#i will beat you with a metal bat

[navree]

ok if you know me you shouldn’t be surprised to know that i really don’t like bridgerton (i know, shocking, a history buff and writer who openly despises bunk theories and shoddy worldbuilding doesn’t like the show predicated on a bunk theory followed by shoddy worldbuilding, stop the presses), but i have watched it, mostly for background noise, but watched it nonetheless, and i think i finally figured out what irks me not just around season 2 of the dumb show but also the fandom response and reactions to the dumb show. 

the show, to my understanding, said prior to the season 2 release that they were treating the story between anthony and the sharma sisters as more of a love triangle (which made a lot of fans mad because edwina’s supposed to be one of those characters who exists solely to cheerlead a different character even if it’s at their own expense which is just the worst kind of character), and so fandom is reacting accordingly by treating this as if it were a “team edwina” and “team kate” situation that you see in other tv show love triangles and the like. but here’s the thing. a love triangle, as understood in most media, is that characters a and b like character c, who likes both of them and is torn for a while before realizing that they like character a/b more and thus ends the love triangle. 

except that’s not what season 2 of bridgerton was. it’s not that anthony likes both kate and edwina but ends up choosing edwina for a bit before finally realizing his true feelings lie with kate. anthony doesn’t like edwina at all. i’m fairly convinced that he couldn’t differentiate edwina from eve. anthony shows no care or concern for her at all not even as a love interest, but barely as a person, and has no regard for her personal feelings or wants or objectives or desires or literally anything about her. i’d be genuinely surprised to learn that he’s ever felt anything for her beyond the standard feelings we have towards humanity as a whole in knowing better than to do shit like punch randos on the street. this isn’t necessarily a solely anthony problem, the narrative appears to treat edwina exactly the same way which is bad writing because yes, she’s not one of the Main characters of the season, anthony and kate are, but she’s still a major player nonetheless. nor is this necessarily me writing anthony off, there’s a reason for his asshattery that’s been well established both by backstory and by the canon of the show itself back in season 1. the issue for me is that it doesn’t seem that anyone realizes that this is why anthony and kate were in the wrong with the marriage thing. 

edwina got a lot of flack from the fandom for being upset at kate and anthony about the whole wedding fiasco, and for holding a grudge for a while afterwards, and a good chunk of that seems to come from that old gripe i mentioned earlier about how edwina wasn’t following her book characterization of being kanthony’s number one cheerleader. but a lot of it is that i genuinely don’t think people understand what the issue is here. yeah, anthony deciding to marry edwina for shallow reasons even tho he knew she wanted a happy love match, while also being into her sister is bad, and kate knowing all of this and still deceiving edwina is also bad. but the core “this is a fucked up thing to do” element in her anger at kate is that kate is very aware of the fact that anthony literally just does not care for or about edwina in any capacity whatsoever beyond what he would care for, like, a lady passing on the street, and she was still willing to lie to edwina and let her enter into a marriage with someone like that, not only not giving edwina the full information to make her own informed consent about whether she wants to be in this marriage, but also just letting her walk into a situation like that knowingly. like, imagine how psychologically damaging it must be to be married, shackled for life, to someone who probably wouldn’t even remember your last name if it wasn’t the same name as the lady he was actually into. that’s a very valid reason for edwina to be mad at the two of them, especially in being mad at kate, considering that a guy screwing you over is one thing, but a close sister doing the same is a whole other level. and if edwina lashes out because that’s a fucked up thing to do, even for the “right reasons”, honestly that’s fair and valid. i love my sister to death but if she was egging on a marriage between me and someone whose only concern about whether i lived or died would be how it affected my sister, i’d be pissed for a really long time. 

