#i got a ghost message too that i only assume is for the same reason as my previous anon

[utilitycaster]

In the end, it is misogyny but in the form of that Imogen (and most of the female cast, if we are being fair) gets reduced to just being a woman to the point that criticizing any real flaw, wrong doing, or "hey i personally maybe perhaps don't like that she did this" is turned into an attack on her because she is a woman, because after all, all women are perfect and so so dainty they must be protected (sarcasm)

Without mentioning the attacking real women in the name of the fictional one

It really is the "God forbid a woman do anything" but in it's worst form

Sorry for venting, been having thoughts about the fandom for the past 5 years

YUP. I do recommend Unlikeable Female Characters by Anna Bogutskaya which I devoured in like, one sitting over my winter break and posted a bunch of excerpts from but this discourse is extremely not limited to the CR fandom. I mean, think about all of the endlessly churning nonsense about the women of Gone Girl and Midsommar. I am going to see Love Lies Bleeding tomorrow and have steered well clear of really any discussion because I simply would like to see buff lesbians in a crime drama but apparently the discourse is rancid.

Of course there are people who assume ill of female characters while excusing men. That is absolutely a big problem. But again, we can barely talk about that. I recently made a post about how Laura is not a particularly chaotic player, and indeed is one of the most cautious players in actual play, and again I think there is a serious and important conversation to be had about how there's probably a reason why, say, Travis and Taliesin are more likely to make extremely bold moves, because they didn't get raked over the coals during C1 for stealing a cool broom from a guest character! I actually think Marisha has managed to hang on to some of her boldness and it makes her a stronger player but I would not have been surprised if she retreated after the hate she got from Keyleth. But yeah, in actual play, bold moves are pretty important. We can't even talk about how real-world misogyny holds back the actual actors without some moronic wretch being like "FIGURES THAT A MISOGYNIST CUNT LIKE YOU LIKES A MALE ACTOR."

When a character who is a man - or in some cases, characters who are not men but are played by men - does something people don't like we can say "wow, I didn't like this, but it was an interesting choice by the actor!" but we aren't allowed to either talk about the reasons why a real world woman might hesitate to play a character who does ugly things - because of the misogynistic backlash that will land specifically on her as a real person - nor can we compliment her for going for it and playing a complex flawed character, because how DARE you say a woman is anything less than some kind of Divine Feminine ideal. At best you're allowed a two-dimensional caricature of She's So Sweet And Good But Sometimes Gets Angry (this also happened to my friend Keyleth).

And this might reveal my own biases but like. I as a woman don't love being called self-centered, but that, personally, would probably lead me to some reflection. If you call me a girlfailure, even jokingly, I am going to break your nose. It's really telling that like...one of the absolute no-brainer "hey stop calling grown women girls" feminist tenets has gone by the wayside particularly with the set of people who think that meta that fails to put women on so high a pedestal they are untouchable is misogynist. They are awful towards women, fictional and real.

A line that always stuck with me from, bizarrely, a book about wordplay, was that Victorian men would treat women of their same classes as their superiors, but never their equals - they would coddle them and protect them but they wouldn't actually engage with their thoughts and foibles. (This happened to my friend Jester).

Anyway my personal solution is to keep going. On some level, as my previous post indicates, while I don't want the harassment it also only underscores my point, that a lot of these people are way more invested in being a dick to women on the internet than writing meta about the pretend women they think they like. I have to imagine they're doing this because either think they're entitled to meta they like from people who can actually fucking write it because god knows most of the people making this complaint have the most "if you can't dazzle them with brillance, blind them with the most purple-prose bullshit you can muster" attitude; or because they literally are just champing at the bit to attack women online with the ostensible veneer of "but it's FEMINIST to call THESE women cunts because they said my blorbo wasn't saintly and flawless." However, again, I know that I'm pretty bullheaded and forcibly unlearned the uh, patriarchal idea that women should not be confrontational. I do not blame people who look at this whole situation and say "I'm going to keep my thoughts to myself because this is so unpleasant."

[ficandkaboodle]

Papa’s Favorite Ghoul: Primo

Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 3281

Man, where do I even begin? I guess by stating that there’s two tropes I like: AUs where characters switch dynamics, and when characters or people go by titles that don’t traditionally align with their gender identity. Like woman kings or, in the case of Star vs the Forces of Evil, Jushtin the Boy Queen. Admittedly they’re more so applied to align with the importance placed on patriarchal and/or matriarchal power but we’re not getting into that. Nor are we getting into the kind of weird patriarchal traits of the Catholic Church the Church of Ghost keeps hold to — there are real-world explanations for them, I suppose, and this is fanfiction.

What we are getting into is my blending of the two aforementioned tropes to create this…Well, I guess it’s a series of sorts now because each character segment got too hefty to belong to one singular post. My bad. But I digress:

Somewhere out there, there is a universe where you were a part of the bloodline that has long reigned the Satanic Church as a dark papal dynasty. And now the title of Papa, for better or worse, has fallen upon you. You’ve trained your entire life for this — mephistophically, that is. But few things can prepare someone for dealing with ghouls more than actual exposure can. And now with the task of utilizing music to corrupt and recruit falling upon you, you’ll have plenty of time to become familiar with these literal hellions.

Don’t worry, though: If there’s one thing that has remained consistent throughout the millennia, it’s that a Papa almost always finds that one ghoul form whom they develop a fondness for . . .

You had not, in fact, been the one to summon the ghoul known around the Ministry as “Primo”.

He had been walking these unhallowed grounds since before you were born. A ghoul having an extended tenure topside wasn’t unheard of, but the implications set by his humanoid appearance of a very tall old man seemed to punctuate that point. Was he genuinely that old? Did he use a bit of ghoul magic to influence his appearance? You weren't going to ask.

Coupled with the way he carried himself, his presence commanded respect, something which the Clergy had been surprisingly willing to oblige despite his species.

Primo was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal ghoul: He had an intense work ethic, he was loyal, and he was tame enough to be of use while also posing a threat to anyone who did the same towards the Clergy.

Even something as simple as his horns seemed perfect for his position: The four horns of a Jacob sheep’s spiked warningly from his flesh, the perfect sort of horns for a ghoul of the Satanic Church to bear if there ever was any!

Even though his original summoner had long since passed, they never asked him if he wanted to return to the Pit. And, to their credit, Primo never expressed any desire to. It was that kind of dedication that endeared him so and kept him at the ready to be a conduit for the Old One’s message.

It was also probably the only reason why he’d involved himself in the “Ghost Project” you had recently proposed in a board meeting, even though he had made it extremely apparent that he did not see you as worthy of the title of Papa. If anything, he did so in order to keep an eye on you.

Primo had served many Papas in his time topside. Suffice it to say, you were nothing like any of them! Where your ancestors commanded their dark flock, Primo felt you merely timidly nudged them. Where the Papas of yore spat promises of the Dark One's ire and the rot of man, you seemed to more so focus on concepts of personal principle. Not entirely incorrect, but it certainly felt like a watered down method of leading.

Where was the damned soul made of brimstone and hellfire? Where was that penetrating glare that could freeze the doubters? All the old ghoul saw when you assumed the mitre was a soft-spoken slip of something or other that had fumbled their way through the bloodline. Had it not been for The Mark that paled your left eye, he might have more vehemently – more violently – questioned your ascension.

But the Clergy made no movements to dismiss or discard you, and Primo had never been one to take impulsive action. So here he began to find himself: Sitting at a drum set for rehearsals, battering away whilst his peers made fools of themselves as they writhed about, mimicking sexual proclivities or just plain goofing off.

But for as much as he would glower at them, his true poison was always fixated on you: You, who clearly just wanted the attention the Dark One was supposed to be receiving. You, who was just plain wasting his time – time that could be put to more use around the Ministry instead of spending hour upon hour listening to you warble the same cheesy lyrics, bastardizing unholy psalms passed down through millennia.

But he was nothing if not a professional, attending all rehearsal sessions, barely speaking unless it was to keep the more juvenile bandmates in line. Though more often than not, need only shoot them a sharp stare with those magma-red eyes of his and they would stop immediately.

That was all you needed when, surprised that he would pick something as raucous as the drums, you attempted to offer something not as physically demanding or requiring of too much movement.

You had meant nothing by it, of course. If anything, it was an attempt on your part to at least try and build a communication with one of the people (?) you would be working with indefinitely. Your peers and predecessors as a whole weren’t known for extending much kindness to the ghouls under their power; that was something you wanted to change during your reign. The rest of the ghouls, bandmates and Ministry-established alike, seemed to appreciate that well enough but Primo . . . Well . . .

Weren’t earth ghouls supposed to be less . . . intense? Stubborn and a twinge terse, perhaps, but usually they still had a bit of gentleness to them after a point. But then again, Primo was in a class of his own. Or maybe he’d just been a fire ghoul at some point? Might explain the eyes . . .

Really, though, the praise you’d heard regarding his dedication towards Papas past had yet to make any real appearance beyond him not taking you out. And perhaps volunteering to participate in your brain child, though you felt that was more so out of obligation to the Church rather than out of any real reverence.

Given how blatant he had made his dislike of you from the get-go, you decided to accept his (admittedly impeccable) drumming skills as the closest thing to respect you were going to ever get out of him. Much like the Clergy, you weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth too hard.

Your magnum opus couldn't afford it and for as confident as you were in the prospects of it, you knew you would need all the help you could get. Even if some of it came from an ancient earth ghoul who wished you would keel over so the next guy could take over.

If Primo could grit his teeth, then you sure as shit could to get the results you were looking for. Even if the results meant enduring painstakingly awkward rehearsals, right up until Ghost's very first performance.

Primo knew not to expect much in the way of venues. After all, bands that merely copied their principles never had an easy foothold in the world, never mind an actual band representing the Church. In the end, it did make the most sense to perform in lowly places, places inhabited by those most vulnerable and willing to lend an ear. Still: He had not anticipated this . . . “Whiskey a Go Go” place to be your debut. Oh well. The crowd here clearly looked susceptible enough; he could handle it.

He didn’t approve of you donning your chasuble for such an event but at that point, what did it even matter? He just needed to literally play his part and get this over with. Maybe then this tomfoolery could be put to bed and you would be reprimanded for wasting the Ministry’s time and resources, sullying their trust.

At least, that had been the idea when the first song was signaled in.

But as the setlist progressed, Primo couldn’t help but note how his expectations weren't being met. In fact, quite the opposite was beginning to take hold. Like how the words sounded different even though they were the same ones he’d heard ad nauseum.

Snippets and verses clipped from corrupt hymns made themselves right at home in the measures, something he’d internally protested the first times he’d recognized their presence.

Rhythms sounded more coordinated against the acoustics of the venue, far different from the way they resonated in the makeshift practice room back at the Abbey. This was what they were meant to sound like? Not a tangled mess of notes and words struggling and biting and fighting for dominance, but actual music stretching to the rafters? Huh. Who would’ve thought?

And all the shenanigans his peers had participated in – back at the Ministry, it seemed so juvenile, so distracting. They weren’t taking this shameful display with any kind of seriousness. But in that moment, the jumping, the showboating, even the gyrating all seemed right at home on the stage.

But above all else, it was the response to it all: Audiences loved it. They loved the words, the chords, the riffs, the "ghouligan" behavior. And, perhaps most of all, they seemed to love you. Who you were, in this moment, was far from whom Primo had been seeing – whom he thought he saw – in the pulpit and at rehearsals.

All that had been apparent child's play. Or perhaps they were simply the wrong environment for your fullest potential. Here, on the stage, you positively bloomed, transforming into something radiant, something filled with infernal fervor. A little hell flower decked in infernal regalia, your chasuble catching the stage lights like petals collecting sunlight.

During the few times you would turn your back to the audience and faced him, he could see it even from his furthermost position in the back: That fire he thought you lacked, blazing from your every pore, brightening your eyes and casting long, dark shadows upon all before you.

Primo had been right: You truly were unlike any Papa he’d ever served before . . .

From then on, Primo was to decidedly keep a closer eye on you. No more having the rug pulled from beneath him. Clearly you were like a mystery seed: He had no idea what your potential truly was, having not quite encountered something like you before. As such, you needed to be . . . studied. If at a distance, for now.

However, it's a bit difficult to go unnoticed when you're a 6'1" ghoul with large horns when out of a glamour. Never mind that you had grown so used to his stare being fixed on you that you always knew when it had reappeared. Only, you couldn't help but feel that something about it was . . . different. Somehow.

It was normal enough to feel them during black mass because everyone's eyes were on you. But to feel them when you would go to the library to request old tomes even most Clergymen did not seek; when you slipped members of the Children's Ministry candy to perk them up after a particularly boring Latin Studies class with Bishop Malicion. Even in what should have been the sanctity of your office, you swore you could feel those red-hot eyes affixed to your person!

But the heat of them was gone now, and hadn't quite been there since the Whiskey a Go Go. Instead, they felt more curious. Maybe like a cat? Ghouls were often likened to cats above all other manner of beast but Primo had only resembled one in the way he composed himself. A trait like intrigue just seemed bizarre to picture him exhibiting, let alone so obviously.

However, you were still Papa throughout all this: Best not to dwell on it and instead keep focusing on keeping your project afloat. You would deal with whatever was going on with old Primo later.

(Though you couldn't stop yourself from feeling slightly giddy at the possible improvement. Having him give you the slightest hint of a nod while passing in the hallways was leagues better than having him radiate bloodlust or disdain!)

Later, however, came quicker than you had prepared yourself for. In fact, it arrived one curtain call during the band’s slow creep towards notoriety.

In hindsight, the fact he willingly held your hand for the final bow should have been a sign that something about tonight was going to be different. Normally, if he had to join hands with anybody, he made sure to position himself at the very end so he need only spare one hand and with another ghoul. Being virtually in the middle with you would have required effort on his part.

But you were abuzz, the performance having gone splendidly with a highly receptive and interactive crowd. You were quite proud of yourself and your ghouls if you said so yourself. Maybe the energy that evening was just enough to make Primo feel less rigid than usual?

You’d only just risen up from your bow, ready to release his hand when you noticed that he himself was not letting go of your own. Odd, considering he’d done so with the other ghoul he'd been holding. You tried not to look perplexed when you spared him a glance; maybe something was wrong and he needed you to be on high alert? Though, no, that wound up not being the problem – in fact, there was no problem whatsoever.

He just needed to keep your hand in his so that he could raise the back of your hand to his mask – where his mouth would be.

It was a pantomime of a kiss, sure, but the gesture was still very evident. Screeches of delight erupted from the audience below as heterochromatic eyes widened against black paint, staring at scarlet ones peering through the eyeholes of a mask.

Suffice to say, what fans Ghost had already garnered had a field day. Soon, fanzines featuring the visage of their new favorite band's lead singer and drummer would appear in grungy coffee shops and to be swapped at both Ghost shows and shows of other bands. It wasn't Time Magazine but the marketing practically handled itself, and that was good enough for the Ministry to quietly applaud Primo's forwardness.

Clearly the Ministry's favorite ghoul knew what the people wanted and took it upon himself to stoke the flames to drum up further intrigue and popularity.

So surely it made sense to continue fostering this relationship, right? For the good of authenticity, of course.

It wasn’t long at all before you found yourself confiding in Primo, bouncing lyrics off of him. Lyrics turned into discussions, dissections of your faith’s principles and even a few misconceptions that most were too tired to correct at this point.

And he, in turn, used his many, many, many years of wisdom in his services to you.

Even divulging into his life before the Ministry, what little there was worth recounting. There was good reason he’d stayed up here so long after all: Life topside was just so different, so brightly-lit when compared to the Pit. Sure, he might’ve been built exactly for the life infernal, but that didn’t mean that a ghoul lacked a capacity for more.

The biggest example in his case was the garden he’d kept during his time here. It was almost funny: You’d walked these grounds for so long, so used to the presence of the greenhouse that sat towards the back of the garden. The brightness of the vegetation and bushes stood out from its darker, more gothic-leaning surroundings in an almost silly way.

Really, though, your only real interactions with that section of the Ministry could be boiled down to times spent in your office. The window there allowed just enough of a view of the little land below, one you couldn’t help but look at when the tensions in your poorly-postured back traveled into your skull, or when a delivery ghoul delivered more heaps of papers for you to look over and sign. (Suddenly, feeling Primo's intense gaze on you even when you thought you were alone made sense.)

Your path to the antipapacy was basically carved out for you, it ironically left very little room for extracurriculars such as gardening. But you could always count on catching a Sibling or earth ghoul or two, hauling heavy sacks of soil and carting that season’s harvest in a wheelbarrow.

Their decision to spend their time on such a long-term task that demanded constant attention and dedication was admirable to you. You could relate to focusing in on a project that would take time and focus.

And to see their efforts be rewarded with something brilliant and fortifying, something that caught the eye and could be used to nourish both the body and mind . . .

In way, perhaps seeing the hardships that produced flowers and fruit might have served as inspiration and motivation for your idea to entice the masses with music. Just a twinge.

To learn that the very things that refreshed you in your moments of exhaustion had grown under the same watch as the one that had once wished you ill initially amazed you. And amused you.

The idea of ever having been afraid of Primo seemed so silly now, you couldn’t even remember what the heat of his ire felt like. If anything, the pierce of Primo’s gaze had softened into something . . . Well, the proper words escaped you any time you tried to settle on one. "Passionate" mixed with "admiration", but still with its tenderness.

As it turned out, that warmth earth ghouls were often characterized with did exist in the old curmudgeon. It was exhibited as the years marched on and as you both grew closer.

It was there even in small moments such as this, with you kneeling in the soil, planting your umpteenth flower. You had learned under his watch years ago and no longer needed instruction, but it still felt lovely to share this type of thing together. Even after all this time.

A grunt escaped you as you wobblily stood back up from aching knees, another when you cracked your back.

“One of these days, Primo,” you sighed, “I’m gonna get down and not be able to get back up. You can just bury me here, then.”

It was a joke, of course, and you were totally prepared to not get a laugh from the old ghoul. Primo’s sense of humor, you’d long since learned, was as mysterious as it was strange. It was frankly a wild guess as to what would make him laugh on any given day. What you hadn’t prepared for, though, was the way the ghoul’s eyes stared back at you. You didn’t feel unsafe or anything, but you certainly felt . . . observed.

There was that curious cat vibe that had started it all from way back when. But, knowing Primo as you now did, you knew he was simply collecting thoughts. He would eventually reveal them to you in due time.

In the meantime, though, it served you better to shake it off. Supper would be served shortly, anyway.

“Remember to wash up,” you offered, standing as high on your toe tips as you could just to place a peck on the soft, weary flesh of his neck. To that, you received a quiet grunt typical of your partner.

As you left, though, Primo kept his eyes on you, tail thoughtfully swaying behind him. He remembered seeing you sparingly in your youth, which was impressive considering how unimportant you’d been back then. You weren’t Papa, you weren’t anything, really. You weren’t important to him.

