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#Love Day Love Story Series

noahmullariii · 17 days

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the rage I feel when reading Blood of Olympus chapters 45-56 is almost equivalent in magnitude to the absolute joy I experience when reading The Last Olympian chapters 1-23.

remember when percabeth was good? when they meant the world to each other but had other people they cared about (nico, for one. both of them. so much), other worries and other storylines aside from their romantic plot? and when nico's completed arc wasn't repeated for no reason other than to dump more trauma on the youngest character in the series? when background characters were included in the story not for all the unnecessary last minute romantic subplots but because they were fun and fascinating to learn more about? and were actually friends with main characters? remember when grover was percy and annabeth's best friend forever? and antagonists were actually interesting and intimidating and had compelling goals? and the story revolved around friendship and family and loyalty? and death was definite and loss was palpable and battles were thrilling?

yeah. good times.

#rr crit #pjo #hoo #hoo crit #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #oh how i love them in pjo. how they loved.#grover underwood #<- remember him?#nico di angelo #will solace #dumpster fire of a canon relationship ->#solangelo #anyway!#last olympian will forever be the best book this man wrote #how can you finish one of your series so perfectly then fuck up so bad while ending the next story #cuz goddamn does blood of olympus boil MY blood #ESPECIALLY those last fucking chapters omg #why would you massacre my boys rick #putting nico and will in a room together for the first time just to turn will into a total asshole. great move thanks a lot!#will had so much potential from his previous appearances #you could've left it at that dream message nico had #that was nice!!! actually!!#instead you ruined all of it with a few chapters #justice for tlo-tlh will solace cuz that was one nice background character with potential to become a great main one day #nico deserves THAT will. not this piece of shit he meets #also nico and percy friendship in hoo is... nonexistent???#what is that about #fucking hell richard

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moon-mirage · 1 year

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Katniss offering Peeta the nightlock berries (The Hunger Games)

Peeta offering Katniss a pearl (Catching Fire)

I like the parallel because this small thing changed the trajectory of their relationship/storylines so much. The berries allowed both of them to win with Katniss defying the Capitol when she decided against surviving on her own but instead saving Peeta too. And the pearl - it’s just such a sweet just-because gift for the girl who always had to trade and give things in return. And the pearl stays with her even when Peeta is taken, a reminder of the boy who would give her the world without expecting anything in return.

#The Hunger Games #thg #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #everlark #my fanart #I'm still figuring out how to draw them #I hope I'll become better at it #but I had lots of feelings about them lately #more so than when I first read the series #which is a story for another day #but I love stories where people just choose each other over and over again despite the odds

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torchstelechos · 1 year

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I do think its really important to remember that SY was suppose to be the villain character but its only because of his kindness and newly gained life that he didn’t end as one. In the very beginning of the story we learn that Peerless Cucumber Bro often left comments on how SJ didn’t get his dues and needed to be punished more, and only after he transmigrated did he acknowledge how awful of a death SJ had. He also made point to explain that he only read the book for LBH, which he noted to enjoy his decisive actions and deft ability to kill. Markedly, he liked his brutality and personality over the erotica that the majority of PIDW fans enjoyed. Peerless Cucumber Bro is someone who loves action and the ability to cut right to the chase, something that he does not do and most likely has difficulty with in his world.

Speaking of, it is something to note that Peerless Cucumber bro is rich. He had head chefs, he could pay for a 6k+ chapter book of erotica in 20 days, he noted that he could not understand SJs envy and ambition for power since he lives well, and he even noted to himself that his family was well off. He is incredibly wealthy, and it shows. Which is important to note because he, not once, showed any guilt or remorse on dying and leaving his family behind. Yes, he sometimes refers to people as being similar to his family but he never showed any pain for losing that life like he did when he lost LBH. This is important because I genuinely think SY was depressed and self destructive to himself, which goes against popular HC that he was chronically/terminally ill (I do like this HC and like how its portrayed in fanfiction). It would explain how he ended up dying all alone by himself, and how blase he was to his own life and death.

SQQ is a self destructive force who ended up dying three times, and didn’t feel anything about death itself. He was worried about others and the effect it had on them, but for himself it was up and on again like it never happened. He does not care for his health, had self isolated as SY to the point he died alone, and has a horrible self esteem to the point that he continuously agrees when other people put him down and often calls himself the villain. Even though we have seen the evidence of someone who is always being thrust into new situations and awful plots, he calls himself lazy and easy going. He hides his thoughts and feelings behind his fan and has a remarkably thin face. At the very base of his actions and his thoughts, he is self destructive, powerful, and smart. This is the set up for a villain.

However, when shown the actual people in front of him and forced to act as SJ did towards LBH and his disciples, he flinches from it. He notes that it happening in front of him was different. His entire self soothing comedy monologue went quiet when he had to enforce the Endless Abyss scene, and grieved for the childish innocence he killed from one of his favourite people. SY was set up to be the villain and obviously thinks of himself as one, but can not act as one. If he had the choice LBH would have been his sticky sweet white lotus disciple for as long as LBH wished to be.

His kindness, as seen in the book, is what turned him from being “the scumbag villain” to the protagonist we see in the novels. Which, yes, he is a protagonist! He even has the protag halo that LBH has and its very funny in the meta way for SQQ not to realize this, but thats for another post. But he loves his disciples, he loves his peak lord siblings, he loves his Binghe, he loves his new life, and he is kind. That is what kept him from being the villain he sees himself as, his kindness and love for others. Whether that be romantic, platonic, or familial, he loves the people he has met and he treats them kindly. That is why it is important to remember that he was set up as the villain by everything in the story we do not see, but what we do see is him continuously changing the story to fit a new genre that lets as many people as he can save live. Sorry sorry, I just think about SY being set up as a villain so much. It changes a lot of views I have on the series when I remember the duality of SYs story and character development.

#SVSSS #scumbag self saving system #Shen Yuan #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #Meta #I think?? Haha I dont usually do metas but I dont know how to write fanfic for this series #so Im just writing down my thoughts on the characters #Like how if we see this from the PIDW characters POV SY is truly a villain #Its just something that makes me laugh because he is a villain just as much as he isnt!#what a wonderful complex character to write for. This type of story.#I wonder if Peerless Cucumber Bro would forgive me for writing meta about him?? I think he would be kind of happy but utterly disgusted #ew fans that actually think im complex even though Im a really simple person with no hidden motives -SQQ probably #I love this fucking idiot so much I relate to him on a spirtual level and think he was probably depress to the point of having A Plan.#if you know what I mean #because I still think him reading PIDW entirely in 20 days marks a special occasion for something and if its not for the final chapter...#Anyway #I love this stupid sweet potato of a character #Oh! New tag!#Sweet Potato SQQ #for archiving puproses on meta for him #Probably not good meta I didnt even add quotes or page numbers Im just talking out my ass from what I remember #Watch me write an essay on this lmao

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wanderlust-in-my-soul · 9 months

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Forehead touches - an indication of not only the emotional or physical connection and understanding, but also a mental one. (Part 2/?)

The Day I Loved You

Boyband - The Series

History 4: Close To You

Shigatsu no Tokyo wa... / Tokyo in April is...

Our Skyy 2: Never Let Me Go

At The Moment

Gaya Sa Pelikula / Like In The Movies

Chains Of Heart

My Story

Ghost Host, Ghost House

Part of my favorite bl-tropes collection, as always in no particular order.

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sprout-fics · 11 months

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Falling Down to Earth (Part One)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind

(Part Two Here)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 7.6k Tags: Slow Burn, Heavy Angst, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity Warnings: References to childhood verbal abuse A/N: Three part character study of the medic named Fix, therapy included

There's exactly nine hours and ten minutes on the plane ride from England to Washington D.C. for you to finish falling down to Earth.

You sit in a far corner of the C-17, curled up on a seat and away from the other troops. Mostly American, some Canadian. They chatter for the first hour or so, and there's excitement, relief that buzzes through them. There’s smiles and laughter that drowns the fatigue of the things they've seen, the nightmares they'll all have. It doesn't matter right now. They're going home. Home to loved ones and familiar places, to joy and relief before the memories set in.In their camaraderie, someone produces a deck of cards, and there’s jovial laughter and friendly jibes as hands are played.

You listen from afar, gather bits and pieces of their lives- where they were stationed, for how long, where they're going home to, the people waiting for them. There’s an ounce of something that remains untouchable between them, refusing to speak of the bullet, the bombings and bombardments that scream in the silence of your mind. Some of them exchange numbers, share pictures of spouses, children, pets. There's a woman a little older than yourself who confesses she'll be proposing to her girlfriend the moment she lands, and the announcement is met by cheers and hardy claps on her shoulder.

