#the ad hype was so intense
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#back then when tfa was still fresh#the ad hype was so intense#especially in the reylo side#i don't get it then#but now i get it with ljw on aos#i can see it#both actors brings nuance to their respective characters#just even a second of their screentime#their facial expressions says a lot#and both are tall#and has a sharp features on their faces#which adds masculinity beauty just sayingg#ljw has a fruitful career as ad or else 🔪🔪#meh texts
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' 𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 ' | 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃
summary: being pwhl montreal's newest star, you get paired up with cole caufield to do a joint interview.
warnings: pwhl!reader, smau (this is my first time doing an smau so please only constructive criticism), quite a few uses of y/n, using a photo of mariah koepple but not as a faceclaim, cringy flirty banter
word count: 1.57k
The bright lights of the Bell Centre cast a vibrant glow over the ice, the freshly zambonied sheet pristine and inviting, free of skate marks. Stepping onto the ice felt like stepping into the next chapter of your life, a dream realized.
It’s been about 2 months since you were drafted into the PWHL by PWHL Montreal, fulfilling a lifelong dream of yours. The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, from the excitement of draft day to jumping straight into the intense training sessions. Scattered in between, you’ve been able to get to know your teammates who have helped you settle into the new city by showing you around.
Though the PWHL season was still a while away, the NHL season was fast approaching, and you found yourself at the Bell Centre for media day with the Montreal Canadiens. You were slated for a joint interview with one of the Canadiens players, followed by a shooting competition.
Gliding around one end of the ice, you took a few shots on the net with the pucks that were scattered around. The camera crew was setting up their equipment at the other end, preparing for the interview.
From the direction of the bench, you heard the distinctive sound of skates cutting into the ice. Turning around, you saw Cole Caufield skating towards you, his Canadiens home jersey contrasting sharply with the ice beneath him. A bright smile lit up his face as he approached.
“Hey, rookie,” Cole greeted with a playful grin.
“Hi, I’m y/n.” you introduce yourself.
“I know who you are,” Cole said. “They talk more about you than they did about me when I got here.”
You couldn’t help but feel a blush appear on your cheeks at his words. You were a pretty highly touted prospect going into the draft, and when Montreal drafted you, the hockey-crazed city hyped you up even more. You were the talk of Montreal hockey, surpassing even the Canadiens' new rookies.
“Oh, come on, you’re just saying that,” you replied, trying to downplay your embarrassment.
“Not at all,” Cole said. “I’m pretty sure you’ve stolen my thunder.”
You chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and shyness. “Well, I guess it’s not every day a new star comes to town,” you replied, trying to match his playful tone.
Cole laughed, the sound echoing in the nearly empty arena. “True, true. But don’t worry, I’ll let you borrow it for a bit. Just don’t get too comfortable,” he teased, winking at you.
His wink caught you off guard, sending a jolt of electricity through you. You felt your heart skip a beat and hoped the blush that had already crept onto your cheeks didn’t deepen too much. There was something undeniably charming about Cole’s playful confidence, and you found yourself momentarily at a loss for words.
A couple seconds later, the crew calls the two of you over to begin the interview. You and Cole took your spots on either side of the interviewer on the Montreal Canadiens bench. You watched as a producer gave the interviewer cues to start the interview.
“Hey everyone, I am here with Cole Caufield, forward for the Montreal Canadiens, and PWHL Montreal’s first round pick, y/n l/n.” the interviewer says. “Welcome y/n and Cole, it’s great to have you both here today.”
"Thanks for having us," you said, giving a nod to the camera.
“Yeah, this is awesome,” Cole added.
The interviewer turned to you first. “Y/n, you're about to start your first season with Montreal's PWHL team. What are you most looking forward to?”
You couldn’t hide your excitement as your face lit up. “Honestly, I'm just excited to get out on the ice and play with such an incredible group of girls. We've got a lot of talent, and I think we're gonna have something special this season. Plus, the energy from the fans here in Montreal is just amazing.”
He nodded appreciatively and then looked at Cole. “And Cole, as someone who's been playing in Montreal for a while, do you have any advice for y/n?”
Cole thought for a second before speaking. “Just soak it all in. The city's passionate about hockey, and it can be intense, but it's also one of the best places to play. Stay focused, enjoy the ride, and don't be afraid to lean on your teammates. The vets were the best in my first couple of seasons, they always had great advice if I needed any.”
“That’s some wise advice.” the interviewer says, drawing laughs from the both of you. “Y/n, what do you think will be your biggest challenge this season?”
“I think adjusting to the pace and physicality of the professional level will be a big step up from college hockey. But I’ve been training hard this offseason, and I’m ready to face those challenges head-on. Having a supportive team and coaching staff definitely helps.”
The interviewer nods and turns to Cole. “Cole, what's one thing about playing in Montreal that you think will surprise y/n?”
Cole grins. “The fans. They’re not just passionate, they’re everywhere. You’ll get recognized on the streets, at restaurants, pretty much anywhere you go. It’s a bit overwhelming at first, but it’s also pretty amazing to have that kind of support.”
“Well, it sounds like an exciting season ahead for both of you.” he says, looking back at the camera. “Well, now we’re going to get to the exciting bit of the interview and get ready to watch Cole and y/n go head to head in a little shooting competition.”
The three of you get up from the bench, heading over to the net set up in front of cameras.
“Now’s the time to prove that you’re worth all the hype,” Cole said teasingly as he skated by you.
You rolled your eyes at Cole's comment, but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, I'm not worried," you shot back. "Just try to keep up, okay?"
Cole laughed, the sound light and genuine, the both of you skating between the circles. The crew had set up a series of targets in the net, and as the two of you lined up, the interviewer explained the rules. "Alright, y/n and Cole, there are five targets in the net, whoever hits all five in the shortest amount of time wins. Have you guys placed any wagers on this?"
You and Cole both laugh, you shaking your head.
“How about we make a little bet? Loser buys the winner dinner.” Cole suggested.
“Dinner, huh?” you mused. “I hope you’re ready to spend big because I’m gonna win.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Cole said, a small smirk tugging on his lips. His confident nature made your heart skip a beat.
“Alright, Mr. Confident, let’s see what you’ve got,” you challenged.
“Okay, okay, we’ve got a little competition going now.” the interviewer commented.
“Just so you know,” Cole says, “I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“Good,” you replied, feeling a thrill of anticipation. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Alright, Cole, you'll go first. I’ll serve you the pucks and you’ve just gotta shoot them.” the interviewer explains. “Y/n count us down when we’re ready.”
The interviewer heads to the right of the net where a pile of pucks sit, while Cole sets up in between the dots. “Alright, ready?” you ask. “Three… two… one… go!”
On your call, Cole starts shooting, aiming for the targets in the corners and center of the net. He fires pucks off like bullets, shooting them impressively into the net. He hits three of the targets consecutively, but it takes him a couple extra shots to get all five targets.
19.47 ends up being his time — and the time for you to beat if you want Cole to treat you to dinner. “Nice shots, old man.” you tease.
“Old man? I’m only 2 years older than you, watch it.” Cole retorts.
You giggle and skate to where Cole was, waiting for the crew to replace the targets in the net. Once everything's set, Cole counts you down. You fire pucks into the net, albeit not as hard as Cole’s. However, you were able to pick your spots, being able to get all five targets in 17.33.
When you hear your time, you do an over the top celebration, skating around Cole and showing off. Cole groaned dramatically, but a genuine smile couldn’t help but tug on his lips.
“Looks like you owe me dinner,” you said triumphantly.
The interviewer thanks you both for joining them, you and Cole skating off towards the dressing room together. You finally speak once the two of you are alone in the dressing room.
“You don’t actually have to take me out to dinner,” you tell him.
Cole turns to face you as he pulls off his jersey. “I want to.” he says earnestly. “I mean… I’d like to take you out for dinner. As long as you’re down.”
You smile at his sudden shy demeanor, a swift change from his confident attitude on the ice. “Are you asking me on a date, Cole?”
Cole’s cheeks flushed pink as he scratched the back of his neck. “Would that be okay if I did?”
You grinned. “It’d be great.”
"Great," Cole said, his grin matching yours. "It's a date."
———
canadiens.pwhl Cole Caufield and Y/N L/N getting friendly in their newest interview for Sportsnet 👀 Do we have another Habs bachelor off the market?
( loading comments )
user1 montreals newest it couple i'm calling it
user2 they are so cute together
user3 power couple‼️
user4 the greatest hockey player in montreal and cole caufield
user5 LMAOOOO
user6 look at his smile🥹🥹
user7 he looks so happy with her
user8 god could they be more obvious??
user9 ??
user8 i mean they're clearly dating they didn't even try and hide it lol
user10 aw now cole doesn't have to third wheel nick and caitlin
user11 my literal parents
user12 omg same hey twin
#cole caufield#cole caufield imagine#cole caufield x reader#nhl#nhl imagine#hockey#hockey imagine#montreal canadiens#habs
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Edgeworth requesting the signal samurai theme song be played on the radio during the start of the seven year gap when Phoenix has gone completely AWOL and won't respond to him. Making a grand gesture like Phoenix did for him all those years ago to remind him he's not alone and that he'll help if only Phoenix will reach out and let him.
Of course Phoenix doesn't hear it because his schedule is all wonky between Trucy and the new jobs. Edgeworth wrinkles his shirt over it before Maya 'covertly' asks Nick about it. He's got no clue.
Cut to Edgeworth leaving Big donations with the request they play the song regularly. At every station they think Phoenix might even possibly listen to. It gets so intense there's massive speculation that it's a marketing stunt to raise hype for a reboot. It shows up on page five of the newspaper. People are demanding explanations from global studios. Phoenix still has not heard it.
