#as always--follow the links like their posts give him a follow etc

[dragkingsrule]

Sir Guy, Detroit-based drag king

Image sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

Artist links: Instagram

[whosblackcat]

mini thread abt how to help riize & seunghan + info 🩷🫧

note & warning: please don’t engage with ANY content of riize, for example don’t comment in their tiktoks saying “riize is 7” even if your intention is good, it breaks the purpose of the boycott!!

mass report sm's US office!! you can report using the template in the link attached in the tweet or via email!! email: hrus@smtown.com

riize boycott version (mv, songs, shows, etc.)

reporting to korea’s human rights foundation site: koreahumanrights.org

sm will pull fake scandals to distract our attention from the matter, for example as they did with sungchan yesterday! don’t believe anything, exols warned us

tweet the trending tags on twitter!! big official fan accounts always share which ones we have to use

don't buy or watch anything related to riize & sm, we’re boycotting

don’t interact with any post of sm and riize even if it’s to use the tags or supporting the boys, we’re boycotting

all the info of what did one of the persons who sent the death wreaths

ot6 are complaining to the police & government abt the displays and flowers for seunghan in front of the sm building, and according to this person now it's not possible to put them in commercial facilities

sm is buying followers and likes due to the impact of the boycott

ot6 are monitoring every movement and project in every language and reporting them. @/RIIZEUSACENTRE kofi was reported because of them while raising trucks money

seunghan's leaked photo with his girlfriend was leaked by hybe

riize is seven movement schedule. day 1 october 28th

mass review 1 star to all sm facilities on google maps (note: they’re deleting the bad reviews but we have to keep going)

hybes’s ceo lee jae sang issues apology letter for the ‘music industry report’ document (a sorry is not enough after destroying hsh life & career)

seunghan town will be removed due to ot6 reports and company that they reported the project, causing making hard getting the needed permits

pineapple manager passed in front of the protest today, he def saw the protest

manager passed in front of the protest again, they know what’s going on

manager passed in front of the protest for the third time, and tomorrow is the meeting

riize is seven movement schedule november 6th

there’s a very popular lawyer who has won a case against sm before that right now is representing fans

riize doesn't have any schedule, comeback or tour for the first quarter of 2025. the boycott is working, keep going!

riize lost 200k monthly listeners on spotify

this is all the info i found and i wanted to spread it here too, so thanks and credits to all the ppl on twitter!! if i find more relevant info i’ll keep updating this post. please share it 🫶🏻 (note: english isn't my first language, sorry for any mistakes in my grammar)

little motivation and some twitter accounts that organize projects/give info below the cut! 🩷

— some good info twitter accs:

@/RIIZEUSACENTRE @/SEVENRIIZE @/RIIZE_EUROPE @/PROTECT_RIIZE @/Seunghan_USA

— little motivation:

kbriize are holding face to face protests and fanbases hired an attorney. boycott properly if you don't want all the effort to be wasted! remember, boycotting takes time

"The group nearly disbanded in September of 2001, after Park Joon-hyung was discovered to be in a relationship. Their management announced, without informing him or the members, that he was to leave the group and they'd continue as 4, but it was met with strong objection from fans, who repeatedly signed petitions and threatened to boycott concerts and the company. Danny, Kyesang, Hoyoung and Taewoo held their own press conference, without the knowledge of their management, to show their support for Joon. After two months of disagreements, their company eventually backed down and allowed Joon to be in the group." if joon returned to the group after two months of protests, complains and boycott, we can bring back seunghan!! the key is persistence. please don't give up and keep fighting for his rights and justice!!

[machveil]

You should totally do like a how to draw Konig tutorial for one of ur daily sketches

Chibi or not

But u should totally do it

I neeeeeeeeed ur process

-🦥

notes below the cut - additional notes can be found in this post where I give art tips from my experience

daily König sketch with bonus content♥️‼️post is a little late but it’s due to the info dump below haha, anyways, he’s a little nervous

hi!! thanks for requesting a little “my process” thing - super happy to do one<3

I’ll be using these pieces of him that I’ve done to go over my notes - this is just how I go about drawing him. I’d definitely recommend also going through this post linked above too for additional info because a lot of it carries over!

I think the most important thing for me when drawing König is spacing out his hood ratios. I always start out by just drawing where his eyes and eyebrows are, then I draw the cut-outs around them. after that, I start the stitched neckline - that’s usually an eye hole’s width above his actual eyes, it gives a good allusion to where his forehead would be

they aren’t hard and fast rules I follow, more like a silent guideline that can be meddled with depending on the drawing. I usually follow them because, to me, it looks the best with how I draw him. it’s flexible - same with the sleeves, sometimes they end below his eye cut-outs, sometimes I cut them short and they’re higher

I thought I’d do a step-by-step for the hood folds because just info dumping all at once sounded confusing in my head

I start by just drawing lines down from the corners of his eye cut-outs, then I loosely draw a slanted line to show some bunching of the fabric. the slanted line is usually around where his collarbone would be

best way I can describe figure 2 is drawing folds in a ‘U’ shape. the fabric is falling from his head and ‘pooling’. the ‘U’ shape adds a little depth

miscellaneous little folds around the hem. they follow the way his hood rests, slanting downwards towards the center

if anything, just study how fabric falls and bunches up! a lot of drawing is looking at reference material to figure the ‘why’s and ‘what’s - “why do the folds bunch in certain areas?”, “why is fabric gathering in that area”, “what’s causing the fabric to move like that”, etc

lastly is his body, and as we know, I’m allergic to drawing clothing (read “lazy”). I actually really recommend looking at the post I linked above for this because, in the last figure, I show the Pinterest reference of the man who inspired my König’s body shape (and went into depth on using references)

for arms, in figure 1 and 2, you’ll see me draw an oval inside the bicep and forearm - those are just to add the allusion to muscle mass. if I don’t draw those ovals, to me, it looks a little flat. in figure 3 I go over his waistline because of course I do

I always account for a prominent rib cage line because I personally like drawing a more pronounced rib cage in general. after the ribcage, there’s a slight indent at the waist before it flares back out - that ‘flare out’ is the line for the Adonis belt. again, just personal preference, but I enjoy making the curves a little dramatic so they’re more pronounced and visually appealing to me

I don’t know how helpful that was but I hope I got some information across - uuh, even though I don’t draw his tactical gear and uniform that often the advice I can give is to just look at his model haha. the only gear that gives me a headache is his helmet, but even then I just bs my way through it

for chibi König I just shrink all his proportions and draw a stupid little t-shirt for his head<3 he doesn’t need to think, he’s just a cute little fella. I draw chibi König the way I would draw a puppy, make him look cute without a thought behind those eyes

for additional reference material here’s the link for my Pinterest - I have an absurd amount of reference material for you to browse through

hopefully this was slightly helpful?? I don’t know, as long as you get something out of this I’m happy

[kpopscruggles]

The people are asking for more txt twt links w/ Headcons and your thoughts! Love ur writing and maybe a sunghoon nsfw alphabet? I read some and it's a bit innacurate.. Would love your opinion on it (also new follower so idk much abt if u already posted that *I'll do some reseach :>*)

Thank you for requesting love! I decided to go with the sunghoon a-z because I've never done one and I've alr made a haechan request! 

Nsfw twt are on hold due to me finding some but soon I will bring those back! Anway's enjoy! 

A- aftercare, what he’s like after sex 

I feel he def attends to your needs, he’s at least doing the basics. Wiping you down, getting you cold water and a snack. I feel like he also does this though because he does it for himself if I'm being honest.  

Even if you didn’t care he was going to do it for himself so why not make sure his baby is taken care of too? It just makes sense to him. 

B- body part, their favorite on theirs and partner's body 

For him, his favorite body part on himself has to be his muscle. He’s not loke drooling over himself more than he is you but he does give himself good rep because he can pick you up, move you into diffrent positions with absolutely no problem. So i feel he values his muscles because of you in a sense. 

His favorite body part on you is your legs, he loves your legs. He loves how they are always in his lap, wrapped around his waist, on his shoulders. He loves kissing your ankles while ponding into you, also bonus points if you're wearing an ankle. 

C- cum, anything to do with cum 

I think he’s a clean guy UNLESS it involves a creampie. If he’s wanting you to swallow then he’s staying in your mouth, you must bribe him little to give you a facial or pearl necklace. Now like I said if it’s a creampie it’s sticky, messy, a shower after type fuck.  

Add in is I do believe he cums a lot, now realistic but he's got a nice stream going and is the type to squeeze his tip to make sure every bit comes out.  

D- dirty secret, self-explanatory  

Hoon’s got a few dirty secrets I believe but I think the main one he possesses and will never let you know unless you find out is bragging. And although this does not seem off but it's the fact, he could do the nastiest freaky things to you and has no shame in bragging about it when the boys try to tease him over it.  

This is something that he says between the boys and the boys, he doesn't get too personal with it, but he spills it by saying it’s something they should try with their girlfriends. 

E- experience, do they know what they are doing? 

I think if he had experience it's only have been one person. Hoon doesn’t strike me as the type who bounces around, for example you two could have dated months and he’s going to be sad ab it for a bit because he takes him time to know if he wants to date or not. 

So, one person but he’s mostly learned everything he’s fond of by himself, by watching porn, reading about it, etc.  

