#eventually them all knowing its them two but the team not being able to do shit bc its Hotch

[hyperesthesias]

Nikto x Female Character

summary: nikto is being framed for a murder he didn’t commit. he turns to the only person he can trust -- the woman he planned to marry while in university, who is now an investigative journalist. but not all of nikto's alters want his name cleared.

author's note: this piece combines nikto's call of duty: modern warfare reboot lore, with his call of duty: mobile lore. i have included elements from both, and i have omitted elements from both as well. another half baked idea from yours truly.

content: canon compliant; canon typical violence; dissociative identity disorder; light stalking; terrorism; cheating; mentions of torture; mentions of child abuse and domestic violence.

words: 10,597

music: andre – pieces by sum 41 // sascha – away from the sun by three doors down // olev – daybreak by robin carolan // samantha – dangerous by sleep token.

AO3 LINK.

October 2022 ----

Nikto has landed in Russia with the rest of his KorTac unit. He is familiar with the area, but he hasn't been to his homeland in many years. He did not leave under positive circumstances, and he doubts he will ever be able to resolve what he left behind there. He has bigger, more current, issues to worry about. His two alters have been mostly behaving themselves, He's been able to keep them at bay enough for him to blend into his role the way he needs to -- he's an excellent liar, but he doubts he fooled the field psychiatrist and his superiors well enough for them to think nothing is bothering him at all. Eventually they'll find out, eventually he'll be diagnosed, and the ruse will be over -- his life will be over. Everything he's known and known how to do will be taken from him. He'll be deemed too unstable for the field, and he'll be discarded without so much as a second thought, or good enough benefits for him to survive on long term. He starts to spiral at the thought, and he can feel one of the other men in his head scratching at the wall he's put between himself and them. They've been more active, they've made themselves known more frequently since he heard that his unit would be returning to Eastern Europe. They're in Russia to capture a man named Petrov, whose dossier is longer than a novel. He was a lieutenant under Zakhaev, and while Andre has never encountered him, there's a stirring discomfort within him at the thought. There's a whole other life he left behind in Russia, a whole other lifetime ago, and he doesn't have the time, patience, or desire to sift through it all to get the voices in his head to settle down. All he can hope is that his unit is in and out of there quicker than he can spit, and that all three parts of him get back to headquarters without incident.

But he should've known that was too much to ask.

The job goes bad -- his team made a plan, the plan went wrong, so he made a new plan, and then he threw that one out the window, as he was actually being thrown out a window. He hesitated at the sight of Petrov, despite having him in his scope, and his teammates are ready to tear him to pieces. Everything is FUBAR, and he is barely able to catch his breath as his unit regroups at base. The plan changes for a third time: he and the rest of the men will lay low, and restrike before their target is scheduled to make his next move.

The rest of the men stay at the base, unfamiliar with the territory, but Nikto knows this area well. Things stay the same, as equally as they change -- signs change names, and carts and kiosks appear and disappear, and yet he can follow the streets and alleys with ease. His history as an undercover operative allows him to blend in anywhere, even when he stands out. There's a marketplace not far from the safehouse, and in weakness, he searches for a soft candy he used to find at its stalls when he was a child.

He doesn't remember anything after that.

He comes back into awareness as he's standing on a high bridge. There's a body on the ground beneath him – it’s Petrov, dead. A crowd is starting to gather. Even if he wasn't guilty, he certainly looks menacing enough for the blame to fall on him -- the balaclava, his backpack, and the .45mm on his hip are enough for the court of the people to convict him, whether he did something or not. But he can't remember.

He runs, not knowing where to go. There's enough heat on his team already, if he bolts back to the safehouse, he might lead people right to it. He's not sure he didn't kill Petrov anyway, and he has no way to explain that lapse of memory to his superiors -- no way to explain it and still keep his position at KorTac. Then again, disappearing altogether would only cement his guilt. He has no one.

Except for one person, someone he left behind a lifetime ago.

It's been sixteen hours after the incident at the bridge, and Nikto has tracked down a woman he once knew before he joined the military. She was a writer, an exchange student at the university he attended. At first, she wrote stories, and small pieces for the university's newspaper, but as time went on, as the world began to deteriorate, she developed a desire to pursue investigative journalism. He discouraged her from it at the time, but now her skills might be the only thing that can clear -- or convict -- his name. He wants the truth, regardless of what it is. He needs to know if he's unstable and volatile enough to black out and kill a man without knowing.

He seeks her out, and finds where she lives. The fact that she's alive at all is surprising, but Nikto has kept tabs on her since his time with the FSB and special forces. Occasionally he heard her name pass through the dossiers compiled by his superiors, and every time he saw her name and photograph, he hoped he'd never have to see her through the scope of his rifle.

He's using a scope now, to look at her through her bedroom window. She's as beautiful as the day they met. He suddenly has the crushing weight of realization that she won't recognize him. Certainly not in the balaclava, but even without it. He's different now -- in appearance, and in mannerism. To her, he would be a stranger. A sinking feeling hits his stomach, and he debates whether he should leave altogether, and take his chances back at the safehouse. But with each ticking second, he looks guiltier and guiltier, and his alibi gets thinner and thinner.

She starts to undress, and he knows he should look away, but a part of him wants to relish the sight of her before he disappears -- before he faces her and she screams. He remembers the feeling of her pressed flush against him, of her legs wrapped around him. He's never forgotten her, never moved on from her. The day he left Russia, time froze, and to him, she's still the love within him -- kept secret, stowed deep down where no one, and nothing can touch her. Not even himself.

He doesn't have the courage to knock on her door that early morning, nor the next. But he sits and watches her, follows her, hoping to get the willpower to shatter the fragile idea of the past he has with her. He learns about her -- her Russian has improved; she still smiles at the market vendors, and they still hate it; she has a tattoo now, even though she said she'd never get one, it's on the lower side of her left hip; she has a cat, who she loves, and he still thinks she would make an excellent mother. Thoughts come to the surface of his mind that he hasn't acknowledged since his life with her, and he debates on whether he should just fall on his sword and leave her be.

But her instincts are better than he gives her credit for, and as he follows her that afternoon, she makes him. He lets her.

Suddenly he has the barrel of a Beretta in his back, and he's being led to a blind, quiet alley around the back of her apartment building.

"Who sent you?" she asks.

He has his hands raised, and that pit in his stomach gets deeper as the moment becomes more real. She presses the barrel harder into his spine as he delays, and he grunts at the pain; his back is still sore from being defenestrated.

"Samantha..." he says, still trying to fight through his own thoughts enough to speak. "I'm not -- I am not here to hurt you. I was sent by no one." He feels the pistol fall, and there's a distinct, weighted silence that falls with it. He turns around, his hands still raised, and when he finally faces her, her eyes are starting to water. He feels like a boy again, standing in front of a girl who's crying. He doesn't know what to do.

"Andre?" she breathes. Instantly, she recognizes his voice.

They're back inside her apartment, sitting in the living room with a cup of chaya. It smells incredible, but he won't take off the balaclava, he won't even dare to risk lifting the edge. He is afraid of the look in her eyes -- that she'll see the scars, the missing pieces of his face, and that the love in her eyes will turn to horror. He wouldn't be able to live anymore. He prefers if she remembers him as that handsome, younger man from university.

"I heard about that," she says about the incident on the bridge. "The police are looking for a masked man, but they don't have many leads at the moment. They're still waiting for the lab to identify a blood sample they found at the scene."

"My blood?"

"You tell me. You said you don't remember anything about what happened, but do you have any unexplained injuries?"

"Unexplained? No. All of them are explained."

She almost chuckles. He always had a way of making her laugh, even without trying. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes," he says. "But not from the bridge. It was before that."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No -- no. I don't need...anything."

Another silence settles between them. Neither one of them knows what to say, what to ask, where to start.

He sees movement from the corner of his eye, and he goes stiff -- ready to pull his weapon.

"It's okay -- It's okay. It's just Mishka, my cat." Samantha clicks her tongue, and the black cat comes running to her; she picks her up and puts her in her lap. "She was a stray, I found her in the alley out back."

"The last time you took in a stray cat, you were almost expelled."

She weakly smiles, but she doesn't look at him. "You remember that?"

His eyes are fixed on her, he studies her, like a pane of stained glass in a chapel. "I remember everything."

Her eyes are starting to water again, and Mishka jumps from her lap. "Why did you leave?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"I've gone over it, in my head, for years--"

"I only want to talk about now."

"You don't think I deserve at least half an answer?"

"I said no!" he yells at her, he's on his feet, his breath his harder through his mask, and he sees that fear in her eyes -- the kind he dreaded seeing. He turns away from her, with his head in his hand. The scratching at that wall inside his mind is getting more intense, and he can feel it starting to give way.

"I will help you, Andre," Samantha says, and he can hear her pushing down the tears that threatened her before.

He's trying to keep the wall in his mind upright, he's trying to hold whoever is behind it at bay. "Samantha -- I am different...now," his voice wavers at the confession of weakness. He doesn't have time to explain everything to her -- he doesn't want to explain what Zakhaev did to him. But he knows he should at least warn her before he switches, and someone else comes to the forefront. The only thing he can think to do is leave.

He always leaves.

He's starting for the door -- everything goes black.

Samantha watches her former lover wrestle with something inside of him, watches as he keeps his head in his hands, and watches as he puts his hand on the doorknob to leave, then suddenly stop. He looks up at the door, looks around the foyer, and the living room, he looks at his hands, and then turns around to look at her.

There's a blank confusion in his bright blue eyes. He's staring at her. Trying to put pieces together.

"...Andre?"

The name gets a response from him, but it isn't the one she expects.

"Andre brought us here?" His voice is lighter than before, unlike the voice she remembers.

A coldness runs through her, and his warning to her begins to make sense. She nods, cautiously. "Yes, Andre came to me, to ask for my help."

"Who are you?" he's pointing at her, that confusion still churning in his eyes as he starts to approach her.

"My name is Samantha," she stands, with her hands plainly visible on the kitchen table.

He snaps his gloved fingers. "Ah! Yes, Samantha! I knew you looked familiar."

"Do you...remember me? Do you remember how we met, at the university?"

"No, no," he says, and brings his backpack around to reach for something inside of it. He sees her put her hands up, and flinch. "No -- No, no. Samantha, no. You are from the photograph." He takes out a worn and feathered photograph and hands it to her. "See? He keeps it here, with us."

"'Us'..." She takes the photo -- it's her official portrait from when she received her first award for journalism. "You and Andre?"

"And Olev. I don't think there is anyone else."

Samantha takes a deep breath, and returns the photograph. "Okay. Well, who are you? Let's start there," she invites him to sit.

He does as she instructs, and briefly lifts the balaclava to take a sip of chaya, it's still warm. "I am Sascha."

She can see the discoloration of scars as he lifts the mask, and she pretends she doesn't notice as he replaces it. "Do you know why Andre came to me, Sascha?"

He frowns and looks around again. "No -- I don't know anything about this place. I only know you from the photograph."

"Are you aware of the incident on the bridge?"

"The bridge!" he snaps again. "I remember the bridge. I was in the market, Andre brought us there. It took me some time to understand where I was, I got...confused, lost. But I saw our teammate, he found me. He said he would take me back to the safehouse, so I walked with him. But..." he pauses and shakes his head, "something did not feel right. I told him I wanted to go back to the market, and then he attacked me."

"Your teammate?"

Sascha grows quiet, mulling over what happened, still trying to put pieces together with half the puzzle.

"Does he know you have alternate identities?"

"No, I don't think so. We are careful. No one can know. If they find out, we are going to be discharged. Andre is careful, and so am I. The only one who might have compromised us is...Olev. But I don't -- I don't think so. He knows the consequences."

"May I speak with Olev?"

"No," he replies emphatically. "No, you do not want to speak to Olev. He is...not nice. He does not like to talk. Olev talks with his fists."

She takes another deep breath, and agrees. "Alright. The man at the bottom of the bridge, the man who died, was it your teammate?"

He points again, and a light of recognition flicks on in his eyes. "No -- he killed that man! He tried to kill me, but we took the gun from him. We fought. Petrov was there -- the target from our mission. I think, I think maybe I was following him. Or maybe Andre was. I don't remember. The mission was to capture him, but our teammate, he killed him. I tried to stop him, but he made it look like I was the one who pushed him. People started to come around. What people saw, was not what happened."

"This teammate of yours, have you had conflicts with him in the past?"

"I...don't know," he says, somewhat defeated. "I cannot remember what Andre sees. But from what I have witnessed, I thought we were on good terms. I don't know why...Why? Why did he betray me?"

Samantha keeps him at her apartment as she goes to the scene of the crime, as well as the lab to get an update on the sample results, hopefully before the police receive them. Sascha does not protest, a part of his mind feels safe with her -- as if he knows her from a dream he once had. He stays on the couch, and spends most of the day trying to coax Mishka out of the dark hallway.

She has a connection in the crime lab, a man she's been seeing for the past two and a half months. His name is Nikolai. He's sweet, a little naive. He's a scientist, not an officer, he's never been exposed to the field like she has. His innocence is refreshing. It's also the reason she can get him to tell her about the bridge case. The irony isn't lost on her that she's asking the man she's currently seeing to help her lover from a lifetime ago. But he doesn't have to know that.

Nikolai tells her that the blood sample returned a match earlier that day. It triggered a military file for a man named Andre Volkov, however the file itself was sealed. He asks her to dinner this weekend.

She tells him she'll check her schedule.

While she is gone, Andre returns to the forefront. The apartment is empty, and the cat is running away from him again. He finds a note on the side table: 'Samantha went out, she will be back. She is helping us.' It's written in Sascha's handwriting, and Andre once more considers leaving without a trace. Samantha didn't ask for this. But then again, neither did he.

Before he can make up his mind, Samantha comes through the front door. He stands, unsure what to do with himself, what to say.

She can immediately tell his body language is different. She stops.

"It's me," he says. "Andre." He awkwardly pauses again, with the paper still in his hand. "Sascha -- he left me a note. Did you find anything?"

She tells him Sascha's experience on the bridge, and that the lab results have confirmed his blood was at the scene.

"I don't even have a scratch from the fight Sascha had with him. I don't understand how my blood was found there."

"If Sascha was fronting at the time of the attack on the bridge, how do you know for sure that you were uninjured?"

He squirms nervously, already anticipating her next idea. "I checked."

"You need to check again," she tells him, softly persuading him.

He disrobes, piece by piece. He feels more vulnerable than he ever has in his life, naked in more ways than one in front of her. He's down to only his underwear and his balaclava, which he still hasn't removed. She helped him take off the jacket, and the shirt. He's sore, he says, his back hurts. It's covered in blue bruises, while older white scars lie beneath, they look like whippings. Feathered scars map the entirety of his body, from knife wounds, to healed bullet holes. Some scars she knows and remembers from when he was younger: burn marks made by cigarettes, left on his skin by his father. She touches him gently, running her hand along the newer impressions she doesn't recognize.

"Don't look at me like that," he says.

She doesn't say anything.

"Like with pity," he growls.

But she's as stubborn as he is, and she looks him right in the eye.

He backs down.

Slowly, she reaches up to remove the balaclava. He watches her do it, he waits for it. He grabs her hands before they touch the fabric, and he attempts to push her away. She pushes back, and keeps willing her way to his face. They both know he could overpower her easily, he could snap her wrists in half if he wanted. But he doesn't. He lets her struggle, makes her work for it, waiting for her to change her mind -- that he's not worth the effort, he's not worth the fight. Their eyes haven't left one another's, and she keeps her hands strong and steady, until eventually...

He lets go.

He braces for the impact of her scream of horror -- of her turning the color of nausea at the sight of him.

She lifts the balaclava, and it falls to the floor.

His face is bare in front of her, and he keeps his eyes on her -- present, but not.

She doesn't scream, she doesn't turn away from him. Her eyes take in the sight of his injuries -- pieces of his face are missing, as if they were shorn purposefully. Half of his nose is gone, a portion of his upper lip is gone, the entire left side of his cheek has been cut, as if peeled by a knife, leaving only the thin lower dermis to heal. A 'Z' is carved into his flesh from the top of his brow, to the bottom of his jaw.

The static feeling of shock resonates at the top of her skin, but she keeps her face still. She can't prevent the water at the edges of her eyes, but she keeps it from falling. Her breathing is heavier, and the shock gives way to the heat of rage.

It's a long, long time before either one of them speaks.

"Who did this to you?" she finally pushes the words out of her mouth.

"Zakhaev."

She knows exactly who he is. "I will kill him, myself."

The vengeful sentiment snaps him out of his dissociation, and he swallows, finally breaking eye contact. "You always surprise me, solnyshko."