Then Trucy hums it at home. Phoenix perks up and asks her what she's singing. She tells him how there's this OLD weird theme song that's been playing on the radio all the time. Some kids at her school have even been watching it. Not her thing tho. It was just catchy.
Phoenix turns on the radio that night after she's in bed. 'and once more signal red is sending out his sign, hope it reaches you signal blue. Or not- you've really helped with our station ad revenue!'
He writes a letter. Considers a stilted phone call instead. Sends in a request for the steel samurais theme instead with a note, 'Signal heard. But that doesn't mean I know what to do. From Signal Blue.'
Edgeworth hears it right away.
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Real innovation vs Silicon Valley nonsense
This is the LAST DAY to get my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!
If there was any area where we needed a lot of "innovation," it's in climate tech. We've already blown through numerous points-of-no-return for a habitable Earth, and the pace is accelerating.
Silicon Valley claims to be the epicenter of American innovation, but what passes for innovation in Silicon Valley is some combination of nonsense, climate-wrecking tech, and climate-wrecking nonsense tech. Forget Jeff Hammerbacher's lament about "the best minds of my generation thinking about how to make people click ads." Today's best-paid, best-trained technologists are enlisted to making boobytrapped IoT gadgets:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/24/record-scratch/#autoenshittification
Planet-destroying cryptocurrency scams:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/15/your-new-first-name/#that-dagger-tho
NFT frauds:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/06/crypto-copyright-%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%92%a9/
Or planet-destroying AI frauds:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain
If that was the best "innovation" the human race had to offer, we'd be fucking doomed.
But – as Ryan Cooper writes for The American Prospect – there's a far more dynamic, consequential, useful and exciting innovation revolution underway, thanks to muscular public spending on climate tech:
https://prospect.org/environment/2024-05-30-green-energy-revolution-real-innovation/
The green energy revolution – funded by the Bipartisan Infrastructure Act, the Inflation Reduction Act, the CHIPS Act and the Science Act – is accomplishing amazing feats, which are barely registering amid the clamor of AI nonsense and other hype. I did an interview a while ago about my climate novel The Lost Cause and the interviewer wanted to know what role AI would play in resolving the climate emergency. I was momentarily speechless, then I said, "Well, I guess maybe all the energy used to train and operate models could make it much worse? What role do you think it could play?" The interviewer had no answer.
Here's brief tour of the revolution:
2023 saw 32GW of new solar energy come online in the USA (up 50% from 2022);
Wind increased from 118GW to 141GW;
Grid-scale batteries doubled in 2023 and will double again in 2024;
EV sales increased from 20,000 to 90,000/month.
https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/blog/2023/12/19/building-a-thriving-clean-energy-economy-in-2023-and-beyond/
The cost of clean energy is plummeting, and that's triggering other areas of innovation, like using "hot rocks" to replace fossil fuel heat (25% of overall US energy consumption):
https://rondo.com/products
Increasing our access to cheap, clean energy will require a lot of materials, and material production is very carbon intensive. Luckily, the existing supply of cheap, clean energy is fueling "green steel" production experiments:
https://www.wdam.com/2024/03/25/americas-1st-green-steel-plant-coming-perry-county-1b-federal-investment/
Cheap, clean energy also makes it possible to recover valuable minerals from aluminum production tailings, a process that doubles as site-remediation:
https://interestingengineering.com/innovation/toxic-red-mud-co2-free-iron
And while all this electrification is going to require grid upgrades, there's lots we can do with our existing grid, like power-line automation that increases capacity by 40%:
https://www.npr.org/2023/08/13/1187620367/power-grid-enhancing-technologies-climate-change
It's also going to require a lot of storage, which is why it's so exciting that we're figuring out how to turn decommissioned mines into giant batteries. During the day, excess renewable energy is channeled into raising rock-laden platforms to the top of the mine-shafts, and at night, these unspool, releasing energy that's fed into the high-availability power-lines that are already present at every mine-site:
https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/02/06/this-disused-mine-in-finland-is-being-turned-into-a-gravity-battery-to-store-renewable-ene
Why are we paying so much attention to Silicon Valley pump-and-dumps and ignoring all this incredible, potentially planet-saving, real innovation? Cooper cites a plausible explanation from the Apperceptive newsletter:
https://buttondown.email/apperceptive/archive/destructive-investing-and-the-siren-song-of/
Silicon Valley is the land of low-capital, low-labor growth. Software development requires fewer people than infrastructure and hard goods manufacturing, both to get started and to run as an ongoing operation. Silicon Valley is the place where you get rich without creating jobs. It's run by investors who hate the idea of paying people. That's why AI is so exciting for Silicon Valley types: it lets them fantasize about making humans obsolete. A company without employees is a company without labor issues, without messy co-determination fights, without any moral consideration for others. It's the natural progression for an industry that started by misclassifying the workers in its buildings as "contractors," and then graduated to pretending that millions of workers were actually "independent small businesses."
It's also the natural next step for an industry that hates workers so much that it will pretend that their work is being done by robots, and then outsource the labor itself to distant Indian call-centers (no wonder Indian techies joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians"):
https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/17/fake-it-until-you-dont-make-it/#twenty-one-seconds
Contrast this with climate tech: this is a profoundly physical kind of technology. It is labor intensive. It is skilled. The workers who perform it have power, both because they are so far from their employers' direct oversight and because these fed-funded sectors are more likely to be unionized than Silicon Valley shops. Moreover, climate tech is capital intensive. All of those workers are out there moving stuff around: solar panels, wires, batteries.
Climate tech is infrastructural. As Deb Chachra writes in her must-read 2023 book How Infrastructure Works, infrastructure is a gift we give to our descendants. Infrastructure projects rarely pay for themselves during the lives of the people who decide to build them:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects
Climate tech also produces gigantic, diffused, uncapturable benefits. The "social cost of carbon" is a measure that seeks to capture how much we all pay as polluters despoil our shared world. It includes the direct health impacts of burning fossil fuels, and the indirect costs of wildfires and extreme weather events. The "social savings" of climate tech are massive:
https://arstechnica.com/science/2024/05/climate-and-health-benefits-of-wind-and-solar-dwarf-all-subsidies/
For every MWh of renewable power produced, we save $100 in social carbon costs. That's $100 worth of people not sickening and dying from pollution, $100 worth of homes and habitats not burning down or disappearing under floodwaters. All told, US renewables have delivered $250,000,000,000 (one quarter of one trillion dollars) in social carbon savings over the past four years:
https://arstechnica.com/science/2024/05/climate-and-health-benefits-of-wind-and-solar-dwarf-all-subsidies/
In other words, climate tech is unselfish tech. It's a gift to the future and to the broad public. It shares its spoils with workers. It requires public action. By contrast, Silicon Valley is greedy tech that is relentlessly focused on the shortest-term returns that can be extracted with the least share going to labor. It also requires massive public investment, but it also totally committed to giving as little back to the public as is possible.
No wonder America's richest and most powerful people are lining up to endorse and fund Trump:
https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-05-30-democracy-deshmocracy-mega-financiers-flocking-to-trump/
Silicon Valley epitomizes Stafford Beer's motto that "the purpose of a system is what it does." If Silicon Valley produces nothing but planet-wrecking nonsense, grifty scams, and planet-wrecking, nonsensical scams, then these are all features of the tech sector, not bugs.
As Anil Dash writes:
Driving change requires us to make the machine want something else. If the purpose of a system is what it does, and we don’t like what it does, then we have to change the system.
https://www.anildash.com/2024/05/29/systems-the-purpose-of-a-system/
To give climate tech the attention, excitement, and political will it deserves, we need to recalibrate our understanding of the world. We need to have object permanence. We need to remember just how few people were actually using cryptocurrency during the bubble and apply that understanding to AI hype. Only 2% of Britons surveyed in a recent study use AI tools:
https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c511x4g7x7jo
If we want our tech companies to do good, we have to understand that their ground state is to create planet-wrecking nonsense, grifty scams, and planet-wrecking, nonsensical scams. We need to make these companies small enough to fail, small enough to jail, and small enough to care:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi
We need to hold companies responsible, and we need to change the microeconomics of the board room, to make it easier for tech workers who want to do good to shout down the scammers, nonsense-peddlers and grifters:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/
Yesterday, a federal judge ruled that the FTC could hold Amazon executives personally liable for the decision to trick people into signing up for Prime, and for making the unsubscribe-from-Prime process into a Kafka-as-a-service nightmare:
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/05/amazon-execs-may-be-personally-liable-for-tricking-users-into-prime-sign-ups/
Imagine how powerful a precedent this could set. The Amazon employees who vociferously objected to their bosses' decision to make Prime as confusing as possible could have raised the objection that doing this could end up personally costing those bosses millions of dollars in fines:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/
We need to make climate tech, not Big Tech, the center of our scrutiny and will. The climate emergency is so terrifying as to be nearly unponderable. Science fiction writers are increasingly being called upon to try to frame this incomprehensible risk in human terms. SF writer (and biologist) Peter Watts's conversation with evolutionary biologist Dan Brooks is an eye-opener:
https://thereader.mitpress.mit.edu/the-collapse-is-coming-will-humanity-adapt/
They draw a distinction between "sustainability" meaning "what kind of technological fixes can we come up with that will allow us to continue to do business as usual without paying a penalty for it?" and sustainability meaning, "what changes in behavior will allow us to save ourselves with the technology that is possible?"
Writing about the Watts/Brooks dialog for Naked Capitalism, Yves Smith invokes William Gibson's The Peripheral:
With everything stumbling deeper into a ditch of shit, history itself become a slaughterhouse, science had started popping. Not all at once, no one big heroic thing, but there were cleaner, cheaper energy sources, more effective ways to get carbon out of the air, new drugs that did what antibiotics had done before…. Ways to print food that required much less in the way of actual food to begin with. So everything, however deeply fucked in general, was lit increasingly by the new, by things that made people blink and sit up, but then the rest of it would just go on, deeper into the ditch. A progress accompanied by constant violence, he said, by sufferings unimaginable.
https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2024/05/preparing-for-collapse-why-the-focus-on-climate-energy-sustainability-is-destructive.html
Gibson doesn't think this is likely, mind, and even if it's attainable, it will come amidst "unimaginable suffering."