But now, years later, here you stood: Wrinkles that weren’t there before were beginning to carve their permanence into your features, standing out even through your papal paints. Just the other month, you’d noted an increase in silver strands popping up in your hair. You sighed something about the stresses of dealing with the next projected tour or an onslaught of paperwork, but Primo knew that soon, more silver would come sprouting out at your temples. More than you’d probably bother dyeing, if he knew you. If he knew the people before you.

He'd seen this all happen before, many, many times. You may have been different from all other Papas he’d known, but all Papas were alike in this one way.

A heavy sigh broke him from his stagnation, and Primo began to trek back to your chambers to wash up. Before he even entered the building proper, his mind was made: If and when your time came, Primo would finally request to return back to the Pit.

[shallowseeker]

I was thinking about yours and somnatime's comments about The Trap being one-sided in terms of only addressing Cas's renegotiations, and then I thought about Sam and Dean going to Alaska and I wondered if Dean is being passive-aggressive. Leaving without telling anyone where he's going is a Cas thing, and maybe he wants him to have a taste of his own medicine.

I feel like I've pondered that before but not too deeply. You're talking about 15x11 The Gamblers, I presume.

In this episode, we see Sam awkwardly leave a sticky note for Cas, and then text to Eileen very actively in the episode.

INTERIOR – BUNKER LIBRARY – NIGHT [CAS turns the paper around and sees the note written by SAM. “Cas, we’ve gone to Alaska. Sam.”]

&

INTERIOR – IMPALA – NIGHT [SAM is checking the messages on his phone as it continues to chime. DEAN glares at the phone.] DEAN: Silent mode’s always an option. SAM: Yeah. Right. Sorry. DEAN: And how’s Eileen doing? SAM: She’s hanging in there. She thinks our plan sounds a little too good to be true. You know, maybe she’s right.

Dean gets irritated at the PING PING PING of Sam's phone. I think he's feeling some frustration in general not just because he's got IBS/heart burn and everything's going wrong but because, yeah, in 15x09 The Trap, his needs were not really expressed.

...which would probably center around Cas's lone wolf, unilateral decisions, secret-keeping, and going dark and etc etc, so yea. Sure, sometimes Cas's ghosting is justified, but then sometimes Dean's anger is justified, too. The point is he didn't really get to talk about his side, like, at all. (He mostly just laid his own mistakes and flaws but wasn't given the chance to talk about how the behaviors of his loved ones contribute to his frustration. No matter how extenuating and well-meaning their actions were, Dean is swallowing that kinda thing over and over again just to entice people to stay and it probably feels very...difficult.)

That in mind, I think you're onto something. It's not a stretch to assume going to Alaska could be something of passive-aggressive "taste of your own medicine" thing re:Cas. Here it definitely seems he's purposely being "dark," -- you could even call it Silent Mode.

And the worst thing is Cas doesn't even seem to react, haha. He doesn't actively wring his hands over check-ins and daily case safety in quite the same way Dean does. And Cas's comms-style is not nearly so clingy either, leaving Dean a little...hmm probably feeling like he needs Cas more than Cas needs him. Very frustrating indeed. (Add to the mix the previous fight, "You've been to Hell before," and it gets...messy and complex.)

We could suppose that even after everything, after their big fight that culminated in Cas leaving, Dean is still trying to goad a reaction out of Cas. (And more often than not, trying to get a reaction out of Cas is a losing game.) I think you're right that part of the reason Dean is pushing is because he was cut off before voicing his needs and feelings in The Trap.

CC @somnatine Because you were mentioned.

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 14 / Ghost x Soap

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

Ghost thanks Gaz and bids him good night before he rejoins the main voice channel. As expected, a rather wild discussion is underway. Clearly, the jury is out about whether or not they should’ve split.

“It was a sound idea, threw me off,” Ghost voices his opinion and announces himself at the same time. There’s a brief moment of silence.

“But it didn’t work in the end,” Roach quips, sounding a little bitter. Not overly so, thankfully, it’s just a game, after all. They all know the difference, intimately so.

“You got way closer to the extraction than I thought you would. I assume you wanted to either flush us out or create a diversion?”

“Yes to both, actually,” Alejandro says, “Soap thought that you will expect us sticking together or at the very least split into two pairs, covering each other. We were hoping to gain some upper hand. But I guess we underestimated your friend. Is he joining?”

“No, he’s… a very private person. But he enjoyed the game so I can extend his thanks. Told me that whoever he managed to jump in the lower part of the base was pretty solid. He was lucky to win that one.”

“That was me,” Roach replies, “I had a clumsy aim, it was a deserved death.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna walk all over me next time. You know the layout of the base and the terrain now, and the help I’ve got was a one-time thing.”

“But that wouldn’t really be a fair fight,” Rudy remarks.

At that moment, Ghost realises something. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Had to go, said he wasn’t feeling too good,” Roach explains.

“Ah, I see. Alright, I think I’ll call it a night as well. It was a good game, I’m looking forward to a rematch.”

“Yeah, sure, we’re gonna kick your ass, cabron,” Alejandro laughs.

Simon turns off the PC, puts the headset on a stand and reaches for his phone. He debates with himself for a little before he opens a new text message and types, “Thanks for the game; you were good. Hope you will feel better in the morning. S.” He hits the Send button without thinking too long about it. Otherwise, he would probably change his mind.

Soap’s phone buzzes on the nightstand just as its owner returns from the shower. Soap’s eyebrow quirks up momentarily as he sits on the bed and looks who’s messaging him so late; not many people have his number, and a substantial portion of them wouldn’t bother him at this hour unless it were urgent.

Flicking the lock screen away, he’s surprised to see the message is from Ghost. It’s short but considerate. A little sweet, really. Truth be told, Soap’s only has a minor headache, nothing that would warrant his quick retreat from the game. The real reason why he disconnected was this bitterness that swallowed him whole. Ghost has been ignoring him ever since John left Manchester, and then he shows up with this entirely impossible scenario and some unknown friend to boot? John is not jealous; that was probably the first thing he ruled out. He’s not a jealous man and never has been. But he is confused, and that confusion leads to frustration.

“Just a headache. Thanks for the game, it was interesting,” John types and sends the reply. He knows he could’ve ignored it and could pretend he was already asleep.

And since his phone starts to ring in the next second, he’s sorry he actually did reply. Well, no way around it now. With a sigh, he takes the call.

“Ghost,” John says in a way of greeting while he sheds the towel around his waist and gets in the bed.

“Johnny… how are you?” the deep timbre of Simon’s voice is pleasant. Soothing, almost.

John frowns, remembering he forgot to open the window a bit to let some fresh air in. “Fine. Tired, have a headache, nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve.”

Simon hums in contemplation, Soap uses the break to get from the bed and open the window. The moment he does, cold air hits him hard. He’s still a bit damp on the back. A low hiss catches Simon’s attention. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Aye, ‘s just bloody cold outside. My balls almost froze the moment I opened the window,” John admits.

Simon chuckles into the phone, and John pauses. He sounds different than in the game. It makes sense, of course; a phone call has a different quality to it. “Do you build a blanket nest on the base as you did at my place?” There’s a hint of teasing lightness to his voice.

“I might, got a problem with it?” John challenges, but there’s no bite.

“Why should I? It’s just…,” Simon trails off, as if unsure how he wanted to finish the sentence.

“Aye?” John presses on, seeking the warmth of his blanket once more. It’s nice to be snuggled in bed with Simon in his ear. Suddenly, all the bitterness and frustration from earlier simply fizzles off. He never had any real reason to be angry, anyway. It’s not like Simon owed him anything, and he didn’t ghost (or Ghost?) him, either. Every time John asked, Simon simply politely declined, never left him hanging.

“It’s a little unusual,” Simon finally finishes the sentence from earlier.

Now it’s Soap’s turn to chuckle. “I bet you’ve seen a ton of weirder shit when you served.”

“I did, but I always appreciated a nice quirk. So long as it wasn’t dangerous.”

“The opposite, actually. It’s a camouflage technique, really handy behind enemy lines,” Soap says, pretending to be dead serious. In moments like this, he feels like he’s known Simon for years: the banter, easy conversations, jokes.

“Right. I guess the field manual changed since I got out,” Simon plays along immaculately.

“Nah, it didn’t; this is our very own Scottish thing; you wouldnae ken about it.”

“That explains it. Speaking of, I was meaning to ask… why SAS?” That’s a good question. Usually, people assume it’s just a prestige thing. However, someone who’s ex-SAS would know better.

“Didnae wanna be a cog in the regular army, knew I had what it takes to make the selection, and I wanted to do shit that actually matters,” John answers truthfully. Only a handful of people know his reasons; the rest got the usual bullshit of serving the country and being the best. “Why did you do it?”

There’s a moment of silence. John actually expects an outright refusal, but he’s at an advantage: Ghost asked him first and got the truth. It would be a dick move to bail now. “I was never a great team player,” Ghost starts and pauses, thinking about what he’s just said before continuing. “Well, that’s not exactly true… I was never a great babysitter. I worked best alone and I was so good at it, that my CO had no choice but to ship me out to the selection. Told me it’s the best he can do for me and that I would thank him later.”

“Did you?”

“I did. Eventually. I didn’t enlist because of some ideals, I joined because I had nowhere else to go, never aimed to prove something to some wankers I’ve never seen.”

“Did you ever regret it? Enlisting, I mean.”

“No. Never. I’m not really religious, but I guess it was my calling. Something I was meant to do. Otherwise, I couldn’t have been so damn efficient at it. It all came easy to me. Not all, but things that mattered. Stuff that helped me survive and complete my missions.”

Soap stays silent, feeling Simon’s words sink under his skin, heavy and tinged with darkness. Before he can think of anything to say to that, Simon continues. “Sorry, that turned a bit dark I guess. We should probably hit the bed, especially you, Sergeant.”

“I can handle an early start and shitty sleep, Ghost, don’t you worry,”

“Yeah, but I can’t. Remember, I’m an old man now,” Simon’s voice carries a lightness of smile.

“I see. Well then, out of respect to my elders, I’ll let you go then. Good night, Si,” John uses the nickname. He’s been very careful with it so far, unsure if Simon likes it or not.

“Good night, Johnny,” Simon repays him in kind.

I tried Ghost Recon Breakpoint since I dropped it soon after it released. Ubisoft actually kinda fixed it! I still like Wildlands more, but it ain't bad. Created a totally-not-OG-Soap, too.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Red Circle pt 1

What is the red circle? Who is the red circle? Why is the red circle?

“Well, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particular cause for uneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is of some value, should interfere in the matter. I really have other things to engage me.” So spoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in which he was arranging and indexing some of his recent material.

I might be wrong, but I think this is the first time in the stories we've seen Holmes be dismissive and kind of rude to a client without having seen them give him a reason. And we can't even say that Mrs Warren hasn't given him a reason at this point, because the story starts in the middle of the conversation. She might have been a right arsehole prior to this.

But this story does start out with far more of the vibe of adaptations than I'm used to.

Scrapbooking is vitally important, though. Not to be interrupted.

But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex.

Watson ensuring that we are reminded that sexism exists.

The following little speech Mrs Warren gives doesn't indicate that she was being terrible before this story started, so I guess Holmes really was just Like That here.

"Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger you often would not see me for weeks on end.” “No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can't sleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving here and moving there from early morning to late at night, and yet never to catch so much as a glimpse of him—it's more than I can stand."

No, that's exactly what it would be like to have Holmes as a lodger. Only punctuated with strange people running up and down the stairs and with the occasional threat of violence against your property.

But maybe this guy is just a ghost. Ghosts deserve privacy, too.

“He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There is a small sitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house.” “Well?” “He said, ‘I'll pay you five pounds a week if I can have it on my own terms.’

Alright, now I'm suspicious. 50 shillings a week is £250, roughly. And £5 is twice that. Anyone who is willing to pay double for something is automatically suspicious. He's just handing out the equivalent of £100 in cash every fortnight. It's like the Copper Beeches all over again.

“It was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang, leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he rings again when he has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. If he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it.”

OK... I've got to assume at this point that the man in the rooms is not the man who rented the rooms. He went out, other guy came back. There's no other reason that no one would have seen him at all. Someone's hiding from something up there.

"What can it matter to him that his landlady should have a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then, again, why such laconic messages?”

Doesn't speak English and his first language is not written in the Roman alphabet, I'd guess. Single words mean not needing to construct sentences, printing would be easier for someone not used to the alphabet. This coupled with the title of the story makes me think Russia.

“But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?” “No, sir; he looks after himself entirely.” “Dear me! that is certainly remarkable."

What? A man who can look after himself?

The sexism, it cuts both ways!

"But, dear me! this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. The gentleman was bearded and moustached, you say?” “Yes, sir.” “I don't understand that. I should say that only a clean-shaven man could have smoked this."

So it is a different man - or woman, I guess.

or he shaved.

"Why, Watson, even your modest moustache would have been singed.”

This feels like shade. Like something you'd say to your friend if he was doing Movember and couldn't grow a moustache to save his life, but you were actually a Victorian gentleman. It's just got such a tone of 'even your moustache, Watson. Even yours.'

Drag him, Sherlock.

"We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have some reason to think that there is a guilty reason for it."

What a revolutionary concept! I wonder if the modern world could learn anything from this. Probably not.

"I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural."

Rubbish dictionary.

"‘Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's heart’—that appears to be irrelevant."

I beg to differ. I need to know if Jimmy broke his mother's heart. How could you Jimmy? You should be ashamed of yourself. Your poor mother worried half to death and you're out there requiring her to take out ads in the newspaper to try to reach you. Callus boy! Cruel boy!

"‘Be patient. Will find some sure means of communications. Meanwhile, this column. G.’"

That is significantly less cryptic than I thought it would be. Do these conspirators have no sense of style. Why doesn't the caged whale know nothing of the mighty deeps? Does the ill-built tower not tremble mightily at the butterfly's passage? Can no one say hooray hooray for the spinster's sister's daughter these days? Pathetic. Put some effort into your clandestine communications.

"‘The path is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember code agreed—One A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G.’"

Seriously, you're going to publish your code in the paper. Not that it even matters. You're doing a simple substitution encryption of numbers for letters, and you're not even offsetting the numbers at all. These people are very obviously not professional spies. I am ashamed for them.

Willing to bet there is a significant number of people in London who have been following these ads with glee like an Edwardian soap opera, eagerly awaiting the next instalment. There's no way no one has been paying attention to this.

"Mr. Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight's, in Tottenham Court Road. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning he had not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot him out."

Did not expect the husband to be involved.

In Mystery Lodger's defence, there's nothing connecting them to this abduction. Although the coincidence seems unlikely. Why would they need the husband out of the way, though? Unless they thought the husband was the person hiding?

"What I did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinary woman, Watson.”

Gender prejudices causing problems again. I did foresee that, which is why I've been trying to use gender neutral terms for the replacement.

What does Holmes mean by 'no ordinary woman' though? I don't understand that.

Also, this makes the people mistaking Mr Warren for her even less believable. I doubt they look very alike, particularly given the fashions of the time and the stricter adherence to expected gender 'norms'.

"The printed messages, as is now evident, were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing."

"The attack upon Mr. Warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male."

Oh, we're actually addressing that? Thank you. It made no sense. But it does make things more convoluted. So only Holmes and Watson know that the woman has replaced the man.

“Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons with the greatest for the last."

Does he mean death? Is the implication that as you die you think 'well, this was an important lesson for me to learn. Now I know that if I do that, then I die. 😵"

Is she on the run from family? A cruel husband? A cruel would-be husband? A gang? A government?

"A single flash—that is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That should mean T."

The substitution cypher is with flashing lights?

That's a terrible idea. That's the worst idea I've ever seen. What if she blinks? What if she loses count? There are twenty six letters. If I had to sit and count twenty six flashes I would go mad. T is one of the most common letters and, as you said, that's 20. This is the least efficient way of doing anything. Morse code exists, and I bet you could get a little printed guide for it that the woman could have had. Or you could have written it down for her. And then you wouldn't have needed to spell it out in the newspaper.

This is the worst. I hate it.

They came more rapidly than before—so rapid that it was hard to follow them.

And by hard you mean fucking impossible. WORST CODE EVER.

P is already 16 flashes, and that's the first letter you've got. Then you've got an R in there? Why? This is torture. I bet the guy was cut off by someone who wanted to put him out of his misery. You know why he was cut off mid word? BECAUSE IT TOOK HIM FIFTEEN MINUTES TO SAY ONE WORD.

Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash [BREAK] Flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash-flash

So for that one word, that's 93 flashes. I cannot be arsed counting that long. I'm sorry. I can't. Guess I'm just going to die or whatever then.

eta: just realised that the 'man who looks after himself? Impossible!' thing is a clue. Oh boy. Of course it's a woman, a man would never be able to cope on his own. 🙄

[monsterspet]

Just a Little Lie: Prologue

Think about it: Imagine a reader that meets the boys of 141 as a “civilian”. They don’t want to run off yet another man that finds them intimidating because of their military background. So they act dumb, assuming they can keep their career secret at least long enough to make a go of this new situationship. Until it gets them into trouble once they’re assigned to a new taskforce.

A/N: I know Ghost and Soap only show up from MW2 onwards - just let me have this!

Keeping this deliberately vague until character specific chapters start. Think of it like a dating sim where you choose your route after the prologue I guess 😛

Also I can almost guarantee setting up the context for this here in the prologue is going to be so much longer than chapters going forward - I apologise in advance darlings!

*All* Y/Ns in my fics are GN! unless requested otherwise - pet names inbound but nothing specifically gendered. Slow burn - eventual smut. Canon Typical Violence starting from Chapter 1.

Word Count: 3925

MINORS: DNI (I swear to god)

—-

It had been going on for maybe three or four months now. And almost a month at least of back and forth banter over text, of coffee dates and dinners when his schedule allowed. A month of thinly veiled flirting and touches that could almost be taken as friendly as you got to know each other. Or, as you got to know him anyway. He’d been upfront that his work was in some way attached to the military (most likely an active service member), and while you knew he couldn’t really discuss more - he didn’t know you knew that. So with a look of awe and confusion you’d been innocently fishing. Purely innocent of course.

When you initially met at the cafe round the corner from your flat you didn’t know he was a fellow soldier. Which is precisely how you had gotten to this point. Perhaps if you had known you could have avoided the pretence and half truths you’d fed him with a head tilt and a smile. You couldn’t find a man within your own unit, that was beyond unacceptable for multiple reasons. And far too often you found yourself opening up to someone new when on your brief stints of leave only for him to go quiet and disappear once he knew you could handle a knife. Or a gun, or even a grenade if need be. Completely understandable in hindsight - though no less disheartening in the moment once you realised messages were either being left unread or in some cases blocked from delivering. So you found yourself wanting to get to know this new guy first, at least a little while before dropping the proverbial bombshell on him.

He was well built, that’s for sure, and held himself in a rigid posture that you should have noticed right away from your own days standing to attention in front of your captain. But his eyes caught yours instantly when you met - a startling intensity that held you rooted to the spot as you both reached for the same cup sitting on the counter that afternoon. You hadn’t been paying much attention in fairness. Far too caught up in a conversation that was clearly going nowhere fast, and somehow too in your phone to even realise that you weren’t the only patron waiting for your drink in the quiet shop. Hands collided and you found your eyes darting from the cup up to his face, apologies rushing out of your lungs as you lost your breath suddenly, barely managing a pathetic “Oh”.