You should join them, let the brightness of their joy drown away the dark pit that opens inside you with every mile that grows between you and the men you called brothers. Instead, every bit of illumination in their eyes seems to only make you sink further into yourself- wanting that happiness desperately for your own tender soul and far too afraid to reach for it.

There's no one to return to when you get home. Nobody to embrace you as you land, to burst from the door of a house and cry as they wrap their arms around you. Nobody to take you out to drinks even as you search the crowd for a familiar dark hoodie, a baseball cap, listen for a smoky, gruff voice or the lilting accent of a Scot. The only people for you are the people you've been forced to leave behind, staring across the sea and hoping maybe they'll think about you too.

You see the way the other troops eye you from afar, see the lost shape of you in your eyes that have long since stopped being able to shed tears. You think maybe one of them will come over, try to drag you from your thoughts, and for a moment you want so desperately for that to come true. It doesn't, and as the buzzer sounds and everyone finds their seats, you feel yourself descending to Earth once more, buckling away that horrid loneliness of you for whatever task comes next.

True to story, there's a small crowd of folks who welcome back the returning heroes with signs and embraces and delight. You tug your cap down a little farther, push past them and towards the direction of the base gate to grab a cab to...somewhere.

There's no one here for you. Not that you expected there to be. It's been a long time since you talked to your family. They'd tried to contact you while you were in university, and even now you can remember your father's commanding voice, warning you against the foolishness of your current path. He had been tempered only by your mother, with her docile, sad tremble, pleading for you to listen, to come home.

You stopped having a home with them a long time ago.

The last time you had heard from any of them was from your brother, the golden child, asking if you'd please consider coming to his candidacy announcement. Sweet, apologetic, filled with false niceties the result of only forceful ignorance.

"I don't know what happened between you and Dad, but maybe consider he said whatever he did because he cares about you?"

You hung up the phone, took your deployment papers, and never looked back.

Now, in a city that you've grown up in, one that feels like a foreign land, you falter, look to the wind for guidance. Air rushes past your form as you feel the center of yourself falling, an Icarus desperately reaching for the sun as you hurtle down into the dark waves of the ocean below. There’s no hands to catch you, nothing to stop your fall as you desperately grasp for an anchor against the gravity that forces you down into nothing.

You turn on your phone, watch it light up and prepare to call yourself a cab to a hotel. You're pretty sure your lease ended a long time ago, apartment cleaned out of the few things remaining there. You didn't bother to check, never expecting you'd be anywhere but here.

Surprisingly, you see a little green bubble pop up from one of the only numbers you have saved.

Laswell.

Fix. It reads, and you can almost hear Kate's clipped, wry tone in her words. If you're looking for a place to stay, come to this address. I've got a spare bedroom, and it sounds like you could use it. Let me know if you make other arrangements.

Attached is an address on the other side of the city, an hour's drive from where you are. You're ready to tap on it when there's one more message that appears beneath your thumb.

Text me when you get this. The boys want to know you made it home safe.

You're glad Kate isn't here to watch the sorrow color your eyes at the reminder of the men who have left you behind. You send a quick reply, summon a ride, and once more feel the world spin once more beneath your gaze as it rushes upwards, uncertain of where you will at last land when you sink through the clouds and into the ruin of yourself.

--------------------------------------------

It’s a nice house, you think.

Pressed up against a small thicket of trees, the brown brick bungalow exudes solitude, tucked away at the end of the aspen lined lane. The roof slopes steeply upwards, shingled and crossed over at the eaves with German styled paneling. It's older than many of the homes on the same street- newer, trying to appear older than they are with the faux stone exteriors and freshly installed windows.

The house before you is one of the few that has remained the same, steadfast against a changing world. Worn, tiles on the roof in need of mending, the stone steps gritty with dirt and age. It's quieter, yet somehow warmer than the homes around it. Like a hearth, it beckons you closer, offers the temptation of sanctuary. You can see a window jutting out into the direction of the side yard, a hidden perch that whispers of a quiet, needed withdrawal.

A glance down at your phone shows Kate’s message, the white letters contrasted against the gray darkness of your screen.

I won’t be home until after dinner, but Paula will be home. She’ll show you around :)

You shoulder your bag- standard issue military duffel- onto your back, trying to swallow down the gnawing sense of reluctance that paces the inner confines of your thoughts. The wince at the motion comes before you can stop it- the reminder of your suspension still scathing fresh against your skin. The lace of pain in your side instantly summons the memory of words fired between the sterile whiteness of a hospital room, aching with that same hurt.

“You have nothing to prove, Fix.”

“I have EVERYTHING to prove!!”

Even now, the freshly healed bullet wound you’d carefully concealed aches with an insistent, dulled sharpness against your ribs- almost worse than Price’s devastating command, thundering down onto you with dreaded finality.

“You’re suspended. Come back when you’ve got your head on straight.”

It hurts.

Not the wound itself, but the consequences you’ve reaped in the act of hiding it from the others- thinking that your injury would betray your own inner weakness. Deeper than a bullet, the horrifying, dreaded result of your own actions wind around your limbs like shadowy tendrils, dragging you down with an inertia you can’t control, wax wings melted by the sun.

Yet here the windows of the house glow warmly in the drawing dusk, candles in the dimness flicker, summoning you into their gentle embrace.

The hollow knock on the old wooden door seems to mimic the emptiness in your own heart, crying out in an emptiness you’ve always known, one you won’t be able to fill even with the insurmountable number of your disappointments.

The one who answers the door isn’t Kate. No, it’s a figure that’s a bit shorter, brown-eyed, coiling hair pulled away from her face. Still, the warmness of her eyes when she smiles, the brightness of her stare feels familiar, welcome.

“You must be Fix.” Kate’s wife greets, standing aside as your toes balance on the threshold. “I’m Paula. Please, come inside.”

You murmur a thanks, quiet and muted, eyes gazing down at your feet. You shuffle inside, perch precariously in the foyer as she shuts the door behind you.

This feels…wrong.

You desperately want it to not be so. You want to enjoy this- a warm house, a friendly face, a place to stay, to catch yourself. Yet there’s ghosts here, ones that whisper of chandeliers and polished centerpieces, beautiful tapestries and furniture meant only to look at. An artificialness you thought you abandoned long ago but persists even now. The scent of your father's office in your nostrils mutes Paula's gentle words.

“You can put your bag right here, we’ll get you settled later.” Paula gestures to a couch in the room beside you, where a dozing German Shepherd lies splayed against a frayed blanket. He gives you a few lazy thumps of his tail, raising a grey muzzle before flopping back once more. “Don’t mind Whiskey, he just had a run in the backyard, he’ll come say hello in a bit.”

Wordlessly, you drop the bag down on the cushions, turning back to Paula. Yet when your lips part, there’s no words. What do you even say?

I don’t want to be here. I want to be with them. This feels too much like the home I used to know, the same one I want to forget.

…Do you know where I can find myself again?

Your eyes find Paula’s, and all those words seem to be conveyed in your gaze alone. Heartbreak, bitter disappointment, longing, despair, a fury muted only by your own inescapable loneliness.

She takes a step forward, and you almost want to retreat, to press yourself away from her on instinct, a fragile thing that even a gentle touch might shatter. Yet there’s no threat in her eyes. Instead, there’s a warmth, a sadness that’s stifled by something that feels dangerously close to tenderness, to hope.

When her arms wrap around you, it feels less like a sentence and more like the inevitability of falling into a place where you want to rest the tender, hurt fringes of your soul.

You bury your face into her shoulder and sob like the child you never got to be.

--------------------------------------

True to her word, Kate comes home well after dark, bags under her eyes heavy as she drapes her jacket across the back of the couch. Whiskey, who until that point had been sitting attentively by your feet as you idly stroked his ears, barks and bounds over to Laswell, feet splaying forward and tail wagging. You watch as the fatigue in Laswell's eyes brightens to fondness, and she kneels to offer the German Shepherd a ruffle of his neck and a few tender words.

When she stands, she notices you past the door of the kitchen, perching on one of the barstools as Paula finishes making dinner.

"Fix." She offers in greeting, and she sounds oddly pleased, different than her usual, severe instruction to you and the team. "Good to see you."

You swallow around a piece of cracker and cheese and offer her a hesitant, shy glance with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"Hi Chief." You supply in turn, and Kate waves a hand at you as she passes into the kitchen, Whiskey at her heels.

