#i understand if you want the opposite. i understand the urge. although i do not feel it

[insecateur]

i think big powerful men should be obliterated. preferably by smaller more unassuming men but i'm flexible. that's the only thing that matters to me

[mariacallous]

“There are only so many books on Ukraine we can review each month,” an editor from a major British newspaper tells me at one of the country’s largest literary festivals. He looks a bit uncomfortable, almost apologetic. He wants me to understand that if it were up to him, he’d review a book on Ukraine every day, but that’s just not how the industry works.

Since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, I’ve had a glimpse into how several industries work: Publishing, journalism, and the broader world of culture, including galleries and museums. Even before the big war, I knew more than I wanted to about how academia works (or rather doesn’t) when it comes to Ukraine. A common thread among all these fields is the limited attention they allocate to countries that do not occupy a place among the traditional big players of imperial politics.

Cultural imperialism lives on, even if its carriers often proclaim anti-colonial slogans. It thrives in gate-keeping, with editors and academics mistrusting voices that don’t sound like those higher up the ladder, while platforming those who have habitually been accepted as authoritative. “We’ve done Ukraine already” is a frequent response whenever you pitch an idea, text, or public event centering the country.

The editor who can’t keep publishing reviews of Ukraine-related books walks away, and I pick up a copy of one of the UK’s most prominent literary magazines to see their book recommendations. Out of a handful of reviews, three are on recent books about Russia. It seems like the space afforded to Russia remains unlimited. I close the publication to keep my blood pressure down.

Keeping my blood pressure down, however, is challenging. When my social media feeds aren’t advertising another production of Uncle Vanya, they’re urging me to splash out on opera tickets for Eugene Onegin. What happened to the dreaded “cancelling” of Russian culture? The Russia section in most bookshops I visit in the UK is growing daily with everything from yet another translation of Dostoevsky to accounts of opposition figures killed or imprisoned by the Kremlin.

The international media focus on the August 2024 release of Russian political prisoners was yet another example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. While these released prisoners were provided with a global media platform to call for an end to “unfair” sanctions on “ordinary Russians,” there was no mention of the thousands of Ukrainian civilians who continue to languish in Russian jails.

The ongoing international emphasis on all things Russian goes hand in hand with a reluctance to transform growing interest in Ukraine into meaningful structural changes in how the country is perceived, reported on, and understood. Although there has been some improvement in knowledge about Ukraine since 2022, the move is essentially from having no understanding to having a superficial grasp.

Each time I read a piece on Ukraine by someone not well-versed in the country’s history and politics, my heart sinks. The chances are it will recycle historical cliches, repeat Kremlin propaganda about Russophone Ukrainians, or generalize about regional differences. And to add insult to injury, such articles also often misspell at least one family or place name, using outdated Russian transliterations. A quick Google search or a message to an actual Ukrainian could prevent these errors and save the author from looking foolish. Yet aiding this kind of colonial complacency seems to bother neither the authors nor the editors involved.

I often wonder what would happen if I wrote a piece on British or US politics and misspelt the names of historical figures, towns, and cities. How likely would I be to get it published? And yet the same standards do not apply when it comes to writing about countries that have not been granted priority status in our mental hierarchies of the world. We can misspell them all we like; no one will notice anyway. Apart from the people from those countries, of course. And when an exasperated Ukrainian writes to complain, I can almost see the editors rolling their eyes and thinking, “What does this perpetually frustrated nation want now? We’ve done Ukraine. Why are they never satisfied?”

It is not enough to simply “do Ukraine” by reviewing one book on the war, especially if it’s by a Western journalist rather than a Ukraine-based author. It’s not enough to host one exhibition, particularly if it is by an artist or photographer who only spent a few weeks in the country. Quickly putting together a panel on Russia’s war in response to a major development at the front and adding a sole Ukrainian voice at the last minute doesn’t cut it either. This box-ticking approach is unhelpful and insulting.

It is important to acknowledge that some Western media outlets have significantly enhanced their coverage of Ukraine over the past two and a half years. They have typically done so by dedicating time and resources to having in-house experts who have either reported from Ukraine for many years, or who are committed to deepening their knowledge enough to produce high-quality analysis. However, many of these outlets still seem compelled to provide platforms for individuals entirely unqualified to analyse the region. Surely this isn’t what balance means?

Since February 2022, more than 100 Ukrainian cultural figures have been killed in the war. According to the Ukrainian Ministry of Culture, by May 2024, over 2,000 cultural institutions had been damaged or destroyed. This includes 711 libraries, 116 museums and galleries, and 37 theatres, cinemas, and concert halls. In May 2024, Russia bombed Factor Druk, the country’s biggest printing house.

When I attended this year’s Kyiv Book Arsenal, Ukraine’s largest literary festival, each panel began with a minute of silence to honor the memory of colleagues killed in the war. All this is in addition to mounting military losses, many of whom are yesterday’s civilians, including journalists and creatives who have either volunteered or been drafted into the army. This is the current state of the Ukrainian creative industry.

To save time for Western editors, publishers, and curators, let me clarify what all of us perpetually frustrated Ukrainians want. We would appreciate it if they turned to actual Ukraine specialists when working on Ukraine-related themes. Not those who suddenly pivoted from specializing in Russia, or who feel entitled to speak authoritatively because they discovered a distant Ukrainian ancestor, or those who have only recently shown interest in Ukraine due to business opportunities in the country’s reconstruction. We would be grateful if they took the time to seek out experts who have been studying Ukraine long before it became fashionable, who understand the country in all its complexity, and who care enough to offer Ukrainians the basic dignity of having their names spelt correctly.

I like to fantasise about a time when editors of top Western periodicals will choose to review books on Ukraine not simply because the country is at war and they feel obliged to cover it now and again, but because these books offer vital insights into democracy, the fight for freedom, or the importance of maintaining unity and a sense of humor in times of crisis. I hope for a day when galleries will host exhibitions of Ukrainian art, not just because it was rescued from a war zone, but because the artists involved provide fresh perspectives on the world.

I also dream that we, the perpetually frustrated Ukraine specialists, will eventually be able to focus on our own scholarship and creativity rather than correcting the mistakes and misleading takes of others. This will happen when cultural institutions, publishing houses, universities, and newspapers acquire in-house experts whose knowledge of Ukraine and the wider region extends beyond Russia.

Dr Olesya Khromeychuk is a historian and writer. She is the author of The Death of a Soldier Told by His Sister (2022). Khromeychuk has written for The New York Times, The New York Review of Books, The Guardian, Der Spiegel, Prospect, and The New Statesman, and has delivered a TED talk on What the World Can Learn From Ukraine’s Fight for Democracy. She has taught the history of East-Central Europe at several British universities and is currently the Director of the Ukrainian Institute London.

[adamstnheights]

Stitches - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You’re the newest recruit to 141 and still trying to figure out your intimidating, mysterious lieutenant. Being assigned as his partner on the field for the first time on a sniper mission, you’re unsure exactly how to act around him, especially when he has such an… effect on you. But when you both get caught in the crossfire, you’re forced to take cover with him and mend his wounds, much to his (begrudging) appreciation.

An alternative take on the Recon by Fire mission in MWII. Also based loosely around the Simon Riley ASMR video by Jim ASMR on YouTube because it was just so cute :)

Reader’s callsign is Zero (iykyk)

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Sniper Reader, Reader used to want to be a medic, Military Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies, Gunshot Wounds, Ghost being super soft, You taking care of Ghost, Ghost taking care of you, Gentle touches, Needles, Bandages, Stitches, Developing feelings, Ghost trusting you, Flirting, Fluff, Ghost is a cat person (REAL)

Word Count: 7.4k

“Ghost and Zero, you’ll station up at the top of the hill and see if you can take any of the cartel guards out from a distance,” Price ordered over comms. “When the path is clear, Gaz and I will move into the hatchery and clear them out, looking for any evidence of the missiles. Laswell will be out on the water on overwatch. If we need her, she can get to shore and join us in the hatchery.”

Usually, you would be standing in the debriefing room to hear your instructions for a mission, but because of the short notice and urgency, you were listening to Price’s voice over comms in the back of one of the task force’s vans. While Price continued to speak, you slowly let your gaze move over to where Ghost was sitting across from you in the back of the van, only for your whole body to seize up when you realized that he was already staring at you. And of course, you couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking—basically his whole expression was covered by his mask. It frustrated you to no end. It felt like he always had the upper hand, not allowing the enemy or opposition to get a read on his face, which was understandable, but you wanted to know. You wanted to be able to know what he was thinking. In comparison, it made you feel extremely vulnerable. Maybe you’d look into getting your own mask.

Being the rookie made you feel extremely out of place. It didn’t matter you had five years of being a sniper under your belt; you’ve only been with them for six months, so to the rest of Task Force 141, you were still the newbie. Talk about your skill had been passed around by word of mouth, and soon Captain John Price had approached your former unit and proposed a deal to you that was too good to pass up. So a few months and a location change later, you were the newest addition to 141, thus securing your label as “the rookie.” There wasn’t really anything you could do about it.

Luckily, the guys in the unit welcomed you with open arms, although the kindness did come along with a fair share of humorous and flirtatious remarks. Soap and Gaz basically took you under their wing immediately, taking pride in teaching you new things and showing you the ropes of 141. They urged you to join in on their game nights and when they would go out to the bar after a hard day of training or a rough mission. You felt at ease around the other men, too, for the most part.

Ghost was another story. From the first time you met him, you were intimidated. He had a towering, large figure that could speak for itself, but also his voice was deep and gruff, especially when he was barking out orders. You weren’t scared of him, per se, but you were cautious. From the interactions you’ve had with him and the way you’ve observed him on missions, you definitely wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. He was mysterious—the mask and skull cover showed that the most, but on top of that, you noticed the way he expertly dodged any prying questions that Soap would ask him over comms during a mission. When you and the rest of the crew got drunk and began spewing out stories from your former lives, you noticed how Ghost would simply sit back and listen, observe, but not provide any stories of his own. You were sure he had his reasons for being closed off, but you couldn’t help but wish that he were… more approachable. Especially now that you were on your first mission with just him by your side, you felt like you knew him the least out of the other members of 141.

The van slowly and quietly came to a stop towards the top of the hill. Ghost opened the back doors and jumped out onto the ground and you followed, rifle in hand.

“Zero, on me,” Ghost said, nodding his head his way.

The fog along the coastline was thick—good for the enemies not spotting you, but not as good for you spotting the enemies. You stationed yourself about forty yards away from the edge of the uppermost hill, where the grass was thick and high. The outline of the hatchery could be seen far, far in the distance, right along the edge of the land. From where you and Ghost were crouching, you could see below where a dirt path winded slowly down the hills. It would take some time and patience to fully push forward and make it safe enough for Price and Gaz to breach the buildings down below. But you were ready; more importantly, you were counting on this mission to prove your worthiness to Ghost. It was kind of pathetic. You knew you were a damn good sniper out on the battlefield, and yet, ever since Ghost’s intense, unreadable gaze landed on you, you’d felt determined to do whatever it took to get his approval. It didn’t help that the way he looked at you kind of really made your heart race, in the most confusing way, and the periodic sarcastic jokes he would make over comms made him more endearing.

Still, you didn’t want to push your luck. The last thing you wanted was for this mission to bring you back to square one in terms of your reputation on the team. In front of you, Ghost crouched even lower to the ground, pointing his rifle outward and looking through the scope. You fell back slightly behind him, also crouching in the grass. After a few moments of silence, you furrowed your brow at him, unsure whether he was going to say something or if he was just trying to act like you weren’t even there. Maybe he was annoyed by you, annoyed that out of everyone else on 141, he was stuck with the rookie.

Finally, he nodded his head forwards, motioning you to follow him. Both of you crawled through the grass until you reached closer to the edge of the hill. You both got down, fully lying on the dirt. Through the fog, you could now make out the wire fences around the hatchery, where cartel were guarding the entrances and walking along the dirt paths surrounding it.

“I can see about ten of ’em, all ’round the entrance fence,” Ghost finally broke the silence. 

“We need to take our time,” you said, “They’ll spread out, into groups of two or three. Then we can take them out.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he replied, “Let me know who to take out.” Normally, he would be argumentative to a new recruit taking the initiative, but there was something about you that fascinated him. He didn’t mind hearing your voice walking through the plan and telling him what to do. Price had told him about your skill; he knew that you knew what you were doing.

You readjusted your rifle just so, looking through the scope.

“On top of the building, two snipers,” you announced, “Do you see my laser on your thermal?”

You could hear Ghost repositioning his rifle a couple feet away from you in the grass. “Affirmative.”

“Go.”

You pulled the trigger, hitting the sniper on the right. Mere seconds afterwards, you heard Ghost’s rifle go off and through the scope you could see the second sniper’s body fall over.

“Got ’im,” he said. “On the right side of the fence, near the blue shipping container, there’s two.”

“I’m on him,” you said, lining up your shot next to his.

Ghost shot first this time, you followed him. The two men by the shipping container dropped to the ground. You continued scanning the area.

“Three more, below, closer to us, walking by that white van,” you flexed your hand and regripped the trigger.

“I’ll get the stray,” Ghost said.

“Copy that.”

You lined up your shot to the guy furthest to the right, watching as Ghost’s laser appeared over the man next to him. Again, seconds after you shot, Ghost followed, taking out the other. He quickly readjusted his hold on the rifle to focus in on the third one of the group. As you watched through the scope, the third man immediately went onto high alert, pointing his gun around him. Ghost wasn’t worried though as he lined up his shot. Poor bloke; unlike the first two men, this one would spend his last living seconds in panic mode.

Unfortunately, in the few seconds in between, the third man shouted and seemingly alerted someone else. Immediately after Ghost shot him down, two more men came running into view, shooting upwards towards the two of you. With a few uncoordinated shots, you and Ghost took them down quickly, but the not-so-subtle gunfire from your direction gave away your position. Before you could even think about moving, a bullet sped right past your view and into Ghost’s arm.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ghost grunted, sucking in his breath in pain. “Where the fuck—?”

You were frantically scanning the area for where the shot could have come from when another bullet came speeding towards you, and you felt a sharp pain searing through your own arm. Furrowing your brow, you struggled to look even harder through the scope. “Shit—!” You winced.

“Got ’im,” Ghost announced, pulling the trigger, “To your left, on top of that small shed. There was another one.”

“Fuck.” You noticed two more men emerging from behind the shed. Both of you quickly took them down. “We– We need to push forward, we don’t have the best view from here. I can’t tell if we cleared the whole area.”

“Copy that.”

You began to crawl forward, the pressure of leaning on your right arm not helping the gash there. Before you could crawl even a foot you felt an unfamiliar touch on your forearm. Ghost had placed his gloved hand there, and you turned to look at him.

“You okay?” He asked lowly. You nodded your head, too shocked to speak.

You and Ghost quickly moved forward, onto an area of grass a bit lower down the hill than where you were before. You could see a bit closer now, and from the new angle, you could make out the rest of the area below. There were a handful more men on guard around the building, and you gripped your rifle hard in an attempt to distract your body from the pain. You monitored Ghost’s laser and helped him take out the men accordingly. Barely any more gunfire was exchanged.

“Price, Gaz—we cleared the outside surroundings of the buildings. You should be good to go in now,” he directed over comms.

“Copy. Good work, you two,” Price replied.

You met Ghost’s eyes from between the blades of grass and you could tell that he was intentionally not letting Price know that you two got hit. You could have spoken up yourself but you had successfully eliminated everyone and neither bullet seemed to have hit anything critical. Giving the lieutenant a knowing nod, you scanned the area and noticed a stream of water by a small stone building. It wasn’t really a building, more like a small hut. Ghost saw where you were looking and nodded his head towards it, giving you the go ahead.

Crouching slightly, you both quickly snuck towards the stone shack. Ghost positioned himself to cover the rickety wooden door, which you kicked in, instantly holding your rifle up to clear the inside. He followed you close behind, checking all corners of the worn-over room. Everything inside was covered in moss or other overgrown plants.

“Clear.” Ghost stated, lowering his gun. You were already sliding down against the stone wall towards the corner of the room, grasping the side of your arm. Ghost rushed to your side, sitting next to you. “Here,” he went to look at your arm, but you expertly reached for him first.

“Show me yours first,” you whispered, “Mine’s just a graze. Yours is worse.”

“Are you defying your superior?” He asked. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Yours is worse,” you repeated, shaking your head, “The bullet lodged in there. I need to take a look.” You were staring at his left bicep, where the layers of jacket and shirts were ripped into by the bullet. The hole in Ghost’s skin was large, bleeding profusely.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “I’m more worried about you, Zero.”

Your eyebrow raised and you tilted your head up to look at him. Behind the mask, you could see his eyes clearly. They were hazel, and for probably one of the first times since you’ve known him, they looked soft and genuine. Up close, you could see little spots where the black paint smudged and his skin was peeking through. His eyelashes were blonde, slightly covered by some black face paint, but definitely blonde. Suddenly, you were trying to picture Ghost’s blonde hair under the mask and balaclava. You weren’t as intimidated by him anymore as you were intrigued—deep down, you wished you could see more of him.

From what you’ve observed of him (plus things Soap and Gaz have said), you knew he wasn’t really as big and scary as he seemed to be. He cracked jokes over comms during missions. During downtime on base he’d join the rest of the group playing cards or drinking, still wearing his balaclava obviously, but without the skull cover and only minimal black eye black on, so you could see more of his face clearly. You would never admit it to the rest of the guys, certainly not Soap, but you found Ghost to be quite handsome. (You could just hear Soap teasing you: You don’t even know what he looks like! He could be ugly!) Between his deep voice, towering figure, and the way his hands worked around his rifle (you have stared too many times to admit), he was… hot. What more could you say? It felt like a silly high school crush; he was your superior and you barely knew anything about him. But… you wished you could learn more. You would, if he’d let you. You would.

And now, with his face only inches away from yours, his eyes looking at you intently, you felt determined to take care of him. You wanted to see that softer side of him, and you also wanted an excuse to dote on him. Already, he was acting a bit more flustered than usual with you trying to defy him. You wondered how long you’d be able to keep it up for.

“I’m not taking that for an answer,” you insisted. “Yours is worse, so we’re taking care of you first.”

Ghost raised his eyebrows, his mouth partly open in shock of your defiance, but his lips spread into a smirk, amused by your determined edge. He was intrigued by you, so he’d let you win this argument. He didn’t say anything more as you inched closer to him. He sat with his entire back against the wall, facing forward. You turned your body towards him, sitting cross-legged as you placed a hand on his arm where the bullet wound was.

“I… think you’re going to have to take this off. The jacket, at least. Sorry, Lieutenant,” you said.

“You can call me Ghost, you know,” he said as he leaned forward to unclip his tactical vest and shuck the jacket off.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, “I was just trying to be polite, I guess.”

“Don’t need to be polite with me,” he smirked.

“Okay… Ghost,” you smiled. You took off your own tactical vest and rummaged through the back pockets, pulling out your first aid kit. You opened the kit and took out the tweezers. “Sorry if this hurts.”

“S’alright, not the worst thing I’ve endured. And I haven’t had the privilege of such an… assertive patching up,” Ghost could feel himself blushing behind the mask. He was glad you couldn’t see.

First, you inspected the bullet. It had implanted inside his arm, making it impossible for any kind of extraction, especially under conditions like these. With only minimal shattering, the pieces embedded into the muscle, there were no critical places hit or at risk. Your main goal was to stop the bleeding so you could stitch the wound closed.

“It seems like… most of your muscle absorbed the bullet. No bone damage or critical areas hit, so… all I’m gonna do is stitch you up,” you explained. You held back a giggle, pushing away the urge to squeeze his arm; you weren’t entirely sure if he’d like that very much (you were almost positive he’d kill you). “When we get back to base, the nurses at the infirmary can keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything, and if not, then it’ll just heal over.”

“Aw, no trophy for me to take home?” Ghost asked.

“You still get to take it home,” you replied, taking your two fingers and tapping his arm above the wound, “just in here. Hey, now it’ll always be with you.” He shuddered at your touch.

You began cleaning around and in the wound, earning a sharp hiss from Ghost’s mouth as you wiped the area off with a small rag and some water from your hydration bladder. You poured some water slowly onto the wound, trying to flush out any dirt or debris, before placing some gauze over it and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. While your one hand was pushing against his arm, you reached your other hand back into the first aid kit, fishing around for your stitching tools. You took out a needle with thread, along with a needle driver. You placed the needle driver on your leg for the time being.

