#No they're not supposed to work like flesh lights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chosok-amo · 3 months

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Sukuna that has a big fat crush on his lil bro Yuuji's upperclassmen friend that tutors him🤭💞

SHAPESHIFTED: RYOMEN SUKUNA

she was there, sitting beautifully and started filling the room, it was hard not to notice her glisten, when all the lights in the room— even the moon that peaks from the creek of the window darted like a spotlight on her, ‘your eyes might not be the color of the ocean but I get drown just by taking a secret glance, how do you do that? shapeshited and makes me fall in love with you?’

content warning: fluff, nothing else

sorry it takes me a lot of time to write this, I'm busy working on my thesis right now, and sorry I don't make exactly like your request but I hope you enjoy it 😊

THIS WAS FROM SUKUNA'S POV

UH OH, I'M FALLING IN LOVE

the moon is bright and the day is still young, i was just walking downstairs when i heard my brother's voice alongside a soft, feminine unfamiliar one. i kept my feet moving until i was able to see who the voice belonged to. she is sitting there with her small back facing me, body so tiny i'm afraid her friends had to lose her every time they were walking in the crowd. i keep on looking at her small frame until the brother of mine snaps me out of my own thought.

“sukuna.”

and just like that, she turned around, finally showing me how pretty someone could get with a honey voice like that. and suddenly, our eyes locked and if this is what people tell you about love at first sight i think they're having no idea what they were talking about. it doesn't make my head fuzzy and the world doesn't stop moving and the noise isn't running faded into the background like the movie show, but this? i feel hurt inside my chest like my heart alone wants to run and give it to her by itself.

she stands, showing me the biggest and the brightest someone could ever smile, it's beautiful, it's like a symbol of happiness, she looks happy, she looks like art even. and art was supposed to make you feel something, maybe that could explain why my heart is trembling. a quiet curiosity was planted into my chest, brain and I knew it was only a matter of time before she sunk beneath my bones, nurtured this deep-seated unfamiliarity into love so fierce, yet blithering, carefree and unconcerned, hopefully— that I would question if I had ever been in love before.

my hand becomes one with her, skin to skin as she takes my hand for her to hold— wishing it could stay longer after the void of nothingness hugging my hand back. she introduced herself to me but all I could hear was just the thunder underneath my flesh, underneath my ribs. yuji looking at me weirdly, doesn't get used to the way I reacted, i can feel his brown big eyes practically narrowing at me, but I choose not to pay him attention.

“she's going to tutor me, please don't do anything stupid or make too much noise,” he warned me. i flutter my eyes before catching a sight of him with his eyebrows up to his forehead. I rolled my eyes before waving my hand, and dismissed him off as if it meant nothing— well, It is, indeed. I'm a quiet person, unlike him, I'm not a menace to society. “yeah, yeah, whatever,” in boredom, i said to him and brought my feet to walk away from the living room to go to the kitchen.

i take a pack of cheese out of the fridge and slam it lightly on the counter. put pressure on the counter with my two palms before letting out a sigh. looking at the invisible living room, hoping my eyes suddenly had an x-ray superpower to take a glimpse of her again but to fail. “of course, what the fuck was I thinking?” a mumble under my breath could be heard. dramatically, I put my hand to my chest— hesitation felt in my blood. as I was feeling the thunder in my heart, I wail.

my knee abruptly turns into jelly, no longer having the ability to support my body as I slide down to the floor, back sticking to the wall of the counter. “what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— what the fuck?!” I yell in whispered, finger pointing at my heart with narrowed eyes. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, hoping there was some machine error inside of me that's gonna be the cause of whatever was happening inside.

“you like her,” there's a whisper.

I laugh humourless, forcing myself. “yeah, bless her delusional heart,” I scoff while rolling my eyes. I do not like her, in fact, I despise her. her weirdly bright smile does not give me a whole damn zoo, her honeyed voice does not calm my nerves. she's not gonna be something I be thinking about for a whole week. she's just my brother's friend. just looking at her I can tell she's gonna be an annoying person and weird. “right, she must be a bitch,” I mumble, talking gibberish just so I can convince myself.

“she's beautiful, doesn't she?” that whisper again.

I went quiet for a moment, getting pulled by nostalgia back to a moment ago. my red eyes stared at nothingness dreamingly without I realized. the smile she gave kept replaying inside my head like a broken record, “yeah, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” the whisper could be heard, over and over again, hypnotising me to keep thinking about her.

“you like her, don't you?”

“do I?”

the whispered whispering in my ear as I felt a hot wind clouding my ear. and that time I realized that it wasn't my head tricking me, that wasn't some demon or angel like you see in movies whispering to someone. “oh you sure do,” again with the whispering. quickly I snap my neck to the side only to find yuji with his ugly ass face close to me. “what the fuck— Yuji!” he laughed as I jumped in surprise.

he stands straight as he puts both hands inside his pocket. “you look stupid, what are you doing sitting there?” he asks, smiling knowingly while his eyebrows arise. I cleared my throat before shrugging my shoulder, “just chilling,” I mumbled. he just kept looking at me for a while before rolling his eyes. “man, you're so weird when you're in love, so fucking weird,” he sight and walk away. i stand in second, “what the fuck do you mean?” I asked, feeling offended obviously. he just waved his hands nonchalantly without looking back.

“uh oh, am I falling in love?”

OH NO, I'M FALLING IN LOVE

“is that blood?”

she looked up at me blankly, no thought behind those eyes, looking dumbfounded as she battled her eyelashes like she was trying to process the information. “y/n, is that blood?” I asked again. “no?” she answered with another question. I rolled my eyes, “that's not a question you were supposed to answer with another question,” I told her, seeing her white skirt got stained with something red. she pulled her skirt, showing me a quite big scar on her knee, “i fell,” she whimpered as if she was about to cry. her big doe eyes looking at me with quiver lips. I bit my lower lip, trying to contain myself from laughing and cooing at how cute she looked right now.

“wait here.”

I patted her head before going to the kitchen and coming back with a box of first aid kits in hand. I sit myself next to her and pull her closer by her under the knee. “you're so clumsy,” I mumble— treating her wounds. I took a glimpse of her before looking down at her knee. a light chuckle left me without I realized. there she is, eyes shut tightly, one hand covers her mouth while the other one knead with eyebrows narrowed— oh god, she's so cute.

“don't laugh,” she wailed, hitting my shoulder lightly.

again, I laugh, “sorry y/n, you're just too cute— alright, I'm done.”

after, I brought my face to look at her only to find her face changed into bright red as if all of her blood was rushing to her head. “are you okay?” I asked, worried if her wounds might be the cause of her state. “—your face is red, are you feeling hurt?” I asked again. my backhand touched her forehead, “you're burning, should we go to the doctor? I think yuji—”

“you shouldn't say something like that so casually,” she finally opened her mouth but her voice came out nearly whispering. I feel my forehead frown when the confusion consumes me. “huh? what?” she stared at me for a while, and I never knew that ‘for a while’ could bring so many things to my veins. they're doing it again, the hurt in my chest, the adrenaline rushing through my blood. my heart beating so fast it's literally banging on my flesh, so loud I'm afraid she can hear it.

she smiles, “I'm fine.”

I cleared my throat as I looked away for a second before pointing at her skirt. “go change your skirt, it's dirty. yuji might take a while to come home and I refuse to let you ride your stupid bike again after the stunt you pulled,” I said. she's open her mouth, about to protest before I look at her with a stern look, making her change her mind in a split second without me even realising. so without saying anything I went to my room and came back with a black shorts. “thanks,” she mumbled softly as her hand reached the shorts before going to the bathroom. I wait for her to change and sit in the living room, switching the tv on.

for a few minutes, I sat there in silence until she was slowly sitting back at the end of the sofa. my mind went blank with the tv noise as a background sound while pleasing her with a glance one to two— she looked straight to the tv but I know she watched nothing. pretty little hands fiddling with the fabric of my shorts that she's wearing. and maybe that's not gonna stay mine any longer since she looked better in it than me. would it be weird if I wanted her to keep the short? especially when I'm not her boyfriend.

“did yuji know you're here?” I asked, not very fond of the silence that filled the room, also trying not to corrupt my mind with something I shouldn't think about. “yeah, but he hasn't replied yet, but we made a plan a week ago, so yeah..” I nodded. just like that we flew back again to where we were before— silences.

we stay like that for a good minute until I hear soft giggles, making me turn my head to look at where the sound comes from— her. her eyes were already looking at me, “why do you keep looking at me?” she asked. I was stunned, mouth shut as I realized I never looked away from her. “you staring, am I that beautiful for you to keep your eyes on me?” she jokingly said, another fit of soft giggles leave her pretty mouth, making me smile in return. I kept looking for a while then nodded, “yeah, you're that beautiful,” I breathe. and just like that her smile quickly faded into the void and faced the other way. I feel giddy seeing her shy state and this time, my turn to giggle.

“are you shy, y/n?” I asked.

she quickly hid her face with the palms of her hands, looking away. I move closer, “are you shy, y/n?” I asked again, teasingly as I poked her shoulder. a muffled voice of squealing could be heard. she moved her shoulder as I kept on poking her. I hold her wrist and pull it out of her face only for her to stiffen her hands and giggle. “oh come on, let me see that beautiful face of yours,” I laughed a little. she shook her head and again, tried to turn away. I kept on pulling her hands, and the moment I successfully pulled her hands away, it was already too late to realize that our face was an inch away.

her cheeks were crimson red, plump lips were slightly open as her hot breath touched my cheeks. and again, everything starts to blur, noise muffled to the background. I force my lips to put on a tight line for a moment as I look into her eyes to her lips, suddenly having the urge to kiss her. it's not like I don't have the urge to kiss her every time for nearly two months, but this time? I feel like I'm gonna die and regret the way I live for the rest of my life if I don't feel the softness of her lips in mine.

“can I kiss you?” so I asked, whispering.

“yes,” she whispered back.

I never realized a single word can mean so much to me. who knows an agreement from someone can make my heart beat so fast but this time I'm not afraid if she heard the beating, I want her to hear the beating, I want her to know that my heart already belonged to her way before I have the right to, as if it was hers in the first place. my eyes widened after the second I realized, oh no, I'm falling in love.

OH, I'M FALLING IN LOVE

“are you there?” a soft voice from the other side asks.

I let out a sigh, unintentionally making a cloud of smoke in the air while I hugged my body with one hand while the other one pressed the tiny technology in my ear. “physically yes, mentally is debatable,” I told her. shivering got nailed in my body, caused by the cold weather. I chew my lips, hoping it starts to warm soon. soft smile printed on my lips after I hear angelic giggles from the other side, “oh please, don't be party pooper, I'll be there with you in a second,” she said.

I waited a moment before my body got slammed into the tree by something tiny and soft. a hand pulled my neck before the warmness touched my lips. I let out a relief breath as I made a circle around the waist of her. my eyes closed, following the way her lips moved on mine. “that's not fair, y/n, you can't corrupt me with something like that,” I complained after the kisses broke. she smiles, “but you love it.” I rolled my eyes in annoyance before smiling back at her.

she opened her bag and pulled out something pink. my eyebrows instantly lifted as I caught her eyes sparkling. “what is it?” I ask, cautiously. she wrapped my neck with the ‘something pink’ that turns out to be a scarf. “It's cold, you should wear something to keep you warm,” she said, still smiling. “but it's pink,” again, I complained. this time, it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “yeah, and?” she asked, looking confused as if I said something stupid with the oblivion. “i know it is pink,” she chuckled.

“i don't want to wear it, it's pink. I mean, did you even look at me? the tattoo on my face? the red in my eyes?”

she became more confused, “it doesn't match my vibe,” I told her, only for her to roll her eyes. “oh please, you look cute,” she sang happily, fixing the scarf around my neck. “but I don't want to look cute, please take this off,” I argued while trying to take the scarf off. she slap my hand in return, “but I made this for you,” she pouting, eyes almost looking like a dog. I was stunned, eyes wide open with her beautiful reflection in my iris. “you made this?” she nodded, still pouting. I let out a sigh, “fine.” out of thin air, the sparkle that was before lost in her eyes now bolting back, brightening it before I even realised.

under the cold weather, those eyes and all the sparkle made me feel warm. I could wear anything pink, from head to toe, I could do anything just so I could get to see those eyes simmering with the warmth of happiness. her and those eyes, I'm willing to kiss the ground she walked to, each step, if it means her eyes would be on me.

“kuna, come on, walk faster!”

she looked behind her— me, smiling with her hand that was covered with a thick glove waving at me. “be careful, it's slippery,” I told her. she stopped for a moment to hold my hand and softly dragged me to the fun fair. I watched her frame from behind, eyeing the way her body moved, gracefully like art in motion. her cheeks blended with crimson pomegranates as if all of the splendour of winter bent to her will. people say everything was a reflection of lights, and maybe that could explain her, she was the combination of all the prettiest light that exists.

she's beautiful and adorable and warm and everything in between. the first time you meet someone you're not gonna notice the waves of their hair, but the first I meet her I notice each wave, the way she stands, and speak, and smiles, her face becomes something I'll be thinking about next week, and five months ago I don't even know she exists but now i don't know if I'll still exist if she's not here.

she's more beautiful than any flower, she's like gold at the end of a rainbow, she's like a light of sunshine beneath the thunderstorm. just like the old poem said, If I had told the sea about her, what I felt about her, it would have left its shores, its shells, its fish, and followed me. its would have been filled with curiosity about the girl who's been shaking the sky and sea, the cause of my religiously praying when I don't even believe in god.

how does she shapeshifted like this? she becomes something I admire. the things that I usually overlook now become something that I desire. how did she do that? how did she make me fall in love with her?

oh, I'm falling in love.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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i'm begging you for some Keegan angst🙏🏼 like perhaps he and his s/o get split up during an ambush; their s/o goes MIA and when they're finally found, they're badly injured,,, something like that. maybe some fluff/comfort at the end

happy holidays!🎊

Laughing Poets

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

Synopsis: It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity. How will Keegan react when he realizes that he has to leave you behind?

Word Count: 10.8k

Warning: Angst, fluff, blood & gore, torture, Keegan calls you 'Kid' a lot, happy ending

A/N: This was supposed to be done about two days ago but I decided I hated it so I re-wrote the last half (might have switched a few things around). Enjoy, Anon, and thanks for the request. Also, not quite sure on the exact characterization of Keegan yet but I'm getting there. Slowly.

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

It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity; so much so that it splattered the far wall of the decrepit house. At that moment, as you felt all the air being expelled from your lungs in a shuttering gasp, you could see poets from the long-gone Romantic Era scratching at thin paper with an ink-stained quill, laughing. Their charcoal-stained fingers would twitch as they write out your life with a furrowed brow, bathed in candlelight, and would smile as they slashed their signature at the bottom.

Would the poem of your life end so quickly?

Your head slams to the ground, white light erupting from behind your eyes as you try and suck back enough air just enough to be able to scream in agony. Molten heat is tearing you apart, peeling back nerves; breaking bone, and slashing past muscle with an inexhaustible surety. Dropping the modified AX-50 from your grip, the black and grey metal slams to the ground with a defining clatter as your ears ring with lightning. In the back of your mind, you hear the glass of its Thermal Duel Power Scope shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Shit, you had just gotten that from Kick a week ago.

It was strange – the repercussions of your actions were happening all around you, but it felt like it was a world away as realization set in. You’d gotten shot? How? You got shot?!

You wished your pitiful existence was worthy of a poem, truth be told; that it was worth more than the crimson that leaks from your left shoulder to the old, cracked, wooden ground. But that was never the case.

Your body writhes and you wail out, head jerking back and forth in a primal display.

You had chosen this life, whether by your own need for revenge or the sense of duty…you knew not. And now you would pay for it.

Nobody knew you were hit, because you hadn’t told anyone through the comms, but there was also the fact that you were never meant to be this far out anyways. Merrick had fucking warned you this would happen if you stalked off on your own again, but as always, you had chosen the stubborn route. When you had seen this run-down shack of a house with a perfect vantage point, it made that predatory part of your brain sing with a need to hike to it – nestled right in between an outcropping of trees and overgrown vines atop a hill. With the threat of Federation soldiers in the war-torn town below, it was a God-send. You controlled it. You were master here.

Like a bird, Keegan would tell you, striding past, you just can’t resist a good perch, can you, Kid?

The thing is, your Ghost Team shouldn't know you’re injured out here, but soon enough as you frantically try and grasp at your decimated shoulder with burning tears in your eyes and a gaping mouth, a stiff voice wavers through the static of your radio. The blood pools from you like an overturned ink well and your face pulls back in a desperate snarl.

The sound of gunfire was still raging hundreds of miles down into the remains of what was once the outskirts of San Diego but is now known as No Man’s Land.

“Kid,” Keegan’s voice plays along your ears, but you’re too busy trying to force yourself up, blood hacked up from your mouth as you let out a strangled, no, “Where’d your scope go? Ajax needs cover fire two clicks to the west. Eyes up. No time for foolin’ around.”

Your skin is peeled back, and your flesh is infected with bits of your shirt and padded vest fabric inside the wound itself – like bugs crawling all over. You don’t want to think about the exit wound. The bullet had come from another sniper farther in the city, and, you knew, you were lucky you had survived the shot at all just on that fact alone. In your case, when you pulled the trigger, you rarely missed a killing blow.

That was probably why Elias Walker had approached you in the first place – your kill count for Federation soldiers was off the charts, even with how young you were. Not quite a Ghost in full, but something in the middle; nearly there but not quite. You had to earn the mask first. Ajax liked to call you Greenhorn, but Merrick was more prone to Rookie. Kick was rarely out of his lab, so he didn’t call you much of anything. But Keegan…

“Blue Jay?” Keegan’s voice once more wafts out into the burning air, “Sitrep. Now.”

“Keegan, push forward,” Merrick cuts through the channel and his heavy tone fills the house just as you begin to drag yourself across the floor. The echoes of the gun battle reverberate over the hills, “They’re boxing us in! Move, move, move!”

You collapse against an overturned and broken coffee table with shaking limbs and tear-stained cheeks, struggling to find a good enough hold to press down on the wound as crimson leaks from between your fingers. A lung-shuttering gasp exits the flesh of your lips right before a burning makes itself known in the back of your throat. Not able to stop yourself, bile is forced all the way from your stomach, making a trail up your esophagus and finally pooling in your mouth. Gagging, you reel forward onto one hand and release the contents of Keegan’s ration bar from lunch back into the earth, watching the liquid concoction pool onto the ground that has grass whisps sneaking in from between the floorboards. Seeing that, and barking out another wail as long ropes of crimson drip down from your limp arm, you throw up once more. Everything is on fire.

“When…when Ajax said getting shot felt like your skin was being flayed,” You groan, head starting to feel light-headed, “I thought he was just joking.”

The sound of your agony-drowned voice brought a sense of urgency into your rapidly fading psyche.

“Apply pressure,” Merrick’s imaginary voice in your head makes you straighten your spine – like he was a little angel on your shoulder hitting you with a newspaper. You call-back the memory of the Ghost as he was going over medical procedures a month back, “If your hand slips, you die, and I'm not carrying your limp body back to the Fort like a fucken’ sack of potatoes. No one can respond better than yourself in this type of high-risk situation, you understand? Panic is not an option in No Man's Land and if you think it is, you have no right being here...Make a tourniquet; tie it off, and wait for backup. Here, Rookie, practice on Keegan.”