F- favorite position 

I don't think Hoon is basic, but he does use positions that slightly branch from the basic ones. Also keep in mind he finds ways to use his muscle. So, it falls under missionary, but he most has your legs on his shoulders and his moving your hips for you. It allows him to use his arm muscles, he's able to kiss around your ankles because he loves your legs. If not that then most the time it is quite simple missionary. 

G- goofy 

No, unless a simple mistake happens, he's profoundly serious cause he thinks sex is intimate. 

H- hair, how groomed is he? 

I think he keeps himself groomed and trimmed is his favorite. I think there is something about him that likes to keep the bit of hair because it is a human body and its gonna grow. Now he’s not freaking out if it grows a bit longer than planned nor is he judging you because your pussy is pretty to him no matter what. 

I- intimacy, how are they during the moment 

Super intimate, sex is a moment where in your relationship you're showing each other love and affection. Even after an argument sex is something that helps you both realize you love each other. He’ll do anything to have intimate moments with you because he genuinely does cherish them.  

J- jack off, how often? 

A lot. I am a firm believer Hoon has a perverted side and sometimes he’s too embarrassed to admit a simple thing got him hard.  

I also do believe he’s a firm believer of the fact no one can make you cum like yourself. He thinks you should even have moments where even though you have him you nor he should be ashamed of pleasuring yourself 

K- kinks? Top three 

Top three for him is Marking, Teasing, and A bit of overstimulation?  

Many people like to make these kinks rough, but they don't have to be. He likes marking because to him he loves when you nibble on his skin while he fucks you, He loves seeing you squirm a little or having you leave him with a raging boner even, overstimulation he likes because to him it kind of reveals how much or how eager you two wants each other with no shame or remorse for yourself to stop.  

L- Location, favorite places  

He enjoys just sex in the house (he may like the couch more than the bed) but if he’s out he doesn't mind meeting you somewhere private. It’s strange he has that vibe too because I also feel like he gives car sex after a few dates. 

M- motivation, what riles him up 

Anything you do sexually obviously riles him up but something nonsexual that gets him every.single.time, is when you wear certain colors. He thinks romantic colors like red, pink a dark purple, or a nice clean white takes him out every time, double points of the outfit is revealing 

N- no, turn offs 

He’s jealous that something I'll has to agree with most people on this app. Does that mean he won't share? Not technically. (not shipping when I say this) but he won't do threesomes unless it's with someone close, we can you jake as an example. But he’s only gonna do it once and all jake is getting is head. 

Another ultimate turn off is when things feel forced, not like one forcing the other but more of if he feels you are just having sex because you haven't in like a week, yeah, it’s not getting up so don't bother babe, he thinks sex takes time.  

O- oral, preference of giving or receiving 

He prefers giving, I believe. It doesn’t bother him when you wanna give him head, he just doesn’t feel that same ego boosts as when has got you whining while he’s fucking you with his tongue. So, unless he just has the urge to cut down your throat, he’s probably gonna stop your mid-way to ravish you instead. 

P- pace, fast? Rough? Slow? Sensual? 

He’ll get down with everything I do believe. I think if he’s feeling more sensual, he’s keeping his thrusts slow and deep so that orgasm just builds up by the minute. Rough, this is my opinion, but a lot of ppl do make him seem the be super rough, but I don’t think he’s like that and if he is it’s only when you're asking for it. Other than that, his rough is a lil messy and a couple marks but I also think he keeps a medium pace and just makes sure every inch of him fills you. 

Q- quickie? 

So, when I said in the turn off category, he thinks sex takes time. If you get a quickie outta him it’s a giving you head quickie because if his baby needs to cum he’ll gladly help. Other than that, I don't believe out of enha he's a quickie guy. 

R- risk, what are they willing to risk for sex with you? 

If you seem eager to do it, then he’s making his baby happy. If it’s not ruining anything in any way, he’ll do it for you. If it’s something he’s willing to risk, then it was never important is what he'll tell you. 

S- stamina? How many rounds 

I think he can carry about three rounds in his belt, if it's a needy situation 4 but if that's the case then 1 or 2 of the sessions someone is getting head so eventually your guy's breath is caught up. I do believe he spaces these sessions out if it's a 4 rounder but barely does this happen. Other than that, he’s going about three rounds  

T- toys, do they like them? 

Yes, so as said, he does think it’s healthy for you two to have sessions by yourself and you can use toys together but if you two use them when it’s just your personal time.  

U- unfair? Do they often tease? 

He thinks it builds up the need for others. He would love it if you teased him too. I see him as a competition teaser where you two see who gives in first. 

V- volume? Are they vocal? 

He’s a 50/50, what he’s always gonna do is dirty talk, no matter if it’s whispering or full-blown words. Now vocal as moaning wise, he lets out the soft moans, but only the overstimulation hit where he gets louder. 

W- wild card? Something that just randomly makes him relentless 

Knowing someone's listening or watching, or even knowing what you just did. If you are leaving your space after sex and one of the guys makes it obvious then he's getting hard again knowing there’s someone who knew he got to be balls deep inside you. It riles him up knowing he’s that lucky and that someone is jealous enough to tease and try to make fun.  

X- x-ray? What's he giving down there? 

I think he’s skinny but decently big. His tip always stays a pink, he’s got a couple semi prominent veins depending on how long he’s been edge or has held a boner. His balls are settled too, nothing rlly different there, like said he’s nice and trimmed so has a little hair patch. All around he gives pretty dick vibes.  

Y- yearning? High or low sex drive? 

High or normal. Most the time high which I feel is why he’s a guy who takes his time, this man is not thinking about being buried in your cunt 24 hours of the day just for a quick fuck.  

Z- zzzz, how fast he falls asleep after 

He’s tired but he’s not going to sleep without letting you know he loves you and that he enjoyed making you cum, sometimes even tells you thank you. Give a couple of kisses and make sure you're comfy.  

[felassan]

What's all this about Solas speaking in iambic pentameter? English isn't my first language so I never noticed anything odd about the way he talks, but your blog is the first time I've seen it mentioned by anyone

hello! ◕‿◕ Solas sometimes speaks in a specific pattern or rhythm. It sometimes gets described as or compared by people to iambic pentameter. (which is a type of rhythm common in traditional English poetry. Shakespeare used it in his sonnets and plays.) Though, I'm not sure that it's actually literally that or always that. The main point is that at those times, he's speaking particularly poetically, with a specific poetic rhythm in his speech. (Like where the stress on syllables is and the 'beats' in his speech.) Occasionally, the Inquisitor's dialogue line[s] in response to him are the same.

When Trick Weekes wrote Solas in DA:I, they wrote some of his key scenes to KD Lang's cover of the song Hallelujah on a loop. They talked about some of their process and the reasons for the use of this technique in terms of Solas' characterization in this DA:I-era blog post:

Trick Weekes: "When Solas talks about things that he saw in the Fade, things that speak to a distant past, I needed him to sound ever so slightly otherworldly and wistful – someone remembering a dream with a sense of both sadness and inevitability. If you follow [that link] and look at some of Solas’s lines, you may notice a familiar rhythm come out. It would have been forcing it to give lines the same rhyme scheme, but giving the words the meter captured some of that wistfulness and made Solas sound ever so slightly otherworldly. (In the rare cases the player got into the same rhythm, there was always an approval bump from Solas. For that brief period, it was like the player was thinking like he did.) I used this a few times over the game, and I love what it did to his voice. Also, Cori (who edited Solas) is exceedingly kind for putting up with my request that changes to those lines keep this surreptitious rhythm."

[source]

An example of when it happens in DA:I is:

"I've journeyed deep into the Fade // in ancient ruins and battlefields // to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash // to reenact the bloody past // in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war // has its heroes. // I'm just curious // what kind you'll be."

Compare this with the song's lyrics:

"I heard there was a secret chord // That David played, and it pleased the Lord // You don't really care for music, do ya? Well it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth // The minor fall, the major lift // The baffled king composing Hallelujah Hallelujah // Hallelujah // Hallelujah // Hallelujah"

An example from Trespasser is:

"I lay in dark and dreaming sleep [I heard there was a secret chord] while countless wars and ages passed [That David played, and it pleased the Lord] I woke still weak a year before I joined you. [You don't really care for music, do ya?]" etc.

Recent mentions of this are:

Q. Will Solas still occasionally or dramatically speak in iambic pentameter? A. “Massive kudos to Patrick, who always writes Solas so well. Again, Solas is a returning character. It’s the same Solas you know and love (or hate depending on who you are). The same writer. So I think the answer is yeah, it’s Solas.” – John Epler

[source: BioWare dev Discord Q&A on June 14th]

User: "you really went off with solas. but the iambic pentameter makes writing fanfic dialogue for him so treacherous..." Trick Weekes: "It doesn't always have to be in the cadence! Just when he's deeply feeling The Old Days! He's written in standard prose 99% of the time!"

[source]

I think he does it a bit in the gameplay reveal video [Veil ripping scene with Varric] too. hope this helps :>

[msg refs this post]

[For the developer Q&A from June 14th on Discord: Notes are here, re-watch link is here]

[glitterbuns]

Post-BOTW/pre-TOTK Hateno house headcanons:

Zelda falls in love with the house. It needs work, but it has a homely feeling that she loves

She also loves that it's small, unlike the castle, and she doesn't have to be surrounded by nobles, guards, maids etc.

