#idk i just think that if the timing was different he and i could have so much fun dating like genuinely i think it’d be a really good time

[sheepispink]

THE TRUTH. (super soldier au part 2)

cw: mentions of telling someone to commit suicide, threats, bullying

guys idk how i feel about this one but here u go 🙏

PART ONE

———-

Happy Birthday

freak.

A present stopped you from walking out at your usual time. It was a week until your birthday, and usually no one remembered other than those who had your file. Although that mostly consisted of blacked out paragraphs now.

It’s wrapped a little messily, not the worst, and you slowly pick it up, noticing a weight inside. You had never got a present before, much less more than a small timeframe to have some sort of celebration— not that you ever took that opportunity anyway. Most years you were too busy hung up with wires and drowning in your mind from drugs. Your thumb brushes over the paper curiously, looking for a name tag but finding nothing to mark the sender. Neatly, you rip a line through the paper which reveals a cardboard box. It’s blank, no branding or anything to attach itself to. When you open it though, you’re quickly greeted by a strange sight; a gun.

A handgun to be more specific, a Browning L941 if you wanted details. It sits neatly in the box, looking clean but you can tell by the small nicks in metal it’s not new. There’s a note beside it, typed— never handwritten.

“If your aim is as good as they say, surely you can prove it by putting it to your head.”

You’re not too surprised, at least more than the initial eye widening. After all, you did deal with the piece of paper on your designated breakfast table every morning. Your eyes flicker down, to the sentence beneath.

“If you’re too scared, we’ll just have to deliver the gift in person.”

That makes you blink, the implications of the clear threat not lost on you. It wasn't the first time you’ve heard them; enemies swore that they’d tear you apart limb by limb, Ghost promised he’d douse you in cold water the next time you caused a bloodbath and even the scientists taunted you with those syringes. The difference was, those were.. well threats you couldn't exactly avoid. Ghost would always get mad at you for making a mess, and you used to be far more rebellious against the scientists— or was that fear? Enemies threatening you was just a farce anyway, you’d have their bodies by your feet soon enough that it wasn't even worth thinking over twice. But this? Comrades, or well they’re supposed to be, who want to kill you? Teammates who would live happier knowing they put you to the grave. It’s no longer the opposing team, no longer the one Ghost points his finger at, no longer the ones that destroy humanity.

No, they only want to destroy you.

For the first few days, you tried to shake it, but you were feeling the weight of the words even more than usual. The stab of pain in your back when they threw the bread roll at you; that could be a bullet next time. Your shoes in the toilet could be your body next time. The fox who whines and whimpers would be you when you were deemed useless.

The truth was, you didnt care about the damn movie, or the cake you were promised, nor even the words “happy birthday” being said to you. It was an excuse, a white lie even, to get the Captain, or Ghost, hoping one of them would actually come into your room. Never have they stepped foot in since your first arrival, never feeling the need to either. The Captain only had time to care when you emailed him, but even that seemed too risky, what if he laughed it off and the surrounding soldiers heard? Ghost barely ever gave you time to talk anyway, and when you did get a moment, there were too many around.

So you invited them over, tried your best act as if you really wanted a birthday to celebrate with them. They’d come, you’d show them the note, the gun. If they laughed, it’d be fine, hidden in your room— you could find a solution before they told the others and it spread around the base. If they didn't laugh, you’d be safe, guaranteed that no one would really try what would happen on that piece of paper.

But you hadn't anticipated that neither of them would come at all. Your eyes brim with tears, unsure how that is even possible as you step into your room, a tenseness sinking into your bones and spreading across your body. With them completely out of the picture, you’re left by yourself until your end surely comes. Maybe you should’ve known, especially when you remember what soldiers call you— a monster.

But it wasn’t in your coding, in your genes or even near your thought process to harm those that threaten you— at least not first anyways, and especially when they’re not explicitly enemies. This was a moral dilemma your tampered mind wasn't capable of handling. Despite the sick growing in your stomach, you had a plan. There were outdoor training rooms, more specifically small cabins that were sometimes used to punish soldiers if they acted up too much.

The gift remains untouched on the dresser, a silent promise watching you at all times. It’s almost four o clock now, and the day isn't getting any brighter in the middle of winter. Opening your closet, your hands pass over the many uniforms there. That’s all they give you, uniforms, it’s why yours are always clean— your only purpose is to fight. So you grab the jacket in the furthest corner, the one usually saved for extreme weather conditions and slip that on. It disguises your figure enough and the hiking boots are exactly what you need to be a new person.

Your hand grazes the knives in your old belt, and you take a few, sliding them into the new holster behind the jacket. Just in case. There’s nothing else to take now, apart from your small radio that you sometimes keep on your person— you dont really use a phone either since it was seen to be a distraction. You’ll likely have to starve for the rest of the day, though with your knowledge you could probably find some sort of food out there. Just in case, you grab an MRE, a spare that stays around in the off chance you get dizzy from eating nothing all day.

Slowly you step out in the hallway, looking around for anyone before closing your door shut again. You didnt dare make it suspicious with a backpack, so your bottle is stuffed into your jacket pocket instead. Same for the untampered gift on the table, they’d assume you’d be back later to open it.

This was your best bet.

You head down the corridors, keeping a confident pace so people wouldn’t even try suspect you— that’s the key to everything, after all. Ironically, that wasn’t the situation at all, in fact they were.. friendly? A few soldiers gave you a nod as you walked past, which wasn’t the craziest thing but, considering no one’s ever done that before, it was exhilarating. You nod in turn, a mask hiked up to your nose but it just looks like you’re keeping your face warm for when you go outside— not that anyone here is phased by a mere mask anyway. Infact, a few soldiers who look particularly boisterous even go as far to fist bump you, likely thinking you’re someone they know. You don't care in the slightest; you’re just happy that for once you get to experience what your life should’ve been like.

The giddiness is temporary though, as you turn the corner to see Ghost stepping out of a room with two crates of drinks in his hands. You falter, stopping in your tracks as he closes the door behind him.

Is this really the right idea? Running away like this?

It’s only for the day, at least that was the idea, but what after that? What if they didn't stop at your birthday— what if it continued? You could tell him right now, pull the mask down that covers your face and confess every little detail running through your head. What would you do if he got in trouble for your foolish decisions? He had shown his stance when he chose not to show up at your birthday party; he clearly didn't care at all.. right?

“Do you need something?” He says lowly, clearly having realised that you’ve frozen in your tracks before him, and giving you a narrowed stare for that reason. Surprisingly, it’s less demeaning and more questioning, considering how harsh his eyes usually go when looking at you. It gives you a bit of hope.

”D-do you need any help with that, sir?” You’re not sure why your voice stuttered, not particularly wanting to think much about the matter either. Instead, you stare right back at him, your eyes widened as you stare in his pupils moving around like it’s searching you.

Did he recognise you?

“No, that’s alright.” It’s gruff, and harsh and yet far more nicer than he’s ever spoken to you before. You manage to force yourself to nod in response, giving a small salute before hurrying off down the corridor.

Trekking through the forest is a little bit of an effort but you eventually meet the small cabin that’s there. It’s almost never used in winter, but in the summer they might do their training in these areas and keep the lunch here. Slowly you step inside, recognising from the get go that there’s not particularly much. There’s a few bedrolls for wilderness training, albeit a bit torn and some dry firewood left discarded on the little fireplace. That’s good, at least you won't freeze anymore than you already have. It’s not like you can use it though— it’s too risky. If anyone sees smoke out here you’re bound to get caught in seconds, and possibly even by your predators.

You lock the cabin door, placing a chair beneath the handle as you let out a sigh and slump against the wall. This would be a long, painstaking night and you cant help but wonder if it’d been better to just defend yourself when they came. But what if you lost control? What if you seriously hurt someone? Even if they were trying to harm you?