She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him. He leans into her, he doesn't fight back; his hands cup her head, his fingers in her hair. Every moment he imagined in secret, every night he longed to be beside her, it suddenly becomes a reality. He pulls away only to take a breath, and to look her in the eye, to make sure she's really there, to make sure he isn't dreaming -- that he hasn't lost touch with reality completely.

His thumbs caress her cheeks, and when he convinces himself she's real -- when he convinces himself it wouldn't matter even if she wasn't -- he nudges her lips again. And again, and again. He wants to make love to her, right then, right there. He wants to make every fantasy that's put him to sleep for the last decade come true. But he doesn't. He stops. Again, he thinks about leaving.

She doesn't push him.

There's a knock at the door.

Andre grabs his clothes, and retreats to the hallway, away from the door's line of sight.

"Get rid of them," he tells her.

She shoos him, and regathers her composure. She looks through the peephole -- it's Nikolai.

"Nikolai --" she opens the door, blocking his path inside. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes -- I am alright, but I am...confused," he says. "That case you asked me about today, the one with the sealed military file, someone just came to my office and took all of the evidence. The blood, the fibers, all of it. Whatever you are investigating, I think someone does not want you to."

"Well, this certainly isn't the first time someone has wanted to stop an investigation of mine. It's part of my job, Nikolai," she smiles in an effort to put him at ease. "It will be alright."

"Be careful, milaya. I worry about you, you know.” He takes her hands and kisses them. “I was sent home early because of this mess. Why don't we have some tea together."

She touches his face, and pulls away. "I wish I could, but I am very busy right now. The harder they work to put me off the case, the harder I have to work to stay on it. You understand."

He sighs and nods. "Promise me you will be careful. You still owe me dinner."

She laughs and agrees.

Andre is in a million pieces in the hallway, half dressed. He hates himself, he hates himself for wanting her -- he hates himself for thinking it might have even been an option, if even for a brief moment. She has her own life. She has men falling at their feet for her, ready to provide for her, of course she would. She moved on. It was him who was the fool. She closes the door, and his head lands on the wall behind him with a dejected breath.

"KorTac is going to burn me," Andre tells Samantha later that night. "They will move the investigation in-house, and then bury me."

"Then we need to move fast."

He shakes his head and stops her, as he begins to collect his things. "It was a mistake to come here."

"I need to know more about this teammate of yours. What your encounters have been with him, Sascha said --"

"No."

"I won't let them accuse you of something you haven't done. I'm looking into this with or without you."

"Then it will be without," he says, and lifts the backpack onto his shoulders. "You will not get far." He once more starts for the door.

"Then you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

He stops, grinding his teeth -- he knows she's baiting him. Trying to get him to stay by way of conflict. She's done it once before, the night he left all those years ago. "I know you, Samantha," he says. "And I know that you have, in front of you, better than me. Whatever we had, when we were young..." he glances behind him and shakes his head, "it was only a dream."

He leaves, and disappears. He doesn't return to his unit, knowing that he will be caught and crucified by the very people he was supposed to trust. It was better to restart somewhere else entirely, to blend in, and create a new version of himself somewhere else. He plans on leaving the country within the week, but it will take time to find someone who can forge documents.

That weekend, Nikolai picks up Samantha for their dinner date. She is distracted, but he does what he can to alleviate her mental burden. He knows her job is difficult, she has told him briefly of the horrors she has seen, but she never shares much. He figures the past is haunting her, he can see it on her face. They finish their dinner with little conversation. He drives her home.

"I wanted to tell you something," he says while they are travelling. "I did not want to share it around all those people."

Samantha braces herself for an ill-timed confession of love.

"That case you were working on..."

She braces once more, this time for his improbable discovery of her past with Andre.

"...Before those agents came and took all of my work, I put in a requisition for any files relating to the sample from before the man, Andre, joined the military. I got a hit yesterday. It was not digitized, it was a paper file, that is why it took so long to find. I brought it for you, it's in the glove box."

Confusion, trepidation, and relief all at once smother her, and she cautiously opens the glove compartment without a word. A manilla folder sits right on top, with the name 'Volkov, Andre' on its tab. She opens it, and staring back at her is a photograph of the man she once knew: that beautiful boy, with bright blue eyes and soft skin, sharp features, unmarred by evil. A pain tightens in her throat, and she begins to read the file. The photo isn't a mugshot, it's an identification photograph from the foster care system, taken a few months before he became an adult — from two years before she met him.

The file details the brutal murder of Andre's father. Something she did not know about. He was killed right before Andre left her, before he joined the military. It was a particularly vicious crime, and investigators noted that there was a distinct presence of anger in the act. There were no suspects, but Andre was the person of interest. It was no secret his father had abused him and his mother for years, and investigators assumed Andre finally snapped and killed his father in an act of revenge. His mother had been missing for a week, and Andre filed a missing person report earlier that day. She was never found. However, Andre's blood was recovered from his father's knuckles. This did not immediately make him a suspect, as the investigators at the time found separate DNA beneath his fingernails, which was not a match to Andre. The leading theory was that his father's gambling habit caught up with him, and a warning from his bookie went wrong.

She spends the rest of the car ride reading in silence.

"Milaya, I need the file back," Nikolai tells her softly.

She finally looks up to see they've been parked in front of her apartment for some time. "I'm sorry, of course."

"Or, perhaps, you could take it inside, and you can read it while I make you tea. You need to relax, you need time to rest, too."

She smiles weakly, and hands him back the file. Guilt starts to gnaw at her that she wishes the man beside her was Andre instead. "Thank you. You are right. I think I will go to bed early."

"Another time then. I will make you tea, eventually."

"Sometime soon."

Samantha goes upstairs, and enters her apartment. There's a draught coming from the bedroom window, she hears a noise coming from the master bathroom. She reaches for a gun taped beneath the entryway table, and cautiously makes her way to her bedroom. She hears panting, shaking breaths, and quiet cursing coming from the bathroom.

She rounds the corner, and faces the open bathroom door with the barrel pointed directly at Andre.

He's covered in blood, there's panic in his eyes. He's shakily trying to patch a knife wound in his side.

She holsters the weapon, and immediately puts pressure on the wound. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he groans, trying to catch his breath. "I woke up like this. I don't know what happened." He stifles a yell as she starts packing the wound with gauze from his med kit.

"Tell me what you remember," she demands.

He's trying to focus on something other than the pain and the looming darkness that's starting to encroach on his vision.

She smacks his masked face a few times. "Tell me what you remember," she says again.

"I went -- I went to get papers. To leave the country. But the forger, he was dead. I found his body. My teammate was there, but that's it -- that's all I remember." He leans on her a little more heavily, balancing himself on the counter.

"What happened after you woke up?"

"I woke up -- my teammate -- he was dead. I...stabbed him. I think. The knife, it was in my hands."

"Where's the knife?"

"It's here," he points to the sheath on his belt.

She continues packing the wound tightly, and putting pressure once it's packed. She once more reaches for his medical kit, and places the high pressure bandage around his wound.

"I...I had nowhere else to go," he apologizes without saying it.

Over the course of the night, Andre stabilizes, and he's keeping himself awake on the couch. Samantha makes him a cup of chaya again, this time he drinks it. There's nothing left to hide from her. Somehow, she always seems to see him at his lowest.

"It wasn't just a dream, you know," she tells him. "It was real. To me."

He doesn't say anything for a while, staring at the nothingness in the hallway in front of him. Two little green eyes stare back. He has no excuses to give her, but he could lie to her -- he could lie to himself. But lies matter as little as the truth does at this point. "I dream of you every night. You are a dream to me. Something I cannot have."

"You left. I thought you and I were going to get married, have a family. Then you were gone." She doesn't mean to guilt him, she can see the pain in his face. "I would have helped you," she says.

He looks at her, uncertain of her meaning.

"I know about your father."

He looks away again.

"You never told me."

"I did not want you to think differently of me."

"I don't. I never have."

He sighs, struggling to believe it. He shakes his head. "But you will. You do not now. But...you will. There are things I did. There are things...I don't remember. Things that were done to me. It will change you, as it changed me." He sighs again, squirming uncomfortably, and then wincing in pain as the knife wound stretches with his body. "I don't remember...what happened to my father. But I knew that if I stayed, they would make me guilty, no matter the truth. All I remember of that night, is seeing my mother for the first time in a week -- she and my father were in the kitchen, he was beating her. She fought back. But then, I remember nothing. I thought she killed him, and that she left. I thought the truth was too terrible to remember." His eyes become distant again, and the void of shadows in front of him starts to whisper at the back of his mind, as if something wants to be let out. "But...after what happened -- with Zakhaev -- after I started to lose time, after I realized there was someone else, in my head..." he trails off, he doesn't say anything for a while, unsure of what it is he's trying to convey exactly. "They said it was acute, temporary, that it was the way my mind processed what he did to me. That my mind created someone else to take the pain: Olev. They said it would go away. It did -- it did go away, the voices, the losing time. I was myself again. They cleared me, for the field. But then...it came back. And when it came back, I told no one. And then, I started to think that maybe...if it came back, maybe it was always there. Maybe...it was me who killed my father, all those years ago. Maybe it was...Olev."

"Do you think Olev killed your teammate?"

"He is capable of anything," he looks at her again, that pain twisting his face again, of a torment not physical. "It can only be a dream, you and I. It is safer there, it is better there -- in dreams."

"If we cannot be together as we once were, then let me only help you now -- let me help you leave the country."

"No," he shakes his head again, and once more turns away.

"Let me help you this time."

"No," he insists more heavily.

"Why? Why do you come here for my help, and then push me away all the same?"

"Because I am a coward! Samantha," his voice breaks, and he stands, ignoring the pain in his side. His fingers dig into his chest. "I am a coward! -- and a killer. Who cannot provide for you. Who cannot give you a home, and children. Who can give you nothing! I am a coward who takes! Who takes and takes! Because I am a man who loves you, and a man who has nothing to offer." He turns around, not wanting her to see the weakness in his face -- in many more ways than one.

"You have always been many things, Andre. But a coward has never been one of them."

A whisper once more slithers its way through his mind, and he tries his best to push it back. But the stress of his vulnerability with the woman he loves, and the conflict he endured earlier in the night, the pain from the wound in his side, it’s broken down his ability to hold it off. His consciousness slips into the abyss of his mind, and something else emerges.

"Andre was always a coward," he speaks.

But it is not Andre's voice.

"Olev..." Samantha takes a breath and stands, the gun is still in her waistband. She doesn't know if she has the courage to use it against him, if it comes to that.

"Ever since he was a boy. Too weak to face his father, too powerless to save our mother. Too afraid to show his face, to close his eyes at night — to see what I saw." He turns to her, a darkness in his eyes, a weight upon his shoulders, he watches her carefully. "Too afraid of losing you. You are his weakness. And so you are mine."

"You know who I am."

"I know...everything," he growls. He approaches her, unfazed by the blood that's leaking down his side. "I watch everything -- from the corners of his mind, I watch as he tries to hide, tries to run from himself, his past. From you. It makes me sick."

"What happened on the bridge?"

"I took care of us. As I always have."

"Did you kill your teammate?"

Olev scoffs and takes another step towards her, revelling in her confusion. "He always finds a way to shift the blame. Even onto people who were never there."

The rush of fear and adrenaline begins to course through her, and she keeps her hands at her sides, ready to pull her weapon. "What do you mean?"

"Andre and Sascha remember what they need to. And I let them. Even if it means they imagine things. Even if it means...we struggle against each other," he writhes and the wound at his side gushes.

“There was never a teammate. You...You framed Andre. You killed Petrov. You planted your own blood at the scene. You killed the forger."

"I promised Petrov that he would pay for what he did to us. I always keep my promises," his voice is dark, and he fixates on her.

"Why frame Andre? You could have killed Petrov quietly. No blood, no witnesses. We both know you could have gotten away with it."

"I had to make sure he could never go back to KorTac."

Anger sets in, and Samantha stops, she plants her feet on the floor, waiting for Olev to meet her — face to wretched face. "KorTac is all he has."

"But it is not all he can be." He's standing in front of her now, they are mere inches apart. She can feel his breath wash over her face, it's calm and even, yet hot as his eyes run over her features. "I have waited...so long...to meet you, tsaritsa." He coils a lock of her hair around his finger, and pushes it behind her ear.

Her blood is racing through her veins, she can feel her heartbeat in her throat. She keeps her eyes on his, barring away the fear within her. "What are you going to do?"

"I...am going to do what I have always done," his voice is barely above a hoarse breath, his hand still caressing her hair, her neck. "I will level the scale of justice. I will take power from the powerful, and protect those who are weak." He holds another lock of her hair between his fingers, and places it to his lips. "And I will not be a coward -- like him. I will not abandon you. Like he did."

She doesn't flinch, but she can't keep her nerves from trembling. "How many people will die? To balance the scales?"

"You know as well as I do, tsaritsa, the price of slavery is its weight in blood. And so it is with liberty."

She encroaches on him, closing what little space there is between them. "Give him back to me."

His eyes narrow, and his jaw tenses as a breath seethes from him.

"I know that you can."

"I will not." He lets go of her hair, putting it behind her shoulder. "I am jealous of his years with you. And I will not release him until I have shared with you those same number of years."

"I will not go with you."

"You do not need to. You are of better use to me here. Here, your work will provide me with valuable intelligence about those who mean to oppress the People."

"What makes you think I won't go underground?"

"You forget, tsaritsa, I know you as well as he does. I know that you cannot keep injustice quiet. And you know — that I will always find you."

-------------------------------------------------

TWO YEARS LATER ----

Samantha has kept tabs on Olev's actions — a bombing in Lisbon, a Nova gas attack on a gang of mobsters, the rumor that a pilot by the callsign Nikto took down members of Task Force 141. She knows that as carefully as she's kept an eye on him, he's done the same to her. He was right about her -- she has continued to pursue investigations into the corrupt and powerful. She lives with the knowledge that her intel has helped him kill a group of crooked financiers in Germany, and along with them, other innocent lives who happened to be in the wrong place when Olev exacted his justice.

He sends her letters with no return address. He writes her poetry, he sends her sketches of buildings and animals he has seen in his time away from her, he recounts memories she has with Andre, but from his own perspective. He tells her that he loves her. In one letter, he assumes she has not given over his writings to the authorities, as no one has followed their trail back to him. She hates that he's right. She hates that she can't bring herself to do it. If she condemns Olev to prison, she dooms Andre with him. More than that, she confesses only to herself, on a quiet winter night, that she is enamored with Olev. There is a clear part of him that loves her. To be loved so thoroughly by a person -- that every facet of him desires her -- it enthralls her. But it is as Andre told her the last night she saw him -- their love could only ever be kept safe in dreams.

A year after he vanished, Olev appears to Samantha. She moved to a different place, a house in the suburbs, and yet he and his letters still find her. He gives her a USB drive filled with the information of brokers who are fixing the market, proof of their treachery. She almost refuses his gift, but she can't deny that his brutality has been making an impact -- the scales are slowly shifting as the greedy are becoming scared. She's conflicted on whether she should endorse his actions.

He is a looming shadow over her and her work, over her heart and mind. And yet, his presence fills her with relief -- relief that he is alive, and relief at the sight of adoration that still lingers in his eyes whenever he looks at her. He kisses her hands as he gives her the drive, gently putting her knuckles to his mask. She is alone at home, Nikolai is at work, she doesn't hurry Olev to leave.

She tells him she should turn him in.

He tells her he knows she won't.

"How do you know that?" She's standing in front of him again, once more inches from him; his face is veiled, but she can hear his breath heavy and quickened beneath it.

"You are our fortress. Our shelter. Always." His gloved hand caresses her hair, and this time that sense of relief replaces the apprehension she once felt at his touch.

She reaches for his face, and delicately removes the buttons and belts that hold his mask together; she slides the balaclava off. He does nothing to stop her. He trusts her implicitly.

"I am a bird within your palm, tsaritsa. Have care."

Her heart softens, seeing not a villain, but a man. "You would have me love you."

"You do."

"You would have me forsake Andre."

"You can no more forsake him, as you could forsake me. I am not his murderer."

"You are his warden."

"I...am his protector. And I protect that which he loves. I protect...what I love." The rough fabric of his gloves smooths against the frame of her face. "...What you love. That you love him, you must also love me."

"And is this love a betrayal, of the man we both want to keep safe?"

"Zhizn moya, I told you -- you could never forsake any part of me."

Samantha rests her hands on his chest plate, as he continues to wander against her: her arms, her back, the dips of her waist. She falls into his embrace, wrestling with herself and her desires. Olev’s body aches for her as she steadies herself upon him, as she is nearly flush against him. He cradles her head within one palm, and makes the decision for her -- he takes her lips in his, and thus seals their fate.

"Andre is going to kill me," she breathes.

