#doing as many school projects as possible on dogs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Note

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

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

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement.

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this.

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime.

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air.

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava.

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after.

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life.

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!”

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately.

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.”

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger.

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets.

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!”

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling.

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!”

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds.

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice.

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?”

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things.

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.”

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.”

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again.

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had.

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision.

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider.

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line?

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.”

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.”

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead.

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing.

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!”

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out.

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly.

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes.

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment.

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline.

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand.

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth.

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them.

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones.

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment.

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas.

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt.

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh.

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad.

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow.

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond.

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed.

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!”

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door.

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger.

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge.

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide.

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle.

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms.

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused.

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs.

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile.

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience.

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes.

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette.

At the end of the train, only the engine remains.

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man.

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering.

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet.

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time.

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher.

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame.

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion.

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts.

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor.

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air.

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake.

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you.

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.”

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch.

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot.

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple.

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you.

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.”

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up.

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!”

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.”

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse.

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you.

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.”

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves.

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck.

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch.

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.”

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat.

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard.

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up.

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains.

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion.

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now.

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming.

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood.

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh.

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast.

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony.

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly.

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath.

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat.

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice.

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function.

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack.

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist.

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty.

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh.

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction.

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.”

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied.

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you.

But he can’t move.

“Harp!”

And you can’t feel your fingers.

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry.

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross.

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils.

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy.

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze.

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this.

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly.

You can’t break—not like Rorke.

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull.

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless.

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out.

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do.

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you.

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later.

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before.

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.”

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open.

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood.

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth.

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh.

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse.

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes.

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches.

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt.

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

“Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground.

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage.

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!”

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion.

Keegan?

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.”

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger.

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid.

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed.

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.”

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad.

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.”

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!”

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again.

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head.

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious.

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.”

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him.

“Christ,” he hisses.

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick.

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane.

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge.

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold.

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding.

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan.

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead.

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body.

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still.

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes.

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you.

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion.

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!”

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob.

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on.

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.”

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how.

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind.

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence.

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard.

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had.

Two months.

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet.

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President.

He’d denied all of them.

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety.

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open.

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention.

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none.

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you.

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing.

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?”

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight.

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully.

It’s a moment before he answers you.

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.”

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room.

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared.

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say.

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy.

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you.

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again.

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent.

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks.

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there.

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them.

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it.

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr.

Hesh. You want your Hesh back.

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging.

Home.

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.”

You push yourself into him tighter.

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture.

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love.

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #x female reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #call of duty: ghosts

668 notes · View notes

mikavlcs · 1 year

Text

Dog Days

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: The help you need to confess to your crush winds up coming from an incredibly unlikely (and furry) source.

Warnings: ooc!wednesday, hints of bad poetry lol, bad writing, this is another very unserious story

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: the poetry part of this request kicked my ass and you can tell LMFAO. sorry it took so long (and sorry it kinda sucks), but i hope you guys enjoy!

Masterlist | Bonus

Confessing your feelings to someone you like was one of the most profound plights a person could ever face, you’ve decided.

Because to you, right now, there was no greater challenge to overcome, no finer show of courage than to look her in the eye and profess the nebulous depths of your infatuation without keeling over midsentence.

And this anxiety would be easier to conquer if the girl you had caught feelings for was a normie, or really any other outcast housed within Nevermore’s four walls.

But your crush was Wednesday Addams, and that more than justified the intense fear that came with the possibility of confessing.

For the past semester, Wednesday had been assigned to sit at your table in Botany, meaning that you two were almost always lab and project partners in that class. Throughout that time, she wasn’t exactly nice to you, but you’ve yet to be on the receiving end of her notoriously colorful threats, so you figured that put you somewhere friend-adjacent on the small girl’s relationship scale.

That made trying to confess to her no easier, however. Because she could literally just kill you if she decided it wasn’t good enough. If she decided you weren’t good enough.

You hoped knew she wouldn’t considering your short but cordial history, but she technically could.

Now despite her reputation (and the previously outlined possibility of murder), Wednesday never scared you. She certainly tried. You’d lost count of how many grisly medieval torture facts she offered up while working together, but they never had the intended effect of instilling fear into you. Not even once. The absurdity of it made you laugh more often than not.

But, while she didn’t scare you, she did intimidate you. Even now, months and a fully developed crush later, she could render you speechless with a single look.

That immediately did away with the possibility of a verbal confession since you were sure your vocal cords would cease operation before you could even properly start, leaving you staring at her like an idiot. So you were left to figure out another way. And after days of careful deliberation, you decided upon the vessel with which you would confess your feelings.

A poem.

Yes, it was stupid and cliché, but it was something you were familiar with, and you figured Wednesday might have at least some appreciation for it considering she herself was an aspiring writer. But very soon, you came face to face with a problem.

Wednesday herself constantly strived for perfection in every facet of life, so you knew that if anyone were to attempt to court her, she would be expecting no less from them as well.

Everything about this poem—diction, rhythm, rhyme, form—had to be superlative, efficient while effectively flawless.

It needed to be perfect and you just…couldn’t get it there.

Attempt after attempt wound up in your garbage, the papers overflowing out of the small pail by your desk while your hope slowly diminished with each failure. After the 27th trashed page, you knew you needed to stop and recoup.

This approach obviously wasn’t working, so you had to find a different one and to do that, you needed incentive. You needed inspiration. You needed the creative ascension that came with reading good, fresh poetry.

The only issue was that all of your poetry collections were well-worn, memorized from cover to cover. Though you could never tire of them, you knew they wouldn’t provide the spark of creativity you needed.

So you took a trip to the small bookstore in Jericho since the school library had very little in the way of poetry and picked up a few that caught your eye.

You were on your way to catch the shuttle back when you heard it.

A high-pitched yip rose from the alley you had just walked past, making you pause. Curious (and without much else to do), you stepped back to peer into the alley, and you let out a gasp.

Just down the alleyway was a small puppy, covered head to toe in gorgeous gold fur. A golden retriever, your mind helpfully supplied. He didn’t notice you, entirely too preoccupied tearing up an old newspaper to care about your gawking, but you were entranced.

And without your usual forms of impulse control (your teachers and parents) there with you, your mind was made up in an instant.

A twenty-minute trip to the local pet store saw you ready to leave town a few hundred dollars lighter and many bags heavier. You got all the essentials—food, toys, a collar and a leash, a bed, bowls, and whatnot.

All that was left was getting the dog.

Quietly approaching, you set your bags down against the mouth of the alleyway and crept closer to the puppy, careful not to startle him as he stalked a bug of some sort. Once you were within a few feet, you crouched and tore open one of the treat bags you bought. The noise got the retriever’s attention, and he stopped his pursuit to watch you, intrigued.

A soft smile made its way onto your face while you fished a treat out and held it out. It took no time at all for the pup to curiously trot over. He sniffed it for a moment, thoroughly inspecting the cookie before devouring it and looking back up at you expectantly, tail wagging furiously in the air behind him.

With a laugh, you offered him another one, then another, and another. And just like that, a friendship was formed.

The driver barely gave you a second glance when you waltzed into the shuttle with your bags and the dog, just waited for you to be seated and pulled off onto the main road. Definitely not protocol, but you imagined he wasn’t being paid nearly enough to care.

When Nevermore’s castle-like features came into view ten minutes later, you realized with a jolt that there was one thing you hadn’t accounted for: actually trying to smuggle this puppy into the school.

Given that the shuttle was already parked, you had no time for strategy. As you stepped back onto campus, your only plan was to make a mad dash for your dorm. And, after tucking the puppy inside your shirt, that’s exactly what you did. Or tried to do. You only got halfway through your journey when Yoko intercepted you in one of the halls.

“Hey! I see someone went shopping today,” she commented, giving the plethora of bags you were holding a humorous look. “Preparing for a zombie outbreak or something?”

“Something like that,” you answered, taking a step around her, but she moved with you and started matching your hurried strides.

