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

[rosicheeks]

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[cuteandhughesy]

I’m Talking Nonsense | Mikko Rantanen

summary: everyone in the avalanche social media room knows that getting mikko rantanen to participate in content was a lost cause—that is until you showed up.

[word count] 4.3k

warnings: MATURE! flirting | lil bit of pining | mature themes | lil hot and heavy kissing | allusions to sex but no actual smut | read at your own discretion

a/n: okay…so obviously I started writing this before the trade—because nobody in their right mind was expecting mikko to get traded. but I digress, anyways! I originally wanted to post this on valentine’s day but in this moment of sadness, I knew all the mikko girls (myself included) needed this pick me up ❤️ to all you liking my old mikko fic—I see yall and we got this.

🎵 nonsense by sabrina carpenter

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mikko rantanen didn't hate social media — actually, no he did hate it. the finnish native always knew it to be invasive and impersonal, and he'd rather not have to look at fake happy, posed pictures and videos that make his life feel less than. and that's coming for a guy living as a professional athlete.

so when tiktok started gaining more traction and other nhl teams were making accounts for their respective teams—mikko was dreading it. he thought there was a level of privacy that should be respected, and having a camera shoved in your face is totally breaching boundaries. the thought of the avalanche making an account was just not something he wanted.

after a shitty practice—hell even a good practice—the last thing he wanted was to be asked if he thought he could land a plane, or if he believes in aliens...mikko just wanted to go home.

and mikko understands that the social admin was simply doing their jobs, but he couldn't help but fill with irritation anytime they'd approach him with the phone and mini-microphone and/or question cup. it was the quickest way to piss him off.

it didn't help that the avalanche fans were always in the comments asking about his noticeable absence. they wanted to see more of their assistant captain outside of gruelling post-game interviews and game highlights—they wanted the real and fun side of mikko they very rarely had the chance of seeing.

but that didn't change mikko's opinion of social media—he'd avoid the admin team at any costs, especially when he saw that stupid tiktok phone and various props he knew he'd hate to use.

that is, until you showed up.

the first time mikko saw you—standing behind the usual admin suspects with a nervous gaze and fiddling hands—he didn't think much of it. sure, you were pretty, but mikko thinks a lot of girls are pretty.

but then as the months past and your surprisingly warm and bubbly personality began peeking through your hard exterior shell, mikko begin feeling intrigued. you are always smiling, even if someone is giving you a hard time—when he is giving you a hard time—and you're constantly trying to bond with the players. you remember who these athletes are at their core—human, which a lot of people in your job description seem to forget.

the team quickly grew fond of you, and when they saw it was you in the hallway with a cup of questions, or in their locker room with that stupid tiny microphone—the energy would shift. that's just how you are though—vibrant and welcoming, and the guys feed off that energy and turn into a fun group of giddy boys.

even nathan mackinnon, who was almost as turned off by social media as mikko, enjoyed your company, doing silly things for tiktok's he'd never even dreamed of.

it had mikko's own exterior beginning to crack. before he'd be more apprehensive to the idea of participating in social media trends he had no clue about, but you and your grin had him changing.

—

lina, your co-worker looks at you over the top of her laptop, analyzing your soft face as you work on your own computer—editing a tiktok that needed to go up today. you're left with very minimal time, as the avalanche practice finishes in 5 minutes. which means in 15 you both have to head down for some more content.

it's the third time in the past minute lina as looked at you—you can feel her eyes burning through the middle of your forehead. slowly, your eyes trial up and meet hers, a questioning pull to your furrowed eyebrows. "you okay?"

she huffs—not in annoyance or impatience, but rather curiosity. lina flicks her red hair over her shoulder, and then crosses her arms—her gaze never leaving yours. "i'm trying to figure out how you do it."

you're even more confused now. "do what?"

lina snorts like it's obvious. "you've been here five months, y/n. it's been five months of watching you work with the guys and more specifically, getting mikko to work with you."

your lips contort into a confused pout—any more confusion and your head will begin to pound. you're not sure what lina is trying to imply, because as far as you know all the guys on the avs are extremely good with you and have never given you a hard time—that's just how they are...right?

"mikko is great." you hum dismissively, your fingers resuming their place on your keyboard as you continue the code in your side bar to enable the audio change in the clip—attempting to remove ross' loud voice from the background so you can better hear cale's answer.

"that's the thing," lina starts, eyes full of amusement as she leans over the table. "he's really not."

you pause. "what?"

"before you showed up, mikko was always turning a blind eye to me and nick. if we even attempted to talk to him the way you do—well, it never ended how we wanted it to." her face contorts as if she's reliving it.

one of your brows raise in question. "did he like...sentence you to a guillotine or something?"

lina disapproves of your humorous tone, sending you daggers across the meeting room table. she shuts her laptop, resting her elbow atop the logo as she puts her chin in her palm. "ha ha."

satisfied with her pointed response, you get back to work. but, lina isn't done. "he hates this kind of stuff."