"You can drop the honorifics." She tells you, humor concealing the drain the day has had on her. "You're in my kitchen eating food from my pantry. This is about as informal as it gets."

"That would be my kitchen, actually?" Paula supplies her with an arched eyebrow as she stands over the stovetop, overseeing the steaks in the cast-iron pan. Yet as Laswell reaches her the feigned annoyance in her eyes fades to something sweeter, and she cranes her head as Laswell delivers a fond peck to her wife's cheek. "Hi hun, long day?"

"Aren't they all?" Kate replies, peering over Paula's shoulder and making a pleased noise at what she finds.

You shift a little where you sit, feeling suddenly as if you're deeply intruding on a very private moment between the two women.

Kate seems to notice, and she turns to you, grey eyes regarding your stiff, uneasy figure perched beside the counter. You're still dressed in your fatigues, haven't yet retrieved a change of clothes from your bag still dropped onto the couch. It makes you feel strangely out of place. Within the dim, ambient light of the kitchen, in a place that feels like the tender warmth of a hearth, the green and grey camo of your uniform makes you seem a whole world away.

You think Laswell might follow you there, might immediately ask about what happened in England, about your fight with Price, about the healing bullet wound in your side, about how long you'll be here.

Instead, Kate smiles and asks: "Chocolate or pistachio?"

You falter, perplexed by her non-sequitur, eyes blinking as you provide: "Choc...olate?"

Kate nods sagely and vanishes back in the direction of the living room. You hear her rustle around for a moment before she appears once more, hands full before she deposits a plastic container on the kitchen counter in front of you. You blink at the dessert, once more feeling a bit out of place with the strange mundanity Kate has bestowed upon you.

"Cannoli." She quips, and it startles a little gasp from Paula, who turns and delightedly snatches a plastic container from her wife's hands.

"Eastern Market?" She asks happily, and Kate nods, looking a touch pleased with herself. "No wonder you were so late."

Kate offers a tired shrug, taking a bite of her own dessert, to which Paula tsks.

"Dessert before dinner?" She inquires, and again Kate shrugs. Yet this time there's that wry smile of hers tugging at the corner of her lips as she leans against the counter beside you.

"Who's to say we can't?" She replies, and when she glances at you her eyes flicker down to your own dessert and then up to you with a meaning there you don't fully understand yet. Her grey gaze rests on yours as if she's trying to convey a message through her stare alone. It remains to be deciphered, unwritten and unspooled just like the depths of you.

When you take a bite, the sweetness coats your tongue, and there's a small, foreign part of you that twinkles with joy, like the barest sound of wind chimes in a warm breeze.

-----

Kate shows you to your room after dinner and dishes. It's sparse. A bed, a dresser, a desk, a lamp, a closet. The window you saw earlier looks into the backyard, a cushion seated inside the frame like a silent lookout. It pleases you, oddly, scratches the part of your brain that instinctively seeks perches from which to set up a sniper position.

"It's not the Ritz Carlton." Laswell tells you as you stand, frozen on the threshold. "So, you'll have to bear with it."

"No." You whisper mildly. "It's...it's perfect."

You've spent so much time sleeping in trenches, on rooftops, on planes and in safehouses and not sleeping at all that this- this room with the downy white comforter and the soft hazy light of the lamp by the bedside...is more than you think you deserve.

You lower the duffel onto the bed with a considerable amount of hesitation, feeling Kate's eyes on you as you trace the print on the decorative pillow nestled at the headboard. She's silent, in that way of hers that you know is watchful, contemplative, discerning the secrets of others like sifting sand through her fingers in search of sea glass.

"Thank you." You offer after considerable silence, feeling and gratitude beyond words, trying to swallow down the protests that threaten to spill outwards.

I don't deserve this. You think. How can I possibly stay here, with you, after you chose me and I failed? How can you forgive me for that?

When you turn to Kate, she somehow sees all of this and more written across your gaze, and she sighs.

"Fix." She begins, and normally that's enough to make you panic, shift inwards and prepare yourself to be defensive, to receive orders and bury any doubts in exchange for duty. You expect instructions, constraints, consequences in the way you've lived all your life.

Yet Laswell holds her breath, looks at you with an emotion that feels too wise and sibylline to be pity or concern. Instead, it reminds you of the prophecy she held in her gaze in Ethiopia, where she told you to find her once more, had drawn you in like a moth to flame as if she knew you needed to be burned whole to find yourself amidst the ashes.

"Whatever you need." Kate offers at last. "I'm here. I mean that."

You want to believe her, want so desperately to bask in her comfort and ask of her more than you can bear, but the whisper of something deep and dark and unknown coils in your ear, drags you down and muffles any other sound than "Thank you."

It doesn't seem to satisfy Kate, because the line of her mouth goes taut and grim, form a little tense and it's hard to not think of it as disapproval.

"There's something else." She supplies in the silence that follows. "Price...mandated that you see a therapist while you're on leave. I'm supposed to sign off when you're fit to return to duty."

You can acutely hear the sound of your own heart hammering in your ears, feel the world spin in dizzying chaos once more as you process Kate's words.

"I thought you should know." Kate tells you as your face shifts in something close to fright, anxiousness. "But in exchange you can't keep pretending like there's nothing wrong."

There is nothing wrong. You want to tell her, knowing that it's a lie. So instead, you offer her silence, refuse to damn yourself further with your protests.

Kate paces over to the desk, pulls a drawer and produces a journal, places it gingerly on the surface of the desk before looking back to you.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. You don't even have to tell your therapist if you want. If you tell no one else, at least try and tell yourself."

You don't respond. What is there to say? Confess why you know you're here, that you think this is wrong despite that? That somehow for all the ruin in you, you're being punished?

Kate holds your gaze for a long moment before she closes her eyes, seemingly in resignation, pacing over to the door.

"The others..." She tells you, halfway turned to you, dim shadows slating across her form. "They care about you, Fix. We all do. I hope you remember that."

There's a pain then, one that flashes through you, makes something dull and rotted inside you crave towards brightness. You don't truly understand why it hurts until much later, curled in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness and trying to uncover the secrets of your own heart.

You think, deep inside, it's because you want to care about yourself too.

-------

The days that follow inch by.

You try your best to make yourself at home, memorizing the schedules of the women who host you. Laswell wakes first, at an hour most would consider ungodly, making herself a meager breakfast composed mostly of coffee before she kisses Paula and heads out towards the Pentagon. Paula follows later, flitting about the house muttering about misplaced papers, keys, glasses, her purse. You learn the first evening with them that she's counsel to a large immigration defense firm in the city, her hours intense but fairly flexible. She's usually back by early afternoon and manages to retain a wealth of energy Laswell seems to lack upon her arrival. The days repeat themselves, and every morning you watch them leaves, ears ringing in the quiet, empty house they've left behind.

You try to relax, as Laswell has ordered you, at least for the first few days. You read books, leaf through the Washington Post, go on long, rambling walks with Whiskey and end up with his head in your lap as you flick through movies on TV. You watch the characters there fall into silly, desperate love, jump from burning buildings and look into the camera with dewy, glowing gazes. It feels so foreign to you, so very detached from the things you've experienced, the life you've led.

The journal on your desk goes untouched.

Kate arrives back in the evenings, and sometimes she's too tired to even talk, forcing herself to eat and then collapsing on the couch for an hour, Whiskey splayed across her front. You join her in mutual company, curl onto the other sofa and sink into the confines of your own thoughts in mutual silence. Sometimes you join Paula in the kitchen, aid her in washing dishes and cleaning the remains of dinner. Yet the unwavering warmth in her, the brightened chatter she offers feels too sharp, too indulgent against your frayed, muted senses.

Instead, you find yourself with Kate, who talks in a low, quiet voice. The tone of her feels like the ocean casting gently against a pebbled beach, rhythmic and soothing, cradling you as the clipped, wry intonation of her drops away in the solitude of evening. You feel for the first time as if you're observing not Laswell but Kate. Somehow softer but just as resilient, a glimmering glass that reveals the machinations of the world itself.

Kate talks to you about music, about politics, to which you find yourself closely aligned, about pop culture that Paula chimes in on, about her travels. She regales you with stories about her missions abroad, spending time in the dust bowls of the Middle East, of beautiful tea shops and warm people. She spins images of ruined buildings but the people there straining against injustice and wanting desperately to not just survive but to thrive. She tells you of trips down into the heart of Sub-Saharan Africa, of tracing networks of terrorists through jungles and of the many languages she's spoken to find them.

She doesn't tell you about the lives she'd lost as a result.