You dug into one of your pockets, brandishing a small square alcohol wipe package, which you promptly ripped open with your teeth so you wouldn’t have to set the needle down. Ghost practically had to hold back from choking on his own breath, the way you were so focused and determined was certainly making him feel some unfamiliar type of way. He had barely gotten a chance to hesitate or argue against you patching him up, he was too mesmerized in watching you and you were already grabbing a hold of his arm again, sending a tingle down his spine as you cleaned his wound.

Then, with one hand, you pierced the skin on one side of the open wound with the needle, then the other side. Your other hand held the needle driver, which you used to grip onto the end of the needle, pulling the thread through the newly made holes. With an even amount of thread left on either side of the wound, you wrapped the thread from the left side around the needle driver twice, then grabbed the other end of the thread with the driver. You pulled from both ends gently, making a first throw of the stitch. You did it again, looping the one side of the thread around the driver, grasping the other end, and pulling it tightly to make the knot. Ghost watched, almost in awe, at your expert handiwork. You made it look so easy. 

“I... wanted to be a nurse, or a medic, or whatever, you know,” you rambled as you moved up the wound a few centimeters, piercing the skin to start another stitch, “I made it through undergrad and then… shit just didn’t really work out. But hey, I found out I was a pretty good sniper. So I’m good for somethin’, at least.”

Simon felt his whole body heating up from the way both of your hands were making contact with his upper arm. One hand was gently pressing down on his bicep around the wound while your other had the needle held in between your fingers. The gash you were closing up on him was large; it was certainly going to leave Ghost with a jagged scar. But for once, he felt at ease.

In all his years in the military, the marks and scars that have riddled his body only brought him more shame and discomfort. Sure, there were a few scars that were his “go-to” to talk about when the other guys began showing off about past endeavors (This one here, knife fight. I grabbed the bloke from behind and stabbed’im in the neck, but not before he got one in my side). Other than that, most of the bullet holes and jagged lines where his skin couldn’t fully heal only reminded him of the horrors and the pain. Now, though, the thought of having a scar on his arm from a wound that you took care of, he couldn’t be more elated. A mark on his body, stitched together carefully and gracefully by you. A secret moment—a memory—that only the two of you shared, forever imprinted into his arm; a scar that no one else would know the backstory to, unless he decided to tell it (he wouldn’t—he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else).

Okay, so maybe some sort of feelings were blossoming in the cold, cold heart of Simon Riley. You didn’t have much of an idea about it, and honestly, neither did Ghost himself. Soap had teased him multiple times about a supposed “crush” that Ghost didn’t fully realize he had. But the sergeant certainly had. Soap teased him about how he always insisted he didn’t want to play cards with the rest of the team, only to grab a seat next to you and strategize how to beat everyone else. Was it an excuse to sit real close to you and exchange whispers and laughter? Soap would never get an answer because Ghost would tell him to fuck off, but he already knew the answer anyways.

Ghost’s heart was racing, suddenly and somehow nervous in your presence.

“Why do they call you Zero?” He asked abruptly, a random question spilling from his lips. He just wanted to keep hearing you talk to him.

“Isn’t that like, impolite to ask?” You smirked.

He laughed—a genuine, full out laugh. Your eyes brightened. “I’m only curious,” he said softly. “Jus’ tryin’ to make conversation.”

“Well, why do they call you Ghost?” You shot back playfully.

“Now that’s classified, love.” His eyes immediately widened as the endearing term slipped from his lips. He hoped you didn’t catch it; meanwhile, you were going to think about it for the rest of the week. You grinned to yourself, and he looked down at his hands and focused on how your needle pierced his skin—a certain amount of discomfort, but something that felt good knowing that you were right there next to him. He didn’t want to get into his callsign; however, he was willing to give you something else. “My name—my real name, I mean… It’s Simon.”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You almost couldn’t believe that he told you, you hadn’t expected him to want you to know something like that. “Simon,” you repeated, watching as he nodded his head. “That’s a nice name. Simon. So… am I allowed to call you Simon now?”

Ghost looked past you at the wall for a brief moment, thinking. “Not on the field,” he stated, “But… when we’re back on base… sure. Yeah. Call me Simon.”

You shivered at his deep voice. Simon, Simon, Simon. You wanted to say it again and again. And he wanted to hear you say it. He would like his name a thousand times better if it was coming from your mouth.

“Simon—”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. Ghost,” you giggled. 

Three stitches down. You kept working, quickly and efficiently. Ghost kept watching you, wondering why Price hadn’t brought you onto the team as a medic. Not that your sniping abilities weren’t needed and greatly appreciated, but Ghost selfishly thought about how from now on, if he got so much as a small scrape, he’d go to you for help. Soon enough, you were finishing the last throw on the fourth stitch. You moved onto the next one, lacing the thread through the needle to start again.

“Don’t know how to use half the shit in the first aid kit,” now it was Ghost’s turn to ramble, “Usually just slap a bandage on ’n hope for the best. I mean, I’m not stupid, I don’t leave my shit untouched to get infected or anything. I just… don’t really follow up on any of my doctor’s appointments. But I’ve made it alright so far.”

“You should let yourself be taken care of more often,” you said softly. Your face grew hot when you realized the way that could have sounded and you added, “When you get hurt like this. You don’t have to always put on a brave face and grit through the pain. You need to take care of yourself.”

Ghost scoffed almost instinctively, but his heart swelled at your concern for him. He admired you for being so caring, not just to him, but to everyone on the team. Despite not always showing it, he cared deeply about all of the other guys on 141, he would die for any of them. He didn’t have a family, but 141 was the closest he had to one. The way his team interacted with each other was important to him, and watching how you melded with everyone else over the past couple of months, he felt happy, content. Your kindness only intrigued him more; he wished that he could be the only recipient of your sweet words and attention.

“Well, I– I don’t usually trust anyone to patch me up,” he attempted at some sort of compliment. Your eyebrow raised and you looked up at him.

“Hmm. So… you trust me then?” You asked cautiously. You heard stories about how Ghost hardly trusted anyone, and your heart began to beat faster at the implication that you had somehow made it on the list of those he did.

“You could say that,” he said. He cursed himself in his mind for not knowing how to properly talk to you, how to make you feel cared about the way you made everyone else feel cared about.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” A smirk spread across your face.

“Fuck’s sake, just take the compliment, will ya?” Ghost practically grumbled, sounding like an annoyed child.

You let out a soft laugh. Ghost put the sound of your laugh into the back of his mind, for safekeeping. “That’s your way of giving me a compliment, huh?” You teased.

“M’not very good at it, am I?” He sighed into a small laugh.

“Just a bit rusty,” you tilted your head up at him, your faces somehow closer than you had remembered, “But you can get better with practice.”

“Practice, hm?”

“Uh-huh. You can feel free to practice your compliments and pick up lines on me anytime.” You were too shy to make eye contact with him after that; you began to focus extremely on his wound. 

Ghost’s right eyebrow raised slightly, unable to properly register whether you were genuinely insinuating that you would enjoy it if he flirted with you. As if he even knew how to. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed that he had no idea what to say. He thought about Johnny, and how his downright stupid pick up lines he used on people at the bar usually actually worked. There was no way Johnny would let him hear the end of it if he approached him for help with flirting, but Ghost wondered who else he would want to confide in when they returned to base. 

“Almost finished,” you announced, finishing another suture. The skin was carefully pulled back together, only needing one or two more stitches. “I am fairly confident that this will heal very quickly and very nicely. Well, granted that you go back to the infirmary and get yourself followed up on.” You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Do I have to go to the infirmary when we get back?” He complained. You laughed at the way he practically whined.

You looped the thread again with the needle driver and began the last suture. In a matter of moments, you’d knotted the thread three times over and secured the suture flat to the skin. You moved your head closer to inspect your work, nodding and looking up at him.

“Well, I’m done stitching you up. And yes, you do, because you need to make sure your wound doesn’t get infected,” you said, half sternly. Soap told you probably hundreds of stories about Ghost refusing to get proper medical help after returning from a mission, and your fleeting former life as an almost-nurse made you feel very strongly on the topic. “Please, after all I did to stitch you together, won’t you make sure that it heals alright?”

His heart swelled. As much as he tried to push down feelings like this, he knew that he’d do anything for you. And you asked so nicely. However, he had a negotiation in mind.

“Well… What if I get checked up on by you? When we get back to base? You know, instead of going to the infirmary?” He raised his eyebrow and watched the gears turn in your mind. He prayed that his message would come across properly: I’d rather see you. I trust you more.

“Don’t go getting too attached to your medic, now,” you fake tsk-ed at him, but you were smiling, too. Ghost laughed. Too late for that. 

“You can give me a once over when we get back. Vouch for me so I don’t have to go deal with the other doctors,” he pushed.

“You’re very difficult, Ghost,” you tutted. “But… I’d rather be the one to make sure you’re alright. That way I can ensure you’re following the proper recovery routine.” You reached into your kit again and got out a bandage roll. You reached out for his arm again, beginning to wrap the bandage gauze around his arm.

“And what kind of recovery routine would you want me to follow?”

You clicked your tongue, thinking. “You have to let me eat dinner with you in your room. And then after, I can check your wound,” you decided. Luckily, the words coming out of your mouth were far from Go on a date with me, but it was certainly the closest you’d get. Ghost hardly ever ate dinner in the common area with the rest of the task force, you assumed mostly because eating would involve him having to pull his mask up. Remembering this fact, you quickly added, “I won’t even look at you while you eat. I just… thought maybe you’d like some company.”

He stopped himself from blurting out something inappropriate, a dumb teasing line about you just trying to make up an excuse to get into his bedroom. His usual confidence to say whatever dumb, crass joke he wanted disappeared with you so close to him. He was more nervous than anything to scare you away, to say something that would make you not want to be around him.

“I’d accept that,” he finally said. “And… you wouldn’t need to do that.” He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. “You’re allowed to take a look at me while I’m eating.” He smirked as he saw your cheeks grow red. 

“I— I mean, I didn’t mean I wanted to like, stare at you while you’re—” you tripped over your words, stopping to take a breath and collect your thoughts. Slowly, you opened your mouth again, “Well, I mean, I am curious… I guess…”

Ghost was smiling proudly under his mask, finding it incredibly endearing the way you admitted your curiosity. He always stuck to his secrecy behind the mask for the most part; he was sure that the other guys had seen his jawline and mouth from the times he ate or drank around them, but they never made too big of a deal (besides Soap, who would use the mask as a prime source for his teasing). More often than not, on base, he’d retreat to his room to eat simply to avoid any annoyances around lifting the mask up and back down over and over. But now, really thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t mind at all if you saw him eating. Maybe, just maybe, he would enjoy your company for dinner on a daily basis. He wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet, but in the back of his mind, he already knew.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ghost said, “I’d rather be able to look at you and talk to you while we eat.”

“So you’re taking my offer,” you beamed.

“That I am. Now let me look at you.”

The lacerations along your own arm were stinging and bleeding, but somehow the high of the lieutenant caring about you overrode that pain. Still, you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to have Ghost dote on you, although you had a feeling he wouldn’t be as gentle as you were with him. Either way, you let him help you take your jacket off and you shuddered at the few moments his bare hand brushed against you. He placed his hands on either side of you, on your shoulders, turning you more towards him, closer to him. He looked at your arm.

“Look, we have matching wounds,” he said, raising his own arm up next to yours. You let out a small laugh, not expecting him to say something like that. It was sweet.

“We both have something to remember this day by.”

“You want to remember this?” He asked, as if he weren’t going to think about the way you gently stitched him up and took care of him for the rest of his life.

“Of course,” you replied, “We completed our mission, quite well, I might add, and I think we make a good team. Plus, you told me your name. So of course I want to remember this.”

Ghost blinked at you, trying to decipher any evidence of disingenuousness in your face, only to be met with the exact opposite. Your expression was soft and genuine. Your eyes shimmered for him. Ghost wasn’t used to hearing such nice, kind things towards himself, and you could tell he wasn’t used to it by the way he remained silent, not even coming up with a dry joke to change the subject. You wondered how many times you would have to compliment him before you could really get through to him.

“You’re staring, Zero,” Ghost’s deep voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Can’t help that you’re nice to look at.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were flushing again. His hands were slightly shaky as he took your arm, closer to him this time. He shifted his whole body so he was completely facing you, ready to patch you up.

You had only been grazed by the bullet, but it still hurt like hell. Your whole right arm was burning up with a searing pain, not the worst you’ve ever felt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. The skin on your arm wasn’t torn open the same way Ghost’s was, with the bullet embedding inside, but it was like the edge of the bullet tried to scoop into your skin like a shovel into dirt. It didn’t go through or below the skin, but it was deep enough that blood was trickling down your arm. You were so focused on taking care of Ghost that you had barely noticed it.

“Fuckin’ hell, Zero,” Ghost said, his eyes widening in concern from seeing your wound more clearly. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t lodge in ya.”

He reached next to him and grabbed a wad of gauze, dampening it with some water and placing it over you. His large hand placed pressure on you to stop the bleeding. You tried not to think about his hand pushing against you in a different context. His hands were warm on you and you couldn’t help but shiver. You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps along your arm.

After a few minutes of applying pressure to your wound, Ghost lifted up the gauze, inspecting you.

“Looks like the blood mostly stopped,” he told you, putting the wad of gauze next to him on the ground. He took out his own alcohol wipes, holding them up first as if to warn you This might hurt. He held your arm with one hand and wiped the wound with the other. The alcohol stung but it didn’t matter. Ghost was taking care of you. “Hold still.”

As he sanitized your wound, Ghost would wince whenever he heard you suck in a breath or make a small, pained sound from the alcohol. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to be gentle with you like you were with him. Sure, maybe he wasn’t very good at all that, but he’d like to try, for you. His fingers brushed against your skin as he ran the alcohol wipe over the scrapes a few times, sanitizing the area and wiping away the blood.

“Don’t have any antiseptic,” he mumbled.

“Wait, I do,” you speak up, taking out a small tube of antiseptic ointment from your kit. Handing it to him, he put some on his pointer and middle fingers, gently making contact with your skin. He patted the ointment into the wound and the skin around it, his expression deeply focused to make sure he wasn’t hurting you. He wiped the excess on a small square of gauze and looked at you, as if waiting for approval. You blinked at him, smiling sweetly, and he turned away, always nervous when you smile at him, to reach for the bandage roll.

“I, uh, used to have a dog. German Shepherd. He got his back paw caught in a chain fence once and I had to bandage his leg and everythin’... Guess that’s the closest I ever got to bein’ a medic,” Ghost chuckled softly, unraveling the bandage and holding the end of it in place over your arm, using his other hand to begin wrapping it around you. 

“A dog, hm?” Now that piqued your interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a dog person.”

He shook his head. “Not really. More of a cat person, actually.”

“You’re joking,” you gasped. You tried to imagine Ghost with a cat cuddled up on his lap or chest.

“Cats get a bad rep,” he said. “I like that they’re independent and do their own thing most of the time. But they’re still sweet, they’ll still rub against you when you pet them and curl up next to you on the couch. They’re more stand-offish and brooding than dogs, I guess. But what’s so bad about that?”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you whispered. Ghost locked eyes with you, and you could tell that his eyebrows were raised. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. You continued, “But don’t worry. I really like cats, too. Misunderstood creatures. And cute.” You smiled at him, hoping to God he understood that you were trying to flirt with him. It was hard to tell, but you assumed by the way he chuckled softly and moved even closer to you to continue patching you up that he got it.

He placed his hand on your arm and ripped the bandage, placing the rest of the roll back into his kit. He repositioned the ending of the bandage so that it stuck on top of itself, keeping the wrapping in place without any need for medical tape. When his hands left your arm, you had to hold yourself back from frowning, already missing the skin-to-skin contact.

“Well, I think tha’ll do ya good, a’least until we get back, yeah?” Ghost said, leaning back from you a bit. Still, you noticed that the way you were sitting, your legs were still touching. 

“Thank you,” you placed your hand over the bandage, moving and flexing your arm to see how it felt.

Ghost got up from the ground and began putting his jacket and tactical vest back on. He walked a few steps across the room where he had leaned his rifle up against a dusty table. Rummaging through his vest for some ammo, he began reloading his gun and humming ever so softly to himself. You watched him, your cheeks tingling with warmth. As much as you wanted to get back to base, you also didn’t want to leave this moment. You doubted that anyone else had the privilege to see him like this. In Ghost’s world, watching him reloading his gun was probably the most domestic thing you would ever be able to watch him do. When he finished, he turned and looked at you, completely catching you staring. You saw slight motion under the mask—he had to be smiling. The thought made your heart race. But you cleared your throat and scrambled to your feet, turning around to pick up your jacket and tactical vest off of the ground. You zipped up your jacket, half turned away from Ghost, but feeling his eyes on you.

“Zero.” His gruff voice sent shivers down your spine. You turned around and met his gaze. Those hazel eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Glad you’re safe.”

Your heart raced. Ghost’s heart softened.

———

The flight back to the base landed in the early hours of the morning. The sun had barely started to rise, the sky a deep pinkish red as you and the rest of 141 walked back into the building. Gaz and Price had successfully breached the hatchery, clearing it out and finding evidence of tunnels underneath the lighthouse on the island. Laswell would talk to Shepherd and figure out a game plan, but at least for one night, you would be able to relax.

As soon as everyone reached back to the barracks, everyone scattered into their rooms to clean up, unpack, and get some shut eye. Despite it being early in the morning, everyone on 141 hadn’t slept for at least 24 hours. You took a quick shower and changed into something warm and comfy, falling asleep in your bed without any tossing and turning. You awoke later in the afternoon, around four o’clock, stomach grumbling. Your face lit up, remembering your arrangement with Ghost—Simon.

You put some shoes on and freshened yourself up in the mirror, suddenly feeling nervous and yet you were so excited. Walking into the common area, you opened one of the fridges and took out a pasta dish you had made the other day. You split the leftovers in half, putting it into two bowls and microwaving them. Humming to yourself, you realized that you were actually getting the thing you’d been wanting ever since you met him: true, one-on-one time with the brooding lieutenant. Since yesterday, your feelings towards him had only blossomed further, and from the way he had looked at you and leaned close to you, you had a little bit of hope that maybe he could feel the same. You felt like a giddy highschooler as you took the bowls out of the microwave and quickly grabbed some utensils from one of the drawers. When you spun around, you almost crashed into Price who was entering the kitchen area with Gaz.

“Oh, sorry, Captain! Didn’t see you there,” you apologized but swiftly moved past them, barely paying either of them any mind.

“Where’s she going in such a hurry?” Gaz asked, raising his eyebrow as you continued down the hall. Price gave him the same puzzled look back.

“Hey, Zero!” Price called. You spun around. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I’m just bringing some dinner to Simon’s room!” you lifted up your hands with the two bowls of food to show them. Price and Gaz nodded slowly, and you were clearly in a hurry because you hardly waited for either of them to reply before you turned back around.

You turned the corner at the end of the hall out of their view. Both men were still staring at where you were standing seconds before.

“I didn’t know he let people into his room,” Price said, grinning ear to ear.

Gaz stood frozen in place, “I… Did she just call him Simon?”

Price choked out in laughter.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ello! Can I request Fnaf movie Mike meeting like a Homeless kid who lives in the pizzeria who gives him tips and tricks to survive headcanons? Basically to confuse the robots they like wear the head of a offbrand/prototype Crow animatronic? They just chill and goof around but remain out of sight from the famous man behind the slaughter and his daughter? :3

Ever since you've made Freddy Fazbear's Pizza into your "home", you quickly learned the ins and outs of the establishment.

You knew what times the animatronics automatically started their shows, where all the security camera blindspots were, how to make a pizza quick and easy, etc.

Above all else, however, you knew how to avoid those robots so they didn't try to make you like them.

Normally, they'd be protective over children--they weren't hostile because you were a homeless kid breaking in and living there.

It's the missing kids themselves.

They've visited your dreams, and every time it ends the same way: with Cassidy asking if you wanted to "join" them and getting frustrated when you refused.

You learned what happened to them and communicated via drawings for a while...until you accidentally broke something, which made them assume you were deliberately trying to destroy the place.

So you've been playing a sort of cat-and-mouse game since, often pranking them and thwarting their attempts to capture you, but never meaning anything ill by it.

If anything, they seem to like these little games, too.

After reading some old employee handbooks, you discovered that the animatronics have a programming glitch that makes them confuse humans for endoskeletons without suits on--and they'd use lethal ways to "fix" them.