The thought makes you shudder, even more than the thoughts you’ve been desperately pushing back. But when there is nothing else to do in this cold place, it’s hard to keep your mind focused. The only way you survived these past three months with Ghost is by not thinking about your situation— at all. It’s probably why he hates you. From how he reacts anyway, you’re more like a robot than you’ve ever been a human. You’ve been monitored all your life, since before you were born you were made for the cause. No clue of who your mother was, you were genetically modified as an embryo for all the traits they wished for you to have. Other children in the program had the same, of course, and for the first years of your life you were blissfully unaware. You didn’t understand that the kids you ran around and giggled with would end up being your own enemies, despising that you turned out to be the successful experiment and not them. It wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, but they complained, saying you didnt have to be sent away like they did, to be fostered and deal with the pain of the experiments for the rest of their lives.

That’s exactly what you had though. You were split from them altogether, coddled by scientists and doctors, personal trainers who felt more like drill sergeants than anyone that wanted to help you. Of course, you were tampered with too, drugged up on strange substances as they tampered with your nerves, always changing you to be better because you were never enough for them. They were supposed to enforce rationality within you by erasing anything that could get you worked up, and so your emotions became suppressed, pushed down and piled with the weight of responsibilities to keep them down. But it clearly wasn't successful, at least when you’re not on the battlefield. When you entered that place, it was like a switch had turned on in your brain, all morality slipping out as you only followed the orders of whoever the handler was. Your mind always enters a haze after you snap out of it and come back from hours of combat, leaving you feeling sick to the core.

But now, things are changing— too fast. You had cried, because they didn't come to your birthday party. For once, your stomach felt sickly with misery and your breath had caught in your throat when you’ve never stopped breathing before, ever. Your hand reaches into your pocket, pulling out a small fox toy. It was a gift from a younger scientist who had just been a mere intern. He had been put forward for the menial task of looking after your post-experimentation state, making sure your vitals were fine. You didnt get to talk to him that much, considering you mostly were deep in sleep, recovering from the new strain on your body. But he stayed beside you, making sure you were okay. When you left to get tested on the field with Ghost, he gave you a small plush, just the size of your hand.

“A little gift.” He chuckled, smiling gently as he rubbed your bandaged arm. “Don't give me that look. I know you’re not actually that unbothered, they just made you that way. You can say you like it, you know, that it makes you happy.”

You could only nod in return, it was the truth, you were very happy.

The sky was already growing dark and without the determination that kept your body distracted from your needs, you were actually feeling your hunger full force for once. The little fox is clenched deep in your hands, a natural predator and yet it’s more common to see them die out in the wild than thriving. Just like you. Your stomach growls, and so you reach for your MRE, eyeing the food within. You were probably supposed to warm it up first, but you’d just have to eat it like this for now. You rip the first packet open, and just try to scarf it down without thinking about the taste too much. It wasn’t the best to say the least. But you’re used to it now; you barely got proper meals apart from missions, and often had to eat one of these after an unsuccessful trip to the mess hall.

You’re about to inspect the other packet when a low scratching noise is heard against the door. Instantly, you pause, mind shifting into something akin to a battle mode already. Slowly, you approach the door, pressing your ear as your hand reaches in your belt for the knife. The windows were frosted up, so it’s unlikely they could see in when it was already pretty dark in here. A low whine echoes out and you realise who's actually stalking you, quickly removing the chair and opening the door. The little fox stands there, looking up at you as it slowly steps inside the cabin.

For once, you let your guard down and just sigh, closing the door and securing it again. “C’mere.” You rarely fear anything, and so you scoop the little fox up without a second thought, even as it squirms initially and its claws are sharp on you. You settle in the warmest area of the room again, next to your mre pack and grab the fork, scooping out some of the food. You didn't need the rest, but he could use it. The fox reluctantly eats the food, and you giggle when you realise it probably doesn't taste much better to him either despite being starving. You took it off by letting him drink half the bottle of your water, which he greedily takes along with a few fruits you packed.

“Your fur is matted, and you’re all banged up but you’re still adorable.” The thought makes you sniffle, a bittersweet smile rising on your lips. The fox rests its head on your lap as you run your hand over its fur, gently scratching every now and then. Why couldn’t people see the truth in you as you did right now? You’ve trained for so long, fought to keep all of them safe on their missions and all you got in return was a scared look, disgust and sometimes even anger. It hurt, more than you allowed yourself to feel.

But this is the first time you’ve been alone without the battlefield before you, or a supervisor staring you down. You could have a gun to your head tonight, and no one will find out until the morning, so for now you just begged that the soldiers were joking, for the sake of everyone involved.

You just wish Ghost and Price would’ve listened, so you could be safe and warm back there, at least getting an early sleep on your birthday. The scientist promised, he said it’d get better, he said there would be others who would care like he did. He said only the higherups were this bad; he lied to you. The tears drip again, unable to stop this time and you bury your face in your hands, mourning everything you’ve lost, and everything you’ve yet to lose. Dead or alive, you may lose it all.

————————-

Taglist:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 1 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: God bless Milo Manheim!!!!!!!!!! I love this idea of having a bucket list of things they want to do before crossing over. It might be cool to make it into a series. idk. We'll see. :) For now, enjoy!! I hope you guys like it. <3 xoxo, nai.

Word count: 1714

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn.

masterlist. part 1. part 2.

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Wally had been wandering the halls of the school, bored out of his mind, his thoughts drifting aimlessly as he just tried to make it through another day—not that he ever expected much on a normal one, at least. But then, there were those days. The ones that turned into trouble. The kind of trouble that you made happen.

It didn't really take much to turn an average boring day into something unforgettable when you were involved. You were the life of the party. You and Wally? Every single time you two were together, trouble seemed to follow.

And today? Today was no different.

You had both made a promise long ago: make eternity fun. It was a pact, a way to deal with the fact that you two were dead, with no going back to your old lives. So, you'd sworn to make the most of every single day, even if it meant causing chaos along the way.

You'd even written down an entire bucket list with him. Wally named it "100 things to do before crossing over." You two hadn't really crossed off many of the things you'd written down; some of them were not very possible, given the fact that you two couldn't really leave the school grounds. But that didn't stop you from trying to make every day feel like it mattered.

After walking aimlessly around the school, Wally finally spotted you, sprawled out on the bleachers of the football field. The sun was making your skin glow, and despite the fact that you couldn't tan anymore, you still seemed to soak up every single ray as if you were trying to relieve the feeling of it. One arm draped over your eyes, one leg over the other. Wally smiled; you always found a way to look effortlessly cool and beautiful, even in moments like this.

Wally climbed up the steps, settling on the one just below you, his eyes studying you. "We're gonna have field day in an hour," he said, his voice light. "Mr. Martin wants to do something...different. A bonfire or whatever. I don't know. Rhonda told me."

But you didn't respond. Your silence made him arch an eyebrow.

"You good?" he asked, his tone shifting to a more serious now. He wasn't too used to you being so quiet.

You opened your eyes, lazily glancing at him. “Just thinking,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Dangerous,” he teased, though he could tell something was off. You smiled at him, rolling your eyes, but he noticed they didn't have that usual sparkle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again, a little more worried now.

You propped yourself up, your gaze flickering to the school building for a moment before focusing back on him. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “I’ve just been thinking about that list we made.”

“The one with a hundred things we’re supposed to do before crossing over?” Wally asked, smirking. “We’re halfway through, but there’s still plenty of time left.”

He watched your expression closely, trying to figure out what was going through your head, but you were unreadable as ever.

You shook your head. “We haven’t really crossed off much…” You trailed off for a second, your gaze flicking to the sky before you let out a sigh. “I just feel like... days are getting boring, Wally.”

He tilted his head. “Well, let’s do something not boring, then. Something stupid.”

“Define stupid.” You raised an eyebrow.

Wally’s lips curled into that signature cocky grin. The one that always meant he was about to take things to another level.

“Number 16,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

“Do you expect me to remember?” You shot back, trying to act nonchalant, but there was a flutter of excitement in your chest.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Skinny dipping, dumbass.”

You froze for a moment, processing his words. Your mind raced, the idea catching you off guard. It was reckless, a little insane—but totally on brand for the two of you.

"You're serious?" you asked, staring at him with a mix of disbelief.

Wally leaned forward slightly, his voice low, his gaze burning with that familiar mischievous fire. “Dead serious.”

You couldn’t help it. A wicked smile spread across your face as you locked eyes with him. It was just a stupid thing to do. Just another one of your meaningless games. No harm in it, right?