She's careful not to talk about work, you notice. Any intel she has to share, that which you would normally be privy to, remains conspicuously absent in your conversations. There's no discussion of intel on AQ, on Russian gangsters or foreign mercenaries or underground criminal networks. She's purposeful, calculated, and more often than not you're led by her conversations so much so that you forget the questions you want to ask.

What did you find? Where? Who? Will you send them? Which ones?

...How are they?

The mere thought of the 141 aches you to the bones, makes you hurt so badly it cracks at the very foundation of you. You haven't heard from them since you left England, and every day that passes you catch yourself staring into the messages last sent by them. Gaz, inviting you to come watch a soccer match with him and Price, one that ended up drawing all of you as Soap groaned in defeat and Gaz stood proudly on the couch whooping at the TV. Price, reminding you wheels up in fifteen, suggesting you double check your medic kit one more time before you all leave. Soap, a selfie of you and the others at a bar, where Price and a dark hooded figure sit passively in the background.

Ghost, with your message a parting, aching gift you sent while you were recovering from your original injury after being shot. He had texted to let you know he and Price would arrive shortly, bring you a change or two of clothes from your bag, that they were five minutes out.

You had sent back "See you soon."

It's on more than one night you hug your phone to your chest, chest lacing with a pain where you can't discern the phantasmal from the physical. It feels like a curse, one with no remedy, a dangerous, sacrilegious hypocrisy you scream against with no escape. It's a reminder that you, you were the one to put yourself here, the rope that bound you to them frayed by your own mistakes and snapping into nothingness, watching them rise far above you atop the summit of impossible expectations you built for yourself. You scrabble to climb it anyways, carrying stones to place at the zenith so you'll never reach the apex of your own victories.

You shake apart in your bed at night, tremble in the dark and find echoes in your sorrow. You feel your chest weigh down with the poisonous solitude and sink you further into the abyss of the ocean, far from the sun. It's dark, cold, insufferably lonely and despite the soft comfort of your bed it feels like at the slightest touch you'll splinter into irreparable fragments of yourself.

You wish you were still with them, and the pain of it draws you taut like a bowstring. Their fingers skim along your thoughts and memories, along the tether of you so they can listen to the hum. At a moment's notice they'll recoil away from you in your thoughts, snap and release. You crave the temptation of allowing yourself to shudder into their grasp, their hands embracing you and tracing along your surface like trying to coax poison from a wound. You want so desperately for them to not leave you behind, to stay in their hearts where they might someday accept you with grace, listening to the whisper of your surrender in being loved by them.

When you wake in the mornings you don't recognize the birdsong outside, mistaking it for the whistle of impending missiles.

You sometimes wonder if they died while you were asleep.

------

It's that second week into your stay that you go to see your issued therapist for the first time.

Despite your protests Paula takes time off work to take you there herself. You assure her you can call a taxi or even walk there if you have to. You've hiked kilometers wearing your whole gear set and pack before, this is not difficult. Yet Paula merely hushes you, reminds you once again of your injury, and you realize it's a lost cause to argue with her.

Even so, you squirm uncomfortably in the car on the way over, cheeks warm, feeling like a little kid again being taken somewhere you don't want to go. The sensation follows you inside, as you sit ramrod straight in the waiting area, too tightly wound to relax even an inch. Paula had given you the grace of leaving you there by yourself, but for some strange reason you wish she hadn't. Even in your shame of attending this mandatory punishment you wish selfishly that maybe she'd return, cover your hand and let the erratic thump of your heartbeat settle in your lungs.

Eventually the door to the interior office opens, and out steps an older man, hunched over with a cane, grey hairs sticking out from under a cap that reads 'Vietnam Veteran'. He glances at you over his glasses, pauses just long enough to give you a nod with a smile that barely contains the grimace underneath. It's only once he's passed that the doctor behind him calls for you, and you shoot to your feet, a live wire rigged with electricity.

The inside of his office is...quiet. It's a little strange, admittedly. There's knick knacks scattered across the shelves, wedged between acclimations and awards, plants with long stems spilling across the windowsill behind his desk. More of them perch on various stands and stools, tenderly cared for and alighting the space in greenery. The bookshelves scarcely contain the number of books within them, some stacked slightly askew to make room for more. Yet despite the crowdedness it isn't messy. It simply feels...full. Cozy, like the warmth of an open heart.

"Fix." You correct him when he sits across from you. You realize he doesn't bother with a pen and paper, doesn't sit in front of a laptop screen. You weren't sure what you were expecting- perhaps a dry, sterile office in pastel colors with motivational poster and a man clinically scratching down shorthand with a murmur of 'and how does that make you feel?'

"Fix." He agrees with a kind smile, and the sound of your own name is enough to make your leg stop bouncing.

He doesn't launch straight in, taking a moment to inform you of your rights and responsibilities as a patient, the things he is and isn't allowed to share. He reminds you that you still need to pass a psych eval before you're cleared for duty, and you swallow the urge to ask him if you can do that part already, recite the answers you already know and get back to where you belong. Yet you know Laswell, with her keen perceptive eyes, would only sigh in disappointment, recognizing the transparency of you.

"I'm a medic." You tell him in response to his prompt to introduce yourself despite the fact he's already read your file. "I'm the designated medic for an international terrorism taskforce. I can't tell you the name."

He waits expectantly, as if for you to provide something else. You falter, trying to figure out if there's anything else you should add. Yet nothing appears, nothing else than your identity built through purpose, a thing designed inherently to be useful for others.

"Do you do anything outside of work, Fix?" He gently pries, and again you hesitate, trying to find something in yourself you aren't sure exists.

"I...sometimes go out with my teammates." You offer after a pause. "Pubs, usually. Soap and Gaz, they..." You trail off, feeling once more that pain pulse through you, a hard and heavy burst of awareness against your ribs that makes the air in your chest catch. "Soap and Gaz, they like to go dancing sometimes. They dragged me along once but I didn't like all the noise and the crowds so I didn't go again."

"Sounds like you're fairly close with them." He remarks as he sits back in his chair, and you try not to grimace at his words. There's a deep ache in your chest that makes you want to press a hand there, feel the hollow where the absence of your team lies.

"Maybe." You reply enigmatically, shifting your eyes away, letting your gaze trace the electric clutter of the room, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. You think about the veteran you just saw, wonder if that’s how he sees you too- some scarred, broken thing with eyes looking distantly to the past where your nightmares echo into your soul.

"Where are they now?" He goes on, and the chest ache deepens, forces the air low in your ribs as your brow knots. You think about the faces of Soap, of Gaz, as they lingered outside your hospital room after you pushed them away. The guilt, the tearing regret inside you threatens to choke your lungs, send warmth flooding to your eyes with the memory.

"England." You answer, voice very small. "Or...I don't know. They could be deployed. I haven't been told. They..." You trail off, feel the downward spiral open inside you once more, your awareness circling the drain into where your deepest, darkest thoughts lie.

"I failed them." You say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the abrupt confession. It's more to yourself than to anyone else, a solemn reminder of the person you are, the things you couldn't achieve, the deep frost of the shadows they cast on you as they hike ever onwards into the hills.

"How so?" The therapist asks, and you look down into your fingers webbed together, upturning your palms as if they have answers.

"I...fucked up. Got myself shot." You breathe after several long minutes of silence, where you think he will fill the void, and instead waits for you. He takes a deep inhale, lets it go in contemplation before speaking.

"I don't think getting shot counts as failing them, not when you're in our occupation." He provides, and it makes your head shoot up, blinking as you meet his gaze.

"Our...?" You echo.

"Former army medic." There's a gentle smile on his face as he explains. "Left the service and went back to school. I still help soldiers, just a little different these days."

"Oh."

You're not really sure what to say to that, face turning downwards towards your hands once more. You think about the times they've been caked with blood, how often you've felt someone else's pulse bleed across your fingertips. The memories of the men and women you'd treated amidst the hail of gunfire, the whistle of incoming mortars and the distant thunder of tanks rise automatically- a warm, wet pulse on the underside of your skin. You remember every face, every set of eyes on the people you've saved, the horror of death looming in the distance.

All of them. Afraid. Confused. Desperate. Lost.

Just as you are, you think. Lost in a fate you can't seem to control no matter how desperately you strive against it. You’re constantly trying to strain towards the heavens even as you hurtle down through layers of clouds, watching feathers cast an abstract of loss behind your descending form.

"Can you tell me about what happened after you were shot?" The man before you offers once more in the silence that follows, one filled only with the thrum of your heartbeat. You breathe shaky, unsteady sigh, trying to calm the twisting knot in your stomach as you struggle to answer against the pain of recalling what events led you here.

