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moo-blogging · 11 months

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I want to fall in love with Levi, slowly.

Maybe I met him on the first day of college. I came in right before the professor and the hall was already packed. There was a guy sitting at the end of the hall and he had a vacant seat next to him. Jogging up the steps, I asked "hi, is this seat taken?" Moving his stuff away, "no" he mumbled and I sat down. Though there was no designated seats, but people pretty much sat where they sat on the first day of class.

I asked if he wanted to be my teammate for a group assignment. He agreed. He then introduced himself, "my name's Levi, by the way. You are Y/n, do I get it right?" I was shock that I never asked for his name but he already knew mine. Grinning, I told him he got it right.

I had a few classes interlapped with Levi's, and I often sat next to him. He had a few friends. I knew their names but not close. I only had 1 class with them but it was the class I had with my friends. We sat separately in that class but always nodded or waved to each other when we met in class.

One day, when I was grabbing breakfast in the cafeteria, I texted Levi if he needed something. He texted back, "apple pie, if no, a croissant". As time flew, I learnt that Levi preferred dark, strong coffee with an apple pie on rainy mornings and unsweetened hot tea and a croissant on sunny mornings. He would take an egg sandwich in the evening sometimes, and a piece of pecan cookie after every mid-term exam.

Levi would save a seat for me whenever we had the same class or to meet up somewhere in campus. He would have his bag on the table. When people asked about it, he would wave and say it was taken. Levi would also take notes for me when I was snacking during classes. He would whsipered the correct answer to me when I got called by the professor. He was the one setting up meetings with the professors to discuss about our group assignment.

I wouldn't realise that Levi had become an important part of my life until he took a few days off to tend to personal matters. My heart sank when he didn't reply my texts. I understood he was busy with something but still I felt abandoned.

One of the days when he was off dealing with his personal matters, I received a text from him asking if he could see me. I went out to find him at the porch, standing awkwardly with one hand in his pocket. We sat by the steps as we stared into the sky. I was glad he came back.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yea, not really." He coughed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not really."

"Ok."

"... ok."

It was then I realised, I wouldn't mind sitting next to him just staring at the sky. Our silence was comfortable.

He was comfortable to be with.

#just some slow burn #levi ackerman #levi fluff #levi x reader #midnight thoughts #levi ackerman x reader #levi x y/n #levi heichou #levi x you #aot x y/n #levi ackerman x you

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toastydumpster · 4 months

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"this guy ain't half bad"

#i love their slow burn but i just LOVE a ''oh no'' moment #also looking at some guy bloody and bruised and THAT'S when you start to develop feelings is so fucking relatable #hazbin hotel #huskerdust #angelhusk #angel dusk #husker #comics #my art

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vale-n-tina-and-the-internet · 3 months

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Angel is tactile. His many hands like to poke, hug, grab, pat. His long limbs entangle themselves in other people's personal space like pale branches. It used to drive him mad, it really did, when it came with jagged edges of aggressive, unwanted sexuality - made to attack, provoke, discomfort.

It's different now that they are friends.

Husk had thought that the constant touching would go away along with the relentless come-ons, but if anything it seemed to increase by the day: it was now rare not to have a long-fingered hand on his shoulder, a bony knee encroaching on his stool, or as of late the whole seven-feet fluffiness slumped gainst his side while bitching about another shit day at the studio. Husk would have put an end to it pretty quickly, nerves unused to familiarity and distrustful of it, If he hadn't seen Angel do the very same with Cherri. He thinks he understands at least the vague shape of Angel's want for touch that is free of… ties, obligations. Consequences. And Husk finds that he cannot deny him this, his own mild discomfort fading in the face of the reward. Especially when Angel is tipsy, happy, laughing in that loud and unfiltered way that shouldn't be as endearing as it is, talking about a million things at once. Never mind that the dancing fingers on his fur leave him with a strange buzzing under his skin. It's just him being a grumpy-ass old man that hasn't known any contact for decades, Husk can deal with that no problem. This kid deserves it, and Husk will gladly give it.

#huskerdust #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #my art #just some musings about these two #Husk is right except he's very wrong #but the slow burn must cook

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marionette-j2x · 4 months

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The Stanley Parable: New Script AU

"Something had shifted in the system. Something had changed. The Narrator's struggling to maintain normalcy in his perfectly crafted story as wayward codes, random protocols, glitches and unknown entities started appearing in the parable. Now with his protagonist, Stanley and their newly acquired friends acquaintances, they try their best to comprehend the danger now the parable poses and figure out who the mastermind behind all of it."

^This is actually just a short summary of this AU. I just can't seem to verbalize everything about this since I cannot English enough the things that's brewing on my mind. I had this AU simmering in my mind since last December after discovering this game, (Yes, I know I'm a few years too late for this fandom-).