“So, you ready for that Vampire Anatomy test tomorrow? Personally, I think I’m gonna ace it,” she smiled, fangs flashing in the overhead light. You shot her a look, because, of course, a vampire would ace that test.

You opened your mouth, a scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but the pup chose that moment to show his restlessness, flailing his little limbs violently under the fabric of your shirt.

“Uh,” Yoko slowed at your side, brows drawn above her sunglasses. She pointed at your stomach, where the puppy was violently squirming. “What’s going on there?”

You glanced away, mouth opening and closing. Hard as you tried to come up with a plausible excuse, none came, so you said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m pregnant.”

Poor Yoko looked positively baffled. You ran before she could say anything else.

The sprint back to your dorm was blessedly uneventful, allowing you to stumble inside with minimal issue. Thankfully, your roommate was out, so you wouldn’t need to deal with any more questions for the time being. You set the puppy down on the floor, letting him explore his new surroundings while you set his things up.

Once his bed, bowls, and toys were in place, your attention turned to another pressing issue. The pup needed a name.

Dozens of names crossed your mind in the minutes that followed, but none of them fit the energetic boy in front of you. Pondering, you watched leisurely as the retriever dragged his new leash across the floor. The sunlight pouring through the window softly bounced off his golden fur while he pranced around your room, leash still securely in his mouth.

A metaphorical light bulb clicked on and in that moment, you gave him the most beautiful, poetic name your mind graced you with.

“Choklit!”

The puppy in question froze and looked up at you, short tail wagging dutifully. He was already giving you his best puppy dog eyes, but you knew better than to fall for them. You moved to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.

“We’ve talked about this. Edgar Allen Poe’s collected works are not a chew toy!” You moved the book away from him, held up a blue squeaky toy in its place. “This is what you play with, got it?”

He offered you a yip in response, tail wagging a mile a minute as you handed him the bone-shaped toy. “And remember, play lightly!” you tagged on as he tumbled off his bed.

Principal Weems hesitantly allowed you to keep the puppy on the agreement that your roommate agreed to him (which she did, ecstatically) and that he not be too loud in the room. By some miracle of god, you had been able to abide by that rule for the past two weeks.

Hopefully, your luck would persist.

With him placated, you turned back to the task at hand—finishing your poem. It was coming together, a solid vision of your end goal forming. And after another ten minutes of brainstorming the last line—a woefully overdramatic would you go on a date with me? that hopefully wouldn’t get you killed in your sleep—it was finished.

You pushed back against your desk and leaned your head against the back of your chair, taking a moment to rest. Then, sitting back up, you reread the poem carefully.

A wave of inadequacy crashed into you as you ran back through the words you just wrote. Something about it just wasn’t right, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Was the rhythm off? Were the rhymes varied enough? Outside of that, was your prose structured competently? Was the poem too much? Was it not enough? Five rereads only heeded more questions and no answers.

Frustrated, you balled the paper up and threw it behind you, already priming another paper to begin the poem anew.

The telltale pattering of paws reached your ears, turning to find Choklit nosing at the crumbled paper. With a sigh, you walked over and went to pick it up. “Sorry, bud, but my personal failures as a poet are not your toys.”

Choklit, thinking it was a game, quickly snatched the ball up in his mouth and bowed, sending light growls your way. Though you knew it wouldn’t help, you raised your hands in surrender and leaned back.

“I’m not trying to play. I just need that—” You tried to swipe it from his mouth, but he bounced backward and rushed toward the door.

At that exact moment, your roommate returned from choir practice, opening the door just in time for Choklit to run out with the paper in tow. You scrambled to your feet, edging past her into the mostly empty hallway.

“Sorry!” she yelled after you, to which you just waved.

“It’s fine! I got him,” you threw back at her just before you turned a corner in pursuit of the retriever.

You had to admit, the little guy was fast. Faster than you thought he would be (or maybe you just needed to exercise more…who knew). Bewildered students parted for you as you gave chase, giving them a quick thank you! as you kept your eyes on the golden blur ahead.

He toppled down another hallway, one you knew led to a dead end. You grinned and picked up the pace, intent on scooping him up, only to skid to a sudden stop after you turned the corner.

Because there Choklit was, sniffing around at familiar black boots while pale hands smoothed out the paper the puppy dropped before her. You were frozen, trying to figure out whether this was real or some terrible lucid dream.

Wednesday’s cold timbre inadvertently answered your question.

“I didn’t think they allowed dogs on campus,” the girl remarked, giving the puppy at her feet an inquisitive look. Your response came without thinking.

“You live with a werewolf, don’t you?” Your eyes widened. The comment was meant as a joke but could easily be interpreted as an insult. And knowing how close the two had gotten over the past few months, the last thing you wanted to do was accidentally mock Enid.

You watched Wednesday closely, but the only physical response you received was the slightest raise of her brows.

“That was almost funny.” Her words were delivered with her trademark deadpan stare, but you could hear the slightest hint of humor threaded into her neutral tone. Looking for attention, Choklit stood on his hind legs and pawed at Wednesday’s shin, giving her a clear view of the tag on his collar. The disapproval in her voice was clear as day. “You named it…Choklit?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, pulling out a grin full of confidence you absolutely did not feel. “Can’t be a literary genius all the time.”

“I’m sure,” she retorted sarcastically, holding your unsure gaze for another moment before turning back to the paper in her hand. You followed her eyes and stepped forward with a grimace.

“Sorry, that’s… you weren’t supposed to see that.” You tried to take the paper, but Wednesday stepped back, moving the paper out of your reach.

“It’s addressed to me.”

“That it is,” you conceded with a sigh, “but it was never intended to actually be delivered to you.”

Wednesday hummed. “Well, it seems your dog disagrees.” With that, she turned her attention to the poem. You were tempted to try and take it again, but you liked having your hand attached to your body, so you resisted.

Impatiently, you waited as her eyes ran along the lines slowly, your anxiousness building with every passing moment of excruciating silence until finally, she met your gaze once more.

“A few things to note,” she began, tone much too studious for the occasion. “I applaud the fact that you made the decision not to write a sonnet. They’re easily the most overblown, abominable form of poetry and I would have had to burn this if it was.”

She gave you a small nod. “Now, I will say that I’m a bit disappointed. This certainly could have been written in perfect rhyme rather than end rhyme, but since you said this wasn’t your final draft, I’m willing to give you a pass for this oversight. Mostly. And while AABB isn’t the most complex rhyme scheme, it’s just tolerable enough here to not detract from the poem as a whole.”

You gaped. She was making the same type of comments that your teachers would when they graded your assignments. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was reading off the notes from a book report and not talking about a literal love confession.

The ridiculousness of the situation pulled a wry laugh from your throat, but you were quickly silenced with a harsh glare. Once you quieted, she continued, “The biggest problem I see is that this poem is lacking in length, having only a measly 12 lines. A few more couplets would have made this feel more complete.”

“Now onto the poem itself. Though your vernacular pales in comparison to mine, I will admit that your vocabulary is surprisingly expansive considering what you named your pet.” She sent Choklit a pointed look. “Furthermore, I appreciate the use of alliteration in lines like ‘A mind molded by misery and mischief’ and ‘Down into the dark depths of a dreadfully early grave’ but feel it could’ve been utilized more throughout. The mixture of masculine and feminine rhyme is interesting, though choosing one could have aided with overall cohesion.”

You just stood and stared, silently taking in her thoughts and critiques because it was all you could do. She paused, folded the paper neatly in her hand, but still didn’t give it back to you.

“In conclusion, parts of this are noticeably undercooked, but the simple act of reading it doesn’t make me want to purge my insides. I acknowledge the effort you put forth to tailor this poem to me and my interests and will admit that being described as ‘the purest of darkness personified’ is almost flattering.”

A nervous chuckle escaped before you could quell it, but this time she allowed it, her stare remaining blank. You cleared your throat, injected some joviality into your tone. “Great, so uh…do I get an A+?”

“B-, actually,” she amended, running over the folded page with her eyes. “Maybe even a C+.”

At that point, you swore you could feel the humiliation seeping into the very essence of your being. But you were determined not to let it show, to preserve what tiny amount of dignity you had left.

