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oxydiane · 1 year

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sns is so fucking unhinged and nobody will ever be them i’m sorry. you start the series and it’s like oh haha look at these goofy angsty rivals! they hate each other! then sasuke dies for naruto thirty chapters in giving up his dream of revenge and naruto goes batshit insane. now you’re like ah they’re friends i guess that’s cute! and sasuke is trying to kill naruto because he’s the most important person in his life which is . ok and it becomes the driving force of everything or something. sasuke leaves and naruto dedicates the rest of his life to bringing him back and you’re still a casual fan so ur like he’s doing it for the promise right? then orochimaru says sasuke is his and naruto goes batshit insane feral homicidal (again) and after that sasuke reappears and they have ??? like five different panels dedicated to them staring at each other??? and he jumps off a mountain and hugs naruto for some reasons just to whisper some gay shit in his ear kishimoto frankly needs to be jailed drawing this and keep that best friend nonsense going. anyways. you have sasuke become a convicted terrorist to which the normal people response is “ok we need to hunt him down” and when naruto learns they’re gonna hunt him down he starts screaming crying throwing up he has a panic attack he can’t breathe he’s falling in the snow he gets on his knees and begs them to spare his BFF. after having a meltdown over the thought of sasuke dying what may possibly be the natural coping mechanism any stable person would adapt? of course realising that if sasuke dies he can die too. so he sees sasuke again and after he attempts murdering sakura twice and expresses the intent to murder kakashi he’s like. i will bear the burden of your hatred and die with you hehe and if we both die you won’t be an uchiha and i won’t be the jinchuuriki to the nine tails and we’ll be able to understand each other better in a different lifetime! WE’LL MEET AGAIN IN THE AFTERLIFE BECAUSE NOT EVEN DEATH CAN DO US PART! and sasuke (just as insane as him) doesn’t even flinch he’s like what the fuck is wrong with you but then ok let’s fuckingggf die together on my god i will kill your first anyways . then they find out they are soulmates and get cute matching tattoos on their hands and decide to fight to the death once more because sasuke is back on his i will shoulder all the hatred of the world alone and i need to kill you because i love you more than anyone else in the world actually you’re the only person i love so you need to DIE and naruto is like I WILL NOT LET YOU SHOULDER THAT HATRED ALONE I WILL FREE YOU FROM THE PAIN and they fight and despite all the whatever weapons used in the war it’s a fuckinggg fistfight in which just as sasuke is about to inflict what he thinks is the last blow says “farewell… my one and only…………………. (very long pause to accentuate how heteronormative this next word is gonna be) FRIEND” and fucking stops using his sharingan because not even then he can record the image of naruto dying especially by his hand but naruto STOPS HIM LIKE A f cHAMP and they end up blowing each other’s arms off (rip the matchies) and as they’re bleeding to the fucking death sasuke is like you’re the only person that has never tried to severe their ties with me why do you go so far for me and naruto from the depths of comphet hell is like because you’re my FRIEND and sasuke being absolutely done with this bullshit is like ok what the fuck does that mean to you then and this is where it gets even gayer and relatable because naruto is like i don’t KNOW i just know that when you hurt i hurt and i just can’t take it and isn’t that the most gay experience thing ever? naruto knows what it feels like to have friends but what he feels for sasuke is so bone deep and unconventional that he cannot make sense of it and can only describe the pain it brings. after that sasuke CRIES LIKE THEYVE GOT ME SOOO FUCKED UP but you know what got me even more fucked up?

naruto waking up bloodied and battered and half alive with one arm missing but still wondering if that was heaven because sasuke was next to him. sasuke looking so happy and peaceful when saying “i lost” as a stark contrast to him looking and feeling like half of his body was being torn apart when he “won” against naruto in vote1 and left him. the bitterness of victory vs the sweetness of losing if you will. AND HIM COMPARING WHAT HE FEELS FOR NARUTO TO PRAYING MY GODD. did i forget to mention that then we learn that Ohhh it was never a stupid shallow rivalry as we all thought! they have actually been watching each other from afar since they were little freshly traumatised children and have longed to hold each other’s hands since then! what was it sasukeeee you felt warm and fuzzy when you saw naruto to thought of it as a weakness? these two are so astronomically hopelessly desperately obsessed in love with each other it’s ridiculous i’ve had ENOUGH free me from this mental prison

#soo talks #its 4 am #this is word vomit #ignore me #naruto #naruto shitpost #sns #narusasu #sasunaru #pro sns #naruto uzumaki #sasuke uchiha #thoughts

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 6 days

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Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 3

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 2627 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazons' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'You are five miles from the estimated target, Master Dick,' Alfred said over the intercom of the Bat Wing.

Immediately upon entering Wayne Manor, Dick had rushed to his childhood room - the one he still used on the occasion he worked with Bruce as the Dynamic Duo, or he needed some space from his duties as Bludhaven's hero - and packed a small duffle of clothes and weapons and ran straight for the Bat Cave. As promised, Alfred had the Bat Wing waiting, ready for take off, and Dick barely greeted the old man before leaving Gotham far behind.

Dick had been flying for almost twelve hours and hadn't slept a wink. Sitting at the control panel with only a wide window of open sea to look at, Dick rubbed his tired eyes as the shadows of sleep flickered in the corners of his vision. He had to stay awake, just a little bit longer at least.

And then... Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

'Is there anything else you need from me, Master Dick?' Alfred asked.

Dick shook his head initially, then remembered Alfred couldn't see him. 'No, thank you, Alfred,' Dick replied, sitting up straighter in his seat. 'I should be fine from here on out.'

It was quiet for a moment, and Dick thought Alfred had signed off accidentally. But then he spoke. 'Are you sure there is something out here? I know you and your friends' findings seem well-supported, but there is only open ocean. There isn't even an under water volcano or ancient mountain range recorded there.'

'Which makes it an even more suspicious place,' Dick countered. 'Trust me Alfred, there is something out here.'

'Let's just hope Miss Y/N is too, or you'll have wasted Master Bruce's fuel. And I will tell you now, he will not be pleased about that.'

The mention of her name caused Dick's heart rate to increase with anxiety. But he quickly recovered as he scoffed. 'I don't know why he's complaining,' Dick said nonchalantly. 'He's the billionaire of the family, after all.'

'Have you seen the price of fuel these days?'

That caused Dick to chuckle slightly, just imagining the singular raised eyebrow Alfred used to ask the silent question of Are you serious? In that moment, he was once again grateful for Alfred. He barely asked any questions as to why Dick needed the Bat Wing, he just trusted Dick that it was for a good reason. Unlike Bruce, where trust needed to be hard earned, Alfred had always given his trust and love unconditionally.

The Bat Wing suddenly jerked as it seemed to hit something. Or, maybe, something hit it.

'Master Dick, what was that?" Alfred asked, worry lacing his words.

Suddenly alert, Dick brought up the different cameras hidden in the ship to try and find what had cause the sudden shift, but sound nothing.

'I'm not sure, Alfred,' Dick answered, running diagnostics over the ship in case of damage. 'There seems to be no damage to the Bat Wing, and there is nothing on the radar indicating another ship or flying creature of sorts.'

The ship rocked again, and Dick gripped tighter to the control handles as he took the ship off autopilot. 'What in the world!'

'Master Di-,' Alfred said, but his words were glitchy and some parts were coming through slowly. 'A-re yo- all rig-' Alfred was cut off before he could finish.

'Alfred? Alfred,' Dick called, but he got no reply. He slammed the control handles in frustration. 'Damnit.' He was on his own now.

However, his annoyance dissipated at the site he'd only ever seen in books he'd borrowed from Y/N when they were children.

To say Themyscira stood atop a mountain would be an inaccurate description. It was more like Themyscira was the mountain, with a long staircase weaving and winding up the entire mountain from the ivory beach and cerulean waters at the base of it. There were small stone huts with woven roofs closer to the beach, but quickly evolved into larger houses and buildings of impressive white columns and marble. As Dick flew closer to the island, he spotted a large coliseum used for sports and physical trials like the ruins in Greece, and a small amphitheatre next door that no doubt was used for the arts.

Atop Themyscira's mountain could only be the royal palace, held up by intricately carved statues of women and marble columns, decorated in plates of gold and held together by green grape vines that covered the palace walls, the statues, the columns.

The bed time stories he'd heard from Wonder Woman when he and Y/N would have sleepovers was more than his imagination could ever conceptualise, and the few descriptions and drawings of the island in the books he'd read were amateur attempts that held no candle to the real deal.

It was, in a word, paradise.

I must've hit the invisible barrier before, Dick deduced as he took in the sight of it all. That's why communications were knocked. That's why he'd felt so anxious and tired the closer he got. Now that he'd passed through, he felt ten times better.

A beeping pulled Dick out his trance, drawing his attention to the radar. Something was coming at him. Fast.

Dick looked up in time to see a large fire ball flying at him and barely dodged it. It was so hot Dick felt its heat through the window as it scraped by.

'Woah!' Dick cried, angling the Bat Wing so Dick could see where the fireball had come from. And, more importantly, who had thrown it. Down on the ivory beach was a line of catapults set up Dick hadn't spotted before, and he could just make out an army milling about around each catapult as they reloaded the catapults.

Before he knew it, he was swerving as another fireball flew at him, this time catching part of the left wing and melting it. Sirens blared, indicating the damage, but Dick didn't have time to worry about that. The Amazons thought he was a threat. He needed to change that, or he'd be a goner.

Crazy an idea as it was, Dick manoeuvred through the line of fireballs the Amazons catapulted at him towards the beach. Once he was close enough, he turned on the speaker so the outside world could hear him. 'Please, Amazons of Themyscira, I mean you no harm,' Dick announced to them, hoping he sounded genuine. 'I am going to land my aircraft on your shore. I just want to ta-'

He didn't have time as a small boulder connected with the left wing, sending the Bat Wing into a spin that Dick couldn't control. Sirens blared in the cockpit, reds light flashed and his front window lit up with the message SYSTEM FAILURE in bright red letters. The steering was shot, his vision was impaired, so Dick just closed his eyes and braced for impact.

The Bat Wing hit the beach hard, knocking the wind out of Dick for a moment. Once he'd regained his breath and the world had stopped spinning, Dick checked his immediate surroundings. He was in one piece still, and the Bat Wing hadn't exploded. Good start.

Before he could unplug himself, a spearhead stabbed through the glass of the front window, shattering it completely as the Amazon wielding it pulled it out. Dick was temporarily blinded by the sudden invasion of sunlight to his senses, but he still put his hands up in surrender in case they still thought him a threat.

'Please,' he begged through laboured breaths. 'Please, I don't mean you any harm. I just need to talk with someone you might know. Please.'

'Síko órthios, pareísaktes,' a strong voice hissed above him, her words whipping out like a delicate snake. She yanked him from his seat, breaking the seatbelt as she did, and threw him onto white, hot sand.

Vision coming back ever so slowly, Dick saw more figures approaching where he laid on the beach, spears and swords and shields in hand. All women, and all wearing brown leather skirts, sandals, and breast plates and bronze helmets of the ancient greeks. A small crowd formed around him, leaving no room for escape.

Realising this, Dick hauled himself to his feet and spun around to survey the group with his hands raised. The women ranged from youthful to mature, but all of them looked capable of killing him should he dare run. Capable, and willing.

'Poios eísai esý?' a woman with long brunette hair asked. She looked slightly older than him, perhaps mid to late 20s. But knowing how old Wonder Woman had lived for already, Dick was almost sure all of the women surrounding him were much older than they appeared.

I really regret not taking those Greek classes with Y/N now, he thought to himself, not having a clue what the woman had asked him. When he didn't reply though, she repeated her question but with more annoyance and aggression, pointing her spear towards his chest.

'I am Dick Grayson,' he said, not sure if they could understand him or not. 'I mean you no harm. Please, I must talk with someone you know... Do you understand me?'

The blank faces he received in return were answer enough. The brunette turned to two other women beside her, whispering to one another. It only lasted a moment, for then the brunette raised her spear higher towards Dick's throat. The rest of the women also raised their weapons, all pointed at him.

'Ánthropos apó to exoterikó,' she announced for all to hear, her delivery final and true, 'edó tha petháneis!'

Just as she raised her spear, Dick threw his hands up again and cried, 'Y/N!'

He waited for pain, for the sensation of falling and then nothing, but it never came. The brunette paused, spear still raised above her, and looked at him curiously.

'Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas?' she asked, and to Dick's surprise, he recognised one word. Prinkipissá. Princess.

'Yes,' he said, seizing potentially his only chance at surviving. 'She would be your princess. Sorry, your prinkipissá. Daughter of your champion, Diana.'

At the mention of the mighty Wonder Women, the brunette lowered her weapon entirely and turned to the other women as quiet murmurs broke out amongst the group. Dick wasn't sure what he'd started, but he knew they knew of who he spoke of, and what power her name held. Not just anybody could wield her name.

'I came here to speak with Prinkipissá Y/N,' Dick continued, and then he put his hands together as if he were about to pray. 'Please, can you lead me to her? Is she even here?'

The brunette and her two friends looked him up and down for a moment before consulting one another one last time. After what felt like an eternity, the brunette stepped forward and looked him dead in the eyes.

'Piáste ton!' she cried, and two women grabbed both his arms, ensuring he couldn't escape. 'Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas.'

She then turned away, and Dick was lead by the arms after her and the rest of the crowd. He managed look over his shoulder to see the wreckage of the Bat Wing. The left wing was one metal sheet away from tearing off completely, and the shattered glass and the many dents in the side of the ship just added to Dick's dismay. Oh yeah, Bruce is going to be pissed.

If the Amazons let him live and he ever got off the island, Bruce would definitely make sure Dick suffered long and hard.

Dick was lead up hundreds and hundreds of steps, walking through the bustling city of women and young girls all going about their daily lives. For some reason, it was off putting to Dick to see women and children doing the washing or playing games in the open street. He wasn't sure why, but he envisioned the whole island as warrior women who all fought and died for each other and their home.

They could probably still whoop my ass, he thought as he was marched by some children who were previously playing a game with some dice and a ceramic cup before he came along and stole their attention. It came to Dick's mind that these young girls probably had never seen a male before, and so he smiled at them as kindly as he could. Some of the children smiled back, others had their mothers nearby collect them and take them inside. Dick couldn't blame them for it. Wouldn't he do the same for his child if the roles were reversed.

Why the hell am I thinking about children right now? he asked himself, but he didn't have time to ponder the question as they quickly walked up a final set of stairs into an open field of green covered in warrior women training. When the whole group stopped, Dick was brought to such a startling halt that he thought his arms were going to pop out of their sockets. Thank God for that, he thought, feeling his legs ache with all the climbing. Or is it Zeus I should thank? Maybe Hera? Athena?

The brunette raised her spear, and those not holding Dick prisoner did the same. 'Prinkipissá,' she called out above the din of all the sparring and training. 'Échoume kápoion gia esás.'

Dick wasn't sure who the brunette was talking to at first, but then his gaze settled on a group of women just ahead of them. It seemed it was a six-versus-one situation, as six women surrounded one young woman with familiar H/C hair. The six women ran at the young woman in the middle, all taking swings with their fists and swords, aiming for her head and legs and mid section. While the young woman took a few punches, she didn't flinch with pain. She would just grab her attacker's wrist and flip her over and slam her into the ground.

The fight only lasted a minute, and ended with the H/C haired pointing a sword at her final opponent's throat as she pressed her to the ground with her foot.

When she flipped her hair as she turned to face their group, only then did Dick fully realise who it was.

'Y/N!' he cried out, the brightest smile spreading across his face. Two years since he'd last seen her, his best friend. After the not-so-very-warm welcome, he was beyond relieved to see a familiar face.

But instead of reciprocating his smile with the one he'd always admired since they were children, Y/N paled as if she had seen a ghost. Her whole body seemed to freeze up as her eyes connected with Dick's, and for a moment Dick feared he had mistaken some poor girl for his best friend.

But her shock melted away, and Dick was met with angry eyes and a stony face. Oh, yeah. That's Y/N. He couldn't recall the amount of times he'd seen that expression before, but there was no mistaking it.

His fear turned towards himself as she suddenly, with sword still in hand, stormed towards him, ignoring the other women around her still training.

'Y/N, it's me Dick,' he said, just in case she hadn't recognised him, but still she came at him, raising the sword to her side. 'Wait, what are you doing?

As she stood a step from him, she changed her grip on the sword's hilt and swung the butt of it at his head.

'Hey! Don't-'