"no he doesn't," you retort quickly. "mikko seems happy when I have questions for him. in fact, yesterday he came over to me and asked for one—said something about how they 'make his day bright'" you mimic mikko's deep accent to the best of your abilities, but you sound more like a drowning troll rather than the 6"4 winger.

lina's eyes widen comically—she can't believe what's she's hearing. "anytime I even point the phone in his direction he scowls and walks away. so what are you doing to get him to cooperate?" she eyes you quizzically for a moment before a devious lightbulb goes off in her head, expression morphing into a playful, teasing one. "are you fucking him?"

you squeak, and your cheeks heat up to an undeniable level of embarrassment. "no!" and it's true—of course you're not sleeping with mikko.

she raises her hands in surrender, but her smile doesn't let up. "I wouldn't blame you if you were, y/n. he's hot—like stupid hot."

"okay," you huff, covering your burning cheeks with your hands. "maybe you should sleep with him then."

lina snorts. "trust me—if I could get near him I would."

"you know," you start, "I really don't think what you're saying is true. maybe mikko didn't like it in the past, but I think he's changed his option on the social media stuff."

she raises her brow—almost challengingly. "think so?"

"yup." you hum.

"let's test it, then." lina chimes. "today i'll go up to mikko first, and ill do exactly what you would do when approaching him. and when he sends me away—which he will—then you'll go up to him, and we'll see what happens."

it's tempting—mostly because you're certain there won't be a difference in the way mikko acts towards you then he does lina. sure, mikko isn't always the most sunshine and rainbows when it comes to his personality, but he's always been compliant with you.

so although he's broody and definitely not in love with the idea of having a camera in his face—you're sure he's not going to turn lina away.

"you're on."

it's not 5 minutes later you're both packing up your respective things, preparing to make your way down to the locker room where the guys are surly anticipating your and lina's arrival.

the room is bustling with people—half dressed hockey players and pressing reporters fill the locker room, which creates a slightly hectic environment—but you're used to it by now. so neither of you seem suspicious, you ask a few of the other avs players your selected questions for the day. questions you and lina had argued about for the entire morning—she thought most of them were stupid, you thought they were was hilarious.

plus, the reporters are still swarmed around mikko's stall—the finnish native standing in the middle with a deadpanned look on his face, barley listening to them as they ask the same repetitive questions as usual.

you and lina get some good content from ross colton and josh manson, both players giving you ridiculous and enthusiastic responses to the absurd questions you'd earlier shoved in the alumni silver cup.

lina's mischievous look is back as the sea of middle aged reporters move onto their next victim—cale makar—leaving mikko by his lonesome. "i'll be back." before you can react, she plucks the phone out of your hands, effortlessly making her way through the room until she's in front of mikko.

you strain your ears, but it's no use as the chatter in the locker room is too overpowering, and you're unable to hear lina or mikko. miles wood gives you an odd look—eyeing the way you stand ridged beside his stall, gnawing your thumb as you watch lina talk to the blonde winger—but you don’t notice.

it's only a moment before lina turns around, her grin even wider than it was before as she makes her way back towards you. "your turn." she chimes, thrusting the phone back in your palms.

"what happened?" you question.

lina raises one her brows, pushing you in the direction of mikko's stall. "he didn't want to answer anymore questions."

"okay," you draw. "so maybe I shouldn't go over there."

lina continues guiding you in his general direction. "no it's actually exactly why you should go over there."

you don't get to argue any further as you're suddenly right in front of mikko—almost too close, and if you take another step towards him you're thighs will bump his knees.

speaking of thighs—mikko's are on full display. the huge, muscle carved limbs spread wide as he manspreads in his stall. the expanse of smooth, hard skin making you feel flustered and suddenly intrigued. your eyes flicker upwards, finding the icy blue ones of mikko looking back at you.

you swallow, a heat rising to your cheeks. "hi, mikko."

"hi, y/n." he says your name playfully, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. "you okay?"

you nod too quickly and immediately curse yourself for acting so uncool. you've never been this nervous around any of the avs, especially not mikko, but lina's comments about his looks earlier are lingering in your mind—leaving you flustered.

because obviously you are aware mikko is hot, but now you can't help but be really aware of the fact. damn lina.