Conveniently, you've found a costume head of a crow (likely from a partner of Freddy's or some ripoff brand) backstage, and after successfully tricking Foxy with it...you realized how helpful this could be to the security guards who've applied here and "vanished".

Fastforward to when you meet Mike, fully aware he's the next guard to possibly die (the last one got himself killed before you could even properly warn him in advance--not that he would have believed you anyways).

He's understandably concerned bc you're just a kid who's all alone here with no family, and given his trauma....he suddenly feels like he needs to protect you.

Instead, though, it's the opposite.

"Slide that toolbox in front of the floor vent."

He eyes you strangely, wondering why a kid was bossing him around. "...why?"

"Trust me."

The second Mike does that, he jumps as something starts growling and slamming against the vent's grates, clearly trying to get out and failing as it retreats soon after.

"What the hell was that??"

"Probably just rats." You innocently shrug. "Or Mr. Cupcake who seems especially hungry tonight."

"I'm sorry....the cupcake moves?"

You realize he's absolutely clueless, so you tell him about the animatronics and their routines, showing him the crow costume head.

He's impressed that you know so much about this place (like you were an employee), but he doesn't believe they're capable of doing any harm until later on.

When he brings Abby, you easily see through the facade they're all putting on for her, but you play along with their antics while building the pillow fort (although you avoid talking or looking at Vanessa, never trusting her nor the yellow rabbit your "friends" spoke of).

During the final night where you both rescue her from Chica, you urge Mike to use the crow mask to trick Bonnie and Freddy.

He was certain it'll never work.

They couldn't be that dumb....surely they'll know it's him trying to sneak backstage..

Plus the mask was stuffy and heavy, and he just think it's easier to taze them.

But at your insistence, he tries it on and is shocked when they stare at him for a moment, before continuing their scheduled "show", completely unaware of his ruse.

It does make him wonder how you figured that out all on your own..

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Merhaba!

If you feel uncomfortable, you can delete this request!

Warning: non-con, toxic behavior, baby trapping?

Request here! for a modern dark!aegon, where the reader has been his friend for a long time and aegon has a horrible dependency on her, as well as an obsession and mostly never lets anyone near her, since he sees her as his, anyway, the reader one day tells him she is accepted for a scholarship in another country but he gets mad because she is going to leave him so he forces her to have sex with him and also hopes to get her pregnant so she will never leave him.

you’re so cute nonnie!!!!! this is totally fine, I don’t normally write for non-con, but I’ll let this slide cause it’s kinda hot 🥵 I’m combining it with this ask, and leaning more towards a dub-con, manipulation tactic of dark!Aegon!!! hope you enjoy xx

quote in the link above is - "gentle, slow manipulation - "just a kiss" to "I'll only grind against you" to "only the tip, promise" to "just a little more" to "I won't cum inside" until you're a cum-filled wreck underneath them."

Dilemmas & Dreams.

PAIRING: Dark!Modern!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 4,179.

WARNINGS: swearing, angst, co-dependency, somnophilia, dub-con, slight mentions of non-con, mentions of pregnancy, time jumps.

A/N - so this took me forever cause it was a hard concept to plot. tried to make it more dub-con/non-con but still slightly consensual, just because I do not condone using violence for sex. but dark!Aeg is just my intrusive thots. I also did not include my taglists, just cause I did not want to trigger or force anyone to feel the need to read this, if it isn't your thing <3 no pressure. this is for a specific audience.

It was an universal understanding that relationships could get complicated from time to time, to say at the very least... This did not cease with your unique relationship with Aegon.

With every fibre in your heart, you love him dearly, and that [if you were being honest], would never change. He generally was not the ideal type of man you'd pursue [as you had initially assumed] nor did you think it was even a realistic possibility to fall for his type. Likewise, you did no think of yourself as his particular type, although Aegon was less picky than you when it came to finding a mate. Yet he had this almost omnipotent-like power over you. Luring you farther and deep enough, he kept you eagerly lingering for more: for more of his touch, his scent, his love and affections. An urge you attempted countless of times to keep silenced and at bay, and yet you felt the constant, probing need to keep the man sated.

With many of your short, previous relationships, you'd never granted a man the opportunity to bear such a profound effect on you, nor did any of them truly possess the charisma Aegon had naturally wielded. It was all very consuming and perplexing, yet a part of you quite enjoyed the crisp attention Aegon showered you with in return for your loyalty and commitment to him. Your long-time warfare of constantly seeking approval and praise did not help the situation either, only exploiting your vulnerability more, as you vowed to refuse disappointing the man at all costs.

And from what you had learnt and could decipher about Aegon's history, he had never grown this infatuated with another before, let alone actually granted himself the opportunity to have a significant other. His previous flings had been fleeting and meaningless, only to glutton himself off of sex, inflating his subtle ego. However, you, you had caught him off-guard. A fellow colleague and long-time friend of Aemond's, you had met mutually. You knew of each other, though had never truly met, for Aemond was desperate to keep some distance between yourself and his elder brother. He had mentioned many things about Aegon, not all good, yet you knew better than to judge or presume. In theory, you were both quite the opposites, yet something about you, your innocence, warm demeanour drew him to you, like a moth to a flame. From the many family quarrels Aemond had disclosed to you, it seemed Aegon was problematic with some sort of self-conflict from within. He struggled with certain tendencies such as drinking, partying, avoiding responsibilities, yet nonetheless, he was still pretty decent and respectful towards you. Helplessly though, you felt an immense pity for him, even if Aemond argued against it, perhaps it was your nativity: regardless, the more Aegon latched himself closer towards you, the better he became. More present at home, the less he drank and spent his days hungover and pissed, the less hostile he was towards his family.

Although, he remained a pest towards his younger brothers, Aemond and Daeron, occasionally taunting them. Not to mention, he did go against Aemond's urges to leave you alone.

"Aeg, Y/N's off limits. I have never asked of anything from you, nor have I ever really expected anything from you, if I'm being honest. But, I digress, she is off limits. Understood?"

"Why, have you finally grown the balls to actually ask her out? Or you scared she'll actually say yes to the likes of me?"

"OFF LIMITS Aeg! I fucking mean it!"

"No, no- How about I date Y/N instead, and in return I leave you alone? See now that sounds like an even better deal to me, brother."

Not to mention, you were undeniably a sight for sore eyes, beautiful nonetheless, he was determined to have you. The thought that someone else could pluck you from him at any given second, not excluding his younger brother, began to stir something rageful inside of him. The more time he spent around you, the more possessive he could feel himself becoming. A side he did not fathom existed in him, yet you had so ignorantly ignited. Although, he relished in it. Eventually, and much to Aemond's reluctance he inserted himself into your conversations, making his presence known whenever you were around, or forcing his younger brother to exploit your whereabouts with threats only each brother knew about one another. Regardless, his tactics worked and eventually, you became his. His.

Since then all had been bliss, yet, now, you were struck with a dilemma...

****

"What do you mean you could be moving, Y/N? Is this a few weeks kinda thing or you're gone... For good?" Aegon raised, his voice growing audibly louder with such a ferocity, you'd never heard the likes of it before.

"W-Well it's a scholarship, Aeg. One that I honestly never even thought possible to get, I-I just applied off a whim. B-But now that they're offering it, maybe, just maybe, I was hoping you could support me."

The words fell shaky from your quivering lips; Aegon's face was struck with a blatant concoction of confusion, hurt and fury, like a wounded predator that had unforeseen a counter attack.

"Just answer me this, Y/N, how long exactly will you be gone for? How long are you planning to leave me?"

He took a great stride towards you, his hands reaching over, tightly gripping your forearms by the sides, as if in fear you might run at any minute. His voice although stern and unnerving, his lilac eyes glistened tearily.

"It-It's a funded Masters course, Aeg, just for two years I'll be studying abroad. B-But I'll plan to come back to see you whenever I can. Every holiday, every semester's break, you bet I'm coming back to you. A-And you could even come and see me, baby. You know, I-I would never leave you like that, Aeg, you know this, p-please-"

An eerie silence was all that you were met with, as Aegon's grip on you had loosened slowly. His face remained stoic, yet his teary eyes flickered, before he began to dauntingly nod his head, walking away from you towards the closed window of your apartment. You could hear sniffles, before he released a long, exhausted sigh as he looked onwards to the scenery outside.

"So this is how you disregard me, huh, Y/N? Is this how you see me, see us? Just something you can toss to the fucking side, once you find something a little more interesting to chase after?"

His harsh words stung like the venom of a viper. Now turned back towards you, his hardened gaze was chilling, almost even threatening. You felt somewhat fearful of Aegon at this very exact moment, although he would never hurt you, that you were certain of. He was often stubborn and hot-tempered though knew to control himself swiftly. Reassured by this, you simultaneously also felt the desperate urge to coddle and soothe his fears, vouching that you could nor would ever dispose of him like some piece of garbage.

"A-Aeg, never! That's not me, please! You are overthinking this, Aegon, you'-re-you're not thinking straight, my love. I-I know this can be overwhelming but t-try to understand me. Please-"

Taking a small step towards him, you came to a sudden halt, as he took a step back maintaining the distance between. His hand lifting mid way as if to signal you to stop, swatting you away.

"So now my feelings aren't valid? Fuck, Y/N... You really are starting to sound like a real, spoilt little bitch now. Just like the rest of them fucking sluts!"

Seating himself promptly down onto the bed, he ran his fingers through his platinum blonde hair, his head facing towards the ground, as another defeated sigh escaped his lips once more. It was only when he resumed his sole attention back unto your frozen frame, did he stupidly realise that now he had really crossed the line.

"Get out," Your voice although quiet just above a whisper, was crisp.

"Y/N-Baby-I-I didn't mean that-"

"Out, Aegon!"

A tightness in your chest began to intensify, a hand falling over your left, clothed breast, as your breathing began to hasten into loud, hitched sobs. Your eyes darted mindlessly around the room, feeling as though the walls began to close in, a sense of claustrophobia that you'd never feared nor experienced before brewing. Your cheeks turning scarlet by the seconds, as your eyes began to fill with hot tears, streaking down your tender face. Cowering down your other free hand, was poorly attempting to grab at anything solid enough to keep you upright, although Aegon bounding over towards you, reached over, lending you a spare chair, guiding your shaking body over to sit, as he cowered down in front of you.

"Y/N, Y/N, my angel, baby please- I-I didn't mean that, I-I could never mean that. I'm just so-just so upset that you-you didn't tell me about this. You-You always tell me everything. What would I do without you, huh, my sweet girl?-"

Brushing a strand of your hair aside, his other free hand cupping your hot, blushed cheek, his thumb stroking away a freshly fallen tear.

"H-How could I live without you for two years, if I can't even bear an evening without you?"

And yet no response other than earning heart-aching sobs from your behalf. Seeing you in such a distraught, unconsolable state only in turn tormented Aegon, as the tears that he had once so proudly held back, now began to streak across his soft, handsome face.

"B-Baby, please. Please, say something. I-I'm so sorry, don't-don't hate me. I couldn't bear it-"

"Ugh- Just fuck off, Aegon!-" Wailing his arms off you, you shove him off, as you stand hastily, storming aside, creating that deliberate distance in between once again. Aegon slowly rises himself up, that familiar hurt look tinged across his disheartened face, he roughly wipes the tears off his eyes, leaving them puffy and red.

"Sorry? Sorry about what exactly, Aeg? Sorry, that you can't just be an adult for one second, and accept the fact that some of us have priorities in our lives other than being in a fucking relationship? To think that you could be mature about this, how foolish of me..."

"Y/N, I-"

"Don't, Aeg! Don't even bother explaining yourself... I think it's best that you just leave me to decide."

Brazenly interrupting him before he could utter another word, your hand meekly gestures towards the door to your apartment. You couldn't even find the stamina to look Aegon dead in the eyes, fearful that any tender look from his part, you'd crumble once more in a second.

Seeing how riled up and tense you were, Aegon reluctantly began to pace himself towards the door, taking his time before a firm hand reached, gripping the metal knob of the door. The door opening as he unlocked the entry, he came to a sudden stop, turning back momentarily staring at you, tempted to say something. However, just as his attention panned across to you, your focus from him shifted elsewhere, fleeting from a window to the floor, desperate not to look directly at him. Sensing your message, he remained quiet as he left the premises, firmly shutting the door behind.

As the pain-staking silence fell once more, the intensity of the situation felt magnitude that very second Aegon had left. Feeling weak in your knees, your walked back over towards your bed, laying yourself down, burying your tearful face into a pillow, as the sobs returned, only now muffled. Your mind was racing rapidly. Regardless of what had unfolded, you cared deeply for Aegon and knew that it wounded him immensely that you hadn't involved him in your decision, prior to making such a life-changing commitment. It was his life too, that you toyed with, and a deep, integral part of you felt somewhat guilty.

Although, the ugly side of Aegon had showed, and it scarred you bitterly. Would he act and lash out like this at every chance something major would come? Was it a flaw of his, that you were willing to accept and embrace? You had no certainty. The fleeting minutes became hours into the night, as you laid still in bed, empty of tears, eyes stinging, your pillow soaked and face flustered, before you'd gradually began to fall into a deep sleep. Exhausted by the day's mishaps, you were hopeful the new day would offer some consolation...

****

Whether you had been dreaming vividly enough to be stirred awake, you could not say. Although, Aegon was on your mind as you drifted off to sleep, remaining in your dreams and as you slightly woke, too tiresome to remember the details of the events in the long hours prior. You felt something heavy, yet awfully familiar, the musky scent, pressing against your body.

Followed by a soft "shush-ing", you instantly recognised the deep, low tone that belonged to your boyfriend's manly voice.

"It's just me, baby. Go back to sleep. I couldn't leave you all alone like this."

"Hmm, Aeg-" Was all that you could pathetically muster, before returning readjusting your head on the pillow. It wasn't uncommon for Aegon to find himself in your apartment after hours or even whilst you were still out during the day, for you did offer him keys, and came home to find him lounging around as if it was his own home. You trusted him enough to share a copy, and up until now, he had been loyal not to abuse his right, thus, this reoccurrence had never startled you.

"That's right, my sweet girl. It's just me... I'm going to fix everything, okay?"

Unlike how sinister and brooding his tone with you was just hours ago, you now felt comforted and safe, hearing that familiar, saintly tone of his. Like a lullaby it ushered you back to sleep, as you felt a small, wet kiss planted on your forehead, as he brushed the astray strands off your face, taking a few moments to gaze upon you lustfully, before stirring himself up.

Feeling the mattress beneath move, you sensed that he was now positioned on his knees, hovering above you, as each leg pinned to either sides of your upper thighs, faintly hearing a metal clanging, as he unbuckled his belt and zipper. You remained laying comfortably on your stomach, your back facing him, your face turned to the side against the plush pillow, he could see you just faintly nodding against his words in agreement. It earned a soft smile from Aegon, as he pulled his pants down enough, laying over you, as his bare, hard cock began to grind against the thin fabric of your dress, just between your ass cheeks. Just from the sheer action, you could feel some wetness stirring beneath, a visceral reaction Aegon found so easily he could induce from you.

"Only the tip, baby... I promise. I'm going to make it up to you, my sweet, sweet angel."

Sensually lifting your dress up, he lightly lifted you, turning you slightly to the side with one arm, just enough for him to pull your panties down: planting you back gently, as to not startle you completely awake.

"My good, good girl. Always doing so well for me, not like anyone else...I was such a dick to you, wasn't I, baby?"

Earning another simple nod, he resumed with grazing his cock over your sensitive skin, feeling its pulsating throbs against your cheeks.

"But my princess, did do something very naughty... Trying to leave me, without asking. Leaving me all alone, you know how upset that would make me, right baby?"

"Hmm-Aeg-"

"But look at you begging for me...Now what makes you think you could leave me so easily, then? Precious girl, didn't think this through, did she?"

Gradually, his firm, thick cock slowly began to push itself deeper and deeper between your thighs, as one, strong arm stretched over your side to keep him steady, the other manoeuvred your legs, spreading them wide enough for him to position himself right between your centre.

"Don't worry, Princess. I'm here now, I'm going to help you make this decision, like a good boyfriend. Wouldn't want you to overthink anything, now let me take care of you... I promise I won't go in deeper, I won't cum inside."

Feeling your eyes naturally flutter from reality and dream, as you felt a lightening pain course through your body from the sensitive spot below. Aegon had forced himself in, your walls stretching as wide as possible to accomodate for his dense, throbbing mass, you could feel yourself tightly clenching over him, rewarded by deep, growling grunts and moans from him.

"Fuck, baby. Always know how fucking good to make me feel...Now why would you ruin it, and do something so stupid? Have I been so cruel, you wish to leave me?"

"N-No Aeg-" You'd managed to softly whimper, stirring even more awake, although eyes remained firmly shut, as you arched yourself in response to Aegon's slowly paced thrusts.

"Are you bored with Aeg, that you want to leave me?"

"No."

"Have I frightened you so, you wish to run away far from me?"

Within that split second he'd uttered those words, that familiar, daunting tone returned to him, and you felt your heart begin to beat feverishly.

"I-I love you Aeg."

Now his thrusts began to hasten in response to your words, his grunts primal and louder.

"Say it again, I'm struggling to believe you. You tried to deceive me today, angel. That was cruel of you...Say it again."

"I love you, Aegon."

This time more awake and conscious of what was going on, you were too deeply saturated in being sated by Aegon in the moment. You couldn't muster a single ounce of dignity nor sanity at this very moment to stop him in his tracks, knowing what he was capable of, he had all the power in his court.

"P-Pull out, Aeg-"

Your wetness now greatly coating his deep, hefty cock, feeling the mess beginning to ooze and seep from the edges of your entrance down your thighs. As he pulled out slightly and with his help, he turned you over, now both of you facing one another, although this time, managing to maintain complete and utter focus. Resuming to his sloppy, rough thrusts, you could feel the intensity of his cock, determined to push and shove himself as deep as possible, the tip of his cock just striking that sweet, sensitive spot of your cervix.

Aegon's face lowered down towards yours, as his ample, moist lips lingered over yours. Momentarily, just grazing above one another, before plummeting down on yours, as he noticed your lips beginning to stir to speak, desperate to shut you before you could ask once more. His tongue forced it way into yours, swirling and occupying your own: this unexplainable control that he had over you, now once more overtaking you. In the moments that Aegon had left, although maddened by his words, you had missed him. Could his brutal words bear truth, that two years without seeing him, would be impossible?

"Now, why would I do that? I promised you I would help, that's what I'm going to do. I'm doing this all for us."

His lips now trailing along your jawline down to the crook of your neck, where he knew you had a weak, sensitive spot that made you close to thoughtless. You could feel a upturn smirk strewed across his face, against your skin. Regardless, you could not surmise his intention, far too deep in devious, lustful thoughts, you needed Aegon to sate you completely.

"A-Aeg-"

Within a few more long, taunting minutes as Aegon edged you on, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling his warm, dense seed filling you up, it was a feeling unlike the many, intimate times before. You both were often proactive in protection, and yet tonight, although different, it was somewhat sublime.

"That's my good, perfect girl, that's it. Did so fucking well. I need you to stay put like this for me, okay?"

Regardless, that his fill had drenched you inside, Aegon remained buried deeply inside. Somehow, managing to turn you once more to the side, as he laid himself cosily behind you, thick, muscular arms holding you tenderly from behind, as his cock remained sorely stretching yet pleasantly coaxing you inside.

"Hush now baby, my good, sweet princess. How could I ever let you go so easily, huh? What kind of a man would I be to let his girl leave like that?-"

His hot, breathless words felt soothing as he whispered against your ears, his free hand atop, once more fixing the sweat-infused tangled strands away from your heated face. Leaving a few pecks of kisses against your dewy skin.

"Now promise to get some rest for me, angel. I need you strong for my little surprise."

****

Had you known what was to follow in the early months to come, the significance of Aegon's cryptic gesture following the sex that night. How his large, rough hand found it's way over to your lower abdomen, lightly caressing it in a circular motion, something he'd never normally done before, although not unquestionable at the time... Upon awaking early that morning, Aegon explained his surprise visit during the night, grieving over the sheer thought of losing you was enough to make the man cry once more, profusely apologising for the poisonous words he'd spat upon you. He refused to leave your side, and you knew you could not stop him. Nonetheless, he was well-intentioned, and you forgave him, allowing him to spend many more nights and days to come. Too preoccupied with the decision to be made, as Aegon kept pestering you for advice and discussion, you'd forgotten the whole notion of birth control, and only remembered a few days after. Regardless, the love making did not cease, as Aegon persuaded you that he wished to spend as many hours with you, "in case you decide to leave, I need to cherish every moment with you." Poetic of him, although, his agenda was far more conniving.

