#sorry for thr long post

[alchemiclee]

i know this has been said 473773474833 times by the kavetham/haikaveh shippers and probably even nonshippers, but i'll say it again. I finally finished the genshin summer event and did the little after quest in sumeru and.....every time kaveh is sneaking around trying not to be noticed coming out of alhaithams house it's just such a gay vibe. he's basically screaming "I can't be caught being gay in a homophobic society!" even if that's not what the game writers are *actually* saying. that's just how it comes off and they can't make it come off any other way. with hoyo's gay history, it makes me wonder if it's on purpose and all a cover-up to have a technically different reason for it so they can get away with it lmao but we will never know.

[lanternlightss]

Please infodump about the silly little bards please (only if you want to ofc)

TAKES A DEEP BREATH . OKAY !!!!

(apologies this got a little long so it’s going under the cut And i also. put a miniature train on a track and watched it race off, so the thoughts !! Might be !! a little scrambled, and jump around a lot ,,,)

okay sorry we are starting off a little bittersweetly because . god ghost bard makes me ill in so many ways. it is one of the more …. happier endings, for him, i feel he would kinda like being a ghost. at first. there is a certain freedom to it—he can go anywhere !!! he can explore the world like he had planned to do, and he can still do it with his dearest friend !!!!! there’s no time limit, like if he were a human, and he can Fly Now, on his own, for another. can slink into the shadows and have others take the shining light—he’s a bard, he is here to listen and tell tales of others! pay no attention to the light flickering.

but it’s.

not really. living (irony included.) he’s stagnant. the world changes around him, he watches everyone venture forward on their paths, do greater things, be greater people—and he’s. still. here, as he was, a perfectly still moment of the best and worst part of his life. every time his friend turns to look at him he can always see a flash of pain in their eyes. but (reusing what i said in tags) he doesn’t … want to leave, i feel. yes, he doesn’t age. yes, he mimes breathing even when his lungs have stopped. yes, he wishes he could truly feel what his friend’s palms feel under his own, when they try to interlace hands; that’s the reason, though. venti is an immortal. venti outlives nearly everyone he meets. venti has lost their friends, their once was life and thrust into a completely new one. he has to stay. he has to, he has to, because he can’t stand venti being on their lonesome, when all they knew before this was warmth.

so . my friend, if you will allow me, let me be by your side. let me be what you were for me, all those years.

when ragnvindr leaves. when gunnhildr dies. when venti deems this city okay to walk on their own. he follows his wisp and sits close enough that venti’s wings shiver from cold. i’ve got you. (there is also . so many ways you can take this au: angst, majorly, but they should be happy and smiling whenever the opportunity arrives so canon to me that venti knows the bard is there and whenever he can be leans over and knocks his shoulder against the bard’s. love you. love you too.)(also the idea of mondstadt having one (1) ghost but it’s just your friendly neighbor bard checking in. they’re co-parenting mondstadt.)(ALSO ALSO here’s how bard getting to know og gunnhildr even more and meeting vennessa can win—)(potentially also the og7……)

(also also also This Bard has more than likely seen everything that has happened to venti :3c if we’re doomed, my song, let’s be doomed together.)

OKAY . ANYWAYS

waves my hands high . THEIR LOVE !!!!!!!!

they are both so “in every life, i would search for you,” because there is NO WAY that they, whose relationship was so important To The Story As A WHOLE, where venti would be a completely different character had he not met the bard (case in point: His Entire Design), where mondstadt as it is now is still being affected by those dreams and hopes of the past !!!!!!!!!!—that could not have been a one off, one lifetime thing. venti is following bard in the next life and the bard is running around with hands cupped around his mouth and shouting “dearest beloved where are you :(” until they reunite and hug. i refuse to be convinced otherwise. no one can stop them from reaching out and hoping the other’s hand grazes, then latches on. they are a PACKAGE DEAL ‼️

like gestures to Several Lines from the game ???:

(sorry that’s fully the wiki for the windblume ode i don’t have it 😔) godbless 🙏 venti has a lot on his mind and i am full belief that the nameless bard is a good 45% at the forefront of it (the fact. that. it’s very very possible that venti looks through things through a lens of: what would be good for the people, and, would this have made him happy…. Makes Me want to start chewing at the walls.) (<- im so genuinely surprised there aren’t more people who go buckwild over the bard the two of them are so intricately interlinked ????? if you removed one the whole thing would fall apart ????)(tbh that could be said for the old mond crew as a whole.)

it’s about the devotion. it’s about the adoration. it’s about a god worshipping a mortal and refusing to miss even one singular prayer.

also wings of azure wind remind me both of the traveler and nameless bard. like be so genuine right now genshin, someone going on an adventure, a journey, and the breeze that follows turns into a person at the end ??? and accompanies that person across the lands ???????

ALSO HEY HI . HERES MY AGENDA TO CECILIAS BEING VENTI’S FAVORITE FLOWER EVER AND IT’S PARTLY BECAUSE OF THE NAMELESS BARD:

like ofc there’s the fact that cecilias seemed to have been the windblume for the rebellion, see: the flower is on the flag, the flower being pinned to nameless bard’s scarf.

but also.

because. it probably took a solid minute for the other flowers to bloom (the entire land was Ice Cold there had to have been repercussions from andrius lifting that all suddenly !!), i imagine that cecilias were one of the few flowers old mond saw on a regular, until what light breezes had them start to wilt. and. Well.

an “unbound soul” you say, huh, genshin ……

venti and nameless bard would’ve fully switched cecilias if the bard had lived that headcanon lives rent free in my brain.

anyways looks at this and squints. what in the world is going on with cecilias:

what else. what else. OH .

Venti . would trust the bard inexplicably with his wings source: trust me. venti would trust the bard inexplicably with so much. venti could hand the bard his heart on a silver platter and smile, because the bard would cherish it something precious. i await the day when it is ever . ever made canon that bard and wispti had a home together and slept cuddled or just by one another in general. there has to be a reason why venti says i haven’t seen this view in a while When He Is Sitting on his Statue’s HANDS. if the bard were to have ever have a social media account he 100% would’ve done “showing my wisp places they’ve never seen before” trend while holding wispti like a hamburger.

i. May be running out of steam. qpr bardven canon

[gigawatt-smile]

Hai. I could just ask you but this feels more fun

If you could give Lockwood a cat - any cat - what kind of cat. What do you think his favorite type of cat would be

Okay this has been tugging at my mind all day and I've just about got you a solid answer.

My first thought would be a maine coon because they're like a dog cat and I can imagine him with one just smothering his lap as he reads gossip magazines. However, considering the temperament of maine coons, I think overall they would be too energetic PLUS I think they'd knock too much stuff off the walls and countertops since it's super cluttered.

I could see him with some kind of shorthaired cat. British shorthairs are quite chilled out and a round shaped cat, but they're a bit pathetic to look at. I still like 'em.

Turkish shorthairs are a rarer breed but the cat I would headcanon Lucy with more than Lockwood because they're just generally nice cats. I could see her rocking up with one she's found on the street, if I'm honest, I'm not sure Lockwood actually get a cat off his own initiative. He feels like the dad who is like "we're not getting [insert pet]" and then ends up best friends with it.

(Also, off topic but also on topic, but I could see George with some kind of munchkin cat.)

A Javanese is quite an elegant looking cat that's also close to a dog cat, but still more cat. They're affectionate and I think it could be quite solid considering Lockwood. I'm not 100% sure though because Javanese cats are most commonly pointed (like a siamese) and I don't know if that's his sort of cat.

I have a friend with Oriental cats and they're a pretty solid choice for him, I think. They're silly, affectionate long cats that can be both shorthair or longhair and come in a lot of patterns. I think if he got one it would probably have tuxedo markings or medium to high amounts of white spotting (since white is a spot that moves up a cat from its belly and paws - it's very rare to have a genetically white cat).

Turkish Angora are similar to Maine Coons, but they have less of a defined face and less size. It's longhaired with a fluffy coat but it's less energetic I believe. Temperaments with cats are weird because it really does vary from cat to cat, and with breeds, it's moreso a general rule of thumb.

