#shade witch my beloved

[cosmiado]

Matt Arnold to the audience, after nearly an hour of gay devastation at the hands of Anthony and Will: hey dont cry. shade witch, ok?

#truly the lightheartedness we all need #shade witch my beloved #dndads #dndads s2 #dndads spoilers #dndads s2 spoilers #matt arnold #s2 ep47 #shade witch #oakworthy

[ike-mcswains-mortician]

OH MY GOD SHADE WITCH SONG ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ WE MAKING IT OUT OF OAKVALE WITH THIS ONE‼️🔥🔥🗣️

#dndads liveblog #dndads #dndads spoilers #shade witch my beloved

[ohyka]

... wanna make out to celebrate the return of the sun???

#my most beloved of all the rare dndads pairs #shade witch #erin o'neil #dndads #dungeons and daddies #myart #old woman yuri? #in my dnd podcast?? #it's more likely than you think!

[cerealforkart]

Dungeons and Daddies the Manga Lesson 47: Inside the Actor's Funeral

Read right to left

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[masterpost]

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #lincoln li wilson #taylor swift dndads #scary marlowe #normal oak #hermie the unworthy #scam actually #scam likely #henry oak #shade witch #doodly #yonkoma #end card should have been henry #but shade witch my beloved #can I please be cool with tags? #literally begging

[vigarioamelia]

on a more serious note who would you guys like actually marry in elden ring?

not to shade my beloved ranni or my dearest miquella but if i wanted an actual healthy marriage i don't think i would take their hand i mean like yes i don't care i'll do whatever my witch wife or in miquella's case my dreamy husband will tell me to do BUT...

morgott is right there...

do you guys... do you guys share my vision... i... i'll take your hand in marriage anytime anywhere mister morgott the omen king

#elden ring ranni #elden ring #elden ring dlc #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #shadow of the erdtree #elden ring miquella #miquella the unalloyed #morgott the omen king #elden ring morgott #margit the fell omen #elden ring margit

[strstab]

𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚 - 𝐣.𝐦

summary ; you see a tiktok trend and decide to see if you boyfriend will help you participate in it

pairing ; jj maybank x fem!reader

notes ; soft jj, kissing, video filming, hp & family guy references

a/n ; my first public writing, hopefully ppl see this. if y’all do send requests? i think you can do that.. but enjoy <3

— tiktok in question —

scrolling on tiktok with kie sitting next to you, you came across a video of a girl putting makeup on her best friends face. you let out a small giggle at the thought of your boyfriend with mascara and pretty pink lips.

“what’s funny?” kie asked turning to peek at your phone.

you showed her the video and got up to go find your beloved boyfriend, who coincidentally, had just walked into the room.

“jj, can you help me with something?” you looked at him with pouty lips and sparkles in your eyes only he could see

he lifted a brow and grinned as he looked at you, knowing you were up to something, “it depends on what that something is, baby,”

kie let out a quiet laugh from behind you as she threw your phone towards him, letting him watch the video you previously showed her. knowing you’d be able to convince him happy or not, you started searching through the drawers of your vanity in hopes of having your makeup bag in one of them.

“no way,” jj scoffed with a shake of his head, “you’re not putting makeup on me.”

giving a knowing look to kie, she walked out and closed the door behind her.

this is where the fun began.

after 10 minutes of begging, smacking, pecks to the cheek and tugging, you finally managed to convince your lover to let you do his pretty boy makeup.

you sat on the counter of your bathroom sink with jj standing in between your thighs with his eyes looking straight at you.

“don’t give me that look” he said with a quick eye roll

you smiled as you uncapped the ‘better than sex’ mascara in your hands, “roll your eyes and i’ll poke your eye out with my wand.”

“wand? what are you a witch?” he replied with a soft grin. you lifted his chin and softly ran the inked bristles across his long lashes. god those lashes of his you wish you had. why were men blessed with female preferred features?

“i am, i casted a love spell on you a couple years ago,” you laughed and scolded him for blinking shortly after.

he stared at you in silence, admiring your pretty eyes that tend to crinkle when you smile. the soft lips he kissed every morning he woke up next to you. your perfect nose that just seemed to fit your face structure perfectly. everything about you he fell in love with more by the second, minute, hour, and day.

jj was never good at english class, but ask him to write an essay about you and you’d get a 20 page google document.

getting sucked out of his thoughts as you painted his thin lips a soft shade of pink, “what’s on your mind, j?”

“nothing, just how powerful your spell is on me. did you go to hogwarts, baby?” he questioned with a smile, pushing the strands of hair that covered your pretty face behind your ear.

“fuck yeah, i was fighting dementors and shit” you answered while filling in his eyebrows and putting highlighter in the corners of his eyes.

you finished after another couple of minutes and while pulling out your phone to find the audio you were going to use, jj spoke up with a concerned tone in his voice,

“are you actually going to record me in this?!”

looking up from your phone to look at him you saw his filled in eyebrows furrowed, “duh, that’s the point of the trend, j” you stated.

you weren’t going to let his worried expression get to you because you knew you’d be able to kiss it away in a couple minutes.

he let out a whine in protest but you had already started the video, doing your part, you lip-synced

“do you or do you not feel bonita?”

and with a turn of the phone, the camera faced him and he slightly panicked not knowing what to say.

“you didn’t tell me what i’m supposed to say!”

your lips shaped into an ‘o’ and proceeded to explain how to do the tiktok.

once again, with the flip of the camera jj awkwardly worded his part

“...uhm i feel bonita”

“wonderful, because you look bonita!” you grinned and went back to your phone to caption and post the video

jj pushed your phone aside and placed his lips on yours, in desperate need of affection. you let out a quiet gasp as you were caught off guard but kissed him back anyways.

he placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled away slowly. “do my lips feel prettier?”

you snorted, tilting your head in confusion

“y’know, because they look prettier, do they feel prettier?” he asked again, trying to explain his question

you placed another kiss on his lips and nodded, “yes they feel prettier, baby”

he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he peppered your face with kisses, leaving pretty pink marks on your glowing skin.

he smiled, pleased with the outcome of his make over.

a win is a win.

check out ocean eyes 🌅 water drops 🧴 & pretty present 🍰

WOAHHH FIRST WRITING HOW WAS THAT.??

hopefully people see this 😓

but anyways i’m a whore for some jj fluff, and the trend has been flooding my fyp so ofc i had to write for my love ❤️‍🩹

#obx #jj maybank fluff #fluff #tiktok trend #kisses #boy makeup #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #strstab

[brittle-doughie]

Imagine steadily sneaking out of Dark Cacao's Palace, a flourbag load of pure unadulterated determination keeping your legs sturdy. Painstakingly heading for Beast-Yeast yourself to personally confront Mystic Flour Cookie, finally face-to-face.

First, your dreams. These crestfallen memories; these should not be yours, but yet they use your crust, copied down to how it crackles and crumbles. They walk with your legs and use your voice, and not meekly. Your little colorful buttons and creme filling. Through the eternal eyes of another wearing your broken face, a heavy shade of grief insisting a strong quake through your hands and feet, reflected in a broken mirror of indestructible forks and magic. None of this has ever happened to you, all your friends were alive and running free at the center of Gingerbrave's Kingdom.

Yet the firm echo at the crack of your mind reclaims; it indeed, had.

Second, that encounter and furiously attempted Soul Jam corruption with Shadow Milk Cookie, the dark jester of silken half-truths and rusty riddles; who's immortal darkness swallowed your common sense, that shadow with countless steep blue moon slits never dulled once under the unmoving gaze of the Sun.

But now, this sudden interest-an unpardoned heart from the literal pristine white embodiment of weightless apathy and sincerity?

These situations were too specific, familiar, and suffocatingly personal for mere coincidence.

The Beasts regurd you with an infectious stench of deep nostalgia, their eyes flash an infernal fire of thought, the kind one feels upon shaking hands with an old friend. The one that crawls like a bug, wiggles like a maggot. Growing the sprout of an itch, at an open chip of dry frosting the back of your head. A push, a pull, an annoying yet strong temptation of confrontation; of an acceptance, remembrances. Like they've known you since the very first crumb fell off the Witches' baking pan.

You spent this baked life depending on the protection and care of your beloved friends, but if that interferes with the truth you seek, you will risk falling apart into flour for finally having the chance to confront one of these gods about who you used to be.

Shadow Milk was serious when he countered you into an edge of existential dread. He was a frantic for the dramatics. Even for the most serious of cataclysmic events, he danced around the subject of your connection, hoping to unveil the mystery into stellar applause. That was the plan it seemed at leaat until Pure Vanilla threw a stake into his encore.

Cut through the answers.

With a mountain of luck and enough certainty, perhaps Mystic Flour Cookie will spare you doubts.

After all, even a being like her will neigh overlook such an opportunity; the chance of finally re-welcoming you, where she and the rest of her comrades know you rightfully belong.

She actually feels compelled to thank the merger weak Cookie's influence upon your new body, their mortal stupidity and curious self-preservation was an endless plague all within its very self, almost enough for her to forgive them for slowly erasing the dear memory of your once-divine mark upon these waning lands and lesser soils.

Almost.

(Sorry I have thoughts and lots of then, I hope I ain't bothering you.)

Nah, it’s all good. This was a pretty interesting read!

From what my brain of mush can put together, Y/N was a former Primordial Cookie before being reincarnated into a regular Cookie at some point, you were having dreams of this past life at first to the lead up to the search for White Lily Cookie.

The Shadow Milk fight would be the first time you started questioning on who you really were, but Pure Vanilla/White Lily Cookie pushed him back before you could get answers.

Your reputation seemed to be revered amongst the Beasts, as such with Mystic Flour Cookie. As stated, she could almost forgive the transgressions of having your memory altered, making you forget how you left your mark in these lands. You needed to remember who your allegiances should really go to, to remember who your real comrades were.

You were getting answers from Mystic Flour, in one way or another.

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader

[omenics]

𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄.