But the universe of possible technologies is quite large. As Chachra points out in How Infrastructure Works, we could give every person on Earth a Canadian's energy budget (like an American's, but colder), by capturing a mere 0.4% of the solar radiation that reaches the Earth's surface every day. Doing this will require heroic amounts of material and labor, especially if we're going to do it without destroying the planet through material extraction and manufacturing.
These are the questions that we should be concerning ourselves with: what behavioral changes will allow us to realize cheap, abundant, green energy? What "innovations" will our society need to focus on the things we need, rather than the scams and nonsense that creates Silicon Valley fortunes?
How can we use planning, and solidarity, and codetermination to usher in the kind of tech that makes it possible for us to get through the climate bottleneck with as little death and destruction as possible? How can we use enforcement, discernment, and labor rights to thwart the enshittificatory impulses of Silicon Valley's biggest assholes?
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/30/posiwid/#social-cost-of-carbon
#pluralistic#ai#hype#anil dash#stafford beer#amazon#prime#scams#dark patterns#POSIWID#the purpose of a system is what it does#climate#economics#innovation#renewables#social cost of carbon#green energy#solar#wind#ryan cooper#peter watts#the jackpot#ai hype#chips act#ira#inflation reduction act#infrastructure#deb chachra
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Hi!
I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!
I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!
I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.
I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!
'Til it Hurts
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?
Word Count: 12.5k
Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...
A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.
It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.
God, you’d never have friends like that again.
Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.
They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.
Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.
Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.
At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.
A city now filled with killers.
“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”
The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.
Not good.
Shit. Karver, where did you go!?
Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.
If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.
You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.
But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.
Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.
This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.
“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”
Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.
So that was where you came in.
God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.
Mostly because of situations like this.
“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”
Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.
None of this was going to plan.
You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.
Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.
The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.
3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…
Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.
A man, then.
“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”
You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.
With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.
Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.
“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.
A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.
“You’ll never get it out of me-”
“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”
“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”
There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.
You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?
Have they seen murder?
But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.
You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.
“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.
Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.
Your mark has been met.
The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.
“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.
You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.
The Reaper.
Oh, what would they think of you now?
You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.
In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.
Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.
���
The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.
“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.
Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.
“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.
Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”
Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.
“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”
“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”
“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”
“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”
“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”
An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.
Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.
Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.
“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.
“Hm,” their command affirms.
Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.
Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–
“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”
The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.
Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.
“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.
Brows furrow.
Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.
“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.
“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.
Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.
An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.
Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”
“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.
“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.
Price grunts under his breath.
“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.
Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?
“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”
Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.
Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.
Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.
“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.
“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.
“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.
Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.
“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.
“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”
“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”
“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”
“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”
The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.
But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.
“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”
A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.
“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.
The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.
“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”
“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”
Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.
“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”
“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.
Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.
You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.
Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.
Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.
The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.
Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.
“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”
“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.
Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.
“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”
It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.
Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.
The room is more silent than Ghost is.
“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”
The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.
“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.
“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”
The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”
Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.
He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.
But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.
Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.
Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.
You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.
He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.
His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.
“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”
Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.
‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.
Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.
—
You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.
Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”
In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.
Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.
Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.
The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.
And Ghost.
Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.
But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.
Mutt was the worst of them.
Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?
The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.
You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.
What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?
Your ears twitch.
“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”
“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.
“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”
“Sir!”
After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.
Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.
Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.
You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.
Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.
Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.
—
It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.
Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.
There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.
Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.
But there were ups to this constant downward slope.
It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.
“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.
Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.
You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”
Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.
The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.
You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.
Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.
“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”
Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.
Your eyebrows furrow.
He was never mean to me.
There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…
You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.
Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.
No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.
You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.
A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.
Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!
“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”
By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.
“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”
But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.
You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.
“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.
You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.
A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.
If I had known…you frown.
Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.
“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”
The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.
Like blood lining the street.
You force yourself to run faster.
—
You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.
Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.
The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.
But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.
Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?
Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.
But you didn’t look away.
“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.
Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.
“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.
Your Captain scurries after.
“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.
At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.
But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.
You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.
The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.
The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.
‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.
And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.
You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?
“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”
Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.
“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”
You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.
“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.
Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.
“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.
“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”
“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.
‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’
Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?
Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.
“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.
“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.
‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’
You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.
The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.
And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.
—
When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.
Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.
I need new intel. Badly.
About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.
On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.
Your cheeks heat.
He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?
As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.
Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.
Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.
Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?
Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.
What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?
The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.
Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.
A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?
When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.
“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”
“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”
Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?
“Now that’s dark.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.
There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.
They had died a long time ago.
“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.
Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.
Stop that.
“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”
“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”
“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.
“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”
“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.
What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?
The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.
He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.
She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.
But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.
Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.
Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.
When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.
His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.
“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.
He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.
You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.
What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.
But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.
“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.
“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”
Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”
He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.
“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”
“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.
“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”
“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”
“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.
“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.
He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.
Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.
Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.
At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.
Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.
You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.
Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.
You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.
Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.
“Well, where are we–”
“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.
Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.
Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.
Boxed in.
Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.
One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.
You don’t bother watching him drop.
Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.
But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.
Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.
You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.
“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.
Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.
Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!
“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”
“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”
“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”
“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.
Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.
A wide grin is stuck on you.
Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.
Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…
“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”
He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.
Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.
A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?
“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.
Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.
Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.
“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”
Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.
Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.
Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.
How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.
All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.
“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.
“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?
His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.
There were few people worthy of that.
You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.
You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.
Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.
You’d never had sex before.
And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.
He sighs heavily and follows in silence.
—
When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.
They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.
You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.
You could forget about it. You should.
But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.
If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.
Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!
You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.
Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.
But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.
It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.
But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…
“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”
Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.
Why did they do this to you?
TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here
Tags:
@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @serpahic, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9,
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(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost fanfiction#cod x you#cod mw22#cod smut#cod x reader#cod#mw2 fanfic#mw2 2022#mw2#mw2 x reader#call of duty mwii#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mw2#call of duty x you#ghost mw2#captain johnathan price#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#kate laswell#simon riley#ghost x you#ghost cod#cod fanfic#x reader smut#x fem!reader#x female reader
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SUPER SHY 2.0
Pairing: Miles 42! X Shy Black Plus Size Fem Reader
Tags: @idkmistake @aaliyahwalkshere @mama-2001
Summary: Y/N has finally been noticed by Miles, you already had Miles heart now you have it even more now that you two are bonding getting to know each other.
A/N: I'm glad you guys loved the other one so much!! So here's pt.2 a day later I hope you guys love this one as well!! ENJOYYYYY as the author I was giggling and kicking my feet rooting for y’all. Btw if you didn’t read Pt.1 go read it before this one!! pt3
“I'm Y/N thank you so much”. You say taking your books trying to hide your smile.
“No problem Y/N also I like your shoes” Miles stated with a smile, you looked down at your shoes then looked at his smiling even wider looking back up at him.
“Thank you we’re matching” Y/N replied. Miles looked at his shoes smirking looking at Y/N
“Coincidence” He said swiftly walking away with his friends. You were hooping and hollering in your head trying not to scream.
“GIRLLLLLLLLL” Aaliyah shouted.
“Damn that was a very intense moment” Ocean states with her eyes widened looking at You.
“That's your man cannot convince me ANY less” Aaliyah exclaimed, throwing her hands up.
“Seriously did you see the way he LOOKED at you when y’all were talking AND the mamita that's all yours Y/N”. Ocean added to Aaliyah’s statement
“PLS don’t add on to my delusions, let's get to class” You stated before, y'all were late to class. You and your friends contained yourselves going to your math class. You couldn’t concentrate on anything but Miles was running through your mind it was hard to pull yourself together. Your friends noticed laughing quietly. You looked at them with a smile, you went on your phone to distract yourself seeing the following icon pop up on instagram, you clicked it seeing ‘therealmilesgmorales’ has followed you. Your eyes light up showing your friends your phone.
“Ohhhh mmmmm ggggggg” Aaliyah whispered.
“You better get on that luv cause that's officially your man he followed you” Ocean stated smirking at You.
“Real delulu screaming out my man” You sang causing you and your friends to giggle, in your peripheral vision your teacher eyed yall.You guys immediately started doing your work praying the bell rings soon. You went back to daydreaming with the biggest smile on your face, you heard the bell ring grabbing your things exiting the class room with your friends. The rest of the school day went by smoothly, you saw Miles in the hallway shooting him smiles and he smiled right back at you. The end of the day approached and you were about to leave with your friends.
“Hey Mamita” Miles said approaching you, you were smiling from ear to ear.
“Hi Miles” You said shyly.
“Is it okay if I walk you home?”. Miles asked, You looked at your friends and then back at Miles they nodded their heads at you.
“Yes of course” You replied.
“BYEEE Y/N WE LOVE YOU” Aaliyah shouted
“BE SAFE BOOKIE” Ocean Shouted as well as you were leaving with Miles.The walk was dead silent for 5 minutes because you were too shy to say anything, Miles picked up on this smiling at you.
“What you listening to?” Miles asks
“I'm listening to Best I ever had by Drake” You reply
“That's my shiiit play it I wanna listen”. He says you take your airpod out blasting the song. Miles starts singing, you look at him chuckling joining him cause fuck it.
“Baby, you my everything, you all I ever wanted We could do it real big, bigger than you ever done it You be up on everything, other hoes ain't ever on it I want this forever, I swear, I can spend whatever on it” The both of you sing laughing having a good time walking home. You were smiling the whole walk, Miles started dancing while walking making you laugh.