She cries when she sees the picture with all the Champions. Link tells her he can remove it if she wants, but she actually loves having that memory there, so it stays

They decide to return the Champions' weapons to their people

On their tour to return them, Zelda takes pictures of people they encounter and landscapes she loves, which she later hangs in the house

They encounter a golden horse near Taobab Grassland that starts following Zelda around after she gives him an apple. She takes a picture of him to hang in the house (and keeps the horse because she found him cute and he isn't tied to her past royal life)

Once they make it to Tarrey Town, Zelda asks Hudson if he could build them some furniture. Duh

By the time they arrive in Hateno they have so much stuff to decorate the house: pots, Hudson's furniture, fabric...

Zelda spends a week arranging and rearranging everything. Link helps her, of course

After the decoration is done, Zelda ends up being so tired she sleeps for 12hrs straight

While she sleeps, Link goes for a morning walk and gets her some pretty flowers he found on the way

Zelda loves them and puts them in a vase on their table

Link retrieves all her clothes and books that survived the Calamity

And that's how Zelda considers herself settled. Little by little, they build a routine

Link always wakes up earlier. He likes doing exercise before breakfast

He always has a hearty breakfast. Zelda prefers some fruits and yoghurt

Zelda spends most days researching and planning how to rebuild Hyrule

Link spends most days hunting, gathering and taking care of the house, Zelda and himself

Link cooks every meal. On sunny and warm days they eat in the garden. During Winter they eat close to the fire

After some time, Zelda commissions a secret study room because Link is a big distraction

That doesn't stop him from visiting her every once in a while to give her fruitcake

Sometimes she falls asleep while researching and Link scoops her up and takes her to their bed

When she's not so tired, Zelda likes reading in bed before going to sleep

They both have terrible nightmares that wake them up in the middle of the night. But now it's manageable because they have each other

Sometimes, when she walks past the picture, she stops and prays for the Champions' souls

[Extra hc: Zelda's new horse is a glutton and if he sees Zelda or Link in the garden he won't stop neighing until they give him an apple. Or two.]

[sundrop-writes]

One Moment Per Episode With Dick Grayson

Season One, Episode One: "Titans"

Summary:

You and Dick haven't spoken since the Titans parted ways in San Francisco five years ago.

Even though you used to be as close as two people can be, both of you are doing just fine leading your own separate lives - until your psychic powers cause you to have a vision of the end of the world, and you have to turn to him for help. As much as Dick doesn't want to get involved, you know that him leading The Raven on the path she needs to travel is the only way to stop the terrible fate you saw.

He wants to deny it, and stay as far away from you as possible - but he can't avoid you or the truth that you have told him when he runs into that very Raven you speak of in an interrogation room later that night. He has to face a simple truth he has always known: you're always right.

Dick Grayson x Fem!Powered!Reader. Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Bantering/Humor. Set during Season 1, Episode 1.

Word Count: 2,300

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns (some people might accuse the reader character in this story of being more of an OC and I am okay with that - I try to make all the reader characters in my other stories as blank and open as possible and every now and then I let myself have a little bit of a treat) - but as usual with my stories, the majority of pronouns used in the fic are you/yours; other than clothing style and a scar that informs her backstory, the reader's looks are not described and are left vague (as far as race, body type, hair colour, etc. - those things are not described); the reader character does have powers - I might make a separate post detailing the reader's entire backstory and power set (or I might just let it be spelled out slowly through the chapters) - but for now, I will tell you that the reader character is psychic and can see glimpses of the future in dream-like visions; the reader and Dick are 'exes' - their relationship was never official (they never explicitly called each other boyfriend/girlfriend), but they used to have sex often (and they both have feelings for each other that they never openly spoke about), and they are childhood friends, so there is a lot of emotional history there; mentions of canon-typical violence; this fic does use Y/N; mentions of the reader being shot during a past undescribed incident; there is references to sex and discussions of sex, but no explicit smut (but there might be some later in the story? idk yet); emotionally constipated Dick Grayson; idk what else ? - pining, emotional angst, using humor to deflect emotional tension, banter. I just really like the vibes of this. there is not a lot of big content warnings for this fic (yet).

A/N: Honestly, I am really excited about this one. I have a lot of ideas for future episodes (especially the episode where Dick loses it emotionally and just gets followed around by a hallucination of Bruce for the entire episode - but that's not until Season 2, oop). Titans is one of my favourite series ever - if you couldn't tell - so getting to examine each episode closer and appreciate each individual episode as a unique piece of art while writing this instead of binging a whole season gives me a whole new appreciation for the show. I hope you guys enjoy these as they come out - especially because I do have an idea of where this fic is going, but I don't know where I want these characters to go in Season 4. (I kind of want to do a secret surprise reveal of two of the characters being related and being siblings, but... idk. Sometimes people don't like that.) But this is definitely a good opportunity to send me ideas of where you want this story to go/how you want it to end up. Anyway - please enjoy!!!

....

Dick needed some fucking air. 

He could barely fucking handle today. He had to compose himself before he lost it and started breaking things. It was all such a shitshow - the department pushing a new partner on him, footage of Robin all over the news, every other half-cocked beat cop making comments about how Robin was just another masked psychopath who wasn’t that different from The Joker. 

Fuck them. 

If they only knew what Gotham was like - if only they had to deal with a department full of asshole’s on the Joker’s payroll. If only they had to watch criminals walk away because they made bail on the decision of a corrupt judge. If only they had to sit behind a desk and listen to a mother’s sobs as she begged for him to find her missing child - knowing how many people elbow to elbow with him would laugh at her tears rather than start looking. 

If they only spent one night tending to civilians while the smell of burning flesh permeated the air, with the Joker’s screaming laugh stuck in their ears because he thought that bombing a low-income housing complex was just that funny. 

Fuck all of them. 

Dick clenched his fist tight - his knuckles aching as he resisted the urge to drive his arm right through the glass at the front of the precinct. He just - he really needed some air. 

Dick walked out the front doors (rather than smashing the glass), and took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying his best to calm down. It was getting late, and things were relatively slow, even for it being a Tuesday. No influx of late-night chaos yet. He had some time to collect himself before- 

“So - Robin’s in Detroit now, huh?” 

That voice. 

Dick felt the sting of familiarity pluck at his spine, and he whipped his head around at lightning speed, looking in the direction of the voice. Surely enough - you were the one standing there. It hadn’t been some kind of auditory hallucination on his part. 

So much for time to calm himself down. 

He was immediately met with a confliction - lust and annoyance bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t want to see you again, he didn’t want you to be here, especially not without warning. But you looked so damn good - it was a distraction from that fact. 

That was always the thing about exes, wasn’t it? 

(If Dick could even call you his ‘ex’ - the two of you had slept together more times than he could count, both metaphorically and literally, but the two of you had never put an official label on the relationship like he had with Dawn or Barbara. He cared for you like a friend, and like a lover in a way that he was never willing to admit - but did that make you his ex? Especially if he never stopped caring about you?) 

That thing about exes being: they always look so fucking good when you see them after a long time of being apart. The universe dangling something in front of you that you’re not allowed to have and technically, should no longer want. 

But oh - Dick found himself wanting so very badly. (And he tried his hardest to hide that fact as he continued to carefully stare you down.) 

Because you looked so good. 

You were wearing something of your usual style - an outfit of many confusing layers that somehow showed off the natural curves of your body and hid you all at the same time. 

A long skirt with a ruffled hemline and bold, colorful pattern. A pair of boots that you had probably gotten from some vintage store that were likely older than both you and Dick, leathery and well worn in. Your jacket was much the same - a supple brown leather with a soft fur lining that made you look very warm and cozy. 

Topped off with a pair of the largest, gaudiest dangling earrings that Dick had ever seen - the kind that would have gotten snagged on one of his nice shirts and gotten the two of you tangled up during one of your hook-ups. A pair of earrings that he would have scolded you for wearing - but he would have delighted in finding them on his bedroom floor after you left because it meant having a piece of you still with him. And it would mean having an excuse to visit you later because he had something of yours to return. 

Those earrings glistened in the light of the street lamps, just as your eyes did while you stared him down with those inquisitive, knowing eyes. Looking at him with that same expression you always wore - the one that seemed to say you knew everything that he never would. It equally fascinated him and infuriated him. 

He hated the fact that you had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, causing his heart to race - had you snuck up on him on purpose? Did you find it funny? 

“Y/N,” Dick said your name curtly, still feeling a slight twinge of shock that you were standing in front of him at all. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

You let out a dry chuckle, and stepped closer to him, making his whole body stiff. His first instinct was to step backward - to gain more distance from you. But he didn’t want to seem like he was afraid of you - afraid of that closeness. So he forcefully locked his legs and stayed in place as you drifted closer, and you idly conversed back. 

“Oh, Dickie.” You sighed in return, using his childhood nickname. “A warm welcome as always.” 

Dick rolled his eyes at this. Did he really need to bother with manners and formalities? The two of you had known each other for so long, he guessed that you were both well over stuff like that. 

“Do I need a reason to be here? Can’t I just visit an old friend?” You posed, a humorous tone still running through your voice. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he took a more defensive stance. He quickly went from shock then to annoyance. 