Doing the best you can with only one functioning arm, your fingers twitch as you card them clumsily over the pouches on your chest. Finding the velcro of your medical bag, you whine as you rip it open, flesh so sensitive that even the rough fabric of your own property is grating to feel. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you tell yourself, you most likely would have already passed out.

Ripping out the roll of medical gauze and praying you had enough, your shaking hand travels to your right shoulder, not even noticing the hurried conversations and screaming orders over the comms.

Make a tourniquet, You think to yourself, grunting out into the air when you have to move your arm into position. The entire limb was stained red, liquid dripping off your nonresponsive fingers to the floor. What if you never regained the function of your arm again? Your thoughts were running. What if you could never shoot your rifle all because you felt the need to go too far on your own? To prove yourself?

The thoughts scared you more than you liked to admit. This life was everything to you – pushing back against the Federation, who had taken so much from you, and being alongside the Ghosts. It was what you had worked so hard for.

Then fight for it, You don’t know why Keegan’s smooth voice comes to you at that moment, but as you pull the gauze so tight around your open wound you scream and see stars; nearly keeling over as well, it brings forward a steely determination, Don’t expect everything on a silver platter, Kid. But then again, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that.

“Fucking hell,” Face contorted with unmatched distress, you suck down breaths and let the gauze soak up your life; blood in deep puddles already seeping through, “I need to move – t-tell the others…”

“Blue Jay’s not responding,” Keegan speaks over the static of the comms channel, “I’m doubling back.”

Your functioning hand latches onto the radio, weak fingers slipping for a moment as your body sways forward. Struggling, you stumble to your feet and steady yourself on the termite-eaten wall near the window. You peak out and try to spot the enemy sniper with wheezing breath and a sweat-flooded forehead.

Pressing down on the radio to speak, you’re appalled by how hard the simple act was.

Am I dying?

“Don’t Keegan – in order to break the line you’ll need everyone to be there,” You have to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, “I’m spotting twelve tangos near the storage facility. Merrick, I’d suggest taking a left and circling the flank.”

Merrick responds, “Good eyes, Rookie. Ajax, on my six!”

Your vision swirls, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath and splay your legs shoulder length apart so you don’t fall forwards. You pointedly avoid look at your wound.

“You want to explain why you weren’t responding?” Keegan’s voice is stern, hiding an edge somewhere in its tone that you choose not to acknowledge, “This isn’t a game!” On a far-off building, you spy a glint, making your attention snap to it like a cat and a mouse—sniper scope.

There’s that Bastard, Your fingers twitch with hatred, glossy and tear-clogged eyes narrowing. If you had the ability to shoot right now…

A bullet nearly takes your head off, splintering the frame of the window before lodging into the floor.

“Shit!” You yell, reeling back; forgetting for a moment you were on the open channel.

“Greenhorn, what’s going on over there?” Ajax finally graces the line, “You doing something stupid again?” You don’t know why you hesitate…why you’re so cautious to reveal to them that–

“That’s it,” Keegan snarls, “I’m going to your position.”

You shake your head, your mind so jostled that you don’t say anything for a moment until you realize that no one can see you.

“I took a bullet to my right shoulder.” You concede, voice low with self-hatred, “Clean through, nothing to worry about, just won’t be able to cover anyone…C-can’t feel my arm.”

The line goes dark for a moment, and as you listen to your own ragged breathing that leaves you more hunched over the longer you stand up, it suddenly explodes. A cold shiver travels down your spine; sweat drips from your nose. Your eyelashes flutter.

“What the hell do you mean you got hit!?”

“Son of a Bitch, Rookie, give us your position, now. We’re pulling back.”

“No!” You yell, growling, and shaking your head, “This is a key location to taking back San Diego – there are vantage points, cover, hell, even weapons caches left over from before the war in one of the military bases. We need to secure this town. I’m fine!” But they weren’t listening, even if everything you were saying made sense.

They can’t ruin the operation over one person, You told yourself, heart pumping a mile-a-minute, No one I’ve worked with has ever done that before and the Ghosts sure as Hell shouldn’t be the first. These guys were Special Operations before ODIN destroyed half the US – they know better.

But you were forgetting one critical detail. The Ghosts aren’t just any other team; they care about their own perhaps even more than the missions they get sent on.

But I’m not one of them, You grunt to yourself, letting your eyes close and knocking your head back into the wall behind you. The fact makes you want to cry, but you’re forced to acknowledge the sore spot later.

God, your arm felt like it was being burned to a crisp. You grunt and grit your teeth as another wave goes through you.

“How long ago did you get hit!?” Keegan barks and the sound of shouting from below your perch momentarily increases.

“I..” You try and think. How long had it been? More than seven minutes couldn’t have passed.

“Answer me!”

“F-fuck, I don’t know! Four-five minutes ago!” Yelling makes your head throb, a deep booming that echoes like a drum in your consciousness.

The door to the house squeaks as it opens.

Eyes snapping to the wall that separates the living room from the foyer, your voice cuts out immediately. Keegan was fast – lethally fast – but the town below your perch was at least a few miles, this was because your AX-50 was specialized at long-distance shots. It would be no good in the heat of an ongoing ground battle. I mean, hell, it only held seven shots; even with the modifications you had added on by yourself.

The person who had opened the door wasn’t a Ghost.

And that meant they were your enemy.

Doing the best you can to move stealthily, you unclip the combat knife from your belt and listen with bated breath as you slink over to the doorway. You hate the way your hand shakes as it holds the hilt but revel in the fact that your left arm is numb enough to not cause you to bellow out. Holding your breath, you lean against the barrier on your good shoulder and bring the blade up near your chin.

There are hesitant footsteps that shake the fragile frame of the building, and you feel the reverberations travel up your feet and make your skin shiver. Goosebumps form along your arms.

Creeeek, crack-clack

The floorboards squeal like a stuck pig, the old boards splintering off as an unseen assailant’s feet cautiously move through the house. The sound of heavy breathing comes closer, nearing the doorway to the room you say stone-still in.

Your radio flares to life.

“Rookie–” It only takes a moment, but Merrick’s voice is the signature at the end of your poem; whatever you would have heard from the man was lost.

A Federation soldier dressed in camo and grasping a shotgun rampages around the corner.

—

Keegan knows he’s too late when he sees the run-down visage of the shack with its front door open.

I taught her never to leave the doors behind her ajar.

The Ghost had been training you for months – taking you somewhat under his wing, albeit reluctantly. Elias was clear when he gathered everyone together, train her to be like us. And they had all done just that, Keegan more harshly than anyone, but that wasn’t to say you were untalented.

The stoic Ghost had yet to see a more talented sniper than himself, but you came in as a close second. You were the perfect asset, able to stay back when everyone else went in. You were the cover, the master behind the curtain that clears a path with a pull of a trigger. The Ghosts owed many missed nicks and scrapes to you and your calls. So when Keegan had heard you stop answering over the comms; not responding to Ajax’s hurried quips…

Keegan’s heart hammers as he ascends the front steps overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, the Honey Badger Assault Rifle held white-knuckled in his grip. As if on autopilot, the man switches the safety off and enters, face behind the fabric of his balaclava. The contorted visage of the white paint over the front created quite the nightmare and paired with the black eyepaint Keegan could only be compared to a beast.

The slight clinking of the rope hook tied to his waist and the metallic bit and bobs in his vest was the only sounds he made, the years upon years of perfection ingrained into the way he breathed; the press of his feet to the floor. Keegan would only allow someone to hear him if he wanted them to, even if he was the size of a boar.

His cerulean eyes flicker down the hallway, but nothing moved beside the stale wind – smelling only dirt and…

Blood, Keegan’s nose twitches, eyes narrowing. The man tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace.

Had he really grown so attached to you that he would forsake his teammates to come and check on your situation? Perhaps the stupidest thing he could do to himself was begin to enjoy your presence. But that didn’t change the fact that you were his responsibility, and in the back of his mind there was a nagging concern.

He had grown to care for you, and that was unexceptable.

Keegan enters the living room with his rifle held ahead of him, scanning the room for tangos before he lowers it. Empty.

And then he sees the remnants of a struggle. Head going back and forth the Ghost follows a trail of gore along the floor, an explosion of crimson over the wall behind him, and feels his chest rumble in a growl over the image of a broken AX-50. His breath stills.

The metal was dented, and the scope shattered, leaving glass over the ground like marbles. Keegan felt a dangerous heat enter his blood, eyes flashing; a specific type of rage growing in his gut and twisting his intestines.

“Where are you, Kid?” He mutters, fingers flexing over the trigger of his weapon. Where did you go? His throat tightens, lips thin. Merrick’s voice comes over the radio with a hard edge.

“Keegan, sitrep. How’s our girl doing? Evac is on its way and we’re pulling back. Getn’ pretty hot over here.” Keegan takes a moment before rushing over to your signature weapon, letting his own fall against his chest and bounce off his vest. Grasping the gun you worshiped by the blue strap, his eyes go along its long body, spying the custom modifications and intricate detailing over the stock. Tiny Blue Jays are scratched and covered in crimson; the colors faded.

You had painted it yourself when Keegan had taken a liking to referring to you by the callsign, and he had never really had the chance to look at it until now. Staring at it for a moment longer, his thumb lightly swipes away a droplet of blood, letting one of the birds once more be visible. Keegan swings the rifle over his back and feels the heaviness of it – the weight of the customizations and the top-grade material. This was your pride and joy along his back, moving with every flex of his shoulders with the barrel hitting the back of his knee.

He carried it was a sort of reverence; a delicateness that was never connected to his name.

She’d never leave this behind without a fight.

Keegan’s tense fingers go to his radio, eyebrows pulling in and eyes emotionless. But the stubble shake of his hand makes him want to punch someone. Whoever had done this to you would pay.

“Blue Jay’s gone.” He states, monotone, “House is empty with signs of a struggle.”

The man turns back to the doorway, glass crunching under his feet, and walks back out into the hallway.

“What do you mean ‘gone,’ man?” Ajax butts in, and over the comms the sound of bullets hitting metal creates a ringing sound, “She’ll bleed out!”

“Move!” Merrick’s voice sizzles out as a grenade goes off, and the line cuts for a moment as Keegan nonchalantly comments,

“All good?”

“We’re taking heavy fire. Without the girl’s backup, we can’t stay here – Ajax and I are heading to the Evac point and’ll draw their attention into the woods. Find that damn kid, Sergeant.”

“On it, Sir.” Keegan releases the device on his vest and turns his hidden head. He sweeps the rest of the shack with a heavy weight on his shoulders, taking notice of a constant trail of blood throughout the hallway. With every moment passing the weight of the situation settles in his gut.

“C’mon Kid,” He whispers, voice gruff, until he finally goes to the busted-down back door and finds the body.

It was laying face down in a bed of wild grass, a thin breeze moving its shirt sleeves. A shotgun lays a few feet from the corpse, surrounded by old rubble and a small downed treetrunk; it was still smoking, dark metal caressed by dirt. Keegan rushes over, taking in the motionless branches of the forest and the knife still lodged in the Federation soldier’s head.

Tapping the man with his foot, the Ghost goes to grab the blade by the hilt and rip it out. Hearing the shink of metal separating from flesh and feeling the spray of blood over his tactical glove.

Just as he feared, the knife belonged to him. His body coils.

Keegan had given it to you after you lost your own on the last mission, the black blade a perfect match to the one currently sitting on his waist. He had wanted it back, but you had teased and asked what if I needed it in the future with a raised eyebrow and body leaning into Ajax who sat next to you. Begrudgingly, Keegan had deadpanned and said he expected you to return it after you found a replacement. But you had just smiled at him, lips pulling back into a bright display and wrinkled eyes. Your face had glowed in the daylight, shadows disappearing and the heavy bags everyone was sporting under their eyes vanishing on yours. Keegan had felt his chest hitch, even if outwardly he remained as stoic as always, and that was it.

The man had dropped the conversation and had never asked for the blade back. In fact, something had swirled in Keegan’s gut the next time he saw his knife strapped to your waist, the band holding the hilt tight against you and bunching your shirt up. It was pathetic, Keegan admitted when he had frozen at the sight at the time, legs jerking, but seeing something of his own on your body had made his heart go wild; eyes so obviously boring into you that your cheeks had gained a sheen of embarrassment that day. Keegan had stalked away, unable to admit to himself that something was going in inside of him that he had no control over.

That was the point of no return, he realized. The overturned inkwell onto the thin parchment.

You were the poet and him the words in your head, using him without a clue.

“Fuck,” He growls, gripping the knife so tightly it digs into his gloves and hurts the flesh inside. His head turns to the forest, burning eyes roving for any sign of you even as a strike of pride filters through him. Injured and disoriented, you had taken down a man two times your size with only his knife and your wits. Now that really got his blood pumping.

Besides a thin trail of blood drops over the grass, leading far into the tree line, you had all but disappeared. Keegan’s heart was pounding, ready to run in after you.

She couldn’t have gotten far, especially not with a wound like she described. I’ll catch up. I have to.

“Keegan we need you at the Evac point, ASAP!” Ajax screams, voice strained, “Else we’re going to be coming home in body bags, man!”

“I don’t have Blue Jay yet–”

“There’s no time,” Merrick yells out, and Keegan hears the whizz of bullets from over the line, “Federation soldiers are storming us – get here now! Or you’re getting left behind. That’s an order, Sergeant!”

She won’t survive, Keegan tells himself, forcing down the mucus in his throat, not by herself.

Ghosts don’t leave their own behind. Merrick undoubtedly planned to return when the heat was off them; send a recon force to the area to look for signs of life. Keegan clenched his fists, eyes dead as they stare off into the trees and expansive foliage. This area was notorious for its high cliffs and steep dropoffs – one wrong move and everything was over in an instant. The earthquakes were worse. Ever since ODIN was fired the tremors had been constant.

The odds weren’t in your favor even without adding in a possibly fatal wound.

Keegan takes a step forward, inching closer to the treeline unconsciously with firm feet.

“Keegan – do you trust her!?”

“What?” Merrick’s loud comment had shaken Keegan, making him freeze; eyes wide. He was only one step into the wild, perhaps only one step closer to finding you. Did he trust you? What kind of question was that? The woman who always fooled around with Ajax, pushed Marrick’s buttons to a point the man had begun to respect you? Blue Jay, who always made a point to bring Keegan into conversations and try to get him to smile at her – carrying herself with elegant confidence?

Did he trust you? How does one even describe trust? After everything that’s happened, could he place his trust in someone else other than his Ghost brothers? Keegan’s jaw clenches, head looking back and forth before slowly going to sneak a peak at the body behind him. His chest tightened.

He already had an answer, but found that he couldn’t say it aloud.

Apparently, the moment of silence gave his friends what they needed.

“Then get your ass back here! The sooner we have a chance to regroup we’re comin’ back and gettin’ her. Rookie knows what she’s doing…we’ve given her every lesson we could. It’s up to her for a while.”

“Trust in her, Keegan” Ajax chimes, “Just as she trusts you.”

Keegan turns his back to the forest, hearing every step of his feet over the ground as they carry him away from you.

“Copy.”

The words are firm, but the ink of them bleeds.

—

You wake up chained to the ceiling, shoes gone, and socked feet dangling over the floor. Blood from a new gash on your head trails over your right eye and leaves the already flickering movement of your eyelashes more constant as the liquid dribbles to your tense jaw in a steady flow.

It had happened so fast – far faster than your already addled mind could have comprehended. A group of Federation soldiers had been camping out in the woods and had sent only one of their men into the shack you had deemed too far out of the way for any up-close confrontation; the rest had stayed and waited. The minute your back was too close to the tree line after you had lodged Keegan’s blade into the lone man’s skull, they had grabbed you.

Apparently, they dragged me back into town, too, You growled to yourself, how could I be so dumb?!

The only upside of this situation was that in order to question you they had to keep you alive long enough to get you to speak. Already the heavy padding over your numb left shoulder calls to you like a siren song; the dichotomy of the position you were in almost made you laugh. The Federation soldiers had you hooked up to the ceiling like a butchered pig but took the time to dress your wound so you wouldn’t bleed out.

You wiggle your fingers, the lack of circulation already leaving the top half of your body tingly. Next, your feet. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ve been drugged, because the words from your head seem to spill from your lips unprompted and the pain of your situation is dull; muted.

“Hell,” Your voice is loud, tone slurred, and rough. Oh yeah, definitely high off something, “If you wanted to tie me up you could have just asked me!”

Opening your eyes as full as you can, you look around weakly and lock onto rusted metal walls and a set of large warehouse doors.

“You brought me to the warehouse? How stupid could you be?” You say aloud, twisting your neck around before the clinking of chains stops you, “Isn’t this near the old logging company? This is close to the edge of the town! If I wanted to escape I’d be gone in five seconds.”

Your drugged snickering echoes off the walls, bouncing back at you mockingly. Soon enough footsteps sound off from beyond the closed door, many, many feet marching down an unseen hallway. You smile, thinking, finally, and hear the blood from your head drip to the floor every other second. The warehouse door slides open with a shriek and your vision blinks out, black momentary shrouding you before it filters back.

Three men enter the room, all dressed in the black and gray camo of the Federation – straps and combat vest so similar to your Ghosts that in your state you confuse the two. They even wore black balaclavas and the one in the middle is a similar build to your Sergeant, tall, and built like a damn bear.

“Keegan?” You whisper, head tilting to rest on your strained arms as your eyebrows pull in before sparks of pain fly. Was that…you have to shake your head, skull suddenly burning. No. There’s a thin moment of clarity before that haze re-settles.

This isn’t right. That is not my Keegan. Not my Ghosts.

The middle man leads the other two at his sides, nodding his head behind him and the door begins to close; the others peel off and go to guard the entrance, leaving you and the man to have a conversation semi-alone.

He stops a few feet from you, eyes a deep brown and boring into your body. Your lips pull back.

“There are more simple ways to question someone besides stringing them up, man.” Your sentence cracks halfway through, but you don’t notice.

The man just stares, tilting his head to the side. After a moment of eye contact, he speaks.

“You are not a Ghost.” His voice is accented – Spanish is most likely his first language.

“Yeah, trust me,” You groan, head once more pulsing. Your feet shimmy over the ground, toes lightly brushing the concrete, “No one’s more fucked up about that than I am. I train my ass off–”

A sold punch is landed to your gut, tossing your body back as the chains above you squeal. The air is expelled from your lungs in a series of deep coughs, lungs rattling as spittle flies from your lips, you feel your organs shake inside of you. It takes a few moments for you to catch your breath and dispel the sledgehammer blow, but already the man is talking when the bulk of your panting has barely slowed.

“You are going to tell me a way into Fort Santa Monica,” He pulls a knife from his waistband and takes a step forward, putting the blade directly on your right side. Your clothes crease where the tip presses and needle-like sparks fly from your flesh, “Or I will have to ring the answer from you like water in a rag.”

With a pounding heart, your mouth runs unprompted, “Ghosts don’t break, asshat. And I may not be one of them, but I certainly know that I won’t let my boys down.”

What the hell did they give you? Keegan had warned you to never say too much when captured. Don’t make ‘em angry unless you want a reminder of the power they have at that moment. But it wasn’t like you could help it anymore–

The blade sinks through hot flesh, and inside the warehouse, a high-pitched scream flows outside; scattering birds and beasts alike.