“AYEEEE” you shouted hyping him up, you appreciated how he made you feel comfortable by doing simple things. Quite frankly Miles did not give a damn about how he might have looked crazy; it made you feel comfortable enough to sing at the top of your lungs with him.
“Who else you listen to ma?” Miles asks with a smile, seeing you smile
“I listen to Brent Faiyez, Tyler the Creator, Steve lacy, Shreea Kaul, the list goes on”. You reply smiling from ear to ear.
“I like Brent Faiyez, Tyler the Creator,Steve Lacy, I have to listen to Shreea Kaul. We gotta get together, do nothing and listen to music you a Vibe” Miles stated, looking at you with the cutest smile on your face.
“Tienes una hermosa sonrisa” Miles said, making you want to fall to your knees, the way it rippled off his tongue, the way his voice sounded it tingled you just right. (You have a beautiful smile)
“Thank you Miles” You said shyly, Miles chuckled.
“You gettin shy on me Mamita?”. He says confidently being a tease, the way everything rolled off his tongue did something to you.
“Noo of course not”. You say looking away from Miles.
“Awe it’s okay, I have a question for you”. Miles expressed
“What's your question?” You ask while still looking away from him, he brought his hand to your chin turning your head to look at him, you were flustered trying not to blush.
“Can I take you out Tomorrow?” He asks, caressing your cheek with his thumb, you fall into his touch looking at him.
“Yes you can take me out” You say receiving a smile from Miles, he wanted to kiss you right then and there but it was too soon way too soon. He stopped touching your face realizing you’ve made home.
“Don’t worry about where we are going, I'm going to figure it out,it's going to be a surprise just show up looking pretty I'm going to show you how pretty girls are treated”. Miles stated looking you in the eyes.
Stay tuned for pt 3!!!
#astv hobie#astv fic#astv fluff#astv angst#astv gwen#astv pavitr#astv miles#astv fanfic#astv#miles x reader#miles 42#earth 42 miles morales x reader#1610 miles x reader#earth 42 miles x you#1610 miles morales#earth 42 miles x reader#42 miles morales#miles morales 1610#hobie x reader#hobie x you#hobie spiderverse#pavitr x reader#atsv pavitr#into the spider verse#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderverse x reader#black reader#Spotify#miles x black reader#miles 42 x reader
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hey! ok so, what about a fun little jousting tournament and reader is just like, soooo fucking hyped to be there and cheer everyone on??
so cuteee
warnings: none
king!ghost x reader -- jousting
As you sit in the royal box, adorned with the regal colors of Kastron, the roar of the crowd and the clash of armor reverberate through the air. Thunderous cheers erupt from the stands as knights take part in the annual jousting tournament. You can’t help but join in on the cheering and whooping, adding your voice to the chorus of excitement. Your eyes dart between the gallant knights charging at each other, their lances gleaming in the sunlight. Simon is set to participate in the tournament, and your heart swells with pride at the sight of him donning his royal armor, a symbol of both his prowess as a soldier and his role as the King.
You can’t help but get swept up in the fervor of the tournament, being naturally competitive with nine siblings. The spirit of the competition courses through your veins as you watch Simon prepare for his joust. Memories of childhood races, games, and spirited debates with your siblings flood your mind, fueling your already amped up demeanor. You can’t resist the urge to stand and lean over the railing of the royal box, waving your handkerchief in the air and whooping like a cheerleader.
“Simon! Simon!” you call out, waving your arms frantically to get his attention.
Simon, caught in the midst of his preparations, looks up to the royal box. A grin spreads across his face as he locks eyes with you, and he gives a curt nod before slipping his skull balaclava up to his nose. He jogs over and stands at the base of the box, looking up at you from the ground. You lean over the edge, your whole torso hanging over the railing. You extend him your lacy handkerchief, the fabric fluttering in the breeze. Simon grins, accepting the handkerchief with a short bow.
“Thank you, love. A token to carry into battle,” he says, his voice carrying over the cheers of the crowd.
“Good luck, handsome,” you smile sweetly, batting your eyes playfully.
With a wink, he tucks the handkerchief into his armor, securing it as a symbol of your support. The crowd’s excitement intensifies as Simon makes his way back to the tournament field, his strides radiating confidence. Your heart swells with affection, and you turn back to cheering for the other knights jousting.
A while later, Knight Soap rides up to the edge of the box on his steed, a dark pink rose in his hand.
“Aye, your majesty, here’s a token of admiration for you,” he chirps, bowing as he extends the rose towards you with a gallant flourish.
You accept the rose with a gracious smile, acknowledging his sportsmanship.
“Why, thank you very much, Johnny! A true knight in both skill and courtesy,” you say with a twinkle in your eye. You wave the rose in the air, adding an extra touch of flair to your spirited cheers.
“Ye’re welcome, your majesty. ‘Tis a pleasure to share the field with such a formidable ruler and a skilled man as King Ghost,” Soap replies with a hearty laugh.
As the tournament progresses, the jousts become more intense, each clash echoing through the arena. Simon emerges victorious in each round, each win causing you to jump from your seat. Your eyes are glued to the field, your heart pounding in rhythm with the thunderous hooves and the cheers of the crowd. The diverse display of skills from the knights, each with their unique style, impresses you beyond belief.
The anticipation in the air is absolutely electric as the herald announces Simon’s title for the final joust, and the crowd’s cheers reach new heights.
“Simon! Show them what you’re made of!” you holler, your voice cutting through the clamor. Your competitive spirit flares up once again, leaning over the edge of the box as you shake your fist in the air, eyes fixed on Simon as he rides his horse into the jousting arena.
Simon’s head turns in your direction, now fully concealed with an iron helmet. He salutes you, pumping his lance into the air. You fall back onto the edge of your seat, clutching the rose Johnny gave you, heat creeping into your cheeks.
Simon charges down the tournament field with the grace of a seasoned knight, his eyes fixed ahead and lance held steady. The clash of lances resounds through the arena as Simon and the knight charge towards each other. The crowd falls into a hushed silence, collectively holding its breath. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch, fingers gripping the railing. The skirmish against his opponent is fierce, the impact resonating through the arena. Simon’s lance strikes true, unseating his opponent. The crowd gasps collectively, and then, as the dust settles, a deafening roar erupts. You leap to your feet, jumping up and down with excitement and pride, rose raised high in celebration. Simon has emerged victorious once again.
“Long live the King! Long live Kastron!” you shout, the fervor of your cheer matched by the exuberance of the crowd. The box becomes a sea of flying handkerchiefs and cheering courtiers, all caught up in the victory.
Simon dismounts and acknowledges the crowd, pumping his fist in the air in victory. His helmet is lifted, his balaclava still protecting his face. You watch as he swings back up on his horse, galloping towards the royal box. The crowd’s cheers intensify as Simon approaches, victorious and breathless, his eyes revealing the triumphant smile evident beneath the balaclava. You can hardly contain your excitement, adrenaline bubbling within you as he approaches. The rose in your hand, now slightly crumpled from your celebration, awaits its final recipient.
You lean over the edge of the railing, but Simon was now eye level with him mounted on the horse. He untucks your handkerchief from his armor and extends it towards you.
“I believe this is yours. Thank you for the good luck charm,” he says, his eyes glistening beneath the balaclava.
You laugh, reaching out to gracefully take your handkerchief from him. “It seems to have worked wonders,” you reply, your words laced with affection.
You take the rose out, holding it out in front of you towards him. “This is for you, my dear husband.”
Simon’s eyes light up as he takes the rose from your hands, a soft smile playing on his lips. "A beautiful token from a beautiful queen. Thank you,” he says graciously, tucking the rose into the front of his armor. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his covered cheek. The crowd, still in the throes of celebration, cheers even louder at the display of affection between their king and queen.
You turn to face the crowd, grabbing Simon’s armored wrist and raising it in the air.
“Behold our champion, King Ghost! Long live the King of Kastron!” you declare, your voice carrying over the crowd. The people erupt into cheers, and Simon bows in acknowledgment.
As the cheers of the crowd surround you, he leans in to whisper in your ear, his voice barely audible over the noise.
“What d’you think about going back to the castle to celebrate?” Simon questions, his suggestive tone sending shivers down your spine.
A mischievous grin spreads across your face as you meet Simon’s gaze.
“What a wonderful idea,” you respond, your voice carrying a playful undertone. “Have to reward you properly, don’t I?”
With that, you and Simon make your way back to the castle, hand in hand. The celebrations continue deep into the night, and the castle’s grand halls echo with the sounds of revelry from jubilant citizens and courtiers.
- - - - -
(masterlist)
#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon “ghost” riley x reader#simon “ghost” riley x you#hyperactivelyme
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"Boytoy"
WARNINGS; sexual references, ken x fem!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, ken finding out about periods, fluff & happy ending, plot doesn't connect with the movie, probably grammar mistakes
Bonus Part
After their rather intense night they just got comfy under the covers, this time with Ken being the big spoon. Y/n was laying her head on his chest, just where his plastic heart is, his heartbeat lulling her into a deep sleep. Our lucky Ken had his arms wrapped around y/n's frame, while nuzzling the top of her head, inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo, feeling his eyelids getting heavier.
~~
Since that day they've been inseparable. Ken figured out how to control his waking up in the real world or in Barbieland. He was also informed that there's a portal to y/n's world at his favourite beach. Y/n's house has become his own and she was happy and patient to get him used to human activities such as going out for a snack, walking her home after her classes and so on.
Life is good, it's sublime. Y/n is looking forward to Ken's surprise for her birthday...she was able to figure out what it was but she'd never reveal that to her giddy man. Ken is planning to take her to Barbieland for a day and that means she can meet her childhood friends, the Barbies.
Currently, Ken is waiting for y/n at her apartment because she had exams to take. He is so proud of her for the silliest of accomplishments so y/n can hardly imagine the excitement he feels for her determination and wit at studying. Unfortunately, she wasn't in the mood for celebrating, or making out, or having a tickling session, or watching horse documentaries. Ken was devastated.