"You're insane," you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the bleacher to stand right in front of him. You looked down at him, your gaze meeting his with a challenge in your eyes.

Wally just shrugged. “Yeah, well, eternity wouldn’t be fun if we weren’t at least a little bit insane.” His eyes traced the curve of your body, the unspoken tension between you both suddenly feeling palpable, thick in the air.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the heat that seemed to spark between you both. “I swear you’ll get us caught.” You half joked, but the wild idea was starting to feel too good to back away from.

“Let’s make it quick then,” he replied. “We’ll make sure no one sees us.”

"I swear, Wally, if we get caught... I'll kill you," you warned, your voice a mix of a playful threat.

Wally chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "You wouldn't," he teased, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "Besides, it's not like anyone's out there anyway. Everyone's off by the bonfire, telling ghost stories or whatever it is they do. We're fine. I'm sure they won't miss us."

You shot him a skeptical look, doubting if you should agree to it but you craved the adrenaline more.

"Come on," he grinned, grabbing your hand. "Let's go have some fun."

The thrill and the adrenaline coursed through you as you followed him, letting him guide you through the school. Wally was always the one to get you into trouble, but you couldn't deny how much you loved it.

As you both snuck through the hallways, being very careful to avoid Rhonda, Charley, Mr. Martin, or anyone who might spot you. You both could hear the muffled sounds of chatter echoing from the field.

When you finally reached the indoor pool, Wally paused at the entrance, opening the door slowly, and scanning the room. It was empty. The sun was almost gone, and the full moon shone brightly through the roof, illuminating the pool in a way that made the entire space feel almost otherworldly.

Wally turned back to you, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we have the place all to ourselves."

"Good," you smiled. "Kinda wanted some alone time, y'know?"

Wally's smile grew bigger, his gaze deepening. He took a step closer to you, his eyes locked onto yours. "I was actually thinking the same thing," he said, his voice low, more intimate. There was a flicker of something between you, a feeling that had been there for a while but neither of you had ever acknowledged it. "Just you and me."

"Just you and me," you repeated slowly, the words lingering in the air between you two.

For a second, everything faded away. The pool, the school, the world—it all felt distant, like a memory. It was just you and him, standing there in the moonlit pool, the adrenaline cursing through your veins.

Wally's hand was still intertwined with yours; his touch was warm, and even though you were technically dead, you still felt alive in moments like this. His gaze never left yours as he stepped closer, his breath becoming quicker.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and something else, something deeper, though it was hard for you to place.

You met his gaze and smirked. "Dead serious."

Wally's lips curled into a grin, there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes and it made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze on you caused your head to spin, his presence was overwhelming. He leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Just us?"

"Mhm," you nodded, your gaze never leaving his.

There was a subtle shift in Wally's demeanor, a possessiveness in the way he looked at you, but it wasn't the kind that felt controlling, it was the kind that made you feel like he was claiming this moment, claiming you, without saying a word. The air grew heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts, you couldn't really tell if it was the adrenaline or something else, but you felt your heart pound louder in your chest.

"Yeah?" Wally repeated, a challenging tone lacing his voice, his smile never wavered. He stepped a little bit closer, closing the distance between you, his body just a fraction of an inch from yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension between you so strong, so thick you could almost touch it.

You tilted your head slightly, feeling the weight of his gaze, how it seemed to pierce right through you, taking in every single inch of you. His pupils were wide, dark, hungry, and the intensity of his stare made your heart race faster than before.

There was no going back now.

And honestly? You did not want to.

"Yeah," you whispered, a little breathless, words barely escaping your lips.

Just you and him, no distractions, no one to come between you two, no rules, no secrets, no limits.

Just you and him.

"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

This might actually be the worst idea you've ever had. You'd suggested skinny dipping as a joke, both drunk and laughing while writing the list, not actually expecting him to go forward with it.

But here you were, bodies so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the air thick, almost suffocating. His eyes so dark, filled with something you couldn't quite describe, but you knew this wasn't just about a dare anymore.

This wasn't just a game.

It was about to become something entirely different, something that could change everything, ruin everything, but... maybe, just maybe, you wanted it to. 

[girl-lostconnection]

I'm so sorry you have to deal with people being so demanding, and I hope that they actually listen to your post and stop, cause it's just really rude in general.

On the other hand, I, for some reason, keep thinking about your story of reader dying and the 141 grieving and how, for me personally, when it comes to one of my loved ones, no matter how much time passes, I just can't stop thinking about them, craving their love, the way that they loved, and how you can see the similarities in others but it isn't quite right, it still doesn't feel the same, and you're just never left satisfied when you want their love again and no one else can do that, because it's not them. You're still loved, yes, but it's not the same.

Idk. I just was thinking about that and was wondering if that's what they might feel. They still have each other and love each other, but I wonder if there are times when they want or feel like they need it to be like reader's way to feel better on some days, where little things that upset them were originally made better by something reader did, but now that they're gone they're just left with that feeling to simmer.

You know one of the things I had to learn while dealing with grief — it doesn’t become smaller. You just get bigger, you get more experiences the older you get and all of that grief is still there. But grief is just what is left of your love for the person who is no longer there.

I think for them it would manifest differently but I can definitely see Johnny trying his best to keep going because he knows he has three more partners and they have to keep going and they have to keep living. Because Reader wouldn’t be happy with them just ending it all, because there is so much more time left, so many things they haven’t done. I think for him it would be one of the things that would eventually result in early retirement. He already lost a quarter of his heart when he lost Reader, he doesn’t want it happening again. And as much as he loves being demolitions expert, he knows there is a different type of life out there. One that can give him and his partners stability and safety.

I think Johnny would be the person that despite it all still sometimes talks about Reader like they are still there. He mentions references to movies and music and books, he draws them in his sketchbooks, he mentions that “this is the dessert they always wanted to try”. With time it turns into a warm kind of nostalgia, the love that he carries with him, his grief manifesting in trying to compensate for everything Reader wouldn’t experience by living through it himself. And by living on. When his time comes he hopes to see Reader again and say “see? I did well, didnae i? It was a good life. A long life, like you wanted. Bet you are proud of me”

Like i mentioned before Kyle took it in one of the worst hits, he’d keep holding onto Reader’s clothes and mementos as long as he can. He googles obsessively brands of clothes, he finds exactly the same articles because even if these get ruined or good forbid someone throws them out — he will know what to order. It won’t be the same, but he could pretend that it is. He already pretends that he’s alright, he already pretends that the hoodies he’s wearing with Reader’s name and rank are just part of his standard uniform.

I feel like Kyle is a person who has never experienced a loss this big before. He never lost someone who was this close, someone who’s still in his head, someone whose voice he keeps hearing when he talks to himself. Kyle likes to imagine that Reader never passes on. That they are still there, maybe noncorporeal, maybe he can’t see them, but at this point he’d settle for anything.

I think Kyle was never one for religion but whenever he passes church he’d get in to light a candle and say a quick not even a prayer but sort of a wish. Like that’s the only way he can chat with you, like something holy could really pass his “I’m okay, love, I’m eating well. Last mission was shite, but you know how it is. You no longer come to me when i dream. Are you upset, baby? I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time, i know you don’t like me getting injured. Just please, come back. I can’t sleep well without you.”

Simon would probably have the hardest times adjusting to the absence of Reader, because he takes the longest time to accept their death. He tries so hard to pull away from the moment where he would need to actually process the notion that it finds him itself and hits him with the force of minivan.

There is aching that he can’t relief, there is itch he can scratch — there is a person who he could tell any of his jokes and who’d not just joke in return but laugh at it and this person is gone. They are not coming back, he can’t even find them somewhere to watch out of the shadows, he can’t stalk them.

Losing people like that is always the hardest because with living people you at least can call/text/send a letter with a carrier pigeon. You can come back and open old wounds, you can pick up the fight, you can look them in the eyes and get some closure. Simon is not getting any. He fights every step of the way, he drags his feet. He’s easily agitated, he feels like hitting his head on the wall every time something stabs him from inside reminding that you are gone.

