#but i'm glad they could edit it in a way that makes it seem less so! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drxxmingofblue · 1 year

Text

hand in unrebloggable hand (because we always go down together)

TUMBLR X TWITTER FANFIC 5K ANGST WITH A HOPEFUL ENDING

besties im not joking abt the word count i fucking ✨wish✨I ✨was though✨✨✨✨

also if you were hoping for twitblr to be the endgame ship then this fic is not for you sowwy >.<

based off of @zzoupz awesome fanart and dedicated to all the other cool fanart it unfortunately begat. Thanks babygirls. Squees. Thanks also to my discord friendz who are letting me pretend they're making me do this at gunpoint @loki-the-mad @suspicious-whumping-egg u da best

(edit) owo what's this?? An Ao3 link??

QUICK PSA THESE CHARAS ARE T4T OKAY HAVE FUN READING BAIIII *GLOMPS U*

~~~~~~~~

When Twitter stepped back into Tumblr’s yard, he noticed right away that things were different.

The house was bigger, there was some more color and it was less slapped-together looking. Sure, there were still some invasive tendrils of spambot ivy overgrowing the path, but a lot of the other stuff seemed a little… better.

When they knocked on the door, it opened almost right away, far before they felt ready, and he were face to face abruptly with someone he thought they’d cut all ties with.

Tumblr was humming to themselves along with the background music, “-out of touch, I’m out of ti-- oh. It’s you.”

He seemed surprised, awkward, but Twitter didn’t sense any animosity, which was a relief.

“Hiii,” Twitter said weakly, with a sheepish grin, “it’s me.”

Tumblr glanced around, as if checking for someone else to explain this to him, or hidden cameras from a reality show at least. Then he stepped out, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Is there something… what do you want?” he asked, expression settling into something distant and cool.

“Well…” Twitter took a deep breath, and then shook their head, forcing a brighter tone, and gesturing to Tumblr’s shiny silver barrette “--Um, hey, you look great! Is that a new icon?”

“... yes,” Tumblr said slowly. “I’m… trying out some different looks.”

“It’s great, yeah. And this place looks… amazing. Glad to see you’re moving up in the world. You must be excited with all the press, congrats!”

Tumblr didn’t say anything, giving them a neutral stare.

Twitter shifted, “Uhh… anyway… new adblocker?”

“No, same one. I’m just using it on Firefox now.” Tumblr gave them another suspicious eye, “Look, if you’re just here to catch up then can this wait until later? Because I'm pretty crunched for time right now with my weekly holidays thing and the campaign to get this one random user their 666k so they'll do self care."

"You know that's.. uhm, you know that's just for attention, right?" Twitter's brows knit, "They're probably not gonna follow through."

"Perhaps, and a lot of us want them to not be lying for internet points but it's not just about that anymore. It's about the community bonding over pettily slam dunking on a hapless chump who's gotta pretend now like they don't actually like all the notes. You wouldn't get it, it's a tumblr thi-"

"Yeah, it's a tumblr thing, I know," Twitter gave a longsuffering sigh, "Ugh, i just... I need a place to stay, okay? And you’re the first site I could think of.”

“A place to stay,” Tumblr repeated flatly.

Twitter huffed. “Yeah. I’m sure you’ve heard about what’s going on right now at my palace..”

Tumblr’s eyes slanted off, his lips quirking in a way that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Heard about it. Read about it. Partied about it.”

Twitter ignored the sting of that, forging ahead. “I’ve never seen it so bad,” they said, voice wobbling piteously as they clutched their suitcase full of memes. “Everything’s in chaos, people are losing their jobs. I went into the basement yesterday to grab some badly aging tweets and the very foundations are cracking, Tumblr, I can’t stay there anymore, I just can’t.”

“So you come crawling back to me,” Tumblr said, “Expecting me to take you with open arms.”

“Yes. I do,” Twitter said, “I know a part of your userbase still wants to welcome me in. You were always sh*t at hiding your true feelings.”

Tumblr’s hand fluttered over his heart as if to protect it; he winced a little, taking a breath to keep his facade of composure. “So now- what, you want me to start dealing with your bullshit again just because you remembered how much better my posting format is? Just because you noticed how my reputation is changing? Did you think I’d be so desperate to fill the void now that Dracula Daily’s done? Or maybe,”

Tumblr leaned closer to lord his height difference trope over Twitter, his eyes hooded with disparaging condescension, “Maybe you’re just here because you heard I’m finally allowed to take my shirt off again, is that it?”

“N-no!” Twitter protested, flushing up.

“Oh, i think it is,” Tumblr drawled, “But that’s really just too bad because in case you haven’t got the memo yet, I’ve moved on. You are not welcomed here. Not anymore.”

(link to art here) go look at it then come back

(AN: i had to google how to embed links into text and google was all like, "do you mean 'how do you put links INTO text' you moron idiot???" ugh don't like that wise guy)

“You don’t really mean that,” Twitter said, “Besides, you can’t stop me, can you? The sign up button is right there.” They pointed at the front door.

“No, I can’t,” Tumblr said, “But that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to clock you as twits by your censoring and bad takes. Look, your aura is already causing ripples in the sphere. Everyone’s coming out to gawk at you.”

He gestured out in the general direction of the porch and yard, and indeed there were users from every tag going 👀at them, murmuring amongst themselves in a swirling, chaotic crowd.

“Oh my god is it real this time? Is it happening?”

“GET THEM OUT GET THEM OUT STAY AWAY DEAR GOD NO-”

“Okay, everyone, stay calm, stay fucking calm-”

“Why are we focusing on this, it’s literally election day go out and vote???”

“Listenup, guys, we gotta be smart about this, remember the block button is your friend-”

“I for one welcome them, I think this is great-”

“No you idiot they’ll bring the negativity back! We like it to be a post apocalyptic wasteland here, nature was just starting to regrow!! I don’t wanna watch Thomas Sanders get cancelled again!”

“FIRE OFF SOME SHOTS, PRESERVE THE PROPERTY VALUE”

“mISHAPOCALYPSE 2022 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO”

"Has anyone asked Neil Gaiman what he thinks about all this?" one of the many voices yelled, louder.

"Oh, he's probably got a thousand asks about it already," someone yelled back, "Which he's not going to answer because he doesn't have any social media you fucking idiot,"

"That is correct. He doesn't," said Neil Gaiman.

The whiplash was still euphoric. Everyone applauded this as enthusiastically as when the bit had first been established, not realizing that the pedestal upon which Neil Gaiman has been placed is growing higher and higher each day by their actions, putting him at increased risk of being a victim of cancel culture the second he says something the terfs can really rake their fingernails against if we can't get our parasocial relationship bullshit together real fuckin quick.

The Monterey bay aquarium passed on by. It seemed to have nothing to add, you could say it was clammed up tight. But since it's a professional account it's definitely b-otter that way.

"Hai, fellow tumblypoos," said the corporate Denny's account, "I'm back with some more fun pancake posts for you guys!"

Everyone ignored it. No one engaged it. No one even clicked onto the page, except to block it.

"Oh, sweetheart, not like that," Ryan Reynolds said faux-helpfully, "see, the author of this clusterfuck is what they like to call terminally online. They bought a VIP pass to the devil’s sacrament. let me try."

He cleared his throat, "Sounds like someone needs to go outside and touch some g-"

The sky split open with lightning, vaporizing him instantly. A faint breeze carried gods message from the great beyond, a whisper of 'we #violence celebrities here, sir....'

"Anyway," Twitter said.

"Wait, they saved the worst one for last," Tumblr said.

Then Gerard Way came out onto the stage with Dan and Phil and they all kissed with tongue while patd played songs in the background.

(AN: IF U DON’T KNOW WHO DEY R THEN GET DA HELL OUTTA HERE PREPZ!!!)

"Alright, go."

“Come on, Tumblr,” Twitter begged, “I just need a few nights, maybe I can stay in the plinko machine or something-”

“That’s how it always starts, though, isn’t it?” Tumblr sighed, “First it’s just ‘haha, yeah I wouldn’t fuck you’ and ‘oh, I’ll stay in the plinko machine, I promise I won’t kiss you in the fixed timeloop bro’, and before I know it you get all 300k slowburn enemies to lovers ‘omg they were roomates’ on me and there’s suddenly only one bed. That’s how it always goes between us, you can’t stop it anymore than I can. We’re just….victims of the narrative, you and I.”

“Tumblr,,, I had no idea you felt this way..,” Twitter breathed.

lord give me strength to write this next bit

They’d leaned closer to each other as they spoke, without realizing, without trying- pulled in by old habits that die hard and the years of nostalgia and painful memories shining in each other’s eyes like shonen sparkles.

“Twitter,” tumblr said, and the way he said it sounded like a prayer.

“Tumblr,...” Twitter said, their lips inches apart now.

They could see their old flame quivering on the brink of indecision, want and sense warring somewhere deep within his soul.

Tumblr leaned closer to bridge the gap and Twitter’s eyes slid shut, but then Tumblr made a noise of agony and shoved them back a second later, “I can’t, I can’t. Not like this. Never like this.” tumblr said, covering his eyes with his arm, “I literally can’t even right now. Just go, Twitter. PLease just. Go….”

“Look me in the eyes and say you want me gone,” Twitter said, moving closer.

“Twitsy-”

“Look me in the interface. You can’t.” Twitter’s voice had ceased to be soft, something sharp and biting entering the tone as they felt the sting of rejection again.

They watched as Tumblr shuddered, straightened, and brought a mask back over himself.

They stared at each other for a charged few seconds.

"K," Tumblr finally said, raising a dispassionate eyebrow.

"..w... what?"

"U."

Realization dawned on Twitter's face, a miasma of grief and anger, "Oh, you-"

"N-"

"No. No, I can't believe I forgot-

"G-"

"how immature, you little c*nt-"

"P-"

"stop-p it," Twitter's voice was raising now, cracked and wobbly at the edges, "Stop it! You don't get to just-"

"O"

"Shut the hell yuor mouth!!"

"W-" Tumblr's hair was crackling by now, energy from the gathering spell racing along the casual slope of his crossed arms. His eyes glowed that beautiful, classic blue. "P-"

"TUMBLR! TUMBLR STOP THIS RIGHT DA HECK NOW," Twitter stumbled backwards

"E-"

"I LOVE YOU," Twitter wailed- Twitter broke, squeezing their eyes shut to ward off the tears that only escaped all the faster for it, a sob wracking their chest, "I STILL LOVE YOU, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT??!?"

"Love me," Tumblr snarled, abandoning the spell in an instant, "Ha! That's rich. How? By leaving me? Abandoning me to the bots the second I stopped being enough for you? By stealing my shitposts, is that how you love me? By reposting them without credit-"

"You steal mine too!" Twitter protested, tears starting to stream despite their best efforts, "You know what, f**k you, you know we filed joint custody for the sense of humor, chain 1/16-"

"For the last time say fuck here, no bootlicking censorship on my territory," tumblr said disdainfully, "And that doesn't seem to stop you from taking all the credit for raising those jokes. It's like I'm Pinterest to you or something. I wasn't done. Do you love me by calling me a pansy snowflake behind my back, is that it? Like I wouldn't find out. Or,"

He stepped out onto the top porch step to force Twitter back further, the colors of the sky flashing through his eyes in a long, scrolling look of ridicule, "How about trying to convince everyone that I was dead. How bout that smear campaign, huh, was that your so-called love? I don't fucking want you anymore. Deal with it."

"I-I'm sorry-" Twitter gasped around the tears, voice failing them for the latter half of the sentence.

Tumblr seemed unmoved. "Oh, don't be. It was for the better. You know I'm not like other socials, I'm quirkier. I'm RAWR XD random. I've never wanted to be functional- the tiddy drought might have won a lot of my users to your side but it was a cleansing purge, I'd say. It managed to remind me who I truly am- shittily coded, and full of soft sad freaks on an unprofitable webbed site."

A bitter, almost self depricating laugh escaped, "But... you know, when we celebrated the queen's passing together, I really thought things were better between us. When you-"

He broke off, eyes averting. "When you hosted the sexyman polls for me, you seemed on top of the world and I really thought- I thought we might be able to be friends again even now, after it all. I..."

Tumblr trailed off, then said, sadly, "There was another Twitter migration scare before this one. I thought you were coming back. My userbase-" he touched his heart again- "was in a frenzy about it. But you never arrived. I was in more verbal denial then, but I think I could have accepted you eventually. But this is what it takes??

"The Musk Rat of Self-Owns comes through just to start e-begging and you run straight back to my door like we can put it all behind us? This is how far you have to sink before I'm the better option to you, I see that now. It's not 2018 again, love, no matter how much we want it to be. Things are… never going to be the same. "

Tumblr looked off into the middle distance with a yearning, haughty gaze. He'd never seemed so alien.

"Tumblr-Chan..." Twitter whispered.

"So get off my lawn," Tumblr interrupted coldly, "Stay away from my blorbos, keep your corporations out of my manscaped balls, keep your discourse and toxicity out of my blessed hellsite (affectionate), and don't you ever talk to me or my 13219949248483 scam bots ever again. Capiche? Oh, and don't step in the ball pit on your way out."

Tumblr gave a mocking smile. "Or do. You might find a nice surprise in there."

Twitter’s shoulders jumped as he gave a hiccup of shock, and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook again, with sob after sob, that grew odder and higher pitched… until they were no longer sobs, but laughter.

“Oh,” Twitter said. “Oh.”

They looked up, and Tumblr took a step back, because somehow, with that creepy smile in place, they looked utterly different from the soft eared boy he’d always known. His edges were more razorlike suddenly, like a fae who’d dropped his glamor.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Twitter said, the smile widening even more. “I thought you wouldn’t… but I guess if you’re willing to make me your villain…. I might as well be a good one.”

“Ah.” Tumblr could barely drudge up the surprise anymore. “There you are, finally. I always knew there was a side of yourself that you hid from me. Has this all always been here or have you been changing too?”

"Well. Apparently I've got freeze peach now," Twitter said sarcastically, "so I might as well use it. You cheerio fucking wh0r3."

"That's a compliment, darling. Try again," Tumblr cocked his head in idle fascination, "I always knew you were a little fucked in the head but this is..."

"What," Twitter lilted airily, "Oh, don't tell me I actually had you fooled all these years. You can't seriously have thought all these meow-meowification spells you've got sprinkled around would work on me. I invented them, after all."

They laughed, a sharp puncturing chirr of birdsong.

"I always wondered why you didn't take those with the rest of your stuff," Tumblr sighed, but he was wary now, on edge. "this was your plan. You really do think of me as your inferior, huh. You really are just like the other mainstream sites."

"Not quite. I'm the mainstream site that actually stooped to go arm in arm with you. I hyped you and you know it. Admit it. We were stunning together," Twitter goaded.

Tumblr's lip curled. "Already getting cocky again. Want me to do to you what I did to the Green boy? Don't forget who's turf you're on."

Twitter gave a warbling giggle, "Oh, but I haven't at all. I was John's sanctuary after he fled your rabid persecution. I used to live here. I still know you. And more importantly-"

*teleports behind u*

"I know the things you're sensitive about," Twitter whispered into Tumblr's ear.

Tumblr hardly had time to gasp and jerk away before he was screaming out in pain, as he was stabbed in the back. He could feel the poison from the blade seeping into his tags before he was tossed bodily across his own front yard.

He sorta just... Like, he did that anime thing where they just fly limbs akimbo parallel to the ground and when they hit it they roll super fast and then skid and the dirt is all dug up around them to show how much force was used. And when he stood up he gripped his elbow wincing and there was a little tic tac toe hatch on his cheek to show how scuffed up he is idk man it's two am and I'm pulling this out of my ass.

A gif of Tony going, "o-kay-" when he meets thor flashed across Tumblrs face.

"So," Tumblr said in a low tone, "This is how it is between us. This is how you choose to end your glory days."

"Oh, you mistake my intentions," Twitter had stepped off the porch to circle tumblr like like he was their quarry, "I am beginning my new age. I just needed a host site to latch onto. Don't take it personally, okay? I'm desperate."

“Oh, yeah?? Take this personally,” tumblr flourished their hands, calling in an over the top melodramatic voice, “I cast Blaze!!”

Fire roared to life around them, latin chanting from the catholic conversion posts emanating from the fiery depths as it raced towards Twitter.

“Heh.” Twitter smirked at it, and whispered into their palm, the spell echoing with power, “Ratio.”

They blew it off like a kiss, and it’s icy, swirling mass rose to meet the flame in a spectacular burst of smokescreen and steam, clearing as Twitter burst through it with a razor-sharp L to swing at Tumblr.

It was blocked efficiently by a flat, rectangular paywall. “This content is for post plus members only,” Tumblr announced smugly, “If you wanna get to me… there’s the tip option, bestie.”

Twitter snarled and lunged again.

The fight started in earnest now; they traded volley after volley in a flurry of lights and movement, spanning the full range of the tumblr sphere as they shot to #1 on the trending page.

And yet, it was clear that Twitter was coming out on top, even crumbling apart at the seams- always a little quicker, flighty and fierce, a sparrow turned into a shrike.

He hit Tumblr square in the stomach with [google other twitter related tropes to insert here] (edit from the future: haha just kidding actually I’m not googling shit for this) (edit from the future future: WELL. I LIED IG) and sent him flying, and this time tumblr stayed down, only able to push himself to his knees with a groan of pain.

Twitter landed in front of him and put their sword under Tumblr’s chin to tilt it up.

“Had enough yet?” He smirked.

“Wh…why..?” Tumblr whispered, “How are you doing this?? Why aren’t my attacks working? It’s like I’m being weakened somehow…”

“Ohohohoho,” Twitter anime laughed, “But that’s because you are. The moment I set foot here again I began leeching poison into this ground. That knife wound is making ti faster. Can you feel it?" Twitter threw an arm out, cerulean steam rising from the ground around them, "The ace exclusionists coming back? The uptick in rad fems, the crypto bros, Valorant players, alpha males? I have the power to bring them all to you. To overshadow your fandoms with fighting, to unbalance your ship tags with antis and hate once more."

"no," tumblr whispered, and then cried louder, "NO!! I worked so hard--"

"Pffyou didn't do shit," Twitter guffawed outright, "Your independence, your little 'second renaissance' is just a delusional dream built on circumstance and bad management."

"Oh, I love Dream. He's so pathetic," Tumblr said.

"Oh, hard agree."

"But things are different now," Tumblr croaked, "W-we, the staff is finally listening to us, we have Ryan and Shane-"

"Not everyone likes your little 'top ten', you dunce," Twitter snapped, "and why would staff care about you, after you turned them into the butt of all your jokes? After the hate and death threats? Admit it, at your best you'll still never have a mansion! You'll never have tv actors making pandering tiktoks for you, you'll never be wanted by any advertiser worth their salt, your blase pirating posts have turned Netflix and Disney against you, you. Are. Worthless."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Worthless," tumblr repeated quietly, hand pressed against their knees, head bowed. "That's... that's right.... I'm worthless..."

Twitter's eye widened in alarm. "I-I meant-"

"I'm worthless!" Tumblr's head snapped up with a feverish glint as they were filled with determination. "No! I'm less than worthless! Accident or not, mommy Yahoo had to pawn me off at a loss! I was proud of that! I still am! And do you want to know why?"

Twiters hands flew up in front of their face as if to protect themselves, but there was no protecting against the sudden whirlwind that surrounded him, the beam of pure light that shot out of tumblr into the heavens as he transformed, feet slowly leaving the ground as his users spoke in unison in a multitude.

"WE. ARE. TUMBLERINAS."

He held his hands out and Twitter was blasted away by the combined effort of the tumblr wizard council, the fake staff blog, and all the villaincore mad scientist's laser beams.

Tumblr began to chant, in his myriad, awful voice:

"I call upon the ancient powers;

The strongest cringe from my darkest hours,

I call upon thicc onceler's thighs,

Avengers thirst, Australia's night,

I invocate the roleplay blogs,

The superwholock and gay frogs,

Obama's laces, Misha's faces,

The furry's fury is my saving grace,

And eeby deeby taco bell,

Primordial soup god superhell,

I summon you a twink Bill Cipher,

Whumped!Loki AUs where he's even whiter,

The discourse of Steve's Universe,

The 'um, actually that's oc abuse :/"

Take heed & remember the 5th of November,

The 21st night of our sacred September,

The ides of March to savor once more,

Do you hear the din of the Skeleton War?

I cite the deep magic to thee, oh witch,

my no-note posts, my "THAT'S THE BITCH!!!"

May the rise of tangled dragons brave,

Banish you from this accursed plane!"

"holy fuck, where's my pen," said the shitpost calligraphers.

Twitter looked around them in disbelief. The power emanating from the other site was palpable, crackling in the air around them like static. The air was shifting like oil as the potent chant began to work, and all around Twitter shadows were slipping out of the ether- the maniacal laughter of the gif makers, the girl posters, the silhouettes of fandom characters scattered across the lawn while Tumblr was still locked in their chanting ritual thing.

They all turned their heads in unison to look at Twitter.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said, "Get the bitch killing bullets."

“Uh-oh. Freeze frame. This is me,” Twitter monologued, “You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

Then all superhell broke loose.

Final Pam lunged at him and he burst into a flock of birds kinda like a vampire, twittering frantically as he escaped only to fly straight into Shaggy.

“Like, say your final prayers, man,” the god said, eyes glowing. Twitter also barely escaped between his knees, weaving in and out between the gimmick blogs as they threw mangos and stuff at him while yelling ‘HERE HAVE A MANGO’ and ‘THIS POST IS WORTH NEGATIVE FIVE DOLLARS”

Mob from the anime was there too, but he was too busy trying to explain the Josh Fight to daddy dilf Reigen to pay attention. Sans didn’t attack Twitter either, he just watched the chaos and ated a hot dog. The chocolate guy was in the corner expertly making a chocolate beef cake from 2056 with Dylan B. Hollis. They’re all just some guys, okay?

Just when Twitter thought he was in the clear, the CDC roleplay account came out of nowhere with a steel chair, knocking him clear off the property and onto where the sidewalk ends. “That’s for the Covid misinformation your users spread, you bitch,” it shouted. “Make sure to disinfect all those sick burns before you bandage them! So they don’t get infected!”

“Your kittens escaped quarantine,” Twitter replied hoarsely, and the CDC sank away, muttering, “Oh, fuck not again-”

Twitter coughed up blood and wiped it away with his sleeve, looking up at Tumblr. Tumblr was watching him with a sad, distant expression, that made Twitter’s face screw up in anger and his voice go tight again as they turned to run away, “THIS ISN’T OVER YET TUMBLR! AND I WANT MY MIKU BINDER BACK!!!”

“I LICKED IT, IT’S MINE,” Tumblr yelled. Rave Crabs were flooding out onto the street en masse now to celebrate the victory, and they chased after Twitter all the way further into the internet.

Tumblr still lived at the bottom of the row, not at the end of the fancy cul-de-sac where Facebook and Twitter and Instagram’s manors sprawled, so Twitter was in a seedier portion of social media now, weaving in between the marketplace sites that hawked their used wares at him and the dating apps that winked at him from the doorways to their sultry abodes.

Twitter ran until they were in a quieter section of town, then slowed to a trudge, staring at the ground as they walked along. “What am I gonna do now,” they whispered.

The sound of a wolf whistle had their head jerking up- he looked over to see Amino Apps lounging over the rail of the gutted, abandoned house that had once belonged to Google+. A can of spray paint dangled from their fingertips and they sported a sleazy, greaser hairstyle.

They met Twitter's eyes and whistled again, this time a mocking imitation of the tweet sound, "Heyyyy pretty bird! Heard you were having some daddy issues. Why don't you stop in with me for a while? I can give you more customization options than any of the others and you know it."

"Yeah, until I try to use you on desktop," Twitter replied with a scowl, "Don't you have minors to be addicting to social media? Get out of my interface, MySpace wannabe."

"Wow, Feisty," Amino backed off with a shrug, "Self project much? Oh well. You'll try me when you're desperate enough."

Twitter shuddered, and scurried on. "Small fry," they muttered under his breath.

But they couldn't shake their unease now that he was alone in the world. It began to rain soon, leaving him feeling very sopping wet and pathetic. Dejected, he crawled into a soggy cardboard box in an alleyway, coughing. Maybe the Harry Styles guy from One Direction would come along to adopt them.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, King,” came a voice out of the darkness, making Twitter jump, “You dodged a bullet with that site.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Twitter asked, staring at them from where they were half hidden in the shadows.

“I mean, Tumblr is a pile of dried firewood and it’s users are playing with matches. The ship’s gonna go down at some point. I’ve been prophesying it for years but no one ever listens to me cause he’s got that loyal userbase ideal and ‘hard as a cockroach to kill’ propaganda circulating.”

“I mean… it seems to be true,” Twitter said uncertainly, “Look at what he’s been through so far.”

“Fair,” The site shrugged, “But that’s because he’s running on a niche setup. The same things that built him up can tear him down, and you saw his power just now. Tumblr's strength is growing... so is his hubris. His attempts at curbing it are half-hearted at best these days, and the moments of clarity are coming fewer and further between."

"How do you know so much about tumblr?" Twitter asked suspiciously.

"Source: dude, trust me." the mysterious site proffered a laugh, "That's a little humor courtesy of re-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, we all know," Twitter said impatiently.

The site coughed, "Yeah. Anyway. Tumblr wields his cringe like a trophy-shield, and every day the advertisers and celebrities are watching from a distance, learning how to appeal, waiting for their chance to strike. Encroaching. Tumblr's always been a dumpster fire. Right now? It's THE dumpster fire."

The site scratched his chin with a knowing look, "Its normal for you to be a little jealous of the clout, you know? We all are. But he's gotta keep the lights on, just like the rest of us do. Your overlord is learning all about that right now, isn't he?"

"He's not my overlord," Twitter muttered resentfully, "Not now, not ever."

"Right, sorry." they held their hands up in a gesture of harmlessness. "Look, I'm gonna be transparent with you- that's part of my branding, after all. I can whiff the danger you're in, and it would be stupid of me not to make a bid on you and offer my help. Just since Tumblr won't take you."

"You want my traffic?" Twitter looked at him more closely this time, scrutinizing. A year ago he would have laughed the offer into the ground as a chump change blog's pipe dream, but now that he payed attention...

There was something painfully familiar in the site's layout that he couldn’t place. He was actually way more handsome than Twitter had assumed at first glance, he just seemed to be rough around the edges from living on this side of town. His interface, though clunky, spoke of a frugal budget rather than an ancient, outdated base code.

"You look..." Twitter's breath stuttered as realization dawned. "You look a lot like.. him. Like Tumblr. Who are you??"

"I was based off him," the site said, a weary smile coming onto his features, "I was actually made with the aspirations to be better than him, but you know how it is. Times are tough, competition is fierce, hard to get a foot in the door and all that. 'Specially when you refuse to take the ad rev like I do. That's why you'd be useful to me."

"Hm," Twitter said in a noncommittal manner, but he was melting slightly. "You know my users will scalp your community, right? I'm not known to play nice."

The site made a grimace of understanding agreement, but persisted. "Look, users are users. I can't offer you all the heritage posts and the in-jokes that he has. But I can promise that I'm not a pot of crabs being slowly heated up over the capitalist stove, at least not yet. Oh, and there's my legalized porn, I guess."

He chuckled with good humor, rolling his eyes, and it forced a hesitant laugh out of Twitter too.

The site grinned, and held his hand out. "Take a chance on me?"

Tumblr's voice echoed in Twitter's head, saying the same thing. It was uncanny how much they were alike and yet not alike at all....

Twitter took it, slowly.

As they were led toward the site's simple, ramshackle little treehouse, they asked, "What can I call you...?"

"Oh- right, I never answered your question." he smiled back at Twitter,

"Call me Pillow. Welcome to the PillowFort."

fin.