Y/n went straight to her bedroom to change into the fluffiest pyjamas possible before curling up next to Ken and letting out a deep sigh.
"Why did it have to happen today out of all days?!"
Ken is puzzled by her statement. His expression is rather adorable as he tries to understand what is going on in her head. He finally speaks in a sheepish but also curious manner.
"What did happen today that shouldn't have y/n?"
She huffs and buries her face in his arm. She is already tired from all the studying, frustrated with her headaches and exasperated from the too familiar cramps.
"It's nothing Ken...", she murmurs.
Under any other circumstances she would've been delighted to share this part of her human experience with Ken...however the thought of having to break down what periods are to her blonde partner has y/n riled up now.
Ken is of course too dramatic at his reaction to her dismissive answer. He takes an expression of pure heartbreak.
"Are you bored of me?! Oh no y/n!"
Y/n can't help but chuckle a bit and her mood lightens up. He can't be so pure, it's infuriatingly cute.
"It's my period Ken, it's not your fault I act like so grim..."
Ken's confusion is comically obvious and she decides to explain what needs to be explained.
~~
By the end of her primary school teaching moment, Ken is looking at her with a new kind of awe. If women weren't fabulous enough before in his blue eyes, they definitely are now.
And so another monthly ritual is added to Ken's list of being y/n's hype man. He makes a huge, too bright and silly looking calendar and writes down his human's days of the month. She always has a bag of chocolates and plush toys waiting for her, maybe a flower or a cowboy accessory. Y/n has a whole collection at this point. The best part, though, is what comes after the marked days on the calendar end....
Let's just say Ken's libido is that of a teenager's and how could she complain when she's ovulating?
notes~~
Well, that's it... the little happy ending I had promised. Boytoy was the first thing I ever posted on here and the first thing I wrote in general for the public eye🥺 Looking back, I know I could have done it better, but I don't want to be ungrateful because Boytoy made my blog gain an audience. I want to expand my writing on other fandoms so stay tuned! Thanks for all the support <33
Dividers by; @cafekitsune
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Tags; @notleclerc @moonmaiden1996 @vilovedr @goldenvespa @hope4rain19 @l8nightreads
#fanfic#fanfiction#barbie movie#barbie#female reader#ken doll#ken x reader#ken x you#ken x y/n#ryan gosling#one shot#ryan gosling ken#ryan gosling x reader#ryan gosling x you#fluff#margot robbie#oc#y/n#x y/n#ken barbie#boytoy#barbie ken#ken x reader smut#smut#ryan gosling character#ryan gosling smut#kenergy#ken carson
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Do people not understand that the Infinity Castle as movies would be a lesser situation for fans??
Each movie lasts 2 hours. Mugen Train was around that duration and it spanned 6 episodes worth of content. If there are multiple movies, say 2 movies, that will be 12 episodes of content. You guys want the entirety of Infinity Castle to be animated into only 12 episodes????Entertainment District Arc was 13 episodes long (including the 1-hour first and last episode). Infinity Castle has almost double the manga chapters of Entertainment District.
And nothing will kill the hype more if there's a trilogy of movies. Each movie for one upper moon? That's horrible pacing. I can accept waiting a year between two parts of Infinity Castle, but to wait for three parts? One of the greatest highlights of Infinity Castle is seeing the nonstop, high-intensity action and how Gotouge keeps the momentum going. One Upper Moon per movie is just too glacial a pace and it's going to feel slow and dragged out.
And even if they went down that route, Shinobu vs Douma will still need to be in the first movie because it happens before Akaza vs Tanjiro. And no, you can't reshuffle it because there's an important tidbit about Akaza not eating women that Douma tells Kanao. So the second movie will ONLY feature Douma vs Inosuke and Kanao. You guys tell me how the fuck that's going to work. The only way is by adding gratuitous amounts of filler beyond what would be satisfactory.
In other words: neither two or three movies work for Infinity Castle.
Y'all talk about Ufotable getting better budget for movies as if Entertainment District Arc's animation quality didn't easily rival Mugen Train. The budget won't make any difference -- the only difference is that the pacing is going to be fucked up and either too slow or rushed. The only genuine upside I can think of is not having to wait for episodes weekly and getting everything at once and experiencing it in a theatre setting.
But do you guys genuinely prefer an inferior product just for the brief experience of instant gratification? Why can't we be patient just for a better end-product? Once KNY the anime is finally complete, you're going to be revisiting an arc with sloppier pacing than what could have been. All because you cannot wait weekly and just so you can get a few hours of great theatre experience.
It's just disappointing and you should know that the movie is going to release first in Japan before a belated international release and our first glimpses of amazing moments may be trending potato camrip images. It's horrific.
The moment the movies are announced would be the moment of collective loss for Demon Slayer. You can fuck up any arc but you cannot fuck up Infinity Castle. This is Demon Slayer's magnum opus. Only a long season can give the treatment this masterpiece deserves.
#demon slayer#infinity castle#giyuu tomioka#tanjiro kamado#tengen uzui#sanemi shinazugawa#obanai iguro#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#my post
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PAC~ Let Me Hype You Up! Why are you so amazing? Why are people drawn to you?
Pile 1~
Hi there pile 1’s! You are the kind of person who does not tolerate B.S of any kind. Straight off the bat, you are someone who can be peaceful and blunt. There are two sides to you that everyone may get, and you know it. You are not afraid to speak your truth! This does not mean you are argumentative or combative, rather you are outspoken, and honest. It may irk others because they aren’t ready for what you have to say, and they project their ego onto you. Know your truth regardless! I also see you may put a lot of effort into yourself physically, and people are drawn to that. You appear high maintenance, or there is a fairy vibe to you. Even so, people know you’re not one to mess with! You are still a kind person with boundaries, its up to people to decide which side they get from you. You have a very interesting and unique way of appearing to others, you may find that people describe you differently every time. It’s because you blend with energy so well that its difficult to describe you, adding more mystery! You may be into a cyberpunk, cottage core aesthetic, or have a lot of aesthetics that you enjoy! Zodiac Signs: Pisces, Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius.
Pile 2~
Why are people so drawn to you my pile 2’s? Let’s find out. First of all, people pick up an intense aura to you. It’s very much ride or die, and all or nothing. It’s deep, intense, and encourages others curiosity about you. It’s easy for people to get lost in your eyes, especially your voice. You may have a reserved energy at first, which intrigues others, but when they really know you, you are funny, down to earth, and full of wisdom. You may overthink a lot, but I’m seeing that people admire that. What’s admirable about that ability is your intellect and ability to see all sides, all perceptions. Although its difficult to manage, people find that amazing, almost like ‘’I never would’ve thought that if they didn’t say it.’’ There is such a ‘’I want to get to know you but I know there’s this intensity, I’m intimidated.’’ So a lot of people may want to talk, but find themselves hesitating easily. What’s amazing is your intellect as said earlier, and your emotional depth. There is so much to learn from you, and your emotions have the ability to connect you deeply to the world and yourself. You are your own ride or die, and many people want you as their ride or die. They may try to please you. Zodiac signs: Scorpio, Leo, Taurus, Aquarius, Libra. P.S. I think you know how intimidating you can be, and you love it.
Pile 3~
Hi there pile 3’s! How many of you all have dreams of being wealthy and being financially savvy? I see you. What’s admirable is your ambition, drive, and earthy presence. You are like a rock on the outside, committed, loyal, and steady. But what people don’t see right away is your drive, ambition. That’s your secret, that’s how you move. You may like keeping it a secret: your hustles, your drive, dreams. Only those closest to you know. I’m getting a ‘’secret circle’’ kind of vibe. Many people want in on your plans, but you don’t give easily because you know they’re important to you. You have a select group you hang around with, and people want in on this. People want to know what you’re working on, and they are attracted to your mindset about money. I see your dreams are attractive too. You think big and allow yourself to reach those goals. People may come to you wanting help a lot, because you radiate this ‘’I know it all,’’ energy, even if you don’t. A lot of people place you on a pedestal because you carry yourself to high standards. Keep it up. You are not afraid to rock the boat in relationships when it comes to your needs! This doesn’t mean you being argumentative, you are honest and open. You know what you deserve and that’s attractive.
🌃Decks Used:🌃
Queer Tarot by Ash and Chess
Thank you all for the support, please like, comment, and reblog! Have a blessed day/night.
#tarotcommunity#astrology#devi post#divination#tarot deck#astrology community#tarot#tarot reading#witchcraft
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I was scrolling through Tumblr and saw someone claim that you don’t need to watch Series 8 and 9 of Doctor Who. Thus, I shall advertise why both seasons are so fucking good and SHOULD BE watched.
Series 8-9 is pure character drama (with an added thematic focus). Like the most character orientated of NuWho. Moffat is criticised for his inability to either consistently write a cohesive narrative or his third acts fail to meet the hype. However, to apply that critique to these two seasons feels really wrong because these elements that played a major role during The Matt Smith era are incredibly second hand and only serve as a backdrop for the intensity of the drama at hand. Often, the finales of 8 and 9 are instead incredibly thematically driven and several “unresolved” narrative threads are actually metaphors or symbols surrounding the Doctor and Clara.
The approach is incredibly experimental and Moffat at his greatest. In Series 8, there is a literal double feature that not only has really cool monsters/concepts but is also in reality unravelling Clara’s own character and deconstructing what it means to be the Doctor. To go even further, Clara evolves from a mystery box with some vaguely defined (but still there) character traits to a dissection/inverse of Rose. Clara may be disliked by the end (not by me) but she is an incredibly complex character in Doctor Who and Series 8 further recontextualises her actions in Series 7 while Series 9 escalates them entirely.