"I went back to our home base with them" You answer at last. "...But they had to be called away on another mission, and I was still healing so I couldn't go."

You remember Price. You remember his hands on your shoulders, his face turned down. Weary but kind, stern but gentle, all the things you desperately wanted in him, soothing the balm of forgotten memories. The sound of the oak door in your father's office shutting behind you with a click that spoke of finality.

"I...was trying to heal faster." You go on, leg bouncing once more as you fail to contain the rising, frenetic energy inside of you. "I was trying to make sure I could be fine once they got back, but..."

You trail off, feel silence press heavy on your shoulders.

"But?"

"I ended up really fucking things up instead." You reply, voice small, and it hurts. The volume of your words sounds like childhood, of the echo bouncing back from the repository of the things you longed desperately to shed, to be made anew. "Made a right mess of things."

"How so?"

You grimace, feel tears threaten in your eyes. The taste of a sob sours on your tongue, and you force yourself to swallow the bitterness of it instead.

Don't cry. Don't cry. You remind yourself. Don't show them. Don't let them know.

They might leave you.

When you don't answer, let minutes lap into nothingness, his voice at last fills the emptiness between you. Gentle, coaxing, reminding you of a smoke laden reassurance that shudders through you with longing.

"It sounds like you put a lot of pressure on yourself." He observes quietly.

You pause.

Your bullet wound hurts.

"Yeah, well, someone has to." You at last reply ruefully. Your shoulders feel too tight, aching with the weight of the wings you’ve used to loft yourself towards sparkling heavens, only to reach too far and instead witness the looming maw of darkness under you.

You hate this.

You hate the feeling of someone peeling back layers of your skin, slicing through the exterior of you with a scalpel like gaze. You hate how gentle his eyes are despite how wretchedly vulnerable you feel, despise the way he can be so soothing and yet somehow reveal the rotten interior of your soul. It burns, and the pain concentrates on the center of your failures, where a bullet ripped flesh from your form and rendered you lost in the labyrinth of yourself, unable to find a way out.

"-and that person is you? Why?" He asks, and his voice echoes out, feels like it reverberates in the hollow center of you, bouncing endlessly in an irreligious choir that sings of the things you don't understand.

"I...don't know." You answer, and it's a lie. You know it is. You know the tether that binds you extends years into the past, is wrapped tight in the fist of the one whose voice echoes in the cavern of your thoughts. He dwells in the ocean below, where churning, disastrous waves of emotion close over your drowning form.

"Worthless."

The man before you pauses, seems to consider the things you've said, and the words that stay unspoken in the silence. It reminds you a bit of Laswell, of the way she can pluck unseen things from the mist and discern them like the tides of the world itself. You're caught in the rip current, carried to an unknown destination as the men you hold dear drift further away from you, their backs turned from your voice that refuses to call out.

You wish they’d turn and cast their eyes upon your form, that maybe they'd rescue you.

You're too afraid to ask.

"I think we can find out, Fix." The man before you offers at last, and it feels both like a shimmer of light in the darkness and a shadow that blots out the sun. Hopeful, terrifying, entirely foreign but somehow wanted.

"Will you tell me more about your teammates?" He goes on to ask, and you do raise your head at that, blink into his spectacled gaze with his warm smile that feels like an embrace you don't deserve.

The words tumble out before you can stop them.

You tell him. You tell him about the men you've served with, of your brothers. You tell him about Soap, with his brawny and boisterous voice, of his playful and endearing banter. You tell him about how the Scot was the first besides Price to welcome you to the team, was the one to give you your nickname when he had bled into your hands. You tell him about the moments where Soap is softer, gentler, offering himself to you in a way he hoped you'd might one day return.

Gaz, with his softer smile and unwavering focus, his deep loyalty to his team members that bolsters you all. He sees the things the rest of you don't, gaze sharp like the scope of a rifle you're all too familiar with. There's a softness to him unlike the others, one that you will sometimes forget in the midst of him at your back under a hail of gunfire. You know the sound of his laughter, know the bump of his arm against yours and the tenderness in his eyes at the things you won't admit.

Then Price, with his stern guidance that you never fail to adhere to, the hand on your shoulder that conveys more than words. You feel safety under the shelter of his wing, look to his stare that looks past the obstacles that stand in his way. He paves the way before you all, secures the ground behind you, stands in unrelenting, furious opposition to the forces that dare advance upon your mission. Yet despite his violence you feel the trust he shares in you, and you desperately crave to someday live up to it.

Ghost.

Ghost, whose real name you don't yet know, just like so many things about him. The first time you met him was in a briefing room, Price standing tall beside you and announcing you to the team. Ghost had leveled his dark, dead gaze at you from afar, and despite the urge to shrink away you had instead returned his stare wordlessly, allowing your own resilience to shine through. You remember how his eyes had widened a mere fraction, a tell you would come to learn as interest.

You know it had been him who had taken off your boots when you collapsed into your bunk after Nepal. You know it had been him to give Price the thermos of tea to bring you in the hospital. You know it had been him who had gently lowered you onto the floor of the plane upon your return to England, ensured you wouldn't wake up sore and hurting.

You know it was he who had told Price of your failures- had revealed the depths of your own self-hatred blossoming like carnations across the skeletal grasp of his glove.

You know he's always been able to see you more than anyone else.

You don't say all this, of course, the secrets of your wishes and desires for these men stay close to your heart. You know by now the sacredness of things left unsaid, even if the swell of them inside you threatens to fester your bones, rip feathers from your flesh.

Don't let them know. Don't let them know. Don't let them know because you'll find out just how disappointed they are. You'll find out they never wanted you to begin with.

At last, your therapist nods, as if to himself, before leaning forward a bit so his elbows rest on his knees. He looks at you, and in your weary heart left in the wake of your memories, you feel the clairvoyant gaze of him pierce into your ribs where the ache of it all dwells.

"Can you come back next week?" Is all he offers.

You aren't sure. You want to say no, that this is far too much, that you've already spoken more than you want to. You're afraid if you share more he might somehow decide your fate for you, might pull the strings of fate so you will never return to the place you're supposed to be.

Yet, somehow, you say yes instead.

------

You go home, silent on the drive with Paula, who gives you grace in the absence of words. You are silent for the rest of the day too, offer scant bits of conversation as you pick at dinner. The world feels different somehow. The air rushing past your ears feels quieter, the wind not as sharp against your skin. You’re still falling, still sinking, still watching the heavens loom too large above your form. You recall the memory of being younger, smaller, looking up at the unfathomable expanse of the world and wondering when you would grow to meet its size.

You stare up at it in the darkness of your bedroom, hear the gale howl in the silence of midnight. There’s questions left to you that you have no answers for, upturning your palms once more and trying to sift sand through them in search of something there you don’t yet know.

"That person is you? Why?"

It has to be me. You think to yourself, hearing the sound of your own voice hush against the emptiness of your room. Nobody else is here anymore to do the same. I have to be better. I can't fail. I can't disappoint them. That way they can't see the failure I am inside.

Don't let them see. Please, dear God don't let them see.

It's a desperate cry into the midnight, a hand thrown up in desperation that sears against the sun. The blistering brightness of it burns against the back of your eyelids, rendering you blind to yourself. White consumes your vision, and you hear the fated whisper of snow blindness echo against the fraught fringes of your soul once more.

"I see you. Just you."

You blink, once more feel the tug of pain in your side where his hand had clamped down on your scarlet wound. The sight of his eyes is inescapable in the realm of your thoughts. Dark, grim, gazing into you as if somehow he is discerning himself. You remember those same eyes as you had bled over his fingertips, had begged him to please, please not look. You remember seeing something that flickered across his stare, that had shaken you to your core, trembled the foundation of the earth under your feet.

Grief.

You rise from your bed, stare into the darkness of your room, feeling the Earth rotate under your falling form. You spread your arms, trying to slow your descent as you pace over to your desk where the gift from Laswell lies.

If you can't tell anyone. At least tell yourself.

You pick up the journal and begin to write.

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #I'm actually really proud of this #and honestly this series isn't as beloved as some of my other faster dirtier sloppier pieces #But I'm okay with that #because at the end of the day this story is and has always been for me #It isn't something I choose to write #It's something that's existed in me all along #and even if people don't like it I am desperately in love with Fix's world and that's what matters

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pastafossa · 1 month

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Idk if it’s cause his face claim is Oscar Isaac but Ciro is taking up way more of my brain space than I think you intended. do u have any of his lore in your back pocket? a tragic backstory? who he had his kid with? were they in love?? IS HE HAPPY? anyways. i appreciate you and i hope you’re doing well!! sending love

Thank you so, so much! I'm starting to feel a bit more up finally, and my moods are leveling out I think!

