#consider this tag your permission to do whatever you see fit to do with this magnificent monstrosity of a post

[tillywunderwing]

Old Bill Cipher was hopping around

Tumblr City like a big playground

When suddenly Megamind burst from the shade

And hit Bill Cipher with a Mindgrenade

Bill Cipher got pissed and began to attack

But didn't expect to be blocked by Black Hat

Who proceeded to open up a can of Hat-Fu

When Lewis Pepper came out of the blue

And he started beating up Blackquille Hat’neal

Then they both got flattened by the Mindmobile

But before it could make it back to the Mindcave

Jack Skellington popped out of his grave

And took an AK-47 out from under his hat

And blew Megamind away with a rat-a-tat-tat

But he ran out of bullets and he ran away

Because Herobrine came to save the day

This is the ultimate showdown of sexyman destiny

Objects and twinks and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown of sexyman destiny

Bill Cipher took a bite out of Herobrine

Like The Warden took a bite out of crime

And then Black Hat came back covered in a tire track

But Slenderman jumped out and landed on his back

And Megamind was injured, and trying to get steady

When Jack Skellington came back with a machete

But suddenly something caught his leg and he slowed

Nagito Komaeda took him out with his hope

Then he saw Bill Cipher sneaking up from behind

And he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find

'Cause Megamind stole it and he shot and he missed

And Slenderman deflected it with his fist

Then he jumped in the air and did a somersault

While Jack Skellington tried to pole vault

Onto Herobrine, but they collided in the air

Then they both got hit by a Reigen stare

This is the ultimate showdown of sexyman destiny

Objects and twinks and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown

Angels sang out with immaculate amour

Down from the heavens descended Cecil Palmer

Who delivered a kick that was powered by the weather

Into the crotch of Nagito Komaeda

Who fell over on the ground, writhing in pain

As Megamind changed back into Normal Brain (?)

But Cecil saw through his clever disguise

And he crushed Megamind’s head in between his thighs

Then Professor Venomous and maid-dress Raymond

And the Once-Ler and Turbo and Ingo and Spamton

And Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice and Wheatley

And trickster god Loki and self-aware Benr(e)y

Alastor, Dr. Habit, Junkrat, Guzma, Almond Cookie

The whole cast of Goncharov (1973)

Bruno Madrigal and Purple Guy

Tony the Clock, DOC OCK, and King Dice

All came out of nowhere lightning fast

And they kicked Cecil Palmer in his radio ass

It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw

With tumblrinas looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for like two weeks

Many lives were claimed, but eventually

The champion stood, the rest saw their better

Sans Undertale in a bloodstained sweater

This is the ultimate showdown of sexyman destiny

Objects and twinks and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown

(The sexiest showdown)

This is the ultimate showdown

(The sexiest showdown)

This is the ultimate showdown

Of sexyman destiny

[raguiras]

Music Weeks at NRC!

A Twisted Wonderland fan event

For a big event, Night Raven College splits into four large music groups, each with their own unique style and aesthetic. Follow the beat of your heart and create something miraculous!

These are just some quick sketches, but I'm pretty happy with them!

SHARING IS SUPER APPRECIATED!!! ♡♡♡

DEADLINE: none :) // My other ongoing event (ship art trades)

ALL INFO BELOW THE CUT!

☆ LORE ☆

RAGU Entertainment, an up-and-rising music company focusing on young talents, has offered Night Raven College a sponsorship and cooperation! The student body is being split into four large music groups, each with their own aesthetic and style. For every song made by the students, Night Raven College is rewarded with both exposure and money in exchange for promoting the company through the students' music. Some of the teens chose their groups themselves, others were assigned to one; some are performers, others work behind the scenes. Additionally, everyone is turning the music weeks into an unofficial battle — who makes the best, most well-received songs?

The NRC faculty members supervise the groups themselves, and Allen, the Ramshackle student known for his lyrical talent, organization skills and passion for music, is in charge of supervising the event's quality while simultaneously also working as the co-leader of his own group.

☆ GROUP INTROS ☆

Hazard/Riff: hip hop/rock fusion // street style aesthetic // leader: Deuce (+ Allen)

PASTEL BXMB!: bubblegum/dance pop fusion // pastel aesthetic // leader: Kalim

GLOWCHAIN: k-pop/EDM fusion //sparkly, mature aesthetic // leader: Vil

lonely lantern: indie/soft pop fusion // light academia/cottagecore // leader: Silver

The descriptions are rather vague so there's more room for you to be creative.

You obviously aren't limited to these pictures and can expand on the aesthetic as long as it's still similar! Draw your OC in whatever clothes you consider to be fitting.

☆ HOW TO PARTICIPATE ☆

Pick one of the four groups for your OC. Which one suits them best?

Use said group's designated background (scroll down in this post to find them) and make a TWST event card for your OC!

Write some voicelines, such as gacha or homescreen ones.

OPTIONAL: Make a GROOVY version portraying your OC in a music video scene (may be posted separately).

OPTIONAL: Include a few fun doodles or outfit-related stuff.

Post it with the hashtag ragu music weeks, tag (@) me so I can see it, and link this post in it!

I will link your OC's card in the official lineup section of this post.

Writing a fic, drawing something other than a card, or just doing anything creative in general is also allowed! You can obviously mix multiple of these things, too.

I'm looking forward to ALL types of entries.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ RULES ☆

No NSFW.

All types of NRC student OCs are allowed (except for fan children/another generation)! Faculty OCs are also allowed, but as supervisors instead of performers.

Your student OCs can be anything: a vocalist, rapper, dancer, instrumentalist, producer, lyricist, makeup artist, stage designer, director, choreographer, whatever! Just don't make them a co-leader without my approval.

You can obviously enter with multiple OCs!

Making cards of canon characters is technically allowed, but the event is supposed to focus on OCs. (I will draw Deuce's OFFICIAL card and maybe also some others.)

There are no canon ships (other than Deuce x Allen, which is only canon/extremely implied because Deuce's planned event lore is heavily dependent on his relationship with Allen), so please don't bash anyone for implying that their OC is dating/crushing on the same canon character as yours.

Don't make your OC beef with other people's OCs unless they've given you permission to do so.

Don't move a canon character into a different group. The official lineups can be found below.

☆ CARD BACKGROUNDS ☆

Hazard/Riff -> PASTEL BXMB! -> GLOWCHAIN -> lonely lantern

☆ OUR LINEUPS ☆

[Your OC will be added here with a link!]

Hazard/Riff (supervised by Vargas)

DEUCE, Allen, EPEL, ACE, LEONA, RUGGIE, FLOYD, Zian, Estella, Iyad, Estelle, Yuhua

PASTEL BXMB! (supervised by Sam)

KALIM, LILIA, IDIA, ORTHO, SEBEK, Carla, Bonbon, Astrid, Romeo, Fiend, Yumi, Yuya, Forsythea, Ben, Ruby, Victor (links will be added once I've regained them... they got removed 😭)

GLOWCHAIN (supervised by Crewel)

VIL, TREY, CATER, AZUL, JAMIL, MALLEUS, Ryuuni, Viviroe, Stephanie, Erin, Kyoi, Aurinelle

lonely lantern (supervised by Trein)

SILVER, JADE, RIDDLE, JACK, ROOK, Jinx, Cass, Yorrana, Illysabeth

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OUR LEADERS ☆

DEUCE: Having adapted music as an outlet for his delinquent tendencies from Allen and enjoying himself with this form of self-expression, Deuce is the born leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only have his vocals and especially his rap greatly improved by now, but he also writes lyrics together with Allen.

KALIM: Spread joy! Despite it being different from his usual aesthetics, Kalim immediately felt intrigued by the concept of PASTEL BXMB! and knew that this was the group he wanted to join. Through his naturally positive aura and ability to bring people together, he fits them incredibly well, and serves as a vocalist as well as the main dancer.

VIL: GLOWCHAIN has a mature, elegant sparkly aesthetic — it was a no-brainer that Vil would be its leader. The ambitious, talented artist makes sure that the group stands out and draws people in with his preexisting popularity and charisma. He is a vocalist as well as the visual of the group.

SILVER: Being calm, kind and well-liked, Silver is a fitting leader for lonely lanterns, an indie group welcoming to all kinds of personalities and skill levels. With his soothing vocals, good looks and somewhat odd aesthetic, he became the face of the group.

(ALLEN: Being the person who introduced music as a coping mechanism to Deuce, Allen is the co-leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only is he a talented producer and rapper as well as an exceptional lyricist, but he also has a blind understanding with Deuce, and the two spend tons of time together. When it comes to the group, Allen is perfectionistic but enthusiastic.)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ GROUP FOCUSES ☆

Hazard/Riff: Partial usage of instruments. Focuses on rap, rock vocals, and meaningful lyrics.

PASTEL BXMB!: No usage of instruments. Focuses on positivity, good vibes and dance.

GLOWCHAIN: No usage of instruments. Focuses on aesthetics, elegance and good vocals.

lonely lantern: Partial usage of instruments. Has no focus and is the most open-minded group.

☆ INSPIRATION PLAYLISTS ☆

Hazard/Riff — PASTEL BXMB! — GLOWCHAIN — lonely lantern

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OTHER EVENT NOTES ☆

You're very much allowed to include my designs, Allen (his profile is linked in the leader section), or the Deuce x Allen ship (they have duo magic too!) in your OC's card's groovy version. No need to ask for my permission!

Interactions between your OC and Allen are very much encouraged! Feel free to mention him in your OC's voicelines, too.

I'll make a card for Allen, and I'll also make Deuce's OFFICIAL card. If the mood strikes me, I'll possibly also draw official cards for some other canon characters.

I'll reblog every entry on my reblog blog and also link all entries in this post!

If this event ends up being well-received, I'll do a second part someday! So far, the idea is that it would be vkei/electro swing/weirdcore/Europop.

All resources were found on and downloaded from Pinterest, then edited. The event art was drawn by me.

If you have any questions, please leave a comment!

[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!)

[animalsalvationassociation]

“Offical” Octonauts — The A.S.A. Au Crossover List:

(Please keep in mind these may be smaller crossovers. They may not always feature in large parts of the story but they will be considered apart of the AU with tweaks that best fit the Octonauts universe/narrative.)

Creature Cases

Zootopia

Sing (1 & 2)

The Koala Brothers

Puffin Rock

The Mysteries of Alfred the Hedgehog

Other Possible Mentions: (Status: Pending)

Wild Kratts

The Bad Guys

Geronimo Stilton

Special Agent Osso

Notes:

Tbh I had to go through quite a few programs/companies/lists just to find these names. And this post is the broken down version of it. I will say there are a LOT of different anthro based shows/movies (that I ENJOY -sob-), but unfortunately a lot of them also had human interaction, magic, some kind of mythological phenomenon, etc, etc — woven into their stories. Not saying that’s bad, it’s just not what I’m looking for in this Au.

(As enamored as I am with the Au idea of having Kwazii’s sea monster tales be real — I mean come ON!!!!! We’re ALL thinking about it! I was immediately taken by that idea the moment Kwazii first started telling those stories in the show!!! (The source material for this series is literally fighting me tooth and nail)— I may only end up making a spin off series just for the A.S.A. so I can embrace the full fantasy of my usual (creative/art/writing) style. With the A.S.A. I’ve really been trying to put my foot down and make myself go a more scientific route rather than modern fantasy. But, knowing me, I may end up crossing that line day one of actually writing the story.)

Although, if there’s something I missed or something that you (my beautiful and wonderful audience) would like to see, let me know in the comments! Keep in mind I do have a certain image in my head so not everything is going to make it on the roster (I promise I’m not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings). BUT—but—but—that doesn’t mean you guys can’t make it yourselves!