He comes up with a joke and yeah, of course he can tell it to anyone out of 141, but he wants to tell it to Reader. He wants to tell it to them specifically because they’d have a funny response which they’d choke out of themselves by laughing so hard he actually starts laughing. He misses it. He misses them. He misses their smell, the feel of them, the way he could talk to them and they would just get him so well like no one else would. He doesn’t just lose a partner when Reader dies — he loses a friend.

Price is…Price is complicated. He’s one to bottle it all up and throw it so deep down it may never come up other in his subconscious habits. He makes tea for five people and not four, he shops for five, he still buys the snacks Reader liked, he starts planning celebration for their birthday just on the back of his mind until he catches himself doing it and just forces it all down deeper.

Price would be a high functioning alcoholic in his grief, but still an alcoholic. He drinks a little more than he should, he forces down a drink he’d previously wouldn’t because he knows his limits. But it burns and it numbs and for a few hours he can breathe again. Alcohol allows himself to loosen a lid on everything he feels, it puts safe distance between his feeling and him and he actually allows himself to process some of them.

He cries, he ruins his office, he punches through the wall, he routinely throws up. Once he gets so drunk he actually starts having hallucinations, intoxication so severe he almost chokes on his own vomit. Soap finds him just in time to get him help. After this he gets out on suicide watch for 72 hours and the team would start actually guard him in shifts.

Price still drinks but now next to him there is always someone who also remembers his limits and doesn’t let him overstep them. John hates it at times. He hates himself much more though. He hates Reader sometimes too, because that’s not fair that they are gone. Because look what a fucking mess he is, love, bloody disgrace to drink himself under the fucking table.

Price has the fastest adjustment to Reader staying deceased but at the same time he can’t fully process his grief. Part of him is scared that he will drive himself mad if he does, another part just doesn’t want to. It’s stubborn and unhealthy but so what. He’s a captain, he lost soldiers before, he’s gonna deal with it this way.

But i think he’s also the second person who retires straight after Soap because he finds a new almost obsessively-desperate purpose in keeping his boys alive and well. He may be a fucked up man but his boys already lost one of their own, he doesn’t want to drag them through his death as well

[starrdream]

Caught red handed-part 2

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Confronting Anakin takes a turn.. includes: SMUT!!, cnc, idk what else I'm too tired part 1 here

You stood frozen, heat rushing to your face as realization crashed over you, causing you to go numb for a second.

Anakin Skywalker—the same one who made your blood boil, was in his room moaning and whimpering your name like a desperate man.

Not out of sadness. Not out of anger.

But out of something completely different.

Your throat went dry. Your heart pounded in your ears as you strained to hear the sounds again, as if some sick, twisted part of you needed confirmation.

Another low groan, followed by a shaky breath.

Your stomach twisted into knots, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else you refused to name.

Was he really getting off to just the thought of you?

The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but instead of walking away like you knew you should, you found yourself stepping closer, drawn in by some irresistible force.

You could leave now and pretend you never heard any of this. But where was the fun in that?

A smirk tugged at your lips. If Skywalker wanted to fantasize about you, maybe it was time you gave him something real to think about.

You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles against the cracked open door. It was like he couldn't wait to get to his room.

Pathetic.

The noises stopped immediately. A moment of silence so thick you could feel his panic through the walls.

Then the scrambling began. Fabric rustling, a muffled curse.

You could picture him frantically trying to pull himself together, fix his tunic and hide any evidence of what he’d just been doing..

"Something wrong, Skywalker?" you called out, feigning innocence.

No response.

You waited a beat before leaning in, letting your voice drop just enough to be suggestive. "You know your-."

The door flew open.

And there he was—flushed, disheveled, and absolutely furious.

Oh, this was going to be very fun.

He stood in the doorway, one hand on the door the other one balled into a fist by his side.

"You gonna let me in, or are you just going to stand there looking guilty?" You asked, tilting your head.

His jaw clenched. "Leave."

You stepped closer. "Make me."

"Don't do this shit, Y/n. I'm not in the mood."

"I thought Jedi were supposed to control their emotions." Your voice was laced with mockery.

Before you could process it, Anakin had grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

The moment it clicked into place, his hands were on you—hot, desperate, furious.

"You think this is funny?" His voice was a low growl in the quiet room , sending shivers down your spine.

He almost slams you into the wall, knocking some air out of your lungs.

His grip was firm, almost punishing as he pushed you against the wall, his body pressing into yours. "You think I have time to spare any thoughts, let alone words on you?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let him have the upper hand.

You met his gaze with a smirk, despite the way your heart pounded against your ribs.

"I don’t know, Skywanker. Judging by the sounds you were making, I think you enjoyed thinking about me."

A sharp exhale escapes him, fingers twitching against your waist.

"Oh you little-"

The words were barely out of his mouth before his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was rough, hungry, filled with years of pent-up frustration and rivalry and something deeper you didn’t dare name.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tangling into your hair as he pressed you harder against the wall.

You were a little bit surprised with yourself, but you it didn't really matter.

You wanted him unraveled.

Breaking away just enough to speak against his lips, you murmur. "You're too pathetic for my liking."

Anakin let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening as he suddenly spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. His body was flush against your back, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in close.

"You really want to test me right now?" His voice was lower this time, rougher, laced with something dangerous.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye, your lips curling into a smirk. "Always."

In a matter of seconds, his lips were on your neck, hot and desperate, nipping, biting, marking.

His hands roamed over your body with no restraint this time, gripping, taking as he slid the Jedi robes off of your shoulders.

He was waiting.

For you to push him away. For you to walk out. For you to prove him wrong.

But you didn’t.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his breath stuttered against your skin, the way his hands trembled where they held you, like he was still clinging to the last scraps of his control.

"You asked for this alright?" He bit down on your now exposed shoulder, fiddling with the zipper of your shirt.

"Anakin-" You breathe out, face firmly pressed against the cold wall.

"I don't wanna hear it." He mutters, finally sliding the piece of clothing that covered your upper half off.

His lips found their way down your neck to your shoulders and upper back, holding your hips firmly and rubbing you against him.

A muffled cry escapes your lips which only urges him on.

One of his hands teasingly travels up your body, sliding your bra strap off once it reached your shoulder.

Another noise spills out.

The next second your bra is being clipped of, then it falls to the ground.

Anakin's rough hands envelop your breasts, massaging them as he groans, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Maker.." He mumbles into your skin. One hand slides down to your hips, pulling them away from the wall to press firmly against his prominent erection.

"Good girl..Just keep quiet f'me, yeah?" He says as his hands sneak down to your abdomen, undoing the buttons on your pants and letting them drop to the floor.

His knee spreads your legs, rubbing against your core teasingly in the process. Anakin's quick to pull down his pants too, just enough to pull his cock out.

Sliding your panties down, he presses his hand to your lower back, making you arch.

"Just like that.." He praises, giving your ass a gentle slap.

Without a warning, he thrusts inside of you, letting your squishy walls envelop his length.

His movement is accommodated by your sharp intake of breath and his heavy breathing.

With each thrust he stretched you out further, reached deeper, drew more noises from your mouth.

"Anakin I-" You stumbled over your words.

"You gonna cum for me pretty girl? Go on I wanna hear you.." Anakin encouraged in a soft but firm voice.

"A-Anakin" You whimpered breathlessly at the worst moment possible. Your walls clamped down around him as you came undone before him.

"Yeah that's right." He chuckled breathlessly, not stopping. "Anakin made you come in under what, 7 minutes?" He glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. "Record time sweetheart."

You mumble incoherently at his filthy words, arousing him further and eventually making him spill inside of you.

In the middle of a shallow thrust another knock was heard.

"Shit" Anakin cursed, pulling out quickly, causing you to mewl.

"You gotta keep quiet okay?" He hushed you.

You nodded and he kicked your clothes to the side where they wouldn't be seen. Then, he quickly pressed you against the wall right next to the door.

Placing a hand over your mouth and pulling his pants up, he opened the door.

"You're late for meditation, Anakin." Master Kenobi's voice cut through the air sharply, causing your knees to buckle slightly.

Anakin squeezed your jaw in warning as he answered.

"I'm sorry master, I overslept. I'll be out in a few minutes, I hope you'll forgive me."

