#wanted to post on TikTok and see if I could get any $$ cause I’m desperate

[rosicheeks]

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[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? 

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

[httpscomexe]

Hiiii I wondering if you could write a fic where the reader has started meowing whenever Logan speaks and she keeps interrupting him like MEOW and it starts to annoy him so he does his hair differently

This idea is super cute!!

Meow

Pairing: Logan x Reader

Summary: You’ve started interrupting Logan by… meowing…?

Word count: 521

No warnings except a bunch of cuteness.

(Find what I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

It all started with a TikTok video you showed him. It was an edit of him, his hairstyle being zoomed in and out of with a cat meowing audio before the sexy edit of him. You showed it to him of course, being his girlfriend you wanted to embarrass him in any ways possible. So you started a new habit. One that’s become increasingly annoying to him.

“Hey so I was thinking maybe-���

“Meow.” You didn’t say it normally. You said it obnoxiously. Almost yelling it to interrupt him every single time. At first he would laugh about it, but now it was annoying him, which you’ve noticed, but you still did it.

“Good morning baby, how’d how sleep?”

“Meow.” You’d use it to respond also, as if he could actually understand you.

Everything was fine though, it was just a joke between the two of you, but you didn’t think it actually bothered him. Not enough to change his hair.

“Good morning pup.” He grabs your waist and presses a kiss to your forehead: You look up at him, and just before the taunting meow left your mouth, you squint at him in confusion.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Your tone was serious, as if he had shaved it all off.

“You don’t like it?”

“Logan I fucking hate it.” Your turn to completely face him, looking up at his hair where the two twin peaks used to be. “Where are your kitty ears?”

“Wanted to try something different.”

“Is it cause I meow everytime you talk?”

He doesn’t say anything, and you know you’ve got your answer. It did bother him.

“I’m sorry…” You whine. It was no wonder he called you his puppy.

“It gets annoying.”

“You calling me names puppy gets annoying.” You cross your arms and turn away, but then an idea pops in your head. “You want me to stop saying meow?”

“I’d love that.”

“Can I call you kitty?” There’s another moment of silence, and you can see in his eyes that he’s actually considering it.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” You stomp one of your feet like a child.

“Because I’m not your kitty.”

“You call me puppy.”

“Cause you whine like one.”

“You do your hair like a cat.”

“Not anymore.” The two words would’ve been enough to make you cry, and you almost do.

“Nooo, please don’t get rid of your kitty ears!” You whine.

“Don’t meow at me.”

“Hmph…” You bite your inner cheek. “Fine.” He grins and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Good girl.” He pets your hair a little and reaches over your head for a mug in the cabinet.

“Lo?”

“Yes baby?” He begins to brew himself coffee.

“Can I fix your hair?” He nods and you walk up to him, reaching up to fix his hair until his two little cat ears were as they should be. “Also Lo…”

“Hm?” His arms snake around your waist.

“Can I please call you kitty?” He growls a little and leans his head down, resting his head on yours.

“Fine, you can call me kitty.”

[ovaruling]

i know everyone’s tired of me talking abt this but bc i’m on the subject now—once more on cosmetic surgery complications: let me clarify what i mean when i have said in the past “it’s rarely if ever a matter of ‘if’”—when you see “after” pictures on a cosmetic surgeon’s website, do you ever see ones that are “2 years after,” “5 years after,” “10 years after”? how often have you seen or spoken to a woman 20 years after her cosmetic surgery? do you think the surgeons do?

no. you know why? because, unless you’re getting more surgery, you stop mattering to that surgeon after your last post-op appointment. they do not give a shit about your long-term results. when you call in 2 years later, wondering why you’re experiencing xyz difficulty—guess how much they’re going to care? at most, if they even TAKE your call, they’ll tell you to go see your primary care provider.

most people have no way of knowing when their surgery is going to start causing problems. it might be a year. it might be 2. it might be 5. it might be 10. it might be 15. it could be 30. but trust me, you do not undergo major traumatic surgery to your body and get away with absolutely zero consequences.

i’m tired of people thinking they’ve got an argument when they tell me, “but EYE had xyz surgery, and i’m fine!”

tell that to the women en masse removing their breast implants due to complications that didn’t arise until years later. tell that to the women who are trying to remove gluteal implants and reverse gluteal injections because 5 years later and they’re showing signs of inflammation and infection (Blac Chyna, most recently). to women like me who’ve had nerve damage and spinal damage and muscle damage and infections and autoimmune conditions develop out of thin air after having that last post-op appointment.

i think a large number of we women who have had major cosmetic surgery are mentally unwell to begin with—or else we wouldn’t have gotten surgeries. but what i want to focus on is that we have grown up, as girls, being taught to ignore our discomfort, to minimize our pain, to get over our illnesses. i cannot in good conscience discount this phenomenon when i take into account why it is that YOUR surgery went so perfectly.

are you really recovered? or are you just ignoring the side-effects? did you already make up your mind that you’d bear the hardships of major surgery for the visual you wanted?

have you ever actually taken a moment to think about what you went through to have this surgery? have you forced yourself to adapt to the discomforts, just brushing them off as understandable collateral for something far more valuable to you (how you look)? how did the anesthesia affect you? how long were you on the table? how did your body respond to being given what it thinks is a mortally deep wound for no reason? how much pain medication did you need after? could you go to the bathroom by yourself? could you walk? how’s your scar tissue? is it still there, years later? what about your scars? have you lost sensation at the surgical site? is it still numb, years later? can you brace your core anymore? can you lift your arms above your head? how long? can you twist at the waist? what about your organs? did they suffer strain? what about your circulation? and can you draw in a truly deep breath after your breast surgery? how’s your oxygen intake after your elective rhinoplasty? or after your breast augmentation? have you felt any tingling numbness or dead zones or back pain after your BBL? or have you even thought about that? about any of this? stomach- and side-sleepers who’ve gotten breast augmentations, are you feeling rested these days?

how many of us have brainwashed ourselves into thinking we aren’t experiencing any unusual level of pain? how many women have died because of their practiced ability to shrug off extreme inflammation as “regular wear and tear”?

and you’re trying to tell me there’s NO chance of you or your tiktok faves having suffered even 1% of a change to your health after undergoing a major surgery?

no one knows it better than i do. you can lie to everyone else who’s never had cosmetic surgery, but you can’t lie to me. i know what you went through. and you don’t have to lie just to preserve your integrity.

i know women go through hell for this. and if they have, they need to pay attention to their bodies and watch for signs of long-term damage. or else you are also going to risk waking up one day and going, “hm. weird that i can’t feel my clitoris anymore. wonder why. it’s not like anything’s ever happened to—oh, wait.”

no one tells you what it all looks like 5-10+ years down the road. all you’re thinking about is the next year, at most. you aren’t thinking about lifelong consequences. you aren’t thinking about being 60, telling your doctor you had a tummy tuck when you were 27 or extreme liposuction at 18. you aren’t thinking about it. and that’s my whole fucking point, because neither was i.