He smirks. "I know the feeling."

He is ravenous. Every fiber of his strength and energy is spent ensuring she remembers who he is, even when he is gone from her. That she feels him, even when they are parted. He leaves gentle imprints and bruises along her soft skin. Yet, when he is beneath her, he is as pliable as a doll -- to be used by her, to be fettered by her want, he is tamed and awakened by his love for her. Every moment he lingered, locked behind the wall inside Andre's mind, watching her, loving her from behind a pane of glass -- every moment he longed for her, pours out of him, as her satisfaction comes in waves around him.

She sleeps beside him. His dreams are quiet that night. There is only the black, and silence.

He leaves before dawn, she watches him ready himself, layer by layer. His underclothing, his flight suit, his armor, and every weight that is strapped against his waist and shoulders. Olev is a weapon. He's never known how to be anything else.

"You will live your life however you please," he tells her as he departs, his voice is calm, and yet there is grief and anger within it. "But you will always be mine. You will always belong to us."

His letters become less frequent, he sends her blank postcards instead -- and yet the attacks on the wealthy are getting more coverage.

A year after Olev appeared to her, Samantha is engaged to Nikolai, and a week after their engagement party, she receives a blank card in the mail with no return address, congratulating her on her upcoming nuptials. She says nothing of it to Nikolai. As far as he knows, the case about Andre Volkov, the case about the man who was killed on the bridge, was a dead end. She never spoke about it again.

Her wedding is in a month, and Samantha is asked to report on the terrorist named Nikto. She can't give a coherent reason of refusal -- not without incriminating herself. She does what she can to fulfill her duty, and yet protect information that might be vital to his capture. She is informed by her editor that Nikto has agreed to a one-time interview. Many news outlets, both domestic and international, are being censored from showing his transmissions, and some outlets are censoring the videos without being instructed to do so. According to her editor, because of this, Nikto has chosen them to give the interview  -- their outlet has circumvented censorship, and is broadcast in his mother tongue of Russian.

She knows more than well the reason he chose them is because of her. Samantha is tasked with the interview. It will be broadcast live on the internet.

Nikolai begs her not to do it. It's too dangerous, he tells her. They have their whole lives ahead of them, and she shouldn't tempt fate by putting herself in the lion's den. The man is a terrorist and a predator -- a perverse example of authority. She asks him to trust her -- even though, silently, she knows she does not deserve it.

Samantha is sitting across from Nikto, in a room that is empty, except for a camera and two chairs. It is an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, a mutually agreed upon location, chosen by Nikto. Besides them, only her cameraman and two of his guards are present. The pair sit near a window for natural light. He makes no indication that he knows her -- and for a brief moment, she wonders if someone else is behind those eyes, if someone else is fronting. But then he speaks:

"Shall we begin, tsaritsa?"

Samantha introduces herself, as well as Nikto, to the camera and begins her questioning. Pretending she knows nothing of him is more difficult than she anticipated. She hides the desperation inside of her, the desire to reach out and touch him, to speak with him as she used to -- she draws on every ounce of professionalism within her, and keeps to her notecards.

"You and I want the same thing, Samantha. You with the pen, and I with the sword." They are at the halfway point of the interview. "And it is true, your work is more important than mine -- I could take down an empire, but if there is no one to witness the People's power, ignorance can only remain."

"Is that what you mean to do? To take down an empire?"

"I have said it."

"To take down Russia?"

"To take down the evil of the oppression -- the oppression that keeps the poor hungry, and the rich fat. Oligarchs rule my homeland, and yet my people have never suffered more. If they deny their greed, why are they afraid of me? If they are so righteous, why should they have anything to fear?"

"I think even the righteous fear death, wouldn't you agree?"

"I do not fear death," he says, his eyes piercing into her as he does. "I fear nothing."

"Not even capture? Or failure?"

"I cannot fail. Even if I am captured, I have already won. And if they kill me, still others will know that these men are not gods. They are cowards. Fat, hungry cowards. Who will take, and take, until nothing is left."

Samantha swallows, hearing Andre's voice buried beneath Olev’s. She briefly pauses, and takes a moment to regather her composure.

A flicker of light from beyond the window catches Olev's eye -- he can see the outline of a red laser sight, but when he follows its path, it's not trained on him, but on Samantha.

Without warning, he tackles her to the ground. An explosion of glass erupts from the window, and a bullet whizzes through the scene. The sound of its impact, along with a yell from Olev, resound in Samantha's ears. She's suddenly flat on the ground, and the weight of his body and his armor are crushing her. Something hot is leaking onto her chest, and pooling beneath her. More gunfire breaks out, as his guards return fire in the direction of the window.

With all of her strength, she pushes herself out from underneath him, and pulls him out of the line of fire. She shelters them with the cover of a partial wall, drawing her own weapon; her cameraman is filming the firefight from a corner on the opposite side of the room.

More sniper fire rains down on the building, until it briefly stops, and the room is hit with a smoke bomb. One man infiltrates from the broken window and takes out the cameraman, and one of the guards.

Olev is slumped against her, in her arm; he opens his eyes and takes in the blurry image of her returning fire as a cacophony grows on the other side of the wall. The bullet tore through the weak point of his armor as he dove onto Samantha, it went through his shoulder; he's losing blood fast, but his first instinct is to sit upright and reach for his pistol. He's about to fire off a shot into the smoke, when Samantha stops him. She slings his arm around her, and pulls him onto his feet. The attacker is following the blood trail from the initial point of contact to her hiding place, and she needs to find an exfil now.

They exit the rear of the building, where there's nothing but trees and plenty of places for cover. She drags him, his feet moving as fast as they can, until they reach the copse. There's quiet for only a moment before the gunfire starts again, and bullets fly by their heads. She pulls him behind a large pine out of the attacker’s eyeline.

"Fuck, I'm out of ammo," she checks her magazine.

He's leaning on the trunk, trying to put pressure on the wound, but the blood is draining too quickly. It seeps through his fingers like a waterfall. "Take it," he hands her his pistol. "Leave me. Go -- run."

"No," she says, and chances to peek round the tree to see where the gunman is. She can't see him.

"I'm too much weight. You'll...be faster -- on your own."

"Not an option."

He shoves her and growls. "Go."

She takes the push, and settles back beside him. The gunman is stalking them, he's starting in the wrong direction, but he crouches to see the droplets of blood left on the leaves. "I'm not letting you off the hook that easy." She looks at him and taps him on the face, bringing his eyes to hers. "Stay with me -- all of you. I have a plan that may get us out of this alive.”

Something deep inside of him breaks. He sinks to the bottom of the forest floor as she tells him what to do; his back leans against the pine tree as his body starts to give out. He’s placing the entirety of his trust in her.

Samantha emerges from behind her cover, and aims the barrel of her empty weapon at the gunman's head. "If you were aiming for Nikto, you got him. But you killed my cameraman, and you almost shot me."

"I was aiming for you," he says.

She takes several steps back, with her pistol still raised. "I've made a lot of enemies, forgive me if I don't remember how I've wronged you."

"You give that sick fuck a platform -- you listen to him as he spews his lies, and all the meanwhile, people suffer because of him. You're no better than him, to let him be seen in the daylight, instead of rotting in the ground where he belongs."

"And if I'm no better than him, then I deserve the same fate -- is that right?"

"We understand one another. I killed that terrorist, Nikto," he glances at the motionless body of Olev, slumped against the pine tree. "And now I will kill you."

Samantha lures him only two steps further --

Olev springs to life again, and fires three shots into the man's head. Blood and matter spray across the greenery, and his lifeless body falls to the ground with a quiet thud.

Samantha takes the man's weapon, and kneels at Olev's side, trying to put his arm around her, to get him to his feet again.

"Samantha..." he breathes, his voice filled with an uncertainty she's never heard within Olev before. His blue eyes look into hers again, searching them for something. His eyes are duller, dimmer -- greyer than they should be. "...I am not going to make it."

She starts to protest, but he stops her.

"Listen to me —” he pulls her close, his breath straining and wavering. “You must live your life, Samantha. Marry that idiot who loves you. Make children. Do all the things I cannot give you.” She starts to protest again, still trying to pull him to his feet, but he holds her still by the shoulder. “Do what you have always done: Listen, and speak. Others need you…to speak. Others need you…But do not forget me. Do not forget...any of us. All of us -- we have loved you." His hand moves from her arm and he touches her face, his glove leaving behind a thick trail of blood. "Zhizn moya...my life…I have given it for you." His hand falls from her, and his body falls entirely slack.

Her tears finally fall, staining and mixing with the blood on her face. She touches him, expecting him to brush away her hand, or to pull her close. But he does nothing. She is alone in the forest, the only sole survivor of the attack, and she knows the military will converge on her location soon. But in those brief moments of quiet before they come, she allows herself to break, to fall to pieces entirely.

Samantha leans on him, holding him and his shielded face to her body, placing a kiss on the metal of his helmet. It would be the last time she sees him, and she wants to keep the image of him, before the world mutilated him, intact within her mind.

She holds him as long as she can, until she notices a familiar feeling against her chest. He's breathing. His body is rising and falling against her. She digs two fingers past his gorget and past the fabric around his mask, until she can feel his pulse. It's thready, but it's there. Helicopters are approaching in the distance, and they'll search high and low through the brush to find him in the forest, once they see his body missing from the building. She packs his wound as quickly and tightly as she can to quell the bleeding, and then she pulls him through the copse.

-------------------------------------------------------

He's in a medical facility, but it doesn't look like a hospital. He's lying in a hospital bed, and there are IVs through both his arms. There is clear tarp all around him, and through it, he can see that he's in some kind of warehouse.

Andre remembers flashes of what happened, of their life throughout the past two years. The last thing he remembers is Olev saying goodbye to Samantha -- on behalf of all of them. Suddenly, his body reminds him that he‘s been shot. Nurses and a doctor swarm his makeshift hospital room at the sight of him being awake.

Hours go by, and Andre is still trying to piece together what happened. Olev is unsettlingly quiet within his mind -- not in anger, but with what feels like sadness. Sascha is relieved to be alive. So is he.

A nurse brings him broth and other liquids, he drinks them with the one arm that isn't in a sling. A familiar face emerges as the nurse exits. His breath stops, and his body goes numb.

"Samantha..."

She fixes on him with that distinct look -- of trying to figure out who's talking, exactly. "Olev?"

"Andre."

She sits on the corner of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like the morphine is working."

She lets an amused breath. "How much do you remember?"

"Pieces. Like...a painting out of focus."

"You'll have to go into hiding."

"That much I guessed."

She doesn't say anything for a while.

"Did he hurt you?" he asks. "Olev?"

She shakes her head, finding she misses that facet of him, despite seeing the same face in front of her now. "No. The opposite, really."

Andre remembers a moment of passion between her and Olev, but he can't quite put together the whole memory.

"I called in a few favors," she says. "This is one of them," she looks around at the haphazard triage. "The other will fly you out of the country in two days. I've got you papers."

"You didn't have to do this."

"I did." She looks at him, the life has returned to his eyes, and the lighter presence of Andre now shapes his features. "I love you. Every one of you. Olev was right..."

He scoffs. "I wouldn’t recommend letting him in your head."

"But he was right.” She remembers the morning he left, after the night they spent together. She thought she’d never see him again, at the time she thought he meant to threaten her. But she realizes now it was never a threat. It was simply the truth. “I will always love you. And a part of me will always belong to you.” She can see him searching his mind, as if he can nearly recall what she means, but not entirely. “This is what I needed to do."

Andre falls quiet. "I am not worth the trouble, solnyshko."

Her sights settle on him. He's not looking at her, but at the folds in the sheets -- he's thinking, she can see it. His eyes are darting back and forth, as if his thoughts are quick. She wonders if all three of them are talking in that head of his. She wonders if they had known about the complexity of his mind when they were younger, if things would have been any different. If things might have turned out better for him. "You always have been."

He looks up at her, his lips parted in both uncertainty and surprise.

She caresses his face. "You always were." She stands to leave.

"Samantha..." he calls after. He watches as she faces him, and water lines his eyes. "I owe you my life. All of us."

"I love you, Andre."

"I love you. Dusha moya."

She disappears through the maze of vinyl, and he watches her until he can no longer see her figure.

He owes her everything, and he knows it. And he will work for the rest of his life to give it to her. To earn her. Even if he never sees her again.

[sprintingowl]

Deadball

Deadball Second Edition is a platinum bestseller on DrivethruRPG. This means it's in the top 2% of all products on the site. Its back cover has an endorsement from Sports Illustrated Kids.

It's also not an rpg I'd heard about until I discovered all of these facts one after another.

I was raised in a profoundly anti-sports household. My father would say stuff like "sports is for people who can't think" and "there's no point in exercising, everything in your body goes away eventually." So I didn't learn really any of the rules of the more popular American sports until I was in my mid twenties, and I've been to two ballgames in my life. I appreciate the enthusiasm that people have for sports, but it's in the same way that I appreciate anyone talking about their specific fandom.

One of the things that struck me reading Deadball was its sense of reverence for the sport. Its language isn't flowery. It's plain and technical and smart. But its love for baseball radiates off of the pages. Not like a blind adoration. But like when a dog sits with you on the porch.

For folks familiar with indie rpgs, there's a tone throughout the book that feels OSR. Deadball doesn't claim to be a precise simulation or a baseball wargame or anything like that---instead it lays out a bunch of rules and then encourages you to treat them like a recipe, adjusting to your taste. And it does this *while* being a detailed simulation that skirts the line of wargaming, which is an extremely OSR thing to do.

For folks not familiar with baseball, Deadball starts off assuming you know nothing and it explains the core rules of the sport before trying to pin dice and mechanics onto anything. It also explains baseball notation (which I was not able to decipher) and it uses this notation to track a play-by-play report of each game. Following this is an example of play and---in a move I think more rpgs should steal from---it has you play out a few rounds of this example of play. Again, this is all before it's really had a section explaining its rules.

In terms of characters and stats, Deadball is a detailed game. You can play modern or early 1900s baseball, and players can be of any gender on the same team, so there's a sort of alt history flavor to the whole experience, but there's also an intricate dice roll for every at bat and a full list of complex baseball feats that any character can have alongside their normal baseball stats. Plus there's a full table for oddities (things not normally covered by the rules of baseball, such as a raccoon straying onto the field and attacking a pitcher,) and a whole fatigue system for pitchers that contributes a strong sense of momentum to the game.

Deadball is also as much about franchises as it is about individual games, and you can also scout players, trade players, track injuries, track aging, appoint managers of different temperaments, rest pitchers in between games, etc.

For fans of specific athletes, Deadball includes rules for creating players, for playing in different eras, for adapting historical greats into one massively achronological superteam, and for playing through two different campaigns---one in a 2020s that wasn't and one in the 1910s.

There's also thankfully a simplified single roll you can use to abstract an entire game, allowing you to speed through seasons and potentially take a franchise far into the future. Finances and concession sales and things like that aren't tracked, but Deadball has already had a few expansions and a second edition, so this might be its next frontier.

Overall, my takeaway from Deadball is that it's a heck of a game. It's a remarkably detailed single or multiplayer simulation that I think might work really well for play-by-post (you could get a few friends to form a league and have a whole discord about it,) and it could certainly be used to generate some Blaseball if you start tweaking the rules as you play and never stop.

It's also an interesting read from a purely rpg design perspective. Deadball recognizes that its rules have the potential to be a little overbearing and so it puts in lots of little checks against that. It also keeps its more complex systems from sprawling out of control by trying to pack as much information as possible into a single dice roll.

For someone like me who has zero background in baseball, I don't think I'd properly play Deadball unless I had a bunch of friends who were into it and I could ride along with that enthusiasm. However as a designer I like the book a lot, and I'm putting it on my shelf of rpgs that have been formative for me, alongside Into The Odd, Monsterhearts, Mausritter, and Transit.

[lavenders388]

i've been hooked on squid games recently, could you possibly do one of the guards or the frontman protecting the reader from dying in a game?? bonus points if the reader gets hurt. please and thank you!! no pressure at all ofc! good luck with college!!