And ABSOLUTELY! TEN PIECES OF CIRO LORE:

Ciro and his wife Elisa (Sophia's mom), were a Mobster Power Couple, and madly in love. She worked alongside him and ran various aspects of the business. She was cunning yet cheerful, loved classical literature like he did, and they had plans for a large family. They both figured if one of them died, it would be due to 'business'. Sadly she passed away incredibly suddenly from an aneurysm a few years after Sophia was born, leaving him a widower and a single father. His daughter for a time was the only thing keeping him going.

He's made a good recovery since then with some therapy and has found he loves being a dad and is quite happy running his businesses, criminal and not, though he spends a substantial amount of time worrying about Jane, and would be even happier if she were safe. But he definitely feels like he's doing what he was meant to do, and feels like God approves in his own way.

Romantically (something rarely touched on in TRT), he's had some flings and short-term relationships with various people after his wife passed, mostly women and a few men, but he hasn't had anything serious so far, in part because he's been so focused on Running The Empire and raising his daughter(s) (and other adopted stray feral murder children like Eli). Though if he finds his second special person, he'd be willing to consider something more serious.

At the time of TRT, he has five cats, all former strays because this man can never resist picking up the lost, human and animal, and there are a variety of cat rescues around Los Angeles that find themselves mysteriously funded by an anonymous donor.

He's decent at guitar and piano!

In TRT the incident where his childhood dog was killed by a boar is mentioned. In his attempts to rescue his dog, he got thrown aside into a tree - that injury caught up with him later, which is why Matt notices arthritis in his knee and an altered stance when scanning him over!

Ciro and Natasha Romanoff know each other through (sketchy) business and are on friendly terms.

He's the eldest of his siblings (1 brother and 2 sisters).

He didn't always plan on being a crime lord but after running face-first into some governmental/legal corruption as a teenager, his thought process was roughly along the lines of, 'I could do better than them.' He likes to think he's kept his promise - there are a surprising number of people in his city, especially in certain neighborhoods, who tend to look to the Ferryman's justice and authority first over the police or legal system. His punishments are often cruel, hard, and unforgiving, but if you follow his laws and keep your mouth shut, you generally don't have much to worry about, and because he minimizes collateral damage and invests in the neighborhoods (to encourage loyalty if nothing else), most are happy to look the other way.

He 'introduced' himself to SHIELD by mailing a few specific agents the tongues of HYDRA operatives, complete with coins, after those operatives attempted to Fuck Around in Los Angeles and quickly Found Out. One of those SHIELD agents happened to be Phil Coulson. The two have a bi-yearly, location-randomized coffee meetup, which is how Ciro wound up with Agent Thompson's card after Coulson vouched for her record!

#ciro leone #i love ciro and i have a mountain of backstory on him and basically no place in the story so it just sits here #in my head #i fully plan if i turn TRT into an AU book series one day #tehre will be a book or two JUST for Ciro because he deserves one #the red thread

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bl-bracket · 23 days

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#1 Himbo Bracket

Round 1

Yai (The Sign) vs Jung Ki Sub (Boys Be Brave!)

Khem (The Sign) vs Haruta (Ossan's Love)

Zhao Yunlan (Guardian) vs Bohn (My Engineer)

Nawin (Laws of Attraction) vs Prapai (Love in the Air)

Yechan (Love Tractor) vs North (Pit Babe)

Xiao Li Cheng (HIStory 4: Close to You) vs Yak (Wandee Goodday)

Neo (3 Will Be Free) vs Choco (Choco Milk Shake)

Cao Wei Ning (Word of Honor) vs Great (Deep Night)

Porsche (Kinnporsche: The Series) vs Tan (We Are)

Hotae (Unintentional Love Story) vs Im Han Tae (Sing My Crush)

Gu Xiang (Word of Honor) vs Xiang Hao Ting (HIStory 3: Make Our Days Count)

Mork (My Ride) vs Yod (A Tale of Thousand Stars)

Pat (Bad Buddy) vs Phaya (The Sign)

Akk (Enchante) vs Jump (Playboyy: The Series)

Palm (Never Let Me Go) vs Ni (Tonhon Chonlatee)

Meng Shao Fei (HIStory 3: Trapped) vs Pol (Kinnporsche: The Series)

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keepyourpantsongohan · 6 months

Text

Married, Colleagues, Divorced

This thought would enter his mind: Something about it is definitely different. (Gaara Hiden, Ch. 1) | Ten Days of Tenzo (@tendaysoftenzo) Day 5: Kakashi | AO3 |

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Yamato to Kakashi of the Two Normal Eyes: Kakashi. Can I ask you a question...?

Kakashi to Colleague I Think About Such a Normal Amount: Yes, Tenzō?

Yamato: Did you date Iruka?

Kakashi: Why do u ask?

Yamato: Something Naruto said about going on outings with the two of you. Apparently, you even paid.

Kakashi: We are amicably divorced

Yamato: Elaborate.

Kakashi: The outings are part of our custody arrangement. The ramen is alimony

Yamato: I understand all of these words but not in this order.

Kakashi: What’s not to understand. It’s important to model healthy separation for the kids

Yamato: So you two did date?

Kakashi: No. Next question

Kakashi to Standing Tenzōvation: Come sit here

Yamato to Hatake a Bow: I’ll come find you after. We’re going to get in trouble for texting during jōnin council deliberation again.

Kakashi: I tried talking to u with Anbu hand signals. U said those were too obvious

Yamato: They are too obvious; you should see the message Genma sent me after the last council. Why do I need to sit there anyway?

Kakashi: I want to eat with u today and if I’m not already occupied after we finish I will be caught in a meeting vortex

Yamato: Comes with the new job-title, Rokudaime-sama.

Kakashi: Not until next week, officially. And I didn’t enjoy any part of that sentence.

Yamato: Well, aren’t you emotionally forthright today? It’s refreshing.

Kakashi: Does that mean u will buy lunch?

Yamato: You’re the one who just got a promotion. Hokage’s treat?

Kakashi: I’ll spar u for it

Yamato: You’re on.

Kakashi to Magic Mountain: Soup on your windowsill

Yamato to Lord Sixth Flags: Thank you. You could come in, you know.

Kakashi: U need some rest. Plus I have been assigned a mission to have tea with Hyuga-san 2nite

Yamato: That’s a new one. Who assigned that?

Kakashi: Me. 😔 I’ve been told clan relations are my problem now

Yamato: I can hardly wrap my head around you being a politician.

Kakashi: I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around u nearly getting chakra exhaustion from a spar

Yamato: How many times have YOU gotten chakra exhaustion?

Kakashi: I haven’t kept a count

Yamato: I have. 16.

Kakashi: That’s not bad. 1.4% of missions. Point is that’s what I expect from me, not u

Yamato: Give me a break. I’ve only ever fought you when you had your sharingan. I didn’t account for how much stamina you’d have without it. My hospital check-up was quick and painless.

Kakashi: Easy for u to say, u weren’t awake for the berating when I hauled u in

Yamato: Tsunade-sama or Sakura?

Kakashi: Sakura, thankfully. She still feels bad about hitting me, unlike her shishō

Yamato: Are we in trouble?

Kakashi: Don’t think so. The killing intent stopped after u woke up

Kakashi: Sakura threatened to abandon her post and become a rogue ninja if we ever do it again, but I have a plan for that

Yamato: Do you anticipate Sakura leaving Konoha?

Kakashi: Not really. But after Sasuke I figured the other two should have contingencies, and I kept adding as u and Sai joined

Yamato: Are you saying you have a plan for a scenario where all five other members of our team abandon the village?

Kakashi: Don’t take this the wrong way but I have a 14-step-plan for that scenario

Yamato: Both impressive and concerning.

Kakashi: That’s what they tell me in ninja therapy

Yamato: You have a therapist?

Kakashi: Yeah. Don’t u?

Yamato: Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never been more attracted to you.

Kakashi: Hm. What’s your average amount of attraction to me?

Yamato: I abstain from the question.

Kakashi: 🤔😈㊙️❓

Sakura to Team Thanks for Pardoning Sasuke, Sensei: reminder that our new team photo will be taken tomorrow. naruto buy a hairbrush. sensei and sasuke remember to show up on time

Naruto: i own a hairbrush!! it just doesn’t work on my hair y’know

Sakura: bring it and i’ll help. i’m not breaking another one of my combs

Sasuke: Why do I get lumped in with Kakashi? I’m on time.