[prose-among-the-trees]

Another DissociaDID post because frankly I’m not done.

Soren can obviously do what he wants (using he/him for the current name because I really don’t feel like starting an argument about whether DD is trans or not. I don’t mind using someone’s preferred name or pronouns.) when it comes to his channel, that goes without saying.

That being said, every single video is the same fucking thing. I as a former fan am frustrated with the same few topics over the past few years. I want a return of his to be genuine, not promise new educational content and be the same horrifying misinformation combined with blaming everyone for his legitimate fuckups.

People cannot genuinely believe that his newest update video was anything but a recap of the entire channel plus a chance to mourn all the fused alters like they died. People cannot genuinely believe that his newest demon alter video wasn’t a ripoff of the videos he promotes constantly, Mara’s intro, Sally and Amira’s nonhuman talk, and the videos about types of alters.

He’s promoting Palestine on TikTok and YouTube shorts when YouTube videos themselves get the most money for them statistically. He could do videos where he isn’t constantly making shameless plugs to his patreon and begging people to watch his trauma and dissociation on there if they’re paying for a certain tier.

This is not fucking did, it’s a joke. The newest video about types of switches is just blatant misinformation, full stop. I’ve now seen didtok making their own switching terms and circulating those. These are not clinical representations of a disorder.

Can we cut the brainrot for a second and admit that DissociaDID is a one man army to dismantle legitimate medical resources and precedents on which DID is founded on?

DissociaDID is a grifter who should have stayed the fuck gone. In case anyone believes I’m being too harsh about this, let’s go over some of the more insidious things this person (single person) has done.

1. Dated Team Piñata, someone who was exposed for drawing and selling art of CP, and begged all the did YouTubers to sweep that little factoid under the rug for the sake of friendship.

2. Fucked up with misinformation SO BADLY that the entire did community believed the terms integration and fusion were interchangeable.

3. Treated fusion like it could be caused by trauma, like alters had fucking died, and encouraged fans to simp over while mourning Kyle.

4. Responded to comments flirting on Mara’s individual account and liked comments from MINORS along with using their main account to tell a 16-17 year old boy that they could work on his GAG REFLEX (he was doing a magic trick and pulling a flower out of his mouth).

5. Told all of YouTube that Reddit was a bunch of predatory sadists who wanted children hurt when we asked him to move mature content to mature platforms like OF so kids couldn’t see that shit.

6. Legitimately steals trauma stories from media (says there’s no introjection there), other YouTubers, and from people who first supported him starting the channel.

7. Is still extorting viewers for the Sergio Costa case that should have ended at least a year ago. He might have started the issue but Soren is continuing to gather legal funding in a cash pool for the next complaint about his channel (can’t sue me I’m anonymous).

8. Posts triggering content to TikTok and when asked to stop blames the viewers and implies they’re bad people or predators.

9. Sends his fans to dox and harass whoever he wants because he can’t take a little legitimate criticism.

10. Subjected viewers to fetish content without their informed consent bc TP had a sneezing fetish (TP also drew CP with this fetish).

11. Blamed the internet for essentially killing Nadia after people called him out on his racist caricature of an Indigenous person.

12. Gave HORRIFIC sex advice for minors to see on how to get into BDSM after trauma. If you can’t say no you can’t have sex. Fuck that entire video.

Defending this person without any critical thinking and doing it blindly is defending everything I’ve stated above.

Fuck DissociaDID and the harm he continuously causes.

Also tagging @tomcatyowls because I know my mutual gets it. You’re a real one.

[scp230kinnie]

HIII!!I just saw the goth reader head cannons I was wondering if you go to more (or a fic thing up to you😭) with hunter sylvester?‼️ -anon🕷️

I CLOSED AND FORGOT TO SAVE SO IM REWRITING THIS FOR THE SECOND TIME (kill me😻)

Hunter Sylvester x goth! Reader hcs PART 2!!!!

Once again guys I am not goth though I am alternative, so if I get any information wrong or that should be removed, please comment or dm me and I will correct myself as soon as I can

Also sorry if some of these are the same as the other one I’m not rereading it

He honestly doesn’t care how you dress, but I mean the fact that you’re wearing all black is a major bonus

It honestly depends. Sometimes he'd love it, and other times, it'd give him anxiety. Like, on one hand, it's super cute, and he loves how it looks, but it also makes him *noticeably* nervous, since he's worried that people are staring at "his" person. And yeah, there *is* obviously the chance that they're just wearing it to look cool, but he'd still be a tad paranoid, lol.

He absolutely adores you. He loves seeing you in those long flowy black dresses

I’m pretty sure I wrote this in the last one, but he loves to watch you do your makeup

He does complain about how long you take to get ready though

And if he’s feeling REALLY REALLY NICE (rare) he might (KEYWORD MIGHT) let you do goth makeup on him. Makeup here being used loosely. Trad goth.

Only if you let him do corpse paint on you

Sharing makeup with ur boyfriend LMFAO

The movie is set in Oregon, idk if you’re changing that based on ur head or if ur shifting or something, but that place is full of “normal” people I’d say

So before you started dating, if you were in the same school at least, you were one of the only “alternative” people in school, and he noticed that

This guy doesn’t usually get crushes okay.

He’s married to metal

But he liked your look

You can decide how you guys meet/start dating cause there’s infinite ways

He appreciates your individualism, and that’s a part of why he likes you

He’s definitely called you emo a few times (I’m so sorry)

Teach him somethings about goth culture.

He won’t sit down and let you lecture him, but occasionally if you say some comment about the culture he’ll probably retain that information

He doesn’t really care, but he wants you to be happy, so maybe he’ll do a bit of his own research

He loves concerts, so he will accompany you to goth concerts even if he doesn’t listen to the music

He uses his dads card to buy you clothes and accessories

He will come to thrift stores with you.