“Sorry Y/N, machine is acting up - still waiting on your shots.” you vaguely heard from the older woman behind the bar, sounds a little muffled against the sound of your own heartbeat.

“No, not at all! Was away with the fairies I think.” a quick glance back to the mystery man in front of you “Apologies sir”.

“No problem, Y/N was it?” The last part came with a chuckle that sent an embarrassing tingle down your spine, barely contained by the tension you were still holding in your shoulders.

You couldn’t remember quite how the conversation had gotten started from there. But you did learn that he was also a regular to this little spot as you took up a seat near the draughty doorway. It was frankly surprising how you’d both missed each other up till this point really. It was a totally friendly chat about the quality of the cafe for the low price, and some of the other places to eat and drink around the local arena, but it was nice. Comfortable even. If you hadn’t received a call from your captain to check in on you while you were on leave you’d have stayed longer. You honestly didn’t expect to see him again as you stepped out to take the call, and it seemed he had places to be given the way he looked down at his own phone. Yet there he was when you walked in only a few days later. You aren’t even sure now who joked that you should swap numbers if you were going to keep bumping into each other like this, but you’re glad it happened.

—-

And that was how it started. A quick message from one of you to say you were out and about that day, and a reply from the other to suggest either your cafe or somewhere else to catch up. A text to say you’d gotten home safe after seeing him for an hour or so (at his insistence), followed by at least a dozen texts talking about the fun you had seeing each other and how you needed to do this again. Questions asking when you’d each be free next - and total understanding that work got in the way and you might be away for a few days from you both. You were purely on a first name basis, and you were comfortable with that. Work began picking up again and you hadn’t assumed he would be anything but a casual friend. No need to get too attached in your line of work. Especially if your prior romantic endeavours were any indication.

A data analyst, that’s what you’d decided to tell him when he asked about your work almost a fortnight after meeting him. You were called into different places as part of a rolling contract so you were never sure exactly where you were heading next. And it wasn’t too far off from the truth in all honesty. You’d always been skilled with computers and your ability to notice patterns in seemingly nonsensical data sets had been noticed not long after you enlisted. While you were trained for the front lines, you quickly found yourself pulled back by your superior officers at the academy. A sergeant for sure, but you often found yourself behind a screen coordinating units and monitoring traffic from the other side. Not too much of a stretch to some sort of number jockey in an office somewhere you felt. And you were certainly starting to enjoy this new man’s company. No need to scare him off. Though as time went by you were quickly coming to the realisation that very little seemed to faze him.

You thought about telling him, truthfully. You had been sitting on an admittedly damp bench outside a kebab shop late one evening, both of you back in late from work and neither of you in the mood for anything other than quick and greasy food. He beat you to the punch though. And oh how it sent you spinning as you realised what you were getting yourself into.

“So, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he paused as he shovelled in another mouthful of donner meat with one of those crappy little wooden sporks, “about what I do for work I mean”. You were caught a little off guard, having been waiting for a moment to come clean yourself, your own spork full of curry covered chips halted precariously half way between the styrofoam container and your mouth.

“Yeah? You’ve been a little vague on that one” you murmured after a short pause, quickly blowing on your food and taking a bite as it threatened to fall off the disposable utensil. You got a small “hmph” and a nudge from his thigh for that one, a cheeky smirk falling into place for both of you. He had mentioned travelling for work himself, and combined with some oddly familiar tendencies he was showing, you had a gnawing feeling that you knew where this was going.

“Well yeah, I can only apologise for that. Didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

“You make it sound like you do something scary when you say it like that. What are you, some sort of assassin for hire?” The joke earned you a half-hearted glare and a full but playful shove from his shoulder, sending you too far to the edge of the bench as you slid across the wet surface. The size difference was most notable in moments like these - this wasn’t the first time he almost sent you flying in playful moments when he pushed you around.

“Oh shit, sorry” he linked a quick finger into the belt loop of your jeans and hauled you back next to his side with ease before you even had the chance to begin to topple over in what would have been a hilarious fall into a cold puddle.

“Really though, I didn’t want to scare you off when we were getting on so well, but I’ll be off for work again and gone for a while soon enough. Didn’t want you to think I was ghosting you or something.” The quirk of his lips as he mentioned that last part gave you the feeling that there was meant to be an inside joke there, but nothing you could place. “I’m involved in some military shit, and I’m shipping out in a few days. Only getting a few days break then back at it again.”

“Military?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that the surprise in your voice could be played off as you recovering from your near tumble, “Should’ve guessed I suppose. Normal guys aren’t built like you unless they’re in the gym 24/7, and I take up far too much of your free time for that” poking your spork into his upper arm as if to indicate what a brick wall it was. The joke seemed to disarm him somewhat as he broke into a wide open-mouthed grin, his tongue pressing against his upper canine in the way you had come to realise meant he was trying not to laugh.

“That you do Y/N. Between that and all the food we eat it’s lucky I fit in my uniform.”

“You suggested the kebab shop, I could have been convinced to cook tonight.”

“Oh? I could have had you cooking dinner for me tonight? I’m devastated.”

You turned your face away quickly at that, the way you always did when the flirting became a little too obvious. Internally though, your mind was reeling. Fuck. While he may have been a little vague on his profession he hadn’t outright lied, you had. The idea of admitting that to him felt like a terrible idea right now. The moment was nice, and you were hardly about to ruin it by telling him you were a soldier.

But the pieces were clicking into place. The way he stood ramrod straight next to you as you placed your order, shoulders back and chest out with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The way he kept his eyes moving around as he surveyed the drunken uni students stumbling into the kebab shop behind you. They way he almost jumped out his own skin when a car had backfired in the next street over as you found a place to sit, moving in front of you as he searched for the source of the noise, head practically on a swivel. This man had seen combat.

Not a part of your squad though. There was no way you would have missed him if you had spotted him out in the field or in the barracks. No way in hell. This was fine, wasn’t it? If you weren’t on the same team then nothing had to change, not really. Your work was classified, sure, but if you explained that then really nothing had to stop here. Couldn’t be counted as fraternising if you didn’t actually work together.

You realised you were being too quiet though, too caught up in your thoughts, and you could feel his hot stare on you as if expecting you to find a reason to bolt. Quickly turning back to look up at him and tilting your head in just the right way that your hair fell in front of your face you said, “I’m not sure dragging back an attractive military man to my flat for dinner is the best idea,” the way he froze in that moment had you quickly continuing “especially only a few days from shipping out. I can’t imagine giving you something to be distracted about while you’re meant to be working is the best idea.” That one was certainly a home truth. Far too often he had been in your mind at the most inopportune moments behind your screen lately. The pause felt like it was stretching on into eternity, and you really worried you pushed too far over whatever invisible line you had both drawn between the two of you.

“You say that like you haven’t been enough of a distraction already Y/N.” the softness in his voice had you breathless. His food sat on his lap, held so loosely in his grip that you were sure it was going to spill onto the cobbles at your feet. Fuck indeed. You could feel the words rising up in your throat the way a sob would, desperate to get out that you understood far too well what he meant. That your captain had been ready to pull you aside after one too many daydream towards the end of a meeting. But the words caught and you couldn’t say a thing, not when he went back to stabbing mindlessly at his rapidly cooling food. Not when he was already being far more open and raw than anyone else had been in such a long time.

There wasn’t much more said between you as you ate, stolen glances between you conveying more than words could in that moment. Something was brewing between you both tonight that was clouding the air, thick tension that seemed all too easily snapped if you so much as breathed too loudly. Something had changed in just a few words that was sending you down a new path in whatever this was. Casual friends didn’t find themselves staring at each other from the corner of their eyes, that much you knew. All too quickly you found yourselves finished with your food and walking down the road to your flat, and you had barely spoken more than a few words to each other in that time. Any chance you had of telling him tonight flew out the proverbial window and was replaced with a sinking thought that you should have done so earlier.

“Well then,” you hated the way that your voice practically croaked its way out of your throat as you stood outside the door to your building, “I guess unless either of us get called in early we’ll need to meet up again before you ship out.”

“Of course. It’s uh, it’s getting late though I suppose. Going to leave you here and get back to mine.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I had fun again tonight, by the way.” Practically a whisper against the wind. His hands twitched at his sides, the way they would as if wanting to reach out and grab something, stopped only by great effort if the way his jaw clenched was any indication.

“You did?” A deep breath and a near shuddering exhale.

“I always do when I’m with you.” Your hand came up to rest on his arm, squeezing gently against his bicep as if daring the tension to break.

“Good.” Was all you got before he practically dove in, lips to yours with a searing heat that almost knocked you back against the door. His hands were on your jaw, pulling you into him, desperation practically rolling off him in that moment. Like you would slip through his fingers at any moment if he didn’t hold you right here. You broke contact for just a split second to take a must needed breath before kissing back with equal intensity, you weren’t entirely sure who made the “mmph” sound as your lips collided again. I have to tell him, you thought - pushing further into the kiss.

And as if the universe had planned to ruin the moment, you heard your phones ring. Both of them, with the insistent ringtones you both knew to be from your respective employers. The same employers apparently. He pulled back as if stunned, slapped back into reality by the shrill mash-up of your phones against the quiet of the late night street. Phones were pulled from pockets as you both stared down at incoming calls. A near hysterical laugh ripped itself from you as you slumped against the door behind you. Four months to get a kiss from the gorgeous man in front of you and you get a call right now?

“I have to take this-”

“Gotta take this call-”

A chuckle from him, and he steps back, the cold swirling up your front as his heat leaves you.

“Later?” He holds up the phone to you, you know he can’t just not take this. Neither can you to be fair.

“Definitely later.” He smiles then turns to head down the road to his own flat as you turn to quickly let yourself into your building, your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you fumble with the keys. You manage to get inside and answer your call before it goes to voicemail.

“Sergeant Smith? Is this a good time?” You get the main door closed behind you.

“Yes Captain Harrison, what’s happened?” Taking your stairs two at a time to put distance between yourself and the world outside.

“I know you were meant to be on leave for at least a week but something’s come up. We’ve had a request for a temporary transfer from the higher ups. They need a fresh pair of eyes on information coming out of the Middle East and your file was pulled. Just warning you now,” You were at your flat door now, key in the lock as you waited - your Captain took an uncharacteristic pause, “you’ll be receiving a call within the next 10 minutes from a Kate Laswell from the CIA to discuss briefing and your flight out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been loaned out to another unit Sir, even if they were American. I’m not sure why you sound so apprehensive this time around.” You were inside your small flat at this point, jacket shrugged off and thrown over your duffel bags, still unpacked from your flight earlier today. Looks like they would be staying that way.

“I don’t know much about this unit, Sergeant, in all honesty. More of a task force from what I understand. By the sounds of it, it will all be heavily classified.” Well, if your interest wasn’t piqued before - it was now.

“What task force Sir?”

“141, under Captain John Price, SAS.”

—-

The next few days were a whirlwind. Briefings were had and official transfers were sought and approved. You barely had time to hit the ground running as you found yourself on a rather nondescript hangar base. Which, to be fair, was entirely understandable given the classified nature of task force 141 as you came to realise. You barely had time in all the madness to text your apologies to your man (your man?) that “later” would have to be once you both got back from whatever work you both had. He had been slow to respond, but knowing now that he was likely getting ready to go back out into the field you could understand. You really hoped he was as equally patient with yourself. Your access to your phone was going to be severely restricted once on base. Highly classified information and all.

You found yourself walking alongside Laswell following a quick but firm handshake, duffel over one shoulder and military assigned tablet under the other as you marched away from the helicopter that still had its engines running as it powered down on the tarmac. Soldiers were running across the field and between outbuildings. Whatever was going on had everyone in a rush, and that was never a good sign.

“You’ll receive a full briefing from Captain Price inside Sergeant, but just to get you up to speed,” her blue eyes squinting against the sun as she turned her head to you, “we lost custody of chemical gases in Verdansk less than a week ago. We have reason to believe they will surface again in the Middle East but there’s too much chatter in our communication channels to be sure where. You’ll be both here and in the field getting those chemicals secure before they hit friendly soil.”

“Understood - just tell me where to go to get set up.” She pointed her arm to a tent to the right of you, pace never slowing as she led you through the flaps. Inside were a group of three standard issue white folding tables in a “U” formation in front of a large screen, and you set your bag and tablet down on the one closest. You straightened as Laswell made her way to the front where a group of four uniformed soldiers stood huddled around said screen, shoulders back, feet apart and chin high. You could barely make out the hushed voices of the men ahead of you but held position, ever the good soldier. Ahead of you, you could see a tall imposing man in some sort of mask, though with his back to you it wasn’t obvious if it covered his full face. Next to him stood a man with a mohawk, his short sleeve shirt a major contrast to the full tactical gear of the man next to him. Off to the right stood a black man with short cropped hair, his baseball cap pulled low. Finally there was the man you assumed to be Captain Price, if the way the men kept turning to him was any indication, boonie hat covering the top half of his face and an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth.

Out of the four men standing ahead of you, you recognised one of them far too well for comfort, having had a good look at his back as he walked away from the door to your building only a few days ago. After he kissed you like he was scared to lose you, after he told you he was a soldier outside a crappy little kebab shop and you just sat there and let him keep believing you were just a data analyst. Shit. The rising panic in your chest threatened to bubble over into fear, and you found your knees beginning to shake. Not that you were given much time to think about the impending consequences.

“Captain Price,” the man with a boonie hat tilted his head in acknowledgment of Laswell as she reached him, “Sergeant Smith has arrived and is waiting for briefing.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, but you only focused on one. Pleasant professionalism turned to surprise, then shock, and finally grave understanding as you stood there, near shaking like a leaf in the wind in front of him. You felt far too small in your standard issue boots, and your hands that were clutched to the front of your tactical vest longed to wrap around you at that moment. If the ground could have opened up and swallowed you whole in that moment you would have been more than happy. You could tell the colour had drained from your face, that you looked like you had just been shot, again, a more pleasant idea than the current situation you found yourself in at the moment.

“Y/N?”

Shit.

[sburbian-sage]

Hello, we need to talk to a coplayer of ours... who is dead.

Guy got around the exiles somehow and offed himself. He left a note though, and one of the things it mentioned was that he was "fleeing for the paradise of the dream bubbles..."

Problem is, we don't know much about the bubbles. Like, we've HEARD of them- an afterlife set up by the horrorterrors for some reason- but I had always assumed that the bubbles all popped when the session ended, because anything else seemed to good to be true.

But according to this guy, apparently not. I REALLY don't think he woulda done this if he thought it was just a delayed permadeath. I think he thinks his ghost'll continue on forever in there. But I don't know, and neither do any of the rest of us.

Are we wrong, and we should just let this guy stick around in the bubbles? But if I'm right, then we gotta contact him right away, tell him that, and get to working on a revival plan. How do we access the dream bubbles? Can we even? Can we specifically visit him, or are we just as likely to end up in a random one? Is there just a Pesterchum addon out there that'll let us contact him directly?

The Dream Bubbles are really weird, but no, they don't "pop" when a Session ends. A Dreamer (and related things surrounding said Dream Ghost) actually persist for quite a while. Most Dreamers can survive for upwards of (subjective time, so their perspective) 100 years before they eventually forget that they exist and fade into nonexistence. During this time, they fail to form new memories, because the Dreamers are themselves memories. Meaning that century of afterlife will be spent doing the same things. The same conversations, drawing the same pictures, and showing them to other ghosts as though they were new, and to the other ghosts they are new, because they'll forget it as soon as the artist does, and they'll do another art exhibition some time soon. This is the "afterlife" your friend has escaped to.

I avoid using words such as "purgatory" or "hell", because I don't think most Dream Ghosts have the sense of mind to be aware of the situation they're in. Maybe those infinite ghost parties are fun, and the only reason they seem horrific to us is because we're too aware, our monstrous senses of cognition more of a burden then they are a benefit (pfft). Not to mention, it is possible to experience bouts of "actually living, whatever that means philosophically" in there. It's all memories in the Dream Bubbles, but when a Dreamer experiences something Real, whether it be a person, an item, or a Ringship, they sort of "wake up" and can experience "real" cognition, letting them form and express new memories. Of course, your friend has none, because you can't bring anything with you, so he's probably still dreaming, until he makes contact with something Real.

To answer your questions in reverse order, there's no way to directly message him, entering a Dream Bubble via sleep is inconsistent and the only "consistent" way is to drive into one while on a Ring Journey (you can guess how "consistent" this actually is), and your reasoning is flawed. Your tree of logic is "IF the Dream Bubbles are an actual afterlife, THEN we should let him stay in there, ELSE it's actually a trap of some sort, THEN we should revive him". The actual nature of the Dream Bubbles is "they're temporary (a century long) by themselves, but can be extended indefinitely with Real connections", making them simultaneously "an actual afterlife" AND "a delayed permadeath". But in reality, you should be trying to revive him regardless.

Suicide's a touchy subject for people, I get that, but the fact of the matter is that every death makes a Session significantly harder, and the "it's actually selfish to kill yourself, think of the people around you" guilt-trippy explanation that people used on Earth suddenly takes on a much more literal character in a SBURBan context. In that you are literally endangering the lives of several other people when you exeunt yourself and offload your duties onto your coplayers while simultaneously removing a pair of hands that helps them with their duties. And that's putting aside the "you shouldn't resort to permanent solutions to temporary problems, and if you're in a bad enough mental state to pull off a suicide then your ability to consent to this action is by definition impaired" thing. Revive him if you can, psybuff his ass, and form an ironclad mental health support network around him

[onemattwolf]

trying to calm my anxiety but it's hard cus i ran out of my anti- anxiety meds yesterday and this was my first day off of them for awhile. I want to talk out the anxiety but feel like i don't want to bother my friends with this because it's stupid. So just gonna rant on tumblr instead.

Why do i seem particularly bad at hook ups? People seem to have fun. I have fun. But i don't often get a second time with someone even if it's talked about being a regular thing. Do i message too soon after? Why are there rules around that? I did send an anxiety tinged message to the guy today which i kind of regret. Not about any of this really, just apologized for being weird about kissing. Which feels like a dumb message to send in hindsight, but I have noticed that people usually pick up on it kind of fast. i tend to try and redirect stuff when there's lots of tongue involved, and i dunno i was feeling really anxious without my meds and i thought i'd alleviate by bringing that up in a haha funny way. But instead it got me left on read and goooood it's just dumb.

And it's not like we clicked phenomenally? But enough that starting up a casual fwb thing seemed like a good deal. Sex was great. i kind of read him as being a kind of picky guy so i'm assuming i did something that didn't meet his standards, which is annoying but you can only be so picky when looking for hook ups?

God. I just hate that i run into this pattern. Why do i put people off? It seems like everything i try, being really chill, not messaging for awhile, trying to match the persons tone. I'm doing something wrong. They message back a couple times then ghost when i ask if they want to do that again.

