#angst here I come

[codfanficedits]

The Silent Treatment.

Pairing:

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader.

Wordcount: 3695| Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Arguing, cussing, swearing, mommy issues, communication, mention of a finger in an ass, angst with no comfort.

A/N: No alternative endings for this one, life's a bitch and if I have to suffer so have you <3 also maybe thinking about taking request, idk.

There were three rules in your relationship with Simon.

One – NEVER eat leftovers that aren’t yours.

Two – Bending over is NOT an invitation to poke someone’s ass.

Three – Never go to a mission while still in an argument.  

Rule number one was an easy one. You’d gotten fed up with him eating your leftovers. You’d spent the whole day dreaming about the leftover pasta carbonara only to be met with an empty plate when you came home. An innocent look on his face when you scolded him. “I was hungry.” He pouted. “If your name isn’t on it, it isn’t yours!” You scolded him.

Simon would just put a post it with his name on your leftovers. A cocky grin on his face whenever you called him out on it. “Whaddya mean lovie? It clearly says my name.” In the beginning you wanted to wipe that cocky grin of his face, but over time you found yourself cooking a little extra, just so there would always be a portion of leftovers for Simon. In return you would just keep the good leftovers in an old, empty tub of butter. Your little secret and he didn’t need to know.

Rule number two was brought to life when Simon was finally fed up with you trying to poke his ass every goddamn time he bended over.

“It’s off limits!”

“But that’s not fair.” You protest. “My ass is not off limits for you.”

“You like it.”

“You won’t know it if you won’t try it.”

“You are out of your goddamn mind.”

“Just once.” And with those words you take a step closer, holding out your pointer finger.

“I swear to God, one more step and I’ll put you up for sale on Facebook Marketplace.”

A loud exaggerated gasp leaves you while you lower your hand. “You would never!”

“Correct.” A twinkle in his brown eyes. “I would have to pay people to even be interested in picking you up.”

“Simon!”

You’re met with two arms around you and a million soft kisses on your cheek, forehead, neck. “I would never do such a thing.” He mutters into your ear. “I like my money too much.”

It became a little inside joke. Every now and then he would take the most unflattering picture of you, his favourite was the one where you’d fallen asleep on the couch, your mouth open, snoring while a little bit of drool was on the side of your face. Simon would proudly show you the picture.

“This is the one I would put up with that Facebook Market place ad.” He would grin.

“Please do. Maybe some rich prince will pick me up.”

“Yeah if you count someone with a Burger King crown a prince.”

In return, when the two of you were watching tv, you’d point at some of the rich women you’d see on there.

“That would be me when some rich man responds to the ad you made about me.”

“Be sure to send me some allowance every now and then.”

“As if!” You scoff. “I’d be too busy being rich and pretty to think about sending you a tenner every month.”

It would always be met with a low, grumble, mixed in with a laugh. “You’re already pretty, lovie, pretty sure you can miss a tenner too already.”

But he would always, always pull you close to him and press a kiss onto your hair, and you were pretty sure you could hear him mutter the word “mine”.

Rule number three came to life after the first time the two of you had a big argument. While the two of you could communicate perfectly fine most of the time, every now and then it would escalate. He had a temper, you were so fucking stubborn and sometimes it just had to clash.

And this was the first time. The two of you had just moved in together, and with that came a lot of irritations. Both of you were used to living alone. You didn’t have to worry about people nagging you about your dirty sock scattered around the floor. Simon was used to putting his socks directly into the hamper when he took them off. In return, he could make the kitchen explode while cooking and was perfectly fine with leaving it like that for the night, your fingers would itch whenever the kitchen wasn’t spotless after dinner. But this was new for the both of you, and all of the sudden the two of you weren’t just soldiers, but two people, madly in love but both trying to be right on an argument that only needed compromises.

And it felt as if the world was coming to an end at the kitchen table, while the two of you were arguing and crying, eating of the last, sweet bite of your relationship.

Unfortunately a mission doesn’t stop for a little argument, so the argument had to be cut short. You’d be sent away for no longer than two weeks, and leaving tore your heart out, leaving it behind on the shoe rack for him to look at while you were away. You didn’t even know if you would be single or not when you would come back.

Inside your shared house, Simon would be sitting on the floor, gaze fixed on the door through which you left, hoping you’d come back through that door, tell him you love him, and that you would clean up your socks.

But you didn’t.

Instead he received the news that the communication was cut off between your squad and base. An unforeseen enemy ambush that no one had seen coming. And your socks on the floor no longer mattered to Simon, he promised himself he would never, ever complain about the socks scattered on the bathroom floor if that meant you would come home safe. Simon had never been a religious man, but he would find himself praying at your empty side of your bed every night he was home, begging all the Gods above that you would come home to him.

And you did.

He had been waiting for you the moment he got the news you and your squad had been found. Nervously pacing around, while he was Ghost out on the field, for you he was just Simon, and right now Simon needed you more than ever before. You had been gone for nearly a month now, and he could no longer care about your socks, or the way you would kick out your shoes. All he could care about was you, and having you.

You on the other hand, had no idea what you would come home to. Maybe he had left, maybe you would come home to an empty house with a lover long moved on. But that wasn’t the case, you were greeted by a large man, his hands instantly cupping your face, lips all over your cheeks, nose, lips, eyes, forehead as if his lips were trying to imprint your face in his mind.

After that, the two of you decided to never, ever leave on a mission again while still mad and that rule needed a little tweaking.

By the next big argument, months later, the both of you stayed up all night, trying to talk out the argument. The lack of sleep only fuelling the anger on both sides. It made you both irrational and unable to think in solutions. Eventually the both of you fell asleep, Simon sitting at the kitchen table, you had made your way to the couch, holding on to his hoodie out of spite. The next morning the two of you could in fact talk it out, without the crying, without raising your voice, without the cussing.

So eventually rule number three became really simple. Don’t go on a mission while you’re still in an argument. No matter the subject, no matter how angry one of you was. If someone had to leave for a mission, the argument was put on hold, almost always accompanied by some soft words.

“I’m still mad, but I love you, and we’ll find a solution when you’re back”

“You’re still a pain in my ass, but I love you, and we will work this out.”

“When you’re back, we will talk about it, but for now, all you need to know is that I love you.”

A kiss always followed afterwards, usually on a lips, a single time on the forehead.