Ya’ll if you want Kung Fu Panda and the Octonauts to interact, by ALL means you create that story! I certainly won’t stop you and I’d very much enjoy seeing it! (KFP was literally the first fanfic I ever wrote so I’m cheering you on bro—take my ideas—✨flourish✨—I’m begging you) And I give you full permission to tag me it whatever you create! It would absolutely make my day (and it would be such an honor) to see it! (You don’t have to take that seriously, there are so many other fandoms besides KFP I just needed and example)

All and all, if I listed something that you were already thinking about or only found interest through me mentioning it, DON’T let me stop you. I’m completely serious.

At the end of the day we’re all just creatives trying to have fun. The human race is literally coded to be inspired by the things around them, including other humans. Don’t even START to think that my ideas are better than yours or that anyone else’s work is so much more precious/important than what you make. We’re all meant to create, but it’s an individual’s job to make it unique and special to themselves. Please remember that my loves. Have a wonderful day and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves!

(Sorry for the rant, my heart’s been hurting the last little while and I figured someone out there might need some love just like I do. ~ 💙🍪)

[vartouhix]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSES SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

She's an oc, so it's not like I have pre-determined OTPs for her. It's more like, as things progress and chemistry makes itself known, I come to have OTPs for her.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

It's really hard to make me uncomfortable when it comes to fiction, because... you know... it's not real. xD As long as the characters are of age, I'm not really bothered, even if that means a 20-year-old with a 50-year-old. Talking about underage characters is where it does get a little different. For example, Eri and Deku of My Hero Academia. She's 7 and he's 16. If it was an AU set in the future where she's 18 and he's 27, then it's whatever to me. But yeah there are "age brackets" that I feel like are more appropriate. To keep going with this example, for Eri I would say muses the age of 6 to 10 would be okay. For Deku, maybe 14 to 18. It's just not the same, to me.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFT?

I think when you start identifying certain body parts, it needs a tag. Like I could write Jangmi sitting in Satoru's lap, and they're just talking, that's fine to me. Say that in the middle of talking, Satoru grabs her tits over her clothes and starts to play with them to try to get her hot and bothered, even tho he's just carrying on with the conversation like nothing's going on. At that point I would probably move it to my smut blog. If he was touching her waist or thighs or arms (just somewhere more innocuous) I don't think I would, tho.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

Kind of? I'm really bad at just jumping into a ship from the get-go. Like if someone I just followed sent me a DM like "I love your OC!! Let's ship!" I'd probably have to turn them down. I need to see if they have chemistry before I ship. Now to be fair, it doesn't take a whole lot for me to see chemistry. When I was still in the kpop rpc, there was a muse who Vartouhi approached really aggressively because he was wearing her late fiancé's ring. They argued, she threw wine on him, when they went outside to talk privately she threatened him with violence... This was their first interaction, mind you, but after a bit of back-and-forth, I thought enemies-to-lovers would be really interesting for them.

Vartouhi (and Jangmi, given that she is Vartouhi but just with changes to fit a different universe) is very physically affectionate with people she trusts. That's her norm. You can't judge whether I ship her with anyone based on that alone. Actually I talked about this in this post here. But the point is, there has to be something more there than just physical intimacy for me to think to ship with someone. Even with all that I wrote yesterday about Jangmi having had a crush on Suguru, there's still the other half of the equation unaccounted for--how Suguru interacts with her, how he responds to her. So it's not really a wanted ship for me, because I have zero idea how their dynamic would really be, despite my headcanons about her side of things.

Oh, and me sending shippy memes =/= me shipping our muses. It's really just me wanting to send the other person things so they feel appreciated, or testing out if there could be chemistry. Or, of course, just Vartouhi/Jangmi being physically affectionate, as usual for them.

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

Satoru ( @impishsensei ), Nanami ( ofovertime... will be tagging them below so I'm not tagging them here ), Sukuna ( mangher ), and Megumi* ( @shiiikigami ) for Jangmi. For Vartouhi, Yusuke ( thuganomxcs ), Jongin ( @xlusory ), several of @pnxmbra's muses (but especially Maker!) because there was a point where we were trying her with a bunch of her muses, and Hoseok ( @virxle ).

*In her teen verse.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

You don't need to ask for permission for your muse to develop attraction or feelings for mine. It can be one-sided. As for having Vartouhi/Jangmi reciprocate... I mean if you're writing little tells that your muse is attracted to/has feelings for them, I might pick up on it and if I feel the chemistry I'll probably write her as reciprocating anyway. If you haven't put tells in your writing, just shoot me a dm like "I think they have good shipping chemistry! What do you think?"

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

I wouldn't say ship-obsessed but I do really enjoy ships, and I'm certainly not "ship more-or-less" lol.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

Hmmm... considering I'm rping JJK these days, I'm thinking of that. I think it would be the OT3 of Itafushikugi. They're so cute!! And we get to see more of them than Sashisu, but that one is a very close second. :3

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

We need to find out if there's chemistry. That's the key. So plot with me for threads, give me "what if?" scenarios in dms somewhere (that we can also turn into threads if we like the idea enough), send me lots of starter/drabble/muse reaction memes. Then, if you're not sure whether I ship it or not, just ask! Like I mentioned in my rules somewhere, even if I don't ship it, I'll just be really flattered that you do. :3

tagged by: no one! i was goin' thru my likes and found it hehe :3 tagging: @ofovertime , @limitlessscion , @blastintriumph , @rotinthedark , @mangher , @thuganomxcs , @deathfoed , @ingxnium , @pontevoix , @tunichtgxt , @osoreruna , @cherrygardn , @getsusekaii , @ntzenin , @chikoyama , @usagimen , and you!

[writerofjourneys]

not trying to be a dick but if all of your sumire thoughts are just character hate like, what exactly possesses you to put it in the all the main fandom tags as well as the character tag. like, if you don't want to get hate from her "cult" why are you putting your rants in the tags they use. puzzling behaviour.

(I’m not adding Keep Reading on this)

Okay, dear Anon, let me answer this “puzzling behaviour” you think that is.

This is literally my RIGHT as freedom of speech and that just BECAUSE I’M MAKING AN OPINION, it’s labeled as hate. And I CAN hate a character all I want because that’s my right to think and choose and feel to do so. Why do I always have to keep stating this?

My thoughts on Sumire are everything I’ve considered on how her role and character doesn’t fit the story and point she is supposedly supposed to make from the writers. That’s MY take. So take it or leave it. I don’t dislike her for NOTHING!! I’m not throwing this crap for shits and giggles. I have reasons. My rant posts are my reasons. What I’m seeing here is you being incredibly biased and narrow-minded.

And they have had debates by others. Do you know how lengthy these were to read and respond back? They didn’t start shit but rather offered polite opinions of their own. The reactions to these things were exactly what I expected and something I debated about even posting that in the first place because I knew people were going spew pointless hater talk bullcrap at me. And it’s tiring. Especially about a character that’s worshipped so highly, it makes anything you say against them seem controversial.

And these tags are there because it’s about them? What’s hard to understand that while I knew I was bringing myself attention for adding these tags, I did so on the grounds of seeing anyone else thinking similar things or offering something different instead of collecting tumbleweeds waiting for anyone to stumble across my posts. I had said before that if anyone could even sway me on this, they could try. But after all this time I can’t be bothered to give a shit at the end of the day on a fictional character and this hate judgement you’re throwing me with hypocrisy. Blind level of understanding. And that’s not what my rants were at all.

If you can’t even make a counterpoint to my argument, much less talk about why I’m such a hater for my personal thoughts, even with a series of reasons to explain why, then your response here has no purpose.

I am TIRED of having to repeat myself over this pettiness and repetitive song and dance calling me a hater with hate. I can say whatever I want about whatever I want. Everyone’s always going to think differently and be judgy about them but nobody needs permission to think differently. Have a nice day, Anon.

[krankittoeleven]

Fanfic Tag Game

Thank you thank you for the tag @brasideios! I think some things have changed since last time I did this and there's some new peeps around so here we go!

1. How many fics do you have on AO3? 18

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 226,152

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently JJK, Trigun, Assassin's Creed and Final Fantasy 12 (LMAO) are fandoms I have fics in progress for that will likely see the light of day. That's generally what I consider a fandom I "write for".

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. But Like a Refugee (Trigun 98, Vashwood, E) 2. Because the Night (Trigun Stampede, Kniveswood, E) 3. we were hungry before (JJK, Nanago, E) 4. Sweets for the Sweet (Trigun 98, Vashwood, T) 5. a prelude to infinity (JJK, Nanago, M, WIP)

Jeez, Trigun and JJK really just told all my other fandoms to move over lol

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yep 99% of the time. If I miss something it's not intentional.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really think I have one posted at the moment. I usually resolve my angst or give a fic at least a hopeful ending. Some things coming down the pipeline might fit in future iterations of this post, though. lol

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sweets for the Sweet, probably. It's pure, unadulterated Vashwood fluff.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not specifically on AO3, but I've gotten anon hate here (that seems fic related) and I just snort, delete and move on.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, these days I tend to write fairly explicit but still vanilla sex. Haven't felt like writing anything particularly wild lately, but not against it.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I wrote a GO/Cosmic Horror fic ages ago that is lost to time and space (fried hard drive and purges). Other than that I have started a ton of crossovers but never finished any. I am however nearing the completion of a Trigun/JJK crossover (Midvalley the Hornfreak/Nanami Kento for the 2 people in the world this might interest LOL) It was supposed to be crack for cracks sake but it became crack treated seriously. LMAO

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet, but maybe soon?! Got asked for permission in regards to we were hungry before, so we'll see if that happens! :D

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No but wouldn't be adverse to it. I've done writer/Artist collabs before, though.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I refuse to pick only one, deal with it. :D Kenren/Tenpou (Saiyuki Gaiden), Ineffable Husbands (GO), Vashwood (Trigun), Kakairu (Naruto), Shaytham (AC Rogue), Ubba/Vili (AC Valhalla), Nanago (JJK), Balthier/Basch (FF12), Ignoct (FF15). Throughout every fandom I will apparently fall face first into the ground for any variation of the stoic introvert/excitable extrovert pair.

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I will not doom any of my WIPS to that fate. I remain optimistic that I'll finished them all.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Writing dialogue, banter & humor.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I know I have plenty of technical weaknesses with writing, but my true weaknesses are just not executing the idea I started with and terrible follow through/commitment to finishing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Whatever someone wants to do with their fic is fine by me. I do what I need to do to get certain points across.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Saiyuki

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

We were hungry before (JJK, Nanago, E) and Water of Life (AC Valhalla, Ubba/Vili, E, WIP) because I've put my blood sweat and tears into both of them (lots of tears, for real). Also, they both take me home (JJK, GetoNanaGo, M) because, for once, a fic turned out EXACTLY like I wanted it to.

I will tag @madnessmadness, @beelzebby666, @lifewtr, @akashadarkblade, @troublemakingrebel, @vault-heck. I think most of my other writing mutuals have been tagged. If I missed you feel free to join in, I've truly lost track of who does and doesn't write these days.

[calpalirwin]

Pushing Limits

Summary: Bucky reminds you of who’s in charge. 

Content: female masturbation, edging, fingering, phone sex, oral sex (fem receiving), sex, choking, dom!Bucky, after care

Word Count: 2.2k

And away, and away we go!

__

You didn’t stop to think twice as you sent Bucky the small video clip of you getting yourself off. 

But you should have. 