****

"Aeg- I'm, I'm pregnant."

The words were as sweet as honey to his sly ears: he did not lash out nor did he act upset nor surprised. In fact, unlike the momentous news you'd dropped before regarding the scholarship, this did not seem to phase him, not in the slightest.

You both rarely spoke of the thought of having children together, being both still quite young in age, and knowing that Aegon's youth was not one he favoured, regardless, he remained pleasantly optimistic upon hearing the news.

"Baby, this is good- This is wonderful."

"B-But what about the scholarship, what do I do?"

Cupping your tender, shocked face in his hands, his reassuring smile offered you some ease, though not enough. A child, an actual child. You hadn't really comprehended the notion of motherhood, nor did you completely go against it.

"Y/N, this-" One hand now stroking the same spot on your lower stomach, now a slight swell present, as he did those many nights ago. It all clicked now.

"This happened for a reason, you can't deny us this. Our own little baby, Y/N, we can have our own little family, sweetie. I promise I'll take care of us, all of us. You can't be stressing about some scholarship now..."

"But Aeg, I really did want it."

"So you-you want the scholarship, more than a family? More than making me happy or yourself? I thought you would be okay with this."

"I-Of course Aeg, I would love to have a family with you, only you now that I'm being honest. But I just always thought in due time, I-"

"Now's the time baby... This happened to us for a reason. Maybe the scholarship wasn't meant to be. Maybe something else will come along, they're always giving out scholarships, babe. If they offered it to you before, they'll offer it again. How could they deny you?"

His words sweet, and reaffirming. It was true, there were endless opportunities to apply for degrees and scholarships throughout the years. And it seemed Aegon, was extremely on board with the idea of becoming a father. Knowing how far he'd come from the rebellious boy he'd once been, stammering into the house late at night as Aemond and you remained studying endlessly, to the confident man he was now, was astounding. His dear mother, Alicent, even knew it, and thanked you deeply, for years she had been aimlessly trying to better her eldest.

"You are making all this possible for me, Y/N. Things I never dreamt to be or the person I'd become, you are the sole reason for my happiness. And now with this baby, I feel I could conquer the world."

[marksmelodies]

give it a rest

parings: idol x fem! reader

genre: angst/fluff

warnings: Cursing, name calling, kisses and cuddling

no proofread

————————————————————————————————————

You lay in bed trying to focus on the movie playing across the screen in yours and Marks shared apartment, you couldn’t help but to yearn for Mark to join you in bed while watching the movie together.Something as casual as cuddling is scarce in your relationship.

Although you two live together it’s rare for you and him to see each other more than a quick “hi” or “bye” whilst you both are in a rush going about your own days. it’s not that you don’t understand, you’re quite the opposite. You know how busy Mark is on a day to day basis, With promoting the dream comeback that just happened on top of preparing for the nct 2023 comeback and the 127 comeback Mark had been extremely busy and with that comes lots of stress as well. You understood what you signed up for when you both agreed to get together, you knew it wouldn’t be a “normal” relationship, lots of it would be spent long distance, even if he’s in the same city as you, living in the same apartment as you, sharing the same bed as you,you don’t get the privilege to see him everyday and that was okay with you… at least it was initially

You and Mark have been together for a little over 3 years, it hasn’t always been smooth sailing but you two were good at working through problems that occurred throughout your relationship However recently you’ve felt extremely distant from him not only physically but mentally, you feel as if you’re worlds away from him, even if you both are in the same room. As you watch the tv while scrolling through your phone you look at the time that reads 12:30am you get the urge to check up on mark who’s been shut in the makeshift office that you and him made out of what was once a spare room ever since he got home from practice. you slowly tip toe to the door slightly knocking on it before you enter,Mark turns around and shoots you a tired smile, you approach his slouched body and wrap your arms around his shoulders while kissing the side of his neck

“come to bed with me it’s getting late” you say in a soft tone

“ in a bit babe i still have work to do” he replies and continues back to work

“ the work can wait mark you’ve been in here for hours, did you even eat dinner?” you ask

“ mhm” he mumbles and places is headphones back on both his ears,you stand there for a moment wondering if he has anything more to say to you than just a grunt of acknowledgment,you huff as walk out of the room quite annoyed at your boyfriend. an hour passes by and mark has still yet to move from his chair,you’re getting restless, you feel your eyes drooping but you don’t want to go to sleep unless mark is right beside you, alas you get up again walking to the office and opening the door,he’s in the same exact position he was in when you left,you walk over to him, it takes him a minute to realize you’re standing there.

“ geez babe i didn’t hear you come in” he says chuckling

you stand there straight faced with your arms crossed

“ mark im tired please let’s go to bed” you say practically begging

marks demeanor changed as he straightens his body

“ y/n, i already told you i still have work to do” he says quite harshly

“ you said that an hour ago, how long are you going to be in here working? you need to get sleep too” you say

“ im grown enough to make my own decisions y/n i don’t need you scolding me like your my mother” he snaps, you scoff and roll your eyes

“ whatever mark im going to sleep” you say

“night” he responds

as you walk out of the room you whisper under your breath and slightly slam the door making your way back to the bedroom with tears welling up in your eyes, you’re laying in bed cold, uncomfortable and really in need of a hug right now,the fact that you seemed totally unimportant to your boyfriend really hurt your heart, you understood that his work was important but was it more important than you? as you cried and cried into the pillow eventually you stoped only because there were no tears left to cry. as much as you want to go to sleep you can’t you stay in bed tossing and turning until you came to the conclusion that you arent going to fall asleep anytime soon,you wish on everything that you could be an independent girlfriend who could have no problem doing things on her own, but that just isn’t you, you are dependent on mark for many things whether you realize it or not…

making your way to mark for the third time you enter the room, this time you aren’t angry or frustrated you’re just in need of your man and thats exactly what you are going to get,walking up to his chair you slowly move it out a little bit so that you can get in between him and the desk, he just stares at you while you crawl into his lap wrapping your arms and legs around him burring your head into the crook of his neck.

“ i’m sorry, i just miss you” you say as you start to cry again

mark finally realizes where he went wrong

“ shh babygirl, i should be the one apologizing, i got so caught up with these comebacks i forgot to give you any of my attention lately, i’m so so sorry” he says as he hugs you tightly

“ let’s go to bed sweet girl” he says and gets up from his chair making his way to the bedroom while holding you,he sets you in bed while he quickly gets ready to sleep,he joins you in bed instantly engulfing you in a big hug and kissing your face all over

“ i’m sorry babe i’ll try harder to spend more time with you” he says

“ it’s okay i get that you’re extremely busy but i want you to know that i’m here for you, i don’t want to be left in the dark” you reply

“ i love you so much, thank you for always being so supportive and understanding”

“i love you too babe, goodnight”

“goodnight princess”

[jasmines-library]

Spinning out.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 14. Prompt: Water inhalation. Fandom: Top Gun (Maverick daughter reader x Bradley Bradshaw)

Summary: When a mission goes wrong and you and Rooster are sent into a tizzy, forcing you to eject, you run into a sticky situation when your lifevest fails to inflate.

Warnings: Drowning, Water inhalation, Near death experience, minor ptsd.

Word count: 2K

Notes: I'm sorry. (Side note, this can be plationic or romantic.)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

The sun was just rising above the skyline as the familiar rumble of the jet started up. Shortly after that came the weightlessness as it soared into the sky. It was supposed to be a simple mission, take down a couple of fighters that had stepped over the territory line, then return in time for a drink down at the ‘Hard Deck’. 

You would never not admire the way the world looked from up here as you soared between the mountains towards the ocean, leaving the base as a tiny grey speck in the distance. It took your breath away. 

“How’s it looking back there, Viper?” Rooster asked from the front of the jet. The com crackled in your ear.

“All good, roo.” You replied, glancing down at the multitude of buttons and screens.

Rooster has been your best friend since you were young. You had grown up with each other and worked your way through Top Gun to follow in your parents’ footsteps. He was the Goose to your Maverick. Literally. Although the two of you were only young when his dad passed, you had seen the way that it broke him, much like the way it broke your dad. And although you would never completely be able to understand Roosters grief, you stuck to him through thick and thin. 

Once you were finally old enough to join Top Gun, your dad was hesitant. He had lost his best friend. He wouldn’t lose you too, though it was all you knew. It was all you had wanted to do since you were 6 years old and playing with model planes in the garden with Brad. And so, there you were; strapped tightly to the chair of a plane hurtling through the atmosphere as your best friend’s RIO. And you couldn’t think of anything better. 

Time passed nonchalantly as the fighter edged towards the opposition. Although it was a standard mission that you had done hundreds of times you still couldn’t help but form an anxious knot in your stomach, especially when the other jets came into view.

“Bandits ahead.” You informed the Phoenix and Bob who were cruising along besides you.

“Copy.” 

You watched the small dots dance across the green screen. The triangle of fighters heading straight towards the four of you. “Heading straight towards us.” You told Rooster, who nodded abruptly and began to manoeuvre the plane to the right. 

“Taking evasive action.”

The jet swerved as it raced past the enemy, before setting in line behind them. They broke apart, scattering around you. 

“Shit.” Cursing, you tried to adjust the monitors to locate the plane that had slipped from view on the monitor. “I’ve lost one of them. Bob, anything.”

“Negative.”

As Rooster flew, you kept a keen eye out for the third plane which had vanished within the clouds that obscure your view. 

Thanks to his skilled training, Rooster managed to take down one of the enemy vessels without an issue. The second one was trickier, with both pairs of planes making a beeline towards it as it raced away, You could feel the force on your body making it harder to move as Bradley urged the plane forwards. You could see the two dots inching closer together until they were nearly aligned.”

“Rooster, I can’t get the shot.” Phoenix called out over. 

“Copy. Just give me a moment.”

Narrowing his eyes, Rooster placed his thumb over the missile, twisting the jet so that he could get a clear shot. When the lines finally aligned and the control panel let out a happy chirp, he pressed the trigger down, launching the missile which hit its target and sent it careening into the water. Phoenix congratulated your partner as you continued to search the sky for the missing plane. Though seemingly it was truly out of sight. After deciding that it may have retreated, and receiving the go ahead from Maverick to return to base, you reeled back around and began the journey home.

“I’m glad I can bring you back in one piece Y/N.” Brad sighed from in front of you. ���Now there’s one less reason for Mav to kill me.”

That was when the monitors began blinking, and the third dot reappeared on the scanner.

“Break! Break!” You yelled as they locked onto your jet, launching a missile towards you. Quick on his feet, Rooster swerved. 

“Bandit found!” He called out over the comms as you moved to fiddle with the switches, although the frantic movement made it hard to move as it sent you sliding around. 

The enemy was suddenly coming up in front of you, causing Bradley to break hard. “Shit!”

When it pushed in front of you, the force which it left with, shoved your plane harshly, causing you to slam into the side of your chair. 

“Jet-wash!” He cried out.

There was no time to react as the force sent your plane spiralling. Lights flashed frantically in the cockpit as the high pitched alarm screeched. “Both engines out!” 

Without the aid of the engines the fighter jet was forced into a tizzy, twisting as it spun out of control. At some point the motion had slammed you into the glass of the cockpit. You cried out painfully.

“Viper!?”

Your body screamed at you as you tried to move but the force of your body as the jet rapidly dropped in attitude was too much to allow you to move. 

“Eject!” You told him, craning your head to twist towards the two loops that hung in between where the two of you were stationed.  “I can’t reach the handles. You have to eject!”

Eyes wide and frantic, Rooster reached behind him , fumbling for the fabric. When his shaky hands wrapped around them, he gave them a sharp tug and then the two of you went tumbling from the plane and hurtling towards the bottomless ocean. 

Rooster groaned against the heavy pull as his parachute opened. He watched anxiously for yours to fly open, letting out a breath when he saw it fly out behind you and your fall slow. But something was wrong, because when you hit the water, you didn’t come back up. 

Your arms flailed frantically as you tried to keep yourself afloat, but you had hit the water hard and every movement you made with your legs sent agony across your body, and without the aid of your life jacket, which failed to inflate, the parachute which quickly absorbed the water began to drag you down. You took a gasping breath as you heaved, trying to keep your head above the churning water, but it w as no use. You vanished beneath the surface of the water.

It was dark. And cold. And your lungs burned for air that wouldn’t come as your  lungs filled with water. You twisted, struggling within the fabric and rope which had wrapped itself around your body, tangling around you like you were a fish caught in a net. Your eyes stung with the assault of the water as you stared blankly at the inky green above you. Your movements slowed as your energy began to deplete, and soon you knew nothing but the dark and icy water.

~

Rooster watched in horror as your head disappeared below the water and you didn't resurface. Struggling against the water, he swam as fast as he could. The heavy weight of his parachute slowed him down, trying to drag him towards the same fate as you, but he pushed himself forwards. He had to keep going, he had to get to you. Barely registering the loud humming of the helicopter above, he swam to the green ink that leaked from your suit and began to dive down. The resistance of his life jacket tried to pull him back towards the surface, but he could see you now. Your hair floated around your face, drifting as you lay motionless in the water. Your skin was pale and your lips were turning a shade of blue. He could see the chute wrapped around your ankle and the def

He outstretched his hand until his fingertips brushed yours, but then he was yanked back harshly by the buoyancy-aid. Cursing loudly, he dived back into the icy water, propelling himself forwards. When he finally managed to wrap his hands around yours, he pulled you towards him. His lungs burned and tiny air bubbles escaped from his nose. Fumbling, he struggled to unclip you from the parachute, but after finally freeing you from the binds, your body floated up with his easily. 

With a hard kick, Brad resurfaced and took a gasping breath, sucking the air greedily into his lungs and allowing the life jacket to do its job.

You lay morbidly still across his chest. Lips chapped and an ugly shade of blue. Bradley called out, crying your name and begging for your response but you said nothing. Did nothing. Not even your chest rose and fell. The helicopter settled above the water and soon there were hands on him, parting your lifeless body from him. He struggled against them, ignoring the pleading of the medics and the rescue team. He needed to get to you, but you were just too far away. 

~~

Maverick watched you anxiously from where you lay on the bed, hooked up to a line of machines. There was a cannula attached to your right side, so he held the left, bringing it up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to it. Maverick would never forget the moment that he heard the alert come through on the radio. His body tensed and his heart stopped in his chest as though he had been gripped by one massive, icy hand. He refused to leave your side. Not even to sleep and that was because every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with the image of Goose, lying lifeless in the ocean. It was too similar; too much of a sick coincidence spat out by fate. But this time it was different. The two of you had clawed your way back. Rooster had been in a state when he returned; frantic and rambling. Mav hardly made him feel any better after yelling at him. The pilot’s stomach sank at that thought. Unmeaning to hurt the boy, scared he yelled at him- words he would never have said. The thought was relentless as it echoed in his head. 

You began to stir, blinking heavily against the fluorescent lights. Maverick sat forwards from where he was slumped in the armchair. He greeted you with a gentle smile as you turned to face him. 

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hm?” the noise you made was groggy as you shuffled. Your entire body ached like you had been bit by a truck. 

“Oh kid…” He cooed, tracing circles on your palm. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

You nodded, scanning the room. “Brad?” Your voice was hoarse. 

“He’s…” Maverick didn’t have the heart to tell you that he had warned the boy away. But he was saved when the door peeled open and the tired boy pushed his way into the room. He had a small cut on his cheek and a blanket shawled around his shoulders. Bradley also shivered slightly. He stopped dead when he saw your eyes on him. 

“Y/N.”

You smiled. “Hey, Roo.”

Maverick watched the two of you intently. His daughter and his best friend's son. He saw the way that his features softened around you and the way that your eyes glistened as you listened to him chatter away. It was a moment of tenderness that brought a proud grin to his face and in that moment, Maverick knew that as long as you two had each other, you would always pull through.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<-DAY 13 ⛤ DAY 15 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[aangelinakii]

INNOCENT MEN DON'T ACT LIKE THIS.

— is it as bad as it seems?

summary : you're dating bruce wayne and it's amazing. you're used to him disappearing every other week, but explaining it's to do with work, billionaire things. this time, he's gone a bit too long, and you're prepared for the worst to come out.

note : SO SORRY THIS REQUEST TOOK SO LONG !!!! HOPE YOU ENJOY IT NONETHELESS !!!!

when you first began dating bruce wayne — you, a normal civilian — you were highly aware of the consequences, and all the things you'd have to get used to: weekends without him, for he's gone to visit the prime minister of england; some weeks without a call, because he's neck-deep in paperwork.

although not ideal, after having got to know the man, you were okay with the distance sometimes, if it meant you could still keep your connection.

it was never more than a month that you didn't see him, didn't text, didn't talk, but recently it's been coming close.

dating a billionaire, a man as famous as him, you didn't want to be too much, but as soon as it had hit two weeks and no call? every morning, good morning bruce, have a good day 🩷. each night, good night bruce, sweet dreams 🩷.

still, no response.

is he seeing someone else? has he run away and eloped someone else? is he even alive?

you didn't want to even think.

chest heavy with worry, as it had been for the past two weeks, you stood before your stove, snapping a load of rigid spaghetti in half so it would fit in a pot of boiling water on the hob. spagbol for a week. you couldn't eat anything else, didn't have the energy for anything else; you were too busy worrying, worrying for the worst.

friends you'd confided in told you it was fine, he's a billionaire, he's probably in shanghai dining with the richest! sure, he could be. but shanghai has wifi, right? bruce would have told you — something, anything.

on the dining table behind you, your phone vibrated, springing to life, the ringtone surprising you as it sung through the kitchen, and you stepped away from the stove.

bruce :) is calling...

after — what, a month? — he finally decides to call? this better be good.

urging every bone in your body to be mad, but the veins deepest beneath your flesh just relieved, you picked up the cell and tapped the green circle, putting the call through.

at first you didn't speak, lips pressed together, jaw tight. he was the one who hadn't called, hadn't texted back. normally, you were understanding, but this was too much.

from the other end of the line, you couldn't hear anything. a month, and he'd butt-dialed you? typical.

"(name)?" bruce finally spoke, voice slightly crackled from your horrendous apartment internet connection. every house has its flaws.

through stiff teeth, you responded, an arm crossing over your chest. "that's my name."

a sigh came from bruce's end. relief? "i can't make it up to you, can i? i just... i'm so sorry, i—"

"where were you?" when you spoke this time, your voice wasn't cold and frigid. instead, it had thawed with care, your eyebrows upturning worriedly. "bruce i have been worried sick. you weren't... with someone, were you?"

something that sounded like a breathy laugh came from the other line, but it could have just been another sigh. you're not sure. "god, no, (name)." he sighed again, and you could picture him screwing his eyes shut and bringing a pair of fingers to pinch at the bridge of his nose tiredly. "no, i've just been..."

bruce's end went silent, and your heart began to pump heavy in your chest, immediately worried that you'd lost him again just as soon as you'd got him back.

"can i come see you? i need to explain this."

"please."

and that's how you found yourself sat at your dining table opposite bruce wayne half an hour later.

when you'd answered the door to him, you didn't envelope him in a hug as you usually did, and, judging by the way bruce didn't lean into you like clockwork, he was expecting it to be like that. you'd stepped out the way, allowing him inside, gaze stoney as you glared at him. he was like a puppy stuck with the cone; ashamed, nervous.

you didn't offer him any dinner, either, not when he was the reason you'd been eating spaghetti bolognese each night. not that he needed to know.

jaw tense, the prongs of your fork scraped against the bottom of your plate as you twirled it in the middle of your dish, red noodles entwining.

after too many beats of silence having passed, bruce finally cleared his throat and looked across the table at you uneasily. it was different seeing bruce like this, not entirely comfortable in your presence. for this, he'd had to have done something bad.

innocent men don't act like this.

"so, i haven't been completely honest," he began, and you were quick to give your input.

"no, you haven't." and you shovelled the spaghetti into your mouth, chewing angrily, allowing your jaw to shake off its tension.

bruce's eyes lingered on you for a moment, in a way you couldn't decipher. it's not like you were making it easy for him to apologise; in fact, it felt like you were making him work for your forgiveness.

from your position, that felt completely fair.

"well, i suppose i should let you know i have been away in metropolis."

metropolis, and he couldn't call? sounds like bullshit. but still, you decided to hear him out.

"i could tell you i was doing business there, but i was not. not exactly." his eye contact with you strained, and you found him looking down at the table, where his hands had been clasped. looking at them properly now, you could see his knuckles were nursing the end stages of a bruise, and a few cuts. what was he, a street fighter?

with an unintended clatter, you tossed your fork back against the bowl, causing the man opposite you to flinch as he looked back up in surprise.