Sakura: you missed the last three years of team meetings

Sasuke: Touché.

Sai: Do Yamato-taichō and I need to do anything?

Sakura: i think you’ll both be fine. don’t worry too much about what kind of smile you need. be natural

Sai: I will join you early so we can practice being natural.

Sakura: that’s not what i meant. but sure we can get breakfast

Naruto: me too!!!!

Sakura: NOT ichiraku.

Naruto disliked “NOT ichiraku.”

Sasuke liked “NOT ichiraku.”

Naruto: :(((((((((((( ok

Yamato: Kakashi and I will both have a meeting about the new housing developments first thing. I can make sure we get there.

Naruto: should u be spending so much time together?

Naruto: i don’t want yamato-taichō to catch ur chakra exaustion again kaka-sensei

Kakashi: For the last time, I did not GIVE Yamato chakra exhaustion. U can’t catch it

Sakura: debatable.

Sai: Sakura does offer medical credibility to Naruto’s theory.

Kakashi: Tenzō, tell them.

Yamato: I haven’t ruled it out.

Naruto: SEE. ur contagious sensei

Kakashi: I miss when u all found me intimidating

Sasuke: We never found you intimidating.

Sakura liked “We never found you intimidating.”

Naruto liked “We never found you intimidating.”

Yamato: Didn’t you make them homemade bento on their first day? Not your most menacing tactic.

Naruto: tbh iruka-sensei and jiraiya-sensei had a lot more rules than u

Naruto: ur gonna have to work on that as Hokage!

Sai: If you would like, I can pretend to find you intimidating. I’m a very good actor.

Kakashi: Thank u, Sai. 😔🤘

Anko to Jōnin Gone Wild: @Shiranui Genma, Married, Colleagues, Divorce: Gai, Raidō, Aoba

Genma: Easy. Marry Raidō, Colleagues Gai, Divorce Aoba

Aoba: I understand

Gai: You have ALWAYS been an EXCELLENT Colleague, my friend!!!

Raidō: 👌

Yamato: What kind of a game is this?

Anko: Kakashi invented it. Something about it being a therapy exercise

Kakashi: Actually, my therapist advised against it. But I’m glad we have a new game. Shizune was 2 good at online mahjong

Shizune: You would be too if you grew up with Tsunade-sama. Also your next meeting is 5 minutes. I’ll bring the briefing when I’m upstairs

Kurenai: You know, as Hokage, technically Kakashi is responsible for all active shinobi. He shouldn’t be allowed to date any of his colleagues

Anko: Hahahah, government-mandated celibacy

Kakashi: I’ve been Hokage for like 3 days and none of u respect authority anyways

Kurenai: Are you saying you DO want to date a jōnin?

Anko emphasized, “Are you saying you DO want to date a jōnin?”

Yamato emphasized, “Are you saying you DO want to date a jōnin?”

Kakashi: U think I don’t know a trap when I see one

Shizune: He has a picture of gljljLKHGLJ

Shizune: I would like everyone to know that Kakashi-sama grabbed my phone when I was writing that message.

Kakashi: Aiming for meeting brief. New depth perception with 2 eyes. Talk later bye

Yamato to Celibacy Senpai: Explain to me how the game works again. Since we’re colleagues, we can’t be married or divorced?

Kakashi to Comrade Featured in Several GROUP Photos: It’s more of a state of mind

Kakashi: Take for example, if I had u, Yugao and Ibiki. I’d Colleagues Yugao, Divorce Ibiki and Marry u.

Yamato: That implies you were married to Ibiki before me.

Kakashi: Would it affect ur interest in marrying me?

Yamato: No, but I’d wonder why we didn’t get married first. We get along more.

Kakashi: We prioritized our friendship over other potential kinds of bonds

Yamato: I think we've got a pretty good track record for adapting. Besides, spouses should be friends. Anyway, none of this answers the question of why you’d suddenly marry someone else.

Kakashi: We were separated by a tsunami. U lost ur memory and I couldn’t find u so Ibiki and I got together so the kids could have another role model

Yamato: How long was I gone before you moved on?

Kakashi: We co-parented but I didn’t move on. That’s why u and I get married

Yamato: What if I’m more of a long-term-romantic-roommates kind of guy?

Kakashi: I’d make that work

Yamato: In the game?

Kakashi: Sure. In the game

Naruto to Team Congratulations Chūbu Sai: i went 2 the yamanaka flower shop for plant food after we met up and u’ll never guess what i saw!! u know the bandana guy?

Yamato: Genma?

Kakashi: Ibiki?

Sakura: Ebisu-sensei?

Naruto: no. sasuke hair

Kakashi: Izumo

Yamato: Izumo.

Naruto: yeah him!! he was buying flowers for that other guy. big stick.

Sakura: 🤨

Kakashi: That’s Kotetsu. And?

Naruto: he was BUYING FLOWERS. for that GUY. for a DATE!!!!!

Sai: Ino tells me it is customary to bring your partner gifts like flowers to show your affection.

Naruto: I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS AN OPTION!!

Kakashi: Dating Kotetsu? It isn’t. He’s in a relationship. And he’s too old for u

Naruto: DATING A GUY!!

Yamato: Why didn’t you think it was an option, Naruto?

Naruto: i mean, everyone thinks that way about guys and girls and everyone

Naruto: but no one DOES IT, y’know

Sai questioned “i mean, everyone thinks that way about guys and girls and everyone.”

Sai: Is that true?

Sakura: i think this is the wrong chat to ask that question in

Yamato emphasized, “i think this is the wrong chat to ask that question in.”

Sai: Why?

Kakashi: I can give u a book that will explain it, Sai. Anyway Naruto, people can date anyone they want, within reason. As long as the people involved like each other

Naruto: anyone?

Kakashi: Yeah. Even more than one person at once. Right, Sasuke? 👨🏻‍🎤

Sasuke: What’s that emoji supposed to mean?

Kakashi: I just like to make sure ur phone is on.

Naruto: i gotta go for a walk

Yamato to It’s Kakamplicated: I’m going to tell him.

Kakashi to Konoha’s Next Top Anbu (Not a Sex Thing. Maybe A Sex Thing): Give him a few more days, he’ll figure it out

Yamato: …How long did it take you to figure it out?

Kakashi: I abstain from the question

Yamato: 🙄

Kakashi: Fine. 19.

Yamato: Age or years?

Kakashi: Definitely one of those two things. Next question

Iruka to Senseis R Us: What have you been telling Naruto?

Kakashi: U’ll have to be more specific

Iruka: Why did Naruto say he was going to hang out with my ex-husband?!

Kakashi: What makes u think I have anything to do with it

Iruka: I didn’t say I was talking to you. However, he was going to see your team and I don’t think Yamato-san is responsible for this!!

Yamato: I’m going to leave this one in Kakashi’s capable hands.

Iruka: Kakashi. What is wrong with you?

Yamato: Becoming a chunin at the age of 6, a strangely public black ops career, a possible attachment disorder and some very interesting tan lines.

Kakashi: That’s the kunai calling the shuriken sharp.

Kakashi: Also I’ll show u some interesting tan lines

Yamato loved “Also I’ll show u some interesting tan lines.”

Kakashi: Anyway. I didn’t say much, Naruto was just curious about our history

Iruka: We don’t have a history??

Kakashi: What about when I reupholstered your sofa?

Iruka: Was that... a romantic activity for you?

Kakashi: This is why we’d never work out, Iruka.

Iruka: Because you text like a member of the cypher corps?

Yamato: It’s not so bad. His birthday messages are very heartfelt.

Kakashi loved “It’s not so bad. His birthday messages are very heartfelt.”

Kakashi: Thank you, Tenzō.

Iruka: Who’s Tenzō?

Yamato liked “Who’s Tenzō?”

Kakashi loved “Who’s Tenzō?”

Iruka: This is going on your performance review as an ex-husband.

Kakashi: That’s fair

Yamato to Kakashinova: Have you seen my uniform belt?

Kakashi to Some Kind of Wooderful: I have not. U do keep taking it off every time we eat if that helps?

Yamato: I can’t get used to the placement. But I’ll need to find it or order another one before my next check-in. You know how they are about item counts.

Kakashi: U can use one of mine if u want

Yamato: Your black belt which has Rokudaime Hokage stitched on the inside? I’ll pass, thanks.