"yeah," you clear your throat, clutching the cellphone tightly in your hand. "I was actually just wondering if you'd answer a question for tiktok? for me? promise it'll be quick."

his eyes flicker over your warm, hopeful face, and after a beat he sighs gently, a quick nod following. "yeah I can do that for you."

you can't help the way your eyes widen at his agreement. mikko seems oblivious to your shocked state, removing his remaining elbow pad and tossing it towards the back of his messy stall.

you catch a whiff of his intoxicating scent, and even with the sweat lingering across his forehead and soaking his branded undershirt, mikko smells so good. he's always been enveloped in a cloud of clean laundry and something slightly woodsy, and even though you're extremely professional, it never fails to make you falter.

you clear your throat and your head. "really?"

mikko runs the damp towel previously hung around his neck through his messy curls, making the appearance of them even more fluffy and soft. his eyes twinkle with amusement, a matching half smile blossoming on his lips. "yeah, really. why do you sound shocked?"

you make a tiny noise of confusion in the back of your throat, shooting a glance to lina over your shoulder. she sends you a triumphant look, brow raised like she knew that she was right.

she is right.

you look back at mikko quickly, "I just thought..." you trail off, brows pulling tightly as you think about the excuse he gave to lina—you're so confused. you've never noticed before if mikko had a certain favouritism towards you over lina, or even nick. I mean, you never paid attention to anything like that—but now you feel like you should be more aware, because this doesn't make sense.

"you thought..?" mikko raises one eyebrow, waiting for the second half of your sentence.

"nothing." you blink quickly, adjusting the phone in your hand. "sorry, let's just get to it."

you're still in some sort of shock for the rest of the day—the pieces of the puzzle in your mind loose and turned upside down as you try and understand mikko's dismissal of lina, or better yet, his compliance with you.

it had you further trying to solve the mystery. does mikko just prefer you? does he like your voice over your co-workers? maybe you smell like his favourite desert? does he like you? does mikko want to fuck you?

you're not sure where to pinpoint the source, but you're also determined to find the answer. with some help for lina, and even a little input from nick, you conjure up a plan—which lina finds the upmost entertainment in.

but you mean nothing but business. for the next few weeks it's only you who works with mikko rantanen—it's you asking him questions and having him participate in stupid games. and without fail, every single time you ask him, mikko complies.

so you get crazier with it. whether it's a questions about my little pony—a show mikko has never even heard of—or having him lift you onto his shoulder while a sabrina carpenter song plays through the tiktok recording—he is participating without complaining.

every. single. time.

it has your good friends, but ever so annoying colleagues theorizing.

"maybe he's got a thing for girls with her hair colour? can't resist them." nick chimes, sipping some piping hot coffee from an avalanche branded mug.

you roll your eyes, pulling open the microwave to grab your shitty frozen meal.

lina's laugh echos through the staff room, "mhmm...or maybe her eye colour." she sends you a teasing look before slurping some saucy noddles up into her mouth.

before you can respond nick pipes up again, "he definitely wants in her pants."

you take a seat beside lina—across from your male coworker—and send them both a slightly amused, but deadpanned look. "are you guys done?"

despite your attitude towards them, you can't help but wonder if their theories are correct. sure, mikko seems sweet enough—towards you anyways—but with the way you're barley pushing him into participating in stupid little tiktok's, has you pondering. mikko is nice...but not that nice.

is he just trying to get into your pants? and then forgot about you? the thought has you feeling angry, because you're not just some girl who he can treat nicely until he gets what he wants—absolutely not. and you're not going to let him treat you like a fool, just because he wants his dick wet.

the following day you’re determined to get answers and put your mind at ease. you like mikko—he’s a great guy—but you don’t want to feel like you’re being used. there was a team meeting and breakfast today, without the pressure of practice or a game—essentially an off day for the guys.

as the chaos of the dining room begins clearing out, only a few lingering athletes and staff members at some of the tables, you make your way across the room with a determined step, looking for mikko.

you catch the broad expanse of his back and blonde hair sticking out from underneath his beanie just as he slips out the door. you grumble to yourself, speeding up in hopes to catch him before he leaves the facility.

pushing open the rather heavy door to the hallway, you’re immediately greeted by his familiar laugh and gabe landeskogs smooth voice—spewing some dad joke that only mikko would find funny.

before you can sike yourself out, you march up to the two european teammates. “rantanen, I need to talk to you.”

they pause in their slow steps, conversation halting abruptly as both men turn to look at you. the sight of your hard expression and pointed gaze has mikko swallowing roughly, eyeing you with confusion.

gabe snickers quietly, the sound missing your ears, and pats mikko’s shoulder sympathetically. “last name, huh? good luck.” with that the avalanche captain stalks off, disappearing down the quiet hallway.

you cross your arms defensively, looking up—way up—at him, tone rough and determined. “are you trying to fuck me or something?”