(and no i’m sorry the “kate was doing it for edwina’s sake like she does everything” doesn’t really fly, you can’t pull the “i do everything for everyone can’t i do this one thing just for me” excuse out when the person you’re “doing everything for” a) never asked you to do it b) never had any expectation for you to do it and c) would have been perfectly content and likely even happier if you hadn’t done. kate’s reasoning is something that needs to get brought up with mary and with idk her regency era version of a therapist, not edwina. that’s not edwina’s responsibility, because most of us generally learn the concept of having to handle our emotions and that how we react to things is on us alone by age ten generally.) 

and the worst thing about it is that it’s never resolved. edwina is justifiably angry at the people who hurt her, the fandom’s mad because it’s viewing the situation through a love triangle lens and not the “two people who refuse to admit they wanna fuck and also the poor innocent who got dragged into and very nearly got screwed over as a result” and also because edwina’s being Mean to the primary couple and isn’t hopping up and done in ultimate ship mode for them. and then kate hits her head and that’s it, the justifiable anger is over and done with. i don’t think that edwina should have still been holding a grudge while her sister was dealing with a serious head injury that could have killed her, but that shouldn’t have been the end of the situation. none of edwina’s concerns got addressed or even understood, it’s just that the narrative wanted us to view it as edwina being unreasonable and coming to see the light and the glory of kanthony after nearly losing kate, which makes no sense. as mentioned, edwina’s anger is justifiable, because when you actually look at what happened and not the “love triangle” angle, it is an entirely reasonable anger. that edwina was willing to put it aside when kate was in trouble, because she loves her sister and obviously doesn’t want her dead and is relieved that she’s okay, that works. edwina being immediately over it does not work; her grievances aren’t addressed and it doesn’t seem like the narrative, let alone the characters themselves, understand why she was upset, and thus any reconciliations ring hollow. i mean hell, she doesn’t even get a scene where anthony, like, openly admits that this whole situation was a dick move on his part and sincerely apologize for his behavior and what he put her through, which really only cements how little, if at all, anthony cared about her in any way. 

edwina should have been allowed to take her time on forgiveness, and the way that she and kate especially built back trust and rapport should have been vitally important and deep character work, not just for edwina herself and the satisfaction of her arc, but also for kate and for her own development. but instead, edwina’s over it, she’s the cheerleader at long, and she gets dangled the possibility of a consolation prize as her reward for no longer being upset at her fiancé for being an ass and at her sister for violating her trust and nearly putting her a deeply unhappy situation for the remainder of her natural life. it’s bad writing to the extreme and it also makes kanthony both as a ship and as individual people seem like jerks and the total misread of the situation and the hate edwina got for her reaction just makes the fandom seem borderline illiterate. 

anyway this is rambly and not very eloquent and likely riddled with spelling errors but i woke up at 5am and made myself mad about this while getting ready for the day so this is my two cents on a specific element i hate about the dumb bridgerton show and its dumb ways.

[killing-machine]

happy madness day you freaks

remember to do what comes natural

[tenderlambkin]

*squints*

and they both bleached their hair too

[tom-0]

why do you beat everything/everyone with metal bats. this is an intervention.

when something makes me feel joyful or it’s funny to me i will beat them with a bat. Nobody can stop me…

this is my bat

[beesvines]

Deleting 10 year old me’s animal crossing new leaf save file my sophomore year of high school was like burning the library of Alexandria

[muchmossymess]

I need to stop sleeping all day its giving me wild as fuck dreams

[canine-teethed-sheets]

*me looking desperately for crumbs on the ground* uh huh...... uh huh...... aH HAH!!

low quality Faiyaato <3

[doctorjohcoy]

i cant comment on like posts on subreds where its like 'my husband/boyfriend/boytoy is doing this and that' because my answer is always ohh. kill him

[solrin]

Original is Kiss Day by ぴよ吉

[trashyp]

I think the funniest thing about Majora’s Mask is that it really presents itself as a challenge, like having to do things at really specific times and such— and it is, it’s incredibly difficult when you don’t have a guide or know what you’re doing, but the final boss takes about ten seconds if you do all the work.

Iydk if you collect all the masks, you get the Fierce Deity mask, which allows you to absolutely fold the final boss like a piece of paper

Source: I’ve beaten Majora’s mask like five times and this is the case every single time

[emacrow]

When Danny's core cracks while escaping into gothams, he doesn't disappeared or dies, but accidentally split his personalities

He accidentally multiples into tiny misshaped pieces of his own personalities that became tiny lil baby ghostlings the size of a toddler.