I might draw more stuff in this AU soon. Maybe a comic sometimes idk but I do have some ideas. (I still have to finish my other comics for the different fandoms I'm in tho.)

(You can comment on the post below if you wanted to ask details about this AU. Please be kind tho especially to each other!)

(also forgive me for misspelling the Curator's name ahahdgdhhd I was not aware. I was really tired skskskks-)

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tapakah0 · 10 days

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#*giggle*#that was unexpected wheeeze hello there little Universe pffhehehe #I guess I was too quiet;;;; just too many events in a short time so I tried not to overwhelm myself #power adapter of the screen table that I usually work with burned so for some time I'm with the little one which lacks a lot of quick #functions for animation which makes me feel as slow as snail; especially since I've got into an animation competition gahhhh #anyway pfffhthgt I've dealt with most important problems I think I'm free ehehehehe

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shearlin · 10 months

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Hot take about Sky angst, regarding the curse of Demise, because I haven't seen anyone talking about this possibility in all those years I've been in LU fandom.

Guys...

Sky has no idea about the curse

Because think about it. Why would he know about it?

My man has been electrocuted multiple times, with magical - basically divine - lightnings in attempt to defeat Demise. All the while fighting for his life with a literal GOD OF EVIL, after spending an entire afternoon fighting an army of monsters and a Demon Lord/creepy ass Sword Spirit. Not even mentioning how worried sick he must have been that entire time, if this time he was also too late too save Zelda.

(always too late too slow not enough and late late late)

I don't know about you, but I don't think he was in any state of body or mind to listen to some dudes last words, when he had to focus on not passing out because he has to make sure Zelda/Sun is alright.

(It got a bit long so rest of the rant under the cut)

Fi gave him clear, that Demise received a mortal blow and that now it's only a matter of time until he dies and that was all Sky needed to stop paying any attention.

Just go through the motions. His vision is blurry, but that's alright just stay awake. Fi chimes to rise his sword. He does. There is some black smoke suddenly surrounding him, but Fi get's rid of it with her light so it's fine. It's probably why she asked him to rise her skyward. The last fifteen minutes he's been following her directions nearly blindly anyway, because his mind is still foggy, he's not sure where he is or what he is doing he just have to get to Zelda.

And then she's there. And everything is fine.

Impa fades, Fi sleeps and he finally rests. Or rather crashes as the exhaustion finally catches up to him.

But he recovers, as best as he can, and live on.

And then eight other heroes, just like him, appear and take him on a quest across the time. They become friends. Then brothers. Soon he feels like they knew each other their entire lives and can't imagine how he can move on after the inevitable goodbyes.

He is so happy that no matter what, there will always be someone among his people, someone from or even outside of Hyrule, to stand up against evil, no matter how many times it will try to show it's ugly face. He's a bit bummed that there even is a need for a hero to show up, but hey! He is not so naive to think people are and always will be only good. Things happen. Some people are just terrible, and some take it out on the entire world.

But somewhere along the line, he starts to notice... something weird.

They all fought that same guy (some of them even multiple times!) called Ganon or Ganondorf. And while he is overjoyed that none of them even heard the name of Demise, he feels kind of singled out. Few of them mentioned an idea of reincarnation. Mentioning Zeldas' connection through blood of the Goddess and their connection through a spirit.

A spirit of a hero.

He always though it was a figure of speech. A way to describe someone courageous who fulfills the quota of being a hero.

But it's not about a spirit of a hero.

No.

It's the Spirit of the Hero.

His Spirit.

An idea begins to form. A distant memory he didn't even knew he had. Maybe nightmares about that fateful fight starting to get clearer by night. Maybe he spends some time talking to Fi and he does not like the feeling he gets from her chimes, even if she can't really talk in her slumber. Maybe he even prays to Hylia in some distant era in an unfamiliar place, so she can deny or confirm his suspicions.

Goddesses, please, may he be wrong.

Because he loves them all like a family. Because they are family. Because he has seen their haunted expressions and blank eyes, he has heard their stories and horrors they went through and nearly all of them were so young, too young, and the thought that he was the direct cause of it-

Sky had no idea that Demise trapped his spirit in a cycle of reincarnation. He had no time to process it or find coping mechanisms before the adventure with the chain happened. He found out during it, slowly putting it together and coming apart at the seems before their eyes.

Sky didn't know about the curse.

And I say, it could be really interesting to watch Sky fall.

