He wiped it quickly and sank to his knees before you on the bed, hands coming to cradle your bent knees.

"I just can't take it any longer," he whispered, and his hazel eyes were like shiny coins gazing up at you.

His lips were wet with his own tears. His tongue swept them away. Every breath inhaled rattled in his chest, and every exhale shuddered his cheeks full. He chuckled when he rubbed his palm into his eye and turned it red, sweeping his forearm over his face to clear the tears again but they just kept coming.

"Fuck, say something, please," he huffed, lacing it with laughter despite its absence of humor.

Your throat felt like it swelled to twice the size. Sickness rolled in your stomach. But it only grew at the thought of breaking Steve's heart with your silence. Because the longer he looked at you with those almond eyes, and the longer he sniffled and massaged your knees to comfort himself—the more your heart crumbled.

"I...I don't know what to say," you croaked.

Steve inhaled again, stuttering through a sniffle. He wiped his cheek on your knee and chuckled again. "Yeah. Yeah, of course—it's okay."

"Steve—"

"It's okay," he insisted, scrambling to his feet. He backed away toward the door and you finished pulling yourself upright.

"Steve, wait—"

"Really, it's okay, honey. I'm just gonna...—we ran out of ice cream, so 'm gonna g-go—go get some. Mint chip, yeah? Okay."

He sniffled again upon his exit, slipping through a small crevice he opened the door to. The front door slammed shut moments later, and you rolled onto your stomach to unleash a scream into Steve's mattress.

"Stay tuned for more all time hits of the 70s and 80s!"

✶ ✶

Steve did not return with the mint chip until nearly midnight. It came in a plastic bag that announced his arrival even before the clamber of keys. Yet, it was the squeal of old hinges that woke you from your couch slumber, and you jolted upright as the door swung open.

Steve closed the door and stood there for a moment, spotting you in the dimness of the living room. You rubbed your eye and he shifted on his feet. Ted scampered off the couch and butted at Steve's calf.

He held up the plastic bag. "Got the mint chip. It's uh...it's all melted now, though."

You wanted to reply, to make him feel better again. His eyes were still pink and puffy, and you hated the thought of him spending hours in his car or another dark bar agonizing over what you might be thinking. Worst of all, regretting any of what he said.

Because you spent the past few hours doing plenty of thinking. You laid in his bed, curled on your side, and looked at all the pictures pinned to a cork board above his desk.

The sepia toned film strip from a wedding last fall where you took him as your date. You were smiling in every one, and to the unbeknownst you might have already appeared as a couple.

The Polaroid from his most recent birthday, where you were sitting on his shoulders and clutching onto his hair for dear life. His sister took the picture.

The black and white he printed from his phone of just you on a park bench, feeding the ducks. You never even knew he had that one.

And when you shuffled to your room, you suddenly stopped. The clack of hard-bottomed slippers caught your attention, and you looked down at the plush yellow footwear around your toes—a gift from Steve.

You stood on the other side of your bed and stared at the windowsill full of miscellaneous yellow items all gifted from Steve. The movie ticket stubs shoved in your mirror and the hundreds thrown in a box on your dresser because you'd probably seen a thousand over the years with Steve, who loved movie theater popcorn and sitting close to you in the dark.

The birthday cards he wrote extensive messages of well wishes and gratitude for your friendship in with terrible penmanship. The purse he bought you for that you said you liked in passing but would never spend that much money on, and the note still tucked inside the zipper that came pasted to the bag on Christmas morning:

Because you deserve it.

Love, Steve

And then you ended up on the couch, falling asleep watching the door and waiting for it to open.

Steve trudged to the kitchen while you were lost in thought, and you hurried to catch up as he swung the freezer open. He wrapped the plastic bag around the pint of the ice cream and stuck it on the top shelf, hand reaching to close the door—when he was pushed forward by a force crashing into him.

And then there was warmth around his stomach: two arms curling around his ribs. Two hands pressing to his stomach and pulling him in. Steve stopped, immobilized in the open freezer door.

"I'm sorry," you breathed into his shirt, eyes closed tight. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I was just so stunned. And I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, Steve, for letting this go on for so long. Of course I love you, of course you love me—God, I just never wanted to ruin everything. But you make me so happy, and I—"

Steve spun around, causing your head to lift off his back. You went to drop your arms, but he instantly brought them around his neck. Two hands, still frozen from melting ice cream, braced your cheeks.

"You mean it?"

You nodded in his hold, happy to see his hazel eyes free and clear of tears. "Yes. Yes, of course I mean it—"

"Oh, thank fucking God," Steve breathed, and then his mouth descended on you.

You curled to the tops of your toes to press into his kiss, whimpering at the warmth and softness of his lips. It felt exactly as you thought it would—anticipating their plushness every time he pressed his lips to your cheek over the years.

It lasted until the pair of you were breathless, and you heaved for air upon release. Steve brushed his thumbs over your bottom lip, smearing spit and hemming your airless grin.

He kissed you all night, and let his hands roam where they could not roam before. You fell asleep in his bed tucked under his arm, and when you woke you shared the refrozen pint of mint chip with one spoon.

And when Steve called his sister while you were showering to share the good news, all she did was laugh.

"Jesus, about fucking time."

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Where Soul Meets Body - Ghost x Reader

Ao3 Link

Content Warnings - afab!reader, no pronouns used, reader has a call sign, canon typical violence, ghost's past :(, angst, smut, fingering, oral, thigh riding, PiV, unprotected sex, happy ending. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary - Simon Riley has been your best friend since the two of you were five. You've been in love with him since you were 15. It's too bad life has other plans

WC: 18k

Big thanks to @shotmrmiller for helping me with the last chapter and big thanks to @itsagrimm for listening to my rambling about this since January. I'm so happy to see it written and finished.

Rainy days in the United Kingdom were far from abnormal. Seeing the bright sun with no clouds obstruction was abnormal. Seeing someone without an umbrella, even a jacket, in the rain was more than abnormal to you. Who in the world would set out to school without a jacket or umbrella? You approach the strawberry blond boy and tentatively hold your umbrella over his head. "What are you doing without an umbrella?" You ask, head tilting ever so slightly at the boy looking up at you. Oh, he's from your class, what was his name again?

"I don't have one."

"Did your mum not buy you one?" There was a small silence but you smile, "Well it doesn't matter now, I'm here and we can share." You give him your name and get the smallest smile from him.

"I'm Simon Riley." Ah, that's right, Simon Riley.

"Well then Simon, let's get to school." The umbrella was hardly large enough for you to fit under but you held it over his head as the rain came down. It rained all day but that was okay because you and Simon sat together all day. "I'll walk home with you so you don't get wet." You say while playing another round of Sorry!.

"You don't need to." Simon mutters as he moves his piece, his brown eyes downcast. You frown, brows pinching together as you try to piece together the logic behind that statement.

"I don't need to but I want to." You respond with a toothy grin. "It's what friends do." You say with confidence as you draw a card.

"We're friends?" Simon asks, his eyes suddenly meeting yours.

"Of course. We're sharing an umbrella." You laugh and move your piece according to the card. "And when you get your own umbrella, we can be umbrella friends." He repeats the term umbrella friends as if testing the waters and then smiles. A smile suits him much better than a frown you decide. During lunch, you offer part of your sandwich when you realize how sad his packed lunch is. "Here, I'm full." A lie but he hardly had half of what your mum packed. He looked at the triangularly cut sandwich with apprehension. "Please eat it." He continues to stare at it before picking it up and taking a bite then looking at you. When he sees your smile, he keeps eating it. "You have very brown eyes." You suddenly comment, unable to keep it to yourself. "I like them."

Simon easily fit into the routine of your life, each day after school he would walk home with you on Fridays. Together the two of you would chatter about anything and everything, conversation flowing easily. Somedays were worse than others, like right now while you treated Simon's busted lip with a bag of cold peas pressing against his cheek. "I'll beat him up." You promise. He seems different these days, he had always been a bit timid before but any loud noise scared him. You don't ask what happened, you could see it in his eyes that he didn't want to talk about it. Those same eyes were always looking down all the time now too, you wish he wouldn't. You like to see his eyes.

"You can't beat up Tommy." He insists.

"He beat you up, I'm just returning the favor." You huff as you dab the blood away from his lip and hand him a bag of cold broccoli. The attic of your home had become a safe haven to him and the walls and ceiling were decorated in drawings that the two of you had created over the last two years. A plate of triangle sandwiches sat half eaten on the box-made-table. "I'll just punch him. Serve him right." You huff and cross your arms after throwing the wet rag in the corner. Books and half put away board games were scattered all around the little attic.

"Please don't." Simon begs, his brown eyes downcast again.

"Will it make you happy if I don't?" You ask, twisting your shirt and pulling at the loose thread. Simon nods and you sigh, pushing your hair from your face. "Fine then but you're staying the night." You declare.

"Don't you need to ask your mum and dad permission?" He asks.

"They'll say yes. They always do." It was true, there hadn't been a time your mum hadn't let Simon sleep over if you had asked. Simon tapped your arm and handed you a book from the pile.

"Out of your head, let's read." He says while giving a frail smile. When did his smiles get smaller? You take the book from his hand, you hope it'll make him happy. A knock on the attic door as your mum peaks her head up.

"Are you staying for dinner Simon?" You mum asks and you jump on the opportunity.

"Can Simon stay the night mum? Please." You draw out your please and put on your best puppy eyes. Your mum looks between you and Simon who still held the bag of broccoli against his mouth.

"Of course he can stay. Just be quiet after eight pm." Your mum disappears back down the ladder towards the kitchen while you turn to Simon with a victorious smile on your face.

"Told you so."

You knock rapidly on his home's front door, "Come on Riley! I'm not gonna stand out here all day waiting for you." You would, of course you would. Rain or shine, warm or hot. The door swung open and you scrunched up your nose when Tommy was standing in front of you. "You smell like a sewer rat." You remark, "Where's Simon?"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Tommy snapped, "Simon isn't your boyfriend."

"He doesn't need to be my boyfriend in order for me to ask where he is." You immediately respond. He snorts and rolls his eyes. Tommy, Simon's younger brother, had been teasing the two of you for years since the first time he saw you walk Simon home. "Simon!" You say, a smile immediately appearing on your face as he finally appears behind his brother. "Come on!" You push Tommy out of the way and grab Simon's hand. "I got my drivers license." You boast, "Dad's letting me drive his truck around whenever he doesn't need it."

It was a rare day in spring when it wasn't raining and you weren't gonna let it go to waste. The windows of the truck were rolled down and the wind blew through your hair. The city of Manchester slowly disappears, the loudness exchanged for the quiet of the countryside.

"Don't look so grumpy Simon." You say when you notice he had his head in his hand and a scowl on his face. "You're acting like I'm driving you to your death."

"With how you drive, I'm sure you are." He retorts, a small smile growing on his face as you bark out a laugh.

"Well we're almost there so your death won't be quiet so soon." You remark. You slow the truck down before pulling off into a dirt road and coming to a complete stop. You turn the truck off and tuck the keys into your pocket and grab the basket you brought from the back of the truck. You look at the fence blocking the way into the flower field before you toss the basket over the fence before you launching yourself over the fence. "Come on Simon, just jump it!"

"Isn't this illegal?"

"Only if you get caught." You laugh and wink before helping Simon over the fence. The field of flowers stretch far and bumblebees buzz around from flower to flower. You open the basket and lay out the thin blanket onto the ground. Lowering yourself onto the blanket and you motion for Simon to join you.

"What's all this then?" He asked with a brow raised as you began to pull out a few cans of coke, a couple of sandwiches and apples.

"Happy 15th birthday." You say with a grin, "I got your present back at my house but I figured you'd like it out here." Simon stares at you, brown eyes wide as he looks between you and all the food you somehow managed to pack into the basket. You shift a little his heavy gaze as anxiety crept up as your cheeks turned red. "Do you not like it?" You ask.

Simon looked at you before a lopsided grin grew on his face, "It's great. Thank you."

"What are you planning to do after school is over?" You ask after taking a sip from your coke. "I mean, we only have next year left. Are you going to attend University?"

"I'm gonna take a butcher's apprenticeship."

"What?"

"My grades aren't doing great and I figured why not." Simon shrugged, "Not like it's a bad idea." You punched his shoulder lightly and glared at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were struggling Riley? You know I would have helped." The wind blows softly, the flowers and grass rustle, birds sing in the distance. "You're a smart man Simon, if this is what you want to do," You take a steadying breath, "then I'll support you."

Simon smiles at you, "You took it better then my mum did at least." He sighs and takes a bite from his apple.

"She just wants what's best for you." You say, softening your voice. If there was one thing you learned about Simon Riley after these five years, it's that he loves his mum more than anything. You lean against him, coke can still in hand as the silence blankets the space between you and him. After a few minutes of silently eating and drinking, he nudges you.

"Look." He whispers and points to a flower by his side. You lean over and a massive smile grows on your face as you spot a very tired bumblebee resting within a flower. You look at Simon and feel something within yourself turn on or maybe become louder as you see his soft gaze at the sleeping bee. Suddenly, you wanted him to look at you with that same soft expression.

"You know Daisy?" Simon asks one day while you were driving to the flower field. It had become a place to get away from school and home, away from all the stresses of life for at least a few hours. Daisy was a classmate in the same year, you had never been close with her but you had grown up with her the same as you had with Simon.

"Of course, Daisy Lockmon right?"

"Yeah." There's something in the way he says it that makes your heart clench. It's the softness of it, the fondness and the soft sigh, even the sort of dreamy look in his eyes you spot in the mirror as he gazes out into the countryside.

"Yeah?"

"I'm dating her. She asked me out a few days ago." Few days ago. Why did that sting so fucking much? You smile at him as you grip on the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white and your fingers go numb. It doesn't compare to the squeezing grip of whatever is holding your heart. No, you know who holds your heart and he doesn't even know it. It's my fault, I never told him. You try to reason with yourself but it doesn't stop the hurt.

"Congratulations then. Daisy is a sweet girl."

A few months later, you feel like you're going to throw up. You fight back any words threatening to come out of your mouth besides something good and kind because he doesn't deserve your anger or sadness. Simon doesn't know, you keep reminding yourself, you're just his best friend that he's confiding in. Just the person he's grown up with since ten years old, just the person who treated his busted lips, cuts and bruises. Just his best friend. Not the girl, not Daisy Lockmon who he thinks he loves. He probably does love her, you've never seen him look at someone the way he does Daisy.

You lay in the field, something that allows your stress to melt away, does nothing for you. Not as Simon lays next to you, not as you think about the times before all of this you could have said something. Simon says nothing, you say nothing and the two of you just watch the clouds float by. Simon sits up as he speaks, "I'm ready to leave, how about you?" Your heart clenches again, time in the field has been getting shorter and trips less frequent. You know it's not just because of his relationship and it's just how life is sometimes. He has his butcher's apprenticeship and you're studying for university classes but logic doesn't dictate emotion.

"In a moment, I'll catch up with you at the truck." You say, pasting on a smile. Simon shrugs and grunts as he gets up. You wait until you're sure he's already hopped the fence and heading towards the truck before you move over to his spot. Where the grass and flowers are flattened down into his shape, slowly you curl into the spot. For a moment, you imagined that you were the one he says he loves. For just a bittersweet moment, you pretend that you're his and he's yours.

"I'm joining the military." Your ceramic mug shatters on the floor. Just like that, everything comes crashing down. The world was still reeling from the twin towers attack in the United States, the sense of safety shattered in a terrorist attack.

"What?" That was the only word that could come from your mouth. You look at Simon with wide eyes, the cozy atmosphere of your flat turned cold. "You're joking. Right Simon?"

"I'm not."

"What about your apprenticeship Simon? You've been working as a butcher since you were 16. You're nearly done." The words come flying out of your mouth, "Simon-"

"I'm not asking you to understand my decision. I'm just telling you that I'm doing it and you can't stop me." You laugh bitterly and the sound is so foreign to both your ears and Simons.

"As if I could stop you Simon." You mutter, moving to grab a broom and dustpan to clean up the shattered mug on the floor. "But why? You've never once shown interest in joining the military." The answer is clear, its reason why many people were joining the military and you already know his answer before he opens his mouth.

"The attack in the US." Of course, he doesn't elaborate. "I'm being sent to bootcamp in two weeks."

"Two weeks? That's hardly any time at all." You sigh and sink down into your couch, putting your face in your hands as you try to process everything. "What about Daisy?"

"Broke up with her." He says so plainly and with a shrug of his shoulders. You have to bite your tongue to keep from saying something back handed. You're not petty, you're not petty, you're not petty, is the thought running through your head but you can't deny how good it feels to know he isn't dating her anymore. Not like you have much of a chance now since he's going off to bootcamp. "She said she didn't want to date a guy in the military. It's a deal breaker apparently." It's not for me you think quickly.

The day comes too quickly, for once you wished life would slow down and let you soak up Simon's presence in your life. It's not like he's dying, he's just going off to bootcamp and then he'll be back is what you think to keep yourself from falling apart. Nearly nine years of friendship, spending hardly any time or going a long distance away from one another, now Simon will be gone for 14 weeks. Then he'll be stationed somewhere for two to six years. You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him hard and burying your face into his jacket. "You be safe Simon Riley or I'll raise you from the dead."

He chuckles and pats your head, "Its bootcamp not an active war zone." You just shake your head and he wraps his arms around you. "But I'll be safe. I'll write to you every chance I get, I promise."

"Good."

The last three years had passed quickly with the letters from Simon being the only rest stop between university studies and work. Grabbing your coat from the back, you sigh as you finally shut off the lights to the cafe you work at part time. With a small click, your work day was finally, finally over. You twist the lock on the cafe front door, struggling momentarily from your thick gloves. You turn to start walking towards your rather cheap flat and scream when you see a massive figure barely a foot away. The familiar voice hissing your name made the panic subside as quickly as it appeared.

"Simon?"

"Glad to know you still have those pipes of yours." You look at Simon, he is barely illuminated by the street lights but you can still tell he's different now. He's no longer the slightly slender boy you knew three years ago. He wasn't slouching and made direct eye contact with you. You take him all in before you rush to him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his coat and drinking in his scent.

"Simon Riley," You whisper into his coat before pulling back to look up at him, "you've really grown. Come on, I'll let you crash at my place." He opens his mouth to argue but you're already pulling him along. You lead him to your flat, which isn't far away from your place of work thankfully. You kick off your shoes at the door and tell Simon to do the same. Placing a kettle on the stove to boil some water you then sit down and look at Simon. "So, what's brought you back here?" You ask.

Simon looks at you, drinking in your appearance. You look tired, worn down and ready to collapse. "I'm gonna fix my family." He finally answers after you cock your head to the side.

"You're... gonna fix your family?" You ask, leaning back as the words wash over you. Your heart hurt slightly for a reason you didn't want to understand, for a reason you didn't want to voice out loud or in your own head.

"Yes. And I'm not leaving until it is."

You purse your lips and get up to pour the boiling water into two cups. You put an earl gray tea bag with a splash of milk into the mug for Simon and a few cubes of sugar for your own cup of tea. You hand him the tea and sit back down as you continue to run through the implications of his choice. "Alright." You finally say. "You can crash at my place while you fix your family."

"You don't believe me." Simon states and you snap your head to look at him completely. "I know it sounds crazy but I'm stronger now. I can finally do what I've always wanted." He says between sips of his tea. "And I won't leave until it is fixed."

You sigh and set your cup down, "Fine." You get up and grab a piece of paper and a pen. You scribble down the addresses of Tommy's friends that he keeps couch surfing between before handing it to Simon. "This is what I know about Tommy. You'll probably get a confirmed address from your mom."

"And my dad?"

"Still an arsehole who comes and goes as he pleases." You grumble.

You walk out of your bedroom as quietly as possible. You peak over your couch and feel a weight lift off your chest. He was still here, right here in your flat. Your best friend, your rock and crush. Simon was finally back, not for the reason you might have fantasized about more than often you were willing to admit, but he was back. Love is such a funny thing, you think to yourself as you lay in bed. It had been three years since you had last seen him, hugging and barely holding back tears as he hopped on a bus to bootcamp. You hadn't cried that hard ever as you had cried on that day when he left. You turn onto your side and wipe away a few tears that leak from your eyes, at least he was here now.