He’ll say he thinks it’s stupid

Something about how he wouldn’t wear someone else’s clothes

Just force him to go through t shirts and maybe he’ll find some good band tees (neither metal nor goth but I have found sws and mcr shirts at thrift stores)

Even if he does buy some thrift store band tees, he’ll probably complain about how he could get them new from concerts or online or something

But he’ll buy you whatever you want

Imagine doing that one tiktok trend that’s like “guess whos outfit is whos 😁” and forcing him into some black dress LMFAO

speaking of tiktok, social media, whatever, he doesn’t like posting. He’ll scroll through and look and metal memes or something, but he doesn’t like posting himself and is hesitant to let you post him

But if you do post videos/pictures of him and compliment him and do couples trends, he’ll say it’s embarrassing but he secretly likes it

I imagine him telling someone about you and the other person is like “goth girl *lip bite*” or something thinking you’re like an e girl

First off, he’s a little possessive of you

Second off, (assuming you’ve taught him some stuff about being goth) he yells at them and tells them off and something about how e girls are weird

If you teach him how to take good pictures, he’ll be your personal photographer, especially if he really likes your outfit

If you actually go and ASK him to take pictures of you he’ll complain and tell you to do it yourself but he’ll do it for you anyway because he loves you

If you wear those long boots, (same goes for emos who wear knee high converse) sometimes he’ll untie them, just pull the laces or whatever just to fuck with you

He’ll go to record/cd stores and see one of the bands you like and he’ll buy it for you

He loves you no matter what you look like. I mean maybe not if ur a country person but… for the sake of fiction he loves you

———————————————————

Leave sweet home requests if you’re reading this

Also what piercings do you guys think I should get (I already have septum, navel, industrial, and ears)

[arlo-rose]

Guys I’ve been so busy this weekend but it’s finally my turn to make a long sappy fable thank you post :D

I’m not always the best with words, and I said a lot of this in the fan appreciation video already, but I wanted to put it all here too.

I first started watching fable smp in (I think)November of 2021, cause I found Sherbert and Heyhay through DSMP tiktok compilations on youtube, and saw they both streamed. Fable is the first time I’ve actually been part of a fandom community, and it’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me. My whole experience with the community has been so incredible, everyone is so kind and creative and excited about the story being told. I met people through fable who are now some of my best friends on earth, and even got to meet up with one of them irl! I never imagined an online friend group was something I could have but those people, and the wider fable community, helped get me through some of the worst times mentally that I’ve had in my life. 

Fable as a story is so incredible, I can’t even put into words all of the specific pieces that make it so amazing, but all of the characters, relationships, stories, side plots, and just silly hanging out in character streams are something I love so much. I’m having a hard time writing this rn cause I don’t want to leave out anything important but I don’t know how to say any of it.

One of the biggest things fable smp has done for me is giving me something to fuel my art. Before fable started, I was just starting to experiment with digital art, but had a ton of art block and no motivation to draw much anymore. Fable gave me a constant source of ideas for my art, and the responses I got when I posted my art(for the first time ever) helped so much in keeping that motivation. Having fans and cast members tell my how much they loved my art was incredible, and it eventually gave me the confidence to open up art commissions, which I had never thought was something I’d be able to do. My art was actually how I met my now friends, we started talking because we all loved eachother’s art, and it’s so wonderful to have a bunch of artist friends I can ask for advice, show wips, and just hang out on call while drawing with. Whenever I draw I almost always have a fable vod playing, there are so many comfort vods that no matter how long I draw for, I’ll never run out. 

I know other people have said this, but I want to say it for me too, just because fable is over doesn’t mean I’m gonna shut up about it :D. I have so many art ideas I haven’t done yet, and so many thoughts and feelings about this story that aren’t going away anytime soon. I’m gonna keep brainrotting about these characters for as long as my brain allows me to, and even after that I’ll look back on this story and community so so fondly. This is a story and fandom that I think I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life, and I thank you all for that.

There is a lot of other things I could say right now, but words are hard and I’ve had a very, very long weekend, so I’m gonna stop it here. I love fable smp so much, and I can’t wait to see what stories you all tell next <3

-arlo

[mrpldiddles]

deer in headlights

sooooo here's my first fic! it may be getting posted the day after halloween but i still wanted to share it hehehe so here it is :) i'll share the tiktok that inspired this fic at the bottom of the post as it deserves all the hype lol

since this is my first post i don't have a tag list or anything but if you'd like to be tagged when i post in the future, whether it's for trevor or any other nhlers i may write for, just let me know!

the ending for this one is a bit rushed but i hope you like it anyways! enjoy :)