Today the two of you were about to break rule three. The past few months had been hectic, to say the least. A lot of missions, birthdays, other obligations. Not enough sleep, not enough intimacy, not enough time for each other. It had placed a ticking bomb under your relationship with Simon. An argument waiting to happen. The little things that would usually just make you shake your head and go on with your day, suddenly became a big deal. The way he would leave the kitchen, the way he would drape his shirts over the armrest over the couch. How he would leave his razor in the shower, always next to your shampoo. Speaking of it, you were certain he was using your shampoo, despite you asking him not to. Multiple times and he never fucking listens.

On the other hand, Simon was getting annoyed by you more and more, the way you would leave your socks on the bathroom floor, how you would leave a door open if you had been in that room. And you always left the fucking light on in the bathroom, no matter how often he would tell you to be mindful of it.

So there you were, walking into your kitchen after he had come home after a long, tiring mission. You had just come home from a day full of meetings and preparations for your upcoming mission.

Your whole kitchen a goddamn mess, who the fucks needs two pans, a cutting board, three plates and a fork, a knife AND a spoon for a portion of scrambled eggs anyway? But you try to let it go, you try counting to ten, you try to ignore the eggshells on the stove, the ketchup on the counter, you try to ignore it all.

Then he barges in, a pair of your socks in his hands, while he looks you in the eyes, using his foot to open the bin, tossing your socks in there.

“What the fuck is that for?”

“I’m sick and tired of finding your fucking socks everywhere.”

“Oh so you can throw away my socks, but throwing out eggshells while you’re cooking is too much to fucking ask?”

“I was going to do it after my nap.”

“Sure you were.” An eyeroll from you followed.

“Don’t give me that fucking attitude lovie.”

“Attitude?” You narrow your eyes.

“Attitude. All I want is some fucking peace and quiet and all you’re doing is fucking nagging.”

“I wouldn’t have to nag if you would just clean this fucking kitchen! Other people want to live and cook here too.”

You can see him press his lips together, a sign that the temper in him is rising, but you don’t care, you can feel your own anger building up and it needs to get out.

“Well, other people would like to go to the fucking bathroom without having to cross a fucking path of dirty, filthy fucking socks!”

“They’re just fucking socks, what is your big fucking deal?”

“My big fucking deal is that little miss perfect over here is nagging like a fucking bitch, while I’m following her around cleaning up her fucking socks, closing fucking doors behind her fucking ass. You can’t even turn of the fucking light after you’ve been in a room and you’re whining about the fucking kitchen!” His voice is raising with every word that comes out of his mouth.

But you were raised by a woman couldn’t love herself, so you don’t back down, instead you get in his face, your tone and volume matching his. “Because this kitchen is fucking disgusting Simon! How the fuck could the army recruit someone so fucking filthy?” Bringing in his career was a low blow. “How fucking hard is it to clean the goddamn ketchup if you spill it?”

His hands form two fists, clenched while they hang beside his body.

“Do not.” His voice is a hiss. “Bring my fucking work into this.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Whatever you fucking say Simon.” You turn around as you spit out your words.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Out of this fucking swinery of a kitchen.”

“We’re not done talking.”

“What else is there to fucking say? You’re a fucking pig and I am the problem apparently.” Another turn to face him again.

“You know, when you act like this, you’re just your mother.”

Oh, your mother. The woman who was your first friend and your first enemy. The woman who had taught you that your worth was what men thought of you, while slut shaming you in the same sentence. The woman who never loved you how you needed her to. The day she called you ugly wasn’t the day you stopped loving her, but the day you stopped loving yourself, and you had told him. You had cried in his arms about your fucked up relationship with your mother, you had cried about what you had wanted her to be, but what she never could be for you.

“If I’m my mother, then you’re your fat-“ He cuts you off.

“Don’t fucking go there.”

“Why not? You can compare me to my fucking mother. My MOTHER out of all people!” It’s your turn to raise your voice at him.

“It’s different.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite Simon.”

“I’m the hypocrite? I can’t even come home without you nagging on my fucking ass about this fucking kitchen while you leave a trail of your fucking mess throughout the whole fucking house.”

“Oh well, I’m sorry for not wanting fucking eggshells on my stove, or your fucking shirts all over the couch. Or your FUCKING razor next to MY fucking shampoo!”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“Oh don’t fucking act all innocent now, Simon. I’ve told you plenty of times to keep your hands of my fucking shampoo. That shit is fucking expensive.”

“So I don’t deserve nice, expensive things?”

His comment makes your blood boil. “Stop trying to be the fucking victim.”

“The fucking victim? I can’t even use some nice smelling shampoo in my own fucking house without it being used against me.”

“Oh my God! You could’ve bought your own fucking shampoo. But noo, you always have to take my fucking things. Not even my fucking leftovers are safe from you!”

“Are you still upset because I ate some leftovers?”

“Yes!”

“You’re a fucking child.”

“You’re a fucking leech.”

“A leech?” His fists turning white at your comment.

“A fucking leech. Feeding off others like a fucking parasite.”

“It would be a very good idea if you learned how to shut up, lovie.” The last word didn’t even sound as a pet name anymore.

“Oh I’ll fucking shut up.”

“Finally some fucking peace around here.”

You press your lips together, not making another sound. If he wants some fucking peace he can get it. You turn around to leave the kitchen.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Without looking at him you point at the whiteboard, the date of the mission you had to go on today circled with a red marker.

“Be sure to pack some extra socks so you can litter the fucking battlefield.” He shouts at you as you walk off to pack your bag.

Never break rule number three.

You’re angry when you pack your bag, stomping around, making sure he hears how pissed off he has made you. You even want to take your stupid fucking shampoo with you, but you decide against it, it would be too much of a hassle.

You go downstairs again with your packed bag, and the two of you make eye contact. But neither of you says a thing. Neither of you say the words you had promised each other to always say before a mission.

You turn around while his eyes look back at the tv again, and you make sure to slam the door a little too hard while you leave on your mission.

Turns out all Simon needed was a good nap, some food, a shower and some more sleep. When he wakes up from his little nap and the sky outside is already dark, he realises how much he misses you, how he didn’t tell you he loved you when you went away. He lets out a sigh when he gets to the bathroom, your socks still on the floor, and with a small huff he bends over to pick them up, his hand automatically covering his ass, a force of habit to make sure you don’t poke him while he is bending over. A soft sigh leaving his lips when he realises you’re not there.

For the first time since the two of you got together, your side of the bed felt extra cold, extra empty, and he found himself on his knees again, praying to the heavens you would be home quick, so he could tell you he loved you, and so the two of you could have an actual conversation about the things that had been bothering the two of you.