You stand outside his family's home. You look down the street and recall the exact path that you could take to see your family. You had turned down Simon's offer to come inside, you didn't want to intrude on his reunion with his mother. You tap your foot as you lean against your truck, the same one you had driven to the fields outside of Manchester all those years ago. Simon steps outside of the house and hugs his mother one last time, his mouth moves but you don't hear what he has to say. His mother looks around him and looks at you. She's been crying you realize. You exchange a smile and a wave before she goes back inside of the house.

"Got the address?" You ask Simon as you both get into your truck.

"Got it." He confirms and gives you the address. You can't stop yourself from grimacing, of course it had to be that arsehole’s address. You hadn't left Simon in the dark of what was going on with his family while he was deployed and away. You didn't bother to spare details, okay, well maybe a few. Mostly about your own interactions with Tommy and his friends. But Simon didn't need to hear that, he had already sworn to come back and fix his family at least a dozen times since the third month. He didn't need to stress himself over you.

The car ride was quiet, the radio was off and the only sound was the wind blowing in through the open windows. You can feel the rage rolling off him but also the concern for his brother. The truck comes to stop outside of a dingy and unwelcoming flat building, you look at Simon and take him in. His brown eyes fill with determination and rage the longer he looks at the building. Finally, he opens the door, "I'm gonna get Tommy." He says before turning to go into the building after shutting the door. You let out a shaky sigh and let go of the steering wheel, looking at your shaking hands you try not to think too hard about what Tommy and his friends had done. What kind of people they were.

Tommy, your best friend's young brother had let his so-called friends push you around at your job until they were banned by your manager. Then they slashed your tires. Tommy hadn't changed, just become a carbon copy of dirt-bag father. Simon was made from something different, he was his mother's son, the undying love of his family and the ability to go with the flow of life. To never give up. You tense up as the people who lived in the flat walk past you, your breathing becoming more shallow as you watch them enter the flat. Oh god. Oh god. You panic and go to unbuckle yourself but struggle as your trembling hands only become worse.

You could hear the fighting coming from inside the house as you finally unbuckle yourself. There were five of them and only one of him. Oh god. Oh god. You push the truck door open and nearly tumble out, rushing to Simon's aid. You didn't expect to see him handling himself well against five other people while Tommy crouches low to avoid the fight altogether. One of the men goes to try and put Simon in a headlock, you do the only thing you can think of. You grab the man's jacket and pull him into your punch.

Simon places Tommy in the back seat, telling him he's going to bring him to the clinic and get him clean. You rub your throbbing knuckles, the pain from that one punch still echoing in your body. Simon gently takes your hand and inspects your knuckles, clicking his tongue. "You were never much of a fighter." He comments and looks up into your eyes. "But that was a good punch."

You're standing outside the clinic, the cold early spring wind making you pull your jacket closer to your body. Today was the day Tommy was going to be released, you weren't going to turn down Simon's request for you to be there. You had been spending more and more time with Simon and his mother. She is such a sweet lady, and loves her sons more than anything in the entire world. Simon looks at you and smiles, "I told you I would fix my family."

You roll your eyes, "I'll believe Tommy is clean when I see it." You grumble.

"I know he wasn't a good man back then,"

"He was a fucking mess Simon." You say, "He and his druggie friends cornered me once, demanded whatever money I had on me." You finally spill your guts, "I don't like him. You've been defending Tommy and his stupidity every day since I've known you." You look him right in the eyes, "He doesn't deserve your love or your mothers. As far as I'm concerned, he's been on my shit list since the first time I had to clean your bloody lip."

Simon looks at you for a long moment, your words hanging in the air until he pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry." He mutters and hides his face in the crook of your neck. You freeze and he hugs you tighter, "I'm so sorry. You should have told me about that. I would have never-"

"Don't be sorry." You whisper quickly, "Never be sorry. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. Simon you're too kind, too forgiving."

"That's not true."

"I think it is."

Someone coughs and Simon lets go of you, his face breaking into a smile as Tommy stands in front of the two of you. He looks different, better. Healthy and alive. "Can we go home now?" He asks. You watch as Simon walks up to Tommy and wraps him in his arms.

"Of course."

You watch from the driver's seat as their mum opens the door and jump into Tommy's arms as Tommy hugs her tight. You can't help the smile that grows on your face when Simon joins the hug. Their mum looks at you and motions you to join them. You shake your head but Simon walks over and pretty much drags you from the car and into the group hug.

Later that night, their mum pulls you to the side. "Thank you." She says and takes your hand into hers, "for being there for my Simon."

"It really was nothing." You assure her and she shakes her head.

"You love him very much. Don't try to deny it, you've stuck by his side all these years and I've seen the way you look at him." She winks, "I just hope the two of you get together before I'm dead."

You can't help the quiet laugh that comes from your throat, "Me too." You whisper and look over at Simon who sits next to Tommy as they watch a football match after eating dinner.

You can hardly believe that you're sitting here at Tommy's wedding next to their mum as you comfort her. Simon stands as Tommy's best man as they trade vows. Beth looks beautiful as she always has. Long black hair and charming blue eyes, she was beyond kind as well. Perfect for Tommy who hadn't lost some of his snark but Beth softened him. You look at Simon and smile when you notice he's holding back tears as they exchange vows.

The wedding's reception wasn't filled to the brim with people but it was lively, friends and distant family members mingled as you sit at a table with a glass of champagne. Simon lets out a sigh as he sits next to you at the edge of the party. "Are you having fun?" You tease and Simon rolls his eyes. Joseph, Simon's nephew who you are sure will never know a day of fear or hurt like his uncle and father, is exchanged between party members and snuck small bites of cake.

"I'd let to get away from all of this for a moment." He admits as he runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. You remember when he was the sad strawberry blond boy that rainy school day. The way he avoided eye contact and others. You smile and take his hand.

"Then lets go."

You can faintly hear the music from the reception but other wise, this bench away from the party was the perfect place. The night sky is some what visible, with only the brightest stars being visible from all the light pollution of the city. A small breeze blows through your hair and you close your eyes to just soak in the moment. You open your eyes and Simon looks at you, softness in his eyes.

"What?"

"You're stunning." He says and you furrow your brows, ignoring the heat in your cheeks and neck. He leans in closer and cups your cheek, "Can I kiss you?" The words don't come to you but you nod frantically, feeling worried that he might change his mind for some reason. His eyes look between your eyes and lips before he leans in. The kiss is slow and he holds you like you might break or in case you want to leave. His lips are slightly chapped but soft and you vaguely wonder if he put on flavored chapstick earlier. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he takes the hint. The kiss turns from soft to practically ravenous as he holds you close, your mouth parts automatically and he slips his tongue in.

When you finally pull back to breath deeper, he looks at you with amazement. "I love you Simon Riley." You whisper and rest your forehead against his, "I have since we were 15. Don't leave me again Simon. Not if you can help it."

"You're gonna hate me then." He whispers as he holds you close. "I'm returning to duty in a month."

"I could never hate you Simon. Not in a million years. Just… write to me and when you go on leave again,” You take a steadying breath, “We can talk about what we are." He nods and you press your lips to his again.

You stand in the rain. You fucking hate the rain. It soaks through your black clothes and makes it stick to your skin. It mats down your hair and hides the tears that run down your face. There is no one here, no one but you and the priest at this funeral. How could this happen, you wonder. Everything was perfect. You look at the name on the gravestone. Tommy, Beth and Joseph, there's another gravestone a few feet away that has his mothers and fathers name on it. Simon is the only one who is buried alone. A bitter and petty choice from their distant family. Everyone thinks Simon did it. There was no proof to prove otherwise and it fit the story. A soldier returns home and suffers a PTSD breakdown and kills his entire family.

It didn't make sense. Simon was getting better, he promised he was getting better and attending therapy appointments. He loved Joseph, he loved his family and he loved you. He would have never done this. Maybe he would have murdered his father but the anger there was long and bitter, if he wanted to kill his father, he would have done it years ago.

Earlier last month, you had passed by a stand with different brochures. Some of them were for churches, others for activities to do with the family. Normally, you would have passed by it, eager to leave the store as quickly as possible. But you stopped this time and glanced at a particular brochure, you picked it from its spot and glanced over it. “You belong here.” A soldier is yelling while another is taking cover, inside are different recruiting offices and general information. You pocket it.

It was an impulsive decision. But the papers were filed and your two week notice already given. You didn't want to think about the consequences of what you were about to do, you just felt lost. University didn't matter, your cafe job didn't matter and every street in this fucking city reminded you of him. You decided if you were going to join the military. You had been accepted, the letter sat in your bag now that all of your items in your flat had been packed up and stored in your old childhood bedroom. This was just the last thing to do before the bus picks you up tomorrow morning.

You throw the roses in your hand into the caskets until you reach Simons. Your hand trembles as it holds the thorny rose, shakily you bring it to your lips and kiss the petals before tossing it into his grave. "I love you Simon Riley."

You watch as the city of Manchester flows past you like a river. It's raining again and the droplets obscure your vision of the outside world. People around you talk and you realize just how out of place you are. These are 16, 17 and 18 year olds with bright eyes and dreams. You vaguely wonder if Simon had sat in silence as he liked to do or if he had been dragged into a conversation. You glance at your duffle bag by your feet before leaning your head back and shutting your eyes. The bus ride would be a long one, you figure that some rest would make it faster.

Your name is called and you step forward, you hold onto the bag of items shoved into your arms. You listen to the drill sergeant yell that these are your items. You are responsible for maintaining and keeping track of all things in this bag. You realize, in a way that makes it difficult not to smile, that Simon was right. They are hard arses here.

The scratches that litter your body sting as you crawl through the mud and muck underneath the barbed wire with a rifle held close to your chest. You breathe out puffs of condensation in the air, you’re shivering and you keep your jaw clenched so your teeth don’t chatter. You keep crawling, inching like a caterpillar towards the end of this section and fight the urge to just lay there on the ground. The cold rain soaks through your clothes and you grunt when part of the barbed wire above you catches onto your leg again. “Fuck.” You hiss but you’re nearly there.

You wonder why Simon never told you about this but he never seemed to tell you anything. You curse the dead man and curse yourself for being impulsive. Nearly done with university and you dropped out for him, for a dead man who was buried alone in his own grave. You use your anger to make it to the end, your uniform is covered in mud and the sensation makes your skin crawl but you run forward towards the rope wall, swinging your rifle over your back. “Come on Private!” The drill sergeant screams at you, “I’ve seen injured men move faster than you do!” You grit your teeth as he mocks you.

It's his job, you remind yourself, to try and break you. If Simon leaving didn’t break you, if him and his family dying didn’t break you then this fucking drill sergeant was not going to break you. You climb up the rope and grapple onto the next bit of rope, locking your legs with your ankles and you inch down the rope even as your hands burn.

That night as you sit in the corner of the mess hall, you itch at the bandages wrapped around your hand. Whatever salve the lady in the med bay had slathered onto your hand hadn’t done much to cool the burning. You know it's counterintuitive to scratch at it but who was going to stop you? You were an adult now and could suffer the consequences of your stupid actions. Like not demanding Simon give you answers on why he was pulling away after finally confessing his feelings. You clench your fist and smother those feelings with the pain you feel.

No matter how many times you try to remind yourself there's no point in focusing on the past you can’t stop. How can you stop? Everything you’ve done has been for him and now he’s gone and you’re still doing things for him. You look around the mess hall at the different groups of fellow trainee’s and know you’ll never have that kind of connection with anyone else. Simon was it. Your best friend since childhood, your first crush and first heartbreak. You wander outside and sit on a stack of crates near the mess when the talking and clanking of silverware grows too much.

The night is cool, the sky is clear from the rain that had poured so hard earlier but you can’t see the stars anyway. You go to itch at your hand again when a drill sergeant comes around the corner. You stiffen up and immediately get up to salute but he dismisses you before you even get your hand to your forehead. “Private, why aren’t you in the mess eating?”

“Lost my appetite, sir.” You reply, “Figured some fresh air would do me some good.” You go to scratch at your hand again and his eyes snap to the motion.

“Private, did the nurse not provide you with burn cream?” He asked and it was weird having the man who yelled at you all day suddenly become concerned for your well-being.

“She did, sir, it just itches.” You explain and the drill sergeant makes a face, for a second you worry that he will demand that you return to the med bay again. Instead, he nods.

“Dismissed Private. Get some rest.” You nod and scurry away to your barracks.

The helicopter’s wings slow but any flyaways in your hair whip and stick to your face anyways. After serving in the SAS for five years, you had been picked by Chief station Laswell and Captain John Price to be a part of the 141 task force. You couldn’t believe you had finally done it, all these years of serving and you start to finally believe that you might’ve done Simon some justice. All the broken bones, bruises and scars are worth it if it means he’s looking down on you fondly. You look between the four men in front of you. You recognize Captain Price immediately with his boonie hat and well groomed mutton chops. He extends his hand which you take and shake with a firm grip. “Boys, this is Gator. They’ll be joinin’ our task force startin’ today.”

The man standing next to Price smiles at you, beautiful white teeth with a stunning smile and soft brown eyes. He has a scar on his cheek and you wonder how he got it as you shake his hand, “This is Sergeant Garrick.” Price says and you beam back at him.

“A pleasure to meet you Sergeant.”

“No need for that, just call me Gaz.” He assures you and lets go of your hand. You turn to meet the third man and before you can even open your mouth or extend your hand to shake, he’s grabbing yours with a grip tight enough to shatter a few bones. He has a stupid mohawk haircut that he somehow makes work, crystal blue eyes and you can tell that he’s a little mischievous.

“I’m Sergeant MacTavish but e’eryone calls me Soap.” He laughs, warm like an early summer day, when he sees your eyebrows raise. “I’ll tell ye why later.” He promises with a wink.

“Oi! Johnny, stop hoggin’ the new meat.” You turn to the voice and have to stop yourself from taking a step back just so you could look at the man fully. He’s fucking huge. Broad shoulders, wearing all black and a skull mask to hide his face. You can barely make out his brown eyes from under all that eye black. His accent is rough, with a voice that gives away how much he smokes. He looks down at you, like you suspect he has to most people, and you want to slink away into whatever hole he thinks you crawled out of. Despite this, you stick your hand out for him to shake.

“And this is your Lieutenant, Ghost.” You have to stop yourself from snorting. Ghost, how fitting for a man literally wearing a skull mask. He grips your hand and gives it a firm shake as his eyes burn holes into your soul. You look at his hand when you feel something other than familiar flesh, it's a glove. Even funnier, its skeleton gloves. It sends you nearly into a giggle fit, yes this man is intimidating to a point where you would have been shaking in your boots a few years ago. But he’s unironically wearing skeleton gloves. How is that not funny? He gives you a firm shake but just as quickly removes his gloved hand from yours. “Alright Gator, Ghost will give you a quick tour around here and then I want you to report for training at 0500 hours.”

The tour is silent besides the simple sentences Ghost speaks and you’re that sure he wouldn’t if Price hadn’t put him on the spot for giving you the tour. “This ‘ere is the training hall, this is where yer expected to be tomorrow.” He gruffly says, stiff as a board. You nod and nearly jump out of your skin when someone wraps their arm around your shoulders.

“There ye are! I was tryin’ tae find ye.”

“Sergeant.” Ghost says gruffly and Soap rolls his eyes before removing his arm. “They are busy.”

“Away an bile yer heid.” Soap says with a laugh, “I ken that yer aboot as excited fer this tour as they are.” You didn’t need to see Ghost roll his eyes to know he did, it was just in the way the air shifts around the three of you. “Lemme take over the rest of the tour aye?” Ghost sighs but concedes which confirms that he would really rather be anywhere else than giving the FNG a tour. “Good lad.” Soap chuckles and pats Ghost’s shoulder.

Ghost leaves quickly for being a man so massive and Soap turns to you, “Dinnae mind him, he’s a big grump.” You snort and laugh while nodding in agreement. “Alright, let's continue this tour.” Soap claps a hand on your back and for the rest of the day, with breaks for food of course, he showed you around. He was certainly better at it then Ghost who acted like he had been asked to travel across the sahara desert while carrying you.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap groans while he stumbles back from you. Sweat sticks to your forehead and your usual hairdo is ruined but so is the way of sparring and training. “I see why they call ye Gator.” He grumbles as he holds his head. “Ye fuckin’ death rolled me.” Soap accuses and it was true. You have the strength to take down men bigger than you in not only height but sheer mass. It was a skill you had honed for the past several years ever since you figured it out in bootcamp.

You wrap your arms around him as he tries to pin you to the mat and roll. You twist with all your might and switch the position then without a second thought you slam your head against his. The force knocks your brain around and the headache you’ll get later is going to be absolutely terrible but the man under you groans and holds his forehead. “I yield! Holy shite.” He curses as you immediately back away from him. You glance around at the group of people who had made it this far into the training and then meet the eyes of your drill sergeant who, if you weren’t mistaken and didn’t have a concussion, looked almost proud.

That night as you hold an ice pack against your forehead and sit outside the mess hall away, he approaches again. “Never seen a private do that.” He says after immediately acknowledging your salute and telling you to be at ease. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do that before.” You sheepishly shrug.

“I didn’t want to lose.”

“And so you didn’t.” A silence hangs in the air as the crickets chirp and you wonder if that's an owl’s hoot you hear. “I think you're going to have a nickname before you even leave camp.” He says, “You have the other sergeants wantin’ to call you Gator.”

“Gator?” You ask even if you understand the implications. You guess you did a kind of death roll that poor buy but Gator? Really?

“Better than some poor sod who got named Dirt because he ended up with a mouth full of dirt after tripping on the 20 mile march.” You chuckle at that.

“I guess Gator is much better than Dirt.”

“That’s the spirit. You better get some rest for tomorrow, Private.” He says before walking away and just like that time, leaving you to sit in the cool night air before you heed his warning.

You grit your teeth as Ghost ignores you again. You’re just trying to get him to sign from fucking paperwork Captain Price asked of you. “Lieutenant I need-”

“Not now sergeant.” Ghost says as he walks away from you and you want to scream. Its been like this the entire time you’ve been on this team. At first you thought it was his way of hazing you, act like a dickhead and see if the FNG breaks. Well you haven’t broken, you’ve only doubled down because every time he acts like this you keep being reminded of Simon and how he wouldn’t have given up.

At least Gaz and Soap were more open to you being on their task force now that months had passed. Although you doubt if Soap had ever disliked the idea of you being on the force. You barely duck Gaz’s punch but aren’t fast enough to catch his leg before it slams full force into your side. You grab it before he can bring it back and yank on it so he falls onto the floor, he rolls over before you can pin him down. You stare at each other for a moment before you lunge at him like a rabid dog without a leash.

He steps to the side and then grabs the back of your shirt collar to slam you down into the mat. You squirm and fight to keep him from pinning your arms back but it's no use. And in this position, death rolling him was nearly impossible. And you’ve definitely been trying. “Distracted Gator?” Gaz asks as he pants and you snarl back at him before you let out a meek ‘I yield’. He releases you immediately and you rub your wrists. “Broken?”

“Negative.” You say as you walk over to grab your bottle of water.

Watching you spar from the corner was Ghost. He observes the way you fight and the way you wiggle out of every attempt to pin you until the last. If it wasn’t for your infamous ability to death roll, he’s sure you would have ended up being called Weasel. And wasn’t that an amusing thought? Still better than Soap. “Ye stalkin’ the FNG.” Soap teases and Ghost glances down at Soap with what he knows is a deadpan expression. Or at least deadpan eyes. Mask and all that.

“You stalkin’ me?” Ghost shoots back and Soap grins this feral grin that makes Ghost groan inwardly because that grin meant only one thing. Dog with a fuckin’ bone, thats what Soap is when he thinks he’s smelt something out. “Don’t start MacTavish.”

“Oh its MacTavish it is?” Soap feigns hurt as he clutches his chest. “Ye wound me sir.”

“It is when yer about to say somethin’ god awfully stupid.”

“Yer no fun L.T.” Soap laments and Ghost rolls his eyes while shaking his head at Soap’s antics. Soap looks past Ghost and to Gator who is talking with Gaz on the bench while the two of them drink water and give the other advice. “Slippery thing they are.” Soap comments and Ghost nods. “Dinnae think I’ve ever seen someone slip out of your hold befure.”