word count: 1.2k

warnings: implied smut

~~~~~~

It was Trevor’s idea. And according to him it took him exactly two months and 13 days to talk me into it. 

“Absolutely not,”

“Come on, babe, it’ll be hilarious!”

“Are you forgetting how public your job is? Thousands of people are going to see it and thousands of your fangirls will be talking about it.” Was how the conversation went for the entirety of those two and a half months. From the end of August to almost the middle of October, Trevor begged and begged for us to use his couples costume idea for Halloween. And each time he got shot down. He even went as far as getting Jack, Cole and Jamie in on his scheming. Having them text me at the most random times asking what I thought of their costume ideas - all of them being the couples costume that Trevor continued to bug me about. He even went so far as to buy the materials needed to make the costume, using the argument of me not needing to buy anything for the costume. 

I didn’t cave until I walked in the front door of the apartment one day to find him attempting to make the costume himself and making a bigger mess than necessary. Construction paper and pieces of fabric were strewn all over the living room and around the hockey player sitting cross legged in front of the TV.

“Trevor-”

“Look, you don’t even have to lift a finger to make the costumes! All you’ll have to do is put yours on!” He exclaimed with a huge smile on his face and fabric glue smeared all over his hands and somehow his cheek as well. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of my boyfriend looking like a little kid with their arts and crafts project.

“Alright fine, you win, Z,” I sighed, crouching down beside him as he let out a loud cheer. A laugh escaped my lips as he pressed a wet kiss to my cheek before turning back to the project in front of him. “I guess I can lend you some help,” I said, snatching up what appeared to be the costume intended for me to wear.

“Good because I actually have no clue what I’m doing,” Trevor said while managing to get even more glue and a piece of construction paper stuck to his face. I shook my head, laughing as I picked the yellow strip from his face. 

“That was more than obvious, Z.” He exclaimed in protest as I laughed to myself, focusing on the project in my hands and trying to decipher what my boyfriend had been attempting to create. Out of nowhere I felt fingers attack my sides causing me to drop the supplies and cry out in surprise as Trevor practically tackled me to the ground.

“What was that? Huh, babe?” He asked as he continued to tickle up and down my sides. My breath came out in gasps and laughs as I made some attempt to answer him and push him off of me. His hands paused, being placed on either side of my head as I caught my breath. I looked up to see Trevor hovering over me, his shaggy hair falling into his face as his eyes examined mine, a prominent smirk on his face. “Wanna take it back?” I hesitantly nodded my head, staring up at his bright blue eyes. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“Your arts and crafts skills could use some work but you’re not as hopeless as I would’ve thought, Zegras,” I huffed out. He seemed to consider my answer, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth tilting down slightly. I cringed slightly, mentally preparing for my ticklish sides to be attacked once again as he continued to hover over me and keep me pinned to the floor. 

“Works for me,” he uttered moments later before he took me by surprise and crashed his lips into mine. My hands finding their way into his hair and one of his finding my hip.

Much to Trevor’s delight, we won the Ducks’ unofficial Halloween Costume Contest. My doubts on the costume followed me all the way to the Terry’s front door where Trevor asked if I was ready to head in. I nodded, mentally assuring myself that this wasn’t as stupid of an idea as I thought. Troy and Dani were the first to greet us as we entered their house and the costume automatically earned their approval.

“Y’know, Z, I didn’t believe you when you said you two would have the best costume this year but I think I stand corrected,” Terry exclaimed, clapping Trevor on the shoulder who smiled smugly at me causing me to roll my eyes.

“Let me guess- this was all his idea?” Dani asked me as our significant others continued to talk just off to the side. 

“What gave it away?” I asked, smiling. After a minute or two more of talking to the party’s hosts we made our way further into the party. Compliments and chirps were sent our way from the other Ducks and their significant others until we eventually found our way to Jamie and Mason in the backyard.

“I still can’t believe he talked you into this one,” Jamie said, sipping from his plastic cup.

“His arts and crafts skills were a cry for help, I had no choice but to step in and help the poor guy.” I shrugged, smirking up at my boyfriend who simply shook his head.

“Alright, come on, we gotta show everyone the full effect,” Trevor exclaimed, setting his cup down on the table behind Jamie. I begrudgingly took his hand, allowing him to walk me into the middle of the yard, earning the attention of the others around. I shook my head before pressing my hands to the two lights set in very specific spots on my chest, causing them to turn on. I couldn’t help but laugh along with everyone else at the sight of Trevor, dressed as a deer, staring blankly at the two lights. 

“A deer in headlights!” He’d exclaimed when he first told me the idea, explaining the entire costume concept.

“I think I deserve some sort of prize for thinking up our winning costume,” he declared smugly as we entered our apartment at the end of the night. 

“Oh, do you now?” I asked to which he nodded his head solemnly, his hands behind his back and everything. I shook my head, giggling before rising up on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and find a prize in our room,” I whispered in his ear before turning and walking away to the kitchen, a huge smile on my lips as I heard my boyfriend gasp as my words registered in his mind.

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman,” I heard him mutter, smirking to myself. “Maybe that’s what we’ll be next year then. Cruella de Vil and one of her puppies-” Before I could finish my sentence I was scooped up into Trevor’s arms, a gasp escaping my lips.

“Hold that thought, doll, I want my prize for this year’s costume first,” he declared, walking towards our bedroom door as I laughed in his hold.

~~~~~~

hope y'all enjoyed that fic and want to read more from me in the future hehe :)

the tiktok that inspired this fic:

[jaegerrb0mb]

Christian!Bakugo hcs

Note: this post is for my fellow christians, if u do not believe in christianity or any religion then u can scroll pass this post. I made this simply for my own enjoyment since I seen nobody writes on it, and I would also like to address that I am not trying to romanticize christianity!! I just figured this can kind of motivate other christians out there¿ and I also have absolutely no intentions to offend anyone. with that being said

Pls enjoy!

Christian!bakugo who actually wasn’t christian until he met his christian s/o and he sparked some interest in their beliefs.

(pre) christian!bakugo who then realized that he actually wanted to turn christian and change his life around.

(pre) Christian!bakugo who tells his mother over the phone he’s going to get baptized and her being very excited for him.

Christian!bakugo who feels a tremendous relief wash over him and a feeling he can’t describe after getting baptized and seeing his father and mother proudly watching.

Christian!bakugo who feels like a complete different person when his s/o runs behind him and hug while he was still completely soaked from holy water and using the towel in his hands to shake out his hair and wipe the water out his ears.

Christian!bakugo who’s eyes soften when he hears his s/o whisper "I’m so proud of u suki" in his ear behind him while still hugging him.

Christian!bakugo who’s half shocked to come back to the common room later that night to see his classmates has decided to throw a small party to celebrate for him.

Christian!bakugo who’s even more shocked that his atheist and agnostic friends are so supportive of him.

Christian!bakugo who now since that day constantly has to take a deep breath and a step back to pray in his head whenever someone or something pisses him off.

Christian!bakugo who does late night bible studies with his s/o in his dorm room.

Christian!bakugo that mumbles a little "god forgive me" under his breath when he cusses.

Christian!bakugo who constantly complements his s/o with verses.

[Example: he says "Solomon 4:7" which means "You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you." or "Solomon 4:9" which means "you have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes."]

Christian!bakugo that has a small notebook filled with prayers, verses, and his thoughts. and makes his s/o get one to do the same.

Christian!bakugo who helps his s/o when going through spiritual warfare and his s/o doing the same for him.

Christian!bakugo that can’t help himself from sending his s/o christian humor tiktoks thru out the day.

Christian!bakugo who happily wears the cross necklace his s/o gifted him on the day he got baptized everyday.

Christian!bakugo who offen nights stays up praying for forgiveness on how he treated deku and others in the past.

Christian!bakugo that tries his hardest to change his ways and be a better person.

Christian!bakugo that tries to encourage the Bakusquad to get into the word of the lord. "look, I’m not trying to shove my beliefs down ur throats, I’m just saying the biggest hero is jesus. he sacrificed himself for everyone in this world. that’s something nobody here can live up to."

Christian!bakugo that mostly prays for his friends [even the ones who ain’t christian] and family instead of himself.

Christian!bakugo that changed his workout playlist to christian/worship music cause it motivates him to do and be better.

Christian!bakugo who can’t help the smile that spreads on his face and how his heart flutters whenever his s/o does a quick prayer of protection and strength for him before he goes on missions/does training or anything that could involve him being hurted/injured. [he does this for his s/o too 🥹]

Christian!bakugo who wakes up each morning and gives thanks to the lord for all the blessings in his life.

Christian!bakugo who randomly gets promise rings for him and his s/o saying "it’s a promise to each other and to god that we won’t do anything 'bad' until marriage." [NO CUZ THATS ACTUALLY SO SWEET NO JOKE 💔]

Christian!bakugo who very often talks with god abt his s/o and how he’s grateful for them.

Christian!bakugo who loses track of time by mistake many of times while watching the chosen with his s/o and ends up having to pull an all nighter.

Christian!bakugo who randomly gets the motivation to learn the bible in hebrew and surprisingly learns hebrew quickly after 2 months.

Christian!bakugo that’s happy he found a christian s/o cause if it wasn’t for them he wouldn’t be the person he is today.