(And if anyone knows a fic exploring this idea please let me know! I searched but couldn't find any)

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu headcanons #linked universe headcanons #lu sky #linked universe sky #some curse of demise rant because I have thoughts #I love sky I promise #I just also happen lo love angst #and sky angst #having a traumatizing moment burn into his memory and haunt his every waking moment is all cool and dandy #but think about the slow realization before it finally hits #my rants

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shadowkira · 3 months

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Lae'zel: I had a girlfriend once, but she turned into the moon. Sometimes, I can still hear her voice...

Shadowheart: Lae'zel, I just dyed my hair you cannot keep-

Lae'zel: There she is now, can you hear her?

#This came from a silly conversation where my wife was mocking me and my Sokka bun and I made it Shadowzel. 😌#They're drinking so my excuse here is that Lae'zel would be drunk and she just likes picking on her lovely gf.#I'm going to draw this at some point but not yet. Busy and have to slow down a bit so I don't burn out.#Shadowzel #Lae'zel #Shadowheart #BG3 #People who have romanced Shadowzel with the origin characters... Does Lae'zel comment something different on Shadowheart's hair change?!

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cannedpickledpeaches · 3 months

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Insert Your Name (1)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: I wanted to write something that simultaneously includes some fun Jade moments as well as my own thoughts on some tropes. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

You’ve known the truth for a while—that this world exists inside a story. This is a world that revolves around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around you exists to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world is created for “(Y/N).”

You are Friend A. Friend A is a foolish girl who puts (Y/N) into a dangerous situation, involving her with the mafia. (Y/N) is saved by a tall, dark, and brooding man who turns out to be a mafia boss. They will face dangers in the underworld until all threats are eliminated, and then they will live out the rest of their lives in blissful peace as though they are good people. Friend A is never mentioned again after page two.

You are Friend A. You are aware of that.

So why don’t you break out of your role in this story? Why should you play your part instead of using this knowledge to change the flow of the plot?

Simply because the plot is beneficial to you.

You are Friend A. You are a core member of the Leech Mafia. When (Y/N) enters the mafia, her actions flick the first domino of a long chain of events, eventually leading to the prosperity of the Leech family and expanding their influence. Because no matter what, this story caters to (Y/N)’s livelihood.

And why should you interfere with something that will eventually pay out big for you?

There she is now, coming down the street with a smile. Her indistinct hair is in a messy bun that she always throws together in seconds. Her pants emphasize her incredibly tiny waist, and her eyes sparkle with the light of constellations when she sees you. A light blush dusts her cheeks even though she doesn’t wear makeup, and she passes all the people captivated by her on the sidewalk, oblivious to their stares, because she doesn’t believe in her innate beauty and charisma—the beauty and charisma that the story says she has.

“Oh, there you are!” Her voice, clear and sweet, rings out to you. You wave back, just as you are supposed to. “You said you wanted to get sweets from the bakery that just opened, right? I’m so excited. I love sweets! I saved up some money just for this.”

A dialogue line full of exposition. You nod and lead the way.

“Have you seen their Magicam posts? The cakes are so pretty.”

Her giggles chime like bells. “I think the strawberry one is the cutest!”

Your small talk has little to no substance. It exists only to pass the time. To be honest, you don’t mind. If this were any normal day, you would have enjoyed this. You would have visited that bakery with (Y/N), gone home with a strawberry tart, checked up on the ledgers for the mafia, and slept while fed and content. But today is the inciting incident of the story, and you have your part to play.

A dark alleyway is where these things always take place in stories. Four men smoking and muttering ominously to themselves lean against a brick wall, hidden in shadow. Their eyes follow your every step. You make sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk so that (Y/N) passes by the alley. As expected, their hands shoot out and grab her arm.

“Hey, you there.” One of the thugs licks his chops. “Got a minute to spare, pretty thing?”

Generic “bad guy” dialogue. Of course, he’s talking to (Y/N). You don’t need to do anything yet except make sure the pieces are in place. A flutter of black fabric in the corner of your vision assures you that the main lead is ready and waiting.

“Get your hands off me!” (Y/N) struggles against his much stronger grip to no avail. The men pull us into the alleyway and corner us against a dumpster. Tasteful.

“Don’t be so harsh.” Another thug whose voice scrapes like glass shards to the ears grabs your shoulder. You don’t shrug him off. Right now, your role is to lay low and let the main character shine. “We just wanna show you a good time.”

“You can fuck right off! And don’t touch my friend.” (Y/N) shows off her generically headstrong personality now. She probably thinks that she should protect you. You are Friend A, without any special characteristics, a piece of cannon fodder that cannot do anything on your own. Even though (Y/N) doesn’t consciously think that way, this is how she perceives the world. She is not wrong for doing so—she’s being sweet, in the way that she is designed to be.