Simon lets out a soft groan when he sees the kitchen, you had been right, it looked like an active warzone in there. Maybe he should learn to clean up the kitchen after cooking. He’s a grown man for fuck sake.

He rolls up his sleeves, puts on some music and it’s time to clean that goddamned kitchen. And while he is cleaning his thoughts wandered to you, how hurt you looked when he compared you to your mother, and a jolt of guilt shoots through him. It had been unfair to compare you to your mother. You were nothing like her, and when you would be back he would make sure to tell you that.

He's sweaty and Simon isn’t sure how it happened, but he got eggshells in his hair, but the kitchen is clean, and he intends to keep it that way. With a light spring in his step he makes his way to the shower. He automatically reaches for your shampoo, he just loves how your hair smells when you’re laying on his chest, or when he is your weighed blanket and his face is buried in the crook of your neck. Washing his hair with your shampoo reminds him of you during the day. Simon unscrews the cap, bringing the bottle to his nose and he closes his eyes, the steam and the scent of your shampoo give him the illusion that you’re with him again, and when he opens his eyes he feels empty when you’re not there.

He promises himself to tell you he loves you when you’re finally back.

When he lays in bed at night, and you’re not there to hold, he feels lonely, for the first time since forever, you had always feel like home, and now his home was gone. Simon keeps reaching out for you, only to be met by the cold feeling of your empty pillow. The scrolls past the pictures he has from you, the ones he had always threatened to put in a Facebook marketplace ad, and they bring a smile to his face. He remembers the first time he gave you the playful threat and how he had to make sure to smother you in kisses in case you were angry at him. But you weren’t, you had always been a saint and today he had let his anger take control.

He promises himself to tell you he loves you when you’re finally back.

But when you finally return and he gets the chance to tell you that he loves you, the words get stuck in his throat. Rule number three had been broken and he wasn’t sure how to continue from there. Eventually he finds the courage to speak to you again.

“I love you.” The words are simple, yet raw. But you’re not done being silent, after all, he wished for some peace and now he was getting it.

And so the minutes pass, the hours pass, the days pass, but your silent treatment doesn’t end, you’re a stubborn one, and he knows it.

But he has to speak to you, it is the least he could do, but it’s hard to speak to you when he knows you won’t say a thing back.

“I should’ve hugged you tighter the last time I saw you. I just miss you, in a quite simple, desperate, human way.” The words are raw again, as if they are ripped from the very core of his human being. Again there is no answer from you, and it rips his heart out. He just wishes the last thing you said to him were words of love, not words out of anger.

And now he is sitting next to you, a blanket around the both of you, while he finds the courage to speak to you. Simon’s gaze shifts from the flowers in front of him, to the stars in the sky.

“The stars will go out before I forget you.” His voice is soft, a whisper, the words are meant just for you.

He sighs when you stay silent, oh what he would give to hear your voice once again.

“You know, this is not how I had imagined life, lovie. I want to stay on the back porch, while the world tilts toward sleep, until what I love misses me, and calls me back to bed.” His voice breaks in the middle of his sentence.

Simon rests his head against your tombstone. “This silent treatment has been going on for long enough, don’t you think, lovie?”

[summercreolefanfictioner]

friend: so you're writing about the diabolik lovers modern college au, right? they don't have any traumatic experiences in there, right? me: friend: right? me:

[agent-tempest]

Not me putting myself through angst reading the last chapter of Tender curiosities baby and also reading Kreacher's tale one after the other.

[hinamie]

quick itfs sketch page

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[zu-is-here]

Commission for @help-im-a-gay-fish ☆ Thank you so much for your support! (๑>◡<๑)♡

“Round and Round...” series by help-im-a-gay-fish

Nightmare by jokublog

Killer by rahafwabas / rahaf-wabas / rahofy-sketch

[ficcerspam]

Tim has noticed something odd, about the Demon Brat.

Sometimes, the Demon Brat would look to his left, as if to start a conversation, or as if anticipating someone saying something, only to freeze. Just for a moment, a half second, because nobody was there, before looking away with painful expression. 

Months later, Tim decided to stand there, just to see what would happen. The brat didn’t look at him once, and Tim found that curious, and odd.

Another odd thing about his new, murderous brother, is that he refuses to look into the mirror. That’s not true, exactly: he would look in the mirror for basics, for necessities. 

Tim realized, months of observations later, that the brat didn’t look himself in the eyes. 

Strange. 

Tim had asked him, once, why he didn’t. As expected, all he got was a “It’s none of your business Drake.”

But that didn’t stop Tim from wondering. Tim is, if nothing else, curious to a fault and persistent to an illegal degree. 

And so the strangeness would continue, and Tim would wonder.  

The brat would look to his left, pause, and then look away. He would deftly avoid mirrors, and when asked why he would sneer and avoid those questions, too. 

Until he didn’t. 

Until he came back to the Cave battered and beaten, some dreary autumn day, the Demon Brat unusually sullen and quiet and off his game. He had sat through the lecture Bruce had given him, and sat through the quiet reaching out from Dick, and sat through the cajoling teasing meant to rile him up, to get him to say or do anything per the norm, with an unusual aplomb.

The brat apologized, said he was fine, and ignored the rest. He told Bruce he wouldn’t patrol tomorrow, and would stay home from school, because clearly he wasn’t feeling well. 

 It was like Damian wasn’t there, fully. 

So when Tim saw that the brat’s door was open, the next day, he peeked in. 

Of course he did. 

And there the brat was, sitting in front of the full length mirror he usually had covered with a cloth when it wasn’t in use, reaching up and staring directly into his own reflection’s eyes. 

“Demon Brat?” Tim asked, stepping in and concerned about the look in the other’s face. There was no answer. 

“Damian. What’s wrong.” Tim stood behind the boy, watching as Damian touched the corner of his own reflection’s eye. 

“The color’s wrong, Drake.” Damian finally said, matter of fact and almost broken, absent-minded. 

“What?” Tim asked, trying to see what he was talking about. Nothing was wrong, nothing was changed. Damian met his eyes through the mirror for a long moment, but Tim didn’t understand. 

“The color.” Damian reiterated, looking at his own reflection again. 

“The color? Of what?” Tim and Damian were never close, not really, but he was starting to feel like something was slipping away, in this moment. Damian dropped his hand, and finally looked away. 

Without answering, the boy got up and carefully draped a cloth over the mirror, ushering Tim out of his room silent as the dead. 

“Leave me be for today, Drake.” Tim reached, opened his mouth to try and say something, because something was wrong, but what? 