› ..you are her dearest love, and her devotion never wavers. fem reader. — i am in love with carmilla.

“My lady wife,” she mumbled, kissing the top of your shoulder. “It is midday, you should be resting.” You hummed, looking over your shoulder to see her face.

“I should, but I cannot sleep.” The book you held in your hands was comfortable, and by-far the most entertaining. Romantic novels claimed a place in your heart, and possibly even a greater one compared to your beloveds. “I have all the time in the world to read and yet I choose to when you are with me,” you laughed. “Perhaps these old books have taken your place in my heart.”

It was heavy in your hands, red-tainted leather soft within your grasp. It had gold bindings, and the pages even matched the metallic shade with their yellowed papers. Thousands of books lined your shelves, and yet almost every one of them had felt your cold hands upon them. For a moment Carmilla thought so as well, however her grin betrayed her own silly agreement.

“I believe that they have, my sweet. Your books have felt more touch than my hands in yours, and I envy them.”

The castle was quiet, but your serene giggles echoed down the long hallways. “I should have had a ring made for every one of them, so they could know my love is unconditional.”

Carmilla was a woman of stern ruling. She walked the earth for a long, long time and yet never thought that she could love another just as she had with you. The way your eyes held adoration and love whenever you looked at her, and the way your lips held pure happiness and bliss whenever she felt them upon hers made her swoon. You were a witch, a she-demon who clawed your way into her cold, unbeating heart; making it your home, and making her blood run warm for the first time in forever. Carmilla thought that love like this would only exist within the books you read, but perhaps she was living in such a story, with you as her eternal love, who would make her days better with a simple glance.

You were her lady wife, and she had loved you like no other.

#› ..signature spells ! #castlevania x reader #carmilla x reader #carmilla castlevania x reader #carmilla #carmilla of styria #carmilla castlevania #castlevania #lesbian vampires #vampires #vampire x reader #lesbians #lesbian #wlw #wlw vampire

[sprout-fics]

Takedown

Part Two of Snowblind

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

Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 9.1k Tags: Slow Burn, Mutual pining, Angst, Implied Trauma, Found Family, Team Bonding, Sparring, Wrestling, Takedown maneuvers, Dad Price, Mom Laswell, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics Warnings: None A/N: The official part two of Shadow and Bone featuring our beloved Fix! Fix uses she/hers pronouns and is AFAB but is written in 2nd person POV

Summary:

"My turn."

Ghost seems to materialize from thin air. With a roll of his shoulders he straightens from where he was braced against the wall, just to Gaz's right. The shade of the building did nothing to hide him, and yet it still feels like all the world like he wasn't even there. Like a daytime phantom, he simply appears, a fragmentary blink all that's needed to mask his arrival.

You're stunned into silence when he raises his eyes towards you, and there's that familiar prickle of trepidation, a warning murmured below your heartbeat of the danger present in his stare. It flays you open effortlessly, laying bare your secrets and closely hidden truths, rendering you transparent against his masked, piercing gaze.

"Oh, uh, sure LT." Soap is the first to speak, and even he seems a bit disturbed by this, by the almost garish sight of Ghost in the brightness of daytime. "Lemme just-"

"Not you."

You stop breathing.

Taglist (Please reply to this post to be tagged in future updates of this series!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfierriii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @novellas-den @kkinky@myblackwolfs2 @soapskneebrace @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @mvtthewmurdvck @pettyprocrastination @day0walker

-----

Dry grass on your back. Arms folded as a cushion under your head, the bitter, jaunty breeze of September in Staffordshire brushing against your face like the whisper of an old friend onto your cheeks. It whooshes softly over your ears, ruffling the edge of your T-shirt sleeves and up, away into the fluffy cumulus clouds that puff over the landscape of the English countryside.

You didn't know England could be this beautiful.

It seems like every time the 141 ends stationed back at Beacon Base it's in the rife, cold dead of winter or the soggy, laden dampness of spring. Yet the past two weeks here have been blissfully beautiful, temperate in the way only Autumn is, crisp and braided with the colors of changing seasons. In the late afternoons, in the hour before the sun kisses the horizon, the entire base is painted with a soft, golden light like the god Apollo has bestowed a singular touch on the dying embers of daytime. You drink it in like the nectar of the gods, imbue it with hazy, resplendent glimpses in the repository of your memories.

The team had been grateful the first few days you were here, having returned from the Nepal mission fatigued but successful, thankful for a break. You hardly remembered coming into base in the witching hours of the morning, the world still cloaked in inky darkness. As soon as your legs hit the edge of your bunk you had collapsed into it, gear and all. It wasn't until you woke nearly 13 hours later that you realized someone had mercifully peeled off your vest, boots, helmet, and outer layers while you were asleep.

(When you had asked Gaz, he'd looked over your shoulder worriedly at someone. Yet when you turned, there was nothing there.)

Laswell had warned you all that the hiatus was a temporary one, that you were all on standby as she worked to verify intel on the next mission she directed you all towards. Her promise of only a night had doubled into that of a few days, only for that to lapse into uncertainty as the sizzle of August had faded into September.

It had taken only a few days for the team to get antsy, used to motion, movement as a core, steadying force in their lives. You failed to understand it the first few times you had all been on shore leave, trying to soak in as much peace as you could during your scarce time off-duty to combat the exhaustion carved into your marrow. Now, almost a year into being on the team, you began to see it- the way velocity was a need variable in these mens' lives, how it kept the demons that hid in the back of their thoughts at bay.

Even so, you had all adjusted to life on base, ephemeral though it was. You had each of the 141's schedule mapped out by now, keen eyes observing the silent lives your teammates lived outside of wartime.

Price rose early, before dawn. The only time you ever saw him without his hat was before his first coffee. When you had mentioned to Soap that the man looked like a bedraggled Airedale terrier at first light, the sergeant had nearly spat his drink. Yet that look was combed over by the time he was at his desk, poring over reports with Laswell on the phone. More than once he had enlisted your help with the matter, looking over your shoulder as you traced satellite images under your calloused fingertips, brow scrunched in thought.

After one exceedingly long day, your eyes still swimming with Russian and Arabic as you stared dazedly up at the aging ceiling of the captain's office, Price's hand had landed on your shoulder. His voice was tired but warm as he offered you a smile.

"Good work, Fix."

You had practically strutted back to the team's common area, head held high and smile broad across the planes of your face, darkening in the evening light.

(Unaware of the stare that had traced you from the shadows.)

While Price remained holed in his office all day, Soap and Gaz had been approached by the base commander after the first few days in, enlisting their help training a fresh batch of recruits that had arrived only a week prior to the 141. They both had grumbled about it at first, but you now often found them at the training grounds on the other side of base, barking drills to the younger men and women who regarded them with as much respect as they did fear.

Soap is a natural born leader, you realized; The sight of him overlooking the troops, arms crossed and dressed in tac gear is enough to inspire any soldier. Gaz's inspiration, however, comes not from the way he demands deference and respect the way Soap's strictness did, but from his easier, more hands-on approach to the younger, less experienced soldiers. You often found the sergeant assisting them in their specialist training, hovering over their shoulder at the shooting range or offering a demonstration on weapon safety and management to bright faces and eager eyes.

You couldn't stifle a sense of pride at the two, reminded every time you saw them with the recruits at just how experienced, how reliable they are, these two men you trusted your life to with every mission. Soap, with his cocky but friendly, approachable smile and Gaz with the softer, kinder eyes- those of a friend. They had been wary of you at first, all those long months ago when you had joined the team, regarding you with a cordial distance as you sought to prove yourself to them. It wasn't until your most recent mission, since Nepal- where you had taken down a dozen men with your sniper rifle despite being alone, injured and half snow-blind- that they had truly opened up to you. Since then they had welcomed you into the fold, if their teasing and amicable banter was any indication to go by.

You watched them from the infirmary, where you dedicated the majority of your hours, tracing their broad backs from the hospital windows at the training field just beyond. When your hands weren't busy inventorying your field kit or striving to keep your skills sharp as the team's designated medic, you found them outside, smiles as warm as the afternoon sun that shone down on you three. More often than not you found them waiting for you at the end of your shift, chatting and bantering in the lobby until you made yourself known, strolling easily with them in the golden hour painted by the metamorphosis of Fall.

There was an easiness now that wasn't there before, as Gaz enlisted your help cooking a group meal (His mother's recipe, you later found out) as Soap and Price bickered over soccer matches just beyond the kitchen, as they both griped at you for refusing to use the term 'football', as Soap asked you to spot him with his weight lifting, making a point to flex playfully at you until you conceded as gave a shy pat to his bicep. The evenings between the five of you are quieter, relaxed in a way you're unfamiliar with.

It seems like the world was always doing that, putting you in places you least expect.

Just like it had done in Nepal, with your frigid, shivering form curled into the warm, protective embrace of your Lieutenant.

Neither you nor Ghost had discussed what happened, had dared to mention the soft, fragile words exchanged between you on that clear, starry night as frost had sifted down from the trees above the outpost.

"You see my mistakes."

"I see you. Just you."

Yet after the team had returned to England Ghost had made himself scarce, absent within the daytime regimens of your teammates. You think he might be nocturnal, the way he only appears after dark, waiting until the sun dips low below the horizon to ooze from the shadows, eyes blank, haunted. He hovers in the corners of the rooms you're in, silent, vigilant, slouched with a bone-deep fatigue that no amount of rest seems to cure.

It's a bit startling, truth be told. This calm, this stillness in him is beyond the scope of what you're familiar with. On missions Ghost is the sharp, cutting slice of a blade, concentrated, soaked in blood, piercing with his fatalistic aim and hungry, driven gaze. When he moves it's like watching a predator stalk prey, rippling muscle and broad, unfaltering steps. His eyes glint in the darkness like he can see there, can discern targets from the distant, trembling thump of their heartbeats alone. At your front he's an unstoppable force, yielding no ground no matter the shower of bullets that rain down on him. At your back he's an immovable object, a wall to pin yourself to when the enemy forces you there, ready to strike down encroaching hostiles with his adamantine, skeletal grip.