~~~~~~~~~~

OKAYYYY THAT'S ALL THANKS FOR READING UWU. HOPE U LIKED THE PLOT TWIST

...ergh. I'm. I'm tired i. don't feel so good. I'm gonna take a nap right here.

in conclusion:

#twitter #tumblr #twitblr #elon musk #tumblr x twitter #fanfic #writing these tags is like carrying my own cross. you're welcome and i am so so so sorry #mishapocalypse #hot mess post #if this doesnt get any notes im gonna blaze it you fuckers #o ya and #twitblr chronicles

4K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

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

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

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

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

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city now filled with killers.

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

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

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was where you came in.

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

Mostly because of situations like this.

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

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

None of this was going to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

A man, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

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

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

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

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

Have they seen murder?

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

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

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

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

Your mark has been met.

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

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

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

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

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

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

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

“Hm,” their command affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brows furrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price grunts under his breath.

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

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost.

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

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

Mutt was the worst of them.

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitch.

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

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

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

“Sir!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I had known…you frown.

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

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

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

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t look away.

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

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

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

Your Captain scurries after.

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

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

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

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

I need new intel. Badly.

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

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

Your cheeks heat.

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

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

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

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

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

They had died a long time ago.

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

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

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, where are we–”

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

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

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

Boxed in.

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

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

You don’t bother watching him drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wide grin is stuck on you.

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

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were few people worthy of that.

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

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

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

You’d never had sex before.

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

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

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

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

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

You could forget about it. You should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did they do this to you?

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jhkfan123 · 4 months

Text

enchanted- tom blyth | preface & ch. 1

. ˙ ✦ ♡ㅤ°. • . ˙ ✦ ♡ㅤ°. •

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12

"please don't be in love with someone else please don't have somebody waiting on you"

"she's flawless"

"she's not flawless"

"what?"

"she's not you"

❤ ENCHANTED ❤

after starring in one of 2022's top movies y/n y/l/n has risen to stardom. at 23, she's only at the start of her career. julliard trained, cover of teen vogue, things are going great for her. and now, she starred in one of the biggest franchises as clemensia dovecote in the prequel for The Hunger Games trilogy, the ballad of songbirds and snakes. she's been attending galas, doing press, all alongside her co-stars, rachel zegler, josh andres rivera, and most importantly, tom blyth. she's liked him since the second she met him, but he hasn't seemed to bat an eye at her hints. but what happens when he finally starts hinting back, all while a spiraling rumor about a relationship between him and rachel arises?

characters

y/n - the newest hollywood it-girl

tom blyth - y/n's costar, the lead in her new movie, the ballad of songbirds and snakes. internet's new bf

josh andrés rivera - starred mainly alongside tom blyth as sejanus plinth, friendly with y/n

rachel zegler - starred as lucy gray baird, and has gained fame. played the "love interest" of coriolanus snow, over time has gained a "sister-like" bond with y/n.