But Damian simply shut the door softly. 

The sound of the lock engaging felt strangely, and utterly, final in a Manor full of lockpicking detectives.

Tim laid a hand on the door, and mourned. 

[hiding-under-the-willow]

So. I decided to doodle ghosts au etho to get his design down and I. uh. thought a little too hard about him

[op-dumpstertruck]

This is going to be an omegaverse zosan AU I had in my brain for years now, but since epic ended a few days ago and the soundtrack fits a. way too good and b. makes my brain go brrrrrrrr I decided to finally draw it! Buckle up lads, it's gonna be fine in the end, but I'm gonna crack Sanji like a glowstick first-

[codfanficedits]

Don't fall in love - Full version

Summary:

You get warned not to fall in love with Ghost.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 5354| Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, fingering, eating out, also a little bit of angst, healthy conversation.

“Don’t fall in love with him.”

You remember the first warning of your teammates clearly. At first you were confused, because who could fall in love with a skull mask and an emotionally unavailable man?

You.

You could. You didn’t get the warning at first. The first time Ghost walked into the briefing room you were in too, he didn’t speak, not until it was really needed, a huge difference to the rest of the team. A quick glance his way and you could focus in Price again, he was just a teammate, nothing more.

Not long after that you saw him leaning against the doorframe, arm above his head, showing off those muscles in a long sleeve shirt that was just a little too tight, skull mask off, balaclava on, talking to another female recruit, as she was giggling and twirling her hair around her finger. It made you roll your eyes. ‘Don’t fall in love with him.’ You heard the words echo in the back of your head. Two days later you overheard her cry to a friend, a fellow soldier, how she had fallen in love with him and he was so distant to her. But that’s why you don’t fall in love with him.

After a mission you had to report to him, standing in his office as you were watching him write your statement down, the leather gloves off, and for the first time you noticed the calloused hands, the evidence of his hard work, his hard training being clear by the way his large hands looked, a large vein running on the back of his hand. Shit, for the first time in your life you could feel yourself running hot from an exposed hand, as if you were a man in the 1700 seeing an exposed ankle. It took a lot of discipline to not drool over those hands.   ‘Don’t fall in love with him.’

Later that night when you got a little too lonely in bed, your mind wandered to those same hands again, how big and strong they looked, how good they would look wrapped around your throat, how just two fingers would be good enough to fill you up, stretch you out. Fuck. A pressure building in your lower stomach, a craving that wouldn’t go away until you took care of it. 

Before you know it your own hand makes its way down to the throbbing mess the thought about his hands had created. Harder, faster, your fingers curling as you pump them inside of you, imagining it to be his fingers. An arched back, a tilted back head and your thighs pressed together as your orgasm washes over you.

Guilt coming second. ‘Don’t fall in love with him.’ But this is lust, not love, so it’s okay, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

It’s hard to look him into his eyes after that night, what’s even harder is to look at his hands, although they’re covered in his gloves, you know what they look like bare, as if it is your dirty little secret to keep.

But they’re just hands, you shouldn’t get so wind up about a pair of hands and it makes you wonder if it’s just the hands, of the fact that he is so off limits. After all, you don’t want to end up crying about him, not after the girls on base had warned you about him.

But by God did this man make it hard to ignore him, you watch him as he is working out, that goddamned balaclava on his face, while he is sparring with Soap, bare hands, short sleeves. Shit, was this the moment you discover you also have a thing for arms? The way those muscles roll over the tattooed skin. That familiar pressure in your lower stomach again as you watch him, your mouth running dry. You have to tear your eyes away from the sight before you, your heart pounding in your chest. He's your lieutenant and that’s why you don’t fall in love with him. When you see him talking to another female recruit you feel a pang of jealousy shoot through your chest as you can see her smile at him for just existing. Your eyes narrowing as she places a hand on his bare forearm. Fuck, why are you getting so riled up over this? Because he has some nice hands and arms? Nah, you should be above that. You know you need to leave when you see him put his arm around her and guide her towards the door. You turn on your heels, your mind wandering towards forbidden territory. Because how would it feel to have his arm around your waist? Your desire for him only growing.

Just to be safe you avoid him, like the plague, you even end up consoling the girl you were so jealous of, her tears staining your shirt as you hold her close, as you tell her not to fall in love with men like him. But your eyes linger a little too long when you see him around, automatically shifting to his arms and hands, even when they are fully covered by his gear.

You keep telling yourself you don’t need a man in your life, especially not a heartbreaker like Ghost. No you’re a strong, independent woman, yet you find yourself whimpering his name into your pillow as your eyes roll back whenever you fingerfuck your own pussy, fantasizing about his hands, his arms, how he would manhandle your with those large hands. Grabbing your hair, yanking your head back to whisper the most filthy things into your ear while he makes you cum again and again. Your new favourite way to bring yourself a toe curling orgasm.

But ‘don’t fall in love with him.’

How were you supposed to know he would take off his mask and balaclava after a mission. How were you supposed to know this man was the most divine creature you had ever laid your eyes on? The dirty blonde hair, the eye black around his eyes, bringing out the beautiful brown colour mixed with little specks of gold, the crooked nose, that fits his face so well, a cocky smirk on his face, while an old scar lingers on his cheek.

You’re falling in love with him.

And suddenly you find yourself twirling your hair as he leans against the doorframe, his hands and arms covered, but you can feel yourself getting lost in those gorgeous eyes. No protest from you when his gloved hand rests on your waist. A soft giggle leaving your lips when he leans close and invites you over to his room.

This man has you weak in the knees and suddenly red became your favourite colour, forgetting all the warnings, all the girls you had seen crying about him. The heat of his hand on your waist as he guides you to his room. The lion’s den.

“You’ve been eyeing me for a while huh?” A rough voice growls into your ear. Shit, had it been so obvious that you wanted him? You give him a shy nod, unable to maintain eye contact, partly because you feel ashamed that your staring was that obvious, but also because you know those brown eyes will be the death of you if you look at them too long.