And I don't want to kick myself here. Sure i could be tearing it apart going over what I did "wrong," and the main reason why i didn't message my friends to talk through this is they'd do the same. They'd knit pick the situation and tell me what major social flub I made which is why I won't get a second hook up.

But my point is, it *shouldn't* be like that to pass through a simple social situation, I shouldn't need to learn a whole new sets of social rules and queues to navigate hook up culture? I aim for being my usual friendly self with added flirtiness, which some how is the wrong call. And fuck i'm just going in circles and i really wish i could talk to someone about this without knowing i'd be critiqued on this shit.

Sometimes i really hate being autistic because just people knowing that gives them so much room to scrape through my social interactions and tell me i did something wrong. Even other neurodiverse people do this, actually especially so. Because they were taught to be so scrupulous about their own interactions, they do it to others really badly.

I just don't want to be told i fucked something up that really shouldn't be so easy to fuck up? But maybe that's just childish of me, but i wish i didn't feel like i had to question all of my actions and wonder what little thing i did that put someone off. Because it's not like it'd actually help me next time because everyone is different. i remove all the "bad" actions i did this time, would still fall into the same situation

[dovabunny]

Part 9 - Looking Up

Price sat with his head in his hands. They'd barely been back when Ghost came banging on his door demanding to know why they haven't been updated on Soap's status.

He didn't know what to say. Saying 'I forgot' was apparently not the answer Ghost wanted.

"You forgot!? Price - you gave me your word!"

"In case you haven't noticed, Ghost, things have been going to shit and I've had my hands a little full keeping us all alive and employed!"

"Without our word, what are we, Captain? That really the example you want to lead us with?"

At that Price had sneered and got into his face. His full seniority in the set of his shoulders and look in his eye. "Don't you dare think my job is easy. The decisions I make are never easy - but I make them with the best interests of the 141 at heart! And don't you pretend like I'm the villain here, Ghost. You were the one who made your inability to work with him a liability to the 141. You were more critical of him in the end than I ever was! If you wanted to stop fucking him, whatever - but you made it my problem!"

Oh shit. Price did not mean for that to come out. He's exhausted, hungry, irritable and defensive. Shit.

"Ghost, I-"

"You knew?"

"About you two? Yes. You were subtle, he wasn't."

Price is tense, bracing for a punch that might be a little justified, but Ghost is silent.

At Price's words, the high walls that Ghost spent a lifetime building started to crack. The cracks spread, and light pours in.

He hears himself snap and bite at Soap. Sees Johnny's anger as for what it was - pain. Hears himself on that awful night using the same words..

"...we weren't just fucking." He whispers hoarsely. To tell Price or tell himself, he's not sure. "And it didn't stop because I wanted to."

Price seems to sense Ghost is in a fragile state of mind. "Look. Let's not do this now. I'll call right now and have an update tomorrow."

Price sighed in relief when Ghost silently left. Did the man really think no one knew? And was he implying Soap dumped him? The man was completely gone in Simon, he can't even imagine what could've been bad enough for Soap to leave Ghost.

He picks up his cell and turns it on.

The screen is immediately flooded with a string of missed call notifications and texts. Quite a few from Alejandro, which was strange, but the most striking was the missed calls and voicemail from the captain of Soap's new unit.

He frowns and plays the voicemail message. "Price! You better have a damn good reason as to where Soap MacTavish is! You promised him to me two weeks ago. I've revised our full training schedules around his arrival - and not only is he LATE, I just got a call that just said he ISN'T COMING! We had a deal, Price!"

Price stared as it beeped and the automated voice asked if he wanted to hear it again.

After a third listen he calls Laswell.

"Price, to what so I owe the pleasure? I assumed you'd sleep for two days once you got back."

"Laswell, do you know where Soap is?"

Price tried to focus on listening over heat creeping up his throat, not wanting to even entertain what thoughts lie behind this threatening panic.

"You're only remembering him now? It's been almost a month."

"I know, I-. Just, do you?"

She's quiet for a beat. "I do."

Price feels claws on his throat ease a little. Thank God. "Where is he? His new unit's Captain left me a furious message saying he didn't show and isn't coming. Know anything about that?"

"I do." Her voice steady and sure as always. "He isn't transferring there anymore."

"What do you mean?" His worry is replaced by reminders of old frustrations. "Is this some kind of insubordination from him? God, if he-"

"No, actually. A better unit wanted him, he agreed, I did the paperwork. From where I'm standing, everyone gets what they want. You too."

"Who? If he wanted a different transfer, he should've gone through me."

"That you do not need to concern yourself with. You needed him transferred away, it's done. MacTavish is no longer under your command."

"Laswell," he sensed she was hiding something. "Where is he?"

"That information is 'need to know'."

"...is he okay?"

"Took you a while to ask that. He wasn't. He will be. That is all I'll say, do not ask again. Now, get some sleep Captain."

So here Price sat with his head in his hands, guilt heavy and keeping him from sleep.

"Okay, Cap?" Gaz asks as he slips into the room.

Price opens his arms in silent plea and Gaz stands between his legs, let's the man wrap his arms around his waist and settle his head on his stomach. Gaz had to stay behind due to his rehab and the rookies needing training.

"I was sure it was the best for everyone," Price admits. "It should've been. Soap should've transferred quick and easy, we should've been able to keep going with a replacement. Roach is an excellent soldier and great man, and desperately needed a transfer. Was I wrong?"

Gaz doesn't answer him. He pets his hair gently and states at the framed picture of the 141 on the wall. The birthday cake Soap baked for Price was hideous but he put his heart into decorating it to look like Price's trademark bucket hat with a cigar candle.

He can't answer.

--

In Soaps lucid mind he thinks he hears arguing...and a lot of Spanish. His consciousness comes and goes, but he's always too deep underwater to move or open his eyes.

His mind is fractured, passing images and emotions that spark but never stay. A skull. Screaming. Pain. Cold.

He doesn't realize he's keening in distress, struggling against forces that are holding him back or pushing him away - he can't tell - when a warm hand settles on his chest.

"Calm, hermano. We're almost home. You're safe."

GhostSoap AU - Replaced

Cw: angst

They'd been a (secret) thing for almost a year now. Soap was smitten, but respected Ghost's boundaries to keep it private.

But over all these months, Ghost never said he loved him too. He never makes future plans with Soap either.

He keeps turning down invites to go on leave together or meet his family,l. When they're out on missions will always elect share a room with Price over him.

Soap starts to feel like less of a secret lover and more like... Ghost's dirty little secret.

Like he's just being used.

(Read rest below)

It all blows up one night.

The gang had been at a local bar. Some flooze had apparently been making eyes at Ghost and Gaz noticed. Thinking he's being a good friend and wingman, he introduced the two.

Soap had to sit and watch Ghost talk to her at the bar for 20minutes.

Everytime she touched his arm or bought him a drink he wanted to rip her off him.

But what hurt more was that Ghost didn't immediately turn her down, instead entertaining her attention for a drink or two. He didn't tell Gaz he wasn't interested.

Soap was just a spectator.

"So? Get her number?" Gaz eagerly asked when Ghost returned.

"Nah. Not my type. Too chatty."

Gaz rolled his eyes. "Picky bitch. She was pretty. And if you're not into chatty why do you keep him around?" He playfully winked at Soap.

It was a joke. Didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Not when Ghost didn't even reply.

Soap announced he's leaving early. Ghost followed and caught up to him. The cold air did nothing to ease the burning hurt.

"You coming over to mine tonight, Johnny? I doubt they'll be back till after midnight."

Soap grit his teeth and kept walking. "Dunno. Maybe you should go ask your redhead slag."

Ghost glared, voice cold. "That's uncalled for, Johnny. She was just being friendly."

"Friendly, huh? Too bad she's chatty. Apparently that's huge turn off for you."

Ghost grabbed his arm and stopped him. His eyes and tone incredulous. "That's what this hissy fit is about? You're jealous and touchy over that comment? I thought you'd be happy I didn't take her number."

"I would've been happy if you didn't entertain her flirting at all!"

Ghost's eyes turned hard. "And what gives you the right to dictate who I talk to?"

Soap stared for a moment. It hurt. It fucking hurts but he needed to know.

"What am I to you, Simon?"

Ghost was quiet.

"A fling? A partner? A lover? A fucking sex toy? What am I to you!?"

Months of insecurities were bubbling up. The alcohol that loosened his tongue didn't help either as he yelled.

"Don't raise your voice to me, Sargent. I'm still your commanding officer." Ghost said in a tone reserved for intimidating interrogations and reckless recruits.

"...that's it? You're my CO and I'm your Sargent? That's- that's all it is for you?" Soap hated how his voice trembled.

"I didn't make any promises, Soap." (Soap. Not Johnny.) "You have no right to make demands of what I may and may not do, and I won't be chained down!"

"I don't want to chain you down! I just wa-"

"Sounds like you do. Bloody hell, if you didn't want to fuck anymore - fine. There's no need for the tears and the drama, Sargent."

It was only then that Soap realized he was crying.

Ghost cursed and kept walking without him.

Soap feels like he's been punched in the chest, a gaping void left where his heart and lungs should be.

Apparently all the secret kisses Ghost stole, how he held his hand when no one was looking, the way he held him when they were alone were all just what? Drama? In his head?

Soap spends the night sobbing his heart out off base in an empty parking lot with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

By morning he told himself there's no use crying over spilled milk.

But it wasn't that simple. For either of them. It was the start of the end.

[aadmelioraa]

Hi, You said it was ok to come back to your ask box to discuss more the show, and since you've been so nice and friendly (despite being an expert of the lore), i'm here again :)

As we talked about it I'm really curious to know your reaction on the conversation between Galadriel and Elendil about his wife and the circumstances of her death. I feel stupid now to have thought my show would abandon this hug chunk of character development for Elendil, but i also have mixed feelings on the fact this revelation happened during a scene with Galadriel. I love them and ship them with all my heart, but it's something that belongs in my opinion to his family, and should have been used first and foremost to expand on Isildur and Eärien's education/life, feelings and relationships between them and with their parents.

Also it didn't look good for my ship: Galadriel asked so brutally, and Elendil freezed and had to take it upon himself to stay polite for the 1st time with her. And i take his answer as a clear message that they won't discuss this subject, they'll stay focused on what's coming (the darkness) because he clearly has not overcome the trauma that was the death of his wife, before he dropped coldly the brutal fact that she drowned and finally turned his back on Galadriel. The worst part is that she was so happy to meet Isildur (her all face brightened), she even said that he had the same look as his father, and now she's "competing" with a ghost who was so amazing in every way that she also taught Elendil how to approach and communicate with horses (though it's not all bad: it helped him too to remember that Isildur had only him as parent and needed him, and thus they got an amazing conversation and the most soft and tender hug later).

Am i too pessimistic? What did you feel on both points? (Sorry for the length!)

Omg you're so sweet, I'm so glad you're back!! I am really not an expert at all, trust me, but I am very flattered you think so.

I think the revelation (re his wife's death) to Galadriel makes sense for Elendil, actually! He's doing so much to protect his children in the way he thinks is best, and that seems to involve not discussing their mother with them—I think this is in large part due to his own pain. He's still reeling from her loss, and I think it's been more manageable for him to suppress than to process. The scene at the end of the ep where he and Isildur finally connect emotionally is a big moment for both of them and indicates they don't talk about her and their feelings about her (until now!! they are healing!!).

I really love Elendil x Galadriel as a dynamic, you are making me want to write some fic for them (I was already looking for an excuse lol). Even though the dynamic will stay platonic between them in the show (I mean, I assume, I don't know for sure), they clearly have an important connection and I think they actually have a lot in common specifically when it comes to dealing with their trauma. That's another reason why Elendil mentioning his wife's death to Galadriel worked for me. It's not just that he can't talk about it with the kids, he can (to some extent) talk about it with Galadriel. She has also lost someone close to her in a traumatic way, and it's driven her life in a different direction similar to the way Elendil has been affected. I'm not sure where the story between them will go from here on an interpersonal level but they definitely have a lot of parallels (and also…I def ship them too, all their little moments speaking Quenya to each other…be still my heart!!).

I hope I addressed your questions, let me know if not! Always happy to chat about the show <3

[yanderart]

   Once you found Shouto on the Anti-Purge forums, it felt so wonderful to be understood. So comforting to finally have someone you could rely on...

So, when you got a letter notifying you of your selection for the Annual Purge later on, of course you went to seek his help.

Should’ve known better than to trust strangers online, though.

My fic/portrait convo for the Yandere Purge Collab, from the Lovesick Discord. And please check the rest of the m. list for other amazing works set in the same AU!

Under the cut is the actual fic (Todoroki x Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 10k), as well as the respective TWs. Hope y'all enjoy 🥀

-------

Tws: Usual yandere ones (stalking, manipulation, delusion). Dub-con/Non-con. Non-consensual Drug Use, aka Aphrodisiacs. Death threats and sexism (from randoms on the forum, not Todo). 

-------

   You couldn’t think straight —hadn’t been able to since waking up again. All you could recognize amidst the fog currently obscuring your thoughts was the longing, prolonged, and tangible in its hold over your being.

You felt hot all over, the flames licking at your skin burning brightly as you squirmed from your place, eagerly attempting to get closer to the cold reprieve emanating from the man that held you. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N." One of his hands was steering you on his lap, the other one gently massaging your shoulders in a comforting motion. “I can only help you if you do."

If your judgment had not been overcast by the desire pushing away your self-awareness, then perhaps you could’ve heard the faint hint of amusement in his voice. Perhaps you would’ve thought to look up and finally encounter the content shine of his heterochromatic eyes.

“I feel…" speaking was laborious, your tongue impossibly weighty and your mind swirling with thoughts that escaped any semblance of coherence. “I feel hot all over. It hurts.”

The hand positioned around your waist went to search for one of your clenched ones, easily engulfing it in his grip as he nudged the side of your face with his chin rather tenderly. A gentle encouragement for you to stay attentive, anchoring you to the moment despite your dazed mindset. 

“Show me then,” his low timbre tickled your skin, sending another wave of excruciating heat to wreak havoc inside your body, “Let me know where it hurts.”

With a stuttering sigh, you proceeded to press both of your hands to your lower stomach, gulping audibly before bringing them further down. Dancing just short of your underwear while your eyelids fluttered shut. 

You knew your actions were out of character deep down. Even recognized the shadow of wrongness that distorted the current scene. You weren't supposed to do such things, weren't supposed to feel like that…

But the reality was that you were so excruciatingly warm by that point, and his palm felt so deliciously cold. 

When you heard the dreadful siren going off in the distance, the instantly recognizable sound of the Purge starting at last, you were already too far gone to think of anything else but the fingers brushing against the thin cotton of your panties, so close to the evidence of your need soaking through them. 

Your parents had told you not to trust strangers online once upon a time. You should’ve really taken their advice more to heart.

。。。。。

   But first, perhaps a little tracing of your steps is in order —some necessary context to fully understand the extension of your plight. 

You see, earlier that day you had woken up full of a peculiar mix of drive and determination. It was indeed Purge Day, the single day of the year you had grown to fear the most  ever since childhood, and yet for once you found yourself oddly relaxed, filled to the brim with resolve instead of your usual nerves. 

Which was already an unexpected turn of events, considering you had just gotten a letter notifying you of your selection as one of the accursed Darlings of the Night. 

A gentle reminder that, if caught, your life would stop belonging to yourself for an entire dreadful year. 

Because a Yandere had their sight on you now, or so the notice had informed you in impeccable typography. Anxious fingertips memorized the slight raise of inked words, inspecting every single detail the letter carried.

You had imagined a monster ready to pounce just outside your door then, fitting enough to be the carrier of your bad news. A preternaturally grotesque being, built from all the Yandere themed horror stories you had heard throughout the years.  

And yet there you were, feeling safer in that instant than you had in years; Because this time you had a plan. He made sure to give you one you could easily follow.

Just like he later made sure to welcome you in with a kind smile and awfully persistent hospitality. 

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

You should've known better than to accept.

。。。。。

   In the present, fingers were now dipping under the elastic of your panties, ghosting across feverish skin and encouraging your whimpers to grow louder. 

"Is this what you want, then?" The man's breath tickled one of your ears, rough digits gathering your slickness with practiced ease. And he sounded genuinely concerned too, as if your discomfort was not a consequence of his own machinations. "Because I wanna ease your pain, baby. Give you what you truly need."

He barely even touched you yet you were already struggling not to crumble, the desire governing your mind mixing with the new sensations to create a new delirious kind of torment. 

Continuing to tease you, the man was relentless in his torture, barely even brushing over your neediest spots. A gentle press of his palm to stimulate you for a moment before pulling back, much to your shameful frustration; Better than nothing, but not close enough. 

In his own way, though, he was urging you to speak up. Expecting you to demand what you truly wanted. 

Yet as a retort, all you could come up with was gasping out his name, dripping from your lips like honeyed prayers as your hips fought to buck up against his hand. 

 A sound you afterward repeated a hundred times over. Chanted until its melody became engraved on your tongue and the man was finally caving in, sliding his fingers inside with a smirk. 

He had known you'd end up caving, had planned for it for months now, and yet nothing had prepared him for the actual view.

。。。。。

   Shou, actually, had been his username when you first met him. Once upon a time recited with a genuine smile and an eagerness to please, such a far cry from the anguished whines it would later lead up to.

You started frequenting the forum he inhabited a few months back. A place which happened to be a hidden corner of the internet for people who did not just stumble upon it, but actually sought it out. A part of the web where its occupants challenged societal norms and, against what society had tried to condition you all into thinking,  chose to voice their taboo Anti-Purge sentiments instead. 

Sentiments perhaps born either due to the inherent discriminatory nature of the holiday (why was it that Yanderes were accommodated for, while Darlings barely got a warning before they were made prey?), a need for contrarianism (when opposing open kidnappings, assault and other debauchery became an act of rebellion), or just a tenuous moral high ground which made it unbearable to stomach. Whatever the reason, it was your first time encountering such a density of like-minded peers.

Despite attempting to commit yourself to being a lurker, deciding to never post or reply to others, your days had still quickly become consumed by the need to read each and every topic. You were simply fascinated with this new dark corner of the web. 

That was, of course, until the aforementioned Shou became the main focus of your attention, a dash of intriguing brightness to break the monotony of your existence.

And like moths rushing to the flame, your curiosity would be your undoing.  

There was something about him that pulled you in (along with many others from the community, which tended to flock on his posts whenever he grazed the forums). His username was clearly just a nickname instead of a carefully crafted pseudonym; profile picture just an image of the back of what you all assumed to be his hair, dual-toned strands catching the light in a hypnotic way.

Truly, his disregard for anonymity within those parts was a bigger statement than you were expecting, almost as commendable as it was dumbfounding. There was the nature of his postings too, never subtle about his inclinations or ideas. 

   How to disarm and reutilize Purge Traps. 

   Most effective ways to incapacitate a violent assailant.  

   Government lies and why they matter. 

   Faking a BOPC (breach of purge code) and getting away with it.