Which they all scattered and ran, spreading around gotham like they were running from the devil(GIW) themselves were after him.

While main piece human formed danny with barely his conscious left is stuck with the only piece of his core as his main personality.

The feral back off if you love your fingers and I will beat you into the grave while i spew comback puns at you personality.

Not even 7 minutes in gotham, he already attacked 39 strange strangers, fourteen people in clown masked, torn some messed up rejected clown apart, a guy in a green suit and ? Staff, ate some buffguy ectoplasmic injectors tanks, only to now being held by the scuff of his itsy bitsy white and red nasa shirt by a bat furry man in black, who had several bite marks dents all over his suit, arms and torn on his cape while he still biting the bat shaped metal thingy. .

Meanwhile near crime alley, red hood had found 3 tiny white haired toddlers, one even more paranoid then tim if possible, one clingy onto him saying I love you, and another one follow around crying a lot calling out for someone named jazz..?

Sequel here <-

[heartfullofleeches]

Timid Reader: Gah!!!!! It's on the kitchen table! Aspen!....Get it, Aspen!

[Femboy Housewife Yan brushes the spider onto a newspaper and carries it to a window, ushering the small creature outside]

Femboy Housewife Yan: It's gone, dearest. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Timid Reader: T-thank you.... [starts to tear up] What have I become.... I'm a coward compared to how I was when we first met...

Femboy Housewife Yan: Darling! Don't beat yourself up like that. I love the shy you as much as the old you. Besides, we both know that wasn't the real you back then. Just like me.

Timid Reader: Yeah... You're right....

-

[Femboy Assassin Yan hisses as he's harshly yanked by his hair - hands bound behind his back]

Femboy Assassin Yan: Where are they? [spits out blood] If you hurt them I swear I'll-

Kidnapper: Relax. Your little pet ran into the basement when I broke in. I'll deal with them after I'm done with you....

Femboy Assassin Yan: Basement?.....

[The Basement door creaks open - Reader rushing out with a dented metal bat they batter against the intruder's skull]

Former Gang Leader Reader: You come into my house. [whack!] Attack my wife. [bang!] Force me to resort to violence. [crack!] I just want a normal life! Why can't you just leave us alone!

[Reader pants as they drop the blood and brain matter covered weapon - fat tears pouring down their cheeks as they untie their spouse]

Timid Reader: I-I'm so sorry you had to see that, Aspen. I knew it was too dangerous for me to get married.... Are you okay?

Femboy Housewife Yan - a dreamy smile plastered on his face: Just fine~ Heavens, that was better than sex, Darling... Though, you may need to carry me up to our bedroom now so I know for sure-

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🪱🧠

(This one ran away with me, whoops)

Batboy_Kas: Um ... dude, what? 🤨

This is the dm that greets Steve when he pulls his phone from his back pocket to check his Instagram. One confused frown, some scrolling, and one near-heart-attack later, he concludes that he forgot to lock his screen when he put the phone away earlier.

Which caused him to somehow end up on this random stranger's profile.

And go to his DMs.

And send him a GIF.

Not just any GIF. One of a grotesquely round and jiggly, animated ass. There's a text beneath the GIF. It reads: 2iggnag lg9gajdgka hfhdgjy.

"Aw, fuck!" Steve swears, neck prickling with heat as he types his reply.

Steve_Hairington: Shit, sorry. My ass typed that 😅

Batboy_Kas: Fitting choice of gif 🍑

Steve_Hairington: Yeah I guess

Batboy_Kas: You could say it's a ... smart ass

Steve snorts a laugh. What a dork! He's still debating if he should reply or leave it at that when Batboy_Kas sends his next message.

Batboy_Kas: So ... not even the tiniest chance you were flirting with me?

Steve_Hairington: Sorry dude. I prefer my men-

(He pauses to squint at the guy's profile pic. A cute little cartoon bat.)

-a little more human-shaped.

Batboy_Kas: Hey! That's just bc you've never had a creature of the night b4 🦇😉

Steve_Hairington: 🤣🤣🤣 Nice try, bat boy!