The two of you were old friends - you had known each other since you were in diapers together. The two of you had grown up together, raised by a unique circus family. And that meant that Dick knew you well enough to know that if you were here, you had a good reason to be. 

(If you had wanted to chase him when he first left Gotham, you likely would have camped out in the trunk of his car, or you would have shown up at his new apartment the day after he moved in. You wouldn’t have waited this long to contact him.) 

“Do us both a favor and cut the bullshit, please.” Dick replied sternly. “Why are you here?” 

“Grumpy.” You sighed, sounding defeated. 

He waited for a moment, and surely enough - you folded, now willing to directly explain your reason for showing up in Detroit so suddenly. 

“I had a vision.” You explained. “A girl. The Raven. A lot of others consider her to be the eater of worlds, but she is the one who is going to save us all, Dick.” 

He let out a harsh puff of air, reaching up and running fingers roughly over his temple. Yup, there it was - the headache had fully set in now. He really didn’t need this. Not tonight. 

He had known about your visions for a long time. When he was younger, he had been shocked to find out that you had inherited your mother’s ‘gift’. He previously had no clue that her set-up as a sideshow fortune teller with Tarot cards and a large crystal ball wasn’t all psychology tricks and half-guesses she put on for tourists - but in fact, it was actually something informed by larger supernatural forces at play. And it was something you could do as well. 

So he was inclined to believe you when you told him about this vague vision, but he also didn’t want to be involved. He had a lot on his plate right now - he didn’t need this. 

“Look, I’m sure that whatever you saw was important, but-” He began. 

You sighed and shook your head harshly at this ‘but’. 

“Why don’t you just take it to New York instead? This kind of thing is way more Donna’s speed, anyway. I’m sure she can help you find this girl, and-” 

“That won’t help.” You told him. “The girl is already on her way here.” 

You spoke the words with such utter certainty, and it sent shivers up Dick’s spine. The calm, tranquil look on your face - the ominous wiseness you held: it reminded Dick so much of your mother. The other-worldly authority she held that had ultimately gotten her killed. It was strangely creepy. 

“Just so you know, I hate it when you say ominous shit like that.” Dick told you, gesturing to your person with stiff offense in his body. “Just because your mother played the creepy voodoo witch for tourists doesn’t mean you have to.” 

“I’m not playing.” You replied, exasperated. 

You knew that Dick could be frightened of your powers at times. He was someone very logic-based - he built his beliefs around facts. So having you follow your visions and your ‘gut feelings’ when they were never concrete, changing on a dime - he hated the uncertainty and chaos that came with it all. But you had learned to trust yourself and your feelings over time, even if he didn’t. 

“And you know, you’re involved in this whether you want to be or not.” You told him, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Robin made his first appearance in months last night.” 

Dick became stiff at this, and quickly glanced around - as though waiting for someone to appear out of nowhere and point an accusing finger at him, screaming out that he was Robin and he had been caught. 

“You can’t help it, Dick Grasyon.” You declared with intense certainty. “You need to save people, you need to feel like you’re making a difference, you-” 

“So what, now you expect me to save the whole fucking world?” Dick snapped back. 

“She does.” You corrected. 

“Who?” He replied - confused and once again annoyed at your mysticism and bold confidence in your visions. 

“The Raven.” You told him. “She needs you. And whether you like it or not, you need her.” 

You shifted your stance then, waiting for him to tell you that you were right - which was how most of your arguments ended. 

But then, as a sick reminder, the lapel of your jacket opened enough for Dick to get a glance at your chest. The neckline of your blouse was wide open, but his eyes weren’t drawn to your cleavage - instead, he became focused on a large scar that you had sitting over your heart. A place where a bullet had ripped through you, leaving you barely alive. 

He still remembered the feeling of your blood warm under his hands while you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, begging him to save you. He remembered sitting at your bedside, believing that you would never wake up again. 

He couldn’t help but to reach up and gently skim his thumb across the roughness of the scarred skin as he glared at it with a stiff jaw. The touch sent shivers through you - it was the first time he had touched you since that last night in Gotham, when you had woken up to an empty bed and absolutely no explanation as to where he had gone. 

Dick felt rage boil inside of him. 

How could you ask him to save the world when he had been responsible for this? 

This - this was why he was no fucking savior. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said, choking on the words slightly as he took his hand down, shoving it back into his pocket once again. He had to avoid the temptation of touching you any further. 

If you weren’t safe around him, why would some little girl from your visions be? 

“This isn’t about me.” You scoffed. “Or-” 

‘Or us.’ 

You held back, knowing how dangerous it was to mention the royal Us around flighty Dick Grayson. For a bird without wings, he was absolutely capable of taking off in a quick moment when he wanted to. 

“This is about something so much bigger.” You pressed. “She’ll be here soon.” 

Dick let out another strained sigh at you using such ominous words again. 

“Well, next time you’re gonna come here and be all ominous and creepy, you should at least bring some coffee.” He told you, sarcasm tight on his lips. 

You made a mocking face in return. 

“Well, you could be more polite.” You scoffed. 

Before Dick could recommend that the two of you go and get a coffee in order to truly catch up, someone called out his name, drawing his attention away from you for a moment. 

“Hey, Grayson!” Someone called, sticking their head out the front door. “Prentiss is looking for you!” 

When he turned back, you were gone. He tried not to linger on it too much - how creepy it was. You were silent and quick like a ghost - he thought that your ominous jewelry might jingle like a house cat’s bell. 

But - he would call you later. Hopefully you still had the same number. 

…

Dick walked into the interrogation room, trying to clear his mind of the interaction with you. When he saw a small, scared girl, he thought it best to lighten the mood with a joke. 

“Hi, I’m Detective Grayson.” He said, introducing himself. “I hear you like to play baseball with bricks and cop cars. You wanna tell me what happened?” 

“You’re him.” She said, whimpering and tearful. “You’re the boy from the Circus.” 

At first, Dick thought that everyone was simply being ominous and creepy today. But then he realized:

‘Oh fuck. You were right.’

...

A/N: Please do not ask me when this fic will be updated - this fic does not have a schedule.

While this is technically the first chapter in a 'series', each chapter is meant to be enjoyed on its own. The overarching plot of the series is still that of the original Titans show, and I won't be making any major changes to the canon of the show - I just intend to showcase smaller emotional moments between the reader character and the canon characters. This is something I want to work on casually in the background between working on other things. This fic is not my main focus, and I will not be rushing to update it or complete it.

Comments and reblogs are encouraged, and I am thankful for them - but please keep those comments focused on the actual content of the series (it's plot, the characters, their dynamics, etc.). Please do not spam me asking me to update this or asking me when I will update this - because I am not in a rush to do so. I have a lot of ideas for this series that I am excited about, but I want to work on it slowly and casually because I don't want to lose my enthusiasm for it and I know that rushing will take that enthusiasm away.

If you enjoyed this - great, thanks. But if you expect this to be updated weekly like a factory pumping out stuff on a clearly outlined schedule - then you are in the wrong place. If you are expecting constant updates of this fic and you will be disappointed if it doesn't get updated regularly - you should just block me now and pretend you didn't read it. But if you are a patient person - feel free to read and enjoy my other Titans works while I am working on updates for this (and working on other exciting things), and feel free to send me a message telling me what you thought of this fic or other fics in general.

Also - if you can't get Dick Grayson off your mind - my requests are open.

[youremyheaven]

Mrigashira: Always On The Run

TW: abuse, kidnapping, r*pe, murder, stalking, violence, incest

I have been doing more research on Mrigashira simply because for the last month or so, I have been seeing more Mrigashira like incidents more and more often (synchronicity, I suppose). It's so fascinating to me how literally the themes of this nakshatra manifest in real life.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the mythology of this nakshatra, it goes like this:

Rohini was Brahma's favourite daughter. He loved her to such an extent that he tried to be sexually intimate with her. Traumatized, Rohini decided to leave heaven. She descended down to earth and took the form of a deer (a deer's head is the symbol of Mrigashira and the word "Mrigashira" literally translates to animal's head) so that she can hide away from her creepy father. Deers are animals who spend their lives in fear of danger. Every day it wakes up knowing that it will have to run for its life because its prey to many predators. There is no sense of safety.

In real life this translates to paranoia, stalking (being stalked as well as stalking others), kidnapping, being held hostage, incestual abuse, obsession, being exiled, going into hiding, being deprived of your "freedom", being gaslit/manipulated, stockholm syndrome, having a violent/unsafe home, being on the run, chasing as well as being chased etc

Lindsay Lohan, Mrigashira Rising (she is also Bharani Moon and Venusian women are highly susceptible to abuse, which I'll explore further in a separate post)

Lindsay starred in a movie called I Know Who Killed Me which revolves around a young woman who is abducted and tortured by a sadistic serial killer. After surviving the abduction, she insists that her identity is that of another woman.

I would say both the themes of being abducted and held hostage and also being very confused about your identity are linked to Mrigashira (I won't give away the twist of the movie, but you should watch it, its not as bad as some people say it is). You have to remember that in the mythology, Rohini changed form from a woman to a deer, so changing identities, being confused about who you really are and by extension being susceptible to gaslighting and manipulation and also being paranoid about the same are all Mrigashira themes.