Now, outside the theater of battle, there's a distance there in Ghost's eyes, decaying there like necrotic flesh. It's something that's been there since the beginning, that's been engraved black in his bones long before you even knew he existed. You see it in his eyes as the lights of the muted television flicker across his mask, playing advertisements he doesn't seem to see. If the other members of the 141 need inertia as their own mental gravity, Ghost craves the ever-existing tides of the ocean to drive away the specters in his thoughts.

You know that unnamed emotion. Know it too well.

Dusky pink sky. The sound of a trumpet, the flurry of figures and clothes and voices blurring into morning fog. When the world shifts it's your hands on the ropes, calloused, sweaty palms digging in for purchase. As the sun rises your weapon thrums under your fingertips, and the voice of the instructor seems louder than the rapid fire that jolts you backwards until you're scrambling for balance- tipping into the dark of evening when the alien shadows of night vision color your gaze. It still feels too bright, too bright, until-

The memory flashes like lightning, and the resulting thunder has your heart hammering in your chest at the shiver that runs through you. It feels endless, infinite, stretching like lengths of gauze on a shallow slice of a wound. Yet there's a familiar heaviness there, bitter and grounding like the crunch of gravel underneath combat boots. There's a comfort in the mindless triumph of combat, of training and needed movement that settles everything else like a murmured, macabre berceuse. It's dark, it's haunting, it kills demons not with the scepter of divine radiance, but in a crepuscule so deep that their shadows are indiscernible from the lack of light in your eyes.

It's hard to imagine now that you lived like that for years, whittling down yourself until there was no hurt, no pain, no lingering words of disdain from familiar voices puncturing your ears. Nothing. Only bones.

And then.

Then there had been Laswell.

Ethiopia, you think it was. Sent for your field requirements for your combat medic training, the air stifling, dusty, caked in a scent that smelled innately of foreign soil. Laswell had been overseeing a mission there, helping gather intel. She hardly slept for days, existing on cooling coffee and leftovers from the impromptu mess hall. Eventually she'd stumbled into the medic tent, had asked for painkillers, an adrenaline, something to keep her awake. Yet then she'd looked up, looked into your eyes without light and hesitated.

A conversation followed, one fragmented over the course of weeks, bleached by the sun and chilled by the nighttime wind. Steaming mugs sitting together, over a desk piled with reports, voices muted with fatigue and sparkling with the rare bite of laughter from her. Evenings spent together, her voice like a needed balm to the cracked sinews of you. Eyes focused, sharp but warm, and you had ached for it, desperate for the regard of this older woman who felt like the things you wanted from the one you called mother. You wonder if Laswell saw that too, with her ever searching eyes and scalding stare. Perhaps she did, perhaps she saw the hollow inside you just as she saw what you tried to fill it with- a raw, unflinching determination that weighed on you so heavily it forced you to crack, to endure and crystallize like blood diamonds.

"Find me after you get back to the states." She told you, voice raised over the sound of the chopper that would take her back to base, and then to home. Her eyes had glinted for a moment in the dry, raw heat, tracing your face with an insight you couldn't comprehend, a prophecy that glittered at the edges and made you blink from the brightness.

So, you did. American soil under your feet, you had found her exactly where she said she'd be, once again basking in the warm flicker of her gaze, the hand on your shoulder that of a friend.

"I have a proposal for you."

It felt like decades ago now, when you had sat alone in the back of a black-hawk, carted off to a base you weren't allowed to know the name of, the earth again shifting endlessly under you.

It was weeks into your training before you understood why you were there. The brutality of it threatened to crack you, the endless and violent force which required your entire concentration and nothing less. The squad around you seemed to stare past each other, dazed by the ceaseless waves of intel, of briefings, medic practice, language courses, nighttime ops, bomb disarmaments, air raid drills, parachute practices, terrain training-

All for them. For the 141.

It was you, in the end. One out of a dozen, a dozen out of a thousand, a thousand out of a million. You. Only you. Designed, bred, honed like a weapon of old, deadly ossein bleached white by nothing other than an oath, a duty. You lived these men's lives before they even knew you existed, had traced each of their steps with your smaller ones, looking up and to the future where they marched onwards.

Now it was their voices, soft and firm, streaked with laughter and teasing that had filled the void inside of you where you had carved everything else away. Slowly, like phases of the waxing moon, you became full again.

Yet there's a doubt there, one present inside just you. Like earl grey steeped for too long, it curls acrid and bitter against the back of your tongue. You swallow it down, forcing it lower and lower even as the aftertaste clings to you, flavors the edges of your words. A fear, an abyss you are constantly trying to avoid tipping into, one that threatens to swallow you and all your achievements in a single, mortifying instant. You walk the tightrope between confidence and fear, and try not to look downwards into the chasm below, where the wind howls with inadequacies and alienation.

If the team notices they don't say. You see it though, see the way their eyes linger over your expression as if they can see the pause there, can hear the voices that whisper sinister prophecies of failure to you even in sleep. You're not sure which to believe between the two divinations- of Laswell's fledgling hope in you, or of the cataclysm which seems to be constantly dwarfing the horizon in a gaunt, pale wash of color.

"Fix!"

You startle, and your callsign sounds for all the world like a gunshot that rouses you from a ruminating slumber, thrusting you back into the crisp air of the Staffordshire countryside.

"Sir!" You bark on instinct as Price's voice directs itself at you, shooting to your feet with your shoulders straightening and muscles coiled in readiness.

Yet instead of the displeased, furrowed brow of your captain all you see is the three men before you freeze, turn halfway from the training area in surprise at your yelp. You see Soap's eyebrows raise in a silent question of your yipped response, but the pause gives Gaz the opportunity he needs to kick the Scotsman's legs from under him. Instantly, the brief look of surprise on Johnny's face morphs into shock as he tilts, mouth opening as the shorter sergeant wraps a leg around him, arms straining as he forces his brother to the ground.

"Getting distracted, Johnny?" Gaz asks breathlessly as Soap struggles under him, biting out a curse tinted with stupefaction at his opponent's surprising burst of strength.

Whatever Price was going to say to you dies on his lips as he barks a laugh, arms crossed and supervising the scuffed section of terrain the team has designated as their sparring mat.

"Gaz is right, Soap. Should be paying more attention to your opponent and not your audience."

Soap doesn't respond, he can't. Not with Gaz's arms securing him in a headlock and his legs forced together so he can't free himself. Briefly, his arms flail out beside him, stirring brown dust into the breeze. Yet he seems to realize the futility of the effort, because you watch his eyes close, see his jaw grit as he grunts, taps twice on the shorter man in a signal of surrender.

It's only once he's released that he sucks in air with a gasp that's a little too dramatic given the circumstances. Yet it only draws a warmth flickering inside you, a smile tickling your lips as you take in Soap's cocky grin and Gaz's glinting eyes, both of them oozing a camaraderie and mischief that occurs only between brothers of the same oath.

"A point to me." Gaz huffs, winded, and when he stands it's to offer Soap a hand, attempting to lift the sergeant to his feet beside him.

Soap goes for the hand, but you see the flicker of playfulness there that sparks behind his gaze. Before you can warn Gaz, Soap's hand shoots forward, grappling Gaz by his forearms and dragging him off balance and into the dirt once more.

You watch as they scuffle, hearing Price's bemused chuff of laughter steps away from you. You know usually he'd issue a strictness between his team, enforcing a set of boundaries designed to keep the sharpness of their skills from dulling. Yet here, in the golden afternoon of fall, there's an ambience that feels lighter, lifting the spirits of the men and you.

It feels a bit like watching the boys from your youth wrestle, all smiles and gangly limbs as they test the boundaries of their strength. Both Soap and Gaz are grinning, the wrinkles of their smiles almost broad enough to obscure the flash of focus in their gazes. Yet there's no adolescent awkwardness there, not with their broad, straining forms and deep, resounding grunts as they battle for supremacy.

"Had enough?" Soap asks between gasps as he catches Gaz between his legs, calves pressing down hard on his chest. Gaz only grunts, thrashes, trying to buck his weight up and disturb the hold Soap has on him.

"Alright, that's enough, both of you." Price interrupts with a wave of his hand, and just like that the two men separate, chests heaving and muscles still coiled. "Gaz, a point, but you best make sure your opponent is down before you gloat."

"Aye, he's right mate." Soap crows, knocking dust away from his shirt. Yet all he gets in response is a nudging elbow in the ribs, and for a moment the two of the jostle, grinning and grappling.

"Fix, you're up." Price nods at you, and you blink, arch your eyebrows at the captain in a silent question, pausing with uncertainty. Yet Price merely nods at you, eyes flicking over to the sparring area meaningfully. "Go on then."

So, you do, standing from your perch on the sloped grassy area beside the dirt pit and cautiously entering the circle. Trepidation, a flutter of courage bounces through you, escaping as an exhaled breath as you steady yourself.

Yet when you look to Gaz, it's Soap who's pushing in front of him with a lopsided smile, extending one brawny arm in front of his comrade.

"Mind if I take this one, cap?" He asks Price, and despite your little murmur of apprehension Price merely shrugs, nods at the Scotsman in a silent assent. Your heart races a little higher in your chest, legs widening as you try to ground yourself, eyes flicking over Soap's larger form and trying to pinpoint weaknesses.

Soap is built like a brick wall, rigid, strong. There's not an ounce of fat on him. The sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his biceps. You can see the veins under his brawny arms- designed for wrangling opponents far larger than yourself. It's not that you think you can't defeat him, smaller as you are, this man who's taken down dozens with his bare hands, it's just a matter of summoning the wit, the endurance to fend him off long enough to do so.

"Easy, Fix." Soap warns, and your eyes dart up to catch his. He's seen your gaze, caught sight of your eyes glinting with determination and a near fatalistic focus. "I'm one of the good guys, yeah?"