They end up texting (and flirting) regularly. Kas - named after some vampire dude from that dungeons and dipshits game Dustin enjoys - is a huge fantasy and music nerd, can keep up a string of banter for hours, and his dms quickly become the highlight of Steve’s days.

He knows better than to meet random faceless and nameless strangers from the internet, he really does. But when Kas says he's in town for work some two months later, Steve is a bit embarrassed at how fast he agrees to a date.

Kas doesn't really beat the vampire allegations when he shows up at their meeting point, skittish and nervous, clad in an oversized Metallica hoodie, drawn all the way over his head inspite of the sunny weather, dark shades obscuring his eyes.

He's cute, though. Sweet and almost shy without the distance and a screen between them, but still with that quick wit and edgy sense of humor Steve has come to like so much. A deep, rich voice that makes something inside Steve’s belly tingle, a hint of dark curls spilling out from his hood, and strong, calloused hands covered in rings, the edges of black tattoos disappearing into his sleeves. It makes Steve wanna take the stupid hoodie off him so that he can see all of him.

Which is exactly what he does when they take it to Kas's hotel room later that night. And God, the man is gorgeous. Dark, messy curls framing a pair of insanely dark brown eyes and the poutiest lips Steve has ever had the pleasure of kissing. An intricate web of tattoos that are just begging to be traced with his tongue.

Later, when they're lying together in an exhausted tangle of naked limbs and sweaty sheets, Steve snaps a photo and saves it as his phone background. He doesn't think much of it.

Until a week later, when Dustin opens his phone to read out a message while Steve is driving and starts shrieking so loudly they almost crash into a tree, bc why the fuck does Steve have a selfie of himself and Eddie Munson - frontman of the world famous metal band Corroded Coffin - on his phone and are you both naked, Steve???

Tagging some friends to share a brainworm of their own:

@cuips-not-cute @steddiecameraroll @postmodernau @oh-stars @steddie-island

@wynnyfryd @pennyplainknits @medusapelagia @hotluncheddie @sidekick-hero

[tacticaldiary]

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(09/07/2023)

[childrenofcain-if]

Please let us comfort C about their knee 😭 I'm seriously going to be angry if there's no option to beat the sh*t out of Alain when we see him in game 😡

I'm begging you for a fluff piece, they deserve it ❤️🙏

C’s dorm always felt quiet—as though the silence itself was holding its breath. even when music hummed low from the speakers, even when there was a mug of tea on the desk and a book abandoned on the bed, even when you were there. especially when you were there.

you hadn’t meant to stay this long—hadn’t meant to be here at all, really. but the night had bled into a soft comfort that made time meaningless, and C had let their guard down in that way they only ever did with you, trading their usual biting flippancy for something quieter. something fragile and hidden beneath layers of disdain that you’d spent years peeling back.

they were standing now, aiming to move toward the small kitchenette attached to the common area, their voice low as they asked, “do you want anything? tea? something else?”

“tea’s fine,” you said, leaning back against the wall, your legs curled beneath you on the bed. it was a simple enough exchange, a moment so ordinary it felt almost... domestic.

and then you saw it—the faint hitch in their step, the way their right leg dragged ever so slightly behind the left.

your heart thudded once, hard enough to make your ribs hurt.

“C,” you said, your voice louder than you meant it to be. they froze mid-step, their back to you, their shoulders taut as if bracing for a blow. “did you—did you fall or something?”

they didn’t turn around. for a moment, you thought they wouldn’t answer at all. then, slowly, they turned their head, their profile striking in the dim light. the shadows softened their face but did nothing to hide the tension in their jaw, the faint tremor in their hands as if you’d caught them doing something illegal.

“no,” they said finally, the word flat and hollow.

you sat up straighter. “then what—”

“it’s nothing,” they snapped, spinning to face you. their voice wasn’t loud, but it was harsh, each syllable flung like glass shards meant to keep you at a distance. their chalcedony green eyes burned, but the fire in them wasn’t the usual fury you’d come to expect from C. it was fear, raw and unfiltered.