The last thing he saw were Y/N's angry eyes of E/C before pain exploded from his right temple and darkness overcame him.

~~~

Síko órthios, pareísaktes = On your feet, outsider

Poios eísai esý? = Who are you?

Ánthropos apó to exoterikó, edó tha petháneis! = Man from the outside, you will die here!

Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas? = How do you know our princess?

Piáste ton! = Grab him!

Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas = We shall take him to our princess

Échoume kápoion gia esás = We have someone for you

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zweetpea · 3 months

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Neuvillette spoiling the melusines

CW: Murder

(based on a comment thread from a different Neuvillette inccorect quote I did)

Neuvillette: Wait what do you mean two of my daughters are being prosecuted for murder.

Chevreuse: The Garde’s apprehended them for killing someone.

Neuvillette: That’s preposterous.

Chevreuse: We have several witnesses placing them at the scene of the crime.

Neuvillette: I’m holding them in contempt of court.

Chevreuse: We have a mountain of physical evidence. Charlotte took pictures of them bloodied and leaving the home of the victim, not to mention their signed confession.

Neuvillette: Inadmissible, I’m afraid that it must be thrown out.

Melusines: Nah, dad. We did it.

Neuvillette: Let the record show that that wasn’t under oath and was clearly under duress from the prosecution. I as their legal guardian evoke their right to remain silent, on their behalf.

Neuvillette: Well seems that we’ve exhausted the so called “evidence” the prosecution had. Let’s call it a day with a non guilty verdict, shall we?

(small tangent but I can imagine that the Oratrice Mecanique D’analyse Cardinale coming up with a guilty verdict and Neuvillette just kicks the shit out of it.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin incorrect quotes #genshin impact incorrect quotes #neuvillette x reader #genshin neuvillette #genshin x gender neutral reader #neuvillette #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x you #neuvillette fluff #melusine #genshin neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x male reader #genshin impact neuvillette #chevreuse #chevreuse genshin

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thisblogisaboutabook · 1 month

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When the Lightsinger Calls (I Hear a Symphony)

An Azriel Drabble

Azriel daydreams of his mate -Inspired by ‘I Hear a Symphony’ by Cody Fry

I used to hear a simple song.

The warm winds of summer blew through the Illyrian mountains as Azriel sat sprawled on a thick branch fifty feet in the air, one leather covered leg dangling as the other stretched across the branch, his back resting against the trunk of an old Oak tree.

Cassian had been butting heads with Devlon for hours. Same shit, different day as they heatedly negotiated new terms for the training of Illyrian females. Devlon, of course, remained as stubborn as an ass. Even after decades of his bullshit, it never failed to chafe Azriel’s nerves that they were under the regime of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history yet had to make nice with stuck-in-their-ways pricks like him. Today in particular had left Azriel feeling less than giving.

Cassian booted Azriel out of negotiations in record time, which admittedly, was likely for the best. Azriel’s dominant stance, deadly gaze, and violent whirling shadows were not best suited for these futile attempts of “sweet talking” Devlon out of his deeply rooted misogyny. If Azriel had his way Truth Teller would do all the talking, but diplomacy unfortunately took precedence.

He may have put up more of a fight when storming out of the Camp Lord’s office had Cassian’s weapon of choice today not had a unique way of toeing that line between diplomacy and force in a way that even Truth Teller could not. No blood spillage necessary, though, Azriel thought with a smirk, the weapon could do just that as well.

The warmth of the suns rays shining through the rustling leaves and the scratch of bark lightly grazing the sensitive membranes of his wings - hitting those spots he could never quite reach - had Azriel drifting off into a light dream state.

As he began to doze, shadows hummed around him, the whistling breeze mixing in with their whirring as they sensed for any incoming threats.

Blending in with their simple song, the creek nearby babbled with the sounds of trickling water, crickets chirped beneath rocks below.

His thoughts became more vivid as his conscience drifted deeper into sleep.

His jaw ticked, wings jerking slightly as he dreamed glimpses of deep red coating his marred skin from the countless souls he’d drawn blood from, lifeless bodies scattered across bloody battlefields, dark cells, the bright flare of roaring fire scalding a child’s hands, his shadows melody becoming broken as they attempted to soothe their master.

The melody became lighter as the flame in his dreams became flashes of light, blurred glimpses of a lovely face appearing in and out of his dreams. A soft laugh intertwined itself with his shadows, the solemn hymn becoming lighter, with vibrant bursts of energy leaving his heart fluttering. More images of the ethereal face flickered through his mind, soft blush dusted cheeks, a radiant white smile, supple fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, plush lips on bare skin, all appearing to the beat of the rising staccato. His lips quirked upward in his sleep as his guard dropped lower and lower and the melody continued growing louder, building into the crescendo of the loveliest symphony he’d heard yet, even in Prythian’s most renowned concert halls.

The music filled Azriel’s entire being, leaving him light as shadow, his flaws forging themselves from ugly into something beautiful, something worthy, as the melody carried his soul toward the light.

Just as his body began to slump out of the tree a sing-song voice brighter than day awoke him. “Careful, Shadowsinger. One might think you’re sleeping on the job.”

He looked down to his beautiful mate, the face his dream had called him to. “My little Lightsinger, did you give Devlon hell?”

She beamed. “Worked a little on him. The girls get seven more hours per week and Cass or I can do spot checks whenever we please. I’ll push for more when we meet again in a few months.”

“That’s my girl.” His eyes shone with the pride filling his chest as he launched out of the tree and swept her off her feet.

“Let’s go home.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose. Azriel only blushed and did just as his lady said, the two falling into companionable silence as her light and his shadow mingled in harmony the entire flight back to Velaris.

And now I hear a symphony.

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wyn-n-tonic · 8 months

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That's A Real Fucking Legacy: All of You, All of Me

Word Count: 968 Warnings: Uh.... death talk? Author's Note: SHE'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT, BESTIES.

TARFL Masterlist | Author Blog

It’s been years in the making at this point.

You, Joel. Baby. Except her name isn’t Baby anymore and it’s not Thomasin either.

There was a lot of discussion, a lot of broken hearts and tears from all parties involved. Tommy was touched but he ached. Even when he got over it, found somebody else, he ached so deep in his being that there were nights he thought he’d split himself in two.

Because at the end of the day, he still believes—with all his heart—that your little girl should be his, too. He believes that when you took the last name Miller, it should’ve been gifted over from him.

“I’ll hold onto this hurt for the rest of my life, sweetheart,” he’d said.

Said he’d accepted that he’d caused it but that didn’t make the pain go away. Didn’t soothe that raw, bruised part of his heart—his soul.

There was no begging, Joel was on board from the beginning. Joel was on board before anybody else. Change her name, something more appropriate for who she is to you and Joel and this world. A gift.

A second chance.

Or third. Fourth. Fifth.

One hundredth and many more than you deserve after years and year over this life; this way of living.

Especially for Joel, your strong, broad mountain of a man who believed himself irredeemable in the eyes of everybody but especially yours. He cradled her with such gentleness, even as she grew, that it was hard to believe he was capable of any kind of violence.

So, after a year of late night and early morning talks whispered across the pillows, decisions had been made. A lot of them, actually.

Joel admitted that he felt his humanity pouring back into him with every breath he took beside you; every moment he held your daughter in his arms. He bloomed as father, color darkening his cheeks with emotion every time he looked at her. He felt like before in some sense of the word, like he was being given the gift of fulfilling the only thing he ever felt he was good at.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you know where that thought would often go. Silent promises to himself that he wouldn’t fail this time. Or, God help him, he hoped his failure was no longer being in this world to protect her when it came down to it.

In the registry office of town, where all the records of who was who and where they were were kept, you both signed as a new birth certificate was made.

Clara Miriam Miller. No Thomasin, no Baby. No placeholder for who she was or name to carry as if she were some memorial, just Clara.

It means bright. Clear. Joel joked that she was the only light in the darkness he’d ever seen or needed.

It was good, beautiful even. As you finished your signature on the page detailing everything you could remember about her birth—bloody, loud, an early morning surprise that still exhausted you to this day—Joel cleared his throat.

Trying his best to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind your ear and failing, he took a deep breath and finally said, “will you marry me while we’re here?”

That’s the last piece to his puzzle, always has been. The thing he always wanted before—-companionship. Love in such an intimate way. Not that your relationship lacks that as it is but there’s something about being official.

There’s possession to it and there’s this bit of submission as you vow to give all your life and love and hurt and pain and, even, your death to one person.

No. No doubts in your minds about this one either. He loved so fiercely, so deeply, and he’d whispered all his insecurities and broken parts in all the nights you’ve lived together. He didn’t have it before, not when it happened. Selfishly, you’re glad that he didn’t, that his wife had walked away from him years and years before that. If he’d lost her the way he’d lost the others, the way he fears losing you or losing Clara…

But if that had been the case, there would be no you. Not for him. There wouldn’t even be a Clara, there would be somebody else with somebody else.

Or maybe nobody at all.

Your vows are even more selfish as you tell him how grateful you are that you found one another through all this and the more that life tried to throw at you; that you went to him the way Tommy had said to when there was trouble even though it scared you so much to knock on his door.

It scared you to tell him the things you told him, to make the decisions for yourself and decide you were tired of pretending it wasn’t love that you felt for him.

In the end, with Clara’s small face tucked neatly into the crook of his neck, he took your hand, looked at his brother and apologized with gratitude tacked onto the end.

Looking back at you, he smiles and you reach out to touch your thumb into the hidden dimple as it wells deep into his cheek.

“When I go, I hope it’s peaceful,” he says. “I hope it’s beside you, Mrs. Miller, and I hope it’s only after years. And, selfishly, I hope it’s not a pain or absence you have to feel for long because I am going to be mighty pissed off if you make me wait for as long as I did to have you in my bed in the first place.”

Going back to your signature on Clara’s paperwork, you pick up the pen and add -Miller to the end of your name.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tommy miller #tommy miller fanfiction #o writes

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myhauntedsalem · 2 months

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Dingess Tunnel

Hidden deep within the coal filled Appalachian Mountains of Southern West Virginia rests a forgotten land that is older than time itself. Its valleys are deep, its waters polluted and its terrain is as rough as the rugged men and women who have occupied these centuries old plats for thousands of years.

The region is known as “Bloody Mingo” and for decades the area has been regarded as one of the most murderous areas in all of American history.

The haunted mountains of this territory have been the stage of blood baths too numerous to number, including those of the famed Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, Matewan Massacre and the Battle of Blair Mountain. Even the county’s sheriff was murdered this past spring, while eating lunch in his vehicle.

Tucked away in a dark corner of this remote area is an even greater anomaly – a town, whose primary entrance is a deserted one lane train tunnel nearly 4/5 of a mile long.

The story of this town’s unique entrance dates back nearly a century and a half ago, back to an era when coal mining in West Virginia was first becoming profitable.

For generations, the people of what is now Mingo County, West Virginia, had lived quiet and peaceable lives, enjoying the fruits of the land, living secluded within the tall and unforgiving mountains surrounding them.

All of this changed, however, with the industrial revolution, as the demand for coal soared to record highs.

Soon outside capital began flowing into “Bloody Mingo” and within a decade railroads had linked the previously isolated communities of southern West Virginia to the outside world.

The most notorious of these new railways was Norfolk & Western’s line between Lenore and Wayne County – a railroad that split through the hazardous and lawless region known as “Twelve Pole Creek.”

At the heart of Twelve Pole Creek, railroad workers forged a 3,300 foot long railroad tunnel just south of the community of Dingess.

As new mines began to open, destitute families poured into Mingo County in search of labor in the coal mines. Among the population of workers were large numbers of both African-Americans and Chinese emigrants.

Despising outsiders, and particularly the thought of dark skinned people moving into what had long been viewed as a region exclusively all their own, residents of Dingess, West Virginia, are said to have hid along the hillsides just outside of the tunnel’s entrance, shooting any dark skinned travelers riding aboard the train.

Though no official numbers were ever kept, it has been estimated that hundreds of black and Chinese workers were killed at the entrance and exits of this tunnel.

Norfolk & Western soon afterward abandonment the Twelve Pole line. Within months two forces of workmen began removing the tracks, ties, and accessory facilities.

#Dingess Tunnel #haunted tunnels #ghost and hauntings #paranormal #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #paranormal phenomena

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nerdraging4point0 · 25 days

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Scorpion and the Scales // Chapter Six // Polyverse AU

Tropes and Tags: MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only MDNI, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

Active taglist: @ladyveronikawrites @tearfallpixie @beaker1636 @circle-with-me @synthetic-wasp-570 @itsjustemily @thesazzb @vinyardmauro @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @letmeadoreyoux @starsomens @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken 2@missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @thatchickwiththecamera @mysticdoodlez @chels3a-smile @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @roley-poley-foley @ravieisunhinged @dethronetheveil @to-be-written @somewhere-diamond @somebodyels3 @sacredthefran @th0ughts-pr4yers @bloody-delusion-expert

RICK'S POV