You don’t have anything to do while she shoots off her scathing remarks, so you take your time to observe the thugs. Just as the story you read describes, these men come from an easily identifiable rival mafia. All four have a tattoo of a handsaw on their bodies—the symbol of the Carpenter Mafia, the current major group in the Queendom of Roses. Common soldiers, no doubt. Not anyone of importance . . . yet.

Thug Number One brings your attention back to the conversation by yanking on your hair. It hurts a little. Irritating, but you can bear with it. (Y/N) looks outraged.

“How about this? Since you’re so determined to save your friend, I’ll let her go if you give yourself to us.” He continues with his harassment by grabbing your cheeks with his grimy fingers. You inhale deeply and immediately regret it due to the smell of his breath. Your mind urges you to refrain from giving him a nice fist to the face. Not just from his treatment of you, but also from his gross proposition to (Y/N). Despite your respective roles in this story, she is still your friend. Hearing him throw those slimy words at her leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

(Y/N) puts up a struggle. “I won’t give you anything!”

“Do you think you’re in a position to make demands?”

She hesitates, looking at you with conflicting emotions warring on her features. Takes a deep breath, just as the story says she would. Then, with a wavering voice and a tough façade, she agrees.

You take your cue to run from the alleyway, abandoning her the way Friend A is meant to do. You don’t have to worry. After all, the thugs won’t be able to do anything before the male lead steps in and saves her.

There isn’t much time to waste until you get an update on the story. You hail a taxi to a neighbourhood by the sea. You tip the driver handsomely, bid him a good day, then walk another block before arriving at a mansion. There’s nobody here to greet you except the security guards at the front gates.

You scan the trees. Looks like he’s in a good mood. When he’s upset, he doesn’t usually climb. He hasn’t noticed you yet—his back is turned, his head buried in a particularly thick patch of leaves, and you’re downwind.

“Floyd!”

He turns so suddenly that you’re worried he’ll get whiplash. A grin lights up his face, and without a single reservation, he jumps right off the tree and lands smoothly on your side of the fence surrounding one of the Leeches' many properties. The sun shines across his handsome, sharp features. Of course, the twin brother of the male lead must be gorgeous in accordance with the axioms that govern this world.

“Handfish, how was it? Did Jade meet her?” Even though you are Friend A in this story, to Floyd, you are just his friend. He hasn’t given you a generic nickname like the “minnows” that he calls the family’s soldiers and staff. To him, you are an individual who is interesting enough to grant a personal nickname. Even if that nickname is “Red Handfish.”

“Yeah, he did. I saw his blazer.” You think back to the black fabric you saw before entering the alley. “I bet he’s doing the whole ‘I can’t let you live’ conversation with her.”

In the story, one of the thugs reveals Jade’s identity as a mafia boss in front of (Y/N) before he passes out. How a common foot soldier of the Carpenter mafia can recognize Jade, whose face is kept classified from lower-ranked members of the underworld, is worrying enough to warrant investigation. This could simply be a result of poor writing from the original plot, but you are also an example of the original story’s loose ends. If someone like you, who was meant to disappear after page two, can still have any significance and will instead of vaporizing immediately after you left that alley, then you can’t be too careful.

“Bet he’s being real smooth with it.” Floyd cackles, his raspy laugh reminding you of a chain smoker after five consecutive packs. “She’s gonna fall for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Of course. We’re talking about Jade.” Even under regular circumstances, he’s charming enough to lure any poor, unsuspecting fool to their demise. “They’re going to come here any minute now. Let’s go inside.”

You pass the security guards and enter the Leech property. A perfectly paved ground with colourful stones and not a weed in sight. A marble fountain surrounded by neat, rectangular hedges. And of course, the enormous white mansion with huge double doors, which in turn have proportionally huge fancy glass windows. For (Y/N) to have a “perfect” ending, the world must allow her to escape her current life of scrimping and saving by marrying her into a wealthy family.

“I wonder what the little minnow looks like.” Floyd hums, sauntering into the living room. “I bet she’d break easily if I squeezed real hard, huh?”

“Don’t do that.” The two of you sit on a velvet couch. Floyd’s long limbs sprawl out and take up the majority of the space. You settle on the far end. “And are you going to keep calling her a minnow?”

“Dunno, haven’t met her yet.”

“She’s very pretty. When you meet her, I’m sure you’ll get the feeling that there’s something special about her.”

The story emphasizes how much Floyd adores (Y/N). She is supposed to become a sort of mood stabilizer for him, keeping him consistently happy in her presence. You wonder if that will actually happen. Floyd can and will throw tantrums around people he holds dear. His mood that flips at the drop of the hat seems difficult to stabilize on just affection alone.