Halfway across the world, Bucky’s phone pinged in his pocket. The smile that crossed his face at the notification from you quickly turned to a stifled groan as the audio of your soft panted moans, finger fucking yourself, and then the small cry of “Bucky,” sounded in his ears. 

Quickly he called you. “Did I say you could do that?” he asked, his tone low and sharp the second you picked up.

“Hi, Buck. Love and miss you, too. How’s the mission?”

“Did I say you could do that?” was all he repeated in a tight growl.

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”

“Well, I hope you had your fun.”

“Oh…” you sighed dreamily. “I did. Still be more fun if you were here to help me out though. Your fingers are so much thicker than mine,” your voice was a teasing taunt as you dipped your hands between your thighs. “Wish you could see how wet that makes me,” you breathed into the phone’s speaker as you slowly inserted a finger in your pussy.

“Y/N,” came the warning.

“Mmm, Bucky,” you moaned, pumping your finger faster.

He let out another growl, feeling his jeans tighten. “Enjoy it, doll. Cuz that’s gonna be your last orgasm for a while.”

“Oh, shit…” you mumbled, immediately pulling your hand away, knowing he was dead serious. “Buck, I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized.

“I’ll be home tonight, and we’ll see just how sorry you are then.”

“Bucky, please! You’ve been gone two weeks!”

“Yeah. And I was really looking forward to making it up to you for being gone. I thought you were my good girl, doll… Such a shame…”

“I am!” you whined, not able to stand the disappointment in his voice. “Bucky, I’m sorry!”

“You’re only sorry because you got caught. If you hadn’t sent that video I never would’ve known, and tonight you’d be getting more orgasms than you could handle. Again… what a shame.”

“It was a present!” you tried to explain your way out of trouble. “Bucky… please.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