Right, cat rant aside, those are my thoughts on if he got a cat. Realistically? Lockwood would debatably have a cat dude to all the psychic artefacts in Portland Row and cats are repelled by it, but I do think it would be nice for him to have a pet. I think a dog would be too much for how cluttered the house is (since I don't think he would be a small dog person), and anything else I don't think would appeal to him. So yeah, cat!

[hypnosister]

time to post the only christmas song °<::-)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

Tags:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @serpahic, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9,

@anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora217, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce, @ruby-saves, @vynz0ne, @blackstar9005, @faerienotfound, @legallymentallyillfuckers, @audrefleur, @urfavsunkissedleo

(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

[eetherealgoddess]

Could u pls write pt 2 for CAUGHT ..?

It was so good, Ur writing is js so amusinggg

(It totally OK if u don't want to)

😼💞

Alright, this is gonna be angsty af and I don’t think you’re gonna expect the ending so I hope you enjoy it! Sorry if Sanzu or anyone else seems ooc I really tried to keep them in character.

Read the first part for context!! Link below!! ♡︎♡︎♡︎

Part One

ꨄCaught 2ꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Cheater Au

Sanzu Haruchiyo & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Caught 2

“So you work for a criminal organization?” You question Sanzu as you sit on the bed with your knees against your chest, arms circled around them. Fortunately, Sanzu didn’t have to follow the Haitani Brothers to work today so he stayed home to answer any questions you have to regain trust, though you haven't accepted or declined their ‘offer,’ you decided to give him a chance to tell you the truth about everything he either lied about or never informed you. He sits beside you, body still bare as he leans his head on your shoulder, blanket only covering his bottom half.

“And the Haitanis too?”

“Yeah.”

You pause in thought, repeating what has been confirmed in your mind. Everything began to make more sense considering the situation from the night before.

“How long have you been cheating on me?” You grimace as the ache in your chest appears, the memory still causing a type of pain you won’t be able to rid any time soon. His lack of response caused you to feel worse as your stomach dropped, anxiety high as you sat in discomfort while holding back your tears.

“A year.” You couldn’t look at him, pushing him off as you curled into a fetal position, facing away from his form. You don’t bother to fight off the arms circling around you as his body spooned yours, hugging you tightly. Half way needing the comfort as well as not having the strength as you humiliatingly allow the tears to fall.

“Why?” You say in a shaky voice, his hand gently stroking your stomach as you feel his breath on your neck.

“I love them as much as I love you.” He whispers, fingers gripping your skin as he listens to you weep.You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“How could you say that? We were together first! Y-you betrayed me!” His palm reaches your face as he hovers over you from behind.

“I’m sorry.” He places his lips on yours as you move your lips back eagerly, desperate to revive the old feeling you would get before you found out about everything. The smacking of your lips echoed through the bedroom as he climbed on top of you, the covers sliding down as his naked body sits on top of yours.

Your cock springs to life against his ass as your hands are placed on his chest. Both of his hands gently grab your wrists before pinning them beside your head. He moves slightly against your cock, testing the waters as you quietly moan against his mouth.

“Such a good slut for us. Dirty boy, what would Y/n think if he saw you like this?” Ran teases with a smirk as he continues his thrusting, making intense eye contact with Sanzu who responds with another loud moan before Rin smacks his ass.

You continue to ignore the painful memories, Sanzu releasing your wrists to wipe your tears with his thumbs, his lips catching your tongue in a sucking motion as you feel his cock harden against your stomach. One of his hands reaches back, brushing against your cock before rubbing his thumb along your tip.

“He likes it. So fucking dirty.” Rin chuckles as he accelerates his thrusts. “Tell us how much of a dirty whore you are.” He halts before bending over to grab Sanzu’s hard cock as he gives it a squeeze. Ran pulls Sanzu’s head off of his cock.

“I’m such a fucking slut! I’m a dirty whore! Keep fucking me, please! I’m so close!”

Your eyes are shut tight as you begin to sweat, pleasure shooting from your cock from his touch. The touch you thought was only shared between the two of you. The touch that felt only special to you. Sanzu’s lips move from your mouth as they make their way down your neck, kissing the scar he left from biting you yesterday. You shiver as he whispers, “I can’t let you go,” against your neck. …a bullet made contact with his stomach, his body falling with a thud.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” You yell at the intruders before hopping up and running to the bleeding man…

The pink haired beauty spits in his hand before he wraps it around your cock, rubbing your shaft before he lowers himself, moaning out as your erection is engulfed in his ass. You suck in a breath as he picks himself up before dropping down. He rolls his hips, meeting your thrusts as you both accelerate, your hands holding onto the back of his head and neck as he grips your shoulders.

“We’ll never be through! You promised!” He says before he pulls his arm back and lands a direct punch to your face.

He pulls back with a heated gaze, placing his hands on your chest as he speeds up, hair flapping as his head falls back, mouth slightly open as you eye the pretty sight in awe. You wet one of your hands with spit before wrapping around his shaft, tugging as his hips buck harder.

“Good. So good.” He whispers, his nails piercing your chest as you speed your hand.

“S-stop!” You yell, grabbing Sanzu’s hair before pulling him off your cock, a string of saliva and cum hanging from his mouth as you eyed his gorgeous, red face. His eyes glazed over as he moans from the grip on his head, body rocking as Ran fucks into him.

“What is th-!” He cuts you off by desperately attaching his lips to yours.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He whispers against your lips with one hand balancing himself as he rubs your cock.

“S-Sanzu! Wait.” The memories that invade your mind begin to distract you, becoming too overwhelming to handle as he rides your cock. Pulling your hand back, you place it on his shoulder, slightly pushing him away. He doesn’t budge, continuing to pound his own prostate against your erection as he bites his lip. You hold back from bucking your hips as you sit up, only to be pushed back down by his hands.

“He’s still not convinced.” Rin says, motioning his head for Sanzu to kiss him. You hear the lip smacking of both men next to your ear, the pain in your chest deepening as well as your conflicted feelings of being aroused by the display.

“Stop!” You yell out, sweat dripping from your head as he pins your wrists. He narrows his blue eyes.

“Why can’t you accept me?” He hissed, riding harder as both of his hands wrap around your throat. Your hands attempt to peel his fingers off before you try to push him off, his hands cutting your air way off as your body rocks against the bed.

“You like this, huh? Watching him get fucked while he takes your dick in his throat. You just wanted to be included, yeah?” You can hear Rin’s smirk as Ran chuckles, sweat covering his body as his face becomes darker.

“You’re a dirty boy, too. That's why you watched us for so long. Maybe you’re a slut too, yeah?” Ran grins.

You scratch his arms as blood oozes out, attempting to free yourself as his grip tightens, your face tight as it becomes warmer, your feet kicking the bed as you try to grip him somehow to push him off. He only stares down at you with a cold glare, pink hue still on his face as he nears his orgasm.

“It’s okay if it feels good. Embrace it, my love.” Sanzu says softly against your cock…

Black dots begin to fill your vision as you struggle to get Sanzu off of you. Finally, another pair of arms wrap around the pink haired fiend before he’s yanked off of you, hands releasing their tight grip as you sit up and cough violently, catching your breath before you fall back down weakly.

“I just need him to understand, Rin!” Sanzu growls frustratingly as he’s held in the purple haired man’s arms, attempting to free himself before Rin forces him to make eye contact.

“I know, but you have to calm down.”

You ignore the older Haitani caressing your forehead with his thumb as well as checking your breathing. Your eyelids shut, darkness engulfing your vision.

Ran looks back at the two men.

“I think we’ll give it to him. There’s no coming back from this.”

You wake up in a bed, sitting up as you stretch and yawn. You look at the dim lamp as well as the dark room, attempting to remember your surroundings. You look at the door in confusion when three people you don’t recognize walks in.

One of the men smiles before he sits on the bed.

“Do you remember your name?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you nod your head.

“Y/n?” The man smiles wider as he says, “Good. Do you remember anything in the past twenty four hours?”

You think for a minute before you shake your head. You also say no when he asks if you remember who he is or the other two people in the room. They all give each other a look.

Come to find out, you recently suffered from a head injury, causing you to forget not only some of your past but the past twenty four hours as well. Including the men who claim to be your boyfriends. Apparently you’ve all been together for three years. You had a nurse who came to check in on your amnesia for a week before you got back on your feet. At least one of your boyfriends stayed with you while the others went to work at some business firm they work for.