The February wind outside howled like a pack of wolves as flurries danced past the frosty windowpane. The tour was great, but it's nice to be back where everything is familiar. I was lost in my thoughts at my desk, a mug of now cold coffee sitting off to my right when Vin’s name flashed on my screen. Sitting at my computer desk in my bedroom studio, I was deeply focused on reviewing and editing some music video footage I had recently shot. Our band just released a new album, and I was brainstorming more creative ways to promote it through visually striking music videos. As both the lead guitarist and an aspiring filmmaker, I was eager to take a hands-on role in the video production process. My mind was racing with ideas - perhaps I could assist the director, or even take full creative control and direct the video myself. Fueled by my passion for both music and film, I became completely engrossed in piecing together rough cuts on my editing software, trying out different sequences and visual effects. Just as I was fine-tuning a particularly complex montage sequence, the ringing notification jolted me out of my deep concentration.

I pushed the green button on my phone, putting it on speaker so I could keep working on my computer while I talked. "Hello," I answered absentmindedly, my eyes still focused on the screen in front of me as I edited videos.

"Hey man," came Vin's cheery but muffled voice through the phone, the sounds of his chewing making it obvious he had food in his mouth. I knew he must be bored or feeling lonely since he never called just to chat otherwise.

I reached over to take a sip from my mug of now tepid coffee, grimacing at the lukewarm liquid that was no longer hot enough to be enjoyable. As Vin rambled on about his day so far, I found my focus divided between his meandering story and the editing work I was trying to finish up. His tone was aimless and wandering, confirming my suspicion that this call was just his way of combating boredom on a lazy afternoon. I made occasional noises of acknowledgement, letting him continue his monologue as background noise while I clicked and dragged video clips into place.

“Hey, so I got a call from Seth this morning. I guess he’s supposed to do a podcast with Chris tomorrow and called to confirm but the dude didn’t answer. I tried calling him and his phone is dead.”

I stopped working, turning in my seat to look at my phone with a furrowed brow. "You haven't heard from him lately have you?" Vin asked.

"No," I racked my brain for the last time I spoke to him and to be honest in our time off- all three weeks of it- I hadn't heard a peep from him. He'd been radio silent, social media silent, he was like a ghost. This was highly unusual for Chris, who was normally very active on social media and kept in frequent contact with friends. The fact that Seth had called looking to confirm a podcast recording and gotten no response was troubling. Chris wasn't the type to miss appointments or fail to return calls. A knot of worry began forming in my stomach as I thought back to our last conversation right before the break. Chris had seemed distracted and evasive, not his normal upbeat self.

As I gazed at the ominous clouds through the large window in my home office, I could see the flurries hadn’t yet started to stick to the ground. The sky was filled with menacing, steel-colored clouds that appeared swollen with moisture, ready to burst open and release their wintry payload at any moment. Though I was unsure just how much snow we'd be getting, the clouds foretold that it would be a significant amount - likely enough to disrupt travel plans and force people indoors.

Vin continued rambling excitedly through the phone about his successful streaming channel, oblivious to the weather outside. As he chattered on, I grabbed my heavy winter jacket from the closet and slipped it on over my hoodie to brace for the cold. I jammed my feet into sturdy boots and interrupted Vin mid-sentence to let him know I was headed over to check on Chris before the storm hit. Vin understood and we exchanged quick goodbyes before hanging up. I snatched my keys and wallet and headed out the front door into the freezing air, making sure to lock up behind me.

The apartment was eerily quiet as I unlocked the door, my voice echoing off the high ceilings as I called his name. No response. Where could he be? I scanned the living room to my left, noticing his expensive gaming system had been left untouched, neatly tucked into its designated space under the TV stand, the controllers precisely lined up next to it. My eyebrow raised in surprise - he never left his gaming system so tidy. The bright flashing lights and sounds of racing cars or epic battles were typically blaring at this hour as he lounged on the couch. His absence was odd. I wandered slowly through the open concept space - past the leather couch and recliner, both somehow free of his usual piles of laundry and takeout containers. The dining table was spotless, cleared of the stacks of mail and bills that normally covered it. I peeked into the kitchen expecting to see dishes piled up and counters covered in crumbs. But it was impossibly clean. The spotless marble gleamed under the lights, not a single dirty mug or plate left in the sink. The entire place felt sterile, like a model apartment ready for showing. Where was the comfortable clutter and busy energy that was usually present when he was home? Where were the signs of life? The apartment was untouched, everything perfectly in its place. Too perfect. Too quiet. Too still.

The takeout boxes from that vegan joint down the block are piling up in his trash. I open the fridge hoping to grab a snack, but it's practically barren - just a few protein shakes lining the door and not much else. The empty shelves and lack of fresh food signal that he hasn't been grocery shopping in a while. I gaze at the sparse contents, disappointed by the lack of options. Over the wind howling outside, I hear soft footsteps approaching. I stand up and gently close the fridge door, careful not to make any noise. As I turn around, our eyes meet and she freezes, poised on her tiptoes across the living room. Her eyes are wide, and her body stiff with tension. She looks caught off guard to see me standing in the kitchen. I offer a faint, awkward smile, unsure what to say. We stare at each other for a long moment, the howling wind outside filling the heavy silence between us.

I can't take my eyes off her. She's wearing nothing but Chris’s horror mania shirt, her smooth legs on full display. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, looking slightly mussed in an alluring way. I know I've seen her before, but in this moment, I can't remember where. A deep blush spreads across her cheeks as she meets my gaze, making her even more irresistible. She starts fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, suddenly shy. But I'm drawn to her like a magnet. I want to be the one making her blush, making her nervous in that tantalizing way. I imagine what it would feel like to run my hands through that messy hair. She's a vision I can't look away from. I need to know who she is.

The apartment door opens and Chris comes in one hand holding a paper bag with what has to be food and coffee in his other. His brown eyes bug wide as he takes in me in his kitchen and her in his living room. The door closes slowly behind him as his lip curls into a smile, “Well, this is awkward.”

Setting the coffee and food on the table, Chris steps between me and his mystery girl, whispering something in her ear and she pads away back to his room.

He turns to me. "What are you doing here, man?"

He's not mad. I've seen Mad Chris before, and this ain't it. I shrug. I gesture around the room. "I expected to find you in your boxers, surrounded by vanilla Coke cans and takeout boxes, face glued to the TV as you school some noobs at Halo. I didn't expect..." I point toward the bedroom. "Who is she?"

Chris grins as he picks up his coffee. "Eve. Remember that concert in Denver almost a year ago?"

"The one night stand you wouldn't shut up about as you dragged your sorry ass out of the hotel?"

Chris has always had a knack for pulling gorgeous women. Hell, I didn't even bat an eye when he was dating Emily or Melanie - I was completely wrapped up in my own relationship at the time. But this new girl of his...man, she's something else. The moment I saw her, I couldn't peel my eyes away. Her nervous smile, her cute face as she blushes, the way she moves...Chris hit the jackpot with this one. I hate to admit it, but I'm crazy jealous. For the first time, I find myself wishing I was in his shoes.

He'd gone on for hours about how spectacular the sex was, how it had been like a heavenly experience. I couldn't really understand. Sex for me was so...different. I never got myself physically involved with someone without knowing them enough to be certain I could make them writhe. For me, intimacy required a deep connection and understanding of my partner. I needed to know what made them tick, what drove them wild with pleasure. But for him, it seemed the act itself was enough. The sheer thrill of the moment overpowered any need for a profound bond. As long as the passion burned hot, he lost himself completely. We all seek intimacy in different ways, I suppose.

Now that I was connecting the dots it made sense all the days he’d be texting on his phone. him smiling down at the screen, his thumbs busily typing away messages to someone. His facial expressions and body language implied that some of those conversations were more intimate or exciting in nature. At the time, I was preoccupied with my own relationship troubles after a difficult breakup, leaving me feeling lonely, insecure and admittedly a bit resentful of other people's happiness. I simply looked the other way, too absorbed in my own problems to care or investigate further.

Now that I know he is alive I feel like I am suddenly a third wheel. I straighten my jacket and head for the door, ready to make a quick and quiet exit before they notice I'm leaving. But just as my hand reaches the doorknob, her voice stops me.

“Leaving already?” She's still wearing his shirt, though now with leggings peeking out from underneath the hem. Her long hair cascades over her right shoulder as she runs a brush through it, working patiently through the tangles. I turn to face her, but find myself struck speechless. No words come, either to my mind or my lips. I'm frozen, unable to articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

My hand is frozen on the doorknob as she steps closer, close enough I can see the beautiful color of her eyes. She throws the combed locks back over her shoulder giving me a reassuring smile. “It’s snowing like crazy, I’m sure Chris could have more food delivered. Stay for a while, please.”

I stand paralyzed, unable to turn the knob and exit into the blizzard outside. The howling wind rattles the windows as snow piles up, sealing us inside. But it's not the storm that roots me in place - it's her. As she approaches, her eyes lock onto mine, luminous pools of emerald that see right through me.

I don't like feeling so exposed, I like to be sure I know what I'm doing, saying, wearing before I go anywhere, talk to anyone. I take so much time planning how my outfit will look, although my wardrobe is all black it is complimentary black, each piece fitting perfectly with the next. I carefully coordinate every detail, from the textures and drapes of my fabrics, to the subtle sheens on my leather accessories. My style is precise, polished, intentional. Even my hair is meticulously styled, whether I decide to shave it close or let it grow out a bit. My shoes are both functional and stylish - sleek boots or oxfords that allow me to stride with purpose. Everything I do is calculated, I run through every step, every word, every motion that I will take when I go somewhere. I visualize each scenario, planning my actions and reactions. I examine every angle of how I will be perceived. The satisfaction I feel when my external presentation aligns perfectly with my internal sense of self is profound. The confidence I exude stems from the control I exert over each aspect of my persona. My wardrobe, my grooming, my mannerisms - they are an artful composition designed to eliminate any unease. I find freedom in the mastery of my image and interactions. What some may see as exhausting is for me energizing - it is deeply fulfilling to meticulously shape how I am viewed by the world.

In this unexpected moment, my mind goes blank and I find myself utterly unprepared. All the carefully crafted excuses and explanations I had ready vanish into thin air. A wave of fear washes over me as I fumble for words, stuttering and stammering incoherently. I grasp for any plausible justification, rambling about the treacherous drive and hazardous weather conditions, but the absurdity of cautioning you against venturing out in the very storm I'm about to confront myself quickly dawns on me. My mouth flaps uselessly, spewing disjointed fragments like a fish flung onto land and gasping for breath. I'm flailing helplessly, lost in this unforeseen situation. Finally, my brain catches up and I clamp my lips together, silencing the nonsensical babble. An uneasy silence settles between us and I shift uncomfortably, racking my mind for something - anything - sensible to say. But I come up empty. The carefully constructed facade I had prepared so meticulously has shattered, leaving me exposed and unprepared in this unexpected moment.

She smiles so softly tilting her head as she asks me to stay one more time. The snow provides the perfect excuse to linger a little longer in her intoxicating presence. She must feel it too, the magnetic pull between us that demands more time together. As the flakes continue to fall outside, blanketing the world in white, inside sparks a flame that melts my frozen hesitance.

I suddenly remember why I came, turning to Chris as I shove my hands in my pockets. “Seth called Vin, said you didn’t answer about your podcast scheduled for tomorrow.” Chris was busy shoving something in his mouth pausing mid bite with eyes wide. He swallowed hard mumbling curses under his breath as he dropped his food on the table to drag his phone out of his pocket.

I watched as he frantically scrolled through missed calls and unread texts, no doubt seeing the reminders about tomorrow's podcast that he had ignored earlier. A look of frustration and self-annoyance crossed over Chris' face. He was upset with himself for overlooking something so important. As he processed the situation, Chris seemed to sink into a state of stress and anxiety. His eyes held a faraway look, likely imagining the work he'd have to hustle to get done before tomorrow's recording.

"You said you wouldn't be busy while I was here," she sounded wounded. "Now I feel guilty." Chris turned to her with an apologetic look, realizing that his oversight had not only affected his work responsibilities but also his personal commitments. He opened his mouth as if to explain or make amends, but no words came out. I could see the remorse on his face and knew he felt terrible.

“Well, hey, i’m free tomorrow. I have some errands to run and maybe she could tag along…” I find myself offering to have her tag along to run errands, even though I know so little about this person. Typically, I prefer my solitude when taking care of mundane tasks and avoid having others accompany me. Yet, in this moment, I feel compelled to extend an invitation. She intrigues me, and I'm curious to learn more in a relaxed, casual setting as we check off items on our to-do lists. I want to observe how we interact outside structured conversation - note the cadence of our chatter, what makes her laugh, what irks her. The everyday offers a glimpse into personality. In the routine of errands, guards drop and authenticity emerges.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Her eyes dart nervously between the scuffed hardwood floor and Chris's warm, reassuring gaze from across the room.

“If Rick is offering it’s not a bother, he wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it.” Chris reassures her with a smile as he puts his phone to his ear, “Seth, hey man, sorry about that…” his conversation trails off as he paces to the back of the apartment.

Of course that man knows me better than I know myself sometimes. I’m still standing there awkwardly in the door finding my eyes dropping to the handle as if it will be a quick escape from this uncomfortable situation. "I should go," I feel the words roll out of my mouth and almost instantly regret them, "I’ve got projects at home I need to finish before tomorrow. I’ll be back around 11, we’ll head out then." I don't let her respond or persuade me to stay again, instead taking the door knob in a vice grip and slipping out of the door and down the hall before she can say anything. My heart pounds as I make my hasty exit, feeling a mix of relief at avoiding further awkwardness but also regret that I couldn't bring myself to stay. All the way home I mentally kick myself for offering to take her out tomorrow in the first place. Now I can't cancel as that would be rude, but I can already feel my mind start to anxiously overthink the situation - what am I gonna do, what am I gonna say, what will I wear? My stomach ties itself in knots as I imagine all the ways I could embarrass myself, but also the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it will go well after all. I try to push the swirling thoughts from my mind, take a deep breath, and focus on finishing my work so I'll be ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