You think you hear Gaz scoff behind you, the sound disbelieving and warm all at once. Soap's eyes flicker over to him, feigning hurt.

You launch forwards at that exact moment, using Soap's lapse in attention to your advantage. Soap reacts a moment too late, trying to sidestep you as you barrel at him and try to knock him in his center. Yet that only gives you the opportunity you're looking for, sweeping under his lifted arm and grabbing it in an attempt to lift it behind him, force him to his knees.

Unfortunately, Soap seems to see exactly where you're going, and instead sidesteps around you, securing one, long, leg behind and between yours. It's a move you should have expected, given his size, but by the time you try and twist to correct it's too late. It takes the Scotsman hardly any effort to scoot his leg to the side, and suddenly you're losing balance, teetering backwards. Yet you refuse to relinquish your hold on him, and Soap chokes as you shoot out an arm, wrapping it around his throat and taking him down with you.

The impact of the harsh dirt ground on your back is nothing compared to the weight of the sergeant atop you, the back of his head against your collarbone as you strain to contain him. Yet Johnny is a force, a raw mass of rippling muscle as he pries your headlock enough for him to flip over and shake you off.

On your back, hands free and Soap sat up between your legs you try and scoot back, gain ground on which to recover. When he turns, Soap's eyes are gleaming, and he reaches for you, one massive hand wrapping around you calf and scooting you closer to him. Even when you try to kick him he simply bats aside your attempts, dirt scuffing around you both as he secures his hands around your hips.

A loud "Oof!" leaves you as the Scotsman flips you, settles his weight across your lower back, effectively immobilizing you. He grapples with your arms for a moment, as you scramble and writhe under him, but eventually Johnny manages to catch both hands behind you, your face pressed into the dirt and his immense weight weighing down on your back.

"Nice try, hen." Soap tuts down at you, breath caught in his chest. His hands clasp on both your wrists, and you know you could get them free if you wanted to, but even then it's an exercise in futility. "Better luck next time."

You sigh, limbs going limp under him in surrender and face scrunching in dismay.

"Curse you and your stupidly large body." You groan as he releases you, your hands pushing you up out of the dirt to a stand once more. Soap only chuckles, the sound like warm summer sunshine as a single dusty hand claps you across the shoulder.

"It's not about size." Price responds, summoning your gaze to him once more. His arms are crossed, his gaze leveled at you strictly, eyes narrowed. "It's about form, making sure you can outsmart your opponent."

You feel the chafe of dismissal run through you, tighten across your shoulders. It stings, this reprimand of his, even if you know it's only for your benefit. There's something about his words that knocks against something hollowed, deep inside you where the voices of the past threaten to spill through.

"Of course, captain." You manage, voice tight even as you meet his gaze head on, make sure he doesn't see the bitterness masked behind your stare.

If Price sees he doesn't say, instead nodding to the sergeant next to you in a wordless gesture. "Again."

You nod stiffly, shaking the tension from your shoulders and the dirt from your clothes, turning back to Soap, eyes focused once more. He settles into his stance, and he seems looser somehow, ready for you.

"He's bigger than you, Fix." Price calls. "You've got the advantage of speed and center of gravity. Use it wisely."

You nod absently, trying to gauge Johnny's movements, watching the Scotsman bounce on the balls of his feet. It's a difficult choice, trying to find that target that will put him off balance and allow you enough space to recoup if needed. You think if you can have some distance, land a few strikes to give you an opening...

"C'mon now Fix, show me what ya got." Johnny taunts playfully, fingers waggling at you.

Smug bastard.

You feint to start, watching how Soap favors his right leg as he reacts. You can feel his tension in the air, feel it ripple through and bolster you with a steely, calculating confidence.

He's just another obstacle, another hurdle. You haven't fallen from that tightrope thus far, and you won't start now.

At last, you launch forwards, ducking out of the way of Soap's outstretched reach and placing a well-earned kick to his upper leg  that has him grunt, briefly buckle down-

Oh shit.

Now at the perfect height, Soap locks his arms around your middle, hauling you to him. You try and struggle, kicking apart his legs in an attempt to disturb his balance, one hand trying to push up at his jaw-

The world tilts, Johnny's hands on you shift, and you shriek as suddenly you're being hauled up. Your feet kick uselessly in the air as Soap lifts your shrieking form higher, his raucous laughter loud in your ears. With a heft, you're suddenly over one broad shoulder, his hands balancing you precariously as you squirm.

"S-Soap!" You squeal, face warming and unable to contain the abrupt gasp of hysterical delight that rises inside you. "Johnny! You-!"

"The cap'n told you to watch your balance!" Soap cackles over your protests. "How's gravity now, eh?!"

You beat at his back with your fists, but even then you can't contain the sudden burst of laughter that's being squeezed from your chest. When you try to kick, Soap merely shifts an arm down, locking the back of your thighs.

"You little shit!" You giggle, trying to raise yourself off his shoulder, only for him to twist where he stands, sending the world flying into a haze of color around you. "Put me down or I'll-!"

"There's no escape!" Soap crows in triumph, and you laugh truly this time, the warmth of it bubbling up your chest and vanquishing the solemnity there in a breezy gasp of air. "I have you now!"

"Alright, that's enough." Price interjects, but you can hear the smile on his voice, and when Soap spins again to face him you're left with Gaz, who grins broadly at your form splayed across his mate's shoulders despite the disbelieving shake of his head. "Put the medic down and back away slowly."

"Aye cap'n." Soap affirms, and the world shifts as you slide down, your shirt catching on his vest for a moment long enough to make it rise a few inches up your stomach. Once your feet are on solid ground once more you fiddle with it, shooting Soap a look of pure mischief as you playfully shove at him.

"You're a right bastard, you are." You jeer at him, but there's no true malice behind the insult.

"Oho! Looks like our bonnie medic has picked up some British slang, hasn't she?" Soap grins wickedly back at you, pretending to rub a bruise left by your touch.

"Shut up."

"She'll take you down with words alone, mate." Gaz quips off to the side, a grin stretched across his face. "Better watch your step."

You turn to him, still smiling, feeling that bravado wash over you now in the wake of Soap's prank.

"You want some too, sergeant?" You shoot back, and Gaz feigns surrender, tossing up his hands and taking a step back against the wall he's braced on- only to freeze.

You see him at the same time Gaz senses him, shoulders going rigid at the figure, the mass behind him, leaning in the shadow casted by the aged, brick building. The air seems to suck into silence, drowning into a ringing nothingness like the aftershock of flashbang that was far too close.

"My turn."

Ghost seems to materialize from thin air. With a roll of his shoulders he straightens from where he was braced against the wall, just to Gaz's right. The shade of the building did nothing to hide him, and yet it still feels like all the world like he wasn't even there. Like a daytime phantom, he simply appears, a fragmentary blink all that's needed to mask his arrival.

You're stunned into silence when he raises his eyes towards you, and there's that familiar prickle of trepidation, a warning murmured below your heartbeat of the danger present in his stare. It flays you open effortlessly, laying bare your secrets and closely hidden truths, rendering you transparent against his masked, piercing gaze.

"Oh, uh, sure LT." Soap is the first to speak, and even he seems a bit disturbed by this, by the almost garish sight of Ghost in the brightness of daytime. "Lemme just-"

"Not you."

You stop breathing.

Ghost's eyes are locked on you. Hell, they never left you, trained on your form since the moment he announced his arrival. You think if he steps closer, into the training are he might hear your heartbeat, reach out a hand to feel it thrum under his fingertips-

Your pulse flutters against his fingers like a trapped bird, wings spread and beating the frozen air around you. He's never been this close before. He's hardly ever touched you- much less with his bare hands. The sensation of it threatens to throw you from that precipice where you balance precariously, falling once more into that asymmetry you fail to understand. You can only pray that your rapid, strumming heartbeat doesn't betray you, doesn't let him sense the thoughts you're holding silent within your heart.

You swallow, but all you taste is dust.

"H-hang on now." Soap intervenes, stepping up beside you. He's a weight at your back, keeping you steady, grounded against the gale inside you. The wind whips higher, and it seems to carry the scent of your uncertainty, the carpal, raw taste of it filling the back of your mouth.

He's huge. Larger than Soap. Immense and looming. Ghost occupies enough space in your mind it rivals your own doubts, blending at the seams with the dark, inky bleed of him into your form. The weight of him, even at this distance, threatens to bear down on your shoulders, and you feel that pressure, that muscled strain compress you until there's almost nothing left.

Only bones.

"It's fine, Soap." Your voice is surprisingly steady when you speak, lift an arm to gently halt the Scotsman behind you. "I can do it."

It's a lie. You're not sure if you can at all. It's not Ghost's size, his stature that concerns you. No, rather it's you, the way the lieutenant before you seems to summon those linger doubts in you- the urgent, insurmountable need to prove yourself. You can't explain it, can't fully understand why it's Ghost of all people that needs to see this, needs to see how you fail to crack, that no amount of pressure here will force you to fail.

Then again, perhaps you do know. After all, you've always known it was him.

You trace the marrow white paint of Ghost's mask up to his eyes, watching as they slide from you to Price, waiting for his assent. You hear Price inhale deeply, eyes flickering between the two of you before he at last sighs, gestures Ghost into the ring.

When you try to step back, Soap catches your arm.

"You don't have to do this." He tells you, and the tone of his voice makes you pause, frown at the odd tint of concern there.

"Yeah, I do." You tell him instead, and jerk your arm from his touch, brushing past him to give Ghost the space he needs to prepare. When you glance at the sergeant there's an odd pinch to his face you don't recognize. It feels oddly like doubt, a sourness that doesn't believe in you. It chafes against the inside of you, brittle and pale.

When you turn to face Ghost a few paces away, he's stretching. It almost catches you by surprise, the sight of his hulking frame as he rolls his shoulders, pops his neck with an audible crack. Again, you're reminded of the breadth of him, this man who's shielded you more times than you can count by now, can take down a man larger than you with nothing but his bare hands.