A year passes and everything is back on track, as well as your blooming relationship. The sex is enticingly good, your boyfriends seeming to know all your favorite spots as well as helping you learn theirs. They replaced all your old belongings such as your devices with new ones, clear of any old data. You all had been living happily together, until one day, home alone and bored, you eyed the office. Curious you looked around, coming across a filing cabinet. Opening it, you found an old phone. A weird feeling settled in your gut as you set it on the charger.

While it charges, you check the files. The names catch your eye as you pass through. Grabbing one, you open it, gasping as you drop it from your hand. Your body trembles as you eye the gruesome photo. Eyebrows furrowing as your palm covers your mouth, you read the document attached.

Victim? Traitor? Bonten? What the fuck?

You set that one back, grabbing another file and opening it to view the content. Gasping once more with wide eyes as you stare at another ‘traitor’ that Bonten took care of, a gruesome detailing of the incident. Seeing the phone turn on next to you, shakily grabbing it, you eye the picture of you and Sanzu in confusion. Why is it just you two? You search through the phone’s photos as well as the messages, gaining clue after clue of what truly happened with your ‘head injury.’ You figured out every single lie they told you since you woke up a year ago.

You couldn’t stop the vomit from shooting out of your throat, gagging and dry heaving as you breathe heavily, sweat covering you as you frantically get off of the floor, not bothering to clean the mess. You run out of the office straight into a chest. The hairs on your arms stick up as you look at the person you thought you knew in fear.

“What a curious little kitten.”

[milaisreading]

Keychains

Sorry, this one is kind of rushed and I won't be posting anything new till tomorrow... I had a long weekend 😅 hope u all are doing well and stay safe🫶🏻🩷

Warnings ⚠️: none in particular. Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"More merch?!" (Y/n) yelled as Anri laughed along, showing the girl different figurines, stickers and keychains of the players. The plushie launch was a pretty big success and money grab for the JFU, so they decided to continue this line of work.

"Wait so we have here Isagi, Gagamaru, Bachira, Baro, Nagi... that's all?" (Y/n) raised her eyebrow, expecting the whole team to have these kinds of trinkets. Anri shook her head and pointed at another box.

"Over there is the rest, I just didn't have the time to unpack it. In that box are the trinkets from Chigiri, Reo, Karasu, you-"

"Me?! Why me again?!" (Y/n) asked, annoyed that the JFU was using her face for stuff like this again.

"Because your plushie was a big success, they want to recreat it. Besides, this money goes into thr Blue Lock project too."

"I really want to know who the people were who bought it." (Y/n) grumbled as Anri laughed a little and shook her head.

"That's not important. Anyways, feel free to take one of the keychains if you want, these are just samples anyways." Anri said as she walked out of the room to get sometime.  (Y/n) looked at the door in a horrified manner and looked down at the table.

"Why would I get merch from my friends? It's so weird..." She muttered to herself and inspected the items more.

"Hmmmm...." She blinked and kept on staring at a certain item.

"That's kind of...cute...." (Y/n) muttered as she picked up the keychain with Gagamaru's face on it.

"Well... Teieri-san did say I can take whatever I want." She said to herself, her frown turning into a small smile as she connected the keychain to her set of keys.

"Nagi! Get up, you are lying on my phone!" Bachira yelled as he tried to pull the albino up, but to no avail. The taller groaned and shook his head, too tired from the training.

"No, you can survive one night without it."

"Now I know you of all people didn't just say that." Yukimiya and Niko sweat dropped at the scene.

"Can you do something, Reo? Nagi listens to you after all." Niko asked the said boy, who just shrugged his shoulders.

"I am really not his mom, what do you want me to say?" Reo rolled his eyes, annoyed with Baro as he nagged him and Chigiri to put their socks in the right place.

"Gagamaru! Look what we found!!" Karasu and Otoya yelled as they barged into the room, interrupting the boy's conversation with Aryu.

"What is it?" The boy raised an eyebrow as Karasu sent him a teasing smile.

"What did you two come up with now?" Isagi sighed.

"Please, whatever it is don't. I am done with Ego-san yelling at us." Kunigami groaned.

"We found our dear friend's keychain! Mr. Goalkeeper has new merch now." Otoya snickered as Gagamaru took the keychain out of Karasu's hand. Chigiri walked over to his teammate and inspected it, finding the item quite adorable.

"Huh? Nobody told me about this." Gagamaru muttered as he stared down at his face, finding the whole thing embarrassing.

"It kind of looks stupid. My face wasn't made for these things... I look stupid." Gagamaru pouted, feeling a little insecure about the shape of his face.

"Please Gagamaru, you have a good looking face. You should have heard what the fangirls were saying during our match against U-20." Isagi butted in, earning nods from Rin and Bachira.

"A-ah? They were talking about me?" Gagamaru asked, his face slowly heating up.

"Yeah, I heard one of them say they liked your eyes." Rin added in.

"You should see the comments under some of the posts you are in." Bachira laughed out.

"Pretty feral at times." Baro's comment surprised Gagamaru.

"Really?! I really don't expect anyone to notice me." Gagamaru said shyly, earning a few pats from Yukimiya and Aryu.

"Heads up, Gagamaru! You are a good looking dude!"

"Yeah!"

"T-thanks guys." Gagamaru stuttered out.

'I wonder if (Y/n) feels like that. It would mean the world if she did.' The goalkeeper thought shyly, smiling to himself as the door opened with (Y/n) and Anri walking inside with some boxes.

"(Y/n)!" Bachira yelled as he went in for a hug.

"Bachira, she is carrying stuff. Let her be." Baro grumbled as he and Nagi separated the two.

"Enough, we don't have time for you two fighting. First, we have here some new merch that will be launched tomorrow. It's mostly keychains, stickers and smaller figurines." Anri explained, catching the attention of the group as they looked at the boxes.

"Keychains? And why are you looking like a kicked puppy, (Y/n)?" Reo asked in worry as the girl kept on pouting.

"Ahh... it's kind of embarrassing... promise you won't laugh." (Y/n) asked as the group nodded their heads.

'She is so cute!'

'An embarrassed (Y/n) is always the most adorable one!'

The boys sighed as (Y/n) continued.

"Well... I kind of picked Gagamaru's keychain for myself and lost it somewhere. I have been looking for it the whole time and can't seem to find it." The girl admitted as the said boy's eyes widened in surprise.

'M-mine?! She picked mine?!' Gagamaru thought in disbelief, ignoring the icy glares he received from the group.

"Ha? Why Gagamaru's?"

"Yeah! Ours would look good too... although in my unbiased opinion, my face looks better." Karasu said, earning a kick from Kurona.

"You are so full of yourself. But you can have mine instead, (Y/n)!" Hiori offered. (Y/n) was about to answer when Gagamaru suddenly spoke up,holding the keychain up.

"I...I have it. It was in the hallway." The red-faced Gagamaru said. (Y/n)'s eyes lit up and she ran to the boy's side.

"Can I please have it?! You can have mine instead!"

(Y/n) asked nervously, showing him the keychain version of herself.

'Why him?!'

'I want what he is having!'

'Wait, there is a (Y/n) version too?!' Nagi thought as he opened the site of Blue Lock, Reo and Kurona observing from either side.

'So adorable!'

'I'll take them all!'

"But why my keychain?" Gagamaru asked in genuine confusion.

"I... I fond it cute. They really did a great job with depicting your face." (Y/n) admitted, making the others even angrier.

"Oh... thanks..." Gagamaru said as he took her keychain and she took his.

Once satisfied with the exchange, (Y/n) and Anri said their goodbyes. The team was left saddened and miserable at the attention Gagamaru got. The said boy on cloud 9 as he grabbed onto the keychain.

"Hey! We can pre-order (Y/n)'s merch!" Reo exclaimed.

"What?! Let me see!" Bachira exclaimed and took his phone.

'I'll take like 10 of these.' Reo thought as Nagi kept telling him that they are sharing.

'Soo cute~' Hiori swooned.

While the group was happy with the news, they were still mad at all the attention Gagamaru got, but as long as there is new merch of (Y/n), it was fine.