However, its not just victims who have Mrigashira placements, unfortunately, many perpetrators have Mrig in their charts as well.

Boy George- Mrigashira Sun

In 2007, Boy George imprisoned a male escort in his house, chained him to the wall and beat him up. It was apparently a psychotic episode as George was struggling with cocaine addiction at the time. He was convicted and served a 15-month sentence.

Sia- Mrigashira Moon

Sia felt uncomfortable being in the limelight and would suffer from constant anxiety and nervous breakdowns as a result of it in the early phase of her career. So when she made a comeback, she decided to wear wigs that covered her face and basically kept her hidden from view (all of these are Mrigashira themes).

Sia's relationship and obsession with Maddie Ziegler (Saturn in Mrigashira) has been extremely inappropriate. In 2014, at the age of 11, Maddie starred in Chandelier for Sia who was 38yrs old. Sia was a huge fan of Maddie after watching her performances on Dance Moms and reached out to her to star in the video. This began a long series of collaborations and performances.

Sia kept creating projects for Maddie to be in just so that she can keep her close and in her own words "protect her". But she cast Maddie as an autistic teen in a movie called Music for which Maddie received huge backlash and is considered very insulting movie to the autistic community. Maddie didn't even want to be in it but Sia forced her.

For many years, Maddie was the ONLY person that Sia followed on IG (now she's one of the five people she follows lol). Maddie would apparently have sleepovers with Sia and they'd snuggle in bed together? 🤮🤢🤮idk why a teenager has to live and snuggle with some middle aged woman who isn't even related to her?? Sia gets away with all this bc she's a woman, if a man did all this to a teenager he'd be accused of grooming her. Sia even bought Maddie her first car and tried to adopt her?? Sia basically made Maddie codependent on her from her early teens. I hope one day all the truth comes to light because their dynamic is seriously disturbing and Maddie has yet to speak up about it.

I personally find it morbid that a woman who found fame so nerve wracking and damaging as to hide behind wigs for her entire career would put a literal child out there as the "face" of her brand and then claim that she was "protecting" her. What or who exactly is she being protected from lol? if anything she is being exploited by a creepy older woman.

Linda Hamilton, Mrigashira Moon

Linda played the iconic Sarah Connor in the Terminator who is supposed to be executed by a cyborg sent from the future. The entire movie basically features Sarah running for her life. This is a very literal manifestation of a Mrigashira trope.

Bae Doona, Mrigashira Moon

several characters that Doona has played echo Mrigashira-esque themes. In Cloud Atlas, she plays a humanoid clone who has to eat "soap" which is the food that clones eat to remain acquiescent (it takes away their ability to remember or form new thoughts that aren't programmed into them- basically a scifi dystopian version of being gaslit). She eventually breaks free and learns the "truth" about her condition (another Mrigashira theme is "learning the truth" because Rohini escaped heaven after learning the truth behind her father's love).

Ewan McGregor, Mrigashira Moon

Ewan starred in a movie called Big Fish which is about a frustrated son trying to determine the fact from fiction in his dying father's life.

Ewan plays the father in question. The son does eventually learn about the truth but blurring fact and fiction and not being able to distinguish which is which, being overly suspicious of others and their motives etc are all Mrigashira themes.

Liam Neeson, Mrigashira Sun

In The Taken movies, Liam stars as a former CIA operative who must rescue his teenage daughter and her friend who has been abducted by human traffickers for sexual slavery while on a trip to Paris.

Liam is on the run throughout the movie, except he's the one chasing them and he is on a mission to rescue his abducted daughter (extremely on brand Mrigashira trope).

Bear Grylls, Ketu in Mrigashira

speaking of running and chasing, lets talk about surviving in the wild, which also arguably correlates to Mrigashira. Bear Grylls aka the man who made a career out of teaching people how to survive in the wild has his Ketu placement here. i include Ketu placements because Ketu is how we channel our latent creative potential. it represents our imagination and creativity bc its the lowest point of our subconscious.

BTS made their debut on 12th June 2013, so they have Mrigashira Sun atmakaraka & Jupiter (Pushya Moon, Mercury in Punarvasu amatyakaraka)

I have often wondered why Armies are so uniquely obsessive and why BTS seems mutually obsessed with their armies. For the most part it is a wonderful rapport (minus the saesangs) and knowing their Mrigashira connection cements it further.

Amelia Earhart, Venus in Mrigashira atmakaraka

The Mrigashira urge to be an explorer of some kind is very interesting to me, I feel like they're always breaking into new territories and doing unprecedented things but always paying a personal price for it

Amelia was an American aviation pioneer. On July 2, 1937, Earhart disappeared over the Pacific Ocean while attempting to become the first female pilot to circumnavigate the world. To this day, no one is quite sure what happened to her.

Mrigashira nak is quite prominent in the charts of many people who have similarly gone exploring and never returned.

Michael Rockefeller, Venus AK in Mrigashira, Mars Amk in Mrigashira

In 1961, he was on an expedition (??) in present day Indonesia (then Dutch New Guinea) when the boat he was in had overturned. He was with the anthropologist Rene Wassing who was rescued the next day but Michael was never seen or heard from again despite intensive searches all over the area. He was declared legally dead in 1964. There have been speculations over the years that he may have been a victim of cannibalism (which was practiced by the local tribes).

Joshua Slocum, Ketu in Mrigashira

He was the first person to sail single-handedly around the world.

In 1909 he set sail from New England in the Spray (the name of his ship) to spend the winter in Grand Cayman and was lost at sea. He was assumed to have been the victim of a collision; he and the Spray were never found, and in 1924 he was declared legally dead.

To go exploring and never be found is tragically Mrigashiracore

Hart Crane, Ketu in Mrigashira

On April 27, 1932, Crane, in an inebriated state, jumped off or fell off the steamship USS Orizaba and into the Gulf of Mexico while the ship was en route to New York. His body was never found.

Glen Miller, Mrigashira Rising

American big band conductor, arranger, composer, trombone player, and recording artist before and during World War II, when he was an officer in the US Army Air Forces.

Miller went missing in action (MIA) on December 15, 1944, on a flight over the English Channel. In keeping with standard operating procedure for the US military services, Miller was officially declared dead a year and a day later. Nobody is sure as to what exactly happened to him and his body was never recovered.

Jodi Sue Huisentruit, Mars in Mrigashira AmK

She was an American news anchor for KIMT in Mason City, Iowa. She disappeared in the early morning hours of June 27, 1995, soon after telling a colleague that she had overslept and was running late for work. Since there were signs of a struggle outside her apartment, Huisentruit is believed to have been abducted. However, extensive investigations failed to uncover any clues to her disappearance, and Huisentruit was declared legally dead in 2001.

Victor Grayson, Mars in Mrigashira AK, Shravana Moon

He was an English socialist politician of the early 20th century. 

On 28 September 1920, Grayson was out drinking with friends when he received a telephone message. He told his friends that he had to go to the Queen's Hotel in Leicester Square and would be back shortly. He did not return and no one knows what happened to him.

It has been speculated that Grayson was murdered to prevent his revealing evidence of corruption.

Salman Rushdie, Sun & Moon in Mrigashira

After his fourth novel, The Satanic Verses (1988), Rushdie became the subject of several assassination attempts and death threats, including a fatwa calling for his death issued by Ruhollah Khomeini, the supreme leader of Iran. Numerous killings and bombings have been carried out by extremists who cite the book as motivation, sparking a debate about censorship and religiously motivated violence. In 2022, a man stabbed Rushdie after rushing onto the stage where the novelist was scheduled to deliver a lecture at the Chautauqua Institution in Chautauqua, New York.

After the fatwa was issued, Rushdie took the name of Joseph Anton and lived in hiding under police protection for several years. The theme of Mrigashira running away and trying to hide manifests once again in this unfortunate example.

Vili Fualaau, Uttara Ashadha Moon, Mrigashira Stellium (Mercury, Mars & Rahu)

In the 90s Vili Fualaau's case made major headlines when Mary Kay Letourneau, his teacher was arrested for raping the 6th grader whom she had known since he was in 2nd grade. She was 34 years old and pregnant with 12 year old Vili's baby 🤢🤮🤢and claimed that she did not know that it was a crime to have sex with minors??  While awaiting sentencing, she gave birth to Fualaau's daughter.

Shortly after Letourneau had completed three months in jail, the police caught her in a car with Fualaau. A judge revoked her plea agreement and reinstated the prison sentence for the maximum allowed by law of seven and a half years. Eight months after returning to prison, she gave birth to Fualaau's second child, another daughter. She was imprisoned from 1998 to 2004. Letourneau and Fualaau were married in May 2005, and the marriage lasted 14 years until their separation in 2019. She died from cancer in 2020 and even though they were separated, Fualaau took care of her until she passed away. He publicly claimed that he never saw anything wrong in their relationship.

Obviously many victims struggle to form a coherent understanding of what happened to them. Some eroticize their experiences, others romanticize them or normalize them. Its often difficult for Mrig natives to fully comprehend or understand the insanity of the really messed up things they went through. Fualaau was groomed and raped by this woman since he was a child yet he held her in positive regard and remained married to her for nearly two decades and took care of her until she passed away?

Its similar to Brooke Shields, Mrig Moon who always spoke glowingly about the mother who made her do a full frontal nude playboy shoot as a 10yr old child??