“Is tha’ the reason yer botheirn’ me Sergeant?”

“Botherin’ ye? Nae sir, jus’ wanna see how Gaz manages to take them down.” Soap says, a half truth and they both know it.

“They gave him a hard time too.”

“Do ye think tha’ they oil up befure every sparrin’ match?” Soap says with a smile and Ghost rolls his eyes despite the small smile growing beneath his mask. You look up and notice Soap and Ghost which immediately makes him want to flee the scene. Every time you lock eyes with him, it sends him back to his time in Mexico. You’re a constant reminder and he wants you gone. Simon is dead and he’s not sure why you even joined the fucking military in the first place. Last he knew you were close to finishing off your degree, did you drop out to join this place?

Ghost grits his teeth as he shoves the memories of both Roba and you back into the box he had stuffed the two of you into years ago. He can’t open the box for one without the other escaping. You offer him a small smile and he turns on his heel. He walks as quickly as he can back to his private quarters, perks of being an officer and also being dead he guessed. He slams his door behind him and marches right into the bathroom. He yanks off the mask and stares at himself. He stares at the scars across his face, his broken one-too-many-times nose and the scar that cuts his lip. He takes stalk of his flaws within his face, the one you had seen and hadn’t recoiled from.

He wonders if you even suspect that its him and his chest hurts at the thought that you’ve forgotten him. But he knows he hasn’t earned his right back into your life, he’s dead. He can never be the man you need or want, he’s different now. Much more scarred than when he returned from Mexico, he’s brash and rude. He doesn’t like people and he doesn’t like that he still wants to be near you. It’s irrational, it’s stupid and there’s nothing he can do about it but try and get to you to quit.

“Captain Price told me to give this to you.” A Corporal says, clearly shaking in his boots, as he hands Ghost a file. “A-and he told me that he wants you in the briefing room.”

“Dismissed Corporal.” Ghost says and the man scurries off. Ghost looks at the file and opens it, the first thing he sees is that it’s a duo op. The second thing he sees is that you’re the one coming along. “Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters as he looks at your little picture papercliped to the top of the page next to his faceless one.

“He always does that.” You groan to Gaz as you watch Ghost turn on his heel and leave once you lock eyes with him. “Did I do something wrong?” You ask, “It's been months.”

Gaz shrugs, “Ghost is an enigma, when you start to think you know him you find something else about him. That man has secrets upon secrets.” You frown at that statement. Obviously he was hiding his face to protect his identity and of course that made you naturally curious but you’ve never pressed about it. He’s quiet and efficient if any of the stories told you by Gaz and Soap were anything to go by. And now he’s a secret keeper.

Who are you Ghost?

You sit at the table in the briefing room, bouncing your leg up and down under the table as Captain Price goes over what the mission objective is and what intel you and Ghost will be going in with. The mission is in Siberia, the objective is to get an old usb drive from a recently re-abandoned USSR base. You glance over at Ghost who hasn’t stopped looking at you this entire time, only dragging his eyes away from you when Captain Price addresses him specifically. His brown eyes seem to be trying to burn holes into your very soul so you try to match it. This would be your first duo op with Ghost and you would not be pushed around during it.

”The group that had been inhabiting the old soviet base are still lingering around and might return when they realize that they’ve left behind a very important piece of information.” Captain Price says and points to the projected map on the wall. “You’ll need to be fast and efficient. Is that clear?” His blue eyes scan over the two of you and both of you echo a ‘yes sir’ at the same time. “Good, get your gear and be ready, you’re wheels up in two hours.”

“Yes sir.” You say and leave the room after being properly dismissed. You look at the file in your hand, the information covered in the briefing summarized in the file with certain things blacked out. Like the fact this is in Siberia or that it’s an old soviet base that had been taken over by a terrorist group for a short while. You worry about that fact, if this base had been well and truly abandoned, why would the group set up there? Siberia wasn’t exactly a very hospitable environment and would take a certain amount of resources to deal with. Not just any kind of terrorist group would be able to afford those expenses.

“What’s got ye frownin’ so hard?” Soap asks and you jolt, not even aware that Soap had come up to you. He glances at the file and whistles, “Yer on a mission with L.T?”

”Somethin’ wrong with that? Something I should be worried about?” You ask, glancing behind Soap to make sure that specter wasn’t there.

“Nae, nothin’ ye should worry about besides the stick up his arse.” Soap jokes and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. Soap grins, “There’s that smile.” Soap pinches your cheek and you swat at his hand.

”What are you? My aunt?”

”Nae I’m worse.” Soap laughs as he goes to pinch your cheek again. You squeal and laugh as you take off towards the armory and Soap gives chase. You eventually make him leave, shoo-ing him off so you can change into your gear. The gear is heavy but familiar, a comforting kind of weight that you always mourn once an op is over. Tightening the strap of your vest until you felt like it was secure enough and doing the same thing with the gun holster on your thigh.

”You tighten it anymore and you’ll lose blood flow.” Ghost grunts and you stop yourself from startling a little. Ghost walks up to you and loosens the straps himself a little before your brain starts working again. You slap his hands away and glare up at him.

”I am perfectly capable of knowing when to stop tightening my straps.” You hiss. You had been in the SAS long enough to know your preferences and the fact that he is trying to baby you is insulting at best and downright disrespectful at worst. Ghost stares down at you, brown eyes dead but also filled with some kind of emotion you can’t place. He says nothing else, doesn’t even grunt, before he turns to get his gear on. You huff and finish preparing your items for the op.

You go over the file one last time while on the flight to Siberia, flipping through the different pages and you can’t fight off the gut feeling that something isn’t right. You bounce your leg as you look at the map of the base, for an old soviet base, it's small. Granted, you don’t know how big USSR bases in Siberia tended to be but this is just too small. You glance at Ghost and contemplate mentioning this to him but since the armory he hasn’t spoken a word to you. Let alone even look your way which would normally be a reprieve but right now you wish he would look, just so you’d feel less awkward starting a conversation. You remind yourself that he’s a Lieutenant, he knows more than a Sergeant such as yourself. You need to trust your commanding officer.

Ghost can feel the warmth from you, like you had leaked a part of yourself into his gloves and now he can’t get rid of it. He doesn’t understand why he had approached and went to fix your straps, really they are too tight for comfort, but when you had slapped his hands away it was like a shock had gone through him. Like his entire system had been rebooted from the simple touch, now he can’t even bear to look at you. He can feel the weight of your gaze on him though and that’s how he knows that he acted out of character. He clenches his fist so tight his knuckles are cramped when he opens it again, he wishes you would just say what you want to say.

He wishes you would yell at him so he would have something to tell Price about, to maybe get you booted off the team. He’s been a prick to you, moving your stuff in the rec room, eating your food and being condescending. What kind of drill sergeant you had, he didn’t know but they must’ve turned your will into steel. Or maybe you were always like that, you hadn’t given up on him when you got a glance at his life at home. You treated his bloody noses and busted lips, you convinced your parents to let him stay over as often as possible. You even went with him to get Tommy despite the shit Tommy and his shitty friends had put you through.

Ghost clenches his jaw, no matter what, this is better for you. He just needs to get you to quit or maybe transfer to some kind of safer job in the military if you’re so hell bent on staying. He still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you dropped out of university. He steals a glance and sees you looking at the file the same way you would look at study notes before a test.

You were right. Of course you were fucking right. Why do you have to be right? The base is much, much bigger than the intel said and worse is the fact that its not completely abandoned. “Get the fuck out of there!” Ghost yells over comms and you’re so close to just tearing the wiring in half so you don’t have to listen to him. You turn another corner, refilling the ammo in your pistol as the sound of pounding footsteps echo down the long concrete hallways of this underground base. You wait for the man to turn the corner and shoot him right between the eyes, the muzzle on your pistol only does so much and the sound bounces off the walls. ”I said to get out of there soldier!”

You snarl, “I’m getting this fucking USB drive, fuck off!” You say into comms as you run down the halls. Lights flicker above you and distantly you can hear soldiers yelling. Just a few more turns, you tell yourself as you slide into a wall, using your arms you push off it and keep going. Once out of this god forsaken underground, NOT abandoned, USSR base you’d die happy never seeing another concrete hall. You slam the door open to the server room stored deep in the base and lock it behind you, hoping that might spare you some time between you and soldiers surely running down the halls towards you.

”Don’t ignore me Sergeant!” His voice comes out warbled, likely because you’re so far underground. You clench your jaw so hard your teeth hurt as you fling open different desk drawers, toss everything onto the desk in search of the USB they sent you here for in the first place. After six desks, you realize there is no way there is a USB.

”Fucking CIA intel.” You grab an unused USB from a desk and jam it into the nearest computer. “Fucking lucky I took that damn class.” You mutter to yourself as you bypass the passwords and begin to download the information.

”Sergeant! I said get out of there, use your bloody ears!”

”I have to download everything myself!” You yell into the comms, “The intel was shite!” You slam your pistol into the PC you’re not currently using. “Fucking CIA.”

”I don’t care! I’m pulling us from this mission.”

”I’m getting this USB Lieutenant, you’re welcome to chew me out once I’m back on the surface.” You snap, “Going dark.”

”Don’t you da-“ You rip the wires out of your comms and throw the damn thing onto the floor.

Ghost yells into the comms again but only gets static back, he looks down at the base from the scope of his sniper. It looks abandoned, it looks small and easy to navigate but he heard what you said. He knows that its all a facade, that the terrorist group had found tunnels to another base nearby and have been smuggling weapons and food between those tunnels, hardly ever having to go outside at this base. Which is what led the intel team to believe its been abandoned and therefore an easy op. His heart is pounding against his chest and it hurts from how hard its beating against his chest, he keeps trying the comms. “Gator! Gator turn your comms back on!” He snarls into the mic but still nothing.

It’s then that it dawns on him that you didn’t just turn comms off, you ripped the wiring out. “God damn it.” He grunts as he gets off the ground, the snow disguising him falls to the ground as he hauls his sniper up and buries it under the snow between two trees. He pulls out his shitty cracked phone, that he frankly refuses to replace. He knows why and its not because he doesn’t like the newer versions. It’s because this one has those pictures of you, the version of you that hadn’t turned your back on civilian life yet. The version of you that makes him feel kind of sick for looking at now that he knows you now.

He opens up his map to the coordinates to the nearest safe house, and grabs his pistol before he puts his phone away. He sighs and makes his way down towards the base that must be crawling with enemy terrorists but no one gets left behind. And he’s not about to let you die down there, his grip on his pistol tightens for just a second before he forces his fist to relax. He saunters his way in, everyone is far too distracted with chasing you down to pay attention to the cameras. He slides down the ladder into the base and is immediately greeted with the muffled sound of an alarm. “Fucking hell.” He mutters as he readies his pistol and knife.

You grunt, push the metal cabinet against the door, pushing through the pain in your thigh to do so. By the time it’s in place, you collapse against the wall next to it, grunting at the pain that shoots up your thigh in quick bursts. You look at the bullet wound and can’t help the disgust that crawls up your face when you realize it's pumping blood out in the rhythm of your heart beat. It’s funny, you’ve been shot before but you never had the time to look at it. It makes sense that it would do that though. You lean your head back against the concrete wall and can’t help the sob that rips it way out of your throat. Not because you’re going to die, not entirely because of that. Because you’re going to die in a concrete box alone.

You smear your bloody hand against the wall, wiping it off as you fumble with your shirt, pull just enough fabric out and rip it. No, you think, you’re not going to die here. Anywhere but in fucking Siberia surrounded by enemies and in a damn concrete room underground. You wrap the torn fabric around your thigh, just above the wound and wrap it tightly. So tightly you can actually feel the blood flow being slowed and this time on purpose. You check the bullets in your pistol and laugh when you see only two. “And I’m fucking out.” You mumble just as you hear someone’s boots echo outside of the room. You rise on shaky legs and bite your tongue to keep from crying out from the pain but walk over to the corner. You raise the gun and point towards the metal cabinet that is rocking from the force of what must be either several people pushing or one big motherfucker.

You don’t pray, no sense in praying right now. Even if you did ask for forgiveness you wouldn’t get it, the blood on your hands is more than any person can justify, not even God because it is a rule. Thou shall not murder. You huff out a laugh at that, well you’ve certainly sinned. The metal cabinet comes crashing down and in bursts three men. Fuck. You fire your last two shots and take down the first two but when the third enemy hears the gun click, he laughs. It’s an ugly and horrible laugh, one that expresses his entire arrogance of you being in this situation. Wounded and without any ammo, your knife left behind in some fuckers neck a few corners ago. “You lose.” He taunts as he walks closer and your leg finally loses feeling, you slide down the wall as you stare at the man who is going to hopefully bring you death.

You’re reminded of that quote you read once, When I die, bury me in the woods, the wolves will be kinder to me than any man. And if you weren’t about to meet your end, you’d laugh at the fact you can’t even remember the woman who said it. You hope she got her wish. The man raises his pistol and presses it to your temple. You hear a bang echo in the room and expect for it all to be over but you grunt when the man lands on you. “What the fuck?” You mutter as you struggle to push the weight of a dead man off of you. He’s pulled off of you and you look up at the bloody skull face plate, “Aren’t you just a life saver?” You quip before you throw up.

Ghost huffs when you pass out after throwing up and narrowly avoiding his boots. He hauls you up and over his shoulder, tucking your pistol into your thigh holster. Trying to get you up the ladder was hell, he was constantly afraid that his grip would loosen and you’d fall to your death. The walk to the safe house is about half way done when he feels your stirring. He grips you tighter just in case you try to flail around and attempt to land yourself in the snow.

When you come to, you realize that you’re over someone’s shoulder. Just as you’re about to flail around, the memory of Ghost standing over you. “Awake now?” Ghost asks, his voice rough as always and that reminds you of someone you used to know. You give your reply in the form of a groan which is all that seems to want to leave your mouth. “We’re about an hour away from a safe house.”

”And I wasn’t told?” You snap, anger pushing past the way you feel like you’re going to throw up if you speak again.

”Need to know.”

”Well I might’ve needed to know!” You flail your arms around harmlessly before you collapse back to being a rag doll on his back. He doesn’t respond and when you think he’s about to return to his normal grumpy silence, he breaks it.

”What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snaps and you jolt awake from the half sleep you had unknowingly slipped into. “Ripping your comm wires out and going dark. What the fuck Sergeant?”

”I wasn’t able to focus with you screaming at me to abandon the mission.” You immediately jump to defend, “I got the damn USB drive with the intel they need, I completed the mission.” You don’t even realize that he’s reached the safe house until he nearly kicks the door in because the doorknob is frozen. He practically tosses you onto the couch before slamming the door shut. “I completed the objective.” You nearly snarl out.

”You failed to follow simple orders to retreat.” He slams his pistol and knife down on the table, “You nearly died.”

”Yeah, well it didn’t seem like you’d care all that fucking much if I did! If I hadn’t gotten the USB,” You pull the damn thing from your front vest pouch and throw it onto the table. “then the entire thing would have been a waste!”

”I don’t care about the USB, if you’re in danger like that you follow my damn orders! I can’t lose you!” Ghost grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you just a little. You look at him, feeling confusion creep up before it is swallowed down by anger.

”What?”

”Forget about it.”

”No. You’ve been treating me like a damn nuisance the minute I joined the task force and now you suddenly care? Why now huh? Why now? Because you sure didn’t act like I mattered very much.”

”I said forget about it.” He snarls but you go to stand on shaking legs

”No fuck that! Fuck you Ghost! What changed?” You keep hounding him until he slams his fist down the table and rips off his mask.

Rage boils up in you so quickly, so quickly you aren’t able to express it all just through yelling. It burns you up, sets you on fire and throws lighter fluid into that inferno any time you think it's about to burn a little less. It’s all consuming anger mixed with all those years of grief that you never properly addressed, just slapped a bandaid on called military life and carried on. Hot tears run down your face as you scream and rage at him. You even throw something at him, though he ducks out of the way easily. “You fucking bastard! You bastard! Fuck you Simon Riley!” You scream as you cry, head pounding from something. The pain in your thigh? The rage in your temple? Or how hard you’re crying? Probably a mixture of all three. “You’re dead! I buried you! I went to your funeral Riley!” You throw something else at him, probably an MRE.

He says your name gently, like he’s trying to soothe an animal but you’re frankly ready to sink your teeth into his skin if he tries to approach. “You didn’t even have the courage to write? Not even a little postcard? Something! Anything! To let me know you’re not dead? You’re lucky I’m not able to walk.” You spit.

”Would you listen-“ Simon tries to say but you immediately cut him off. Hearing his voice makes whatever walls you have built up over these five years crumble so easily. You can’t let him speak or else you’ll fall into his arms and just cry. And you need to be angry because you deserve to be angry.

”No! You listen to me Simon Riley!” You ball your hands into fists, “Why? Why did you treat me like shit? Why did you undermine me at every turn? It’s bad enough that you let me believe that you were dead! Wasn’t that enough for you? But of course it wasn’t, you had to make my life hell because you met me again!”

”Shut up!” Simon finally snaps, his brown eyes swirling with fury and guilt. “I had my reasons and if you would just-”

”Well what were they then? Huh? I’m all fucking ears.”

”You keep interrupting me. If you didn’t-“

”You had months to come clean Simon! Years if you count the time before I met you again and after all that time you couldn’t just be a man and tell me? Couldn’t even send me a hint that you were alive?” You slam your fist into the wall, you ignore the pain that shoots right up your arm into your shoulder. You glare at him through your tears and wipe at them frantically. “You didn’t even try.”

”I did it to protect you! And if you’d just let me speak I’d tell you all the reasons I had to not tell you or even let you think I was alive!” Simon finally manages to say, he goes to speak again and you hold up your hand.

”Don’t talk to me Simon Riley.” You say as you wipe away any tears from your cheeks that hadn’t rolled all the way down. Your eyes burn and your stomach hurts from just how much you’re feeling right now. Deep down, past the anger you feel relief because he’s alive. Your Simon is alive and maybe more rough around the edges with a scar bisecting his lip, a nasty scar along his cheek and nose broken and not properly set several times. You’re also sure his eye bags have increased tenfold since you last saw him but his eye black keeps that little fact hidden from you. His teeth are chipped and broken but his brown eyes still hold that same depth. You can tell he still smiles the same and he’s still that overprotective boy who had scared off your date that one time just by opening the door.

That’s still your Simon Riley. But damn him to the deepest hell and back for making your heart hurt so badly. “Fine.” He grits out before he marches to what you assume is the safe house bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

There is something wrong with me. That is Simon’s first thought when he looks at himself in the mirror that must be old because his reflection is warped. There is something wrong with me and it's not the scars or the way my joints ache when I stand or sit down. There is something wrong with me and it makes my blood run black. Simon wonders if he had been born wrong. He suspects he’s always been this way, he was his father’s son after all, doomed to be awful to all of those he knows. To use them and drain them dry until they cut him off or he tosses them away. He doesn’t want you to be part of that cycle, to be a part of the cycle that always results in those close to him dying.

He already lost his family, he couldn’t lose you too so he cut you out completely. It was better if you thought he was dead. You were better off thinking he was dead in the ground even if it hurt you, even if it hurt him. And fuck did it hurt that first year, every time something happened he wanted to call you or text you. Tell you all about it late at night in a part of base where no one would care if he was awake if they even dared to approach him at all. Simon wanted to return to you more then anything but Ghost hadn’t dug himself out of that grave and lost his entire family as consequence for not fucking dying just for you to meet that same fate. No, you’d be his only in memory. Maybe one day he’d stalk your social media and find that you’ve moved on. Hopefully out of that fucking city, working a good paying job with a man who deserved you.

And it didn’t matter how much that thought made his supposedly ice heart hurt. It didn’t matter because he was dead and there was nothing he could give you besides this rotting body and whatever love he could scrape together for you.

Simon looks at himself in the mirror, completely maskless and bare for what felt like the first time in years. It felt like his skin had been pulled away to show the maggots, rotting tendons and muscle underneath. Every tear that had left your beautiful eyes had felt like acid on his skin, every word thrown his way a well placed knife throw. He knew he deserved all that malice and if you didn't want to talk to him, then he wouldn’t talk to you. No matter how much he wants to.