“Okay, well, I’m just gonna take that back and then go vanish off the face of the Earth so we never have to see each other again.” You gave her a pained smile and reached for the paper, only for her to snatch it out of your reach with a glare.

She glanced down to Choklit, who was seemingly enjoying the drama as his eyes ping-ponged between you two, then to the paper again. Another long moment passed before she looked back at you.

“I never said no.”

You blinked a few times, confused. “What?”

“The proposition outlined at the end of the poem,” she clarified, “I never said no.”

“You…” you began to repeat but trailed off as the realization of what she was implying really began to sink in. “Wait, I—you…you can’t possibly mean…”

Growing visibly impatient, Wednesday cut off your verbal meltdown. “Meet me outside the school gates after light’s out this Saturday. I get to pick the activity.”

The unsettling smile she gave you felt like a bad omen, but you couldn’t care less, still fighting off the incredulity clouding your mind. You opened your mouth to respond but when no words came, you settled for a hurried nod.

“Good,” Wednesday peered out the window momentarily. “Now, I must be going. Eugene is expecting me. I will see you Saturday and if you’re late then you’ll be the next autopsy I perform.”

Carefully, she stepped around your puppy and walked off without another word, leaving you to ponder what the hell just happened.

“Oh my god,” you whispered to no one in particular. Again, louder this time, “Oh my god!” At the sound of your excitement, Choklit came scampering over and you bent down to meet him. He stood on his hind legs, bracing his front paws on your knee. “Did you hear that, boy? The poem actually worked!”

He gave you a yip in return, tiny tail a blur behind him. You rubbed your hand along his back, chuckling at the fervent licks your hands received in return.

Only after a student skirted past you both did you realize that you were still in the middle of a hall. You promptly scooped Choklit up with both hands and cradled him by your chest, looking down at him as you began your way back to your dorm.

“Come on, let’s go get some treats. I owe you big time, buddy.”

#you guys would not BELIEVE the amount of googling i did for this fic lmao #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagine #jenna ortega #i have a newfound respect for poets #because even writing up a trash mock poem for this fic was HARD #listen if you see any incorrectly used terms please look away

739 notes · View notes

kidstemplatte · 5 months

Text

random papa headcanons

i genuinely don’t know where this came from haha. they range from zodiac signs to hobbies to mental health so sorry for the inconsistency lol. please enjoy <3

⋅───⊱༺ 𐕣 ༻⊰───⋅

primo

- primo is one of the most kind and caring people to exist in the world. he’s very intelligent as well- he has a mind suited for many jobs. sometimes he wonders what he would’ve done if he didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.

- he’s a great writer in all regards- poetry, essays, speeches, all of it. he did exceptionally in school and was very humble.

-primo is great at conflict resolution. he’s direct and efficient but considerate of people’s feelings as well.

-generally pretty healthy mentally but has struggled with depression periodically throughout his life.

-i don’t think primo ever planned to be a father, he didn’t even think it was possible considering his responsibilities. but as he got older and reflected upon his life he regrets that he never had children.

- we all know about primo’s legendary garden, but his next project he’s dreaming of is an orphanage in the clergy. or just to overall encourage more inclusion of children :,) (when appropriate ofc haha)

- a hopeless romantic deep down.

-virgo/libra.

secondo

-secondo is a great artist. he likes painting landscapes and scenery. hes also really good at drawing buildings/ architecture. when he was younger he thought maybe he’d be an architect. some of his paintings are hanging around the clergy but nobody knows they’re his.

- good at math but doesn’t enjoy it persay.

- reads a lot of classic novels (and romance books lol) if he’s reading something trashy in public he’ll switch the cover so he isn’t judged and can maintain his reputation ☠️

-i think he’s struggled with depression throughout his life that’s beyond situational. even when he was at his peak, something chemically in his brain just wouldn’t let him fully soak it in.

-extroverted but very distant simultaneously. has a hard time getting vulnerable with people.

-smokes a lot of weed. i think all the papas do tbh

-huge music connoisseur (prestigious metalhead) (will say “name 5 songs” if he sees you wearing a band shirt)

-biiiiiiig leo/capricorn energy.

terzo

- terzo has adhd for sure lmao. he was never diagnosed though.

- he was the walking stereotype for ADHD as a kid: a rambunctious and high-energy boy who struggled in class.

-terzo is very intelligent, though. he just never cared about school too much. he was good at talking his way out of trouble.

-terzo is incredible sensitive to rejection. so much so that he would have a very very hard time confessing his romantic feelings towards someone. (feelings that move beyond sexual attraction)

- his hypersexuality, though he genuinely just loves sex, is often a subconscious quest for dopamine and validation.

- he has a very kind heart, goes out of his way to make people laugh if he sees they’re struggling.

- loooooooooooves to watch reality tv or anything full of drama.

-either a scorpio or a gemini.

-very active online. he’s a little obsessed with reading fan forums and posts. but he also just loves the internet in general

-i think he was the most interactive with fans, he would respond to fan mail most frequently. when he got horny mail from someone he would often respond with equally something equally risqué ☠️but of course when the subject matter was serious or heartfelt he would respond genuinely.

copia

- copia drew comics when he was younger and still does. over time they’ve evolved from mystical stories to simple doodles to get him through the day.

- sometimes he’s a little forgetful and mixes up his papers, so when he confidently hands his mother a comic strip she’s featured in, it’s a little awkward.

- copia loves animals, and he always has. he was afraid of dogs (specifically bigger ones) when he was younger, though. he also likes birds and can identify most species. (so can primo!)

- copia had a little bit of ocd throughout his childhood that’s lessened up over time.

-he also has generalized anxiety that’s lessened after he’s become papa which is shocking

- he has inattentive adhd. he’s an exceptional worker despite his negative symptoms because he pushes himself so hard to succeed. but sometimes he gets a little burnt out and forgets to rest, or spirals into an unmotivated state.

-we all know he’s a huge dork, so to elaborate upon that: he likes star wars, star trek, dc, and comics of all sorts.

-he has a funko pop collection in his office (including one of himself LOL)

-i think he’s a gemini and i’m so passionate about this. that or a pisces.

⋅───⊱༺ 𐕣 ༻⊰───⋅

thanks for reading yall :,)) i have more stuff coming up i promise i’m just not able to work as frequently due to school!! i hope you enjoyed.

<3, alice

316 notes · View notes

phxntomhives · 20 days

Text

P4 headcanons

Because I just realized this is my blog and I can do it lol.

Edgar Redmond

He learned how to dance when he was little and always loved it.

His favourite author is Jane Austin but won't admit it to anyone.

Puts a lot of effort into becoming a better person but tries to hide it because it should be something "effortless".

Flirt with women but will panick if they flirt back and he would run away.

Hasn't slept for a while after Maurice's "accident" wondering how he could not see the truth .

Lawrence Bluewer

Has tried to read all the books of Weston as a personal challange

Secretely likes coffee.

His sisters dressed him up more than once as a girl.

He has, unwillingly, learned how to put on make-up, and he is good at it.

He wouldn't have minded to become a professor, and Professor Michaelis was his role model for a while.

Herman Greenhill

Loves dogs. Has many of them at home.

The cricket bat he carries is a present from someone he cares about and that's why he always bring it with him.

Adores sweet but has to pretend he doesn't.

His favourite sport is horse riding.

If something is too difficult to understand at school he goes to discuss it with Lawrence and pretends that he just want to exchange their opinions on the topic Lawrence knows and just helps him without pointing it out.

Gregory Violet

He makes his own lip-stick. It took a lot of effort to reach that color and he is proud of it.

Sometimes he looks at the other three and wishes he was taller.

His hair were longer but he was forced to cut them.

His hair are actually white, but he prefers black so he dyes them. He leaves the white strand because it looks cool.

Needs glasses but refuses to wear them.

Slight angst version + Ship discourse + Spoilers of future arcs hidden so you don't have to see them unless you want to

Edgar Redmond

It needs him a while to fall asleep because he keeps thinking of the last Midnight Party and his expulsion from the school.

After Maurice's accident he had a breakdown in his room and broke some stuff while crying, thinking how he could make the same mistake twice.

He was the most excited about the Starlight 4 project and couldn't wait to get on stage.

He couldn't drink tea for months after the midnight party without throwing up.