No “doll”. No “I love you”. No “can’t wait to see you”. Fuck… you really should have thought twice.

~~~

In an effort to get Bucky to believe that you genuinely were sorry and seek sympathy, you set about cleaning up the apartment, making sure his favorite meal was on standby for when he got home, and, as a last ditch effort to make him reconsider his earlier threat, changed into one of his shirts. The shirt held traces of his cologne, and was long enough to cover your ass, while being short enough to reveal how you were only in his shirt.

Then, there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that the anticipation of his homecoming would be considered punishment enough.

“Doll, I’m home,” Bucky called out, the front door clicking shut behind him, and the sound of boots and a duffle bag hitting the floor.

“In here,” you answered back from the kitchen.

You listened as his footsteps got closer, then his hands were on your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, his lips finding a home along your neck. “Mmm, missed you, doll,” he murmured against your skin.

“Missed you too,” you said with a giggle, turning in his arms to face him, looping your own arms around his neck. “I got you your favorite if you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” was the confession. “But I have something else in mind.”

“Oh?” you asked, a smile coming to your lips as you took note of the lust swirling in his eyes. Maybe the flight home had made him rethink. Maybe the two weeks apart was overriding whatever disappointment still lingered. Maybe forgiveness had already been granted.

“Bedroom. Now.”

You didn’t dare disobey now, quickly detangling yourself from him, and heading for the bedroom.

Similarly, Bucky wasted no time following after you. Wordlessly, he guided you to the bed, your back hitting the mattress as your feet stayed planted on the floor. The action caused his shirt to ride up on you, the hem stopping tantalizing so just above your exposed pussy. “No panties, huh?” he asked, leaning down over you as one of his fingers brushed through your folds, slickness already gathering on his fingertips. “Who made you this needy, doll?” His voice was sickly sweet as he popped the finger in his mouth, tasting you.

“You, Bucky,” you answered, already breathless.

He hummed his approval at your response as he sank to his knees in front of you. His hands gripped into your thighs, spreading apart your legs for him, your pussy lips parting slightly, but still clinging together with small threads of your wetness. “Spread yourself for me, doll,” he commanded in a low tone.

You brought down your hands to hold your pussy open for him, a shudder going through your body as his tongue swiped across your core. “Bucky,” you moaned softly, arching your hips to meet his mouth.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pining you into place as his tongue skillfully worked you over. The scratch of his beard when he moved, and each flick of his tongue was enough to drive you mad after the two weeks apart. And when his lips wrapped around your clit and two of his fingers teased at your entrance, you were ready to come undone for him. “Fuck! Bucky! Mmmm!” you called out, hips rising to follow the movements of his mouth.

“You gonna cum for me, doll?” his voice sent vibrations throughout your body.

“Mhm! Yes! Please, please, PL-!”

In a swift motion, his fingers and mouth pulled away.

“Bucky…” you wanted to cry as you were left empty and unfulfilled.

He laughed darkly as he rose to his feet, leaning his body over yours to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” he cooed in your ear.

“That was mean,” you told him pitifully.

“Aw, poor baby. I’m sorry. Want me to make it up to you?”

Not sure if he was mocking you or not, you only nodded.

He joined you on the bed, sitting up against the headboard, and spreading his legs. “Come sit with me,” he said, patting the empty space for you to fit in his lap. His voice was soft, and inviting, and you willed yourself to believe that the worst was over as you shifted to sit with him, your back pressed to his chest. “You okay?” he asked, his fingers tracing lightly over your throat.

You wanted to say no. That your pussy ached for him and your denied orgasm. But instead, you nuzzled your nose against the underside of his jaw, before stamping it with soft kisses. “Mhm,” you murmured.

“Good.” His hand trailed from your throat to your stomach. Your breath hitched as his fingertips ghosted across your clit. “No,” came the stern demand as his other hand pressed your hips back down when you started to lift them.

“Please?” you breathed, digging your hands into his thighs, your eyes fluttering shut. “Please?”

“Please what?” he asked, his finger teasing your entrance once again.

“Please make me cum.”

“You wanna cum for me?” His finger slowly pumped in and out of your pussy, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

“Mhm.” You tried your best to keep still for him. “Please, Bucky? Wanna cum for you.”

“Yeah?” He slid in a second finger. “You wanna cum all over my hand like a good girl?”

“Yes!” you cried out eagerly as his fingers started to fuck into you at a unrelenting pace. “Yes! Bucky! Ooooohhhh, please! Please, Bucky, I’m so close!”

He felt the quiver go through your legs, and when your mouth dropped open, a long moan ripping out of your throat, he pulled his hand away, slapping harshly at your clit. “Only good girls get to cum, and you’re not a good girl.”

Your eyes snapped open, a sob stuck in your throat. “Bucky,” you whimpered, twisting in his lap to look up at him. “Please, I’ll be good. I’m sorry. I was trying to do something nice for you. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please, Bucky, I wanna be your good girl again.”

He mulled your words over, as he looked you over. Your hair was a wild mess from thrashing against him. Your eyes glistened with the unshed tears that came from two denied orgasms, and your own hurt that he was still disappointed and mad. And every so often the muscles in your legs twitched with how sensitive the rest of your body was growing. You were absolutely ruined by him and he still hadn’t even let you cum yet. An orgasm would split you wide open at this point. Could your body handle it?

He became aware of his own body at that point, his cock throbbing against the constraints of his jeans which were now uncomfortably tight around him. Shit… could he handle it?

“Bucky?” you asked in a small voice, drawing him out of his thoughts, your fingers playing with the dog tags around his neck.

“Hmm?”

“Please? We can both cum.”

“Oh, we can, can we?”

“Mhm,” you said, moving to straddle his lap more properly, rubbing your bare core against his jeans. “We can cum for each other, Bucky,” you elaborated, slowly rocking your hips, his dog tags clenched tightly in your fist.

His hand wrapped around your throat, “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? You like to cum all over my cock while I fuck you senseless?”

“Yes, please,” you gasped, rocking your hips more.

A giggle left your lips as he knocked you onto your back, his hands quickly freeing him from his jeans. “Who do you cum for, doll?” he asked, swiping his cock through your folds to coat himself.

“You, Bucky.”

“Does that mean you get to cum without my permission?” He pushed his cock into you.

“N-No, Bucky,” you gasped at the stretch.

“So next time you wanna cum and I’m not home, you’ll ask me, right?” His hands dug into your thighs, as his hips snapped into you.

“Y-Yes, Bucky.”

“And what were you thinking about when you were getting yourself off earlier, hmm? What thoughts could possibly be filling that pretty head of yours to make you that needy?” The slow pace would almost be torturous if it wasn’t for the force of each of his thrusts driving his cock deep into you.

“You, Bucky!” Your voice was high, and if he kept asking you questions, you weren’t sure how many more answers would be coherent. You felt your eyes flutter shut, your mouth falling open.

“Cuz who’s the one who makes you feel this good?”

You worked your throat to answer him, but all that same out was a low moan of pleasure.

“Look at me,” he instructed, his hand wrapping around your throat again. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-you,” you forced out, opening your eyes to look up at him.

“That’s right,” he grinned proudly, picking up speed. “Cuz you’re my good girl, right?”

“Your good girl,” you moaned out with your own smile. “Bucky’s doll.”

“Ffffuuuucccckk,” he groaned, throwing his head back as your pussy clenched tightly around him. “You take me so well, doll. Such a good girl for me.”

Whimpered moans fell freely from your lips at his praise, as you felt your orgasm building, and you hoped he’d let you have this one. “Gonna cum,” you told him.

“Yeah?” His pace grew as relentless as his fingers had been, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “You gonna cum all over my cock?” His hand dropped from your throat to rub fast circles at your clit.

“Really want to. Please? I’ve been so good, Bucky. Please?” you begged, needing permission before you exploded.

“Cum for me, doll,” he finally said, and you shattered around him with a scream. “Fuck!” he yelled out with you, his own release spilling. “Fuck,” he chuckled, his chest heaving. “Oh, fuck.”

You grabbed his dog tags, tugging him down towards you for a kiss. “Never say I’m not a good girl, again.”

“Aw,” he chuckled again, pulling his cock out of you, and peppering your face in soft kisses. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes. And your punishment was really mean.”

“Mmm, but consider how hot it was for me to watch you come undone.”

“You can make me come undone without making me cry, Bucky.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. How about,” he started to suggest, kissing a path down your body, “I give you back those two orgasms I stole?”

You shivered, your hands bunching up in his hair and tugging sharply. “I don’t think I can handle anything more right now, Bucky. Rain check?”

“Rain check,” he agreed with a nod, becoming aware of his own exhaustion. “Think you can stand for a shower, or should I run us a bath?”

“Bath, please. My legs feel like jell-o.”

“Okay,” he said with a last chuckle, and a last kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m glad you’re home, Buck.”

“Me too, doll. Me too.”

__

Tag List

@cxddlyash​ @stanofalotofthings​ @philthepegacorn​ @youngblood199456​ @binxiboo​ @creator-appreciator​ @felixtok​ @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof​ @jessalyn-jpeg​ @lilyoflower​ @mychemicalimagines​ @rougese7en​ @milea​ @partiesandblurrypolaroids​ @summerdaughter​

[cazimagines]

Perfectly exasperating

Synopsis: You really disliked Zemo, but one person you disliked more? John Walker. After bonding over how you disliked him with Zemo, you have the unfortunate situation of running into John. He flirts, insults, and hurts you and Zemo is ready to put him in his place.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings/Tags: Use of swear words, John Walker being a dick, soft Zemo, protective Zemo

Author’s note: I was not intending this fic to come out as long as it did. This was one of the ones I had been putting off to write other stuff till I finally pulled myself around to writing it and ended up getting really into it. Funny how that happens.

Masterlist

Sequel

Part 3

Part 4

“Would you care for a Turkish delight?”

You bite the inside of your mouth in annoyance, refusing to even look at him. Instead of forcing your eyes to focus on a spot in front of you, not moving them in the slightest. Zemo waited for a few moments before sighing and turning away from you.

“You’ll eventually have to talk to me, y/n” he exclaims as he walks over to the kitchen side of the room. You were sitting in the safe house Zemo had provided. There wasn’t much to do, just sit and wait till the funeral started. Zemo sought to communicate to you to keep you two occupied, but you didn’t want to talk with him, so you didn’t. You just sat on the settee, staring at the sofa opposite you while Zemo walked around looking through the cupboards for food.

You were pissed when Bucky revealed he broke Zemo out of prison.

The avengers had been your family. Whenever you needed them Steve would be there to offer you advice, Tony there to make you laugh. Nat there to beat up whoever required it. Everything was wonderful in your life. For once. And he had ruined it.

He caused the family you loved to split, hate each other, and that left you alone. So alone. Losing both Tony and Steve made you more mad at Zemo. He robbed the last years you could have spent with them, so yeah, no wonder you refused to talk to him.

He loved to annoy you, though. Any moment he got he was beside you, creating sarcastic remarks about what was happening, trying to joke around with you. Trying anything to communicate with you. The worst of it was when he insisted you had to be his date on the mission in Mandripoor. Feeling his arm wrap around you, a kiss to your temple, the smell of his cologne flooding you, drawing you in. It pissed you off knowing how easily you fit into the role of his date. Yet you knew deep down why. Every time he made a snide remark, you had to bite your tongue to stop making one back. Every time he tried to joke with you, it took all your effort not to snort. You hated him and everything he does, yet you could sense a fondness growing for him, just a slight one, in the deepest corner of your heart. Left there to be locked away. Never acknowledged.

“So, the new Captain America, huh? What’s he like?” you hear Zemo ask, leaning on the counter of the kitchen table, his eyes burning into the side of your head.

You feel bile rise to your mouth as he spoke.

John Walker.

John fucking Walker.

If you hated Zemo, you despised John Walker. Just thinking of him brought a scowl to your lips. Steve meant everything to you. He was a father figure to you. He stood for all you believed in. He was your hope, your light in the darkness. And John Walker seemed to tarnish it. You wouldn’t have minded him if he was a different mascot for America. If he became America’s new hope. It was the fact that they called him Captain America. That he had the shield. The title belonged only to Steve. He claimed he wasn’t trying to replace Steve, but that is what he was doing. Him being called Captain America felt like a spit on Steve’s memory. People would forget him, everything he did for the country he loved. They would only focus on John Walker, and you detested that.

You didn’t blame Sam for giving away the shield, unlike Bucky. You could understand why he did it. That shield held such a responsibility, such a legacy it seemed impossible to ever live up to. No, you blamed the people who took the shield away from the museum. Without Sam’s permission. They should have asked Sam. But of course they didn’t care. They didn’t care at all.

“I see by your reaction that your impression of him isn’t a pleasant one,” Zemo says, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

“Have you met him?” he asks

You try to hold back your opinion, but John Walker made you so frustrated, you knew if you didn’t rant about him you would burst.

“Yes. He’s a dick,” you spit out

Zemo quickly straightens up, surprised you actually answered one of his questions.

“Oh? Are you finally speaking to me.” he inquires, walking around the kitchen counter towards you.

“Don’t push your luck” you mutter, side eyeing him as he sits down opposite you. Sam and Bucky were out leaving you alone with Zemo. At the moment you were all waiting till the funeral. Zemo claimed there were a few hours to kill before everyone had to gather. Sam and Bucky decided to check out the town, make sure they knew it well in case a situation occurred where we had to dash. They had forced you to babysit Zemo.

“No, no, I like to hear you talk. Please, if talking about how this new Captain America is a dick is how I get you to speak to me, then let’s continue.” Zemo says, pouring out a glass of whisky for you and him. He holds the glass out to you, an eyebrow raised. You sigh, grabbing the glass out of his hand and drank, feeling the warmth creep up your throat. Zemo chuckles as he watches you, leaning back on the sofa, his arms resting on top of it.