He shrugs non-committedly. Just as you’re about to suggest a nickname he could use, your phone buzzes.

Five minutes away. Jade’s text is short and to the point. You stand and stretch, getting ready to play Peeping Tom.

“Remember, don’t say anything about the original plot, okay?” Floyd’s unpredictable nature worries you. You know that your reminder won’t do much if Floyd decides it would be fun to spill the beans anyway, but you can’t help yourself.

“I know, I know.” He frowns and waves you off. Laughing, you move to the room across the hall. He hates being told what to do, but he’s in a good mood right now. It won’t be a problem.

The front door creaks open. Through a crack in the door, you watch Jade carry (Y/N) in his arms like a princess and set her down on the couch. Smooth, easy, efficient, the way he likes to do everything. Even though you know he is acting, his movements, the soft look in his eyes, are almost believable to you. And you’ve known him for fifteen years. There’s an odd stirring in your chest. Guilt? Envy? You tamp it down.

For a fraction of a second, you swear you make eye contact with him. If he notices you, he doesn’t show it. He seems to redouble his efforts on acting sweet to (Y/N). It might just be your imagination.

Floyd pokes around at the two of them the way he always does when he’s curious about something new. His grating laugh fills the air while Jade bandages a scrape on her knee. Good, the scene is going exactly as described in the story. (Y/N)’s first colourful and memorable experience with her future family. Her new family must be fun, rich, kind to her, and love her unconditionally no matter the circumstances. Her new family has to be better in every way compared to her current one—a mother who passed away at childbirth and a scummy father who neglects her. For an author, these are simply lazy ways to give her a tragic backstory and simultaneously pretend her parents don’t exist for the rest of the story because they don’t add to the romance.

How horrible. How could a late mother and neglectful father not affect a person? How could they simply be written off as another thing the male lead “saves” her from? And for that matter, how can the author casually write in a scene where she is cornered by adult men who are physically far stronger than her, who harass her and make disgusting comments, just so she can meet the male lead? How can they just pretend that won’t lead to any trauma?

You know firsthand how (Y/N) lives her life, because despite the story labeling you as the disposable Friend A, you genuinely have been her friend for the past year. You’ve seen her live on plain rice porridge for days to cut grocery costs. You’ve seen her wear clothes until they are threads because she can’t afford to buy new ones. Oh, but isn’t it wonderful that she’s skinny and looks good in everything?

What a load of bullshit.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twst fanfic #floyd leech #twst jade #(y/n)'s the main character but you aren't her #slow burn #you're gonna have to read some plot #before you get to the fluff #this is actually just my excuse to write something sort of meta

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muqingapologist · 5 months

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rambling about fengqing

something about mu qing and feng xin seeing hua cheng and xie lian happy together and feeling as if they’re seeing their failure personified because they were never devoted enough in the end

something about mu qing’s lasting regret being not so much about the wrongs he’s done to xie lian (leaving him, not standing up for him, etc) so much as about the way he’s spent his whole life pushing everyone away

something about mu qing realizing that he has spent 800 years with so little to show for it beyond his achievements as a god…but personally, all was lost with the death of his mother…until xie lian ascends again, but well, though they can be friends now, xie lian has a life separate from him now

and then something about how feng xin begins to give mu qing the benefit of the doubt. at first for xie lian’s sake, he’ll try to be his friend. but this person actually isn’t so bad. in fact, isn’t this the person that can understand him best in this world.

feng xin showing mu qing kindness, allowing mq to realize that maybe he hasn’t ruined everything for himself. realizing that feng xin isn’t actually so much of an idiot. letting his defenses fall away bit by bit.

the realization that even after 800 years, people are capable of change. feng xin is capable of considering mu qing in a totally different light. mu qing is capable of forgiving himself and letting himself be vulnerable.

mu qing finding one day that he’s in love and it’s terrifying because feng xin hates him still, right? he’s just being nice for xie lian’s sake.

feng xin not having any qualms about loving mu qing. at first, he’s surprised himself, but he considers how happy he is these days with him.

feng xin and mu qing understanding each other better than anyone else and falling in love because of it!! growing independently and together at the same time!!

not instant love, not 800 years of pining, but slow, patient changes that lead to a deep trust and affection and understanding between the two that they both thought was impossible just a few years ago.