He takes his gloves off, his hand grabbing your chin. His hands feel exactly as you had imagined them, his lips pressed softly against your, the kiss is more tender than you’d expected, but you don’t complain. The way his hands run through your hair has you feeling weak in your legs, as if they could give out at any given moment. A hand moving down your body, holding on to the small of your back as he presses you against him, his lips never leaving yours. That same hand makes its way under your shirt, his fingers teasing the border of your bra, and you can feel your breathing growing heavy. You finally pull back for the kiss the two of you shared and you can see the lust in his eyes, accompanied by something else, you want to tell yourself it’s love, but you know better than to believe he would be capable of loving you. So you turn into a needy mess, just for him, taking off your shirt without him having to ask for it. His dilated pupils are the reaction you need, your hands reaching behind your back to undo the hooks of your bra. A hiss escapes his lips as he takes in your breasts. “That’s a nice pair of tits.” He grumbles to himself. Were you the third one he has told these exact same words this week?

A soft gasp leaves your lips as his rough hands caress the soft skin of your breasts, his thumb making soft circles around your nipples. It felt just as good as you had fanaticized about. His hand grabs the waistband of your jeans, pulling you close again, the fabric of his shirt against your sensitive nipples.

His hands were quick to open up your jeans, almost as if he was working from muscle memory. A content hum when he pulled your jeans down, seeing the little wet spot in your panties. His rough, large hand pushes you against his matrass and you’re so eager to obey him, goosebumps forming on your skin as he slides off your panties, leaving you naked and exposed in front of him, while he is fully clothed. He goes down to his knees, a hunger in his eyes as his hands grab the soft skin of your hips, pulling you close and open your thighs for him without him having to give you the command, your legs resting on his shoulders while he eats you out as if it was his last meal. His tongue finding its way between your slick folds, strategically avoiding your throbbing clit, teasing you, letting you know that you were at his mercy, while your hand grips his hair, desperate to buck your hips against his face, desperate to finally get that release you’ve been trying to give yourself.

A cry escapes your lips when his tongue finally pays attention to your clit. A jolt of electricity going through your body as you plead him to continue, begging him to let you cum. You can’t hold it in when he let’s his fingers enter you. They were just as amazing as you had imagined, better even. That familiar feeling of an orgasm comes over you as you mewl out his name, Ghost. You wouldn’t dare to call him Simon, not even when he is nose deep into your pussy, his hands gripping your thighs as he makes sure not a single drop of your wetness goes to waste.

That fucking cocky grin on his face again as he towers over you while you pant for air. That same fucking cocky grin that made you fall in love with him.

‘Don’t fall in love with him.’ Too late.

He takes his shirt off with a swift movement. Shit. Fuck. His body is better than you could’ve ever dreamed off, and all you want is to fall asleep on that broad chest while he gently strokes your hair.

But he has other plans, the loud sound of his zipper snapping you out of your little daydream, your eyes widening when he sets his cock free.

It is just as big as his hands, and you can feel your cunt starting to throb again. You need him, a hunger that only he can satisfy.

Those same large hands on your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, teasing your clit with the tip of his dick, smearing his precum all over. Without a warning he enters you, your legs locking behind his hips automatically, you want to feel him, experience him.

His pace is steady, and quick. After all, you already came, it would only be fair to let him use you for his pleasure. But you enjoy this, way too much. Your cries, moans and curses getting louder and more frequent when this thumb flicks against your sensitive clit while he pounds into you mercilessly. He can feel you tighten around him, and it’s enough to send him over the edge, a few rough thrusts, a few loud grunts and you can feel him cum against your cervix. It’s so fucking hot that it sends you into an orgasm again, your back arching as your hands grasp the sheets.

The both of you panting while you lose yourself in those brown eyes again. He pulls out of you, handing you a towel to clean yourself up. “Stay the night.” He murmurs.

‘Don’t fall in love with him.’

“Of course.” Your answer leaves your lips before you even have to time to think about it. The both of you are sweaty and sticky, but all you want is to be held by him. The moment you get under his covers his arms are around you, his face is the crook of your neck, soft kisses planted on the soft skin. Your heart feels as if it is about to beat out of your chest. His lips eventually leave your skin, and a soft kiss is placed on your hair, before you can hear his breathing getting more steadier, deeper, and you know he is about to fall asleep. He let you go before he turns around, his back facing you.

Sometimes you have to blame yourself because you knew better.

You knew not to fall in love, and yet here you were. After what feels like an eternity, you’re sure he is asleep, so you get out of his bed, you just know it would feel like ripping your heart out when he would make you leave in the morning, so you’re going to be one step ahead of him. You dress yourself in silence, not making a sound when you leave his room. You were the idiot who fell in love with a skull mask and an emotionally unavailable man.

When Simon wakes up the next morning he is disappointed to see that you’ve left, especially when he had asked you to stay the night, because Simon doesn’t understand why he is not worthy of love, while Ghost understands he is to be desired, but never to be loved.

‘Don’t fall in love with him.’

And you can’t fall in love with something you can’t see, at least that is what you’re telling yourself as you avoid him. Memorizing how his footsteps sound like so you know when to slip out of rooms, to leave gatherings whenever your ears pick up the heavy steps. But you can’t avoid him forever, not matter how hard you try. The most hypocritical part? You’re hurt when he doesn’t look at you during a mission briefing. And now you understand the women you’ve seen crying about him before, because it seems like Ghost hold your whole being in the palm of his hand, only to crush it when he refuses to acknowledge you’re even there. Why are you craving his validation so much while you’re the person who turned him down, who left first? Why do these feelings have to be so complicated?

It isn’t until the briefing is dismissed that he finally looks at you and again you don’t know how to handle it, why do you want him to look at you and why do you want to look away at the same time. The cold air that he leaves behind when he walks past you without giving you a crumb of attention hurts into the core of your soul and you can feel the hot tears burn behind your eyes, but you refuse it. You refuse to become one of the women who were stupid enough to fall in love with him and cry about it, after all, you did get warned about it.

You feel regret whenever you remind yourself that you were the one who left him that night, because now your mind can torture you with things that could’ve been, but never happened because you decided to leave. You’re so lost in thought that you nearly bump into a large back. One you could recognize from afar.

Ghost turns around, those beautiful brown eyes are cold, harsh behind his mask.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Am not.” You protest, although the both of you know it’s a blatant lie.

His eyes narrow, before he shakes his head. “Was it something I did?”

It’s a question that caught you off guard. The vulnerability in his voice wasn’t something you expected to hear, you had expected anger, coldness, hate maybe even, but not this. The man who you were warned about, stood before you, a strain on his voice as he asked you the question that had been haunting his heart for days now.

Ghost wanted to pull up the walls again, shut you out, move on to the next. But Simon needed to know, Simon couldn’t take your silence, a rejection that stabbed him through his heart. Because there were two longings inside of him, and one was fighting with the other. Simon wanted to be loved and Ghost wanted to be always alone.