Christian!bakugo who can’t help himself from laughing at his s/o whenever they open the bible app and complain abt how they broke their streak.

Christian!bakugo who’s still very competitive and always challenging his s/o on who can have the longest streak on the bible app.

Christian!bakugo that happily goes to church every sunday at 10:30 and sometimes brings his s/o along. [This is why u sometimes catch him wearing those church loafers in the show lmakakkaa]

Christian!bakugo who’s friends now watch how they speak around him. for example: can’t use "ong" or "istg" around him or else they will get an earful of "u really shouldn’t use god’s name in vain"

Christian!bakugo who loves to joke with his s/o sometimes when they’re making out and say something outta pocket like "are u trying to lust with me? get away from me! I’m innocent!!" which might earn a playful hit to the shoulder, but his s/o often makes this same joke more then him.

Christian!bakugo who absolutely hates lukewarm christians or ppl that pretend to be godly.

Christian!bakugo who’s biggest issue is learning to control his anger, pride, and cussing.

Christian!bakugo who constantly battles his ego on trying to prove he’s better then everyone.

Christian!bakugo who rlys on god’s understanding more then anyone else’s or his own/asks the lord to lead him down the right path, even if it means off the path of his lifelong dream being the number one hero.

Christian!bakugo only wants what god sees fit for him and everyone else.

Overall, Christian!bakugo is still bakugo. just doesn’t insult anyone, lost half his aggression, half his pride, and half ego. but he’s still very much bakugo, just a bit more quiet/to himself and a whole lot more godly. <3

Another note: just wanted to say again I’m not romanticizing christianity!! some of the things in here is stuff that happen in my actual relationships and helped motivate me more towards getting closer with god. and I hope this post doesn’t get anyone upset. That’s not what I want or intended. if u do have a problem with this post then pls dm me directly abt it and tell me why it offended u. that’s all.🤍

[hiswitchcraft]

my guy i’m the anon again, PLEASE say more about the trans experience in relation to this divine feminine bs

I LOVE YOU. I'm gonna structure this post around a couple of examples because these days I struggle with making a post out of nothing.

A trans witch rants about the divine feminine

So first of all I saw a tiktok awhile ago about how “the feminine energy lives by the moon’s cycle, track your cycles with the moon’s to become more in tune with yourself” and that’s great but it's also based on y'know, only women having a uterus. The idea that menstruation is an inherently feminine thing only women experience has kept me from receiving medical care that I desperately needed years ago. I’m going to start walking with a cane soon because I likely have a serious untreated condition and I cannot emphasize this enough, trying to get medical care as a trans person is terrifying. This is because of the lack of information. This is because of the sex/gender binary and assumptions around it.

Someone else on social media was actually asking me about my experiences and opinions as a trans person (which you are all welcome to do btw) more recently and brought up the divine feminine. They explained they believe women are more based in the spiritual realm where men are more based in the physical realm and this makes men visual and logical. They asked how I think trans people fit into that, and if I feel I'm more visual/logical. I thought to myself, no I don't think we fit into it because all of that is made up. Besides all the inherent awful and honestly misogynistic aspects to what they said, it upset me. I hate the idea that men are logical and women are emotional. I'm emotional. I'm nurturing. Sometimes it makes me dysphoric, but I don't strive for what society wants or a cis ideal of manhood so I go on the way I am and like to be.

I'm upset with the concept of the divine feminine obviously because it can be misogynistic and of course because it can take people down the alt right pipeline, but I'm also upset because it reminds me most of the world doesn't and (without trying very very hard) can't view the world the way I do. It doesn't see the way the sex/gender binary is made up and the harm it does. It doesn't see transphobia and especially the more subtle ways it manifests. It doesn't know how ideas that are "common sense" and all around us hurt me and my community.

Cis people don't see any of this and it makes me sad and angry and the divine feminine just reminds me of that as well as my usual frustrations with people not critically thinking about the ideas they take in. These ideas feed on people because they sound good at a glance. There’s probably a version of all this that IS good and could even be useful to trans people, but I don’t know what it is. Every version makes assumptions that the gender binary/gender roles makes. Even the people insisting that the “real” divine masculine/feminine concepts aren’t so bad have spat some stuff I take a lot of issue with as a trans person. So I don’t know what this lovely, useful version would be. Maybe I’ll find it eventually. 

It was very nice to get this off my chest, thank you. That first big paragraph was actually part of something that's been sitting in my drafts. I didn't put the whole thing here, but I think I was able to share enough that I can delete it now. Thanks for that. Also! I suppose I’ll say it once more just cause, since I’ve opened that can of worms, you guys are more than welcome to ask me about being trans 💙💕🤍💕💙

[chevelleneech]

https://www.tumblr.com/chevelleneech/761066997012414464/watching-frankie-biggz-react-to-the-bts-guide-and?source=share

This thing frustrates me sooooo much so I'm just trying to not go to places where i know I'll see shit you know? I'm in my delulu land where i can be like "if i don't see it then it's not there" when i know it's happening there but still.

I was just thinking about how all jimin and jungkook watch YouTube like that's there go to app for yrs, jk is on tiktok as well where the whole army side is again infected with Tkkrs just like YT as well and jm used to have tikto atleast during covid (as we saw on his phone during BTS's last doc where we saw his home for the first time, he could still be having) and both of them watch members related stuff and Army's made videos as well so out if frustration I'm like They all see it , they see what's been said in those video and how they're portrayed and if they're not giving shits about it is it really worth that we keep fighting these loosers? No. So ig from now on I'm just gonna let ppl think whatever they want of jimin-jungkook's friendship if ppl want to believe they hate e/o so be it, if they think jungkook is forced then so be it.

I remember well that one time when tkklives acct was taken (like Locked or smtg) and then later it was given back to her by BH with a fatass pop-up that the channel doens't cross any boundaries or wtv and she said that BH was quite good to her as in that they didn't take down her acct or shit like that. The point is if people with power who can actually do something about these things don't care is it really worth it that we give it this much attention? Jikook thinks their Fandom loves them when it hates them together so let it be.

This was just my frustrated rant tbh. After yrs of seeing the same shit happening and getting mad over things i can't do anything about I'm just gonna take a step back and let things be. There's no hope for the betterment of this Fandom They're gonna say jikook fanservice for the rest of BTS's existence and there's no turning back there. And given how both jm and jk are private and don't post their personal things online everyone is gonna keep questioning it saying they don't meet apart from work while others who post are gonna be called closest the same that happened in 2023. Although it's been happening since before 2023 but it's just gonna get worse so I'm gonna let people handle it who can actually do something about it.