#bad omens rpf #noah sebastian fic #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #Chris Motionless fic #Chris Motionless smut #ricky olson smut #ricky olson fic #miw band #miw #chris motionless #chrismotionlessfanfic #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white smut #polyverse

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bryhoney · 19 hours

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Recognisance Pt.3

Keegan POV!

(yay!)

I may come back and edit this if I proofread it again...

Keegan knew it was a set-up.

He knew that Rorke had purposefully leaked the intel of his next location to bait them. Among the information recovered was your old alias, and that’s all it took to lure the Ghosts.

He hated that they were playing right into Rorke’s hand. He rolled his shoulders, trying in vain to ease the tension between his muscles. He’d been lying on rocky terrain for hours, anticipating Rorke’s arrival.

Merrick had picked a mountainous region a few miles from the target coordinates to conduct the re-con mission. It was further than Keegan would’ve liked but he knew to trust Tom on this. Keegan was barely in his right mind.

He knows that he should’ve sent Kick in his place but, much like the Walker brothers, he’d insisted he was sent out. It was meant to be a standard surveillance mission; observe and report back. Engage only if necessary.

Yet, the three men were completely wired, hardly speaking to one another. Logan sat to his immediate right, lying in the same position as Keegan, staring down the scope of his rifle. Hesh sat beside his brother, he had been meticulously recording parts of the compound a few hours ago. Now, he watched the scanner in front of him impatiently whilst quietly petting Riley who lay beside him.

Keegan couldn’t be sure which of the brothers bore the brunt of the guilt over your capture; Logan who knew that Rorke was after him, that if you hadn’t intervened you wouldn’t have been captured. Or Hesh, the eldest sibling by mere months, who believed he’d failed at keeping you safe. Who had watched Rorke toy with his brother before taking you, he’d been unable to stop him.

Keegan had read several reports of that day, but only the reports filed by the Walkers detailed what had happened to you.

A mechanic had written about how you’d commandeered one of the available helicopters when you realised there wasn’t any exfil for your brothers.

A pilot had described watching your aircraft being tailed, how you’d screamed down the comms when Hesh had called for ‘Checkmate’. He watched you go down as close as you could to the tracks, a lucky shot from the Federation had caught your rear propeller.

Hesh had described how Rorke had been dragging Logan away when he first saw you, bruised and bloodied from the crash landing, carrying only a knife. He watched you stalk up the beach, barefoot towards Rorke. You’d launched yourself at Rorke, plunging the knife into his shoulder, mere inches from his jugular. He’d moved at the last possible moment.

Your brother’s report detailed your bravery, and how you managed to initially subdue Rorke. Keegan could feel Hesh’s pride as he described his sister, a civilian, going against one of the most experienced soldiers in the country, the former leader of the Ghosts.

While you’d been raised by soldiers, and been taught combat manoeuvres, you never trained as a soldier.

He’d overpowered you in the end, and Hesh had to watch as Rorke slammed your head against the rocks you had fought so valiantly on.

Rorke had taunted the brothers, laughing through pained breaths at how much easier it would be to break Elias’ only daughter. He told them he was coming back for Logan. How it was his fault his sister was taking his place.

He’d laughed as he carried you away.

It had broken Keegan’s heart, there you were, his girl, fighting for your brothers.

The reports unnerved him, Rorke was a man who’d taken a .44 to the chest and still managed to walk away. You didn’t stand a chance against him.

Keegan had berated himself for months after you were declared a P.O.W. He hadn’t been there to protect you, he’d done nothing to stop Rorke. He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, to tell you-.

Movement to his right caught his eye, interrupting his thoughts. It was Logan, who’d gently reached into his breast pocket to retrieve the picture he carried with him everywhere.

It was of the Walker children, you were between Hesh and Logan who were wearing their tactical gear. You had an arm over each of their shoulders as they raised you into the air, so the three of you were the same height. Hesh was doing his best to lift Riley into frame with his free arm. You were laughing, the sun shining brightly behind you.

Elias had made his children recreate the photo every year after your adoption at age four, the boys had quickly outgrown you.

You’d been missing for the last two years and Elias was no longer there to take the picture.

Keegan swallowed the lump in his throat.

He forced himself to look away, to shake off the heavy weight that settled over him whenever he thought of you.

His relationship with you had begun to change into something more in the months leading up to your capture. He remembers the dressing-downs he’d received from each of the respective Walkers when they found out.

He also remembers how you’d confronted them after, giving it back to them as good as they gave.

It had been only weeks before his death when Elias had summoned Keegan to his Office. Yet, the infamous Scarecrow had sat opposite him and smiled, placing a hand on the Sergeant's shoulder before saying, “You treat my girl right”. It was an order and a thinly veiled threat all rolled into one.

Keegan had failed him, had failed you.

His hand seized; he wanted to hurt someone. He wanted someone to hurt just as badly as he did.

Hesh’s voice broke the silence, “Picking up a helo, two minutes out,” his voice was calm, steady.

Silently, the three men looked onward, fixating on the landing pad to the south of their position.

Keegan swore he heard Logan release a shaky breath, he would’ve reached out to check on him if he hadn’t been so focused.

There.

A helicopter burst over the top of the mountain range to their left, moving quickly towards the helipad. This was it. Hesh fumbled momentarily, before setting up the feed again and recording the scene in front of him. Riley stood up, alert, as though he understood what was happening and what was at stake. So far, he’d found no trace of Federation soldiers being out in this area and would let them know if he sensed anyone approaching on foot.

It left the men to focus on the mission.

Keegan mentally talked himself through his breathing as he watched the helo come in for landing. His composure was outwardly calm, displaying no visible weakness.

His heartbeat was traitorous, amping up as he watched heavily armed men and women exit the aircraft.

His eyes narrowed as he recognised Rorke’s figure stepping onto the tarmac, Keegan watched as Gabriel turned raising his arms before-

“No-” Hesh breathed.

There you were.

Alive

And right there.

Rorke was holding you, guiding you away from the helo as it began gearing up to take off. He led you towards a group of individuals that had assembled just minutes before your arrival.

Keegan couldn’t make out your features, your emotions. He couldn't-

Hesh continued, “I’ll fucking kill him-”.

Riley growled next to the boys, mimicking his owners.

Keegan knew he should’ve told him to shut the fuck up but he too was blinded by rage.

He was seething, you were right there and Rorke was holding you as though-

What’s he done to you, Baby?

Logan’s voice was quieter, more frantic, “Why-? What’s he doing? Has he?” his voice laced with anguish and Keegan forced himself to regain control, he wasn’t losing another Walker today.

“Quiet, both of you. Keep the feed steady, we’re getting her back”. He was almost surprised by how calm he sounded, how unphased he appeared.

“That’s my fucking sister-” Logan choked on his own words, his anger silencing him. The outburst from the quietest, most reserved Walker revealed his fraying hold on his composure.

They were going to get you all killed.

“This is what he wants, do not give it to him. That's an order, Logan” Keegan paused for a moment before adding, “He’s taken Elias from us, I’m not letting him take her too”.

He was a Ghost, he could do this.

He’d failed to get Ajax back-

No.

Hesh’s voice was both frantic and yet soft, “Yeah- Yeah, we will. We’ll get her back, Logan. I promise”.

They watched as Rorke led you away from the group and towards the edge of the rooftop. It was almost a sheer drop onto the rocks, the base had been carved out of the side of a mountain. You wouldn't survive the fall.

Logan shifted his stance immediately, his hand moving to the trigger of his weapon. He was no longer just watching the base, he was now actively locked onto a target with a loaded weapon.

“Do not engage, Kid” Keegan grunted, “He’s baiting us, do not engage!” Yet, his finger itched to pull back on the trigger. Hypocrite.

Keegan prayed he made the right call as he watched Rorke stand behind you, leaning you over the edge. His jaw aches from clenching his teeth, he's doing nothing to stop Rorke.

Was he going to drop you?

“Keegan?” Hesh’s voice rose in panic, seeking an answer that Keegan didn’t have.

He watched as you moved your hands to wrap around Rorke’s forearms as he leaned you even further over the precipice. You lifted your head skyward to accommodate the precarious angle you were balancing at.

He was going to watch you die.

No.

Please, No. Not you.

He’d only just found you again.

Your neck was exposed and he watched as Rorke moved to dip his face towards the expanse of your neck. It looked-

Keegan’s blood boiled and he immediately lost his cool, “that motherfucking-” he spat through gritted teeth. He hadn't even realised he'd readjusted his rifle, aiming directly for the man's skull. His breathing was heavy as he fought for control over himself.

He knew we’d be watching.

Just as quickly as it had started, it was over.

Rorke brought an arm around your shoulder before turning you forcefully away from the edge. Keegan watched as the pair of you moved towards the compound entrance before vanishing behind reinforced doors.

He vaguely hears Logan throwing something behind him, yelling incoherently.

I’m gonna get you out of there, Kid. I promise.

#cod x reader #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #cod keegan #logan walker #call of duty ghosts #walker!reader #hesh walker #angst time #sorry!!!#walker siblings being cute :(

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majorasnightmare · 8 months

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Inevitable Gerudo Headcanon Posting

i spend too much time thinking about the gerudo like genuinely theyre one of my favorite recurring tribes in the zelda series, which as we all know is a form of suffering because god forbid nintendo stop relying on racist tropes and caricatures.

keeping in line with this nintendos portrayal of the gerudo tends to either be 1) why theyre bad, and/or 2) how a culture of all women has kids. like thats an oversimplification of ALLL the problems present in the gerudos portrayal but thats a different post for another time. in general i bring this up because it means, for me as well as any others interested and invested un the gerudo, that there is a kind of generalized lack of pre botw characterization or cultural concepts to work with, esp when compared to the other tribes of hyrule. (looks pointedly at how theres no gerudo in the gerudo desert but there is a prison slash execution site where their king was held. LOOKS AT WHO SURVIVED THE PROLOGUE CUTSCENE IN WINDWAKER)

ANYWAYS. botw was really fun because, while it had plenty of its own issues with the gerudo, they were at least non hostile! so with that in mind, the headcanons and worldbuilding i write primarily apply to the wilds era gerudo, which spans the timeframe between ganondorfs reign as king to totk (suspending disbelief because that timeframe is. by all accounts. longer than recorded human history. friendly reminder ganondorf does All That before we even get sheikah wifi towers. christ.)

anyways. second verse same as the first, core assumptions and then a readmore

Some core assumptions:

The BotW branch of the timeline is chronologically set AFTER the previous timeline, ie the events of ToTKs ancient past is set AFTER the last event of the Hyrule Historia timeline. essentially they all come back together to form one line that makes up ToTKs ancient era

The biggest effect on Hyrules topography was the flooding in Wind Waker. after an unknown point, the flooding ocean receded leaving behind the ruins of ancient Hyrule. at some point after that, the zonai settled parts of it and made the buildings wed see as ruins by the time of BotW. slowly the various tribes of hyrule immigrated back

all peoples within the setting of hyrule are loosely grouped into categories called tribes. in this sense, tribe refers a collection of peoples with shared traits, without anything concretely set in stone (for example, hyrule includes the tribe of hylians, the tribe of gorons, the tribe of koroks, etc etc). the main six who show up repeatedly can be considered the sage tribes (gerudo, hylian, sheikah, rito, goron, zora), and the various types of enemies can be considered the monster tribes (the blin tribe of bokoblin, moblin, bulblin, etc)

so. starting at the beginning. near entirely headcanons

in ocarina of time, we see the spirit temple, where Nabooru awakens as a sage. this temple features a MASSIVE statue of a woman adorned with a snake and its primary mechanic centers around mirrors and reflected light. while the mirrors return, we dont really get that same kind of implied spiritual/religious focus again. so instead im going to make a mountain out of a molehill and position her as the primary spiritual figure here. im running low on name ideas tho so suggestions are much appreciated. for right now ill refer to her as the serpent goddess

the gerudo are culturally a people of function over form, practicality over whimsy, but when circumstances allow for it, are drawn like any other to arts and music and decoration. they have a long history of bloody, brutal battle, and while the war has long since ended, its kings buried and its warriors naught but ghosts, the desert remembers. its sands haunted by the bloodstains of conflict past, and echoes of ancient tragedies. the gerudo here in the era of wilds may have lost their records of their ancient history of conflict, but some aspects, preserved by the sands, have managed to survive the onslaught of time

surviving all this time is the ancient creation myth of the gerudo people. as legend tells it, long ago in the time before myth, there existed a goddess whos power was transformation. she was possessed of two forms, one a proud humanoid figure, the other a striking serpentine form twisting through the heavens with ease, her scales glittering with mirror sheen. to shift from serpent to human, she would shed her skin, and grow it back again to embrace her serpentine form anew

seven times she shed her skin, and from these shed skins rose the first gerudo, each embodying a key aspect of their sacred mother. the serpent goddess's scales are each a nascent soul of a gerudo, and when those scales are shed and fall to the land below, a new gerudo is born. likewise, when a gerudo dies, their soul returns to the scales of the serpent goddess, to await until they would descend again and reincarnate once more. the seven daughters of the serpent goddess led these gerudo as their guardians, leaders, and protectors. but, away from the seven heroines and their new people, the goddess shed her skin an eighth time. this daughter was born alone, and while her sisters embodies the strengths of spirit, flight, endurance, knowledge, motion, skill, and gentleness, the eighth was born with insatiable wanderlust. learning of this, the seven sisters cursed her name for leaving them and their people behind, and despite their shared ancestry, the eighth was forbidden to be spoken of. this suited her just fine, and the eighth was free to walk the land and learn all of its hidden paths