Because Simon dreams of conversations Ghost never get to have. He is unable to take the silence anymore, the guilt growing rapid in him.

“Please. God, don’t tell me I did do anything you didn’t want.”

What? You’re confused. Is that what he is thinking? Now it’s your turn to feel the guilt inside of you grow. You were so caught up with your own feelings, you never took his feelings into account, after all, you were warned about him, to not fall in love with him.

He takes off his mask, the balaclava following after. A look of distress on his face as he runs a hand through that dirty blonde hair.

“Because if I did, I’m so sorry. I really thought you were into it too, and I never meant to push you over any of your boundaries.” The words spill out of him as water spills out of a breaking dam.

“Stop.”

Silence

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.” You reassure him.

“Then why?” The same strain on his voice again, a look of hurt on his face. But how can you tell him how you feel without giving him the ability to completely destroy you?

“Why do you avoid me?” He asks again, because Simon wanted to know what made him so unlovable.

“They told me not to fall in love with you.”

 “Why?” The look of hurt changes to one of disbelief.

“Because you break hearts!” A reproach towards him.

“I’m the one breaking hearts? I had to wake up in an empty bed while you promised to stay the night!”

Why did it bother him so much? You had heard the stories about him kicking women out right after he had reached his orgasm. He shouldn’t care at all.

“Why do you even care at all?” You snap back at him, trying to keep your own feelings hidden by going for the attack.

“Because I wanted you to be different.”

Silence.

You don’t know what to say, you’ve been so keen on telling yourself you couldn’t fall in love with him, that you never ever saw the opportunity that the feelings could be mutual.

“Fuck.” His voice is strained at all. “Say something.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry I left that night.”

A pained laugh escapes him. “Fuck. That’s not what this is about.” He shakes his head. “You know what? Forget I said a fucking thing.” He hisses before he turns around on his heels, leaving you behind. And you can’t help but feel as if you showed that you cared too late.

You want to go after him, tell him you’re sorry, tell him you’re struggling to understand the feelings you’re feeling, to tell him you’re afraid that if you let him in, he will tear your whole being down and leave you defenceless. But you don’t.

Instead you watch him leave.

A feeling of loneliness, guilt, even regret washing over you. Because you’re doing to him what others had warned you about he would do to you.

On the other side of the base Simon is struggling just as much, feeling stupid that he let his walls crumble, even it is was for you. On the other side of base Simon is hurting because he really did want you to be different. Because for you, Simon had convinced Ghost to let you in. You made him nervous in all the good ways. You made him want to change, to stop chasing that feeling of being desired, so he could pretend the desire was the love he had been craving so him.

Because he wanted, no needed a life that isn’t just about needing to escape his life, and he desperately wanted you to be that life.

But you had crushed him, you had left him when he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, when he had asked you to spent the night. You had played the tricks on him he used to play on others.

So Ghost went back on what he knew best. Self-destruction in the form of using others. Self-destruction by having another woman in his bed every night. Using the poor souls to get a taste of what a life full of love could be.

And you couldn’t stand it. You hated to see how he would use the same tricks over and over again, you hated to see how they would always work. The infamous leaning against the doorway, taking off his mask or balaclava at just the right time. Showing off his bare hands, rolling up his sleeves so you could just see the right amount of muscle with his every move.

And it worked every time. It broke your heart to see how he had moved on from you. You hated how he was still the only one who could fulfil any fantasies you might have, how it was him that you were craving late at night, but how you knew someone was laying under him, getting what you so desperately craved.

But how does one take the first step after this? ‘Hey, sorry I dipped after I promised to spent the night, but you see, I have some issues so I want to hurt you before you can hurt me.’ No. No that would be no good, but it would be the truth.

‘Hey sorry I dipped and then refused to communicate like a normal person, you see, I have some issues I’m working on.’

No.

‘Hey, long time no see, I still masturbate to the sex we had, but I cry afterwards because I miss your arms around me.’

Pathetic.

‘Hey, could you give me one more chance? I’ll probably fuck it up again whenever we get into an argument because I’m afraid people will leave me all the time, but I can make you feel good for a week or two.’

Fuck. You got more issues than you realised and maybe, maybe it would be for the best that it never worked between the two of you. Maybe you were one of those people who were destined to be alone forever, never worthy of actually being loved.

But destiny had other plans for you. Destiny set the two of you up for a mission together. Destiny decided that the mission went well, the two of you secured a piece of intel, and on a mission the two of you worked together perfectly. He was great at taking charge, and you were good at following orders.

So, you just had a simple, successful mission, and now the two of you were driving back.

Just the two of you, in that goddamn car. You could see him grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, while you looked out of the window of the passenger seat. Your knees pointed to the door. You wanted to get out, you wanted to avoid every possible form of communication. You could feel the tension in the air, the both of you dancing around the awkwardness that came with this.

This is why you don’t fall in love with him.

But the damage had already been done, you were already in love with him, and every passing second was a reminder that you could have had it all, but you ruined your own chances with him.

“I’m sorry.” You’re the first to break the silence and you get rewarded with a scoff.

“You’re still sorry you left that night?” His voice is sharp, and it cuts right through your soul. Your natural reaction is to go lower, to burn every single inch of him to the ground. But you’re trying to repair your damaged soul, and a better reaction is part of that.

“No.”

“Then what are you sorry for.”

“I’m sorry for treating you the way I wouldn’t want to be treated.” A weight of your chest, you feel like you can breathe a little better.

“Why did you do it?”

A valid question.

“Because I was afraid you would hurt me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’ve seen you break the hearts of other recruits.”

“But they weren’t you.”

“No. But what made them different?”

“They don’t make me feel things like you do.”

Oh.

You find it hard to react to things like this, a part of you want to swoon at his words, beg him for forgiveness, lose a part of yourself so it can be replaced by him. Another part of you wants to keep the walls up, shut him out, tell him you’re a bad person, make him look at you the way you look at yourself.

“Don’t do this.” His voice breaks the silence.

“What?”

“Don’t go into war with yourself in your own head.”

He is reading you like a book.

“You’re like me.” He continues, Simon has kicked Ghost out again, trying to give you one more chance. “You’re afraid of getting hurt, so you hurt others before they get the chance to get to you.”

“That’s why I left that night.”

“I know, that’s why I usually kick the others out before they get the chance to stay the night.” The honest confession leaves Simons lips.

“Why me?” You must know it.

“Why not you?”

“Because I’m me.” And you don’t like yourself.

“And that’s what I want.”