~One Lucky Day~

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚ Pink Soldier x Reader

requested 💌

a/n: sorry for being super slow writing its for the silliest reason ever! my hard gel nails are grown the fuck out and its SO hard to type expect like one million fics in a row when i get these mf knives taken off of my fingers here in a few days!!! as always thank you for all the support!!!<3 -matcha

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚ As you were led through the sickeningly colorful halls- an almost disrespectful contrast to the dark place you found yourself in, your mind raced uncontrollably about what the next game would be. You worried, like everyone else, about whether you would be able to survive and move forward. you looked around as you climbed the pink staircase. noticing how many men there were compared to women. your stomach began to turn thinking about how difficult it would be to compete against those who appeared to be much stronger than you. you tried to calm yourself; thinking about how during the previous game you had an advantage by being able to stop easily and stay balanced. you hoped that in this game strength wouldn't be much of a factor.

as you entered the game hall, your mind began to race a little less. "this doesn't look like it'll be too bad for me." you thought, noticing that there wasn't a whole lot that the set gave away; just two rainbow circles. "it looks like a track, maybe this will be more like red light green light again." you pondered; the thought of a more agility-based game making you feel more confidently. the recorded voice echoed within the hall as you were instructed to form groups of 5. The thought of being in a group also aided in soothing your fears, knowing that whatever ability you lacked there were other players with you to make up for it.

you eventually found your group, finding it hard to be accepted due to not being male. your group- 3 women and 2 men- ended up being picked to go dead last. you all breathed a sigh of relief- agreeing that this could be a very good thing, you weren't going first, and you had the most time to prepare. you all got to practice your individual mini-games, and you were able to calculate what the other players struggled with more and how to better handle that without wasting too much time. as you and the rest of the crowd cheered for the other groups, you began to feel more confident about the game.

finally, it was time for the two last groups to compete. you were happy to be closer to the end of this horrible place, but you trembled with the thought of what would happen if your group wasn't time-efficient enough. the other group- very kindly you thought- agreed that they would be cheering you on and you them; referencing to the lack of cheering crowd the other groups had. this gesture made you feel supported- and ready to compete in what would hopefully be the last game before you got to leave.

as your group moved through all of the mini-games, your heart sank realizing how little time you all had to spare. "fuck." you thought to yourself; not wanting to scare the rest of your team. "okay, we can't afford to mess up on this last one." you said to the man about to attempt the last game. you tried to sound encouraging. to hide your fear in a way that might help that man. with 5 seconds on the clock, you watched the other team cheer in relief as they completed the game and got to leave. your team wouldn't make it, your skin crawling as you came to the sinking realization.

five... four... three... two... one... you barely heard the recording counting down what you believed to be your last seconds on this earth. you wanted to cry, but you didn't have the time to even do that. as you watched your teammates fall to the ground, you expected the same fate to become of yourself. you felt a bullet graze the side of your upper shoulder; the pain sinking into the muscle like fire traveling through each of your veins. the pain almost distracted you from the conversation you began to overhear as you lied on the rainbow ground with your fallen teammates.

"i missed on purpose so that they'll be fresh." you heard coming from one of the masked guards. "fresh? what the fuck does he mean fresh?" you thought, the type of fear racing within you amounting to more than you've ever felt before. "okay, load them all up like normal." you heard from another guard as the pink-bowed coffins began to be lifted onto the ground beside you. you felt yourself being uncuffed; gently. and then loaded into the coffin. "don't worry. trust me." you almost didn't hear it as he said it so quietly under his breath as you were lowered with care into the coffin.

the lid was closed but not stapled shut like the rest. you didn't get moved either. time stood still as the rest of the guards left with the other coffins. after what felt like hours but was most likely only a few seconds, you saw the lid opening.

"hey just stay quiet, don't freak out or try to run. please just trust me." came softly from the only guard left in the room. you didn't know what it was, maybe just the desperation of having nothing else to do, or maybe it was his voice that made you trust him almost immediately. you lifted yourself out of the box that was supposed to be the last thing that ever touched your body. gingerly, as to not upset the gash on your shoulder. you winced, catching his attention as he began to help you up.

"why- why did you save me? i lost the game." you said, your voice trembling in shock and as the pain traveled up your arm. "i don't know." he said, soundly almost as scared as you were. "I'm so fucking sorry i shot you." your eyes met his, he looked to be near your age. his face was young and soft, with short black hair. he was the type of guy that if you weren't in this place, you would have considered going up to him to ask for his number or something along those lines. "thank you, so much." you said genuinely, your voice softening as you assessed that the situation was safe.

"what do we do now?" you asked him, even though it didn't look like he knew for himself. "ill patch your arm up, and ill lead you back to the other players when its lights out." your second chance at life was shocking; a bit disappointing that you still had to go back to the games. you found yourself not wanting to level him.

"what about you?" you questioned as he began to gently wrap some gauze around the wound on your arm. "ill be okay, they thought you went with the rest of the coffins, and they don't really seem to care about what happens to the players once they've been eliminated." you tried not to think about the last part of his answer. "will i see you again?" you asked, without really thinking about it. you weren't sure how to properly express your gratitude to the stranger who had saved you, and a part of you twinged with sadness about the thought of never looking into his brown eyes again.

"ill look after you in the games." he stated in a way that made you know full-heartedly that he meant it; and would do so.

as he walked you back to the hall you once dreaded returning to, you found yourself no longer feeling any fear at all.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Cheerleaders + Football Team

The thing about cheerleaders and the infamous football team is that they’re quite accurate to their stereotypes

Now not every cheerleader team is run by a head girl who’s a massive bully 

Or that the football team is filled with dumb jocks that are just as violent if not worse

But they’re nothing to scoff at 

They’re beautiful

They’re athletic

And they're disciplined with confidence that comes with successful games and competitions

Such perks might give them quite a bit of power

Power that’s doubled when they’re working together

If you’d like to be happy you’re better off not figuring out just yet 

Since your arrival to the University, you’ve noticed more of your things have gone missing

Maybe this move made you more frazzled than you thought

Because you’ve found that you haven’t been able to keep friends like you used to

At least not without some help

“So you’re the new student, huh? Welcome to Energi University. As cheer captain, I’m really happy to welcome you finally!”

As she drags you along throughout your schedule, you’re waiting for the punch line

The moment she switches to embarrass you or smile coyly as she says something underhanded about your appearance

But she doesn’t 

Only twirling her hair as she asks you where you learned to glow like you do

You find it odd but you’re not complaining

Movies taught you that she and her team were top of the food chain 

so if they liked you enough maybe it’d trickle to some friends eventually

“Looking for a partner? Me too. How about we uh work together, freshie. If we finish before class ends you can have my varsity jacket and I can have yours.”

It seems it works as the beefy but beautiful captain of the football team partners up during chemistry

Between the two captains, you think you’re making progress

Finally beginning to make friends

But you couldn’t be farther from the truth

Already you were skipping right into the pitfall that was their playground—Energi University

It started with the cheerleader’s captain, gorgeous, rich, and with a serious attitude problem

She was making her daily rounds with her two main girls

‘Putting the worms in their place’ as she’d report to her team

Until she found something interesting 

a glasses-wearing nerd had been holding a file, scrolling through someone’s social page with such dedication they didn’t even realize they were being cornered

And its not just someone—you

while her girls were exploring the use of pins on the human body, she was going through this fairly thick file

A file all about you

Filled with hundreds of pictures of you some with consent some not

Extensive organized lists of your likes and dislikes

And a neat report on your current whereabouts and social circle

By the end of it, she was intrigued

She’s never been one for reading but she just can’t put it down

Having to be brought back into the real world when her girls are done playing 

“Already? Ugh, let’s go find the next one this little report of his might be worth selling to those stupid jocks.”

That’s just an excuse 

she’s combing over your photos again as she re-reads about the mundane drama in your life

“Babe, I thought you said you wanted to spend time with me? Not lose braincells studying!” 

Her boyfriend–captain of the football team is trying to draw her attention with kisses and inviting touches

But she’s just too focused

Eventually, he’s going to snatch it all away, taking a look at it

“Who’s this? Your latest victim?”

“Puhlease they don’t even know me…yet.”

The nights they spend together is searching you on socials as they filter through these words about your world

There’s just something about you that has them enraptured

For them it’s like when they first started dating, running off from their teams to gush about their latest finds about you

Texting all through the night about schemes to meet you

Whispering on the bus on their way to seasonal competitions

It isn’t long before the nosey teams start poking around

All it takes is a whispered mention of your name and they’re stalking your socials 

Some hire private investigators to tell all they can get their hands on

It’s like a virus how the whole team is eventually letting your distant lovely little life take up all of theirs 

At some point words and posts just aren’t enough

“Yo Cap, why don’t we just get them to come here?”

“Yeah! I know I can get my dad to extend a scholarship and dormitory if something happens at their old school.”

“Hmm, I do still have those lighter fluid canisters.”

“Oooh and I can get them out of the dorms for awhile!”

“Then  we can swoop in and be the knight’s of shining armor they’ll need!”

“C’mon, captain! Let’s bring them home, aren’t you tired of looking at them through the screen?”

“Don’t you think it’d boost our morale for the championship?”

“Yeah!!” Pleaassee!?”

What terrible captains they’d be if they let their teams down now

So the plan is set, you conveniently are stood up on a date when your dorm and campus is burnt down killing so many friends you made+

The mysterious fire destroying their security footage and all your belongings too 

Its natural you start looking for a new college, a safer option

“Hey (Y/n) why don’t you come to our next game? Forget about that horrible fire and cheer us on!”

“Wait how did you know–”

“Grapevine cutie! Now what do you say to a sleepover!?”

“Not after we do our victory party!”

“Oh, you’ll have to try our captain’s famous jello shot! It’s going to knock your clothes+ socks off.”

Both Captains will watch happily as the group swarms you 

Your questions about the slug you made plans with prior were drowned out in their shouting and giggling

Their goal wasn’t to make you worry 

After all, they had the power to dissolve all of that 

The Captains and their teams

“Now that we have them I don’t see any reason, why our teams won’t be planned for an all-around victory in the nationals.”

“Of course, though we could do it without them. Money and pure talent are a given for people like us.”

“Still there’s nothing wrong with sharing a good luck charm.”

“You are absolutely right..”

“Aren’t I always? That being said we’ll have to talk about the…hoarding issue.”

“Oh yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that. The next time one of your cheerleaders interrupts me, they’ll be dealing with more than broken legs.”

“And your players should know the next time they take my time with (Y/n) away they won’t just become paralyzed.”

[enwoso]

joys of parenthood | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request:)

grumpy masterlist

leah had the whole day planned. she had for weeks.

since alessia asked for her to watch you for the day — alessia doing a shoot with ella and it just being a whole lot easy for you to spend the day with leah than it was to keep you entertained while you not getting in trouble on a photo shoot.

as well as it wasn't often leah got one-on-one time with you, and so she was looking forward to your little adventure. just you and her. a proper mama and you day.

it was a picture perfect plan, for a perfect day. a trip to the zoo, stop for ice cream, maybe a little playground time to waste anymore energy and some time to play a little game of football on the grass before heading home for a cozy night and dinner. the perfect day.

—

it started off well. you both had made it to the zoo, and you were thrilled, skipping beside leah as you pointed out all the animals in awe. you'd even been on your best behavior when leah bought you an ice cream.

it is easy, leah had thought smugly — to naively. watching you happily lick at the ice cream cone as you babbled about all the different animals you had seen.

but all too quickly it then all fell apart.

the elephant enclosure was the scene of the crime. you had decided you needed to feed them. not wanted—needed. but when leah gently explained to you that they couldn't because the zoo had strict rules, your little face crumpled.

and then, chaos.

one second, you were sadly pouting. the next, you were screaming. full-on, earth-shattering wails. tears streaming down your tiny face. people staring.

leah had been through some high-pressure situations in her life and she would like to pride herself on being able to stay calm during these moments like a euro final, captaining her team, press conferences that felt like walking into a battlefield.

but nothing, nothing, could've prepared her for a five-year-old throwing herself onto the pavement and sobbing like the world was ending because she couldn't feed an elephant.

"angel, baby, i know you're upset, but we can't—"

"NOOOO!"

"alright, alright." leah ran a hand down her face, feeling the eyes of every parent around her. some were sympathetic, others were definitely judging.

okay. think, leah, think.

she crouched beside you, lowering her voice. "i know you're upset and feeling a little sad, but this isn't how we—"

"I WANNA FEED THE ELEPHANTS!"

leah exhaled. defeat. absolute defeat. where was alessia when you needed her.

after several long minutes, during which she exhausted every tactic she could think of, leah admitted defeat. the zoo trip was officially over.

she scooped up you as you were still sniffling, carrying you back to the car, their day suddenly cut very, very short.

—

by the time they got home, leah was done.

gone was the well-planned day of fun. instead, she settled you down for a quieter evening—movies, a simple dinner because at this point, leah couldn't handle another battle, and eventually, bedtime.

which, of course, was its own challenge. "mama," you called out sleepily after leah had already tucked you in. "can you tell me a story?"

leah sighed but smiled, brushing a few curls from your face. "only if you promise to actually go to sleep after."

you grinned. "okay." it took three stories, two extra sips of water, and leah humming a lullaby she barely knew before you finally, finally fell asleep as leah kissed the top of your head mumbling an 'i love you and mummy loves you' before leaving the room making sure your night light was left on.

reaching the bottom of the stairs, leah feet dragged there way into the living room as she slumped onto the couch, closing her eyes.

and that's exactly where alessia and ella found her when they walked in later that night.

—

"how was your day?" alessia asked, dropping onto the couch beside leah , kicking her feet up. ella plopped down on the other side, looking equally curious.

leah opened one eye. "where do i start?"

ella laughed. "that bad?"

leah pushed a hand through her hair, shaking her head. "she had a meltdown. full-on, world-ending, screaming-at-the-top-of-her-lungs meltdown. in public, at the zoo."

alessia's lips twitched. "oh yeah?"

"yeah," leah deadpanned. "because i wouldn't let her feed the elephant even though technically there was no way you could of anyway"

at that, alessia snorted and ella outright cackled. leah narrowed her eyes at her girlfriend. "you could've warned me."

alessia smirked. "oh, babe. welcome to toddlerhood." she patted leah's knee, grinning. "you've got it all to look forward too, the tantrums in the middle of the supermarket cause you won't let her look at the toy section, the not touching her food even though she's just asked for that exact meal. consider this your pre-warning for the teenage years."

leah groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch. "i am not ready for that."

alessia just laughed, leaning over to press a quick kiss to leah's cheek. "well, you survived today. that's a start."

leah exhaled dramatically. "barely."

ella shook her head, grinning. "i'm just glad i got to witness this moment. leah williamson, fearless leader, defeated by a five-year-old."

leah shot her a look. "you try handling tiny in full meltdown mode, then we'll talk."

alessia grinned. "so... you'll watch her again next time?"

leah groaned, but she was smiling. "yeah, yeah. but next time, you're handling the tantrum."

alessia smirked. "deal." and despite everything, leah had to admit, tantrums and all, she wouldn't trade her little mama and you days for anything.

[dragonsfictavern]

Reminiscent Nightmares

Astarion Ancunin x Durge!Reader

a/n: I am consumed with soft wordless sex. Total physical communication showcasing a couples intimate knowledge of each other. I love I love I love.

summary: After a nightmare of past pains you’ve inflicted, Astarion is right there to comfort you. While you feel as though you can’t talk about it, Astarion will be there for you in other ways until you can. He will always be there for you.

warning: MDNI +18 make outs, groping, soft p in v sex, clitoral stimulation. Nice and simple.

word count: 2K

Your brows furrow, shaking your head, even as you lay in a deep sleep. Squirming around in your bed a whimper escapes you as visions— no memories, whirl through your mind in a torturous loop. Pools of blood come in waves, crashing against the walls and flooding the vision of your dream. Endless faces pass the view of your eye, being presented with them all before they fall off to the side and another takes its place.

Kill after kill you’re reminded of every single one. Your mind not allowing you to forget about a second of the pain you inflicted on others. An unending stream of the damage you caused and the torture you brought upon others. All of it now coming back to you.

By the time you’ve gone through them all, you’re whimpering, tears streaming down your cheeks even though you remain asleep. Just when you think it’s over, when all is done, when you’ll finally be able to gain some release… one more head slowly floats through the river of blood.

The head slowly comes to a stop and the face that greets you is none other than Astarion’s.

You scream and a second later Astarion is shaking you awake. Your eyes shoot open and scatter around as you try and take in your surroundings, your breath is heavy with panic, and you can’t stop squirming as you feel your skin crawl. The idea of Astarion being gone, and worse by your hand, haunts your every waking thought.

When Astarion gently cups your jaw, bringing your gaze to his, you cry out at the sight of him, more tears streaming down your cheek. Astarion shakes his head, quietly shushing you in hopes to calm you down. Your tears seem unable to stop as your eyes move over his every beautiful feature. Your hands reach up, taking his face in your hold. Thumbs rubbing over smooth cheeks. You feel him. He is here. He is unharmed.

Your eyes catch onto your hands and you know that he is safe. He is safe in your embrace. You aren’t like that anymore. You don’t do those things anymore. Neither of you do. Ever since everything ended and you’ve both settled into your new lives in Baldur’s Gate. You would never hurt him, not then nor now. While there were some close calls you have full control. You’re positive.