in time, war came to the gerudo, as it often does. though they were united, and strong, they were a small collection of people, and thus despite their proficiency were threatened nonetheless. it became clear at last that they could not stand and fight, and that to survive, they could not remain in place for long. but the enemy had pushed them deep into their home, and knew all the paths back. as hope seemed lost, as if summoned by call, the eighth sister at last wandered home. calling her seven sisters to her, she proclaimed that every hidden step was known to her, and while she lacked the power to guide them on her own, together they would escape unseen into the night, their enemy none the wiser. thus, skillfully guiding the skills of her sisters, the eighth heroine led the gerudo into safety, and the seven were humbled from their pettiness. seeking to apologize to the sister they had banished and forgotten, the seven sought to make amends, but the eighth was content merely to have a place of remembrance among them. to wander is not a sin, as long as one remembers where their home lies.

the eight heroines have long since passed and returned to their mothers scales, but the virtues they embody are cherished by the gerudo family they left behind, seeking to hold their memory close even as the years wear on

to the gerudo was bestowed the blessing of the element of Spirit, embodied by their iron wills and manifesting as crackling lightning. this spirit lightning is the gerudo's will made tangible, arcing out towards their target as an extension of their focus and sheer determination. to a gerudo, nothing is impossible until one has devoted themselves entirely to it, giving it their all, and only then may it be conceded

a long history of persecution has resulted in the gerudo being increasingly insular and isolationist. their admiration of the art of combat and how it can bring forth an individuals talents, achieving a perfect harmony between body and will as the weapon became an extension of ones limbs, was often perceived as aggression by outsiders, who would react as if to defend their own interests. the gerudo have suffered much at the hands of hyrule at large, and have pulled further and further away.

as the gerudo pulled away from hyrule, and hyrule from them, they devoted most of their attention to themselves. cooperation amongst themselves is seen as paramount to their survival, and familial affection often extends well past ones blood relations.

the gerudo value family, and loyalty, alongside independence and cooperation. everyone should have the opportunity to pursue their goals, but if someone is struggling, it is the responsibility of everyone to help. children are raised by as many people as are available, and even in the times of monarchy, the palace was less a formal dwelling place belonging to the gerudo ruler and more a public forum that the ruler simply happened to live in

most of the palaces amenities are fully public, a tradition that has carried on to riju's time. meals are communal and the kitchens open to all, and the palace has no strictly dedicated servants, merely a collection of amenities the gerudo people are free to use at will and often do so together. what this means is that there is no servant, for example, dedicated to preparing riju's meals but instead a collection of people willing to cook and willing to eat making meals riju partakes in, and this applies to most other menial tasks as well. the throne room is where the leader of the gerudo engages in their job as public servant, attending to the needs of the gerudo at large and responding to crises as they arise.

as nintendo is keen to point out, the gerudo are a people that are predominantly "all women", and thus spends plenty of time going over dialogue wherein people wonder how they have children and including a plethora of sidequests in the wilds era about acquiring partners. im ignoring all of that and instead going by lizard rules, in part because here theyre descended from a serpent dragon goddess, wherein a population of all female lizards were able to successfully maintain a stable population and have children without major issue. gerudo like ganondorf are the equivalent of a rare genetic mutation that flips some other genes on and has a different result, that really doesnt affect anything besides this one kid and doesnt have any major effects or differences in their life. two gerudo are perfectly capable of having kids together, having relationships as usual, and on the topic of "how do the gerudo have kids", thats all i really feel like exploring that topic

with an insular, isolationist culture that appeared for all intents and purposes to be all women, the gerudo were often a source of major culture shock when interacting with the other tribes of hyrule, most notably hylians

bonus hylian lore: hylians experience an even greater lack of sexual dimorphism than irl humans do, so gender presentation is near exclusively presentation based, with a heavy emphasis on clothing. showing skin is considered an act of emotional intimacy, and most hylians opt to cover as much as they can. the intensity of presentation scales upwards with their role in society, with the royal family having the most extreme form of gender presentation. gender is presented through clothing style and hair length, with ornamentation, jewelry, and piercings serving as a kind of intensifier, and hylian culture at large tends to operate on a sliding scale of masculine to feminine, with the middle androgynous zone being a weird gender spot for them

the gerudo, by contrast, never really developed a concept of masculinity versus femininity. gender pronouns in gerudo are based on personal proximity, occupation in society, and familiarity. these barely translate at all into hyrulean.

as the gerudo, by circumstance or by choice, interacted with hylians and the tribes of hyrule more and more often, some kind of understanding had to be reached with regards to translation. as relations were already terse, making an attempt to fully translate the gerudos understanding of gender to your average hylian was considered a fools errand, and thus translation was done in broad strokes, giving hylians the simplest root form of gender pronouns (and none of the increasingly specific declensions). loosely, the term vai is closer in concept to "us" and voe is closer to "not us" "foreigner" "outsider", and has taken on a connotation of " forbidden" or "taboo" (leading to wilds era gerudo secret clubs often imploying translatable Adult Puns regarding their catering to voe and the overall titillating atmosphere they tend to put on for customers). with regards to hylians, the feminine princesses and queens had more in common with the gerudo and were thus "vai", but the masculine kings and soldiers, who were often the main figures pushing aggressive efforts into conquering or otherwise absorbing the gerudo into hyrule, were "voe". this was then distributed in various guides to understanding the gerudo language as " vai" meaning "woman" and "voe" meaning man

gerudo town, as the capital of their people and general hub, has a law banning the entrance of voe. at the time if its writing, this was a fairly obvious law, because most "people who are forbidden" are forbidden from entering. as time has passed, hostilities cooled, and relations warmed, this law has been the subject of a long struggle of interpretation. it doesnt translate well into nearly any other language, and thus who counts as "voe" and "vai" is subject to endless debate. the differences in gender perception are most clearly on display with the admittance of the gorons. one might assume that the gorons, being a monogendered people who typically use masculine terms of identity and endearment in hyrulean, to thus qualify as voe, but the gorons cooperative nature, near uniform monogendered culture, and emphasis on hard work and independence has enough in common with your average gerudo that considering them as vai is a no brainer

ganondorf thus is also, clearly, considered vai. the specific pronouns he uses in his native gerudo include declensions regarding his position as royalty (one that has since gone out of use and is fairly archaic now, only really being used as a kind of neo-pronoun by current era gerudo as a rebellious self identification thing), his relation as the only child of koume and kotake, and are conjugated based on relation between the speaker and him. in the ancient era, calling ganondorf voe would be so confusing as to not even read as an insult. if one really wanted to refer to ganondorf with a tone of insult, theyd substitute the declension of familiarity with one used for strangers

ganondorf achieved his position as king the old fashioned way: a gift from his moms. ancient era gerudo practiced typical monarchy with a line of succession, and koume and kotake named him as the next royal of the gerudo as their heir. the hyruleans, seeing a masculine gerudo of royal birth, referred to him as "king", and correcting a culture of people he had little respect for was just a waste of ganondorfs time. after ganondorfs sealing, the gerudo changed to the current system of chiefs, wherein the current chief names a successor, or by default passes it onto their living heir. a system is in place to democratically install a new chief if the current one passes without naming a child their heir, or naming a successor in their place, a system drafted and then used in ganondorfs absence. riju thus inherited the mantle from her mother, but could opt instead to force a vote, or have such a vote forced on her due to her age, leading to much of her insecurity seen in BotW. this system has proven to be relatively stable, especially coupled with the continued tradition of keeping the palace an open public forum

the first chief of the gerudo was nabooru, advised by the sage of lightning we see in totk, following ganondorfs sealing

the gerudo are very familiar with the souls of the dead. poes, souls lost and aimless, wander the desert after millennia of bloodshed. thus their funerary customs have persisted, even as the folklore behind them fades in and out of memory.

a person perceives reality through their body. they know the sky is above them both by craning their neck up, and by the sensation of ground beneath them. in death, one is bodiless, and sensation becomes a confusing, directionless onslaught. it is so easy for a spirit to become lost, unable to orient themselves. the gerudos funerary rites seeks to aid these souls in their journey towards returning to the serpent goddess, as without guidance they are liable to become poes. the body after death is merely an empty receptacle, and on a practical level is a potential draw for dangerous desert scavengers seeking an easy meal. the shifting sands and hard soil makes burial difficult to impossible, so instead the gerudo burn their dead. smoke is ephemeral and thus able to be seen by spirits, and even as the wind rushes, smoke will still travel upwards towards the heavens. a spirit will linger by its body for a time, and thus cremation helps provide guidance to the dead. unable to feel the earth beneath them, the dead can follow the trails of smoke to orient themselves upwards, and dispel lingering confusion

as the body is burned both to guide the departed's soul and to ward away scavengers, the gerudo inter their belongings into gravesites instead, usually one or a small collection of items that the deceased valued or were considered emblematic of them. having a proud history of warriors, many gerudo consider their weapons extensions of themselves, and thus many gravesites will consist of a single weapon.

the sage of lightnings temple served as the primary gravesite for many gerudo, and in its heyday was decorated with love and care as befitting its role. torches burned bright in its sconces and the walls painted with care in massive sweeping murals. here in the temple, a foreigners idea of the gerudo as austere and practical would fall away, as the halls shone with warmth and color, taken from their desert home

lost souls that become poes often end up becoming consumed by their regrets and despair at their inability to find their way back to reincarnation through the serpent goddess's scales, and from there turn to rage and aggression. the sunlight glinting off of the goddess's mirror scales will blind and disorient the dead who have lost their way, as they try in vain to rely on their half forgotten senses, and thus poes eschew the day in favor of the cover of night. though incorporeal, poes move as fast as the desert winds, and try all they can to cause mischief and havoc. usually the end result of their shenanigans is light injuries and scratches, but it isn't uncommon for a waylaid traveller or adrenaline seeking youngster to suffer fatal consequences. despite this, poe hunting tends to be the go-to act of rebellion for antsy teenagers with a taste for danger. in general, one of the only things fast enough to strike a poe is a fired arrow

as the sands grew and the desert expanded, it grew more and more difficult for the steeds of the gerudo to gallop across the dunes, and they were driven further and further back until the gerudo phased out their horseback traditions entirely

and as an AU specific trivia tidbit

after ganondorf's sealing, nabooru grieved the loss of her childhood friend by constructing a dedicated tomb to house ganondorf's gravesite. even though he wouldn't die, nabooru would never live to see him again, and in traditional gerudo fashion, his gravesite is marked by his signature trident, further imbued by nabooru's blessing of lighting (in a similar fashion to urbosa's fury, despite urbosa not being a sage).

#totk headcanons #totk spoilers #loz gerudo #gerudo #ganondorf #totk au #loz headcanons #i THINK thats all the relevant ones #god i hope the readmore works. guess ill find out #BUT ALSO. GANONDORF NEOPRONOUNS REAL IN MY HEART. HES VAI. HES AN INCREDIBLY NICHE AND ARCHAIC FORM OF VAI #THAT HIGHKEY ISNT EVEN RELEVANT ANYMORE. biographies about him confuse+anger gerudo scholars because translating his pronouns is a BITCH #it also makes riju removing the voe restriction more impactful imo because its a symbol of how far the gerudo have come-#-in their relations to hyrule. because the voe rule is almost entirely like. a no hyrule thing snfnsndhdbf #so hyrule finally like! not being so much of a threat that the gerudo feel they have to stay closed off! going from oppressor to ally!#LET IT MEAN SOMETHING NINTENDO G O D #anyways. ganondorfs so gender.#nvm got the readmore to work c:#loz totk

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12pt-times-new-roman · 2 months

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c3e86

Fearne emerges in cold air beneath snow-dusted peaks. She immediately goes back through the portal at the bottom of this lake, and her telepathic communication is restored.

Imogen and Fearne exchange spell slots -- Fearne expends a 4th level spell to give Imogen 4 sorcery points. The language Matt used here is very similar to how he described the feeling Orym got when using Ludinus' funnel.

Slowly but surely, they all pull themselves through the portal. The sun is setting, and they can see both Catha and the leylines, so they're definitely on Exandria somewhere; Chetney identifies the trees as high-altitude pines, and the air is cold, thinner than sea-level, so they're somewhere up high.

They turn into clouds, and travel straight up: they're in a lake cradled in the middle of a sprawling mountain range, but even from this high up, they don't recognize this region. It's not the Alabaster Sierras near Whitestone, or the Flotket Alps, or even anywhere on Marquet. Even with a high perception check, they can't see any towns, cities, or even light sources -- but there are structures built on the edge of the lake, like a village.

They enter and find that it's a very simple village, but there are no lights, no sounds, no people wandering around -- just silence. It looks abandoned, and much of it has fallen to the elements, decayed. There are still supplies on the shelves of a shop, but they're covered in dust.

In the clerk's office, they find records of the town: Ria'doin village, on the shores of Lake Umamu. They gather, from the nomenclature and the position of the sun, that this village is Issylran, but there's not a single temple anywhere.

It doesn't look like there was a battle or a struggle here. Laudna finds a thread of notes in the clerk's space talking about business abandonment, people just getting up and leaving the village. There were disappearances here: a child, an entire family, the Otises, all in succession -- there must've been a rumor making people leave, but the next night, there were four families gone without a trace. Then the fishmonger was seen walking into the lake. Rumors spread about bad blood, business competition, small-town politics -- before the clerk disappeared.