[meteorxiaowerr]

'till we meet again ─ ma chérie

pairing : neuvillette x f!reader

notes : 3rd time posting here and 1st time writing for neuvi sooo....AHSFHSFHFH

warnings : angst no fluff (?)

synopsis : the death of the chief justice's lover made him want to believe in the reality of reincarnation

fontaine felt colder than usual. the rain had not stopped pouring since the mornings spring

"hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry" she says as she softly caress my face, even in her final moments

neuvillette's pov

"im sorry i couldn't stay forever, neuvillette." her eyes flickered slowly and weakly, trying to gather all the strength she had left in saying her final goodbyes

"there's no need to apologize darling"

"neuvillette, i hope that in my next life i would be able to find you even...if it was just for a brief moment"

"ma chérie...." my voice trembled as tears continuously streamed down.

"hush now, darling. hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry." she smiles softly as she wiped the tears from outer corner of my eyes. i place my hand on yours and leaned in to your touch.

but alas, time is limited

i mustered all the strength and courage i had to say my final goodbyes to my beloved lover.

"ma chérie..... you can rest now" i whispered

her eyes slowly closed as her face started to relax in eternal slumber. the wrinkles the grazed her skin softened. the weight of her hand that gently cupped my face loosened.

there she was, her lifeless body laid peacefully on the bed they once shared.

"i am indeed very grateful to have spent my time with you, ma chérie."

"mama i want to play!" the child says as he looked outside the window urging his mom to let him go outside and play. "has the rain stopped?" her brows furrowed. "not yet..." "then you cannot play and go outside until the rain has stopped". the young lad whined at his mom's words. he looked at the gloomy clouds as the rain poured endlessly

"hydro dragon, hydro dragon don't cry!" thr boy cried out loud, hoping the hydro dragon sovereign could hear his plea.

it was an old fontanian belief, whenever it rained it meant that the hydro dragon was crying. well, that belief was indeed real as neuvillette's eyes watered with grief.

the death of his lover, his solace, his strength, his world, his everything. the pain ached in his chest as he gave you a proper rite of passage, the last time he'd ever see you.

"neuvillette"

"hm, yes dear?" he responded as his eyes were glued to the case file he was analyzing, still of course paying close attention to your words

"do you believe in reincarnation?"

he paused for a moment as he slowly looked at your direction

"im not quite sure. why do you ask, ma chérie?"

she chuckled "well, i think the idea of reincarnation is fascinating"

"what suddenly piqued your interest with reincarnation, dear?" his head tilted slightly to the side, puzzled as to why you suddenly had an interest in the topic

"oh nothing! it just, i want to believe reincarnation is real"

neuvillette's brow raised in curiosity

"oh? and why is that?"

"because if it is real, i wish to be reborn as your lover in my next life"

his eyes slowly widened at your words

"if it is real, then i'd be sure to find you in your next life and the next and your life after that." he smiled softly at you, reassuring that he'd find you in your next lives and love you all over again.

neuvillette sat down on the bed you once shared as he ruffled his hair in despair. the bed your lifeless body once laid in.

he suddenly remembered that conversation you two had in his office a long time ago. the conversation about you wishing that reincarnation was real. you hoping that in your next life he'd still be your lover and that he'd find you again.

"i will wait for you, ma chérie. ill come find you again, i promise." he whispered slowly to himself as he succumbed in his grief.

a/n : WOAHH 2 POSTS IN ONE DAY THATS CRAZYY 🤯🤯 this had been rotting in my drafts for a long time so i decided its time to finally finish it. anyways, hoped yall liked this, personally i really liked this one i hope yall did too!

[maybe-limerence]

Hello! I absolutely loved going through your page, you have such wonderful writing and your color-coding of the pronouns adds such perfect emphasis! I would love to possibly colaborate some day, if not, I'm happy to just read your works!

If you wouldn't mind, I would like to request what would happen if Worshipper and Self-indulgant had the same innocent darling? It just seems like such an interesting fire and ice dynamic!

No Longer Yours

TW: Stabbing, implied murder,

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

AN: Oml, you’re so sweet <3, I’d love to collaborate with you ^^. Feel free to send a message! :) + sorry I took so long, I’ve been working on the flower folk individual posts T^T.

Yan! Ex boyfriend (Jay) x Reader x Yan! Ex’s Rival (Ezrah)

Yandere types: Worshipper, Self-Indulgent

Darling type: Innocent

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

You were so sweet and kind, always seeing the best in people. Especially those you love.

You had so much love in your heart, even for your boyfriend. Even when you thought he was cheating, you pushed it away.

He wouldn’t do that to me was a common thought. You thought he loved you as much as you loved him.

Oh how you were wrong :(

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

“Why? Was I not good enough?!” You whisper-shout.

You learned long ago that if you dare raise your voice at your boyfriend, you would be punished.

“You know what? No, you weren’t good enough. You are the most annoyingly boring person,” your boyfriend spat back.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, silently shaking you looked down.

“And now you’re crying, you know I hate when you cry,” your boyfriend reached out.

Slap

You smacked his hand away. Both of you looked at your action in disbelief.

Your boyfriend was the first to come to his senses. He was angry. Beyond angry actually.

“If you think I’m going to let you forget this, you’re sorely mistaken bitch.”

You looked at him in horror and shock. Backing away, not knowing what was to come, tears started flowing again.

He reached out and was about to grab you when your hand found the door knob and flung the door open.

Darting out, you ran as far as you could. You only had one thing on your mind.

I can’t let him get me.

You continued to run, run down the streets of your city.

You didn’t care your feet were being cut with the broken glass bottles from the bars, you didn’t care your body was screaming for air, you didn’t care that people were looking at you.

You just wanted to be safe.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

A man looked to the night sky, not bothering to look at where he was going.

I wonder if it’ll rain tonight.

He was still wasn’t looking when he ran into a cold body, a small oomph coming from him as their body collided with his.

The person fell back.

At first he was upset. He wanted to go off on them, but then he saw who they were.

His rival’s partner.

His crush.

“Hey, are you ok?” He asked, offering his hand to them. To you.

When he saw how you flinched, his heart broke.

Were you being mistreated by that asshole?

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, soothingly.

You looked at him with so much fear that it confirmed his suspicions.

Still shaking, you pushed yourself to stand. The more you tried and failed, the more panicked you became.

“Do you need help up?” He asked with such loving kindness, you almost wanted to cry.

You shakily took his hand, and let him walk you to his house.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

You were sitting in his bathroom as he was dressing your wounds. From what little you had seen of his apartment, it was nicer and cozier than your own.

You hissed in pain when he applied a disinfectant.

“It’s ok, I know it hurts, I’m sorry,” he spoke softly. He had been nothing but kind to you, cracking jokes to make you smile.

You recognized him. He was Ezrah, the man your boyfriend (well, now ex boyfriend) demonized often.

You didn’t understand why, he had been nothing but lovely to you. Much kinder than your ex.

“There, all done,” he smiled at you.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth. He looked like he was going to ask you something, but couldn’t find the words.

“Why were you running so fast? Was someone chasing you?” He finally decided.

You looked down and began to cry.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologized.

He never wanted to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable

He just wanted to love you.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

You had fallen asleep long ago, passing out from exhaustion.

Ezrah had placed you into his bed, something he dreamed of for so long. He just wished it could have happened under better circumstances…

He wanted to touch you, play with your hair, caress your cheek, kiss you, make love.

He restrained himself. He couldn’t possibly do that without you telling him you wanted that.

He didn’t know what you’d been through, and he didn’t want you to relive trauma.

He didn’t want to scare you.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Jay, your ex boyfriend, was walking through the city.

“You couldn’t have gone far,” he mumbled.

He wasn’t worried, you’d be back soon and he was pissed. You were his. His his his. You couldn’t do anything without him. You needed him.

As soon as he felt a rain drop land in his head, he swore that when you turned up you’d be in so much trouble.

He ran home, rain soaking his clothes.

When you get back, you’re dead.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Three days passed. Three days of bliss.

You had been treated kindly, you felt safe. You felt loved. You felt like you.

Ezrah had waited on you hand and foot. Anything you wanted (which wasn’t much) you got.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Three days passed. Three days of agony.

Jay was losing patience.

He would have blown up your phone, but you left it behind.

He had destroyed your apartment, called all your family (he didn’t allow you to have friends).

None of your family members knew where you were.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Summer break was coming to an end. You started freaking out.