First half of this was written at like 2AM and the second at 3AM the next day forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or if it's rushed.

[ikkyfics]

hi!!! im sorry i dont request often, but ive been so in love with ur fics... my atj obsession is coming back full force and you write dave soooo well <33

maybe a fic where reader isn't exactly popular (pretty and maybe has a few close friends) and has a big crush on dave? like she can't understand how he's 'invisible to girls', cause she stares at him in whatever classes they both have, and she stands at her locker for forever just staring longingly at him and he never notices. maybe her best friend tries to convince her to talk to him eventually ..

was thinking it could be sfw and maybe fluffy (maybe a little angsty if you want) idk!!! thank you for considering it if you do, and im excited for what other work you have lined up ❤️

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: in which Dave doesn't notice any of your signals

Warnings: fluff, pre relationship, idiots in love, no use of y/n

A/N: SO SO SO SORRY, I know it's been forever since you sent this request, but I only just got around to doing something. I kind of lost count of how many times I started and deleted this fic. If you read this, I appreciate you not giving up on me, and thank you so much for the message, it was very very kind and I can only thank you for those sweet words. I hope you can enjoy this, darling (and I'm sorry if I deviated a little from the request)

You always looked at him.

Sometimes subtly, when he walked down the school hallway with that casual stride, balancing his backpack on one shoulder, his headphones hanging around his neck, his brown curls falling slightly over his forehead. Other times, you didn’t even try to hide it, like when he laughed at something stupid during lunch and his blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses, or when you saw him from afar during gym class, not understanding how no one else noticed how good he looked in that blue shirt.

It was a mystery to you. How was it possible that no girl at school looked at Dave Lizewski? How was it possible that no one saw what you saw?

"You should just tell him you like him and get it over with," your friend casually remarked, while you checked your phone for the thousandth time, waiting for Dave’s reply.

You pretended not to hear, but the heat on your face gave you away.

That was it. You liked him. More than you should like a friend you only exchanged messages with and talked to when you bumped into each other in the hallways. More than you should like someone who, probably, didn’t see any of it.

So, when Dave suggested you two go to the movies together to watch a Batman re-release, you tried not to overthink it.

But that became impossible when you found yourself standing in front of the mirror for too long, adjusting your top, letting your hair down and tying it up three times before deciding which way looked the least intentional. Your hands were a little sweaty, and you rolled your eyes at yourself when you realized you had chosen that specific perfume, the one that always made someone comment on how good you smelled.

It was just Dave.

Just Dave, who got adorably awkward when you accidentally complimented him. Just Dave, who laughed at your bad jokes and sent stupid memes in the middle of the night. Just Dave, who—when he met you in front of the theater—stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, blinked a few times, and without even trying to hide it, gave you that quick once-over from head to toe before clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.

"You look… uh, different today."

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a smile. "Different how?"

Dave opened and closed his mouth once, clearly trying to choose his words. His curls fell slightly over his forehead as he tilted his head to the side, and he made that unconscious motion of pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Pretty."

It was a bit hesitant, but genuine enough to make the heat rise to your cheeks.

"I’m always pretty," you joked, trying to keep your composure.

Dave smiled that awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah… I know."

And then, as if realizing he was giving too much away, he pointed toward the theater doors. "We should go in."

He was right. But as you passed through the ticket booth and grabbed your tickets, you could still feel his gaze on you from time to time.

The theater was packed, and the tight seats meant you were close enough that when he moved, his knee brushed against yours.

The room darkened, and soon the movie started. You tried to focus on the screen, but it wasn’t easy when every little movement of his caught your attention. The way he leaned over to grab more popcorn and, in the process, his fingers brushed against yours, his warm skin against yours in a fleeting touch that left an uncomfortable awareness in its wake. As if, somehow, that brief contact was more significant than it should have been.

He didn’t seem to notice. He just stayed there, leaning on the armrest, relaxed, his eyes lit up by the glow of the screen. Every now and then, he’d bite his lower lip without realizing it, an unconscious habit of concentration that made something twist in your stomach. His jaw looked more defined like that, and you felt an annoying urge to look longer than you should.

And then he leaned in.

You felt it before you saw it. The movement beside you, the sudden warmth of his presence getting closer, and then his warm breath grazing your skin as he whispered:

"Did you know Christian Bale almost lost the role because they thought he was too skinny?"

It sent an immediate shiver down your spine.

Maybe it was the fact that his voice came out lower than necessary, raspy on purpose or by accident. Or maybe it was because he was close, close in a way that didn’t seem normal for two friends watching a movie. His face was almost touching yours, and your mind made a stupid connection, the kind that should’ve been ignored: if you turned your head just a little, if you leaned an inch in the wrong direction, his lips would touch yours.

You swallowed hard.

"Is that true?" Your voice came out lower than you intended, and he chuckled softly, as if he noticed.

"He gained like 100 pounds of muscle in six months."

"Is that even possible?" You forced yourself to keep your eyes on the screen, as if ignoring the proximity would be enough to not feel every detail of it.

"If you’re Batman, it is."

The reply came in an almost playful whisper, and then he pulled back as if nothing had happened, leaning back into his seat.

Unlike you, who stayed there, absorbing the fact that your heart was beating way too fast for something that was supposedly nothing.

But it wasn’t just that.

His fingers were still close to yours on the armrest between the seats, so close that if either of you moved, the touches would repeat. You noticed when he grabbed more popcorn and his knuckles brushed lightly against your skin. Maybe you were imagining things, but he didn’t seem in such a hurry to move his hand away this time.

The movie went on, and by this point, you couldn’t tell if you were following the story or just the small details about him. The way he shifted in his seat, the subtle movement of his chest rising and falling with his breath, the warmth radiating from him so close to you.

His voice came low, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

"Did your soda run out?"

You blinked, needing a second to process the question, before realizing that yes, the cup of soda next to you was empty.

"Yeah."

"Then have some of mine. You must be thirsty after all that popcorn."

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been. But when he tilted the cup toward you, you hesitated for a moment. Your eyes met his, and Dave smiled slightly, waiting for you to take the cup.

So you took it.

You brought the straw to your mouth and drank, feeling the cold soda running down your throat. But that wasn’t all you felt. Dave was watching. Not just casually. He didn’t look away the next second, didn’t glance at the screen as if nothing had happened. He was watching.

When you lowered the cup and handed it back to him, your fingers touched for a moment. Warm, slightly sticky from the popcorn salt, but still soft. Dave blinked a few times, as if processing something, and then drank from the same straw without a second thought.

The rest of the movie went on like that. Little moments that made it seem like you were something more. You whispered that you wanted to try the chocolate he bought, and he offered it, holding the candy near your mouth almost casually. Later, he made a comment about some scene, and you replied softly, leaning your face closer to his than necessary. It was all a silent game that neither of you seemed willing to admit you were playing.

But then the movie ended.

You needed to go to the bathroom, and Dave murmured that he’d wait outside. You nodded, adjusted your jacket, and walked away, trying to ignore the silly feeling that you were leaving something behind.

It was when you came back that you felt something strange.

There he was, standing near the theater exit, and right in front of him was a girl. You didn’t know her, but you recognized that smile. A sugary smile, a deliberate lean of her body toward him. She laughed softly, playing with her hair, saying something that made Dave furrow his brows, confused. And then you understood.

She was flirting with him.

And he had no idea.

Your body froze mid-step. It was stupid, but for a moment, you felt a strange weight in your chest. What would happen if, suddenly, someone started seeing in him what you saw? If someone looked at him and saw exactly what you saw? If someone fell for Dave Lizewski the way you were falling for him?

Your stomach churned.

That’s when he looked at you.

His face lit up in the same second, and he smiled—that genuine, easy smile he didn’t give to the girl in front of him. He muttered something quickly to her, nothing rude, just a hurried goodbye, and then started walking toward you.

And you, who still felt the heaviness in your chest, didn’t know what to do when he stopped beside you and asked, as if nothing had happened:

"Let's go?”