I sacrificed my algorithm to watch a Tkklives video real quick, not the entire thing, but a portion to see if anything has changed from when I first got into the fandom and wanted to see what a the drama was about once I knew Tkk vs Jikook was a thing.

Anyway, from the 5 minutes I just watched, it doesn’t seem like much has changed. She slows down clips and makes up her own ideas about what’s going on, and people believe it. So if that’s all she’s been doing and continues to do, there is nothing the company can do about that. Not to mention, people keep saying Big Hit said she can keep going, and aside from me never seeing proof of that being true, I would imagine her not living in SK makes it tough to sue her anyway.

She posts elaborate fantasy edits, creating a story out of footage millions of other people have made YouTube edits with. Granted she’s annoying and has stirred a plethora of drama within the fandom, but she’s not doing anything illegal from how it currently looks. So it’s. It even really that a delusional fan is creating and spreading her own conclusions, it must that Tae unfortunately has the most toxic fans out of the members, and majority of them ship Tkk.

His fans also happen to be the most vocal, even if he’s not the most popular, so they tend to cause the most chaos. In any case, I’m not trying to change anything nor argue with people who have sewn their ears shut. It’s just irritating to see a guy who seemingly wants to get to know BTS as people and artists be led astray, over a ship and fandom drama he has no idea about. They’re using his naïvety to manipulate his opinions of the members and the company (the latter which don’t even need help these days), but the second someone suggests a Jikook video for Frankie to watch so he can fully understand that Jimin and Jungkook do essentially live in a bubble when together, and outside parties often come across as third wheels without it being a big deal, that person will be spammed with harassment and be considered a necessary block. Which Frankie would like adhere to, because he is unaware that Tkkrs hate Jimin and his friendship with JK.

Which, from an outside perspective is always going to be difficult to explain, because the actual status of JM and JK’s relationship is irrelevant. Them dating or not does not mean anything to the overall fact of the situation. It’s simple that Tkkrs hate the very possibility of them meaning anything to each other, because they want Tae and JK to mean everything to one another at all times. It’s why Tkkrs struggle to accept even the smallest Jikook moments. JK can’t wish Jimin a happy birthday without Tkkrs claiming he was forced by the company to say something. Jungkoom can’t look at his cellphone even though JM and Tae can, without it meaning he’s bored out of his mind without Tae around to entertain him.

So how do you explain to someone who is 100% unaware of this chaos, that he’s being lied to? There is sensible way to tell Frankie Biggz that the people who harassed him only did so, because they don’t like they he misunderstood Tae’s natural “bitchy” personality, due to him simply not knowing Tae well enough to know that’s just how he is? How do you explain to him that AYS wasn’t written with the intent to make Tae seem like a third wheel, but that Jimin and Jungkook themselves are more than aware that they tend to push people into third wheel territory when with them, because they build a bubble around themselves when together?

You can’t explain that. It has to be observed, but when Tkkrs are able to get ahead of that learning curve, and plant seeds of doubt and convince people that Tae is a victim of a mean company and JM and JK are victims of a script… there’s nothing else that can be done.

I do hope he continues to watch more official content and comes to realize Tae is sort of meh about things, because that’s just who he is. He makes snarky comments and likes to chill out on his own, but he’s also very extroverted and livens up a party when he wants to. I also hope he is able to learn who Jimin and Jungkook are, and understand that it would be impossible to script their friendship for 12 years. But who knows. Hell either fall down the Tkk lies rabbit hole, or see the light. Either way, I am still annoyed Tkkrs got to him so fast.

[filmofhybe]

CHAPTER 6 : HE FOUND ME..

> pairing : Nishimura Riki x Female Reader

> genre : college student AU! , Pool Lifeguard AU! , smau , fluff

> warnings : SLOW BURN!! , swearing , bad humor jokes , kys jokes (die etc) , kissing , semi verbal bullying (no violence) , reader! injuring herself by accident , missing parent figure

> chapter synopsis : Niki couldn’t his jealousy towards heeseung. Him hanging out with y/n already hit him like a rock. So Niki decides to add y/n on her socials. As Niki compliments y/n recent post, Isabelle founds out causing jealousy to build up in her.

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comment or reblog to ask be on the series taglist.

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

( I also just want to mention that this series is kinda slow burn, so if your not into slow burn or plot lines that can take a bit to develop than this story is probably not your cup of tea. But I do recommend checking out my other works if you want, enjoy!! )

587 words.

Niki’s pov:

I felt so angry when I saw Jake and Heeseung stories with y/n in them. Knowing that such a pretty girl is with 2 of your best looking friends hurts. Ugh imma go crazy over this girl.

I quickly followed her on all her social. Fuck I hope she doesn’t think I’m a stalker.. now I just have to wait till she follows me back. I walked downstairs to go get some water when I see Isabelle on my couch with my sisters. If I have to be honest with you Isabelle was a really sweet and pretty girl, always listen to my problems and overall a decent person. She’s moving to my college soon which is exciting, I just hope she gets along with my friends.

“Niki want to watch a movie with us?” Isabelle said softly. Making me turn around. “Sure but maybe just a few minutes I’m getting tired.” I walked over to the living room before sitting next to her. My eyes was focused on the movie when my phone lit up. Eyes widen at the notification, jumping off the sofa causing Isabelle to groan. “Fuck you niki I was comfortable laying down.” She held her head in pain. “I’m sorry I just need to go to bed.” It was late either ways.. before any of them could call me back I ran back up stairs.

I was just scrolling through twitter before coming across y/n recent post. God really put his time in creating such a beautiful girl. I liked her post and comment on it before turning on my tv.

The light from my phone caught my attention, grabbing it into my hand and I felt excitement take over my body and mind.

Y/N Y/L/N just followed me back. And replied to my comment.

y/n’s pov:

Jake, heeseung and my family were all sat in the living room doing whatever. I really miss these days where everyone would gather around almost every night before going back to their sweet home. I was zoning out from the conversation until I got a message from instagram, Twitter as well as tiktok.

instagram

nishimura.riki has followed you.

TikTok

dance.riki has followed you.

Twitter

nishimura.r1ki has followed you.

I clicked on his profile and scrolled through his feed. After clicking on some videos i finally realized it was the guy who caught me the week before term break. The scene still plays in my head till this day. I decided to text heeseung even though he’s literally in front of me but if I said it out loud, my whole family is gonna throw unnecessary questions at me.

I texted the group as well after I posted on twitter, didn’t expect Niki or the kids pool guy to comment on it.