The next two days go by slowly, it reminds you of the time you had to go through a bog. Slow movements and time seemed to slow to a fucking crawl as you traversed the bog to go around an enemy encampment so you could get the jump on them from behind. It didn’t matter that your clothes had been soaked through or that you could feel the cold of the water seeping into your bones. You kept going. So the same logic was applied here. Your bullet wound in your thigh eventually got treated properly, in silence of course. Simon had given you the first aid kit and you did your best with what you had. Digging out the bullet had to be one of the most painful experiences you’ve ever had.

Simon had wanted to step in and do it himself but he knew you’d sooner accept an infection then let him any closer then needed. By the end of the hour and several deep, guttural screams cut off only by the belt between your teeth, you had managed to pull the bullet out. You were quick to stitch the hole closed and to wrap it in bandages. When that was over, you only had enough strength to crawl onto the shitty couch and pass out.

The first day not talking to him was filled with tension. It was so thick you could cut it with your knife, if you had it that is. It’s still stuck in that asshole’s neck which sucks because it was a good neck. You were hesitant to put any pressure on your wound, terrified of ripping your frankly shit stitches and increasing the chances of you getting an infection. You spent the entire day cleaning and taking apart your gun with occasional glares sent to Simon if he tried to enter the same room as you and stay for more than a few minutes.

He understood your anger, he did, but he couldn’t stand it at the same time. He wants to sit right next to and soak in your presence in a way he hadn’t allowed himself before this. He hadn’t bothered to put his mask back on and when he had stepped out of the bathroom without it the first time you had jerked like someone had pinched you. You could still tell he had blonde hair from his eyebrows but seeing his blonde hair in a buzz cut had felt like an electric shock. That was still your Simon even all these years later and that made you angrier. How could he? How dare he? After all these years, he looked the same despite the scars on his face but you? Do you still look the same despite the weariness in your eyes and being grief eaten.

The only word he spoke to you was, “There’s a blizzard coming in tomorrow.” You had only given a grunt in acknowledgement which he had to admit, stung. How many times had he responded to you like that while trying to get you to quit and transfer somewhere else? Far too many times, he ran a gloved hand through his prickly hair as he shook his head. God he had been so fucking stupid and stubborn. As it turns out, the blizzard couldn’t wait until tomorrow or maybe it was the next day. The wind shook the entire safe house, the walls creaked and groaned from the force of it. The windows were covered by snow or maybe it was a white out, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t even want to lift your head to check. You were fucking freezing despite your thermals and the blanket. Your teeth chattered as you pulled the blanket even closer and closed your eyes. Your cheeks were numb and you could barely feel your nose, your fingers actually hurt from how cold they were.

You blew more warm breath into your cupped hands, your entire body shivered as another burst of wind caused the house to groan from the weight of it. You glanced around the living room/kitchen area, the fireplace was boarded up but it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t, you had no wood. The only thing of light was a battery powered lamp that you had been surprised still worked. You knew where Simon was, in the only other room besides the bathroom, the bedroom. Getting up those stairs would have been impossible for you the first two days here with your injury. Hell, you even doubted if you had enough strength to do it now even with the protein and nutrient packed MRE’s given to you for rations. But you suspected if you didn’t seek out another form of warmth and soon, you’d end up a popsicle. And frankly? That sounded like a bad way to go.

You shakily got to your feet, where it was from being nervous about putting weight on your injured leg or if you were cold, you couldn’t be sure. But you wobble up the stairs, gripping the rail for life the entire way and nearly falling when you finally manage to get the doorknob to turn. Simon catches you, he opens his mouth to chastise you before he realizes the state you’re in. He mutters your name, brown eyes filled with worry as you shrug, too tired and frozen to verbally shrug. He shakes his head and brings you to the mattress in the corner, he quickly runs downstairs and grabs your blanket before returning upstairs. You grumble, which honestly was just noises from the back of your throat as he settles next to you, pulling both blankets over the two of you. After a few minutes and warming up a little you mumble, “This doesn’t change that I’m upset with you.”

”I would never expect it to.” He whispers back as he wraps an arm around you. It shouldn’t be as easy as it is, like two pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together. You seep warmth from him like a leech while he holds you close and steady enough that you don’t shiver or shake. He stays awake the entire time, long after you’ve fallen asleep on your pack-made-pillow. Simon looks at you and drinks you in properly this time. Despite the blizzard outside still raging on and the cold temperatures making your skin lose a little color, you’re still as stunning as the day he confessed his love to you. He can still recall that day, sitting at a bench a little ways away from the reception party. The cool October breeze blowing through and the way you looked so relaxed. So content with the moment and with him. He kissed you that night, he kissed you like a starving animal. Like he might never get to kiss you again and that he needed to take what he could now.

“I love you Simon Riley. I have since we were 15. Don’t leave me again Simon, not if you can help it.” He was fucking idiot not to say it back, he didn’t even think to do so because his heart had been stabbed the moment you pleaded with him not to leave because he was leaving again. He was leaving you, the best thing in his entire life. Then he came back fucked but he did his best to get better. He didn’t want to touch you, he was terrified he would hurt you. Force himself on you, every night he dreamed that he was hurting you and that he enjoyed it. The therapy helped a little, you and his family helped a lot. Having something to return to helped so much. Then it all came burning down and damn it, he wasn’t going to let you die. So he killed the men then he returned to Mexico and killed Roba and his entire cartel. Then he never returned home, he never let you even think that he was alive. He glances down at you, sleeping in his arms

Sometimes, if he looks at you even now, he can recall the day the two of you met.

It was so cold and the rain didn’t make anything better. He trembles in his too-big shirt and pants which are rolled up to stop him from tripping again. He sniffles and wipes at his face, if he wipes away tears or the rain he doesn’t know. Other kids pass by him quickly with their umbrellas, rain coats and boots, protected by the things their mum’s and dad’s buy for them. His dad had sold his and Tommy’s umbrella’s and coats to afford more alcohol and drugs. Being the good big brother that Simon told himself he was, he let Tommy take their mum’s coat instead of him. He didn’t regret that, he could never regret making Tommy’s life a little better.

He isn’t expecting you to walk up to him with an umbrella with yellow ducks on it. He recognizes you almost instantly, you go to his class. You ask him, “What are you doing without an umbrella?” with your head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.

He mumbled out, eyes averted to the ground and soggy strawberry hair sticking to his forehead, “I don’t have one.” You asked if his mum didn’t buy him one. She did, she always did her best to provide for him and Tommy but his dad always ruined it. You don’t wait for him to respond, you don’t push for further answers or make fun of him for not having an umbrella or raincoat.

Instead, you smile at him and hold the umbrella with yellow ducks on it over his head after pulling the hood of your coat over your head. “Well it doesn’t matter now, I’m here and we can share.” You give him your name and he gives you his with the tiniest smile on his face. You held the umbrella over his head the entire way there then you walked him home because it was still raining. You called him a friend.

When you wake up, he lets you sit in silence. The blizzard had mostly passed through during the night, the worst of it was over but the safe house outside of the blankets was freezing cold. Simon knew he wasn’t exactly in a rush to leave the warmth and comfort of this moment. The silence hangs between the two of you and at some point, you begin to play with fingers in the way you used to when growing up. It takes a better part of an hour for him to work up the courage and it really feels like he is going to throw up when he whispers, “Do you still love me?” It’s quiet that if you didn’t know his voice that you’d think it was the wind still blowing.

He swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the killing blow. For you tell him that you don’t love him anymore, especially after these five years and the shit he pulled. But it doesn’t come, instead he hears your shuffling and feels your slightly cold hands cup his stubble covered cheeks. He peaks his eyes open and nearly melts at the sight before him. You, nearly in tears as you look at him so fondly like you did that October day. “Of course I still love you Simon Riley.” He can’t stop himself from closing the gap between the two of you as tears spill from both of your eyes and kiss you.

You’re taken by surprise when he kisses you, it's gentle and some tears slip between your connected lips. You don’t even realize that either you or him has started to cry but you return his kiss, trying to keep him this close for as long as you can without breathing. His hands tug you closer, if he could tear open his ribs and stuff you in there instead of his heart and lungs, he would. When you finally pull away, tears still running down your cheeks, you look at him. Tears run down his cheeks too and wet the fabric of his shirt now that they’re not being caught between your lips and spread between your cheeks and his. “Say it again.” He croaks and you repeat it.

”I love you Simon Riley.” You kiss his cheeks, “I love you.” You kiss his forehead, “And I’ll keep loving you for eternity.” Simon melts with each kiss you give him and sighs when you kiss his lips again. His large hands find your waist and tug you closer, his thick thigh parting yours as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. You happily part your lips for him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue explores your mouth and a needy moan leaves you. Your heart aches still and tears keep slipping down your face because he’s here. Simon Riley is alive and has been for years. The relief is almost enough to make you forgive him on the spot.

Maybe you are forgiving him in a way, not fully. God knows that it will take a lot more than just this to make you forgive him but it's a start. And it’s a start you desperately need, your fingers dig into him further which pulls a groan from him. Immediately you loosen your grip on him, fearing that you’ve hurt him until he pulls away completely breathless and with pupils so wide there’s hardly any brown left, “Don’t stop doing that.” He leans in and whispers against the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up on your skin as you dig your fingers back into him right as his mouth connects with yours again.

He rests a hand on the back of your neck to keep you close and connected to him. You feel like a teenager again when he slips one of his thick thighs between your own and you grind down on it nearly out of pure instinct. The pressure of your pants seam pressing against your clit makes your legs weak and a liquid warmth to pool. You do it again and you moan into the kiss, his other hand which he had used to cup your cheek immediately went to your hip and grabbed it. He doesn’t try to stop you, instead he encourages you to grind against his thigh. He mutters something against your lips and it comes out muffled but it sounds like, “Take what you need love.” And you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You grind against him, a little harder this time which causes your entire body to jolt as the electric pleasure shoots up your spine. His hand on the back of your neck tangles itself into your hair and he pulls away only barely so he can catch his breath. You’re left breathless and panting as you grind against his thigh, he rests his forehead against yours and his eyes focus on you using his thigh. “Fuck.” He mutters as his hand on your hip moves up and cups your chest. “I’m sorry.” He whispers and you furrow your brows, your pace faltering at his words.

”Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, I’m sorry fo’ bein’ such a twat.” He says and pushes his thigh back against you. Your head tips back as a moan leaves your throat and you resume your previous pace. He gropes and paws at your chest, trying to pinch and twist at your hardened nipples from over the fabric of your shirts. “Love, please let me- let me push your shirt up.” He begs and you immediately give your consent. He doesn’t waste another second and pushes your shirt up as far as it would go then he grumbles something to himself before he pulls it over your head and discards it nearby.

He dips his head down and immediately takes a nipple into his mouth while his hand squeezes the other breast. He sucks on it, laving his tongue over it like a dog and letting his teeth graze it slightly when he figures out it makes your hips jolt. You tighten your grip on his shoulders as your thighs tense up and you desperately keep rocking your hips against his thigh. “Si-Simon I’m cl-“ You’re cut off by your own moan when he switches nipples and when he looks up at you between blonde lashes your orgasm washes over you. Your hips stutter and your entire body jolts once or twice as you soak your underwear. Simon swears at the sight of your mouth falling open and your head tipping back to expose your entire neck.

His fingers are nimble as he unbuttons your pants, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of both the pants and your underwear then yanks them down. “Let me? Please let me make you feel good.” He begs and you nod, mind still trying to piece itself back together after the first orgasm. He shuffles under the covers and it’s kind of funny to see the bottom half of his body sticking out but the sight of it is pulled away from you as he yanks you further down the mattress.

”Simon-“ You yelp before it’s cut away into a moan. There’s no preamble or teasing, likely because he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t have his mouth on your cunt now, before he buries his face in it. You grab at the blankets, your mouth falling open as you moan when his tongue flicks your engorged clit. He can’t seem to decide if he wants to focus on your clit or your pulsing hole, dipping his tongue down to slurp up your juices before returning to your clit. He’s desperate, his hands are gripping your thighs like you might try and pull away despite your moans and pleads for more filling the safe house.

He eases one thick finger into you as he sucks on your clit and you see stars in your vision. “Like that- oh my god- like that please don’t stop.” You whimper as your fingers card through his hair. You moan and start to squirm a little as he begins to pump his thick digit in and out of you. He seems to be searching for something, trying different things and sticking to the one that makes you keen the loudest. He crooks his finger just right and your thighs tense up around his head as a moan tears through your throat.

Like the sniper that he is, he focuses on that spot within your increasingly soaked cunt as he tortures your clit with his mouth. The slurping sounds have your cheeks heating up and you squirm as he pushes a second finger into you with no resistance. He rubs against that soft spot inside you that causes your body to relax further and pins down your hips when you try to squirm away from his tongue.

“Simon- nngh- that feels so-“ You can barely string together a sentence as he seems intent on rendering you boneless and incapable of speech as he abuses your g-spot. You feel a tightness growing within your abdomen, like something is winding up before it lets go. It barely registers in your brain that you’re on the verge of cumming. Simon must feel it too, with the way your pussy clamps down around his fingers, because he redoubles his efforts. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as your pussy pulses without a rhythm and you’re thrown over the edge. The muscles in your thighs clench involuntarily as the pleasure runs through you. He keeps rubbing at that spot through your orgasm, his fingers soaked in your slick as you twitch a little from the aftershocks.

You try to move upwards when he eases a third finger into you but he holds you down. “It’s too much.” You choke out as he crawls up your body, leaving a trail of sticky wet kisses. “Si please.” You hiccup as he begins to work you open with those three fingers.

”Got to work you open love.” He mutters reassuringly before capturing your lips in a kiss. He swallows down your moans like the greedy man he is, keeping all of these sounds for himself. He doesn’t care if the two of you are the only people around for miles upon miles, he doesn’t even want the walls to know your sounds in case they ever learn to talk. You whine at his words and a hand grabs his bicep as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. The stretch of three of his fingers is delicious, just that slight sting that ebbs away the more he finger fucks you.

It feels like he rips the next orgasm out of you, your entire body tenses as it slams into you. You feel yourself gush on his thick fingers and he keeps going, keeps fucking you through it until your pushing at his arm and pleading for a moment of reprieve. It’s only until tears gather in your eyes that he finally stops. Simon peppers your face in kisses while he whispers that he’s sorry. He promises that he’ll do right by you this time, no more running away or disappearing. He swears it as you unbuckle his pants and pulls them down. There’s a noticeable wet patch on his boxers but you don’t comment on it, just pull those down as well. Your mouth waters and your eyes widen when you see his cock.

It's thick, uncut and long. The tip is red from neglect and drips pre-cum like a leaky faucet. His cock is heavy that it hangs low and his brown eyes are filled with lust as he watches you reach down and wrap your hand around his length. “That’s not going to fit.” You finally whisper out, meeting his eyes which crinkle from the cocky smile on his face.

He leans down, body draping over yours. You can feel his body heat rolling off him in waves as he takes his cock from your hands and lines up the bulbous tip with your cunt. He strokes it a few times with his slick coated fingers as he looks you in the eyes before whispering, “I’ll make it fit.” When he pushes it, he does it slowly. You can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein of his cock against your walls. Despite having stretched you with three of his fingers before hand and making you cum twice the sting remains. It’s a sweet burn, a delicious heat that licks from your hips up to the back of your skull. It grounds you to the moment as his fingers dig into you as his hips meet yours, bottoming out in you he lets out a low moan. His eyes flicker down to where the two of you meet and he licks his lips at the sight.

He pulls back just a little and the squelch that comes from your cunt when he pushes back in makes your face hot. He leans down and grabs your uninjured thigh. He hooks his arm around it and forces it up as he cages your body between his arms. You grab onto his shoulder and bicep, your eyes can’t seem to leave his as he thrusts in and out of you. The pace isn’t fast but his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin fills the room and mixes with each noise pulled from you. Simon swallows the lump in his throat as he supports himself on one arm and cups your cheek, his thumb swiping something away. You sniffle and reach your hands up to his face, you try to drink his face. The same face you thought you would never see as tears roll down your cheeks and his cock fills you past the point of full.

“I love you.” You say between hiccups and moans. You watch as his eyes water and he buries his face within the crook of your neck. He mouths at the sweaty skin there and whispers that he loves you back. That he loves you so much it hurts and that he’s sorry. He repeats it over and over again with each roll of his hips and that feeling within your stomach grows again quickly. With each snap of his hips you feel yourself getting closer and more tears leak from your eyes. You cum again with his name on your lips and feel his hips stutter and loose pace. He grinds up against you, nudging your cervix in a way that causes a slight pinch within your lower abdomen that makes you clench down harder on him.

You feel him cum, you hear his groan right next to your ear as his hips come to a complete stop and pressed against the meat of your thighs. His sticky warm cum fills you, the feeling is odd. Foreign but not entirely unwelcome as he stays in that position after letting your thigh rest back down onto the mattress. You twist your head to the side and give him a quick kiss, “Say it again?” He whispers.

”I love you.”

Simon lets out a shaky sigh, the relief he feels is palpable, “I love you too.”

It’s not all that surprising that he can’t keep his hands off you and you’re not innocent either. After seemingly fucking all of your anger towards him out, the two of you cling to each other. He rocks his hips into your again, every movement lighting up your nerves in a way that seems never ending. Like this pleasure will swallow you whole but you don’t mind, it hides the twinges of pain from your thigh from being pressed so close to your chest. You kiss all of his face, soft moans from both of you mixing together into a melody.

”How long until someone is able to get us?” You ask later while you lay on his chest and trail your fingers up and down his abdomen. You’re exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open and the heat between the two of you is slowly lulling you further into sleep.

”The radio said they’ll be here tomorrow.” Simon replies and you mindlessly hum.

”What will happen when we leave?” You ask, “When all of this is over.”

”We’ll figure it out.” he murmurs and kisses you. “Rest up love.” You’re not surprised, actually delighted, when he wakes you up with kisses on your neck. He trails down from your jaw, nipping occasionally at the soft flesh which earns a wanton moan from you.

”Happened to resting?” You tease and he chuckles against you.

”Oops.” He says and it would be convincing if you couldn’t feel his smile. Simon’s hands trail down your naked body and he pushes two fingers back into your sopping wet cunt. You gasp and arch your back, eyes fluttering closed as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “You’re so wet.” He groans, like he still can’t believe that you still want him. “Never going to let you go again.” He promises as he begins to abuse that soft part inside you.

Simon kisses your nose and you chuckle. “Excited?” You ask and he nods. It’s been two years since that mission when everything changed again. Two years since you found out Simon Riley never died, that he had refused to die once again. It had taken a little while to figure out what the both of you wanted, therapy helped a lot. It helped you realize that the military lifestyle, despite it being the thing you had only known for the past five years, wasn’t truly for you. Of course you had known that you had only joined in Simon’s memory but therapy helped you let go of it.

God bless John Price, bless him for being utterly professional despite two of his soldiers fucking which has to be the most unprofessional thing to do in the military. He looked at you with that smile that made his eyes crinkle when you placed the discharge paperwork on his desk that day 8 months ago. “Finally figured out what you want then?” He asked as he immediately signed off on it, not even bothering to read through it.

”Yeah, I have, Captain.” You said with a fond smile, you’d miss this. You’d miss him, Gaz and Soap but it wasn’t like they couldn’t come and see you when on leave. You’d only be an hour away in a nearby city anyways. You glance at the two keys in your hand, one for you and one for Simon. You place the second one into his palm. “Let’s go see our home then.” You pick up the cat carrier and Mittens meows in protest. You coo your reassurances to her, promising that it’s almost over. The three of you climb the steps up the porch of the townhouse you now own and Simon unlocks the door.

You glance around the currently empty space then glance behind you to the moving truck parked out on the side of the street. “I think it might take us a day to get everything in here.” You say when you turn to look at Simon

”I’d say two.” Simon says as he takes the cat carrier from your hands and sets it down next to the stairs. You quirk an eyebrow up and part your lips in an ‘o’ shape when you realize what’s on his mind.

”Really Riley?” You ask as you loop your arms around his neck and he chuckles as your expression.