Lawrence Bluewer

Didn't sleep for a week after the expulsion and ended up collapsing in Edgar's house.

Herman Greenhill

He was depressed after the midnight tea party and thought of killing himself to atone for his sins. Gregory noticed and slapped him before hugging him.

After the creation of the S4, if bad memories/thoughts get to him, he start training one of the song.

Gregory Violet

Wanted to run away from Blavat the moment he noticed O!CIel.

All P4 (poly because I can't separate them)

They accidentally all fell for each other and tried to keep it a secret, it soon failed as everyone was getting jealous of everyone.

It was awkward at first, no one knew how to act.

The Edgar and Gregory accidentally teamed up to act like everything was normal and they slowly found balance.

Edgar thinks it's his duty to maintain them together and happy

If Gregory scrap a drawing, the others just sneakily take it back and keep it safe somewhere else.

Any drawing Gregory made of the other is also extremely well preserved by that person. And the other three friendly argue on who has the most drawings/who has the prettiest ones.

Edgar cuddles anyone. Doesn't matter where or when, if he wants to cuddle he will find someone. His favourite victim for this is Herman because he gets flustered the most.

Lawerence's sister are always casually the companions for everyone is there MUST be a female companion at an official event. (They want to tease their brother)

Herman refuses the others to lift anything.

Lawrence started to read out loud when he noticed that the others fell asleep faster if he was talking.

Herman is the first to wake up and force himself to be as quiet as possible to not wake the others up.

They wait untile veryone is present to start eating.

Lawrence is the most possessive of the four.

Do I have more? Yes, but for now just take my small offering.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #p4 #prefect 4 #edgar redmond #lawrence bluewer #gregory violet #herman greenhill #kuroshitsuji headcanons #black butler headcanons

58 notes · View notes

roach-works · 2 months

Note

Hi!!!! I recently read When the Wolf Comes Home and I loved the premise the where the fic was heading. I know it hasn't been updated since 2017 so I was wondering if there was any intention of finishing it? I know it's possible you've moved on from that fandom and that is totally fine! If you are, would it be possible to share where you wanted to take the fic? Thank you, I absolutely loved your writing!!!

im a little stuck on that one because yeah i do sometimes noodle a little more on it and i had a pretty solid plot for the first year, after which i was going to be Very Firmly Done because so many rewrites attempt to take on the whole seven year span and founder on the complexity. but the problem is im really ambivalent and undecided on how much i want to participate in harry potter fandom at this late date, with JKR going mask-off nazi sympathizer. it's a weird situation where you can't argue for death of the author when the author is annoyingly alive and arguing that you should be dead.

im deeply reluctant to denounce people still participating in a fandom that i myself found incredibly fun and rewarding for, yknow, several decades of my life, and i don't think i'm better than them, just fortunate to be more interested in other projects.

but ambivalence towards the fandom and deep resentment towards the creator aren't really a productive headspace to actually write in, and i also don't want to finally work through my own doubts, finish another chapter, and then get my head torn off by people who are certain that i'm supporting JKR's toxic fuckwittery.

all in all it's easier and more rewarding to play with other fandoms and work on my many original projects.

where the fic was going:

as far as i remember, in When The Wolf Comes Home, draco was going to get his dad to hire lupin as his defense against the dark arts tutor and rent out the shrieking shack for the man to work out of, thus circumventing the curse on the DADA position and giving draco a werewolf mentor and independent bolt-hole.

quirrelmort was going to continue trying to figure out how to use or dispose of draco on his way to get the philosopher stone, a side-plot draco knew almost nothing about. draco would continue to try to maneuver harry into quirrel's way and snape out of his way, with indifferent success. harry and ron, lacking any voice of reason to temper their enthusiastic partnership of 'baby griffindors looking cool in front of their first real friend ever', would continue to believe that draco, the saddest wet puppy, was an evil monster and the cause of all their misfortunes. draco would continue to be the most mentally and emotionally unstable kid in the castle, taking all the heat off neville, who would end up looking fairly cool and collected by comparison. rita skeeter would feature somewhere in there, hired by narcissa to write little puff pieces on how tragic and brave draco was being about going to school with such a tragic disability.

remus lupin would end up with a full schedule tutoring DADA students about to take their NEWTs and OWLs and make a bunch of money. with lucius as his patron and PR agent, he would be accepted in hogsmeade as a dashing and heroic warlock who had been off having reams of secret agent adventures as dumbledore's key man in the muggle world. remus would not really know what to do with this but eat as much as possible and smile gamely when lucius showed him off to people.

eventually towards the end of the year quirrel would get rid of draco by orchestrating a fight between ron and draco where ron cut his fist on draco's teeth. this would count as a bite and draco would get thrown in azkaban and belatedly realize that he had completely and totally forgotten about sirius black's whole Saddest Wet Dog situation. sirius would do his best to take care of his tiny insane werepuppy cousin until the malfoys and longbottoms and weasleys combined to lever draco back out, using ron's ashamed testimony. draco would immediately turn around and reveal scabbers. the malfoys would end up looking like champions of truth and justice and the weasleys would, unfortunately, have to just stand there and smile gamely for the cameras.

while all this was happening harry would go after quirrel with hermione and neville and take him down. dumbledore would show up at the end, when voldemort was defeated and sirius was exonerated and several deep family feuds had been laid aside, to dispense twinkling paternal wisdom.

draco would kick him in the fork.

THE END.

#time traveling baby werewolves #writing #fic

62 notes · View notes

wormbraind · 2 months

Text

based on @glassknee's post and @notevenalittle1294's addition, i present to you: the sims endbringer mod, pho style (but not really, this is a fictional sims forum)

♦ Topic: [Self-promo] Endbringer Mod In: Boards ► Modding FKNSHJ (Original Poster) Posted On Apr 20th 2012: Hi all. 🙂 I’m excited to share this mod I’ve been working on. It involves randomized Endbringer attacks. By default they’re fairly more common than they are in real life, happening maybe once every ten in-game years, but if you look at read_me.txt in the downloads I’ve enclosed information on how to alter the probability and how to trigger specific Endbringers as well as how to make them easier or harder to defeat. Besides that I also included CC and a few Easter eggs that won't affect your gameplay.

(Showing page 1 of 2)

►termina2 (2011 Sim Comp Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: whoa, so cool :D i dont play with my sims much so ill try activating some endbringer attacks and see how it goes. im pretty bad at coding tho... ^_^

►tritebuilds (2011 Build Comp Semi-Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: Hey what the fuck? Endbringers aren't a joke. You've clearly never seen the aftermath of an attack, this is making a mockery out of the trauma of Endbringer victims such as myself. Who even comes up with this stuff???

►hshater Replied On Apr 20th 2012: im getting my popcorn lmfao

►termina2 (2011 Sim Comp Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: trite let's keep this civil, please, don't swear...

►oldlostsea Replied On Apr 20th 2012: Wait, isn't this the guy who posted those *suggestive* images of Leviathan?

►hshater Replied On Apr 20th 2012: +oldlostland what?? on here?? where?? not in a weird way like i don't want to see them but proof?

►oldlostsea Replied On Apr 20th 2012: +hshater Ok weirdo. It was on some PHO dupe (it has better information but worse moderation) and I only remember because it was weird + the random letter username stuck with me. I'll DM you the link once I find it.

►hshater Replied On Apr 20th 2012: +oldlostsea yeah yeah take your time. FJSKJ you've got anything to say for yourself?

►oldlostsea Replied On Apr 20th 2012: +hshater I found his account on the site and I downloaded the mod. Definitely the same person. The art style resemblance is uncanny. Sending you the link RN.

End of Page. 1

(Showing page 2 of 2)

►spaceg1rl (Suspended) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: why does the mod's art look like that? yeah he definitely wants to fuck them screenshot(64).png

►hole (Moderator) (2011 Simp Comp Winner) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: @spaceg1rl This is your fifth infraction this year. Suspended for two months.

