#(although there was still a LOT of sex and violence left in lmao)

[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ warnings: heavy gore, torture, hurt/comfort, whump, s/a towards reader, men being gross, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, blood and violence, branding (torture method), waterboarding (torture method), reader (thaye) is a badass, first kiss, dismemberment of fingers, eye trauma, protective!ghost, implications of smut/sex, aftermaths of torture. (there is probably a lot i missed, but idc lol all the other shit should b enough warning!!) 〔☆〕 desc: you and the 141 are deployed to austria with the intel of a drug boss known as rolmuth who is harboring romanian soldiers to the east coast to smuggle illegal mercenary personnel into america. what happens when a rapid snowstorm picks up and you (callsign 'thaye') are separated from the others then further captured and interrogated alongside your lieutenant?

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

a/n: sorry for my inactivity! the entire time i was workin on this shit... let me tell you.. this is 51 pages on google docs LMAO so i hope the length and word count makes this fat fucking hurt/comfort one shot worth it.

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

Snow fell and blanketed the ground beneath you, you were dressed in white camouflage tactical gear. 

Your movements were slower as you trudged yourself through the snow, you turned in every direction searching for your captain. 

Your lieutenant. 

Anybody. 

Rapid snowy winds smacked you in the face, nearly forcing your eyes shut as you traveled through the gusts. 

“Soap?!” You shout, planting your feet below into the patches of snow, 

Your arms raise to cover your face. 

“Fuck!” 

“Thaye!” A voice echoed through the snow that encased you in a blanket of long silence. 

Snow nestled into the ground below—everything around you seems to just slow down.

You traipse yourself heavily through the thickness around you as you snap a clip into your M4 carbine, swinging it behind you like it had been previously.

Thump.

Your head droops down and you feel your heart drop into your stomach seeing the body of one of the men you were deployed with face up.

His head four inches deep in the snow and his right eye completely destroyed, his chest marred with several bullet wounds.

The root of his nose is fractured to the point where it’s flattened into what’s left of his skull. 

You swallow the knot in your throat that might have also been barf trying to make its way out of you, kneeling down to peel the soldier’s dog tags off of his corpse.

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler. 

It makes you smile slightly, your thumb dragging over the metal tag to wipe off the thickness of blood that had coated the carving of his name.

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.” 

The loss of fallen soldiers leave footprints and engravings on one’s heart that never allows them to be the same, again. 

You wished sometimes you could just be without the worry about who you have to lose and who you have to save. 

Restless nights followed by mornings and afternoons full of nothing but unpromised resolutions. You nearly felt as if insanity would be a better route than going through the pain of losing the people you stood side by side with, enduring the effects of grief, bloodshed, and war.

Although there were moments of bonding and camaraderie that were forced to turn into utter gore and distrust due to the change of the objective that deemed those to turn against one another in hopes of survival and success. 

Pride; a fickle sense that could drive an individual to the depths of madness and create a staked claim to prove more power then they own or deserve.

You didn’t understand it. Nor did you want to. 

You were left in a society where the drabness of gray ruled the world and pain of loss clenched to the soldier’s  hearts almost desperately. 

And yet that perpetual colour of gray; a colour so dull but so compelling, it still lights the depths of hell you lived in by merely a petite dose.

Your mouth had begun to feel tacky with your muscles stiffening as the weather conditions intensify by every fleeting moment. 

Inside your combat boots, you feel your feet begin to grow numb; similar to the feeling of stepping on fresh-cut grass and grazing dull needles. 

Now, you wonder what hypothermia would feel like. You weren’t used to this sort of weather. 

Even under your white half-face balaclava, you felt your lips and their absence of moisture. 

Still, you trekked forward, squinting eyes searching for any sign of life around you.  

Your face lights up at the sight of a shadow-like movement through the blistering storm and rapid winds once you wipe off the frost lingering on your goggles. 

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person. 

There’s a tree to your left—your legs manage to jerk themselves through the snow until you're beside it.

You cautiously lower your body into the snowpack below you, clutching your rifle in your grip while your eyes fixate on the moving figure ahead of you. 

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face. 

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call. 

His head immediately snaps in your direction, and the time spent staring at each other seemed everlasting, though in reality it was just a few seconds before his large hand was squeezing your shoulder and he was right in front of you.

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?” 

“Enemy force has ordnance on standby—Price ordered all units to the West Safehouse,” he says.

You nod softly. 

“Why’d you hang back?” 

His eyes widen under his balaclava and you open your mouth to speak—Ghost tugs you by your vest, pulling you to the side.

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

Sounds muffle around you, complete silence surrounding you as Ghost’s head is slammed with the butt of a rifle. 