“whoa whoa, just hold on a second.” mikko’s eyes widen, looking around the hallways quickly to ensure you were alone. even though he doesn’t see any physical bodies, mikko can’t be too sure—especially when he can sense the conversation is going in a direction that doesn’t need to be overheard.

he gently takes ahold of your wrist, guiding you towards the open meeting room directly across from the kitchen. the censor lights flicker alive as you step into the empty, quiet room—illuminating the once dark space.

mikko lets go of your arm, shutting the door with a soft click before turning back to you. he analyzes your face, eyes flickering over your still pointed eyes and the angry pull to your mouth. confused, he steps towards you. “are you joking with me?”

you raise your brows. “do I look like i'm joking with you, mikko?”

he shakes his head gently, like he’s trying to come up with a reason for your sudden coldness—you’ve never acted this way around him, and seeing you so irritated is rather strange. “why are you asking me that?”

he’s referring to the first question you’d asked him—rather angrily may he add. mikko is unsure what brought on the rather sexual outburst of a question, only because it’s so unlike you. in fact, one time ross colton tried to make a sexual innuendo with you, and you just about turned the colour of a ripe apple.

mikko thinks he must’ve done something—or said something to make you not only think like that, but ask him about—without so much as a blush on your face. you were serious.

you cross your arms again, defensive walls still built high. clearing your throat, you look away from mikko and towards the navy blue patterned rug covering the floor. “ why are you so nice to me?”

you practically whisper, timidly running your foot along the worn out carpet.

mikko blinks. “what?” he’s even more confused now—because why wouldn’t he be nice to you. you’re sweet, and respectful, and funny, and beautiful, and you’re you.

you meet his eyes again, expect this time there’s more emotion swimming in them, and you’re slowly coming down of your flurry of anger—left with fear and your own confusion. “like..,” you start unsure, “you only do the media stuff when i'm the one asking you to. are you only being nice to me so that like, you'll get in my pants?”

you’re right, he thinks. he only does media when you ask, but it’s not because he suddenly wants to if you’re the one asking, it’s because he can’t say no to you. mikko never wants to see you sad—he never wants to see the current look on your face when he can help it.

mikko shakes his head, slow and steady. “no. that's not why i'm nice to you.”

“no?” you parrot, the tiniest hint of disbelief in your tone.

“no.” mikko repeats firmly. “i'm nice to you because I like you.”

“like as a friend?” you gulp, arms falling to your sides as you’re no longer strong enough to hold them around yourself.

mikko doesn’t see the point of hiding his true feelings any longer. the thought of you thinking he had ulterior motives with his kindness literally makes his stomach hurt, and he can’t have you believing he’s trying to use you for his own benefit.

so with a gentle sigh, he takes another step closer to you, eyes softening as he takes in your hesitant gaze and red cheeks. “more than a friend.” mikko admits gently.

your face falls, “oh.” you’re in some sort of shock, looking up at the winger with parted lips and wide eyes. the way mikko is looking at you, so raw and real, has any lingering hesitance falling away, and your expression quickly shifts.

“yeah, oh.” the corner of mikko’s plump lip slides upwards, the beginning stages of a lopsided smirk growing on his flushing face.

he reaches towards you, slowly, hands enveloping the sides of your head as he holds you in his palms. mikko’s hands are so warm and big, completely covering your cheeks and ears—the feeling itself has you turned on.

your breath hitches as mikko’s rough thumbs begin running over your cheekbones, stroking your warm skin absentmindedly.

his tongue licks along his bottom lip, moistening the skin slowly. mikko swallows gently, not once taking his gaze off your flustered face. “but like, just so there’s no confusion, I would eat you out on the table until you’re crying if that’s what you wanted.”

you inhale sharply, stomach dropping with excitement and adrenaline. your body flutters at his words, “mikko.” you whine in a whisper, hands reaching out and resting against his hard pecks. you have no control of your hands, the need to feel him under your palms too strong. you begin running over his covered chest, his muscles tightening and nipples hardening under your deliberate touches.

mikko huffs shakily before he comes down, kissing you with as much passion he can manage. his lips are surprisingly soft and smooth, enclosing and teasing yours in a messy, hard way. the feeling has your stomach swooping further, toes curling in your shoes as the kiss grows harder—needier.

suddenly, mikko’s hands run down your body, passing over your ass with a firm squeeze. you moan into his mouth as his hands find the backs of your thighs, picking you up.

you gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, sitting you on the table like it’s nothing—mikko smirks at the sound you make, and he can’t help the way his dick twitches in his pants. his wet lips trail off your mouth, travelling over your jaw and down your neck where he continues giving you hot, and hurried kisses.

reluctantly, your eyes flutter open, running a hand under mikko’s beanie, gripping the base of his hair between your trembling fingers. “we can get in a lot of trouble for this.” you breathe.

despite your words, your hips rolls against his hardening length, your cores at the perfect angle with you sitting on the table to grinding together deliciously.

mikko pulls back, eyes glazed with lust as he grins. “I know. so we'll just have to be sneaky.” his words are husky, sending your blood pumping and head swirling with need.