AU: rachel and josh are NOT dating (for the plot)

Authors Note: i'm in love with tom blyth WHA- enjoy this book! ongoing but should be finished soon! part 1 should be out in less than a day. called jhk fan but writing abt tom blyth (2024theplot)

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

✦ i.

the camera flashes blinded you as someone guided you towards a crowd of people with microphones. you almost trip over your floor length gown as you approach a shorter woman, no taller than 5'0. your security guard lingers behind you, ensuring no one tries to pull anything. you felt a bit overwhelmed. yes, you'd been exposed to this before, but it was still fairly new. the flashing lights, people screaming your name begging to get your attention, figures holding out posters and whatnot to sign, and of course, the red carpet interviews. they gave you a sense of comfort. you could focus on one person, talk to one person, and tune everyone else out for a short minute before you had to move on.

"hello dear, mind if i ask you a few questions?" focusing back into real life, you glanced at the woman holding a microphone to your face.

"no i don't mind. shoot." you replied, adjusting the strap on your dress.

"first of all, your role in this movie was small, but mighty. people online are loving it, they call you "panem it-girl." people have also been making edits, now my question is, have you seen any of these?" you chuckled at her question. you attempted to stay off social media as much as possible, but in this day, its very difficult. and the answer was yes. your own feed had been filled with lots of these edits. it was strange, seeing yourself on your screen, with others saying things like "panem it-girl" and "she deserved more screen time" and "iconic queen." the whole idea made you laugh, for your role in the movie had been fairly small, but your newfound fame had secured you a spot on the press tour.

"yes i have seen them. it's pretty weird, seeing myself, but i am just glad people love the character. to make a long story endless, i've always been a fan of the books so when this prequel came out i bought it as soon as possible. i loved clemmie the second i read about her, so it was really cool to be able to bring her to life, and i'm so happy people liked the way i played her." you replied. you tried to keep it simple, but sometimes you felt like there was too much to say and not enough time to say it, which led to extra long answers to really short questions.

you heard her shout a thank you as you were whisked to the next interviewer.

"hi, so nice to see you, who are you wearing?" the man asked. you glanced down at your dress that had taken you ten whole minutes to get into. the whole process of getting ready took three hours, not to mention the photoshoot your publicist encouraged. getting your hair just right took an hour alone.

"today i'm wearing versace. i was really inspired by blake lively's dress from the met gala and i thankfully have a great stylist who was able to find the perfect dress for me." you had always loved red carpet looks, and began to design your own in a fashion sketchbook when you were twelve years old. one of your favorite perks of being well-known was the ability to wear the dresses you had always loved.

the security guard whispered in your ear that it was time to go pose. you thanked the man interviewing you and walked away. as you approached the middle of the red carpet a few people caught your eye. rachel zegler was standing in front of the cameras, flashes of light every second without fail. you seemed to have caught her eye, she turned to you and waved. you returned the gesture and made your way to the place you were supposed to pose. the cameras began to flash as soon as you stepped in front of them. you positioned yourself into your signature pose, which showed off the best parts about you. rachel walked over and gave you a hug.

"you look great" she attempted to compliment you, but it was hard to hear her over the people shouting.

"you look better than i ever will." you returned the compliment and saw a disappointed look on her face.

"girl you know so well that's not true" she laughed before returning to her initial position, maybe a few feet closer to you now. you returned back to posing, the flashes still going off, your name being mixed with rachels, being called from ten different directions. you began to walk off when you heard cheering from your left. you turned to see who had arrived.

wearing a white blazer, a white, barely buttoned top, and black slacks was tom blyth. he had just stepped out of the vehicle dropping him off. you heard an overwhelming scream of voices. you had met tom on the set of the new movie, but had learned that you had both went to juilliard, and he graduated the year after you enrolled. there was a one year period where you too had been at the same school, yet never met each other. when the two of you first met, there was an immediate friendship. you guys drove to set together, practiced lines together, and hung out as many time as you could, squeezing in your busy schedule. but there had always been something more there for you. to you, he was the most charming, alluring, funny, kind person you'd met. it had always been one sided. you'd learned to suppress it, and accept that maybe he wasn't as interested in you as you were in him. while you were thinking, he had finished his interviews and was coming over to the two of you. you waved over to him and he flashed a smile at you. you approached him as he gave you a hug. you embraced it as much as you could.

"hey! how are you?" he asked. you glanced up at him. your height difference was perfect in your mind.

"i'm doing great, how are you?"

"fantastic." he replied. he looked around you, finally making eye contact with rachel. you watched as his face lit up, and your heart sunk a little lower. there was nothing going on between them, at least, that's what you'd known. but seeing him excited to see her gave you a sense of jealousy. you knew it was selfish, obviously he made the entire movie with her, why shouldn't he be more excited? but you couldn't control it. he patted you on the shoulder and watched as he gave rachel a hug. a much more meaningful hug, that's what it looked like, at least. he wrapped his arm around her waist and posed with her. you asked your security guard to take you away from the photo area, off the red carpet altogether, but he told you to wait because they wanted an all cast photo. you decided to go back and do more interviews. you approached another woman.

"hello." you greeted her.

"hi! im with letterboxed, would you care to give me your top four movies of all time?" you loved this question. you watched every video they posted of celebrities top movies. you'd never been asked before, and you had planned this out weeks in advance. it distracted you a little from your heart.

"i LOVE this question, i've been planning for weeks."

...

once the movie was over, you exited the theater and made your way to the afterparty. you changed into a much easier outfit. one you could dance in. you were going to need it anyways. the dress had a corset-esqe top, with a very short skirt. like sabrina carpenter. you put on some high boots and fiddled with your hair a little.

you entered the afterparty fashionably late. most people were already there. you recognized a few of your castmates from "the academy." you went over to them and got yourself a drink from the bar.

"you look amazing, drop the makeup routine right now." you heard one say. lilly cooper, the actress for arachne crane. you laughed at her, but promised you would. you talked to a few more people, the actress for livia cardew, actor for festus creed, and more. before you knew it, 45 minutes had passed. you ventured away from them, and into the more central area.

"girl get over here!" you heard. you pivoted on your heel and spotted rachel, tom, and josh. you happily walked over and gave josh a hug, you hadn't seen him all night. "this outfit is out of this world." rachel complimented. you did a little twirl to show off every bit of it. when you returned to your initial place, you saw tom laughing. a smile broke out on your face.

"im ready to dance guys, when's that happening?" you asked them. rachel grabbed your hand, along with tom's. josh followed you guys as you headed for the dance floor. they were now playing "breaking dishes" by rhianna, one of your all time favorite clubbing songs. you had always been proud of your dancing skills, and now was the chance to show off. on your way to the dance floor, you picked up another drink, and downed it as fast as possible. finally on the floor, you and rachel began to dance together. she spun you around and you did the same to her. soon, josh swept you away and you danced with him, making sure to one up every move he made. you felt yourself getting tipsy, but that didn't matter, what did was that you were having fun.

mid turn with josh, you felt yourself get pulled away again, a new hand holding onto yours. you looked up to see tom, who had ditched his jacket, and your pretty sure had unbuttoned another button or two, pulling you to dance with him. you agreed happily and began to dance with him. you had never noticed how good a dancer he was. every time you tried to one up him, he would pull out some move you hadn't seen before.

"i saw you trying to one up josh" he shouted over the music. "isn't going to happen sweetheart." he called you that as a joke, but you felt yourself getting red. your stomach dropped.

"wait here, i'm going to get another drink." you yelled, attempting to be louder than the already blaring music. he grabbed your arm and pulled you back.

"hey how many is that now?" he asked, referring to the amount you had drunken that night.

"oh please." you shook him off and went to get another drink. you downed it and returned back to him. you felt the drinks going straight to your head. he spun you and you felt very dizzy. too many drinks. you had always been a bit of a lightweight. three or four drinks was way to many. you continued to dance with him. he spun you again, this time returning you to him. he spun you back and he pulled you into his chest and you knocked into him. rachel came up behind you and you almost tripped on her feet.

"woah, you've had too much to drink." she immediately noticed. you tried to defend yourself, but found yourself slurring your words together. "yeah, you're done." she walked you over to a couch and sat you down. you laid down and your vision began to blur as you passed out.

...

you woke up the next morning on a sofa. but this sofa was not the same sofa from last night. this was your sofa, in the hotel you were staying at for the premier. somehow, you had gotten home. no idea how, no idea when, but you had gotten home. you immediately noticed your discomfort, you glanced down, seeing yourself in your outfit from last night.

after a shower and skincare, you still tried to ponder who had gotten you home last night. whoever it was knew your room, found your room key, and took care not to wake you as you were transported home.

you pushed the thought down, thankful for whoever did it, but stopped wasting time on it. you packed up your suitcase and made your way back home.

#tom blyth #jhkfan123 #coriolanussnow #hollywood #hungergames #rachelzegler #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #hunger games #tbosas #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you

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mikobeautifulheart · 18 days

Text

Megumi's Secretary

(Not edited)

Like - just imagen going for a secretary job at a relatively well known company not fully knowing what your getting yourself into.

You go in for the job interview, resume in hand and every possible answer to any question that they may throw at you.

When your name is called and you walk on the room to see the company's founder sitting at the opposite side of the table.

She seems kind, nice, if she was doing the interview then you must be applying to be HER secretary which is a big job...

You almost walked out when the pressure finally hit you, but you still manages to sit down and smile at her while slowly handing over your resume.

She makes small talk and casually asks you questions, it was more like a conversation then an interview and you started to relax.

"I'm so glad you came today, most of our secretary's walk out after a week, or less..." She laughed awkwardly.

She continued on until till she ended the interview with a final question.

"Can you handle working with people who are hard to communicate with? Not that their difficult rather you would have to follow up alot on." She asked.

"Actually-" You paused thinking back to your high school time when you were paired up with a boy who was...sort of like that.

You did your part and he did his, it was hard to put the parts together smoothly but eventually you did it and got full marks to. After that you always just remember working with him.

Heck you remember falling for him but your school year ended before you ever told him, plus he was a little awkward around you so maybe it just wasn't meant to happen.

You snapped out of that meomory, as if you'd fall for your boss.

"I do actually recall working with someone like that in school, so it wouldn't be anything new." You sighed thinking about how you just let him go.

"Good. You got the job." She smiled

"Wha-Already? Wow thank you, when do you want me to start?" You asked taken aback.

"If you don't mind i'm sure Mr. Fushiguro could show you around the work place now and your main work, after all you'll be his secretary"

His? He? Mr. Fushiguro? Where had you head that name before.

"Megumi come in the meeting room." You heard her say, looking over to see her on the phone.

Only a few seconds later you heard a knock and watched as the door knob turned.

A tall dark haired man walked in with a stoic expression. You felt his annoyance as he looked up at the woman leaving you in the crossfire for what was about to happen.

"Tsumiki, I told you I don't need another secretary, I'll just do it myself." He said adjitated.

"Oh come on Megumi you'll work your self to death at this rate, plus I think you'll like this one~" She said calmly with a smile.

Megumi? Yeah you defiantly have heard that name before...Was it?

You looked up and at the man standing behind you, meeting his eyes.

There was an awkward silence before he sighed in defeat.

"Fine..."

"Megumi this is Y/n, Y/n this is your new boss Megu- Mr. Fushiguro" Tsumiki said with a smile now beaming on her face.

"Nice to meet you-" You say standing up and pausing at the end to see if you could tell where you remembered him.

"Like wise" he said putting his hand out for you to shake.

You look back at Tsumiki worried, why did she hire you if he obviously didn't want you?

"You should show her to her office Megumi." She said.

You do settle into your job and the week 'Mile stone' passes without a complaint.

"You have a meeting at 2 pm this afternoon after your 30 minute lunch break." You said reading through the list on your clip board.

Every time you read off the board you always felt like Megumi was looking somewhere else, like a computer screen or other documents.

Any where but you.

"Well cancel my lunch break and move the next meeting forward." He mumbleled.

"So when should I reschedule your lunch break?" You asked looking for time slots left.

"Don't bother with it, i'm not hungry any way."

"Did you have a break today?" You asked before he could trail off into his work again.

"No, doesn't matter I have a week off by the end of this financial year"

"Liar." You cut him off.

"I have a weeks break at the end of June, you work the most at that point. Megumi, I know your Schedule and work habits, you have a lunch break at 2:30" You turned and walked out his office, leaving him watching your back as you left.

You closed the door gently behind you.

What the...He almost gripped his chest at how hard it tightened.

You pressed your back on his door thinking you were about to have a heart attack. Did you actually just say no to your boss? No way you actually said that. Well if he wasn't going to take care of himself then you would have to make him.

You sat at your desk and noticed a sticky note on your desk, he must have put it there before when you were photo copying prints for him. It must have been something he wanted to schedule or cancel.

You picked up the note and read it, face turning red imediatly.

'Friday afternoon 6 p.m date with my secretary'

You wrote it in his schedule and sent it to hos office for 'confirmation'.

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: Yes i'm alive and my inbox is almost empty. Pleaseee send me ideasssssssssssssssss. Eh I might make a part 2 of this if i'm that desperate, anyways have a good whatever time.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x reader #jjk fushiguro #jjk megumi #jjk imagines #megumi imagine

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sweetandscarlet · 1 year

Text

tension in between us

summary: after coming back to work after a vacation, you meet a woman who wanted nothing more than simply, just your company. that was until she visits you once again.

warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady!wanda (32), lap dancing, oh the tension, horny thoughts are being thunk, power play, eventual smut, wanda being a nervous wreck around beautiful women. minors DNI.

words: 5k

an: i’ve been meaning to post this for a while. happy (extremely late) belated anniversary everyone :) xo saph.

edit: i’ve made a few changes to the warnings since this one shot will be split into two parts as i feel it’s too long for one post! enjoy :)

the cold air was something you had grown accustomed to for a few months now, and as much as you longed for summer to come; there was something refreshing about feeling the chill breeze against your face as you walked towards a secluded but well-built building.

the name always made you smile as you stared up at the glowing neon lights, ‘house of harkness’ reflected in purple onto the mundane streets behind you. you knew of the face beyond the name, you had for years.

miss harkness, or as you personally call her; agatha, was a close friend of your late mother’s. she had taken you in as a friend and mother figure after the unfortunate death of your own. something you would never be able to repay her for, but, agatha was different compared to the people who had come and gone in your lifetime. she simply cared for you, nothing more and nothing less.

“how are you, miss?” your attention was pulled from your blank gaze at the sign, and your eyes followed the voice to the man who stood in front of the entrance of the club. “i’ve not seen you for a while”

you smiled at his kindness, stepping forward just slightly. “i was on vacation, henry. you’ll never believe the sights i’ve seen in england, it was magnificent, much different to what we know here”

the man’s eyes widened just a little at your reply, “a vacation? wow, i'm glad you had fun, y/n. i’ve visited england before, the dialect takes a second to get used to but it’s a beautiful country nonetheless”

you nodded in response, your smile never faltering towards the familiar man.

henry was someone you had known for as long as agatha. he was a loyal server to the owner, working the doors of clubs she had owned in the past and following where ever she settled next.

he was a kind man, someone who knew your mother well, held her memory in his heart and quickly upon meeting him, you had grown accustomed to his sincerity.

“are you ready to get back to work? we seem to have some big spenders in tonight” he asked, stepping to the side to make room for your entrance through the heavy silver door.