”I’ve always wanted to bend you over a countertop.” He purrs as he tugs his mask down and plants a kiss on your neck which sends shivers down your spine.

”Is that so?” You ask as he backs you up against it after closing the front door. He hoists you up on top of it with a ‘mhm’ before he captures your lips in a kiss and his hands settle on your hips.

You grasp at the edge of the counter, moans being punched out of you with each thrust of his hips. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the house and mixes with his groans. Simon’s fingers dig a little harder into your hips, enjoying the sight of how your fat squishes up between his fingers. “You’re so fuckin’ stunning.” And all you can respond with is a moan as his fat cock abuses the tip of your cervix. “I’m gonna retire.” He babbles and his words hardly register in your mind as you begin to clench down on him as a sign you’re on the precipice of an orgasm. He loops a hand around and rubs mean circles around your clit which sends you falling off the edge.

He swears as your cunt clenches down on him like a vice and he spills himself in you all while he keeps rubbing at your clit. You lay there panting, trying to gather your senses as you blink away the tears of overstimulation once his hand falls away. You gasp and gulp down the air, “Simon?”

”Fuck I said that out loud didn’t I?”

You can’t help but giggle and shake your head. “You mean it?”

”Yeah, I mean it. I’m gonna look into retiring, I can’t be a soldier forever.” He rests his sweaty forehead against your back as he speaks.

”I love you so much Simon Riley.”

His hand reaches out and loops through yours, the matching rings on your fingers glinting in the light. “I love you too.”

[cramathonn]

Hello! I see your rules and saw Seth on your list. I just got him recently and I wanted to ask if I can request something (a drabble or a oneshot, it's up to you) of our boyo. But let me give some idea worms first.

So, i heard somewhere that Seth is a Lynx thiren (unless I'm wrong, but looking at his thiren features, seems like his counterpart is from the Felidae family), and I researched that Lynxes can purr. So... imagine when reader (gender neutral) was petting Seth (or just give him some fluffy loving) he ended up purring because he's getting very comfortable

Sorry if it's kinda long! You can skip this if you want. It's my first time making a request 😅

This is adorable, anon

And don't worry, it wasn't that long! Throughout my writing history, I've gotten requests that are SO MUCH longer (and the context and worms are much appreciated). Also, I went to check his thiren subspecies and he's just a cat, not a lynx. Lynxes, while being felines, have considerably shorter tails when compared to other members of the Felidae family! Aka, bob cat short. So yeah, I referred to him as cat thiren in this little drabble, I hope you don't mind!

Hopefully you enjoy the sillies!

Warnings: none! Only fluff

Reader: gender neutral (no pronouns used)

Seth Lowell x GN!Reader

Purring

You and Seth were finally alone, relaxing inside the comfort of your shared apartment at Lumina Square. It was an exhausting day for the both of you, with either jobs sucking more energy out of you than usual.

While Seth insisted that you two asked for some food before ultimately sitting down to relax, you convinced him to do so later by bringing his head to your lap and starting to comb through his hair with your fingers. That immediately disarmed your beloved boyfriend and made his face flush red like a tomato. It didn't take long for his body to relax, the tip of his tail starting to slowly wag in contentment.

These small moments were the ones you adored most with him. Yes, you loved your walks alongside the riverbank, going out to run at the park or eat relax at the coffee shop, but this was perfect. Just the two of you, with you sitting on the couch while he had his head upon your lap, basking in each other's presence.

However, something was different this time. A noise, low and rumbly, echoing through your living room. You swore you didn't have any laundy today and you always checked all of your electrical equipment before having a chill couch session, so where was this coming from? You pay more attention to the sound, trying to pinpoint its origing. It was... Coming from beneath you? You looked down, now staring at the top of your boyfriend's head. His ears twitched every so often, leaning a bit backwards as a way to indicate how relaxed he was.

Wait, wasn't Seth a thiren? Specifically a cat one? The name of the noise coming from him was at the tip of your tongue and when you remembered it, the soft smile previously on your face widened slightly. He was purring. Seth, your uptight and slightly reserved boyfriend, was purring. The realization that he felt so at ease, so safe and comfortable in your presence to let his guard down enough to purr made your heart swell with contentment. You changed the way tou caressed the top of his head, which made him turn his head to the side so that he could look at you better, a curious look on his face.

"Everything alright? You changed how you were caressing my head... Not that I mind!"

He asked, voice much more relaxed than usual. It obviously still had that slightly loud factor that made his voice, well, his, but it was obvious to anyone who heard it that this man was calm and comfortable. You laughed at his inquiry, tangling your fingers in his silky white strands, combing through them.

"Oh, it's nothing, Seth. It's just that..."

You pondered for a second. Should you tell him? You worried that if you did he would go back to gaurding himself and stop allowing himself to purr around you, and you didn't want that! You wanted for him to feel free to relax and let his guard down, to allow himself to unwind and confide in you. However, knowing your lovely boyfriend, he'd think you were troubled with something, instead of just being deeply infatuated with his adorable noises. So you decided to simply say it.

"Well, you were purring"

You said, voice soft and filled with undeniable affection for Seth. His ears stood and tail flinched, immediately stopping its suave content swaying.

"O-oh, uhm, I'm sorry about that! It wasn't really meant to come out, it just kind of happens when I'm really relaxed... I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, I pro-"

There it was. Your sweet overthinker of a boyfriend thinking there would be a problem and that you would, most likely, think less of him for just relaxing and emitting natural noises. You made sure to cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Seth, hey, it's ok. I don't mind the purring. I think it's cute! It shows me that you're comfortable enough around me to let your guard down and just... Relax, y'know?"

You said in an attempt to make Seth see your point of view. That apparently worked, seeing how his cheeks were now slightly pink and how his tail started to wag its tip once more. The thiren buried his face in your thighs, trying to hide how embarrassed your comment made him. But it also made him feel extremely giddy. You found his purring was cute? And, instead of ridiculing him for something that was natural, you were glad and happy that it meat he was comfortable around you? Heavens, what did he do to score someone as fantastic as you?

"I love you, Seth"

You said, continuing to caress his head and comb through his hair. At that, Seth turned his whole body to the side, hugging you as he shoved his face in your stomach, nuzzling your shirt.

"I love you too, (y/n)"

He answered, muffled by the fabric of your shirt. Seth's voice was soft as he allowed himself to relax once more, his purring returning and you could now feel its rumbling against you. The two of you remained there, you caressing his hair and him cuddling against your stomach. Yeah, you wouldn't trade this for anything in the world.

Written by Cramathonn, 29/09/2024

Concluded at 2:50pm

[toyboxterror]

Natsuki Dating an Assassin Reader Headcanons

Pairing: Natsuki Seba/Reader (Romantic)

Contains: Gender neutral reader, no pronouns used, jealous Natsuki (but not towards the reader).

Author's Note: This is for the requester who asked for a jealous Natsuki with an assassin reader. I wrote it in bullet list form instead because I'm lacking the motivation to write anymore. I'm sorry, I hope I got his character right and you're still able to enjoy it. Thank you @jasminerva for helping me out again, this fic wouldn't be finished without her!

Even before you guys started dating, it's hard for the both of you to meet up and spend time together because you are in a different department.

However, you won't let it stop you. You always look for him whenever you have free time in your hands. Sometimes, you'll even skip your classes just to see the man you adore working on his weapons in his lab.

Natsuki often would tell you to go away, saying that you got your own work to do instead of slacking off in here with him. He did it because he didn't want you to fail your classes and trouble you, but he didn't tell you his reasonings directly. Because you're a stubborn person, you insisted on staying and promised him that you wouldn't get in the way of his work.

Your feelings slowly grew from there on, and so did his. You both started dating at some point. If you confessed first, he wouldn't respond for the first 20 minutes. Not because he didn't like you back, but because he had a hard time believing you.

Although Natsuki's greatest talent is making weapons, he would learn to make and fix non-lethal gadgets and equipment that can help you with your daily tasks. For example, he gifted you a machine that can make and cook your instant noodles in under a minute. Pretty handy when you're working on an essay and want a quick meal in the middle of the night!

He will remember it if you casually mention or rant about something that bothered you. Even if you don't ask him directly, he will work hard on upgrading your weapons or think of new equipment that could solve your problems if he's able to. However, he will act nonchalant, as if he didn't spend all nighter by pretending that the idea just popped into his head randomly when he hands them over to you. (The bags under his eyes clearly says otherwise)

He'll even grab some old weapons that Mafuyu didn't use anymore, adjust them to suit your ability and size before giving them to you.

Despite his laidback attitude, he enjoys teasing you and being playful to see your cute reactions. He loves seeing you riled up because of him.

“And this cloth–” Natsuki started explaining as he pulled out a red fabric with clock patterns on it, because he promised you to give you a tour of his lab. “If it covers something underneath it, it could manipulate its time to backwards.”[1]

“Whoa!” You looked at him in awe and your hand carefully touched the fabric. “Is that really true?”

“No.”

“...”

You stare at him with your brows furrowed, looking unamused at his little joke. Natsuki's lips twitched a little, he's fighting back a playful smirk from forming on his face to kept his stoic expression.

“What? You actually believed something like that exists?”

No one knew that you had a boyfriend, and no one bothered to ask. Natsuki spend most of his time in his little corner in the lab, he even took naps there. People barely see you two together outside of it. But when they do, they assumed you two are just very good friends.

“I got your letter… You said you wanted to meet me on the rooftop. What is it that you wanted to say?” You asked your nervous classmate, ignoring your other classmates who were obviously hiding and eavesdropping to your conversation.

“Yes, I…” Your classmate took a deep breath before they looked at you with more determination. “[y/n], we always talk and help each other whenever we're in the same classes. I always admired you from the moment I laid my eyes on you, and that admiration grew into… Love. I'm in love with you, [y/n]. Will you go out with me?”

You blinked at them, and gave them a smile out of pity. “You have been a wonderful friend to me. But I'm sorry, I can't accept your confession. I… I already have a boyfriend.”

Loud gasps could be heard from behind you, but you still ignored them. Your classmate looked at you with their jaw hung open in disbelief. “W-what? With who? For how long!?”

Your face brightened, as if just thinking about him is enough to make your whole day. “It's Natsuki from the weapon department! I mentioned him to you before. Do you remember him?”

After the scene, the words spread throughout the school quickly. You never told him about the event because you thought he doesn't need to know, but Natsuki eventually found out from catching people talking and whispering about it whenever he walked past them. None of the things he heard were good things about him and his relationship with you.

He tried to not let it get to him and play it off. Why should he care about other people's opinions? It's his relationship. Only yours are important. But his insecurity and fear would caught him in the end. Maybe they're right. The other person could protect you better than him. You better off with someone like them instead of him.

You are the first person he ever dated, so he wouldn't know how to confront these feelings. He thought he would inconvenience you, which means he would try to hide them from you. But his jealousy and insecurity would slowly eat him whole from the inside, begging to be vomited out. However, he would still do his best to swallow them back.

He would be less playful and not tease you as much as before. In fact, it would be rare. He'll be distant from you. Natsuki would work himself harder with his weapons and refuse to give himself a break time so he didn't have to think of you and that person who confessed to you on the other day.

You have to confront him yourself and coax him to open up about what was bothering him. He would feel a little more at ease when you hold his hand and rub your thumb on the back of his palm in reassurance, or hug him from behind when he's working. If you pay attention more closely, you could catch him mumbling about the things that troubled him, as if he really wanted to tell you about it but still doubting if it's the right thing to do.

You have to remind him that you still love him for the way he is and be there for him to cheer him up. He would still dwell on the matters that triggered his jealousy and insecurity for the rest of the day, but he would feel better at handling it this time with your words and company.

“What was that? Did you say something?”

He stopped welding on whatever he's worked on and lifted up his shield mask. “The person that you talked with at the rooftop last week... They're one of the top assassins in your department. No one can compete with them and they won awards three times in a row last year. With your skills, you two can sync up well together,” he grabbed a small towel to wipe the sweat off his face. He didn't look at you as he spoke. Instead, he put all his concentration onto his work in front of him. “I saw how they took out their opponents a couple times before. They were reckless. They're too focused on their targets that they didn't pay enough attention to themself. There were times where they almost didn't notice their opponents creeping up behind them, and they just grabbed whatever they could reach and swung it as their weapon without much thought.”

He placed a small object into your hands. It was one of the weapons that was made for you by him but hadn't been used for months. It was upgraded to be more advanced and fancier. He turned around and moved on to his next project, ignoring the confused look you gave him. “Without a proper weapon, they won't be surviving long anymore, even with a good partner who works beside them. That's why assassins need proper weapon makers who understand what's more suitable for them.”

You finally understood what's going on.

You chewed your inner cheek to hold back from giggling. He's totally jealous. While you felt bad that he was feeling down because of you, you couldn't help but think that this behavior of his is kind of cute.

“Yeah, you're right about that,” you put the weapon on the table beside you to wrap your arms around your boyfriend's torso from behind. You could feel him tensed up slightly from the contact. “I'm super lucky that I'm dating the Ace Weapon Maker of JCC, who also happens to be very caring and attentive to me unlike anyone else I ever met. Otherwise, I would already be dead in the ditch by now with nobody to love me. Thanks for everything, Natsu.”

His hands stopped tinkering with the prototype he was working on. He put down the object and remained unmoving for a while, thinking back of the comforting words you said to him. Then you felt his hand on top of yours and squeezed it gently, making you smile. It was his way of showing his gratitude to you.

He peered over his shoulder to look at you and said, “I'm planning to retire soon and open up a crepe shop. Want to be the first person to taste my crepes?”

“Oh, hell yes.”

[1] It's a reference to one of Doraemon's future gadgets, the Time Cloth.

[mizzcap]

anya x reader pretty please with a cherry on top??? she deserved better -m-

ofc my lovely!❤️

Synopsis: the Tuplar is saved! Expect they crash landed on- Aeaea?

ANYA × CIRCE!READER

TW: Jizzard (gets killed in part 2), slight gore mentioned, post crash curly appearance mentioned, possible allusion to rape

Reader is implied to be Female! However I will keep the pronouns vague as too allow for anyone to place themselves in the role!!

A bit of a song fic

-Anya was woken up the moment she felt a jolt rush through the ship

- tired eyes instinctively trailing off to Curly, almost wincing on instinct upon seeing the state of her captain. She will never be used to that sight

-jimmy was the first to find the hole in the ship, they crash landed on some kids of Island. Where they back home?

-no

-earth didn't have these weird.. cloud things

-Anya would later learn they were called Winions

-she was instructed to go first, despite Swansea insistence that the "Captain who carries all of the power should carry the burden of being first"

-the others trailed behind Anya (Swansea holding Curly) as she approached a tall set of palace door

A beautiful person in what seemed like a loose greyish toga that hung over their chest. Their waist was secured with a golden belt and they wore no shoes, though their ankles and wrists were adorned with golden bangles

Long pointed ears twitched upon seeing the group, More specifically when their eyes zoned in on Anya

A smile found its way onto their face as they hopped back a few steps, opening their arms as they allowed for the group to enter

"Come inside!"

"damn" Jimmy whispered and whistled, making Anya Cringe a bit as she hesitantly continued

"welcome to the best part of your lives" their hands ghosted down Swansea's shoulders

"go ahead and rest wherever you like!" Fingers ghosted over Curly's bandaged head as they slipped open a large door before they spun, facing Anya as the men walked into the room

"I've got you .. (Y/N)'s got you now"

Something about that felt more... reassuring- calming even. Anya blinked away tears she didn't realize we're forming as the witch-..

(Y/N)

Turned away as walked into the room, Anya following close by.

The room was lavish. Magenta and gold decorations covered the otherwise white walls. Giving it a sort of mythical or unreal light

"take a seat!" They insisted, handing pressing on Daisuke's shoulders as he plopped down on a cushioned seat.

Magenta wisps of light swirled as what looked to be trays of snacks and drinks were manifested, all with the words "Let me bring you all something to eat!"

"I bet you're tired from the time spent on your feet" they took place next to Jimmy, positioning their torso as their hands found his shoulders, hot breath in his ear "think of your past.. and your mistakes. They'll be the last mistakes you make..." They muttered lowly in his ears as he stuffed his face with the breads Infront of him

Squealing

Horrifying- horrible squealing broken through as she pulled away from Jimmy.

Jimmy fell to his knees, clawing at his neck in a panic as he tried peeling off the pig snout that once had been over where his mouth and nose was

Anya gasped and slapped hands over her ears, shutting her eyes. Tears welled up as more squeals followed soon after, turning into a trio of painful swine cries.

"stop! You're hurting them!" Anya pleaded.

Daisuke and Swansea. Honestly, fuck Jimmy.

"this is the price we pay to live" the being gently cupped their hands over Anya's ears, blocking her view of the Swines as they painfully transformed. Despite the two pairs of hands blocking the sound, Anya could still hear the witch as bold as day

Yellow cat-like eyes fixed on Anya's dark and downsloped ones. The yellow pair almost going softer as they stared into Anya's.

They slowly led Anya back out of the room "no one will find their way between my nymph's and I- their loving queen"

Fingers ghosted down Anya's cheek, pushing back loose hair that stuck to her face- the girl sweating from stress and anxiety.

"this is the price we pay to love" the queen frowned as they tried reassuring the nurse. Wide yet dark eyes darting behind the queen to try and see her friends. Worry welling in her chest for Daisuke, Swansea, and Curly..

Once again fuck Jimmy

"we draw the line and watch from above"

"you're playing with my friends and hurting them!" Anya protested, tears peaking from the corners of her eyes

"I don't play, I puppeteer" the queen's words were harsh a bit hurt as magenta wisps shut the door, blocking off the swines from Anya and (Y/N)

(I WILL MAKE A PART 2 SOON DW ❤️)

[raitonsfw]

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: | 1 | The deep dark of your cavern didn't diminish the glow of Muzan's reddened eyes as they peered at yours– tentacles expelling out towards your own and suddenly, you didn't want him to leave you ever again. | 2 | Not to touch... as you bowed down with your head resting against the floor, you begged for Muzan's cock– only to be given it and more; a slicked encounter with his shapeshifting.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, he's called the title lord muzan... | 1 | cecaelia!reader, fem!reader, tentacles, handjob, blowjob, head pushing, breast play, pining, alludes to casual fucking, muzan shapeshifting (he sprouts tentacles out of his back that have mouth suctions with teeth on them) | 2 | dom!muzan, gn!reader, male!muzan & female!muzan (he switches his sex halfway through, pronouns still stay the same though), mentions of being used and being a fucktoy, begging & pleading, worship, face fucking, face riding, dirty talk, praises, rule #1- don't touch lord muzan.

a/n: | 1 | i do hope this is up to cecaelia!reader standards! i did some research to adhere to the accuracy of anatomy but i fear it wasn't enough. | 2 | hehe i kept repeating in my head 'boy pussy' while writing this for some reason? i wonder why... v-day list | m.list

thirst count: 1

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

| 1 |

“What do we have here?” The cave was dark, no light penetrating it towards the edge of it and you cowered within the spaces beneath the wall of the water. Who was in your domain, seeking solitude? No one knew about this place other than one person, so that must mean–

“I can sense you, Y/N.” He said, his voice low– teasing you out of your hiding place. You peeked your head out abruptly to see Muzan, tall of stature and you sighed as you heaved yourself up on the rock of the hole. 

“Don’t go scaring me like that.” You huffed out, sinking your tentacles down into the water again pitifully. “I couldn’t recognize your voice. Is that a new form, Lord Muzan?”

“Yes, and?” Muzan’s eyes pierced yours, lustrous and rimmed with crimson– it made your quake in fear and in anticipation. He’d visit you for a few things naturally, talks of the Twelve Kizuki running rampant and other idiocies of his life but the one thing he always craved was you. And as you watched him transform– expel his arms out to counter your own tentacles– you knew you were in for a treat.

“Did you miss me?” He smirked sharply, his whips forming against the flesh of his skin and you felt heat rush through each and every one one of yours. God, it’s been a while hasn’t it? 

“What do you think?” You pouted, one of your tentacles circling his ankle. You pulled him closer to the edge of the water cave, insisting he sit as another slipped into his pants. “Don’t wanna waste any time– before you leave me again.” 