"thanks for the backstory, bruce, but can you just get to it?"

you were more forceful than you were meaning to be, and you could tell that bruce was taken aback, by the way his lips parted and dark eyebrows rose slightly, grasp on his own fingers slackening.

after a nod of consideration, bruce's eyes broke from yours and he gave an uncomfortable cough. "yes, well... i understand your reaction. it's just difficult to say."

if he hadn't cheated on you, what else could be so difficult to say?

business. he mentioned business.

eyebrows furrowed, you continued, voice lighter. "are you in the mob, or something?" despite trying to sound understanding, you couldn't help the tone of disapprovement marking your words.

part of you was relieved to see the corners of bruce's angular lips curl up into a soft, boyish smile, and he chuckled and shook his head.

"no," he hummed, and you found his smile impossible to stay mad at. still, you maintained the façade. "any of these things would be easier to admit to than this."

despite his smile and the easiness of his words, the uncertainty was difficult to miss.

face finally softening, you reached out to place a hand on his, and bruce didn't hesitate in taking your fingers in his, melting into your touch already. it seemed like he really had missed you.

voice quiet, now actually understanding, you spoke again. "bruce, i'm sorry for snapping. you can tell me anything. you know i wouldn't judge you."

when his eyes met yours, his lids creased into crescents, content just by your words. "except if i was in the mob."

an involuntary laugh came from your lips, and you nodded affectionately. "yes, except for that."

bruce relished in your warmth, your smile, your laugh, for just a few moments more, before clearing his throat once again and shifting in his seat.

"when i tell you these words, they cannot leave this room. do you understand?" his sudden seriousness had you curious; you knew this was imperative, and so you nodded.

his eyelids softly flipped closed, and he let out a deep breath.

"the reason i was in metropolis is because there was a lead that lex luthor was working with a corporation called cadmus. it's over now, i don't want to relive it, but just know that the two of those do not mix well together."

you wanted to understand, wanted to nod, wanted to pull him in, wanted to hold him tight, wanted to never let go again. but you didn't, you didn't understand.

from the way you shook your head slightly, and rose your shoulders in a soft shrug, bruce knew he had to reveal more. he was purposely being short, trying to bide his own time.

his eyes fell to your hand in his. "i had to work with the justice league to stop him."

the corners of your lips curled. "what, so you met batman and stuff? that's cool. have you met them before?"

"that's the thing."

and your head tilted, trying to see his story from a new perspective, eyes narrowed. you leaned forward again, just a little bit closer if you could.

"i didn't meet batman, because i already know him." his pale eyes lifted to meet yours, stomach twisting at the way your eyebrows creased. "i am him."

letting out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, your grasp on his hands slackened, and you leaned back in your chair, lips remaining apart.

"you... what?"

but bruce didn't repeat it, just stared on, hoping you would understand, hoping you wouldn't see him differently.

for a few beats, you just watched him, and he watched you watch him, trying to gulp down his anxiety, adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.

all anxiety dissipated as he watched you stand from your chair, and step around to his end of the table, wrapping your arms around his frame.

a shaky breath flowed through his nostrils, and one of his hands came up to clutch the forearm over his chest, thumb stroking it softly.

he was lucky. perhaps not completely innocent, but lucky to have someone so understanding.

[oohnotvery]

NEW FIC - WIP! Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 1)

Hi all,

This is my take on the classic trope of “Mulder and Scully decide to be friends-with-benefits. Surely they can keep their emotions to themselves, right? Oh, and add in a little Fowley angst.”

This isn’t totally canon-compliant because I genuinely don’t understand the mytharc and don’t care to get better acquainted with it.

As usual, this is a WIP and will have a happy ending (MSR). My last fic proved to me that I shouldn’t promise any true regularity in updating, but I do try to update about 2-3 times a week.

Enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading and commenting! Find me on AO3 (oohnotvery)!

-E.

tagging @today-in-fic

Scully

They haven’t tried this position before, but Scully is glad it’s what Mulder wants tonight. Here on his bed, with her ass in the air and her eyes pinned to the pattern of his duvet, it is a welcome relief not seeing his face as he approaches orgasm.

When they initiated this little arrangement five weeks ago, she didn’t put much—if any—thought into which sex positions they might try. At the time, all she really cared about was getting him naked regularly, having the chance to touch his body without hesitation, and being able to engage in her most recurrent fantasy—sex with Mulder—without a hint of shame.

Of the fifteen times they’ve had sex, they’ve tried a lot of things together: missionary, cowgirl, standing, spooning, going down on the other, and one time, he even convinced her to sit on his face. Although she blushed from head to toe at that last one, she has a feeling that for the rest of her life, it will stand out in her memory as the most thigh-trembling, toe-tingling, spine-curling orgasm of her life.

So tonight, when he tossed her face down on the bed, she was a little surprised. They’ve never tried doggy style before. Although in past relationships she’s enjoyed the feeling of being taken from behind, she hasn’t been too interested in trying a position with Mulder that feels so . . . detached.

Her surprise quickly gave way, however, to a deep surge of relief. Tonight, he’s not pulling her into his lap or positioning them like he normally does—foreheads touching, gazes locking as they come in near synchronicity. No. That would be far too intimate tonight.

Maybe he’s feeling it too, she thinks as he pauses to shove her legs even wider apart. Her clit is nearly touching the mattress now and she resists the urge to grind down into his bed. She doesn’t want him to see her so needy. Not tonight, not when the tension between them has escalated to a fever pitch. Not when they can barely look each other in the eyes.

It was a mistake to come here, she thinks as he starts slamming into her. She is too vulnerable, too emotional, stripped bare after a week of confusion, jealousy, and disloyalty.

But the little chicken-scratch note he slapped on her desk today was too tempting to ignore.  

Tonight, my place. Be there at eight.

All of their prior dalliances have begun either with flimsy pretense or mutual understanding: she’s stopping by for a drink, he’s coming over to share notes, they decide to leave work early, he books them conjoining motel rooms. Never has one summoned the other, not like this. Part of her really, really likes it, likes the way his demand makes her stomach swoop. The commanding tone of his request feels primal, possessive. It says you’re mine, and I will fuck you tonight whether you want me to or not.

Surrendering to her baser desires has been so, so easy lately, so when she saw his note, it was natural to consider allowing it one more time. They’ve been opposite soldiers on the battlefield all week. Maybe crossing enemy lines could yield reparations, understanding, an alliance.

No. She should have resisted. She should have remembered all the ways this week has ruined them. Wasn’t it just a few days ago that she met Diana Fowley? That she spied Mulder tenderly holding hands with this mysterious new agent? That she visited the Gunmen, only to learn the true nature of this woman from Mulder’s past? That she left their lair feeling humiliated, betrayed, and replaced? That she swore to herself she’d never sleep with Mulder again?

And she knows why Mulder demanded her company tonight. Although there hasn’t been an obvious pattern to their past hook-ups, she knows he’s using her. It’s part of why they agreed to this arrangement, right? Stress relief, a trusted partner with whom to engage in mutually beneficial safe sex. Completely emotion-free. Strictly platonic. And God knows Mulder has been through the ringer this week. Their office, burned. The X-Files, incinerated. Diana, shot and hospitalized. It makes sense that he’s using her body to drown out his worries, but it makes less sense that she’s just letting him. But . . . but he’s Mulder, and even if he’s been difficult and moody and elusive all week, he smells good and looks good, and she knows the way his tongue feels on her clit, and she knows the way he grins when she tells him she’s coming—

She gasps, returning violently to the present moment as Mulder pulls out all the way and slams his hips back into her. She grits her teeth as pleasure-mixed-with-pain ripples treacherously through her body. She buries her face in the duvet and tries to remind herself that Mulder has visited Diana in the hospital every day this week. In fact, she knows he was there today, because when he answered the door tonight, he still had a visitor’s badge taped to his t-shirt. As soon as she saw the ugly thing, she almost turned around and walked out. She can’t fuck someone who’s interested in someone else, right?

But he had grabbed her by the neck and hauled her into him, and because he’s a beautiful kisser, because his erection was so damn rigid against her jeans, because his breath tasted slightly of alcohol, she caved. He’s using her for sex? She could certainly do the same.

But tonight has been noticeably different than all their past visits. Over the last few weeks, she’s grown to expect Mulder to talk while he’s fucking her. Sometimes sweet, sometimes dirty, sometimes with a flick of his tongue in her ear, sometimes with his lips suctioned around her clit.

But he’s eerily silent tonight. Normally at this point, with sweat breaking out over their bodies and her clit screaming for attention, he’s beginning to move his mouth to her ear, starting to whisper things like good girl, come for me, you feel so fucking good, oh, I’m gonna come, Scully, your body is so sexy.

And yet, he hasn’t even touched her tonight. Usually, there’s long stretches of foreplay before he actually starts to fuck her. Most days, she’s already come once from his fingers or his mouth before he even begins to suggest penetrative sex. But tonight, he went from zero to sixty in a matter of minutes, and with his lack of attention and her growing indignation, her body’s arousal is dipping, dipping, dipping. She’s simply not wet enough for this.

He slams back into her and this time she cries out in real pain. That was too rough, she should say, and any other day, she would raise her head and tell him. And if he were truly in tune with her like normally, he’d notice her discomfort. He’d see the way her muscles are tensing, the way she’s leaning her hips away from him, the way her whimpers are growing more and more distressed.

But instead he just adjusts his grip, grabs her shoulder, and brings his other hand up to her breasts, plucking at her nipples. At first, the change is welcome—he’s touching me!—but then his fingers pinch hard. Too hard. She bites her lip until she tastes blood, but she’s tough, and she refuses to admit that it hurts. Not tonight.

He pounds out a half dozen more strokes then folds over her, his chest slick against her back, his mouth brushing up against her ear. Oh. Okay. Maybe he is going to talk her through her orgasm.

“Close?” he asks on a grunt, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to ask her that question. Usually by this point, she’s already telling him—both physically and verbally—that she’s nearing her orgasm.

The answer is no, no, she’s not close at all. She’s not going to come tonight, not with Diana Fowley and betrayal and a burned office and a distant partner on the brain.

“Scully?” he prods aggravatedly when she doesn’t answer. He’s gone still inside her and it’s a welcome relief. She’s never been this unresponsive to him, has never had a problem with her arousal around him. Hell, she’s been wet for five years. Tonight, though, he’s just not doing it for her.

But she can’t talk about it. There’s no conversation they could have that would improve the state of their relationship right now. She’s not going to admit to her insecurities around Diana Fowley, and he doesn’t even know the Gunmen revealed their secret dating history. It would be embarrassing—mortifying, really—to admit to such knowledge, to such feelings. So instead, she closes her eyes and nods.

“Yeah.”

He hesitates briefly before lifting off her back and sliding his hands back down to her hips. She bites the inside of her cheek as he pounds into her, five, six, seven, eight times, and then he’s coming. When he slips out and pushes her away onto her side, the breath sputters out of her in gasping relief. Her cunt is aching, and not in a good way. The only fluid down there is Mulder’s semen leaking out of her, and even that stings and itches against her sensitive walls. She squirms uncomfortably for a minute, wondering what he expects from her next. Normally, he tugs her into his chest and holds her for a long time, sometimes so long that she forgets to make an excuse about needing to go home. On more than one occasion, in fact, she’s woken up the next morning to his wandering hands under the sheets and a fresh cup of coffee on the nightstand.

She steals a glance behind her and to her consternation, his eyes are closed, his mouth half-open, his breathing deep and even. The bastard is already, impossibly asleep. Angry, outraged tears collect on her lashes as she realizes she’s been dismissed. There will be no sleepover tonight, no cuddling, no coffee in the morning. Indignantly, she swipes at her wet cheeks. She will not waste tears on this humiliation.  

Moving silently, she collects her things and heads to the bathroom to clean up. A quick glance at her watch tells her it’s not even nine o’clock yet. Jesus Christ, she hasn’t even been here an hour. Somehow, though, it’s been more than enough time for something sick and twisted to curl up in her gut, for a painful ache to weigh down her heart.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Sleeping with Mulder was never supposed to feel demeaning or humiliating. When they came up with this little arrangement, she imagined a lot of things, a whole host of possibilities: great sex, a more intimate bond, a relief to the tension that’s been building and building and building all these years. Of course—because she’s not an idiot—she also considered some the less pleasant outcomes: that the sex would be mediocre, that they wouldn’t “click” in this particular way, that he’d want to call it off after just one try.

But for all the ugly scenarios she did cook up, she never once allowed herself to face the truly terrifying possibilities. She never once imagined herself sneaking out of his apartment after a quick, unsatisfying fuck. She never once envisioned herself crying on the drive home as the twin pillars of shame and resentment took hold in her chest. She never once thought that she would be left broken and hurting after just five weeks of sharing his bed. She never once considered that she would leave his apartment feeling worse about herself than she did upon arrival.

And of course, naïve as she’s been, she never believed there could ever be another woman involved.  

In her car, she slams her fist on the steering wheel. God, why hadn’t she thought of these things? Why hadn’t she considered the possibility that things would go terribly, terribly wrong?

Because you’re in love, a small voice whispers.

She grinds her teeth and grips the wheel tighter, refusing to acknowledge the thought playing at the back of her mind. She will never let herself bring that particular idea to the light. It is dangerous, unwieldy. Being in love with Mulder isn’t an option. The foundation of their sexual arrangement is that the raging tension and chemistry between them is purely sexual. There are no emotions, save for the natural affection and fondness that comes with being partners for five years.

And although she’s always been good at shoving down her emotions, right now, they’re climbing higher and higher in her throat. If she opens her mouth, they just might spill out. Things like love, desire, devotion, passion. Things that are much heavier than friendship. Things that will break them.

Regret surges all around her, and she knows she has made a grave error in judgment. For her own sake, it is clear she needs to end this with him. The persistent flood tears tonight are proof alone that she has gotten too invested, too emotional. The gut-wrenching idea of Diana Fowley lurking in the background is evidence that Mulder never intended for this arrangement to mean anything.

So, she needs to end it.

And yet . . .

And yet, she can’t. Not without alerting him to the fact that she has significant feelings, feelings that he’s crushed to a pulp in just a few weeks.

In the parking lot of her building, she closes her eyes and rests her forehead on the wheel. She shoves past pesky emotions to dig deeper into clarity. So, she can’t end things, but she also can’t sleep with him again. Doing so would break her.

There’s a way to do this, though, a way that doesn’t involve letting onto her feelings or her pain. All she must do is let it fade into the background. Release Mulder to the world, to Diana Fowley, if he wants that woman. Politely refuse his invitations to hang out. Decline to initiate sex on her own. Eventually, someone else—likely a tall brunette with long legs and huge tits—will ensnare him, will entice him, will take him away from her.

Soon, Scully tells herself as she exits the car, he’ll stop coming to her for sex. Soon, they’ll slot back into their old, platonic partnership. Soon, she’ll stop thinking that she loves him.

And soon, she promises herself through gritted teeth, she will forget all the ways he made her feel like he might love her, too.

[aritsukemo]

Paradise | Chapter Two - Trainer Sakonji Urokodaki | KNY

Summary: After a terrifying encounter, Sakonji Urokodaki makes an appearance.

Warnings: Depictions of blood ahead! Decapitation ( A demon's head get kicked off ) so read with caution if this puts you off/makes you uncomfortable!

A/N: Decided that I'm going to post this story over on here too so here's chapter two! Feedback and comments are highly appreciated! <3

Tagging: @overluvsick, @nursedflowers, @jspidey5 + anyone else who wants to be tagged!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Third Person Pov

 "Excuse me. Would it be okay if I took that basket, straw, and some bamboo?" Tanjiro asked a farmer.

 "Sure, feel free to have it," The farmer said, "But that basket's full of holes."

 "That's alright. Here, I'll pay you for it," Tanjiro said, beginning to reach for the coins in his pocket when the farmer urges him to halt.

 "No, that's all right. Like I said, the basket's full of holes," The farmer shakes his head, "You can have the bamboo and straw for free too."

 "I'm still paying you!" Tanjiro shouts, an expression of unneeded determination playing on his face, much to the farmer's dismay.

 "I said it's okay, you stubborn kid!" And just then, Tanjiro grabs the farmer's wrist and slams the coins down in his hand. The man yells out in pain.

 "Please accept this, although it's just small change!" He shouts. He then grabs the basket, some straw and bamboo, and runs away, leaving the man to hold his stinging hand and writhe in pain.

 "Thank you very much!"

 "She really dug a hole.." Tanjiro mumbled under his breath at the sight of his sister peeking at him from where she sits in her self-dug hole, her brows creased from discomfort.

 "Is she a mole now?"

 "Don't be an idiot," Y/n butt in, "She's hiding from the sunlight," Upon hearing that, Tanjiro's brows knit together, his eyes wearing his sympathy for all to see. He then suddenly gets on his feet, yelling out a quick 'Hold on!' before turning back to the basket, straw, and bamboo.

 "What do you plan to do with.." As Y/n watched Tanjiro work, her tongue fails her and the urge to finish her sentence dies. With quick movements, Tanjiro chops the bamboo and begins to twist and tie them around the basket, slowly covering each and every hole until the entire basket is covered in a bamboo pattern.

Once he puts the final touches of weaving the straw into basket straps, he gets up and walks past Y/n and into the cave where he kneels before Nezuko and presents her the basket.

 "Do you think you can fit inside this? I want to keep moving during the day so I'll carry you in this," He says to her before pointing at the inside and speaking slowly, "..Can you fit? ..In here? The basket?"

After a moment passes, Nezuko finally crawls out of the hole and into the basket. Unfortunately, only her head can fit inside. The sight makes Tanjiro frown initially, but a smile soon replaces it.

 "She's gotten so big.. Seems like yesterday that she was tiny," And then it clicks. Tanjiro gasps at his own realization befor speaking once again, "Hey, Nezuko. Remember how you became big like an adult earlier? Do you think you can do the opposite? Can you get smaller?"

Giving her encouraging pats on the back, Y/n stares at the sight with skepticism. To her, it's a miracle that she's even understanding what he's saying so quickly after transforming, but to further her surprise, Nezuko seems to listen. Grabbing onto the basket, she gets onto her knees and dips head first into the basket. The basket tilts uprigt and rocks and Tanjiro quickly grabs the edges to steady it, allowing the demon girl to slide the rest of her body in with ease and roll over so that she sits up in the basket, revealing her face which looks noticeably younger. Tanjiro beams in awe.

 "Good job, Nezuko! I'm impressed!" He says as he pats her head. Y/n simply stares at the sight as she walks further into the cave and up to them, tossing him a large blanket. Tanjiro blinks at the blanket before looking up at her, confused.

 "I got it from someone while you were gone. Tie it over the basket so that the sunlight can't reach her," She says. Tanjiro nods his head.

After doing as she instructed Tanjiro slides on the straps and stands to his feet, a small huff escaping him from the newfound weight on his back. He then nods to Y/n that he's ready and the two begin walking towards the cave's exit until..

 "Hey," Tanjiro stops, looking back to see Y/n looking over her shoulder at Sumiko, who's sitting in silence past the hole and against the wall; the area farthest from the cave's exit where the blinding sunlight seeps in.

 "What are you waiting for? If you expect me to carry you like I did before, don't. That was a one time thing. Get up," She says. But the girl doesn't budge from her spot, simply staring with furrowed brows.

Y/n grits her teeth, her eyes beginning to twitch a little as she turns on her heel. She walks, avoiding the hole, and leans down where she grabs Sumiko by the arm and roughly snatches her up, "I said..get up!" The younger girl tries to resist by twisting her body and flailing around, but all it ends up doing is make Y/n nearly rip her arm off dragging her.

 "Try not to be so rough with her," Tanjiro says as he watches Y/n walk up and past him, "Sometimes rough treatment is needed. Especially when she's being unneccessarily..difficult!" And with that, Y/n tosses Sumiko out of the cave, ignorning the uncharacteristically loud cry she lets out as she rolls on the ground. 

 "Y/n! You're going too far!" Tanjiro runs past Y/n and up to Sumiko. He crouches on his knee, his touch as light as a feather's as he pulls her. His brows knit together as he takes note of her trembling body.

 "Are you okay? You're shaking.. Did you hit your head?" Questions fly from Tanjiro's lips, but none of them get answered. He opens his mouth to ask more questions but as he finally catches a glimpse at Sumiko's face, every question he wants to ask slip from his brain. His eyes slowly widen.