This continues for three long days.

—

Keegan was stone-still as Elias bend over the meeting table, a map of the town and surrounding forest where you had gone missing spread out. Everyone was silent, and Keegan has to shuffle his feet to reduce the tension in his thighs and shoulders; his hands tighten over his chest. Ajax is the first to speak over the tense air as Merrick repeatedly itches at the skin of his bald scalp from where he stands behind a chair.

“We have to move,” The Ghost growls, and when no one responds Ajax hits a closed fist to the table, “soon, Elias.”

The slam echoes over the room, bouncing off the walls.

“Ajax,” The man in question shakes his head, “What we need to do is think this through. Form a proper plan and carry it out with more intel.”

Elias pulls back to his full height but Keegan’s eyes stay locked on the map, flicking mutely over the marks and topography.

It’s been three days, He tells himself, She’s probably dead by now. The files already have her labeled as MIA.

Under his balaclava, his jaw clenches in feral denial. Why did the thought of that fact make him want to go out and search for you himself, regardless of Elias’s sound logic? You couldn’t be dead. Missing was better than that – missing meant he could find you.

Perhaps it was the same emotion that had given him a sinking feeling when, two days ago, the entire Ghost Team had gone back out to the forest under the cover of darkness to search for you. All Keegan had found was the footsteps of multiple Federation soldiers and signs of one of them dragging something heavy behind his back.

It was obvious what had happened, and as he had slowly turned his head down to the town lit up by spotlights, the only thing that had stopped him from tracking you down was Elias’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Keegan’s eyes were lit with a dangerous light, glinting with the promise of revenge.

He wanted you back – he would get you back – regardless of the consequences. No one messed with you and lived, whether that meant the revenge was carried out by your own hand or by his doesn’t matter. That town would be purged. Keegan would see to it.

The Federation had made it personal.

“She’s getting tortured!” Ajax yells, insight voicing what everyone already knew, “Greenhorn would rush in if it was one of us out there instead of her!”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here, isn’t it?” Elias runs a hand down his face, army shirt and cargo pants noticeably wrinkled. No one had slept while they waited for more recent intelligence on the number of tangos in the town, “We can’t be rash. They’ll know we're comin’ for her if we mess this up.”

“Elias,” Merrick finally speaks up, placing his large hands on the chair’s back and leaning into it, “You know we all trust you to make the call…but I have to agree with Ajax on this. We’re practically leaving the Kid behind if we wait any longer.” The stocky Ghost scratches at his beard, “You know what they’ll do to her.”

The older man has a soft spot for you, Keegan realized with a roll of his head and a crack of his neck. All of them had a soft spot. Waiting here was like keeping a group of trained attack dogs from a target – most of all Keegan. Patience was supposed to be his ally, and he had taught you just the same, so how had it left him so stupendously?

Elias grunts, crossing his arms. He looks over to the only person who had thus far been silent and brooding in the corner. A dark cloud was heavy over the Ghost’s head, anyone could see it. A man at the edge of an already fraying rope of sanity.

“Keegan?” Elias asks, gruffly, already knowing the man’s emotions and thoughts, “Do you have anything to add?”

Normally Keegan was one who would wait for a sure answer, but in this instance, the next words he said rocketed out of him before he could fully think over the gravity of what they meant. Always the cautious one, the times he wanted to rush in blind could be counted on one hand and on less than five fingers…but that was before you. Before the hours the two of you spent together training, building trust, and protecting each other in the field with knife and bullet.

All that mattered was getting you back to him. And the words wrote themselves, curved, under the gentle influence of an ink quill.

“I’m bringing my girl home.”

A moment of silence tightens over his throat; the stoic man’s feet move from under him as his eyes slightly widen. If he had the ability his face would have blossomed with a blush, but even so, the embarrassment was visible to those who had known him the longest.

Shit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that.

Keegan dares to look back at Elias, only to find the leader smirking, a knowing glimmer in his eyes that leaves him freezing like a mouse under the gaze of an owl.

“Well, then, let’s go get your girl back.”

Ajax snickers and him and Merrick spare glances, amused, nearly saying about time.

—

Your body lightly swings, blood in a pool below your feet and rippling as another drop enters the flood. Your nose is broken; bleeding, just like your ribs. Cuts litter your skin, clothes are ripped and shredded and swarmed with crimson both dried and new. Your combat vest had been ripped off, the rough material thrown somewhere behind you by enraged fingers and ripped apart for any indication of a blueprint of your Fort or useful intel.

The Federation soldiers had left you alone with your thoughts not five minutes ago and to your credit, you have not broken. Not even after everything – the hits, stabs, and beatings that left you sobbing and biting back pleas. Throughout all of it, Keegan’s voice stuck with you; you had drowned in good memories in the small moments you were able to breathe without being slugged in the chest.

The way Keegan would send you soft glances when he thought you weren't looking and how the blank-faced man kept your skills sharp as a way to make sure you were safe. His rare smiles; comforting interactions when you were up late practicing with your rifle. A weak smile filters over your bloody and bruised face, eyes blinking closed as the air is expelled from your lungs in a deep sigh.

“You’re going to get a sore neck if you keep doing this, Little Blue,” The words startled you, eyes widening from where one looks through the scope of your AX-50. Your head jerks back, finger immediately dropping from the trigger you were just about to pull.

“What the actual fuck, Keegan!?” Hair whips around you as your body turns, facing the man leaning against the doorway as a nightly breeze rustles through the outside firing range, “Has no one told you not to sneak up on the person with the gun?”

“I was the one that told you that, Kid.” He raises a brow, strong jawline on display for the moon.

It was rare that the man took off his balaclava when in your presence, and you took a moment to stare from your position on the ground; your heart jerks against the concrete before you shove the feeling in it’s tissue down.

Keegan’s presence made the heat on the back of your neck increase, hands getting clammy over the metal of your gun. You flex them in what you hope looks simply like a resetting method.

“Well, then you’re not good at taking your own advice...” You grumble, huffing and fixing your posture, looking back out over the field and the white target over six hundred feet away, “And my neck is perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It won’t be if you keep getting up and creeping out here every night. I thought I wore you out today?” The memory of getting thrown to the ground more times than you could count during a sparring match made your muscles remember to ache, “Or do I need to ramp up the difficulty? You almost pinned Ajax today.” You suppress a wince and send a quick glance over to the Ghost, who pushes off the wall and sighs, stalking over to you.

“If you think you need to,” Licking your lips, you feel his heavy shadow over your form. You replace your cheek to the stock of your rifle, once more seeking to line up the shot as quickly as possible, “And you did ware me out.” Muttering, you feel yourself get lost in the wave of the sensation of purpose – superiority singing in your veins.

This rifle was your quill, and with it, you signed the signature of death on the poems of others’ lives.

This was your calling, and not a moment later, not feeling the reverent eyes on the side of your face as Keegan stills his breath, you pull the trigger. It lands just a millimeter from the center of the target. Your jaw tightens and you tell yourself, ‘not good enough’ with a narrowing of your eyes.

The action wasn’t missed.

“You’re at this every night, Kid,” Keegan stands by your left thigh, his eyes digging into you, “Don’t pretend like I haven’t noticed.”

You pull back, shame coursing through your veins. You had tried to be stubble, but were you really that bad?

But of course you were, your cheeks head, you lived in the Ghosts’ barracks. They all knew you were sneaking off at night to practice. Your lips thinned at that realization; you really had a lot to learn.

“Blue Jay,” Keegan prods, the authority of his rank now leaking into his tone; it has you straightening unconsciously, “Answer me.”

“...I just need to be better,” You mutter under your breath, going to line up another shot.

A hand on the scope jostles the view, making you pause and tense. Your breath stills in your chest, feeling body heat beginning to leak into your shivering form.

No words are spoken in that silent minute, but you know enough about your Sergeant to tell when he wants you to stop doing something. Keegan’s silence was a mystery that you had only just started to unravel for yourself. Your hands loosen enough for him to take the rifle from your grasp, bringing it up into his grip delicately.

Shuffling up to your knees, you place one hand on your thigh as the other goes to rub at your eyes, feeling the fatigue leak out onto your fingers.

“You’re not going to get better if you keep forcing your eyes open,” Keegan mutters, and his form knees down next to you. The rifle was placed on the ground a few feet away. A warm hand lays on your shoulder and you stifle a hitch in your breath managing to inhale the scent of gunpowder and fresh-cut grass; hickory wood. You have to blink away the sleep that settles on your eyelids.

How was he so warm?

“How do you know that?” You grunt out, itching your eyebrow. You don’t register right away, but a deep chuckle settles warmly on your chest as the man at your side releases it. Reverberations like a purr make you sigh slowly.

“You’re good, Little Blue,” Keegan’s hand goes to your chin, and your cheeks heat as he directs your gaze to his gently, thump and first finger firm. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in every line and imperfection before settling on the black and blue bags that have lived on you for weeks. In turn, you study him – the strong jaw line, usually hard eyes leaning towards soft and caring. You liked when he looked like that; more than anything, you liked when he looked at you like that, “don’t reduce your skill to anything less than what it is. Practice is good, Kid,” Keegan lowers his voice, and your eyes stay locked, “But I can’t watch you ruin yourself.”

Your heart stutters, and your body becomes soft under his touch.

“...but I don’t want to let anyone down.” Eyebrows turning in, Keegan pauses a second at your comment, fingers on your chin tightening for a moment before it begins to travel.

Heart pounding, his touch leaves electricity behind with every scrape of his callouses and healed scars. His eyes stay trapped on yours, watching every minute emotion and movement from you and your hands shock-still in your lap.

“Let ‘em down?” Keegan huffs, the breath ruffling your hair, and his hand settles over your cheek. He continues as his large thumb goes to pet the skin of your undereye, leading your eyes to flicker shut as he mutters your name, “Not a damn chance. You’re a natural, Kid. Hell, you get some proper sleep for once and maybe one day you’ll be as good as me.”

Even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over your face, feeling his eyes softly fall over your visage.

“Promise?”

You missed the small twitch of Keegan’s lips, “...I promise.”

Shaking yourself out of the memory, your body plays dead as the warehouse door once more opens. A plan had formed, taking root and digging into the small tissue of your brain.

“Why isn’t she moving?” The voice of the Middle Man was enough to make your body tense, toes twitching. No one seemed to notice before you once more went slack, “Get her eyes open!”

Twin pairs of feet slam to the floor, coming closer; soon hands are slamming into your ribs, shaking you back and forth. The bones in your chest move strangely, disconnected from where they were supposed to be. But you hold back your screams, a thin, lip-bitten whine stuck in your mouth.

Your body whines to a stop when the blows halt.

“I said get her eyes open!” Words are yelled in Spanish, and if you were in the right state you would have been able to translate them.

Merrick made sure you were fluent in multiple languages and was one hell of a rough linguistics teacher. Every day you had kept a count of how many swear words he let loose. The undefeated record was fifty-five in one session.

“Let her fall, then! She can’t be dead.” The last half is muttered, followed by a tapping of fingers over palms. Your ears twitch at the sound of receding steps, fast feet, and then the sound of a pulley system and rattling chains.

Your body drops, slamming to the floor, and head bouncing off the concrete like a ball. You don’t have to play dead at that moment, because you’re sure that you passed out, a crack resounding in the bone of your skull and shaking your brain. The chains around your numb arms loosen, leaving your bloodied wrists burning as the air hits them.

Staying still, your body lays sideways, but small trails of water dribble out from your tear ducts.

Just a little longer, You try and tell yourself as circulation comes back to your arms. Shadows dance behind your vision, people moving by you and circling like wolves. Your limbs want to writhe back and forth, help make the needle-like stippling in your nerves go away if only for a millisecond. It was a battle of will. Move or don’t. Be a Ghost, or be helpless.

Well, when you put it like that…

A hand grabs your shoulder just as you clock the two others standing behind you, waiting silently for any signs of life. The gloved hand moves to the pulse point on your neck, heavy fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. One breath. Two.

And then you jerk up and headbutt one of the soldiers right in the nose. Pushing back the black dots that nearly swallow you whole your hands rip out of the lost chains and throw your body at the man. Grabbing his shoulders, curses and sharp barks fly out over the air, and just before the bullets from their guns rip through you, your broken figure twists to shove the man in front of you.

Shots make your ears ring, but the spray of blood comes from the Federation soldier you used as a human shield, screams playing in your head like a symphony. Quicker than a switch, you grab the pistol strapped to the now dead man’s waist, and the minute the body ahead of you stumbles and hits the floor, you fire.

The twin soldiers drop like flies, and the recoil of the gun leaves your weak hand flying back. Clattering to the floor, the weapon stays stationary as you pant and gasp down deep breaths. Blood stains the floor as well as the chains still on the cracked ground, and the vile substance flows from the three men that release death rattles.

Your shattered mind thinks of a snake’s hiss before the sound divulges into a deep gurgling as you stare with blank eyes. Their forms twitch and jerk, brain dying or already dead.

But there was a spark of pride in you that stayed as your hands slap to the floor, pushing your body up with muffled wails and gritted teeth. You shimmy up to your feet and grab the gun on the way up, looking around as you stumble before righting your shaky legs.

Looking around dumbly your limp arm pulses, and your mind runs so fast the festering wound on your head feels like cigarettes are being put out on it.

Someone had to have heard those shots, You reason, and gasp as you walk forward. Your bones don’t feel right. They aren’t supposed to move like that – like they were just floating inside of you not attached to anything.

Blinking rapidly, your vision blurs as the first shouts spring up from outside.

Gotta move, Limping heavily you go as fast as you’re able to the warehouse doors, pushing on the metal as sweat falls down your nose.

Your body aches, muscles constantly tightening and then loosening within seconds of each other. It was getting increasingly harder to push back the need to scream in agony as the adrenaline in you seemed to disappear. Taking to breathing out of your mouth to help out your broken nose, you nearly fall onto your face as you shimmy out into the dirt perimeter surrounding the building.

First, you see the town. Your eyes widen, focus suddenly less on yourself as you take in a sheen of smoke rising up. The raging shouts hadn’t been coming from Federation men rushing to the warehouse – in fact, they were rushing past it. People zip from the corner of your eyes into the treeline, abandoning the houses and buildings with screams of, fantasmas, fresh in the burning air.

Ghosts.

“They came back for me?” Rough and broken, your voice makes you flinch when you finally hear it. Your vocal cords were damaged.

And they torched the whole fucking place! The gun is like iron in your grasp, heavy and cold. Or maybe it was your hands that were the cold ones? You couldn’t tell, but as you lean back into the metal of the warehouse exterior you smirk, blood breaking out from your chapped lips.

Vision once more peeling out, you drop the pistol and slide down, mind floating far above your form and doing jumping-jacks in the clouds. You don’t know how long you’re slumped like that, neck compressed against your chest as your lungs fight for air, but the next thing you remember is panicked shouting.

“--Found her! Warehouse! Blue Jay, open your eyes!” Your eyebrows furrow as strong hands grip you tight, manhandling your body to the ground so you’re laying on your back, “Open your damn eyes, Kid!”

There’s a sound of frantic breathing before the tearing of velcro. Pressure is put on your shoulder.

“Ah!” You scream, bearing your teeth and raging at the sensation of firm hands and an unrelenting weight.

“That’s right,” The smooth voice says, “Keep responding, keep making noise for me.”

“Kee?” You ask, only able to half-open your eyes and call out his nickname that you had never actually used aloud before. If possible, the weight is ramped up ten-fold, and you have to wonder if the Ghost is putting a knee up on you to try and stop the bleeding.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Keegan grunts, and his body comes into view as your eyes clear, though one is more muddled than the other; like a body of water filled with mud. Afternoon light shines off the man’s combat vest and back attire, his signature balaclava looking like it had been messed with and run over with rough hands. His black face paint is patchy and in places streaked. Keegan looked tired, you numbly realized as a chill made you shiver, “Look at me.”

You were.

His eyes snap to meet yours, and you’re taken aback by the creases around them; the wrinkles straining his forehead and nose bridge. The color is darker as well, no longer a calm and blank blue but a fiery shade, burning and boiling water. They flash when they already see you looking at him, and his high-hackled shoulders minutely lower as they soften to give you that look that you love. You pray only you’re privy to that look because it makes your shaking hands heat up.

“You have reall–really pretty eyes,” You whisper, voice cutting out, “You know that?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” He says, eyes flickering away and scanning your body. Behind the fabric you see his lips pull back in a soundless snarl, “But If you think they’re so pretty you’ll have to trouble keepin’ yours locked on ‘em, right?”

You can’t laugh, so the small exhalation from your mouth will have to do. Your eyelids flicker.

“Hey,” Keegan’s hand goes to your cheek, jostling your head so hard you groan, “The hell did I just tell you, Blue?”

“...Hurts,” You whimper, tears gathering as your lips twitch.

You can only do so much to push back the inevitable, and every breath feels like someone’s shoving your chest into a table saw.

Keegan moves one hand from your shoulder and sets it on your cheek, tilting your head to the side, “I know it hurts, Blue, but you gotta keep lookn’ at me, okay? You’re doing good.”

It was the softest you had ever heard him speak. His finger brushes your undereye and makes your eyelashes flutter open.

“There she is,” He grunts, and with a start, you see he’s pushed up his face covering, the fabric a bundle on top of his head. Your face heats at his handsome visage, roaming his lips and cheekbones, “there’s my girl.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to,” Fluid pools in the back of your mouth, and you cough before you can continue, sprinkles of phlegm and blood spraying Keegan’s attire. He doesn’t seem to care, “come back for me,” Uttering the words weakly, you feel yourself speak as if separate from your own body, a willing participant watching just beyond the way of sight.

Keegan’s eyes narrow, face pulling closer unconsciously as if he were trying to shield you with his body from the gunfire far off behind him. Across the field, familiar voices had started to ring out.

“Why the hell would you think that? What kind of dumbass made you–” He stops when your eyes sneak away in shame, numb lips pulling down as tears make your sclera red. A pause ensues before a deep sigh falls from his lips; Keegan taps his thumb on your cheek until you look back at him. His face is tense, but a blatant surety is in his tone, “I would never leave you behind. If you had trouble figuring all that out until now, then you don’t anymore. Got it?”

“Copy, Sarge,” Your eyebrows soften, body going slack and loose. Keegan’s hand is so warm, “You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.”

Eyes going out of focus, your head lulls before Keegan can rip you back to the present with his deep words just as the ground reverberates under you. They say the sense of hearing is the last to go, and that rings true, because the last thing you remember is Keegan’s voice yelling your name so gutturally that you almost miss Merrick’s voice.

“Blue! Shit, Elias, we need Med Evac down here, now! She’s down!”

—

The Med Ward was just how you remembered it, but the man sitting in the chair near the window was new. You were no stranger to the alcoholic scent of the rooms, the blinding overhead lights, and the coarse bed sheets. Around your body, the tight bindings restricted you from sitting up and walking, so for upwards of ten minutes you had stared at Keegan’s figure.

He was sleeping, in nothing more than a black T-shirt and cargo pants. His head was tilted to the side and his arms crossed over his chest; legs out and crossed at the ankles as his combat boots rest on the tile. You should wake him up. You should, but you haven’t and probably won't. Keegan’s dark hair is glowing in an early morning light, making it glow amber and cover him like a halo.