Nothing will ever harm him. Not you or anyone. You two will spend your days protecting each other from whatever threat may come your way. You’re a team. You continue rotating through those thoughts, filling your mind with them as you inhale and exhale deeply, meeting Astarion’s worried gaze once more. His free arm moves around your waist and he brings you impossibly closer. The feeling of his body against yours furthers your comfort.

With time you eventually calm down, your breath slowing down and the panic dissipating. When fully relaxed against his body, Astarion’s eyes furrow in a silent question. You blink back, not wanting to even think about it right now. Not wanting to think about anything. So you lightly shake your head at him and his features drop just as quickly as his question, understanding you immediately.

Instead he uses his hold in your jaw to gently guide your lips to his, continuing to provide you with closeness and comfort. You inhale sharply through your nose as your lips collide. A small moan escapes you as you lean into his touch, lips simply connecting for a moment. But you both easily fall into a gentle rhythm as your lips caress each other lovingly.

Astarion’s hand slides into your hair and he uses it to pull you in closer, groaning as his mouth devours yours. Both of you quickly become swept up in the easy dance of your mouth’s movements. You whimper, everything Astarion being the only thing you can focus on. The only thing you can think about.

When he slowly brings you back down on the bed, hand on the back of your head for extra cushion, you moan again, flicking your tongue along the seam of his lips. Astarion rolls on top of you, legs cradling your hips as he opens his mouth to you. You both grin as you take turns teasing each other with your tongues. His actions meant to distract and comfort and you weren’t ashamed to say they were working.

Astarion slowly works to undress you both, taking his time, savoring the taste of your tongue on his. Only separating when you have to and then his lips are crashing back down on yours. You moan, softly pulling him down once he’s finished, your body shuddering to feel his cold skin brush along the heat of yours. The contrast sending sparks up your spine.

Your body arches into his as you feel his hand slowly making its way down your form. The sensation of his mouth and hands continuing to drive all worrying thoughts out of your head. Astarion takes his time with you, wanting to feel every groove and curve that makes up your body. His hand slips between you both once he reaches your hips.

A hiss escapes him and you feel his breath ghost across your face. Your brows furrow and you whimper, hips jolting up, knowing his next movements precisely. A moment later you feel the crown of his cock parting your folds. Your eyes snap open only to meet Astarion already looking down at you. A soft expression on his face as he gages your reactions, always making sure you’re ok. You do the same, reaching a hand to touch his cheek. You bring his forehead to rest against yours, taking a moment to connect with him emotionally.

You gasp as he teases the hole of your sex and your heart skips a beat at the slight quirk of his mouth. Which only grows wider once he hears the way your pulse instinctively reacts to him. Your moans rip through the silence as Astarion pushes inside of you with ease. Your eyelids drop as you let out a whine, the feeling of him entering you has your body filling with warmth.

Astarion easily moves straight into a languid pace, his length gliding through your wet heat as he works you open, stuffing you full of him. Your hands slide into his hair, foreheads remaining connected as he thrusts inside you. Both of you maintaining eye contact. The intensity of emotion in his gaze takes your breath away. He wants to be here for you. To look after you. And though you may not be ready to talk, he is right here to comfort you.

Your nose nuzzles against his in a silence appreciation, your chest blooming with even more love and devotion for this man. Astarion grunts, a low rumble in his chest at your sign of affection, before picking up his pace only slightly. You sigh at the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, head falling back slightly as hips roll into yours. Soon your body falls into rhythm with his, pushing back against every pump into your core.

A soft cry leaves you as he hits your G-spot. Arms tightening around him, you’re desperate to feel him close. Astarion’s hands squeeze at your waist while his cock leisurely pumps its way inside you. He nips at your jaw gently, wanting your attention back on him. Your breath stutters as your hips meet once again in a quiet smack. Tilting your head up you meet his gaze and his lips are immediately connecting with yours, causing you to groan.

Heat swirls at the bottom of your belly as you feel your orgasm begin to grow. Your hands softly play with Astarion’s curls as you kiss. Your lips moving in tandem with the steady rhythm of his pulsing length. The feeling sends your heart racing and your skin tingling. An easy passion falls over you both like a thick cloud, blocking away the rest of the world and all that remains of you and Astarion.

You whimper against his lips, mind growing hazy as you’re lulled by his soft lips and the occasional nip of his fangs. Your nerves are on fire, your entire body prickling over as you savor each time he fills you. With the building pressure within you, you know you’re getting closer and closer to your climax. Astarion groans, feeling the way your muscles tense underneath him, feeling how your body radiates heat those moves through him and drives him with a need he’s only ever truly felt with you.

His hands caress your thighs, soothing out the slight twitching occurring as you find yourself just on the edge. Then a hand is moving to the apex of your thighs, his diligent fingers quickly finding your clit. Your jaw drops slightly and he uses this to his advantage, tongue slipping into your mouth to brush along yours. Your body jolts into his touch and you melt against the slow circles applied to your bundle of nerves.

It only takes a few more soothing strokes before your walls are fluttering around his cock and you’re falling off the edge, your release coating his cock. You moan loudly and Astarion swallows it all down, mouth latching down on your tongue and sucking lightly. Your body shudders in response, making the slight shaking of your body all the more worse as your orgasm moves through you in gripping shockwaves.

You clench down on Astarion, not even aware of your actions as your release consumes you. Astarion grunts, his stomach clenching and with a few stuttering thrusts, he sinks down inside you before spilling himself. Your eyes roll back into your head and you gently grind against him, milking him for every last drop.

Both of you rock into each other slowly, helping each other ride out your highs. Your kisses grow lazy, mouths smacking together, unable to stay away for longer than a few moments. Your eyes flutter as you desperately try and stay awake. Astarion watches you, his own eyes half-lidded, a storm of powerful emotions brewing in the depths of his red gaze. Yet you don’t back away from it, instead lulled into its embrace.

Astarion rolls you both onto your sides once you’ve both calmed down. He keeps you connected as he draws you tight against his chest. You breathe deeply, your body relaxed, contentment now coursing through you as you lay in Astarion’s arms. Both of you protected. Both of you safe. You slowly begin to fall asleep, grateful for your love and the way he flawlessly has come to understand you.

A moment later you feel a hand rest on the back of your head and your body jolts a bit, the touch waking you up more. Astarion shushes you gently, leaning in to press calming kisses across your brow. You hum and snuggle back in closer to him, accepting every kind of comfort he’s been giving you since your dream rousted you two up. It was only when he started to kiss your forehead did you realize you still remain partially tense. But with his lips on your skin your body completely melts into his and you fall into a dreamless sleep without issue.

Astarion stays by your side, not wanting to get up or move away from you. Watching over you as you rest and hoping the night passes by without anything else waking you. He knows you will talk to him once the morning comes. Share your concerns and let him be there for you in that way as well. He will always be there for you so long as you wish him and doesn’t mind having to prove so. Looking down at you and thinking this all through, he can’t help but lean in and nuzzle into your hair. He closes his eyes, for even if he won’t really sleep, he’ll bask in the act if it means lying with you.

[leahswife]

where do we stand

summary: you're tired of aitana's mixed signals and someone on the spanish team loves to get you all flustered. aitana is definitely not jealous.

spoiler alert: that someone is none other than jenni hermoso.

a/n: more like fulfilling two fantasies in one

prequel, part one, part two, part three

this national break had come in handy for you and lucy. england was set to play a few matches in spain, so you were able to sneak in a break between trainings to go see your club teammates and you managed to check in the same hotel as them for the time being. 

you were both getting antsy as the game was approaching its end and spain was in the lead by one goal. 

when the referee blows the final whistle, you exhale in relief and lucy stands up, cheering, quickly pulling you up to celebrate with her. 

it takes some time for the stadium to start clearing up, with both teams doing their laps around the pitch to thank the fans, but once it was empty enough you and lucy walked down to the field to congratulate your teammates.

you ran up to ona, the girl grabbing your waist so she could lift you up and down with excitement, "ayyy oni!!" you laughed at being manhandled, when you noticed aitana.

her smile was radiant as she was cheering with salma and mariona. you didn't know if you should approach her or not, your situation a bit complicated as of now. explaining it was no easy task either. 

you were shy around everyone when you first transferred to barça, although over time they managed to crack your walls and gain your trust. especially aitana, the girl getting closer and closer to you each day. you eventually became best friends, until one night aitana drunkenly confesses she wants to kiss you. so then, your friendship changes into a… situationship? the next day you talk about it, aitana doesn't know what she wants but doesn't want to lose you either. you go back to normal as if nothing happened. but something does happen. during movie night at mapi and ingrid's for team bonding, you and aitana are in the corner of the couch whispering to each other, in the dark, when the catalan tentatively kisses the corner of your mouth. when you drop her off at home later that same night, you kiss her. she brings you inside, which turns one kiss into multiple. what could be defined as innocent kisses in each other's houses eventually become not so innocent make out sessions behind closed closet doors at training. but you're not dating. aitana whispers into your secret kisses that she can't date, she doesn't have time, she needs to focus. so you wait, and wait, and wait. until she's pulling away again and national break comes and she barely messages you, apart from the friendly "good luck" message.

so now here you were, in close distance to her again. you were friends, right? so friends congratulate friends. that's what she wants, so that's what you'll give her.

you turn your attention back to ona and squeeze her shoulders, "best defender in the making! just you wait until you have to face our lessi russo." you tease her by patting her cheek. ona rolls her eyes with a smile, "voy a estar preparada, tonta. what did you think of the game?" she now asks both you and lucy, as the latter approached, having been talking to alexia. "ehh, más o menos." lucy answers, banter present in her voice. ona mocks her and you chuckle, leaving them to it as you walk over to aitana.

"nice goal, bonmatí." you lightly kicked her butt with your foot to get her attention. she turns to you and immediately launches herself into your arms with an infectious smile. it must have been the adrenaline of the win, you think, a bit surprised. nonetheless, you hold her in your arms. "i saw you in the stands." she affirms once she let go of the hug to look at you tenderly. "hm, i might have been your lucky charm then." you shrugged nonchalantly and whipped your hair over your shoulder. "sí, obvio." aitana went along with your joke, nodding with a fake serious expression. 

suddenly a body slammed into you both, one tattooed arm being wrapped around your shoulder and the other around aitana's. "entonces, chicas, vamos a celebrar la noche entera?" you look up to see jenni hermoso flashing you a dazzling grin.

you had met jenni a few times before, with her visiting alexia every now and then, but you were never brave enough to start a conversation with the tall woman. truth was, she was extremely intimidating to you, probably because she was also extremely hot. however, you had to admit that, as an opponent, she was in addition, extremely annoying. you'd had some interactions in the field whenever england had to play against spain and jenni knew exactly how you worked. it's like she would previously study your every move so she knew how to push your buttons. if you were trying to get the ball, she wouldn't leave your side, if you were getting ready to receive a corner kick with your teammates, she would stand behind you and place her hands on your waist, if she tackled you she would offer her hand with a smug smirk.

you were terrifically infuriated with how easily she could mess with your head on the field and outside the field after a game, often leaving a dm on your instagram saying she couldn't wait to play with you again, followed by a winky face emoji.

right now, her strong arm around you and the way she was grinning at you only managed to redden your cheeks as aitana took the lead in answering her question with a laugh, "pues claro!" jenni ruffled her hair in approval and turned to you, "can i count with you as well?" she asked with challenge in her eyes. "aren't you a bit old to be partying all night?" you challenged back, forcing yourself to keep a straight face and not smile with amusement. that only prompted her grin to grow even wider and her hand to relocate from your shoulder to the side of your neck, playing with your hair. your breath hitched and suddenly you weren't playful anymore, far too aware of jenni's touch and her gaze. "so you do have a mouth." jenni remarked, the stupid smirk never leaving her face. 

aitana caught notice of this flirty interaction between you two and felt something boil in her chest, an ugly feeling she couldn't quite tell what it was but didn't like at all.

–

the club was already full when you got in with lucy and ona later that night, music blaring and people filling the dance floor. you noticed aitana dancing with some of the girls, a little too close for your liking. but she didn't want you like you wanted her, that's what you needed to remind yourself of. therefore, you might as well find a way to have fun tonight without her. you three reached the tables where most of the girls were gathered to greet everyone. 

you swiftly made your way to the bar, ready to start your fun. you were waiting for the bartender when you felt a breath on your ear, "you know, standing behind you outside of a football field can be even more exhilarating than i thought." you recognized jenni's voice right away and a smile slowly formed on your face. this, whatever it was, could be part of your fun, right?

you turned around and ignored your instinct to take a step back out of surprise, given how close jenni was to you. your eyes naturally scanned her body before your brain could even scold you for it and force you to put on a nonchalant mask. they finally looked up at her face, blush already visible on yours. the always present and annoying smirk she had on when talking to you turned to the bartender to order you two a drink.

"you know, i always wondered when you were going to finally talk to me, princesa."

"why would it matter to you?"

she cocked her head to the side, eyeing you curiously.

"i like corrupting pretty innocent girls who look like they could rip my head off in the field but then avoid me like the plague." she bit her lip, trying to hold off an amused smile when you roll your eyes.

"why have you never done so before, then?"

"alexia doesn't let me get too close to her players – and it seems she's not the only one." she points her head towards aitana, who's been watching you two interact from the dance floor with a frown on her face. 

you turn back to the bar to grab your drink and begin gulping it down, trying to keep your mind off of the catalan that up to that point had you wrapped around her little finger. "maybe you just have a bad reputation." you bite on the piece of lemon it was given to you and lick the bitter taste off of your lips. you noticed that had caught jenni's attention and asked, now with a small smirk, "should i be wary of that?"

her eyes never left your face as her strong hand carefully moved up your neck to your jaw, pulling you closer. you could feel her breath on your lips when she goes "i want to do bad things to you but i think it's something you should test yourself." 

your heart starts beating faster, blood rushing to your cheeks and your thighs pressing together involuntarily. just one move and your lips would be touching hers.

all of a sudden, your body is jerked away abruptly from the bar and jenni by a hand grabbing your arm and leading you in the direction of the club's exit. you look up to see aitana and let yourself be dragged outside where you pull back your arm, making her face you. "what exactly do you think you're doing, aitana?!" the rush and amount of emotions you had felt in the span of a minute made you question her with annoyance in your voice.

"that's what i should ask you. que haces con jenni?" aitana looked at you incredulously, an angry scowl visible on her face. you had only seen her angry on the pitch, and even then those moments were rare. but now she was pissed at you? for what? that only aggravated you further.

"what do you mean 'what am i doing with jenni'? you and i are nothing. you made it clear yourself multiple times. you can't have me whenever you want me and expect me to wait when you don't feel like it anymore. so do not tell me who i should or should not hang out with."

"but it's not just hanging out, is it?" she puffs air out of her nose, the frown never leaving her face.

"do you actually care or are you just jealous someone other than you is getting my attention?" you bite back.

"i'm not jealous. i'm just curious." she mumbled, crossing her arms and looking away, doing everything now to avoid your furious gaze.

"oh, so you're just curious. that's why you dragged me away from her like that." you say, sarcasm on the tip of your tongue.

she finally looks at you with an exasperated sigh, "and i'm worried. of course i care about you! and i know jenni isn't looking for anything other than–" she cuts herself off for a moment, knowing what she would say next would make her sound like a hypocrite.

"well, then that makes two of you, doesn't it?" the anger in your voice subsides but your tone is still bitter. aitana furrows her eyebrows together, a sad frown taking shape in her face at your words.

"the difference, aitana, is that if you tell me, right here, right now, that you want something with me, that you're not going to rush into my arms one minute and act like nothing happened the next, i'll stay. i won't go back in there to jenni or anyone."

"i–" aitana stutters, you can see her eyes begging you not to go back but her voice can't say the same. "i--i'm sorry. tú sabes que no puedo hacerlo." she whispers, almost as if she's ashamed to say it. 

you nod, fighting back your tears. silence looms between you both before you finally answer back, "that settles it then." you clear your throat before your voice can betray you any further for showing so much vulnerability in that moment. you turn around and start walking away, picking up your phone to call an uber when you see a message.

"28A 3rd floor. i expect to see you there ;) - jenni"

you seriously couldn't understand how this woman was capable of exuding cockiness even through text.

–

you managed to stay in your hotel room for about 30 minutes before temptation and frustration got a hold of you and you marched your way to jenni's.

you take a deep breath and knock on the door.

immediately you can't resist the urge to roll your eyes when jenni opens the door with a smug smirk on her face, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

"took you long enough."

"shut up." you pushed at her chest and made your way inside.

[nazrigar]

The Main Human Cast of my Transformers: All-Sparks AU

Shifting from the Cybertronian perspective of things, humans are also a vital part of my All-Sparks setting, especially once the conflict reaches Earth.