“C…” you said again, softer this time, and that was what did it. their face crumpled, not quite enough to be called a collapse, but enough for you to see the exhaustion carved into their bones. they sat down heavily on the bed, their head bowed as if the weight of the moment were too much to bear.

“it’s nothing,” they repeated, but it sounded like a lie even to them.

“i don’t believe you.”

you waited, the silence stretching between you, brittle and acute. finally, they looked up at you, their face pale, their lips pressed into a thin line.

“my father,” they said, the words forced and clipped, as if they were prying them loose from their lungs with a metal wrench. “when i was little. he… he didn’t like that i accidentally broke a china plate from the kitchen while grabbing some food. apparently it was antique and one of its kind. believed i needed to be punished for being so careless.” they laughed bitterly. “he used a baseball bat to teach me a lesson.”

the air in the room shifted, stifling. you couldn’t speak, couldn’t fathom the kind of cruelty it would take to do something like that to a mere child. to C.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight. “let me see.”

they stared at you, their eyes wide and disbelieving. “what?”

“your knee,” you said, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath it. “please.”

for a moment, you thought they would refuse. they sat motionless, their hands clenched into fists at their sides, their breath coming shallow and uneven. then, slowly, they nodded.

C stood, their movements stiff and deliberate, and pushed the waistband of their pajama pants down far enough to reveal their knee. the act itself wasn’t sensual, wasn’t sexual; it was simply them letting you in, letting you see a piece of them they’d spent years hiding. but perhaps that knowledge made it all the more intimate.

your breath caught as your eyes fell on the fair, marble-like skin stretched over the joint. the shape of the knee was uneven, the bone obtruding out at odd angles where it had healed wrong. there were faint scars, pale and jagged, like ghostly reminders of the violence that had shaped them. the area around it was slightly swollen, the skin faintly discolored, a muted blue-gray hue that looked almost tender to the touch.

you reached out before you could think better of it, your fingers brushing lightly against the damaged skin. C flinched but didn’t pull away, their eyes locked on yours, their breath hitching as if the contact ached in ways that weren’t physical.

“good god,” you whispered, the word trembling on your lips.

C laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. “it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“it’s worse,” you said, and the anger in your voice shocked you both. but it wasn’t anger at them—it was at the man who had done this, the man who had taken a child and broken them in ways that could never fully be repaired.

without thinking, you leaned down and pressed your lips gently to their knee. the kiss was soft, reverent, more an act of devotion than anything else. C gasped, their hand flying to your hair, their fingers trembling as they threaded through it.

“what are you doing?” they whispered with a surprised look in their eyes.

“loving you,” you said simply, shutting them up.

see, childhood had been a knife stuck in C’s throat for the longest time, honed sharp by alain’s hands.

it was a knife that dulled with time but never stopped twisting. even now, years removed from that godforsaken house, from that evil man, they felt its cold atmosphere in every step they took, every chronic flare of pain in their knee when it rained or when they put too much pressure on their right leg, every stumble they hid behind a sharp tongue and a perfect façade.

vulnerability was a language they had unlearned as a child, carved out of them with every slap, every shout, every moment alain had twisted ‘love’ into something entirely unrecognizable.

and yet, here you were.

your lips pressed to their knee, the damaged joint that had never quite healed, and C felt like they were being slowly undone. the kiss was so gentle, so absurdly soft against the place they hated most about themself, that they thought they might break apart entirely.

no one kissed scars like this. no one kissed something so damningly ruined and made it holy.