Isabelle pov:

series taglist : @surefornext @spilled-coffee-cup @haechansgf @txtistheloml @skepvids @syuuji @oshakyao @haechansbbg

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

[joyswonderland1108]

Please take time to read this

Hello, i’m ranting again but ffs Army are infuriating i simply cannot.. I’m making this post for my queer people but also for my non-queer people but who support the LGBTQ community. Again sometimes i’m really bad with words, i really don’t know how to put shit out there correctly but please bear with me. 

So i’ve been on tiktok and that lovely girlie’s video popped up on my fyp (the same girlie i posted yesterday), basically the caption on the video was “Me watching homophobic “armys” throwing a fit bc queer armys find comfort in Jimin’s queercoded lyrics”, me being me i checked the comments and i come across shit like this 

The way people are so very against any of BTS members being anything but straight and like to throw the “don’t assume” stupid comment, that “they never came out” “they never said it themselves” yada yada, bitch do you even know what queer coded means? Do you know what a code means to begin with? 

People seem to forget that these men are in an environment that doesn’t allow them to just “come out” they can’t just fucking shout to the world that they’re fucking gay Patricia! 

 It’s the fact that Jimin has been dropping hints here and there to HOPEFULLY people can understand, can get the fucking message, but people are still out there wanting him to just say it as it is, they don’t understand the effort it take to fucking come out in a homophobic country in a God forsaken industry with entitled fans who can’t accept idols being non-hetero. 

It’s like people are trying their best to break Jimin’s effort in trying to “set himself free” as he fucking just said from all this bullshit, from holding back, from “HIDING” bitch he literally said that wtf do you think he’s hiding from? The monster under his bed? The muffin man in his closet? Wake the fuck up! You’re stanning a man but refuse to understand him, refuse to give him a chance to express himself without having to put himself in a tough position.

I remember sharing before this one video from a tiktoker who made a joke about how queer celebrities deal with dating questions when they didn’t necessarily come out or weren’t intending to but still were trying to drop hints :

(Matt Taylor)

It is already hard enough for queer people to be accepted in this society and people keep on making it harder for them. People saying that your own personal interpretation shouldn’t be imposed on what Jimin means, if y’all keep on acting this way when the fuck are we ever going to understand him? Are we always going to put his efforts in vain? That man simply CANNOT COME OUT and you know what? He doesn’t HAVE to either, why tf do people think he will just trust such an entitled fandom to come out to them? 

Bitches be really quick to deny the fact that they’re simply homophobic but Jan, could you please enlighten me on why tf do you get so fucking defensive whenever anyone mentions the possibility of any of these men being queer? Them assholes aren’t even ready to accept that Yoongi, the man who ACTUALLY said it, is queer let alone making effort to understand Jimin. 

I won’t say this enough, i will obviously not repeat it enough but THIS is why Yoongi said that FANS, MOTHERFUCKING FANS will understand not Army cause y’all only hold the fandom’s name nothing more. So fucking entitled and want everything handed to them on a silver plate. Now the narrative is that queer people aren’t “supposed to look a certain way” aka members who look “manly” are surely not queer. Yesterday again i came across a tiktok of a dude doing a prank to his BOYFRIEND, here’s what they look like : 

Now don’t bullshit me on “this is not what i mean when i say manly” cause i know perfectly that this is the exact image some people picture in their head for how men looking like that can’t be gay. You want Jimin to feel comfortable enough to come live often, to share things with us, to see him perform, bla bla bla but how tf can he be comfortable with your sick asses when he can’t even be given a chance to be understood, to not put him under the projector? 

People assume that you just gotta tell the world about your sexuality and that’s it, easy peasy lemon squeezy, such a happy world and everybody will be accepting yey

You don’t know the struggle of fighting to let yourself known to others without being put in a risky situation as a common person let alone as a celebrity in a very unforgiving industry, people tend to forget that it can be career threatening, so just for your own comfort you’ll have these men risking everything just so you can have that verbal validation? 

I’m going back to the term “Queer coded” It’s called that way because there are “CODES” used by a person to hint to their sexuality and if your illiterate asses could spare 5 mins to google what that means y’all would’ve been 10 times smarter. 

If you can’t support Jimin, or any member really, the right way, please see yourself out these 7 men really don’t need no more of these people as part of this fandom, it’s already hard with straight up haters and now they have to deal with supposed “fans” who can’t do shit correctly. 

So please for my queer people, let's do our best to support and let our boy know that we understand we get it and we are sending him all of our love and for people who support the community and still understood Jimin and are supporting as well, thank you, thank you so much for being amazing, thank You.

[kierancaz]

The way I’m literally about to fight and bring the facts to this TikTok comment section because people can have their ships but also can y’all realize that certain characters have certain functions and they may not be big functions that’s ok. Cause like someone posted a video of Miles and Margo of their 30 second interaction with like pieces of the script layered over it and like yah you can see the vibe between these two but ALSO Margo has two functions 1) make Gwen jealous the way Hobie makes Miles jealous and 2) don’t hit the button on the machine and let Miles go back to his own dimension.

“I WANT THEM TO BE TOGETHER SO BAD !!!!” Why? Literally why? Margo has no character, has had a total of like 1 minutes screen time, and 1 scene with Miles.

People trying to use the spider-resonating as something to prove they should be together when that happens to everyone when they meet another spider-person?? Someone commented that in a book or smth it says Margo finds Miles cute which I think in her short screen time they get across really well.

But it just baffles me because like, Gwen and Miles are set up so perfectly. To me they’re on the list of ships I could never break for anyone else and that’s like two other ships. What is it that you see in Margo and Miles besides them idk looking cute together??

Scrolling through these comments is making me actually insane someone said that they were mad at Gwen for pulling Miles away like she owns him and said “and then you have ppl on tiktok acting like it wasn’t weird” ???? GIRL THEY ARE IN A RUSH TO GO MEET MIGUEL ?? GWEN IS CLEARLY STRESSING LIKE THIS WHOLE WALK ???

And then literally the creator of the og tiktok replied to them and said “the whole fandom likes to think Gwen owns Miles- I know the reason, but that’s for another discussion” and then when someone called them out for making everything about race they said they didn’t and that the person calling them out was making it about race like ?? You know don’t actually have to say the words “race” or “black” or “white” to make something about race? Your insinuation was clear as fucking day.

And also, because I did comment what I said earlier about Margo being to Gwen what Hobie is to Miles, someone replied saying that Hobie and Gwen see each other as friends and it’s obviously not the case with Margo and Miles and that they have a connection that will probably be explained in btsv.

I’m sorry. But I think you’re wrong. Hobie is super interesting and layered and I love him for that but he also serves two main functions (the creators just decided to give him much more depth with his five minutes of screen time, which I’m sure they would’ve done with Margo too if she had 5 minutes of screen time). Those functions are 1) make Miles jealous and 2) make the watch for Gwen so that when she gets booted back to her world by Miguel she can still travel dimensions.