“My, my. The man must be terrible if just the thought of him is making you talk and accept drinks from me,”

“He’s so infuriating! He thinks because he is Captain America he can stick his nose in other people’s business!”

“Ah, so he is one of those people. Doesn’t understand boundaries. How rude,”

“And get this, he got annoyed at us! Telling us we should stay out of his way when he is the one getting in our bloody way!”

“No” Zemo fake gasps

“Yes!” you exclaim, going into a rant, “I can’t even bear to call him Captain America. He doesn’t deserve to be called that. His actual name is John Walker. He claimed he wasn’t trying to replace Steve, but that is exactly what he is doing! And how he talks to me as well. He’s so condescending, treating me as if I am a kid while trying to compliment me and act like he’s all that in front of me,”

Zemo’s eyes narrow and he places the glass down on the table between you two, “You mean he flirts with you?”

“If you could call that pathetic excuse flirting. I suppose. It pisses me off though,”

“I can imagine. He sounds nothing like what Steve was. Nothing like his legacy,”

It was your turn to narrow your eyes, watching Zemo curiously. “I assumed you hated Steve”

“I never hated him. No. I can admire what he stood for, I just find unrealistic. All superheroes are flawed. Innocents will consistently be collateral damage while superheroes are allowed to exist.”

You stare at Zemo, amazed. Not realising the silence you were making. You had always thought he hated Steve. It always seemed that way. Yet he didn’t? Knowing he didn’t hate the guy you always viewed as a father figure mattered to you. And you don’t know why.

Zemo stared back at you. He was studying your eyes, trying to figure out what you were thinking. He didn’t realise what he thought about Steve would have affected you, but it appears he was wrong.

“Don’t worry y/n we’re back and guess what! We found your fav-” Sam shouts, opening the doors of the room and strutting in but he pauses, noticing you and Zemo staring at each other from the sofa’s. “What’s going on here?”

Zemo is the one to pull out of the eye contact trance, smirking as he looks over at Sam, “We were just discussing John Walker.”

Bucky who had followed Sam in grounded at hearing Zemo utter that name. “Perhaps you two would like a drink and join us in considering how much of a dick he is?” Zemo asks, raising his glass to them.

A few hours later you walked down the street following Zemo to find his associate. You didn’t appreciate how secretive he was being, but you understood it. He had many people who wanted to get him, and the second he wasn’t useful to us. He would be doomed.

“It’s too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit” you hear a whiny voice shout. Peering up, you notice John Walker and his sidekick ‘Battlestar’ or whatever jogging down the steps towards you.

“Ah! How did you find us now” Bucky shouts with his arms raised, striding towards them.

“Come on. You really think three Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention,” his friend responds.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” John mutters angrily

Zemo, who you were walking besides, turns his head to you, “I understand what you mean by infuriating”

You chuckle as John looks angrily between you two, “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison,”

“He did that himself technically” Bucky replies, and Zemo grins at you, as if bragging about it.

“Aw, this better be an unbelievable explanation-” John Walker exclaims, reaching up to you.

“Hey take it easy before it gets weird,” Sam suggests, interrupting John.

“I know where Karli is,” Zemo reveals to John Walker, his seductive accent sticking out from the rest of them. He tries to walk past John. You, Bucky and Sam follow, but John stops him, placing a hand on his chest.

Zemo glares ahead, disgusted at John for even daring to touch him.

“Well, where” he says, getting into Zemo’s face

“All we know is, it’s a memorial so we are going to intercept her there,” Sam adds, trying to defuse the tension.

Zemo grabs John Walker’s hand and pushes it off him, striding forward again, and you jog to catch up with him.

“See why I call him a dick now,” you whisper

Zemo smirks, looking back at you, “Yes. He’s perfectly exasperating”

“What? No. Wait. No! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop. Okay?” John exclaims running forward and stopping you all in your tracks again after something Sam had said. “I think we are way past reasoning with her”

Zemo just stares ahead, fed up with John while you groan in annoyance. Not being able to even bring yourself to look at the man in front of you.

They argue for a few moments while you and Zemo stand idly to the side, Zemo glances at you rolling his eyes making you giggle. You smack his arm slightly trying to get him to stop making you laugh, but that only makes Zemo chuckle along with you. Eventually they calm John down but he glares over at Zemo, “We will deal with you later.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion” Zemo says, gesturing with his hands. He walks ahead, searching for his associate while John Walker moves beside you. You try to pick up your pace, but he keeps up.

“So working with a criminal now. Not very avengery like. I thought Zemo hated Steve. I wonder what Steve would think of you working with him,” he mutters peering at you.

“Need I remind you-you are also working with him now,”

“Come on, darling, don’t be like that,” John responds grinning, placing his palm on your back.

“Get your hand off me” you growl scowling at him

“Most women would fawn over me” John cockily resorts, still not removing his hand

“She asked you to remove your hand” you hear Zemo state, glancing over you see he had stopped walking forward, turned around and was now glaring at John. “Do I need to remove it for you?” he says angrily.

John frowns at Zemo. Finally, taking his hand off you and striding up to Zemo. Zemo tilts his head, his jaw clenching in fury as he stares at John.

“You are nothing but a dirty criminal. Don’t think for a second you can talk to me like that,”

“I will when you are being rude and disrespectful towards a lady,”

John scoffs, peeking over to you, then back to Zemo. Everyone else was standing to the side, not sure if they should intervene or not.

“What did she suck you off or something?”

Chaos ensured.

Bucky and Sam had to leap forward to stop Zemo from launching onto John while Battlestar had to hold John back. “Too far man, too far” he muttered to John

Zemo was snarling at John, his teeth bared in rage. His hair had fallen loose from their usual position and was hanging down over his forehead, giving him a more wild look. The vein in his neck stood out, twitching. His eyes were raging with fire as he looked at John. He kept trying to push past Bucky and Sam to get to John, but eventually gave up knowing it was futile.

You were standing at the side, shocked that John would have the ego to say something like that and at Zemo’s rage towards John for saying it. John adjusts his head. Not looking you in the eyes, but looking in your direction. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of said that”

Pulling your senses together, you walk up to John, glaring at him. “Yeah, you damn well shouldn’t have. You’re a dick. Nothing like Steve. You never will be,”

John wrinkles his nose in anger, frowning at your remark. You walk over to Zemo now that Bucky and Sam had let go of him. You give him a nod, showing your appreciation, and he nods back, though still glaring at John.

“Who I choose to associate myself with is none of your business. Who I choose to suck off is none of your business. Perhaps you can go fuck yourself and learn a bit of decency,” you spit at him.

A brilliant thought crosses your brain for another way to twist the dagger of your dislike into John. You reach out and grab onto Zemo’s hand, clasping it.

The action causes everyone to turn wide eyed to you. Including Zemo. He glances down at your hand in his then back to yours, surprise in his gaze but he immediately covers it up turning back to John smirking. He turns to behind himself, then back to the group.

“My associate is up ahead,”

You all turn to look forwards and see a little girl staring at you. Walking forward again, gripping his hand, Zemo nods to the girl as you all approach.

“Hello my friend,”

He holds out some money, a lot by the looking of it, and says to her, “This is for your family”

The girl hastily snatches it, obviously in need of it, and you can’t help but feel your heart warm a bit, seeing how kind Zemo was being to her.

“Can you show us the way?”

She beckons with her hands and walks forward. Zemo looks back at you, nodding to make sure you were okay, then follows her.

“What the hell” John murmurs from behind.

Following the girl, she leads you to a building. She turns, pointing inside a doorway, and runs inside not to be seen again.

“Karli’s in there,” Zemo tells the rest of the group. Sam replies and heads inside to talk to her while John suddenly grabs Zemo’s arm and yanks him against the machine on the wall.

Zemo moans as he is shoved into it, the hard outer piece hitting into his chest roughly.

“Hey. You’ve got ten minutes” John shouts to Sam as he takes out a pair of handcuffs and attaches them to Zemo.

“Really” Zemo mutters as John cuffs him to the machine.

“Then we are doing things my way,” John declares ignoring him

“Aggressive” Zemo jokes, though from his eyes you could still see the anger he harbors towards John.

He twists his head to watch John stride forward, staring at Sam, then back to him. “But I get it”

You wander over to stand by Zemo as you wait for Sam to talk to Karli.

“This day has brought a lot of changes. This morning you refused to say a single thing to me and now just moments ago you were holding my hand,” Zemo speaks quietly to you.

You shoot him a glare, “I did that to agitate John,”

“Sure, that was the only reason” but you knew from his eyes he didn’t believe you. They sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you.

“That cuff must bother you” you mention glancing over at them.

“I don’t mind. I quite enjoy cuffs, in the right setting of course,” he quips.

You turn on your side, looking at him, your lips curling into a smile. If we are going to play that game, you thought.

“Oh, what setting would that be?”

Zemo’s smile deepened, enjoying seeing you play along, “I’m sure you would like to know”

“Do you have to do this here!” John exclaims, glaring at the two of you. You quickly step back from Zemo, forgetting that you two had company. Your eyes snap to Bucky’s with worry, but he wasn’t looking at you. He glared at the ground, not seeming to care what was happening between you and Zemo.

After that Zemo tried to engage you in conversation again but you effectively ignored him, going back to how you were treating him earlier, which you knew was frustrating him.

John was looking down at the shield, then squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, panting. Both you and Zemo glanced up, watching him cautiously. You glanced at Zemo and he stared back, confirming you were both thinking the same thing about Walker.

He got up and started shuffling towards the doorway. Both you and Bucky eyed at each other for the first time with the same recognition in your eyes. You leave Zemo’s side to walk over to where John was.

“No, no, no. This is a bad idea,” John mutters as he paces around. Zemo watches him like a hawk while you and Bucky stand side by side, arms crossed.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Sit tight,” Bucky replies.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me,” he spits back, pacing around.

“He knows what he is doing,” you reply

There’s silence for just a moment. You watch as John turns towards you and walks fast, hitting his fist against the shield, “I’m going in”

Bucky walks forward and places his hand on John, stopping him from moving further.

He tries to antagonise Bucky, trying to make him guilty for what could happen to Sam. And you could tell his words were influencing him.

“You will not be going in till ten minutes are up,” you state sauntering over to them

“Oh, so the whore has something to say,” John spits out

In the back, Zemo growls, tugging on the cuffs that connected him to the wall. You feel the outrage prick up on you as John’s remark.

“Don’t call her that” Bucky says, glaring at John

“She’s been openly flirting with the terrorist over there, so yeah, I think it’s appropriate to call her that,” John bites back

You rush forward, attempting to punch John in rage, but he was able to sidestep you and brings the shield up, connecting it harshly to the side of your head. Pain soars across your face as you fall down onto the ground. You groan, your eyesight going dark around the sides and black patches covering parts of what you could see.

“BASTARD” you hear someone shout with a beautiful accent. From the floor, you can’t make out much of what is going on. Someone with a metal arm attacking another guy. A man with a shield being attacked by a man in a trench coat. It was all too confusing for you. You just wanted to sleep.

You could feel yourself fading in and out. Your eyes begging to close. You could hear shouting. Someone talking.

Your head was raised. Someone was holding it in their hands. Your vision is blurry but as they get nearer your eyes could focus on them. Beautiful brown eyes, messy brown hair, cute thin lips. It was him.

“Y/n!?” Zemo shouted at you, “Y/n stay with me”

“My head hurts” you mutter to Zemo as he lifts you up, placing you against the wall. Slowly your eyesight came back, and you could see your surroundings. Only you and Zemo were left.

“Zemo, where is everyone?” you ask turning your head, but in doing so it makes you feel incredibly dizzy. You groan as Zemo places a hand on the side of your face to stop you moving.

“They went after the Sam,”

“I need to help them!”

“No, you need to stay here and recover,”

You look over at the wall then back to Zemo, “How did you get out of the cuffs?” you ask

“Ah well…” Zemo says and glances down at his hand, your eyes follow and widen seeing his hand, bruising covering it, his thumb sticking out at an odd angle.

“You broke your hand to get out!?”

“Well, I couldn’t let him get away with saying those things and hurting you,” Zemo mutters, smiling slightly but you could see the pain flickering in his eyes, “I gave him a well-deserved punch in the face”

You chuckle at the thought. Leaning forward, you kiss him lightly on his forehead, a gesture of you wanting to ease his pain. You move back just in time to see him looking at you, surprised, before your vision faded.

Taglist: @multiyfandomgirl40 @ineffablebean @freyjasamael @avgravy @huntheimpossible @checkurwindow @there-goes-thefighter @bunniwritesx @montypythonsholysnail @yallgotkik @wonderwoman292

[whumpzone]

everyone wants to see col broken, but i want to see linden broken. maybe sick with a fever so bad he's totally out of it, maybe with a broken bone, maybe with the kind of panic attack that takes you out of reality and leaves you completely drained. i want to see how col scrambles to care for him with his still-unfamiliar hands, when linden isn't even in the headspace to praise or thank him.

yes!!! CW for general illness & mentions of pills/medicine

-

Linden woke- rather, he was pulled forcibly from sleep- to a pounding headache. He kept his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, realising slowly that his whole body hurt, not just his head. He was on his back- when he tried to roll into the foetal position, his muscles complained as if he’d hiked up a mountain yesterday.

“Mmph,” he grunted. The small noise irritated his throat enough to set off a coughing fit. He finally opened his bleary eyes. He was definitively ill. He groaned, grinding his head weakly into the pillow.

-

Pet didn’t see Master all morning. The sun was in the middle of the sky, casting only slim shadows, when he gathered his courage and went to check on him. Every step felt like a mistake. He was disturbing him, he was attention seeking, Master was probably busy, he was doing something that didn’t concern the stupid little animal he kept around, and Pet was going to get ordered away at best and punished at worst.

Still, he gently knocked on Master’s bedroom door. The action hurt his knuckles. “Col,” he heard, just barely, from inside. “Come in, please.”