The pillow under your head is hard, uncomfortable, and stinks of bleach, but instead of worrying about it, your mind was running over what you had said before you passed out.

“You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.”

Fuck me, Cheeks heating, your eyes flicker down his body, catching his veiny arms and watching his chest steadily rise and fall. Had you really said that?

Your head begins to hurt, and not only from the tight bindings and the gauze pad around it.

“You’re staring, Little Blue.” Gasping, your eyes widen in their sockets at the sleep-dipped tone.

Keegan’s eyes slide open fluidly as if he were never asleep in the first place. His head moves to right itself and stare directly at you, blinking slowly. Locking gazes, you freeze as your jaw goes slack – it was a good thing you were on pain meds because otherwise, your ribs would be aching at the way your breath halted. Stuttering, you let the room lapse into silence as he watches you. Keegan’s lips flicker into a smirk.

Standing he stalks over to you and drags the chair behind him. Getting about a foot or two away, he stops and flips the chair forward carefully before sitting down once more. Keegan leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees as you watch.

“...You feeln’ alright? Need me to get the nurse?” He has black and blue under his eyes, colored iris’ strained. Keegan was a man of few words – his actions always spoke louder; like how he let you keep his knife, or told you to go to bed when you were up late shooting.

At that moment the cold Ghost’s hand went to your arm, lightly brushing over the bandages and pauses to see if you register any pain. When he doesn’t see any discomfort, he settles his grip and runs his fingers over your skin.

You blink.

“I’m good.” The words come out breathlessly, and where his touch continues to rove, sparks light under the skin.

Keegan’s soft sigh enters the cold air, and his gaze flickers to the floor for a moment. His jaw clenches, like there was something in his head that refused to come out of his lips. The man’s scream still haunted you – how he yelled your name so raw and vulnerable. You had never heard something like that from him, not even when he had to have you stitch him up one time during a mission.

I’m never letting you anywhere a needle again, He had said with his face flushed of color. You really were bad at sutures.

Smiling to yourself, you lift your hand with every bit of cotton sticking to your brain and shimmy it out of his delicate grip. Not wanting to hurt you he pulls back and looks with wide eyes at what you were doing.

“Kid, I don’t–” His comment is halted when your fingers graze his cheek, just the tiniest hint of stubble making your fingers itch perfectly. Freezing like a bird, Keegan’s sights are set on you, confusion bleeding into this expression as his lips pull into a line.

This was stepping a line you hadn’t crossed before, but you didn’t really care all that much.

Caressing his jaw, your hand cradles his face. To your surprise, Keegan leaned into you, tension leaving and body going slack like putty in your grip; a second later, his hand comes and encompasses your own, molten heat radiating into your bloodstream. Your heart skips a beat when his eyelashes flutter closed.

“Tired?” You ask, slightly amused.

“No,” Keegan grumbles, face blank, and you flinch as a laugh barks from your lips. Not a good idea. Weaving his fingers so he can grip your hand more tightly, he peels you from his face and opens his eyes.

Watching you and clocking your emotions, he lays your hand to his lips and lays a gentle kiss, lips moving over your skin as he places another right after. You’re surprised you don’t catch on fire – especially with that look on his face.

How could a man so cold be as gentle as he was with you?

“You worried the boys,” He says when he pulls back but still holds your hand close, “Ajax nearly strangled Elias to get him to hurry up and go after you.”

Smirking, you hum, “And you? Were you worried, Kee?” Teasing with the nickname, you watch as a small smile forms over his face, eyes lingering so beautifully on your visage.

“No,” You raise a brow at the bare answer, but he wasn’t done, “I was damn near terrified.” Licking your lips, you watch him track the motion, and he rises and leans closer to you, “What gave you the right to make me feel like that, Kid,” His breath fans over your cheeks, and your eyes flutter when his nose caresses your own. You can feel his eyes bore into you, unrelenting as they look over every pore and mark.

Keegan’s lips whisper over yours.

Yes, Your mind sings at the contact, and a small whimper falls into the air.

“...Who gave you the right to make me want to be yours?” All but growling the words out, his lips descend onto yours, firm but still gentle. He would never hurt you, even if he wanted to feel you against him. You were injured, and that reality never failed to leave his head.

So for now, he would kiss you as if you were the most delicate of glass; worship your skin and bestow on it everything he couldn’t say.

As you both move together, his hands come up and grab at your jaw as your own travel to rest on his chest that looms over your own, mapping out the dip of his muscles and the way he shivers when your nails rake into the fabric of his shirt.

This was what you had wanted, to feel him move over you and flex as your fingers go to grip at his hair.

Pulling back, the man pants in breath with you, lips were swollen. It was quite the sight, and you swore you felt your pupils dilate just by staring at him. Keegan hums deep in his chest and then places his forehead gently to your own – careful of the bandages and, most likely, stitches that live under there.

“I lost your knife,” You whisper out, and almost cringe at the needy tone of your voice. Were you really this infatuated with the man? …You already knew the answer to that question.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keegan grunts, and keeps the knowledge of the fact that the blade was already paced back in your room by his own hands to himself, “I’ll make sure you pay for it when you’re well enough to be discharged. Can’t have my Blue Jay leaving weapons behind, now can we?”

It’s safe to say you prayed for a speedy recovery, just like how poets of days long past wished for a gentle rain or mist-filled morning – if only to have something to quietly worship.

#keegan p russ #call of duty keegan #keegan x reader #call of duty #cod x you #cod x reader #cod #cod: ghosts

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the-wintry-mizzenmast · 7 months

Text

When a dao isn't just a dao 笛飞声的刀不只是刀

A quick and dirty analysis of Di Feisheng's dao

Following up from my previous post speculating about Di Feisheng's dao 刀, I think the configuration of Di Feisheng's dao is quite clever and consistent with his character, despite looking like nonsense at first glance. I know more taiji and kung-fu 刀 dao forms than I do 劍 jian forms, and this is what I choose to do with my knowledge and time, I guess.

Before I launch into his dao in particular, I think it's important that you understand what a dao is, and how you are supposed to attack and defend with one.

When you say 刀 dao (in English, it's also been called a Chinese saber or broadsword), this is what it's supposed to look like (I've annotated the image below from the Wikipedia entry on dao). They are by definition single-edged, and the majority are slightly curved (though there are some variants such as the Nandao 南刀 which are straight). A dao should have a point, a sharp edge (in red), and a blunt edge (in blue). The blunt edge (short edge, or inner edge, since the thing is curved) is usually quite thick.

One of the main ways that a dao does damage is through slashing/chopping motions, either down, sideways, or upwards (which my sifu always called uppercuts). All upwards slashes with the dao require that you turn your wrist so that the sharp edge, which usually faces down, faces upward instead.

The other way that a dao does damage is via forward thrusts, where the point of the dao is supposed to pierce enemy flesh. The basic attacks I've mentioned above are in the beginning of this clip, and I've added text to the original video below to highlight what's what and what they're supposed to look like.

(n.b. I was just randomly searching for videos to show what I'm trying to describe, no endorsement intended).

One of the things you'll notice from the above video as well is that the master is putting his hand on the blunt edge. This helps stabilize and give more power to the dao through its various motions, and is a basic part of how dao forms are supposed to work.

The blunt edge is also important because it helps in defense. One of the cardinal rules of a dao is that when you are defending, the dao should be kept close to your body, with the blunt edge facing your body. This is what a basic block looks like:

Should you get hit, you can brace the blunt edge of the blade using a shoulder or upper arm. In certain positions you can also use your hand as a brace on the blunt edge to stop (or execute) a particularly strong attack.

These are the dao basics. Now you have enough background to know what makes Di Feisheng's dao so unusual: it is double-edged, and it has a blunt tip.

These two things must follow if you have a dao that has two edges and is blunt at the tip:

You are limited to slash and chop attacks as your main blade damage. Thrust attacks won't penetrate flesh unless you have a serious amount of qi behind it.

Your defense is limited, because you can't use your dao to defend in the usual way.

But wait, does Di Feisheng's dao really have two full edges?

If you're a details guy like me, and completely obsessed over Di Feisheng (guilty as charged), you'll notice that one the edges of his dao doesn't actually extend the full length of the blade:

From the way that light reflects off the edges of his dao, you can see a bit on the short (inner) edge of the dao where the blade seems to transition from sharp to blunt:

And this shot, it's confirmed that there is a short blunt area on the inner edge of his dao:

In this memorable scene, Di Feisheng uses his hand against the very short blunt part of his dao to press his attack into Li Xiangyi's cheek:

One of the upsides of his unusual dao is also that he can use the inner edge for attacking as well. Upward sweeps using the inner edge aren't possible with usual daos (because they are blunt), but are possible with Di Feisheng's dao. I think we see an example of that here in the way you see his arm sweeping upward. (He has also added a substantial amount of qi to this sweeping strike, most of us plebs don't have enough qi to do anything like this.)

You can see how he gains some flexibility to his attacking capabilities, when he flips his blade mid-block into an attack:

While a double-edge gives him more adaptability in terms of attack on along the slashing and chopping edges of his dao, what he is losing out on because of the blunt end is thrust. You almost never see Di Feisheng thrust his dao forward because his sword just doesn't work like that.

In this final scene in the episode one fight when they are charging at each other, Li Xiangyi thrusts the Shaoshi Jian forward, but Di Feisheng, due to the design of the dao, has to slash:

However, most of the power of a dao is in its slashing and chopping motions. This is where the weight of the blade and its curved design (plus gravity and force) result in the most damage. Unlike the jian, the dao's thrusts do less damage. My conclusion about this is that it's a purposeful trade-off that Di Feisheng has made. He would rather maximize his offensive capabilities where they are strongest.

In terms of blocking, the design of Di Feisheng's dao means he's at a defensive disadvantage, since there's no blunt area to brace his body against for blocking (he can use his hand on the bit that is blunt, but because he has an edge along the rest of it, he can't use a shoulder or upper arm). This is a key feature of the standard dao that Di Feisheng's dao is missing.

In this move in the Battle of the Eastern Sea in episode 1, we see Di Feisheng execute a block, but he's got both of his hands along the hilt instead:

At this point, it should be noted that the standard dao is typically a one-handed weapon. The hilt is slightly curved, so you can get a good downwards chop with your wrist. There are other daos that have straight hilts and can be two-handed like the Miaodao 苗刀 (which is more similar to the Japanese katana 刀 than most Chinese folks like to admit). Di Feisheng's dao being straight-hilted and two-handed isn't that unusual because it's a feature that can be present on certain types of dao (it's way less unusual than the two edges!), but I thought it was worth pointing out in case any eagle-eyed readers noticed the difference between the Wikipedia image and what Di Feisheng has.

I could wax on about Di Feisheng's dao and his fighting style forever, but I think this thread has gone on for long enough.

I believe that the design of Di Feisheng's dao is very clever. At first glance, it seems utterly silly (what kind of dao has two edges?), but on deeper inspection of his style and how he uses it, it is consistent with his character.

He is always playing on Hard Mode because he is trading defense for more flexibility in his offense. And he is maximizing his offense where it is strongest (slashes and chops), and choosing to forego the offensive capabilities where it is weaker (thrusts).

...And that really is Di Feisheng's martial arts style in a nutshell, isn't it?

#mysterious lotus casebook #di feisheng #笛飞声 #meta #莲花楼 #Di Feisheng's dao #which is just named 刀 #刀就是刀要什麼名字 #i know more 刀 forms than 劍 forms and this is what i do with the knowledge #笛飛聲 #蓮花樓 #cdrama #cdrama meta #I'm sorry the GIFs are terrible quality I can't be bothered #also at some point I really want to an analysis of the choreo in the final fight #there was awesome shit being pulled by the choreographers that I've never seen in a wuxia

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callofdudes · 1 year

Note

Hello! I hope you've had a good (of night if your nocturnal like me) Haven't been feeling too well this past week, so I would really appreciate if you could write a poly! fic (or plantonic, whatever your more comfortable with) where reader who is known for not being mentally sound has been really out of it the entire week, sends the 141 + könig a text saying "thanks for everything, I love you all. " and everyone panics, rushing to readers room and könig and ghost have to Fucking BREAK down the locked door, and find reader lying in a pool of their own blood from all the cuts they made on their body. Past cuts have been reopened, and reader is in critical conditionof this ask makes you uncomfortable I totally undsrstand, have a good day/night

As someone who has struggled with this stuff, you are loved here, and you are not alone ❤️ if you can't seem to find comfort around you, I promise you have a safe space to talk here. And please reach out to the right help.

Thank you @g4y-gr3ml1n for the request. I hope you are satisfied.

CW: Attempted suicide, cutting, hurt with comfort

How long have you been feeling like this? What time was it? You look up at the clock, another two hours until lunch, just great.

You looked back down at your paperwork, too uncomfortable to stop yourself from scratching at the healing scars on your arms. You'd promised yourself to try and stop, you were really trying. You'd started calling them scars from missions to try and cope. But nothing ever worked.

Your knee bounces rapidly, hitting the underside of your desk with a light thump, thump.

The look of the paperwork in front of you was no different. Why were you feeling off. You weren't supposed to be like this anymore.

You finally stopped scratching and stood up from your desk. You just needed a break. You walk out of your office and down the hallway. It wasn't long before you ran into Johnny and his bright sunny smile.

"Hey y/n, what's turning the cogs up there today??"

It was an innocent question but it felt hard to answer. You suddenly don't feel like talking. You hang your head and slowly slip past him. "Mm sorry Johnny." you mutter on the way.

Johnny turns, watching you as you go, his eyebrow raising. Maybe something happened?? He hadn't seen you all day.

Each step you take down the hallway feels like a dark void. Each footsteps sinking you further and further into darkness. The empty hallway doesn't help at all to break the silence and overcome your thoughts as you walk. You flip up your sleeve and find the fresh cuts, already starting to prickle with blood from irritation, and you start to scratch.

Your nails dig into the cuts and tear open the flesh. Ripping away new skin and chalking blood all over your fingers.

The thoughts were back, you'd warded them away but they returned.

"Useless human being, Incapable,ugly, annoying, a failure." It all swam around in your head and before long you were faced with your bedroom door.

You push it open and slam it shut. You let a sob tear from your throat in the comfort of your room. The cold, dark room that gave little comfort anymore. It felt like a routine getting up and going to bed. Breathing seems to be the only thing you are good at anymore.

You hold yourself, huddled in a ball against your door as you cry. Painful tears wash over you. And all the pain you'd tried to push down comes with it. Every memory, every ache and every pain. You can't help wanting to scream until your lungs give out, and yet you can't.

You bang your head back against your door. What's wrong with me?? What's wrong with me?? There is nothing wrong with you, that's what everyone around you tells you. But you know they're wrong.

You cry into your hands, your eyes stinging up in pain. Finally having the strength to move you stumble to the bedroom mirror and look at yourself. You can't see what they see, the loving, caring person they all say you are.

And instinctively you start to dig in your drawers. You yank them all open, sadness, fear, and pain boiling up in your stomach and in your head.

Take a deep breath, sleep it off, you'll be ok.

Find Simon! Find Simon, he'll help. They'll help you. You know they will.

But that thought was too far gone. It wasn't worth the time walking around looking for solace when you had some right here.

You grabbed the handle of the blade.

Simon had gifted it to you on your birthday and you almost felt guilty that you'd never used the thing in self defense before.

You were about to press the knife to your skin when your insides flipped. Your heart pounds in your throat. You drop the blade and rush to the bathroom, feeling your breakfast rise up your throat. Through tears and acid stinging your throat, cupping the sides of the toilet as everything is let go. You feel worthless and stupid.

The bile stings and cuts off the oxygen you so desperately need. It feels like you're dying. It feels like it goes on forever.

When everything stops, your tears just come harder. Your tired body collapses to the bathroom floor in heart wrenching sobs. You wanted to break something, make something else take this endless pain.

You were done pushing it down and trying to change. You couldn't love yourself no matter how much others did for you. They could never get rid of all the hurt and the anguish that boiled inside of you.

Every "I'm fine" and "I promise" felt like a regurgitated ugly lie to keep the ones you love at bay. To keep Simon and König away. Johnny and Gaz. Even Price.

You pull yourself off the floor and come back over to your bed, feeling exhausted. Just sleep it off. Please, just try and sleep it off. It'll be ok tomorrow.

Lies, it would never go away. It never would.

Your eyes fixated on the blade on your bed, then to yourself in the mirror.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, knowing this would be it. You were done feeling like this. Feeling worthless and empty.

Your hands started to shake when you started to write. The group chat was for important stuff. This would be important to them right?? Who were you kidding? Of course it wouldn't.

You sent the text and grabbed the blade, tearing it into your skin without a second thought. The pain was like a sweet release. Blood flowing from your arm and down your wrist. It felt like an escape. A whole different reality. You tore your shirt off and started to cut, and cut, and cut…

It was a normal day, everything seemed to be going perfect for Simon. He finished up paperwork early and was on his way to find Johnny when his phone buzzed. It was either Johnny or you, he felt a smile tugs at his lips at the thought. He hadn't seen you all day, you were supposed to be loaded with work.

He pulls out his phone, seeing that it was you who had texted the group chat. He opened the message and his blood ran cold.

He stopped along the hallway, rereading the text over and over and over again. His insides tightened and his pulse spiked like he was falling out of an airplane. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak.

Another text popped up.

"Herrlich, wo bist du!?" It was from König.

Simon's hands trembled and real, raw fear pitted him in the chest. His legs felt like jello when he turned to run. "Y/N!!"

He made a break for your office and pulled the door open when he got there. Apparently König had the same idea, falling in line when Simon rushed in to find your paperwork barely touched.

Simon couldn't catch his breath. No no no, this isn't happening. This wasn't happening. His legs caved in, König rushing to grab him and hold him up. They made eye contact and they both knew if they didn't find you they would lose you.

König's voice shook. "Their room??"

Simon nods.

They run from your office, finding Gaz and Johnny along the way. There were no questions asked. Nothing said, if they didn't find you everyone would suffer.

They ran across the building to the barracks and came to your room.

"Y/n!!!"

Simon pounds on the door.

"Y/n please!!"

"Open the door please!!!"

"Oh God y/n please!! I know you're hurting but please don't do that! I promise you I'm right here!! I'm right here y/n please!!" He screams.

He's trembling so badly he can barely twist the doorknob.

He wails when he finds it locked.

Johnny tries to force it open, banging his shoulder into the door as hard as he can.

"Stand back" König steps in front of him, letting Gaz and Johnny take Simon and keep him from passing out.

König's heart is in his ears, blood rushing so fast he feels dizzy and his vision is near fuzzy. He slams into the door and kicks it on, the lock combusting with the force. And he enters the room.

His insides tighten and everything goes dark. Simon rushes into the room and sees the blood. He sees you, and the blade he'd given you.

Simon wails again, falling to your knees. He rips off his mask and takes your hand, holding it tightly in his. "Please… please…"

"Please don't go. Y/n I'm so sorry- I'm so sorry honey."

König can't move. His body is entirely frozen. Seeing you laying there in your own blood. It's dripping down the sheets and pooling all over you. You'd torn up your arms, destroyed your legs and he didn't want to think what else.

Johnny and Gaz rush in, running to your side next to Ghost.

"Stop the bleeding! We have to stop the bleeding!" Gaz can barely speak, hands trembling when he touches you, the tips of his fingers soaked in blood.

Tears filled König's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He didn't remember the point he started falling until his head hit the ground.