You could still feel the warmth of the movie theater on your skin, the memory of your fingers brushing against the popcorn, the brief touch of your hands, the low sound of his voice, raspy and almost lazy, echoing in your ear. It was absurd how every detail seemed amplified now, as if the simple fact of being alone on this walk made everything feel more real.

Dave adjusted the collar of his jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets, and took two quick steps to align himself beside you. He always did that—making sure you walked together, close, your shoulders almost touching with every movement. He glanced at you, looking like he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind and just let out a short sigh.

You bit your lip. You couldn’t get the image of the girl at the theater out of your mind. Or the way she looked at him, or the casual way Dave stood there, listening, completely unaware.

"She was pretty."

The words came out suddenly, and Dave turned his head toward you, slightly confused. "What?"

"The girl at the theater." You shrugged, kicking a small pebble on the path. "She was pretty."

He was silent for a moment, as if trying to figure out where you were going with this. Then he shrugged. "Yeah."

It was a small, indifferent sound. But for some reason, it annoyed you.

You huffed, crossing your arms, and looked at him. "And she was flirting with you."

Dave furrowed his brows, laughing lightly, as if that were absurd. "No, she wasn’t."

"Yes, she was."

"No, she wasn’t."

You stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, forcing him to stop too, his eyes widening slightly at your sudden hesitation. The cold wind passed between you, but all you felt was the heat rising to your face.

"You’re too much of an idiot to notice."

His smile faltered a little, and Dave opened his mouth, as if to retort, but couldn’t find the words.

"I’m not an idiot." He sounded slightly offended, furrowing his brows in a way that only made him seem more naive.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I’m not."

"Then tell me," you challenged, tilting your head to the side, crossing your arms as you stared at him. "If a girl were flirting with you, would you notice?"

Dave let out a nasal laugh, shaking his head. "Obviously."

"No, you wouldn’t."

"I would."

"You wouldn’t."

He rolled his eyes, sighing in an exaggerated way. "Okay, then. How are you so sure about that?"

And that’s when it happened.

You didn’t think much. You just looked at him, at his messy curls and blue eyes behind his glasses, at the face you knew so well and at the answer that had been begging to come out for a long time.

"Because I’ve been giving you every possible sign, and you haven’t noticed."

The silence that followed your confession wasn’t empty.

It was heavy, loaded with something indescribable, something that tightened your chest and made the air feel denser around you.

Dave stood in front of you, his face partially lit by the nearest streetlight, his hair casting shadows over his eyes. But even with the poor lighting, you could see it.

The shock.

His lips parted, as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out. His gaze fixed on yours, unblinking, and the expression that took over his face was a mix of disbelief and something deeper—something you couldn’t name.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering against your ribcage, the pulse vibrating in every extremity of your body. Your hands were cold, but the heat rising to your face was almost unbearable.

You had said it.

You had said it out loud.

And now there was no turning back.

Nervousness washed over you like a wave, sweeping away any trace of courage that remained. Your chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, and your fingers moved slightly, restless, before you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"I like you, Dave."

Your voice came out shakier than you wanted, but it was too late to fix it.

Dave blinked, as if the words had just hit him with full force.

"I’ve liked you for a while. A long time." You forced a short laugh, looking at the ground for a second before meeting his eyes again. "But you never noticed."

He wet his lips, looking away, at anything that wasn’t you, as if he were trying to organize his thoughts.

His mouth opened and closed again, without a single word coming out.

"Dave," you called, and he finally looked at you again.

His eyes were intense now, as if they were trying to absorb every detail of you, every tiny movement.

You felt the hesitation in the air.

The weight of what had just happened.

But then, he did something unexpected.

With an almost hesitant movement, Dave slowly raised his hand, as if testing his own limits, as if he still couldn’t believe he could touch you. His fingers brushed against the sleeve of your jacket before finally holding your forearm, the touch light, uncertain, but real.

"I’m an idiot."

His voice came out low, almost a whisper, and the way he said it made your chest tighten in a strange way.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he continued:

"I—" Dave took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours again, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "I didn’t notice because..." He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm. "Because I never thought it was possible."

Your heart stopped for a second.

His eyes were locked on yours, and there was something so genuine there, something so true, that you felt your throat close up.

"I never thought you could like me."

The confession was soft, said with a half-smile that didn’t match the uncertainty shining in his eyes.

And in that moment, you realized.

You realized he wasn’t hesitating because he didn’t feel the same.

He was hesitating because he had always felt it.

Because he had always wanted it, but never thought he was allowed to want it.

You felt your breathing quicken, and the distance between you seemed smaller now, your bodies leaning in an almost imperceptible way, as if drawn to each other.

Dave blinked a few times, as if he were still trying to understand the reality of the situation. As if he were trying to memorize this moment, to store it somewhere safe inside himself.

And then, he laughed.

Soft, almost disbelieving.

"Shit." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and shook his head. "I really am an idiot."

You let out a weak laugh, the nervousness still pulsing inside you, but now mixed with something else.

Something warm.

Something good.

Dave lowered his head for a moment, biting his lip before looking at you again, and then he did it again—that subtle movement of leaning closer. Not enough to break the last barrier between you, but enough for you to feel his warmth in the air, for every cell in your body to be aware of his presence.

"Tell me it’s not too late for me to notice now."

His tone was soft, but his eyes were intense, blue and fixed on you as if nothing else in the world existed.

And the answer came before you could even think.

"Of course it’s not."

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

i agree. i get comparing them (with humor) in a sense of "ooh they gay they died", but they have zero similarities :'') even the stories of their tragedies are very different. i think people may be misinterpreting it, without much regard to the plot, as

a) starry-eyed big dreams guy (jayce/achilles) and his

b) less sociable sidekick (viktor/patroclus)

or plain "himbo (j/a) and tired college student (v/p)" trope which is even more lost in translation. idk, that seems like where it'd go. there's a route to oversimplifying things that some people tend to go down when they idealize their ship because it fits the criteria to some of their favorite tropes. appearance also plays a big role in these things unfortunately, but that's an entirely different rabbit hole.

e.g., yes, neither jayce nor achilles is a himbo, but because of faulty connections, they are being classified under such. neither viktor nor patroclus is depicted as "the grumpy/chronically tired one", but because they show traits (perceived or otherwise) similar to a trope's dynamic, they are given that label, thus, compared and concluded similar.

perhaps the impression that patroclus "is a twink" from readers of the song of achilles, has aided them in likening him to viktor, who does not have the masculine body type of jayce. again, there is the oversimplification phenomena of, "they must be similar in size/build" because the patroclus from the aforementioned book refuses to fight, when in fact it was implied he was built like any other greek soldier. thus, people must imagine him as being like viktor, who has a noticeable hunch, pallor, and spindly limbs that could also have been a product of the latter's disability.

it's like they don't care much about the story-- their focal point is the shipping, which blurs out the bigger picture, and then the oversimplification i keep mentioning, happens.

> two dudes of the same field, involved in something that is more than friendship > one is [this way] and the other is [that way] which mirrors my impression of the other set of characters > i keep thinking about it, and the more i make connections that make more oversimplifications > until eventually it is all beliefs with little facts, that i've done mental gymnastics unconsciously to justify (note that there is not an ounce of condescension nor judgement despite the wording-- i'm just making statements in their simplest form)

although for the comment about patroclus' death being 100% avoidable, that's debatable imo because as far as i understand mythology, some things are just set in stone for the Other Thing to happen, and that there is a significant blur where a man's will ends and a god's will starts. also it's not that easy to disregard achilles' outburst as merely that. he was basically denied his reason living (glory acquired through the brutalities of war). i haven't gotten to that part of the iliad yet, but i hear he did intend to sail home very soon by that point and live his years but shit started to hit the fan. enlighten me on this, thank you.

anyways, again, this is my interpretation and i'd love to hear about why various sides are saying what they say 👌✨ i just don't believe in the absence of a thought process in even the most lacking conclusions. it exists but it's wired weirdly lol

sorry i am lacking sleep my eyes hurt my head hurts and the situation is not bonita so i may have rambled (i'm looking for something to occupy me so yes rn i have too much free time and too little chance of falling asleep)

This is a big Pet peeve of mine but I'll confess right here and now that I am a nerd

And I hate when people compare Viktor and Jayce to Achilles and Patroclus

I've been obsessed with the Iliad since 2019, and I've read a lot, and I mean A LOT of essays and books about the Iliad and about Achilles and Patroclus more specifically

So I guess you could say I kind of understand Achilles and Patroclus a bit

And my question is, what does Achilles and Patroclus have in common with Viktor and Jayce other than they're men and gay? Like no seriously, what?