he leans back in, giving you another eye rolling kiss. you push his hat off his head completely, giving yourself free reign of his messy curls, tugging the blonde strands as your heart desires.

mikko pulls you closer on the tabletop, further bumping your clothed heat against his. his large hands slide underneath the back of your top, running over your spine and fiddling with the edge of your lacy bralette.

you sigh trembly, disconnecting the kiss. “i'll have to stop asking you questions though. because now I really won't be able to control myself around you.”

the admission has mikko smirking, biting his lip seductively. one of his hands round to your front, groping your tit over your bra. “I turn you on baby?” he already knew the answer to his question—your hardened nipples and shifting hips giving him all the information he needs.

you laugh through a breathless exhale, and you gently hit his shoulder. “be serious. you'll have to tolerate lina, and start saying yes when she asks you to do things.”

“no promises.” he chimes playfully, hands running back down your torso—leaving goosebumps in their wake.

you give him a soft, serene smile, which as mikko following suit—looking at you the way he always has. “I really like you, mikko.” you admit gently, one of your hands running over his building bicep before sliding around to rest on his shoulder blade.

for a moment, his smile remains admirable, looking down at you like you’re the only thing that has ever mattered. mikko has been dreaming of the day you say those words, and actually hearing you speak them is just otherworldly.

but because he’s a boy, and you’re his dream girl with his spit coating your plump lips—he can’t help himself. mikko’s hand rounds to your front, dipping underneath the waistband of your leggings and sliding over your underwear. he thumbs your clit over the thin material, and your mouth goes slack at his touch.

he breathes, smirking at the feeling of your arousal soaking through your panties. “yeah I can tell.”

“shut up.” you huff, pulling him back in to continue your desperate kiss.

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- love and deepspace masterlist

Hey, so guys—I’m gonna write a whole ass theory/not-theory post about love and deepspace. Please give me your own thoughts and excuse my rambling it’s 2 am and I’m supposed to be asleep.

—

No but I actually need the LI to interact in game, I know (think or read somewhere) that the love and dating parts are separate timelines and in the “main” timeline MC doesn’t romanticise any of them(?). Anyway not my point, my point is that they all canonically exist in the same place and Caleb is probably the one tying everyone together.

I swear I believe it was Caleb that Rafayel talked to in the nest place where he lead MC so she could find the Onychinus. There was also a TikTok someone made (probably as a joke) of why Rafayel’s reaction to MC feeding him an apple threw him off.

Caleb is also Zayne’s childhood friend, but alright I’m gonna take a little spin off and ask;

When Zayne is reborn, does he remember everything immediately? Does he as a child bear memories of his previous lives as an adult? Or does the memories come to him with age?

Because IF the case is that Zayne already as a child knows of his past with MC and still has the powers of seeing the future, did he perhaps purposefully become friends with Caleb and MC?

Alright back to the main plot point of my post.

I dunno much about Xavier because I don’t have his full 5-star myth yet, but I do know he’s travelling through space and time (?) and that dude knows some shit. He’s most likely also being extra overprotective because of Caleb, like he’s maybe met an alternative version of him in the past?

Oh, but then there’s Sylus.

I’m just saying, Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier all helped MC find the Onychinus and if they truly thought she would be in life threatening danger they probably would’ve stopped her.

I don’t know how!!! But I’m just yapping so stay with me, ok? They all wanted her to find Sylus, because Sylus is the only one strong enough to protect her.

They probably know about the aether cores, that MC can use the dragon to their advantage. However they didn’t realise that MC and Sylus actually share half of each soul, that they are two kindred spirits.

Oh-ho! But Caleb knows, and Caleb haaaates it. Because he, the one who imprisoned Sylus to begin with, wants nothing more than to see the dragon back into the abyss. Because Caleb, the whole reason he’s in MC’s life is to get to Sylus.

Knowing she’s the key to the dragon, he decides to use her, manipulate her into thinking he’s nothing but a kind and loving friend. Sadly, Caleb didn’t anticipate that he too would be smitten by MC.

So everything just turns complicated now, because in the “main timeline” where MC doesn’t romanticise any of the LI, they’re all very much in love with her.

Gods and when they finally all meet… I’m envisioning like the Deepspace throwing every universe together, causing the past, future and present to mash up and fuck the whole reality… and something something Ever.