Your hands reach down to pull your handgun from off of your hip, pointing it towards his attacker, squeezing on the trigger and unhesitantly dropping him to the ground before he can double back and finish him off.

No words leave your mouth as you turn in one quick jerk, the barrel of a L1A1 being aimed between your eyes. 

Not even seconds later was the thick handle of a bowie knife met with the back of your head. 

Immediately, your body meets with the snow, and you feel the coldness of the snow over your mask. 

You struggle to pick up your head, pain surging in the back of your head enough to blur your vision. 

Keeping your eyes open was a challenge—they constantly blink shut as you watch the enemy force yell at each other, manhandling Ghost by ripping his weapon sling off of him and dragging him by his fur-lined parka. 

His body was dragged up into a Humvee and roughly thrown in before you were picked up by your ankles and wrists and tossed right on top of him.

Your head slumps against Ghost’s bicep as you're washed up by incapacity, your mind fogging against your will. Enervation holds you captive and sweeps you off your feet. 

You’re met with blackness, next, yet the only thing you could think of was your failure to protect your superior.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You awoke to the sounds of struggling—something teetering on the floor. 

It takes a moment for you to come to your senses and stir from unconsciousness, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings.

The ever-present smell of waste and deteriorated flesh smacks you with reminiscence, the overbearing cold, the taste of grime, blood, and bile in your mouth. 

When you go to move your hands, they’re immobile; binded by thick ropes that with your state of exhaustion and physical weakness, would be impossible to escape from. 

Your heavy head manages to shift for oneself to observe the room—your gear was purloined, leaving you in your cargos and a tank-top.  

Below you, the ground was concrete and stained with blood that led to the large metal door that had a closed hatch. 

Vaguely, you recall in short and brief flashes why you were there, your eyes shutting for a few moments before opening once again.

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

“Lieutenant,” you cough. “Ghost, wh—“ 

“‘M here, kid.” Ghost wheezes. “To’yr left.” 

Your head turns, stopping at the sight of his mask on the concrete, blood smeared across the maw of the skull, over the eye socket. 

“Ghost, are you injured?” 

“No.” 

Slowly, your eyes trace up the ground beneath you until Ghost’s boots are in view. 

His soles skid against the ground as he attempts to drag the dentist chair he’s strapped in. “Fuck!”

You shift in your wooden seat in an attempt to reach your hand down to pull up the velcro flaps of your cargos. You couldn’t reach.

Ghost’s boots stop skidding against the floor as the metal door’s rusted hinges creak, the door being flung open to welcome a man inside—three other men were behind him holding military grade rifles with drum magazines.

The man inside the room raises his hand, offering departure in the Hindi language, to which his men shut the door behind him.

His arms were wrapped behind his back, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off of the thick stone walls. 

He walks around the room for a while, allowing you to raise your head to take in who he was.

A European man that’s approximately 184 centimeters with long pushed back shaggy dark hair; his eyebrows arched, a bushy beard. 

On his cheek, a nasty deep laceration scar that reaches the end of his eyebrow. Under his left eye, another scar reaches the bridge of his nose. 

The man is inches from your face, now, a tilt in his head. 

“We see how long it takes to break you, Sergeant.”  His eyes crinkled as his lips upturned in a depraved smile. 

He lifts himself from his bent position, grips the crest rail of the chair, and pulls you farther from Ghost.

“Who is your commanding officer?” He asks, feet spread apart as he looks down at you to assert his dominance.

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

The man’s hand roughly takes hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards the dangling ceiling light. 

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.” 

Ghost chuckles beside you.

His eyes narrow as he releases a choked scoff, his head swinging back before bursting into laughter.

“My drug ring reigns across the entire country—my men swarm all city.” 

His accent is thick, though his English  isn’t terrible. 

“It is either you tell me now and you and friend die quick, or you die slow of bleeding until we find on our own.” 

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

You swallow thickly, groaning as the man pulls your head back by the scalp of your hair. 

You purse your lips as you collect saliva from the walls of your mouth, spitting just above the man’s eyebrow and watching as the gob runs down over his eye.

He snarls, dragging an open hand down his face. Using that same hand, the male flexes his hand into a fist and socks you in the jaw. 

“Hey!” Ghost shouts. 

You hear it pop and you immediately outstretch your neck and slam your forehead into the bridge of his nose, arms jerking in an attempt to escape your restraints. “You motherfucker!”

He lets out a groan, his head flinging back as blood streams down his nostrils, his hand trembling over his nose.

“Bitch! Madarchod! Bevakooph veshya…” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Broke my nose!” 