Because, the core of Achilles and Patroclus' story; the most important part it's that they're soldiers, I can't even tell you guys how fundamentally important is that these guys are soldiers

And a big part of Jayce and Viktor's story is that they AREN'T soldiers, they're scientists! And literally a big part of Arcane would've been very different if both of them had stayed scientists instead of becoming a politician and Jesus

"they're both tragic!" Bish

Achilles and Patroclus' story is tragic, because Achilles chose his pride over Patroclus

Like Patroclus' death? 100% avoidable, wouldn't have happened if Achilles had stopped being a baby for once in his life and actually listened to Patroclus and went back to fight

Viktor and Jayce's story? Literally about Jayce choosing Viktor over everything else, About Jayce choosing Viktor over Mel, his mom, Cait, Piltover, magic, etc etc

At the end of the Iliad Achilles' hubris is punished by the story taking away the love of his life

At the end of arcane, Viktor is forgiven, Jayce and him get to be together, doesn't matter if it's in an alternate dimension or super gay heaven, but it's a hopeful ending

So the complete opposite of the Iliad

Listen, I love both Patrochilles and JayVik, but these two have almost nothing in common

And I would get into why their personalities aren't similar either but like, it's 2 am and I have to go to work tomorrow so, lmao

[milessunflowers]

wag!franco and footballer!reader!!!!! :D

FOOTBALLER!READER MY BELOVED WITH FRANCO TOO VINVIN YOU SPOIL ME

wag!franco colapinto x footballer!male!reader

synopsis: franco loves his life as a football wag, especially because your uniform looks amazing on you

author's note: I LOVE FOOTBALLER!READER SO MUCH YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND. like footballer!reader has a special place in my heart so if yall wanted to send in more i wouldn't be opposed to it (as long as it isn't american footballer bc i know nothing about american football). also, i just really like that picture of franco and will use it at any given chance. it also did get a bit suggestive because franco is franco and it felt like the vibe

starting off, i really don't think he could ever play football

hes good at racing but not field stuff at all

loves watching you so much though

especially because you get all sweaty and hot and he goes crazy

youve tried teaching the different positions (forwards, midfielders, defense, goal keeper) but he just cannot get the hang of actually playing them

you are multi-talented and could play basically anywhere on the field but for this purpose, you typically play midfield

so you're running wherever you are need at whatever given time

franco's attention is always trained on you

he is so loud when he cheers because he wants to stand out (even though everyone knows you are dating him)

lowkey feel like he would boo when you are benched/if the other team scores

except when it's the national teams for the world cup and stuff

then when you play against argentina (if you aren't from there) he's so rooting against you

still supports you but he loves argentina more

you understand though, because if the roles were reversed, you would cheer for your home country (unless it's argentina then it's self explanatory)

during the normal season you play for barcelona though (guys im sorry if you don't like barça but they're my favorite)

goes to every game he can and when he's working on his degree in engineering or business (idk why but i feel like those suit him?), he's streaming it on his phone/tele

curses a lot in spanish if you miss the goal or the other team scores

absolutely panics if you get hurt

like one time you fucked up your ankle that it ballooned and bruised so much you couldn't move it so you were out for a few games

you were so whiney about missing them but you were so happy to be at home with Franco

franco, at any chance, wears your jersey because he loves showing his support/showing off he's yours and vice versa

he would also look incredible in a barça jersey if i do say so myself

especially if you got him a size smaller and it just shows off his pecs and stuff

and when he wears your jersey you go absolutely insane because you find it so attractive

his legs absolutely are shaking after you guys are done

hes not complaining though because he loves it

you also have huge hickeys you have to cover up with makeup the best you can before the next game

you're so proud of them though and want to show them off

you cuddle with him all the time because you claim it's good luck

it kind of is because it puts you in a good mentality and happy mood so you perform better

next thing you know, you're teammates are ruffling their hair for some "buena suerte" as they all say

boom, you guys win that game

plus franco is just happy to be there

he loves supporting you just like you support his degree

and you go to his graduation and cheer just as loud as he does at your games

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[darkchemistryfanboy]

ok so this is my proposal for a Reverse Robins AU that's actually a Reverse Batfamily AU because Duke and the girls deserve some swapping too.

The typical joining the batfam timeline goes like this:

Dick-> Barbara-> Jason-> Tim-> Steph-> Cass-> Damian-> Duke

So let's swap

Duke:

both of his parents are severely incapacitated via rogue attack

since he grew up relatively normal, and has two parents he very much love and are technically still alive, he becomes Bruce's ward

the light to batman's darkness

overall very sunny personality but with some darkness one could explore

you can have his teenage angst phase start due to the awakening of his powers

no metas in Gotham and all that

so he goes to his own city and becomes his own separate vigilante

Damian

ok so this might be a little bit of a stretch but hear me out

he meets batman already trained and capable

and older than the current sidekick

also, his stance of killing may make him a kinda separate thing from batman

like, definitely not his sidekick

especially assuming this Damian is already a teen by the time he meets Bruce

it's not exactly the same, but near enough

his career ending injury could be related to the LoA

and instead of going hacker, he could go doctor

idk, think about it

Cass

ok this one's pretty easy

young child is found feral in the streets and gets adopted

she becomes the second signal or whatever name duke chose

and she is basically a really great child: appreciative of everything, actually goes to school, and so on and so forth

and then lady Shiva shows up

Shiva challenges her to a death match, Cass wins but refuses to kill her, since that's her mother, and gets killed for her troubles

now for her vilain arc it'd be a little different than Jason's

but I think it could happen

first she kills Shiva and steals her title

and when she does she has some epiphany about how some people will never regret the things they do

and she could become an assassin

killing the people who are truly horrendous, who she can clearly see are doing evil and regretting nothing

Steph

ok so while she would probably not grab Cass's/Duke's name, she would definitely be going out

and Batman gets PTSD seeing this small young vigilante going out and putting herself in danger

and tries to stop her

but Steph is too stubborn enough to actually stop

eventually he allows it but only on strict supervision

and maybe this is where she becomes the Signal III or whatever

at some point her father figures out who she is and while she's dealing with that she gives Tim the title

you could play on the fact that she's clue master's daughter and make her develop her detective skills

maybe enough that when Bruce "Dies" and Tim tells her of some suspicions she leaves with him to investigate

becomes Spoiler again and finds Bruce

Tim

ok so this one is kind of a stretch but just hang on

Tim, like always, is a fanboy

but since there's no Dick, he never figures out who Batman is

but he still loves the bats

and figures with all his money there's definitely something he could do

so he starts heading out to the streets, aiming to help

the others don't take him seriously because they see him as just a batman fanboy

so he has to struggle and try and fail and try again to be considered part of the team

he only becomes a part of the team when he becomes signal in that Steph fiasco

due to not being trusted, he starts a gang war, and Leslie fakes his death

he spends a year around the world, building his sense of identity and acting as a vigilante

and when Bruce disappears, he thinks something's fishy

and he keeps the name

Jason

this one fits way too well

Jason either never steals the tires or steals them quickly enough to never get caught

he continues living as a street kid, stealing, being a snarky asshole, and helping the alley kids when he can

he could become some sort of informant for the bats, as well as an opportunistic vigilante

as in never actually going out intending to stop crime, but ending up doing it when possible

he brings crucial info on cases, also stopping muggings, and becomes closer and closer to the batfam

eventually, being one of the biggest informants of the city, and an incredibly smart kid, he gets enough info to figure out the Bats identities

and Bruce adopts him

he decides to go out and save as many people as possible

he also has a very strong moral code

his father was forced into being a criminal by being excon, so he recognizes that sometimes you don't have a choice

he also is against excessive violence, since breaking bones, while it may not kill, it puts you in excessive medical debt and that's way too shitty

he and Cass argue constantly about this

Barbara

ok so this is the stretchiest one of them all

so try and stay with me

young Barbara, trained my a cop for self defense purposes, decides to go out and use her abilities for other people's defense

the batfam catch her, and snitch on her with her dad

while she is grounded, she manages to hack into their comms and uses this opportunity to try and annoy the batfam into letting her become a vigilante

eventually Bruce "dies" Steph and Tim leave, and Duke becomes batman

left with half his backup gone, and realizing there is no way he can keep Barbara sealed by herself with only Jason for help (Cass is an assassin, Damian can't go out into the field, and the rest are either Bruce or looking for him) he decides to make her the fifth signal

she's snarky at the fact they stopped her from helping people for so long mirroring Damian's attitude