Mrigashira being a deva gana nakshatra is quick to forgive and forget, it is also a Mridu or gentle nakshatra and often times, just how ??? sympathetic they are towards people who have abused them baffles me.

Gary DeVore- Jupiter in Mrigashira AmK, Uttaraphalguni Sun

He was a Hollywood screenwriter.

DeVore disappeared in June 1997, while driving at night from Santa Fe, New Mexico to Santa Barbara, California, prompting an extensive search and media speculation. DeVore was working in his office in Santa Fe trying to finish a script. DeVore had recently complained of writer's block, and so had decided to change his environment. When he finally finished the script, DeVore decided to drive home through the Mojave Desert. His wife Wendy was waiting for him at their beachfront house in Carpinteria, California. When she did not hear from him, she decided to call around 1 am (it was later discovered the call had not been recorded by the telephone company). He answered, but was not very specific on his location. This was the last time Wendy spoke with him.

A year later, he and his Ford Explorer were discovered submerged below a bridge over the aqueduct in Palmdale, California. After police had retrieved the vehicle from the water, it was found that his laptop containing the script (titled The Big Steal) was missing, as was his gun. DeVore's hands were missing; hand bones were found nearby but could not be conclusively identified as DeVore's. The discovery of DeVore's vehicle was considered suspicious, as the aqueduct was searched shortly after his disappearance was reported and nothing unusual was discovered. Police concluded that for DeVore to crash his vehicle in this location meant that he would have had to have driven 3 mi (4.8 km) against traffic without being seen. This would have been doubly difficult because the vehicle's lights were not switched on. DeVore's death has not been solved to date.

Patty Hearst, Jupiter in Mrigashira AK, Sun & Venus in Shatabhisha (I had previously explored how Shatabhisha natives often endure abuse)

She first became known for the events following her 1974 kidnapping by the Symbionese Liberation Army. She was found and arrested 19 months after being abducted, by which time she was a fugitive wanted for serious crimes committed with members of the group. She was held in custody, and there was speculation before trial that her family's resources would enable her to avoid time in prison.

At her trial, the prosecution suggested that Hearst had joined the Symbionese Liberation Army of her own volition. However, she testified that she had been raped and threatened with death while held captive. At the time of her arrest, Hearst's weight had dropped to 87 pounds (40 kg), and she was described by psychologist Margaret Singer in October 1975 as "a low-IQ, low-affect zombie". Shortly after her arrest, doctors recorded signs of trauma: her IQ was measured as 112, whereas it had previously been 130; there were huge gaps in her memory regarding her pre-SLA life; she was smoking heavily and had nightmares. She is said to have been brainwashed into committing crimes for the SLA

There is a really unfortunate pattern of Mrig natives being brainwashed by others, living in hiding, being on the run and generally feeling unsafe. These are some extreme manifestations of the themes of this nakshatra.

[dragkingsrule]

Peewee Vermin, Salem/Boston-based drag thing/king

Image sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

Artist links: LinkTree, Instagram

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

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

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

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

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

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city now filled with killers. 

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

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

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was where you came in. 

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

Mostly because of situations like this.

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

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

None of this was going to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

A man, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

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

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

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

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

Have they seen murder? 

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

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

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

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

Your mark has been met. 

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

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

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

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

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

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

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

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brows furrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price grunts under his breath. 

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

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost. 

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

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

Mutt was the worst of them.

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitch. 

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

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

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

“Sir!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I had known…you frown. 

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

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

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

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t look away.

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

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

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

Your Captain scurries after. 

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

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

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

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

I need new intel. Badly.

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

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

Your cheeks heat. 

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

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

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

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

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

They had died a long time ago.

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

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

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, where are we–” 

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

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

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

Boxed in. 

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

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

You don’t bother watching him drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wide grin is stuck on you.

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

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were few people worthy of that.

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

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

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

You’d never had sex before.

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

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

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

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

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

You could forget about it. You should. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did they do this to you? 

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

Tags:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @serpahic, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9,

@anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora217, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce, @ruby-saves, @vynz0ne, @blackstar9005, @faerienotfound, @legallymentallyillfuckers, @audrefleur, @urfavsunkissedleo

(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

[bizarrelittlemew]

Hi. I’ve been following you for a while and I really appreciate all the OFMD gifs you make and how you add really good image descriptions. I’m pretty bad at social cues and I wanted to know if you have tips for how to thank gif makers? Do you have advice for how to word the thank you without accidentally sounding weird or rude? Is it OK for someone to thank a gif maker in their ask box if the asker doesn’t follow the gif maker? Any sort of advice like that would be appreciated, or sample scripts that are socially acceptable to send. I know gif makers work really hard and I want to say thanks without accidentally breaking unspoken social rules I don’t know about and I felt safest asking you. I hope that’s OK. Thank you very much.

hi anon 💗 first of all this is such a lovely message and sentiment, thank you 🥹 i'd say you're pretty well on your way already!

i think every gif maker i know would LOVE getting a thank you message! as you say it is hard work, and having that acknowledged will always be appreciated 💗 (no matter if you follow them or not)

here is my specific advice on how to thank gif makers:

reblog! we share the gifs we make because we want to share our love for the show/movie/actor/etc. with other people, and by reblogging, you help us do that. adding something nice in the tags, whether it's something like "this is gorgeous!" or "thank you for giffing this moment, op!", compliments on the coloring (like "love the coloring"/"wow you did such a good job brightening this dark scene!"/"these look so crisp/sharp!"), or commentary on what the gifs show (like "he looks so sad, i wanna give him a hug"/"this scene is so funny/heartbreaking/sweet"/"i never noticed this detail before"), or simply emojis (any combinations of 💖, 🫠, 🥹, 🥺, 😭, 😍 or whatever the gif makes you feel), any kind of reaction like that will be very much appreciated - for me, it's the highlight of making and sharing gifs!

as for sending an ask, i think any kind of thank you message would make gif makers extremely happy 🥹 here are some sample sentences - any variation and combination of these would be lovely to receive, i think (some ideas/options in [brackets]): "i love seeing your gifs on my dash" "thank you for [creating/posting/sharing] your gifs, they [bring so much joy/always make me happy to see]" "i love your coloring, it's so [warm/vibrant/gorgeous/bright and sharp/colorful]" "thank you for giffing [character/person/show], i really appreciate seeing gifs of [that/them]" "thank you for adding [alt text/image descriptions] to your gifs, it helps a lot!" "i really admire how [fast/talented/creative] you are at giffing" ok these are just a few ideas but i hope it's helpful! 💗

this is not a direct way of thanking gif makers (as it should be a given), but i wanna add it because it's important to me: give credit if you share our gifs in other ways than reblogging the original post. please please please do not repost/crosspost gifs without credit. if a gif maker doesn't want their gifs reposted/crossposted at all, please respect it. most, like me, will be fine with it if you credit properly. here are some ways to do that: if you want to use a gif in your own post on tumblr, you can use the Add GIF function, which automatically adds credit (and we get a lil notification), or tag the creator and/or link the original gifset in the post (e.g. "gif by @bizarrelittlemew"). if you want to post a gif to another platform, e.g. twitter, these are some examples on how to give credit: "gif by @/bizarrelittlemew on tumblr", "📸: @/bizarrelittlemew", "gif by @[twitter handle]", "gif source: [link]" and variations of these, written either in the post itself or in a reply right below. not only in the ALT text (as that is for, well, ALT text) and not by making a general note on your profile that "gifs are not my own"/"the gifs i post are from tumblr" or similar (as this won't be evident from the post itself and doesn't credit the gif maker). ok that got a bit long but hopefully it makes sense!

also, if a gifset inspires you to write meta or make your own post about what the gifset depicts, we'd also be very happy if you linked it (like "this gifset reminded me of... / made me think about...") OR simply add it in a reblog of the gifset! the exception (for me, others may feel differently) is if the meta/comment "disagrees" with the gifset, like if the gifset shows "[character] being considerate" and the comment is something like "actually, i don't think this is [character] being considerate, i think they're manipulative". then making a separate post would be more welcome (i'd personally still appreciate a link to the gifset if you were inspired by it).

something that would be rude (since you ask how to avoid that) would be somehow criticizing the gifset in the comments/tags/replies, like disagreeing with the composition (e.g. "i don't think gif number X fits with this theme"), or being negative about the editing/giving unsolicited advice (e.g. "wish these gifs were brighter/sharper" or "hey op you should make your gifs slower/faster"), or talking about how you dislike the show/movie/characters (because the gif maker will see your tags/comments and they probably made the gifs out of love for the thing). as long as you avoid that, you should be fine! 💖

once again thank you for this lovely ask and for wanting to show your appreciation for gif makers 💗

[briefhottubcoffee]

Hello! I figured it was time to make a master-post of all my writings and such. Thank you to all my new followers! I am always available if you'd like to talk spyxfamily theories, headcanons, fic ideas, etc., or if you'd just like someone to chat with. I am honored to be a small part of this amazing and talented fandom! I made a personal goal to write and gain confidence with it, and to make some fandom friends. So thank you for making this an enjoyable journey so far! 💛💐

My Fics:

~ For you, I can't contain my love: an ongoing multi-chapter fic centered on Loid and Yor going at it in semi-public places. I'm having a ton of fun writing it, and I keep thinking of random places they should bang at. 😅There's four chapters so far! Updated sporadically. Obviously NSFW.