Yes we know Hobie and Gwen see each other as friends but Miles does not. What Miles knows is that Gwen for the last however many months she has been in the spider society has been hanging out with some guy called Hobie that she thinks is super cool and he lets her crash in his dimension. What Miles knows is that Hobie is actually super cool and despite not wanting to like him because of Hobie’s relationship he does because he’s just that cool. He knows that Gwen took his shoes and left her sweater at his place and her toothbrush. He knows they’ve been on a couple dozen missions together. He knows that Hobie calls Gwen “Gwendy” and “my drummer” which while we may not have picked that up in a romantic context Miles in his little tiny jealous teen brain could have.

And also. When Miles hears any of that information is it very clear that he is NOT happy about it. It’s very obvious that he is jealous of Hobie. What Margo does is that same exact thing for Gwen but in a much shorter span of time and with much less build up because that’s all they really have to work with. And they get that Miles and Margo have chemistry across great.

But over all, there is no real reason to ship them. Because Margo has almost no character depth and almost no scenes and no real relationship with Miles in like any way. I’m not even sure you could call them acquaintances at this point. It feels like the only reason people ship them is because they’re two black characters.

Anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk ig.

[wannabanauthor]

This is a rant about toxic/delusional/homophobic Buddie shippers and how social media amplified the voices of the loud and stupid:

I made the mistake of going on Twitter to see the Spy Tommy tweets and saw so much delusion that I’m literally actually concerned for the mental health and wellbeing of toxic Buddie shippers.

They’re seeing things that aren’t there. They’re ignoring what they see and hear on their screens. They’re making shit up and stating it as fact.

Personally, I blame Reagan and Bush Jr for this. Taking away money from mental health and enacting No Child Left Behind really fucked this country over, as evidenced by the awful nonsensical and purely imaginative takes all over social medias

It’s not just Twitter and TikTok about BuckTommy. It’s every social media app/site with regards to any topic. Stupid lying ass Onezwa saying she hates being compared to Nara Smith only to make a video later saying that Nara Smith stole video ideas from her.

It’s the leftists not accepting the reality of how the government actually works and ignoring all the harm Trump did just because they have a hate boner for Biden and would rather see society implode than do the actual work to at least participate in harm reduction by voting Democrat.

Then there’s the BuckTommy antis who sound like they really need to be committed to a mental health facility because they consistently ignore reality and bully and threaten people who work on a show just because they’ve been told that their favorite ship isn’t going to happen.

Social media has really amplified the stupid people and given them a community that supports their delusions and fantasies.

I mean, there’s nothing like wanting a M/M ship by actively wishing for the death of a gay male character like queer people haven’t been fighting for shows to stop doing that for years. Remember Lexa from the 100? Tara from Buffy? Poussey from OITNB?

It’s one thing to hate Tommy Kinard for things he actually did in the show, it’s another to make shit up that he did, ignore what’s shown and written onscreen, ignore what the cast and crew are saying, and rely on reading body language of real people which is realistically never accurate and has been debunked so many times.

I swear I saw a post with pictures of different character frowning and blaming Tommy as the one who talked and caused it, and one of the stills is from Buck literally about to talk about how almost losing Bobby scared him. Tommy literally asked if Buck was okay because he looked upset, and antis took that as Tommy caused that when it wasn’t even about Tommy!

They are fucking nuts, and they back each other up. Don’t even get me started on the asshole who wanted Tommy to be a victim of Ted Bundy.

Buck and Tommy could get married, and the antis would be like “Buck secretly married Eddie so the wedding is fake”.

These stupid delusional motherfuckers need to start telling folk where they were January 6, 2021 because they sound the exact same as Trump supporters.

[mpsansy]

Just to establish the timeline of when the ghosts were able to turn corporal (Manifestation, able to interact with the living world/remember, etc.), feel free to correct me, but it seems like the trio was first judging by the TikTok of Stretch putting JT in his place. Most likely due to the shear animosity the three most certainly share, if not Stretch having the most himself over Casper. Casper is next by the fact that he’s not oblivious to his father’s… less than stellar record of being an actual father. But because he seems aware of JT’s attempts to resurrect him and his mother… And it be fitting. JT’s greatest failure, wandering the halls of his mansion, an apparition of a life JT could have had… If his selfish ambition wasn’t thicker than blood. But seeing his dad trying helps Casper to still have a generous view of his father… At least until he meets Wendy, and being a witch, hooboy, she can practically taste how THICK the curse is over the McFadden family. Next is Casper’s mother, I feel like I missed the reason why, but I’m going to chalk it up to that because she died so suddenly from the curse her spirit hadn’t really collected itself until much later.

Is any of this slightly correct?

Mm, a little bit of it. But to be fair, I need to be more clear on my posts over there on TikTok. I’m finally starting to get the picture of what I want out of these characters, so I’ll be soon compiling all the things I need to tell about these characters. And having to write it more accurately here will be a big help to translate it into my videos over there!

Anyway, getting back into this. None of these ghosts were ever able to interact with J.T. The trio specifically weren’t even in the manor except for Casper, who saw a man desperately seeking a way to get his family back. Casper had a hunch that this man was perhaps referring to him and another person, but… he didn’t know him. Like at all. It was mixed feeling for the child, but he really did want to help the man.

However the interactions were so small, so faint. It irritated the child. But perhaps irritating J.T more cause now he knew something- someone was there with him. Casper had lashed out and broke some things due to the invisible barrier. Both equally tried to talk, but something was there to say “NO”.

Though this was for the better for Casper. Because this man, the man that was indeed his biological father. In all the years of attempting to bring his wife and child back, he was still thinking of himself. Always had, always will. A reality I don’t think he saw until Wendy came into his life.

Now with what you’re saying there, kinda feels like you pulled it out of my brain. Wendy is not only great friend to Casper, but a spectacular magical genius. Knowing all things about curses and secret spells. And she does see it. All the things that happened to her friend and his family.

It might have actually upset her cause, as you said, she can taste how thick the curse is. I happen to take that literally. With Wendy describing the taste as blood and sticky like tar. Almost suffocating if you wanted her honest opinion. And she feels for this family. She really does cause it seems like all the horrible deaths that happened to the McFadden family, it all occurred because of J.T’s crazed obsession with power. And all of them paying the price for it.

And I kind of said something about Casper’s mother that I’ll be happy to repeat. She was lost in all this time. And with your thought about the curse having a play in that would be appropriate to sum it up to.

She'd be the very first affected by the curse and it pushed her so far away that she split apart. Barely managing to collect herself and trying her best to call out to her family.

Took long enough, but the trio finally heard her calls.