“I’m not done the transformation yet, Y/N.” Muzan groaned as you wrapped around his cock, sprouting three more whips from his back. One instantly wrapped around your neck, the teeth grazing your collarbone and you let out a quiet sob of relief as it sucked marks into your skin. As he sat down against the edge, the water lapping up towards the front of his trousers, you smiled at him with a mischievous glint. 

You made it a point to delicately slide your tentacle up his cock, careful not to go too far as his own trailed down your own body. Fire fueled within your core as he let out another quiet moan, his eyes breaking off of yours and fluttering shut. You could feel his tentacles on you spasm lightly as you pumped him slowly, leaning in towards to cleave off some of his clothing. 

But you were met with a sharp tongue. “Not today, it’s just a quick visit.” 

You sighed to yourself, your tentacles pulling from him as you dove back into the water. Instead, you took to his legs, wading in front of them and you pulled out his cock to sink your mouth onto it. Two of your tentacles wrapped around his thighs, spreading them apart so you can lean in easier and he looked so good like that– so pliant underneath your suctions as you licked up the underside of his cock. 

A shaky groan fell from his lips, his tentacles shooting down towards your shoulders and you whimpered around him as they roamed over your chest. They squeezed around your breasts rather harshly as his cock twitched in your mouth, his hand threading through your hair. 

“C’mon, I know you can do better than that…” You heard him from above you and he pushed you down roughly, his tentacles suctioning against your nipples and you whined again– pleasure welding up your spine and you opened your throat a little to take him as deep as he wanted. 

He came down your throat with a shudder, all of his tentacles latching onto you with a heavy gasp. When you pulled off, they were gone and he was starting to withdraw from the edge of the stone. 

“Leaving so soon?” You pouted, but his eyes flashed towards yours with menace but a small ‘thank you’ etched his lips. You weren’t sure if he said it outloud for your entire vision was clouded with the pure lust he instilled in you.

| 2 |

“You want me? Get on the floor and beg.” Muzan’s voice dripped like red wine, straight down your throat and your own voice went dry; you were barely able to nod as you dropped to your knees and mewled at his feet. Your hands nearly caressed the ends of his trousers, reveling in the way his foot kicked out towards you, signifying you to heed– not to touch.

“Lord Muzan…please–”

“Head too.” He tutted, his finger pointing downwards and you struggled to put two and two together as your head bowed down near your hands on the floor. 

“P-Please… need you so bad, can’t stop thinking about you fucking me– about you using me.. I–” You blurted out, a soft cry evading your voice as you spit out the words. You felt Muzan’s eyes boring into the back of your skull and you hoped your begs were deemed worthy.

You felt him stand up in front of you and you felt like you wanted to cower in your skin, the domineering presence holding you hostage as a soft command fell from his lips, “Look up for me.” 

As you glanced up, you were met with his cock. And God, did your mouth water… Just the sheer size of it made you drool as he lightly pressed it against your cheek when you sat up in front of him. You wanted so desperately for him to just shove it in and take what he wanted from you– the longing ache for him capturing you whole as you waited for his next command. 

“Go on. I’m allowing you.” Muzan said, guiding his cock inside your mouth and you sunk down greedily. Immediately lapping your tongue around it, you hollowed your cheeks and then stilled on him. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you waited yet again. You didn’t want to push too far, it was only his will and his only– you were nothing but a fucktoy at the moment. 

“Ah yes, so pretty for me.” He cooed, albeit fakely as his talons for nails practically clawed within your hair– against your scalp, earning a wanton moan from you. He snapped his hips against your mouth, a deep groan drawing from him as his cock dragged along your tongue. You dared not to grab at his waist for leverage, instead keeping your hands against your lap as he fucked your mouth harshly. You felt the spit gathering against the corners of your lips, all over his cock and you closed your eyes in bliss. 

Muzan lazily spun his words now, drunk off of your lush mouth. “Obedient today, are we?” 

You could tell he was nearing his orgasm and you eagerly waited for his cum– the near golden seed that made your head spin with lust. But before you knew what was happening,  you were flung off of him onto your back.

You tried to get up from the floor, your elbows coming to rest against it but warmth covered your mouth and it took you a minute to register that Muzan had sat himself against you. Only it wasn’t his dick that pressed against your lips, but his cunt and everything came together within a second. 

He fucking switched to his female form.

Your hair had been grasped within the confines of his palm as he started to roll his hips against your mouth and you darted your tongue out to lick at his clit. You stared up at him, his kimono falling against his tiny shoulders and you couldn’t keep your eyes off his breasts bouncing within the fabric– his head thrown back in pure pleasure with moans leaking out from his reddened lips. 

Muzan tasted sweet against your tongue, his entrance nearly squeezing the life out of it as he came from your laving. You couldn’t help but savor each and every drop as it painted you preciously, sitting heavily on the base of your tongue and you licked him clean. You could feel his pants wracking his body above you and you swore to yourself again– not to touch.

Touching him got you punished and you wanted more treats like this.

[ambermotta]

Working with Dragons — My POV

When you look up "draconic magick" or "dragon magick" there is not really a lot to read. In fact, a lot of the info you'll find looks like a copy-paste from one another.

So I thought I would bring my own insight into what working with dragons feels like to me. Not exactly an informative post, just a "personal experience" one.

I believe it is important for newcomers to read about variety of experiences because otherwise, they might start feeling their practice is "wrong" if things are different for them.

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If it wasn't clear already...

UPG WARNING!!!

This is my experience only, other practitioners WILL have different takes on working with dragons.

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Regarding Identity

For the majority of my journey with dragons, I have only worked with one dragon. They reached out to me, but took me years to finally feel ready to work with them, and since I was still a bit insecure, I didn't really seek out other dragons.

By the way, I use they/them pronouns because I don't feel a particular gender signature coming from them.

They are strongly tied to energies of the ocean and I have only seen them as very serpent-like.

The other main dragon I have worked with, who showed up a lot later, is a dragon strongly associated with fire and protection, and his energy is mostly masculine from what I can tell.

As of now, this is what I can share about them. One of the things you'll see being talked about dragons is that you should not talk about the ones you work with unless they give you permission to, and for the most part, this has also been my experience.

They can be quite secretive — I had the ocean dragon very often remind me to stay quiet about the work I'm doing, and be very careful about what I share. Not just about them, but about myself.

Some things need not be secret forever, but when they ARE supposed to be done quietly, I will get the nagging, almost intrusive feeling, of keeping my mouth shut whenever I am itching to say something I shouldn't.

They have also shown to be secretive when we work together, as in I'm instructed to do something a certain way but not told why until the work is done.

And I understand why afterwards.

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Demanding?

From all dragons I have worked with, they have always been quite insistent. Be it regarding how something should be done, how to behave, or on what to get.

Please do not misinterpret this as being pushy or forcing boundaries.

What I mean is that some spiritual beings can be very subtle with their messages when they want to tell you something... But for me, dragons aren't subtle. They keep sending signs and messages until I get it.

by Kou Takano

As for being demanding, it depends on your relationship with them.

They were not demanding at first because I was still unsure of what I wanted, but once I decided to commit, they definitely started communicating more and giving instructions on work we should do together.

So there's a greater degree of commitment that we both respect.

As for being "demanding" with offerings, to me they seldom ask for those. If I do it it's because I want to, not because they have asked or shown they needed it. In terms of spiritual beings I have met, they seem to be the least interested in offerings or praise. But again, this is just my experience.

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Personality

It can vary drastically from one dragon to another.

For me, the Ocean Dragon is serene, regal, mysterious, but standing in their presence can also feel scary and can make you feel small. They also have a more turbulent side.

The fire dragon feels much more assertive, fierce, loyal, but at the same time less "massive" in size and less intimidating somehow. They remind me of a knight or paladin archetype to be fair.

by Carolina-eade on Deviantart

So I assume that personality and energy signature, as well as your relationship with them, will change drastically from one dragon to another.

I have not experienced finicky, prideful, or petty behaviour from them. Dragons are often considered in media and mythology to have big egos, but to me, they feel the exact opposite... wise and humble, but their presence is so massive I feel one must be very careful not to mistake their good disposition for weakness.

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Conduct when working with dragons

I find that while they are wondrous and inspiring, their energy can feel intimidating, and maybe because of that I feel like I must be more serious when working with them. I am not necessarily being formal around them, but I do have a great deal of respect for them and other creatures in their presence.

It feels more like respecting the elders than an authority figure though.

As for magical conduct, I have never had to work with them on anything that did harm to others. In fact, they have heavily aided me in works that focused on helping others.

They have also helped me through my fair share of shadow work. So, both right and left hand path.

You may see some folks claiming that dragons have no qualms with helping mages with "dark magic" and that you actually must work on keeping balance, "working on both sides of the coin" if you will.

They have never demanded that of me, though I recognize it could just be in respect for my decision of not wanting to do most baneful work.

I can't say I fully understand their nature and moral compass yet.

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Types of Dragons

So far, they seem to come in all sorts of shapes. The traditional western-type dragon is far from being the only one or the most common one. Some may look much more like snakes or birds than to winged lizards.

I can see some elemental associations, but I don't think they are restricted to working with just one element.

Unfortunately, since I don't know many dragons, I am not sure if they are always tied to an element or how many types there are.

However, the ones I met did seem to "dwell" in certain environments. The ocean dragon I only see in water, and the fire dragon I have seen on top of a rocky hill, looking down a vast, dry, sunny field.

As for dragon guardians of the elements, directions, etc – I haven't met them, haven't worked with them, so I don't know if there is such a thing.

by Kou Takano

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Mythological Dragons

I have not met a lot of people who worked with widely known dragons, such as Tiamat, Fáfnir from norse mythology, or Yamata-no-Orochi from japanese tales.

But I feel working with them would be a singular experience, just as it is with any other dragon (or spiritual being for that matter). It could be easier considering you would have at least an idea of who they are and what they may like, either from "lore", ancient worship, or SPG (Shared Personal Gnosis).

This is still something I'm thinking about exploring in the future.

Fáfnir, found on Harreira.com

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Conclusion

This was just an overview of what working with them feels like to me. I'm definitely not as experienced as some other folks I've talked to, and my practice is constantly constantly evolving.

So far, it's been great! I'd love to hear from other people on draconic magick.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask! Or share your experiences as well!

Thank you for reading!

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

My Morph primer

Since X-Men 97 is drawing in a lot of new fans with varied levels of experience with the original animated series or the comics, I figured I could give a write-up of who Morph is, where they come from, and why you don’t see them in any of the movies or other media.  This is also an excuse for me to write about an obsessive fave, seriously, they are all over my blog. I'm not necessarily an "authority," but I've watched TAS and read the comics, which are the basis for this write-up.

Who is Morph?

"Wolverine! Fall back!"

Morph is a shapeshifting mutant who was added to the X-Men team in the original X-Men: The Animated Series as a redshirt/sacrificial lamb, to be killed off For Real in order to show that the stakes are really high.  Originally it was actually going to be Thunderbird, a short-lived X-Man who died in the comics just a few issues after he was introduced, and has remained dead for decades.  But creators realized that killing off the only Native American character on a mostly white team was a bad look, and went with Morph instead.  Morph proved surprisingly popular with (mostly child) viewers, and was brought back in the 2nd season as a result.  Morph in TAS was originally presented as male using male pronouns, but I’m gonna use they/them for the character since they are nonbinary in X-Men 97.

(Btw, even Morph's TAS costume shows their redshirt nature, as they are basically wearing a variant of the standard X-Men uniform that different groups have worn, with the Original Five (Angel, Jean, Cyclops, Beast and Iceman) and the New Mutants all wearing something similar. There was a time in the 90's when all the X-Men were wearing this uniform to try to give them a team look, but thankfully that didn't last, the individualized looks are much better. Morph's amazing disappearing reappearing jacket are the only personalized touch in their uniform, and I hope X-Men 97 gives them a costume upgrade after everyone gets used to the new look.)

Morph doesn’t appear in many episodes of TAS, but here are the definitive ones:

Season 1:

Night of the Sentinels Parts 1 and 2: Morph seems to be an established part of the team, a wise-cracking shapeshifter who is so naively overconfident about their mission that they’ve practically got a target painted on their back.  When the mission goes wrong, Morph pushes Wolverine out of the way of Sentinel lasers, and gets blasted all to hell.  Morph’s supposed death (which was meant at the time to be a real death) is sensed by both Jean and Xavier.  Cyclops orders a retreat because the team is getting their asses kicked, abandoning both the (dead) Morph and (alive but injured) Beast, who spends the rest of the season in jail.  Morph is quickly forgotten as a character, BUT the impact of their death is felt throughout the season.  We get Wolverine yelling “This one’s for you, Morph!” while slicing up a Sentinel, and Cyclops in the finale insisting, “I’m not leaving anyone behind!  Not this time!” 

Season 2:

Till Death Do Us Part, Parts 1 and 2: Morph returns as a villain, but a sympathetic, brainwashed villain under the control of season Big Bad Mr. Sinister.  Sinister is an evil scientist who likes to fuck around with mutant genetics and is especially obsessed with getting Scott and Jean to fuck, because their child will supposedly be an extremely genetically superior mutant.  After Morph’s “death,” they were taken by Sinister, who revived them and implanted a control device into Morph’s brain that he uses to literally torture Morph into compliance.  Morph seems to have a kind of split personality, which Sinister exacerbates and encourages, shifting between a haggard-looking Evil Morph who wants revenge on the X-Men for abandoning them and cracks jokes while attacking the team, and a normal-looking Good Morph, who doesn’t want to hurt their friends, and is generally scared and confused and having a Bad Time.  If you are wondering about Morph turning into that version of themselves with dark circles around their eyes in X-Men 97 “Fire Made Flesh,” it was a reference back to this:

Evil Morph lookin' reeeeeaal creepy.

Morph uses their shape-shifting trickery to fake marry Scott and Jean (as the priest), impersonate Xavier and turn the team against each other, until Wolverine identifies them by scent.  The team then chases Morph to Sinister’s lair, where he’s captured a honey-mooning Scott and Jean.  Morph has been struggling with the brainwashing the entire time, and breaks free long enough to attack Sinister, then runs off away from everyone. 

Whatever It Takes: Wolverine, who has declared the Morph is “the only one who could ever make him laugh,” chases Morph down to Brazil in an attempt to drag them back to the team.  Morph, still fighting their dark side and flipping back and forth between the two personalities, taunts Wolverine in Jean’s form, fights him, and eventually gains enough control to tell Logan to back off. (“I have to get through this by myself!”) 

Fighting your friend in an abandoned mine shaft, a totally normal thing to do.

Wolverine reluctantly lets them go.  This the B-plot, the main plot of the episode features Storm and Rogue confronting the Shadow King in Africa, and is also really good.

Reunion Parts 1 and 2: Morph leaves a message for Wolverine stating that he wants to return to the team, in what seems like an obvious set-up for a trap.  Wolverine, Jean and Cyclops go to retrieve them, and find that yes, it is a trap.  Morph attmpts to warn the group to leave, but they are jumped by Sinister and the Nasty Boys, and the fight ends with Jean being taken, and Morph (still struggling against Sinister’s control), going semi-willingly.  The whole team winds up at Sinister’s base in the Savage Land and there are a lot of good character moments, like Gambit telling Rogue he loves her.  Morph spends the whole time still fighting against the brainwashing, but throws it off completely at the end (with Xavier’s help) and turns on Sinister, helping Scott and Jean defeat him.  Morph is then Put on a Bus to Muir Island so that the writers wouldn’t have to deal with the character but could hold them in reserve to use later.  Xavier comments that he can remove Sinister’s mind-control chip from Morph’s brain, but that “removing the psychic damage will take longer.”  So the answer to “Where’s Morph?” in later seasons will always be “Recovering on Muir Island, probably hanging out with Moira and Banshee.”

If you are a Morph fan, Season 2 is THE Morph season, they get a great character arc that fleshes them out, and establishes their close relationship with Wolverine.  I’m glad they didn’t toss out Morph in X-Men 97, both because I like the character, and because Morph’s entire arc in Season 2 was about their struggle to come back to the team, and constantly reaffirms that Morph is one of them, and that they belong with the X-Men.  Also, I know Tumblr love an angsty, suffering blorbo, and good God does Morph suffer in Season 2. 

(Someone is having a Bad Time).

Season 4:

Courage:  After getting only a couple of non-speaking background cameos in Season 3, this is Morph’s comeback episode in Season 4.  Morph believes that they are fully recovered and ready to rejoin the X-Men, while both Moira and Xavier seem to think they are not ready, and warn them to slow down a little.  Morph tries to jump back into their old role, makes jokes, and goes on a mission with Wolverine, but is clearly still dealing with PTSD and completely freezes up when Sentinels attack the mansion and kidnap Xavier.  Morph is left at the mansion while the X-Men go to rescue Xavier, but follows them anyway, and manages to play an instrumental role in stopping the Sentinels and saving Xavier.  Despite this, Morph decides that they are not ready to return and cannot be relied upon in battle (because the writers didn’t want to deal with using the character on the team), and goes back to Muir Island.  It’s a standard “character fucks up at the start of the episode but saves the day in the end” superhero cartoon story, and I was a little disappointed that the episode focused entirely on Morph’s “near death trauma” from the Sentinels and not the much worse “brainwashed and tortured by Sinister to the point of developing a second personality” issue.  The closest we get to addressing that is Morph pointedly walking up to Cyclops with “Scott…been a long time….” which sounds like a way of saying “We’re cool now, bro, I promise I won’t try to kill you.”  Still, we get some great Morph and Wolverine moments, and Morph kicks a lot of ass at the end.  After Morph spends most of the series either dead or suffering, I don’t mind an episode where they get to kick ass. This episode also establishes that Morph was suffering from serious nightmares for awhile, so consider that a canon excuse to put that in your angsty fanfic.

(Morph also gets a non-speaking cameo in Beyond Good and Evil Part 1, sitting next to Jubilee at Scott and Jean’s second wedding.  I think it’s sweet that they were invited, but can also imagine Scott putting them in the front row just to ensure that there are no more “fake priest” shenanigans.  “Let’s put Morph where I can see him….just in case.”)

Season 5:

Graduation Day: After Xavier is attacked, Morph returns to help calm mutants world-wide by impersonating Xavier and making a public call for peace.  Morph doesn’t do much in the episode, but they get an individualized goodbye from Xavier while he is addressing the team one by one, and it is clear at the end that Morph is officially back with the team.  In other words, the writers could give Morph a happy ending of coming back since the show was ending and they didn’t have to deal with it going forward.  Thankfully, the X-Men 97 writers were happy to pick up that ball and continue running with it, and I love what they’ve done with Morph so far!

Were there shippy vibes between Morph and Wolverine in the original series?

I dunno friend, watch “Whatever it Takes,” and “Courage,” and you tell me.  Morph shifting into Jean to taunt Wolverine definitely gives me vibes of “There’s something going on there.”

Is Morph in the comics?

(Note – I’m using he/him for all comics versions of Morph because those versions all apparently ID as male.)

The answer is yes, sort of.

Changeling:

Morph was loosely based on an obscure, long dead shape-shifting mutant from the X-Men’s original 60’s run.  Changeling was a villain with a tacky costume who acted very much like a standard 60’s comic book villain, associated with a terrorist group called Factor Three. Look at this fucking dude:

�� At the end of the Factor Three arc, it turns out that Factor Three’s leader, Mutant Master, is an alien who wants to destroy ALL life on Earth to make way for his own people, and the mutants in the group turn on him and help the X-Men. Changeling is the first one to question Mutant Master’s motives, and that’s probably the only interesting thing he does in the whole story.  Several issues later, Xavier supposedly dies while helping defeat a villain named Grotesk and save the world.  This story is retconned near the end of the run, when Xavier is revealed to be alive, and explains that the dead “Xavier” was actually Changeling.  Changeling had discovered that he was terminally ill, and came to Xavier seeking redemption.  Xavier asked Changeling to temporarily take his place as Xavier while he shut himself up in the basement to prepare to stop an alien invasion (and no, the X-Men were not informed of this, besides Jean, and yes, that is really fucked up).  So Changeling became a reformed villain and honorary X-Man who went out in a heroic sacrifice, and was almost never mentioned again.  (Even now Changeling appears to still be dead in the comics, even though the current storyline has allowed ALL the dead mutants to come back.  Even Thunderbird is back.)