Sumiko, who was known for her silent and absent nature, was staring down at her hands and panting loudly as if she'd just ran a marathon. Her eyes shoot upwards to look at the sky in a frenzy, her face looking as if she just dodged getting struck by lightning..

 "Hey.." Tanjiro grips her shoulder, her reaction is intense; her body noticeably tensing as she looks at him. It only concerns the boy even more, "Are you alright?" He asks, but again, she doesn't answer and simply stares at him, her chest rising and falling at a fast rate.

 "She's fine," Y/n says, yet her gaze lingers on her sister as she walks up to them, only looking away when she's makes up behind Tanjiro, "The next town is closer to the mountain so if we want somewhere more comfortable to sleep tonight, we need to leave now."

 "But.." Tanjiro's words evaporate in his throat as Y/n gives him no time to argue and walks right past the two of them, "..Alright. Let's go, Sumiko.."

Standing to his feet, Tanjiro helps Sumiko up and then grabs her hand. Her reaction is less intense this time and she isn't practically flinching away from him like she was seconds ago. That's good, he thinks. He decides then to take one final glance down at her. When he does, he notices the way her bangs cast a shadow over her face, making her paled irises stand out more. The light reflecting off of them is dimmer, yet her flowery pupils shine strong. It makes him feel this slight stir in his chest; an almost sting feeling akin to unease.  It leaves him confused, why is he feeling this way right now? Why does looking at her now feel off?

..Oh well, he doesn't have the time to dwell on it right now. Y/n's already so far ahead.

Giving the girl a gentle, reassuring squeeze to her hand, Tanjiro begins following after Y/n. He doesn't run after her despite the distance between them. Sumiko's still a little shaken so it would be best to take things slow for a while, he thinks.

 "The sun's about to set. Are you sure you want to head up the mountain with all that luggage? And with your little sister as well.." A woman asked the group when they were about to past by her home. The evening skies shining on her gentle features as her child skipped up to her.

 "We'll make sure to be careful," Tanjiro bows his head. Y/n does too, but bends less than Tanjiro does, "Thank you for the concern."

 "..Try not to lose your way. People have gone missing up there lately!"

As the group hikes up the mountain in silence, the oldest two's minds keep drifting back to that conversation—well, Y/n's does more than Tanjiro. As the cicadas and crickets sing their tunes to welcome the dark, starless sky, feet patter in a rhythm against the rocky ground until they come to an abrupt stop.

 "There's a temple over there," Tanjiro's the first to break the silence, "There's light leaking through, so someone must be there. Let's check it out," His eyes drift over to Nezuko, who left the basket soon after the sun disappeared from the sky and had been walking hand in hand with her older brother. He then glances over at Sumiko and Y/n, who were hand in hand and staring at him with skeptical looks, although, it was mainly the latter. Alas, before she can even open her mouth to speak, the painfully familiar scent of death strikes Tanjiro and his brows dip.

 "I smell blood!" He immediately begins running, "This mountain path is pretty rough. Someone must've gotten hurt!" He says in a hurry, already making his way up the steps with Nezuko in tow.

 "Hey! Tanjiro! Wait!" Y/n runs after him, "We don't know that for sure!" She runs up the stairs with Sumiko following closely behind her, now running down the stony path that leads to the temple, "You need to be more cautious!"

 "But if someone really is injured, we gotta help them!" And with that, Tanjiro makes it up to the door and slides it open, "Are you alright?" He shouts only for his heart to drop when his eyes spot the man crouched over in the corner.

A gasp leaves his lips. Loud squelching vibrates throughout the small temple. Tanjiro's eyes widen and the basket slowly slides off his shoulders, hitting the ground with a soft thud. Y/n eyes the corpses stuffed in in the corner. One body bent and torn open, allowing the crimson to seep out and stain their clothes as well as the clothes of the others lying underneath them. The others are cut up in other ways, parts of flesh missing as the sickening noise of chomping paints a perfect picture of what happened.

 "Eh? What the hell? This is my turf," The gruff mumbles are heard, but barely comprehended as the male responsible slowly turns his head, his dark green hair moving to reveal his angry, slitted eyes. His unnaturally paled, grayed skin that has been painted by the red blood of his victims, and his fangs that are so drenched in the same color to the point it drips from and down the corners of his mouth..

 "If you break into my territory, I'll make ya' pay the price!" Tanjiro's eyes slowly look between the man-eating demon and the bodies behind him. Nezuko's eyes haven't left the corpses. The sight tantalizing her so much that drool drips from her muzzle like a faucet that has started to leak. The demon gives his stained fingers a lick, doing little to rid it of the blood due to the fact that his tongue is coated in the disgusting-smelling liquid. Y/n grits her teeth, the tips of her fingers beginning to tingle and the tips of her toes starting to shake. The urge to move being overriden by fear. Sumiko simply seems horrified by the sight before her.

 "There's something off about you guys," The demon grumbles as he stood up, his muscular frame becoming all the more apparent. Tanjiro takes a step back, "Are all of ya' really human?"

Silence. As they stare each other down, it's as if the nighttime noises come to a halt. The singular candle light illuminating the dingy temple walls flickers. The fire disperses and darkness quickly seeps in. As it reaches the farthest depths of the temple and shrouds the corpses in darkness, the demon seems to disappear from sight.

A wind of warning blows and in an instant everything happens at once. Sumiko throws her body into her older sister and the two tilt out of the way just in time for the demon to go soaring at Tanjiro.

As the two fly back together, the boy moves quick. With a strong swing of his now uncovered hatchet, the demon's sent flying back with his neck sliced open and his blood spraying in every which way. Tanjiro lands, back sliding roughly into the stone path while as the demon swiftly recovers with a mid-air flip and lands on his feet.

As his hands comes up to catch the blood dripping from his throat, the temple demon lets out a guttural laugh, his eyes glancing upwards to look at Tanjiro, "A hatchet, huh? Not a bad choice, but a scratch like this should heal in no time!" And as those words leave his mouth in a throaty yell, the blood stops dripping and the wound closes, much to Tanjiro's horror.

Y/n sits up, realizing her sister's smaller arms are still caged around her waist. She looks back, surprise evident on her face. Sumiko stares over her shoulder at the demon, her flowery pupils nowehere to be found as she stares at the demon with a hardened, slitted gaze and gripping onto Y/n's clothes tightly, restricting the girl's movements. Nezuko stays glued in her spot, staring at the corpses in the temple with hungry eyes as drool continues to drip down her chin.

Slowly, Tanjiro sits up and readies his hatchet, but he's slammed down in an instant. The demon now towers over him, holding him down by neck whilst holding down his hand that holds his hatchet.

 "He's fast and unbelievibly strong too!" Tanjiro thinks as the mocking grunt of the demon's voices forces it's way into his eardrums, "You won't get me twice!"The demon says before laughing again, "Now, I'm going to snap your neck!"

As his grip on Tanjiro's neck tightens even more, the boy grits his teeth as the air in his lungs slowly fades. Y/n grabs Sumiko's shoulder and attempts to push her off but to no avail. When did she get so strong? Or maybe Y/n's just hallucinating her strength so that she has an excuse not to move. Either way, the smaller girl clings to her with no intent on letting her go.

 "Shit," Y/n mentally curses. Luckily, a certain demon answers her prayers. Finally snapping from her trance, Nezuko turns and runs around, meeting at a point where she then pulls back and kicks the demon's head clean off it's shoulders. The head goes speeding head into a tree where it collides with it and splatters it's blood on it.

Tanjiro stares at the sight, mouth agape as he looks up at the headless body above him. It falls onto him and Tanjiro immediately pushes it off of him with a frantic yell before looking up at his sister.

 "She- She killed him!" Tanjiro thought, unbeknownst of the body twitching to life behind him, "Wait, he's a demon, so.." Slowly, the demon's body leans over, it's claws getting threateningly close to Tanjiro's head..

 "Tanjiro!" Y/n finally finds the strength to push her sister off of her, "Watch—!" Before she can even get the words out, Nezuko kicks the demon's body away with her foot, causing it to go rolling into another tree a little away from them with a harsh thud.

 "I don't believe this! Did he just move without a head?" Tanjiro thought, his face still displaying his surprise and fear. Y/n runs over to them, Sumiko following closely behind her. She passes by Nezuko and crouches down to inspect Tanjiro before looking over at Nezuko, her face furrowing at her.

 "You bastards!" Everyone's attention snaps over in the direction of the voice. The head of the demon stares, angry and flashing his fanged teeth like a hostile animal as he speaks, "One of you is a demon after all? I knew you gave off a weird vibe!"

 "Traitor! What's a demon doing teaming up with a bunch of humans?" He spat, Tanjiro looks at him as if he'd grown multiple heads, "He's actually talking!" 

Suddenly, Sumiko spots the demon's body running towards them. As the body jumps into the air, twisting and twitching it's limbs in all kinds of freakish ways, she jumps to both move herself out of the way and to push Y/n away which causes the older girl to go tumbling into Tanjiro. As the force of the body's landing causes the dust to scattering wildly, Tanjiro loses sight of his sister momentarily before she comes fumbling out of the small dust storm.

Before she can collect herself, the demon swings at her. She throws her hands up to block the punch only for the body to grab her by the arms, "Nezuko!" Tanjiro cries, pushing Y/n up before reaching for his hatchet, "Stop it!" He shouts, standing and running towards the body with clumsy movements.

 "Tanjiro, look out!" Y/n warns just in time for Tanjiro to spin around and block the demon's head, which had sprouted arms and leaped at him. The demon's head chomps down on the metal blade of the hatchet and grips Tanjiro by the shoulders where he digs his nails in.

Tanjiro grits his teeth, looking back to see his sister being kicked around. As he shouts her name again, Sumiko goes running to her rescue. The body roughly grabs Nezuko by the shoulder just as Sumiko jumps on it's back. She scratches and bites at it's skin, but it does little damage to the body and only makes it twists and flail widly.

 "Dummy! Don't try to be the hero!" Y/n yells as she gets up and begins to run over to them whilst Nezuko smacks the demon's hand away and lands a kick to the body's side. Alas, it tanks the kick and grabs her ankle. It digs it's claws into the skin of her ankle before reaching back with it's other hand and grabbing Sumiko by the collar of her haori, tossing her away as if she weighed nothing. She goes hurdling into Y/n and the two go tumbling back and to the ground while Nezuko ends up getting thrown into the forest with the demon's body jumping after her.

 "No!" Tanjiro yells, but his attention is diverted as the demon's head begins to wrap himself around Tanjiro's hatchet using it's hair, "What's the deal with this guy?" The demon's hair grows even more and slowly wraps around Tanjiro's wrist, "I don't have time for this. I gotta save Nezuko!"

Suddenly, Tanjiro grabs fistfuls of green strands and throws his head back, "Out of my way!" He yells. Slamming his head into the demon's with a force powerful enough to cause a large dent and his eyes twitch every which way.

 "This kid.." Tanjiro grabs him by the hair again and yanks him in, "His head is..as hard as a rock!" With another painful headbutt, the demon is completely discombobulated. Tanjiro waste no time to grab the handle of his hatchet and toss it. The demon, still attached to the hatchet, goes spinning until the blade catches in a tree, prefectly trapping the head in place.

As the head grumbles incomprehensible words to himself, Tanjiro turns to Y/n and Sumiko, "I'm going after Nezuko, watch the head in case it tries to escape," Y/n opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get her words out, Tanjiro runs off. To her surprise, Sumiko gets up and runs after him.

 "Sumiko! What do you think you're doing?" Y/n staggers to her feet. She glances over at the demon head and they lock eyes. She then turns back towards the forest and grits her teeth, "'Dammit.."

She runs after Sumiko and Tanjiro, her regret already beginning to build as she enters the dark forest.. 

 "Nezuko! Where are you?" Panting and sweating, Tanjiro looks around in a frenzy, his eyes scanning everything left and right in a hast as he tries to spot his sister in the darkness. Nezuko's nowhere to be found. He decides to sprint further into the forest.

Weaving around trees and through bushes, he finally spots Nezuko and the demon's body in a clearing. He watches as the body kicks her to the ground and he immediately speeds up his pace.

 "Nezuko!" He yells, before letting out a drawled out shout at the headless demon body, "Stop it..!" When he's finally close enough, Tanjiro tackles the demon. The force causes the two to go flying..right off the edge. As the ground disappears from under him, revealing the large drop below, Tanjiro's heart drops to his stomach.

As a yell falls from his lips, his descent is quickly cut short. Two hands reach to grab the back of his clothes and his body halts in it's descent to the bottom, leaving him dangling over the edge. The demon's body slips through Tanjiro's grasp and hurdles to the ground where it lands neck-first on the rocky floor. It jolts as if it's been struck by lightning and shivers before finally falling limp.

Tanjiro cranes his neck to look up at his savior and sees both Nezuko and Sumiko. The two together pull him up and he lets out breaths of relief just as Y/n arrives..

 "What happened? Where's the demon's body?" She asks upon seeing Nezuko safe. Tanjiro, heart racing and still panting, says in a choked voice, "Down there.." He points over the edge and Y/n walks over and peers over, spotting the motionless body at the bottom.

 "I almost fell over the edge myself if it weren't for Nezuko and Sumiko catching me," Tanjiro says. Y/n looks back at them, her eyes lingering on Sumiko, a feeling foreboding unease forming at the pit of her stomach..

 "Is that so.."

Metal slides against wood as the small knife is pulled from it's scabbard. Tanjiro takes a small step forward, knife in hand and his dark, red eyes trained on the demon's head before him.

After the events that transpired on the cliff, everyone had returned to the temple. The demon was still suspended against the tree, unconscious. Y/n had made the suggestion to destroy it since it was too dangerous to leave it until sunrise. The person who took upon the heavy task however, was debatably the softest of the group; Tanjiro.

As he stands before the green-haired monster with the knife in hand, he seems hesitant. Teeth clenched as he takes the smallest steps towards the tree, "I wonder if there's tons of demons out there," He finds himself thinking.

 "This demon doesn't have the same scent as the one who attacked my home, even so.." The rhythm of his chest as it rises and falls seems to pick up in pace and his haggard breaths seem to get louder with each passing second, "..Even so, I gotta finish it off. Otherwise, it'll attack and kill more people.."

Skeptical hues watch the boy heave and narrow at him when a few more seconds pass and nothing happens. At this rate, the sun will come up before he does anything. That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but if it wakes up before that happens and manages to free itself..

 "Let me do it," Y/n offers, beginning to outstretch her hand to him when Tanjiro immediately follows with rejection, "No! I- I can do this.."

Do it. Can he do this? His breathing gets quicker and shorter the more he thinks about, "I can do this. I gotta do this.. Do it," Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it. All he has to do is--

A rough hand grips his shoulder. Tanjiro shoulders tense upon contact. That hand didn't feel like any of the girls', he thinks. His breath hitching as he spin around to see—!

..A..goblin mask?

 "You can't finish it off with that weapon," The masked man said, his voice grating and amplified by the depth of his voice, making it sound like a statue being dragged against concrete.

 "I couldn't hear his footsteps at all.." Y/n stares at the masked man with wide eyes, too focused on her revelation to notice that her little sister had moved in front of her and Nezuko, her eyes narrowed and her arms outstretched in front of them as if to keep them separated from him.

 "H- How can I finish him off?" Tanjiro dares to ask, jumping a little when the man suddenly raises his voice, "Don't ask me! You have a brain for a reason, don't you?" He tells him. Y/n was tempted to intervene. And she tries to do just that.

 "Who—!" She begins only to immediate be silenced by the man's raised voice, "Don't get involved. He needs to figure this out himself," Y/n's focus had long shifted from the demon stuck to the tree. She was much more concerned with who this man was. Why did he seem so familiar? Has she seen that mask before?

Then Tanjiro suddenly walks away. She blinks and her eyes follow him, watching as he walks over to a nearby tree, grabs a rather large rock with both hands, and walks back over to them with the obvious intent of curshing the head completely.

But can he do it? As he stands before the demon's head again, he only manages to take a few steps towards it before freezing. He stares it down, cold sweat rolling down his face and damp brows scunching as his breathing slowly picks up again and his hands begin to tremble, "To crush his skull completely, I'd have to beat his head in multiple times. It'll hurt him a lot, he'll suffer greatly.. Isn't there any other way? Is it possible to kill him in one blow?" He bites his lip, eyes darkened with his rising guilt. The masked man watches in silence, taking in Tanjiro's scent..

 "This kid isn't going to cut it. He's facing a demon who's likely killed hundreds, and yet, a scent of guilt clings to him. He shows empathy for even a demon. He isn't going to make it, Giyu.."

Suddenly, the demon regains consciousness. His eyes snap open, small pupils beginning to dart around. He looks down at his hands and then his body—or more like his lack of a lower body. Finally, he looks up and notices Tanjiro and he grits his teeth and swats at him, yelling, "You bastard, I'll kill ya'! I swear, when I get free, I'll devour ya'!"

As threat after threat falls from his toothy mouth, the morning rays begin to peak through the trees, stealing Tanjiro's attention completely as he turns his head to look a the sight of the sun rising in the horizen, "I faltered for too long.."

As the gentle rays slowly light up the area, the demon holds his arms up; a feeble attempt at protection that's quickly proven to be futile because as soon as those soft rays creep up and touch his paled, gray skin, it sets an intense fire to it that spreads all over in a blink of an eye. The demon lets out a painful screech and in an instant, he's gone. Cindered and burned to ash and swept away in the wind. Tanjiro drops the rock as his hand shoots up to cover his agape mouth, his eyes widening in horror.

 "It only took that much sunlight? No wonder Nezuko's so terrified of it!" And just as that thought crossed his mind, he's finally forced back down to earth. He looks around, no ones standing behind him. Panic shoots through his veins. Where..

 "Nezuko?" Is who he first calls out to, only to be met with terrifying silence, "Nezuko?" He calls again, this time more urgently as he slowly stumbles back before he turns and takes off in a full sprint. He runs over to the temple, leaps up the steps, where he's met with—!

..Nezuko's head peaking out from the bamboo basket, the thick blanket he used to cover her before being draped over her head, leaving only her scrunched brows and frowning eyes visible. Sumiko sits beside the basket, closest to the dark corner of the temple. A matching look of discomfort on her face. Her head propped up on her knees which are squeezed together and against her chest with her arms caged around her legs as if she was trying to shrink into herself.

Tanjiro's whole body relaxes. As if a pile of rocks had been lifted off his shoulders, his grin is lazy as a sense of ease overcomes him, "Thank goodness," He finds himself mumbling aloud. And it's only then, when his nervousness falls flat, that he remembers the masked man.

 "I wonder where he disappeared to.." He finds himself walking down the wooden steps and over to the side of the hut. The masked man is there, kneeled over handmade graves of dirt. Y/n stands just a little behind him, although she's standing tall and her arms are crossed against her chest.

 "So he buried the people who were killed.." Tanjiro walks closer, stopping besides Y/n who takes a glance at him before returning her eyes to the masked man who had begun to stand up.

 "I'm Sakonji Urokodaki," He tells them, "I'm assuming you are the ones Giyu Tomioka sent my way."

 "Yes! My name is Tanjiro Kamado!" Tanjiro exclaims. He gestures at Y/n, "This is my sister, Y/n!" His hand points left towards the hut, "Our sisters' names are Nezuko and.."

 "Tanjiro," Urokodaki's sharp voice cuts his introduction short, "What will you do if your sister devours a human?" The questions flies at him, but he's unable to catch it in time. His eyes widen, so does Y/n's. They both watch him then spin on his heel and walk closer to them, unable to react before a firm smack is landed on Tanjiro's cheek.

If this were any other situation, Y/n would've flew to protect him, fussing up a storm. Alas, as she stares at Tanjiro, watching him raise his hand to his reddening cheek, she takes a small step back, her hands halfway up, not knowing whether to put them up to protect her face in case of a similar event happening to her or to stay at her sides and be ready to run at a moment's notice.

 "Too slow! You're too slow at making decisions! That's why you failed to finish off that demon before daybreak!" He shouts, "Do you know why you couldn't answer my question right away?" He asks, "It's because your resolve is too weak!"

 "There are two things you should do if your sister devours a human. Kill you sister, then you and everyone else you're traveling with must slit their own bellies and die! That's the gamble you're taking for traveling with your sister who's become a demon!"

 "But that must never happen, no matter what! Your sister..taking the life of an innocent person.. That's the one thing that must never happen. Ever!" He turns away from him, "Do you understand what I'm saying?" The question flies at him and this time, Tanjiro's able to ctch it and respond with a resounding, "Yes!"