FCG talks to a bird, and is very rude about it. But the owl tells him that she last saw someone five years ago; they wandered through, looted some stuff, and eventually walked into the lake too.

They decide to rest here for the night, and plan to relay information about the lake portal before returning to Ruidus.

They identify the two silver rings they took from the Willmaster: one of them is a "ring of life detection," which is paired with another one somewhere else that alerts the wearer if something happens to them; and the other they have to save until morning.

Chetney update: As a result of his deal with Morri, he gets a feat. He can craft a very well-made and well-carved wooden toy with an hour of his time. It's unclear if this does anything other than generate money/story, but hey!

Sending stone to Caleb: Caleb Widogast, we are in a village called Ria'doin. It's a backdoor to the moon, maybe. Do you hear me? Come for a visit? Ah! Hello. This is strange. This has not worked in some time.

SENDING WORKS, BABEY! Time to run Matt through his paces and make him play a half-dozen NPCs!

Imogen casts sending to Caleb: I assume this means you're alright. Again, that's Lake Umamu. Can you get word to the resistance? Jas, this is Caleb Widogast. I don't know what's changed; these communications have not worked for some time. I do know where -- (sending cuts off.)

Imogen sends to Keyleth three times: We found a secret entrance back on Exandria, in Lake Umamu. Leads to subterranean Ruidus. We're in Ria'doin. Hi! Hello! Is everyone okay? You're in Umamu? That's the Karamoran Reach, Issylra. What about Ruidus? After the Bloody Bridge, the capital city of Kreveris is where they're gathering forces. There's a tunnel that leads down. Halfway there. We'll show you. Alright. Let me finish some business here, and I'll try and meet you. I'm curious to hear how much you've learned. Time is starting to run short. The portal is in the lake. We're heading back in in the morning -- haven't learned enough. Going to Kreveris. We'll leave markers for you to follow. Very well. I'll send a team to follow and see what this secret door is in the lake. Good luck moving forward. We're counting on you.

Another voice pushes into Imogen's mind. Um, hello? Mr. Caleb said I was supposed to talk to this person! Is this working? I've tried this so many times and -- so anyway, I'm curious if this is going forward! Is this working?! Please respond! Yes, it works. We met Caleb at the key. We're at Lake Umamu, we just talked to Keyleth. Okay, I don't know who that is but I'm extremely happy for you, and I'm so happy this is working! Who are you? What are you doing? How do you know Caleb? What-- I'm Imogen. We went to Ruidus. We met Caleb at the key, he was captured, we haven't seen him since. Okay, well he's fine now, and it's nice to meet you that knew Caleb at the key. Don't know what that means either, but thank you! Okay. Who is this? Oh! My name is Jester.

aDSFsdgkjghfdk my heart---

Orym sends to Dorian: Dorian. We're alive. Been to the moon, going back. Find the Tempest. If I don't get the chance again... I really missed you. There's no response, but Orym swears he hears something outside. He needs to check in on that, needs to see what it was. It might be Dorian. They wake everyone, and Orym wants to go outside, but why wouldn't he have answered?

So if sending just suddenly works now, there's one of two options: either it's the proximity to the lake -- a rift between Exandria and Ruidus -- that's causing it, and the same thing would've happened at the bridge; or the Vanguard's plans are advancing and the leylines are calming down because of that. Or, y'know, the entire sending thing was a complete fabrication by whatever's in this lake (but that doesn't explain Jester).

Meanwhile, Matt is rolling saves for all of them behind the screen -- they at least got a short rest, but there's something calling them toward that water to inspect it, make sure everything's okay. There's a presence in the water that makes them wonder whether there's an ally in that lake -- they're not alone, but not in a bad way.

They start making their way through the fog, toward the bank. The lake is appealing to their sensibilities -- Orym senses a presence that could be Dorian, Chetney senses a disturbance in the portal, Ashton senses a useful tool, FCG senses an ally.

Imogen uses detect thoughts on the lake, and there is an intelligence that settles behind and below her -- those enthralled are wading into the lake, being pushed -- they disappear under the water, and we go to break!

Can I also just say -- Liam is portraying a soldier's hope so well with Orym. Like, the situation is near-hopeless, the deck is stacked against them, they are staring into the face of unfathomable threats, and yet. And yet. They have to do it. They must. Not because it's easy or even because it's right, but because it must be done. Fate has dealt them these cards, whether they like it or not, so they have to hope. They have to. If they don't hold on to that, if Orym does not put forward and wholeheartedly throw his entire soul into paradoxical hope against all hope, then what else does he have? What else is there? He can't cry, he can't bargain, he can't even grieve. Hope is all that's left, left bleeding at the bottom of the barrel -- and if he doesn't have that, if he doesn't even have the delusion of hope, then all truly is lost. So Orym falls, hard, for any shred of hope beyond ephemera, anything that just might be more than whim and blindness, like sending, like Keyleth, like Dorian. And fuck is it heartbreaking.

Imogen grabs Orym as he dives, and she gets pulled down too.

Laudna sticks her head underwater, spots one, and casts animate object on a boat! "It's ghost ship time." It grows little hands out of the front and starts fucking talking -- "what do ya want, missus?"

For the ones in the water, it's nothing but chemical impulse that pushes them forward, toward the bramble growths that surround the portal to Ruidus. It wraps around them, cradles them, and it's a warm sensation, like this is where they're meant to be, it's everything they've ever fought for, ever wanted. While they're down here, everyone takes cold damage.

Fearne spots them, the cocoon where they're being held, and also sees a graveyard of scattered bones. Dozens and dozens of corpses, cradled like children.

Imogen damages the shadows that hold them, and everyone ensnared gets to make another CHA save -- everyone but Ashton breaks free from its influence.

As he breaks away, Orym slashes at the shadow and frees a skull; but as he grabs it, the shadow re-envelops him.

Laudna boards her animated boat and rides it beneath the waves like Captain Jack Sparrow. As she passes, FCG grabs the side and coasts down, and casts turn undead on the shadows: the tendrils turn to hair, the roads of the Changebringer leading away, and although it succeeds this does confirm that this is some kind of undead creature.

Ashton is still trapped inside the mass, and they try desperately to free him. Orym swims down, dashes the tendrils away, and spots them -- he casts misty step somehow to reach Ashton and hacks at their bonds. He action-surges and hits Ashton to wake him up (that's a whole fucking thing that I will get back to--) but Ashton succeeds, they're still buried in there and Orym is still right next to him.

FCG's second turn undead succeeds, and the tendrils all scatter, pull back -- and they have a terrifying view of this underwater graveyard that lies here. Ashton gets to make their save again and finally succeeds -- they see exactly what's below them and dart away, dart toward the surface (alongside Laudna, who also failed the turn undead).

As they surface, all the effects subside, and the shadow recoils.

(Also, I love how Matt has incorporated Candela Obscura's "initiative" rules in C3. This entire encounter happened without rolling initiative once, but it still felt very fluid and inclusive.)

The center of this undead entity is closer to the village, whereas the portal to Ruidus is around 80 feet from it.

They return to the docks, and carve a message into the wood: Beware! Dead shit down there.

Orym leaves the skull he retrieved on the dock, too, assuming that Keyleth can cast speak with dead (and not saving it in the portable hole for FCG to cast that later).

Imogen, with the statement that "none of us are thinking clearly right now", decides for the group that they should all go back through the portal to sleep rather than waiting for Keyleth's envoy to appear.

Now that they've defeated the undead entity here, it's easy for them to re-enter the portal to Ruidus. They immediately go to sleep -- even with tired watches, they get a long rest.

As they sleep, Laudna talks to Delilah. She wants more power from Delilah in exchange for keeping Imogen safe -- "grant me power, and I'll give you everything you need." [You promise?] "I keep my word, if I have a strange way of expressing them." [I have a strange question -- Pate.] "I am no more pate than you are me. We are bound inexplicably, yes -- we are strange bedfellows... Laudna. We will endure. Always." Delilah's visage fades, and Laudna falls to sleep.

Long rest, finally!

They climb out of the tunnels they slept in, and continue across Ruidus to Kreveris. As they go, they leave trails and signs for anyone who might be following them out of the portal in the lake.

FCG identifies the other ring as a ring of protection, which is huge for basically anyone -- it gives a +1 bonus to armor class and all saving throws. Orym takes it, since Ashton already has two rings attuned.

Laudna uses the syphon to absorb the power of the ring of life essence -- it strips the ring of all its magical power, and gives Laudna +2 hit points (permanently) and advantage on al attacks and ability checks until the next long rest.

The Bells Hells leave the cave and move across meandering tunnels for miles, leaving Ashari symbols as they go so Keyleth's forces can follow them.

They all continue in this tunnel for a while, until it comes to an abrupt end. Ashton, although reticent, activates the shard of Ka'mort -- they get bigger, spiker, everything becomes odd and off, a fractal, an exaggeration that is six feet tall kneeling, with the elemental arm a claw. As they phase into the rock, they sense tunnels and caverns around them, and they are not far from the surface -- Ashton clears the way and the Bells Hells emerge onto the surface of Ruidus. There's a mild dust storm going through, but Imogen rolls with advantage (with the help of Fearne) and determines the direction of Ruidus' capital.

Laudna brings up that they all need to agree on when exactly to get the fuck out of dodge. Ashton is determined not to leave until they find allies, but Laudna brings up the fact that they need everyone to complete the mission.

They set off across Ruidus toward the capital, and start walking to save their more powerful spells for the future; but Imogen casts a magic mouth spell for when Keyleth's team comes through. "Hey. We are going toward Krevaris, the direction is slightly due north. Head toward the mountain range. Hope you find this. Heading toward Krevaris."

As they travel, there's a strange vibration in the air, an anticipatory change -- and every stone arounds you becomes incandescent with bright light, time seems to instantly stop. Everyone feels like they've been around forever, the blip of immortal essence passed through them -- and Imogen, eyes white, hair bright red-violet, drops to the ground as the feeling ends. Imogen and Fearne both gain 15 temp hp as Ruidus flares beneath them.

There's a fading warmth to them, and Ashton, as elemental, feels it -- a warmth under the ground, following that trail.

When Ashton comes out of his transformation, it's rough -- they are drained, tired, even after the long rest -- he takes two points of exhaustion . But Fearne offers to carry him, and they puh into the storm, they ear the thunder in the distance.

As they emerge from the fog, from the carved valley before them, they see the faintest view of a skyline, a real sign of civlization that they are on the cusp of reaching (with Ashton on 2pts of exhaustion).

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #long post

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mikhailwrites · 4 months

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Waiting for Connection 10 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

You didn't think I'd leave you in angst over the Christmas day, did you?

Previous chapter | AO3

The night is cold and damp; the light drizzle doesn’t warrant an umbrella, but it’s not very pleasant in any case. Ghost adjusts the collar of his coat to cover his neck better before shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he starts up the street towards his home. John walks next to him, seemingly unperturbed by the cold. Would stand to reason, Ghost thinks, if he grew up further up north and got through the SAS selection. It’s been years, yet it’s hard to forget—the harrowing trek to a bloody mountain with a time limit and in full gear.

“How’d you get your callsign?” Simon asks out of nowhere. He doesn’t mind the silence but can tell it’s not the same for John, who is probably still beating himself up for fucking up earlier. Simon's not a bastard; yes John hit a nerve back there but he didn't mean to. Simon is resilient, too, shrugging the hurt off as if it's nothing. He has no reason to sulk.

The Scott grabs the question like a lifeline. “At the end of the selection, actually. We were tasked to clean out several buildings to save the hostages. I’ve set the record. The overseeing officer said I’ve been as quick and efficient as a soap, and it kinda stuck.”

“It’s a good callsign,” Simon admits. It sounded ridiculous at first, so much so he was sure there had to be some embarrassing story behind it, as is the case with most callsigns. To earn it with skill is commendable.

“What about you? Ghost is probably the best I’ve ever heard,” Soap asks. Usually, Simon wouldn’t tell, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no reason to uphold the mystery now.

“I’ve been buried alive,” Simon says, the tone of his voice casual, as if he was commenting on the weather.

John barks out a laugh, probably thinking Ghost’s pulling his leg. Once he realises that’s not the case, he sobers up. “Shit, man… that’s fucked up.”

“Guess it is,” Ghost shrugs. It’s been a long time since he was able to tell what’s fucked up or not. “Alright, we’re here,” Simon takes out keys and lets John inside, clicking the lights on before he leads him to the second floor.

Simon’s flat isn’t much, but it’s his home. As soon as they enter, there’s a blur of tabby fur, and before Simon can say anything, John is crouching and scratching Sgt. Stripey behind the ears. “So you’re Stripey. Nice to meet ye, lad,” John says to the cat with warm affection.

“Careful, or you’ll end up wrapped around his claw,” Ghost warns, hanging his coat and putting his shoes away.

“Too late.” John chuckles, standing up and handing Ghost his jacket to be hanged. “You know, I’d have pegged you for a dog person.”

“I don’t mind dogs; I just like cats better. Always clicked with the little fuckers, ever since I was a kid.” He has no idea why he is imparting so much to John. On the other hand, it’s not like he’s still part of the top secret Task Force. He can have friends now, tell them things about himself, and let them in.

“Guess I can imagine a wee Simon feeding the strays,” John admits as he goes further into the apartment, looking around, obviously compartmentalising everything he sees.

Simon doesn’t say anything because John’s words struck a tad too close to home.

Thankfully, John doesn’t notice. His attention is currently held by something else. “Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?!” Soap exclaims and points at Ghost’s rig, proudly sitting on the desk.

“My computer?” Ghost cocks an eyebrow.

“That?!” Soap almost squeals, which is halfway between ridiculous and adorable, in Ghost’s opinion. Soap comes closer, leaning in to inspect the machine up close. “What are these?” he traces the acrylic tubes with an index finger without actually touching anything.

“Liquid cooling.”

“A…what?” Soap’s eyes widen. “Thought electricity and water don’t mix well.”

“You sure you’re the explosives guy? I said liquid, not water. You could use water technically, but it’s not a very efficient coolant.”

“How do you even… ye ken… keep it in?”