There was little method to the madness that was his forum activity, besides the hint that he was evidently more knowledgeable about the subject than most. Plus the fact that he was proactive about his advice, actually seeking to teach others to fight back instead of just hide away and hope for the best. For another self-proclaimed Darling, Shou was ruthless with his methods —it was hard not to admire him.

And admire you did, keeping tabs of his sporadic bursts of activity and speeding to try and interact with him whenever you caught him online. You were, to voice it simply, simply star-truck by him (and perhaps becoming a bit of a fangirl). 

Because whoever Shou was, it felt like he understood you. And so, against every ounce of your common sense or natural paranoia, you had finally decided to break your golden rule and reach out for the first time since you joined the niche forum. 

And not to just leave a vague comment agreeing on public discourse, but to actually send him a private message. In your defense, how were you supposed to know the chains of events your actions would start?

   Do you actually believe what you post?, had been your lame conversation starter. 

Luckily for you, he did not leave you hanging. You made sure to send the message while he was still active, one of the few days a week you knew he devoted to his presence on the site (and wasn't it slightly creepy, how you had taken the time to learn his schedule by that point?)

   I wouldn't be here if I didn't, dry, to the point and leaving you embarrassed to have even sent the first question. 

Yet for some reason, something about Shou reverted you back into a middle school kid seeking to impress a way cooler senior. 

Perhaps it was what he symbolized (a change for the better), what he appeared to be (everything you wish you were) —whatever it was, your fingers were frantically typing a reply as soon as his appeared on your screen. 

   I just think it's amazingThe things you know

   How you share them with everyone

   The way you see through the lies

   I just think you're— , your digits hovered over the keyboard as you were about to type out the last sentence before quickly deleting it. Even in your excitement, you knew how obsessed you'd sound if you started complimenting him personally in your very first conversation. 

So instead you sent your thoughts on his posts and awaited his answer with bated breath. A few minutes ticked by this time, your anxiety making you count down the seconds in mortified silence, slowly weighted down by your doubts until your notifications for the forum were going off again with a distinct ping. 

   I've seen your replies around. I think you're great too. 

Whatever your hang ups for praising him directly had been, he clearly did not harbor any. As the prongs of nervousness alleviated their hold over your body, you struggled to see any problems with it either…this was a person you had come to idolize, and they thought you were great?

Your smile, while still anxious, was considerable while you quickly responded. 

   I'm just a n00b. Learning from the pros. 

A moment of thought, biting your bottom lip as you decided whether to add a second message or not. Fuck it, you told yourself. 

   I wasn't even supposed to be posting anything, but you made me wanna reach out. 

Was that too forward? Oh god, it was, wasn't it? You must've sounded creepy, must've sounded desperate and…

   That's cute. Did my ramblings teach you anything? 

An actual squeal left you then, sounding like it came from an altogether different person. You were an adult, with a career and responsibilities… Yet somehow, this stranger online indirectly calling you cute made you more excited than you were comfortable admitting.

   Ofc. I didn't even know what a BOPC was before. Didn't know most of the purge traps you mentioned, either. 

The spaces between replies were getting smaller, the conversation turning fluent as you both seemed to be staring straight into the screen, waiting for the other to finish typing. 

   So you really are a n00b then. 

Shit, did you fail some sort of forum etiquette by admitting that? Somehow, the need to impress Shou was more palpable than ever. 

   And you clearly know your stuff. Makes me wanna up my game. 

Be more like you, you left unsaid. 

   So am I your senpai then? 

Your fingers froze just above the keyboards, eyes scanning over Shou's last message and reverted back to staring at his profile pic for a solid minute. You would've squealed again, if you weren't so taken aback. 

   You make it sound like I am, his second message lit up your screen, coming in quickly after your rare pause in replies.

   I don't think that's bad, though. Third message from him, and you were close to fainting now. 

   Then in that case I suppose you are. You wondered whether Shou wouldn't think you were pathetic admitting that, or whether he had been honest by saying he didn't mind... 

   I've also noticed you agreeing with some of my more polarizing views. 

A welcomed change in topics. 

You thought to ask him which ones (most of his posts tended to have a polarizing effect, with people finding him either too radicalized or not radicalized enough), but before you could formulate the question you saw the twinkling circles symbolizing he was typing up another sentence.

   Do you actually believe them? And now it was his turn to spit your words back at you. 

   Well, yah. You make compelling arguments. 

   Color me impressed then, the start of his new retort left your mind spinning. Never met a n00b like you before. 

After his declaration, you found yourself writing and rewriting your answer, hesitating on your word choice, and yet pure elation coursed through your veins. 

He said he's impressed with me, your brain kept supplying on loop. You had no way of knowing just how much of a lasting impression you were leaving. 

   I don't wanna stay one tho. I'd like to jump a few levels. Improve.

Barely a moment's notice before his last message provoked a noticeable hitch in your breath. 

   I can help you with that. 

Which, as short of a reply as it was, left you giddier than would’ve been healthier to admit. 

Perhaps it could be chalked up to your work shifts growing more monotonous and tiresome, your social life becoming a faint echo of what it used to be, or just the regular wear and tear from a too-plain existence —a routine where you didn’t tend to engage with life, but just passively watched it go by.

Whatever the true reason was, that night you went to sleep with such a wide grin that the apples of your cheeks had started to hurt from the exertion, infinitely excited after getting to talk firsthand with someone you had already come to admire by that point. 

It almost made you self-conscious, knowing just how much it all meant to you, how such a small gesture on his part happened to mean the world to you. 

But there was really no reason to feel ashamed or overzealous over your own reaction. If you could’ve seen Shou, you would’ve known you weren’t the only one smiling.

。。。。。

   Almost as open of a smile as the one adorning his features right now, currently hidden from your view as his fingers set a maddening pace. Tortuously slow at first until his knuckles started brushing against your opening with each thrust. 

All you could hear now were the wet sounds of your arousal facilitating his movements, motions whose only purpose seemed to be to drive you more rambling and disoriented by the second. 

"Is this what you want? What you need, perhaps?" His usually calm voice was uncharacteristically affected as he gasped against your ear, the torture he was making you endure clearly getting to him as well. 

You were much too preoccupied with the waves of pleasure and warmth overflowing your body to give a proper response, but your lack of one did not deter him. 

If anything, your needy gasps and whines were the only encouragement he required. 

"Don't worry, Y/N. I'll take care of you, make you feel good."

By that point, the hand that had been petting your hair had found its way to your sopping heat too, calloused pads circling around your pearl while the man continued feeding you his eager promises. 

"I get you, baby. Just like you get me." So close, your entire body taut and ready to snap. "And you want me to take care of you too, right?"

You weren't conscious enough to understand the implications, your impaired judgment prohibiting you from reading further into the meaning of his words. He sounded so encouraging, so deceivingly tender despite stuffing you full of his fingers as you squirmed on his lap. 

All you could do was nod furiously.

And later on, when your senses sadly returned, dedicated yourself to lamenting over which of your actions brought you down this unfortunate path. 

。。。。。

    Perhaps, your consciousness supplied, it had been the fact that you opened up so readily. That you had dared to share with a supposed new friend, things that should’ve better stayed hidden in the first place.   

But goddamn it, you felt downright honored that he even considered you worthy enough to entertain in the first place. From the very first second, Shouto already had the upper hand. 

During the first few conversations, the topics you two discussed were all closely related to the purge and your mutual hang ups with it. Concise and carefully typed out messages were exchanged, discussing opinions you had never expected anyone to be interested in hearing—not from you, at least. 

But then, as the weeks slowly progressed, the subjects of conversation began shifting to both of your lives, to your occupations, hobbies, and, directly against the forum's policy for privacy, the people you two were outside the confines of your online corner. 

Even without actually exchanging any real data or supplying him with your name or age, you found yourself starting to open up more and more with each day.

You told him about your grueling office job, the friends you hadn’t seen or texted in weeks, and the reality of an apartment which more closely resembled a containment cell than a home…

Revelations that you had kept hidden for so long, which now came pouring out without regard for how mortified they made you feel. You were conscious of the limits blurring between you two the further you kept going, of how you were telling him things best left unsaid, cramped and buried in a hard to reach place. 

And yet, for some obscure reason, everything Shou represented made it impossible for you to resist the temptation to speak up, to demand to be heard for the first time in an eternity of quietness. 

You’re pathetic, is what you expected him to say in return. Pathetic, weak, meager, and worthless. Anticipating him, somehow, to echo all the doubts and deeply held fears you carried inside. 

   Most of my friends don’t understand either, was instead the response you  received. But most people don’t see what's wrong, what needs to be changed. You feel lonely because you do.

It wasn’t clear what you would’ve wanted to hear beforehand, the things you had fantasized someone would reply if you ever gathered the courage to share your anxieties. Whatever those expectations had been an eternity ago, they now vastly paled when compared to what your new friend was dangling in front of you. 

It felt like he was giving an excuse for things you had always perceived as personal failings. If what he said was true, it would mean it wasn’t your social ineptitude that kept people away, your uselessness, or uninteresting personality.

It would mean the shadows around you could still be dispelled somehow, exorcising the silhouettes of a suffering that had become a regular companion in your day to day life.

Brandishing a courage that only anonymity could give you, your fingers were a blur on your keyboard as you tried to ignore the rapid heartbeat in your chest, the fear, and exhilaration from opening up for the first time in forever. 

Something you would later regret a thousand times over.

   And you do too, and it wasn’t a question, a nervous comment or a stuttered retort. With the aid of the text format, you could look as confident as you knew you weren’t. You understand as well. 

You understand me, was the tacit meaning behind it. The prickling of unshed tears made it so you were furiously blinking, fighting against the downpour despite your eyes refusing to leave the screen for longer than an instant. 

   I do. More than you realize.

For all intents and purposes, your first mistake was indeed opening up. 

And your second one was being naive enough to let him in. Seriously, why hadn’t you heeded your parent’s advice about stranger danger?

。。。。。

   ...If they could only see you now, coming apart at the seams and with the name of your tormentor being the only word you were able to string together. 

"Such a beauty, and all for me," his praises accompanied you through the rough orgasm ripping through your body, lips kissing your forehead in stark contrast to the digits still pumping inside your heat. "Let me hear your voice, baby. Let me hear how beautiful my name sounds on your lips."

And you obeyed, because what other choice did you have. Mindless, broken, and oh, so needy. 

You continued to audibly moan as your climax unwound, crying out his name in absolute reverence while Shouto's smile deepened against your skin. The chill of his touch was still as soothing as ever, calming down the embers of a lust that refused to completely die down.

When he finally pulled his hands from your core, you felt excruciatingly empty. But you were not given enough time to wallow in your despair, because who you once considered your friend was then grasping your face gently between his hands, leading your gaze to meet his—forcing you to witness the intensity and adoration present there. 

"My Y/N."

Even in your deeply intoxicated state, the last few dredges of your senses supplied just how utterly abhorrent the situation was. 

The sirens signaling the start of the Purge had died down a while ago, drowned out by your own cries of pleasure, but you could still see the remnants of the government logo still plastered all over the TV, its bright glow bathing you both in an eerily scarlet ambiance. 

From the same weak place of coherence, a shiver of fear managed to break through your stupor. 

"You're going to continue to be a good girl for me, aren't you?" 

When he kissed you then, slow and almost ironically hesitant despite what had just transpired moments before, you couldn't begin to tell your body to refuse. Much to your own horror, you were soon eagerly kissing your tormentor back. 

。。。。。                                                      

   The second mistake leading up to your downfall, on the other hand, took a little longer to occur. It was after a few more weeks of conversation. You vented and talked way too much, while Shou listened intently and even rewarded you with a few crumbs of advice of his own.  

So wrapped up in your new seemingly innocuous friendship you were in, you failed to recognize the magnitude of an event that should've sent you scrambling to shut off your monitor. A warning so loud it would've put the Purge sirens themselves to shame. 

You see, with Shou's help, you were slowly becoming more of an active user around those parts. You didn't just stick to replying to his posts or lurking until he shot you a private message anymore; no, you were now officially a contributor, deciding to step out of your anonymity to share what you thought was a fairly interesting article. It was a rather long-winded thinkpiece on the morality of Darlings’ treatment after the Purge had ended—the reality of that year spent in captivity that most people tended to just brush under the carpet, all in the name of making the entire ordeal more palatable to digest. 

In all your eagerness, however, you had failed to realize a very crucial detail, which was that the article was a whole two days old. Already an ancient text by forum's standards, apparently. 

So with that in mind, of course you should've expected the hate, an outpouring of bitterness fit for a community of loners and acidic underdogs. You were on an anonymous forum on one of the darkest parts of the internet, somewhere most sane people actively stayed away from—Clearly, a rookie unwittingly reposting something was the perfect target for a lot of your bitter comrades. An excuse to finally take out all of their pent up frustration.  

   Fuck1ng pleb, thanks for copy-pasting the same post for the 55th time. 

   This is why we shouldn't let newbies post. Look at this mess @mods.

   Time to hang it up, n00b. And by “it”, I mean your f****** neck.  

   i bet ur a girl, [Username]. u type like a b1tch. 

And the icing on the cake for internet interactions, a myriad of wall spamming "KYS" being plastered all across the comment section, bold and daunting as they filled your notification box with the repetitions of hate. If you weren't so sure of your safety behind your screen, perhaps you would've felt intimidated. 

As it stood, you were just embarrassed, mortified at the fact that you had seemingly botched your only attempt at leaving a positive first impression. If anything, it only seemed you had given everyone a common enemy to pick on for once...

Or that was, at least, until Shou happened to log in at exactly that precise moment. You knew he was usually busy around that day and time (he never actually told you whether he had a job, but you had surmised as much from your past chats), so his instantly recognizable profile picture and username popping up had you genuinely gasping at first. It was one hell of a coincidence, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief at what looked to be your savior.

   Everyone, stop getting your panties in a twist. This is why no new users end up staying, the environment is abhorrent. 

It was vague enough not to betray the fact that you two weren’t just strangers anymore, as well as keeping Shou’s reputation as a lone wolf from completely shattering.

And a comment which, surprisingly, instantly dulled most of the incoming messages your post was being flooded with. 

People respected him there, his status as a renowned user giving him a genuine sort of power and hold over the rest of the community. One of the first things you had recognized on the forums was the distinct hierarchical structures amongst its users, and there Shou might’ve as well be granted the title of mayor for all the weight his every sentence carried.

Or at least they did with the majority of the community. As in every place where large numbers of people gathered, there were always a few rotten apples just begging to be tossed. 

   and ofc ur whiteknighting for her, Shou The Great. shes sucking ur dick under evry single post u make

You cringed, studying the bitter user that had decided to be a contrarian and easily recognizing him from unsavory past encounters you witnessed. Although, if you were completely honest, this time you couldn't exactly say his words didn't carry a certain degree of validity.

Shou had told you he was glad that was the case with you, that his post resonating with anyone was one of the main reasons why he hadn't just disappeared from the site completely. But in reality, saying you weren't subtle about your agreement with his ideas would be an understatement. 

You were like a puppy skipping behind him, trailing his interactions and always ready to write an eager comment backing him up. Yet you had never thought others actually paid attention to your mostly one-sided interactions, the occasional meager downvote or emote being the only thing that made you aware your comments weren’t just lost in the sea of spam Shou’s posts were usually showered in. 

For the longest time, your support had just felt like leaving letters for the man to find. Letters you hadn’t even been sure had reached their target until a few weeks back...

Suddenly, the sharp sound of Shou's incoming reply drove you from your tribulations.  

   Well, maybe if you weren't such a crude man you wouldn't be permabanned from starting topics yourself. Although I doubt anyone would be sucking your dick either way, shitty ideology considered. [Image attached]

A grimace was quick to grow on your face as you aptly studied the picture Shou decided to close his reply with.

It was a screenshot of what looked to be someone's post history, a rather extensive list with alarmingly offensive titles such as "Why male darlings should be spared", "The purge is a form of cuckoldry" and “Feminist agenda: female yanderes and their biological advantage [Repost]". Almost all of them exhibited a tragic downvote ratio right as well, besides the red symbol signaling the posts had been archived by senior users or mods.

For someone who also loathed the terrible holiday, it was almost admirable how the man managed to be almost as detestable as the criminals you all rallied against. 

But even so, what disturbed you the most wasn't the clear bigotry of the user, but the fact that that screenshot couldn't have been taken from public records. A user's post history was hidden, just another measure on the site’s part to keep people from recognizing too many details about each other and possibly endangering themselves. 

No, it could only have been taken from inside the account. And judging from the other guy's quick reaction, you weren't the only one who came to that realization.

   how the fck did u get that

   I knew u were friends with the mods. fcking rats 

By that point, everyone else had stopped clogging the comments and, you assumed, instead opted to settle down and attentively observe the events transpiring. Apart from the emote reactions and the rapidly rising number of upvotes on Shou’s comments, you had all become a passive audience to the public ridicule.

Although you couldn’t help feeling slightly disjointed by Shou’s behavior. Below your wicked sense of pride at having him defend you, there was still the whispers of your gut telling you the man was going a little too far, his actions spelling a more sinister meaning than just “having a friend’s back”.

   You've been here for years, Minoru. Surprised you haven't yet noticed how much of a pest everyone sees you as. 

Minoru? You did a double-take, going back to read the username of the guy Shou was arguing with. But he just had a randomly generated number as a pseudonym, same as you and most others, and with just a picture of some anime sneezing girl to distinguish his profile from the rest. No trails or signs of what could Shouto be referencing to.

Nothing but an option you preferred not to consider. But it couldn't be, could it? your friend wouldn’t...

   fucking delete that right now, man.

   this isn't a joke, DELETE THAT. 

Only that the abrasive and desperate reaction told you everything you needed to know. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, shock mixing with equal parts horror and amazement you couldn’t even begin to try and disentangle. Because right that second, you were witnessing your friend breaking the forum’s number one rule with a front-row seat to the spectacle. 

And he was doing it all in your name.

   Then maybe think twice before you go out of your way to harass newbies. Or have you had too much time on your hands after being fired, is that it?

It was vague enough not to represent any kind of threat... if not for the context of the site. And yet you all knew the hidden message behind it, the warning for whoever Minoru was to understand Shou knew much more than what he was letting on. That he could expose much more than he was currently alluding to. 

   y are u even doing this, shou? y do u care wtf happens to this noobslut anyways?

Shou's reply took barely a moment to appear, lighting up your screen and, despite the slightly morbid nature of his protection, coaxing out a smile to adorn your lips. It was like a balm being applied to your worries, quieting down most of your incipient concerns in favor of rejoicing. 

   They're a friend. 

For fuck’s sake, you even screenshotted that for posterity. Somehow, him acknowledging the new bond you two had openly felt like a milestone. 

When a mod came in to archive the post and give everyone involved a stern warning later on, you were already way past your previous doubtful sentiments. 

Instead, the last thing you did before going to sleep that day was to open up your private conversation with Shou and send a quick yet heartfelt message of gratitude his way. 

Months prior, you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d be thanking anyone for semi doxxing another human being. How rapidly things were changing, though, and all while you got lost in the thrill of mattering.

   Thanks for sticking up for me. It meant a lot, you typed feeling slightly lightheaded, drunk on the idea that anyone would think you worthy of having your back.