 "All right then. Now, I'm going to test you to see if you're fit to become a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. Carry your sister on your back and follow me—!" Before he can completely finish his sentence, Y/n shouts out, "Me too!"

Both Tanjiro and Urokodaki turn to her, the latter noticing the conflicted look in her eyes quicker than the former, "..Test me too!" She tells the man, "I'll show you better than Tanjiro or anyone else that I'm worthy of becoming a demon slayer!"

 "Huh?" Tanjiro stares at her, his eyes wide and sharpened by the shock of her words. Urokodaki's facial expression is unknown due to the red goblin-like mask he wears, "Very well then, grab your sisters and follow me."

The sun's rays were harsh and did nothing but intensify the burning heat in the air. Amidst this uncomfortable air, Tanjiro runs as fast as he can, lungs having long started burning in his chest and face drenched in sweat as he looks on in awe at Urokodaki, who was a ways ahead of him and seemed to be doing completely fine.

 "He's so fast! How old is he anyways?" He thought to himself, feeling rather bewildered as he further thought, "And just like earlier, I can't hear his footsteps at all! How is that possible?"

His thoughts drifted, "Nezuko, I know this must be uncomfortable for you, but please be patient with me! ..Well, I suppose being patient was all you ever had," A scene begins to play in his mind. Nezuko sits on one of the floors of their home, her damaged kimono in hand, yet he remembers the kind smile on her face clearly..

 "You're fixing your kimono again? I guess we'll have to buy you a new one," He remembers himself saying that to her only for her to immediately look back with a raised hand, "No, no! It's fine!" She told him cheerily, "This kimono is my favorite!"

 "Besides, I'd rather use that money to get more food to fill our siblings' bellies!"

His heaving becomes just a tad bit worse and his haggard breaths leaving his lips in loud puffs. Tanjiro closes his eyes shut, eyes beginning to well with tears, "I swear to you Nezuko, I'll turn you back into a human. And when I do, I'll buy you a beautiful kimono!"

 "I promise, everything I couldn't do for the others, I'll do it all for you!"

In that moment, a small gush of wind gently hits his clothes, and if they weren't already flailing in the wind, that sudden blow of wind would've probably blew his sleeve every which way. His eyes slowly open, his lashes flicking the tears along his waterline and the wind blowing them away and clearing the slight blur in his vision. He catches the sight of the backs of Y/n and Sumiko, the sight of the latter leaving him much more surprised than the former.

Y/n's eyes glance at her little sister where they narrow before their forced back to the road ahead of her. Sumiko doesn't seem to notice the stares from either of them. She seems to be in her own zone; and yet, she seems oddly focused. Her once dim, dead hues glinting with tiny orbs of life. It felt as if her eyes had been replaced altogether.

But no one said a word to her, too focused on not losing sight of the silent man ahead of them who seemed to be increasing the distance between them with every passing moment..

Sweat drips from Tanjiro's forehead and onto the gravel below. He's crouched over, hands on his knees as he pants, sucking in air and relishing in the feeling of it gradually filling his lungs. Sumiko is on the ground, leg kicked up as she also heaves in gusps of air. Y/n stands—a little more composed than the both of them—hands on her hips as her shoulders rise and fall in a steady motion, her panting quiet and controlled.

 "N- Now, have I.. Have we.." Tanjiro couldn't barely get his words out from how much his lungs were burning from the torture they just endured. Every word that left him felt like burning fire in his throat and mouth, "..Did we..pass the test?"

Urokodaki—who seemed to be the only one not out of breath—took his time to reply as he neared a small hut and slid the front door open. He grabs a hold of the self-made handwrap on his head and yanks the cloth off in one fell swoop, revealing his short, sliver strands that hid underneath and the thick black band that's tied neatly at the back of his head, keeping his red mask in place.

 "The test starts now," He said simply, "We'll be climbing a mountain." Tanjiro could feel his heart drop like a lump in his chest and his face forms into a look of dread. Sumiko, who still has sweat dripping down her face, slowly stands to her feet. Y/n simply looks on, her breathing stablized at this point.

After that, Urokodaki guided Tanjiro to lay Nezuko down in the hut, "I'll make sure to take care of your sister," He told him from where he stood at the door, "Both of them," He specified further. Yet, as those words left his lips, he felt a grip on his sleeve. He looks down and Sumiko's staring up at him, face hardened and her eyes filled with this unknown fire, it was certainly an odd sight that Y/n noticed.

 "Hey," She called, "Don't get any funny ideas. You're staying here."

 "N- No!" She couldn't believe it, neither could Tanjiro as he whipped his head around to look back where he locks eyes with her starry blues, "..What?" Was what ended up leaving Y/n's lips, her previous sentence having slipped from her mind before it could be said.

 "I said, no!" Sumiko repeated loudly, a stark contrast to her actual voice which was soft and delicate, "I'm going too! I want to be a swordsman!"

 "What the hell are you talking about?" Y/n mumbled, her vexed-sounding voice raised by surprise, although it only made her sound like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. That fact is only proven further when her voice immediately shoots up and becomes more and more aggressive, "You could barely walk until a few weeks ago and you think you can become a swordsman? Give me a fucking—!"

 "Very well," Urokodaki's guff voice cut her off smoothly, like flowing water swaying away a pointy rock, "Then the three of you, follow me," He turns on his heel and begins walking away, "Hey, wait!" Y/n yells after him, quickly following pursuit, "What the hell do you think you're doing, old man!"

Tanjiro stumbles to his feet and runs out the door, following after them, "Y/n! Don't be rude!"

Sumiko stands there for a moment, her eyes looking over and landing on Nezuko's sleeping form. The gaze of hers looked out of place on her usually calm face and her eyes seemed to tell so many unknown things, yet nothing at all. It was peculiar, but still held the fading sense of familiarity with how distant they looked. It was a forgone look that anyone would get lost in trying to figure out. Another moment passes, Sumiko turns and sprints out the door and in the direction the others went, leaving Nezuko to sleep as the sky slowly began to fall to darkness.

The night was loud with ominous chirps of the many bugs and rodents on the mountain. Feet softly crunched down on leaves and grass in an uncordinated rhythm. A fog surrounds the group, making everything around them look faded and dank. Among the group, Tanjiro seemed the most visibly uncomfortable. His brows knitted together on his forehead, his mouth open to suck in as much air as he could.

 "I'm so exhausted," He thought to himself, "My legs are starting to buckle. I'm starting to feel dizzy, too.."

Sumiko walked alongside her sister. Y/n would occasionally glance at her, taking in every twinge and twitch her face made from discomfort, yet she never said anything to comfort her as if silently saying, "Hmph, serves you right".

Suddenly, Urokodaki stops in his tracks, making everyone do the same, "Now, from here, go back down to the house at the foot of the mountain," He instructed, before adding in a rather pointed tone, "This time, I won't wait until daybreak!"

And then, he fades away in the fog and disappears completely right before their eyes like some kind of illusion come to life. None of them take it too much to mind though.

 "Is that all we have to do?" Tanjiro thought to himself, "I see.. He thinks we might get lost in this thick fog. But, we just have to get back down before daybreak, right?" He begun to smile to himself, a big air of confidence beginning to swirl around him,"This'll be easy! Afterall, I've already memorized Mr. Urokodaki's scent!"

 "I hope you're confident in your abilities because no one's going to baby you up here," A snarky comment is made behind him, but it seems that it wasn't directed at him. He looks over his shoulder. Y/n's turned to Sumiko, her arms crossed against her chest as she continues, "If you get hurt then it sucks to be you. And, don't even think of asking either of us to carry or do anything else for you, got it?"

Sumiko simply nods her head. 

 "Don't worry, this is actually pretty easy," Tanjiro spoke up in which they both look over in his direction, "With my sense of smell, we don't have anything to worry about! Just follow me!"

 "Don't be so rash. They're could be— Hey!" Her warning falls upon deaf ears as Tanjiro began running. It seems, however, that her warning was justified because soon after taking off, his foot catches on something. He stumbles before halting completely—a mistake on his part. Tanjiro doesn't even get the chance to look back all the way to look at what he tripped over before rocks smack him in the face. He moves back, eyes widening as the ground beneath his foot sinks in. He hears a cry of his name and before he knew it, he was sent tumbling down sharp rocks and twigs.

When he opened his eyes again, he's met with a blurring sight of the moon shining down on him. He was on his back, his lungs feeling completely and utterly empty and his breathing erratic as blood drips from his head like thin streams of water..

 "Oh..I get it now. They're traps laid all around this mountain," Y/n's silhouette appears above him as she crouches and outstretches her hand to him.

 "I tried to tell you," She said as she grabbed his wrist and helped him out of the pit, "I doubt it would've been that easy."

 "Now, be more carful before you.." In that moment, her foot pushes down on a suspended rope. Her eyes widen and she shoots up. Her head darts around in all directions and then bam! A large log sends her flying.

 "Y/n!" Tanjiro cries out as he runs up to her. She sits up, her hand to her bruising head as she spits, a glop of blood shooting out of her mouth instead of clear saliva, "I'm fine. You need to worry about yourself," She tells him and, although he nods his head, he still helps her up.

 "Crap. If we keep walking into traps like this, we'll never make it down the mountain by morning!" His shoulders rising and falling seems to quicken, "And besides that, this mountain.." Helpless gasps are heard as Tanjiro breathes in an out, mouth opened wider than before, "The air up here..! It's so much thinner than on the mountain we used to live on!" He grips his chest with one hand as his desperate gasping continues, "That's why I'm getting so dizzy! ..Why didn't I notice before?"

Tanjiro begins running, Y/n does the same, "Will I make it?" Tanjiro thought to himself, "I might pass out before I can reach the bottom. If that happens.." He catches himself glancing over at Y/n and stops himself, "No! I can't get help with this! I gotta do this on my own!" 

And then, strands of black and white fly past them. Sumiko's running as fast as she can with no sign of stopping. Her blue hues glow in the moonlight as she snaps hidden ropes completely uncaring, "Sumiko, watch out!" Tanjiro yells as a log swings down her path. His eyes twitch, tempted to close completely so that he wouldn't be forced to bear witness to the little girl getting hurt. Sumiko doesn't slow up, keeping her fast pace.

Just as the log's about to meet her chin, she bends her knees and throws her head back, sliding under the log. Her knees slide roughly against the gravel as another log come flying at her from behind. She curls her body inwards, rolling forward like a ball and the log misses her entirely.

..Unfortunately, when she rolls back onto her feet, her momentum causes has her sliding and she inevitably tumbles. The remainder of the traps she triggered hit her in waves. Rocks fly at her, knocking her in all directions before a hit from an oncoming log has her soaring and sliding face first into the ground. Nevertheless, she recovers quickly and continues her fast and reckless descent down the mountain, her face scratched up and beginning to bleed.

As the logs she avoided loses momentum and comes swaying to a halt, Tanjiro and Y/n run around them, both of their minds clouding like the fog around them.

 "Since when did she become so nimble?" Tanjiro asked himself, "Before, she was never this responsive to things. In fact, ever since she woke up from her coma, she always seemed to have this disconnect with not only her surroundings, but her body too. It was to the point we had to help her do even the simplest things like sitting up. The village doctor told us that she'd always be like that..but was he wrong all along?"

Tanjiro shakes his head, "No! I can't think about that right now! I have to focus! I gotta make it back!" And then he slides to a halt. Y/n continues running, not bothering to glance back. Whether that was because she didn't notice or not is unknown.

Closing his eyes, Tanjiro tells himself, "Get your breathing together.. Keep it under control.." Repeating similar thoughts over and over for a moment, eventually his breathing levels out. His chest slows as does his heart. He can finally fill the air entering and leaving his lungs, and although it doesn't feel like much, it manages to calm his mind and body.

 "..Sniff out each of those traps!" And slowly, they come to him. The familiar scent he's already grown accustomed to comes at him in all different directions ahead. All it takes is a few whiffs before his eyes shoot open and he takes off again.

He snaps a rope with his foot. It doesn't slow his momentum. He narrowly dodges the incoming log. He slides, slowing himself down to dodge the second one. He stumbles. His foot nearly gets crushed by another log. He's a little spooked but continues running.

The ground suddenly caves in. He nearly falls into another pit but grabs onto the edge and crawls out. He runs and ducks under a rope. He trips on another. He twists the upper half of his body to avoid a log that soars at him. He nearly trips over his own foot upon landing. He pushes himself off a tree to stablize himself again.

He slows his pace again to dodge another log. He takes a flying leap over yet another rope—all while chanting in his head, "I've got this! I've got this!"

 "Traps set by human hands leave a distinct smell! Not to mention that a lot of the traps on this path have already been triggered by either Sumiko or Y/n!"

And then, a snap echoes throughout the forest. A hidden stick of bamboo shoots up and catches Tanjiro by the stomach. It swings him up high before harshly slinging him down to the ground. Dust kicks up upon impact. Tanjiro tries his best to resist groaning out as a stinging begins to creep up his back.

 "Despite all of that.." He gets back up, and immediately after beginning to run again, bamboo comes down on him on all sides, "That doesn't mean I have it easy! They're still some traps that they avoided and I'm not athletic enough to dodge each and every one of them!"

 "But I'm going to make it back no matter what!" He grips onto a tree for support, hauling himself forward. He falls, but he throws himself back up whilst clenching his teeth the whole time, "No matter how much I get hurt, I have to make it back to Nezuko!"

The sound of fire crackling on wood is the distinct sound that is heard in the small hut. A futon has been laid out where Nezuko now peacefully sleeps. Y/n sits against the wall, her face and body littered in dirt and blood as her body aches—a result of her own carelessness.

Sumiko sits close to her, her knees up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs to keep them in place. Her appearance matches that of her older sister; roughed up, dried blood and dark marks staining her skin, and dirt all over—especially in her hair. Although, it's more noticeable in certain parts like her scalp, where her white roots had been soiled by the nasty brown mud outside.

Y/n watches silently as Urokodaki gently slides the blanket of the futon up to Nezuko's shoulders before sitting back on his knees. She then glances over at the only window in the room. The deep blues of the night sky had long since began to lighten into a soft perwinkle. The sun will bask it's strong yellow rays onto them soon enough.

 "Seems like he's not going to make it after all.." The thought surfaced in Y/n's mind, but it didn't bring her sadness or disappointment. It felt like a much needed rub on her back, firm yet reassuring—damn near comforting. No, the thought of his failure was comforting. In fact, she wished that the brat beside her, and even herself, would've—  

Slowly, the door slides open. Tanjiro stands there, breathing out thick, heavy puffs of chilly air and looking just as beat up as Sumiko, if not worse. His bloody brows are scrunched downwards, making the fire in his burgundy pupils pop like the sun that had begun to rise in the sky and transforming it into that gentle morning pink..

 "I.. I made it.." He struggled to say, "I..have..returned.." He drops to his knees, utterly drained. He has a grip on the doorframe and he ends up leaning against it entirely before the exhaustion and pain finally takes over and he passes out. Y/n stares, wide eyed. The face she's making could only be explained as one of terror, like she experienced a bad jumpscare. That feeling of comfort had dissipated as soon as her eyes laid on him. 

Urokodaki stares at boy, yet his expression is left unknown due to his mask. He thinks back to a few days ago. He remembers the cawing of his crow clearly and the feeling of the smooth paper against his callous fingertips as he read the contents of the letter he had gotten..

 "Forgive my abruptness, Mr. Sakonji Urokodaki. I'm sending a boy your way who wants to become a Demon Slayer swordsman. He was brazen enough to attack me unarmed," It read, "His family was slaughtered by a demon, and one of the only surviving members—his younger sister, Nezuko—has become one. However, I have determined that she will not attack humans."

 "Like yourself, the boy has a keen sense of smell. Perhaps with that, he'll find a way to break through and become your heir apparent. That being said, I'm asking you to train him."

 "I realize that this is a selfish request I'm making, so please, forgive me for asking you to humor me. I hope that you will take good care of yourself in your endeavors regardless of anything else. Yours truly, Giyu Tomioka.."

Urokodaki stands up and walks over to Tanjiro's hunched over form. Sumiko had already made her way over to him and was gently petting his head. When he's close to them, Sumiko looks up, patiently waiting for his next words. And, when they finally came, the feelings felt were different for everyone who heard them.

 "Tanjiro Kamado, Y/n Kamado, Sumiko Kamado.. I accept you all as my students."

Author Ari | Hey guys! Before I get on with our Taisho Era Secret for today, I would like to say that if you've made it this far, thank you! Your support is what helps fuel me to make my stories, especially your comments! I truly love seeing what you guys have to say about my works, good and bad! q(≧▽≦q)

Author Ari | Ah—! But I shouldn't start rambling or else certain people will cut me short, hehe.. Anyways, onto our secret for today! 

Author Ari | *Leans in & whispers* It might be a little hard to believe, but Y/n once got a marriage proposal from a traveling merchant's son! For a while, he would give her things like expensive hairpins and kimonos every time she came down to the village in an attempt to court her. He eventually gave up after a while though, because she would constantly reject him and sell all the gifts she got.

Author Ari | As for my Author's Note, I'll simply use it this time around to let you guys know of some things. My Author's Notes won't be at the end of every single one of these chapters like the Taisho Era secrets will, but when they do, they'll usually be used to let you guys in on some behind the scenes facts about the making of this book! I hope you're okay with that because I can't wait to share my thought process with you guys!

Author Ari | Okayyyy so I'm starting to get a few glares so I guess it's time to wrap this up! I hope you guys are enjoying this so far, although it's not much yet! (❁'◡'❁)

Author Ari | Next time, chapter three, "Sabito and Makomo"! See ya there! ('▽'ʃ♡ƪ)

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[l0velylecter]

can i request headcannons for könig + 141 x reader! who is not in the military? maybe something like they are into arts, wants to live in cottage, have big family? i feel like it would be the opposite of the boys lol

— the men of 141 & könig + a civilian s/o !  characters : simon ‘ghost’ riley, john ‘soap’ mactavish, captain john price, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, könig  fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii tags : gn!reader, headcanons, some mild characterisation for the reader as i’ll put them into civlian professions / give them hobbies and interests  rating : t for teen and up audiences , sfw!

01| If there was one word to describe Soap was that he's supportive. There was the initial worry that he wouldn't enjoy your lifestyle, that you'd be too different from one another. Yet, it doesn't matter to Johnny, even if he doesn't quite understand it. He's the type to enjoy anything his partner likes as long as it makes them happy. So it doesn't matter how busy he gets, he'd always be on the front row of your music recitals, urging the crowd to give standing ovations. And when you take him to museums to see paintings of Rembrandt or Vermeer, he tries his best to listen to every word you say, focused on how your eyes light up with passion. You also enjoy reading to him, running your hand against his scalp as he drifts off to sleep. 

02|  He had doubts about having a life outside the military, most days, Price felt more like a weapon than a man, a loaded gun ready to be recoiled and fired. After years of grueling fights and endless violence, it's hard to picture himself living a quiet and peaceful life. Yet, coming home to you gave him just that. You were both busy, so you would spend months and sometimes even a year apart. Yet the moment he comes home, he'd be all over you — following you around as you roamed your walk-in closet, undressing by the vanity table as he watched in quiet admiration. Once, when you were dozing off against his shoulder, you confessed to dreaming of having a big family. Of children's laughter ringing down the halls and sending them off to school every day. You didn't expect Price to cling to those words. " Someday," He mused, " Someday, love." He was wishful despite everything. And hope suits him. (Husband material, you once complimented, and he got too attached to the word.) 