[tojiscrack]

there’s so many things i love about your fic but one thing i specifically love that doesn’t have much to do with your fic is probably the community. like every person that comes into your asks, including the funny anons, feels like family idk STOP I SOUND SO CORNY BUT YOU GET WHAT I MEANNNN. like 1l-ynn’s (i think that’s her username) hatred for anyone that comes in between megumi and y/n is so funny, THE MALAKAI SHIPPING PHASE, THE RANDOM ANON THAT STARTED RAPPING IN UR ASKS, stanheightis stressing out every now and then about the angst is so real, kickingcat’s beautiful artwork as well as azr3na’s, mercupinesspring’s tiktok page dedicated to liar,liar which i stalk with my private account haha. i’m trying to think of the others but yeah, like the community is so beautiful and i think i’m gonna miss that more than anything when the fic eventually ends 🥲

i love u guys i can’ttttt

liar, liar masterlist here:

tagging everyone you mentioned so they see this ‘cause they absolutely deserve to know how special and precious they are, not only to me, but apparently to you too. it’s so absolutely true, my fav thing about writing the series this past year is the growing community 😭🩵

@1l-ynn @stanheightis @kickingcat @azr3na @mercupinesspring

the malakai hate was so incredibly funny to me bc he was never gonna be a second love interest. like, ever 💀 that’d make this megumi/reader story just be crack upon crack, and ik i prioritise comedy over romance in this romcom, but there’s a limit, yk 😭 and it was just funny to be given a taster of how certain ppl feel about a second love interest being introduced at all before i’d even introduced the real one, might i add

with that, watching ppl stress about the angst tag before it had even arrived (it’s still not here, curtesy of my hiatus 😇) was also the funniest thing ever. i’d wake up every morning with a new ask in my inbox stressing about NOTHING. like a singular person even held enough stress for the entire community, and then some 😭

the artwork i’ve received over the last few months have been collected into a google doc that’s how obsessed with them i am, ready to be printed out bc i genuinely meant it when i said i’d do just that for my room 😋 we made it to a point where we can appoint ppl as LL’s co-illustrators, which 16 year old me, who was drafting the first chapter a year and a bit ago, wouldn’t have even predicted such a thing and i’m so grateful bc wdym they were able to make malakai look good? ☹️🩵

their versions of y/n are so beautiful too 😭

and LL content being cross-posted to tiktok? i felt like an old person when i first saw the page and went through the memes made about my story (it’s like old ppl laughing at their own joke) 😀 my fav is definitely malakai core, and the video with ‘how i want megumi to react whenever another guy speaks to y/n’ or smth like that (along those words) 🤭

honourable mentions too bc these guys could never be forgotten by me:

@shaigimo @princesssparklesprinkle @reinaswrld @cutesolecita @britishfailure @b4tm4nn @reocidal @jelly-fsh @miffysmittens @anonymity-222 @crisis-unaverted @sl1004 @watermelonlover905 @loffagirl @seoups @awriterinthenight @ist0leurc0ffee @biancaackerman @2ukika @julieannah @missunrise @briezy04764 @jvpit3rr @sfmegumi @nappingnai @evergumi @crimsonhallucinations @femtaktsfilosofi @manmuncher777

+ more ofc, i’m genuinely trying hard to remember everyone from the top of my head but it’s a little hard given how fast LL is growing.

this doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten any of you that i haven’t mentioned! just means i got lazy and needed to wrap this sappy response up, but i promiseeee i’m well aware of who’s here and who’s not 🤗 the people above have also had several interactions with me, so it’s easier to remember ppl who you speak to on a daily 🥲

i thank the silent readers for still being here anyway. the LL community wouldn’t be thriving without ur support too <3

also if i’ve tagged you and you wish to not be tagged even in sappy posts, just lmk, i’ll know not to do it in future haha 😧

but anyways… in conclusion, i agree. i can’t wait to return to all my children (you guys) in late june ☹️ the only reason why i’m simultaneously dreading it is ‘cause it means my exams would be here but oh well 😭

k gonna end it here ‘cause this is too sappy ew 🙄 (💕)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

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

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

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

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

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city now filled with killers. 

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

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

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was where you came in. 

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

Mostly because of situations like this.

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

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

None of this was going to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

A man, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

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

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

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

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

Have they seen murder? 

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

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

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

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

Your mark has been met. 

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

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

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

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

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

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

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

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brows furrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price grunts under his breath. 

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

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost. 

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

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

Mutt was the worst of them.

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitch. 

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

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

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

“Sir!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I had known…you frown. 

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

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

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

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t look away.

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

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

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

Your Captain scurries after. 

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

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

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

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

I need new intel. Badly.

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

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

Your cheeks heat. 

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

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

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

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

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

They had died a long time ago.

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

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

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, where are we–” 

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

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

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

Boxed in. 

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

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

You don’t bother watching him drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wide grin is stuck on you.

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

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were few people worthy of that.

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

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

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

You’d never had sex before.

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

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

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

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

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

You could forget about it. You should. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did they do this to you? 

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

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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.