C looked down at you, your face turned toward them like you belonged there, like you didn’t see the unflatteringly jutting angles of their bones or the bruises still hidden deep inside their soul which was wrapped in the rage that they inherited from their father.

you saw them. and in that moment, C wondered if you were the only reason they had managed to keep breathing through all the years of pain and silence.

they remembered the first time they laid eyes on you during middle school. you had been all fire and light, laughing with some friends, your smile so bright it had burned them. C, sitting alone at the back of the classroom, had felt a squeeze in their chest they couldn’t name. not yet.

at the time, it had felt like resentment—how dare you shine so freely when their world was filled with shadows which often made them taste the coppery taste of their own blood? how dare you be a star, so untouchable, so effortlessly seen?

but it wasn’t hatred, not really. they knew that now.

for years, they had convinced themselves that their fixation on you was because they wanted to outshine you, to prove they were your equal. they had fought you in every class, thrown snide remarks, done everything they could to make you notice them.

because the truth was, they would have torn the world apart just to make you look at them the way they looked at you.

and when you finally did—when your gaze settled on them, not with pity or contempt but with something startlingly like understanding—they had felt like they could truly breathe for the first time in their life.

now, as you knelt in front of them, your breath ghosting over their skin, C thought that maybe they had been living for you all along.

and it scared the fuck out of them.

because loving someone like this, needing someone like this, was just a brand new knife against their throat. and the most terrifying part of it all was that C’s heart didn’t mind it this time, not at all.

“tu es tutus,” you murmured, your lips brushing over the misshapen bone of their right knee. you’re safe.

they closed their eyes, their lips quirking up in a faint, almost disbelieving smile.

“amor meus, vita mea,” they said softly, their latin perfect, their voice unsteady. my love, my life.

you leaned into them, your forehead resting against their thigh, and they tilted their head back, their breath caught in a way that broke your heart.

C wasn’t a religious person. alain had beaten any notion of faith out of them long before they were old enough to properly understand it. but as they looked at you, they thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something divine about you.

my sweet starkid, they thought, god—or fate, or the universe, or whatever cruel, indifferent force that exists—must have made you just for me.

they reached out to you, their hand trembling slightly as it settled on the back of your neck. they pulled you closer, their lips pressing against your temple in a kiss so light it barely counted as one.

“stay,” they said, the word cracking slightly. it wasn’t a command though; it was a plea.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady and sure, and C thought that maybe, for the first time in their life, they believed it.

that really did hammer the nail in the proverbial coffin. you loved C unconditionally, so they lived.

[on-the-clear-blue]

I think a ship in DCxDP that isn't explored enough is Cass/Danny.

I love them, they are so weird for each other. Like Danny is sitting in his dorm for Gotham U and is in full on tinker mode, making a gadget for his super hot goth vigilante girlfriend and he is so in love.

(This boy has a thing for women that are stronger than him, ei. Sam and Val)

Ghosts mostly communicate through emotions right? So my brain is just like "Danny in ghost form is the easiest person Cass has ever read, she can see the instant where he spots her every time since he practically melts" also, Danny could 100% spot her, and she finds that incredibly attractive, he sees her just as she sees him.

Gimme 20 something Cass and Danny meeting at collage, Cass is there to stop a bomb and Danny is just trying to go to class, he sees her in full Orphan outfit and feels his heart sputter.

Danny full on watches her beat the shit out of a Rouge and has to hold himself back to asking me next (cus ghost instincts?)

He now understands how his dad felt about his mom, how Jack could ignore Vlad since the only person that mattered to him was Maddie.

(He runs in when Cass is struggling to defuse the bomb and does it in like a second, grinning like a fool at her)

Cass was weirded our for a moment but after a bit of research into him (cough cough, stalking) Cass was starting to get a bit attached.

Danny fell first but Cass fell harder, Danny gets little shiny metal contraptions and a batarang stuck into head board, like a raven bringing pretty things to their human.

Danny makes things and solves villain puzzles, the rest of the Bats are afraid Cass got his with something, but no they just match each other's freak.

Danny, getting introduced to the rest of the Bat clan, fidgeting with Cass's arm around his waist and trying to do his Midwestern charm: HI! Um...pleasure to meet you all?

Cass, a grin on her face: This is my twink Danny, if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this city and then myself.

And like, what if Cass goes down in a fight, Danny is watching on the side lines and the bats are trying to get there in time and come to see Danny, snarling and ripping into the person who beat Cass, fully going a tad bit feral ghost seeing his person (tm) getting hurt

I love them so much

(Also...)

(Cass is slinging silicone and Danny is full on very happy to receive, you can't tell me other wise, iykyk)