“I don’t understand.” How could anyone really want you?

“Why not?”

“I’m just, me? I have too much issues for you to really want me. I’m too damaged to be loved by anyone. You can get any woman you like, you shouldn’t want me.”

“Stop filling in what I want.”

Simple words, yet they’re so effective.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

But what if you hurt him again? What if that is the final strike and he leaves you? What if you let him into your heart, what if you let him become your home and he grows tired of you?

“You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry.”

“Tell me what is going on inside of you.”

You’re amazed he can keep such a calm attitude while you feel a storm brewing inside of you. You’re amazed he can keep driving the car without crashing the both of you.

“I’m worried.” You begin. “Worried you’ll hurt me. Worried we will get into an argument and you’ll leave me. Worried I will let you in, and you see me for what I am and you decide you don’t like it.”

“I can’t promise you we won’t get into an argument.” He starts. “We’re both human, arguments happen, feelings happen. But I can promise you we can communicate about it.”

It was hard to hear this, because all you wanted was for him to promise you empty promises, promises he couldn’t keep, so you could throw it in his face. This was a nice change of pace, but boy was it terrifying. Terrifying yet exciting.

“Would you stay the night if I asked you again?” His voice breaks your inner turmoil.

“Yes.”

“What made you change your mind from last time?”

“Well..” Your voice dies out, and your mind starts to wander again, going into territory you don’t want it to go. And there comes the worry again. Because you had just told him how afraid you were, what must he think of you if his words weren’t enough to calm you down? God it felt as if you were already behind in whatever the fuck it was the two of you were sharing.

“You’re so in your head, you can’t even enjoy where you are.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His eyes meet yours for a short moment before he focuses on the road again. “You’re so in your head, so worried what I will think of you, so worried what others will think of you. Please try to let that go.” His voice is soft, softer than you’ve ever heard before. “I’ve slept around after I’ve slept with you, and while I’m sure you don’t like it, you don’t bring it up, you don’t judge me for it. So why treat yourself different.”

“Well, you’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.” You protest.

“Neither are you.”

“This is difficult Simon. I can’t see what you see in me. I avoid my gaze in the mirror. I have no interest in learning what it feels like to meet my eyes.”

“But meeting your eyes is beautiful.”

“And all beautiful things come and go.”

“But they come.”

This man had a way with words you had never experienced before, and it brought you a sense of relief.

“Why do you know so well what to say to me?”

Simon is reluctant to answer you, but does so anyway. “Because I am telling you the things I wish someone else would’ve told me.”

“Oh.”

“But that is okay. I found my strength and I can use it to guide you. I can’t do the healing for you, but I can try to understand how it feels and help you.”

“That’s the kindest anyone has ever been to me.”

“And you do deserve so much more of it.” For the first time in ages Simon finally allows himself to have the conversations he has been craving so much. No longer is he Ghost, the man to just have a shallow one night stand with, now he is just Simon and Simon cares.

“Thank you.”

You take a deep breath, excitement and fear dancing together inside of your soul.

“Where do we go from here?” A question you hate to ask.

“I think we need to take it slow. You’re a giver, always pouring out too much love. But you don’t realize yet that watering a rock doesn’t make it soft.” He looks at you again before he continues. “You are yours before you are anyone else’s, and I would like to be next to you while you figure that out.”

You can feel your heart starting to race again, your mind filling again with the insecurities, clouding your happiness, but this time it’s you who breaks the silence.

“But I want us to be inclusive. Seeing you sleep around breaks my heart.”

“I won’t, but you have to actually stay the night if you promise me it.” A little playfulness to ease the mood.

“Do you promise to stay alongside me, even when it get’s difficult?”

“I promise.”

“Even at my worst?”

“Even at your worst.” The words leave his lips without thinking about it, as if staying with you at your worst is so natural for him.

“Ask me to stay, and I will. I will drop everything else if you ask me to stay.” He whispers.

“Then please stay.”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS x ISAT part 1: In Stars and Necromancy.

(Part 2)

[varpusvaras]

Jason gets his new ID card on a Thursday.

It's somehow simultaneously completely unremarkable, and also making his head reel. It's not even the first new, official ID card he has had in his hands - he needed one for the licence, after all, so he'd got one then - but it's still new in every way possible.

Jason turns the card around a couple of times, just to make sure that it's real. It is. New and shiny, with his own face looking back at him from the front. His face is also somehow the same old and completely new at the same time. It is very much him, in the picture, but Jason feels like he is looking at his long lost twin brother rather than at himself. His hair is freshly cut, completely black. His skin is tanned more than it has been in years, from spending a lot of time under the California sun during the past few weeks. He is wearing a light blue button-down shirt, one that Jason wouldn't usually never be caught in publicly.

It is him, still.

Jason is pretty sure he shouldn't have gotten neither of his new, official state-issued ID's so fast, or gotten everything else sorted out so quick either, but Roy has his own ways of doing things. This is the one time his previous government-connections came in handy, he had said after Jason had said yes, and then he had kissed Jason on the forehead and told him not to worry about it.

Jason had let Roy take care of it all. Doing things for others is how he shows affection, and Jason had felt that Roy had needed to take care of Jason even more than Jason had needed Roy to take care of him. Not that Jason is complaining about it. He still feels a bit untethered, and most things are taking entirely too much out of him, either physically or mentally, though Jason is not sure which is which most of the time.

Not that it really matters.

He finally turns his eyes away from his picture to what is written on the rest of the card. His birthday is correct, for once, since this is an official card and not a fake one for whatever purpose Jason had needed one over the years. His address is also on the card, and Jason cannot help but feel a sense of elevation for it. It makes him feel a little stupid. It's an address (Roy's address, their address, Jason officially lives there too-), not a new name or anything like that.

Jason is not really sure if he can look at the name on the card and not immediately combust on the spot, if the address is making him feel this way already.

The ring on his finger feels heavy. Jason takes a deep breath and moves his thumb where it had been covering the rest of the text.

Jason Peter Harper.

It's his name.

It's him.

Jason reads it again. Then again. Then again once, twice, three times more.

Jason Peter Harper looks at him from the picture while he does so. Jason's head is really spinning, and he forces it to stop, hard.

It is him.

He is Jason Peter Harper.

He is the man in the picture on the card.

That's him.

The door opens and closes in the hallway. Roy comes up to Jason when Jason doesn't answer to his greeting.

"Everything okay?" He asks, as he gets to Jason's back.

"Yeah", Jason manages to get out from his mouth. "My new card came in."