03| To Gaz, it doesn't matter what you'd be doing as long as you were together. All he wanted was to spend time with you, especially when moments were rare. And so he tries to keep up with your shopping, with all the bags dangling off his arms, taking you out might as well be an endurance test. Although, it does make him happy to see you show off your new bag, clothes, and shoes: nodding along as you explain the design. He'd be cleaning his gun, and you'd be on the other side painting your nails, the scene almost comical. He leaves the bathroom door open so he can still talk to you every morning. Afterward, he'd take the time to drive you to work, hand on your thigh lovingly as he soaks in the joy of doing ordinary, mundane tasks.  04| Dressed head to toe in black, all the farm animals crowded Ghost curiously, and while Simon looked terribly out of place against the lush, green stretch of pasture, the sight was enough to make you laugh. And you were sure he also enjoyed living in the countryside, even with you scolding him every hour about leaving his weapons around the cottage. (You nearly cut a basket of apples with his combat knives, dropping them when you realized where they've been.) If he's not helping you collect eggs from the chicken coop ( returning with a head full of feathers ), he's dozing off by the persimmon tree, the only time you've seen him this close to relaxing. Away from all the commotion and in isolation from any unwanted company, your life was a haven he finally lets himself indulge in, a sanctuary that reminds him to look after himself after every time he fights.  05| At times, König confesses to you that your entire relationship feels like a fevered dream, a silly fantasy he's conjured up in his head because he still cannot believe he's dating you. You assured him that you weren't that big of a celebrity, and he corrected you by pointing out your face on the billboard outside your apartment. He's flattered by all the gifts you spoil him with daily, somewhat flustered as you present to him a tactical watch that probably costs more than a car. Your lifestyles should have been impossible to co-exist side by side, especially when König does not want and cannot afford all of the attention you get on the daily. But apparently, being 6'10 in a balaclava means he doesn't mind being your bodyguard. Most of the time, it was enough to give you the privacy you both wanted, and it still awes him every time he sees you on the television, even on duty, halfway across the world; chuckling to himself when his teammates would point out how beautiful you were — if only they knew.

a/n : hi anon ! thank you for requesting, to be honest, i’ve been dying for someone to request this because i do love me some civilian x cod men content. i didn’t want to add too much specific details as i want to make it as open as possible for everyone to interpret ( i read somewhere that when reader! fics are too specific it ruins the fun because it seems very oc so i’m being very careful to be inclusive <3 ) i hope you enjoy it ! thank you again for the fun idea, hope it lives up to your expectations 💖  additional hc :  → könig probably steals simon’s look and also goes out in a balaclava, simon’s heated and low-key offended ( don’t worry Si, you’re still the og trendsetter )

[gatheringbones]

[“When you are speaking with someone who triggers intense emotion, you usually don’t have the luxury of following that trail inside to discover and heal your exile. Instead, you have to deal with the person in that moment despite what feels like an inferno in your gut, a huge boulder on your chest, or an explosion in your brain. You have to stay calm even while the urge to smash the person in the mouth or race out of the room is on the brink of overpowering you. You have to seem confident while your knees want to buckle and your hands tremble and sweat. You have to think and speak clearly even though your mind is full of panicked and angry voices all shouting at once or the gears in your brain seemed to have locked. You know how important it is to keep your heart open and listen, even though all you hear are your own parts complaining about how hurt or mad they are.

In such situations, most people are relieved if they are able to pretend to be in control and succeed in keeping their extreme impulses from taking over. They are happy that they don’t say or do something they will later regret. Is it possible not just to pretend to feel confident, compassionate, clear, and calm but to actually be in that state even while you are highly triggered? Because many of us have been socialized to believe that we have only one personality, this idea is foreign: “You are either angry or you are calm. How can you be both at the same time?” Once you get to know your parts and your Self, you understand that it is possible. Your Self becomes the “I” in the storm—the calm center of the inner tornado of your triggered parts and the outer hurricane of upset parts in the people around you.

Achieving that state requires that you do the opposite of what you are used to doing. Ordinarily you feel the impulse to lash out and then try to control it with shame (I’m bad for feeling angry), scare tactics (I’ll devastate him), or minimizing (It’s not that big a deal anyway), all of which foster inner polarization. The angry part feels discounted, and the protectors are overburdened with responsibility for controlling the situation. If, instead, you immediately attend to the impulse with compassion and confidence, with inner words like, “I get that this is making you very upset, but I can handle it. Let me speak for you right now, and we’ll talk more later about how to go from here,” parts are often able to not blend with you totally so you (as your Self) can be present with your partner even while a part is fuming inside. Later, when you’re alone, you can talk to the part about all of its concerns and make a plan of action or help it unburden. The goal of maintaining Self-leadership with someone who provokes you is not to get that person to change, although that is often a fortunate side effect because your Self may elicit their Self. Instead, you interact from your Self for its own sake—for the growth that comes from showing your parts that they can trust you.”]

richard c. schwartz, from you are the one you’ve been waiting for: bringing courageous love to intimate relationships, 2008

[fun-k-board]

If you could, Lackadaisy headcanons for a teen reader who wants to be part of the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. Maybe the reader likes the thrill

Pronouns used : None, no gendered terms.

Note(s) : When you say teen, I'm assuming young teen since 16-17 is not too far from Freckle and Ivy's age. Characterisation may not be accurate and criticism on how I portray them is very much appreciated.

Roark 'Rocky' Rickaby

Likes your spirit! Jokingly calls you the better cousin he never had which earns an eye roll from Freckle. I don't imagine you get out on missions much + it probably took ages to get in because you're fairly young, but when you do, it's chaos. If you get along with Rocky and even encourage his habits, then either the missions will fail or succeed but with broken limbs, at least three blown up buildings and a lot awkward explaining.

If you're not confident enough to say no and on the opposite spectrum, are sometimes the voice of reason, he calls you a mini Freckle and teases you about it constantly. I imagine he'd sort of becomes an elder brother figure regardless of what kind of a person you are, begging for Mitzi to let you stay even if you mess up often. You accept him for who he is, you're his friend, he wants you to still like him and he sees himself in you.

Rocky also gives you some sneaky sips of alcohol they get, hey, it isn't anything too much, and he compares it to church giving out wine which makes Freckle tremble in fear as his mother senses she needs to throw someone out a window. Besides, he worked hard to get it! Even if he was the one to screw the run around up, it's sharing and caring, friendship is very important.

Mitzi May

Has apprehensions about letting you join, it'd take convincing and by then she probably doesn't want to bring you on too many dangerous missions. Given how she is around Rocky, I don't think she'd be uncaring if you're similar to him. High spirits and an urge to please her, similar to the man in question, to her, you're a kid. She has trouble telling you no in a way that isn't tip toeing around the subject.

Even if you can also be useful and your begging is temptation straight from the snake, Mitzi will always tell others you're a kid and treat you like one, no matter if it's important or not in that situation. She feels horrible that you may not make it to the next day, but they're understaffed and need to get business up and running, Mitzi comes to think of you like her own after a while. Although, she wishes you weren't so eager to put your life on the life.

Ivy Pepper

I imagine she also loves your spirit, finds you adorable and will have the urge to become your friend, asking Mitzi to let you join and vouching for you. Ivy is also the only one to treat you on equal ground, even Rocky will just view you as a child in the end, but she tries viewing you as a friend first. This can he bad or good depending, but she doesn't want to pretend you're frail, this doesn't mean she won't crack down on you and be strict like an older sister.

Doesn't matter if you have two left feet and stumble, she will teach you to dance, you won't get out of it, and trust me when I tell you she's determined. The lessons consist of you stepping on her toes and laughing so hard you just fall on the ground.

Since she's fairly new to doing heavy jobs as well, only joining in as they are understaffed, she understands if you mess up sometimes and don't fully get what to do. Ivy was born into this life and teaches you the ropes that you wouldn't understand.

Calvin 'Freckle' McMurray

Uncomfortable to the max, he genuinely can't even look you in the eye for the longest time. He already had worries in joining himself, Ivy has been working in Lackadaisy for a long time, Rocky is... Uh, Rocky. But you? You're a literal teen who just likes the thrill of it, Freckle tries to be a good influence on your life and tells you not to join. Which he understands is incredibly hypocritical, but at the same time, he can't find it in himself to care about his hypocrisy too much.

Hopes to convince Mitzi to not put too much pressure on you, he is very attentive and any limp or struggle is met with a lecture that makes Rocky get flashbacks to Freckle's mother. Gets incredibly apologetic if you see him with guns and how insane he can be, regardless on how you feel, he's guilty that he may be influencing you badly.

Viktor Vasko

At first you thought he wanted you to die, an intense stare placed on you at all times with a smashed glass from his seemingly violent thoughts. But all he sees is a dumb kid, someone who needs to get out before this business kills you. He won't exactly be caring about it either, simply telling you that if you continue being reckless with your life, you will die. If you aren't careful? Maybe others you love.

It's worse if you end up bonding with him, even a little, he gets even angrier with those around you. He will not let you out of his sight if he can help it. Essentially? He's a very tough love guy, Viktor comes off as though he doesn't like you, which may be true on the surface, but deeeeeeeeep deeeeeeeeep down, he likes you a little. Maybe. Sometimes. Not often.

[bella-rose29]

Little Kipps (part three)

Quill finds out that his sister and Lockwood are dating.

Final part! Not gonna lie the ending feels off but I can't figure out how to make it better, but I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: I don't think there actually are any, but please let me know if there are!

Tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @karensirkobabes, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @ran23sblog, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @wandamaximoffbae, @wordsarelife

As always, let me know here if you would like to be added or removed from my Lockwood and co tag list! <3

Quill Kipps sat rigidly upright in the front room of 35 Portland Row, glaring at the couple opposite him over the coffee table.

"Tell me again what's going on here?"

Since seeing his enemy snogging his sister roughly five minutes ago, Quill had been in a state of shock. He'd come over with the intention of passing on a case (reluctantly; Fittes hadn't wanted it and he didn't have enough jurisdiction to go for it anyway, but he was genuinely concerned for the woman who'd reached out), but on seeing the two of them he'd forgotten all about his initial reason for being here.

"We went on a date, and we kissed. I like him, and he likes me."

"And tell me again why you like him?"

"I know that you don't like him, Quill, but I do. I get that it's difficult for you to understand that, but you're gonna have to."

"Yeah, sure, but why do you like him?"

Y/n sighed, clearly getting frustrated with him. "Because he's kind, and sweet, and cute, and-"

"You think I'm cute?" Lockwood interrupted her, dopey smile on his face. Quill fought the urge to gag.

"Uh, did I say that? I don't think I did-"

"No, you did! You said it in Arif's as well!" His sister went a bright shade of red.

"Wait, in Arif's? So this has been going on longer than just today?"

"Obviously," Y/n rolled her eyes. "How was he gonna ask me out if this started today? Although that didn't happen at Arif's, that happened when I came over the other day, and really it was Lucy that forced you to ask me out, because I'm convinced that you wouldn't have done otherwise."

Quill could only stare as his sister went on, eyes widening with every word she spoke. "When did you come over here?"

"Oh, just the other day, to give George that research. Ended up staying for a cuppa."

"Right." He sat in silence for a while, still staring at his sister and Lockwood, back still not relaxing. They were fidgety, he noticed, with Y/n playing with a loose thread on her jumper, and Lockwood looking like he was trying desperately not to hold her other hand, occasionally pulling his hands back into his lap when they drifted over to Y/n. Quill sighed.

"Look," he started, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't like you, Tony. I don't like you at all. But for some reason that I can't begin to understand, my sister does like you. Now, you are incredibly lucky that I love my sister, or I would murder you right now, then clean up the site so you couldn't come back to haunt me," he pointed a finger at the boy, who swallowed thickly in response. "But if Y/n wants to be with you, then I'm giving you one chance, just one, to prove that you deserve her. Screw that up, and you're never going near her again, got it?" Lockwood nodded, sweating slightly, and Quill relished the knowledge that the little shit was actually scared of him right now.

Good, he thought. Hopefully he'll refrain from breaking her heart if he's scared.

"So... does this mean you're okay with us being together?" Y/n's voice was hopeful, and she sat forward a little in anticipation. Quill sighed for what felt like the millionth time since seeing them, then reluctantly nodded.

"Sure. Just don't break her heart, Tony, or I'll break your neck."

"Quill!"

"Okay," Lockwood mumbled at the same time that Y/n exclaimed.

Satisfied, Quill stood, Y/n following suit. Lockwood pushed himself up a moment later, clearly unsure of where he should be.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like a private word with Tony, please." The boy swallowed again, and Quill would have felt bad for him if it weren't feeling too much like payback for all the times Lockwood had taunted him.

"Please don't kill him," she whispered as she left the room.

"No promises." She glared as she closed the door behind her.

"You're not going to kill me, are you? If you are, could I at least say goodbye to everyone first?"

"I'm not gonna kill you, Tony," Quill sighed (again). "I just want to make sure you know how much she means to me. Seriously, she's my world, and lord knows she deserves the universe. Don't mess this up, Lockwood, because she's the most incredible girl you'll ever have the luck of being with."

Lockwood was silent for a moment, mulling over Quill's words. "I know I don't deserve her, but I promise you I'll do everything in my power to make sure I never hurt her. And as much as it pains me to say this, you're right." Quill smiled triumphantly at the admission. "She's amazing, and she can do so much better than me." The smile faded as Quill took notice of the depth of sadness in Lockwood's eyes. "But," the sadness was replaced - no, joined - by an overwhelming surge of determination, "I really like her, a lot, and for some inexplicable reason she's chosen me, so like I said, I'll do anything to keep her safe and happy."

Quill was taken aback by Lockwood's words, unused to such sincerity coming from the boy. Normally he was all charm and smiles and big speeches, but now all Quill saw was a vulnerable kid who just wanted to be with a girl. Feeling a pang of sorrow (which he frowned at, why was he feeling sympathy for him?), Quill stepped forward, then awkwardly patted Lockwood's shoulder. "Thanks, Tony." The air felt even more awkward than the pat, and Quill quickly moved back, removing his hand and turning towards the door to leave. Opening it, Y/n fell forward, squealing as she windmilled her arms to stay upright.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Uh, just... inspecting the doorframe?" she winced, leaning against the aforementioned doorframe and slipping, excuse more of a question. Quill shook his head, fond smile on his face at his sister's antics as he stepped into the hallway.

"Don't be home too late, alright? In fact, within the hour would be amazing. Or within the next thirty minutes. Or, come to think of it, you could just come back with me now?"

"Within the hour is fine, thanks."

"Oh, Kipps?" Lockwood piped up.

"Yeah?"

"Why were you even coming over in the first place?"

"Oh. A case. I don't need your help, it's just a low level one that Fittes don't have time for. Figured you'd be so desperate for work you'd take the scraps."

"Quill," Y/n glared at him. "Try to be nice to my boyfriend."

"B-boyfriend?"

"You are my boyfriend, right?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Then my brother needs to stop being mean to my boyfriend."

"O-okay."

Quill rolled his eyes at Lockwood's stuttering and blush, then nodded. "Fine. Only for you. I don't care that much about him."

"Quill!"

"Ugh, fine. Lockwood, you're not the absolute worst person I've ever met. You're the second. How's that?" He turned back to his sister.

"...It'll do."

"Here's the files for the case," he chucked them onto the already cluttered side cabinet, then slung his jacket on and opened the front door. "I'll see you later, Y/n/n."

"Bye!"

Quill shook his head as he left, door closing behind him. He might not like Anthony Lockwood, but he made his sister happy.

So long as he remembered that she was a Kipps too, and fully capable of murdering him if needed, then Lockwood would do just fine.

[femenaces]

like i just don’t understand your denial of different gender identities. although it’s still considered a taboo, different identities and identifying as a different gender or appearing like a different gender has been a thing for ages. it’s shunned but so were other things like homosexuality or female sexuality.

what about trans identities or non-binary identities makes them so wrong to you? i always hear the argument that trans people are men appearing as the misogynistic view of what they think women are, but if you talk to an actual trans person or even read about their stories it’s clearly not like that, it’s so much more deep and profound than that. nobody wants to breach women’s spaces, they just want to be themselves and that can include appearing in a physically feminine way.

Again, I don’t necessarily think of gender identities as being “morally wrong” as you seem to think I do, nor do I deny that some people conceptualize themselves via different gender identities. But just as other people are free to partake in that sort of metaphysical spirituality, I also need to be free to not partake in it. Just because Christians believe in one thing, for example, doesn’t mean that I need to play along, especially if that thing is potentially harmful to vulnerable groups of people. Gender identity is social phenomenon best understood through social science, not hard science— despite desperate attempts by various parties to generate conclusive data that can “prove” the cellular existence of some innate gender spirit (of course, all fail). The reason there’s such a push to find this proof is that as it stands right now in current society, science holds the weight to determine what is acceptable to hold as universal truths. Gender identity is not a universal truth. It’s a conceptualization of human experience that works for some, and not others. It doesn’t work for me. And I’m not going to pretend to be religious for you or anyone else.

Also, side note— gender identity and sexuality cannot be directly compared, as you attempt to, due to the fact that they are entirely different types of phenomenons. Sexuality is not an abstract concept, it is concretely manifested by the natural sexual urges of a person that they then act on. You certainly don’t have to change anything about yourself in order to be a healthy, happy gay person, in fact, quite the opposite. Now consider gender identity, where those who claim an identity physically alter their bodies through medical procedures in order to match a non-concrete, invisible, and un-actable metaphysical concept (born in the wrong body, brain of the wrong sex, “acts too mannish to be a woman” where the way “a woman acts/should act” is defined subjectively, etc).

[lunarcloak]

It's Best Boy's Birthday, so obviously I had to write something.

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It really seemed just like any other day. If Akira hadn't known, maybe he might have missed the date too.

June 1st. Only a day until Akechi's birthday.

And yet, the man himself was so nonchalant about it, seated at LeBlanc's counter as if nothing was different. His eyes entirely trained on whatever article he was perusing on his phone. Ignorance, perhaps? Or indifference? What was it, Akira wondered, as he poured a fresh ladle of curry into a plate for the detective. He flicked the rice cooker open, scooping some out as he plated it with the curry. With less grace and smoothness than Sojiro, maybe, but he has no doubt Akechi prefers it like that.

Not that he doesn't understand nonchalance about one's birthday. Akira was the same, really. But something about the way Goro seemed artificially nonchalant about it was rubbing him the wrong way.

Akira Kurusu was a nosy friend who wanted the best for all of his friends. He'll be damned if he can't do something nice for Akechi's birthday, whether he asked for it or not.

"What do you want for your birthday," Akira pokes with no prelude as he places the food in front of Akechi. The brunette blinks back in mild surprise, shoulders tensing in the manner Akira recognised as forced confidence.

"I'm surprised you remembered," he murmured, but his tone spoke of the opposite. They both know Akira would remember. "I don't want anything in particular, Akira-kun, although your offer is very appreciated," he says with that plastic smile of his that Akira's grown to detest.

But he doesn't convey his distaste on his face. A small nod, as he turns away to prep coffee while Akechi digs into the curry. His phone was away now, and Akira knows his question has him on alert.

He hums slightly as he twirls around LeBlanc's kitchen, modifying the house blend in a way only Akira knows. In the only way Akechi likes his coffee. Anything else is too sweet, too bitter. But he won't ever convey it, that plastered smile ever present no matter what he feels.

Ah. There's an idea.

"What would you like to do for your birthday?"

Akechi pauses, spoon barely out of his mouth as he chews on the rice thoughtfully. His eyes narrow slightly, trying to read Akira exactly in the way he'll never be able to. He puts the spoon down, swallowing slowly before he chuckles.

"I am rather busy at the moment, after all. I need to submit some documents to Sae-san for a case she's prosecuting next week, and there's some schoolwork that needs doing," he says with the wave of his hand. Akira fights off a frown. He nods slowly, finishing the coffee as he places it in front of Akechi.

"I really do appreciate the sentiment, Akira-kun," he says as his smile turns a touch sincere. Akira knows because it's the smile he only ever sees on Akechi when he's drinking that particular blend of coffee.

Akira drums his fingers on the counter, leaning forward slightly until he's on Akechi's eye level. Waits for him to put down the cup. When he does, Akechi's blinking at him in confusion, resisting the urge to move back, away from Akira's scrutinising gaze.

"What would be a nice thing to do on your birthday," Akira tries, and he knows he's got Akechi this time. He knows, because Akechi's mask slips off, mouth parting slightly in surprise as his grip around the cup slackens.

And then there's that sharp laugh. It's not the fake, lilted melodious kind that haunts every interview. Not the pathetic, pained one he's heard only once before. No, it's the sharp, authentic one that's so very Akechi Goro.

"You won't give up, will you," Akechi starts, shaking his head in fond exasperation. Akira grins, leaning back, hands in his pockets after fixing his glasses. He knows he's won.

"I suppose it would be nice, to visit the jazz club," Akechi finally conveys, eyes downcast into the swirling depths of the dark liquid. "It's been a while since I've been, and Muhen-san has a new blend for the beginning of June."

Akira hums when Akechi looks back up, and a smile lights up on his face, more Joker than Akira.

"Jazz club it is. I'm taking you with me," he repeats without room for debate, and Akechi's mouth snaps shut before he could even speak. "I'm sure the work will be done inspite of your mini vacation. After all, I'd expect nothing less from the incredible Detective Prince," he adds, and Akechi rolls his eyes in that casual way Akira knows he's the only one who gets to see.

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