Jay had forced you to pick the same classes as him, and you were going to get your class list.

You would be separated from Ezrah.

Ezrah noticed your mood. He understood you so well, your nervous habits shown clear as day to him.

“What’s on you mind?” He asked as he poured you a cup of tea.

“I applied for the same classes as…” you trailed off.

“I see,” He replied.

As soon as he set the cup down, he walked out the room.

“I need to make a quick phone call.” He smiled at you.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Knock Knock

A light knock came at Jay’s door and a feeling of anger bubbled in his chest.

It had to be you.

He opened the door, expecting to see your teary face and hear pitiful apologies, but instead was met by a stab to the wrist and a gloved hand over his mouth.

He tried to scream and struggled, but the weight and weapon made it hard to move.

Jay’s eyes pricked with tears as the blade was ripped violently out of his joint.

The door was closed with a swift kick.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

The day after you confided in Ezrah, you saw Jay, or what blurry thing was named Jay shown on the news broadcast.

You covered your mouth in horror. He must’ve died a horrible, gruesome death for the news to have to blur out so much.

Ezrah walked into the room, and seeing your distressed expression made his heart hurt.

He did the right thing, but to have you look so frightened was awful.

Ezrah pulled you into a hug, offering comfort as you cried into his shoulder, you not noticing the slight smirk in his voice.

Just as it should be.

[sarcastictissy]

I have a lot of lovely asks and messages from people that I'm not able to respond to yet, but I just want to genuinely thank all of you for it ❤️ I was worried I was letting people down, but I'm so very thankful for everyone that reassured me otherwise. I will respond to you all. I'm not ignoring any of you, I promise.

Now onto something more serious. This is tagged as qsmp neg because I'm about to get really really angry with a certain part of this fandom.

Since Maxo unofficially confirmed qsmp is ending after the event, I've seen so many posts and reblogs along the lines of "the people upset because they had hope are in denial/ delusional/ crazy" or "the people thinking qsmp wasnt dead brought this upon themselves" which, basically, people are making fun of those who've had hope that the server will server. Now, don't get me wrong, we aren't exactly logical by having hope, and you're nit in the wrong for having a joke about people being "in denial" about the server closing.

That being said, the people blogging this only started doing it when Maxo unofficially confirmed its closure. So, technically there was still a small part of you that had hope, too, huh?

Not to mention, we are not in thr wrong for having hope or wanting to hold onto something that brought us so much joy, love, passion and creativity this past year. Leave us be. Let us be "in denial" or "delusional" or whatever you want to call us. It's fun over here. It's bright and positive and we all share the best memories of the past year. We don't WANT to look on the downside because it doesn't help us. It doesn't make sense to be consumed by all this negativity. It's very damaging to people's mental health if all they're seeing is "qsmp is dead" "quackity is cancelled" "all CCs hate qsmp" and other untrue statements.

As long as the fandom lives, qsmp lives. So why are you mocking us for seeing the qsmp in a positive and fun way? We're celebrating its life, not its death. This is a celebration, not a funeral.

I have had so many people message me, send asks, and tag me in posts to thank me for being positive about this situation even in the worst of times. And it's not that I'm saying "the admins are being mistreated? Oh well!" Because I'm not. What I'm doing and what I've done the past 3 or so months is remind people to take a breather, remind people to care for themselves and offer a place for them to vent to. I've shared my favourite moments of qsmp as a way to relive the best times whilst we go through the worst.

Can you not see that? Do you really think it's worth mocking me and others for?

If you genuinely believe I'm crazy or other insults because I see qsmp as a good thing, despite its faults, then please, unfollow me. Block me. Block the 'qsmp positivity' tag.

I will continue to spread hope about qsmp because I need it as much as others do. I owe myself to stay level headed and clear on qsmp because its done so much for me this past year. And so so many others see it the same way. I'm very grateful to be a place of positivity and safety during these trying times. I'm so thankful to everyone who has messaged me, sent me asks, followed me or even became my mutual because of this server.

I am so sorry for anyone that has been incredibly negative and doomposting excessively these past few months. It's very sad you felt the need to bring others down because you were sad too. But the there's a difference between being negative and actively ridiculing others for not being negative. And for those that have been doing the latter, stop. Stop trying to make us feel small for having hope for a server that has been our home for over a year.

If anyone feels like I'm being harsh, it's because I am.

[dungeon-meshi-tournament]

Seaworthiest Ship in the Dungeon Tournament 2024 Funny Comments

Doing a shipping tournament inspired a lot of comments from you guys, many of which I found funny. So here's a selection of the funniest comments I got, sorted by the poll they were left on.

Namarcille vs Falin x Shuro (round 1 part 1) harold theyre lesbians. three Lesbians and a clueless Straight Man

Marcille x Touden siblings vs Namari x Kaka & Kiki (round 1 part 1) What's better than two long sexy legs? Four long sexy legs and bisexuality!

Marcitsumi vs Laios x Thistle (round 1 part 1) im sorry i can't say no to anything that results in Laios bondage sorry

Marios vs Island governor x Shadow governor (round 1 part 1) Who's shipping heterosexual shit in Dunmesh I just wanna chat Heterosexual ??? ON MY DASH !? No let me take the old man yaoi

Kakamari vs Kikimari (round 1 part 1) Flustering Namari is Kiki's true calling in life. The constant 😏 face

Maizuru x Toshitsugu vs Laios x Kensuke (round 1 part 2) 'sword fight' taking on a whole new meaning

Senshi x Chilchuck's daughters vs Otta x Chilchuck's wife (round 1 part 2) This is just the "torture Chilchuck" match up lmao sorry Chilchuck your wife has to fuck the hot elf dyke. the only thing stopping otta is that she has to be nearing 30

Canary polycule vs Labru (round 2 part 1) Narrative foils Yada yada. Laios is NOT interested in humans!!!!! one top and her army of bottoms. what could be better. mithrun is their pet fish

Farcille vs Laios x Kensuke (round 2 part 2) honestly this tournament is like my anthropology field. a good place to see dynamics of the fandom

Otta x Chilchuck's wife vs Senshi x Mithrun (round 2 part 2) happy Valentine’s Day chilcuck

Izutsumi by herself vs Namari x Kaka & Kiki (round 3) sorry izutsumi but leggsicule omfg izutsumi will be perfectly fine by herself but namari will have a mental breakdown if we fumble this ship for her

Winged Lion x Laios vs Labru (round 3) literal embodiment of lust vs guy who doesnt like the other guy

Kensuke x Ambrosia vs Kikimari (round 3) *to the tune of that gum commercial* “Long long leeeeeeeegs”

Laisen vs Cithidol (round 3) alright i know what i just said about kabumisu but cithidol is pretty funny too. worst couple you ever saw 10/10

Farcille vs Otta x Chilchuck's wife (round 3) farcille killing the joke ships out of thr bracket. its okay falin would love marcille if she was a worm. but otta would drop the wife for being 30 terrible day for lesbian dicaprio fans

Izutsumi by herself vs Labru (quarter finals) She must be stopped!!! She must be enabled!!!

Farcille vs the Flokes (quarter finals) I was voting for the old people to have sex but ok girls having sex is wholesome hope this helps. loser ‘hey kiki & kaka your parents are gnc as fuck’

Izutsumi by herself vs Kikimari (semi-finals) Rise up and dethrone God(izutsumi)!!!!

Kabumisu vs Farcille (semi-finals) There's no way Kabumisu can beat Farcille, but it's an honor to face them in battle 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡 wlw on mlm violence

Izutsumi by herself vs Farcille (finale) THE REMATCH OF THE CENTURY two girls should win this time. not just one A ship winning?? On my celibacy website?? very aroacephobic of you to not vote izutsumi if you ask me

Kikimari vs Kabumisu (battle for the bronze) 5 women on one podium we can make it happen. mmmmm 5 women..... [multi-paragraph post with detailed pro-Kabumisu points Counterpoint: Leggggg

[venny-the-mha-writer]

Heyyyyy

I just read ypur dadzawa fic so i got a idea for him.

He is out with his daughter (she is biological) in thr mallnor a park or something, and a group of villains attacked and kidnapped her so hr have to save her.