"Oh, already?" Roy says. "That was fast. Let me see?"

Jason lifts the card up a bit, so Roy can read it over his shoulder. From how close Roy is standing to him, Jason can hear the small, gentle stutter in his breath as he reads the name. It isn't like neither of them had not seen it already, written like that, since it is in other forms they had filled out, but apparently, it is still making Roy feel just as much things as Jason does.

Jason hopes that it never stops doing that for either of them. Or at least, not for a very long time.

He needs something to last.

"Nice name you got there, Harper", Roy says, and Jason swears that he can almost feel Roy's smile on his skin. He then feels Roy's body pressing against him, warm and strong and solid. Roy wraps his arms around Jason, his head dipping down to rest on Jason, and Jason turns to look at Roy's hands and at the mathing golden wedding band he has on his finger.

"You're mine", Roy says against Jason's shoulder. It is what he has been saying, ever since the clerck at the City Hall had put their name on the paper, singing their lives together. You're mine, you're mine, you're mine, and no one can say otherwise.

Jason had needed to hear it.

He still does.

Jason looks up at the card. It's strange, how a little piece of plastic can tell everyone who he is.

Jason breathes in and closes his eyes, just feeling it all.

His name is Jason Peter Harper. He's alive.

His name is Jason Peter Harper, and for the first time since he died, he thinks he can be happy.

[theghooligan]

bloodraven being a tree and giving his great great grandfather sleep paralysis demons all season courtesy of harrenhall and alys:

[vilintciay]

" Ohh mmfp- FUCK..! Waka- TOSHI!.. Ahgg- God-."

Your eyes rolled back to the back of your skull, drool seeping out from the corner of your mouth. Above you was Ushijima Wakatoshi, ruthlessly pounding into you from behind, keeping both your arms pinned behind your back with a grip of a single hand as he pressed you further and further into the mattress from how hard he was fucking you stupid.

Your head laid turned to the side, cheek pressed up on cushion below as you gazed up at him with your ass in the air, stood and displayed all for him to bury his thick cock balls deep inside your tight, sloppy wet cunt.

"Ahhg- mnpff- mm- yeah! Ohh fuuckk! Yes, yes, right there!"

You mewled and cried out with pleasure, moaning and whining under him while his expression stood the same. A stoic and blank face with dark and lust filled eyes taking up each bounce and jiggle of your tits, ass, and thighs whenever he'd pull out his thick cock out of your tight cunt, plunging back in hard and rough. Grunting only occasionally.

You were out of it. So fucking out of it that you didn't even notice the sound of your apartment's door opening, light shuffling coming from the living room as someone called out a greeting. But it didn't reach you. Too fucked up and cock drunk that you could only focus on the way his hand would lift in the air to land a harsh and almost skin-tearing smack on your ass, squealing with delight as pain mixed with pleasure, stomach twisting tighter and tighter.

Your orgasm was building up fast, so fast you could barely catch up with your own breathing, slowly coming undone beneath him as you writhe, screaming out his name so loud you weren't surprised if you'd get at least 10 noise complaints from your neighbors. Oh wait.. that's right. This wasn't your house.

With a full body shudder, you felt the knot in your stomach completely burst, squeezing down hard on his pulsing cock as you squirted all over him and the bed below before slumping over and panting. What was I thinking of again?

Oh right, this wasn't my house. This... Wasn't my house?

... Oh. Right. It was his house. But only I didn't live here anymore.

It was only then you'd snap out of your daze, the door to the bedroom opening, your head snapping to look over at the door way. There stood a familiar woman, looking dumbfounded.

"Babe..?"

You were now his ex-girlfriend after all.

[electrozeistyking]

tomorrow

[corkinavoid]

Okay, yeah, I just wrote a post about good!GIW like three days ago, but

DPxDC GIW Using Ghosts as Living Weapons

TW: dehumanization, mention of electrocution, whump

I've been watching Hell's Paradise, and it got me thinking. What if GIW doesn't just catch and study ghosts? After all, their tech is no match for something like Vortex or Undergrowth, or even Technus.

What if they catch ghosts and turn them into living weapons? Train them into following commands like dogs, and force them into obedience. Dehumanize them in the worst way possible, treating them like machines.

Ghosts are not sentient or sapient in their opinion, but they feel pain. They can be trained.

What I'm saying is whump Danny, mostly, but make it interesting. Make it not just a teen in pain, no, make him a merciless machine that follows any given order with unmatched efficiency, someone who doesn't feel any emotions anymore, knowing no pleas or cries will work.

I'm thinking along the lines of a muzzle, or a collar that gives him electric shocks every time he either disobeys or does anything he was not told to do.

Now, I've got two ideas of where this can go. One, GIW gifts Danny to the JL as an ultimate, all-powerful weapon. Maybe they don't even specify he is a ghost at first, presenting him as an object, and then they get to do a demonstration, and the JL is promptly horrified at the sight of what they think is a meta kid in a muzzle that doesn't even have holes for him to breath. And when they very carefully try asking GIW to explain this, GIW just shows off Danny's powers. Which are, well, a lot. Maybe they ask Danny to do something like, I dunno, destroy an asteroid or shit. Something big, something most members of the JL are not able to do single-handedly, but Danny does it easily, with little effort. And GIW explains that this kind of power, especially coming from a ghost, a being malicious at its core, can not be kept on the loose without any restraints.

The second idea includes Al Ghul Twins. GIW can have some ties with League of Shadows, so maybe they made Danny into a living weapon with the sole purpose of making him Ra's' living weapon. So Danny ends up back in the League, and Ra's tasks him with killing one of the Bats, or maybe stealing something, anyway, he ends up in Gotham. Where he meets Damian, and, boom, siblings' feelings hit. Cue all the whump angst you can imagine.

I'm not sure how to incorporate Fentons in the second idea. Maybe it was all a coincidence - Talia faking Danyal's death, him being adopted by Fentons, then later found out and contained by GIW. Or maybe it was all staged beforehand, and Ra's specifically put Danny there. Or maybe we bypass the Fentons in the first place and Ra's simply gives a spare kid to GIW in order for them to try and make him more powerful with the help of Lazarus Waters/ectoplasm. Maybe this can even be some kind of reincarnation.

Also, more ghosts can be added to the mix.

Danny disobeying the orders in order to protect Dani and getting tortured for it. Ember being used for mind control. Dan being the prototype of the living weapon program, the first experiment that turned out wrong and has been locked and kept contained.

The opportunities are endless.