►hshater Replied On Apr 20th 2012: +oldlostsea sorry i was walking my dog. and yeah that looks exactly the same as what spacegirl (rip) posted +hole i mean this as kindly as possible pleasedontgivemeawarning but with that username what grounds do you have to stand on

►hole (Moderator) (2011 Simp Comp Winner) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: @hshater It's a reference to Hole, the band, of which I made many Sims. You can see them in my Round 2 submission to last year's Sim Comp

►hshater Replied On Apr 20th 2012: yeah i'm sorry to break it to you but your tag says simp comp. congrats though!

►termina2 (2011 Sim Comp Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: i really love the atmosphere and the art and the cc... really surprised this was made by one person! good job!

►tritebuilds (2011 Build Comp Semi-Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: +termina2 You are literally contributing to the normalization of Endbringer attacks.

►termina2 (2011 Sim Comp Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: ?? im going to log off for a bit to work on a school project. really dont like how toxic you all are getting :( it's just a mod

►tritebuilds (2011 Build Comp Semi-Finalist) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: @cookiecrumbles @tenovertwosmallstones PLEASE remove this. It's extremely offensive and potentially f*tish content.

►cookiecrumbles (Moderator) Replied On Apr 20th 2012: I'm disabling replies while we discuss this. Please avoid harassing each other anywhere else in the meantime.

End of Page. 1, 2

#writing #parahumans #endbringers

47 notes · View notes

horseshoegirl · 1 year

Text

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 9 - Hang On, Hang On

This is the one you’ve been waiting for 💛 also, that second photo - I actually took it, which I’m really proud of!!

Kay Peeps, if you hadn't heeded the +18 warning, you better do so now. I mean it! Smut is an ever-present possibility from this point onwards.

18+ minors DNI. Ageless and blank blogs are blocked without warning.

❗+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child, sexual themes (I mean Smut, so get outta here if you ain't +18), Nightmares, Sad (And scared) Sadie is back.

#6.8k Words

Part 8 | Masterlist | Part 10

“So, what’s going on with you and Hangman?”

You choked on your drink, coughing hard, as you spat out, “Nat, come on.”

Natasha had pressured you into having a drink with her at the Hard Deck on your day off, holding you to your promise of having a girl's night before she was deployed.

Not that you didn't want to spend time with her, but you weren't feeling up to this particular Friday night. Or it could have been due to the fact she couldn't stop hounding you about Jake volunteering to pick Sadie up from school.

You had to give her credit. She knew something was up ever since they came home. And despite her best efforts to corner you, you had successfully evaded her. That was until now.

When you told her you couldn't because you didn't have anyone to watch Sadie, she saw right through your bald-faced lie, saying she knew Amelia would be coming over to help Sadie with a science project.

You were left with no way out of it.

“Rooster had a ‘chat’ with us,” she exclaimed. “Told us we needed to stop being mean to Jake, or we won’t be able to see Sadie anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. "He's exaggerating. You know I would never stop you from seeing Sadie.”

She nodded her head in agreement, but it didn't stop her from pressing further. "So spill. There was no way that would have come out of his mouth willingly."

She wasn't going to let this go, you thought. Maybe filling her in on bits and pieces of what happened would calm her curiosity, and you'd catch a break.

"Jake was helping me get through the whole CPS situation." you started, knowing Jake would have told Rooster as much. "Then I found Tyler's letter while you guys were deployed. So I showed it to him, and... Well, you know Bradley, he jumped to conclusions and thought he saw something he didn't."

"He basically accused me of not thinking about Sadie," Nat's eyes softened with your words. She knew without a double you considered Sadie before doing anything for yourself. For Bradley to suggest otherwise was harsh.

"So, I told him to stop being mean to Jake as an apology."

"Did Bradley see something he though he saw?”

You swallowed at her words. There was no way she saw you and Jake too. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, did Bradley actually see something going on between the two of you? When you showed him the letter."

You dug your nails into your thigh as you replied, "Are you implying something is going on between Jake and I?"

Nat didn't hesitate when she answered you with, "Come on, Liz, how many female friends does Jake actually have?"

That made you pause, blankly staring at her. She was right.

"Jake doesn't do that with most people."

You felt pinned down. With no way out but to deny everything. So instead, you went for, “How much do you know about Jake?”

“Besides the fact, he’s an ass?”

“Nat.” You snapped. “He’s not. Stop with that.”

Phoenix leaned back in her seat, a pleased grin on her face. “You like him.”

“Nat!”

"Hey, I know I was against it initially, but I honestly think you are making a difference for him."

Much like Penny's reaction, you thought Nat would have undoubtedly jumped to your defence, threatening to kick him to the curb or shoot him down the next time they went up together. So the fact she was actually reacting positively made you question everything.

You pinned her with your eyes. "Why are you so suddenly changing your mind about Jake?"

"Besides the fact he is good with the Bug? I think he genuinely likes you."

Well, that made your ears burn.

"He was different this time out. Less harsh on everyone. Actually wanting to talk to us like decent human beings. I don't think that's a coincidence."

“A man doesn’t change his ways for a woman,” you rolled your eyes at her.

“He does if it’s the right woman.”

You dropped your elbows to the table, leaning forward. “That’s so fricken cheesy, Nat.”

She huffed out a laugh, you joining in with her.

“I meant to say, if you want to, I’ll back you up.”

You opened your mouth, some retort about Jake never going for someone like you ready on your lips, when someone collapsed into the empty booth next to you, a body trying very hard to use you as a personal pillow.

It could have only been one person, literally from the fact he had done this once before.

“Bob?” you questioned, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek.

“Hi, Lizzie,” he hiccuped, burying his face into the back of your shoulder. You looked up at Nat, shocked. She stared at Bob for a few seconds before putting her face into her hands. “Dammit, Bob, not again.”

Rooster, Coyote and Jake swarmed your table, Rooster exhaled after finally tracking down Bob, sighing out under his breath, "There he is."

Clearly, that wasn't the correct thing to say in front of Nat.

“What did you guys do to my WSO?!” She cried out, staring at Rooster.

“It’s not our fault he’s a baby.”

Javy was hanging at the back of the group, a disappointing look on his face, which led you to believe he had nothing to do with Bob's current state. Meaning Rooster and Jake, standing at the front, were at fault.

You glared at Jake, your face saying everything words couldn't.

He only shrugged. “He wanted to play 8-ball for drinks.”

You were about to open your mouth to reply before your phone blared out. You looked down at your phone, frowning at the notification.

Serve weather warning. Seek shelter immediately.

“There’s a storm warning." You said out loud, scrolling through your phone to read the weather report. "It looks really bad.”

“I bet we could make it back home in time?” Coyote suggested, looking to Bob before looking out the back windows of the Hard Deck. You followed his gaze, and judging by the sky outside, the waves, and the sudden bursts of wind, they wouldn’t.

“Nope. Out of question. All of you are staying at mine tonight.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve dragged the squad back to your house after a night of drinking. You were sure it wouldn’t be the last either.

But if this was the first major storm of the season lurking in the sky as an imminent threat and your house being only being five minutes max away from the Hard Deck, this would be the easiest way to ensure everyone remained safe, especially with Bob.

You wouldn’t risk the chance of something happening to them if you could help it.

“Are you sure?” Phoenix asked. “I don’t know about the others, but I would really appreciate that. But I don’t want to impose.”

You stared at her ridiculously. “Nat. Seriously. You guys have done a lot worse.”

“Okay,” She held her hands up, then looked to Bob. “But I’m not bunking with any of these lightweights.”

Judging by Bob’s hiccup against your shoulder, you didn’t blame her. Glancing at him from over your shoulder, you remarked, “This one is walking home with us.”

You looked back at the group. “Any takers?”

Bradley immediately replied, “I’m not turning down your couch. That thing is awesome.”

Javy nodded, adding, "It would be nice to have breakfast with Sadie."

Then you turned to Jake, raising your eyebrow. “You in? I promise I have enough room.”

You felt Nat kick you from under the table, and you did your best not to react.

Jake looked conflicted for a moment, his forehead scrunching together and narrowing his eyes. "You walked here again?"

"Why would I waste gas when I'm five minutes out?"

He couldn't really argue with your logic, but that didn't stop him from worrying about you walking by yourself. Not that you would be this time, but during the nights when you closed.

But a night under your roof? There was a time he had asked that question with nothing more than the intent to get you into a bed and fuck you until he was stated.