Everyone was in tears, and Price was the last to show up. He'd seen the text late, and he was scared he couldn't save you.

König was having a panic attack, barely breathing and shaking like a leaf. Simon was full out wailing, holding your limp hand and begging you not to go.

Price crawls onto the bed and cups your neck gently. He kisses your forehead and cradles you in his arms.

Simon looks up at him. "Price please- they can't leave!"

Price ran his fingers through your hair and over your pressure point, feeling barely a pulse over his fingers.

"If we don't move now, I don't think we'll ever see them again."

Simon could barely stand as Price pulls you up into his arms and cradles you. "I've got you honey, don't worry, I've got you love" Price lays a blanket over you to keep you warm and concealed from other soldiers seeing you like this.

Johnny, Gaz and König leave with Price, but Simon couldn't move. Simon looks down at the blade covered in your own blood.

"I'm sorry…"

"I'm so sorry…"

"I-"

He drops the blade and hides his face. He couldn't lose another important person. Please no. He couldn't have one more person taken away from him. You couldn't leave. He didn't want you to join Tommy and the others yet.

He stays there in your room for what felt like minutes, but was all of hours.

Simon gently rocking himself back and forth.

Eventually he is able to move, barely getting to his own room.

Nobody slept that night.

Simon wasn't a believer but he begged God to spare your life. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you. Everyone else has been ruthlessly ripped away from him and he couldn't have it happen again. He cared so much for you.

König couldn't process it. Nightmare after nightmare. Every time he walked into that room and saw his best friend collapsed on the bed.

The others didn't sleep a wink either.

Price tried to do your paperwork for you, but he couldn't. He kept checking his phone for any notice that you were stable and doing ok after he'd delivered you to hospice.

Breakfast was quiet, for those who showed up. Gaz and Johnny didn't speak as they ate, eating half of what they usually would.

"Try and finish your food boys." Price instructed.

"I don't feel hungry." Johnny whispered.

"You need to eat, it'll make your body happy."

Johnny shook his head. "I'm sorry." He slipped away from the lunch table and didn't return.

Gaz looked down at his own plate, barely touched. He tried to finish.

When the hospital called saying you needed an urgent blood transfusion, Gaz didn't hesitate. You both matched blood types, and he didn't care how much you needed, if it would keep you alive he'd give you every organ In his body.

"This will only hurt a bit." The nurse smiled.

"If it helps y/n, any kind of pain is worth it."

"That's very kind of you, soldier."

"A needle won't hurt nearly as much as if my love doesn't wake up." He replied, deadpan and serious, not wanting to think of that outcome at all.

Two days passed. But finally, you could feel the feeling return in your fingers. Tightness around your arms, your pulse beating against the bandages like it were trying to escape out from the healing wounds.

Your eyes slowly opened, the bright white making your heart race. You weren't in heaven now, were you? For some reason it felt… long. A long wait.

And then a face was looking at you.

"Simon…?" You whispered.

His blurry face filled with relief, rough hands gently cupping your cheeks.

"Yes love, it's me. I'm right here."

You reached out your hand for him but Simon gently brought it back down. "I love you so much y/n." Tears swell in your eyes, his warm lips pressing against your own, soaking in your presence.

He was trembling when he held you, pulling away from the kiss to give you air.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text before his attention was back on you.

"What... Happened..?"

Simon's soft eyes turn saddened. The door opens and two more figures ran in.

Gaz and Price are at your side.

You smile softly, seeing them both. "Guys..."

Gaz wasn't always known to cry, but he burst into tears seeing your smile. He kisses your forehead in relief. "Thank goodness you're ok."

"Gaz," You whisper.

"I'm right here, and the captain too. Johnny and König are on their way."

Gas moves away so Price can see you and he cups your hands tightly. "I'm sorry we weren't there for you in a time of need."

Everything slowly comes back and you start to cry, nodding while he holds you. "But we love you so much hon. And you can always come and talk to us. Please don't bottle it up because we care. We care so much for you hon."

You sob when the others enter, embracing the loving kiss Price presses to your cheek.

Johnny's hands are all over you, whispering love in your ear when he comes to your bedside. Something about it makes you feel so loved in the moment. So utterly loved. More tears fall. Johnny kisses them away. Peppering soft kisses along your jaw and over your cheeks. He presses another kiss to your lips and embraces your scent. The way your lips feel against his.

He finally pulls away, tears in his own eyes. "We love you so so much."

König is next, nearly picking you up out of your bed and engulfing you in his arms. He nuzzles against your warmth, his heart racing out of his chest.

You quiver, holding him back. That's when you see the bandages on your arms. You're still in pain, but you hug him back.

"I love you guys too."

"I just.... Couldn't take it."

"Please talk to us then," Simon placed his hand on your shoulder. "We will always be here for you. Ok?"

You nod, more tears flowing down your cheeks.

"We all love you y/n. We love you so much." Price's soft voice came as you were laid back down on the hospital bed. They stayed with you, comforting you with their presence until you were drifting back asleep. The sound of their voices sending you into peace.

You are loved. So so incredibly loved. And even when the world feels dark, the people who will hug you and listen to you are closer than they appear.

Sometimes it's scary to reach out for help, but the ones who truly love you will never let you fall once they catch you.

Loved ones, help lines, even someone over the internet may make it better, helping you to triumph over these things.

And I know it feels dark, but you are so loved, even when the ones who love you seem to be the furthest away.

-El

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #ghost x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #könig x reader #könig x y/n #konig x reader

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oleander-nin · 6 months

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Horrortober Day 20 - Captive(Yandere Rottmnt Donnie x Reader)

A/N, not important: This was supposed to be the final fic, but I didn't have one for today and this is my attempt to not delete my account or brain out of stress lmao. Me and @astral--horrorshow both had similar ideas, but they're completely independent of each other. We were both talking about them on discord then realized how similar they were, but neither was taken from the other👍. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Kidnapping, blindfold, needles, dehumanization, collaring, restraints, cage

Words: 2464

Summary: Draxum is working on eradicating the human race, but what happens when his son wants to keep one for himself?

The sounds of metal and cries pierce my ears, the blindfold and binds keep me hogtied and blind, not letting me do much else other than listen to sobs around me. My ears twitch at the sound of low footfalls, the clopping similar to that of a deer or horse nearing. I grimace, knowing the Baron was back. The quiet flapping of his gargoyles could barely be heard over the sobbing from the cage next to mine. I try not to let out a scream of my own at the loud bang of hoof against metal, and a skull against concrete. The sobs quiet, and the air goes still. I slowly let out the breath I was holding, my nerves firing off warning bells as I resist the urge to flail around and cry. It wouldn’t do any good either way. Those who fight back fall first.

Another pair of steps joins the Barons while he makes his rounds. I can sense how everyone else stills, all us captives going completely silent to try and hone in on the new visitor. I couldn’t tell how many of us there were. Anywhere from five to a hundred, I wouldn’t know the difference. I rub my face against the rough floor, hoping to loosen the blindfold so I could finally look at my prison. While there were many of us here, people came in and out every day, taking someone away or adding another to the lot. I could always tell when someone was taken. Their screams reverberated around the walls of our keep, cries and pleads not reaching the ears of whoever took them. I assumed it was the Baron, although I was not sure. It’s not like I could see the act either way.

“Take your pick, my son. It’s time you truly learn my work.”

I grimace at the Baron’s low voice, shrinking back into my cage as much as I can while bound. Of course he has a son. Of course he’s going to be just as rotten as his father, doing who knows what with the poor souls who get picked. My stomach rumbles and I chew on my bottom lip, grinding down on the flesh with my teeth. The blood soaking out may be gritty and limited, but it was better than nothing. I just prayed I wouldn’t puke.

The quiet scraping of free feet across the ground alerts me to the younger captors movements, my face moving towards the sound subconsciously so I could hear it better. A beat passes with no more movement, and I tense. Someone had been chosen. Or, hopefully, he would decide this was immoral and demand our freedom. I chuckle quietly to myself. Yeah right, like that would ever happen. A sharp sound in front of me catches my attention and I turn towards my cage, my face furrowing in concentration.

“That one looks interesting.” An unfamiliar voice muses. His voice is sharp, unwavering, and oddly smooth. It alone was enough to make my blood run cold, but what really terrified me was how much closer it sounded than I expected. I could’ve sworn both of them were in the center of the room, but it sounded as if the voice was right in front of my cage. I shrink in on myself, tucking my chin to my collarbone and sitting on my ankles. Two sharp taps sound on the metal bars of my enclosure, a light chuckle sounding from the boy's chest. It wasn’t a friendly chuckle, nor a comforting one. I try to keep my breathing steady, refusing to cry and refusing to beg. I wanted to go down with dignity. I would refuse to bow to these monsters.

“If that’s the one you want to start on, then so it shall be.” The Baron’s deep rumble sounds, a sharp clap bouncing through the room. The sound of flapping fills the room, heading towards my cage and closing in fast. I sit back, trying my best to not shake. I couldn’t even tell if I was.

“Wait.” The younger voice sounds. He taps my cage a couple more times before I feel a scaly hand brush across my neck, taking hold of my collar and yanking me forwards. I yelp, losing my balance at the tug and falling onto my face before him. I struggle to move back to my kneeling position, the ropes keeping me bound threatening to pull my arm out of its socket if I keep trying. I lay down, defeated. I couldn’t get up. A deep heat settles in my cheeks from the shame of being at his mercy, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice at his next words. “I have a different idea for them.”

“Oh?” The Baron asks, his footsteps nearing as well. I try to pull back from the grasp the younger captor had on me, but his grip just shifts from my collar to my chin. “What are you planning then?”

“I want to keep this one. For my own personal studies. I can experiment on that one,” There’s a brief swish of the air when his hand undoubtedly moves to point at another poor soul in the vicinity. “But this one… I want to keep them.”

I hear a sharp breath from the Baron, his tone turning sour. “Donatello,” ah, so that was his name. I try and tug back again to no avail, my eyes widening under the blindfold as I realize he only has three fingers. “You cannot keep a human. They’re pigs. The rot of the world. You must understand that.”

I’m tempted to bite the fingers holding my face when I hear this, indignant anger bubbling in my chest. We weren’t the ones kidnapping people and caging them to experiment on. Sure, there’s a few bad apples in every batch, but you can’t doom the whole of humanity for a small handful’s doing.

The younger voice huffs, his thumb caressing my cheek. It was getting harder to hold back, every instinct screaming at me to pull back and run. “Still, why that may be, I think it would be interesting. Test their limits, experiment in different ways.” I can almost hear the sick smile in his voice. “Plus, it’s always nice to have company.”

“Do you even understand what goes into keeping a human? They’re very needy creatures. Not to mention clingy and violent. You’ll be responsible for its upkeep.” I feel sick the way they're talking about me, the hands of the scaled one still having yet to leave my face. He lifts my chin more and forces me to face him, my body screaming in protest from the position he was contouring me in.

“I do.”

The Baron sighs in defeat at his son’s words. I hear him take a step back, his voice steady as he walks away and starts to audibly mess with another cage. “Then I’ll allow it.”

I hear the screams of what sounds like a small child and my heart breaks, knowing slightly of his fate. While part of me was glad I had escaped it, I still yearned to switch places. Hearing someone so young scream in such ways was unbefitting. It wasn’t right. I feel the hand of the younger captor slip off my face, my own cage opening with a loud squeak. Strong hands hoist me up, fiddling with the ropes around my ankles and wrists. My two halves separate, my ankles freed from my wrists, but still stuck together as were my wrists to each other. I get slung over his shoulder, his muscle mass and metal backpack digging painfully into the soft of my stomach.

I consider trying to fight back, to even finally scream and curse them out, but I don’t. Every step he took sent his shoulder straight into my gut, and I knew it would be useless to try and resist. He seemed solid, and his shoulders reminded me of jagged rocks as they push against my torso. I try to shift myself into a more comfortable position, my body rocking hazardously in his grip. For one awful, awful moment, I’m certain he’s about to drop me, but his hands regain their steadiness as he tightens his grip to a painful degree.

“Move again and I’ll send you off to be experimented on instead.” He hisses, his voice as sharp as always. I settle down more, trying to ignore the painful lab of his arm.

He continues to walk for a while, his steps firm and sure. I wasn’t sure where we were going, nor what my true purpose was. This was out of the blue and completely unexpected, especially from someone who was supposed to be experimenting on me. I hear a door open and let out a small cry as I’m thrown atop a plush bed. I sit up, shaking my head to try and chase the disorientation away. A hand grabs my chin and holds me still, pulling the blindfold off of my eyes. I quickly close my eyes, shrinking back with a pained hiss. I’ve had the blindfold on since I was first kidnapped, covering my eyes and blocking my senses for weeks. I slowly open them, trying to get them to adjust to the new lighting. Once they can open, I glance around, taking in my surroundings as fast as I can.

It was a large room, one larger than I was expecting. There were different mechanical parts and machines strewn across the room, as well as a desk piled high with similar junk. I look in front of me, finally fully seeing my captor. He was only a couple inches taller than me, but his foreboding stature made him intimidating nonetheless. I scan him for a moment, my eyes taking in his green scaly skin and the metal shell upon his back. I lean backwards, wary of his domineering nature. He seemed to command respect, as if it was owed rather than earned. I felt no desire to give it to him.

“Why am I here?” I ask rudely, my tone clipped and eyes narrowed. The turtle doesn’t seem phased by my attitude, if anything, he was delighted.

“I’d suggest you’d hold your tongue. As lovely as your voice is, I do admit I have a short temper.” He walks across the room and picks up a small case, like he had been preparing for this for a while. “And I’m sure you would rather your tongue stay inside your mouth.”

I shift uncomfortably at his words, trying to decide what to do. I watch him carefully as he takes the case and opens it, four needles showing. My eyes widen at the sight as I back up on the bed.

He takes out the first needle and grabs a small vial from a miniature fridge next to him, getting the shot ready. “If you have any allergies, speak up now.”

I barely register his words, my eyes focused solely on the large needle in his hand. “What is that?”

“A couple of vaccines and boosters. It’s come to my attention that most of you have not had proper shots nor care, and while the others don’t matter, you do since you’ll be living here now.” He stalks forward with the syringe in hand as if he did this every tuesday, not a care nor concern on his face. I try to lean back, but he grabs me firmly by the elbow, not allowing me to move away. “I’d suggest you stay still and relax.”

I turn away from him, my heart thundering in my ears. I feel him inject the first into my arm, the sharp sting making me want to jerk away. It feels like hours, but he eventually lets go of my arm and backs away, disposing of the needles and setting the syringes back in their case.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” He starts, turning back to me. “It’s time we get started.”

“Who are you?” I interrupt, my mind hazy from the adrenaline coursing through after the shots he administered. He frowns at my interruption, his face pulled tight.

“I don’t like being interrupted. But, as you’re a human with no manners, I guess I can’t fully fault you. You haven’t learned the rules yet.” The turtle clears his throat, bowing with a dramatic flair. “I am Donatello, your new owner and savior. You, however, may refer to me as ‘Sir’ or ‘My Savior’.”

My nose scrunches up at his introduction, a chill running down my spine. My arm was sore, and my head was blaring warning bells left and right. This guy was seriously messed in the head. Well, of course he was. I was part of a group of humans he and his dad had kidnapped to experiment on.

“So, pet-”

“Not my name.” I interrupt, partly without meaning to but not fully regretting it. I refused to be called ‘pet’.

“Did humans never learn it was rude to interrupt or speak back to their superiors? Or is this just a you thing?” He hisses, clearly displeased. I shrug. My non-answer seems to anger the terrapin even more, his fists clenching at his sides. “As I stated before, I saved you. If it weren’t for me, you’d be cut open on a table with your guts spilled out. And while I would gladly return you to that fate, I felt it would be a waste to use someone like you in that manner-”

“Someone like me?” I interrupt again, tilting my head in confusion.

“Would you cut that out!?” He hisses, his face turning dark in anger. I shrink back, pursing my lips. I didn’t really want to anger him. I didn’t trust him. He continues to glare at me as he straightens his back. “As I was saying, you have something about you that I felt needed to be preserved. Therefore, here you are now. Serving as my pet rather than an experiment. And mind you, I’ll call you whatever I please.”

I glare at him, trying to pop his head open with my mind. Unfortunately, no such thing happened, and he continued to drone on.

“So, pet, I have something for you.”

He turns around and grabs something off his desk. I recognize it immediately, the bright collar jingling the bell as he moves closer. I try to lean back but he quickly hooks the offending item around my neck, his eyes and markings glowing for a moment as he holds the two pieces together. I rub at it with my chin, scowling. “There you are pet. Now you’ll never forget your place.”

It takes everything in me not to spit on him.

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bookofbonbon · 1 year

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tta: first meeting - aemond targaryen.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen (10) x Reader (12).

warnings: slight bullying from reader towards Aemond, I suppose? They're just friends - actually, not even that at this point lmao.

summary: Curiosity gets the better of you and you must see if the rumours are true about the maiming of the young Prince Aemond spurring the start of an odd friendship.

word count: 1882.

Through The Ages Masterlist.

gif credit: @pedropcl (X)

You’d heard the rumours, anyone with a working ear had heard the rumours. Word spreading throughout the realm like wildfire about the maiming of the boy Prince Aemond by his little Prince nephew Lucerys on Driftmark. That was just it though, to you, they were only rumours still. Months had passed since King Viserys and his second family had returned from Driftmark and the supposedly maimed Prince had yet to make a public appearance. So, after a long, few months and, biding your time, you decided you would see for yourself if the rumours were true.

Moving stealthily in the shadows, you’re sure to keep yourself hidden as you traverse the Red Keep grounds to get to your destination. A fairly easy task for you having grown up in the Red Keep and, spending most of your free time mapping the network of secret passageways & tunnels that ran both within & beneath the castle. Something you began to do four years ago, when you were just 8 and desperate to find a way to get around without all of the stares.

Finding the hidden door, you were looking for, you open it only slightly and slip in but, don’t allow it to close because of the noise it would make. You move quietly through the room, eyes roaming all over the Prince’s private chambers and taking in the grandiose space until you spy the Prince himself.

“So, the rumours are true,” you call from behind the Prince, who sits sombrely in front of his fireplace.

Aemond looks up, seeing your blue hooded figure standing behind him in the reflection of the mirror. When combined with the light cast over his face from the fire, it gives you the perfect view of the now scarring flesh that starts from halfway down the left side of his forehead, over where his eye once was and down his cheek.

“You are without an eye.”

“Who are you?” he demands, standing suddenly. “How did you get in here?”

The young Prince unsheathes a dagger holstered to his side, trying to appear braver than he felt when he attempts to charge towards you but, falls - his foot catching on the leg of the chair that he could no longer see in his peripheral; dagger scattering across the rug onto the stone floor and stopping at your feet.

You sigh heavily, picking the small weapon from the ground before walking forward to help him.

“You need to start being more careful,” you scold him lightly. “More vigilant of your surroundings.”

Taking his arm, you begin to pull him to his feet but, your attempt to help is thwarted with one quick shove that puts you on the ground beside him, your hood falling back – the glow from the fire casting light on part of your face.

“Do not touch me or I will feed you to my dragon!” he threatens.

“Feed me to your dragon?” you snort.

Rising to your feet, you fix your hood back over your head and watch as the young Prince struggles to stand and just as he’s getting to his feet, you gently nudge him back down; the pressure only slight but, his lack of balance toppling him over.