The AU takes place mostly in Jasper, Nevada. It's a little bigger than in TFP canon, but still tight knit. The story centers around two families, the O'Haras and the Darbys, all the while being observed by some friendly local secret agents supervised by the literal most powerful man on planet Earth.

The O'Haras

Shana, AKA Scarlett. The legendary former G.I.Joe herself, is a single mother doing her best to raise her only daughter, Sierra. She's powering through her own personal demons and working as a baseball coach in Memorial High School. For all her emotional baggage, she is still a formidable athlete and fighter. Haunted by nightmares of a "Silver Demon".

Sierra meanwhile, is an upbeat and assertive young woman who's the captain of her local cheer team. She has a strong interest in chemistry and engineering, and a enormous love of cars, especially how they tick. She does her best to be as supportive of her mom just as she is for her.

The Darbys

Jack Darby is a mostly directionless young man who works in KO Burger, and had his soul thoroughly sucked out of him via the horrors of the fast food history. It does mean whatever insults are thrown at him, he just doesn't care and shrugs. Sierra's boyfriend, and suprisingly affectionate when he can be. When push comes to shove, he is perceptive and resourceful.

June Darby is a doctor, and might just be a bit overworked but so long as she can help save lives and provide for her son and herself, it's all worth it. She is kind, patient but also firm and outspoken. She's a woman that's seen a lot in an emergency room, and has a resolve stronger than steel.

The Local Federal Agents

Agent William Fowler is a heavy set man with a strong sense of professionalism, but if he finds something off or a plan is stupid or dangerous, he'll cut to the chase and call it outright. His job is that as an inter-department liaison for multiple agencies and sections of government. A former Army Ranger with an additional skill in manned flight, in another life he would've been prime G.I. Joe material, but ultimately didn't make the cut.

Agent Seymour Simmons, representing that most secretive of departments, Sector 7, and a man with some very "interesting" ideas on the potential troubles man will be facing off in the future. After all, the long-deceased Cobra Commander was himself part snake-person. Anything can happen at this point, and Sector 7's is always on the case! One man, not-yet betrayed by the country he loves, but WILL step up as its last hope in its hour of need… eventually.

Joseph B. Colton, the Most Powerful Man on the Planet

The Legend. The First G.I. Joe. The Unbreakable Joe Colton, valor and courage incarnate. The man that crushed Cobra once and for all… and the real power within the United States government and the mastermind of security measures around the world. No administration was able to muscle him out of power, too beloved by the people, and just too damned good at his job. He commands the loyalty of servicemen active and retired, to the point many are loyal not to the President or Constitution, but to him. Joe Colton is a man that puts service, sacrifice and doing what must be done for the good of all above all else, having sacrificed so much for the good of his nation and the world… and has been witness to seeing his veterans, even former G.I.Joes, be "welcomed" to a nation that either doesn't care about them or offered mealy mouthed "thanks" for their service.

Years of administrating the U.S. government has made him a jaded man, and he has come to increasingly view civilians as greedy, ungrateful and never satisfied, voting against their best interests while always demanding more from him and his servicemen, without ever knowing what they actually want. Sometimes he wonders maybe… JUST maybe… this country, no, the world needs a massive overhaul… but hopefully it doesn't come to that…

When the Autobots eventually awaken on Earth, it is Joe Colton they'll have to work with... a heavy dose of caution.

[octopiys]

Some incorrect quotes and scenes for the pies

Roach: *Screams*

Ghost: *Screams louder to establish dominance*

Capt. MacTavish: Should we do something?

Capt. Price: No, I want to see who wins.

-

Alejandro: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Valeria: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Alejandro: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING RODOLFO WITH ME

Rodolfo, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

Price: You know, not every problem can be solved with a knife.

Ghost: That's why I carry two knives.

-

Soap: I made tea.

Ghost: I don’t want tea.

Soap: ....I did not make tea for you. This is my tea.

Ghost: Then why are you telling me?

Soap: It is a conversation starter.

Ghost: That’s a lousy conversation starter.

Soap: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

-

Gaz: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming

Price, putting his head in his hands: Does anyone in this goddamn team ever think before they speak-

-

Graves: Must be hard not being able to laugh

Alejandro: I do have a sense of humor you know

Graves: I’ve never heard you laugh before

Alejandro: I’ve never heard you say anything funny

Graves:

Graves: fuck you

Alejandro: fuck you

-

Soap, motioning to a Halloween display: All these ghosts! All these ghosts! I still can’t find a boo.

Ghost:

Ghost: is it because I said I didn't want your tea-

Soap: YES ITS BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT MY TEA

-

Ghost: Schrödinger’s cat is overrated. If you wanna see something that’s both dead and alive you can talk to me any time of the day.

Gaz, just finding out that Ghost is legally dead:

-

Gaz: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me?

Price: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it.

Soap: Three of us saw it, Cap. How do you explain that?

Price: *points at Soap* Sleep deprivation. *points at König* Paranoia. *points at Ghost* Delusional personality disorder.

Gaz:

Gaz: damn.

-

Roze: What’s something you guys are better than Horangi at?

Hutch: Mario Kart.

O'Conor: Yeah, video games.

König: Emotional vulnerability

-

Graves: *Gets down on one knee*

Alejandro: Oh my god, it’s finally happening.

Graves: *Falls over*

Alejandro: The poison is kicking in.

-

Gaz, after falling out of a heli for the third time: Do you take constructive criticism?

Nikolai: I only take cash or credit.

-

Soap: Can you keep a secret?

Ghost: Do you know anything about my life?

Soap: No I do not. Good point.

-

Gaz: Hey heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this haha-

Roach: What did you-?

Gaz: A MISTAKE WAS MADE

-

-

I just wanna say thank you all sm for 300 followers! You all r loved and I'm not good with responses but I appreciate them all so muck, thank u again :DDDDD

[crispy-art-on-fire]

YOU KNOW I HAVE THE BRAINROT WHEN I AM BRINGING MULTIPLE AUS TO LIFE- ANYWAY PYGMALION AND GALATEA AU. Blitzwing sculpts his ideal man and falls in love with the statue and Optimus comes to life with an allspark fragment as his heart.

Detailed rambling under cut.

So basically to cope with the boredom and chaos of Megatron being dead and Lugnut being a pain Blitzwing decides to indulge in making a statue, his masterpiece. Working on it instead of blowing a fuse and trying to kill Lugnut. Eventually he begins to talk to it, complaining about his day and arguing with himself. They know it's purely just sounding their ideas out and an outlet for the things they cannot say to anyone else.

But then it stops being just that and Blitzwing begins to seeing Optimus as a person, someone listening to him. He anthropomorphizes Optimus and begins to seek comfort from him, he falls in love with something that cannot love him back. Beginning to fantasize about what if Optimus was real.

Then plot happens and the allspark is fractured. One of the shards burrowing deep into Optimus and so bringing life to him. Optimus remembers everything Blitzwing told him and so decides to try to help him: To attack the Autobots.

(In this au the leader of the repair team is Sentinel Prime after he got demoted for breaking the rules and causing Elita-1 to be lost.)

This misadventure ends pretty well after they get over the scare of being attacked by an Optimus who doesn't know how to emote and basically has to consciously remember "oh I can talk now." In that Optimus also doesn't really have any ideas of his own and can be easily convinced to not fight them once given 1 reason not to. The deepest core of his being is that he wants to do good in its purest form.

So meanwhile Optimus is off learning that being alive is beautiful and fun Blitzwing is freaking out. Their coping statue is gone and while they first suspect Lugnut of finally destroying it the idea of Optimus having walked off himself pops into their mind and oh they simply must investigate. Turns out yes! Their imaginary boyfriend is alive now and that might be the most exciting scariest thing ever.

Blitzwing brings Optimus back to the Decepticon base and he is officially on the team but not really. This is where the two actually get to know each other because Blitzwing knows nothing about Optimus except that they love him more than anything and Optimus knows everything about Blitzwing but doesn't know his own feelings. It's awkward, it's cute, Blitzwing is the most overprotective guy ever which might be the only reason why it takes so long for the Decepticons to realize that Optimus is very bad at being bad.

The breaking point being Optimus not being able to handle it anymore tries to break Professor Sumdac out and getting caught. Blitzwing as his creator gets the responsibility to execute him but once bringing Optimus to an isolated area cannot bring himself to do it. Faking taking the shot and telling Optimus to leave and never come back. Optimus does, thanking Blitzwing before he goes.

Optimus officially joins the Autobots. And he might trying to do right but having been around only Decepticons for most his existence makes it so easy to do things that make everyone look at him like he's a monster. It takes a while for either to get used to each other.

Blitzwing is doing Great he is doing So Fine in that he doesn't have a breakdown immediately. He created something to pour his feelings into and then it came alive and rejected him. Issues! But they still love Optimus and it feels like a curse they way they need to know him and what has become of him.

In moments of weakness they meet, for Optimus to talk and Blitzwing to listen. With no one else to rely on or share his newfound thoughts Optimus shares it with Blitzwing knowing that they want all of him and he cannot want them back.

ITS ABOUT THE YEARNING. THEY NEED TO SUFFER.

[unhingedpolycule]

Haiii ! Love what you do and had two questions :

Do you think any of them would cry at the others burial (if they even want that ? Cremation ?)

And do you think one of them would wear glasses once they age a bit more ?

Thank you 🩵

Haiiiii! First of all, thank you for your ask! It made me think and it was a really cool concept to work with! You can find the (long) answer under the cut!

If the body is recovered from the warzone where they died, they would have a small service I think. Not because the other would particularly want or need it, but because the team would more or less insist and it is simply the social convention. It doesn’t really bother them either. That being said… they would not cry. Nikto would probably get pretty gruff, outwardly pretending that their relationship was not as deep as it actually was, so he isn’t too sad. Mostly because people keep giving him condolences. He does not like it, handling Sebastian‘s death is hard enough on its own. Krueger would just get… like very silent in my mind. Not directly pretending that it doesn’t bother him, but he would let his mask slip a bit. Instead of being detached on purpose, he just sits and reminiscence about Nikto and what he is missing right now. His voice, having someone to concentrate on and to care for as to make his life less eventless. He was Nikto’s caretaker and partner for years and he was used to being joint at the hip, always having an interesting and stimulating person around.

Both feel the urge to be alone. Krueger would go missing soon after, probably searching out Blaustein without telling him what is going on. Of course, Blaustein understands that something bad must have happened and he is smart enough to count two and two together. Krueger would find a new PMC, maybe he would even stay with Coalition (Blaustein’s faction) for a bit. But he is a wanderer at heart, so it wouldnt last longer than a year. Nikto was the only thing tying him to a specific faction, so he starts moving again, with regular visits to Hans though. As for Nikto… he would be pursued by Nikodim, who thinks that he is helping. Their relationship might very well break under that pressure, leaving Nikto much worse off, just because his stability and his support system is gone. He eventually rebuilds routine on his own, but before that, he would probably burn himself out in an attempt not to grief too much.

To make it short: Krueger would let himself feel what he feels, accepting it for what it is and seek the support that he might need. Nikto would very much do the opposite and repress in order to continue being functional, even if this ruins a lot of things for him. Both would be incredibly affected. I don’t know if they would actually cry. If they do, it comes over them in the middle of the night without any warning. They want to turn around to hug the other and they find themselves alone. For Krueger, it’s a few tears. Nikto is angry ugly crying, clutching the pillow and staring at nothing.

Krueger keeps Nikto’s last pill bottle in his pack, using it for his own drugs. Nikto keeps Krueger’s net on his bedpost. Both store the other’s gear. Nikto in his room, Krueger with Blaustein, since Hans has a more steady lifestyle.

BUUUUUUUT since Krueger is an unkillable cockroach (derogatory) and Nikto is very capable and has a second pair of eyes attached to a man which would go to length to safe him… they are fine. Very fine. VERY FINE AND HAPPY. (I can’t do mcd unless it’s a “growing old” setting. I am weak.)

As for the glasses: very easy. Nikto is used to taking medication and having to subsidise for things his body is not able to do anymore (mostly because of his mental illness, but I also imagine him to have issues with mild erectile dysfunction/maintaining an erection if he is not actively having sex right in that moment.) so he would wear some cheap old man glasses. He has like three pairs, all various stages of scratched/disrepair.

Krueger on the other hand would not like it. At all. He has lived his life being able to do everything without aid, running into an active warzone without proper protection and coming out mostly unscathed. It would take some time until he could accept glasses properly. Not because of pride or of others seeing him like this, but because he has to admit that he is no longer fully “self-sufficient”. Especially because he has above average eyesight! Nikto would tease him a bit until he notices that Sebastian does not wear his glasses. They might have a gruff, short talk about it after Nikto sees Krueger holding his phone very far away from himself, squinting in annoyance while trying to read his messages. Krueger wears the damn thing after that. At home. Sometimes.

[raginghomosexual4ever]

MARAUDERS FANFICS

⚠️None of these are mine, credits to the owners⚠️

*All fanfics are completed except Black Coffee*

1. Maple syrup (Remus Lupin x reader) —— Claudia Maple's entire existence was a mistake. With a dead mum, a father who hated her, a stepmother who wanted her dead, and two evil stepbrothers who followed her wherever she went her life was not easy. It was a burden, so she decided to live it in peace as much as she could, with books and golden syrup. The peace was however destroyed when a certain marauder wanted to know her deal, which led to four boys engaging themselves a little too much in her life. During all of this, Remus Lupin eventually discovers something deeper about the girl - through some stolen books. This 'something' ended up shifting his intentions from wanting to understand why she stole books - to wanting to save her life.

2. Black coffee ( Remus Lupin x reader) (sequel to maple syrup) —— in which two cups of black coffee bring claudia and remus together again.

3. Forever is real ( Sirius black x reader) —— The love story of Y/n Evans and Sirius Black. What started off as a teenage romance leads to a life full of love and laughter. It's two unstoppable forces fighting against anything life throws at them.

4. Losing game (James potter x reader) —— (the summary is entirely too long but here is a shortened version of it) Elsie Figg is in love with James Potter, but he will only ever have eyes for lily evans.

5. Mine (regulus black x reader) —— Y/n Potter and Regulus Black hate each other. It's a known fact of all of Hogwarts; one no-one bothers to question, not even the two enemies themselves. So what happens when after being forced to spend time together, Y/n realises Regulus Black isn't as bad as she once thought?

6. Time stellar ( Sirius black x reader) —— Alasia Victoria Serpens was born in the fifties, a pureblood Sacred Twenty Eight proud witch. Serpens like the northern celestial constellation, Serpentis. Alasia like one of its stars. Greek mythology wise, Serpens constellation represents a giant snake held by the healer Asclepius. Asclepius was the son of the god Apollo who was said to be able to bring people back to life with his healing powers.Unlike and Like , it all connected to Flames and a Phoenix. The moment she had stepped feet into the castle of Hogwarts, students feared her position. So what would happen if one day, the girl who had fought tooth and nail to become the Head Girl, an ice cold Slytherin, would be tricked and sent ten years in the future? Much to her dislike and much to a group of four's amusement, right in the middle of Marauders' seventh year.

7. Pretty boy (wolfstar) (Ao3) by reggiesstar —— In which James is on the ice hockey team and Regulus is a figure skater and they do not seem to get along. which Sirius is on the ice hockey team and Remus is on the basketball team and they do like each other rather quickly.

8. The fifth marauder (Sirius black x reader) —— Sirius Black only thought of two things during his 12 years in Azkaban: his innocence, and his wife. Remus Lupin only had the company of one woman after the First Wizarding War, his best friend. The fifth marauder, the twin sister to their best friend, James Potter. But who is she? And why is she so important to Sirius and Remus? This is her story.The story of the fifth marauder and how she changed their lives.

9. My breath (Sirius black x Oc) —— When Junia Crawford heard about the arrangements her parents had made with the Blacks, she was anything but pleased. And so was the oldest brother of the Black family, Sirius Black. With the war coming up, the pureblood families are more than certain to secure their bloodline. What will happen if a silent rebel meets a loud one? There is only one way to find out.

10. Star crossed in green and gold (James potter’s sister x Sirius black) —— James Potter's sister and her best friend, Alexandra Black, are very well known, popular Beaux batons students, until their fourth year, when both of them join their brothers at Hogwarts: School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Get ready for a series of emotions, love, and so much more.