Thankss

Your welcome bby 💕

Btw sorry I took so long to post this I still have testing😞

Edit: there’s a poll at the end

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Aizawa strolled through the bustling mall with his you nestled securely at his side. The peaceful afternoon took an abrupt turn when a group of villains, masked and menacing, stormed into view, their sinister intentions evident in their malevolent gazes.

“Stay close to me,” Aizawa whispered urgently to his you, tightening his grip on your hand as they quickly retreated into a nearby alleyway, hoping to avoid confrontation. But fate had other plans.

Before they could make their escape, the villains descended upon them, their dark shadows swallowing the alley in an instant. With a swift and calculated move, they snatched his you away, your terrified cries echoing through the narrow space.

Aizawa’s heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline surged through his veins. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprang into action, his eyes ablaze with determination. Ignoring the danger that lurked around every corner, he pursued the villains with unwavering resolve, his only thought to rescue his precious daughter.

The chase led them through the maze-like corridors of the mall, the cacophony of chaos growing louder with each passing moment. Aizawa’s senses were heightened, every fiber of his being focused on one singular purpose: to bring you back to safety.

Finally, they reached the villains’ hideout, a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of town. With a silent nod to himself, Aizawa prepared to face whatever dangers lay ahead, his determination unwavering.

As he burst through the doors, the scene that greeted him was one of utter turmoil. The villains, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, scrambled to defend their captive. But Aizawa was relentless, his movements swift and precise as he fought his way through the throng of adversaries.

And then, at last, he saw her – his daughter, bound and gagged but unbroken in spirit. With a surge of strength born from love, Aizawa broke through the final barrier between them, gathering you into his arms with a fierce protectiveness.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as he held you close, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the precious bond between a father and his daughter, unbreakable in the face of adversity.

.

.

.

.

.

I love me some dadzawa😩✋🏾

Tags: @lovebuggyboo @strangersomeone

[always-is-always]

....a little ramble....

Knowing what we now know about Justin Bieber's experiences in the beginnings of his musical "career", and knowing that Scooter is credited with discovering him, my question is this: Did Scooter know what P Diddy was doing to Justin, when he was 15 years old?

When people wonder why I have such a STRONG opinion about Scooter Braun, it is because he is connected to some very dark energies and people in the music business, here in the US.

To think that Jungkook spent any time around him makes me cringe.

The whole system in K-Pop is set up to disempower the artists and to empower their management and labels. When a creep like Scooter is given so much power in that system, it can lead to some really yucky stuff, for the artists. And for the management (who get entangled in the web that people like Scooter weave, to control them), it can be a really difficult situation to remove themselves from. If you know anything about the P Diddy stuff, or the Harvey Weinstein stuff, then you know what I am referring to.

People like Justin and even Brittany Spears are prime examples. They enter the music/entertainment industry as young teens, with no ability to discern or understand what they are presented with. Especially when that dark side of the industry is so well hidden (except when it isn't). It is so freaking sad, what they went through then and what they continue to go through, post-trauma as adults.

This is why I feel as I do regarding BTS or any other K-Pop artist who steps into the music industry here in the US, and gets tangled up with the likes of Scooter and others. I cringe.

Again as I have said in a recent blog post, I am really glad that the guys (Bangtan) are sequestered away in the military (with the exception of Jin's discharge next week!). Especially Jungkook. He had BIG stars in his eyes and such a deep desire and drive to succeed here in the West, last year. I honestly don't think that he really knows just how dark things are, in the industry. Most people here in the States don't know, so I would not expect people in other countries to know, either. Once you know and see, you cannot forget or unsee.

Sometimes I think about what the guys could do after they are discharged, that could free them from the entanglement. As long as they continue to sign the dotted-line of contracts with HYBE, they will be entangled.

Sometimes I think they forget that they have the right to determine their own fate, as Individual Human Beings.... As Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook.... It is certainly not something that is fully encouraged by their management (BTS the cash cow), and honestly it isn't encouraged by the fandom, either. There is so much PRESSURE on them to be BTS, to live and breath for BTS, and to live and breathe for ARMY.

Who knows what the coming years will bring for them. My hope is that they will navigate with their eyes wide open, and with full knowledge and understanding of the results (on all levels) of doing business with the likes of Scooter and those like him. I hope that they always have protection from those who would pull them into a very dark place that would be hard to escape from. I hope that they will be able to manage themselves at company parties, where booze and drugs can lead to some really horrific experiences. I hope that they never ever have to go through what Justin has gone through, or any of the others that have spoken out about the terrible things that go on behind closed doors in the industry.

Yeah. I hope and pray literally every day, for their protection on all levels.

So this little ramble turned into a big one. Sorry not sorry. I know too much at this point in my life's journey to not feel like I do. I just wish I could wave a wand and put protection around BTS, as well as every other innocent artist that steps into the industry. No one deserves what some have gone through. No one.

With this I'll end. As they say, take what works, and leave what doesn't. This is all just a ramble of words that flow from my mind and heart. I simply want a better industry and overall a better world. And, I want those I love to be protected, at all costs.

In order for things to change, the Light has to Shine upon the darkness. Awareness is that Light.

Take care ya'll. Give your loved ones and extra hug, today.

[siancore]

Rating: T

Written for the @sambuckylibrary Summer Bingo.

Square fill: Long, Separate Vacations.

Words: 1.2K

Content: Language

It was silly, Bucky realizes now, the little spat he and Sam had had. Something childish that they, at the ripe old age of sixteen and seventeen, were too old to be acting like. Summer was too long to be wasted on being upset with one another because of childish, silly things. Still, Bucky is nervous about reaching out to Sam. He is afraid to even look at Sam's social media for fear that the other boy has unfollowed, unfriended, and blocked him.

Sam had said he was glad that they were going on long, separate vacations -- and even though Bucky had tearfully agreed with him, it was breaking his heart day-by-day, piece-by-piece.

His vacation is three days in. Three long days without hearing from his best friend. Bucky cannot enjoy the time spent with his family because he is fretting for Sam. Longing for Sam.

He chances a look at Instagram and sees that Sam has not blocked him. He scrolls through the pictures that his friend has posted. Sam is there hugged up with Sarah, Maria R, and Rhodey. He is wearing a bright smile. The Louisiana sun reflects in his pretty brown eyes, causing flecks of amber to shine through.

He is stunning. Bucky is so gone on him. He wishes they hadn't have had their stupid fight before Bucky and his family left for New York. There is so much he wants to say to Sam. So much more than what his stupid mouth will form; more than his heart will allow.

Just then, he is drawn from his pining by a notification on his phone. He follows the notification, opens his messages, and feels a familiar fluttering in his tummy: Sam has sent him a DM.

Sam has reverted to their old ways of being playful, it seems, and Bucky is happy for it. A little teasing and flirting between friends might be just what he needs.

Fuck it, Bucky muses. What harm can it do to just be real with Sam in this moment?

Bucky feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. They often flirt with one another; they often engage in playful banter. But Bucky feels a shift in their friendship right now, even though there are so many miles between them, and there is still a lot left to be said. Without giving it too much thought, Bucky closes the message thread and then calls Sam. He answers on two rings.

"Hello?" says Sam.

Bucky's tummy does a little somersault when he hears his friend's voice.

"Hey, Sammy," he replies. "I'm sorry about our fight."

"Me, too," Sam replies. "It was silly."

"Yeah, it was," Bucky agrees. "Let's not fight again, okay?"

"Sure, if you stop bein' annoying," says Sam, but Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.

He grins back and says, "Well, only if you do."

They both share a little laugh and then the line goes silent for a moment. Bucky speaks once more.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

His heart feels like it's in his throat, but he continues to speak. He is determined to tell Sam how he feels.

"I meant it, y'know," he starts. "What I texted you. I do miss you. I miss you so much."

"I know," Sam replies softly. "I miss you, too."

Bucky smiles widely and then lies down on his bed before he says, "I wish you were here."

"Yeah?" asks Sam, and it sounds as if he is getting comfortable, too.

"Yes."

"What would we do if I was there?" Sam asks, and Bucky has to tell himself to calm down.

"Well, I'd take you wherever you'd wanna go. My treat."

"Sounds nice."

"I'd introduce you to my family," Bucky adds. "My Grandma would love you."

"All grandmas love me," Sam proffers with a grin and Bucky can hear it.