~ If I kiss you now, will I come undone?: my version of events that take place after chapter 79. The one where Yor comes home drunk and tries to get a welcome home kiss.

~ Those who can't love: I think about Loid and Yor and their complicated feelings as they fall in love about, oh I'd say.. 500 times a day. So I wrote a fic about it!

~ Warm in their arms: a while ago I was sick in the hospital and a very kind person made this artwork to cheer me up. This fic tells that story, poor Anya is sick and needs her parents love and comfort.

~ Exposure: a short one-shot of Loid confessing to Yor after they find out each others secrets. It's probably my favorite fic I've written so far. Loid is very vulnerable here, and I love making my sweet boy a sensitive cry baby over his wife. 😇

~ Help me, I'm in love: I had so much fun writing this fic about Franky asking for dating advice from the Forgers. Yup! Loid, Yor, and Anya give out dating tips.

~ I'm a wallflower, watching you be: this fic is literally just Yor and Loid watching the other get ready for the day and being horny about it. I was inspired by a great fanart reminding us of Yor's affinity for sharp objects.

~ Pining: a short drabble (under 500 words) about Loid pining for Yor. And I mean PINING. Again, I love when Loid goes through it because of his wife.

~ The in-between: another short and sweet fic about how much Yor loves laying around with her husband and listening to him talk. So sweet I'm gonna barf.

~ Refrigerator Magnets: my very first fanfic ever was a silly story about Anya and Loid finding animal magnets and the family adventures linked to what they tack on the fridge.

My Meta Posts:

~ My theory on the twiyor kiss agenda in the manga.

~ The manga shows us Anya's comfort level with Loid and Yor as her parents and I love it.

~ Endo hints about Project Apple in the manga, and I often wonder what that may mean.

~ "Agent Twilight is a hopeless romantic!!!" I shout from the rooftops as I reflect on a moment in the series that hints at his growing feelings for Yor.

~ Anya's stickers!

~ Here I point out all the sweet smiles Twilight saves just for his family.

~ My thoughts on the possibilities of a twiyor kiss.

~ There are a lot of loose ends and possible story hints that may tell us how the spyxfamily story is going to go.

~ My rambling feelings about Anya and her secret.

~ Twilight is the most hopeless of hopeless romantics! He loves love but never thought he would experience it for himself. But he's falling for his family. I can prove it!

~ I love Becky Blackbell! She is so supportive of Anya, and I love their friendship.

~ This isn't anything special, but I feel like it's right to end this on my thirst for Loidy-boy and the iconic shower scene.

If you've made it so far, thank you again for being here! I hope you and I can experience the best parts of our lovely spy family and their fandom for years to come!

[lowkeyrobin]

mcyts with a music artist partner? more specifically a singer/drummer but whatever works best would be neat !!

ooooo I like all these musically inclined readers I'm getting [does the evil villain finger laugh] ; I tried to do 50/50 with both singer and drummer so djsnnsnss ; rlly couldn't think of any new ideas for more people so I'm sorry LMAO

MCYT ; singer/drummer reader

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu & quackity

warnings ; language

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

constantly brags about you being in a band, even though you're the drummer and most drummers are very overlooked

he's your biggest fan, no one will be able to top him

he'll post clips and basically make a scenepack of you doing your thing during gigs to influence people editing you and give you some attention

your band already has a couple thousand fans on top of the monthly listeners and followers, and people were already starting to edit with your music/your performances

he'll constantly post pictures of you behind your drum setup, he thinks its so badass

you guys have that moment where he basically sits on your lap (/ns) and you hold his wrists to show him certain chords and shit

"what's the stuff around your fingers for?"

"prevents strain in my hands and protects jammed knuckles"

"ohhhhhh. keep doing that. it's healthy and badass"

RANBOO

totally infatuated with the fact you're a singer

"look at my famous partner guys, go show them some love please, their music is so good"

they will be at every single gig, recording you like it's a concert

plays your music on stream all the time

listens to your music religiously, whether it be traveling or cleaning the house

loves looking at fanart where you're like singing to him in the crowd and he obviously sticks out like a sore thumb

you guys karaoke your music on stream all the time

if you make heavier music/scream a lot in it, he goes silent for you to do all that LMFAO

will break out the GarageBand to make you beats so you can on site make up lyrics like a rapper BAHAHAH

FREDDIE BADLINU

finds it so cool you can play drums

sometimes he'll sit down with you while you're practicing and play guitar behind you while you can't hear

yk like the drumset charlie spring has? you got one of those now, that way you can play without making a ton of noise, especially while he's sleeping or streaming

loves putting stickers on your cymbals and your bass drum

loves taking pictures of you with finger tape on to just stare at later

constantly brags about you being in a band and always listens to your music

even uses your music in videos and stuff

in the desc he'll put a little "my partners band ____ is playing in the background, go check them out!"

thinks you're so badass for playing drums LMAO

he also tries to play them while you guide his hands

cutie patootie

NIKI NIHACHU

thinks you're so fucking cool

will always record you at gigs

and loves putting finger tape on for you

changes her insta bio to "claimed by a bitch who plays drums 🙏🙏" or something like that

you learn how to cover some of her favorite songs and she's literally so excited

your band make pins or lanyards or any sort of merch? it's all sold out now, she's bought it all

will play your music on stream and shout out the name and leave link to the merch store at any given chance

always reposting fanart she sees of you/you two together

especially if it's you on your drums playing for her

ALEX QUACKITY

you're the voice to his guitar because he's too shy to show off his true singing voice

(the I got a feeling that tonight we are getting 2 subs clip)

obsessed with your voice

also records you at gigs

if he's at the barrier you'll constantly wave to him or wink at him, etc etc

all to make him flustered 💪💪💪

will constantly plug your band and always wears your merch

hypes you up if you're having writers block with lyrics or are having one of those days where you feel like you don't sound good

if you're singing along to a song, he'll tune in only to your voice and not the song at all

simp

[dwampyverseawards]

FINALE: PFTONES VS WHEN GLASS SHATTERS

CONGRATULATIONS TO @pftones3482 FOR WINNING THE WRITERS SIDE OF THE FOR FUN TOURNEY, AND TO @local-dragon-haunt FOR WINNING THE INDIVIDUAL FIC/SERIES SIDE OF THINGS! THIS LAST ROUND IS BASICALLY JUST EVEN MORE FOR THE FUNSIES.

@/pftones3482

Relevant reason for being submitted:

not sure if it has influence on the fandom overall but it had an influence on me and I live by that

They create top-tier Phineas and Ferb content, from fics to thoughtful analysis of characters and episodes. The following link is a great showcase of just a portion of their current Phineas and Ferb fics;

Propaganda: Just their entire catalogue of Phineas and Ferb works on Archive of Our Own. This is my favourite fic of theirs;

And here are some of my favourite posts;

Vote for @/pftones3482!

Have you ever heard of the Secret Life of Candace? Aka best mermaid au ever? GUESS WHO WROTE IT?

I have been in the Phineas and Ferb fandom for over a decade - writing fics for it for 12 years, can y'all believe that? I'm one of the oldest "original" fandom members left on AO3, which is actually insane.

And to this day the things I love about the show have shifted a little - favorite characters, favorite tropes, ships, etc. Nothing drastic, but anyone who's been following me since the beginning has definitely seen those changes.

But the thing I have always loved most about this fandom IS the fandom. The PnF fandom is one of the most wholesome fandoms I've ever been in, and it's the reason it's one of the only fandoms I still interact with. Sure, there's been drama, and sometimes we don't all agree - no fandom will ever always agree on everything (if they do....run)

Overall tho this fandom is so kind and wonderful, and given how small we are, we are still obnoxiously loud about this show 😂 I love us for that

Regardless if I win or lose (and if I lose, I'm honored to go down to someone like @/inators, who is a very kind person and has a big presence in the fandom), I wanted to say thank y'all for getting me this far

Phineas and Ferb got me on Tumblr and started my writing career. The fandom is what helped me stay. If I could give y'all an award for "Best Fandom," I absolutely would 🧡💚

When Glass Shatters, written by @/local-dragon-haunt

Relevant reason for being submitted:

Propaganda: local_dragon has a fantastic way with words and unconventional story telling. AUs where Perry is revealed to the kids are frequent, but ones where he interacts with Linda and Lawrence too are few and far between and the concept has so much potential. I just love their writing

Vote for my bestie @/local-dragon-haunt they deserve it and they won't admit it

Contestants may add their own propaganda however they see fit, provided it does not put down the person they are against. All round 1 matches were randomly generated, and anyone may drop out at any time.