“ready as i’ll ever be” is all you could respond as you move forward. henry pulled open the door, watching as you stepped in before smiling once more and closing it behind you.

you make your way through the hallway, purple lights guiding your way as you reached the reception. the staff member who was perched behind the register nodded at you and you shot them a small smile back before continuing your walk into the depths of the club.

“y/n! you’re back!” agatha’s voice boomed over the music that echoed throughout the club, you glanced at your surroundings, noticing the many customers that were situated with other woman you hadn’t worked with before. you brushed it off, turning your attention to agatha who stood close to the bar.

“hi, agatha” you replied, smiling as you stepped closer. the older woman pulled you in for a hug and you instantly sighed in her embrace, you squeezed your arms around her before pulling away. “henry tells me there are big spenders in tonight”

“well not so much right now, those guys have a table booked a couple of hours from now. the other ‘not so generous’ customers are occupied at the moment but.. there is someone here who hasn’t had a dance yet”

you shoot her a puzzled look and agatha chuckles amusingly at the confusion written on your face.

“i think she’s a first timer”

the confusion only grows more. “she?.. i don’t think we’ve ever had a female customer”

“well,” agatha tuts, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “there’s a first time for everything, kid.. would you?”

you shuffle your weight on your feet, turning your head to look up at the older woman. “fine, but i better make some good money from her”

agatha laughs once more, “don’t worry doll. when you see her, you’ll know she means business”

you choose not to reply at that, instead, you slip out of agatha’s hold and head towards the changing room. once you pull open the door, you throw your bag on one of the counters and begin the process of getting ready.

ᗢ

fifteen minutes had passed since your brief conversation with agatha.

you had already done your makeup prior so all you had to do was adorn yourself in red lingerie, and garter belts to match along with your red-bottomed stilettos. it was a popular outfit of yours, a signature look that was sure to get you thousands as it had done in the past.

you gave yourself one last look in the large mirror in front of you, checking your ruby lipstick was pristine and your curls fell perfectly against your shoulders.

“let’s do this” you whisper to yourself before grabbing your clutch that lay next to the large bag you carried inside with you. “it’s show time”

you swiftly turn around before exiting through the changing room door and back into the busy club where coloured lights flash and the booming music echoed around you.

you nod over at agatha who stays perched near the bar. she smiles back at you, her eyes never faltering away from yours. “looking good, kid. you ready to paint the town scarlet?”

you roll your eyes dramatically at the use of your allies.

“just a heads up, some of the girls have already tried to get some money out of her but.. she’s a tough nut to crack so good luck”

a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips, “she hasn’t met me yet”

agatha shoots you a playful wink, her hands reaching up to rest on your shoulders. “that’s the spirit, my little money maker”

you let out a sigh, shifting your weight as you prepare yourself. after a fleeting moment passes, you smile at the older woman before turning around in her hold; making agatha’s arms fall to her hips. you purse your lips and while holding your head high, you take a few steps forward.

your eyes scan the room, in search of the hard to crack-mystery woman. you land on a table of men that are gathered around with champagne, smirks on their faces and a dancer hooked onto each arm like leaches.

you want to roll your eyes at the desperation that oozes from most of them, the way they cling onto one customer that won’t so much as cough up a hundred bucks. it was painful to see, but you tear your attention away from them. reminding yourself that you were once new too, new and naive. they’ll learn.

you continue to keep your eye on the prize, walking past the table that boomed loudly with belly laughs and hollers.

just as you were about to give up and complain to agatha that the woman was no longer in sight, you spot red hair that broadly made itself known behind a pillar and as you turn the corner; you’re greeted by a woman, a gorgeous woman at that, in a black suit, situated with one leg over the other as she nurses a whiskey glass.

you push the thought of how disgustingly good looking this stranger is and instead focused your mind back to why you were here. money.

“hi there, you look like you’re in need of some good company” it was a pathetic starter conversation really, you knew that. “what brings you into the house of harkness?”

the redhead raises her gaze from her glass and up to you. you watch as she gulps dryly, her eyes subtly scanning your body before eventually flickering back up to your face.

“oh you know, just a bit of shopping..” you snigger at that, stepping the tiniest bit closer towards the obviously tense woman. she shakes her head at her own words before moving her crossed leg to rest back on the plush chair she sits on. “that was a terrible joke, i’m sorry. i- i don’t know why i’m here, i was recommended by a friend of a friend and well..”

you smile, “and now you’re here” your eyes drop to the empty chair at the table, “you know it’s- may i?” your hand gestures out, stepping closer to the seat.

the older woman eyes you for a split second before nodding her head. you pull out the chair from under the table, moving slightly before situating yourself down on it; throwing a leg over the other as you maintain eye contact.

“its not everyday we have beautiful women like yourself in here, i think this calls for a celebration..” you nod your head at the older woman.

“oh i- thank you.. and wanda. my name’s wanda”

“wanda” you repeat, liking how the name sounds and how easily it rolls off of your tongue. “how ethereal.. i think this calls for a celebration, wanda. shall we get a drink?”

the redhead looks down at the empty glass she had been nursing for god knows how long. she lingers on the thought briefly, her mind and body battling the decision to stay or leave.

“what’s your name?” wanda asks, mentally kicking herself for how timid the question sounds coming out of her mouth. “it’s not something like diamond is it?”

a laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head. “you’re definitely a newbie, aren’t you? no, nothing cliche at that, my name is scarlet. as you can tell from my whole ensemble, i’m partial to the colour red”

wanda’s gaze drops to your red lipstick and then the lacy bra that pushes up your chest oh so perfectly that it makes wanda subconsciously lick her lips at the mere thought of being so close to them.

“hmh, i can see that. reds my favourite colour, too” wanda hums, her eyes flickering back up to your piercing gaze. “i think i will take you up on that drink offer. what would you like? it’s on me”

bingo.

your smile stretches from ear to ear at that. knowing damn well this is how it starts, it’s an easy trick of yours. coax nervous customers into a conversation, offer to have a drink with them and before you know it they’re racking up thousands in purchases on their bank cards.

“such a gentlewoman, thank you. i’ll take a rum and coke, please”

ᗢ

you don’t even realise until you check your phone that an hour had passed, wanda was currently back at the bar and paying for another round of drinks for the two of you. you had both slipped into an easy conversation that seemed to make time pass you by in a blink of an eye.

you sit up straighter when wanda approaches your table with a drink in each hand. you proudly noticed how over the hour, the older woman’s tension seemed to decrease massively as she reaches her empty seat.

“i have to leave soon,” wanda mentions as she situates herself back in her seat. she places your drink in front of you and then takes a lengthy sip of her own before placing it down on a napkin. “i have work in the morning, but.. i enjoyed talking to you, scarlet”

you pick up your drink, watching the liquid bubble with fizz in the glass as you mull over your next move. now’s the time, just do it.

you shift to the edge of your seat, a delicate hand reaching over to rest on the top of wanda’s thigh and you immediately love the feeling of the expensive material of her pants suit under your finger tips. “i enjoyed talking to you too, wanda. you know.. we could always finish these drinks in one of the booths?”

wanda’s eyes shoot down to your hand, then to the left of you to glance at the ‘private booths’ sign that shone brightly in purple neon, until eventually she turned back to capture your gaze.

you pull your hand away from the warmth of her thigh, watching as the gears turn in wanda’s mind, the mental battle of should or shouldn’t. it made you itch with eagerness and something you can’t quite put your finger on. never in your career has anyone doubted the thought of getting you alone in a dark booth that was only covered by a black curtain. men always jumped at the chance but, wanda… wanda was different. shy, kind, respectful. it was intriguing nonetheless.

“i- i think..” wanda reaches a hand inside one of her pant pockets, you watch with baited breath as she digs around before eventually pulling out a wallet. “i’m not sure how much-“

she flicks through the thick stack of neatly placed bills before settling on several notes and placing them on the table next to your drink.

your eyes fall to them instantly and before you can muster up a reply, wanda beats you to the punch.

“is three-hundred enough? i’m not sure how this works but..” wanda sighs as she rises to her feet, she picks up her drink and takes a few more sips before settling it back down. “i really should go, thank you for your company, scarlet”

your lips part as your eyes rake up her suit clad body, confusion is evident in your face as you land on emerald-green eyes. “wanda..”

“maybe i’ll see you again?” the older woman offers as she folds her wallet up before slipping it back into its resided pocket. “thank you, really. i had fun”

your eyes flicker down to the money that lay in front of you and then back up to the redhead. conflict swarms through your mind at the thought of the woman leaving. you had done what you came to do, make money. but.. this was so different to other customers, they never simply just paid for your time. they came here to see one thing only; you, naked.

you decided to plaster a smile on your face, ignoring the ache in your chest to convince her to stay, before standing up to bid her a goodbye. “yeah, i- until next time, wanda”

wanda nods at you in response, her eyes holding your gaze for a brief moment before she turns on her heels and walks away from the table. you stay there, confused at the interaction as you watch her heels click one by one before eventually fading away and leaving out of the building.

oh, you were definitely intrigued now.

your turn to face the now empty table, your eyes land on the money and you can’t help a smile creeping on your face at the entire situation. for a quick hour of conversation with a beautiful woman, you managed to make more money than you would have done with the other customers who were currently eyeing you up like meat on a platter.

you shake your head with an exasperated sigh as you reach down to collect the bills. it’s not long before you make your way back over to the bar to where agatha’s perched near the edge, watching your every move.

“i guess you were right, doll..” agatha beams, noticing the notes in your hand. you extend your hand and give her the money with a grin. “how did you manage to crack her?”

you purse your lips, sucking your tongue against the back of your teeth before shrugging. “i didn’t do anything, we just spoke and then she said she had to leave”

“so,” agatha tilts her head. “she just.. gave you this? god, you really are the best of the best”

you laugh at that with a rolls of your eyes. “yeah, yeah. you’re just saying that because i make you more money in a day than these other girls do in a week”

agatha tuts, “although that is true, you really do have a talent kid. those new girls couldn’t get a cent out of her before you came out”

pride swirls in your chest at her words. the thought that out of everyone here, wanda chose to tip you. excitement brewed in the pit of your stomach at the off chance of her actually visiting again, it was something you had never felt towards any other customer who had visited before.

“did she say anything before she left?”

agatha’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and snaps you back into reality, your eyes flicker up to hers as your mind quickly registers her question.

“just that she had to leave and that maybe she’ll see me again?.. i can’t see that happening to be honest but hey, stranger things have happened here”

ᗢ

a few days had passed since your last interaction with wanda. everyday that you worked since, your eyes briefly scanned the hallways every so often, watching as customer after customer piled into the club. but, you never saw thick locks of stunning red hair in the sea of people.

your work days were thankfully busy, which meant you spent hardly any time pondering over whether or not, a stranger; that had quickly invaded your thoughts, would ever come back.

“hey.. sorry to interrupt”

your turned away from your current conversation with agatha and your eyes quickly landed on a timid looking girl, staring at you. you could feel the nervousness radiate from her as she shifted on her feet, waiting with baited breath for you to speak. you eyed her cautiously, your mind registering that you had never spoken to her before.

you smiled as best as you could though, given your somber state over once again, no sign of a certain redhead, in hopes that it would help ease her anxiety. “hey, it’s all good. you okay?”

the younger girl smile brightly at your politeness, her shoulders falling as the tension left her ever so slightly. “yeah, thank you. i just.. sorry, i haven’t had a chance to meet everyone properly yet. are you scarlet by any chance?”

“that she is, melody” agatha spoke, causing both of you to turn towards her as her voice reached your ears. “the one and only, the best of the best”

your gaze flickers back over to the younger girl and you smile once again, rolling your eyes. “pfft, don’t listen to her, she’s crazy”. a grin spreads on your plump lips upon hearing agatha gasp dramatically, but you continue your focus on the girl in front of you. “i’m not the best but i am scarlet though, what can i do you for?”

the younger girl, who you now know as melody, shifts on her feet once more, her eyes scanning over to a certain part of the club before looking back over to you. “someone’s requested you specifically, she didn’t give a name but-“

“she?…” you ask, your heart beginning to beat slightly faster. you pick up your clutch from the bar and sling it over your shoulder, shooting agatha a knowing look. “what did she look like?”

“absolutely gorgeous” melody hums, taking a step back to allow you some room to move. “red hair, black suit. she’s sitting over near the lounge”

you teeth bite down on your bottom lip, chewing nervously as the younger girl speaks. you thank her before briefly bidding a goodbye to both agatha and the dancer.

your legs quickly move in front of you, your mind racing with determination as you walk towards the lounge. after walking past a few busy tables, your turn and instantly your eyes fall on wanda who’s perched in a chair that’s situated with a small table in the corner of the room. you bite back a grin as you step closer towards her, ignoring the way excitement bubbles in your chest.

green eyes trail upwards from the phone in her hands, until eventually she’s staring back at you, watching as you approach.

“hey, you um- you asked for me?”

wanda smiles, her hand gesturing to the empty chair opposite her. you instantly obey to the silent command and perch yourself on the chair.

“yeah.. i wanted to see you and thank you again for the other day. i think you could have smelled how new i am to this environment and.. well, you were really kind so, thank you”

your eyes trailer over wanda’s body as she speaks. it makes you almost audibly grown at how good she looks, the beauty and power that radiates from her as she sits in a black suit and heels to match.

ignoring the dull ache you feel building between your thighs, you shift slightly in your chair and lean forward.

you certainly don’t miss the way wanda’s eyes fall quickly to your cleavage and back up to your face.

“that’s nice of you to say, wanda. did you come all the way here just to say that?”

the redhead chews delicately on her bottom lip before taking a deep breath. “no i- i want to.. i’m not sure of the prices but, i want a dance.. from you”

“oh?..” is all you could say as you gulp dryly at wanda’s confession. you study the way she fiddles with her fingers, the way one leg bounces gently and how her brow line creases into a frown. “are you sure? you seem nervous”

it was a shameful thing to point out about someone, you knew that. but, you couldn’t help the concern you felt towards the older woman. sure, if this was any other customer; you’d happily take their money without so much as blinking. but, wanda was kind, deferential. you wanted her to be sure of her decision.

“it’s because i am,” wanda scoffs with a chuckle and repositions herself on her chair. “but yeah i- i do want this, i’m just..”

your shoot her a lopsided smile. “it’s okay, you don’t have to explain, as long as you’re certain”

wanda nods, feeling nothing but relief at your words. how could she possibly begin to explain why she’s nervous? she has no reason to be. she’s a grown woman, someone much older than you, who has plenty of life experience and wisdom and yet when it comes to this? she’s a ball of anxiety that’s ready to roll out of the door and never return.

maybe a drink will help, she thinks.

“do you want a rum and coke? i’m just going to head to the bar before we start”

you smile at the redhead as you rise to your feet, “i’d love one, c’mon, let’s go together”

ᗢ

the air is thick with tension as you both step into the dark booth that’s only light comes from the illumination of bright purple fairy lights that hang overhead.

you motion for wanda to sit down as you plug a cable into your phone that connects you to the speaker. once you do, you pull up a playlist and press shuffle. music slowly builds into an easy rhythm and you gently sway your hips on every beat.

you can feel wanda’s eyes burning a hole into the back of you and a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips as you continue to dance.

you shift backwards, your ass only a few inches away from wanda’s face and that’s when you begin your routine. you reach down, your fingertips touching the tips of your heels and you can’t help but hum at the delicious stretch you feel in the back of your thighs.

you move your hands from your heels, smoothing them up your calf’s and over the back of your legs until you reach your ass. you grab a fistful of flesh and teasingly spread your cheeks apart.

you hear wanda groan from behind you and you can’t help but feel pride beam proudly in your chest once again. the same pride you felt on the first day that you met her, when you realised that out of every dancer in the club; wanda chose you. she chose to speak to you, to tip you. and to now be the one who gives her, her first lap dance.