Your mouth dries.

Even so, you nod at Price when you settle into your stance, preparing yourself for his assault. The captain returns it, lets his stare linger over your unsteady hands before his voice rings out into the afternoon sun:

"Begin!"

You tense, preparing yourself, but even then you aren't ready for the sheer, massive strides Ghost takes towards you, closing the distance so rapidly your mind reels trying to catch up. You sidestep him a moment too late, trying to get a leg under his frame and use it to upset his balance, send him stumbling.

A hand seizes your shoulder. The world spins.

The gasp that escapes from your chest upon impact with the ground floats upwards into the eggshell blue sky.

Just like that.

You blink once, twice, trying to understand exactly how Ghost managed to flip you so easily, barely even touching you before you're flat on your back staring up at the clouds. Gaz hisses a grimace somewhere beyond you, and you hardly hear it, thoughts spinning.

"Up."

That puffy crisp September sky is blotted out as Ghost hovers above you, towering over your prone form as your breath stills in your chest. You stare at him dumbly for a moment, still trying to understand how he moved fast enough to make your head spin.

He doesn't offer you a hand, letting you sit up on your own, dusty with dirt and heart rattling in your chest. When you stand he's already paced away from you, wordlessly waiting for you to resume your stance.

"Give him hell, Fix!" Soap calls from the side, but even he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

You ignore him, trying to clear your thoughts, trying to focus on exactly how Ghost managed to flip you. Maybe his arm was around your middle- or was it your shoulder, you can't tell, he-

"Don't make me wait, sergeant." Ghost tells you, and the low scrape of his voice is enough to startle you, feeling like bone meal grinding against the recesses of your mind.

You tense, observing, watching, seeking weaknesses in his stance. When you launch forwards again, you move fast, ducking under Ghost's outstretched arm as he reaches for you. It's enough to give you an opening as you reach forward, throwing an arm out to his middle and aiming a fist with all your strength. It's not enough to send him stumbling backwards, but you know if you unbalance him you can get one of his legs, force him to his knees-

Ghost deflects your strike with ease, however, and before you can retreat to recoup that same arm twists your outstretched hand deftly. You're spun, boots skidding in the dirt. Yet this time Ghost doesn't put you down in the ground. Instead, he hauls you backwards until you're pressed against his front, and a heavy arm settles under your throat in a vice-like grip, rising up enough to threaten your airflow.

"Better." Is all he tells you as you struggle, and the motherfucker isn't even out of breath.

When you aim an elbow back into his stomach he merely grunts at the impact, and after a brief second the world spins wildly out of control as Ghost flips you over his hip and into the dirt once more.

You think you may have skid a few inches past where you landed, the impact harsh and unforgiving against your form. When you open your eyes you're on your side, staring at his boots as he again looms over you.

"Get up." He tells you, and there's not a single ounce of hesitation there, his tone harsh and unforgiving. It bites harder than the bruises forming on your flesh, sinking deeper past the sinews of you into the place where you harbor your own self-doubt. Ghost doesn't give you any recompense, demanding your immediate restitution even as you brace on your elbows, try and catch your breath.

"If you stayed down this long you'd be dead." He tells you plainly, and when you grit your teeth you feel your jaw threaten to pop. Frustration, humiliation clots under your skin, racing along your nerve endings and threatening to set your skin aflame. It boils inside of you, this shame of being defeated so easily, of not being able to stand your own, of him seemingly mocking you for your lack of strength.

"E-easy LT." Soap tries from your other side, trying uncertainly to intervene. "She's just catching her breath, she-"

"She's getting caught in her head, Johnny." Ghost replies, and the tone of his voice has shifted now- irritated, impatient. You grimace against it where he can't see, with your brow bent over your arms as you push yourself upwards. Yet the motion isn't fast enough for Ghost, who's gloved grip settles on your bicep and hauls you to a stand.

When you try and shake him off, however, Ghost doesn't budge. You turn to him, ready to snap a complaint bitten with anger, but the pale paint of his mask looms over you instead.

"You're only seeing me." He tells you, voice dipping lower, quieter. A growl. "Not an enemy. You're seeing someone bigger and stronger than you and it's messing with your head."

You blink at him for a moment, trying to process his hissed accusation. For a moment it feels as if he's bragging, lauding over the fact that you aren't a towering six foot six and built from unbreakable bone and mass. Yet beyond that is the harsh, unrepentant bite of his words, digging like thorns into the smog of despondency that clouds your thoughts.

He releases you before you can object, turning on his heel and striding away to the other side of the dirt pit, leaving you suppressing a shiver of fury. The sharpness of it digs harder than a combat knife, buries between your shoulders as they tighten and flex, trying vainly to push it down further into the depths of you. It imbues into your marrow, seeping like icy water and freezing, furthering the fractures that are already there.

"Again."

You breathe, steady yourself, turn to him. Behind you Gaz and Soap shift nervously, their boots scuffing against the grass as they exchange a look.

You're faster this time, as if that same righteous bleed into your bones has gifted you a speed you aren't entirely aware of- focused only on the massive looming form of your lieutenant in front of you. Yet when he blink he's not there- the after effect of him wavering before your eyes and you swear you see his eyes glint.

Just like that, you feel your legs out from under you. There's not even a breath in your lungs to yelp before you're landing on your side- a second too slow to land on your stomach. When Ghost reaches for you, however, you manage to catch his arm between your legs, pressing and holding, immobilizing it. Your victory is short lived, however, when Ghost twists and suddenly your whole body shifts with you onto your stomach. The hand that had held his arm, trying to haul it backwards is seized, and after a momentary scuffle it ends with Ghost pressing his weight into the small of your back, knee braced between yours.

Grunting, you try and push up, try and dislodge him from atop you, kneeling above your prone form. It's not use, and the only reward you get from your LT is a tightening, warning grip on your forearm, pushing almost painfully into your spine. Face pressed into the dirt, thrashing, you bite down on a yell of frustration. When you turn your head, glare venomously over your shoulder, Ghost regards you with an unwavering, unblinking stare.

"Tap out." He tells you coldly, but you refuse, still squirming and trying to buck him off you.

"I said." Ghost repeats, and the grip on your wrist is almost enough to bruise as he leans further over you, pressing more weight into your back. "Tap. out."

The "Fuck you." sits heavy on your tongue, bitter and acrid with venom. When you swallow the taste lingers in your throat. Yet you close your eyes in defeat, using your remaining free hand to tap the ground twice in surrender. Instantly Ghost is gone from you, weight and hands vanishing, but you can't deny the momentary touch of disappointment that flickers in your belly at his figure vanishing from atop you.

Traitorous. Unacceptable.

Dimly, your mind conjures the sensation of him, of the planes of his body curled around you, blunted at the edges by his gear and jacket in the darkness. The warmth of him seeps through, blanketing you, drawing the freeze from your bones. Now that same figure towers over you, casting you in his shadow- one you think you'll always dwell in, unable to outshine the sun.

You stand without his help this time, face smeared with dirt. Fists curled at your sides, heart thrumming too fast in your chest, you force yourself to breathe. The air feels dusty, putrid, cracked in your throat- rotting with frustration and bitter self-loathing. Price says something, but you can't hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, the clench of your joints popping under the pressure.

Ghost seems to suck the light out of the air at the other end of the pit, arms crossed as he silently waits for you to right yourself. His eyes, tinged black at the edges, bore into you. They carve deeper downwards, flaying you open and exposing your heart, your lungs, the spilling threads of you that reek of weakness.

You think he might see it, might see the thing you're keeping curled within you- a fragile tender thing made of glass you've kept safe all this time.

His voice, soft, just for you, murmurs against the midnight.

"I see you. Just you."

Oh.

"You're only seeing me." He told you.

Not an enemy. Him.

Ghost. Because you could never see him as anything else. Not when it's him.

You blink and the light changes. Your next breath, forced through parted lips, seems to ooze the toxicity from your veins, lifting the weight from your shoulders. The bones inside you are still cracked, fractured, and you know they probably will be forever. Now, however, you understand, and the knowledge seems to strengthen them, dull the bitter horrible pain of your own doubt long enough for you to see.

Not a shadow, a light in the darkness. Guiding you forwards even if it threatens to blind you, drawing you out of the confines of your own lack of confidence by force if he has to. He's not doing this to mock you at all. He's not looking down on you, he's not gloating or tossing you around for his own sadistic self-pleasure. He's trying, in his own way, to teach you, to show you that you do have what it takes. He's breaking you systematically, scooping you from the ashes and charred remains so the frayed and broken edges of you are polished into something new. Something stronger.

He's doing this because he sees you. Just you, and that's already good enough. You're good enough.

Sometimes you have to break bones for them to mend correctly.

"Fix!"

You jolt, turning to Price. Arms crossed, one shaggy eyebrow arched towards you, he regards you with scrutiny.

"You done?" Is all he asks, and he seems to see it too- the telltale twinkle of knowledge in his eyes at what his lieutenant is trying to accomplish.

"No sir." You breathe, and Price grins.

"Give him hell then, sergeant." He nods towards your opponent. You follow his gaze, and this time Ghost is focused entirely on you, eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

You can do it.

Ghost settles into his stance, one arm extended slightly in front of the other, his tattooed forearm rippling with muscle. He's big, bigger than you, and that thought alone is enough to threaten you into a tailspin of doubt like before. You know now that if you indulge it, allow it to take hold it guarantees defeat. So, you push it down, refuse to see it, summoning a phantom in its place, one of your own design. it wavers before you, whispering sinister prophecies of failure, howling like the wind in the abyss of the impossibly high tightrope you tread upon.

When you launch forward Ghost tenses, ready for your attack. He throws out an arm to block your attack, but you merely twist around it, throwing it up and giving you the opening you need. It takes all your strength as you ignore his other hand settling on your shoulder. You shift, balance, and then bring your  foot against his leg with vicious force. It's enough to make him stumble, shift his weight and grunt at the impact. His distraction allows you to free yourself, land another hit against his arm and throw it wide.