But now? He would do anything just to be near you.

Jake reached for Bob, peeling him off your body before handing him over to Rooster and Coyote, before holding out his hand to help you out of the booth. The cocky smirk was back as he said, "Lead the way."

Bradley and Javy hooked their arms under Bob’s shoulders, lifting him up and over to the front door. You quickly said your goodbyes to Penny and Jimmy, who swore they would be okay by themselves to close early. Deciding to walk was an easy decision. If the storm was as bad as the report said it was, they were better leaving their cars in the parking lot overnight rather than in your tiny driveway and along your street.

The heat was stifling as you exited the bar, the storm in the air and the sky behind the thunder clouds a deep orange. A car horn honked at you when, in your eagerness to watch the sky, you weren’t looking where you were going.

Jake walked next to you, making sure to put himself between you and the road on your journey home. And when a strong gust of wind threatened to knock you over, he pulled you tight into his side, his arm fastened around your waist as if you’d be swept off with the next gust of wind.

Your mind should have been racing with more thoughts about Jake’s hand on your waist. What it meant, if it was related to New Year's Eve, if he was just being a good friend or whether Rooster or Coyote saw now that Nat was no longer an issue. In fact, you were certain she was going to start encouraging it if it meant getting a reprieve from the tension amongst the team.

But Rooster and Coyote were too busy making sure Bob didn’t fall over because of the wind. And Nat was ahead of you all, leading the group up the street quickly because she didn’t want to get wet.

Instead, for some strange reason, you couldn’t help but wonder if the car driving out of the parking lot was the same as when Jake drove you home from your shift that night.

_____

You awoke to a rumble of thunder shaking the house.

The storm had only progressed in the hours since you arrived home with the Daggers. Amelia had already helped Sadie to bed when you greeted her at the door. You offered for her to stay, but she assured you she could get home before the real brunt of the storm hit. You only let her go if she promised to let you know when she got home.

Rolling over, you spied Nat on the other side of your bed, perfectly passed out and unbothered by the ruckus over your house. You envied her ability to sleep wherever, though you pitied the why.

Tossing and turning, you couldn’t get comfortable. You thought maybe counting the time between the rumbles of thunder and the sparks of lightning would lull you back to sleep, but nothing seemed to help.

Your eyes shot around the room, taking in the objects you carefully placed to make this room your own, till you paused at your bedside tablet. Your small jewellery box, a photo of Sadie, your alarm clock revealing 3:00 A.M. in bright green numbers. And your book Pride and Prejudice, the bookmark still in the same spot since the day you read it on the beach last year. The brief thought of reading came to mind, but you pushed it aside almost instantly. You knew you’d only pick it up to read the same page over and over, never venturing from the last sentence on that page, before you’d slam the book shut and throw it back to its resting place.

Deciding to bite the bullet, you lifted your covers, watching Nat carefully as you climbed out of your bed, thinking maybe a cup of tea would help.

After shutting your door carefully, you tiptoed through your hallway, pausing for a second outside your office door, where Jake would be fast asleep on your pull-out couch.

The minute everyone arrived, they went about making themselves at home, following the same routine they always did when staying over.

Nat instantly sought out your room with nothing more than a 'Goodnight, Losers!" over her shoulder. After Bob was settled on the opposite end of your couch, Rooster flung himself down into the cushions, an arm strung over his face covering his eyes as he pilfered the blanket you had strung over the back of the couch. Coyote had taken the floor, having dug around in your garage for your air mattress, finding it perfectly adequate.

After checking on Sadie, you found Jake standing in your kitchen, looking a little lost. You simply had looped your arm through his, taking him down the hallway to your office where you had already pulled out the bed, sheets and all ready.

Deciding against opening the door, you forced yourself to continue to your kitchen, the storm lighting your path. You hand sought out the light switch under the upper cabinets before reaching for your kettle.

After filling it up, you placed it back on its stand, pressing a few buttons before rummaging through your tea chest for Chamomile tea.

It would be a couple more minutes before the kettle boiled, so you pulled out your empty trash can from under the sink and a bottle of water from your fridge. After a quick pit stop at your bathroom, you made your way into the family room, carefully navigating yourself around the room so you could place the objects in front of Bob for when he woke up in the morning.

Even though Rooster's snores and the pain pelting hard against the roof, you heard the kettle whistle, and you eagerly made your way back to make what you hoped would be a cure for your insomnia.

Nursing the cup of tea between your hands, your oversized sleeves protecting your skin from the extreme heat, you leaned against the kitchen window over the backyard.

A gasp escaped your lips when you heard the sound of glasses clicking against one another a few seconds later. You whipped around to see what made the noise. Jake froze, his arm slowing dropping down after grabbing a glass.

“Sorry,” he said softly, voice riddled with sleep. “I just wanted to get a glass of water.”

You relaxed instantly, pressing your mug back to your chest. "It's okay."

After filling his glass, Jake joined you, leaning up against the wall opposite.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, bringing the glass to his lips. You shook your head.

“I used to like storms,” you reminisced, playing with the string of your tea bag. “But now…”

You didn't need to say anymore. Jake knew, given the way you trailed off, making your body smaller by curling inwards on yourself. He decided to change the topic, offering a “Bob drunkenly confessed Rooster had a chat with him.”

You chuckled to yourself, knowing exactly what Jake was referring to.

"I'm sorry if it wasn't my place," you apologized to him. "I just had enough."

"Enough?"

"Of them treating you like that. Of Bradley not giving you a chance," you shrugged.

“I can't say it's not unwarranted,” he replied, glancing out the window to take in the storm. “I may have said something about his Dad in the past.”

"Jake..."

He faced you, looking ashamed. "I know what you're going to say. How could I, right?"

"I wasn't going to say anything," you spoke softly. "Only that it's your past. It's not who I know you as."

Here you go again, he thought. Treating him as if he wasn't undeserving of you defending him.

This time, it was you who decided to change the topic.

"I never thanked you for picking up Sadie. She had a good time."

Despite the heaviness from before, Jake smiled to himself. "She's a good kid."

Then he offered, “You don’t want to know what she wanted to talk to me about?”

You shook your head. “If she wanted to tell me, she would have. I don’t mind she has secrets, but I trust if it were important enough, she’d come to me when she needed me.”

“Besides,” you said, bringing the tea to your lips and smirking into the mug, “She told me you faced Ursula.”

The look on Jake's face was priceless. You didn't know a lot about what happened, and Lyssa was short on details. But they both told you Jake didn't bat an eyelid when she tried to flirt with him. But judging from the look on his face, something happened that they didn't tell you about.

Then suddenly, your words made you think back to you and Jake sitting in the booth that night before the almost kiss. He wanted to tell you something before Bradley decided to be an ass.

You thought about it for a second, knowing if you went down that road and brought up New Year's Eve, it would undoubtedly lead to a discussion about whatever happened between the two of you that night. You'd never know why the witching hour was suddenly the moment you decided you’d need to ask the hard questions. If you did, would Jake answer you honestly, here and now, in your kitchen?

You were about to ask, but the next rumble of thunder over the house was too close for comfort, the force causing the window next to you to clatter in the frame. You gasped, jolting away from the glass, a crack of lightning following right after.

Your power flickered once, then twice, before going out completely, and you instantly looked for Jake in the darkness. But the next sound that echoed through the walls didn’t come from a crack of lighting or a rumble of thunder. No, it was one of the most jarring screams you had ever heard.

You didn’t register it right away—another crack above masking the tail end of the sound. But Jake had. He was gone, running out of your kitchen and into your hallway, the bolt of lightning illuminating your kitchen and the spot where he once stood within seconds.

Only one person in the house could have produced such a scream.

Sadie.

You almost dropped your cup of tea, carelessly sliding it along your kitchen counter as you took off after Jake into the hallway, hands skimming along the walls as your heart pounded hard in your chest.

Her door was already open by the time you turned the corner. Reaching the door frame, you caught the tail end of Sadie lit up by another flash of lightning from her window, all red-faced and crying, scrambling into Jake’s arms as he sat on the end of her bed.

Taking her into his arms, Jake spoke soothingly, “Easy, Bug.”

"Uncle Jake," she whimpered back.