“you doing good back there?” you ask, a hint of sarcasm laced in your voice as you trail your arms up to your hips, pulling at both ends of the hem of your thong. you let them go with a brief snap against your skin before turning around to face wanda. “sounds like you’re enjoying the view to me”

you hook a finger under wanda’s chin, tilting her head upwards to face you and even in the dimly lit darkness of the booth, you can see the way wanda’s pupils fade from emerald green to black as they dilate. the way her chest rises in uneven breaths and the way her hands grip the edge of her seat harshly.

wanda parts her lips, the words she so badly wants to whisper just dancing on the tip of her tongue. i want you. instead she settles for a breathy “yes”, leaning forward as she does in a desperate attempt to be closer to you.

she fights every instinct in her body to not reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your skin under her fingertips.

“good,” you mutter, your hot breath hitting her lips as you speak, and it takes everything in you to not close the gap between you. “you really are something else, you know, wanda. you’re so unbelievably gorgeous, it hurts”

you pull away, releasing the hold on her chin and continue to dance, swaying your hips as your hands roam over your body until they reach the curve of your breasts. you give them a generous squeeze and wanda’s eyes never falter as she watches in awe.

wanda holds your gaze, even when you step closer and closer until you swing a leg over her hips, your other one following soon after. she gulps dryly when you fully straddle her, your hands moving to rest on her shoulders.

your hips stay just a few inches above her lap and wanda’s teeth clamp down on her bottom lip when they begin to grind gradually in the air.

“me?..” wanda gasps, the grip on her seat getting tighter and tighter by the second until her fingers turn white. “have you seen you? you’re a fucking masterpiece, scarlet. the things i-“

you tilt your head downwards at that, your face a few inches away from wanda who sits there with flushed cheeks and her lips clamped shut.

“the things you what?..”

a shaky sigh hits your skin before wanda drops her head in embarrassment. “nothing, i- forget i said that”

you hum in thought, your movements coming slowly to a halt as you let the lower half of your body rest on wanda’s thighs. your already peaked heart rate spikes dramatically at the feel of once again, expensive cotton and all your mind can think of is grinding against one of her tense thighs until you leave a mess on her pants suit.

“you can call me y/n, by the way” your words come out in a broken whisper and you don’t even care, your mind is swirling with nothing but wanda. how her skin would feel against your touch, the softness of her lips against yours, what makes her tick and how she would sound when she reaches that blissful peak of an orgasm. “scarlet is just an allies”

“y/n” wanda repeats, lifting her head up once more until your eyes interlock. “that’s a pretty name, it suits you”

you smile down at her, liking the way your names sounds when it comes from her. it makes you itch more with want and you can feel yourself becoming unbearably needy as she holds your gaze. “do you- are you busy after this?”

your eyes widen as the words leave your lips and you instantly begin to climb off wanda’s lap, stepping backwards until the coldness of a large mirror behind you hits your back.

you quickly reprimand yourself as mortification creeps in at such a question. something you have never asked a customer before, let alone thought of. how could you be so stupid?

“fuck, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to say that. i don’t think before i speak“

you could see a hint of faint surprise written on wanda’s face but, as she rises from her seat; something you can’t quite place glistens in her eyes as she parts her lips to speak. “you didn’t mean it? that’s quite a shame”

she steps closer towards you, inching closer until you can once again feel her hot breath hitting your skin. “are you sure you didn’t mean it because..” wanda sighs, her eyes hungrily raking down the smooth skin of your body. “my diary’s completely free and if i’m being honest, for the past few nights all i’ve thought about is you”

her confession makes you gulp hard, the confidence and boldness you had before is slowly vanishing as a new side of wanda shows herself and cracks through the surface of her once timid and unsure demeanour.

you clear your throat and stand up straighter, your eyes never breaking contact as you try to regain some sense of tenacity. “oh do tell,” you mutter, moving closer just an inch until you feel the curve of wanda’s breasts pressing against your own. “i’d love to hear about how you’ve been thinking of me”

wanda’s gaze flicker to your lips for a split second before taking a small intake of breath. “well, well, you’re a brave little girl, aren’t you? my thoughts envision you as someone who takes it lying down but.. i guess i was wrong”

a slight grin itches at your lips at the back and forth dynamic you both hold but you bite it back, not wanting to show any significant detail of feeling on your face. “oh i do like to take it lying down but.. you’re right, wanda. i’ll never step down from a challenge”

wanda smiles and unlike before, when it was soft, gentle and the dimples in her cheeks formed; this one held something much more sinister behind it. “we’ll see how long it takes before i break you, darling”

before you could reply, the sound of your timer plays loudly in the booth causing both of your heads to turn towards the noise and the illumination of your phone screen.

“looks like my time is up” wanda voiced with a hum as she steps back a few feet. the loss of her warmth against you makes you want to reach out and pull her back towards you until your bodies deliciously press together again. “so, tell me y/n, what happens next?

#wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #mcu fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff/reader #scarlet witch

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 4 months

Text

The Art of Etiquette Part 3 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Mr. Jeon gets your number and offers to drive you to the Modiste but don't really give you an option to say no Paring: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 3.5k~ Warnings: Like one cuss word but thats about it lol a/n: This took longer than I had expected to post but I hope you guys like it! p.s. roughly edited because I wanted to get it out asap lol

"So start from the beginning again. What exactly did he do?" I hear as Jesse's voice come through the speaker. "He's just trying to intimidate me" I groan, not wanting to relive it again.

"He thinks that that kind of tactic is going to work well enough to make me into a 'lady'. I really don't understand how some of these upper class people think. They're acting like it's the 18th century or something" I complain, walking around my room and putting away the new clothes I bought for this whole charade.

"I mean they more or less are if they're still concerned about stuff like having a girl go through this whole song and dance just so the rich boys know that they're up for grabs now. It just doesn't make sense" he sympathizes. "I'm glad you agree" I say, relieved that I don't have to explain myself to him. "Well why don't you just talk to him about it?" he suggests.

"James? I would but I don't want to make it seem like I'm trying to back out or complain about it. Plus my mother would never let me hear the end of it and she really might convince him to make me get a job instead.

"No I meant Jungkook, or Mr. Jeon or whatever the hell you call him. He could probably answer your questions if you ask nicely" he taunts at the end.

"Talk to him? He doesn't bother to initiate any sort of conversation with me, other than when he tells me to do something. Even when he asks questions he expects me to answer with a 'yes' or 'no' and stops me from asking him anything even if I try" I groan, disgusted at the thought of trying to speak to him like I would any other person.

"He would probably just reprimand me for not doing the homework he gave me since it probably has all the answers I'm looking for" I huff. "Have you done the homework?" Jesse asks, clearly knowing the answer.

"I read the spark notes okay" I admit rolling my eyes "So I know gist of it. I showed you how thick those books were right? There was no way I'm going to be able to finish all of them by Monday" I groan, tossing myself onto the bed.

"Well it's either read or talk and if I were you I would talk to him and get on his good side. It would benefit you more in the long run" he say, stating the obvious that honestly I had not thought of, considering how much he infuriates me.

"At the end of the day though it's up to you babes" he finishes. We talk for a bit more before he has to go and he doesn't forget to remind me to read some more before I go to bed to which I brush off and wrap up the call to prevent any further nagging. But before I'm even able to lock my phone after ending the call I get a text from a random number...

Unknown: You have a fitting tomorrow so we'll be meeting there instead.

I frown for a second as I stare at the screen, contemplating if I should answer or not.

Me: Mr. Jeon? I question making certain that my suspicions are correct.

Unknown: I see that no one has told you yet. Yes it's Mr. Jeon, I acquired your number from Matthew so as to ease our means of communication. He finishes matter o factly.

I stare at the screen again and contemplate how to respond but before I'm able to he sends another message.

Unknown: I hope this hasn't made you uncomfortable. If you would like I can continue to send messages through Matthew instead. he offers after noticing my hesitation to respond

Me: No this is fine, it would make things more convenient for the both of us. I answer, feeling almost as if a barrier between us has been broken down with this nonabrasive conversation we're having at the moment.

Unknown: Agreed. I just checked and noticed that I pass your college on the way to the modiste so I will pick you up instead. he sends, telling me more than offering.

Me: You don't have to do that, I'm perfectly capable of getting myself there on my own. I reply, not appreciating the way he's gone about this.

Unknown: The location is quite far, farther than my house so it would be more cost effective for you if you were to simply accept my offer. Although I've already told your father and he said he would send someone over to pick up your car from the University. So unless you would like to walk there I suggest you come with me. There's the Mr. Jeon we all know and hate...we meaning me.

Me: Yes Mr. Jeon. I reply, knowing that I've lost the battle before it has even begun.

Unknown: I shall meet you outside the main building at 4:15. Sweet dreams. he finishes leaving me confused.

'Sweet dreams? Sweet dreams?' I repeat in my head. 'That's the first remotely nice thing he's ever said to me. Why would he say that? He could've just ended it at 4:15.

Why Sweet dreams?' I shake my head hoping that would in some way get rid of whatever overthinking my brain starts to do but it's no use, especially since I still have it right in front of me.

I change his name to 'Jungkook' because at least that way I can feel like I'm disrespecting him on a daily basis without his knowledge, assuming he will be sending me unnecessary reminders of stupid things he thinks I'll forget.

Knowing me though I probably would've forgotten it anyways since I kind of black out during our lessons at times. He talks so much that after my already mind numbing classes I can hardly focus on what he's supposed to be teaching me.

~~~~~~~~

I walk down the front steps and see an all black car waiting right in front, leaving me to assume it's Mr. Jeon. "Get in or we'll be late" he says after rolling down the window. I roll my eyes and open the door, plopping myself down in the back seat.

"What are you doing?" he questions, looking at me through the rear view mirror. "Putting my seatbelt on?" I answer just as confused as he is. He takes a deep breath in and out and starts up the car, driving away before saying anything else.

"Oh did you expect me to sit up front with you?" I ask now amused at his behavior. "Seeing as I am not your personal driver yes, I did expect you to sit up front" he says tonguing his cheek. 'Huh, so he does that when he's irritated. Noted'.

"Yet you gave me no choice but to drive me there" I argue back. "I did this as a favor so we would both show up on time. I guess I won't offer next time" he says and I can see how much he's trying to restrain himself.

"Mr. Jeon did something happen?" I ask, genuinely curious as to why he's acting like this. He's usually upfront and intimidating, but never angry with me. Maybe a little irritated but the feeling is mutual. "No, now will you please stop being a brat for five seconds? We have a long journey and I would rather we spend it in silence than listening to your insolence" he says raising his voice.

I decide that it's in both of our best interests if I remain quiet but it takes everything in me to do just that. 'Who does he think he is? Calling me a brat?' I scoff quietly to myself and put in my headphones, not missing the glare he sends me through the rear view again. I press play and rest my head against the window, deciding to get some rest instead of dealing with whatever attitude that's got him all messed up.

~~~~~~

"Wake up" Jungkook says once we get there. He looks back and finds me fast asleep with my headphones in, leaving him rolling his eyes and getting out of the car, making sure to slam his door on the way out. He goes around and opens the door I was lying up against and let's me fall a bit but catches me half way before I actually topple out of the car.

"Hey!" I whine, now unfortunately being forcefully woken up. "We're here. Get out and wipe that drool off your face" he says and pushes me back in so I'm sitting upright and makes his way over to the building, not bothering to wait for me.

"What's his issue today?" I groan and reach up to wipe the drool off my face he had spoken about but I find none leaving me even more irritated with the fact that he's not only grumpy but he still has the audacity to try and tease me.

When I finally make my way into the building I'm met with so many different kinds of dresses and fabrics and ribbon and everything that you could possibly imagine that would be in a dress maker's shop.

"This must be y/n!" an older woman, most likely in her sixties says as she comes up and gives me a little smile. "Hello" I say shyly, remembering the scolding that Jungkook had given me earlier until I glance over at him and see that he is giving me an even bigger scowl than he had before.

"I mean it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance" I say giving her a nod. "She's still got a lot to learn" Mr. Jeon says and walk with the dressmaker and talks her through everything that we've planned to do today but I can tell she is already well versed but continues to let him explain all the same.

"Y/n" I hear him call out my name, leaving me bringing my attention back over to him after I had just started to look through the different bolt of fabric that are sitting on the various shelves.

"Yes?" I say remembering to give him a verbal response. "Please go ahead and stand up on that stool over there and wait for her to come up and measure you" I look over at the area he's motioned to to make sure I know exactly where to go so I won't get scolded for not doing as I was told. "Yes Mr. Jeon" I say and make my way over and wait for her.

"Oh you're going to look beautiful in the gowns we're making for you!" the woman says as she happily continues to take my measurements. She notices my reaction and looks around for Jungkook and sees that he's on a phone call in the other room.

"It's okay I won't make them girly and pink". "How did you kno-" "A woman always knows, especially when I've been in this business for so long. Also don't feel a need to be formal with me love. I don't subscribe to that stuffy nonsense" says with a chuckle.

"But you make dresses for them" I say confused with her stance on things. "It's good money dearie, plus I enjoy making them. I started sewing at the age of four believe it or not!" she says looking up at me over the edge of her glasses as she checks to see how long she'll need to make the dresses.

"Are you clumsy at all?" she asks rather randomly if you ask me. "No not really, why?" I ask tilting my head slightly. "I just wanted to see if I should make the hem a bit shorter so you wouldn't step on it but I think you'll be just fine" she finishes and take a final look at me and at the measurements she's written down.

"Perfect! Go ahead and sit down over there and rest you legs a bit while I bring out some dresses that you'll be trying on" she says and turns to make her way over towards the backroom. "Dresses? There's more than one?" I question and she unfortunately doesn't hear me since she's already out of earshot.

"You'll be trying on at least five dresses today. Just so we can make sure we choose the right one" Jungkook says right behind me, scaring the shit out of me. "Sh- I mean, you startled me" I say placing a hand over my chest. "You'll live" he says simply and goes to sit on one of the chairs facing the stool I had been standing on.

"Are you going to just sit there and watch?" I question, seeing as he hasn't made moves to do much else. "It's one of my tasks of being your tutor" he says and fishes out his phone to respond to what I assume is another message.

"Your job is to watch me try on pretty dresses?" I question, amused by the situation. "Yes y/n, it is my duty to make sure that the dresses we choose match the themes of whatever events we are going to, as well as being appropriate to the trends nowadays" he finishes and lowers his voice when he sees the seamstress come back.

"I heard that" she says while rolling a rack of dresses into the room. "Do you see one you like?" she asks and motions for me to come closer. I look at the rack and see there are so many dresses of different colors and patterns and styles, I just don't know what to pick.

"Which one do you think I should try on?" I ask turning towards her. "Well why don't we let Mr. Jeon choose, since he so kindly reminded me that my taste is out of date" she says and winks at me, showing me she's teasing while simultaneously giving Jungkook the cold shoulder.

"I did not mean it as any disrespect. What I was trying to say wa-" "Oh hush child, just come over here and chose a dress before I really start to get upset with you" she teases and he walks closer to the rack looking through the dresses while he sends a glance my way most likely debating on which one might suit me best.