There.

He reaches for you, but the motion is slow, stunted by his size. You slide around him instead, ducking under his arm and instead kicking again to the back of his knee. It's enough, and Ghost buckles not completely, but the few inches you need to reach forward, wrap your arms around his neck and pull.

You both go teetering back into the dirt, the air whooshing from your lungs upon impact. Ghost doesn't wait for the dust to settle before he's struggling, trying to twist to his side and dislodge you. You don't let him, grunting as you force your forearm under his chin and secure it with your other arm. His hands reach up, but you raise your legs on either side of him. Twisting, you secure them around his front, clenching down with a cracked yell even as he thrashes under you. With one of his arms now trapped, Ghost grunts, tries once more to twist. His boots scuff in the dirt, stirring clouds of beige dust into the crisp air.

It takes all your strength to contain him, and even then you feel your grip slipping. Breath caught in your chest you strain against him, back arching off the ground and grunting low and deep at his form against yours. You know it'll take only a momentary lapse in concentration for Ghost to seize the opportunity and free himself. You don't intend to give him that much.

Gaz and Soap cheer from across the clearing, whooping encouragements as you strain to keep Ghost locked between your arms and legs. Their silence has faded to hollering praise you don't hear as you concentrate, use all the force in your body to maintain your victory. Blood rushes in your ears- a churning tributary of red pulsing under your skin, sharp with adrenaline. Like the river Styx it seems to burn you, scald you to the touch even as you emerge dripping with power and purpose. A god-like strength inherited only for this moment.

A tap, then another on your calf.

He concedes.

It takes you a moment to realize the gesture for what it is, so surprised are you at your own victory. It takes Ghost tapping an insistent third time for you to release him with a gasp, flopping back into the dirt and letting your weakened limbs collapse at your sides. Starved of air, your chest inflates rapidly, head tossed back and staring dazedly up at the blue sky above. The world spins, and at last you realize there’s noise beyond the war drum of your heartbeat in your ears.

"That'a fucking girl Fix!" Soap yells from somewhere beyond you, voice carrying loud and clear. You can hear Gaz clapping beside him- and even without looking you can imagine the wide spread of a smile plastered on his lips.

Ghost sits up from between your legs, but you can't find it in you to follow just yet- exhausted to the core. Your heartbeat throbs in your ears like a wound, your arms and legs shake with exertion. Yet the heaviness there is not of defeat, acrid and disappointing. No, this feels like relief, like triumph.

You did it.

A shadow falls over you, and when you blink it's Ghost's white mask that filters through your thoughts.

"Doesn't count as a win if you can't stand." He tells you, but there's no venom there. Instead, it sounds lighter, and it must be the dizziness because it almost sounds playful.

Still, you accept his hand when he offers it. He pulls you sharply to your feet, and you teeter for a moment before his hand lands on your shoulder, steadying you.

The boys are all grinning at you, pride blooming across their faces. It's enough to make you freeze, stiffen with surprise at the blatant delight they have at your small victory. The warmth of self-consciousness blossoms across your chest, crawling up your nape. You press a hand there nervously, averting your eyes with a small, shy smile.

"If you can take down Ghost, you can take down anyone." Gaz tells you, and his eyes are sparkling mischievously, the corners of his gaze wrinkled with a smile.

"Could take me down any day, Fix." Soap adds, and when he winks you roll your eyes at his suggestion.

"Stay down, Soap." You tell him, but you're unable to contain the smile there, tugging insistently at the corner of your lips.

"Good work, sergeant." Price tells you and when you turn he nods at you, satisfaction written across his expression. It lifts you, warms you and raises you higher on your toes. His pride bleeds into you, makes you straighten and raise your head a touch higher to meet his gaze.

"Thank you sir."

Price nods just once, and looks as if he's going to speak again, except-

"Captain!"

You all turn at the sound, and it's a recruit who's voice catches your attention. He jogs out from behind the shadow of the building, hair mussed and cheeks flushed with exertion. When he stops just short of your group he doubles over, panting and trying to catch his breath. it takes him only a moment- straightening before price can correct him, standing at attention.

"Captain." He greets. "You're needed at the commander's office. Kate Laswell has your briefing ready."

Just like that, the mood shifts. Instantly you're all moving, responding, gathering the supplies scattered around the training area as Price barks orders.

"You heard the man. Get sorted, I want you all ready for briefing in five minutes, understood?"

There's a chorus of "Yes Sir!"s that goes up from all of you, hard and unflinching, ever ready for the tasks set out ahead of you.

"Good. Get moving." Price issues, before he's taking long strides to follow the private, form coiled and stalking with the authority of a commander, a leader.

You yourself move to follow Soap and Gaz, watching as they excitedly push and jostle each other like friends, grins still spread across their faces.

Yet there's a hand on your shoulder, and you pause to turn towards the source, lips parted in surprise. Ghost hovers just behind you, caught in the shadow of the brick building, the angle slanted across his mask.

Yet then there's silence, and you see his eyes flicker behind the mask. It's brief, just a flash, but you see a hesitancy there, a contemplation you know he'll never voice. He squints, and in that instant you wish you could see him the way he seems to see you, gazing into you like looking into a glass prism, seeing the lights that reflects outwards. Yet in him it's only ever shadows, smoke obscuring the things you wish you could observe behind his coal dark stare, graze across with the tips of your fingers.

"You did well." He tells you. Yet he doesn't hold your gaze, his touch vanishing from you in the scarce heartbeat that follows. His boots crunch dirt as he eases past you, broad dark form vanishing in the direction where the others have gone.

You're left alone behind him, watching as he disappears. For a moment you feel it once more, see the four of them vanish before you into a cloud of snow, atop the mountain of impossible expectations you have for yourself. Yet stronger now is the fragile, crystal heart of you, the one where you keep your wildest hopes and secrets, the home of you where his voice lies in tender, sleeping wait.

You follow him.

----

If you enjoyed this please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi!

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #call of duty #mw2 #cod mw22 #my writing #my fic #reader insert #Series: shadow and bone #fic: shadow and bone

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

It's time for some Dadgil headcanons because I said so

Give this man a baby to sit and watch the kid cling to him. He is so doting and attentive and he always talks softly around the little potato

Little kids love him and his purple hair, they think he's a nice witch who shows them magic (read: he plays some musical instrument for them and teaches them a little)

Kid gets hurt? Even if Remus is there to help, Virgil rushes out with antiseptic and bandaids. If it's more scary than painful, he comforts the little munchkin and gets them a snack for being brave

Incidentally Remus wants a snack too—a purple edgy daddy kind of snack

Rough housing is a Remus specialty, but Virgil is no stranger to it, and kids love riding his shoulders just to feel really tall

He is a master at detangling hair and styling it. Not even chewing gum can stop him! He has a ton of hair chalk if a kid wants some color too

Tell no one but he is the best cook ever!! He makes the best nuggets and mac and cheese!! And he can hide veggies in it!! Oh!! And-and he doesn't set his grill on fire yes this is a little shade

Speaking of food, this man is a baker and a damn good one

Remus is perganant? Of course he is just look at his partner how could he not be!! He's also gonna be spoiled and pampered by a certain spider excited to be a dad no I didn't write a behemoth fic about this

Is it bedtime? Kid is getting a story and a lullaby from Dadgil

Uh oh! Someone had a nightmare! Virgil will calm the kid down and let them sleep with him, and he'll cuddle them and scare away the bad dreams because no one is scarier than protective Dadgil

Remus likes having an excuse to call him Daddy and then deal with the aftermath when they're alone

Honestly he just gets so mushy watching Dadgil in action. That's his Scare Bear and he's just too adorable!!

Fuck Y E S Dadgil my beloved these are all S O fucking cute P L E A S E!!! Vee's so gentle, loving, caring, and fun with the kids and the fact that they all love him is adorable as fuck!!! You better believe the Emo absolutely makes banger ass meals and treats and a very perganant ball of chaos of his happens to be lucky to have them all when he's getting pampered XD <3 (Of course he'd be a lil shit any chance he'd get with Vee being a Dad and y'know what it's W O R T H I T XD)

#i've said it once and i'll say it again these spooky bitches would make the best dads ever #dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts remus #ts virgil #sanders sides #thomas sanders #asks #answers #brandstifter-sys #not a countdown

[mothgardens]

im back again with another lyric analysis <3 this edition is for Sastiel (my beloved).

State Of Grace by Taylor Swift (preferably the acoustic version)

All Sam has known for his whole life is touch and go. He has never been in one place for more than a few months at a time (other than his escape to Stanford).

He also has been more aware and open-minded than Dean his whole life; he has a changing mind when given new information, like how he learns to understand that the ‘monsters’ they fight aren’t always evil, and that he can empathize with them. He learned this far before Dean.

He has always loved whole and hard; his love always bleeds, he has been hurt so much through losing the people he held dearest. They fade away.

“You come around and the armor falls” <— is literally the Gadreel grace retraction scene. Cas telling Sam “The only person who has screwed up things more consistently than you, is me.” !! So delicate and intimate.

They have each other. Even when Dean is missing or gone, even when they feel like they have messed everything up, they have each other. They don’t let go, they can’t, they won’t. <3

“Just go to my room and turn on Netflix, you will figure it out” is such an important line to me (even though i couldn’t find the real quote). Sam feels comfortable enough with Cas to let him be in his room, his private space, alone. Cas feels comfortable enough in Sam’s room to take his beloved trench coat off. They trust each other; when they are together, everything is wiped clean.

THIS IS THEM !! ^^^

Cas was never a saint. He didn’t succeed as God. He didn’t succeed as an Angel of the Lord. He didn’t succeed in Dean’s eyes. (“Something always goes wrong, Dean”; “Why does that always seem to be you.”).