“I heard that’s what you said moments before you lost your eye,” you mock, twirling the blade in your hand as he lands on his forearms. “Wouldn’t want to lose the other one too now, would you?”

Fear flashes in Aemond’s eye and, an unfamiliar feeling settles in your chest at the sight; you've gone too far.

"I shouldn't have said that," you sigh.

Tossing the blade to the side, you move to help him again, when suddenly he shoves you away again.

“I could have your head,” he spits. “All I have to do is scream.”

“So, scream,” you roll your eyes, patience wearing thin as you now forcibly pull the younger boy’s smaller frame to his feet “but, you should know that I do have some idea of what you go through and might actually be able to help you.”

The Prince’s face twists in confusion, eyes squinting at your hooded head, not able to see much but, being able to discern that you have two working eyes to his one.

“How can you help me when you have both eyes,” he points out the obvious.

You roll your eyes once again, taking the Prince’s hand in yours and forcing him to grip the top of the chair he was seated on for balance. The last thing you needed was for him to actually injure himself once you were gone.

“My prince, I knew that you lost an eye but, I did not know that you lost your hearing too” you tut.

“I said I had an idea not, that I knew exactly what it is you go through. So, when you no longer feel like feeding me to your dragon,” you mock his earlier words once again. “Come find me.”

With a final glance, you look the young Prince over once more to ensure he’s steady.

“Perhaps have a cane crafted in the meantime. It will do wonders to help you with the new adjustment,” you finish.

Turning swiftly on your feet, you disappear into the shadows; sneaking back out the way you came in and leaving a bewildered Prince Aemond behind you.

Your eyes keenly study the surface of your skin in the ornate mirror, fingers running lightly over the different textures. With one last look in the mirror, you throw the blue velvet fabric in your other hand back over it, concealing your reflection from yourself.

Moving towards the doors of your chambers, you pull the hood of your cloak up and exit; setting off throughout the hidden passageways until you emerge in a corridor that leads down and out into one of the Queen’s private gardens.

“I was sure I wouldn’t hear from you after the second week with no word,” you call from across the garden, announcing your presence.

Aemond’s eye flickers toward you, a sour expression on his face and a wooden cane in his hand.

You had left the boy of ten both, angered and intrigued but, always determined to meet with you again after your intrusion into his chambers. His curiosity about you outweighing his desire to feed you to Vhagar. The only issue at the time of course being that he had no idea who you were up until a day ago.

“You know, my grand sire once told me that if you keep making ugly faces when the wind changes, your face will be stuck that way forever,” you stop in front of him.

Aemond’s scowl deepens, and the expression has you erupting in laughter.

“Stop laughing at me,” Aemond snaps, whacking your leg with his cane and this time you’re the one scowling at him.

“I by no means meant for you to use your cane as a weapon against me when I suggested you have one made,” you snap back at him.

This time it’s Aemond who breathes a slight laugh, an unfamiliar and quiet sound that somehow undoes your annoyance but, you keep the façade.

“So, he does smile,” you comment flatly, sitting beside him.

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns. “It’s probably not going to happen again. Not around you at least.”

You roll your eyes, desperately wanting to take his cane from him to smack him too with it but, knowing it would you get you nowhere. So, instead you change the subject.

“So, tell me, after two weeks, what changed your mind? Made you actually want to meet me.”

“Nothing changed my mind. I just didn’t know who you were, Lady Reckless,” he emphasises your last name.

You snort a laugh, you hadn’t told him who you were indeed.

“The name is befitting of you,” he comments absentmindedly. “Only a reckless person would do what you did to me when I now mount the biggest dragon in the world and could have you fed to her.”

“Seven hells, you and that bloody dragon,” you make a face. “You know if you feed me to your dragon then I won’t be able to help you.”

“How exactly are you going to help me? Or do I need to remind you again that you have both-”

Pulling your hood down, you show Aemond your face, effectively shutting him up.

Aemond’s eye widens, his body involuntarily jerking away from you but, you feel nothing about it, accustomed to the way people reacted when they saw the scar that marred your face.

Like Aemond’s, it started on your temple but on the right. However, where his went through his eye, yours curved to the side (just missing your eye) across your cheek and ending near your right nostril.

A tense silence fills the air for a few more moments before Aemond breaks it.

“But you still have two-”

“Yes, Aemond, I still have two eyes,” you groan irritably at his inability to look past the fact that you had two eyes. “But it may as well be all I have. I am a Lady who comes from lesser nobility so, my worth is only as much as I am beautiful and noble Lord’s do not want damaged goods.”

You take a deep breath, before continuing.

“Whether you have come to this realisation or not, you like me are now damaged goods too but, the difference is that you… you can do something about it. You are a Prince of the Realm; you have everything you need at your disposal to still be great. It may seem odd but, where I can do nothing for myself perhaps I can do something to help you.”

Aemond takes pause, hand flexing on his cane as he thinks on your words for a minute.

“But, you said it yourself,” a smug look pulls at his lips. “I have everything I need to still be great. Why would I need you?”

This time it’s your turn to look smug, a small laugh leaving your lips, “Because unlike others, I won’t hinder you with pity.”

Standing from your seat beside him, you smooth your hands down the skirt of your blue dress before looking down your nose at him, “Now, if you don’t mind, I will take my leave.”

You get halfway back across the garden when Aemond calls for you to wait. You almost don’t but, the smack of his cane against the stone path makes you turn, and you’re met with the sight of him hobbling towards you with his aid.

He’s out of breath when he reaches you but, even breathless the sour look on his face never leaves.

“What do you get out of all of this? Out of helping me?”

You raise a brow at the platinum-white haired boy, surprised that he was finally able to look past your having two eyes.

“The pleasure of your company… and not being fed to your dragon, I suppose,” you smile sarcastically.

Aemond scrunches his face however, unimpressed and, unappreciative of your mocking as he sets his jaw and waits expectantly for your real answer.

"A friend," you sigh, hands fisting in your dress anxiously. "I get a friend."

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader

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dracaelus · 1 year

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BATMAN/DC FIC RECS

I like to make a list of fics i like but i'm starting to get kinda tired of scrolling through all my drafts to get to this one, so i'm posting this and starting a new one. This is mostly batman centric. Multiship ! The quotes are not the synopsis, just some parts i liked from the fic so i can remember what exactly happens in the story/what i liked about it. This list is more for myself tbh. I tried to keep things organized but probably failed

1 Wholesome and fun, but with a serious undertone/a bit of angst

Finished:

Nature and Nurture, by lurkinglurkerwholurks: long fic, multi pov batfam, they meet de aged Bruce Wayne through multiple stages of his life

"Bruce could feel a slow smile begin to spread across his face, until it stretched from one cheek to the other, framed by dimples on either side."

Am I The Asshole?, by FabulaRasa: greenbat/batlantern (i have to find out the official ship name), but also hal x bruce's bathtub; mostly hal's pov, and i love their dynamic so much. I recommend you read the whole series

(...) He crossed to Garwell, confident he could find a cab headed uptown on the wider avenue. After all, a world where Hal Jordan called him baby was a world where anything was possible – even catching a cab in Gotham in a winter storm headed uptown.

What Not To Wear To A Wedding At Wayne Manor, by FabulaRasa: oh i love this fic so fucking much. I can't put it into words. It's just so so good, you wouldn't believe it. Another batlantern/greenbat. I love this pairing with my entire heart and they're so good in here, really, so amazing. Mostly Hal's pov. I love this author and this might be one of my favorite works of them. This is just beautiful.

"And now. . . stupid idea number three? (...) This is your plan now?"

"I have a good feeling about this one."

Axial Rotation, by FabulaRasa: ok, so i really have a thing for this author works. Their batlantern/greenbat (?) is so good, seriously, i can't stress this enough. I love how committed FabulaRasa is to find a way to make their relationship work while still acknowledging how fucked up they are.

“Okay,” he said. And he put his hands on Bruce’s face, in the mirror of Bruce’s gesture. Last night’s stubble had become a definite shadow by this morning, and his face was like sandpaper. And also indescribably beautiful. “You are so fucking beautiful, you know that, right?”

Bruce’s small wince told him that he did not, in fact, know that, but that was okay, Hal had a lot of time to teach him that.

Lungs full of saltwater, by Maeruh: GHOSTBAT FIRST SOULMATE AU AND IT'S FREAKING GORGEOUS, SO SO BEAUTIFUL

It drowns him as if rocks had been tied around his ankles before throwing him into the sea.

It is suffocating.

Furthermore, it's refreshing

How Batman Made The Housemaid Cry, by FabulaRasa: technically batlantern, but the focus is on Bruce and Alfred, and they are amazing in this. I love them with my whole heart

He pulled his cell out of his inner pocket and texted. Remind me to tell you about my conversation with Alfred, he said. And then please use your ring to erase my functional memory. Do whatever you have to do.

a soul that's born in cold and rain (knows sunlight), by bat_butch: ghostbat; bruce visits his parents grave and talks about Khoa

He thinks about the light in Minhkhoa’s eyes when he smiles. The glint that they gain when he teases, and the excitement that sparks when they spar. He thinks about the careful way that Minhkhoa cleans his swords. The line that forms between Minhkhoa’s brows when he’s sewing a mask or a cape or a wound.

Like a cactus on frayed wires, by Maeruh: ghostbat fic! It's just Khoa thinking about batman, but it's so sweet

"Khoa wondered then if, as the cactus fell, anyone would dare try to catch the cactus?

With its thorns, sinking into your flesh and with the dirt soiling you. With the possibility that it would be useless.

He supposed that there is always someone."

Kerosene in my hands, by Maeruh: oh this one. Maeruh is definitely one of the best ghostbat writers we have, and their minhkhoa narration is absolutely perfect.

Because Bruce is like that, he wants to be the sun in the lands where winter never ends.

And Khoa is a selfish snowman.

Relax, Clark, you're only getting married, by truc: oneshot, clarks pov, super fun to read. Honestly, I recommend the entire series

When, on the eve of his marriage to Lois Lane, Clark gets serious pre-wedding jitters, he calls his best- worst- man to help him deal with it. Bruce, in all of his pink and gray Barbie sleepwear glory, offers knockout drugs, unsolicited wedding rants/advices and a video gaming opportunity. Despite everything, the wedding isn't a total disaster.

Unfinished:

Manor - Dad lets me drive the Batmobile: batfamily at it's best, seriously, also incredibly funny, wholesome, with great family dynamics! Multi pov's

“Bruce!” Dick shouted when he finally spotted him. “Look! This has to be the Batcave!”

The what Cave?

“Can you believe it? Did you know it was right here under the manor all this time? This must have taken years to set up and look at all that cool tech! Of course, Batman has the best. Have you seen him…”

Dick trailed off and studied Bruce cautiously. His gaze lingered on Bruce’s neck, where this night’s fights had resulted in a small bruise, and the coffee mug in Bruce’s hands.

“Look, Dick, I know this is a lot to take in—” Bruce began to speak, but Dick interrupted him.

“You’re dating Batman!”

Brilliant Analytical Minds, by stuckoncloud9: some really fun Riddlerbat! Bruce's pov. Edward loses some of his memories and leaves his life as a supervillain to become a private detective. Somehow, Bruce ends up being his Watson

He was silent for a moment, then looked up at me. “Riddle me this,” he said. “I solve nothing, I build nothing, but I can destroy anything. What am I?”

I thought about it. “I’m not angry at you, Edward,” I eventually replied

love, nevertheless : superbat. Funny, wholesome, beautiful, poetic, Bruce's soulmate is Gotham, with Gotham city being kind of sentient. Soulmate au, mostly Clark's pov

"He needed to go back inside, to slip back through the service door and into the ballroom before too many people noticed him missing, but for just another second he wanted to hold out. He wanted to be loved and feared and owned by someone he could never hold or touch in its entirety any other way."

2 Pure comedy and/or fluffy

Finished:

and he looks at me, and i look at him, by Shleapord: THIS IS WHAT PEAK TEENAGER BRUCE LOOKS LIKE, I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH. Honestly, comedy gold

“You are a fantastically strange child,” said Diana. She said it with perhaps too much interest and not enough wariness for comfort.

“That’s what Alfred says. Also my old science teacher when I dissected everyone’s squirrels for them because everyone who goes to Gotham Academy is a coward, except for Roman who’s a bitch. I’m not allowed in Biology classes anymore, all I can do it take higher-level Chemistry classes for my science credits.”

welcome to the playground, by Shleapord: once again teenager Bruce being my reason to live

"Like, I get kidnapped all the time and Alfred says its good for me as a growing young man to learn how to navigate stressful environments"

here as i am, by TheResurrectionist: this is sladebru/deathbat and okay, i find if pretty hilarious but a more accurate description would be pwp? The important thing is that i love it, i'm lowkey such a sucker for sladebru >...<

Slade briefly debated making the sign of the cross, but thought better of it, running a hand down the man’s sweaty back instead.

Begone, foul demon, he intoned in the safety of his mind, still thinking of that flash of white teeth in near-darkness. Of burning blue eyes and plush, kiss-reddened lips.

Send to All, by kerosceene: peak comedy batfam.

I, ___________________________, hereby acknowledge that this form represents my wishes should I contract phytoaphrodisiac-induced delirium (hereafter referred to as “PAID”) during engagements with or while apprehending Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley (“Poison Ivy”).

Bruce knows how to swim, and he is will swim up the entire Nile if he has to. Too bad Jason has other plans, by arrowupmysleeve: this is a batlantern one, but what i'm actually highlighting here is clark. Perfect, absolutely stunning. Tecnically he doesn't even show up but he still steals the show. Clark eavesdropping on other people's conversations and sending them messages with his opinion is a top tier concept and needs to be used more times <3

Text from Clark K at 10.45:

I know you're awake, B😡

Text from Clark K at 10. 46:

I can hear you chewing😒 Pick up.😠😠

The last text makes Bruce pause. He knows Clark can't see him, but he turns to glare in the direction of Metropolis anyway and takes a large bite of his toast. And if he is chewing a little louder than usual, well, no one is here to call him out on it.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am, by Mardiaz173: good old identity porn superbat, clark is being messed with by bruce but he loves him so he gets away with it

Until behind them, Arthur yelled, “Cheer up, Bats! At least we already know Kal’s into brunettes!”一he broke off into a yelp一“ow, Diana!”

Arthur’s heckle seemed to piss B off一well, even further than his anger at Clark forcing him to go to the medbay. He didn’t speak their entire way there. When reached the medbay, B sat on the examination table with petulant air around him.

Clark really did adore him.

Lugubrious Alarmism: baby Clark being the most adorable person in the universe, superbat friendship with dolls, justice league shenanigans, very wholesome and super fun

Clark beamed and tugged the mask back into place. “Yep. Boose okay.” With that, he clasped his irritable stuffed friend to his chest and planted a kiss atop it’s cowled head. “Missed you.”

Space cellmates, by BoredomBeckons: superbat, a short but hilarious oneshot

“Mr Wayne. Please take this seriously.”

“I take everything seriously Superman. I’m Batman.”

“Look, it’s obvious you don’t believe me…”

“I do believe you.”

“…but I really am Superman, and I want you to know that whatever happens I will do my best to protect you.”

“Since your powers are being hindered it seems to me that I’ll be the one protecting you.”

“Right,” Clark sighed, not bothering to argue.

“Because I’m Batman.”

“Sure.”

3 Not sure if it's the same as the first, but here we go: comedy with some angst

Finished

Getting It Right, by FabulaRasa: batlantern/greenbat (?), Hal's pov, some really good slow burn but like, not too slow, and seriously, don't get too caught up on the sinopses, it's not nearly as dark as it seems, it's actually quite lighthearted and with some family feels too

Jordan wasn’t just laughing, he was doubled over with it, his grin wide. “You’re so mad,” he managed, through gusts of laughter. “You are—you are genuinely so mad, look at you. I was just kidding, your score was higher, but I just wanted to see you lose your shit, and you did, oh my God are you in fourth grade or what?” And he threw his head back and laughed even louder. Bruce gave him a shove off the railing, and he just laughed harder.

Article 120, by FabulaRasa: I wasn't expecting this one to be one of my favorite batlantern fics i've ever read, not given the dark subject, but god, they are so good in here.

“Don’t mind him, grief hits everybody different. He just found out Batman broke up with him, but he’s gonna be okay.”

4 angst with some lightness

Finished

Sanctuary, by FabulaRasa: batlantern/greenbat (and yes, at this point i know it's batlantern but i got attached to greenbat so i will keep using both, sue me), angst with some comedy, great family feels and Hal and Damian relationship is really precious. Hal has a chronical illness but is not dying. I recommend strongly that you read the whole series

(...) He wasn’t someone whose absence would be felt along a thousand fault lines and ripples, like a hole blown in the universe – not like people who had families and huge networks of friends. He wasn’t one of those people.

He sat cross-legged on the floor for hours, staring at the welter of wings and the green light that surrounded him on all sides. He had never thought of himself as one of those people, but somehow he had become one of those people, when he wasn’t looking. Somehow he had acquired a family, and the ripples of his life extended far beyond his own calculations. He had sat down on this floor one person, and when he rose – stiffly, slowly – hours later, he was another, a person whose ties to the universe around him were different than he had thought.

How To Keep A Promise To Hal Jordan, by FabulaRasa: I love everything this author writes, seriously, I can't stress this enough. This is batlantern, of course, and mostly Bruce's narration. Some parts of it ripped my heart out

(...) He let his eyes skate to Bruce’s lips. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Contact with the unthinkable. The impossible. Only the impossible had held him in his arms. Had touched him, had caressed him, had said impossible things to him.

Something about us, by Maeruh: ghostbat, khoa's narration at it's finest

"I had a dream," are the first words that leave Khoa's dry lips upon awakening. He doesn't get up immediately, just stares at the immaculate white ceiling of The Haunt.

(There's something different, he feels it buzzing deep inside of his bones.)

"Oh, that's unusual for you."

Unfinished

Drawn to the blood, by bat_butch and bellandeano: Ghostbat in a dc vampire au! Their dynamic is really good and Icon is such a sweetheart :)

“I don’t know how much you’d enjoy that victory, Ghost-maker,” Bruce muttered. “Winning me over with a bite and a bit of blood. I think you’d be disappointed.”

"Do you think so?" He tilted his head back, arms crossed. Bruce was right, of course. And he wasn't even looking for that victory anymore. "I might just take it to be forced to cooperate with someone effective."

“No,” Bruce dismissed. “You wouldn’t.”

"Don't be so confident. You're not as relevant as you used to be," he replied easily, voice clipped.

“Neither are you.”

you're still the oxygen i breathe/i see your face when i close my eyes, by nygmamale: this one is special to me bc i'm a sucker for ghostmaker interacting with tim and bao :)

"Later, after Khoa had pushed everyone away, he sits alone in Bruce’s townhouse, in a shitty beaten-up chair that smells like him.

Thirty minutes prior, he had ingested a copious amount of psilocybin. He wanted to see him, one more time."

5 angst

Finished:

every tale a tragedy, by pomeloquat: ghostbat, khoa's narration. Bruce and Khoa are soulmates; things don't go well for them.

"The strand around Khoa’s finger twists and tangles and pulls taut as he traverses the globe. Always stretching back toward Bruce, always tying them together. No matter the distance, Khoa knows Bruce is waiting for him on the other end."