Master’s voice didn’t sound right. He didn’t look right, either, when Pet pushed open the door. He was still in bed, his long hair stuck to his face with sweat. His dark skin looked flushed-out and pallid, and his eyes were half-lidded. Two pupils slowly met his own.

Oh, god. Master was dying.

Pet rushed and collapsed to his knees at Master’s bedside, his mind racing to find a solution. He wanted to cry out, ask what is it, where does it hurt, what do I need to do?

But he couldn’t. He could only stare stupidly, his mouth parted with worry, eyes big and searching. Master saw his panic and slowly spoke. It looked like the words were painful.

“I’m okay, I’ve just-“ he coughed, turning his face away. “I think I’ve got the flu. It’s fine, it’s-“ another few seconds of coughing. “Okay, I’m quite badly ill.”

He half-groaned, half-laughed. Pet’s heart was still thumping out of his chest, but he made himself nod. Master pressed his face into the pillow, a pained look on his face. His eyebrows were drawn close, heavy over his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Pet stared, waiting, but Master didn’t speak anymore. He was tense, like he was trying to stave off an invisible pain.

A car rumbled past outside. Had… had Master fallen asleep? Pet wouldn’t dare touch him without permission, so instead he got up and looked down. It felt so wrong. Pet should be the one laid out, sweaty and barely conscious.

He had to help. What did Master need? Paracetamol? He knew that word, from somewhere. Had Master given him some, when he burnt his own hand? He went to the bathroom and retrieved the packet. Water. Pet would get him water, too. He’d be a good, useful dog.

Pet’s mind wandered as he completed the task. So often his thoughts were preoccupied with what Master could do, what he was capable of, all the ways he could hurt Pet in that moment. Constantly vigilant of any attack. Would he kick him? Whatever was in reach, would he smash it against his head? Would he reach out and slap him?

But right now, Master really couldn’t do anything. He was weak, he was tired. He could barely open his eyes- would he notice, say, if Pet failed to kneel quickly enough? If he didn’t cast his eyes down, or if he was slow? He wouldn’t do any of that, of course. Pet knew he shouldn’t be thinking this way, but he also knew he wasn’t considering anything disloyal. Just because Master was incapacitated didn’t mean Pet would let his own training slip, or- god forbid- try to hurt Master or slow his recovery. Never. It was just… an interesting thought, the fact that Pet wasn’t at risk of harm right now.

He also thought about how seeing Master this way, pained and exhausted, evoked a strange feeling he hadn’t felt for his old owner, even as he died. All Pet could feel back then was hopelessness, and fear. He had felt like a balloon cut loose and left to fly, unguided, into the abyss. Here, he could tell that the drive to help Master feel better was motivated by more than his obligation to serve, more than his fear of his owner dying. Seeing Master so reduced had created a strange sadness in Pet. He didn’t like it.

-

Master didn’t look much better when Pet returned, a glass of water in one hand and the pills in the other. He knew it was disgusting, to give his owner pills that had been handled by an animal, but he didn’t know how else to give them to him. He wasn’t sure Master would be able to open the packet by himself.

He was curled up, his face still taut, and breathing far too shallowly. It made Pet’s heart seize up. This was wrong wrong wrong.

Kneeling, he put the glass down and tried to gently wake Master. He knew he would get in trouble for touching his owner, for daring to disturb him, but he had to help. Master opened one eye and Pet proffered the glass.

It took both of Master’s hands gripping it, with Pet supporting the base of the glass, for him to drink enough to swallow the pills. Once he was done he immediately slumped back into bed with a groan, and shut his eyes.

-

By the third day, Master was improving a lot. But, naturally, he didn’t have any time for his Pet. He understood, he really did. Master had to focus on recovering and look after himself.

Still…

He was getting really hungry. He had no way of asking, and duh, it kept him dependent on his owner’s mercy, as he should be. But he worried that if Master didn’t grant him the privilege soon, he would be useless at helping fetch pills, water, warm blankets, anything. He was already starting to wobble a lot more as he walked. Once he thought he would actually fall onto his owner.

Pet tried to push the hunger away. He had to focus, this was important! He had to be perfect. He could hear Master’s voice in his head, once he was back to full health.

You just let me suffer in that bedroom, you fucking mongrel. No help, no care, I don’t know why I ever kept you in the first place. You can get out and never come back, you hear me?

So he ignored the void in his stomach. Tried to compensate for the way his limbs ached. If this was a test, he was going to pass. He had to.

-

tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914

[fonulyn]

What was it about Nivannedy that pulled you in?

How did you discover them as a pairing and what was your first reaction?

ahhh i wish i was more awake so i could really wax poetic about them but i'm gonna give you the half-asleep version :'D

the very very first thing that made me think about the possibility of the pairing is how Piers reacts when the missile is going towards the city and towards Leon. like seriously. that face? that is not the face of someone who has heard a person he barely knows is in danger. he's in such distress when he learns that Leon is in danger, and immediately my brain went "ohhh I see" :'D

but even then I didn't really fall into the pairing immediately, idek why. probably because usually my favorite pairings stem from their canon interactions and with these two there really isn't any actual interaction, so it took me a while to give myself permission to go for it. that might sound insane, but like, it took a while before I internalized that you actually are allowed to ship characters that don't interact canonically :'D

then a friend wrote a fic about them and I went something like "WHAT WAIT HOW WAIT ARE YOU ALLOWED TO DO THAT??? ME TOO!!" and it's like a switch was flipped in my brain and i haven't been able to stop thinking about them since lmao. which is fairly evident considering i'm like the vast majority of the nivannedy tag lmaooo.

what pulled me in is that I genuinely think they'd complement each other really well, their personalities just fit. Piers has a lot of this fire and drive and determination to help that Leon had when he was younger (Leon still has it! but in a different way, he's less fire and brimstone, more silent tenacious drive to help) and I think he could easily remind Leon of how it was and give Leon some fuel he might be running low on. meanwhile Leon can be a balancing affect on Piers, who legit has a temper lol.

and like, Piers is stubborn and driven enough to get through the walls Leon has built around himself. he'd just refuse to leave lol. he'd stick around until Leon internalizes that he's sticking around. they could be so good for each other. they could support each other and grow together and have that wonderfully domestic and boring retired life, one day.

and as much as I love messy and complicated ships with a long and painful history (looking specifically at metaltango :'D), with Piers and Leon i love that there isn't any baggage. there aren't hurt feelings and abandonment and whatever else. they can sort of start fresh? build whatever the hell they want! but at the same time they've been through similar things, have both been hurt and survived a lot of shit, and they would understand each other in a way not everyone could.

i just have so much love for this pairing, without them i would've just quit fandom a long time ago tbh. they give me so much sheer joy that i can't really even put it into words. and I am incredibly happy and grateful that there are a few other people who are willing to row this tiny boat down the stream together with me 🥺💖

[blossom-hwa]

so I joined an ateez collab yesterday and was yelling to mai about a possible elemental kingdom au kind of like avatar but also not really anyway it doesn’t fucking matter mai was yelling back and now we have this. you have been warned

(I have bigger plans for seonghwa mostly because he’s the one I'm writing for this collab.............. seonghwa brainrot commence)

tagging: @applejongho @mangomingki @wingkkun because all of you need to see this SUFFER

anyway without further ado

ATEEZ ELEMENTAL KINGDOM AU OR WHATEVER IDK WHAT TO CALL THIS

tw: cursing

seonghwa

magma prince, born of an earth/water dalliance gone too far :/

lives in the water but is an outcast, so he’s forced to live on his own by the underwater volcanoes except when he has to come to the palace for ceremonies and such

doesn’t really manipulate water specifically but can control magma hence why I'm calling him a magma prince

he’s a prince because his mom was ocean royalty, anyway she disowned him so we don’t really care about her (fuck everyone who made seonghwa feel like an outcast :/)

has scales on parts of his body like the rest of the ocean dwellers because they descended from sea serpents, his range from black to deep royal blue which INFURIATES the court because those colors are the purest meant for ROYALTY like even his mom’s scales aren’t as deep/pure as seonghwa’s so ha in your FACE

except seonghwa isn’t a fan of the scales because it just makes him feel even more like he doesn’t belong in his own skin :///

friends with fire prince hongjoong and ocean prince san, both of whom are some of the few who treat seonghwa like an actual person and not just an outcast :/

takes very good care of the animals who live around the volcanic vents! a lot of the other ocean dwellers are scared of them because they look so different but seonghwa knows what it’s like to be an outcast so he keeps his little area as clean and welcoming as possible :)

it gets lonely around the volcanoes but honestly seonghwa prefers that over when he has to be at court for ceremonies n stuff. like yeah there might be water snakes around his place but they’re nothing compared to the snakes in the palace badum tss

hongjoong

fire prince of the dragon clan

there are two clans of the fire kingdom, one descended from dragons and the other descended from phoenixes, and they’re Rivals

dragon clan is allied with the ocean dwellers since sea serpents are related to dragons, phoenix clan is allied with the air dwellers because they all can fly n stuff

but anyway more on phoenix stuff in mingi’s part

has scales too, though his are more on the neck while seonghwa’s around around his ribs/waist, also they’re bright red/orange not blue

can produce and control dragon fire, which is destructive and primarily used for offense, so hongjoong’s been trained for an early age how to use it for max power/destruction

meets seonghwa on one of the few times hwa comes to the surface to chill in the sun and he’d just accidentally set fire to a small part of the beach and when he sees hwa he’s like HELP ME PUT THIS OUT

except hwa can’t control water he can only do magma so. yeah

san was nearby though and helped deal with it and later joong was like what the fuck kind of ocean dweller can’t control water and seonghwa was like. I'm half you dickwad

obviously they become friends after that. if they didn’t I'd give you permission to slap my face

but also after that hongjoong learns to keep a much tighter rein on his powers, like yes he’s being trained for destruction but he has masterful control over his abilities

could be considered a fire prodigy in all honesty

yunho

earth boy!! very powerful earth bender

can definitely do a lot of destruction with his powers but prefers to help things grow instead! talks to his garden and swears up and down that his plants grow bigger and taller when he does

good friends with both mingi of the phoenix clan and hongjoong of the dragon clan

earth dwellers aren’t allied with any side of the fire rivalry so they serve as the arbiters/judges when disputes come into place which is fair because earth is solid and stable and just (most of the time)

which is why yunho is able to balance this sort of friendship between the two boys :) does NOT meet with them together though that would be a recipe for disaster (not necessarily because of hongjoong/mingi themselves, they know how to behave, but the neurotic clan elders would throw a hissy fit)

runs a small restaurant in the capital that mostly caters to the working class, people always ask why yunho doesn’t try to do “more” with himself, that he’s wasted potential running a restaurant when he could potentially be a general or something in the army because of his earth bending prowess

but yunho doesn’t care, he’s happy where he is and he develops his bending as a way to protect and help himself and others, and from his friendship with hongjoong/mingi he’s pretty sure he wants to avoid clashing with earth royalty at all costs ksjndksjh

yeosang

air prince :) also he’s blond in this au you can’t change my mind

not particularly one of the strongest benders, but he’s very intelligent and wise which people value a little less than they should but yeosang doesn’t really care, he’s just going with it

imagine! yeosang in flows white robes!! floating on the wind!!!

yes air dwellers can fly sobs because they control the wind

and while yeosang isn’t necessarily the greatest at using his powers for fighting or whatever, he’s very good at flying and has a lot of fun with it along with air noble wooyoung

best friends with wooyoung by the way, no one really gets it because yeosang is quieter and doesn’t yell as much while wooyoung is the definition of Chaos

but wooyoung brings out the rowdy side in yeosang and their screams/yells echo in the air when they get together

a little wary of wooyoung’s friendship with san mostly because he’s a prince and understands the consequences of wooyoung, an air noble, being friends with the allies of their supposed enemy (water is allied with the dragon clan)

(maybe he’s a little jealous too)

but in the end it’s always still woo + yeosang against the world, floating in the sky and doing what they can for their people <3

san

WATER PRINCE WATER PRINCE WATER PRINCE

he’s actually the reason I birthed this au I couldn’t get ocean prince san out of my mind

flowy clothes and a crown of shells and pearls! likes shiny things and will trade with earth dweller merchants for new bits of crystal and jewelry!! tell me he isn’t a dream!!!

one of the beloved princes of the ocean, honestly probably the most loved because he’s so smiley and handsome and all around a very good boy until it’s his turn to perform the ceremonial dances and he turns into a demon

the brightest blue scales run up from his waist to his ribs, another one of the purest colors of royalty

uses his status to get away with being friends with seonghwa (aka people won’t yell at him if it’s obvious he disappeared for a while to the volcanic vents) but keeps their friendship kind of under wraps because hwa is afraid of retaliation when he has to visit the court :/

truly does not give a shit about hwa being half earth, if anything kind of envies it because he’s always curious to explore the volcanic trenches but as a normal ocean dweller the heat would be too much for him if he stayed too long

kinda scared of the animals near the trenches but he warms up to them after some periodic visits

friends with air noble wooyoung! even though it’s kind of (?) breaking alliances but neither of them really cares because they’re so much fun together :D

mingi

phoenix nobility, not quite a prince but close 

phoenix fire has defensive and healing properties, so it can’t actually burn people but it can heal and protect from dragon fire/regular fire!

mingi is well-versed in the art of healing even though he’s a little clumsy sometimes :/ luckily phoenix fire doesn’t burn or there’d be major issues skjnsdkjh

can fly! phoenix descendants have a limited ability to fly, not as much as the air dwellers who can literally control the wind to help them, but it’s often enough to get them out of tight spots