#tgcf #mu qing #feng xin #fengqing #tgcf headcanon #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #mxtx #mu qing needs to love himself more #slow burn #just some ideas #i just freaking love them okay #i do think they cared for each other to some extent their whole lives #but i think sometimes people trivialize their grudges towards each other in favor of shipping #i think by the end of tgcf #they are in perfect position to fall in love #but there’s work to do before that love comes #it’s not already there per se #fic ideas

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ratsnu · 3 months

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a soft morning post-confessions

#hamilton #hamilton musical #hamilton fanart #thomas jefferson #james madison #jeffmads #thomas jefferson x james madison #content has arrived #more to come #I just don’t like any of my sketches rn #but jeffmads!!! yay!!!#modern au #this au has approximately 8 years of pining on james’ part #rough times for him #but I love some slow burn

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chirpsythismorning · 6 months

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I’m gonna be right there beside milevens cheering if there is leaks about casting for a young male teen, presumed by fans to be Will’s love interest, but for different reasons 😅

#byler #reasons = jealous mike #+#will experiencing mutual attraction with a boy outside of mike #but mostly the gay angst 🤷‍♀️#like i know some fans panic about that sort of thing #but it honestly does not make me feel an oz of concern whatsoever #just the irony of mike finally facing his feelings for will being gobsmacked with a boy showing interest in will #that’s just teen drama 101 #it’s a right of passage for slow burn on mikes end #not to mention #it’s gonna be hilarious seeing milevens take this as evidence against byler #that might actually be the best part #bc I feel like a lot of them are experiencing some major doubts compared to pre s4 #but a leak like that would probably dissipate their doubts #and witnessing that righteousness in real time and the aftermath of it…#priceless #and hey I’m not expecting this person to get a big role bc there’s just no time for that #a few scenes TOPS #IF it even happens bc they said we’re not getting new characters #all I’m saying is #im sat

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deerspherestudios · 6 months

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Not an ask, but I js got done playing day 2, and it was absolutely amazing! I thought the ending was amazing, too! It was different because we hadn't gotten to the "crush zone" on the scale yet, but it was good!! I saw that you're already working on day 3, so I hope developing it goes fast for you!

Haha it's kinda surprising how many people like the scale mechanic I made coincidentally based off a random ask, but I do enjoy figuring out how Mychael feels after certain events! I'm already chipping away at the Day 3 script bit by bit, I'll be making it the best I can as always <3

#mushroom oasis vn #cheea chatter #bts #will be taking my time with it #but gosh its getting difficult building off the previous days and making it narratively consistent while also having some sense of build-up #but i think ill stick to it being a slow burn #despite players' requests to make mychael more romantically inclined </3 #guys do you want the slow burn or not </3 #anw just a quick ramble haha

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lovingapparition · 10 months

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i’ve got a river running right into you.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn

Warnings for descriptions of medical gore.

Ghost gets hurt. Ghost is touch starved. You just want to help. It’s awkward.

NOT COMPLETE / NO BETA

It's loud in the medical bay. The lights overhead buzz, adding their hum to the sound of clinking medical instruments, shouted calls for supplies, and the pained sounds of the injured. No set of hands are still as the wounded are wheeled in on gurneys or dragged in by their fellow soldiers. There's too much iron in the air to really adhere to the stricter medical protocols, and it's a scramble for everyone to assess and treat the damage in front of them. Each doctor's movements are efficient and practiced; stitching a wound just as a soldier would clean a gun.

Just another day on the job.

You were hustling from one sectioned off bed to another, caught in the flow of all the action in the medical bay. The thin curtains between beds did nothing to muffle the chaos of the situation. Too many bodies were moving in and out of the area, it was almost dizzying. Your section of the unit had been chaotic for the better part of three hours, leaving you no time to stop and breathe. It seems things had gone south on the recent mission. The details of which were lost on you, but they didn’t matter now.

Stepping behind a curtain, you immediately get to work assessing the situation the soldier on the bed has found herself in, and you set about putting her back together. She's only caught minor fragments of shrapnel in her upper arms and chest. Nothing deep and nothing dangerous. It doesn't take you long to patch her up, thankfully. As you work, your brain vaguely registers that your medical team must be shifting focus to the less severely injured of the bunch.

You and the soldier both breathe a shared sigh of relief as you finish up her sutures. She only needs a few, and you tell her to return in about a week to check in before they can be removed. As you fill out her paperwork with a quick hand, you notice that the sounds of the room have hushed. You must be reaching the end of the torrent of injured soldiers.

Though small, your team was incredibly efficient; working like a machine during frenzied moments like these. Every second counted, nothing could go to waste.

You briskly step into another curtained area to see a broad, masked man on the gurney. The poor bed looked like it might strain under the weight of his bulky frame and plethora of equipment. For a moment, you can't even tell what's wrong with him. Stepping closer, the scent of fresh blood hits you just as you notice the dark wetness blooming on the upper right thigh of his gray fatigues. It looks like he’s used his own belt as a tourniquet. Your eyebrows scrunch down as you move to his side, your gloved hands automatically moving to his mask.