His palm smacks you across the face so hard, a pinkish red hue starts blossoming across your cheek. He repeats it again, then again, and again. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as numbness circles inside the flesh of your cheek, a similar feeling to those static electricity globes that you’d get for your twelfth birthday and press all five of your fingertips against.

“Hey! This is between you an’ me, a’right?” Your lieutenant gives a sharp nod, trying to reason with the man. 

He stares at Ghost for a few moments, squeezing his fingers in his fist before leaving the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

You take the moment to actually look at Ghost, your eyes taking in his features entirely.

From his long and messy dirty blonde undercut, to his shade and stubble. 

To his bruised and bloodied lips and the thick scar running from his top lip to the underside of his chin.

To his thick and beautiful eyebrows, the scar on the start of his left eyebrow, running down to the bridge of his nose.

To his deep and all familiar brown eyes—long and light eyelashes accompanying their shape.

To the scar that spread out from the right inner corner of his lip and across his cheek as if it was the engravings of a smile line.

There were several scars littered across the male’s face; each one of vast distinction from the other. 

Once again, the door thrusts open and the man returns, cotton wads up his nostrils with another male by his side, pushing in a rolling mayo stand with different tools and items you assumed were torture devices.

“Hey! Hey! What’re y’doing?” Ghost jerks in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing as the man picks up a syringe, flicking the glass and squeezing out a droplet of the liquid inside. “What th’fuck is that?”

“You will have your answer soon enough,” he simply replies. 

“Agarwal—blade.”

The second man grabs the rotary tool from off the tray, a saw blade in the other. 

Your hands tug against their bindings enough to chafe your wrists, it feels as if your skin is being shredded with a cheese grater. 

“Paip rinch, ab.”  The taller man holds out his arm, to which the man who was now identified as Agarwal hands him a pipe wrench.

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

He slings it over his shoulder and slowly walks towards Ghost as he whistles. 

Ghost’s eyes don’t avert from his gaze, even as the pipe wrench drops from off his shoulder to clatter on the floor, hanging from his wrist and dragging along the ground.

“Who…is…your…superior?” His voice is grim, each word coming out as he takes a step.

Using the hook jaw of the wrench, he lifts Ghost’s chin.

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

Not even seconds later does the man swing the wrench around and belt it into his stomach. Ghost lets out a wheeze, his body lurching over in reaction to the sudden pain coursing through him. 

“No!” You yell. 

“Who.” He asks again with spite in his tone—he was demanding, it no longer was a question in his favor.

“You’ll know who when he comes’a knockin’ ‘n blows lead thru th’lot of ya.” Ghost says with a slight raise in his head.

The wrench is swung back into his stomach, causing Ghost to hurl and expel vomit onto his boots.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” You kick yourself forward a bit using your boots. Agarwal’s hands grip the slat of the chair and pull you back towards the tray.

“No, no,” he nearly coos, yanking your head back by the thinner group of hairs on the nape of your neck. 

You clench your jaw and subside, lifting yourself up with your hips to help avoid the pain.

His eye’s strain, beads of sweat rolling down the end strands of his hair regardless of how cold it was inside of the formidable room.

“Get me my player,” the bearded man says as he trails his 12” redwood handle knife across Ghost’s jawline.

Agarwal’s hand releases your hair to your relief and he leaves the room. 

“Disgusting—“ the male snarls. “Making mess of my floor.”

Your eyes narrow as you watch a pool of blood start to form as he slashes Ghost’s cheek, a groan spilling from your lieutenant’s throat.

“Fuck you ‘n y’r floor,” Ghost coughs. 

He drops the wrench to the floor, then uses a rag that was hanging out of his pocket to swipe off the blood from the knife’s blade.

Two men walk in, one pushing in a record player and the other holding a tactical vest and a book.

Your vest and your book.

His name patch reads “Gamble”, the one who throws your vest and the book onto the floor. 

“Rolmuth, the woman—she has had access to our radio frequency and has been writing down our shipment codes and locations.” 

Ghost’s head raises, his pupils shrunken as he takes in the sight of the morse code book. 

The man holding the knife cracks his head in your direction before proceeding towards you.

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

You don’t flinch when his arms raise to swing the knife over towards your temple, a maniacal laugh escaping through the barriers of Rolmuth’s teeth. 

The knife lowers to release one of your hands, though before you can reach for anything, he slams your arm backward against the back leg of the chair, the feeling of your bones snapping beneath your skin causes you to let out a sharp, excruciating cry as your now-broken arm falls limp to your side.

“Thaye!” Ghost shouts. “Fuckin’ bastard…” 

“How?!” Rolmuth yelled through his teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl as he nearly foamed out of his mouth. 