11. Poisoned youth (James potter x Oc ) —— Cherry Emmeline Parkinson was never meant to last. A hufflepuff in a family that only values ambition and cruelty, a girl playing both sides of a war that will never leave room for mercy. she tells herself she knows the game, that she can lie and spy and slip between the cracks unnoticed - she's a hufflepuff, they always do, but the closer she gets to the fire, the harder it is to remember which side she's supposed to burn for, why she has to burn at all. She was sent to break hearts, but somewhere along the way, she lost her own. She was supposed to be the villain, but now she doesn't know if she has it in her - what is she hurting for? the war is closing in, her secrets are unraveling, and little cherry is running out of time. Because some people don't get happy endings.

12. All the young dudes —— LONG fic charting the marauders' time at Hogwarts (and beyond) from Remus' PoV - diversion from canon in that Remus's father died and he was raised in a children's home, and is a bit rough around the edges. Otherwise canon-compliant.
1971 - 1995. This IS a wolfstar fic, but incredibly slow burn. Literally years. Long build up but worth it I promise!

[putellasawfc]

Hey, loved your latest fic! Don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you are could you do one with Lucy Bronze where you play together at England and have been dating for years? Maybe you used to play overseas (at Barca maybe?) and now you’ve moved back to the uk to play for Chelsea. Reader has fight with Katie McCabe in a Chelsea V Arsenal game and people online start shipping them and saying they’ve got sexual tension on the pitch and Lucy gets jealous/possessive. Obvs only if you wanna write it. Love your writing! <3

twitter fingers !

lucy bronze x chelsea!reader

-

as you stood on the pitch with the rest of the chelsea girls, awaiting the whistle that would commence the game, your eyes wandered to the sea of colours in the crowd, seeking the presence of one person specifically. it was a rare occurrence that your girlfriend managed to attend one of your games in person, but with an england game three days away, lucy had flown in the previous day, thus meaning she was able to be here today. which you were over the moon about. you always argued that you managed to play better when you could hear her cheering for you in the crowd.

it didn’t take long for you to find her, with her hair in its usual bun and a dark blue chelsea shirt on her shoulders, you grinned at the vision, feeling a little giddy when you remembered that she currently had your last name sprawled along her back. the woman in question eventually looked up from her drink and quickly set her sights on you, a matching smile adorning her bare features. she raised her hand, two of her fingers interlocked, letting you know she had her fingers crossed for you to win, and successfully earn an extra three points that you needed. you quickly blew her a kiss in response, and just in time as the whistle sounded not even a second later and the ninety minutes began.

-

the first forty five minutes went by pretty quickly, both teams had equal opportunities to score a goal but none yet had been made which was both a relief and frustrating (especially when you watched lauren james’ shot bounce off the crossbar, just an inch away from flying into the back of the net), but you still had four minutes of extra time to get a goal before you went in for halftime. something you were determined to achieve, wanting to give your team something to boost their confidence before you all came back out again. so when the ball fell at your feet after being passed to you by jessie, you ran forward with it towards the arsenal goal with determination.

infuriatingly, just as you had gotten yourself in the perfect position to shoot for the goal, a foot slid beneath your feet causing you to stumble in your spot and fall on your side with a groan. the ball flew forward off to the sidelines and you watched it go with furrowed brows, returning your gaze to the culprit who had tackled you to the ground, in your opinion, unfairly. when your eyes landed on the irish brunette, you weren’t surprised that it was katie mccabe of all people who had sent you flying to the ground, she did have a reputation for being an aggressive player after all. she didn’t even bother to check if you were okay, which didn’t shock you really but you couldn’t stop yourself from scoffing in disbelief.

instead, it was mia who lent you a hand, one which you gratefully took as you forced yourself to your feet.

“you good?” she questioned, her spare hand clamping down on your shoulder.

you nodded, “yeah, thank you.”

she smiled, patting you on the shoulder twice more before jogging away, both of you getting back into position as you waited for the ball to be thrown in so the game could continue.

-

halftime came with no goal from either side, after your close call at shooting for the net, mccabe had been breathing down you neck and it was beginning to bug you. yes, you understood that it was literally her job to watch her opponents and make sure they don’t score any goals, but christ she was practically standing on your feet at this point, you barely got a breather. you were half tempted to push her to the floor and take the yellow card if it meant she’d get the message and leave you be. something you had expressed to your squad at halftime.

“don’t let her get to you like that, that’s what she wants.” millie had gently nudged her shoulder against yours as you drank from your bottle.

“wouldn’t surprise me.” sam piped up. “think you scared her when you almost scored, she’ll be doing it on purpose to antagonise you so you eventually retaliate and get sent off.”

you took their words into consideration, knowing they were most likely correct. “i know, i know. it’s just really pissing me off, she’s like my shadow! always in the corner of my eye like we’ve been handcuffed together or something.”

they laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but smile too at your own exaggerations.

“maybe if you pay her no attention she’ll get bored and move onto someone else.” ashley suggested, leaning against the wall opposite the one you were leaning on.

you sighed and nodded, placing your bottle back down with the rest. “yeah that sounds like the best idea. either that or i kick the ball straight in her stupid face and knock her out cold … can’t follow me around then.”

“oi! none of that now.” emma called out and you winced at being caught by your manager, turning around in your spot to glance at the blonde woman who was staring you down like a parent would a naughty child.

“i was only joking.” you muttered sheepishly, “promise.”

“yeah, you better be joking. can’t have any of you getting any red cards now.” she told you, ruffling your hair to show she wasn’t mad, but she was being serious. “ashley’s right, just ignore her. she doesn’t need to know she’s upsetting you or else she’ll thrive off it.” she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “now come on it’s time to get back out there.”

-

ten minutes into the second half and your patience was running out, fast. it was as if katie’s mission for the match was to get to you, and you were beginning to think that her manager may have actually assigned her to piss you off until you exploded.

every step you made she was either behind or in front of you, everywhere you looked you saw a flash of red and the number 15 in your line of sight, everytime you miraculously managed to gain possession of the ball, her foot was sliding between yours and kicking it away either off pitch or to one of her own teammates and you had about enough at this point. she was making you feel like a useless player, like there was no point having you on the pitch anymore. you couldn’t move anywhere, and everytime the ball entered your personal space, you acquired it for about ten seconds before it was gone again.

you received many sympathetic looks from a few of the chelsea girls the longer it went on, they had heard you ranting and raving at halftime so they knew you were beyond fed up at this point. you had even gotten a pitiful look from alessia russo, one of the arsenal girls and your fellow lioness. even she could sense your forever growing agitation at the situation.

fifty seven minutes in and you were spared a couple of seconds to catch your breath, the ball had been kicked out of play and caitlin foord was waiting for it on the sideline so she could throw it in as it was an arsenal ball. waiting patiently, you couldn’t help but spare a quick glance to the crowd watching, where you knew lucy was sat. your eyes met instantly as the barcelona player was already eyeing you up with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and her elbows resting on her knees. not being stood too far away from where she was seated, you were able to see the wink she sent you when she realised you were now looking back at her, one which made you grin as the stressful match you were partaking in flew to the back of your mind for a split second.

you knew that even when she wasn’t present at any of your matches that she was backing you all the way. if she wasn’t busy with her own club, she’d call you, or facetime you before any games you had and give you a pep talk. telling you how amazing of a player you are, how proud she was of you and how she knew you were gonna be great. and even if she was busy, you could guarantee a quick message at some point. whether it was before a match or during halftime, or even a message after from her talking about how good you were on the pitch (if you were benched for any reason she’d tell you she couldn’t wait to see you back on for the next game), but to have her here in person, real flesh and blood, was one of the best feelings.

it relaxed you in a sense, knowing that no matter how the game went, good or bad, that you’d have her there to praise you or comfort you with not only her words but also her touch. she’d shower you in hugs and kisses, give you a massage if needed, and spoil you rotten whether that be with affection or a cute little night in that she’d set up. it was something you’d always look forward to when your plans aligned and you’d end up in the same country, which unfortunately didn’t happen as often as it used to when you were signed at barcelona yourself.

a whizz of blue flying past you in your peripheral vision pulled you from your lovey dovey thoughts, and you realised that ball had been thrown back into play. getting back into the right mindset, you chased after the ball which was currently at the feet of steph catley, as she looked for someone to pass it to. wanting to get into a position where you might be able to intercept the ball and gain possession, you were quick to move, running a meter infront of the arsenal player. but just as you predicted, as soon as you were about to jump forward and reach your foot out for the ball that was currently rolling at some speed towards another arsenal player, a player you had become very familiar with this game pounced.

her body barged into yours with force, the velocity sending you falling backwards with a thud that shot pain spiralling down your spine as you coughed at the sudden collision with the ground. the whistle blew and you rolled onto your side to relieve some of the discomfort you were feeling, just grateful it had been your back that had taken the brunt of the fall and not the back of your head. players approached you to ensure you were okay, as well as the ref who stood at a short distance watching you carefully. you were pulled to sit up by sam, who kneeled down on the grass beside you.

“you okay? do you need medics?” she asked, her eyes swimming with concern.

you shook your head, stretching your back with a small groan. “no, just gonna hurt like a bitch later i think.”

she nodded at that, glad to see you weren’t suffering too bad. but both of your attentions turned to the commotion that began to take place to the side, a pissed off looking katie glared at the ref who now held up a yellow card in her hand. finally.

“are ya fuckin’ havin’ a laugh? there’s nothing wrong wit’ her! look!” she shouted, her irish accent thick as she pointed towards you sat on the ground.

you frowned at that, pushing yourself up with a little help from sam before you moved to stand infront of katie, “you could’ve given me a concussion! you can’t just barge into people because you feel threatened by them.” you spat.

katie, clearly not liking what you were saying or how you were speaking to her was quick to jump to her defence. she took a few step towards you, in what you assumed was an attempt to intimidate you but with yourself standing a few inches taller than the woman, you couldn’t help but scoff.

“a concussion? i barely touched ya, ya just thought if you rolled around like a ditz you’d get a free kick or somet.” she laughed, though it lacked humour.

by now players from both teams had come to stand between the two of you, wanting to put some space between you both before something stupid happened.

you rolled her eyes at her accusation, throwing her a dirty look. “i don’t play dirty like you mccabe.”

that was the last thing you said before you were led off by lauren, the james sibling held onto your upper arm with a gentle grip. “crazy girl that one.”

you hummed in amusement, “yeah, think she’ll back off now she’s got a yellow?”

the striker nodded instantly. “oh yeah. unless she’s wanting to get sent off, but i can’t see that happening.”

you nodded in agreement, giving the girl one last smile before you walked off to an empty space just a few feet away ready to get back into action. now, without katie at your feet with every second that passed, you were feeling more confident within your abilities and were eager to help your team get the victory you had been craving ever since the first whistle.

-

ninety eight minutes had been played overall, and your team was victorious in the end. with a 2 - 1 finishing score, you guys were very happy with the result. you knew going into the match that this was going to be a close game, something that had pushed you to push yourself beyond your usual best at training and thankfully so, as it seemed all your hard work had paid off in the end. even if you were hoping for a bigger gap in the win, you did win at the end of the day.

you had just finished doing your rounds at the stadium, greeting fans and taking pictures with those who asked, as well as signing shirts and giving away your own shirt to a little girl who held a sign that told you it was her eleventh birthday and all she wanted was your shirt - how could you say no to that? you were just giving a few hugs to the arsenal girls, praising their efforts when a weight pressed on your sides and you swivelled your head around in surprise, coming face to face with a grinning lucy.

you grinned back at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her against you in a tight hug, her welcoming the embrace immediately.

“congrats gorgeous. knew you could do it.” she pressed a kiss to your temple, and you melted at the affection.

“thank you.” you hummed, echoing her actions and pressing your own kiss to her temple. “sorry, i probably stink right now.”

she laughed at that, running her hand up and down your back. “yeah, just a bit.”

you pulled away from the hug with a playful roll of your eyes, noticing the way your girlfriends face fell serious for a brief moment.

“you alright though? look like you had a bad fall earlier.” she asked, her hand moving to massage your shoulder.

you sighed and nodded, “yeah, i’m alright. just have to be careful next few days i suppose.”

she nodded at that, and you both began the journey to the showers, eager to get clean so you could leave and head home with your girl. “was kinda sexy seeing you get in mccabe’s face like that.”

lucy’s admission had you laughing in surprise, eyeing her up with a look of pure amusement. “really?”

she nodded, eyebrows furrowed like she couldn’t believe you thought she could be joking. “yeah! course. never see you get like that, must be my lucky day.”

“mhm, something like that.” you beamed.

-

the next morning came by sooner than you had liked, the light finding it’s way into your room through the cracks of your curtains was enough to bring you from your slumber with a groan. you stirred in bed for a little bit, stretching out your tired limbs and running your fingers through your slightly knotted hair as you began to wake up properly. it was when you finally came to, that you noticed the familiar weight beside you that kept you warm during the night was not present, the realisation had you cracking open an eye to see if your suspicions were true. and true they were.

the only thing to your left was an empty spot that your beloved girlfriend occupied on a night, and sometimes during the day too. you frowned, pushing yourself up onto your elbows as you encouraged yourself to slip out of the warm cocoon you were clinging onto, to go and find lucy who should’ve been laid beside you, tickling your back and whispering sweet nothings into your ear in an attempt to wake you up. eventually you came to the conclusion that the pros outweighed the cons, and moved to stand with a wince as your bare feet met the laminate flooring that held a slight chill to it. not wasting anymore time, you continued on your way and began exploring the house for the older woman.

the bathroom was free, the door left open and the light off with no signs of life within. so you ventured downstairs, checking the living room that was also empty, as was the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom. eventually you made it into the dining room, beginning to think lucy had left the house without saying anything, something that was unusual to you as a couple as you usually let eachother know if you had to be anywhere the next morning.

just as you were about to give up, hand already reaching for your phone in your dressing gown pocket to call the footballer, a movement in the back garden caught your attention and you turned to the patio doors that were opposite the dining room table. there lucy was, sat at the patio table with her own phone in her hand and a noticeable frown on her bare features, looking troubled by whatever she was seeing on her mobile screen. you smiled in relief, knowing where you girlfriend was causing the minor stress that had built up to melt away in an instant.

you made your way to the sliding doors, pulling them open which had lucy looking up from her phone at the sound, you smiled at her when she made eye contact, but the gesture faded when she didn’t return it. okay she’s not in a good mood.

“hey you.” you spoke, shivering slightly at the morning chill that hit you through the layers of clothing you had on. “how come you weren’t next to me when i woke up this morning?”

you sat beside on her the empty chair, growing even more confused at her peculiar mood when she refused to make eye contact with you. “just couldn’t fall back asleep. thought it’d be better to come down instead of waking you up.”

“but you always wake me up when you can’t sleep.” you pouted. which was true.

usually, no matter what, lucy would usually prod and poke you when she was unable to sleep. whether it was because of a bad dream that had woken her, she was feeling restless or was stressing about something. she’d always pull you from your sleep and force you to keep her company even if you spewed a variety of excuses and complaints her way.

“i didn’t wanna bother ya.” she mumbled, still scrolling through her phone without a glance in your direction.

you eyed her for a moment as silence washed over you both, noticing the furrow of her brows and the clenching of her jaw, both signs that she had something brewing in her head, something that she didn’t want to share with you. moments like this were tricky. lucy was someone who would shy away from any attempt at trying to get into her head to figure out what was going on. if you went too far she’d pull back, try to build her walls back up and avoid you for awhile, which you had learnt at the beginning of your relationship. but now, four years later you liked to think you had a better understanding of the woman you were sure you were going to marry one day. which meant you had a better chance of getting her to open up to you, you just had to go about it the right way.

“i know there’s something bothering you, i can read you like a book you know.” you told her, noticing the way her thumb paused mid scroll. “and if you didn’t wake me up to talk to me about it you’re obviously not ready to talk about it yet, and i won’t push you. but you know i’m here, yeah? always. i love you so much, and i don’t want you suffering in silence at whatever’s got you so closed off today.” you leant over the glass table and pressed a gentle peck to her cheek, careful of the glasses that knocked into your own cheek. “always here for you, no matter what. don’t forget that.”

the defender remained still for a moment and you waited patiently to see if she made any move to let you in, finally tell you what was plaguing her mind. and it only took a total of two minutes for her to finally lock her phone and place it down onto the table, a hand running down her face as she shook her head.

“it’s silly really, i just let my mind go into overdrive and it hasn’t stopped since i got outta bed.” she told you, her hand reaching out to grip onto yours.

her cold rings met your bare skin, the temperature difference sending a small shiver down your spine. “well maybe you’ll feel better if you get it out.”

she sighed, her blue eyes lowering to the trainers on her feet as she debated on how to even start. “i just, decided to check my phone this morning and people on twitter were saying stuff and it’s put me in a mood.”

“oh luc.” you frowned, hand squeezing hers in a comforting gesture. “you know you shouldn’t listen to what people say online. they don’t have anything better to do than sit back and put down people to make them feel better about themselves.”