You thought Shou went offline after dishing out his not so thinly veiled threats, but somehow he was back again in an instant, the sound of notifications going off shaking any remnants of your exhaustion.  

   Anything for you, [Y/N]. 

You were so tired, it didn't occur to you that you hadn't yet shared your real name with your friend either.

That night, for once, you fell asleep with a twinkle in your eye and the image of Shou's multicolored locks dancing against your eyelids. Imagining, ever so briefly, your fingers trailing down the back of a neck you now had memorized from analyzing his profile picture. 

And, while you slept with your phone clutched to your side, you also failed to notice the peculiar sound of your own camera going off, the soft glow from the red light beside your lense bathing your features in its subtle illumination, flickering against your eyelashes and the lingering grin on your curved lips. 

You truly looked angelic like that. 

Suffice it to say, Minoru never bothered you again after that day. In fact, his name disappeared from the site not too soon after. 

。。。。。                                                   

    But now, to continue the grueling task of giving a context for your inevitable end, it is necessary to jump a month further into the future, barely a week from the excruciating present. 

Because it was then that the last strike finished nailing the coffin of your proverbial undoing, burying you under the weight of your own ignorance.

You got your notice in the mail on the Day of Announcements, an inconspicuous letter lacking any further distinction beyond a scarlet government seal emblazoned across its front. But even before you opened and read the message, you already knew of its contents—easily recognizing the image before you from several of the varied posts you had seen floating around on the forums lately.

   Purge Notice!!! Help needed Urgently. 

   Just got my letter. Do I stay hidden or fight back? [Open poll]

   Third time getting mine. AMA about my methods. 

The range of how you had seen other users reacting to their own selections was diverse, with some of them being more experienced while others, such as you, had just gotten their first letter ever. If things played out differently for you, then you were sure you would've been another one of the numerous panicked voices, awkwardly trying to maneuver their way out of their new situation.

And maybe, then, your odds wouldn't have been so completely fucked from the start. 

As it stood, as soon as you laid eyes on the notice, the first thing you thought of was how quickly you could boot up your computer and open the forum’s private messages. Because, for the first time in forever, you were overwhelmed by the feeling of someone else being there for you. 

Shou was your friend, had earned that spot fair and square after months of listening to you venting and sharing deep discussions; faster than you could even realize it, and so it was only natural for you to seek his help once the news of your selection for the new yearly Purge reached you. 

He had even threatened another user for your sake, for fuck’s sake. So, really, what harm could come out of relying on someone you were sure was trustworthy?

Maybe it was too late by that point for you to snap out of it, but it was almost amusing seeing you being so easily deceived. 

Just another reason why you needed him, certainly.

 。。。。。

    Already told you I'd have your back, had been his immediate reply barely an instant after you attached a candid photo of your hand holding up the envelope. Whatever you need, I’m here.

His lack of hesitation was palpable through your screen, heart hammering in your chest as you were faced with a kindness you had thought yourself undeserving of not long ago. 

As soon as you closed your mailbox, you had immediately raced to send him the message, completely foregoing telling any of your other friends or family members when you doubted they would even understand you in the first place. Shou had been right when he told you people just didn’t want to see the truth, even if it slapped them right in the face, leaving dark imprints in the shape of their narrow mindedness.

But he was there, he was letting you know as much, in his own words. And for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few months, you felt incredibly lucky to have stumbled upon the Forums in the first place, to have traced whatever fortunate path had led you to find him—the one person able to distinguish you in a world you always thought you blended straight into. 

   Thank you, Shou, for everything. And at that moment, you really had been truthful, so much so that there were tears prickling at your eyes, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude drowning you with its intensity.

Indeed, your final mistake had been your desperate need for acceptance. A need that had, in the end, cost you everything.

   You can call me Shouto now. No use for nicknames anymore.

Amidst the chaos of your life possibly crashing down all around you, somehow his revelation put a trembling smile back in your face. 

   Then allow me to repeat: thank you, Shouto. 

   Np, Newbie. Told you I'd help you level up, didn't I? 

His teasing managed to garner a small stuttering laugh out of you despite the dreadfulness of your situation. 

But you couldn’t help it. Somehow, every reply Shouto sent you only served to wrap the illusion of safety tighter around you. So tight in fact, that you should’ve started worrying about suffocating. 

。。。。。

   On the other side of the screen, the man with the multicolored hair couldn’t help but keep staring at the picture you had sent him earlier. 

He was transfixed, eyes almost unblinking as they refused to separate from the image. The way your fingers tentatively held the letter up for the picture was simply adorable to him. Beautifully naive. 

It wasn't like he hadn't seen your face before, like he hadn't already memorized the texture of your skin and the everlasting trace of a frown always threatening to dampen your mood. He read your expressions like poetry, every mole and scar furthering the securing of his interest. 

But this was the first picture you had actually chosen to send him out of your own volition, the final symbol of a trust he had worked so tirelessly to earn. Used to catching prey as he was, the man wasn’t entirely sure when you had turned from a game into a priority, from a priority into the only thing he could even make himself care for.

And it didn’t help that it was his letter you were holding, too. His formal declaration of pursuit. 

With time, Shouto was sure you would find it in yourself to appreciate the beauty of such irony. 

But, for now, what he really needed to do was buy some tea. Couldn’t have your own stubbornness ruining your first encounter, could he?

。。。。。

   In the coming weeks, your friend aided you and even coached you as you jointly planned for the horrific holiday, not only suggesting ideas but tracing the safety measures needed for them to succeed. You really had no reason to doubt him by that point.

That evening, after you finished letting Shouto know you were back from work, you made sure to pack all of your supplies into an inconspicuous bag you had acquired for the occasion. Whoever your Yandere was, it was best to not give any hints of your new acquisitions, just in case they were already stalking your movements. 

Shouto had helped you devise the list, mentoring you in your selection of weapons as well as self-defense arsenal—what brands of pepper spray to get, which ammunitions were most efficient and reliable, even what kind of clothing was the least troublesome if the need to escape ever arose. If you had been sure he knew his craft before, now you were surprised at just how vast his wisdom genuinely was. 

After the last few finishing touches of preparations, you were already on your way to the direction you had both agreed on (supplied by him, approved by you). There were several hours until the start of the Purge still, but the adrenaline swimming through your bloodstream was already considerable. 

Shouto had suggested you visited him for the Holiday, quoting how the measures in place for his home made it nothing short of a fortified vault, impossible for any outsiders to break into (and for anyone to break out of, but let's not get ahead of ourselves). 

With that in mind, how could you have refused his offer? Your place was barely an excuse for an apartment, windows that didn't entirely close, and feeble doors that could be easily broken into. Even if you weren't partly driven by the curiosity of meeting your new internet idol turned friend, it would've been foolish to decline. 

So in a few hours, you were sporting a nervous smile on your face as you parked your car in front of the largest apartment complex you had ever encountered. It was luxurious in a way you had only seen staring back at you from a television screen, marble, and gold accents giving you the impression you were about to step into a drama set instead of visiting an online friend. 

Before the surrealism of the entire situation could begin to set in, however, you noticed the young man sitting on the ample stairs of the building. He had an air of effortless elegance, tall and lithe, yet sporting a black turtleneck which hugged his frame and made it clear just how much sheer strength hid behind his movements. 

And he also sported the same peculiarly colored locks you had already memorized from the last few months, the light softly reflecting on them proving to be an even more impressive show when admired live. 

You were dazzled for an instant, wondering if, somehow, this entire thing was a prank and the Shou from the forums had just schemed his way into making a fool out of you in front of a handsome stranger. Way too convoluted, yet entirely too plausible to your bewildered self. 

Until the man lifted his eyes—as beautifully dual-toned as his hair, and catching sight of you standing just beside your recently parked vehicle. 

"Y/N," he was sharply climbing to his feet as he called out your name, the shy hint of a smile in his lip contradicting the monotone cadence of his tone. "Good to finally meet you."

You had first been under the impression that the Shou you knew was cold, the way he interacted with others on the site reminding you of an emotionless robot at times, but the man addressing you seemed like he was ripped straight out of a stereotypical rom-com. 

Maybe he'd be the aloof, tormented heir? Which, in your fantasy drama land, would make you the nearly illiterate and poor love interest. Your feelings of inadequacy only grew at the comparison.

Almost cute, how that had been one of your greatest worries once upon a time. How foolishly eager you were to be liked back then.

"Shouto." The name still felt somewhat strange on your lips, even after he had insisted you started calling him that. "It's good to meet you, too."

He was by your side in an instant, taking your bags from you swiftly and shutting the door to your ride. From this up close, it became considerably harder to disguise your staring. 

Even the scar which covered his left eye, a splash of reddish textured skin, somehow came across like yet another enhancer of his appeal. An underlying harshness which you couldn't help but be intrigued by. 

"Your hair looks even better in person."

And leave it to you to once again find a way to screw first impressions. You were chastising yourself a mere second after the words left your mouth. 

But Shouto only sent you that same hint of a smirk your way, his eyes appearing genuinely pleased at your praise. If he thought you were a weirdo and was regretting ever inviting you to his house, then he was a good enough actor for you to be fooled.

And fooled you he did, but with completely different intentions. 

"You look just like in your pictures," came his serene retort not long after.

Which you assumed was a joke, keeping in mind that the only photo you had ever sent his way had been of the Purge letter you received a few days ago.

Laughing lightly, you tried to ignore the nerves tugging at your chest before catching up with him on the steps of the building. 

As you giddily barged straight into the open jaws of the beast, it once again struck Shouto how utterly unsuspecting you were. How you trusted him so wholeheartedly.

He couldn't wait to see it all come crashing down.

。。。。。

   Inside his honest to god penthouse, your previous feeling of insufficiency only became more severe. 

The interiors were decorated sparingly, albeit fashionably. Filled with different muted shades and being unexpectedly traditional in the way they were designed. It was a stunning abode, even if you couldn't help but mentally point out how utterly unlived in it appeared.

There was not a single cup, shoe, or book out of place, everything perfectly polished and organized to the point that you felt hesitance as your sock-covered feet continued making their way through the place.

"Make yourself at home," Shouto told you most matter-of-factly. If you weren't so sure of his intentions by now, perhaps you would've thought he was being sarcastic. 

Without any of your belongings to distract yourself with, you instead gravitated towards what you could see of the kitchen through one of the sliding doors. 

It was very modern despite the rest of the aesthetic the penthouse sported, shiny stainless steel and spotless dark countertops. It should've looked out of place when paired with the carpeted floors, wooden furniture, and sparse pieces of classical Japanese art…

Yet somehow, it strangely fits. Just like his owner, you supposed, thinking back to the oddities that amounted to his unique brand of appeal.

And you really needed to stop thinking of your friend like that. 

When you heard the door to the apartment being audibly locked with a resounding click, you instantly stopped your fingers grazing the smooth countertops. Your instincts flared up with worry for a moment, right before you forcefully willed yourself to calm down.  

After reminding yourself of the true reason why you were there, the exhale you released next was one of clear relief. 

"Want something to drink?" Shouto appeared in your line of sight again, hands buried in the pockets of his pants and looking like the picture of composure. 

You felt embarrassed once again, knowing he had given you a free pass to roam but still somewhat self-conscious about intruding on his space. 

"You don't need to make me anything. I'm fine." Your timbre was apologetic, not used to slipping into the role of a guest just yet. 

He seemed strangely dissatisfied with your answer, closing some of the distance between you with a presence that had you almost flinching back for a second. 

There was an intensity in his gaze, something which you could not quite yet place. 

"But I want to be a good host. So let me." He appeared very serious about it, too, with his face growing stern as his peculiar eyes bore into yours. 

Not wanting to cause further distress, you imagined relenting would be the best course of action. 

It was like you were molded to be the perfect Darling, so wonderfully meek and gullible.

"Okay then. Water is fine."

Yet Shouto shook his head, still somewhat dissatisfied with your answer. 

"Tea it is." His phrasing allowed little space for argument. "I know you mentioned liking a few brands before, so I took the liberty of stocking up on them."

A surprising burst of laughter broke through your anxious feelings then, drawing Shouto's eyes again from the particular cabinet they had drifted to as he mentioned the beverages. 

He looked at you puzzled, an unasked question written all over his otherwise blank expression, and so you decided to reply from the surge of unexpected amusement you were experiencing. 

"It's only a night, Shou," you didn't even realize you had slipped back into his nickname, too entertained by how much he had apparently overdone his hospitality. "There really wasn't any need for you to go buy my favorite teas."

His eyes blinked quite slowly your way, his expression back to his vacant mask before a smile reappeared.

"I wanted you to feel welcomed," he supplied as he approached the cabinet he was eyeing before, dedicating himself to searching for whatever kind of flavor of tea he had in mind. 

In response, you just shrugged your shoulders with another chuckle. 

"And I didn't get you anything. You're making me feel even more out of place."

"Nonsense," he cut you off in that deadpan way of his, hands rummaging through the most ridiculously vast tea collection you had ever seen. And then he added, decidedly quieter, "today is supposed to be about you, after all."

Too bad you didn't pick up on it. 

When he ushered you back to the salon with barely a wave next, pointing at one of the cushions arranged around the short-legged table, you decided to follow his suggestion and wait there while he finished brewing the drinks. By now, you understood the futility of offering any kind of help when he was still so intent on properly welcoming you. 

So, curious as you were, your eyes continued to inspect each and every inch of the apartment, drinking up all the pieces of info you could observe, that you didn't even think of the potential dangers of letting a stranger fix you a cup while you weren't looking.

Unbeknownst to the other, you were both actively counting down the seconds until the Purge started, minds lost to your own inner turmoils from opposite sides of the suite. 

And for entirely different reasons, you were both filled with anticipation.    

。。。。。

   Meanwhile, finally back in the present after retracing the steps that guided you there, it was becoming increasingly hard to compartmentalize the chaos brewing inside you.

Shouto’s lips were the personification of hunger against yours, an inescapable gluttony to mark and consume every single inch of you he could encompass. 

After a hint of understanding returned to your body post-orgasm, your vision and the sensations you endured were becoming disturbingly vivid. It was impossible to conceive anything beyond his hands ridding you of your flimsy camisole, palms cold in comparison to the heat you felt, splaying against your sides and slowly making their way up the sensitive mounds of your chest.

“All mine, baby.” You barely registered his teeth nipping at your bottom lip until a shock of pain snapped you out of your trance.

He bit you, and quite harshly too, but when you tried to instinctually pull back his response was to hold you even tighter. Before you could attempt to voice your complaints, his tongue was darting out to clean up the droplets of blood he spilled. 

“Out of all the Darlings I’ve played with, you’re the only one I’ve ever even considered keeping, you know?”

And now that had you freezing, even amidst the cloud of desire still muddling your cognizance. His arms pressed you closer still, forcing you to bury your face against his chest, completely unphased by the bloody mess your mouth had morphed into.  

Had he tricked others before then? Was that the reason why he was even on the Forums in the first place? 

You wanted to ask him what he meant, wanted to demand explanations for a phrase that had dread closing around your neck like a noose. But whatever he slipped into your drink to keep you so awfully responsive and pliable, also appeared to make forming any complex sentences incredibly hard…

Shou, ever the receptive one, caught onto your change in demeanor rather aptly. His face nuzzled your hair softly, humming a calming melody as if you were a scared child who could be so easily reassured. Meanwhile, his hands hadn’t abandoned your breasts, still tenderly kneading them with a touch bordering on worship.

“But I’m glad you weren’t my first, baby. Means I could be all ready for when we met.” He rocked you both as he rested his back further on the sofa, opening his legs wider below you and forcing you to settle closer to his clothed groin with a whimper. 

Your arms reached out to grasp his shoulders while you tried to stabilize yourself, the strain of his erection resting snuggly against your still sensitive slit. 

"Helped me to know when to pull back," he kept confessing, purposefully thrusting into you while he kept lovingly massaging your chest, fingers twisting your hardened peaks to coax a new kind of mewl to be uttered against his skin. "Wouldn't want you to break now that I've finally found you."

The fact that your bodies seemed to fit so perfectly, even in your impaired state, was not an irony lost on you. 

Abruptly, Shouto stopped fondling your breasts in order to maneuver your face again, both of your stares meeting in a vehement standoff before he continued. 

“I’ll make this as close to perfection as I can, I promise you.” And you got a direct view of the vulnerability in his uniquely colored eyes, the nature of his words clearly heartfelt despite the atrocities they alluded to. 

As you heard him drag his zipper down, the hand clutching your jaw trembling in anticipation, you couldn’t help the new wave of warmth spreading through your body, negating all the fear and anxiousness warring inside you in order to shamefully expose your baser desires.

Now that whatever had been clouding your  judgment was pulling back slightly, your thought process had begun to snap back into place, overflowing you with a terrible sense of shame at your own reactions.

He gave you something earlier with your drink, you were sure of it, and yet you couldn’t help but still be horrified at just how much you were enjoying it. Once you felt the flushed head of his cock placidly rubbing against your thigh, the sounds leaving your mouth weren’t ones of complaint, peril or dissent.

Quite the contrary, actually, and it only made Shouto grow bolder.

As the hand clutching your face grew tenser, gripping you with force before tugging harshly, you got the hint. Now painfully following his lead, it wasn't long before the previous pressure against your legs was now resting directly against your cunt. 

The pre-cum already gathered on him mixed in with your still oozing arousal, smearing the span of your outer lips as he lightly teased you one last time. 

You were so mortified by that point, that if he had offered to end your embarrassment right then and there with one of the several weapons you knew he kept, you would’ve been very inclined to accept. 

“... I didn’t even think there was such a thing as 'The One' before, actually.” You hadn’t even realized the man was still talking, ardent whispers getting lost on the intensity of the situation. 

His eyes were searching your face, a satisfied twinkle lighting them up as soon as you returned his stare of your very own volition. Perturbed, you wondered if his delusion made him see anything beyond a twisted mix of lust and fear reflected back at him. 

“But I now know just how wrong I was, Y/N.” So sure of himself, tone back to the stern cadence you previously associated with him for a moment, gripped by a gravity befitting of his obsession. “Indeed, I think you were always meant to be my darling… don't you agree?”

To your credit, you did struggle to speak up, to gain back the control over a body which had stopped listening long ago. Too bad you only managed a single pitiful word out.

“Shouto…”

But before you could even fathom attempting a better response, he was breaching into you, sheathing himself with an ease you wished you could overlook, turning your voice from an anguished plea into outrageously labored moans. 

You had once thought Shou had been interested in you because he somehow perceived you as anything but pathetic, but you were beginning to think it had been your weakness which drew him in all along. 

So deliciously frail, that even a predator like him had been driven with an urgent need to protect you. To break you down, just so he could be the one to build you back together.

As he started fucking you with shallow thrusts, hips bucking up from the sofa while he tenderly guided you until your body was mimicked his motion on its own, you couldn’t help but be the most disturbed at his oddly affectionate ways. 

As awful as it sounded, now that your mind had awakened from its stupor all you wanted was for him to bend you over and abuse you, manhandle you and mistreat you in a way which unequivocally screamed assault. You wanted bruises painting your skin, proof that you hadn’t just willingly given up and facilitated your own ruin. 