Clara and Twelve have possibly the most insane chemistry since maybe Tenant and Tate. However, instead of the comedic genius that is Donna and Ten/Fourteen, we get an incredibly tense and tenuous relationship that verges and transcends romance and platonicism. They would literally go to the ends of the Universe and destroy it along the way if it means to save the other. Coleman and Capaldi are literally acting their asses off each time regardless of what the episode calls for. Also not to say they aren’t funny though, they are still incredibly fucking funny (Magicians Apprentice, Robots of Sherwood etc). Also to not watch these two seasons completely annihilates the character arc The Doctor goes on from 8-10 so do not fucking skip them.
These two seasons may not feel like Doctor Who but they still are regardless. They are about what it means to be The Doctor and the wildly divergent stylistic approach in comparison to RTD1 and Moffat’s Smith Era helps give the show a greater variety. I think it’s vital to keep an open-mind, tis all.
#I have a longer elaboration coming soon#doctor who#no spoilers#peter capaldi#jenna coleman#dw series 8#dw series 9#12th Doctor
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timestamp: stark
it’s 11:33 am when you make chan an offer he can’t refuse.
๑彡 bang chan x gender neutral!reader
๑彡 slice of life!au, stranger!au — little fluff(?)
๑彡 paragraph format — 0.9K words
masterlist
[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]
๑彡 oh? what’s this? a kpop-related post after two months? unbelievable. (in all seriousness, i’ll try to get back to this side as soon as i get my muse back here o7 for now, please enjoy!)
๑彡 if there are any stay-mcu/iron man enthusiasts out there, this one’s for y’all *insert dancing emoji*
You were having the time of your life.
It was not your first time visiting Disney California Adventure nor Disneyland, but the excitement you felt was still as intense as the first time. Perhaps it was because there were huge gaps between your visits. Or because there was really just something in the Disney air that never failed to make you giddy.
Whatever the case was, you always looked forward to your Disney trips. And this was no different.
Since your visits were far apart, there was always something new in the parks whenever you visit again. Regardless of your attachment to the media that inspired the new attractions, you were always excited to explore the new additions.
For this visit in particular, you were extra hyped. Not only was there a new land of attractions, the area in question was also inspired by a media that you were very familiar with.
Avengers Campus.
You wouldn’t call yourself a Marvel fan — nor a Marvel Cinematic Universe fanatic. If anything, you were just someone who watched enough of their releases to develop attachments to their characters.
Most people head straight to Radiator Springs Racers once the rope dropped. But you? You were dead-set on spending your early hours exploring Avengers Campus. So you did.
Two rides in, your feet brought you back in front of the Avengers Headquarters.
And there, right in front of the Avengers’ logo on the wall, was Iron Man — taking photos with visitors.
Frankly, you had no plans on paying Disney photographers to take your photos. For one, you didn’t research how much their services were. Second, you figured you would succumb to capitalism in other ways (read: churros and Dole whip), so it’d be best if you’d only spend your money there.
Yet, still, you found yourself lining up to take photos with Iron Man.
The line wasn’t terribly long, but you knew it’d be a thirty-minute wait at least. After all, it wasn’t just a photo-op — it was also a quick meet-and-greet. Thankfully, you were in no rush, so you didn’t mind the wait.
You let your mind wander to pass time. You observed different people interact with Iron Man as their turn came and passed. You scrolled through your phone, switching applications mindlessly.
Amidst your thoughts about which continuity Disneyland’s Iron Man existed in, you caught the cast member beside you talking to another guest. "—Mr. Stark has a meeting to attend to soon, but he’d be back after."
It didn’t take you that long to piece what that in-character response must’ve meant, especially if the other guest walked away upon hearing them.
"Excuse me," you turned the cast member’s attention toward you, "can you hold my place for a second?" As an afterthought, you quickly added: "I’ll be back. I promise."
You jogged after the other guest before you could change your mind.
Really, there was absolutely no need for you to do this. As you heard the cast member say, there would be other opportunities to meet Iron Man throughout the day.
Yet, somehow, you felt strongly compelled to. Like you were supposed to.
"Excuse me," you called your fellow guest’s attention. You flashed him a small smile, "Hi."
"Hello," he greeted back after halting to hear you out. He reciprocated your gesture with one that almost blinded you, "Can I help you?"
"Are you still interested in taking a picture with Iron Man?"
"I am," he affirmed.
"Do you wanna take it with me?" You blurted out your objective for coming to him, before he could say anything else. "I mean," you backtracked as soon as you processed how strange you must’ve sounded, "I saw some people take group photos and then solo ones; so you’re up for it, we can split the cost or something."
Frankly, you didn’t exactly thought this whole thing through. You were operating on impulse. You were going with the flow — even if you weren’t exactly sure where it was leading you to.
"That’s actually not a bad idea." You didn’t even know where that proposition came from. It just spilled out your mouth without going through your brain first. Nevertheless, it seemed to have done its job. "I’d actually take you up on that, if you don’t mind."
You smiled wider, "Great!" You turned back and started leading him to where you came. "I’m [first name], by the way."
"Nice to meet you, [first name]. I’m Chan."
You and Chan waited out the rest of the line chatting. You conversed about the most trivial things — from the other attractions you were planning on visiting to your theories on how Disneyland’s Iron Man’s voice actually sounded similar to Robert Downey, Jr.’s. You even talked about how you spent the earlier part of the morning. And what you thought of what Marvel did to their cinematic characters.
By the end, when everything had been said and done, you and Chan parted ways with a way to keep in touch and a picture of each other saved in your respective camera rolls.
Albeit you were initially reluctant to succumb to another bait of capitalism, you didn’t mind the price you paid for the set of photos that included a cute candid of you and Chan with Iron Man.
(Years later, when your fates have entwined more permanently, you saw that same picture framed in Chan’s apartment. “It’s my favorite,” he told you after claiming your waist in a back hug.)
#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#stray kids x reader#bang chan imagines#chan imagines#stray kids imagines#bang chan scenarios#chan scenarios#stray kids scenarios#bang chan oneshots#chan oneshots#stray kids oneshots#stranger!au#bang chan#chan#stray kids
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I am having so so so many feelings about Infinite Wealth and I've just been spamming my friend with essays about my overanalyzing brain that obsesses over every single detail in media I am obsessed with,, BUT THIS GAME IS JUST SO FULL OF OPPORTUNITIES FOR IT AAAAA!!!
I just wanna note some longer thoughts down, because I need somewhere to collect some of them,,,,
So yeah, uh, obviously:
LIKE A DRAGON INFINITE WEALTH SPOILERS
(any Yakuza game really, but this is the most recent one, so more likely that people haven't played that yet)
Number 1:
So first of all, Kiryu's parts are, because of the bucket list stuff, very focused on the past. He's trying to tie up loose ends, in his own way and how much he is actually able to do with the Daidoji restrictions.
So I think it was really fitting that he was the one fighting Ebina. In a way it felt like him fighting his past and trying to turn it around.
Now what do I mean by that? Let's start from an earlier point.
Basically, the game is a bit like a mirror to Kiwami in some ways.
Lani is like Haruka, hunted down by several groups of people and they even talk about this similarity being Kiryu's leading factor of motivation in helping her. I mean, there's also different mafias and a whole government conspiracy. But I mean, nothing new in a Yakuza game, but just one more thing added on top of it all.
Where it really starts to show and made me think "Ohhh...wait a second" is when Ebina held his speech about his past. Ebina and Ichiban, even though they didn't grow up together like them, are so similar to Kiryu and Nishiki. One being the Yakuza boss Arakawa's "favourite child", who also idolizes him, and the other one grows to hate him.
And I think this is also the moment where Kiryu realizes "Oh no...history is repeating itself again, isn't it..."
So at the end of the fight, when he actually breaks out in tears and begs for no one to die, it feels like all those deaths he couldn't prevent over all those years, good or bad people, just make him completely break down and he just wants this endless cycle to finally end.
Before the game came out, RGG and actors, in some occasions pointed out how this was a happier game. It makes you feel like looking up instead of being sad.
And while I was playing, I often just felt "Bruh, they lied to us. This game is so sad???", but after I then finished the game, I just sat there and felt such a big relief, the ending just was honestly perfect (well, I mean the cliff hanger was awful jddhd). But then later, it also made me think yeah, this is kind of like a positive version of Kiwami, isn't it? It just feels like it's in a way Kiryu's tying up loose ends with Kiwami's happenings. Fighting his past, finally getting over it in a way.
I thought more about this when I listened to Ebinas boss theme again, because one part has those bells(?) And they sound so much like in For Whose Sake. And then I thought back to the ending more and realized that the whole buildup of it was so much like Kiwami too!
In the finale, first you fight [Villain], who is also the main culprit behind a big government conspiracy. He has helpers with him, and attacks with a gun/guns.
At first you only fight the helpers, then him together with those helpers.
The music is intense and dreadful, everything feels really epic.
Then, after that fight, it goes to the REAL final boss fight. Inside a room, high up on the Millennium Tower, you fight him. Both Nishiki and Ebina are so similar already in their own ways. And the fight is more personal, with emotion behind it. Just that it ends with Nishiki killing himself, but Ebina, while he basically begs for Kiryu to kill him, survives.
The music during the fight has it's ups and downs (intensity-wise) and manages to feel both melancholic and relaxing, as much as they hype you up.
So yeah, it's all such a direct mirror up to the point how it ends. And Kiryu was trying his hardest to prevent things from happening again.
There are often similar themes and plots throughout Yakuza, makes sense, such a long running series, but I think in this particular case it's just so very fitting and it's just SO similar and fits the reflection and fix-it theme of Kiryu's part of the story so well. Especially with how Kiryu's tragic story all started with Yakuza 1 (going by release), still haunting him through every game with constant flashbacks, and now it ends with a story so similar.