#batman #bruce wayne #batfam #fic rec #batlantern #sladebru #superbat #ghostbat #riddlebat #drac fic recs

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hum--hallelujah · 9 months

Text

like a sledgehammer to a disco ball - 3.9k words, Fun Ghoul angst and protective Kobra Kid

Kobra jerks awake at the first creak of the floor. The only person who has any right to be in his room at night knows better than to step where the floor creaks. Instinct takes over and he's holding his blaster at body height by the time his brain and eyes are awake enough to see through the dark.

"It's me, it's me, it's me," Ghoul stammers, holding his hands defensively in the air. Only, it sounds more like "'smee," because of the way Ghoul is slurring. And he's bleeding.

Kobra drops the blaster as soon as he realizes that the dark smear across Ghoul's face is blood. "What the hell, man," he hisses, groping in the dark for a light with one hand and trying to pat Ghoul down to make sure he's not like, actively dying, with the other. He could be blackout drunk or he could have gone out alone like he does sometimes and any number of things could have happened. The cold metal of an old flashlight meets his fingers and he flicks it on, shining the dim light over Ghoul.

"I did something stupid," Ghoul says. Only, it comes out as "Uh did su'hn stooid," wavering slightly, because the entire right side of Ghoul's face, from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, is sliced open. There's a horrific flap of flesh hanging loose that's supposed to be connected to the rest of his face. That's where the blood staining his face and clothes and hands is coming from, and why when he speaks, it sounds wrong.

"Holy shit," Kobra whispers, feeling cold Zone night air sting his eyes because they're open so wide. "Okay. Okay, what happened?" He holds Ghoul carefully by one arm, feels the way he's shaking. He's always shaking, except when he's got his hands in a bomb. This is worse than normal though. This is so much worse than anything Kobra's ever seen.

Ghoul shrugs, waves his hands vaguely and wildly. Kobra hisses a sharp breath through his teeth, frantically runs a hand through his hair. "Okay," He says again. "I'm gonna get-" He needs Jet, de facto medic, he needs Party, needs his brother-

"No," Ghoul says sharply, and that at least is completely clear. His eyes are wild from what Kobra can see in the dark. If human eyes could glow, his would. He grips Kobra's arms. "Please don't," he mumbles around the gruesome injury. His voice is high and frantic, and it has to hurt to talk. "Just you."

Kobra freezes. There's a slowly building feeling of dread, growing stronger by the moment. He pulls Ghoul off him, holds him by the wrists. "Okay. Just me," he promises, and feels sick about it. "Just me."

Ghoul noticeably relaxes, though he's still trembling head to toe, and lets Kobra drag him across the diner in near-silence aside from the occasional seemingly involuntary whimper on Ghoul's part, into the single-stall bathroom with a barely working lightbulb. Somehow, they make it past the front room where Party sleeps without waking him, much as Kobra wants to let his brother take care of this. He's practically trembling at how badly he wants Pois right now.

There's a medical kit in the cabinet that Kobra pulls out immediately. He knows how to handle this, physically speaking. It's whatever else, the shit he doesn't know and is scared to find out, like how this freaking happened, that makes him nervous. Ghoul stands in the flickering light like he doesn't know what to do.

"Sit the fuck down," Kobra snaps nervously, gesturing to the toilet lid. Ghoul does. Kobra pulls a dubiously clean rag from the cabinet and eyes it. It scares him to see Ghoul like this. Usually if he's scared, he fights. He hisses and spits and claws at whoever comes near him. More often than not, that's Kobra. But this, the wide-eyed jittering, is a whole other animal.

"This whole thing is gonna suck," he says stiffly. Ghoul nods. With a little more light, Kobra can see the thick, shiny blood streaming from the wound through his cheek. It isn't enough that Kobra's afraid Ghoul will bleed out, but the cut is so long and clear through and absolutely grotesque. He crouches down in front of where Ghoul is sitting, sideways on the toilet, and he can't tell if Ghoul is looking at him or through him, almost as if he's the ghost.

In a quick motion that startles both of them, probably, Kobra grabs the back of Ghoul's head with one hand and presses the rag to the seeping wound with the other. Ghoul's eyes go even wider and even greener, and what starts out as a shout of pain from him turns into a choked keening sound. Hearing it feels like being stabbed.

"What happened?" Asks Kobra again, when he's convinced that the bleeding has slowed enough to try and actually deal with this thing. He twists the handle on the faucet on and off, on and off, enough times that the ancient water pump starts up and clean water gurgles into the sink. He cleans the rag that way, then wets it and wrings it out before shutting the water off.

Ghoul's shoulders rise and fall in short, panicky breaths. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm- I didn't think, it was stupid, I'm sorry," he continues babbling like that before going silent again aside from the sharp sounds of his breathing.

In a testament to Kobra's selfishness, his biggest worry is that Ghoul took his motorbike out for a spin and crashed it. He can't think of what could have caused something like this. He has visions of his bike sliding out on a turn, crumbled metal and Ghoul's body flying through the air. But if that had happened he'd be hurt other than this. If that had happened he might be dead.

"Yo," he says quietly. "Chill. Just tell me what happened." He presses the now-damp rag to Ghoul's face, trying to ignore just how grotesque the wound really is. Maybe because it's fresh, maybe because of the fear, but somehow it's worse than the space where Jet's other eye used to be. Kobra never wanted to see an injury of that level on another person again in his life, let alone someone he cares about.

Ghoul flinches away, but Kobra shoots him a look and it must process somehow, because he stills and lets Kobra clean the already drying blood away from the edges of the wound with barely a whine. "It was stupid," he repeats, his voice shaking as much as it's slurring. "I don't know why I did it, Kid."

Something about the way he says that, voice small and wavering, sends a chill down Kobra's throat. Sudden understanding dawns on him. The blood on Ghoul's hands. He's not injured anywhere else. "You did that to yourself?" Kobra asks hoarsely.

Ghoul's eyes snap onto his and the rest of the color drains from his face. Kobra thinks he's going to pass out for a second, but he doesn't. He pulls as far away as he can, scrabbling awkwardly against the cold tiles and porcelain of the bathroom. "I don't know what I though, I was stupid, I don't- Kobra," he whines, with enough animalistic despair that Kobra wants suddenly to burst into tears, if he weren't so utterly stunned.

"Ghoul, calm down, I've gotta stitch it still," he says on autopilot. "Cool your engine, man."

Maybe it's the practicality of the thing that makes Ghoul momentarily stop panicking. "I'm sorry," he says again, tears welling in his eyes that he then blinks away half-frantically. Kobra's never heard him apologize for anything before tonight. He never wants to hear it again.

"It's okay, man. I've got you." He replies. If his own voice is shaking now, too, no the hell it isn't. "Come on, you have to let me..." he trails off, eyes wide. "Ghoul, why..." Then he shakes his head. He can't think about that now. He needs to disinfect the wound and stitch it up. And it's going to hurt Ghoul really, really badly.

He reaches behind him, grabs at the bottle of alcohol. This stuff is rare out in the Zones. They try to use it as little as possible. Only in emergencies. This is enough of an emergency, though. This is a fucking crisis.

He pours the bare minimum of the alcohol onto another piece of cloth, feels the cold soak in. Ghoul watches every move with jerking, stilted intensity. Kobra looks up at him from where he's now kneeling on the cold tile. He puts a hand behind Ghoul's head again. "This is going to hurt," he warns. They've nearly gouged each other's eyes out before, yet suddenly Kobra feels like he's going to be sick at the thought of causing Ghoul any more pain. Ghoul shuts his eyes in preparation.

Ghoul still nearly screams when Kobra dabs the alcohol over his wound. Kobra can see it in the way he holds his breath, the spring-tight tension in Ghoul's entire body. The only noise he makes is a quiet, drawn out whine, though. When a tear streaks down his cheekbone, Kobra catches it before a drop of salt can enter the wound.

"'Kay," he says in a ragged whisper. "That's done. Now I have to-" he gestures like he's sewing. Ghoul's eyes pop open to see what he's saying and he visibly forces himself to breathe again.

"'Kay," Ghoul says back in an equally torn up voice.

It only takes Kobra three tries to thread a needle. Medical supplies of any type are hard to come by, a whole new kind of commodity, but this stash has been here for as long as he can remember, just in case. Blaster burns, the most common injuries amongst 'Joys, come pre-cauterized. He's rarely had to sew sutures before.

Ghoul flinches back when the tip of the needle first touches the edge of his torn skin, and Kobra pauses. "Hold still," he grumbles, more out of familiar sniping than any real frustration at this point. He keeps his hand in Ghoul's hair the entire time he sews.

The feeling of a needle piercing flesh is horrible. The fact that it's his friend, someone he'd give his life for before seeing them hurt, is even worse. Kobra wants to fucking throatpunch whoever did this to Ghoul, or better, do the same thing to them, before he remembers with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Ghoul did this to himself.

He ties off the suture just barely keeping his hands from shaking. He doesn't know how Ghoul does this with bombs. Ghoul flinches again, violently, when Kobra cuts the excess line, and Kobra has to jerk back to keep from catching a flailing, uncoordinated fist in the face.

"Hey," he snaps. "Ghoul!"

Ghoul slips off the toilet lid and onto the floor almost as if he intended it but halfway as an accident and immediately curls in on himself. He pulls his knees to his chest and curls his arms around his head and Kobra can hear him hyperventilating. Kobra fucking freezes. He's used to fighting and wrestling and knee-jerk reactions that wind up with someone sporting a black eye. He is terrified right now. And there's still Ghoul's blood on his hands, too.

"Ghoul..." He cautiously reaches out, puts a hand on Ghoul's leg. Ghoul twitches, lets out a hiccupy sound that takes a moment to register in Kobra's mind as a sob. Ghoul, chaos loving, cackling Ghoul, is crying. And not just a single tear, now, his whole body is shuddering with the force of how hard he's crying. Kobra's heart is pounding with how hard he does not know what's happening, but he grips Ghoul's arm and lightly shakes him. "Hey, I'm still here, man."

Ghoul makes that keening whine again and Kobra thinks at first that he's going to pull away at best, or throw a real punch at worst. They fight enough, for any and no reason at all, that he expects it now. That's their normal. This isn't.

Ghoul scrambles to his knees, his hands finding the front of Kobra's shirt. This restroom is small, they're already in close quarters. But maybe unintentionally, maybe just scrabbling for a little purchase on anything, Ghoul winds up grabbing onto Kobra. And Kobra has always had a hard time letting anything go.

Ghoul's forehead crashes into his shoulder and Kobra instinctively puts his hands up, grabs back onto Ghoul in return. Ghoul's usual shaking is familiar to him, but the repressed wracking sobs aren't. Kobra clutches desperately around Ghoul's back, like he could hold together what he's just sewn up, like if he keeps Ghoul close enough he can't shake into pieces. No one should be able to break Ghoul. Not even Ghoul himself.

The edges of the cabinet dig into Kobra's back, but he ignores it. Ghoul is folding in on himself, making himself as small as he can against Kobra, and Kobra doesn't fucking know what to do. He's never seen Ghoul cry like this. He's never seen anyone cry like this.

"It hurts," cries Ghoul suddenly.

"I know," Kobra says, before he realizes that crying like this is probably making everything worse, that he'd worried about salt in the wound a minute before for this exact reason. He can't imagine the pain Ghoul is probably in.

"It didn't hurt at first," Ghoul mumbles, then chokes on a sob. "It didn't hurt when I started. And then it did."

Kobra wants to ask again, why? But he won't get anything intelligible. There's a part of him that doesn't want to know. He's terrified of knowing the truth. Instead, he threads his fingers through Ghoul's hair again and just repeats, "I know. I know."

A few minutes pass in speedy, spiraling silence. The only sound between them is their shared too-fast breathing.

"I can't," stammers Ghoul finally, after his cries have tapered out into raspy gasps. "I can't turn it on or off."

"Huh?" Is all Kobra can think to say. "Ghoul, you're not making sense, nothing about this makes sense," he snips, too quick and too tense. He's so beyond his depth. He wants Jet or Party to come help but he can't have it his way because he promised. He promised Ghoul. He wants to hit something. A wall, just to feel the impact. To imagine he's hitting whatever it is that hurt his friend so badly he hurt himself.

Ghoul sniffs. All Kobra can see of him is the top of his head and the cheek with the stitches. The wound is swollen and red and is going to leave a horrific scar. Kobra clenches his fist tighter behind Ghoul's back. "When I'm having fun or not," Ghoul says. "I can't. I am or I'm not. But."

"But what?" For fuck's sake, Kobra just wants to understand. He can read Ghoul like a book from cover to cover most times, and it scares him that he's so lost right now.

"It isn't good enough," he mumbles. "It's... It's in my fuckin' name, Kid, if I can't live up to that what am I?"

Kobra stares, wide-eyed, at the wall across from him. Something clicks. The clean cut through Ghoul's face, clearly from a recently sharpened knife, clearly intentional, reached from the corner of his lips almost to his ear. "Oh fuck no," he whispers. "Hell no. What the fuck. You're not-" He feels himself shaking suddenly, with restrained searing hot anger. Ghoul cut his head open, mutilated himself, to make himself permanently grin. "You're not fucking beholden to your fucking name," Kobra says. He never swears this much, only in his own mind. He's running out of words. "Fuck," he says, with feeling.

Ghoul shudders again. "I'm fuckin insane, aren't I?" He asks with sudden clarity.

It's exactly what Kobra had been thinking, for once completely unable to figure out Ghoul's mind, but he can't just say that. He can't just say that he's terrified because nothing makes sense and he's never going to freaking leave Ghoul alone again because this is all completely unhinged on so many levels that he can't even begin to sort through it. He can't say anything. He hopes Ghoul is sane enough to understand that, at least.

He just holds his friend tighter. He wants his brother more than anything right now, wants Party to come and take this weight out of his hands, but a part of him knows that even if he did, he wouldn't be able to let go of Ghoul. Why didn't Ghoul want anyone else but him? Why, after pretty much imprinting on Party like a feral kitten when they'd first met, to the point that sometimes Kobra thinks bitterly than Ghoul might know Party better than his own brother does, did he come to him? Why did he do any of this?

If a few tears of his own drip down Kobra's nose and land in Ghoul's tangled hair, no the hell they don't. He's never seen anyone go to pieces like this and he's struck dumb at the fact that it's literal. Very, very literally, Ghoul has gone to pieces. Taken a knife, that's probably still lying on the floor of his abandoned-office bedroom, and cut a line through his own cheek just so others might see a smile there.

There's crazy in his veins. Acid, maybe. And Kobra's always known that even if Party recognized it first. Watching your whole family die, failing to save your baby sibling, doesn't leave a person without any scars. Only, now, the scar is far too visible. Kobra's always known that Ghoul is more wild than any of them. Feral, unpredictable. He was raised by a pair of Killjoys who named themselves Hoot and Holler, and the thing is, a ghoul is just a ghost, and ghosts wail too. He should have known.

"I should've known," he says out loud, the first words in a while. He knows Ghoul so well. Better than he knows himself. He should have known something was wrong. He should never have left him alone. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He can't even blink. He stares hard at the opposite wall and tries not to scream.

Ghoul shakes his head against Kobra's shoulder and winces. "Nuh-uh," he mumbles. "I'm crazy, man. I'm insane." The fuzzy way it sounds around the stitches and the swelling just seems like proof. Just last night Ghoul's cheek was smooth and soft as he grinned across a table in triumph after winning a card game. How is it that that was just a few hours ago? He shudders again. "I'm scared," he says more quietly.

"Me too," Kobra says. As soon as the sun comes up he thinks he's going to storm out into the desert and find something, anything to beat up. Even a freakin cactus would do at this point. He doesn't know how he's going to explain this to Pois or Jet but he knows that much. He's gonna shake so hard he blows up, like a can of soda, unless he hits something. "I fucking hate you," he snaps suddenly.

Ghoul starts to flinch away, but Kobra doesn't let him. In fact, he curls tighter around him without even knowing why. "What the hell," Ghoul rasps.

Kobra hisses through his teeth. Speaking of living up to names. He fucking hates anyone who hurts his friends. But he can't say it. Hard as he tries, in the one moment of clarity about his own mind that he has, he can't speak.

"I fucking hate me, too," Ghoul says finally. The single dusty lightbulb above them flickers. If it goes out, they'll be in total darkness. Kobra thinks one or both of them might have a wicked eyeshine by now. The desert makes you wild. For some people, they're born that way.

"I think you're my best friend," Kobra finally manages to whisper. It isn't exactly what he was going for. It's not something he would ever say if he had thought of it before it popped out of his mouth. But Ghoul gets the point. Of course he does. Ghoul always gets his sharp edges, snakebite teeth and misspoken definitions and all.

"I think you're mine," Ghoul says back. "I'm-"

Kobra smacks the back of his head, like this is in any way normal, like they aren't collapsed on a dim bathroom floor in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning and like one of them isn't mutilated for life by his own hand. Like this isn't the worst thing they've ever gone through together. "If you say you're sorry again, I'll cut you myself."

It's rough, and it's torn up and pained and choked, but Ghoul laughs. Just a short bark of laughter, hardly like the dry, rasping cackle that Kobra knows so well. It sounds like agony but it also sounds like the sun coming up. Kobra makes a noise in the back of his throat, more whine than laugh, but he's so close to blowing up that it's as good as it gets. He wants to freaking die if that would keep Ghoul in one piece.

Ghoul shifts in Kobra's arms and pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye. He clumsily wipes at the tears and snot all over his face and Kobra has to snap a hand out to catch his wrist before he unthinkingly swipes at the fresh wound and stitches. "Kobra," Ghoul says, shivering in the dark. The sun won't take long to come up once it starts but until it does, the Zones are freezing. "Kobra."

"Yeah, man, I'm still right here." Kobra forces himself to look Ghoul in the eyes and not the stitches. The wound takes up so much of his face. It's all Kobra can see when he looks at Ghoul, his best friend's mutilated mouth, sliced open by his own hand. Kobra flinches just imagining it. He focuses instead on Ghoul's green eyes, boring holes into his head with the desperate pleading in them. "I'm still right here," Kobra repeats, quieter. Reminding himself, too.

Ghoul doesn't blink. Kobra doesn't blink. Their eyes reflect the dim light back at each other. This is what wild animals must feel for each other. Terror. Uncertainty. Just themselves, each other, and whatever comes. Ghoul licks his lips, tongue flicking briefly, visibly, to the corner of his mouth that he cut open. "Don't let me-" Ghoul starts and then falters. "You gotta make sure," he says. "Don't let me- do stupid shit like this, don't let me go crazy again, Kobra, please."

Kobra stares back at him, matching Ghoul's trembling desperation. He's known Ghoul since the day their crew found him, shell shocked between the shelves of an empty gas station with the bodies of his parents and previous crew around him. Perpetually shaking hands and feral bared teeth, animal eyeshine. No one can match Ghoul for determination, and no one knows Kobra as well as he does. Even if Ghoul does know his brother better than him, the same is true in reverse.

Kobra Kid has a hard fucking time ever letting go of anything once he's got it. Fun Ghoul holds on too loosely. They're both terrified. What a pair they make. But when Kobra Kid makes a promise, he means it. He grabs the ends of Ghoul's hair and pulls, not too hard, but hard enough. That's their normal. Play fighting and hair pulling, and they both know it's a kind of language for when they can't speak. "Okay," he says, and because it's a promise, he repeats it. "Okay."