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

the boys as bodyguards

dedicated to absolutely no one. sure this is an asks blog - does that mean i have to actually answer them? i know i know bad admins bad admins whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do when they come for you but i had a dream ages ago now that involved bodyguards, tsunamis, and also a shit ton of murder. don't ask. anyway, it got me pondering. and then it took literal months to write this so i figured i'd post what i've got so far, and maybe i'll update with the rest of the boys later, depending on how well this does/how much time i have

hanamiya makoto

hanamiya’s the package deal

he’s the chief advisor; he’s the doctor; he’s the bodyguard; he’s the sniper. just a right hand man in every way possible.

i mean, he’s not literally your right hand man: he’s the leader of a team, and often it’ll be one of his men there next to you at events, but he’s always supervising or coordinating or collecting intel

ie he’s dedicated to his job. he does like engineering spider’s webs after all.

having said that, he’s also an uncontrollable prick

he’s the best at giving you advice, both in terms of navigating high society and in terms of actual business advice, but is he going to give that advice without slipping in a snide comment about how you should really know all this by now? when you tell him to make sure to take a break some time, is he going to stop himself from saying “maybe if you weren’t so incredibly useless on your own, i’d be able to.”

and sure maybe he’s breaking the universal declaration of human rights with what he does to the people who dare to try harm you, but you don’t know about that

need to know basis type beat

you don’t even have access to the full floor plans of your own property, which includes a basement you’ll never know about, let alone step foot in. hanamiya keeps that information very close to his chest.

gotta make sure his employer has plausable deniability

gotta make double sure that you don’t find out about half the things he does - from the ways he sources his information, to his very dodgy organised crime links, to the number of people that have sadly lost their lives in the name of “fuck it, you’re pissing me off” - because he hates when you bang on about bullshit like “laws” and “morals”

after all, if everyone followed your beloved laws and morals, then you’d have no need for his services

as he always tells you, he’s just your pet necessary evil

yamazaki hiroshi

i reckon he only got into the bodyguard business because he spent his childhood wanting to be a samurai but, well you know, that’s not really a job opportunity anymore

what it does mean though is that he’s all about bushido: mastering his work, bravery, honesty, etc - and above all else loyalty to one’s employer

on a random thursday afternoon, he’ll tell you, completely nonchalantly, straight face, “i would die for you if that’s what it takes. on my life, i’ll always keep you safe.”

you’re staring at him like wtf and/or trying to stop yourself blushing, but he thinks that’s a completely normal thing to say cause he’s just following bushido

of course, late one night, he’ll wake up realise how weird that came across and he’ll spend the next week trying not to blush whenever you talk to him

just like the time he spent a week kicking himself after you walked in on him training, shirtless and rather sweaty, and when you told him he should take a break, he said “but i need to train so my body can be at its best for you”

again, at the time that sounded very reasonable, serious, and totally bushido to him. it’s only later that he’s freaking out in his room like why in god’s name did he say that.

but hey that’s bodyguard!yamazaki for you. a little weird, a little socially inept, but loyal to a fault

haizaki shougo

can you imagine the number of jobs that this man has lost for sleeping on the job?

he’s only got his current gig looking after you because his prices are cheaper and you were getting desperate to find someone in your budget

he’s a ...uhh… unique bodyguard? in the sense that he’ll get you out of harms way eventually, but "eventually" is the key word there

haizaki actively ignores intel that a certain location might be dangerous, because he really just wants to get into fights. sure you might get in the way occasionally, maybe even get some nasty bruises, but hey you get what you pay for.

you want a good bodyguard, save up some money, idiot.

literally the only reason he got into being a bodyguard is so he can beat people up legally (and because he got dishourably discharged from the military); he doesn’t care that much about the whole ‘protecting’ side of things

he’s also the type to ditch you the minute a better paying job comes up (possibly combat work as a mercenary). however he’s not as cold-hearted as he may seem, and he’ll happily spend a day of leave breaking into your penthouse

so that when you return in the evening, he’s there sat on an armchair, grinning smugly, “man your security’s turned to shit since i left.”

shortly followed by, “miss me?”

jason silver

jason’s the quintessential bodyguard, cause, after all, having a very muscular 6’11 man follow you everywhere you go isn’t exactly subtle

but he’s recognisable for other reasons as well.

like the fact that he’ll accompany you to formal balls, and he’ll be the only man there with an undone tie - it’s such a massive argument trying to get him to wear an appropriate suit instead of his usual hoodies and sweatpants, that can anyone blame you for not having the energy to insist he stops undoing his tie as well?

he’s also not exactly one for professionality. like you’ll be minding your business, trying to network, and suddenly you’ll hear a wolf whistle by your ear and a “wouldn’t mind me a bit of that”

“jason, that’s the ambassador to norway. we’re having her over for dinner next week, so, with all due respect, shut the fuck up. and whisper next time, for heaven’s sake! what if someone had heard you?”

“shit, is it a crime to like some nice tits in this economy?”

and when you glare at him, genuinely furious, he grins, puts his hands up, and says, “sorry, sorry. forgot you don’t like me having eyes for anyone else, boss.”

but don’t get me wrong, jason’s not all evil contra to fujimaki’s propaganda

he is an incredibly good bodyguard - those animal instincts really help him out when it comes to getting you out of a sniper’s line of sight, or saving you from a bullet, or just assessing a room for potential entry points. and he packs a mean punch if anyone tries to try something on you, a solid ko.

no one’s getting past him essentially

the only problem is that it’s incredibly difficult to thank jason for saving your life, cause the last thing he needs is an ego boost or feeling like you owe him.

“seriously jason. i don’t know how i can ever repay you.”

“usually the payslip’s enough,” he smirks, “but you know that little lady ambassador-“

unsuprisingly, he’s not invited to the dinner.

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Hello! So for a character ask game (that you reblogged so I assume it’s okay that I ask) could you answer questions 2, 12, 17 and 25 about Halsin? 🐻

Thank you @obuoliukai so much for the ask!! ❤️ I always love these things so please never hesitate to ask! You can find the link to the ask game here.

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

- I love that he is very vocal about his feelings in general, but specifically towards a romanced player. This man is absolutely in love with you and is never afraid to vocalize it. I love the greetings he gives a romanced player. “My heart soars just to look upon you.” “All of natures bounty pales next to you.” “Nature outdid itself with you.” And he always says it with a grin and goofy little heart eyes. And he says this followed by a quick pause before asking if you need something and I just assume it’s because he’s gotten lost gazing at you and forgot himself for a minute. This man is SMITTEN. This man is in LOVE. And I love that about him. I love that they gave the large, bulking man the ability to be so open and unabashedly proud of sharing his feelings about his partner to them. All too often male characters are depicted as being uncaring or aloof about love so the fact that they made this man be so casual about it fills me with so much joy.

12. What’s a headcanon that you have for this character?

- I like to think that Halsin secretly pines for the player after the tiefling party. Not when the player flirts at the party, but in the days following. Halsin is no stranger to casual sex, so you could have easily just tried to have a quick night together and then either carry on like normal or kind of toss him to the side because he’s already told you what the knows about the parasite. But I like to think that after he rejects you at the party and then sees that you continue to include him in the camp and in the journey that he starts to catch feelings. And it just progressively gets stronger as the story goes on and he has to struggle to keep it to himself.

- And I know that technically that sort of is canon considering the nature of his romance, but I mean just hardcore, hard to contain pining and longing. Staring at you on the sly while traveling the road, wanting to sit with you by the fire but not wanting to seem pushy given what he’s told you earlier, having thoughts of you keep him awake at night, dreaming of you when he finally does get sleep, feeling and possibly acting on the desire to pleasure himself alone while thinking of you. Longing to the point where it almost makes him stupid. Not enough to distract him from his duties, but enough to gnaw at his mind every day.

- And if you romance someone else or just a casual fling, he doesn’t feel jealousy because it’s not his nature, but just the desire to want to join. Join you alone or event with your partner, which again is canon, but having the “selfish” thoughts of wanting to spend at least one night with you and it’s just you and himself. So he can take a taste of just you even for one night.

- I love the line from him during his proposition scene when you’ve come back and said that you’ve broken up your relationship to be with him because your previous partner didn’t want to share (Gale, Wyll, etc.) and he says something along the lines of “I hate that it had to come at the heart break of another, but I want this. I want you.” Like you can’t tell me this man isn’t head over heels for you and hasn’t been thinking about you constantly for weeks.

- And for a headcanon that’s not rooted in canon, I absolutely think Halsin weaves his partners hair with his own in his little braids. I’ve posted about this before, but I’ll forever believe that.

17. What's a ship for this character you don't hate but it's not your favorite that you're fine with?

- Probably Shadowheart x Halsin. I don’t dislike it, but I also don’t actively think about it. Shadowheart in general isn’t my favorite character and I typically take a long time to get decent approval with her. Whereas Halsin is my favorite so I’d rather pair him with others that are higher on my list. But at the same time I do like the idea of the potential enemies to lovers thing they could have given she’s a current or potentially “recovering” Sharran and he has history with Shar worshippers. So im just indifferent towards it.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

- Not going to lie, Halsin was my least favorite companion before I actually started playing this game. I knew nothing of his personality and only knew he could turn into a bear and could potentially have sex with said bear. So, given that he’s so muscular, I just assumed they would make him the typical dumb jock character. Big, large, douche personality, (gender neutral) womanizer, someone who gets what he wants. Literally just a first impression based on his character model. So I wasn’t very interested.

- Now?? Oh my god now?? Favorite character. 12/10. I love him. I need this man in my actual life. I’m trying to convince other people who play this game to romance this man because he is so sweet and caring and a genuine gentle giant with his lover(s) and friends but also a power house in battle. I’ve posted about this before, but I’ve never been so wrong in my life about a character interpretation at first glance and I apologize for it.