His fist meets with your cheek and your eyes squeeze together in grimace to the pain as he punches you again. 

Ghost calls out your name and you can hear the metal of his chair scrape and grind against the ground. 

You feel your cheek begin to swell, the tender flesh on your face blooming into purple and blue bruises.

He walks to the record player and takes a record out of its sleeve that was resting on the shelf of the small table the player was brought in on. It has wheels on it—similar to the mayo tray.

Rolmuth blows on the record, though the sleeve looks too clean to hold any dust, then places the record on the platter. After pressing play, he drops the tone arm down.

The record scratching sends chills up and down your spine before the music almost beautifully fills the room.

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

You wonder if he’s going to try to rip out your teeth.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,

He clasps them around one of your fingers on your broken arm.

Fuck.

The cold metal around your finger makes you nearly want to cry.

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

“Who is your captain?” His hand squeezes the pliers, applying pressure to your singular finger. 

“Go…to hell—“ 

A scream rips itself from your throat as you feel your sinew and flesh tear, the pliers tearing your finger from off your bone.

“Tha’s enough!” Ghost jerks and flails in his seat, there’s a sip of panic in his voice. “Get th’fuck off of her!” 

Why do the birds go on singing? 

Rolmuth wriggled the rest of your finger off, your eyes daring to skim down to look at the bone sticking out from your knuckle. 

Blood spews out of the gore, coating your entire hand and dripping from the crevices of your skin into your lap, staining your cargos, turning their white color into several distinct shades of red.

Rolmuth sets the finger—your finger down lightly on the standing metal tray besides you. 

Why do the stars glow above?

A penetrating ringing fills your ears; one so loud it felt like it’d be the cause of your tears instead of the pain surging through the entire left side of your body.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

You’re in shock, unable to speak. Your jaw is locked, your teeth are clenched so hard it feels as if you might shatter your teeth. 

It ended when I lost your love. 

Ghost’s voice echoes in the back of your mind, when he calls out your name, you’re pulled out of your trance. You jerk your slumping head up.

You want to call out his name, but it seems like your throat is swallowing every little word that is being screamed inside of your head. 

The room is spinning and you can’t feel your arm, you can’t feel the finger move that was just severed from your hand.

“Look at me, look at me, love…” your lieutenant simpers. 

Your eyes search the room until they land on Ghost’s, he sounds far away. You feel your eyes widen as cold metal wraps around another finger once again. 

Why does my heart go on beating?

Rolmuth’s lips close in near your ear as he tugs lightly at your middle finger. 

“You don’ want to lose this finger, do you?” You feel the man’s hot breath run up the side of your face and brush past your ear.

“Who…is…your...captain?” 

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

Every nerve in your body seized, your spine stiffening with every urge to kill the man standing beside you. 

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding. 

“I’ll fu…cking…skin you…” you croak, your words finally becoming coherent.

He laughs. Rolmuth’s single arm raises in a humorous gesture of surrender. 

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

Your eyes squeeze shut, though shoot open at the rush of heat, the pliers applying clutched pressure to your finger before Rolmuth started ripping off the second finger, wiggling it until it broke off skin and sinew. 

It ended when you said “goodbye.” 

“Look at me, Thaye.” Ghost’s voice sounds desperate, so you offer him a short glance as your jaw slacks and your body retracts.

Your strained eyes snapping to the bearded man as he places down your middle finger on top of your pointer finger.

A gag surfaces in your throat and your body twitches as you watch your finger fall and roll almost as if it’s the most natural thing. 

Ghost yells your name again.

You finally focus on him, your eyes welling up, reddening and puffing against your will.

“Jus’ look at me, angel,” Ghost’s silked voice calms you, although in a manner you can’t hear him as well as you want to. 

Every muscle and ligament inside of you feels tense and stuck.

Why does my heart go on beating?

You had three fingers on your left hand—three fingers.

Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring.

“Y’ll kill her, she’s losin’ too much blood—she’s goddamn delirious!”  

Gamble’s fist barrels into the side of Ghost’s head, you hear a feral groan leave his gullet.

At least I can still put a wedding ring on my left hand. You thought.

Those three fingers trembled and twitched, it was the only movement on the left side of your body besides for your left eye—is he going to take one of my eyes? Your head is swarming with thoughts.

“Ghost…” you slur, still locked onto the blonde’s eyes. 

“I know, love,” he says as gently as he physically can. “So proud of’y…” 

His speech comes out as a garble, but you’re still able to understand him. 

“‘M gon’ get us outta here…alive, a’right?” 

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod. 