only problem is mingi doesn’t like to fly very much skjndgjhn heights kinda suck

but when he does it’s fucking majestic, these orange flaming wings extending from his arms that clash beautifully with his red/orange hair

imagine seeing it at sunset oh my god that’s a dream

the phoenix and dragon clans are in negotiation with each other most of the time because ~hostilities~ but mingi doesn’t often participate in the direct talking because he’s better at working behind the scenes

ridiculously smart and likes to debate with yunho over things because seeing issues from a neutral perspective is very helpful and something mingi doesn’t think people do enough

what he’d really love to do is talk to hongjoong because an opposite perspective would be even better, but people don’t like that happening :/

secretly admires dragon fire because it’s so cool how dragon descendants can control so much destructive power with such ease

(he doesn’t know it but hongjoong admires phoenix fire just as much because god damn sometimes he wishes he was born to heal rather than destroy)

wooyoung

air noble!!!!! bitch if you thought I was making this man ANYTHING but an air dweller you do not know me

likes to watch the sunrise from his vantage point in the mountains :) sometimes wakes yeosang up to watch with him but only when he’s certain yeo won’t cut off a limb if he does skndjsgh

if yeosang is like the soft sea breeze against your face in the summer, wooyoung is the biting, almost playful nip of wind against your nose and cheeks in the winter

very playful! loves to make collect friends!!

can play the flute and absolutely 100% uses it to annoy said friends

you can often hear his screeching laughter and the yells of yeosang + others bouncing off the mountains skjdnsgk

is always on duty for patrolling the mountains because he’s one of the best at flying, but it’s fine because wooyoung enjoys being able to make his rounds and talk to people along the way

sometimes gets a little sidetracked with talking (and maybe eating the food people sometimes give him) but wooyoung is a lovable person no one can get mad at him for too long (which is a problem because he knows it)

thinks the rivalries between elements is dumb af, is literally friends with ocean prince san and earth dwellers 2ho and would like to make friends with mingi (yunho has mentioned him before) if he could just stop being in twenty places all at once

(mingi’s a busy guy wooyoung give him a break)

almost lost his shit when san told him he knew a magma controller, but hasn’t met seonghwa yet because hwa is shy and not very open to strangers

anyway I just think wooyoung air noble who has a personal mission to make as many inter-elemental friends as possible. shrugs

jongho

IF YOU TRY AND TELL ME THIS BOY ISN’T EARTH I WILL CLOCK YOU

earth boy and a prodigy at that! his bending is more advanced than some people twice his age

originally got stuck in training for the army because his bending was just that good, however he really hated having to use his powers solely for fighting so he left and became a blacksmith instead

why a blacksmith? here’s a secret

jongho can metalbend

which is why he sort of has this very good touch with metals and which types to use with which sorts of crafts

in very high demand for weapons like swords and such, but also makes jewelry and toys and pots and pans for regular day to day life

he also gets the “wasted potential” thing that yunho deals with a lot, but jongho has thick skin and those sorts of comments roll of his (broad) shoulders very quickly

LOATHES IT when generals and officials come to him with commissions and expect them to be done first and foremost like jongho doesn’t have around ten other projects hanging out in the background, but he just has to receive them with a smile

(maybe leaves a tiny unnoticeable dent in a general’s sword or something bc even if it’s unnoticeable, jongho knows it’s there and there’s some satisfaction in that)

friends with air noble wooyoung mostly because he is able to deal with woo’s bs, air prince yeosang is always asking for tips

meets yunho through wooyoung and 2ho strike up a nice friendship!

really just jongho stronk boy who can move the earth and will not hesitate to cause a subtle earthquake if some official gets uppity with him <3

[bangchanswolfpelt]

omg, I was the anon who sent the ball stretcher ask for soobin and I am CRYING, you explained it so well :')))) and the idea of soobin big and heavy balls made me w e a k (idk how I never thought about that) but it def would look hot with a ball stretcher. What other toys do you think would fit really well with subby!soob?

i'm so glad you liked it!!💞 it spun so wildly out of control, haha, i didn't mean to write literally a thousand words but something possessed me. 😭 and there are sooooo many toys that i think would be fun to use with Soobin, honestly the better question is what wouldn't i use on this boy. 😈

butt plugs!!

this boy wants, needs, and deserves to be pegged

I feel like Soobin’s the type who jerks off to the thought of having his ass played with a lot, but has always been too nervous to actually try anything on his own

make him wear butt plugs to get him used to playing with his ass, and also so that when he’s just going through the day, he has something to remind him of you even when you’re not around 🥰

(i also feel like he’d look sooooooo cute with one of those fluffy lil bunny tail butt plugs 👀)

nipple clamps and suckers/pumps

there’s not much to this one—any toy that makes him extra sensitive is gonna be fun cause i just wanna overstimulate him til he cries, and also i just think he would look so cute with puffy engorged little nipples from pumping 🥺

blindfolds and ring gags

this boy loves to be at your mercy and used by you

he loves watching you play with him and fuck him, but there’s something really exciting for him about not being able to see what’s coming

everything is just so much more intense for him with a blindfold, imagine seeing him perk up at the smallest sighs out of your mouth, imagine him whining and arching up into the lightest brush of your fingers against his skin

any kind of gag would be fun, but I feel a ring gag on Soobin would be especially *chef kiss* 🧑🏽‍🍳🤌🏽💋

he can’t speak, which makes teasing him with embarrassing questions even more fun, but at the same time it stops him from muffling those pretty little whines and moans you love so much 🥰

it keeps him nice and accessible for you, too—keeps his mouth stretched open for you to fuck with your fingers or your strap-on, lets his tongue stay free in case you want to sit on his face and fuck yourself on his tongue

also, if you just wanna be mean to that pretty little mouth, he can’t stop you—play with and pinch those pouty lips, grab his tongue and massage it to make him drool all over himself—gags are inherently humiliating and messy, but with a ring gag you just have so many options 🤤

chastity cages, cuffs, leashes

is he getting hard all the time when you’re in public together?

not anymore >:]

making him wear a cock cage starts out as a way to humiliate him a little—if he can’t keep his cock under control, you’ll just have to do it for him

but alongside the very enjoyable embarrassment that comes with having to have someone else restrain him, there’s also an intense relief for him—if he can’t do anything, there’s no point in worrying about doing the right thing or about his body doing the wrong thing without his permission

this same feeling is what eventually leads to you cuffing him down in bed—he doesn’t need to be restrained, he’d never dream of doing anything without your permission, but knowing that he can’t do anything, that he’s completely helpless to your whims is just so good for the both of you 🤤

like, i feel like restraints are the best way to turn his brain off and put him into sub space—imagine Soobin all floaty and dazed and sweet for you, body fully relaxed and ready to take whatever you want to give him

circling back to my pet play agenda for just a moment: imagine putting a leash on him and yanking him where you want him, calling him your lil bunny cause god knows he can fuck like one 👀

lots of pain/sensation toys—pinwheels, vampire gloves, maybe even paddles and crops

i feel like Soobin would be just a bit of a painslut—the contrast just heightens his pleasure

he’d look so good marked up—trails of red running along his pale skin, eyes glazed and mouth slack, fucked out just from the thought that anyone could tell he belongs to you just from looking at him 🥰

i would also like you to consider: bending this very big boy over your lap and paddling his ass until it’s bright red and hot under your palm, until his cock is leaking all over your thighs and he’s making tearful, pathetic promises to be a good boy for you 👀

honestly, tho, i truly think Soobin would let you try just about anything you wanted on him, and would get genuinely excited at you making him just. take whatever you felt like using on him. he’d get off on the fear and confusion of not knowing what’s next or maybe even seeing what’s coming next but not understanding it.

i’m not super into medical kink, but imagine playing doctor with him as an excuse to just subject him to every single toy you want to try out. imagine setting him down on a little exam table with that crinkly exam room paper that lets you hear every one of his nervous little fidgets. rolling in a stainless steel tray laid out with a truly terrifying number of toys: pinwheels, plugs, and dildos all in gleaming sterile steel; clinical looking little nipple suckers; an intimidatingly high-tech looking electro wand kit; some tiny little hammers and pen lights and tongue depressors just to round out the set. how sweet and shy he’d be as your naive, anxious little patient. 🥺 ugh fuck i think im gonna hafta write medical roleplay with Soobin now 😭😤🧑🏽‍⚕️

tagging: @jensdior

[yeehawhan]

trans!Ivan Braginsky

so this was supposed to be ivan as a real bougie bitch but like, it turned into something kinda angsty so a tw: transphobia is being thrown in right here. I tried to shy away from going into detail but as a nonbinary person who doesn't feel safe coming out it was kind of cathartic for me to write this. so, enjoy, and bring me the dilfs

All his life, Ivan had been told leaving Russia wouldn’t be worth it.

“Anya, what do they have there that we don’t? Your whole life is here, your family is here, there is nothing for you in the West.”

Only so much could be expected from living in such a closed-minded area, he supposed. People like him weren’t well received, which is why he refused to come out to anyone other than his sisters. Natalya didn’t really seem to care, never really continuing conversations about it but her reactions were never negative. Irunya was much more receptive, helping him out by keeping things like binders and more masculine clothing for him in her bedroom. She knew their parents were much less likely to go through her bedroom, being that she was nineteen. Their mother hardly ever went into her bedroom without permission, and their father wasn’t home often enough to even have the chance to. Irunya had a much longer leash than her two younger siblings, considering that Ivan was seventeen, and Natalya was fourteen. She was more than happy to help her brother, between her and their mother she had always been the more maternal one to him anyways. Their family life was very… Traditional. Natalya got the most attention and affection being the youngest child, and Ivan got the least. He’d always wanted a better relationship with his parents, his mother especially, but as he grew older, and discovered himself more, he became less feminine. His mother pushed him away, they needed to keep up an ‘image’ to those around them, his parents had always had a complex around being better than those around them. So when Ivan didn’t fit this mold anymore, he was pushed out of the picture as much as possible, and she showed how little he mattered to his parents. By both physical and psychological means. Because of this, he decided to just stay hidden away in his room, planning his move to America. He was only a few months from his eighteenth birthday, all he needed to do was make it through the holidays, to his birthday, then he would be gone. He had an apartment lined up in New York, a plane ticket stashed away, and enough money in his account to get him through a few months. Everything was ready to go, just two more months until he was ready to leave.

And then he had the rug pulled out from under him.

Ivan had gone out to see a movie with his sisters and a couple of friends, and in his excitement and rushing around to get ready he hadn’t realized he left a binder out on his bed. His mother decided that, since Natalya and Ivan were coming up on finals week soon, she would get some of their laundry done for them. Just something little to ease their workload, and allow them more time to study after they got home from their afternoon out. She stumbled onto the binder when she entered Ivan’s bedroom, setting her basket of dirty clothing down so she could look at it. At first, she thought it was a sports bra, but the closer she looked the more she realized she didn’t really know what it was. As a seamstress, though, she was quite interested in finding out whatever she could about it. She found the tag on the inside, sitting down at Ivan’s computer desk to look up the brand listed on it. Once she reached the webpage, she was horrified. It was very obviously a site designed by other folks in the trans community, but despite this, it didn’t really click for her what the binder meant, or who it belonged to. Her ‘girls’ all shared clothing, so regardless of whose room things were found in she wouldn’t know whose they were. As she was looking through this website, however, a message popped up in the bottom corner of Ivan’s monitor. She clicked on it, and in doing so it opened an app where all his friends had been talking to him, to her it just looked like a giant group chat that included him and his sisters. Well, she assumed all three of them were in it. Who was Irunya referring to Ivan, as her brother? She didn’t have a brother, and only a few moments later did she realize what that meant. Anya was claiming to be Ivan, claiming to be a boy? This was all so much for her to handle, and to say she didn’t take it well was an understatement. By the time Ivan and his sisters came home from their afternoon out, Ivan’s things were all laying out in the driveway outside, his computer laying broken on the pavement. He could hardly remember what happened after realizing what was going on; that his mother knew and that he was being kicked out. Everything happened in a blur, their friends helping to get his things packed into Irunya’s car while she attempted to calm Ivan down as he had melted into tears, begging for his mother to listen. He would try to explain, to cover himself. It wasn’t time yet, his apartment wasn’t ready and wouldn’t be ready for another two months. He just needed a little more time. He wouldn’t get more time, though. Natalya ended up hurting him the worst that day. She didn’t say a single word to her brother, simply gave him a disapproving look before turning her mother towards the house, comforting her instead. This left their little group to pack Irunya’s car, though it didn’t take long as Ivan really only had enough things to fill her trunk and some of her backseat. He had enough clothes to get him by, his slightly broken computer, a box of photos, and a small bin of miscellaneous other things. It wasn’t like he needed to go without, being the least favorite meant that he often went without. Apparently, that didn’t matter anymore, he could only hope he’d end up in a position where he could provide for himself instead. The siblings sat in silence for a while before Ivan decided he would just get his ticket exchanged, he’d fly to the US now and just stay in a motel or something until his unit would be ready, or maybe if he talked to his landlord they could get him set up in a different one. He’d just have to figure something out, he wasn’t left with much of a choice now.