Kakashi: I don’t know why they keep putting that on everything. But u can’t see that part while ur wearing it anyway. It’s the same belt

Yamato: Yes, but the Anbu would know it was your belt. I get enough heat for how much time we spend together as it is.

Kakashi: Favouritism?

Yamato: More like wisecracks about holding a torch for you.

Kakashi: Haha why. Do you have a crush on me, Tenzō?

Yamato: You know the answer to this one. Next question.

Kakashi: What makes u think I know the answer?

Yamato: You’re the smartest person in this village. And we see each other every day.

Kakashi: We all have our Shodaime’s nipple

Yamato: Some of us more than most. Let’s try a different question. How many times have we kissed each other?

Kakashi: 7. 9 and a half if u count missions

Yamato: Where are you getting the half from?

Kakashi: CPR

Yamato: Ah. So, in those nine-and-a-half moments... You didn’t have any suppositions? Inferences? Lessons gleaned from experience?

Kakashi: Four and a half of them we’d need to discount for recall, and the last few are harder to report on due to observer bias

Yamato: The observer bias in you gauging my romantic feelings.

Kakashi: Yes

Yamato: Because you would like?

Kakashi: You

Yamato: Me to what?

Kakashi: Long-term romantic roommates, eventually

Yamato: Oh.

Kakashi: Yeah. Do you mind?

Yamato: No, I don’t mind. Maybe we can start with dinner and a walk first?

Yamato: And Kakashi? I long-term romantic roommates you too.

Kakashi: That’s a funny way to ask me on a date. 💘 See u in an hour?

Yamato: It’s on.

#kakashi hatake #yamato tenzo #kakayama #tendaysoftenzo #tenzashi #naruto series #mine #fanfiction #long post #team 7 #ayesha talks anime #as always. i'll ignore that some of u are late if u ignore that i am the latest ;)#one day i hope the couch reupholstering story will see the light of day #i will make no apologies for my sense of humour LMAO #except to iruka. i love u mineral water <3

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bengiyo · 8 months

Note

Alright, new question, I know how much you enjoy your Sad Gay Boy Hours. What shows, besides Until We Meet Again, because I know how much you love it, satisfy your Sad Gay Boy needs?

The Boys Who Suffered

The big thing about The Knowing is The Suffering. There is a melancholy that seeps into you and makes you think you aren't enough. These characters are hard to watch. I know you asked about shows, but I'm doing some movies as well because I've been thinking about genre history lately. For this it's about whether or not the quiet sadness in me connected to the quiet sadness I perceived in a character in this show.

Moonlight (2016)

He is the saddest boy in my heart. This is the moment that breaks him forever.

For The Boys

Jamal, Syed, and Anthony have suffered for being who they are, and they are hurting. They cling to each other and it's often too hard.

youtube

Weekend (2011)

This man is so lonely even if people love him. I feel melancholy for days any time I watch this film.

Big Eden (2000)

I don't know who taught him shame, but there's this sense of surrender in Henry that has haunted me for fifteen years.

A Single Man (2009)

Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci play some of the saddest gay men who have ever existed. This entire project is about grief.

180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us

Inthawut is the saddest man in BL.

Given (2019)

The reveals about the depths of sadness in this boy are really some of the best I've experienced.

Eternal Yesterday (2022)

He was suffering even before Koichi died, and it saddens me so much that the world bent to let him say goodbye to help him grieve.

The Pornographer Series

I just knew there was something fundamentally off about Kijima and the rest of these men.

The Day I Loved You (2023)

I keep meaning to write something about this show, but there's something special about going into a relationship you know won't be forever because of external factors, and also choosing to make that time as special as possible.

Tokyo in April is...

Ren suffering for Kazuma gets me every time.

Like in the Movies (2020)

I'm never getting over Karl and Vlad. I'm sad we'll likely never see them again because in so many ways the specific pieces of melancholy in each of them are why they didn't walk away together.

To My Star 2: Our Untold Stories

These two were not left at HEA and they didn't end there this time, either. Both of these two are carrying some heavy shit in their hearts, and I find comfort in seeing them stumble and keep trying.

What Did You Eat Yesterday?

Shiro makes me so sad sometimes, and I'm so glad he found Kenji.

The Eclipse

Every boy in this show is a sad mess.

The Eighth Sense

I'm glad Jae Won found Ji Hyun, because that country twink won't give up on him.

Kabe-Koji Nekoyashiki-kun Desires to be Recognized

I recently rewatched this and feel so much about Mamoru and Issei.

Our Dating Sim

Lee Wan was wrong, but I get him.

We Best Love

"Yes, I'm in love with you, but that's none of your business."

Stuck On You

The Philippines crushed the pandemic. This is quietly one of the better ones about people who were already suffering.

Blueming

Hwang Da Seul's oeuvre always seems to hit my sad boy core.

Sing My Crush

Every time Han Baram says Im Hantae's name I lose it.

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juneviews · 1 month

Text

gmmtv 2024 part 2 trailers first impression & ranking :)

from most excited for to least excited:

us: I SCREAMED!!! of course gl ranks number one, let's bffr, but legit this looks so indie & good I love it! sing is gonna be so good at being the abandoned lover hahaha, and the girls have so much chemistry & are so cute!!! I ship it already <3

breakup service: I did NOT expect to get an off as MAIN in a straight romcom again after 4 fucking years, I'm beyond elated!!! the fact that he's paired with a very popular singer also makes me happy! the plot looks really fun & reminds me of catch me baby and midnight motel so I'm all in!!! my man deserves this sm <3

hide & sis: gawin in a role like this??? ATE DOWN!!! but honestly the whole cast is perfect, I can't believe we're gonna get pepper & lookjun playing an on-screen couple! I hope this one is more like ps: I hate you & nothing like the jungle but I'm super excited I love everyone here :)

the ex morning: bruh if you'd have told a kristsingto show would be 4th on this list I would've laughed in your face but... tell me why this plot seems so fucking cute?? I feel like we haven't gotten this type of second chance bl before, and idk if it's nostalgia or what but I'm actually really into it lol

thame po: yooooo this morning I could not picture estwilliam together, but actually I like them a lot already! as a lykn fan I'm happy to see them in a series, and the plot is quite original which is becoming more & more rare so I'm excited!

sweet tooth, good dentist: I still don't know how to fully feel about mark & ohm t, I feel like they look way too similar, but oh well. this looks very sweet (like its title) & y'all know I love dumb romcoms like these so I'll be watching!

leap day: this looks insane & the cast feels random af but it seems interesting! I hope it doesn't end up being one of those shows who thought throwing gun & his insane talent in a show would be enough to cover its bad writing *cough* home school *cough* midnight museum *cough* excited to see pond in an interesting role for once though lmao

the dark dice: this looks like the thai high school squid game to me, it seems interesting & I love that aungpao is in here, but I'll have to see how I feel once the show starts airing to see if I'll watch it or not.

scarlet heart thailand: this teaser told me nothing so I googled the original, ngl it's a slay for tu she looks so pretty, and I do love historical shows so I'll probably be watching! also very happy to see tay, force & phuwin here :)

friendshit forever: I legit thought I was gonna get a mookpat gl bruh lmaoooooo, but nope instead I get girls fighting over a dude ;_; like I get it new is hot af but bruh in 2024 we still have girls having cat fights... I'm good :/ the title is hilarious though :')

ossan's love thailand: this trailer actually made me happy bc contrarily to my initial thought I think earth is ADORABLE as haruta! and the actor they chose to play the ossan??? DAMNNN DADDY 😏 probably still won't be watching since I hate remakes but this looks better than I anticipated!

the heart killers: call me a hater but I did not feel this at all, I feel like it's a more boring mix of not me, only friends & midnight motel and I don't particularly care for either ships so I will not be watching... I'm sure this show will be fine without me though lol

perfect 10 liners: we are but even more boring, they even pulled up aouboom & marcpoon LMAOOO. again all love but I don't care for this at all, it's so basic I can't do this to myself anymore, I'm sorry it's called self-care at this point :')

revamp the undead story: again I don't care for bounprem & THE gmmtv vampire show is my golden blood for me babe, like sorry but jossgawin forever 🫶 (more seriously this doesn't look bad but I simply do not give any fuck to watch this show)

#axelle rants #gmmtv 2024 part 2 #us the series #break up service #hide and sis #the ex morning #thame po #sweet tooth good dentist #leap day #the dark dice #scarlet heart thailand #friendshit forever #ossan's love thailand #the heart killers #perfect 10 liners #revamp the undead story #it started really slow but we got some good ones in the process... especially hyped for my babies off & gawin ofc :)

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