Or well, let's hope so, I just want Kiryu to finally rest bruh 😭😭
Number 2:
"Rupture". The name of Hanawa's theme in Gaiden.
Just blatantly taking dictionary definitions here, but there are two ways the word "Rupture" works:
1) (especially of a pipe or container, or bodily part such as an organ or membrane) break or burst suddenly.
"If the main artery ruptures, he could die"
2) breach or disturb (a harmonious feeling or situation).
"Once trust and confidence have been ruptured, it can be difficult to regain"
Keeping that in mind, moving on.
Maybe listen to Hanawa's battle theme for this one, to really visualize it.
Now, whenever I put on the good ol' Gaiden All Boss Battle Themes video, whenever Hanawa's theme came on, I thought wow, this song is really completely different, huh.
But the nature of the song felt quite fitting for a character like Hanawa.
It starts of dark, mysterious, there's a sadness to it. Just like Kiryu now, he has been a man who once "died" and has since then been forced to live in the shadows, his every move being controlled by others. He's like a bird trapped inside a cage.
Then, the song picks up, becomes more intense.
Hanawa's internal struggle and his fight with Kiryu.
When you fight him, the whole scene around it honestly, is like the bird trying to escape this cage. And while nothing that happened was really "real", as in, no fatalaties would've happened because it was all a test, it did feel real for Hanawa and Kiryu. Now looking at the second definition for rupture, it's just like here, on a way more emotional level. And all so sudden. And this is the beginning of him being more and more risky when it comes to the Daidoji, and he keeps on helping Kiryu more than he should, its like his rebellion.
In Infinite Wealth, during the raid on the safe house, it was also all so sudden. It all happened so fast.
The music is picking up. It's nearing the end of the song, and everything becomes so loud and overwhelming - Hanawa suddenly gets shot and dies - then immediately after the wild and short final buildup, silence again. It's a slow, quiet somber tune, like at the beginning of the song, but now fading out... And Hanawa is declared dead.
The sudden rupture lead to immediate casualty, physical this time.
I'm sorry, I DON'T KNOW WHY I MAKE MYSELF SO MUCH SADDER OVER THIS SCENE. But come on, it's just... so perfect, right? 😭😭😭😭
I miss Hanawa so much man. I was really pissed that this is the way they let him go, but just now, after listening to his theme again for the first time since I even started Infinite Wealth, it felt like it just all made sense now. It just clicked. His theme is like a visualisation of his whole story throughout the games.
And it's honestly, sadly perfect. The composers for the Yakuza games are honestly such geniuses. Bringing out some of the best songs ever constantly and making them just feel so fitting for everything.
But yeah. Regardless of if this was meant to be interpreted similiary or not, it just kind of adds to it all for me personally. Especially since you could now maybe see his theme in Gaiden as a bit of secret foreshadowing?
I'd like to see it that way. And maybe, seeing a bit more importance in it all is what helps me to cope with his godawful death scene, RGG what were you thinking man 🥲🥲🥲
Number 3:
Eiji.
Oh boy. Uh, I don't really know yet what the general opinion on this pathetic wet cat (affectionate) is, but I really loved this character. In both a "you're such a damn loser" and "my poor little meow meow :(" way :'D
But most importantly, what I wanna focus on to follow the (over)analyzing theme: Eiji is like a mirror of Masato.
Now, Kiryu has his Kiwami mirror in his finale and Ichiban also has one. But I think this one is way more obvious and also very ironic.
Eiji starts off with trying to earn Ichibans trust and well- it immediately works, of course, it's Ichiban! But the tactic he uses for it, faking being disabled and needing a wheelchair. It was the perfect way to make Ichiban pay attention to him first, because it would remind him of Masato. I think Ichiban immediately just started to get attached to Eiji, and now I'm thinking that Eiji was probably a bit conflicted before he turned his back on him. But his deep rooted hatred was too strong for one nice interaction with a Yakuza, something he demonized, to stop him.
I think it was kind of funny how he was basically like "You're so evil, you Yakuza will NEVER be good people!!! See how good I am while I throw down this child tied to a wheelchair, down those stairs while holding a bomb!!! That'll sure show you evil Yakuza!!!"
Ah. He's so stupid 😭
And yet, whatever happened, Ichiban just constantly called him "Ei-chan", like he's still his bestie and everything is fine. Constantly protesting against it, Eiji probably felt more and more conflicted, because Ichiban is just such a big (and naive) sweetheart. (((Side note: What's not to love about him fr 😭😭)))
So by the finale, and after Eiji had time to say how much he HATED the Yakuza and also, y'know. The whole Bleach Japan thing. Kinda like someone else, hm? Someone else Ichiban constantly insisted on treating like a friend.
But Ichiban convinced him to just turn himself him, turn his life around. Just like he eventually managed to convinced Masato through blood and tears.
And the ending scene is literally an exact mirror to Yakuza 7. Ichiban carrying someone away...
Just in Yakuza 7, it is Masato, dying in his arms, and in Infinite Wealth, it is Eiji, and he's trying his hardest so he will get out of this completely unharmed, throwing himself in front of every danger facing them, getting beat up until he passes out by the end.
You could say this too, is like a good version of another game's ending, with a character mirroring a brother-like person to the main character.
Quite ironic how Eiji started off "imitating" Masato, only to end up like him. Just that one died and one lived.
And just like Kiryu did with Ebina, Ichiban tried his hardest to stop history from repeating itself. Stop more people dying again and again.
The logo having an Infinity symbol seems oddly fitting now, you could say each circle of the symbol is Kiryu and Ichiban, and their stories are intervined in certain ways. Just that their stopped the "infinite" circle from repeating once again.
Or...something like that. I'm trying to sound smart at 5 am, I need sleep I think 😭
#yakuza#like a dragon#ryu ga gotoku#lad#infinite wealth#like a dragon infinite wealth#lad infinite wealth#IM OVERANALYZING AND RAMBLING GAHHHH IM EMOTIONAL OVER THIS GAME
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Hype Train!
F!Streamer Reader x M!Yandere Streamer OC
Part 5~
His Info: 📹✨
Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6
!!!MINORS DNI!!!
CW: NSFW, !F reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, SMUTT, cockwarming, mutual teasing, pet names (good girl, pretty, my girl), yandere, exhibitionism
“Try to not worry f’me, okay?”
You sigh, “I’ll try. I really will. It’s just gonna be really hard, ya know?”
“Of course, I’d never ask you to completely stop anything. I just wan’ ya t’ know that I’m gonna protect you.” Jasper kisses your palm, “from everything.”
A smile spreads across your warming face.
“I love you, Jasper. I trust you, just promise me you won’t get in trouble… I—I don’t wanna be without you.” Tears prick at your eyes. You’ve never been able to let your guard down… You’ve never even felt this scared before.
He reaches up to gently wipe your face and kiss both your cheeks.
“Nothing will take me away from you, pretty.” Your hair slips through his fingers as he deeply inhales your scent. “I promise.”
You beam, “Oh! by the way, I was planning on streaming tonight, would you wanna collab?”
“I have a great idea for a collab, actually…”
“Mm!! Uhh, oh! S-sorry, hah! Ummmm, Y-yurmomstinks, uhh, hah! th-thank you for thhhe—the um, resub! You’re amazing!” You stammer out before muting your mic in a ferver. “Jasper! I don’t think I c-can do this! they’re gonna know!!” you hiss.
His head remains draped over your shoulder.
“Hmmm, I think your doing amazin’, sittin’ on my cock while entertaining our viewers like the good girl you aree~. I’m so lucky my girl’s s’ talented,” He blows a little puff of air onto your neck.
“St-stooop! p-please, Jasperr! H-how am I supposed t-to d-do this?” You whine, the intense pressure and searing heat inside you make it almost impossible to function.
Did it get bigger somehow?
“Ahhrrrrg! You’re insatiable… And What is that? Why does it f-feel… like, b-bigger or something?”
“You’re one t’ talk. I keep feelin’ you squeeze me even tighter. You want so much more. Don’t lie~” The grin on his stupidly hot face is audible as he teases you. “nd I put my piercing back in” he nonchalantly tickles your neck with his teeth.
“What?! It’s p—pi—ha—pierced!?”
He pushes his hips up, going even deeper into you. “mmhmmm, ’s it too much f’you?” his snake bites tickle your ear as he nips it.
“Mmmf!!! D-don’t d-do th—aaaat!! Jas-ah-perr” He rolls himself under you slowly, gripping your sides to keep you in place.
You bite your lip.
“Do you really want me to stop, pretty girl? hmmm?” He starts to lift you off of his lap.
“AH! N-no!!!” You reach down and claw into his thighs.
“hmm,” He hums in satisfaction, “and you said I’m the insatiable one,” he tuts, and then all of a sudden while he’s still holding you above his lap, he bucks up, and pulls you down hard to meet him halfway.
“AHH! Jas-!!!” he lowers himself, lifts you, then slams back up into you again. “I-I’m gonna!!!”
“Do it.” he commands, “Cum on this cock, pretty.”
“Mmmmffff fffffuuuuck!” You convulse, and cry out.
He unmutes you, and slowly lowers you back down…
“You better quiet down, p-pretty, they’ll figure us out~.” He kisses your neck.
“Ffffff-uuuck youuu,” you quake as you come down, the pleasure still building though. Even your Vtuber model is twitching around the corner of the screen.
“Not yet, prettyy~,” He speaks smugly over your shoulder into the mic.
“Mm, ah! S-sorry every-one! I ha-ad to t-take a phone call!”
The chat is already blowing up…
“😳😳😳Was that… Jasper_????”
“Uhm…😵 Are you seriously getting fucked rn?”
“She def is😪.”
“That sounded like Jasper tho”
“Yo waddup Jas!”
“tell him we say HI!☺️☺️☺️!!”