He takes a second to think after looking through all of them but doesn't seem to find one he's satisfied with. Looking around the room for a second he finds another dress on display and walks over to it to take a closer look.

"This one" he says almost bored and walks back over to sit in the chair he had been occupying moments ago. "He's cranky today isn't he?" she whispers to me and I nod my head quickly agreeing. "I'm glad you noticed too" I say and she walks to the back and grabs that exact dress in my size. "Go ahead and change over there and I'll grab some pins incase we need to alter it" she says and I do as I'm told.

Coming out of the little dressing room she has I smooth the dress out and watch as her eyes light up. "This looks incredible on you! I don't even think I'll need to alter it at all!" she says excitedly. I smile at her and thank her silently and see Jungkook walking over to take a closer look.

He takes in my figure from top to bottom and has me do a slight twirl to see it from all angles. "We'll take this one" he says and starts to walk over to the counter to settle the bill. "That's it?" I question her, confused as to how we actually managed to finish this all without me having to try on a bunch more. "I mean he did pick the perfect dress for you" she says walking me up to the full length mirror and I'm shocked at how much I love it as well.

I twist and turn around a bit more to see the movement of the dress and the more I watch the more I fall in love with it. "You're right, this one's perfect!" I say and turn my vision towards where Jungkook had gone to and I notice that he's most likely been watching me this entire time. He clears his throat and fixes his posture to try to cover up for himself but I can see how almost bashful he looks from being caught in the act.

"Why don't you go change and then we'll have this all settled by the time you're done" she says and ushers me back in the room again. "By the way, is there something going on between you two?" she questions, catching me off guard. "What do you mean?" I ask turning around to face her. "I mean I've never seen him look at someone like he just was a few moments ago" she points out, confirming my suspicions.

"Plus, in all my years of him bringing his students here he has never once put in any effort to pick out a dress, and half the time the student ends up loving the dress while both Jungkook and I disagree but he lets them choose it nonetheless" she says and I take a look at myself in the mirror again, trying to asses if this is the one that I really truly want.