“It’s just a storm," he placed a hand on her back. "We’re safe. Your safe.”

She gasped out a sob, clutching Jake harder, burying her head into his chest. She dropped her hand down from the back of his neck, gripping his shirt tightly in her fist as she cried out, “Don’t let me go! Don’t let me go!”

“Not a chance,” he muttered into her hair. You pushed forward from the door, racing to the side of her bed, a hand on Jake’s back as you kneeled down next to them.

“Sadie?”

A bolt of lightning lit up her room, and you caught her shuttering at the light. She turned her head, still buried in Jake’s collarbone, to look at you. You placed your other hand on her back.

“It was a nightmare,” she sniffed before retreating back into Jake’s chest.

“It’s okay to have a nightmare, Bug. We all get them.” You soothed, rubbing your hand up and down her back. Meeting Jake's eye, you could see his panic wash away, now replaced with concern that Sadie was merely scared than seriously hurt.

“Even me,” Jake offered. You were about to ask her, but Jake must have known what you were thinking when he followed up with, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

It took her a second, but she managed to squeak out a muffled, “Everyone didn’t make it home.”

Jake’s arms flexed just a little at her admission. It was obvious he didn’t want to let her go. Sadie didn’t want to let him go either.

“And… then the storm,” she stuttered. “Mum…and you. It's too much."

Jake and you let her catch her breath, Sadie wiping away her tears before resuming the grip she had on his shirt. "I was alone."

Your voice was firm, even if your heart was breaking at her words, when you replied back, "There will never be a point in your life, Sadie, where you will be alone. You have my word."

Another rumble of thunder shook her window, making her whimper. Her voice was small, “I’m scared.”

“What are you scared about?” Jake asked her softly.

“The thunder,” she cried. “The lightning. What else is up there.”

You caught Jake’s smile from where it was hidden in her hair. “Well, I can tell you from first-hand experience that it’s nothing but clouds up there. If there were, I would have seen it by now.”

Sadie pulled back, resting her chin on Jake's chest, peering up at him to take in his words. "Really?" She asked. Jake nodded. "I promise."

"Do you think you can manage to fall back asleep?" you asked her.

"I don't want to be alone," she managed to say before another burst of lightning filled her room, making her jolt.

“I gotcha, Bug.” Jake consoled her. “We won’t leave till you feel safe.”

Jake pressed his cheek to the top of her head, eyes closed as he held her, rocking back and forth as another rattle shook the house. Sadie shook harder with each roar, and he tried to soothe her the best he could.

As the worst of the storm passed, although no less intense as rain pelted against the windows, Sadie fell back asleep holding on to Jake. He lifted his cheek off her, glancing down at her with so much tenderness it made you want to cry. Placing a hand on the back of her head, he carefully picked her up so as not to disturb her sleep.

It brought you back to the nights Sadie would fall asleep on your chest as a baby or when she was only five years old, Ridley working night shifts at the hospital, and it was just the two of you. Falling asleep in the rocking chair in her room or on the couch, much like Jake was doing now, you’d carry her back to her bed, wondering how long it would be before she grew up and you couldn’t anymore.

Gently laying her down, Jake delicately peeled her hands off his shirt, ensuring she was settled, tenderly brushing away a piece of her hair covering her face. He stepped back to allow you to pull the covers over her. After pressing a kiss to her forehead, you motioned for Jake to follow.

Softly closing her bedroom door after Jake walked ahead of you, you pressed your back up against the wall next to her door.

“Thank you, Jake.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that," he said, standing opposite of you, looking down at the floor.

“No, I do,” you couldn’t gather the words to describe just how appreciative of what Jake just did for Sadie. “I… I don’t know what we’d do without you. She adores you... I..”

You had to stop yourself. You weren't going to admit to Jake that you liked him like this. It would be taking advantage of him, especially after that. But your mind raced, and instead, you went back to the question you wanted to ask before Sadie screamed.

You needed to know. If bringing up New Year's Eve would bring the downfall of this friendship, if setting a boundary with Jake was needed, then you'd rather rip the band-aid off now before your heart would ache further.

So standing in the middle of your hallway, just outside Sadie's door, with the rest of the daggers asleep in the house, you opened the can of worms.

“What did you want to tell me New Year’s Eve at the Hard Deck?” you asked him softly.

Jake lifted his head, shocked. “What?”

“When I showed you the letter, you wanted to tell me something.”

Jake shook his head, eyes cast down towards your floor, murmuring, “It’s not important.”

You frowned at his dismissal, pushing yourself off the wall. “Jake, it must have been important to you if you wanted to tell me.”

He turned around, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Jake?”

He looked to the hallway leading to your family room, pausing a few seconds before looking to your bedroom door, to Sadie’s, and then coming to rest on you. There’s a heat in his eyes, and you cannot help but feel the weight of it flushing down your body.

But you were still concerned. It wasn’t like Jake to be like this.

“Jake?” you tried again. This time your voice was significantly lower and a bit more concerning, hoping it would encourage him to speak. But then he licks the bottom of his lip, the little movement making your brain shortcircuit.

There you were, standing there looking up at him, worried something was wrong. In a sleep shirt, ten times too big for you. Standing outside Sadie's bedroom door.

You. His possibility of someday.

Penny gave him a green light. Sadie told him she was okay with it. But he realized he didn't want to be searching for those commanding orders in any decision regarding you.

A bell, a snake, his own fucking hesitancy. There would always be something preventing him from doing what he wanted. If he wanted to do it, he had to do it now.

If not now, when.

He doesn’t even lower his voice when he says, “Fuck it.”

Jake is in front of you in two strides, taking your face into his hands as he bends down without hesitancy, pressing his lips to yours. You froze, unable to move as your arms hung limply by your sides, trying to process exactly what just happened as everything around you went silent with his touch.

When you don't react, Jake releases your lips, his eyes wild and lips red as he takes in your face. And it hits you, at that moment, how desperate and turned on you were for him to give you more from that one kiss alone.

You lean up, pressing your lips back onto his. Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking forward and backing you up against the wall.

You were in absolute disbelief, yet a small part of you wanted to shake with joy. Maybe you were shaking with joy. Or nerves. You couldn’t tell. Not with how hard Jake was pressing you into the wall. His hold on you was just that tight. His other hand slips down from where it landed on the wall, along your hip bone, before grazing the bare skin of your thigh. His callouses a stark contrast on your soft skin.

But it’s not enough for him. He moves to grip the back of your thighs with both hands, bending down slightly to lift you up. Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist, and you let instinct take over, your arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders, hands and fingers looping around the back of his neck to weave through the roots of his hair as you keep kissing him.

You had no idea how quickly the two of you got where you were so quick, but you didn’t want it to stop. But your heart fluttering hard against your chest was telling you to stop, competing with the quiet urge deep inside you screaming for you not to ruin the moment and let yourself experience it, to take as much as Jake was willing to offer.

But you couldn’t. You were too terrified, beneath how your body responded to Jake and his touch.

You needed him to know. You needed him to understand.

You weren’t somebody he could fuck around with.

With Jake releasing your mouth, you sucked in a desperate breath, “I’m not a one-night stand, Jake. I don’t sleep with people for fun.”

The words spilled out of you before you even really knew you were saying them. The defence mechanisms that had been slowly breaking down since the night at the Hard Deck, the hike, the video chat, and the almost kiss on New Year’s Eve were crying out in some last desperate attempt to survive. This a last attempt at warning you nothing but trouble and heartache would follow should you choose to keep walking down this path.

You were subconsciously aware of Jake’s hand travelling up your back, fingers catching the top helm of your baggy sleep shirt, pulling it down and exposing the skin of your shoulder, his nose softly tracing your cheek near the corner of your mouth.

I know you don’t,” he rasped before kissing you again. Heart soaring up your throat, you forced yourself to pull away, panting out, “You have a reputation.”

“Do I?” He whispered against your jaw before pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone before sucking on the soft skin of your shoulder. “Enlighten me.”

“A trail of one-night stands,” you whimpered as he sucked harder, your hand going to his chest. “Quitting bartenders of broken hearts.”

Words were hard. It took you a couple of seconds, between feeling him stroke at your skin and his mouth at your collarbone, to formulate the words you needed to explain your point.