[dicapiito]

Since Black People share zero blame about what happened in the election and why Trump won again; let’s do a master post on who’s to blame as to why Trump won again:

1. White people. They are never to be trusted to actually pay attention to shit so they will believe anything anyone tells them to. If someone is promising to get rid of anyone who’s not white; white people will vote for that candidate. White men vote for violence and white women vote in hopes to be like white men. I mean, Roe V Wade SHOULDVE been important …until I remember those stories from nurses at Planned Parenthood mentioning how obnoxious white women are about the service. White people who are actual allies are very rare and they know if they admitted to being hateful; they’d be all alone watching Fox News.

2. The mainstream media. MSNBC, CNN, Bill Maher, John Oliver, Jon Stewart ( the biggest douchefuck), Chris Hayes, Anderson Cooper, Joy Reid, among others (who I can’t name because I refuse to hate-watch their media). They spent all their fucking time bashing Biden and the Democrats. They let the lunatic leftists have a platform and they treated Trump like he’s no threat until it was way too late. They figured it’s better for their audiences to not take what Trump did in 2016-2020 seriously and just be mean towards Biden, Harris and the Democrats who actually work towards better.

Any one of these jokers could’ve taken an actual stand and report actual news about Biden but once Covid got calmer thanks to Biden and the White House became boring again because the Biden Administration was busy ACTUALLY WORKING; it just wasn’t enough for them. Once they knew leftists also found another cause they could hijack for themselves to “ stick it to the Dems” they also let these fuckers on their show to help spread more lies about the Democrats. But nope! They latched onto the “ Free Palestine” movement and sold that shit, knowing full fuckin well that it’s not America’s problem about the conflict and Biden and Harris were making sure to get a two state solution.

Their buyers remorse media is not cute and they are only doing this because they know they are a major reason why Trump won again. They’re also scared of retaliation so they’re going to act like they “ regretted it” and that Biden “ wasn’t so bad” while not ever really apologetic but their audiences will eat it up.

3. Nonblack PoC. Latino, Asian/ Pacific Islander community ( I’m not even shocked. I’m apart of this group and they love antiblackness), Arab Americans ( Rashida Tlaib is antiblack but because leftists are stupid; they couldn’t see something so obvious). The desperation to be accepted by white people and also the xenophobia in all these communities had them voting for Trump. They have the “ I’m one of the good ones” mentality and well they’re about to see that antiblackness and xenophobia has screwed themselves .

4. Social media websites letting misinformation spread, and I include tumblr since yet again this happened. I appreciate that X has a community note and people tried to fight it but it was just way too great. Too many bots were getting through. Facebook, tumblr, Twitter, TikTok, likely Instagram as well. And once the elections are over; it’s like they treat the election interference shit like it didn’t happen.

5. Leftists. As usual, since they’re bored and rich, they do this protesting “ the establishment” every four years because they don’t want to pay their fair share of taxes. They went right along with the Free Palestine bullshit because it has worked for them before. Susan Sarandon , remember her? She helped fuck over 2000 as well as 2016 and let the GOP into the White House. Since leftist includes being racist/antiblack and antisemitic; it’s a great way to get more stupid white people to not vote or “ protest vote” and help the GOP win. Now that they have; we won’t see the likes of Jill Stein or any third party candidates. They are only around to help fuck over the Democrats and yet this lesson seems to have to keep being repeated and holy fuck it’s fucking annoying.

6. Nancy Pelosi. I know I haven’t said much but she wanted Biden to step down. She wanted an open Democratic primary to get a new candidate and to go right past Kamala Harris. Her bullshit has been known for awhile, especially if you live in the Bay Area. People forgot because of Covid and because of the whack job who attacked her husband. But remember; she’s also Gavin Newsom’s aunt and well…do with that what you will. If Democrats have any chance at getting their base back; Pelosi needs to step aside and let Hakeem Jeffries be Speaker. Pelosi knew damn well if it was not Kamala Harris; Black People would not show up but she is a white woman first so of course she did what she did. And for her to act like Biden was too old when she’s in the same age group was even more moronic since he won against Trump the first fuckin time

7. antisemitism also played a huge part. Remember Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff is Jewish so if it wasn’t antiblackness; antisemitism was also at play here. Even though people won’t say it just like they won’t say their true reasons why they didn’t vote for Kamala Harris. Jewish People were the only allies along with the lgbt community who overwhelmingly voted for Kamala Harris. Every group has knuckleheads but the knuckleheads were extremely smaller than everyone else.

8. The Squad members. AOC, Rashida Tlaib, Jayapal, Cori Bush, Summer Lee and Jamaal Bowman. It’s time to get rid of these idiot DSA morons and the fact that Cori Bush and Jamaal Bowman are out is awesome. They always wanted to fuck over the Democrats because they want to appear like they’re activists while they really just sell “ someday it’ll be better” while making $176K a year. They need the GOP in charge so they can coast in the House. Too bad leftists don’t get that.