“It’s a closed circuit, look,” Ghost comes closer, shoulder brushing against John’s as he points out the reservoir with a pump, “you have your coolant here, then it’s distributed throughout the system. First, it goes into the CPU because it’s higher up, so I can use gravity to help the pump later. There’s a copper heat plate pressed to the processor; inside it is something like a little maze, so the coolant doesn’t flow through too fast and can actually take away the heat. Once out of the maze, it goes into the intercooler; here,” he touches a big black cooler attached to the top of the rig. “The liquid cools here; it works exactly the same as old radiators and is then used here in the graphics card. The cooling cover works pretty similarly to the one for the CPU, only it’s larger. Once the liquid is out of the GPU, it’s cooled again, here,” he points to another intercooler, “and, lastly, it returns back to the reservoir.”

“But… that’s so complicated! And what if it spills? That can happen, can’t it?” Soap looks at him, and Ghost can’t help but notice the curious shade of blue in his eyes as it catches the warm light. Thankfully, the question asked is interesting enough for him to focus on.

“Sure, but the liquid is safe as long as you don’t drown your power supply in it. And it’s more efficient and much quieter. Let me show you,” without further ado, Ghosts wakes the PC up and fires up a benchmark. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” Soap asks, confused.

“Exactly,” Ghost’s smile is all smugness, and John finds it kind of endearing.

Soap laughs as soon as he gets Ghost’s point. When he turns to Ghost next, a fond smile plays at his lips, and there are crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. “Ye really like this stuff, huh?”

It takes Ghost a few seconds to respond, mainly because John’s sheer radiance nearly blinds him. “I do,” he rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture because he feels exposed and a little embarrassed. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but in this instance, it feels different because he knows John wouldn’t laugh at him. They met in a video game. Ghost’s goofiness is safe with him.

“Sorry if that came out wrong. I just wanted tae say I’m impressed. I have no idea about any of this. Maybe you could teach me some stuff?”

“Make you my Padawan, you mean?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

Soap smirks, unable to hold Ghost’s gaze any longer. “Yer such a nerd, Ghost,” he shakes his head, still smiling. It could’ve easily been read as an insult, yet the way Soap said it sounds more like a compliment. “But aye, make me your Padawan, Master Simon,” Soap says and bows before Ghost. That settles the matter.

Before they can open a new topic, Soap is caught off-guard by a yawn. Glancing at his wrist-watch, he’s both surprised and unsurprised by how late it is. Time flies by when you’re having fun, especially with a good company, but Soap has been on his feet for close to twenty hours now and the past week wasn’t much better. The exhaustion is catching up to him.

“Go take a shower if you want, it’ll take me a few minutes to get the couch ready,” Ghost says and nods to the piece of furniture in question.

Soap thinks for about three seconds. “You don’t need to, I can sleep on it as it is.”

“Nonsense,” Ghost rejects the idea with a finality that bars any further discussion.

Soap holds up his hands in surrender, gathers a few items from his bag and retreats to the bathroom.

Ghost spends several minutes figuring out his own piece of furniture. The thing is, he’s never needed the futon, only the sofa. After multiple failed attempts, he finally finds the right angle and amount of strength to pull and push until the bloody thing unfolds and rearranges itself.

Only now, he is faced with a different problem. Ghost doesn’t have an extra blanket and pillow, which he really should’ve thought about earlier. It’s not a difficult issue to solve. He takes a quilt from the couch and swaps it for his own blanket. The linens were changed two days ago, John should be fine with it. However, the pillow stays in Simon’s bed. If he were to use the small one from the living room, he would have a stiff neck for at least three days. Not worth it. He wouldn’t stand for John to be cold, but the pillow should be just a minor inconvenience for someone as young and fit as Soap.

Ghost quickly gets the futon ready and opens the window to let in some fresh air. It smells of rain and winter, Simon’s favourite combination if anyone ever asked.

John emerges from the bathroom, flushed and slightly damp, dressed in a plain khaki tee and black briefs. Ghost lingers on him, though not for too long. That would be rude and a little creepy, right?

“If you wake up before I do, feel free to check the fridge, make yourself a coffee or tea, everything’s in the kitchen,” Ghost instructs him. “Sergeant usually sleeps in bed with me, but maybe he’ll get curious.”

Soap blinks a few times at the last piece of information before he realises that Ghost is talking about his cat. Right. There was no way he would invite Soap into his bed like this. Not that Soap would want him to, right? They’re friends, and it would be too soon in any case. John realises Ghost is looking at him as if he expects Soap to say something.

“Aye, sure. Thank you again for having me.”

“Sure,” Ghost nods, “sleep well, Soap.”

“You too, Ghost.”

Simon retreats to the bedroom, leaving the doors slightly ajar for the cat.

#Domestic Ghoap is the best Ghoap #Ghost definitely wouldnt have extra set of blanket/pillow #But he would try so hard to be a good host #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

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etirabys · 2 years

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tfw your civilization is overtaken by barbarians but the intellectuals have been co-opted into the new regime as artists who make art about how tragic it is to be overtaken by barbarians

One could, indeed, write a history of the period by tracing the coopting of the intellectuals by the Qing court. Those who would not serve in administrative office and would not take the examinations could still be lured by the promise of good company and hard cash. Literary compilations especially proved a fine focus for their energies. Kangxi assembled several groups of scholars and hired them to write dictionaries, encyclopedias, records of imperial tours, and collections of classical prose and poetry. Other senior ministers sponsored massive geographical studies and local histories, which enabled restless scholars to travel the country in search of material and then to return to a comfortable home base to write it down. Yet other officials gave promising writers jobs as private secretaries with light duties, which allowed them ample time for pursuing their own creative paths, whether as novelists, short-story writers, poets, or dramatists. The result was a flowering of Chinese culture in the later seventeenth century, despite the recent bloody imposition of alien rule.

Finally, the very act of Ming resistance and loyalty became an accepted topic at Kangxi's court through the artistry of Kong Shangren. A descendant of Confucius in the sixty-fourth generation, Kong was born in 1648, after the Qing conquest. His father had been a prominent Ming scholar, and Kong Shangren became fascinated with the Ming dynasty's fall and the people who had been caught up in it. During his forties, he composed a popular drama, The Peach Blossom Fan, about an upright scholar, the woman he loves, and their travails in the Ming court of the prince of Fu. ... At the play's end, with the Ming resistance in ruins, the lovers agree to take monastic vows, while the surviving virtuous officials retreat deep into the mountains to escape a summons from the Qing that they take up office.

#rambl #eti reads the search for modern china #not to imply that I think the ming intellectuals were in the wrong here really

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anxious-art-block · 1 year

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LU Headcanon's Part 4: Bring back the Twiddies

KIWI WIND “How ‘bout get fucked, mate.” “Eh?” “Oh, choice man!” “All good.” “Oh, yeah-nah, not really.” “Slow down, Trev.” “Ugh, that’s grotty!” “No worries, he’ll be right.” “Bloody nora!”

I used Kiwi instead of Australian cause there’s a larger Polynesian population in New Zealand

But anyway

Sky’s Hylian is based on Korean

Hyrule, Dawn, and Aurora are besties

Hyrule has this huge sketchbook that’s basically a plant encyclopedia without words. It has really detailed pictures he drew of any plant he’s come across starting at age 8 so that he knows which is poisonous, toxic, or deadly and which aren’t

Most of them he learned from experience

Wild cuts Florian’s hair properly, they walked in on him trying to cut it himself and did so horribly so Wild steps in like “I may be shit at this too but I can at least what I’m doing”

Wind has canonically killed a man and we need to address that more

Also probably could and very much would to do it again

Age Headcanons (I know they have official age ranges but like I'm ignoring that)

Time: Physically; mid-30s Twilight: 19 going on 20 Warriors: 24 Sky: 21 Hyrule: 17 going on 18 (Ha) Legend: 21 going on 22 Four: 17 Wind: 13 Wild: 18 going on 19

So, this is technically a theory but it also counts as a headcanon so here it is:

My theory on the Chain becoming, well, The Chain

Each Link was pulled through (read: Walked through, thrown, forcefully pulled, etc.) a portal in order of the timeline. This means they were all thrown into Wild’s Hyrule since they’re at the end of said timeline

This also means that some Links were dropped off at the same time, just in different locations, in order it went:

Sky: Gerudo Desert Four: Goron City (He just kinda sets on fire) Legend, Time, and Wind: The Great Plateau (Time), Lurelin Village (Legend), Zora’s Domain (Wind) Twilight and Hyrule: Hebra Mountains (Twilight), Korok Forest (Hyrule) Warriors: Hyrule Castle

Wild and Hyrule were the first to meet, they were in the Korok Forest when a portal opened above them and dropped Hyrule through it

I just like the idea of the first game Link meeting the most recent game Link

When one meets another, their triforces will glow, and after they’ve (most) all branched off into pairs or groups, their triforce will glow and give a tugging sensation, telling them to follow it essentially, and leads them all to the Spring of Courage

That’s all I got

The Chain goes to Wild’s Zora's domain and meets Sidon for the first time and are like “who in the fuck is that” cause it’s this fucking HUGE shark Zora with this thousand-yard stare and when he sees Wild he turns into this love-sick puppy and they’re all like “??”

Hyrule hates it when any of them insult his era, cause he's someone who fully believes it's not a hopeless world despite it proving time again that it doesn't care for him

Hyrule is the only one who doesn't have a last name, not in a case of has one and just didn't/doesn't know it (read: Time and Wild) he literally just doesn't have one. Any records of his blood family they could find only listed the first names. No surname given

Time and Twi have the same angry face, Twi will just bare more teeth (well duh)

Twilight has to physically stop himself from chasing things that are thrown, but you can see his head and eyes immediately follow whatever it is

Hyrule's hylian is based on Thai

I have a royalty au who wants to hear more about it?

No one?

Oh well gonna talk about it anyway

Legend: Eldest Prince Hyrule: Youngest Prince Warriors: Personal Guard to Prince Legend Wild: Personal Guard to Prince Hyrule Wind: Wanted Pirate Twilight: Head Groom Four: Local Blacksmith Time: Butler Sky: Local Baker/Former Knight

Fable: Eldest Princess/Twin to Prince Legend Aurora: Queen of Calatia Dawn: Youngest Princess of Calatia Artemis: Personal Guard to Princess Fable Florian: Local Apothecary Tetra: Captain of the Ghost Ship/Wanted Pirate Dusk: Royal Librarian Dot: Local Florist Lullaby: Housekeeper Sun: Sky's Wife/Local Baker/Former Priestess

Additional Characters:

Ravio: "Humble" Bard Malon: Time's Wife/Owner of Lon Lon Ranch Hilda: Queen of Lorule/Best Friend to Prince Legend Styla: Princess of Hytopia Impa: Princess Fable's Lady-In-Waiting

If you’re on the discord then u already know a good bit about it but that’s all you’re getting for now :]

alright I'm done

#linked universe #lu #linked universe headcanons #lu wild #lu warriors #lu time #lu twilight #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu sky #lu wind #lu four #lu incorrect quotes

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ilikeyoualive · 1 year

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Another cryptid 141 snippet for y'all to enjoy! Please forgive my -no doubt- awful attempt at writing a Scottish accent. I did some research about it, but my Oklahoman ass probably still butchered the accent. Lol.

Main Masterlist

Warnings: Foul Language, Mentioned Cannibalism

Word Count: 590

Sneak peek below the cut:

3. Get Used to Weird Fucking Eating Habits.

The first time Soap saw Ghost eat something other than his usual weekly intake of suspicious meat that was so raw Soap half expected it to start screaming bloody murder was… a hell of a shock, to say the least. And it was fast food of all things, which was even more unexpected considering that this was Ghost and Soap had never even so much as entertained the idea that fast food was something the Lieutenant would indulge in without having to be bullied into it.

The utterly bizarre display had Soap standing in the doorway of the chow hall while gawking like a total fucking numpty for a solid minute as he tried to process what he was looking at, dumbly watching Ghost all but inhale a nauseatingly greasy and sad looking burger –which was closely followed by the equally greasy fries that were salty enough to give the antisocial Lieutenant a run for his money– with a fervor that would be alarming if Soap hadn't already known that Ghost had a bottomless pit for a stomach.

Ghost sat by his lonesome as usual, one of his skull-themed balaclava –a personal favorite judging by the faded state of the skull print that accompanied frequent washes from equally frequent use– bunched up on the bridge of his sharp nose, revealing the heavily scarred lower half of his sickly pale face to anyone that felt inclined to risk drawing the Lieutenant's ire by taking a peek. However, despite the not-so-subtle staring, trainees and faculty alike gave the table Ghost occupied a wide berth.

Although, to be fair, the collective glances weren't solely because of the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the rarity that was Ghost's ruggedly attractive features –which looked sculpted from marble or some other rock that was just as pale and solid as fuck– if the sheer amount of brightly colored food wrappers that had been crushed into a ball and meticulously stacked beside Ghost's left elbow were any indication.

"Lookin' tae break a Guinness world record, LT?" Soap had been aiming for teasing but somehow ended up landing on curious instead, which wasn't really a big deal because the delivery had fulfilled its purpose of announcing his arrival as well as grabbing Ghost's attention.

"Negative." Ghost grunted, his vague response doing little to explain why the Lieutenant seemed determined to consume so much garbage food that a weaker man would've succumbed to heart failure just from looking at the small mountain of crumpled wrappers that Ghost had amassed.

"Just hungry then, ey?" Soap hummed as he settled in the empty seat across from Ghost, who had finished off the last of the burger before shoving his hand into the brown paper bag on his right to retrieve another.

"Always fuckin’ ‘ungry, MacTavish." Ghost retorted frostily and Soap swore that the thinly-veiled frustration underlying the Lieutenant's normally impassive voice made the room a few degrees colder, several of the other soldiers in the chow hall shifting in their seats uneasily.

“Somethin' go wrong wi’ yer shipment ae long pig?” Soap asked, his foot sliding forward to playfully nudge the toe of his combat boot against Ghost’s. The Lieutenant’s dark, luminescent eyes narrowed when Soap grinned wolfishly with another little nudge that spurred Ghost into making a point of shifting his boot away from the barely there pressure of Soap’s foot, baring his needle-point teeth at the Scot for a moment before he caught himself and his expression fell back into its usual empty stare that held muted annoyance.

#cod cryptid au #cryptid tf 141 #fanfiction #fanfic #modern warfare ii #call of duty mwii #mwii #cod mw2 #mw2 2022 #simon riley #john mactavish #ghost #soap call of duty #soap cod #ghostsoap #ghost x soap

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