The rest of the day was a fuzzy memory by now. Irunya helped him get everything packed away into boxes, and checked in at the airport before the two shared a teary goodbye. Ivan was scared, but at the same time excitement was building at the back of his mind. He’d wanted this for so long, and while this wasn’t the way he wanted it to happen he was smarter than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was going to be free, free to be himself and be happy, and he’d finally be safe in doing so. This would be good for him. Scary, for a while, but good for him.

–

He’d been in America for almost six months now. His first two months had been spent in a motel, but once he’d shared his situation the owner cut him a deal so he wasn’t paying quite as much for the entire two months. Getting into his apartment was easy, time-consuming but easy. He thrifted as much furniture as he could, only having to buy a handful of things used. He was proud of the little collection he’d built, his apartment was still pretty bare but he had time to work on it. Luckily he wasn’t completely alone, a friend of his from online lived a few floors above him and had helped him move in, even though he probably could’ve done it all by himself it was nice to have the company. He’d also mentioned a website that he used, something about older people paying him for different things. Pictures, chats, phone calls, or dates even if he felt comfortable enough. That sounded… nice, in all honesty. He wasn’t having any luck finding work, considering he didn’t have citizenship yet which definitely made it a lot harder to find safe work. So the two of them took some nice pictures of him, with his new, shorter haircut, sitting on his bed in a pair grey boxers, a matching binder, with the trans flag draped across his shoulders. He’s made a profile with the nice photos they’d just taken, as well as a few selfies he’d taken around New York as he’d ventured around in his short time in the city. He filled out his bio, some simple information about him like his physical attributes, his interests, and his backstory. Waiting to see if anyone responded to his profile was rather exciting, and to calm his mind he decided to start playing a game with some friends, though he still checked his inbox on his phone every ten minutes or so. A bit too hopeful? Maybe. But even just seeing some of the profiles? These guys were attractive, which definitely didn’t help him keep his excitement down.

[1863-project]

:< The submas community has been starting to tire me out just a little bit as well, but honestly I think that's just a side effect of fandom (it really goes in.... weird places). I honestly enjoy seeing Ingo in PLA- I think I stare at him in disbelief a lot more than I should be, haha. But I agree that the constant angst is exhausting (it took me 3 months to get tired, for the most part. I still enjoy seeing some sad things occasionally, especially the well-written ones). A lot of the angst takes on a vastly different tone from their original source material (I'm mainly speaking about BW/2) and I think in the process of creating angst people kind of... forget that they were just normal people (<- Especially this one, considering all of the ways people start changing their personalities for the sake of a sadder story) with normal jobs and normal lives. One only needs to look at the whole outcry against Ingo balding to see that :< (like!! They are allowed to have features that make them less conventionally attractive! they were never meant to be attractive in the first place! That little detail makes them more "normal," i think. Which is great, it makes them fit into their role as subway bosses and into the BW/2 world, which is full of normal people living their lives with Pokemon). And I say "normal" but really, that's what makes them so fun! I mean, we can see through all your rambles and infodumps on this blog that there's SO much nuance and fun that can be had with these characters and their mundane daily lives (not just angst!).

Anyway errr, I'm sorry that the community has been rather unwelcome(?) to you lately! I remember when the tags were only full of fun submas things and it really has changed drastically...

// It seems that I was not able to go through another ask without rambling at length again aughwehrashg 😭😭, I hope you will take this doodle as a sort of apology(?). You're one of my favourite people in the community (and on this hellsite actually) by virtue of just being such a cool and knowledgeable person. Please get some rest! And I hope you have a nice day or night or whatever time decides to manifest at your location.

This made me cry in a good way (especially Emmet and Eelektross oh my gosh you didn’t have to thank you so much), because your blog is such a bright spot for me in this sea of angst right now and it's very much mutual appreciation from my end!

I actually appreciate the rambles, honestly, because I do them too, and this is a verrrry good one - that's exactly why I don't really engage with a lot of the fan content! They’re not themselves for the sake of the angst, and it’s hard for me to really enjoy things where they’re being written so far off from the characters they actually are. I loved the slice of life stuff, just seeing them being themselves, being happy, and enjoying things - because they remind me so much of myself, it was like I was being given permission to exist, too.

And yeah, a lot of people have receding hairlines - some even pretty young! It doesn’t make them appalling, it’s just part of human aging, and that’s normal. (For all we know, he could even just have gotten messed up and needed to shave it down, or he’s temporarily wearing it in a more ‘traditional’ hairstyle. Lice were a problem historically so long hair isn’t always the best idea in a historical setting - sorry, Melli!)

Anyway, you never need to apologize for rambling or sharing your thoughts, because I love reading them (I seriously do read your tags every time), and I’ll definitely do my best to get some rest after all this because based on my emotional state I probably need it!

[moxfirefly]

This comes as result of an idea and going through some hard times as of late. The reader here has their issues but hey we aren’t inherently perfect and I like getting into that mindset and seeing what comes up. So consider this somewhat introspective piece when a ‘relationship’ maybe isn’t the best.

Mikey x Fem!Reader

Rated Mature/Angst/Feels (18+ Only)

“I am human and I need to be loved”

A lifespan isn’t enough to understand that love is a complicated emotion. It’s addicting caress can remain in ones soul for ages. Love is kind they say, but what of those moments where it’s not? When the heart strangles itself and you choke on desperation?

Love isn’t perfect, that very imperfection glued us to those we worship. That hurt can be addicting as well.

He’s aware of it, he knows that his innocence only hides a questioning.

Because Mikey has gotten so good at hiding those dark parts that linger like shadows in his brain. There’s pain behind that smile, there’s sadness hidden beneath the foundation he’s lain.

You see it, you’re aware of it.

You can’t help but feel ashamed you’re the cause of it.

You want to take ownership of it but every time your mouth opens that tightness in your jaw increases. Before the words can be processed you’re doing most of the speaking with your hands.

And your lips.

Mikey’s never denied you, the thought of rejection paralyzes him so profoundly he aches. But it would be unwise to state there isn’t any trace of doubt. He’s mindful of your distaste for love, that you aren’t a believer. He’s mindful of what cracks inside of him when you flirt your way through the day. He’s at the forefront but he isn’t unwise to the way you linger a hand on Leo’s arm or how your eyes light up when April walks into a room.

Your eyes have that same bright hue when he’s the target. When it’s the two of you and your fingers map out a path on his thigh. It’s so palpable in the air that surrounds the two of you when you suddenly crash into him and swallow his soul whole.

You’re greedy.

The first time you had kissed him he swore there was no way he could verbally describe what erupted inside of him. He remembers it clearly like a fond dream, the way you had pushed him into a darken corner. Your hands on his waist, pink tongue tasting orange crush and sweets.

He had been so shy it had melted you. His hands tentatively resting on hips. Lips merely following your lead. When you had stopped with your lips lingering so closely to his, you had simply giggled and asked him where the night could take you both.

Mikey knows what whiplash feels like, but emotionally this was his first time. He let it go, slowly watched whatever this had meant leave his grasp.

He lets you lead.

You’re so greedy.

He can’t blame you as much as he can blame himself. This isn’t the only time naturally, he could switch the memories like tv stations, often settling on his favorite ones.

He tries to avoid the ones that hurt.

You want to blame life, blame all past events that led you to develop a thick skin. It’s so impenetrable, but the dents are here and there scattered across two decades. Mikey sees the road map of damage, it hides behind your smile and your nonchalant attitude towards the tomorrow. He kinda likes it though, that you can build up a wall for whatever tries to infiltrate your barrier.

He’s addicted to the fact that you allow him in, that your guard goes down when he’s there. Mikey just wishes he had a clearer read, that whatever is happening could have a description a fucking name tag maybe. But soon enough you’re jumping into his open and awaiting arms, pressing yourself so flush against him and whispering how much you just missed him.

Mikey doesn’t miss how you stick like glue to him one particular night. The gangs there, everyone watching some horror flick that Casey had brought over. He can’t keep his eyes straight when you’re so warm next to him, tracing lazy circles on his palm before gripping it like it was some habit.

You were a habit basically, a tick that comforted him and somehow kept him grounded into this plain of existence. It’s a rush of blood to the head. Something that swims inside of his soul, wraps around him like ivy.

You wish it could be simple, to face up and just accept the cards laid out. But you were never one to just take it at face value. Easy just wasn’t in your vocabulary and well, it’s obvious that it’s not in Mikey’s wether by proxy or his own doing.

So when you quietly excuse yourself and feel Mikey’s blue orbs follow you, you obviously text him to come with after a minute or so.

The minute he follows into his and Raph’s room and finds you sitting on his bed with your legs crossed looking pleased as punch, he knows he’s so utterly screwed. Cause he’d do anything to have that image frozen in time and place, just you and that beautiful smile that robs him of thought and oxygen. Even as you beckon him closer with a gleam in your eye that means trouble and a hundred more questions for Mikey to stay up all day and night over.

He follows.

He comes to the foot of his bed and almost overloads when the tip of that beckoning finger runs a path over what would be his navel. Mikey swallows hard, breathing through his nostrils.

It guts you how he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Mikey honest to god admires you like living breathing art. He takes a sharp inhale when you press your face to his clothed crotch and moan at the sensation that greets you. Mikey can’t erase the image of you, looking up at him as you push down his shorts, lust and what he registers might be love in your e/c orbs.

Much less when you take him into your mouth and the heat rushes down your body to your core. Your red cheeks hollowing in and creating such a tightness that Mikey whimpers, one hand gripping the back of your head and the other somehow interlocking with yours. It’s the intimacy of it, with your eyes fluttering closed as you take him as deeply as you possibly can. How his fingers play with yours.

Mikey tries to mumble something coherent out, he wants to tell you that he’s close and he knows it’s proper etiquete to tell you. It’s actually sweet and you almost giggle with a mouthful of him even when you feel nails dig into the back of your head as Mikey tries to not moan too loudly.

The way your throat bobs, lips swollen with a sticky sheen to them. He’s punch drunk, loves struck when he cups your cheeks and kisses you, tasting himself and falling further down into the rabbit hole that’s become the two of you not questioning this.

And god he should question it before his mind keeps running every possible scenario that’s caused this to be so unidentifiable. Because after that night he’s got radio silence from you for four days. He feels like a ghost floating around his brothers, going from motion to motion until he decides to take that step.

He shows up at your apartment, contemplates knocking on that window for fifteen minutes but what can he say? What does he want to ask? What if it drives you and whatever this is away?

He caves, eyes not so bright when you pull apart the curtains and he’s met with the same look he’s been sporting these past few days. You do smile though, that smile that digs nails into his soul. You let him come in, already putting on a mask that fits too perfectly.

“What’s wrong...Are you mad at me?” Mikey asks tentatively like peeling a hangnail. You freeze on your way to the kitchen, looking down at your bare feet like the answer might sprout from beneath them. “Nothings wrong, was just busy is all” It’s a pathetic excuse and not entirely truthful because you’ve been stewing in your apartment knowing full well that the boy behind you has planted roots in your heart.

And it scares the shit out of you.

So you turn, that shield up so high that Mikey notices and the whiplash is hard when you close the distance and wrap your arms around his neck. “What? Miss me that much?” Your scent hits him like a fresh hit to an addict. Four days without the warmth of your skin burning him. Mikey wants to test that shield, destroy it with his bare hands and find the real you in there, he pulls back far enough to look into your eyes and drown in them.

He quietly accepts his fate right then and there, ready to hand over his heart into your hands and watch you squeeze. And you see it all, your chest tight and jaw set, you run a finger across his cheek in such soothing slow motion. You want to tell him that this isn’t worth the heartache and headache, that you won’t come around any time soon.

Instead, you start to strip off his gear, bit by bit, each carefully taken apart. You untie his sweater from around his waist, hands lingering and maping out every detail you want forever engraved in your brain. You grab his hand and put them on you, a silent agreement for him to do the same. Mikey strips you out of your hoodie, finding a sports bra beneath it, eyes glued to new skin as he kneels and hooks his fingers in your shorts and slides them down slowly.

You walk him to your room, hand tightly clasped around his and there’s no hesitation in your steps because you want this and he wants this but every question that’ll come from this will just have to wait. You truly do go about things the wrong way.

The innocent touching makes your heart twist, the way his blue eyes run over you like you’re stolen art and he’s got dibs on it. It’s so sweet, asking his permission with a look to strip you of your bra, to run his hands towards the newly exposed flesh. It guts you so deeply when he pulls you close against him and just holds you, cause it dawns on you that Mikey has never held somebody this intimately. You shiver with the way he circles your back in ghostly touches, just basking in what it feels to feel your skin so close to his.

“We don’t have to do this” ‘I don’t want to hurt you’

“It’s okay, I just...Don’t disappear on me like that please” Mikey feels you tighten your grip on him and it takes every inch of his resolve to not crumble and just say that he loves you, that he’s loved you from the moment you rested your head on his shoulder, from the moments you’ve kissed him and made his head so clouded with questions of ‘If’ and ‘maybe’ but he knows he won’t be met with the same words.

Maybe not now, or simply not at all.

So he holds you close, even as you start to tremble, feeling tears on his shoulder. You can’t say anything, you can’t say a single damn thing.

See I've already waited too long

And all my hope is gone