"True, but my Grandma would love you most."

"How do you know that?" asks Sam, and his voice is sincere.

Bucky clears his throat and then says, "She keeps sayin' so. I mean, she says she's gonna love you when she meets you."

"How does she know about me?"

"I talk about you all the time," Bucky admits.

"It's been three days," Sam reminds him. "You couldn't have spoken about me to your grandma that much in three days."

Bucky lets out a small laugh and says, "Maybe I talk about you all the time when I FaceTime with her. Maybe she asks about you, too. Maybe you're all I wanna talk about."

"Oh," says Sam and Bucky can practically feel Sam's blush through the phone. "That's, umm. That's cool, but probably not necessary."

"I can't help it. I like you, okay?" Bucky blurts out, not being able to stop himself. "I like you so much, Sam.

Bucky cannot stop now once he has admitted that to Sam.

"That's why I talk about you all the time to my Grandma," he offers. "That's why it's only been three days away from you but I feel like I'm losin' my mind here without you. That's why I wish I we could spend the summer together instead of apart. It's because I like you. I like you, y'know, more than a friend should like another friend. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone else in my whole life."

His heart is threatening to leap from his chest. His face is warm. His palms are sweating. He finally said it out loud. He finally said it to Sam. In that brief moment, Bucky feels panic rise up inside. He doesn't get the chance to wallow in it because Sam is saying his name softly on the other end of the line.

"Buck?" Sam whispers.

"Yeah?" Bucky replies.

"I umm, I like you, too," says Sam with such earnestness that Bucky thinks he might cry.

"For real?"

"Yeah," Sam replies. "For really real."

Bucky lets out a nervous little laugh and says, "Cool. That's uh that's so cool."

"Yeah," Sam replies after a little nervous chuckle of his own. "So, what does this - what do we do now?"

"Count the days until we see each other again and make out about it?" asks Bucky with all of the hope and bravery his seventeen year old heart can muster.

"Damn, okay," Sam replies with a giggle, sounding somewhat flustered. "I'm down for that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Bucky feels like he just might float away. He feels like his chest is full and there are a thousand little butterflies inside of his tummy. He feels like everything is right in the world. He wants to kick about and giggle and tell Sam how pretty he is and how badly he wants to kiss him. He wants to run out into the living room of his Grandma's house and tell her that his Sammy likes him back. Instead, a realization comes to him.

"Crap!" says Bucky as he covers his face with his hand. "This really is gonna be a long ass separate vacation."

[dufferpuffer]

What are your thoughts on snack as a ship.

There are many fics out there. Some as the teen versions and others as adult them.

One fic i really enjoyed but it had the plot of taking James away from Sirius for plot purpose. You know because James wants to keep bullying. So it was like Sirius+remus on one side where snack takes place while James and peter on the other side with jily happening on the side.

I really loved this story and the characterisation was good too but I can't see Sirius especially teen Sirius willingly breaking up with bff James. I think it would have been more fun if James tried to make friends with snape for his bff sake . Only for Sirius you know. He would not do so for lily but Sirius just has that power over him with puppy dog eyes.

Another fic I read was about ootp snack. Again it was done nicely but again here remus characterisation was a little skewed because for me post azkaban Sirius and remus didn't have a good buddy ship. They were just hanging in there for old times sake.

I mean it was not like someone hit a pause button on their friendship for 12years. Their friendship was already in ruins before James death. So i was a little icky about remus being like a normal friend and giving relationship advice and you know teasing Sirius. Because I can't see a traumatized Sirius willingly making fun with a remus. Cause one thing which I highly appreciate about canon Sirius is that he after being stuck so long, didn't seem to be struck in the past, he kept on pushing and moving forward while lupin often came across as missing good old times. They both had loads of free time in their respective isolation years but their reaction to it is different.

Anyways I really don't like how snape becomes super comfortable around lupin when he begins a relationship with Sirius in snack fics . He is scared of werewolf and fear is not rational. He won't be practical and think oh well it is not the full moon night, i an safe.

Wouldn't it feel real that even after years of being in a relationship, snape still avoid being alone with the resident wolf. In turn remus hating being avoided by thr person his bff will marry and instead of clearing the air out like a normal person, he antagonize snape. Sirius struck in the middle. Both sides ranting to him. Making him Choose, in snapes case as an ultimatum and in Remus's case passive aggressive tone. I mean Remus can play people, he can make it so that Sirius leaves snape because his bf is making his friend uncomfortable and remus is little munchkin who shouldn't be troubled.

Sorry i got carried away.

So the ask is - 1)snape and Sirius relationship thoughts - both a teen/ yong adult snack and adult traumatized snack , if you could go in that much details. + 2) How remus and snape interact , their dynamic in the role of friend and boyfriend+ 3) remus's behavior if ootp Sirius and Severus date. ( like genuinely what will he do because I can't see him being overly supportive and teasing Sirius and befriending snape etc)

Bonus : Lily and snape circling around each other (a non voldy au where they are young adults) being the partner of the main marauders knowing all too well that j and s will always be friend so they will have to suck it up if they want to stay in relationship with their respective partner.

Omg the possibilities of drama in this scenario. I mean people often tight love stories about enemies to lovers but the fun in exploring James 's reaction in learning his bff is dating snivelus. The betrayal but then it is Sirius so he will just wait until they just break up. 😂

I don't even know if you have interest in all this, please ignore if not.

Anonymous asked: What’s your take on Sirius/Snape?

Thank you for the asks!!! I've never thought too much about Snack (Sirius/Severus) before, so this was a lot of fun! They have a lot in common, but went in incompatible directions: + Both had unhappy childhoods, with a family that abused them. + Both are incredibly loyal and fight to the death. + Both are intelligent problem-solvers who boldly face challenges head-on. + Both are honest people. They blatantly say what they think. + Both are sarcastic, witty, sometimes a little cruel - but are caring at their core. – Sirius, raised in a Pureblood 'Slytherin' house, rejected every part of that heritage and built himself a new identity. – Severus, raised in a muggle house, found appreciation for his magical skills and purpose amongst Slytherin/DE's.

...I don't think there is much hope for them being friends if Sirius meets James first. James shines brightly with everything he wishes his life was: Laid back, messy, relaxed, free... Like a moth to a flame.

I agree that Sirius leaving his friends seems out of character. I think it flows better if there is a change in the environment that forces change in a character, such as: If Sirius never met James on the train - and sorted into Slytherin. ((1700 words; 3 parts: 1970s, 1990s, Remus))

1970s

If a bitter, lonely Sirius Black unsatisfied with his home life could sit down and get to know Snape, (not just butt heads like a pair of goats)... I think after a period of rivalry (them both being the two smartest in their house) they would become inseparable. Once they realized they could understand eachother so deeply, and are fascinated by eachother's worlds (muggle and pureblood) their loyalty would WELD to eachother.

Shaggy, black haired twins. The Snake-Eyes of Slytherin. The King of Transfiguration and the Prince of Potions.

- People assume Severus is Sirius' brother instead of Regulus. - They would mark their shared research/journal entries 'S.S.' in two different inks. - They would steer clear of Death Eaters – and Severus wouldn't need them in order to feel accepted. He has Sirius. - They'll be a couple of menaces: sarcastic and snarky, more interested in their own feelings above all others... - A little bullying. Sirius likes to talk smack on those he doesn't respect, but nothing serious. Maybe a hex or two. (James was more the physical bully, anyway - Sirius was at the sidelines jeering.) - Without being bullied, without facing constant pain and humiliation, without having to work out counter-jinxes... I don't think Severus would get interested in Dark Magic. - Neither of them would be able to stand James. His life has been easy, he was loved and supported... yet he has the nerve to look down upon Slytherins? He doesn't know what they have BOTH been through.

Would Severus still be friends with Lily? From his end, I think so - he is very loyal. But would she get along with Sirius' boisterous attitude? Would she think he is changing Severus for the worse? Would she get a little jealous...? It used to be just them in a world of Muggles, playing with their magic... and now Severus is smitten. Would she worry that Sirius Black is isolating him socially because they so deeply rely on eachother?

...Would she become closer to James, Remus and Peter? THAT is an interesting group... That's enough about teenagers. I want men. Man time.

1990s

Sirius and Severus have even MORE common-ground. Like grudges :) ...But they are also broken in more ways that make it difficult.