He was humiliating you despite the pretty words he decided to disguise it as—showing you how easily he could own you and even make you enjoy it, drug-addled drink or not. 

But as his mouth latched around one of your hardened nipples, sucking generously until his name was once again fast on your tongue, you also couldn’t deny the crystal clear responses you were giving.

You could attempt to lie to yourself later, could swear it was all a delusion born out of the deranged man's mind, but the particular brand of your screams was unmistakable.

When your own hand reached down to facilitate your release, you knew you were already acting beyond what you could've previously attributed to the drugs. Toying with your bundle of nerves, you rested your forehead against Shouto's shoulders, tears from the pleasure mixing in with the subjacent agony of your guilt. 

Why did it have to feel so good? And how far did the drugs truly affect you? Or had they just peeled back your inhibitions perhaps, baring you until all you had were dark desires and no self-control to contain them. 

You still tasted blood inside your mouth when your walls started clenching around his cock, the coppery flavor entirely too vivid on your tongue. Hearing his own choked groans gasping against your chest, you felt his mouth abandoning your bud with a pop before his kisses were trailing a path back up—eager in their search of your face, your lips. 

You were still cumming by the time a lascivious kiss connected you two again, unwinding in his grasp until his hands were the only thing keeping you whole. 

“Even if I wasn't taught how,” he began promising while his rhythm grew frantic, barely resisting the allure of your core fluttering around him. “I promise I’ll love you, Y/N. Love you so good, you won’t ever want to leave when the next Purge comes.” He was getting increasingly excited by his own words, imagining a future where you did not need the aid of a little cup of tea to eagerly kiss back. “I’ll fuck you every day, fill you up and show you just how much I care. How much you matter.”

Faced with his degenerate promises, all you could do was gasp out his name one last time, perhaps seeking to express your reticence, perhaps oddly excited by the image he was painting. 

You indulged him in the pitiful sound of your whimpers molding around its syllables, and it wasn’t long before you were coaxing him to join you with an orgasm of his own.

He actually came inside, you recognized inwardly after the aftershocks of enjoyment now quieted down to a lull, a new type of dread quickly following the realization. His cum was still shooting in hot ropes, stuffing you to the brim with the intent and purpose of a man bent on marking you, owning you.

But Shouto was so loving as he kissed you time and time again, painfully reminding you of just how nice he could be for you, how gentle and attentive. It made the lines between your tormentor and a traditional lover blur even further, the confusion clouding your sense not merely born out of narcotics any longer. 

You had been so preoccupied with a monster outside your house once. A creature ripped from the kind of movies that were ripe with cheap scares and considerably cheaper thrills. 

But monsters never were like that in real life, were they? As the man continued to cradle you in his arms like the most vulnerable of creatures, you were suddenly struck by how glaringly obvious things should’ve been from the beginning. 

Because your Yandere’s obsession had not come with claws and a row of sharp teeth. No, it came instead with a suit of deception to hug its frame, the bait of acceptance, and the promise of a reliable ear to comfortably listen. It arrived with whispers that assured you that you were not alone, that it was not you who was flawed, but the world for not welcoming you. 

It dangled everything your little heart desired, so by the time you were reaching out, you were simply too distracted to notice the dangers of the abyss you were throwing yourself at.

Luckily for you, Shouto had made such a void his home. And for however long it took you to consider the darkness as your own, his was a kind of hospitality that no amount of your struggles could ever hope to wear down. 

And if the worst came to pass, if you kept stubbornly refusing and fighting despite your odds? Well…

   He could always brew you another cup of tea.

-------

Well, I can finally rest now 💀

This monster of a one-shot took me a lot longer than expected, so I ended up being a lil later to the collab that I would’ve liked. Either way, I’d really appreciate hearing any feedback or opinions on either the fic or art (or both?)... I swear that’s what keeps me motivated ;___; 

So fr, thanks to everyone who takes the time to let me know your takes! y’all are the bests of the best 🖤 And speaking of bests of best, special thanks and gratitude to the actual angels who helped and gave me feedback for both the art and/or fic @reinawritesbnha , @drxwsyni​, @wootato, @snappysnapo and @coyambition. Don’t catch me seeing y’all drop your crowns bc it’s on sight  😠 👑

[savvythepirate]

Across The Universe

Pairing: Hector Barbossa x reader

Warnings: None

Requested by: @personlovingamime

The Request:

The whole idea is that Karina is not the only child of Barbossa, but her younger / older (not particularly important) sister (possibly from another woman, supposedly half-breeds) died as a child in infancy, but her soul was transferred to the modern world. In the fifth part, Barbossa turned to Chance and she said that his treasures would return to him. So, if she used magic and a girl / girl from the modern world got to them. During a deal with Salazar, under the upper deck, the ghosts find a girl who does not understand what is happening. they take her with them and events continue according and events continue according to the canon of the film, while Barbossa tries to find out who she is. Relationships are not set from the very beginning, because according to the terms of that time, the girl does not know how to do anything. Only later, when it turns out that Karina is his daughter, and therefore a girl too, will the true relationship be revealed. But the relationship never works out for the same reason. "Stupid" with this word you can describe a hit. But after all the adventures (Barbossa survived, sincerely believe that there was another way to defeat Salazar), when the girl already wants to find a way to return home so as not to annoy her father, because she sincerely suffers from the fact that her own father does not need her relationship to improve. The team, unlike the captain, took a liking to the hitman (Henry and Karina are neutral), and asked her to cheer them up. The popadanka sings and it turns out that the girl is very talented in languages ​​and music, plays the violin, piano and guitar, and also sings like a serena. And on all this ground, relations are improving and the family is reunited. (Hugs are possible) I know that this is complete and impossible nonsense, but I just got fired up with this thought. (If necessary, I can send a link to the song, translation is not needed))

***

It wasn’t until later into the evening did you find out that you supposedly belong into a different world, a much different one.

A world that’s only possible to live in only in dreams, your imagination. You had found out that from folding a pile of clean clothes, in which one pair of jeans had revealed a photo you don’t remember of ever owning. The photo slipped out of the pocket as you began folding them. Not only was it overwhelming, it was to the point of calling it unbelievable as you studied the photo you now held. In the photo, it shows you in it next to some girl and man who you assumed to be your own father.

Flipping over the photograph, there was a short note that was claiming to be a message that was meant for you. On the back of it, it revealed who these strange people were to you, when you should only know about your own family, whom seemed to be in a whole other world, your world. Not the modern day world you seemed to be trapped in. You wanted to start your own little investigation in this, to find out who your family were and who you really are. The note continues, going on to explain that you have a father who was a pirate and once you’ve come to learn that this letter was authorized by an unfamiliar name, Karina, the name doesn’t ring a bell. As you dig deeper into the puzzle, you discover a hidden journal lying on an empty shelf. The journal wasn’t yours, and you don’t recall on who may belong as you reach up to grab it. Of course you knew that reading a personal journal that doesn’t belong to you was the wrong way to go, but you were much too curious by this point that you brushed the thought away.

The journal was old, as it looked to have come from far back in the day. It was very delicate and so you were extra cautious as you handled it, opened it. Before you could really open it, you were shocked to find your name engraved on the front cover of the leather journal. It had also brought you an unsettling feeling, it was like something didn’t feel right, and you may not want to know or understand what that could be, but you wanted to find out as you continued on flipping through the pages. The rusty pages didn’t have the dates jotted down, but it had names you weren’t familiar with. It was a journal of what your life was like in a whole other universe and it seemed almost rather frightening. As you continue to read on, you discover the name of your father, Hector Barbossa, and your apparent half sister. Your hand writing stopped short and you noticed a change in it, before you realize it’s a match to the letter you discovered earlier.

Assuming this was a match to Karina’s writing, you read on, browsing through it before learning something a little shocking. The journal entry informed that you were born into that very world by a different woman. The next thing you know, you find out that in your previous life, you died in child infancy before a promise was made both to you and your father that one day, your treasures will be returned one day. The entry ended off with a final vidal of information that tells you you’d have to be a fool if you really believed all of this was real. That information didn’t seem to make any sense to you at all, but what happens next, you will be surprised when see that the fact is, this was all the truth, and it wasn’t just a dream you’d wake up from. Your soul had been transferred into a whole new world, the one that you live in now. The truth about everything you’ve just learned was about to reveal on you brightly.

It was late into the night when you decided it was time to get some rest, shutting your journal and set it down on the nightstand next to you. You don’t remember falling asleep, you just knew that as you wake up, you wake up in a world you had not have fallen asleep in. What helped you to snap out of the fuzziness in your mind and sight was the sound of ocean waves as it hit and rocked the ship violently. You were beginning to get a good whiff of the sea water before you hear what sounded like inaudible arguing voices. The storm raged on, having you holding onto whatever you can grab to hoist yourself up, hoping to prevent falling over into the sea yourself. That would be the last thing you needed, as for the voices you heard, the storm was making it impossible for you to decide which direction they were coming from, but it didn’t take you long to realize you had woken up on the deck of the ship, as you’re feeling absolutely lost and don’t know what’s going on.

“Are you alright, miss?” A voice asks, having you lose your train of thought.

“Can you tell me where I am and how I got here? I don’t know where I am or how I got here myself.”

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/n) Barbossa.” You respond.

As you get a better look at who was assisting you, you instantly take notice in his ghostly image, and it was a little frightening but he seemed friendly nonetheless.

“Come with me, I know where you need to be.”

You hesitated for moment before deciding on continuing to trust him to help you get to where you want to go or to where you’re supposed to be. The ghostly gentleman looked around, as if in the search of someone important, and he was as he had to call out asking where he could find who he was looking for.

“Have you seen Barbossa around, mate?”

“Last I’ve seen him, he was in the middle of making a deal with Salzar. What do you need him for?”

Before more could be said, a man storms in, assuming it was this Barbossa person they were asking about.

Barbossa didn’t seem too happy, something had to have happened within whatever deal it was he made. Barbossa remained where he was now standing, looking around at the eyes that surrounded him before turning around to one of the crew.

“She said my treasures would return to me. Who is this lass?”

“She claims to go by the name, (Y/n) Barbossa. I bumped into her on the deck, she seemed confused like no other of what was happening or where she was, she can’t even summon up to explain how she came about our ship.”

Just as soon as Barbossa had gotten his answer, he turned back to look at you, examining before questioning you. He wanted to know for certain that you are who you claim to be, while in hopes that this was not some kind of sick joke.

You felt a little shy the longer his eyes laid upon you before asking the first question.

“Do you have any solid proof that you are truly who you say you are?”

Barbossa’s voice sounded a little rough and stern, however, you responded but not with the answer he didn’t like to hear.

“I don’t have anything on me, is there a way I can prove my identity is legit?”

“We’ll see.” Barbossa responds, turning and walking away from you.

Over the next following days, Barbossa seemed to be giving you the cold shoulder. But really, he was just trying to figure out who you were, not trying to make you feel he didn’t want you there was not his intentions in the slightest.

It wasn’t until the night you had a visitor from Karina herself. You were her younger half sister, and she seemed to be happy to see you there although you haven’t properly met yet. Barbossa soon puts the pieces of the puzzle together as he begins to truly believe you are who you say you are. As for his own sake of mind, hoping beyond hope that you are truly who he was hoping to be. So later on in the day, you started exchanging small talk with Barbossa as he explains his side of the story and how you might have ended up onboard.

“Are you sure that’s really how I came about your ship? I don’t mean to offend, or question your authority, but that sounds almost like a fairytale to me.”

“I understand, but that’s how it truly happened.”

“I believe you’re honest about us being a family part, I discovered some clues that provided the evidence. I didn’t think much about it at first, but here I am now.”

“Last I check, (Y/n), we are family. Now what do you say? Are we family or not?”

“I honestly believe that we are.” You respond honestly.

“Good. Because I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I’m not going to lose you… not again.”

“Now what do we do?” You ask.

“Now we celebrate, a little family reunion over a bottle or two of rum.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You watch as the man you now know as your father, walk away to retrieve Karina so that you all can be truly be together.

As a family.

***

Requests: OPEN

@savvythepirate

[thefanficmonster]

Much Cooler

Corpse Husband & Emma Langevin 

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: There’s always a certain level of uncertainty when meeting someone you’ve only known online. There’s that sense of insecurity that your relationship with them will never be the same or - even worse - that their view of you might change for the worse. But there’s nothing more thrilling than seeing the person you’ve been talking to constantly for the past however long standing across from you. 

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request and I’m so terribly sorry for how late it’s coming out but I hope the fic makes it worth the wait! Lots of love, Vy ❤

“CORPSE! Wake up you famous dumbass!“ is the first thing the poor man heard over the phone at 9 AM on this fine Saturday morning.

It’s more than enough to make him contemplate why he even decided to pick it up in the first place considering he wouldn’t have been very able to participate in the conversation due to his sleepiness. He also, of course, made the mistake of not checking the caller ID which apparently wasn’t necessary considering how recognizable that voice and accent are.

“It’s 9 AM, Emma.“ He states as a tired parent would to a child, “I’m concerned as to why you’re up so early. More so as to why you’re calling me of all people.“

He can practically hear her roll her eyes but he still smirks to himself, knowing she can’t contradict him or argue since he’s completely right with his claims. “Whatever. Remind me to never call you to congratulate you on a milestone again.“

Now that pokes at his attention with a stick. Lately, said attention has proven to be a hibernating bear, leaving Corpse with a lack of interest or motivation for anything but damn if that sentence wasn’t enough to roll him out of bed and hop on PC. “What? What milestone? Subscribers?“

“Nope! You got two million likes on ‘E-girls are ruining my life’! I can’t believe I have to tell you this! Didn’t you notice the numbers climbing?!“ Emma, as annoyed and sarcastic as she’s trying to sound, she’s obviously overjoyed on his behalf and is super proud of him and of the project she luckily agreed to take a small part in.

As his PC boots up, Corpse can’t help but roll his eyes at Emma’s comment, “Well unlike you I have better things to do than refresh a page over and over aga-” His sentence is quickly cut off when he sees the number of likes under the song for himself.

Knowing that he’d find it there didn’t change the feeling of seeing it for the first time at all. It’s so surreal and so hard for his mind to comprehend. Seeing as how little he thinks of himself, his content and his art, this is like his success coming to slap him across the face as if to punctuate to him how wrong that mindset is.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you offered to take me out for at least a coffee to celebrate, bro.“ Emma comments sarcastically, joking only halfway from what he can sense.

He smirks, “Trying to even the playing field, I see.” He replies, referring to the fact that he’s still a faceless mystery to her while her face is literally the cover art for one of his songs.

She laughs but is quick to dismiss his claim, “Nah, I might be a curious and nosey little shit on other occasions, but other people’s privacy is not something I dig my nose into. However, if I were to even the playing field between us it wouldn’t be appearance-wise. More personality-wise. For my sake and yours I choose to believe you are way cooler in person than you are through messages or on a call.”

This withdraws a genuine fit of laughter from Corpse who throws his head back, a few strands of hair moving aside to reveal his shiny eyes, “Well then, instead of giving me the benefit of the doubt, how about we settle it once and for all? Tomorrow? I’ll text you the location.”

Emma’s eyebrows shoot upwards as soon as she comprehends his words and the tone that leaves no room for her to assume he’s joking, “Wait what? How come you’re agreeing to this? And so easily? Nah, this a trap if I’ve ever seen it.”

Corpse laughs yet again, “No trap, Em. I just can’t have you doubting my coolness.”

                                                             *  *  *

The main reason as to why Corpse requested for this meeting to be today is because he feared that if he had more than twenty four hours to dwell on it he’d chicken out. Little did he know it was the same for Emma. Their friendship has only ever existed with the bridge of social media connecting them and they both can’t help but fear the other might not like who they are IRL. They fear they unintentionally become a different person or change things about themselves subconsciously when communicating with people online. Bottom line, they’re scared of letting the other person down with who they really are, unaware that their personalities are most likely the exact same because, as the people who know them can confirm, neither Corpse nor Emma are the type to put on a show in order to be liked. They would rather have no friends because of who they are than have friends and fans of their persona instead of the real them.

And so, while slightly afraid and anxious about this meeting, both of them see it as a relief test to see if the friendship is in fact as real as it’s seemed these past months.

Corpse was the one to choose the location of their meet-up, a location Emma didn’t even think twice about agreeing on, and ever since, they’ve both been counting the hours until their scheduled meeting time.  It’s not about impressing each other, at least that’s what they’re both telling themselves, but rather proving to the other that they’re worthy of their friendship. They might throw snarky and sarcastic comments at one another that others would give a side-eye glance to and question if their friendship is real, but they know the dynamic best and they sure as hell don’t wanna lose it or each other.

Best friends are the ones who roast each other after all - you can’t tell me I’m wrong.

The nervous Corpse fidgets with the insides of his hoodie pockets as he waits outside the café, having arrived ten minutes early because he couldn’t stand being alone with his thoughts in his apartment, judging every fragment of himself twice as harshly as usual. Emma, on the other hand, could barely bring herself to leave her home. She kept retouching her appearance, despite knowing Corpse wouldn’t judge her even if she showed up in pjs. To be fair she contemplated doing just that several times because her hair pissed her off enough to get her discouraged on her outfit altogether but she did eventually talk herself into pulling it together. She already knew she’d be at least five minutes late, but once again, she knew Corpse wouldn’t care.

He’d wait, cause that’s the kind of friend he was. Cause that’s the kind of friend she was for him too.

And boy did it take her less than a second to recognize him. She wasn’t even out of the car when she saw him and knew it was exactly who she was looking for. He too, as if with a sixth sense that registered her presence, shoots his head up from his phone to look up at her, their gazes meeting. There’s a brief moment of close-to-shocked silence, their eyes a bit widened as their brains comprehend that they’re within arm’s reach of one another.

That’s when Emma’s the first to break the bubble of awe as a wide grin spreads across her face and she runs to Corpse, wrapping him in a hug before he’s even realized the distance between the two’s been closed.

“Hey.“ She mumbles, her face hidden in his hoodie due to the height difference.

“H-hey.“ He replies, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her too.

“I was right.“ She says once she pulls away, “You are much cooler face-to-face.“ She pauses for a second, narrowing her eyes, “You’d be even cooler if you bought me coffee though.“

Earning a laugh from him, she’s guided into the café by the arm Corpse wraps around her shoulders, telling her he’s get her a milkshake cause he doesn’t want to see her high on caffeine. Needless to say, they both are, indeed, much cooler to one another IRL.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo  @beatrhizn  @blueberrystigma  @beatrhizn

[gentrychild]

BNHA chapter 290 reactions

Oh boy, just when I was saying that such a long arc was eroding my ability to hype myself...

Oh boy... I guess we finally got the answer to “Was that message for Rei or for the whole country?” and the answer is both. Dabi sent a direct message to his mom and we don’t know what he told her.

And since we have a big close-up on the flower “Enji” gave Rei without leaving a message, I am now wondering if it wasn’t a gift from Dabi.

Ah, the Todoroki pose of “I have no idea of what to feel.”