#uhhhh anyway. come to killjoys world with me #I keep calling these two my mongoose and snake #they take out their worst on each other but at the same time it's like they were *made* for each other #also a few notes in the tags: kobra repeats himself a lot. that's intentional. it's because I do it irl #quite honestly at this point I might almost have a stutter??#anyway also there's a TON of super vague song references in here. I almost called this ''a scar away from falling apart''#but I couldn't stop thinking about that one boygenius song while I wrote this. would you still love me if it turns out I'm insane?#also the two(2) minor refs to famous last words!!!!#and very very loosely the ''what a pair they make'' line is bc what a catch donnie came up on my playlist right then #also this is WAY more swearing than I would usually write but... it just felt right? like it helped the flow?? and fit the characters? idk #ANYWHOMST. random danger days precanon fic. the girl isn't here yet.#she speaks!#HMMM do I need a writing tag for this blog?#she writes!#danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #kobra kid #fun ghoul #K I think I've got it covered #wait trigger tags #self-harm tw #self mutilation tw

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the-rad-pineapple · 2 months

Text

teeth

prompt from bitchassboi on r/HannibalFanfiction: "will is a dentist and hannibal goes in for his regular cleaning. hannibal, being annoying, leaves some human flesh or hair in between his teeth and ofc will notices"

ao3

words: 1k

One of his patients is a psychologist. Of course. Will can't escape psychoanalysis even at work. His patient—Dr. Hannibal Lecter—also used to be a surgeon. His past medical background allows him to get along with Will's staff quite well. It doesn't help that he's handsome. Like, handsome handsome. Rich and European with a beautiful lilting accent. His face looks like it's sculpted from marble. Regal and unmoving. He's charming and well-educated and loves the arts. He's fucking perfect. It bothers Will for some reason, so he rarely says more to Hannibal outside of a customary greeting and questions about his teeth.

Hannibal has sharp teeth. Predator's teeth. Dangerous teeth. It always sends some sort of sick thrill up Will's spine to put his fingers in Hannibal's mouth as if the predator belonging to those teeth will suddenly emerge from behind the gelled hair and pretty suits and snap at Will's fingers. But that never happens. It shouldn't be disappointing.

Will supposes Hannibal's teeth may be the only imperfect part of him. But Will doesn't think they're imperfect. Not really. Hannibal's teeth aren't completely straight, and Will had to fill in a chip last month. Will had asked what happened, but Hannibal simply blinked innocently and said he didn't know since he cooks most of his own food. Because of course he's an amazing cook, too. Bastard.

But there is something…else about Hannibal. Will catches glimpses of it in the flash of Hannibal's eyes when one of his assistants was a bit rude and in the perfectly neutral mask he wears most of the time. He's hiding something. He is something. Something he wears a person-suit to cover. And Will wants to see.

One of the dental hazards many people don't realize is when something becomes embedded in the gums or teeth so snugly that it becomes stuck. It's then prone to terrible infection if not treated promptly. Hannibal knows this—probably due to his medical background—and scheduled an appointment for this problem almost two weeks ago. Today is the day of his appointment, and he and Will have undergone their usual—yet slightly awkward—greeting when he arrived.

Hannibal is laying down on one of the reclined dentist chairs now as Will gently prods at his gums where the debris has been caught. It's between a couple of his back right molars. Will can't quite tell what it is despite the giant lamp hanging above them illuminating his work. With a pair of dental tweezers, Will delicately removes the debris. It's…stringy. It's…hair? Will pulls it out of Hannibal's mouth and into the light. It's a chunk of flesh attached to several long strands of hair. Human hair. This is human flesh. Hannibal bit someone so hard he ripped part of their scalp off. Holy shit.

How the hell did he even do this?

Will glances down to see Hannibal already watching him. Wordlessly, Will places the piece of flesh on the small pan beside them.

"Open," he commands.

Hannibal does.

Will closely and carefully inspects Hannibal's mouth, but the rest of Hannibal's teeth are clean and free of any more…debris.

Will follows it up with a standard cleaning he does himself. It's something the techs usually do, but Will's silently decided he'll be monitoring Hannibal closely today. And maybe probably forever. But no more flesh is upturned during the cleaning. And Will is…disappointed.

Will sets his tools down on the pan. The piece of flesh is still there. Will looks at it. It's a decent sized chunk. Hannibal must've bitten the person and then ripped through the flesh, tearing it off violently with untamed strength. Will bets there was blood. Oh, God. It was probably on Hannibal. It probably covered his lips and dribbled down his chin. His sharp teeth probably shone red with it. Jesus. That mental image…

This is a problem. Or it should be a problem, but Will finds himself more morbidly curious than disgusted or afraid. He should definitely be more afraid. Will tugs his gloves off and pulls his surgical mask down to his chin. He needs to say something to placate this. To show Hannibal he needn't harm Will. But…how exactly do you tell one of your patients you're okay with finding human flesh stuck in their teeth. When Will glances up, he realizes Hannibal has been staring. Shit. Fuck. He needs to say something. Now.

"Um."

"Will this be a problem?" Hannibal asks politely. Always politely.

Will shakes his head, suddenly mute.

"Are you afraid?" Hannibal asks.

Will should be. It would be normal to be afraid. Would it be worse if Will is honest and told Hannibal he isn't?

Will tears his eyes away from Hannibal's penetrating stare. He clears his throat. "Uh, yeah," he lies.

Will's eyes land back onto the piece of flesh. Where did the rest of the person go? Did Hannibal tear them apart completely? Or did he— The back molars is an odd spot for the flesh to be stuck in after being viciously torn through. It should've been stuck in the front teeth. Unless Hannibal had…

Will wonders what it tasted like. He licks his lips.

The dental chair creaks as Hannibal moves. Will looks over, and Hannibal is sitting up while still staring at him.

"You aren't afraid," Hannibal says.

Will swallows. "I think I should be," he admits quietly.

"What do you feel then?"

Curiosity.

Intrigue.

Excitement.

Instead of voicing any of that, Will scoffs and shakes his head instead as an ill-timed grin tugs his lips upward. "Are you psychoanalyzing me?"

Hannibal's eyes gleam in amusement. "Yes."

"Is that even real?" Will asks while nodding in the direction of the flesh. "Or are you fucking with me?"

"Can it not be both?"

Laughter bursts out of Will at Hannibal's unexpected honesty. He's still smiling when he replies, "I suppose it can."

"You didn't answer my question."

Will raises his eyebrows. "You mean you asking me how I feel after finding…that in your teeth?"

"Yes."

With a sudden and strange confidence that doesn't belong to him, Will answers, "Ask me to dinner first, and then I'll tell you."

Hannibal grins, revealing his sharp, glinting, perfect teeth. "May I have you over for dinner tonight?"

Will mirrors his grin. "Yes."

#hannibal #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fic #hannigram #hannigram fic #will graham #hannibal lecter #fanfiction #fanfic #hannibal oneshot #hannigram oneshot

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sillyguy99 · 2 months

Text

There is no fear in love

(Mafiafell Sans x Reader)

Chapter One: Rude Awakening

[Index | Next]

Notice:

(The reader has a nun name, meaning: a holy name given to be used by others in place of a real name, such as “Sister Magdalene” instead of just “(Y/N)”, in this specific case.)

(Also, if this work seems familiar, that is because this is the definitive version of Pray that you will not fall into temptation, since I merged various, similar plot ideas for a Mafiafell fic into one, in order to make the story more fleshed out + provide more consistent, weekly updates!)

• • • • •

"Mom!"

The watering can falls from your hand at the sound of that voice. It clatters and the little water left splashes your shoes as it hits the rocky floor, yet you can't care less about picking it up when you see Frisk running towards you, their arms outstretched, smile radiant, and eyes glossy. You push yourself off the ground, though with struggle as your legs shake and give in from anticipation. It takes a few more seconds of stumbling until you're finally able to stand up straight, and – by the time you do – they're already in your arms, their light weight barely making you budge regardless of your current, weak self. Everything around you: the garden, the fountain, the picnic table, and even your own body feel unearthly, and you're certain it'll all end the moment you take too long to blink.

"Words can't describe how much I've missed you, dear," you state, almost in a whisper when you fail to raise your voice, sorrow making it difficult to do without breaking.

You hug Frisk as tight as the knot on your chest. Tears rush down, staining your arms until you hide your face against their shoulder and squeeze all your distress away. They feel fragile in your grasp, and fleeting, too – like letting go will cause them to crumble, then disappear. As much as you don't want to, you still begin to loosen up bit by bit until your embrace is a gentler touch, almost ghostly. Then, you pull back and wipe your face with a handkerchief you retrieve from your pocket, and offer your child another when you notice they're in a similar state, although not as bad as your own. Even if it isn't real, the last thing you wish is to let them see you somber. That's about the least you can do to make up for how many faults you've found while analyzing the reasons they went missing under your care.

"hey, kid. where'd ya run off to? ya can't just-"

Your arms act instinctively at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, these wrapping firm around Frisk again, like a snake with a hamster, minus the intent to cause any harm.

"oh."

The person behind that voice stands at the entrance of the garden, and – while you try your best not to – your mind ends up jumping to negative conclusions when you see just what type of monster he is.

"Stay back!" Fearing the dream has become a nightmare, you close your eyes and squeeze Frisk harder, yet you soon loosen when they gasp for a breath. "And state your reason for visiting first."

"well…"

You hear footsteps, but you refuse to look at him.

"i'm sans, one of your kid's friends from the underground," he says. "frisk told us they couldn't stay with tori, since they've got another mom up here, and now here i am. they gave me your address, we gathered some info to make sure you were still around, and then i drove us here. the rest of the convent interrogated me before they told me to go straight to the garden, so you can ask 'em if you're suspicious." There's a brief spell of peace and quiet as you hear him debate about something with himself. "sorry if this's kinda nosy, but…" There's a long pause in his words. "how does that work, exactly? you havin' a kid, i mean. aren't nuns supposed to be married to, uh, god, and not, well… a husband?"

You scoff and feel your face form a glower on its own. "I'm not married, and Frisk isn't my biological child, though… I don't really see that detail as relevant to my love for them." Your fingers bury into Frisk's hair as you stroke their bangs away and kiss their forehead. "It matters not whether they're biologically mine."

They shift, kiss your cheek, and push you aside, then tug at your sleeve persistently, insisting without a word for you to address the elephant in the room.

You sigh, breathe back in, and open your eyes.

It's impossible not to flinch when you take a better look at the monster: far less daunting than you were expecting, but still the most unnatural thing you've witnessed since having to interfere with a violent human at the front of the orphanage. The skeleton wears a black suit with hints of red, and the grin he carries appears shielded with dishonesty, contrasting with his direct and unwavering stare. Though the feeling of uneasiness differs from peering into the eyes of someone who has no fear of taking a life away, gazing into his irises still brings about uncertainty. You can't digest how detailed his body is, and how what little bones are exposed from his suit move in sync with each step he takes. It's like watching the most realistic, computer-generated creature in the real world rather than in film. What makes it a chilling experience is that he's actively acknowledging your presence, and that his irises follow your movements as you dust your clothes and fix yourself up after the messy hug.

He's not much taller than you or even Frisk, and yet...

You feel small, and how broad his body seems contributes to that.

"They had gone missing three months ago, and I…" You bring your hands together and bite back another tear, then face the ground to avoid meeting with what looks like Death, but formally dressed. "I can't express how much I grieved over their disappearance." Momentary courage allows you to look at him directly. "Who are you to my child? And… Who is this 'Tori' person?"

A chilly breeze of awareness arrives when you unclasp your hands and stare at your palms to see traces of soil smeared on your skin, most of it you believe is now wiped off on Frisk's attire.

"Frisk!" you exclaim, eyes broadening as you look next to you. "I forgot I-"

They're already standing in front of the skeleton, with their arms fully extended as they wait while he searches through his suitcase.

He retrieves a full set of clothes, a hair pin, and a stuffed teddy bear, then pats their head before they run off inside the church.

If you were jumpy before – even with the company of Frisk – now being alone with the skeleton leads to your body turning awfully rigid, and for a stiffer silence to build up between you.

"do ya have some time to spare, miss?" he asks, zipping the suitcase closed and throwing it over his shoulder. "i needa talk to ya 'bout Frisk."

This has to be a dream, at least.

There's no way you're staring at a breathing, moving, talking skeleton who'd somehow been left in charge of sending Frisk off towards you.

You should've known today wasn't real since the local news announced that a large crowd of monsters of all shapes and kinds had emerged from the Underground, like some sort of Halloween Horror film.

"It's my first time seeing them in months," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. "Of course, I do!" You stare at your hands again. "But... Could you allow me a minute to wash up?" Then, you glance at your uniform. "I've been gardening since early morning."

Whether this is all a dream or a nightmare, you should at least look presentable for either outcome.

"sure." He shrugs. "take your time."

• • • • •

You throw half a strawberry at a bird in your garden, lured by the sweet scents of the food you've set up on the table.

It flies off back into a tree when it picks up the treat, and – when you're positive there's no other hungry animal waiting nearby – you throw the other half on the flowers and watch as the leaves rustle and stop when reaching the spot.

Your next chore is to wash your hands by the faucet near the garden and continue setting up the rest of the table when you return.

"ya know," Sans says, sitting on the chair you gesture him over to. "from what frisk told me about you, i was kinda expectin' a lady older than tori herself."

You finish pouring tea to look at him and lift an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Although left without an answer, you push on by arranging some shortbread cookies and thinly sliced fruit on a pair of ceramic plates while you wait for him to say something.

He's observing your every move, and there's a limit to how much of that you can tolerate, but fear causes you to keep your mouth shut and carry on.

"and it makes a lotta sense."

"...Care to elaborate, sir?"

Still being out in the garden is what has kept you sane this whole time. Were you in an enclosed space with the skeleton, you wouldn't have lasted a second. There's just something wrong about looking at him and being aware he's a living creature – that he has a human's level of intelligence, and that he's judging you for acting like an old lady in spite of being in your twenties. You want this to end, yet if this is your punishment for not being a good enough mother, then you're bound to push on. You just have to be patient. And you just have to try not to… widen your eyes every occasion you figure out anything new about him. The basics – while covered – are already overwhelming on their own, but actually seeing him laugh and joke around like any other human drives you mad.

"you're makin' me tea, servin' me cookies, insistin' ya do every little thin' yourself," he says, touching a finger from his right hand with his left index finger for each observation he lists, "you're good with birds – probably other animals, too, and you're wearin' a type of dress only someone over her sixties would wear," he remarks, unwinding with a breath out when he shows all those statements take up his entire hand, "that's already five things, and i'm barely just gettin' to know ya. when did ya start out as a nun, anyway?"

Porcelain and ceramic clink as you set what's now unneeded away and leave only the cookies, fruit, tea, and communion items out on the table.

"Since my eighteenth birthday. It's been thirteen years."

You prepare the communion, first by setting aside a piece of sacramental bread, and then a small portion of grape wine in a paper cup.

"whoa." He whistles. "since that early?"

You ignore his comments while you finish setting everything else up, the last thing being to bless both the food and the communion. You then stand up, pick up the tray with the bread and wine, and offer it to him. How fast your heart races makes it so that your fingers shake as you grab the bread.

"Open your, um…" You frown. "How does your skull work?"

"you can touch, if you wanna."

Your eyes glue to his face, and inordinate curiosity fights with basic decency. He's a stranger, and yet he's being as casual as you would expect an old friend to be. You want to ask him to stop – that his existence alone as a skeleton is still something you're barely getting adjusted to, but common sense and more than enough years of your work in the convent have taught you better than that. Just as you're adjusting to him, he's likely doing with you and Frisk. Expecting him to act all formal would be rude, as would be him asking you to be casual around him. That's for friends, not strangers. Though if this really isn't some sort of Telephone game version of the classic Alice in Wonderland tale, then you hope you can both get used to one another later on.

"I shouldn't." Your gaze stays on his face. "But, then again…"

He chuckles, and his irises lighten up, something you've now associated with him being either happy or amused.

"Are you sure?"

"go wild."

You touch his cheekbone and press your thumb against it. The texture's similar to semi-hardened clay, and you leave a mark on his skull, though it fades after a few seconds. Worry stays at the thought of hurting him, so you brush your fingers at that spot again, softer this time.

"That's…" You pull back. "That's... interesting?"

He winks. "and you're great at describing it."

You stay quiet and shake your head, at a loss for words for what you feel to be the third occasion today – and it's still only one in the afternoon!

His teeth part as you move on to what you were doing. Despite physical contact, your heart's calmed down more, and you can stare at him for longer without questioning reality and science. With a long and steady breath, plus the reminder to keep calm, you pick up the bread again and drop it on…

…his tongue (?), then watch as he chews it and passes it down with the wine.

This is normal.

You're not delusional.

And the news report is completely legitimate.

What you have to do is convince yourself to believe all that.

"thanks for sharing a part of your world with me." He grins. "and for the blessin', too."

"It's not much, sir." You smile. "I'm... only thankful you've brought Frisk here, safe and sound."

His expression glooms on par with his posture.

Meanwhile, you set the tray back down and sit on the bench across from him.

The garden feels too calm now, as if nature itself has sensed the monster's shift in mood. You're tempted to ask him directly about what's brought about such a sudden change, yet you know you're in no place to do that. Frisk is sleeping off the exhaustion from their journey in the security of their bedroom, meaning that asking them to do it is completely out of the question – not to mention, you don't want them to do the work for you, nor impose anything as complicated as this on them. Growing restless, you pick up a cookie from your plate and munch on it during your wait. The amount of time that passes on is sufficient for you to eat two more, and even drink your first cup of tea.

"uh, yeah…" he says, mumbling. "'bout that…"

His gaze lifts from the grass to your eyes.

"frisk might've technically... died a few times during their journey through the underground. the only reason they're still alive is cuz of how things worked down there. didn't wanna pull that sorta bandage off so quickly, but i figured you should know this first before they tell ya about their experiences."

"...Wh- What?" you snap, standing up. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"afraid it isn't."

The last thing you can register as anger overcomes your heart is the sound of the tea cup hitting the ground with a crash, sending shards flying across the floor.

You march off towards him, stand in front, and point at the door leading out of the garden.

"Get the hell out of my church, you sick-minded beast!"

"please, let me explai-"

"Get. Out."

All you see is red as you lunge at the monster and grab him by his shirt's collar, lifting him off the chair.

Him weighing no more than Frisk allows you to take him to the nearest wall and slam him against it.

"...A bandage?" You cackle, disbelief manifesting through the noise. He doesn't struggle, so you pick that up as a sign for you to tug at him harder. "My child died, and you call that ripping off a mere bandage?" You press yourself against him when he starts to shift.

"there's more i-"

You cut him off again by tugging his tie along with the rest of his shirt.

"Shut up," you shout. "If this is a nightmare, you're more than welcome to disappear and let me go back to sleep. I... I want you out of my damn sight the second I release you!"

[Index | Next]

• • • • •

Tag List:

@itsberrydreemurstuff

#sans x reader #reader insert #undertale fanfiction #mafia fanfic #ao3 fanfic #underfell #mafiafell #mobfell #mafiafell sans #mobfell sans #female reader #chubby reader #nun reader #long fic #weekly updates

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