"Are you awake? Hey-" you're interrupted with a stiff, gloved hand gripping tightly at your wrist. Looking through the skull mask's eye sockets, you can see the whites of his half-lidded eyes starkly against his eyeblack. He's staring evenly back at you.

"I'm awake," he rumbles, low in his chest as if through water, "leave the mask." The directive is clear, even through the murk of his discomfort. You're not sure who this guy is, but from his tone he clearly expects to be obeyed. You knew there was a special operations unit active out of the base, and you can only guess that he's a part of it. Those types tended to be.. odd. This guy fit the bill.

The exchange doesn't last long though, and you immediately move down to visually assess the rest of his body as you open a new emergency medical kit. "Can you feel anywhere other than your legs that you've been injured? Have you hit your head at all?" you ask, running through regular questions since he seems to be lucid enough to give clear answers. He watches you intently, blinking slowly and almost lazily when you look at him, trauma shears in hand.

He simply shakes his head, grunting what sounds like a negative response. Great, how very helpful. You sigh as you work the shears beneath his pant leg. Without even looking up at him you slide the shears up, cutting half of his pants away to reveal the mess of both fresh and congealing blood on his thigh. Without a second thought, you cut through his briefs, pushing them aside just enough to allow him privacy as you get a better view of his injuries. The belt stays for now, it’s probably the only thing keeping him from passing out.

It's not great. He definitely needed to be seen sooner, and you're worried about exactly how much blood he's lost. Some of these wounds are deep and still bleeding. Small bits of metal are visible through the clots. You can see bruising already beginning to form on the skin around the lacerations. The hot iron scent of his blood floods your nose, thick in the air between you.

"I need help in here- I've got shrapnel, heavy blood loss and I need extra hands!" you shout to your team without looking up, busy flushing his wounds with saline to clear any loose debris. Your hands are practiced and steady, one hand deftly wiping the blood and saline as you work. The man shifts, a strained breath escaping him. You spare him a sympathetic glance, knowing this part made many uncomfortable. Why had no one tended to him? He should've been among the first.

Evidently, so is the man in the bed.

Before you can ask, your colleague steps in and immediately gloves up before getting to work with you. Together, you clean and stitch the man's wounds. He remains almost totally silent for all of it, save for the soft grunts as he's sewn back together. Even with the local anesthetic, it's still a bit uncomfortable. Throughout it all, he peers at you, his pale eyes flitting between your hands and your face as you work. At one point his gloved hands twitch at his side like he wants to move them. He doesn’t.

Your colleague quickly removes the man’s vest, knowing just as you do that there could be more injuries beneath it. The vest goes in a chair by the bed for later. The black shirt shirt he's wearing beneath it isn't torn or bloody, but you’re aware of your colleague’s intention to begin feeling for broken ribs as you get his IV drip ready.

His hands catch your colleague’s wrists with a quickness you wouldn’t have thought possible given the amount of blood he’s already lost. “That’s enough,” he hisses. Your head snaps up, and you can only see the tight narrowing of his eyes through the mask. Before you can react, your colleague jerks from his grip.

"I need to get these pants the rest of the way off, and then we're done. I'll get you cleaned up and finished for the night," you explain, falling back into your doctor mindset and practiced speech to ease the tension. He makes no response to this, so you take his silence as the go ahead. It's not like his pants were salvageable anyway.

"Are you gonna be okay in here? I have to go check on someone," your colleague asks, clearly annoyed. It wasn’t anything new to have a rude patient, but everyone’s nerves were fried after the hectic shift. You couldn’t blame them at all.

You wave them off, tired. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got him. Shouldn’t be much longer anyway.” They head off, and you turn back to the man, sighing. He’s clearly had a rough night, maybe he could use the benefit of the doubt. You were certain that you’d be a bit pissy after catching some shrapnel.

"Do you think you can get into a clean bed without ripping those stitches?" you ask tiredly as you remove your gloves. Without looking up, you move to unlace his boot. You swear you can feel him watching your fingers loosen the laces, watching your hand wrap around his ankle as you pull the boot off. His stare holds a weight in it you've never experienced before. When you look up at him, he's ready looking away.

You offer him a fresh towel for privacy as you cut his pants and briefs the rest of the way off and gingerly slide them from beneath him. They go straight in the red trash bin specifically for biohazard waste. You gingerly clean his thigh one last time and apply a thin layer of ointment to his sutures to encourage healing before you wrap his thigh in gauze. He helpfully spreads his legs enough to allow you to securely tape the gauze in place. His skin is warm, even through your gloves.

You blink once, twice, forcing the thought away as you finish up.