Severus has had to learn to mask his emotions. To lie. To sit back and watch horrible things happen so he can act at the best time. ...These are characteristics Sirius struggles to comprehend. He is still just as honest, just as brazen, just as bold as ever. - Sirius see's things like lying as being scummy, weak, turning your back on your morals, on who you are... for the sake of staying alive a little longer!? Cowardice! - Severus thinks Sirius is immature. Dying so easily is just selfishness masquerading as selflessness. Stay alive and fight, even at the cost of everything you are.

+ They are both stubborn; unlikely to like someone they have decided to hate. + They have both lost the light of their life to something that was partially their fault. + They have both had their lives, their dreams for the future, utterly destroyed. + They have both been trapped in a form of 'servitude' ever since that day. + They are both tired, with foul tempers. + They are both, more often than not... alone.

They are very alike... but they feel like they share nothing. The way they see the world is alien to eachother. It's a large bridge to cross... and they are both the sort to not want to bother crossing large bridges.

But they do share one all-encompassing important thing: Harry Potter is the core of their lives.

THIS is an excellent post - (my reblog in case it's taken down) That is one compelling way Sirius and Severus could make a connection and have a civil conversation.

Sirius seeing Snape in Harry's trauma/abuse surviving behaviour. Sirius has so much time to introspect, to get drunk and remember the past... now that he sees how similar Harry is to how Severus was, the fact he bullied him hurts. It's like he has bullied Harry.

Sirius is an honorable man. When he see's he has done wrong, he will bow his head and apologize... ...However, Severus isn't the type to take an apology without snark. "A little late, isn't it Black? It really took you 20 years to even consider me human?"Snape would deny having much in common with Harry. It's mostly denial ('Potter is a brat like his father') with some embarrassment, too. Snape being a prick about it would set Sirius off, of course. "Oh you can NEVER just take a good thing, can you Snivellius..." They would fight again... but I think, as Order meetings continue: - Sirius will be nicer to Severus. He has lost the taste for being nasty. - Severus will lose his taste for more than basic comments at Sirius' expense. Deep down he appreciates the apology - very few have ever apologized to him before. - The fact he treats him differently means even more. He has stuck to his words. Without the bite of hatred they start finding eachothers words humorous. Entertaining. A battle of wits rather than a battle of blood pressure. Severus visiting has gone from a test of patience to something Sirius gets excited about! It gets so boring and lonely... everyone is always so down-beat because of the war, so stressed... nobody anyone wants to BANTER. And-! Severus can tell him how Harry is doing!!!

The change in their dynamic is immediately felt by others... ...but nobody knows what to make of it. All they know is that sparks aren't flying anymore - from their tempers or their wands. They're smiling more. - Big toothy grin's from Sirius, licking his teeth and flicking his eyebrows as he thinks of something else clever to say. - Small curling smirks from Severus, leaning against the table as he shoots back some biting remark.

Snape often needs to thunder off somewhere. Things are only getting harder. The quiet, cold walls of Grimmauld Place and Sirius' eagerness to listen to anything, even complaints... it's soothing. Sirius knows so many of his secrets already. He can really let loose - and Sirius can take all of it. The anger, the sorrow, the frustration, the regrets... he finds it 'entertaining' - and always manages to bring his mood back up.

The kids don't really notice, they aren't that emotionally aware yet... ...But Harry notices when Sirius tells him off for being irresponsible in one of Snape's lessons.

"...How did you know that?!" "Severus always complains about you - but this time he was right: That WAS needlessly irresponsible. Potion making can be very dangerous." Harry completely ignored the scolding. "You and Snape... talk!?" Sirius blinks, looking a little confused. Did he and Severus... 'talk'? "...He IS a member of the Order, Harry..." Sirius chuckled, but knew his godson had a point: It was very odd that he had been spending more time with Severus... and that Severus was spending more time over.

...Severus was someone Sirius could talk to about anything. Even the horrors of Azkaban. He's seen equal or worse. Few people can keep him on his toes as much as Severus, and those that can... are rarely in the mood. But when he is trading words with Snape his brain feels like its coming back to him. It reminds him of talking to James sometimes... Was Severus always this endearing sarcastic...? Was he always this intelligent...? Was he always this quick-witted...? The boy in his memory is one that spat out curses (magical and mundane) like spitting watermelon seeds... but maybe he just wasn't really listening? He wasn't seeing him for who he was, all this time?

Remus

Remus cant tell what the odd dynamic between Sirius and Severus has become - and he doesn't really care enough to ask. He doesn't spend much time thinking about Snape. He never has. Severus was abrasive and stuck his nose where it didn't belong. Their time teaching together didn't exactly make them buddies, either.

He's just happy the man rarely interacts with him. He has little to say to Severus. Now that Severus has 'done his duty' warning the world of his condition he has little to say to Remus, too. If they had their way they'd probably never speak a word to eachother ever again.

Sirius is far better company. They weren't on the best of terms during the first war... but it is nice having an old face back in his life. Someone he knows he doesn't have to pretend with.

...SO its rather annoying when Severus gets dragged into their conversations. Sometimes he just arrives, complaining about things. Every time Sirius turns his head and starts 'playing', the conversation they were having overridden as a new shiny toy walks in. Its not even to bully him anymore! THAT he could understand: Sirius always liked riling people up, especially Severus - and these days he was desperate for any form of fun. No... this was madness. It was mutual. Severus will always pick the seat next to Sirius. They will chat and scoff and bicker, leaving Remus standing there like a houseplant. Passed up... for Snivellius. It seems ridiculous...

He doesn't want to admit that he is sore that Sirius is passing him up for a 'new friend'. He doesn't want to admit that he likes being the one shoulder Sirius can lean on. Admitting those things makes him feel selfish and petty.

Lupin has always been good at remaining civil. I don't think he would care if they formally started 'dating'... just surprised. I agree with you - I don't think his friendship is strong enough for him to put effort into becoming more than just 'civil' with Severus.

But I am torn on whether Remus will inevitably grow a little more distant as he leans more towards Tonks and the Weasleys... ...or whether he would humbly make an effort to sit down and talk to Severus, man-to-man, friend-to-boyfriend... and find all the common ground they also share with one another. (But I have more interest in Snupin - I don't want to bring that bias here, lol.)

[lesbianlotties]

hello !!!! im the girl who vommemts those veryvery long analysis comments on your lottielee fanfic !!! i just wnated to say that its reallyreally good and honestky amazing truly great stoey no idea how you do it or how you even fucking come up with it genuinly so womderful .. i jst wmated to thank you again for that because you honestly desrrve it and its great !!!

also, sorry for the yellowjackets question im sure you get a lot of them and you may have already answered this before, but who is your faveourite yj member and why ? ohoh and !!! whats yoir favourite scene from the show ? id love to know !! keep up thr good work 👍👍

OH MY GOD IT'S YOU????? HI!! HELLO!! I LOVE YOU!!

seriously you're so sweet thank you so much i love you so much i'm so serious when i say that those long comments are everything to me, one of my favorite parts of posting, and very much one of the main reasons i even keep working on that fic!!!

oh please do not apologize, i would LOVE to get more yj questions and asks in general, this actually made me so so happy

tha being said, that question is impossible hsgjfdhgjfh my favorite yellowjackets character... that changes every day and honestly every girls gets a turn gshjfdgh the short answer is my girl Lottie ✨ i could talk about her forever but i just love beautiful girls that have suffered more than jesus. however! there's many of those in the show. shauna also perfectly fits the mold. everything about her just... yes. but!! i do love underrated characters that died to soon and deserve better from the fandom so to no one's suprise i am very attached to laura lee.

but i physically can't stop there! because we have canon lesbians! tai and van deserve that spot! and i am genuinely obsessed with misty and just to spite the misty haters i would put her in number one hgsjdfhgjh i'll shut up now but just now that natalie and my favorite girl twink jackie are also there

now my favorite scene!! oh my god... okay if i had to choose one i always come back to the seance! but i'd give honorary mentions to... the jackie feast obviously, lottie's mall hallucination, and you know what i should stop there before i name 20 more scenes actually hgsjdfhgjfh

thank you SO much for asking and thank you SO much for your comments!!! ❤️❤️❤️