Sam loved a werewolf. Sam loved a demon. Sam loved a witch. In Dean’s eyes, Sam always loved in shades of wrong.

They learned to live with the pain, separately at first, but, they also learned to live with each other’s pain. Cas literally told Sam, “I was lost until I took your pain”.

According to Google, Mosaic is “an individual (especially an animal) composed of cells of two genetically different types”.

Sam and Cas are systematically different on a surface level, obviously, as angel and human, but Sam also has demon blood running through him. It’s part of him. Sam and Cas, on an inner, biological level, are opposites. They’re LITERALLY “Mosaic broken hearts”.

When they’re together they’re brave. Especially when Cas is looking for Sam, or protecting him.

- “Who are you, and where is Sam?”

- “You wont take Sam Winchester. I won't let you.”

- “You come near Sam Winchester, and I will kill you.”

But, also, their love is wild, they have such s chaotic energy as a duo. They are unhinged, but also mean well.

To me, grace is literally their entire theme. (I am a bitch for the grace drinking ‘purification’ idea, too.)

Cas believes Sam is a worthwhile fight: “Nothing is worth losing you”.

This last line, to me, is totally post-Jack era. They have a family together, a son, that they both would die for. They love each other. Sam sent so many texts with Cas left, he was so worried. When Cas showed back up in the bunker he looked at him like he could make his world continue spinning.

Lastly, the chorus:

Sam never thought Cas would come into his life. A real angel. An angel who would later become one of the most important people in his life.

Cas never expected Sam to be this important to him. He thought of Sam as the ‘boy with demon blood’, an abomination. But, Sam proved himself to be so much more than that.

Neither of them would ever be where they are without each other, and they will never be the same.

———————

Okay :3 that is all.

#sastiel #samcas #i hope some people actually read and like this #i just poured my heart into it #is so important to me #i ship sabriel and destiel of course #but sastiel has a special forefontal space in my heart #they are so soft and sweet and silly and right for eachother #they make me soft #please talk to me about supernatural #supernatural #sam winchester #spn #castiel #dean winchester #taylor swift and supernatural #i really hope people see this

[like-a-lime]

First time I write something here! Sorry for bad english in advance, but that’s not my first language ^^'

———————————

Yandere!Witch X GN!Reader

{Warning: mentioned of death, there are a few curse words too}

All you could see was black, you had trouble with moving your body and there was an annoying ringing in your ears… what happened? All you remember was angry yelling, bright lights and deep pain…

With some effort you managed to open your eyes, your vision was blurry for a few moments, but when it focused you could see your partner in front of you, their expression was full with concern, but when they saw you it lit up.

You raised yourself in a sitting position, wincing a bit from pain.

“Oh my dear, you’re finally awake! I was so worried!” They said, engulfing you in a tight hug, making you groan in pain. “Shit, sorry… you’re probably in a lot of pain…” They loosened their grip, stroking gently your back.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was coughing, your lover patted your back comfortingly and passed you a glass of water.

After taking a sip of water you finally spoke up. “What… what happened? Why I’m feeling like crap right now?”

“My dear… why don’t you take a look at yourself?” Your partner simply said, grabbing gently your hand. “Then I’ll explain everything, alright?”

Looking down on yours and your partner’s intertwined hands and noted how your skin was a grayer shade than normal and the skin seemed like it has rotten.

“W-what fuck?! What’s wrong with me?!” You yelled out distressed, you looked up to your lover upset. “Please… can you explain?”

They let out a sigh, looking down with a sorrow expression. “You… you died…” Your eyes widened in shock, but your partner continued. “The villagers, those wretched bugs, had killed you when I was out of town… when I returned to our house I saw your cold, dead body on the floor…”

You couldn’t believe what they had said… the people of the village, the same one who you had grown up in, had murdered you? “Why… why did they do that?”

“They thought you were a witch, so they had killed you… those disgusting, rotten bastards…” With every word that came out from their mouth, their grip on your hand tightened when they realised that, they gave you an apologetic smile.

“That… that was the reason? I can’t believe this…”

“I know love…” Your lover rested one of their hand on your cheek. “I… I was so scared when I saw your body, you know? I couldn’t bear the thought of having lost my beloved…” They whispered, their eyes full of love.

You smiled at your partner, when a thought made its way in your head. “Wait… you said they had killed me, so why am I here?”

They gave you an enigmatic smile, they caressed your cheek before answering. “I simply brought you back from death… as I’ve said before, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, my one and only love…”

“You… how? That’s not possible…”

“That’s not possible, unless I’m a witch” They kissed your forehead. “Luckily, I indeed am a witch… death is not able to take you from me… neither those filthy villagers”

“A witch… I guess that explain everything…” You finally took notice of how messy the room you where in was, books and pages were scattered around, bloody red symbols drawn on the floor and candles were settled in circle around you. “Creepy…”

Your lover chuckled nervously. “Sorry, sorry… I swear I’ll tidy everything up, okay?”

You simply nodded, a moment passed when you gave them an unsure look. “Do you think I can go outside like this? The villagers would surely understand that you have something to do with this and they might kill us both…”

“Oh my love…” They kissed your cheek. “They won’t bother us, I’m sure of it… but if you prefer remaining at home, you can do that”

“I… really don’t wanna see the village… after they killed me…”

Your partner gave you a comforting smile. “It’s alright, I’ll make sure you have everything you need… you won’t need anyone else except me…”

“I’m happy to have you… I’m a bit tired though… so I think I’ll go to bed”

“Alrighty then! I’ll join you after I clean this room, love!”

When the witch made sure you were completely out of the room, they began wiping off the red bloody symbols from the blood and putting their books back to their place, they then went to the kitchen where a dagger covered in blood sat on the counter.

The witch began washing off the blood with a frown. “Those wicked villagers… I should have killed them before… I was lucky there was a page about resurrection on my book or else I might have lose my beloved forever…” They dried the dagger with a towel. “Well… they won’t bother us anymore…”

#gn reader #yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere oc #x reader #yandere x you #oc x reader #tw yandere #this is so bad #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #yandere writing #yandere witch

[gaybananabread]

Hii!

Could you do Lee and Ler Evelyn (from toh) headcanons ?

No pressure!

Have a good day! ❤️

🕯️Evelyn Tkl Headcanons✨⊰

~Hey Anon! Sorry to everyone who's been asking stuff, I've had a busy few weeks (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠). Finally getting around to these! Evelyn was unexpected, but she does seem fun! Thanks for requesting!~

General:

While her and Caleb are together, they're incredibly playful with each other.

Evelyn is a mischievous witch by nature, and when she figures out Caleb’s ticklish, mutual chaos ensues.

Loves tickling both ways, but she's ler-leaning. Being tickled is okay, but she's gotta be in the right mood for it.

Quickly finds out her wonderful human loves it as well, adding another thing for them to bond over.

Lee:

Again, certain mood, but she does get them occasionally.

She's very squirmy— bucks, kicks, accidental elbows to the nose, you name it.

So yeah, she prefers being pinned when tickled.

It's easier: she doesn't have to worry about hurting her beloved if she “can't” move her arms.

Takes a lot to get her really laughing. Unless you hit a sweet spot, you'll usually only get bubbly giggles and a small blush.

Her worst spots are her thighs and lower ribs.

You get her there, and it's loud cackles and bright blushes for days.

Melt spots are her hips. She loves getting a few squeezes or pokes there, maybe some light tracing from her lover. Dissolves into the sweetest giggles you can imagine.

If she can breathe, she'll tease her ler to kingdom come.

“Aww, you wanna tickle me, don't you?” “Oh really? My top’s riding up? Hadn't noticed…” “Somebody in a ler mood? I guess I could let you tickle me, though those red cheeks are awfully adorable.”

Ler:

Adores wrecking Caleb almost anytime of the day.

She loves the sound of his laugh, his smile, his blush, the way his hair noodle bounces as he laughs, the way he doesn't ask for her to stop until he's through…

Yeah, safe to say she's happy to tickle him.

Incredibly teasy, though in the most affectionate way.

“Poor, poor little lee… Much too ticklish for your own good.” “Are you telling me that this adorable bit of pudge is ticklish? Who would've guessed~” “What's that, lovely? It tickles? Good, it's working!”

Can and will use magic to help deal with her lee.

Invisible restraints, magical feathers, ghost hands, tickle spells, you name it. Anything to help reduce her lee to a giddy pile of smiles~

Her favorite thing is when a certain giddy lee plops down in her lap. She'll tease them, of course, but the deserved tickles will be given.

If a lee is feeling down or hating on themselves, she'll tickle them and coo the sweetest compliments to them until they feel better.

“I don't see how you could hate this belly. It's so soft and plush! I could poke and squeeze it a-a-all day~”

“I'm sorry, ugly? You're calling this absolutely adorable face ugly? I'm sorry, but this is the most lovely shade of red I've ever seen, and your smile is so wonderful! I'm afraid you're lying to yourself, love.”

“That anxiety of yours is rather rude. Let me chase it away for you! There's that pretty smile~”

#toh tickle #tickle headcanons #lee!evelyn #ler!evelyn #ticklish!evelyn #sfw tickling community #tickle #sfw tickle headcanons #toh #the owl house tickle #toh evelyn #switch!evelyn

[witchysethharper]

Seth still almost couldn't believe Rhys (with Cairo's help) pulled it off the other day in bringing him back from Hell. He'd learned that time moved much differently in other realms; after what must've been a decade down there he'd nearly given up hope of ever getting out of that fiery pit of doom and gloom and way too much chaos happening. He quickly learned that ten years down there equated to about a month or nearly two up here. Seth had never been more excited to see his own bed and a shower again in his entire life... or afterlife now? Demons clearly weren't the same as vampires considering he still had a beating heart and didn't need to consume blood to survive, although there was that whole needing sexual energy and life forces to feed on. Though those were all things to figure out... later. At some point. He'd get there on his own time.