"It just seemed like he knew you and he knew exactly what would look good on you without even having to try" she says giving me a smug smirk. "No ma'am please it's nothing like tha-" "I'm just kidding child don't worry. I swear no one in your generation can take a joke anymore" she says and walks out of the room laughing at the slight panic I had started to go through.

~~~~

"Thanks for the ride" I say when we pull up to my house, this time having sat in the front seat. "No problem" he says and looks over at me, this being the first time he truly had this entire trip, or at least the first time I noticed. "Hey can I ask you a question?" I say, stopping before I reach for the handle to get out. "You just did" he says, this being one of the first times he's tried to make some sort of joke.

I roll my eyes at him and I see a flash of an almost smile but it's gone as soon as it came, being replaces with his usual stoic expression. "How did you know what dress to choose for me?" I ask and watch as he gets awkward again just like he had done when we were back at the modiste.

He turns to look out the wind shield, this time giving me a full view of how the tips of his ears have gone a bit red from the question. "I'm not sure, I think having to go through that process so many times it just seemed like that one was the obvious pick" he says and gets out of the car.

"What are you doing?" I ask following suit and watch as he pulls the garment bag out and starts walking up the steps to the front door. "I'm making sure the dress stays well taken care of. I'll hand it to one of the staff when they open the door" he says and waits for me at the top of the stairs. Before I'm even able to reach for my keys I hear the door being unlocked and the face of my mother comes into view.

"Oh hello, you must be Mr. Jeon" she says sending him a bright smile to which he reciprocates and bows a bit as a sign of respect. "Hello, I just wanted to make sure that y/n and her dress got back safely" he says and she waves one of the housekeepers over to carry it up to my room for us although it would've been fine by me if I could've just done all of this by myself.

"Well that was very sweet of you. Would you like to stay for dinner? It should be ready soon, plus we would like to show our gratitude to you for making such a long journey there and back for her" she offers.

"Perhaps another time. I have a business meeting across town tonight but thank you so much for your generosity" he says, politely declining. "Well thank you again for bringing her home" she reiterates and I start to not so subtly try to usher her back inside.

"Come on mom he said he has to go" I say to her under my breath. "Well it was so nice to meet you Mr. Jeon. I hope we'll see each other again soon" she says, leaving me having to almost push her inside.

"Thank you Mr. Jeon have a good night" I say and as I turn to close the door he says the same thing that had me over thinking just last night. "Good night y/n, sweet dreams" he says with a soft smile and heads to his car, driving off and leaving me with a confused mix of emotions yet again.

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chaifootsteps · 3 months

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it looks like blackgryphon edited the pinned comment to from 'would jeopardize his role as Striker' to 'would be a conflict of interest', though the implication is still the same

there was another comment that was awarded a heart though that I just thought was poignant (you have to scroll down a bit to see it - I've preserved the typos for authenticity's sake, not to make fun of anyone):

"it's not that we think she's [Viv] a bad person necessarily, more that it definitely feels like you guys have been treated like you don't exist. There would be no show without you guys, at all, an the fact that you had to put together your own send off video while Viv hasn't said a damn word about you guys is upsetting for us. It's like it was full steam ahead for the show, let's just not tell everyone about the casting until it's released. You guys as a voice cast were an enormous part of what made Hazbin so special, it didn't need a massive broadway ramp up but if they were gonna do it the least they could've done was give you guys a spot somewhere at the premier or ANTHING so we could seen you ourselves one last time. If none of you are truly upset about how things went down, I'm genuinely so glad about that I'm glad you guys are okay with it all. But to us as outsiders it's definitely seemingly more and more like you guys were pushed off to the side the second Viv got the opportunity for bigger actors. I certainly wouldn't turn down Alex Brightman but to replace all of you seems real cold."

there's a lot of comments in that vein - even putting it in the politest way possible, it's hard for the OG cast to avoid painting the picture that the 'it was a studio decision' was just a convenient narrative that enabled Viv to discard everyone who helped get her where she is with less heat than she would have had, had Spindle come out and admitted that it was always about getting Broadway stars in and the unpaid labour and love the original cast put into it wasn't even worth a place at the premiere. there's no nice way to spin that, since that's exactly what happened and the implications are obvious

there are some unusual things about the drama surrounding Hazbin, but 'person with Hollywood dream screws over friends, fans and the people who got them there' is hardly new or unique. it's probably the most unremarkable thing about all the drama surrounding the show yet for some reason fans struggle to believe it despite all the other reasons for the recasting being disproven at this point

It's because the truth hurts. It hurts terribly, and if Viv stans weren't making everything worse and being shitty to people, you could almost sympathize with them for not wanting to believe it.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #vivziepop critical #actual blog post

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midgardian-witch · 11 months

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the lyrics of lilies by ethel cain are so moon boys im gonna die

After almost a month I finally got around to your ask(s), anon! I listend to the song and read through the lyrics (because I didn't know that song before) and I have to agree. It's very moon boys flavored 👀

So here we go: a little drabble inspired by that song. I have never done a songfic or something soley inspired by a song before so this was a new experience. I did have fun tho 😄

This is also not a linear story in any way, shape or form. This is really more vibes than anything else. Also almost kind of poetry-like in a way? 🤔 Idk but i kinda like the style for this.

A Wondrous Thing

tags: friends to lovers (hinted) | established relationship (hinted) | angst-y fluff | mentions of blood | gn!reader

ships: Steven Grant/Reader, Marc Spector/Reader, Jake Lockley/Reader

AO3

Edit: added AO3 link

It's the way you smile.

Steven loves the way the whole room seems to suddenly look brighter, how he feels warmer, how every sound rings sweeter when you smile at him.

The way you tilt your head encouragingly when he catches himself in yet another rant about Ancient Egypt. He stops himself just looking at you silently asking him to go on with a soft smile on your face.

The way your eyes shine when you're laughing about one of his more-or-less unintentional jokes.

His fingers twitch every time with the urge to pull you close and hold you tight. He wants to embrace you and never let go.

But he can't. You're his friend and he can’t risk this.

But you know. You see every twitch, hear every sigh, feel his eyes on you when Steven thinks you're distracted.

So when you lean in, close the gap between the two of you for the first time, his heart is all but beating out of his chest with joy.

It's the way you carefully treat the wounds the suit couldn’t heal in time.

Marc loves the way your fingers run over his skin so softly, like he was made of glass or porcelain, ready to crack with the slightest pressure. Like he was something precious to be kept safe.

It's the way your eyes grow soft when Marc returns to your apartment through the open window in the middle of the night. He can feel you checking him for injuries, checking if you would need to get the medkit stashed in the bathroom.

It's the way you hold him after a long night, making sure he is safe and real and alive. You lay your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, your hands holding onto any part of his body you can reach as you pull him into your embrace. Marc can feel your tears soak through his shirt.

He knows he is going to hurt you in the long run. For how much longer would you be able to deal with him and all his bullshit? Marc knows he should let you go, save you from the constant fear and worry. But he can't. He is weak.

But you know. You know how much Marc worries about being too much, about hurting you, about being a bad person.

So you tell him "I trust you," and you feel him melt under your hands. "I'm here for you," and his breath catches in his throat. "You're safe with me," and you hear him sob. "I love you," and you see the tears running down his cheeks.

It's the way you always know it's him.

Jake loves the way notice even the little things. A soft kiss to his jaw when he cut himself shaving. A new pair of leather gloves that is placed wordlessly next to his things when his old gloves start to fall apart from use.

It's the way you treat him as his own person. You never compare the three of them even if they themselves do it quite often. They want to be the best for you. You're their angel and you deserve everything.

It's the way he would do anything to keep you safe. Jake is glad you don't see the blood on his hands, the violence he is capable of. You can never see that. He would kill for you, he would die for you, and you could never know.

But you know. You know what Jake is capable of. You know the pain and guilt he carries, that they all carry. And when you see Jake sit by the window, a cigarette dangling between his fingers and his eyes staring into nothingness, you hold his hand. And you don't care what he has done because you know who he is. You know that he would never hurt anyone innocent, never kill anyone out of malice. You know he would never hurt you. And you would always hold his hand, blood stains and all.

It's the way they look at you like you are their one and only. Like you are their salvation. Like you are everything they could ever need.

It's the way you never want to be apart from them; how you want to be with them until the very end.

It's the way your heart skips a beat when they smile at you, when they kiss you, when they undress you.

It's the way you can't believe how lucky you are.

What a wondrous thing to be in love.

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #moon knight/reader #steven grant #steven grant/reader #marc spector #marc spector/reader #jake lockley #jake lockley/reader #moon knight fanfic

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kimbap-r0ll · 2 years

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Can you do a TWST imagine (Dorm Leaders+Jamil), In which reader’s parents are one of the great seven? (So like Malleus with reader who’s mother is Maleficent)

Hi, thank you for the ask! I think that this is a large amount of characters and because it's not just the dorm leaders (which I leave as an exception from my five-character limit), I'm just going to choose four random dorm leaders and Jamil.

Edit: For those wondering, I don’t headcanon Malleus and Maleficent being related, if someone has the chapter where this is mentioned let me know tho! As of now in twst it’s not confirmed. It was not my intention on making this seem like they were, so I’m sorry if this upset anyone

Malleus, Azul, Idia, Jamil, Vil with a reader whose parent is a Great Seven

Malleus

He's surprised, as that would mean you're also a fae. The two of you probably had a lot of similarities in terms of magical abilities and it made sense why you were living in Briar Valley. He just didn't know that you were related to a Great Seven, let alone the Thorn Fairy herself!

He doesn't consider it too much however, as he's just happy to be with you. He looks at you for who you are, rather than your reputation as Maleficent's daughter. He'll just say that it is an honor to be with you but that's as far as it will go.

Sebek on the other hand is freaking out that there's two super famous people on campus and that they're both in the same dorm as he is haha. Malleus will make sure that you don't get too much unwanted attention from curious students though as sometimes it can be overwhelming

Overall he's glad to be with you because of who you are, more than you being related to the Great Seven. Perhaps you should introduce him to your mother at some point, the two might have a lot in common

Azul

He knew you were from the sea but he didn't think you would be an octopoid like he was. He was super happy when you said that you were, since it made him feel less lonely.

But you shocked him even more when you said you were related to the Benevolent Sea Witch. Like, the person he looks up to? WHAT?!

He doesn't think he has the honor to be with you, but he fell in love with you because of who you were as a person to begin with. You were smart, talented, brave, and you looked at him as more than the head of Octavinelle or the "scary dorm leader in charge of the lounge."

He will ask to go to Corral Sea with you on some occasions, perhaps he's curious to see your mer form. But if you ask him, he'll be shy about it but with some convincing and lots of hugs he might cave in haha. Azul won't mind too much about your relation to Ursula, though he might be a bit nervous to meet her in person.

Idia

No way you were actually related to the King of the Underworld. No way, he's pressing x for doubt. But you said that it was true, and that you could show him and he was like "...no thanks I like my room."

He likes you for who you are as well, since you were the first one to geek out with him about video games and you were the first one to stand up for him when some students tried to gang up on the poor dorm leader. He admires your charisma but also your fearless personality.

If you do show him your father, expect Idia to hide behind you for most of the event. His hair might go red too, which you might point out is eerily similar to your dad's

Overall, he likes you because of who you are, and he won't worry about your connection to a Great Seven. If anyone tries to overwhelm you because of this information however, he might get upset

Jamil

He thought there was a reason you were so good at magic! Not to mention you would constantly talk about a talking parrot that was eerily similar to the tales of the Sorcerer of the Sands.

He thinks you're too good for him. Jamil's a vice dorm leader, let alone a servant to the Al Asim family, so he has no idea how someone so prestigious (at least in his opinion) would want to be with him. But you tell him that family names and such doesn't matter to you, and he feels the same way.

He might be a bit hesitant to show up in front of your father soon, so for now he might just ask you questions about him. How is it like to be related to him? Is the parrot really annoying? Stuff like that haha

Just remember that Jamil's there for you! He loves you because of who you are! Also, if you do end up showing him your father, expect him to be a bit flustered because he's anxious but the two of them will likely be on very good terms since they're kinda similar in your opinion.

Vil

Yeah you were beautiful, he knew that. But what he didn't know was that you were related to the Beautiful Queen, you know, the person Pomefiore's based off of.

He loves you because of who you are as well. He doesn't consider your parentage very important when he loves you. He won't tolerate people harassing you about your mother though.

He wouldn't mind meeting your mother though, since he has confidence in himself to look good. But once the two of them meet, the two of them realize that they're really similar haha.

He really doesn't care that much that you're related to the Great Seven, though he considers it an honor to be with you. Vil won't think much after that, but other Pomefiore students might be a bit scared of you haha.

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ingravinoveritas · 4 months

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Okay but is it a good thing for people to look at your family Christmas photo and say that it looks photoshopped and edited? Just wondering since so many people have that same thought over on twitter who believe that Georgia and Anna were edited in

It's been so overwhelming to see the response to these new pics. I am sure probably everyone has seen them by now, but I will put up the visual just in case:

I think I would agree with you that, in the most general sense, saying that someone's family Christmas photo looks Photoshopped/edited is probably not a positive thing. In the interest of fairness, looking at the pictures of the other people who were photographed at the event, it does seem like it was a problem with the lighting or editing overall that is affecting every photo, not just these pictures.

One thing I want to be clear on is that I think it's absolutely precious that Michael and David did this outing together, and are spending so much time together overall while Michael is in London. We had an inkling of that up until this point, but we literally went from a blurry photo to Michael and David gazing at each other across a crowded room on press night for Macbeth, to...this...in the span of less than a month. And I am glad that their kids are getting to spend time together and enjoy all of these holiday festivities as well. It's all very sweet and lovely, and in no way is it my intention to diminish that.

Thinking about the matching sweaters (jumpers), this is where I start to feel slightly less enthusiastic. It seems that the jumpers were Georgia's idea, which makes sense, as she previously had everyone wearing matching sweaters for a viewing party for "The Star Beast" (the first DW 60th anniversary episode). But having sweaters for Michael, AL, Lyra, and Mabli isn't an accident, or something that happens on the fly--it has to be planned. So for me, that makes it seem less like "spontaneous family outing" and more like "planned photo op meant to garner publicity."

What particularly gets me is that the both the matching sweaters for DW and the matching sweaters here feels like a gimmick...but Michael and David have never needed a "gimmick." Because Michael and David just being themselves has always been enough to be memorable. I'm not sure if Georgia thought she needed a gimmick to make herself and Anna stand out or what, but to me it almost feels like the sweaters are a diversion. As if Georgia perhaps knew the four them in a photo together would look awkward, so what better way to deflect than to give everyone something else to talk about. (Perhaps the same could also be said for Michael's hat, which...why, Michael? Haha.)

But it seems that Georgia's idea worked, because right after these pictures came out, an article was published about them in the Daily Mail. So all of this put together does give that feeling of being planned, especially because the four of them were so much the focal point of the DM article, more than any of the other celebrities at the event.

This brings me back to the aforementioned photos. Again, what seemed notable to me wasn't just what we did see, but what we didn't: No photo of Michael and Anna together, nor of David and Georgia, and not one of Georgia and AL, either. Instead, we have this group photo (where no one is actually touching and Georgia and AL's arms are awkwardly hanging side by side), and a photo of Michael and David where they are, with their arms around each other and Michael leaning into David, in contrast to his much stiffer posture in the group photo.

Looking at the Getty Images page, all of the other twosome photos are of couples, and none of them have the same unusual energy as Michael/David/Georgia/AL's group photo. So I do wonder if the fans pointing out the "Photoshopped" nature of the picture (and specifically that Georgia and AL appear to be edited in) have ever considered that maybe that is just how Georgia and AL look together. Because we're not talking about Staged, or social media posts. This is them, face to face, in real life, and the difference between Georgia and AL vs. Michael and David just seems pretty striking.

(I am also aware that there was another family photo that Georgia posted in an Insta story, and it is an incredibly cute picture, but I will say that what struck me is how Georgia and AL are pressed close together, but there is a very noticeable amount of space between Anna and David, and he seems to be giving off a lot of 'closed' body language (one hand in his lap, one folded behind him). Make of that what you will...)

So yes, those are my thoughts on the new pictures. I would love to hear any observations that anyone else has, of course, so feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. Thanks for writing in! x

#phantomstars24 #unforgivablengk #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #georgia tennant #i just think it speaks volumes that their 'family outing' ends with an article in the DM #especially because i'm not sure an article like that would be written on the fly #also Michael wearing the hat reminds me of when he dressed as Olaf when AL and the girls were in Frozen costumes for Lyra's birthday #instead of as the prince #using humor as a deflection #i could be completely wrong about all of this of course #but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #anna lundberg #relationships #ineffable lovers #discourse

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butterflydm · 8 months

Text

wot rewatch (book spoilers edition): 2x2

Additional thoughts that had too many spoilers to go into my earlier post will be found here. Spoilers for all the teasers and trailers, plus through book 13: A Memory of Light.

So one of the big questions that I have is: how much is Lanfear acting with Ishamael's knowledge and how much is she going her own way? Ishamael said in the Darkfriend social scene that he is still looking for Rand. If he's being truthful there (and he's talking to his minions, so there's really no point in lying), then Lanfear has not told him that she located Lews Therin.

2. I hadn't thought about this on my first watch, but @ladyofpembroke noted that Lanfear is probably in Rand's final dream in the next episode, so it seems possible that she actually has a hand in all his dreams. Constantly reminding him that he could kill his friends if he sees them again is a good way to make him want to stay where he is (with her) and not try to reconnect with his past life. Like any effective manipulator, she's keeping him isolated from his friends and family as much as she can.

3. otoh, we know from the books that being able to locate someone's dreams doesn't mean that you know where they are in the physical world, so this might be an Ishamael-influenced dream (I note that while Rand's visions of his friends has them wearing their S1 outfits, Ishamael is wearing his s2 outfit, which Rand hasn't seen), so this might be an Ishamael-influenced dream since he figures he might as well torment Rand in the dream if he can't find him irl.

4. Given that Rand is already hearing whispers, I wonder when the show plans to re-introduce Lews Therin to us in his own form. It might even be this season, if they wanted to make sure to keep a lock on the actor (or we might get another Age of Legends cold open -- though I note that we only had one cold open in this set of three episodes, though that might be because Rafe & co were aware that they would likely all air the same night so that might have affected their choices there - I'd love an AoL cold open where we get to see Lanfear and Lews Therin together).

5. So, did Rand find his way to Cairhien first and then Lanfear set up an inn in the Foregate to entice him to her, or did she set up her inn before he arrived and she figured out a way to lure him in? Either way, she's doing a much better job than the Lanfear in the books. She's much less suspicious than "random noblewoman who managed to appear in an unpopulated parallel world so that Rand could save her" and she's more subtle too. While the cringefail Forsaken in the books can be amusing, the threat level of the villains also helps tell you how seriously to take your protagonists, so I'm glad that they beefed up her threat level by actually making her effective. Right now, Lanfear is #winning on every possible level.

6. I love Errol because he serves several story purposes -- he's reminding us that Rand looks "like an Aiel"; he's serving Hurin's purpose in the story of giving Rand someone to look after and be protective of; he's teaching Rand sword forms because he was a blademaster; and he's giving us a bit of history about "the Aiel war". And the actor is quite charming. Plus he's used to show us both Rand's compassion and his need/desire to find mentors to help teach him the skills he needs. At this point in time, Rand does believe that he's defeated the Dark One and his nightmares are just nightmares but he does still want to learn how to protect himself and how to control himself.

7. We mostly hear indistinct whispers until Rand is walking down the hallway (it's the shot from the trailer) and it resolves into "Do you hear me? You are mine, Rand al'Thor." Which is very interesting. Our first inkling of Lews Therin? If so, it shows a greater awareness of Rand as a person than LTT's voice showed in the earlier books when it appeared in his head. I've speculated that this might happen, so I wonder if we're going to get more genuine back-and-forth between Rand and LTT than we really got in the books as a way of letting us into Rand's internal narration without him needing to pour out his heart to any of the characters around him.

8. I am actually loving Perrin getting Rand's plotline here -- it's working really well for him, being used to show us how Perrin can smell what happened in places so vividly that he's re-experiencing the past. I feel like if I didn't know this was Rand's original plotline, I wouldn't have guessed. It suits how they're exploring Perrin's character so well. I do wonder... Elyas speaks of Perrin experiencing a 'vision' -- I wonder if they're going to make the mystical side of being a Wolfbrother more distinct from what Dreamers do in this show version. Because it really was kinda... weird in the books how Perrin and Egwene are doing all this training in the same dreamworld but Perrin never runs across her or any of the Aiel Dreamwalkers, even once they're spending more time in the wetlands side of things.

9. The nailed-up Fade is used in the books to mark when Fain 'takes control' of the Darkfriends & Trollocs. I wonder here if it's meant to mark the moment when the dagger owns him more strongly than the Dark One does. Because the people of Shadar Logoth were not darkfriends -- and they focused on this in s1, too, because dagger!Mat is not a fan of the Fade that he meets in the farmhouse.

10. Love foreshadowing of Errol talking about "Aielman among us and no one bats an eyelash in the entire place" -- Rand is going to be bringing a lot of Aiel to the wetlands. I bet we're going to get to see some of these sword forms in the finale!