So now that we all know who’s to blame; maybe now take some fuckin responsibility and hope to fucking heaven that Trump won’t have SCOTUS overturn shit but who are we kidding? With Elon Musk around; a lot of things will be rolled back but let’s see if people learn anything from it. Oh who am I kidding ?

Oh and thinking of moving to Canada? Lmao Justin Trudeau already went “ AHT AHT”. Best believe other countries are already following suit so y’all are going to be owning up to who you voted for lol.

But ya know, Biden was “ too old” and Harris was “ too joyful”

[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)

[ittybittyfanblog]

EVERY BIT CHANGED BUT STILL INTRINSICALLY YOOOUUUUU!!!! YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

I absolutely adored the direction you went with the ending, like I couldn’t think (per usual) of a more perfect buildup and ending for this series. The self healing for reader, the return-to-basics to build herself back up, and realising what things she clung onto that just wasn’t healthy for her :c THE QUITTING OF HER DUMBASS JOB YES GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE GIRL BECAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAAANNN YOU WAS PULLING ALL-NIGHTERS FOR A COMPANY THAT DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUUUUU.

I’m glad she’s taking the steps to release herself from all that isolation and take the steps to heal the hurt because she does deserve better🥺 she does deserve to feel better and she deserves to be surrounded by the people that love her!!!

And the Sylus change🥹 I didn’t rlly expect it (I should have though cause gray hair and CRIMSON red eyes isn’t rlly considered the ordinary) but it’s still him no matter what and I am so happy with this too!!!!!!! Even without all that power and immortality and the bravado that comes with it, Sylus is still him, he still loves the way he always has done😭😭😭😭.

The appearance change totally solved my little brainworm from a few days ago lol. No more being worried about extended family member #19 at the reader/Sylus wedding pulling her aside to whisper “idk if u know about this… game called lads… anyways… ur groom looks like a certain character… haha…👍”

Sylus better be setting up that tiktok account and make a killing as a Sylus ‘cosplayer’. He’s got a whole lot of spending to do yeeeepppppp but that will also complicate a lot of things at the wedding… “omg ur marrying THAT Sylus cosplayer????? Con😭grat😭ula😭😭tions”

Oh my god I could cry, that little (big) stalker found reader again🫶🫶🫶🫶

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

HELLLOOOOOOO????? AND WHAT IF I THROW UP RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU OOOOOOOOO YOU MAKE ME FEEL TOO MANY HAPPY EMOTIONS HE’S SO DARLING FOR THAT LINE I’M GONNA CRRRYYYYYYY STOOPPPPPPPPP

My god… at this point, that dildo is a side character LMAOOOOOO. I see you! Regretfully! (Not really🫶) now reader can get freaky with it and sylus will be THERE! In the flesh! And they can get freaky with each other!!!! I love that for themmmmm.

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in this, sorry that’s just how it is atm I’m feeling a LOT of things, happy things, but still a LOT🫶🫶 I’m just so grateful that you not only created this but you shared this with all of us🥹 I can’t wait to see your future works!!

Also… sylus thorts on Byron hitting on reader?🤭 surely he won’t be too happy about that <3 but he should be happy cause the reader called him her boyfriend.

— 🏎️

HIIIII RACECAR (🏎️) ANONNNN sorry i'm just getting to u rn!! i was trying to avoid posting any spoilers lol but i rly wanted to reply to this since i got ur ask 😭😭

damn i don't even know where to start—i love LONG rants, i just dk what to address first !/)&:& guess i'll start it off with a fucking HUGE THANK YOU for reading and loving the fic enough to send such a long ass message ilysm u lil dildo hater u 😩🤧

anyway!! so yeah, the direction for the last chapter really put emphasis on the player's growth, having her figure how to deal with her past and present hang-ups, as well as coming to terms with them. i rly wanted to start the chapter on a more hopeful note, past the months of depression she'd gone through from sylus’ absence. the gradual progression, even the slight misstep (the ~ghost of her past~ showing up when she least expected it). i also wanted to convey how “present” sylus was in her life, still—through her choices/actions, and from the little things that reminded her of him.

and turning sylus mortal has always been the endgame, even when the story was still in its ✨outline✨ phase. @grabby-smitten actually put it quite aptly—the idea that this almost god-like, virtually indestructible being is willing to turn “human” for you, and that it’s less of a sacrifice/demotion in his eyes, but more about being “equal” to you. because to be human is to be with the person he loves—nothing more, nothing less ❤️

and lmao, i like to think sylus gets a kick out of people staring at him a little too long, trying to place where they've seen him from 😂 he'd definitely fuck with conspirating distant cousins thrice removed by dropping not-so-subtle hints here and there.

also yes ok just to give u something to look forward to (breadcrumbing u guys so hard rn), byron will inevitably meet the “boyfriend” at some point (in the spin-off), and they may or may not hash it out through some….. light-hearted….. sparring 🙂‍↕️

[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:

[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.