First and foremost, he needed a shower to scrub off the filth and odor of sulphur that still surrounded him immediately after coming back to earth, and a good fucking night's sleep. Somehow Rhys managed to keep his suite as it was with all his belongings so that helped. Next step was finding out where his beloved pup had gone because Circe was not in the kennel as expected. He remembered the last person who would've seen her would've been Shade when he'd asked him to bring the bag of dog food up to her. Good thing Shade was on the top of his list to visit.

He didn't bother texting first, figuring he'd make this a surprise. What could possibly go wrong with it? It's not like Shade could get angry that Seth was back from the dead, right? Hell, he bet he'd be interrogated about whether or not he was a zombie. Seth quickly made it down to Krovs Town from the castle with his newfound teleportation of whatever he was –– some kind of faerie and demon mix with witch he figured –– and headed into Cannabites knowing that Shade would more than likely be there working. Seth rolled up to the bar in the basement and leaned onto it, glad his intuition had been right. Shade was indeed there at the bar serving drinks and fortunately it wasn't too crowded to be missed. "Yo, Dempsey," he called out. "What drink you got for me? Oh, and where's my fucking dog, dude?"

@shadedempsey

#p: back from the dead #para #shadedempsey

[thefandom-casserole]

Episode 47 Notes-

- I’m so scared

- Like. Almost more scared than for last episode

- Ahhhhhh

- Hermie my beloved I haven’t stopped thinking about you <333

- (Seriously I’ve been basically exclusively rping you. Channel seven has been wild man)

- Anyways

- Ahhhhhh

- THE INTRO

- OMG

- THEYRE TALKING AHOUT SCAM AND NORMAL AOSNDHAJSBHSKAJSJDJDHDUIEJE

- Im vibrating this is insane

- I love their intros so much

- I LOVE THE PODCAST DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS SO MUCHHHHHH

- Hehe I remember that from last season

- Taylor’s Teen Fact: Taylor’s first fight was in fourth grade because he was getting bullied (by Steve) over his collectible card game so he kicked the guy in the nards. That’s how he got into karate

- Lincoln’s Teen Fact: The first fight and lie between Linc and his parents was when he did a “hunger strike” until they let him go to school (but he actually was eating)

- Will messing up Normal’s intro was way too funny to me

- Normal’s Teen Fact: Normal does a tarot card reading everyday before getting started

- He’s like Mercedes!!!!!!!!!

- I cannot believe that he pulled the reversed Lovers holy shit

- Scary Teen Fact: Scary plays the piano. Because if the letters are rearranged it spells pain-o

- Anthony Fact: They haven’t thrown to their sponsors very often and so that might happen this episode

- Nevermind now he’s not gonna do it 😭

- IF THEY DONT TELL NORMAL ILL LOSE MY KIND

- The way Scary’s telling Linc to not touch Hermie <3333333333

- No hate to Linc lots of love to Scary though

- TWO DEATH FAILS FROM PUNCHING HIM INT HE JUTS IM CRYING

- OH THANK GOD FOR SCARY

- “Where’s Hermie” I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t

- SCARY BEING SUPER THERE ABOUT HERMIE BECAUSE PF TERRY

- The way I started tearing up when they started to pick up Hemrie 💀

- God this is not boding well for the rest of the episode

- LINC NO WE KNOW YOU DIDNT LIKE EHRMKE THIS ISNT COOL AHHH

- Again no hate to Linc he’s a kid

- “We’ll fix them”

- SLAY NORMAL

- WHOO

- “LEAVE”

- Once mischief twins always mischief twins (let’s Hotwire a car together BROTHERRR)

- ANOTHER NAT ONE

- I’m pretty sure I missed the entire thing with Taylor and the gun 😭 I don’t care enough to rewind

- “Lincoln stares at yet more blood he has created and slowly sinks back down” LINCOLN BABY

- ANOTHER NAT ONE

- Ahhhhhhhhhhh this spellll

- NO THE SOELL DIDNT WORK

- ANKRHER NAT ONE HOLY SJIR

- Henry yayyyyyyyy

- THE SPONSOR

- THAT WAS PERFECT

- THAT WAS SO FUCKING PERFECT

- Sooo code purple happened as they were kids okay okay

- IS THAT FUCKING BARRY

- OR SCAM LIKELY????!!!

- Henry looks surprisingly young thanks to a vegan lifestyle and butthole sunning!!!!

- Henry how I’ve missed you!!!!!!!!!

- BARRY YOU SHOULD BE DESD FUCK YOU

- Mercedes is dead 😞

- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- HES GOOF MATTER NOOOO

- Very Achilles-Patroclus esc oh god

- This is going to either be Willy or Scam oh boy oh no

- Remember when we thought Normal hiding in his mascot outfit was bad??

- Oh good it’s Scam

- He left Scary oh noooo

- The fucking Goofs Realm nauseates me Jesus

- “I’m here when it’s sad I’m here when it’s fun did someone do something to my son” that was pretty good ngl

- I’m going to sob holy shit

- Scam is actually sad omg

- Bits never die is basically what he said omg

- Holy shit holy shit holy shit scam ong omg omg ong

- GO FUCKING NORMAL PUNCH HIM

- Scam is being all depresso like the other adults holy shit 😭

- “You don’t fucking come near him”

- FUCK YEAH MULTI PRONOUNS DOOOD

- “You feel like home” AHHHH OAKSSSSSSSS

- I’m going to sob

- [will sobbing] “OUR SPONSOR AURA FRAMES!!!”

- Yayyyyy this our episode 61. Hm or maybe when Terry Jr. died

- Half of it is burnt like two face!! Like Hermie!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- “I’m really proud of you kiddo” sobbing sobbing sobbing

- The Shade Witch I love this 😭

- I was sobbing and now I’m laughing

- This is so funny

- This whole scene is hilarious

- The sun is a metaphor for something

- “Just this once… just this once… Chaperal on three”

- I’m sobbing I’m sobbing omg ong omg

- The Shade Witch is my favorite character move aside Paeden (I’m joking I’m joking)

- SCARY IM SOBBING

- Is the rogue card still in action???

- FUCK YOU BARRRRRRY

- The same man twice!!!!!!!

- DO WE GET THE VOICES PLEASE GUVE US GHE VOICES

- Nevermindddddd

- OMG THEYRE LEARNIBG TO SHOOT

- That’s insane

- Did Normal cause Code Purple…?

- What did Normal do!?

- Another fucking cliffhanger 😭

- I genuinely think I’m going to be sick ✌️

#dndads spoilers #dndads #dndads s2

[ike-mcswains-mortician]

hihihi uhh i finished the epsiode. Thoughts?

(I spent an hour in class just in shock)

SOOOOO MANY THOUGHTS LARK OUGH MY GOD. (this is going to be so long)

i knew the hermie death acknowledgement was going to be bad. but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST i didn't think it would be LIKE THAT. i was NOT prepared for will to hit me with the "wait where's hermie" RIGHT OFF THE BAT??? and then normal couldn't leave hermie behind and he tried to save them and he was LITERALLY USING BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS TO BRING HERMIE BACK AND IT DIDN'T FUCKING WORK. I AM GOING TO BE SICK.

and then. dear GOD. i was not ready for henry's return. fuck. ok real talk ARE THEY IN OAKVALE. DID HENRY LEAVE AFTER CODE PURPLE AND GO BACK TO OAKVALE. I AM BEATING MY HEAD AGAINST A WALL. also MERCEDES?????? MY BELOVED??? what the FUCK

and!!!! then!!!!! normal STILL BEGGING AND TRYING AND PRAYING TO BRING HERMIE BACK. but there's NOTHING henry can do and so SCAM???? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? SCAM LIKELY ACTUALLY GETTING EMOTIONAL OVER HIS SON???? cried into my pasta actually. note to self don't try to eat while listening to dndads.

also i feel like they glossed over this but d00d saying henry feels like home/??? i actually had to do a double take because YEAH THIS IS HENRY LOOKING IN THE FUCKED UP NON-EUCLIDEAN EYES OF THE ELDRITCH ENTITY THAT TORMENTED HIM HIS WHOLE LIFE AND???? THEY JUST. MOVE ON??? HELLO??

and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the funeral. god. i was in physical pain. the shade witch bit (which was fucking GOLD btw) couldn't save me from the 1-2 PUNCH THAT WAS THE FINAL WORDS. henry saying you're never ready for something like this but normal insisting on burying the body. the fucked up two-face tree. "goodnight sweet prince." scary saying she noticed him. scary noticing hermie like she noticed terry jr. no one fuckng touch me.

LARK AND SPARROW AND HENRY INTERACTING. AAAGH. FUCK. THE HANDSHAKE BETWEEN HENRY AND LARK. LIKE. IS THAT THE MOST POSITIVE INTERACTION THEY'VE HAD SINCE THE ROGUE CARD??? IS COLD NEUTRALITY THE BEST THEY HAVE?????? and SPARROW GOING IN FOR A HUG BUT HENRY DOESN'T RECIPROCATE. I AM GOING TO BE FUCKING SICK. THE OAK FAMILY ONCE AGAIN GOING FOR MY GODDAMN THROAT.

and i jsut. i couldn't even process the ending. we finally got another hero mention but it's literally her being trained to kill???? ow??? and they were training normal too??? also THE VOICE SAYING NORMAL WAS THE CHOSEN ONE??? like am i the only one losing it over that??!? i cannot for the life of me understand what happened at the end but JESUS CHRIST i am just. AGH. i am not o-a-k rn.

will campos when i find you. anthony burch when i find you. god. i'm going ot throw up. great episode y'all i'm gonna go lie down and die.

anyway that's my thoughts hbu?? :)

#also my dndads tuesday routine is. not conducive for an episode like today's #cause i listened to the ep in the middle of my campus' dining hall and tried not to sob into my pasta #and then i had 4 hours of class back to back and then an hour of work #so i literally could not process the episode until all that was done and then i just completely broke #rambling in tags #ask #thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls #dndads spoilers #dndads