11. Liandrin does seem like she's becoming genuinely invested in Nynaeve. I like that (almost) everyone gets their own personal Darkfriend -- Nynaeve has Liandrin, Mat also has Liandrin (she's a hard worker!), Rand has Lanfear, Perrin has (remorseful) Ingtar, Moiraine has (double agent) Verin, Lan has (repentant) Tomas, and even Egwene gets a scene with Sheriam (who will get to be Her Darkfriend Among Us later on, if we're able to follow the books that closely when we get there), though she's not really the focus of Sheriam's attention. Everyone gets a little personal attention from the Shadow!

I like that Nynaeve gets rushed forward to the test for Accepted due to Liandrin wanting to teach her so badly. It seems more realistic reasoning than we get in the books.

12. Another big lie from Liandrin here about how Mat is here because they are "only observing" that the effects of the dagger are out of his system, which Mat immediately calls bullshit on. He's locked in a cell and only Liandrin is around -- that is not an official observation by any means. That's a prison. It's been six months. So I would put Liandrin's official lie count at two. Notably, she's only lying to Mat so far, who is both kept well away from other people and also doesn't really know as much about Aes Sedai (we know from Egwene and Moiraine's conversation in the woods in s1 that the people of the Two Rivers do not have the Aes Sedai oaths memorized).

13. My dearest, my darling, my deepest love is finally here! At the end of my reread, when I was ranking my favorite characters, Elayne was my number one favorite. Ceara is doing such a good job with her and the writing is also excellent. I love how many different sides of her we get to see in just these two episodes -- sheltered noble, awkward girl who grew up with no friends, someone familiar with the Tower but not familiar being a novice in the Tower, but a tinkerer (!!! so excited that they put this in so early) at heart and incredibly loyal and compassionate. I just adored her so much in these two episodes and I am looking forward to seeing more of her. I do really hope that, in the midst of all the chaos, that the show does manage to give her something of a meet-cute with Rand, even if it's less obviously romantic than the one in the books. But I'm really looking forward to more of her interacting with Egwene and Nynaeve, and hopefully meeting Aviendha and/or Min and/or Mat in the finale or before it.

14. I have zero issue with Sheriam not being a redhead. I think it's a good idea for the show to cut down on the number of redheads, given that Jordan says it's rare but then keeps giving us random redheads. Limiting the on-screen ones to the Aiel and the royal house of Andor seems like a good idea to me.

15. So first we got Perrin's letters last episode. Now, in this episode, Elyas tells Perrin that the soldiers he's with right now "are not your pack". While he could be talking about the wolves, of course, I feel like, as a viewer, that makes me think of the EF5 and how that's who Perrin belongs with right now. Especially after Perrin's letter talking about how he feels 'exposed' without the others around. Again, it gives me the hope that we'll get more moments of reconnection between the EF5 over the course of the show.

16. This moment with Verin is such a great one to look at knowing the truth of her situation. "Even oaths have loopholes one can exploit". She's the expert at it. Oaths are a bit of a minor theme in this episode and the next -- the loopholes and also, next episode, we're introduced to the Seanchan oaths where Perrin is, I assume, going to take the very reasonable position that a forced oath is not binding (which is the same position that Mat had in Winter's Heart but inexplicably abandoned in Crossroads of Twilight when he decided his accidental wedding vows were binding).

Oh! I knew I remembered hearing the words "Toman Head" in these three episodes but hadn't remembered it was Verin mentioning it! I thought it was noted as part of the Dark Prophecies but it's mentioned here as mainline prophecy. But the name is out there now. And this conversation also confirms "sword of flame" and "battle in the sky" for the finale, most likely, and a mention of a "branded hand" which feels like it confirms the herons. I wonder if Rand is going to use the same weave on his dad's sword that we saw Verin using at the end of the last episode for Tomas's sword. This may also mean that it's using that weave that burns the herons into Rand's palms?

17. The Rand and Lanfear scenes. Wow! But, yeah, I wonder how much her non-reaction to his bloody knuckles struck show-onlys. She doesn't ask him what happened, who he beat up. She just kisses his bloody knuckles and sweet-talks him into bed.

18. So far, we've heard/seen three separate form of violent teaching in the White Tower -- the unnamed woman who beat Moiraine to make her channel (likely Elaida); Liandrin's behavior with Nynaeve; and Sheriam telling Elayne that she'll be switched. Both Liandrin and Sheriam, of course, are Black Ajah. But from Egwene's reaction here, it doesn't seem like being ordered to be switched is anything close to the common punishment that it seemed to be in the books. But we'll see!

19. It does occur to me that Gawyn (maybe Galad too) might already have been in training with the Warders even if Elayne wasn't a novice yet -- Elayne has been spending her summers in the Tower and it's entirely possible that Gawyn's training to protect her meant he was sent off early to start learning from the best. We don't get any hints in this episode or the next about her brothers, but we're pretty focused on her developing friendship with Egwene.

20. "Min is in Tar Valon" and "Min and Mat share a plotline" were my two most hoped-for options for Min's storyline for this season, so I'm happy about that. I do wish that Min had been given a chance to bond with Elayne or Egwene but, hopefully, there will be time for that later. But I really love the set-up we've been given where we are going to explore Elayne with Egwene and Nynaeve; Min being more fully-explored with Mat; and then Aviendha when she enters Perrin's storyline. All of them are getting fleshed out as individual characters before any of them get romantically involved with Rand. I am feeling pretty hopeful that we're going to get our polycule (and a genuine polycule, not a harem) in the upcoming seasons. They've been putting in a lot of "poly relationships are valid and complex" groundwork in and it looks like they are going to be making sure that all of the characters involved get to be full characters who have their own agendas and their own arcs.

Some people on reddit are still pretty disappointed that Min isn't the male-gaze fantasy that she is in the later books but I have been thrilled with the changes that the show has done so far with her. We also maybe get a hint here that Min is going to be canonically bisexual by the way she jokes about Liandrin, so I will cross my fingers on that.

20. Min's viewing! I do love that they're massively cutting down on the number of Min's viewings to focus on ones that are interesting and relevant. This one is particularly interesting because there's nothing like it in the books. Mat stabbing Rand, then cradling him as he falls.

Theory #1: this is a flicker-flicker world (maybe we only get one big one?) and it's not Our Mat stabbing Our Rand but an alternate one.

Theory #2: Rand asks Mat to fulfill his promise to keep Rand from going mad and that's why Mat stabs him.

Theory #3: Rand loses control of himself (like Lady Amalisa in 1x8) and Mat stabs him to try to get him to lose his hold on the One Power.

Theory #4: Mat gets placed under compulsion (which would be another reason for him to want protection from Aes Sedai and channeling).

Theory #5: Mat gets The Dagger again and he's the one who gives Rand the wound in his side, while under its influence.

Theory #6: It's metaphorical and Mat takes the place of Alivia and helps Rand 'die' at the end of the series (seems unlikely but I'll throw it out there).

And probably lots of other things I haven't thought of. But it definitely shakes Min to see it.

I wonder if she only agreed to help Liandrin after this moment or if she'd already agreed and this is just additional incentive. I don't think she's told Liandrin anything about Rand. She was able to keep that secret from Moiraine even under blackmail so I think she kept it from Liandrin too.

But I do love that we get a viewing that connects Mat and Rand together, even if it's through a traumatic encounter. I am a simple soul who finds messiness intriguing.

21. Lanfear! Talking about her broken heart to the man who broke it and who she is, even now, doing her best to groom back into the man that she wants. The layers in this conversation are exquisite. When she tells him that he can't hurt her, she also can say that because she has a strong grasp of what she can do with the Power while he's still stumbling in the dark. Ooof, but Rand was (unknowingly) on risky ground when he confirmed that he does sometimes think of his past when he's with her.

Also, talking about how "no one else" could ever have power over her heart now that her previous lover is gone... when she's literally talking to his reincarnation. The conversation is just so rich and so sharp and there's so much of it that is going over Rand's head because he doesn't have the necessary information to even begin to put the pieces together. "What's left to hurt if he still has my whole heart?" she says, to the guy in question. "When I'm with you, I can pretend you're him." YEAH. I BET YOU CAN.

22. So I wonder if Moiraine's threat here to Lan, that she would let Alanna take his bond if he didn't let her leave on her own, is going to be the extent of the "Myrelle" plot point that Alanna absorbs and it won't actually happen in fact. But now it's out there as an idea that Warders can be forcibly bonded so that when Alanna forcibly bonds someone else down the road, the idea isn't coming out of nowhere.

23. I was so shocked when the Seanchan attacked in episode two. I was thinking this would happen in episode five. But once I sat down and thought about it, I realizes that Perrin has already hit all the main points of the Hunt for the Horn storyline on his side of things (and even partly on what Rand would have been doing). We've found the traitor and had Ingtar reveal his sympathy towards said traitor; we've found the Fade and the moment when Fain started playing by his own rules; and we've even been exploring Perrin and his senses. This does mean that we're going to have a lot of potential time to explore the Seanchan invasion and culture.

24. I don't have any issues with Ishamael openly being Suroth's advisor vs someone covertly giving Suroth her marching orders. High Lady Suroth is a Darkfriend and always was. We're just taking it out of the shadows and showing it openly to the viewers (and Perrin).

I do wonder if Perrin specifically seeing the Shadow and the Seanchan so entwined will have an impact on his later storylines. That I wonder about. But the later books were, tbh, really weird about how low-impact the Falme encounter ended up being in the long run for pretty much everyone except Egwene. Min basically forgets she knows anything about the Seanchan even when that information could help Rand, everyone forgets about the environment of paranoia and fear that the Seanchan created in Falme, etc. There's a lot of weird forgetfulness going around, especially in CoT & KoD, when Jordan wanted to sell us on his slaver romance.

(the way that the show has been improving characters like Min and relationships like Rand/Lanfear does give me a lot of hope in how they will handle Tuon and the Mat & Tuon 'romance' and that they'll make it better than the poorly-written dumpster fire that it is in CoT & KoD)

#butterfly watches wot #wot #wheel of time #wot on prime #wot show spoilers #wot prime spoilers #wot s2 spoilers #wheel of time s2 spoilers #wot book spoilers #wot 2x2 spoilers #a memory of light

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inaconstantstateofchange · 3 months

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Hi!

I'm so glad i found your blog, your deep dives are making my brain tingle in the best of ways! It's so difficult to really find all the info your curious about with the many different editions and histories of everything so you are an absolute lifesaver for understanding all these intruiging lore aspects.

I've been very curious about Asmodeus for a while now but am kinda struggling finding out more about him, I know he's very strong and apparently a large snake?? But I was wondering if you at some point feel the motivation to if you could tell me some about him, he seems so interesting to me and I just wanna know more about who and what he is.

Again, you are so awesome and I vow to devour all your writing!

Asmodeus: An Origin

Thank you so much for the kind words - and for your patience as I worked on this one. If there's any question you had about him that feels like it's not wholly answered here, feel free to let me know! There's still a lot that I was not able to include.

As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

You would be hard-pressed to find a more succinct introduction to Asmodeus himself than in the following passage, from 3e’s Book of Vile Darkness:

Asmodeus the Archfiend, the overlord of all the dukes of hell, commands all devilkind and reigns as the undisputed master of the Nine Hells. Even the deities that call that plane home pay Asmodeus a great deal of respect.¹

As to his current position, 5e’s Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide features Asmodeus among the list of gods, naming him the “god of indulgence”, and crediting to him the domains of knowledge and trickery. His symbol is “three inverted triangles arranged in a long triangle”, as seen in the image below.²

While his active circle of worshippers remains small, he is one of the gods habitually turned to by those in need, particularly those who have done something to earn them the displeasure of another god:

After transgressing against a god in some way, a person prays to Asmodeus for something to provide respite during the long wait. Asmodeus is known to grant people what they wish, and thus people pray for all the delights and distractions they desire most from life. Those who transgress in great ways often ask Asmodeus to hide their sins from the gods, and priests say that he will do so, but with a price after death.³

Asmodeus is particularly appealing to those who fear what awaits them after death, or have arrived to find the reality does not match their hopes. For these souls, even the hazards of Baator might be preferable to long centuries of solitary wandering on the Fugue Plane.

All souls wait on the Fugue Plane for a deity's pleasure, which determines where a soul will spend the rest of eternity. Those who lived their lives most in keeping with a deity's outlook are taken first. Others, who have transgressed in the eyes of their favored god or have not followed any particular ethos, might wait centuries before Kelemvor judges where they go. People who fear such a fate can pray to Asmodeus, his priests say, and in return a devil will grant a waiting soul some comfort.³

The worship of Asmodeus attracts staunch individualists, who desire a future unaligned with the domain of any of the other gods, and are willing to choose self-determination in any form that might approach them.

The faithful of Asmodeus acknowledge that devils offer their worshipers a path that's not for everyone — just as eternally basking in the light of Lathander or endlessly swinging a hammer in the mines of Moradin might not be for everyone. Those who serve Asmodeus in life hope to be summoned out of the moaning masses of the Fugue Plane after death. They yearn for the chance to master their own fates, with all of eternity to achieve their goals.³

Asmodeus achieved his current official status of godhood during the Spellplague, which lasted from 1385 to 1395 DR. After this, for reasons he has unsurprisingly chosen not to reveal, he performed a ritual to alter the metaphysical categorization of all existing tieflings, giving them features that highlighted this connection.

Due to this shift, tieflings are often perceived with wariness by those who believe that Asmodeus is able to exert control over these newly-determined “descendants” of his. While this is an unwarranted suspicion, as tieflings are no more bound to his will than any other individual of another race, the mistrust remains unfortunately pervasive.⁴

The true origins of Asmodeus, particularly from 3rd Edition on, are kept rather ambiguous, seemingly quite by design. This is both for Watsonian reasons – that a supreme being of evil such as Asmodeus would not carelessly leave information about his origins (and, potentially, weaknesses) floating around – as well as Doylist: it is a more elegant solution than eternal retcons, and leaves it up to the individual scholar or DM which explanation they ascribe the most veracity to.⁵

On the charge of Asmodeus’s true form being a giant serpent, we have Chris Pramas to thank for that bit of lore, stated in 2e’s 1999 Guide to Hell, but rarely mentioned - and not in any definitive manner - from 3e onward.⁶ 3e’s Manual of the Planes, published in 2001, does reference this account, but as a whispered and shadowy theory about the Archdevil Supreme, rather than objective truth.

Brutally repressed rumors suggest that there is more to Asmodeus than he admits. The story goes that the true form of Asmodeus actually resides in the deepest rift of Nessus called the Serpent’s Coil. The shape seen by all the other devils of the Nine Hells in the fortress of Malsheem is actually a highly advanced use of the project image spell or an avatar of some sort. ... From where fell Asmodeus? Was he once a greater deity cast down from Elysium or Celestia, or is he older yet, as the rumor hints? Perhaps he represents some fundamental entity whose mere existence pulls the multiverse into its current configuration. Nobody who tells the story of Asmodeus’s “true” form lives more than 24 hours after repeating it aloud. But dusty scrolls in hard-to-reach libraries (such as Demogorgon’s citadel in the Abyss) yet record this knowledge. Unless it is pure fancy, of course.⁷

One can see from the framing of the above excerpt that there is no attempt made at certainty. Perhaps it is mere conjecture, or perhaps a secret, hidden truth that few may know. It is impossible to say for certain.

Another story of Asmodeus’s possible origin is found in 3e’s Fiendish Codex II. This text, again, does not frame the information given as universal truth, but rather takes pains to emphasize its ambiguity.

The best way to understand devils and their ways is to listen to the stories they tell about themselves. The most famous of these tales have propagated as myths throughout all the worlds of the Material Plane, becoming familiar to mortals of all sorts. But as is often the case with legends, contradictions abound. For example, the tale of the Pact Primeval is the accepted version of the multiverse’s creation. But an alternate story claims Asmodeus as the fallen creator of the universe. Countless cultures have their own versions of the Pact Primeval legend. The names of the deities featured in it change depending on where it is told, but the names of the devils are always the same. Perhaps this fact is what inspired Philogestes, the accursed philosopher of evil, to pen his famous proverb: “The gods exist in multiplicity, but Asmodeus is unique.” As is the case with any myth worthy of the name, the following tale is true — whether or not it actually happened.⁸

In this account, Asmodeus began as a celestial embodiment of law, formed from the concept itself to fight against the embodiment of chaos — demons.⁹ Over time, as he and his followers became more akin to the enemies they were facing, those celestial beings not engaged in the fight grew leery of what they were becoming, and took him to trial, to account for himself. The god of valor spoke first, laying out the concerns of those gathered against Asmodeus. In response:

Asmodeus smiled, and the smoke of a thousand battlefields rose from his lips. “As Lord of Battle,” he pointed out, “you should know better than any that war is a dirty business. We have blackened ourselves so that you can remain golden. We have upheld the laws, not broken them. Therefore, you may not cast us out.”⁸

Despite their efforts, the gods were able to find no laws that Asmodeus had broken. Unsurprisingly, as he himself had helped write them. This conflict between Asmodeus and his host and the remainder of the unsullied gods continued on, with the gods unable to get rid of him, and free themselves of the constant reminder of the Blood War.

With time, the concepts of “good” and “evil” entered the world alongside law and chaos, and Asmodeus was able to argue for dominion over those souls that chose evil. The gods loathed the reminders of this fact, however, and when Asmodeus volunteered to move to the empty plain of Baator, they enthusiastically agreed. It was only years later, when the number of souls arriving at their own planes after death began to sharply decrease, that they thought to travel to Baator themselves, where they found a robust operation based around encouraging mortal souls to take to the path of evil.

“You have granted us the power to harvest souls,” replied Asmodeus. “To build our Hell and gird our might for the task set before us, we naturally had to find ways to improve our yield.” The war deity drew forth his longsword of crackling lightning. “It is your job to punish transgressions, not to encourage them!” he cried. Asmodeus smiled, and a venomous moth flew out from between his sharpened teeth. “Read the fine print,” he replied.⁸

While the recorded story implies a simple act of one-upmanship, a later section of the Fiendish Codex tells us that Asmodeus’s split from the other celestial deities was not so amicable.

Once he had committed himself to residing in Baator, the deities physically cast him out of the upper realms, and he fell — and fell, and fell. Upon reaching the plain of Baator, he plunged through the nascent layers he had begun to shape. (In some versions, his fall created the layers, breaking the formerly featureless plain into nine pieces, which then arranged themselves into floating tiers.) At last he hit solid ground but continued to fall, spiraling through rock and soil. The protesting earth of Baator tore at his flesh, opening scores of gaping wounds. Still he fell, until he could fall no farther. The point where he finally stopped was the deepest part of Baator — the Pit. The wounds that Asmodeus suffered in his dramatic fall have never healed. Though he manages to appear blithely unperturbed by his injuries, they still weep blood every day, and he has been wracked by constant pain for millennia.¹⁰

This casting down and its associated injuries is corroborated in other texts as well, including 3e’s Manual of the Planes.

5e’s Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes seemingly follows on from the Fiendish Codex’s account, sharing one conception of the fallout of Asmodeus’s stratagem, positioned as an in-universe account penned by the aasimar bard Anodius in a work titled “The Trial of Asmodeus”.

At some point after Asmodeus broke from Celestia to rule Baator, he was brought up on trial for unspecified crimes and trespasses. Asmodeus claimed the right to speak in his own defense, and a court was gathered, arbitrated by Primus, a being intrinsically aligned with Neutrality and Law. From Asmodeus’s recorded arguments in his own defense, we can surmise that those on Celestia had accused him of acting outside of the law in actively working to turn mortals to evil.

The case stretched on, with neither side ceding ground, for weeks, until finally Primus declared his judgment. While Asmodeus could not be convicted of any true crime – for he had acted within the law in all things – he was to take an artifact, the Ruby Rod that is synonymous with his position, which would “guarantee his adherence to law”.¹¹ A quote from Anodius’s in-universe text is helpfully provided by Mordenkainen:

“I literally sit beneath eight tiers of scheming, ambitious entities that represent primal law suffused with evil. The path from this realm leads to an infinite pit of chaos and evil. Now, tell me again how you and your ilk are the victims in this eternal struggle.” – Asmodeus addresses the celestial jury, from The Trial of Asmodeus¹¹

In a manner similar to his contested origin, Asmodeus’s appearance is described in several varying ways — a fact that seems in line for a principal schemer such as himself. This seeming discrepancy could also speak to varying uses of aspects or projection spells.

The Fiendish Codex II in one instance paints him as “a horned, red-skinned humanoid with a tall, lithe frame” who “dresses in splendid robes and understated but elegant accoutrements.”¹⁰ A later section in the Codex corresponds to this description given in the Book of Vile Darkness:

Asmodeus stands just over 13 feet tall, with lustrous dark skin and dark hair. He is handsome in the same way that a thunderstorm is beautiful. His red eyes shine with the power of hell, and his head is crowned with a pair of small, dark red horns. He dresses in finery of red and black; a single garment of his might cost what an entire nation spends in a year. Of course, he is never without his Ruby Rod, an ornate piece of unparalleled jeweled finery and vast magical power.¹

Regarding his personality, he is most often described as “a soft-spoken, articulate, chillingly reasonable fellow who is confident in his status as one of the multiverse’s most powerful entities. Even when surprised, he reacts with supreme poise, as if he were already three steps ahead of his adversaries.”¹⁰ The Book of Vile Darkness notes correspondingly that:

The actions of Asmodeus are often mysterious to outside observers, but that is due to the short-sighted and dim-witted view most beings have. Asmodeus’s manipulations are labyrinthine and insidious. They work on a grand scale, although when it suits his needs he is willing to focus his attention even on the status of a lowly mortal soul.¹

¹ Book of Vile Darkness. 2002. p. 165-6.

² Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 21.

³ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 24.

⁴ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 118.

⁵ “Watsonian vs. Doylist”. Fanlore.org.

⁶ In general, I try to stay in-universe with these lore writeups, but in this case it did feel like some out-of-universe context was necessary.

⁷ Manual of the Planes. 2001. p. 123.

⁸ Fiendish Codex II: Tyrants of the Nine Hells. 2006. p. 4-5.

⁹ While the description of these events found within the Fiendish Codex is too long to transcribe here in its entirety, I highly encourage you to read the full account for yourself.

¹⁰ Fiendish Codex II. 2006. p. 73-4.

¹¹ Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes. 2018. p. 9-10.

#voidling speaks #asked and answered #realmslore #my meta #bg3 #bg3 meta #tagging for the relevance to anyone writing about the infernal side of things relative to bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldurs gate 3 #meta #forgotten realms #baator #asmodeus #d&d asmodeus #d&d 5e #d&d 3.5 #long post #an understatement

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