Changeling was greatly reworked to become Morph, totally changing his personality and origins.  The only similarities are the shapeshifting powers and physical appearance.  You can see how this guy:

Became this not-actually-a-guy:

Or even this version:

X-Men 97 Morph got a real glow-up to their human form.

Of course, they also share the trait of being a sacrificial lamb plot device, and X-Men TAS creators were originally going to call the character “Changeling,” but changed the name to Morph because DC’s Beast Boy was called Changeling at the time.

Age of Apocalypse Morph:

In the 90’s, there was a cross-over event over all the X-Books called the Age of Apocalypse, in which a time-traveller (Xavier’s son Legion, long story) murdered Xavier in the past before Xavier formed the X-Men, and created a dystopian alternate reality in which Apocalypse had taken over and Magneto led the X-Men.  This was a kind of what-if event that let writers have fun with switching up character relationships, turning good guys bad and bad guys good, and of course, killing a lot of characters off.  The event only lasted about four issues before it was all undone and we returned to the main Marvel universe, so they could really go wild.  In the AoA book Astonishing X-Men, Magneto’s team includes a character called Morph, a versatile shapeshifter with a pasty white made-of-clay look, and a jovial, upbeat personality that is clearly based on TAS Morph.  (This change to character design is where X-Men 97 Morph’s white, featureless appearance comes from).

Just a silly little guy!

AoA Morph is also stated in the book to have been formerly Changeling, before undergoing a name-change and attitude adjustment, making him an AU variant.  He explains to Sunfire at one point that he never takes anything seriously because fuck it, he’s probably gonna die anyway, he may as well die with a smile on his face.  AoA Morph is pretty cool, he does great shapeshifting tricks, and has some depth and heart beneath the obnoxious jokes.

Exiles Morph:

After Age of Apocalypse, the fan-favorite character Blink (like Morph, another alternate version of a short-lived character in the main comics timeline) gets pulled out of the AoA timeline and placed on a team of time-displaced X-Men.  This team, all coming from alternate realities and including some other minor neglected characters (like versions of Thunderbird and Mimic), is tasked with hopping through realities, putting things right that once went wrong, and hoping each time that the next leap will be their leap home.  The team also includes a version of Morph, who is so similar to AoA Morph that Blink mistakes him initially for her old teammate.  This is another AU variant of Changeling who was never Changeling, but instead was recruited into the New Mutants (a bit of an age retcon for the character, as 60’s Changeling seemed much older, while Exiles Morph is clearly much younger.)  Exiles Morph was a popular hero in his reality, served as both an X-Man and an Avenger, and is an incredibly powerful shapeshifter.  He also winds up being a long-running mainstay of the Exiles team, so this is really the book to read for Morph content.  Exiles also fleshes out the character’s past, stating that he was born as a shapeshifting blob with X-gene already activated, and only assumed a human appearance to fit in with peers.  He also lost his mother to cancer at an early age, and his obnoxious jokey personality was partially a reaction to that, an attempt to both cheer up and get some attention from his grieving father.  Exiles Morph is a great character, my only complaint is that he is a bit of a sex pest, constantly making “jokes” that border on sexual harassment of his female teammates.  I don’t think he’s meant to actually be a creep, he never actually does anything, and when the teammate he has a crush on reveals that she is a lesbian, he steps back and acts as a supportive friend.  I think Exiles Morph just suffers from late 90’s early 2000 writing where the funny jokey character has to be all “LOL, Boobies!” all the time, just so we know he’s straight.  (Funny, given how not-straight X-Men 97 Morph seems to be.)

The Other Morph: Benjamin Deeds:

Brian Michael Bendis, in his Uncanny X-Men run, introduced a new character named Benjamin Deeds who could shapeshift, and looked suspiciously similar to a teenage version of Changeling/TAS Morph.  His personality was different, though (more of a sulky teen trying to deal with being a mutant than a funny guy), and the nature of his powers is different.  Benjamin has what is described as “chameleon-like” shapeshifting, taking on the physical characteristics of people when he gets close to them rather than fully shifting forms.  He also exudes a chemical that makes people automatically like and trust him.  Emma suggests the codename “Morph,” and although Benjamin doesn’t like it, it becomes his official codename going forward.  I don’t think Ben actually has any real connection to Changeling or TAS Morph, he seems more like a legacy character or winking homage, like Pyro II (Simon Lasker, who inexplicably has the same powers and looks almost exactly like original Pyro, St. John Alledyce).  He’s fun character and a cute lil’ guy, though.

There are people who call TAS Morph an “original character” completely invented for the cartoon, and I don’t think they’re entirely wrong.  Morph is VERY different from Changeling,  But to me, it makes the most sense to consider TAS Morph another AU variant of Changeling, given all the influence back and forth between the comics and the cartoon.  Morph was based on Changeling, and Morph’s popularity led to AU versions of Changeling in the comics with TAS Morph’s personality literally named “Morph,” and now X-Men 97 Morph has been redesigned to match AoA/Exiles Morph’s appearance.  They are variations of the same person.  And it’s not exactly the first time that a comics character has been drastically reworked in an adaptation – I’m looking at you, First Class Mystique and Evolution’s “Lance Alvers.”  I wonder if people would still be calling Morph an “original character” if they’d kept the name “Changeling,” since keeping the name seems to be all it takes at times.  Still, TAS Morph is kind of right on the border between OC and “adapted from the comics,” and even I tend to include them in groups of “created for the cartoon” characters like Firestar, Spyke and X-23.

Why is Morph tagged as “Kevin Sydney/Sidney”?

Because that is the character’s name, more or less.  TAS Morph didn’t have a “real name” in 92, because Changeling didn’t (similarly, Rogue also didn’t have a real name because the character hadn’t been given one in the comics.)  In Age of Apocalypse, characters called Morph “Sydney” or “Syd,” and Morph even referred to himself that way in a thought-balloons, but the Exiles writer apparently decided, “Nah, it’s a last name,” and officially named Morph “Kevin Sydney.”  The name stuck, and the 2004 Marvel “Book of the Dead” gave Changeling that name in the entry on him.  Morph’s name has never been given in the cartoon, but it’s probably safe to assume that their official “human name” is Kevin Sydney, just like TAS Rogue is probably Anna Marie (her official name in the comics.)  Interestingly, even in Exiles, the book where the name originated, Morph always goes by “Morph” and never “Kevin.”  Maybe Home Alone ruined the name for him.  I tend to use the Kevin Sydney tags on Tumblr and A03 to differentiate from other uses of the “morph” tag.  In particular, Tumblr has a lot of body modification fetish posts tagged as “morph,” and no offense to the fetishists, you all keep doing what you are doing, but that’s not the content I’m looking for.  I’m sure the fetish people are probably a bit annoyed at their own tag filling up with an X-Men character, but hey, it’s their name. 

How old is Morph?  How long were they with the team and when did they join?  Is the featureless white face their “real form”?  What’s their history with Wolverine?

I don’t have answers here because we don’t know.  There’s a lot we don’t know about TAS Morph, and the origins of their comics counterparts don’t really translate well into cartoon continuity.  Like I can’t imagine TAS Morph ever having been a willing member of Factor Three. 

Personally, I tend to assume that Morph was with the team for awhile before their “death,” given that they have an established “old friend” relationship with Wolverine and know the team extremely well.  I also tend to assume that TAS Morph is a similar age to the other young adults on the team like Scott and Jean.  They sometimes look older in the original series, because they were based on Changeling (who also looks older), but the voice acting and general personality of the character seem younger, plus Wolverine calls them “kid”a couple of times.  And it seems like their “human form” may not be their “real face” anyway, given that they’ve now defaulted to the white blank-face look.  The white blank-face look IS the real form for Exiles (and presumably AoA) Morph, so the same is probably true for TAS Morph and Changeling.  But this is all just my own headcanon and speculation, based on what I’ve seen in the original cartoon and the comics.  You are all free to come up with your own headcanons fleshing out the character, I’ve already seen great stuff in fanfic out there!

Edit: Actually, I thought of a bit more:

How does Morph shift their clothing? Does Morph even wear clothes? How can they create accessories like Psylocke's swords?

Honestly, I dunno, this is Rule of Cool and Morph as a vehicle for character cameos in affect here. I will say that, in the comics, many characters with shapeshifter-type powers, like Wolfsbane, wear costumes made of unstable molecules that shift with their bodies, the same may be true of Morph. Exiles Morph, when commenting on his female teammates' skimpy costumes, at one point jokes that he "wears even less," so he may just be literally making clothing out of his own body. Although I would think that would get cold, or painful with no protection against the elements.

I assume that Morph does form accessories like Psylocke's swords out of their own body, which also presumably means they can't drop them. I wonder if it would hurt Morph if one of the swords broke? Exile Morph regularly turns his own body into accessories that he can hold (but not separate from his form), so presumably X-Men 97 Morph is doing the same. This is a step-up from TAS Morph, who never did that. Exiles Morph seems to be able to turn their body into whatever they want.

Does Morph copy the powers of other mutants?

Morph seems to be able to mimic only the physical-based powers of other mutants, under the shapeshifter logic of changing their body to give themselves larger muscles, claws, etc. So Angel's wings, but not Cyclops' eye beams. Nightcrawler's tail but not teleportation. In X-Men 97, Morph takes a couple of shots from X-Cutioner after shifting into Colossus, so apparently they can do the whole metal skin thing. But in TAS, when Morph turns into Wolverine, their claws are not adamantium and Wolverine easily slices through them.

I would add that Exiles Morph is also extremely durable, and can literally be ripped to pieces and shapeshift himself back together. This doesn't seem to be the case of "died from Sentinel lasers" TAS Morph, but maybe they just aren't there with their power levels yet. Exiles Morph IS especially susceptible to burns or laser blasts, and almost dies when Hyperion hits him with a beam at close range.

That’s it, hopefully this is helpful for people completely new to the character who got into X-Men 97.  Mostly I just love writing about Morph.  I encourage you to go back and watch the original series, or at least the Morph episodes.  It’s a good show, if a bit 90’s corny, and will let you fully appreciate X-Men 97 (which has been, so far, an absolute banger of a series).  Presumably we’ll see more character development of Morph as the show continues, which will maybe answer some of these questions.

[salty-an-disco]

since I like all the questions in @pink-november's askgame, and really just want to get to them all eventually, I decided I might as well treat the game like a school questionnaire and answer them all in order. So– here it is!!

(will also answer the ones I already did in asks again just for the sake of having them all in one place)

1. (Explore) What's your favorite Chapter?

Stranger OK, OK, just so I won't repeat myself too much, and also to make it more interesting, I decided to make it more specific and go for 'favorite lead-up Chapter (3 or 4)'. And that'd probably be Empty Cup and Princess and the Dragon, for different reasons.

I love how chaotic and honestly hilarious Razor is, and to me, The Empty Cup is the most satisfying conclusion to her chapter. You cannot change much about how things play out in this chapter. The princess is so relentless and unyielding that she'll always make things play out how she wants it to. But something as simple as leaving the blade upstairs in Chapter 2 completely changes how your final battle go. Instead of meeting her where she is, you manage to go even, unraveling her in the 'Nothingness' you have embraced and truly getting to her heart (cough cough Cabin ending parallel cough). Also– the visual of the Sleeping Mound holding out Razor's Heart is one of the most beautiful visuals in this game. I love how it looks like a flower of hands coming out of a heart. To me, it truly sums up what the vessels are to the Shifting Mound, y'know? A center from which something beautiful can flourish from.

And Princess and the Dragon– gosh. I love how we get to this chapter. Twice now, we refused to see the Princess as an actual person deserving of freedom and tried to kill her despite it also hurting us in the chapter lead up. And that is honestly more frustrating than anything to the Princess. What did she do to deserve this? Why do you keep insisting on killing her? And so, she just wishes you could understand her. See things from her perspective. And so, that's what happens–

It's interesting to me that this chapter isn't exactly an evolution of how WE see the princess (it still is, in some ways, but not quite). It's entirely her. Before, chapter 2 would end there; there was nothing else for us to see of her that we didn't already. Makes all the more compelling to me that to lead to a new chapter, BTG had to give the Princess the reigns. Because she, for sure, has a LOT to show us.

And that chapter…… gosh, so many things get to me. How the princess name the chapter herself (I hc the voices saw their own title screen with a different name entirely, but that doesn't matter, this is HER chapter and SHE gets to name it), the casual thump, thump, thump… as LQ's body come in. How her appearance itself goes back to something more like how she becomes as a final heart rather than something we may have seen her as. How SHE throws away the knife. Basically saying, "Enough of this violence. I'm getting my happy ending one way or another–"

Just– I love this chapter so much.

2. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Chapter, then how would you go about changing it?

Simply by merit of 'something has to be at the bottom', it's probably Drowned Grey. Which is honestly impressive because I love so many things about The Drowned Grey and wouldn't really change anything as I think it's already satisfying as it is. It's just not quite as engaging and interesting as other chapters, so it stays at the bottom.

3. (Explore) Who's your favorite Vessel?

STRANGER. Babygirls <3333 I love them so much <333333 The very concept of how they came to be is fascinating to me and I LOOOOOVE the little we see of them in Strange Beginnings. System of all time <333 Love all the facets so much I gave each of them their own pronouns set, personality, and role in the system. No one can stop me, Stranger, you will always be famous to me 😌✨

4. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Vessel, then what do you think would make you like her?

As much as I grew fond of her and really like her chapter expansions, Tower is still prolly at the bottom. She's fascinating in her own way, but some uncomfortable similarities to things I experienced makes it hard for me to really love her. Wouldn't change her though, she's perfect as it is for the story she has to tell.

5. (Explore) Who's your favorite Voice?

My silly lil guy, my beloved clown, the hyperactive hummingbird, Contrarian, I love you so much <3333 I'm already a sucker for characters who refuse to engage with their work's genre (in this case: horror), and his dynamic with Hero in Stranger was just so engaging, and seeing he's actually a softie deep down with terrible self-esteem and sense of worth??? Yep, there's no going back to me. This clown is all I can think about.

6. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Voice, then what do you think could make you like him?

After thinking about it some more, it's still Broken. I like the development they got in PC, and gained a new appreciation for them, but still on the bottom of the tier for me. The fact they remind me a lot of an ex-friend doesn't help at all, but the only thing I'd change is giving them more chapters where we can see the good side of them, and PC already did that, so *shrugs*

7. (Explore) What line from The Shifting Mound do you like the most?

"I am solitary lights on an empty city. What are you?"

OUUUUUUUUGH. SHIFTY I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.

8. (Explore) What line from the player character/ The Long Quiet do you like the most?

"I always just wanted to leave with you." (or smth like that. I don't have Quiet lines memorized like I do Shifty LOL)

9. (Explore) What line from The Narrator do you like the most?

[insert the entirety of the MOC lead-up poem here]

But, for a single line, gotta go with "You stab yourself, and you die. Nice knowing you." It's just so incredibly petty, I love it lol

10. (Explore) What's your favorite Vessel-Voice dynamic?

Gotta go with Stubborn and Adversary. They're just. so good. Even without ever meeting face to face, they manage to have SUUUUCH a good dynamic and chemistry, I want these two to lovingly brawl for as much as they want, they deserve it.

11. (Explore) Any non-canon Vessel-Voice you think is fun to see?

Many–

Damsel and Contrarian, Prisoner and Cold (D Grey not counting), Spectre and Skeptic, Thorn and Paranoid, Wraith and Smitten, Nightmare and Broken, and I could probably keep going lol

12. (Explore) What's your favorite Voices dynamic?

ContraHero Once again, just not to repeat myself too much– Dark Comedy (Cold and Contra) has my entire heart <3 Them as besties who just GET each other on a level no one else does is everything to me.

13. (Explore) Any Vessel-Vessel you want to see interact?

Many. Most of which involves Nightmare, because sHE DESERVES FRIIIIIEEENNDS WHO'LL UNDERSTAND HER ON A PERSONAL LEVEL!! But just to name a few–

Thorn and Beast!Wounded Wild, Witch and Wraith, Witch and Beast, Den and Damsel, Prisoner and Spectre, Adversary and Razor, Tower and Nightmare, and once again, I could keep going lol

14. (Explore) What's your favorite ship/s?

OwO

ContraHero: My BOYS, my lil guys, my dearest birbs– out of all the voices, they're the ones that get the most character character development within the game, and their dynamic in Stranger is EVERYTHING to me. The way they represent agency and individuality and how that connects together to open up even more choices– OUUUUUUUUUUUGH. THEY MAKE ME SO UNWELL.

ParaCold: Mainly beamed into my brain by Kit, but goddamn, if these two didn't manage to claw their way in there and make a spot for themselves lol. Just. Smth about this paranoid and anxious person with the most 'idgaf' guy in the construct is already inherently interesting to me, but their DYNAMIC, how they actually balance out each other's weaknesses– Cold can offer such a pragmatic view on things in such a non-judgmental and detached way that Paranoid can't help but listen (as opposed to when Skeptic does it, specifically in Cage, where it feels like he doesn't take her seriously and it just frustrates her), and Paranoid, similarly, can remind Cold that there are good reasons to care of yourself and look after others despite how 'boring' it may be. Just. OUUUUUUGH.

SpecWitch: Listen to me– Put the most understanding and patient vessel besides the skittish and untrusting kitty, DO IT. They'd be such a good duo too, with how playful and witty both of them can be, and Spectre could help Witch loosen up and actually relax for once while Witch reminds Spectre to not take shit from anyone and makes a job out of clawing at anyone who tries. PUT THE GHOSTIE AND THE WITCHY KITTY TOGETHER, IT'S LITERALLY THE HALLOWEEN DUO!!!

Skeptunist: Guy who wants to uncover every little thing there is to know about everything, and guy who hides behind countless masks in hopes he doesn't have to deal with what's actually behind them. They'd either make each other worse, or better, or both in that order and then make out about it. I rest my case.

15. (Explore) What’s your least favorite ship/

This feels mean to say on an ask game Pink did, but I just can't get behind Burned Bridges (ColdSmit) 😭. As a low empathy person, some of the things Smitten says to Cold in Burned Grey cuts a bit too deep in me, so the ship's just kinda already soured on me.

This is the only one that actively makes me feel bad and I gotta avoid it (that's a ME thing and smth I gotta look out for myself, and not a reason for anyone else to avoid talking about the ship they like just because One Person doesn't like it), but I also filter out many other ships cuz I'm too OTP-brained to be able to bear multishipping. Oh, and also Broken/Tower, and honestly most ships involving Broken cuz I just think that guy would benefit more from meaningful friendships than trying to get into a romantic relationship.

16. (Explore) If you were a Voice in The Long Quiet's head, what would you be?

Voice of the Daydreamer!! Too busy daydreaming to pay attention to anything else :]

17. (Explore) You're a princess locked in the basement of a cabin, what kind of princess would you be?

Hmmmmmm. Maybe something like 'The Scattered' or maybe 'The Shadow'

Not sure about the lead up, but it'd be a princess who doesn't really know who they're supposed to be, and so remains in shadows, or scattered about the place, where they can try being many things at once without having to choose.

18. (Explore) You are an Echo of a man long gone, how would you deal with the events of the game?

Same way Parrator (Stanley Parable Narrator) does in my Displaced Narrator AU. Much more invested in the narrative as a whole as opposed to any stakes there might be. If I'm gonna be stuck here without being able to even keep memories of what happened, might as well enjoy a good story while I can!!

19. (Explore) Do you have any unpopular opinion regarding the game?

Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh– Damsel was never shallow, Nightmare was always inherently tragic, and simply hating her (this includes Moment of Clarity) for what she is undermines the themes of her chapter, Prisoner isn't indifferent or 'rude' she just got RBF and autism flat effect, Cold is not an 'evil person' who actually likes killing, y'all just don't understand low-empathy people, and Smitten was only doing what YOU asked for in HEA, and didn't even want to stay before you insisted on that choice, and blaming him for everything there is just an easy way to abstain from guilt, Skeptic isn't an unfeeling asshole, that is ONE chapter where he's incredibly stressed and overwhelmed, and despite all of Paranoid's MVP moment, he's still the guy you get by refusing to see the princess as a person deserving of freedom, and ignoring that is a disservice to his character.