“haaaaa, Oh my g-goodness guys! No! I’m seriously n-not-”
“It’s okay, Y/username, t-tell them who you belong tooo~” His smug grin is even more evident as the chat speeds past at the speed of light.
“Jasper!!! Shut uppp!!!”
“OH MY GOD!!! IT REALLY IS JASPER?!”
“NO WAY”
“IS THAT REALLY JASPER?!”
“JASPER_!!!?”
“ASHDMDMSKSMMXM🥵”
“SHE REALLY IS GETTING FUCKED!!!”
“i knew it.”
“yup”
“i knew it. i just ddnt think it was gonna b him…😔”
“Wow…”
“I was seriously in love with him tho😭”
“😱This is ILLIGAL”
“bro…🤤 How tight is sh-” he bans that one before you can finish reading it.
and so much more, you only catch a few as they fly by.
Tears start to prick at your eyes, you feel a little scared, some of them seem mad…
“Hey now, don’t be mean. Y/Username is my girl. If you disrespect her, you’re no longer welcome in either of our streams.” He scolds the viewers.
“You’re literally fukin rn tho. 😑”
“No, he’s right”
“Maybe she’s just excited?”
“😳…tickle fight???”
“S-sorry guys, I am-mm, with Jasper. We are just joking around behind the camera, hah, nothing like that! I swear!”
“We are together though.” He starts, “So You’ll all have ta get used to it. Got it?”
You stifle a laugh.
“Mmm!” he groans as your body shakes.
“someone call the Litch police! They really are fucking!🚔🚔🚔”
“TOS”
“TOS OMG🚨🚨🚨”
“OH NO MY EAAARRRSSSS”
“TEE OHHH ESSSSS🚨”
“No, wait, this is getting good guys😏…”
“^^ agreed😏”
You get a pretty devious idea, and the smirk to go with it…
With new purpose you grind down into his lap, rotating your lower half, you’re a little jittery, but the desired effect is still met.
“Y-y/User-username! ffffuuuuck-” his head falls over the back of the chair, his hands curling tighter into your sides.
“What is it Jassspserrrrr~? Tell themm~” you stifle more giggles, and his hips buck into your ass involuntarily. “Ahh!” You gasp.
“Ah! mmm!” He struggles.
Now you’re both fighting live on litch to make the other finish first.
“mmm, you little,” He lifts you again, the monitors shake as you hold on for dear life.
Your elbows hold you up and you push the keyboard out of the way. “L-little what? hmmm??” You laugh.
“That’s it. S-Streams over.” He reaches around you.
“Just when it was heating up,”
“Oh man, that’s really hot ngl…”
“I still can’t believe it’s really him.”
“Yeah when did this even happen??”
“Who cares, that was hot asf”
“did ny1 clip that???”
“Did you fuckin hear her? she was defsoaking his lap”
“Yeah, share plz!”
The chat continues to wiz past even after he ended the stream.
You’re forced to lean onto the desk with your head down, and your back arched. The access he has to your pussy from this angle is intense.
You already knew you were going to lose, but you had fun getting to tease him back.
“I-love y-ou Y/N!” He thrusts his hips up into you not stopping, your body is threatening to knock everything off everything down as you’re pushed forward more and more with each one.
You’re going to have bruises on your hips from him forcing you into the edge of the desk over and over again.
“J-jasper! I-I lo-ve y-you!”
You both climax, his hot semen mixes with your juices and spill out of you over his length and down onto his lap.
You continue grinding desperately into eachother for a mind breaking come down.
You’re yelling each other’s names and moaning at the top of your lungs, until the neighbors bang on the wall of your living room.
You laugh, and readjust to hug him, and snuggle into his neck, his dick continues to twitch inside you.
He rubs firm circles into your back and squeezes you.
“I seriously love you, Y/N.”
“I love you too, Jasper… This was…” You have to catch your breath, “Actually really fun,” You let out a heart filled giggle and sigh.
“We’re doing this again for all of my future streams right?”
“NO! oh my godddd!” you begin to laugh, “I hate you… hmm…” You wonder… “I do have another idea though…”
“Oh? care to share?”
“Nope! You’ll see,” You grin from ear to ear.
#my oc#oc x reader#oc x you#yandere#yandere x reader#my fic#yandere x you#tw yandere#dead dove do not eat#yandere male#yandere streamer#yandere streamer x you#yandere streamer x reader#streamer x you#streamer x reader#oc jasper
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The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 18/Nov/2022
So I started this week determined to get Chapter 20 done.
I knew it was gonna be a serious push, but I was pumped to get it finished.
And I did!
The base writing for Chapter 20 is completed already!!
Not only am I over the moon with getting it finished earlier than expected, but I actually managed to add in an extra scene for each LI scene that varies depending on a certain choice made the MC! And I ABSOLUTELY LOVE them!!
Part of my push was also due to intense excitement because it meant I got to write a couple of majorly emotional scenes I've been waiting actual years to write!! I had, like, a folder of extra notes specifically for these moments that I’ve been writing towards it over the years, hehe :D
It was both amazing and somewhat cathartic to get them out and decide what was going in, what wasn’t, what needed to be adapted to account for unexpected changes in things that have happened over the other books, etc.
I was also really enjoying the differences of the LI’s thought processes depending on who they talk to in the extra scene that I added in.
For example, M is realizing what is going on with their feelings a lot faster in a certain BFF route just because that vampire doesn’t push. Where as in the others it’s not as easy or fast. Just really love being able to have that variation in there!! Takes a long time to add, but so worth it! 'Cause it means you could replay M’s romance and experience it differently even when playing it multiple times!
Nai has also been getting me hyped as she's been working on Nate/Nat's Love Interest trailer for Book Three...oh, it looks so good already... :D
But yeah, it was a serious push this week, but so proud to get that done.
Which means it's only the base writing for Chapter 21 to go! And I am determined to keep it on plan...I'll be working on some editing today and tomorrow, but will be getting straight into the last chapter on Monday!
Obviously there's all the editing, playtesting, beta testing, etc after that, but that all tends to go a lot smoother and faster!
AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!
Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next Friday <3
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Let’s talk about “A Guy Like You”
This might be an unpopular opinion(??) but I genuinely think that “A Guy like You” is a really sweet song, but it was put in the worst possible place that it could have been. I also want to say, I believe that part of appreciating a piece of media is also exploring criticism of it, and I love this movie a lot. I say this with all the love in my heart.
Thoughts and suggestions below!!
I feel like it has merit as an encouraging song for Quasimodo and his self-esteem. I think it’s well written, well composed, and the voices sound great. It definitely has good intentions for Quasi. But it’s in the wrong place at the wrong time, and like I’ve said before, it absolutely kills the momentum of “Hellfire” and the burning of Paris.
“Heaven’s Light” leading into “Hellfire” is SO masterfully done, I absolutely love how it contrasts Quasimodo and Frollo, and the music and animation is phenomenal. And keeping up the frightening visuals and motives expressed in “Hellfire,” Frollo and his obsessive hunt for Esmeralda is also amazingly executed, with the Latin background singing and the fiery imagery really adding to the terror of the scenes.
This is the pivoting point in the film where Stuff Gets Extra Serious, and if we went directly from the hunt through Paris to the part where Esmeralda brings an injured Phoebus to Quasimodo, it would have kept up that tension so well. Combine that with the brilliantly done—and very tense—scene with Frollo visiting Quasimodo with grapes, the urgency to warn Esmeralda in the Court of Miracles, the Court of Miracles scene, and the stellar climax of the film, and you get a second half of the movie that feels faster and even more dramatically intense than the first half, a natural movement of the story pushing forward.
I feel like it would make more sense if it was placed before “Heaven’s Light” and “Hellfire,” after Quasimodo helps Esmeralda escape. Like, after Quasimodo makes Phoebus leave, the gargoyles congratulate him, “Way to go, lover boy!” Quasimodo bashfully protests, “Lover boy? Oh, no, no. Look, I appreciate what you’re all trying to do, but let’s not fool ourselves. Ugliest face in all of Paris, remember? I don’t think I’m her type.” To which the gargoyles respond by trying to raise his hopes up, encouraging him by singing “A Guy Like You” (of course, adjusting the lyrics with Paris being on fire, which are not fitting for the plot right now)
Have “A Guy Like You” as this fun, bombastic song hyping up Quasimodo. Then, in a quiet aside, Quasimodo inwardly continues to express some doubts about his chances of being with Esmeralda, while still holding on to his wistful and innocent hope. He sings about his romantic desires in a more soft and gentle way with “Heaven’s Light.” And cut out the gargoyle parts during “Heaven’s Light” so we can have a greater emphasis on Quasimodo singing, focusing on his affection and appreciation for Esmeralda. Which then, in turn, is sharply contrasted with “Hellfire” and Frollo’s emotional torment and obsessive lust.
I watched the Director’s Commentary and I definitely get where they were coming from—setting up this song for Quasimodo right before he sees Esmeralda and Phoebus kissing, and gets his heart broken—and making that whiplash all the more stinging. But I still feel like that set up for the fall could have been accomplished without a tone-breaking song. Maybe instead of the gargoyles singing a cheery, upbeat song in this very dark and heavy moment, we have Quasimodo look out worriedly at the city on fire, talking to the gargoyles about how concerned he is about Esmeralda, explaining just how much he cares about her and loves her.
Continue the film as normal with Esmeralda coming to the bell tower and asking Quasimodo to help hide Phoebus, then Esmeralda and Phoebus kiss and the reprise of “Heaven’s Light” plays over the sight of a heartbroken Quasimodo so we still get the emotions of the scene, his hopes dashed.
At the end of the film, Quasimodo finds acceptance, kindness, and companionship. And this concludes this plot thread of the movie :)
What do you think? Do any of you have different opinions? (I’d love to hear your thoughts!)
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