“no, no. it’s not anything like that.” she reassured you, and you furrowed your brows.

“then what is it?”

“people were talking about the game yesterday. saw some say that you and katie had some sexual tension thing going on during the match. with the fight and everything. and then a bunch were agreeing and saying you’d make a good couple, that you’d be fit together. as if we haven’t been in a very public relationship for the last few years.” she grumbled, an annoyed grimace settling onto her face towards the end.

you let the newfound knowledge settle in, not really surprised with what people were saying online. you’d seen it happen often with the women in your line of work. for some reason, whenever two girls were a little cozy together infront of the camera, whether it be a simple hug or a hushed conversation, or even just a smile sent in another’s direction, social media seemed to go wild with accusations and theories about whether or not they were dating. you’d been taught by a few players back when you first made it big to not let it get to you, or else it would ruin friendships that you held near and you didn’t want that.

“let them say whatever they want to babe, you know where my love lies and that’s with you.” you told her, meaning every word with every bit of your heart. “they don’t know me, or us, or even katie for that matter. by the end of the week i bet they’ll have all moved onto some other wild theory, you know what imaginations can do.”

you stood up from your chair and moved to sit down on her jean clad thighs, manoeuvring your body so that you were sat sideways, your feet hanging in the air. you ran your hands through her hair that was hanging down by her shoulders, free from any hair band or clip which was a rare luxury with how often she was either training or playing on the pitch. when her body relaxed and her eyes drooped slightly at the feeling of your nails scratching at her scalp just how she liked it, you grinned and leaned forward to connect your lips with hers, giving her three short but sweet pecks.

“i love you silly girl. don’t let anyone let you doubt that, especially people who don’t even know us.” you told her, your voice stern but still gentle so she knew you weren’t mad or upset.

“i know, ‘m sorry. i love you too, to bits. just got in my head a bit, you know how i am.” she rubbed your thighs with her hands. “and i don’t really enjoy the thought of you with anyone else.”

your eyebrow quirked at that, a teasing smile now on your face. “jealous were we, miss bronze?”

she rolled her eyes playfully, fingers digging into your thighs now which made you squeal at the ticklish feeling. “maybe a tad.”

“oh just a tad? so you wouldn’t mind if i messaged katie right now? asked her if she wanted to play on these fantasies that are brewing on twitter?” you asked, with absolutely no intention of doing so.

“you wouldn’t dare.”

“hmmm, might have to. after all you did have me waking up to an empty bed this morning, no way to treat your lady.”

you squealed in surprise as lucy rose to her feet, her grip on you tightening as she held you bridal style in her arms. your own hands gripped at her shoulders, and you looked at her with your mouth agape in shock.

“lucy!”

“you want me to show you how i treat my lady? gladly.” she told you, her lips dangerous close to your own, the small gap and the meaning behind her words leaving your heart racing in your chest.

-

it was no surprise when you awoke from your afternoon nap, the long morning you’d spent rolling around under your sheets with a very eager lucy having worn you out, that the first thing to pop up on your phone when you looked at it was a notification.

lucybronze tagged you in a post.

the post being two pictures from the previous day. the first one was the back of the chelsea shirt she was wearing, showcasing your last name, her built frame and her infamous bun, making it very obvious who it was wearing the shirt. and the second was of the two of you on a date, the night lucy had flown in at a restaurant you frequently visited together. you were sat beside eachother in a booth, cheesy grins on your face and a drink in both of your hands.

you admired the pictures with a grin similar to the one staring you back in the picture, heart warming at the sight of your girlfriend looking so happy to be with you. your eyes flicked to caption and you couldn’t hold back the eye roll at the words she had written.

lucybronze glad to be reunited with my love. can’t wait to spend the next week together - on and off the pitch.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request this. A dancer reader with pokemon scarlet and violet. Reader has meloetta, oricorio, scream tail, primarinna, hoopa and toxtricity.

If you want the lore on this reader. They are a singer whose family was said to be the descendants of a siren.

This reader has never caught a pokemon with a pokeball. The pokemon that join reader just travel with them. This reader uses sign language or writing to communicate as their voice is dangerous as it can charm anyone ho hears it if they aren't related to reader from their dad's side.

Reader went to this school was near to her mom's childhood home.

Meloetta and Primarinna (who ia an alpha pokemon) were able snap people out of Reader's voice and joined reader so they don't hurt anyone with their voice.

Toxtricity is protects reader from being kidnapped and overprotective and is resistant to their voice because punk rock.

Hoopa follows reader as reader is interesting.

Scream tail was a pokemon her grandma asked to protect reader.

As a dancer, you've made quite a name for yourself in the Paldea region--almost rivalling celebrities like Ryme and Iono.

People everywhere find your performances stellar, especially when your Pokémon provided backup dancing and singing.

A year prior to the Treasure Hunt, you did a show for the Festival of Masks in Kitakami, telling a moving story about the "Loyal Three" and Ogerpon.

Ofc you regretted it after learning that was a false narrative.

Speaking of your team, it was quite peculiar...consisting of an Alpha 'mon with menacing red eyes, two mythicals, an Ancient Paradox 'mon that somehow got out of the crater, and a perfectly normal Toxtricity and Oricorio.

However, you don't speak much, preferring sign language and/or writing as ways of communication..and your friends wondered why...

Although after becoming close with Arven, Penny, and Nemona (and eventually Carmine and Kieran), you wrote them all messages detailing your past.

You're a descendant of sirens, appearing entirely human yet having the alluring voice of one.

You basically know Hypnosis..but it wasn't something you were proud of, because you've charmed people into following your voice, and...it almost always ended badly.

Unfortunately, that made you a prime target in several kidnappings from evil organizations in other regions.

They falsely believed your family could somehow learn Pokémon moves and became obsessed with harnessing that same power..even though it had nothing to do with Pokémon at all.

Since moving to Paldea, it's become your safe haven, especially since your mom's childhood home was here and you could retreat to it whenever you wished.

After your grandma gave you Scream Tail to accompany you during your many journeys, the rest of your team sorta formed itself.

You never believed in using pokeballs, and thus they followed you wherever you went (ofc as long as it was allowed).

Oricorio was always perched on your shoulder to scout out high places and be your number 1 cheerleader (in the case of the pom-pom variant).

Amped!Toxtricity became your bodyguard and a friend you could rely on after learning its Punk Rock ability made it quite resistant to your voice. So you'd make small talk with it, although you still don't say too much.

It's ready to throw hands wherever and whenever you're being bothered--by students, staff, and tourists alike.

Alpha!Primarinna was a lass you discovered at the Wistful Fields one summer day, having come a long way from Hisui (like Bloodmoon Ursaluna).

Normally Alphas are belligerent, but she felt a sudden connection to you and obeyed you right on the spot. A giant and loyal protector.

Hoopa travelled through space and time to meet you, finding you quite interesting...and grinned deviously after you managed to win its prison bottle at an auction.

It almost caused chaos at the mart, tricking you into opening it, but even you were able to tame its Unbound form and convince it to become Confined again.

Finally, Meloetta was lured to one of your performances and provided beautiful backup vocals, and ever since then you two have done many duos as dancer/singer.

Her and Primarinna are the only ones who can snap people out of your spells. They know you hate to hurt others but sometimes humans just push your buttons and...well...next thing you know, the two ladies are scrambling to save them from walking through hostile territory to greet you.

Fortunately, those events happen rarely now and you've been able to form meaningful friendships.

Since nobody in your team is stuck in a pokeball, they usually hang out at your mom's childhood home or in your dorm--but Toxtricity and Oricorio insist on being with you in-class.

As far as everyone's reactions go...

.......

Nemona is PSYCHED to see you have a team specifically themed around music and song (except for Hoopa, although it knows Throat Chop yet seldom uses it), always wanting to battle them.

Also converses with you in sign language. I hc she learned it so she could communicate with deaf/HOH trainers so they can battle with her, too, free of judgement.

Penny is both impressed and terrified tbh--especially with the Alpha who has looks that could kill if it weren't for your unique connection with the giant water/fairy. But her Sylveon gets along with Primarinna surprisingly well.

Arven almost didn't believe you were a descendant of sirens until he witnessed you hypnotize a substitute who thought you weren't answering their question..nearly falling into the trance himself until Meloetta showed up.

He's never doubted your power since.

Carmine did tease you in the beginning for being even quieter than her little brother, but felt guilty after reading your letter...wanting to learn sign language herself to own up to her mistakes.

Kieran saw your performance at the festival and couldn't believe you returned to Kitakami as a student, wanting to challenge him to a battle.

You? A celebrity? Against him????

But after the ordeal with Ogerpon, he felt betrayed by his two biggest idols...and so your letter went unread, although it remained in his bag and he finally looked at it post-Indigo Disk.

He showed up to your dorm at BB Academy that same day, a bagful of candy apples and berries as another apology.

Least to say, your team adored the treats.

Even Toxtricity--who genuinely thought he was being an annoying brat this entire time--finally softened up around him.

[elkkiel]

Okay! Here's a transcription of the tier 4 bundle page from Sumerian's twitter. Please let me know if I screwed anything up or if it's tough to read at all; I tried to work around the obscured parts as best I could, but all the notes might have made it cluttered. There's also several words I couldn't read, as well as some partially-visible words I couldn't figure out lol

15 days since convergence of the Lunar Anomaly

When I was a child, I was frequently beset by certain recurring dreams. There is one such dream that I remember more than most—one in which I found myself standing on a vast shoreline gazing out at a flat, wide sea. Slowly as I watched, the horizon gradually began to lift. Before long I was able to observe that this lifting expanse was approaching me— a wall of smooth, black water that curled into an impossible lip at its peak. Rather surprisingly, I do not recall being afraid at such an ominous sight. well, to be more precise, I was afraid— I was terrified, but on of the wave itself. Instead, it was the thought of what was beyond it. This vast, unstoppable force sweeping forth to herald the end of everything, to drown the world and then eventually sink back into itself. A careless shrug of entropy enough to sever the thread of all fates. I felt that were I to somehow survive this limitless tide, then I would be left in a world that would not recognize me. I would become an element unto myself and myself alone.

An echo stuck in the throat of a dead god.

Yet here I am. it has been over two weeks since the emergence of the lunar anomaly. Our teams spent nearly two years attempting to anticipate what this event would mean for humanity— analyzing endless [UNCLEAR] of lunar topography along with every known form of spectroscopy, all amounting in one hopeless conclusion: to burrow inside the bowels of the earth and simply [wish?] that whatever emerged from within would reach us there last.

As it would turn out, this one final act of humble surrender is what won the last of the right to our own lives in these final days. Those of us alive now are not those who sought to barter with [destiny?] and defiantly cling to a civilised existence at the... [OBSCURED; line break] ...–esce at all.

[OBSCURED] –of this phenomenon, we were best served by our most base instincts, where shame found no place to... [OBSCURED; line break]

[OBSCURED] –who [sp_ _ ;UNCLEAR] their [hubris?] and hid desperately down in the mud like rats.

[OBSCURED] –made every effort to warn the others, though naturally we could not [provide?] much of a [ha _ _ s ;UNCLEAR] upon... [OBSCURED; line break] ...species was facing imminent and utter demise besides a few fissures at the southern lunar pole. With... [OBSCURED; line break] ...underground facility once we realized that the moon's orbit was rapidly decaying in a way that was... [OBSCURED; line break] ... [–sical; UNCLEAR] model – I find it hard to believe that none of them followed our lead – Perhaps some of them... [OBSCURED; line break] ...of knowing now.

[OBSCURED] [s]urface expedition was [bleak?] at best. In all honesty, I was shocked to discover that our intial... [OBSCURED; line break] [UNCLEAR] ...a breathable atmosphere. Perhaps in all this turmoil, I found it easier to commit my mind to the... [OBSCURED; line break] ...turn.

[OBSCURED] [–dare; UNCLEAR] the event—despite two years of efforts—didn't prepare us for the havoc we now face. To say that... [OBSCURED; line break] ...explain the phenomena would be a gratuitious understatement. The cataclysm that occurred two weeks... [OBSCURED; line break] ... [UNCLEAR] rule about this new world we now hid beneath – to gaze upon the moon is to die.

[OBSCURED] [deve]loped wearable countermeasures for the surface teams that would prove vital in allowing them to... [OBSCURED; line break] ...could have known that this was far from the only threat that awaited them. To say that we find... [OBSCURED; line break] ...the phenomena would be a gratuitious understatement.

[OBSCURED] is affected by the lunar anomaly, but that of all life, albeit in vastly different ways.

[OBSCURED] of emergent biology is beyond the boundaries of what we would be able to study and understand.

[OBSCURED] guilt over those we lost. More than that however, I feel more guilty about the way I reacted to... [OBSCURED; line break] ...elements that attacked our team. I felt strangely comforted, despite the deeply disturbing nature of... [OBSCURED; line break]

[OBSCURED] [UNCLEAR] at the conclusion that this feeling came from a sense of familiarity, human beings fighting... [OBSCURED; line break] ...that has plagued us all since time immemorable, but here in the wake of such deeply unfamiliar and... [OBSCURED; line break] ...hard not to feel almost comforted by such an immediately recognisable problem.

[OBSCURED] [you]rself deeply troubled by the prospect of humans remaining on the surface in that state. The... [OBSCURED; line break] ...is that their actions were not [UNCLEAR] of their own will, though there is every chance [that] this is [a]... [OBSCURED; line break] ...a preference over the [UNCLEAR] alternative.

[OBSCURED] [-ing; UNCLEAR] the precious remnants of human life is the desire to understand what has happened, though in... [OBSCURED; line break] ...do. Perhaps this is the only way we can cling to our humanity– by continuing our constant battle... [OBSCURED; line break] ...the very end.

[zhukzubast]

penultimate

4/5 (part 1, part 2, part 3)

Rick C-137

There's our guy!

As the only Rick in this series who's still alive and well(?), C-137 is getting the honour of being the focal point of the art.

As for the moment depicted: it's canon that our Rick has this train, and that Evil Morty was somehow, unbelievably, included within the "classic Rick & Morty adventure" package. Just imagine, Citadel heard about a Morty gone rogue, with an eyepatch that controls Ricks, potentially mixed in among their ranks at that very moment - making him possibly the biggest threat to their society since its inception - and went "that's a baller toy idea" then apparently didn't improve any security measures whatsoever! I'm not saying they had it coming, but they didn't not have it coming.

(i wonder if Citadel Toyz LLC got the info on Evil Morty from an investigation team that had discovered the discarded eyepatch, or from C-137 himself who put the pieces together and tried to warn the Citadel, but like… didn't try that hard. I wonder if Evil Morty's existence had been common knowledge on the Citadel before his takeover, a boogeyman hiding in the shadows, or if only a select few knew.)

Back to C-137, how much of his brainspace do you think Evil Morty has been occupying since Close Rick-Counters of the Rick Kind? When he was invited to dine with the Morty President, he seemed to expect the reveal since before he even saw him.

And how much brainspace do you think Evil Morty has allocated to Rick C-137? To Ricks in general? He has a whole-ass directory of them compiled, sorted by evil-ness. He knows them well enough to predict most of their moves. It's almost like he's obsessed. And C-137, boy if he didn't hunt him down specifically, twice. It was definitely out of pragmatic motives, since this Rick had the knowledge he needed to break through the CFC, but were there other motives as well? After all, he did eventually go on to say that our Rick was "a little different" and that he could "maybe use it someday", and in the language of emotionally constipated assholes that could mean "I think you're ok" and "maybe we can hang out again someday".

By their second face-to-face interaction these two have somehow managed to establish a ridiculous amount of rapport. They fall together like puzzle pieces: collaborate on tinkering with gadgets, synchronize their fighting styles, bicker like they've been at it their whole lives. They even have a running gag going, with Rick shooting Evil Morty's forcefield seemingly for no other reason than to annoy him. And yet for most of their time together C-137 acts like he can't wait to be rid of Evil Morty again (though he very curiously doesn't support his Morty's idea of getting rid of the guy permanently).

Do you think it bothers C-137 that he sees himself in Evil Morty? The Rickest Morty, doing whatever he can to escape the rotten hand he had been dealt, to wrench back control of his own life no matter the cost - such a very Rick thing to do. Or is it worse that he sees bits and pieces of Evil Morty in Morty Prime? His "little buddy" has been sick of him not once and not twice before, so who knows how long it'll be until he wakes up with a control chip in his brain. Or perhaps it's the other way around. Perhaps the most unpalatable thing about Evil Morty is all the bits and pieces of his own Morty that he sees in him. That the only guy with a Rick body count to potentially rival his own is a version of his-not-his grandson, and that at the end of the day, despite everything, he can't help but care. That he might not be able to take the shot unless he knows the shields are up.