Also, I think we now have the confirmation that Dabi is a theater kid.

Okay, so first, it’s nice to have the confirmation that Izuku did make some damages.

What’s less nice is knowing that AFO can control Tomura to this extent. By accepting to become a guinea pig, he became AFO’s puppet and I am not sure of how long it will take before AFO erodes his will and takes full control of him.

Horikoshi, think of the fanfic writers. When you show cool attacks, explain stuff about them, please. Because of you, I will have to spend an hour trying to analyze three panels.

Oh, that’s a meme waiting to happen.

Endeavor when Nejire and Shouto fight Shigaraki: “RUN! HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU! RUN!”

Endeavor when Midoriya was fighting Shigaraki: “Welp, this might as well happen.”

I don’t know what’s the more terrifying, Gigantomachia channeling the Rogue Titan or AFO having fun with Forced Quirk Activation. Okay, probably the later.

There should really be a limit to how long those tentacles can get, thank you very much.

Bakugou is awake and if I was him, I would go straight back to sleep but no, not him.

Does... Does he still have a quirk, though? I would like to see some sparks flying. Just to be sure.

However, he is right in the sense that they need to kill Shigaraki now. If he manages to escape, they will have lost everything. That would mean that another cataclysm can happen at any time and society will collapse. I am not talking about the hero society. I am talking full Dawn of Quirks mess.

I do not want to witness what so many people with uncontrollable powers can do when they are scared.

I am going to believe that Machia assumes that the second “Master’s scent” also comes from Shigaraki because with all the smoke in the air, he didn’t notice Izuku and his multiple quirks who are right there.

Also, Izuku wasn’t using cough... all for one... cough several quirks when Gigantomachia arrived, don’t think I didn’t notice it.

I was robbed from my Little Lord moment!

Shigaraki, every bones of his broken and the only reason why he remained standing so long is probably because AFO was manipulating his strings: “Oh, do tell me about your problems. It’s not like I can go anywhere after I was INCINERATED THEN BEATEN HALF TO DEATH BY THE INCARNATION OF FERALNESS. But please, tell me how hard it was for you.”

The small green child with broken bones isn’t named Shouto, Endeavor.

More seriously, you see Endeavor’s hand on Midoriya’s back? He isn’t checking that he is alright, he is actually holding him back because he is scared he is going to yeet himself again at the villains and try to finish the job.

That’s why you never make promises on live television. Too many witnesses that will call you out later.

Shouto is so fucking done at this point. He just survived a decaying wave, he showed up only to see all the heroes and his friends half dead, he almost got slapped by Gigantomachia, this is NOT the day to keep messing with him, and here is this asshole, all happy during the worst time of Shouto’s life.

As for Dabi... This man is hilarious. Look at how happy he is. His audience is here, too weakened to kick his ass, and now is the time.

Also, you see the bottle he is shaking? That was in the pouch he has been wearing since his first appearance. He was ready from Day 1.

Now, the riddle for the ages, the thing that interests me far more than what happens one panel later: what the hell is this and how did it bleach his hair so fast?

What am I hearing? Oh yes, the sound of ALL THE DABI IS A TODOROKI BEING VALIDATED RIGHT NOW. CONGRATULATIONS, FUNKY LITTLE CONSPIRACY THEORISTS. MAY KNOWING THAT YOU WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG MAKE YOU LIVE LONGER.

Whatever you’re thinking about Dabi, you have to admit that he knows how to use a narrative. He has been sitting on this for years, waiting for the right time to do the most damage, and here he is.

Let’s all appreciate this rare moment where Shouto and Enji have the same face of “What the hell is going on?”

But more importantly, let’s all appreciate Midoriya who was once again dragged into the Todoroki drama. 

This has nothing to do with him, and yet, once again, a Todoroki appeared and felt the need to announce his entire tragic backstory in his vicinity. All those jokes about Todoroki never meeting Izuku because he would have coughed up his secret in the second were true.

Dabi looks so soft here and some part of me wants to believe that’s because he knew Rei would be watching. 

And by that, I mean Dabi is a Momma boy.

I am bravely trying to keep a straight face as this guy is about to explain us why he killed 30 innocent people instead of his dad or some members of the Hero Commission. 

I mean, Fuyumi managed not to snap despite many reasons, so really, there is no excuse.

More seriously, I hope that he won’t only reveal what Endeavor did. I want to know why he was considered dead. And I want to know if my theory about Touya being in the same HSPC program as Hawks is true, because there has to be a reason why he knows his real name.

Of course, for the last one, I can accept that Young Touya found a drawing of Endeavor and a young kid with red wings sent by a little fan through the Endeavor agency.

But I would much prefer to see more about the HPSC and how horrible it is.

The real victim of this chapter: Can’t-You-See-kun.

Look at how happy he is. I am pretty sure this is the best day of his life.

@pocketramblr​ is the one who realized that Horikoshi had to knock Dabi unconscious in Kamino because that man would have jumped on the occasion of screaming to the world who he really is, only to see society freak out.

There is 50% chance that AFO would have killed him for being more dramatic than him but, man, what a way to go.

*squints* Is that his hair becoming white due to the strain?

I am... actually not surprised by it. Dabi doesn’t know Shouto. And he isn’t Touya anymore.

The only thing Shouto is to him is Endeavor’s weapon to become number 1 and the child that stole his place and who made all his pain meaningless.

Endeavor: “Redemption arc?”

Dabi: “Hahaha NO. Step 1 of my plan where you get everything you want right before I make you choke on it.”

This is nothing short of breathtaking and once again, Horikoshi steals my breath away.

Make no mistake: Touya is dead. He died a long time ago. Only remains a rageful ghost hold together by hatred and staples. He will not hesitate to sacrifice anything to destroy Endeavor, be it himself, others, and even members of his family.

I have about zero regret for Endeavor but the rest of the Todoroki family? Dabi just took a sledgehammer to that and now, they will all have to live with the consequences.

Kudos to Dabi, though. He did what All for One didn’t manage to do. He wanted to ruin the number 1, to show that he was a liar and how pitiful he was. All for One failed to do so when he revealed All Might’s true form but Dabi executed that plan perfectly.

The other really good point about this is that no one will care about Izuku using multiple quirks. With how Dabi stole the show, Shigaraki will be lucky if people still talk about him. 

[magician-under-the-moonlight]

Headcanon Time: FIXING TOICHI

Oh shoot here we go it’s controversial take time.

Discussed a few of these points while plotting things with @moore--or--less​ a while back so I may as well put them here too.

For context, screw what’s been “confirmed”, in this blog Toichi is dead unless there’s a very specific plot that calls for him to still be alive, like he got APTX’d or something like heavy witness protection and is actually undercover but that is a very specific nondescript plot that would probably be it’s own separate verse.

In the canon of this specific rp blog: Toichi is dead and Chikage was Corbeau.

The comment about the heat pads, her mentioning she’s going to see a magic show when Kaito first starts going about as KID only for Corbeau to make a cameo at the end of the heist, her being in Vegas the same time Corbeau starts being active, she’s Corbeau okay? 

There’s no reason not to assume her disguise skills aren’t on par with Toichi’s, especially if they get the same gadget supplier, Dr. Agasa, who is fully capable of making voice changing devices. If Kaito picked it up when he was eight, the woman of twenty faces can make a Toichi disguise to dissuade her son from being a thief? Okay? Okay.

(she’s still a crappy mom tho, no arguing that point.)

Alright, that glaring issue covered up, here’s how I’d fix Toichi as a character to justify Kaito’s admiration toward him and desire to be like him.

He’s allowed to be less than morally sound, seeing as he’s teaching his son things like picking locks and such. He’s a first time parent after all, and with his whirlwind romance with Chikage he may not even have been prepared for fatherhood, we don’t know all the details since he has his own poker face to hide his own insecurities from everyone else.

What he needs first and foremost is a sense of humor. Let the man make dad jokes. He’s an entertainer and a performer, he’s allowed to be over the top and ready to rile a reaction out of anyone. Kaito himself could have picked up the trait from him and his constant “Hi Hungry, I’m Dad,” levels of jokes. 

Let him play pranks, let him teach Kaito pranks, let them have a good laugh together. (Make a funny ghost au where Toichi keeps whispering dad jokes in Kaito’s ear on heists.)

Second, even if he has dubious morals, he’s still Kaito’s personal hero. Give him some more noble qualities. Like if Kaito is feeling sad, Toichi cheering his son up with the only way he knows how, magic tricks. Kaito is clearly more attached to his father than he is his mother even in canon, so his impression of Toichi is someone admirable to Kaito, rather than Chikage who he constantly blows off and mutters about her going at her own pace.

Toichi giving Kaito pats on the shoulder and rubbing his messy hair to show approval, compliment his magic because Kaito wants to learn, not because Toichi is forcing him to learn. Kaito is Toichi’s son and Toichi is allowed to be proud and affectionate toward him. Disguising as Santa Claus every year when giving out presents or just going to go get ice cream together.

Third, Toichi is still a flawed person. We all know about the infamous Poker Face lesson, but again, Toichi is still a first time dad. He may not know how a little kid grasping onto everything he says will take that kind of lesson. Toichi may have been trying to imply that it’s only when you’re performing you should hide your emotions, but Kaito took it a completely different way until it devolved into a bad coping mechanism after Toichi’s death.

Take whatever version of Kaito discovering the KID cave as you will, but what lies in there is a confession, not just a means of making a second KID. Toichi wanted to tell Kaito the truth when he deemed Kaito was old enough to understand it. But with the people chasing him around he knew he might not live long enough to tell Kaito personally, which is why he pre-recorded the message(s) for Kaito and left them there for Kaito to find when he was old enough.

Even the record player approach in 1412 has lessons about being a MAGICIAN pre recorded onto them. This is how you dazzle an audience, this is how you deal with tricky crowd members, sometimes you need to use reverse psychology. None of those messages pertain to stealing, breaking and entering, how to be KID, ect. They’re magic lessons. Something Toichi knew Kaito would want to keep learning after he was gone.

It was Kaito’s choice to put on the mantle. It was Kaito’s choice to take the confession and keep looking for answers, it was Kaito’s choice to become Kaitou KID the Second. Not everything Toichi taught him was grooming him to be his insurance policy. Kaito became KID because he loved his dad and didn’t want to see the people who got away with killing him do it again, before he even knew anything about Pandora or evil syndicates or sorcery.

Anyway, hot takes on Toichi over. Take these with a grain of salt, we know very little about Toichi, but hopefully this helps you understand why my version of Kaito thinks so highly of his dad despite what he’s done. ^^

[parkers-gal]

hey honey! how are you doing?

i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is either tom or harrison’s sister, around 19-20 years old, and she hears her brother talking bad about her behind her back and she gets distant towards them and her brother realizes how much he’s missing out on (her first boyfriend and stuff like that)

sorry if it’s long or if you don’t wanna write it lol it was just an idea!!

don’t be sorry! i loved this! also doing pretty good :-)

i didn’t really understand what was in the ending parentheticals so i hope this is what you wanted!

wc: 1.7k

—

Being the established girl in a group of four boys meant a lot of things. Often, you were confused as a girlfriend to whichever boy you were accompanying, aside from your brother, of course. There was a lot of territory that came with being close family-friends with the Holland family. Especially since your brother used to be Tom’s assistant. It was expected, though, because they had been close friends growing up, especially since being in the same grade. 

You were younger, which meant you were in between ages for the twins and Paddy. You didn’t consider yourself too young for them, though, and found yourself in the presence of the boys for most of your time. 

Today, however, you were with your friend Aisha, walking around the shops. She had to leave unexpectedly early, so you parted ways. You came into the house quietly, setting a few things as you silently made your way into the kitchen. It wasn’t actually your house, but you practically spent all of your time there anyways. You heard voices coming from the den. Though you knew it was wrong, you halted in announcing your arrival, choosing to listen in on what they seemed to be joking around about. 

“Finally got ‘er off your back, huh mate?” You heard Tom’s voice, followed with joined laughter from everyone else. Your mind wandered, thinking maybe Harrison had a girl he was interested in, though he never brought that up, so you stayed quiet to hear more. 

“Yeah. Out with Aisha or whatever.”

Your eyes widened as the realization dawned on you. You purse your lips and think not to assume anything just yet. 

“That her only her friend?”

“Honestly,” Harrison laughs in agreement. “Mum said to be a good older brother but I’m tired of playing babysitter.” They all laugh again and you will yourself not to burst into anger — or worse: cry. “She’s gotta grow up or something.”

“Mate.” Tom snickers. “She needs a life. The boys are a tight circle; can’t let no baby sister in on that.”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice pops in. “Who else would we spill disgusting secrets to?” They laugh seemingly in universal knowledge. 

“Anyways,” Tom settles down. “Good thing we finally got the superior Osterfield alone, for once.”

You abandon your station near the kitchen door and speed walk out the other swing door. You pick your bags up quietly, making for a quick escape as your tears attempt the same. You’re almost done putting your shoes on when Sam comes down the stairs, brows furrowed while he wipes his damp hands on the front of the shirt. You curse in realizing he was probably in the bathroom. 

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Uh…” You glance to the hallway that leads to the kitchen, wearily hoping nobody comes out. “Yeah, just uh… forgot I had to do something. I’ll see you later.”

You quickly make your way out of the house, shoving everything into your car while you can, starting the engine with great speed. Sam was in the middle of saying something else to you on your wait out, but he never got around to finishing because you were already out of the door. 

He didn’t mention anything to the boys, trusting that you were okay and that you did actually have something to do. 

That night, you tried not to cry yourself to sleep in your small apartment, one you shared with Aisha. When you woke the next morning, she wanted to go to the skating rink for some fun, so you agreed, eating breakfast before showering. You spent the entire day there, really, and let your phone in a rented locker, ignoring the texts from a few of the boys asking if you wanted to come over for a movie and some pizza. 

When you did have the chance to reply — over five hours later ��� you gave them scarce replies in the main group chat, apologizing without much sorrow. From their end, they shook it off, knowing you probably just had other plans that specific day. The five of you were planning on going to the golfing course tomorrow, so you’d get time together then. 

But they were wrong, because you cancelled on them, simply stating that “golf isn’t your mood, today.” They’d accepted that, but Harry knew that was bullshit, because half of the fun of golfing was competing with you.

They tried not to think much of your absence while they were on the field, but it was weird and awfully quiet without you. They’d figured it might be different throughout the week, but they were still wrong. You were with other people throughout the week while you could be, and it only made it worse for the boys because you were posting it all over your social media. Not in a flaunting manner, but just for the aesthetics. They didn’t find it very pleasing, though. 

Harrison knew something was off, knew you didn’t normally just start ghosting people unless you had a real reason. He intended on figuring out what that reason was, and Tom was hell bent on learning it too. They drew up a plan to get you to come over, telling you they had a few of your missing things. You complied, figuring you’d have to face them at some point. 

Strolling up to the house for the first time in ten days, you opened the door as casually as you could, only to be met with four pairs of eyes staring in your directions from seats in the open living room. 

“Uhm,” You cleared your throat. “Where’s my stuff?” Tom wordlessly points to a bag on the head of the couch, and you pick it up wearily, sifting through it while you hummed. “Thanks, I’ll just take this and get out of your hair.” 

“Well, wait-” Tom stands abruptly. “Why… why don’t you hang out for a bit?”

“I mean… do you want to?” The tone in which you speak catches him off guard for all of ten seconds before each of the boys are nodding their heads.

“Of course we do.” Harrison smiles and you nod wearily. 

“Okay.”

However, you don’t make any move in settling down for the long run, and Tom huffs. “What’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re avoiding us!” Harry concludes. “Why?”

You clear your throat, looking at your feet while your tongue clicks. “I, uhm, I heard you guys talking the other day.”

Harrison raises his eyebrows as a silent message for you to elaborate a little.

“You said you were tired of babysitting me, so I gave you guys some space.” They all physically defeat and you begin to defend yourself. “I just thought it’s what you wanted! You don’t have to explain.” You’re unknowingly beginning to tear up, and they all know it before you do. 

“I think we should talk.”

“No, I- uhm…” You glance out the window to your car. “I should really get going.”

“No!” Harry pleads with you. “We just… we miss you.”

You stop short in your tracks, turning around slowly. “Well I don’t really think you get to. Not after what I heard.”

“That’s not fair, Y/N/N, and you know it.” Harrison’s stern with you, and you can feel the tension beginning to set nicely like a creamer. 

“None of this is really fair for me, so why should it be fair for you?” You point a finger up in their direction while you shrug offendedly. “I mean, if you’re gonna say one thing don’t act like you don’t mean it.”

“But we didn’t,” Harrison says. 

“Really, we didn’t. It was a stupid thing to say.” Tom adds on. 

“Yeah, we’d never say it knowing you were there.”

“Oh, but you’d say it if I wasn’t around?” You’re making this more difficult, you realize, but you don’t much care, because when feelings get hurt, things get difficult, and you’ve come to terms with that. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Harrison crosses his arm. 

“No, but that’s what you implied.” You jab him back with your next words. 

“Stop making this hard.” He’s reminding you of what things were like when you were young and arguments were regular. 

“I’m not the one that started this.” You huff angrily, hand finally gripping the handle of the front door, swinging it open and slamming it harshly with an “I’ll see you all around.” 

Tom blinks, glancing to Harrison in question on what to do next. Harrison sighs and so does Harry. 

“I saw her leaving that day she heard you guys.” Sam speaks calmly, almost nervously. “She was- uh… she was crying.” “Oh jesus.” Tom groans, hands running through his curls. “We made her cry, Haz.”

“I know, I know.” He speaks hastily. “C’mon, I know what to do.” He picks his coat up, opening the front door as the rest of the boys follow him out. 

You’re coming home that night after spending the rest of your day at the country club with some friends. You’re alone, of course, expecting to eat dinner with Aisha, though the two of you normally dine separately because you’re always with the boys and she’s always with her girlfriend. Things are different now, though. 

As you open the door to your flat, you expect to find it dark and empty, but you’re met with your favorite take out meal and four very sorry boys, a large teddy bear sitting on the couch for you. You drop your bags and glance at each of them. 

“What’s all this?”

“We’re really, really, really sorry.” Harrison steps forward with an apologetic smile and three DVD disks in his hands, all of your favorite movies. “But me especially. I love having you around… even if you are my baby sister.” You slap his arm playfully and he laughs. You let a smile creep onto your face at his demeanor. “We really missed you this past week.”

You nodded, fiddling with your fingers. “It just… hurt. You broke the one rule I thought…. The rule I thought we all swore to keep.”

“I know.” He sighs, looking at the boys as everyone says it simultaneously. “The circle before yourself.”

You’d seemingly all established it during your first all-nighter as a group of five. You vowed to put them before your own silly ego or public facade. Obviously, some things are harder for others.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“Can you ever forgive us?” Tom speaks up, eyes deep.

You smile softly, voice laced with feelings. “Of course I can.” You don’t miss the smiles that break out onto their faces, and when everyone comes in for a group hug, they know things are going to be okay. 

read the spinoff! - circles before yourselves - rule #2