Dick

this one is easy with some changes

the flying graysons get murdered later, with Dick being in his teens

instead of going full vigilante, dick joins the we are signal gang, and eventually becomes part of the batfam in a similar way to Duke

naturally, he names himself Robin

of anyone has some ideas to add or improve on this prompt, feel free to do so (respectfully), also if someone writes a fanfic please tag me, I'd love to read this story

also this was inspired by a post by @too0bsessedformyowngood , so you should definitely read that

[howlsofbloodhounds]

do you think Killer and Insanity could be friends. Like Killer at first didn’t care much for the guy other then the fact that his soul was definitely interesting a perfect specimen to study really. Insanity of course tries to avoid him as I have heard from some sources that have talked to the new creator how Insanity wouldn’t outright fight someone he isn’t sure he can win against and while the two are definitely close in strength I still feel as if Killer would win. At the very least Insanity can respect this strange Sans strength. They both have access to save, load, and resets even if Killer has something a little extra I don’t know I kinda just wanna see them interact more then just the Murder time trio fight videos but with insanity sometimes replacing Horror or him just joining. Although I do like the idea of the four going around bat taking out of control players/Charas/frisk all for their own reasons it would also be a nice way for them to be in a story that doesn’t have them as Nightmares lackeys actually that gives me an idea

~Musical Anon

This guy really needs a better name..like redshift sans or something idk.

And yeah, wiki says he has access to save/load/reset but it’s not more than the human’s, like flowey. So killer’s determination probably stills outweighs I’s. Honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if killer sees himself as superior in a way when compared to Insanity.

Wouldn’t be surprised if, for whatever reasons, if Insanity starts hanging around killer for whatever reason and if killer tolerates it for whatever reason, some may get the vibes that insanity is like killer’s “lackey” and killer is more like the ‘leader’ of the two.

Killer may see himself as above insanity in some way, but I doubt he’d naturally or immediately take over a leadership role in whatever little duo they form—he’s not a leader type.

Outside of a “work” and scientific context, killer may just want insanity to leave him alone and would probably avoid him if he becomes insistent about it—unless insanity makes killer think similar to the way Swap did.

That he won’t stop if Killer doesn’t make him stop. Which means psychological and physical torment.

And if insanity can manage to handle that somehow and keeps coming back, for whatever reasons he’d ever do that (maybe he feels like he and killer are similar, maybe he saw how Killer is in Stage 3 and how Nightmare and the others handle and respond to Stage 3, or perhaps killer’s strength appeals to him?), then maybe it becomes something different.

Maybe it becomes a bit of a transactional thing. If Insanity lets Killer satisfy his curiosities with him and leaves him alone when he wants to be, then killer..helps Insanity with whatever he may want. Help with revenge on Gaster? Help on taking out someone? Just some company or something? I don’t know.

Given who these two are as characters, their backgrounds, high chance of it not being a very healthy coworker or partnership dynamic. Particularly in a setting where they’re with Nightmare, or at least Killer is.

But there could potentially be some wholesome or sweet moments in their understanding, even if the thing that they understand about each other is that they aren’t like the others around them.

[magiefish]

Okay so I’ve watched all of Severance up until the most recent episode (harrowing btw) and I would like to say one thing about where I think the Gemma/Mark situation is going. (Spoilers under the cut)

So, when I first found out that Gemma was Ms Casey’s outie, I thought it would be revealed that Gemma was still really dead, and all the time that Ms Casey is ‘switched off’ she’s really just lying in a morgue somewhere waiting to be switched back on. She, of course, would never know this because she wouldn’t remember being there, and Lumon could literally just make up anything they liked about what her outie ‘does while she’s away’ and she would just have to believe them (I kind of thought this would also be the situation with the goat people - they’re not dead when they’re switched off, but I don’t think their outies leave either, but they would never know that and would just have to go off Lumon’s word that their outies stargaze or whatever. I think this could still happen, but it’s less likely than it was before).

Anyway, this episode took that theory and put it in the paper shredder, and I wasn’t even really mad about it other than I felt like it fucked with the shows whole arc of grief. As everyone has been saying, Orpheus and Eurydice, you can never bring back the dead, ya da ya da ya. I just didn’t feel like I’d find it satisfying for Mark and Gemma to be together again, but I also didn’t think I’d find it satisfying if one of them just died, because then it’s like. Well why didn’t you just commit to killing one of them in the first place. We’re back to square one here.

However, I then remembered that Mark’s reintegration is a thing, and I’m having some thoughts about it. Because, see, innies and outies, though quite similar in many regards, are still ultimately kind of different people. They have different memories and different experiences and therefore *slightly* different personalities and perceptions. Thinking back to Peter Kilmer / Petey, it kind of struck me how he didn’t seem exactly like either Kilmer or Petey but a weird mix of the two. Like he said, the relative chronologies are all fucked, so reintegration fucks with your personality and your experiences. In reintegrating, he ceased to be either Kilmer or Petey but became a kind of Petey-Kilmer. The closest comparison I can think of is (lord forgive me for being a horror fan and therefore making a rather unflattering one) is like. Brundlefly from The Fly 1986? Like a fly and a guy get into a gene splicer and then they both become each other while both the originals cease. Or something. Idk.

What I’m trying to say is, with Mark reintegrating (and without Mark S’s consent, which is a death-of-personality horror story all by itself), I think he’s so blinded by his grief and devotion for Gemma that he doesn’t entirely realise that in synching up these two sets of memories he is, effectively, killing himself. But I think he’ll just keep going. And by the time he maybe does get Gemma out and they’re together again, they’ll only look at each other to realise that the person who wanted her back and the man she was waiting for is dead.

And baby. I’d fucking love it.

[beentobeetle]

Idk what kind of catnip is in this pairing but I can't stop thinking about tripwire now specifically Butcher/Oscar.the Butcher going to confession and timing it so he always gets Oscar but all he confesses every time is a different iteration of 'Bless me Father I have sinned, there's this hot priest I keep having impure thoughts about' and proceeds to detail the nastiest filthiest smut you could possibly imagine. Oscar has to start wearing cassocks that are loose in the front lol and the other churchgoers wonder why this dude is laughing and being chased out of the church by a red-faced priest

Oh. my god I have never heard such big brained statements ohhhhh my god

At some point Oscar gets sick of it and just bursts into the booth Collins is in and drags him out himself. Everyone is WILDLY confused because this guy that Father Oscar is dragging looks startlingly familiar to that guy that showed up in the papers all those months ago for being Wanted and Father Oscar the Nice Good and Pure Priest looks … quite flustered. hm.

Oscar tosses him out of the church and yells “WE WILL TALK ABOUT THIS LATER DENNIS >:(“ and Butcher is just “Ooohh I’m sure we willl :) can’t wait Fatherrrrr ;)”

ABSOLUTELY AGREE THOUGH THIS IS A CANON INTERACTION IN MY HEAD BUTCHER’S INSANE AND A FREAK AND OSCAR HAS TO DEAL WITH IT HEEHEE

[puppppppppy]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[egophiliac]

the lovers, reversed

(aka I'm still freaking out about Jou)

[skeletalheartattack]

honestly, the most devastating news you could hear about in 2007 while playing roblox was learning that Scatman John passed away in 1999. like, finding that out was the roblox child's equivalent to 9/11.

[somegrumpynerd]

Does anyone else hc that Nightmare can like, absorb his tentacles back into his body sometimes? Like the way Stitch does with his extra arms?