20. (Explore) What's your favorite ending and why?

"And? What Happens Next?" Strange Beginnings variant, my beloved <3

21. (Explore) What’s your least favorite ending and why?

Probably Your New World, and just because all the other endings have a lot more to offer in terms of narrative for me. Still appreciate this ending and what it adds to the game though.

22. (Explore) Do you have any headcanons for [Character]?

Decided to do a thing where I choose a character I don't talk about a lot to add some variety here, and the character of the moment is Stubborn. Yay!

He's only so resilient because of construct logic, and in the real world, would have a lot of chronic pain and struggle with fatigue, which annoys him to no end. Has a soft spot for little guys, namely Hunted, Broken, and Paranoid (the three 'little guys' of my designs). No depth perception duo to missing an eye, and since Hunted is similar due to having Prey Eyes, they help each other figure out ways to fight this way. Has color-blindness, specifically, deuteranomaly and tritanopia, which means he can't really distinguish between blue and green, purple and red, and pink and yellow at all. Ironically, makes the world outside still very similar to the construct for him.

23. (Explore) Any first impressions regarding [Character]? How about now?

Gonna talk about Wraith for this one. Mainly because my first and current impressions on her are so different.

At first, I didn't really find her chapter all that interesting. Her design was really cool, but I thought her story wasn't all that compelling compared to others. Oooohh, how that changed– the more I thought about her, and the more I saw the different variantions of her character, the more I realized how fucking sad and tragic her story is– this ghost was denied freedom and basic respect over and over and over– of COURSE she becomes a vengeful ghost that won't let you get one over her again. Honestly, she's entirely entitled to possessing our body and making us walk on a broken ankle, it's NOTHING compared to what we did to her.

24. (Explore) What’s a moment in the game that disturbed/ freaked you out the most?

Nothing can top Drowned Grey's bloated corpse for me. Single most frightening image in this game.

25. (Explore) What’s a moment in the game that emotionally destroyed you?

Pre-PC, it was The Moment of Clarity, post-PC, Happily Ever After– funny how both these routes involving showing your heart to someone else.

26. (Explore) What’s your favorite CG in the game?

Already mentioned how Shifty holding Razor's Heart is very beautiful to me, but also that image in the lead-up to Wild from Witch, where the roots close in on both of you, and for a moment, they pick Witch up much like Shifty might've done. Also, Den being free and happy, and just a kitty. She deserves everything.

27. (Explore) How did you come across this game?

Through RTGame's VOD channel. Haven't been the same ever since.

28. (Explore) What was your first playthrough like?

After already seeing basically everything the game has to offer, there wasn't much surprises to get from playing the game myself, but the experience was still incredible, especially with my decision to roleplay the routes Quiet went through in my Heathens AU.

First playthrough went like this: Eye of the Needle (with Skeptic) – Connected Wild (from Witch, with Cheated) – Empty Cup – Spectre – Happily Ever After (with Para, chose to keep the lights burning)

29. (Explore) Can you share an idea/WIP of a fic/fanart/fanedit/AU you have in the works right now?

Here's Loop's design for my ISAT-STP crossover I'm playing with–

Had the idea that 'wishes' are actually made out of parts of both Shifty and LQ, and so Loop got traits from both of them in their new body.

30. (Explore) Can you recommend a writer/artist whose works you really like?

Anything by @birdmitosis, here's their Ao3, they got some of my fave works in this fandom. This fic, by harmless_spider has forever changed my brain chemistry anD I NEED EVERYONE TO READ IT. And all my friends who are awesome artists and/or writers, like @remaking-machine, @itsonlypolite, @minotaur-asterion, @mrpristineblade, @anmionatheblue (hasn't posted much yet, but I RP with her, and know firsthand what an awesome artist she is), @wysteriaisapenguin, @wynn-ing, @modeus-the-misanthrope, @bubblybloob, and @pink-november, of course!!! And many many more. Everyone in this fandom who creates stuff is awesome and deserves the world. I would kiss you all on the forehead if I wasn't touch-averse.

[xelmokidx]

Nicknames

Mid90’s x gn or fem!reader / slight Fuckshit x gn!reader

Reader wanted a nickname, so the boys tried to come up with one. It sucked + readers' first time meeting the boys. 

Warnings!!: two mentions of fem pronouns sorta. Just fluff:D

**************************************************

Spike Psyche. That's my nickname. Out of all the things my friends could have nick-named me. Spike Psyche. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, appalled. Fuckshit nods, swigging back his Coke. 

“Yup.” he replies as Sunburn (aka stevie) giggles at the name.“Why?” I exclaim in disbelief. 

Ray chuckles at the nickname before muttering

 “Thats fucked up” Fuckshit opens his stupid mouth again. “Because all you talk about Is chopping off our heads and putting them on spikes, and how you want to kill yourself after every minor inconvenience.” I gasp, putting my hand over my chest dramatically. “I do not!”

Ruben shakes his head. “Yes, you do.”

FourthGrade chuckles behind his camera and I glare at him. He sinks down into the couch. “I do not talk about killing myself that much guys, if anything Ruben does more than me!” Ruben whips his head around to look at me. “Man, fuck you” He starts “I do not talk about that depressed shit.” I shake my head. “Y’all are trippin’” I look around the shop and see some customers listening in on our conversation. “I will not let yall call me that dumbass name, I like Y/N so much better”

Fourth grade finally chimes in. “But last week you said you hated your basic name and you wanted a nickname.” Bless his innocent soul. “Well I take it back, i am not answering to ‘Spike Psyche’” I sink into the couch with a pout. “Well fine ma, we’ll find you a “good nickname” Fuckshit reasons. I nod. We sit in silence as Ray gets up to help the customer. I look around the shop. 

New posters of artists I like are on the walls. Fuckshit insisted on making the space mine as well as theirs. All I heard was ‘we need new decorations and you have good taste in music’ I didn't really mind though. I've always wanted to add my own little spice into the skate shop ever since I first stepped foot in it. I think back a couple years. 

I was 13. I wanted a new board for my birthday. So, my dad took me to the nearest shop. Four boys sat on a couch near a wall, watching MTV on their small TV. The tall one noticed us first. He nudged the golden haired boy to his left, who then looked up at me. “Oh shit” he muttered under his breath. My dad frowned. I guess he caught that. “Hey, welcome to Motorz, how can I help y'all today?” he asked, clearly trying to impress my dad (on account of my dads business attire). 

My dad spoke for me while I hid behind him in fear. I was never good with new people. Especially ones I found cool. 

As my dad pressed questions like ‘How old even are you?’ and ‘fuckshits your name?’ I only found the kid cooler. How did you even wind up with a name like Fuckshit? 

Soon enough, my own personal skateboard was in my hands, and my dad was dragging me out of the shop despite my wanting to stay. As I looked behind me to the boys, and the supposed fuckshit was waving to me out the door. With my other free hand I waved back. He smiled a soft smile, and then walked back into the shop yelling “that chick was hot!” I smiled to myself the whole way home. I went back to the shop after school one day to see fuckshit again, and just stayed there for three years. My dad warmed up to fuckshit eventually, but still has some grudges against him. 

And I'm still in love with the stupid kid, even though he gets on my nerves almost every day.

 I look at fuckshit now. His hair is longer, yet less taken care of and frizzy. He has more scars from skateboarding. And his eyes look even more green against his tan olive skin. Suddenly, he speaks. “I got it!” I roll my eyes and mutter “what is it?” He smirks and walks over to me slightly slotting his legs between mine. “Your new nickname is Stalker, because you're always staring at me” The boys erupt in laughter. I gasp “fuck you” 

“You wish ma,” 

[killcodesashes]

[QUICK RANT ABOUT QUEER REPRESENTATION IN TSAMS/TSBS SHOWS]

[As a genderfluid aroace person myself.]

TSAMS

Uh. I don't like it. Aroace Moon? Cool. Absolutely valid, we love him for that. Wasn't adressed much except in a few episodes which are pretty good, I liked the one where he rejects Foxy a lot!

But recently- g e e z. I understand wanting to bait people in with ships people want! Specifically KidsCove. Same in tmgafs! But the problem is that they do it not just to tease/mess around with the viewers in good fun, they genuinely seem to hate the shippers and actually want to make fun of them? Not just with kidscove but with any other ship that isn't canon. They don't even want to confirm Sun's sexuality, just constantly making it a gag that he has a bisexual flag in his room. Which as a queer person? It's just annoying. Just really annoying ? Please all we want is a confirmation or something? We want queer characters we can actually relate to. And we don't really get that :( Then New Moon came along and said it was possible he wasn't aroace. . . And then they never mentioned it again. So why mention it in the first place ? I don't think I would've minded it if he had just changed how much attraction he felt but was STILL aroace/on the aroace spectrum. As long as it was actually clarified. But they seemed eager to rush to his evil era so they didn't bother to close to any lose ends before hand, though I guess being aroace might've just not been as relevant.

On a bit of a side note- Ruin feels very gay coded. Very gay. There is no way he's straight T.T he's a villain but he's a zesty man and we absolutely adore him for that!!

That was probably an accident, though. Every theatre kid seems gay! /lhj

Just overall upsets me that the VAs seem to act offended by the mere idea of shipping characters? As if that's not a common/vital part of every fandom.

[OTHER SHOWS UNDER THE CUT]

TMGAFS

Upsets me that they can't clarify Puppets identity or pronouns? [Or maybe they have recently but I genuinely doubt it]

Because who are they meant to actually represent ?? It's probably just me but I wish it was more clear or something. I appreciate the VA for trying I do though, absolutely love that guy[Foxy’s VA, genuinely seems to just be a chill guy. And I think it's really cool that he actually does roles that could come off very cringe, voicing most of the cringe dimension characters +struggling with Puppets voice for the longest time.] I just wanna know if Puppet is a trans fem queen or trans masc slay or just trans ? But nothing seems to be clarified.

Again with KidsCove? Genuinely just annoying how they blatantly just do it to make fun of the people who ship them and get views from them.

Foxy seemed to have been gay before his memory loss. Or was at the very least interested in men to an extent. But since he began to be the main character of a show he suddenly only likes women?? S u s. They really keep insisting he's extremely straight and genuinely just annoys me that they erased him being interested in men [Proved he liked men in the episode he asked Moon out.]

. . .now. . . M o n t y. As a genderfluid person? I hate them and literally feel more represented and seen by cis characters from other shows. For the longest time Monty being genderfluid wasn't even adressed and was usually just brought up for plot reasons or something? And it pissed me of that every time they correct a character on Monty's pronouns.. they immediately go back to using he/him pronouns. I think the new fem body is pretty neat! Though I think it would've been more interesting for Monty to stay masc but ACTUALLY get their right pronouns used and their identity getting genuinely respected DESPITE of their appearance. But the body? It's genuinely completely fine! /gen I used to hate my body too and understand that the writers might've thought it might be easier for people if they just used a different body completely! But it annoys me that my gender representation comes in the form of M o n t y. The annoying character known for constantly hating on others and partially destroying their lives. Anyone can be genderfluid, yes. But when the representation is so little? I just wish it was at least a bit better or with a less hateable character.

TLAES

Lunar! Uh. Again can we just get clarification on his sexuality? Is he polyamorous? Bisexual? Omnisexual? Just any clarification please?

Gemini! I wish they were canon nonbinary. They're literally stars. Why did they have to be gendereddd. Also curious about their 'sexuality'? Will also likely never get clarification on it :/

OTHER SHOWS/SIDE NOTES

Roxanne is canon lesbian and so is Glamrock Chica! I'm so sorry but I forgot his name T~T I think it was Tiger Rock[??] Is also canonically gay! Glam Chica has a girlfriend! And I do think their relationship is pretty cute [from what I've seen] and overall wish I would finally get to watching the show a bit more! Funtime Foxy feels very queer to me? Not just because his design is pink but his overall characterization! He does have a girlfriend! But he seems to be comfortable in his own identity and presentation from what I've seen? At least, it seems to be more comfortable than some o t h e r characters. I feel more represented by Funtime Foxy and Lolbit than I ever felt represented by Monty. But that is a personal opinion!

I overall have just lost interest in all of the shows. I'm tired of being constantly disappointed and lead on. But I do wish I could watch more of the other shows since they seem to show more love and care towards their characters :)

CLOSING THOUGHTS!

It's just shows. Does any of this really matter? I think it matters when the shows are claiming to have good representation when they really don't. And they're allowing people who aren't queer/a part of the LGBTQIA+ community to feel like they have the right to shut real queer people down. I've seen so much acephobia and overall homophobia even in this community. A l o t in this community. I wish the writers would listen to ACTUAL QUEER PEOPLE!! I wish the VIEWERS listened to ACTUAL QUEER PEOPLE.

That's what I really want. I just want to be heard and represented.

I don't claim this community. I CAN'T claim a community who is constantly against us.

LISTEN TO QUEER VOICES.

[idyllic-affections]

i have thoughts

okay so my personal favorite hc about scara/wanderer is that he has doll joints but hoyo is a *redacted* and also he has cracks on his skin after he fights (which he has to fix)

SO

İMAGİNE: blind reader, a little sibling to wanderer (maybe theyve also suffered from dottore who knows) and wanderer is kinda insecure and reader is like stfu idc

(im totally not planning on writing a romantic version on this totally mhm --> is in writers block and has been thinking about this for *months*)

thoughts pretty please

the wounds on your skin.

summary. the wanderer does not get wounded like a human does.

trigger & content warnings. blindness written by a sighted person (i am visually impaired but not blind, so if something is inaccurate, please correct me!), insecure wanderer is implied.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. slight reverse comfort. wanderer & blind!younger sibling!reader. 0.4k words. they/them pronouns used for reader. wanderer has doll joints in this.

author's thoughts. i can be the platonic to your romantic hehe 🫶🫶🫶 i agree though i LOVEEE wanderer with doll joints. and i also love wanderer who does not get wounded like a normal human.

"is something wrong?"

the wanderer peers in his sibling's direction, scoffing, despite his nervous fingers habitually picking at and tracing the wounds on his skin that he had yet to repair. the cracks. his elbow joint clicks slightly as he raises one arm, resting his chin in his palm. he shot them a look he knew they couldn't see.

...though, they could almost certainly feel it, given the sharp intensity of his eyes. if they did, they pretended not to notice.

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

it was their turn to scoff now, turning their body towards him. their eyes didn't quite land on his face, but did land in his general direction. he knew they were scrutinizing him even without their sight. "please. you've been quiet all day since we encountered those fatui agents earlier."

he doesn't say anything.

"...is there something on your mi—"

"i'm sore," he snaps, then winces a bit when the harshness of his own tone reaches his ears. he softens his voice a bit when he goes on. "i'm just sore, [name]. that's all."

unbothered, they pointed out, "you don't get sore."

"yes, i do."

"no, you don't," they insisted, "just— ugh, gods, brother, is it the cracks?"

he, again, fails to respond.

this time, they don't say anything either.

their hands blindly reach out for his, squeezing his fingers in theirs when they do find his hands. a thoughtful hum rumbles in their throat as their thumbs rub comfortingly over his knuckles.

"you're not human, so i won't say those cracks don't make you any less human, because you never were in the first place—"

if he had a heart, he's sure it would have stopped in his chest. had anyone else said something like that to him... maybe they wouldn't be dead where they stood (nahida really wouldn't like that, he thinks), but they would have most certainly left crying.

since it was his sibling, he chose to hear them out.

"—rather... you are no less of a living thing because of it. you have feelings and thoughts and you deserve to be treated as such." they gently turn one of his palms over, releasing the other. with tender fingers, they traced up his forearm, until they finally encountered one of the cracks in his porcelain skin. calloused fingertips carefully traced the area of the wound. "you're not any less alive simply because you get hurt differently than humans do."

the wanderer still does not reply. he feels his throat tighten ever so slightly. they don't say anything else, hoping that their point had been communicated with those words alone.

his skin was cold against theirs, but nonetheless, both the wanderer and his sibling found solace in the contact.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[impactedfates]

I really love your blade and pregnant wife fic! Can I request their lives after the reader joins him on Stellaron Hunters?

A/N: I'M BACK, NO MORE WRITERS BLOCK. And hiii, thank you, I'm glad you liked it :)) And of course!! Here's some mini scenarios and HCs of what happened after the reader joined the Stellaron Hunters

Warnings: None (I hope, correct me if I'm wrong)

Extra: AFAB! Reader (GN terms/pronouns used aside from wife and mother) // OOC Blade most likely // Not proofread, as always correct me if I did smt wrong // PT 1 of the Blade x Pregnant Wife Fic here here.

SilverWolf definitely used you as a way to get Blade to do whatever she wants. If she wants to play a game with him and he says no? All she needs to do is mention you once and suddenly his hands all better and he can play.

He very much cuddles with you in bed (if you don't mind) Just note that if he has his arms around you, then it'll be difficult for you to leave.

When your kid is finally born, he's not exactly the best father but not the worst either. He knows his...demeaner can be scary to others, and he usually doesn't care. But if he scares his kid? I can see him sulking as you try to comfort your child and tell him the "scary old man" is in fact his father.

He asked Elio for some time off to help the kid settle in, as well, Being born in pretty much a criminal family isn't the best.

The child definitely sees Kafka and SilverWolf as their aunties and Sam as their uncle.

For some reason, I'd find it funny that when Elio was showing his more human form (he has one right-?) the child called him Grandpa. Didn't matter how young he looked.

Blade will protect you and his kid with his life, he instructs the two of you to stay put as he does his missions. He hasn't seen you in forever and he's not risking loosing you.

Maybe after the kid is born and has grown up a bit to be able to look after themselves and you're capable, he might be okay with you joining in on his missions.

Jing Yuan is disappointed you joined the Stellaron Hunters but not surprised when he found out. He either found out due to Cloud Knights who put two and two together/saw you with Blade OR you and Blade met him during a mission on the Loufu.

Okay but think of this, y'know how the Stellaron Hunters can bascially make a hologram of themselves onto the express? Imagine Blade trying to intimidate the express then his child just appears like-

Blade: "And I'll ensure my blade pierces through your-" Child: *Random child hologram appears* "Dada!!" Blade: *His demeanor changes as the mini hologram of his child appears, he looks at the child* "You're meant to be asleep...here let me take you to bed or else your mother will be mad"

*Cue The Astral Express Family Confusion*

He refuses to admit he has a weakness to you and his child. Like no he is not making you breakfast in bed just because and no he did not just steal a shop full of toys for his kid.

Blade lets you and your kid style is hair and if he's feeling up to it, he might let you put silly make up on. Imagine him going into a Stellaron Hunter meeting and his hair is braided into pigtails and he has pink sparkly make up on.

He cares about his small family...a lot...so if he sees you or his kid with the slightest cut he'll be quick to patch it up and if you ask nicely enough. Maybe kiss it better. (He won't admit he was worried though, just lecture you to be careful)

You're the only one who can see his more soft and caring side, especially alone. If you're with him with others, people will definitely notice how he treats you better then them.

You probably have scary dog privileges, he doesn't trust anyone to not hurt you so he'll come with you everywhere. And if you insist to go alone? He'll ask someone else to go with you so he can ensure your safety. (He's just doesn't wanna loose you again)

His child is home-schooled, even though he is scary and can probably convince someone to teach him at a school, he has a feeling they'd get bullied and/or no one will come near them if they knew he was the father.

All the Stellaron Hunters help teach them, and they even teach them additional things...

Blade: Kafka. Stop teaching them how to shoot a gun Kafka: Come now Bladie, they should know how to protect themselves. Blade: THEY'RE 4.

Your kids eyes are the same colour as yours and their hair the same as Blade...well his old hair anyways.

He's a good husband still, perhaps a bit more violent...never to you and your kid though of course. Just cold to others ESEPCAILLY if they're taking bad about you or his kid.

One of the reasons he acts this way towards youse is because he wants to make up for the amount of time lost when he was gone. So making you happy and ensuring you're still okay and healthy is his top priority. If you or your kid thinks he's getting too much than tell him and he'll agree to stop. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable either. He just want you and your kid to be safe and happy.

Will be working on the other 2 current requests I have as soon as I can, apologies for the small break :>

This is most definitely not my best work but I hope you like it regardless (┳◡┳)