“Your call sign up in the girl's bathroom.” Shit. “It’s obvious.”

“Is it?” He had the decency to sound like he wasn’t as affected as you were, with no wavering of breaths or stuttering responses. Even if his voice was a little bit rough, it oozed confidence.

“It’s what I’ve been told.”

The hallway around you was non-existent. The storm raging on was non-existent. Nothing mattered but the feeling of Jake’s body, his hands, his mouth pressing up against you. His fingers splayed across the small of your back, sliding down only to grope at the bare skin of your ass underneath your sleep shorts.

It was too much. And not enough.

“What happened to the clean slate?”

“The clean slate was different - Shit,” your voice caught in your throat when he adjusted his grip, you dropping a few inches down the wall, your pelvis now flush against his. “I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“Do friends want to do this to each other?” he smirked against your jawline.

They certainly don’t, was the first thought in your head. Friends with benefits, maybe, but you weren’t that type of person. You cared too much ever to let your heart get hurt like that.

So you challenged him back, “Why do you think Penny hired me back? They all left because of you.”

“Not for what you think,” Another sharp kiss, all teeth pulling at your bottom lip, hard.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Let me prove you wrong.”

You stilled in this hold, nails digging into his broad shoulders and your hand pushing him away as you gasped slightly at his words. Jake hesitantly pulled back to look at your face, hands pausing in their efforts.

“Jake,” you managed to say, your breath harsh as your chest heaved with effort. “Are you asking to take me out on a date?”

You saw the gentle movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed before giving a terse nod. “Just one. That’s all I’m asking, Liz.”

You started at him in shock. “You don’t date.”

“I would for you.”

“And when you realize I’m not worth it?

“Bullshit.”

He was angry at you for saying so, back to pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your lips as if it would prove to you just how much he thought you were.

“You don’t want me,” you spoke in between kisses, Jake responding in kind by urging across your lips, “Yes, I do.”

“No," you pulled away from his mouth, panting harshly as both your hands pushed at his chest.

“Since the first moment I met you,” he is sure in his words. “Making an ass of myself by attempting to pick you up. But I didn’t realize how much until we spoke when I was overseas.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he started. “You’re not the type of person someone spends the night with. You’re the person they come home to.”

“Jake,” his name is a cry on your lips. There was no way he would see you like that. It was fucking insane. He must be fucking insane.

You went to shake your head, Jake catching a kiss on your cheek, preventing you from following through. Then another, and another before he found the corner of your mouth. You were unable to resist the feeling, the drive to turn your head back to meet his lips.

Jake couldn’t stop kissing you. If this were all he could get, he would take what he could while he still could. He just couldn’t understand why you thought you weren’t worth a chance.

“You should know what you're getting into,” you said, tilting your head back to whisper against his lips. “If you want to date me.”

“What am I getting into?” he challenged, lifting his chin up to rub his nose against yours.

“I have little to no dating experience, Jake.”

“According to you, neither do I.”

“I’m not like other girls.”

“It’s why I like you.”

“I’m off limits.”

“Fuck them.”

“Jake, I’m…”

“Stop.”

Another kiss. But this time, you let him. You let him press you harder into the wall, letting yourself gasp into his mouth, to hear him moan with you, to let him stroke up and down the back of your thigh, only to realize Jake was working his mouth down your body once more, down your neck and across your collarbone. Your hand finds a grip his hair, anticipating the path his lips might take. But instead of going back to your shoulder, Jake goes for your chest.

An open palm trailed up your stomach and over your ribs, pausing just below your breast. “Can I?” he rasped.

“God, yes,” you managed to croak. You couldn’t help yourself. Not when this touch was making you feel this good. Jake kneaded your breast, and you mewled, your head thumping back into the wall. He used his grip to bunch up your skin, taking in a mouthful exposed by the dip of your shirt to suck. You let out a cry behind a closed mouth, Jake grunting with the noise.

Something was building in the pit of your stomach. Was it heat? You certainly felt hot, your skin exposed, vulnerable, under Jake’s touch and mouth. And the way he was working his way around your breast, tongue travelling down your skin. His tongue shot out, creeping just at the underside of your breast, your hand shooting out to the wall, searching for a grip that wasn’t there.

“I’m a package deal,” you gasped up towards the ceiling. Jake paused in his efforts, looking up at you before bringing his face level with yours.

It felt cheap to throw Sadie in as the last resort. But you needed him to know, to really understand Sadie was a part of this too. Even in his arms, feeling his body pressing into yours up against the wall, your legs wrapped on either side of his waist. That if he really wanted this, he needed to know it wasn’t only you he had to consider.

You already knew what he was going to say.

You just needed to hear him say it.

His eyes were soft as he replied, “It’s the both of you or nothing at all.”

“Are you sure?”

You didn’t mean to make your voice so small or shut your eyes. But even with your back-and-forth internal monologue of fuck it and no fucking way, your insecurities came out front, right and center.

He didn’t hesitate when he replied, pressing his forehead to yours, “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.”

Every brick you had ever built to protect yourself from accepting you felt something more than just mere friendship with Jake crumbled at his words.

“One date, darlin’.” He breathes out. “Give me a chance.”

You could no longer keep lying to yourself. The last brick had fallen, and with the realization settling in your stomach, there was no possible way you would have ever kept that stupid promise to yourself.

You wanted Jake Seresin more than you needed to breathe - in all the ways that mattered. And he wanted you too.

“Okay.”

Jake pulled back, the hand gripping your hip proceeding to hold your jaw. The back of your head hit the wall, forcing you to open your eyes.

“Okay?”

He looked worried, you thought. But there was also something desperate about how his stare took you in, pinned to the wall with his body and hips. As if you possibly couldn’t be saying yes. Despite the nerves in your answer, you shakily raised your hand off the wall, fingers threading themselves through his hair once more.

“Okay,” you affirmed, nodding once. “One date.”

Relief. That was the look on Jake’s face as he took in your words. He closed his eyes, body sagging into you as his face found a home in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, your legs still tight on his waist, his hand holding you in place as his breath warmed the phantom sensations from the number he did to your neck. You’d have to escape to the bathroom to hide the evidence before anyone woke up.

And as you stroked your fingers up and down the back of his neck, all Jake wanted to do was take in the feeling of you in his arms. Your softness, your warmth, the smell of your bath soap. The pressures of maybe, what ifs and his inevitable ability to fuck things up abated for now.

You had said yes.

The realization led him to press small, gentle kisses to your collarbone. They were feather-light touches across your skin that made you press a kiss to his temple in contentment.

“I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Either do I,” a muffled reply against your skin.

You chuckled, fingers messing through his hair. “Liar.”

“Not with you,” feeling him speak against your jaw, a vibration just barely thrumming in your ear. “I want to take this slow.”

You couldn’t help the smile. “You call this slow?”

Jake bit down on your neck, a sensitive spot that made a shriek escape your lips and throw your head to the side. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his tongue soothing the sharp sting.

“For now,” his voice was rough. “Just let me keep kissing you. Before somebody wakes up or something stops me for god damn fourth time.”

Maybe it was the fire burning through your veins encouraging this bout of sudden confidence. You usually weren’t this forward. But the words spilled from your lips before you really knew what you had said.

“The last time was your fault. You should have aimed for my lips.”

Jake canted his hips, the arm wrapped around the back of your waist to pull you down hard. There was no mistaking the deliberate press of his hips or the meaning behind it when he squeezed your hip. The feeling of him hard, through the layer of his pants, caused a mix of a whine and a gasp of surprise to escape your lips.

Jake covered your mouth with his in an attempt to silence you; his voice honeyed against your mouth as he asked, “Did I aim right this time?”

It was a miracle the Daggers currently in your house weren’t light sleepers. If the low rumbles of thunder and cracks of lightning outside your house hadn’t woken them up now, your voice as Jake continued to work his mouth over your body surely wouldn’t.

Jake here, pressing you up and next to Sadie’s bedroom door, would not go over well.

You just hoped Sadie was still asleep on the other side of the wall.

So... no more pitchforks? 😂 Right?🫣

Tags:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal

Part 10: Let's Dance coming soon.

Wickett ;)

221 notes · View notes