"I can." is all you get out of him. You sigh, it's been a long day. His boots join his vest in the chair, and you roll a clean cot into his room. This one has a thin cotton sheet and a blanket on it. You could almost swear his head is cocked, ever so slightly, with a question, and you answer it without thinking. "You're sleeping here tonight. You've lost a lot of blood and you'll need IV fluids to recover. It's not much, but it's better than that gurney."

He huffs, you can only guess he’s annoyed, but he looks the bed over. The cushioned pad was minimal at best. He would definitely feel it in the morning in addition to whatever pain arose from his stitches. “Look, I’m going to override whatever authority you think you have here. It’s safest for us to be able to watch you, just for tonight.” It’s your turn to leave him without room to argue.

For a long moment, he looks at you indignantly, like he’s not covering himself with a thin towel and your sutures aren't in his thigh. Then the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders, and he nods once.

You don't look away as he slides his legs around to the edge of the gurney, one massive hand still covering himself with the towel for decency. It's nothing you haven't seen before, and you're more concerned with whether or not he's okay to stand without support. You step closer, clearing your throat to cut the silence.

You roll an IV pole to the side of his cot and hand the fluids you’d prepared earlier on it. “Okay, last thing and then I’ll fuck off for the night, I swear,” you tell him dryly. He huffs, a short sound that’s close to a laugh, you think.

"I'm here, if you need a hand," you tell him, more confidently than you feel. Seeing him standing now you realize he's nearly a full head taller and twice as broad as you. Your hand finds his elbow, and to your surprise he doesn't tell you to back off as you help him ease into the bed.

A low, cut off groan escapes him as he sits tentatively on the edge of the bed. When he eases back to lay down, his shirt rides up just enough to hint at the bloom of a purple bruise draped over his side. His eyes are pinched shut as he slowly settles into bed.

He doesn’t get the chance to try to help himself get comfortable. “Here, just let me. I’ve got it.” You tell him quietly, batting his hands away from the sheets. You gingerly help him maneuver his legs into a comfortable position and tuck the blankets loosely around him. Another stolen glance at him tells you he’s still got that dreamy half lidded look. It’s enough for you to not exactly trust him with getting settled in bed on his own.

“I’m going to give you an IV to replace the fluids you lost and some light pain medication. Then we’re all done,” You tell him as you add more of those shitty military issue pillows to the bed. It’s the least you can do to make him comfortable. The local anesthetic won’t last him the entire night, and you’re certain the rest of his body must be sore from the aftermath of the mission.

Placing his IV goes without fuss. He's slumped back against the pillows, breathing evenly as you fill out his paperwork for his overnight check in. You'd managed to fill out most of it, but you still didn't know his name or what unit he belonged to. "Hey, what's your name and unit? I need to fill this sheet out for my records,” you ask, not even looking up.

"Ghost. One four one," each rumbling word has you bristling, your face paling. Oh hell.

"..Thank you sir." Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You don’t even bother asking for his actual name. You’d heard about a Ghost on the base, but you’d never seen him; never thought you would. It was all just rumors, something to shoot the shit about over dinner in the cafeteria.

You wanted to sink into the floor. How could you have missed the literal skull mask? The hectic rush of the day coupled with your exhaustion must have completely cleared your brain out of any irrelevant gossip, and now it was biting you in the ass. For the last half hour you’d been practically ogling him and talking to him like he was any other soldier on the base.

The rest of the shift moves by in a blur, it’s mostly paperwork and cleanup since everyone has been seen too. You luckily are not chosen to pass food out, so you’re saved the further embarrassment of having to interact with Ghost even more. With any luck tomorrow morning would be the last you two ever speak, and he could go back to being invisible to you, and you’d be saved from dying of embarrassment.

A low chuckle rolls from his chest, and your head sharply snaps up. You fight the urge to apologize and dig your hole deeper. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realize he’s laughing at you. You had heard rumors about his particularly efficient methods of combat and data extraction from captured enemies; some of the things you’d heard made your spine chill.

You can only smile nervously back at him and tiredly drag your hand over your eyes. You can only cling to the last vestiges of professionalism that you have left. “You’re all set here. Once things calm down someone will be by with some food for you, if you feel like eating,” you tell him, your mouth dry. He hums softly in response, and you figure the pain medication has started to take effect. “I’ll be back in the morning to check in, have a good night, sir.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost #cod #cod mw ghost #touchstarved #medical gore #slow burn #fluff #this is SOOOOO SOOOOO self indulgent and that's why it's such a slow burn lol #sorry guys like nearly nothing happened #just some *gasp* charged moments*#anyways. i've got this pretty much planned out i just gotta write the rest of the goddamn thing now #AHHHH #it'll probably get spicy who knows !#my writing

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