“Save y’r energy, lovie.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Agarwal grips Ghost’s earlobe, pulling him closer. You’re not able to cognize his words, but you’re aware of the vexation in his countenance. 

You flinch once Rolmuth drops the pliers on the metal tray. He removes his latex gloves that were blanketed in your gore and throws them onto your lap. 

“Clean them up—she still is of use to me.” His voice grows more distant as he leaves the room.

Gamble injects Ghost with a syringe that was hanging off of his waist, casting him with drowsiness, his eyes struggling to keep open before he’s blacked out.

“What did you do—…what did y’do to him?” Your eyebrows stitch together. “What did you do?!” 

They unstrap his arms from the chair, then his ankles.

“Answer me goddamnit...” You seethe, tears warping in your eyes.   

“Shut the bitch up,” Gamble nudges Agarwal in the shoulder before he pushes Ghost further out of his restraints, his body still and unconscious allowing the scarred man to bind his wrists with zip ties. 

Agarwal simply nods and paces toward you. The stock of his gun smashed into your jaw before you could react.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

The woman in the doorway was bedraggled; tired eyes and shrunken tear-stained cheeks. 

There’s a light illuminating from the pulled-back curtains—a light so bright it could dry the shining tears that spill out scarlet fluid over the eyes of the miserable.

You feel only patient while waiting for the morning sun to rise over the horizon line of the ocean side.

It’s deteriorating yet caliginous frame of murky grey stone and vast sorrow of an arched entrance sat in disposition from harrowing memories filled with bloodshed, grief, and war.

Your face relaxes at the distinctly ravishing but delicate overcasted ray of light shot down from the amidst along the ruins, the melancholy ambiance nearly sent chills down your spine.

Heavenly cries of forgotten mothers begging for forgiveness of their past sins, children's playful and beatific screams, although it was nothing unknown to you.

Screams were usually followed by split rib cages and bullet wounds—tears, blood, those screams and sweat, you went through it all just for it to lie unheard and forgotten.

You searched the odd and seemingly afterlife-like realm with your eyes, you could only wonder where you were, and why you were there.

Why the flowy white dress draped over your body oscillated with the wind in a gorgeous motion.

You're lifting your head out of the water now. 

The taste of salt seems so thick, heavy. Like you could drown in it. Like you could get drunk off of it.

The waves crashing onto shore sound so loud atop the eerie silence, their white crests phasing through your body as if your presence was unknown to them.

You loved the ocean because as opposed to the ones who were supposed to; the ocean loved you and was never afraid to come too close, even at your worst.

As you move farther from shore, the water slowly travels up your body, submerging your frame. 

You close your eyes as your head is the last thing the water consumes. You feel the water bubbles tickle your skin and elevate themselves up to the surface. 

It doesn’t take long for that familiar burn inside your lungs and that familiar feeling of being gagged by the water to swarm your senses.

Your head jerks up and you let out a loud gasp as you fade into consciousness, slipping into colored imagery instead of just monochrome. 

Waking up felt like hell; your mouth was dry and most of your limbs felt unresponsive. 

Only when you see Ghost curled up on his side, laying on the floor in front of you, are you able to register where you are and what’s going on.

His knees bucked up into his abdomen  with his hands zip tied behind his back and his face battered and bruised. 

Specks of dried blood ran from his scalp down his face reaching his compression undershirt. 

He was asleep.

There was a gentle rise and fall with his chest—you could still hear his labored breaths from where you were. 

It felt colder. 

Your eyes wander down to your left hand that was wrapped in bandages that were stained red, your two fingers missing and replaced with nubs that were uneven from each other.

If your arm wasn’t broken, you could use it to break the leg of the chair and wield  it against the next person to walk through that large metal door that made you wonder if it was life or death upon you.

If your fingers weren’t missing, you could use them to untangle your restraints on your other hand.

You could barely move your wrist—the pain that swells your entire arm makes it nearly impossible.

Ghost stirs on the floor, his body curling into itself further before his legs straighten out. 

“Lieutenant,” you mumble. “What did they do to you…?” 

His eyes flicker to yours. 

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

His voice is so hoarse and weak—he sounds dehydrated.

“You are.” 

Your eyes close a moment to allow yourself to breathe in the air around you.

The single door breaking up the dull room that held them hostage creaks open on rusted hinges allowing Rolmuth to enter.

Two different men from the day prior push in the same record player and the same rolling metal tray that was stained with your blood. 

“Rise and shine,” one says, his boot meeting harshly with the lower section of Ghost’s back.

 The blonde’s eyes stay intent on the movements of Rolmuth as he lifts up different record sleeves to read their names. He slides one out and places it on the platter.

That familiar sizzle fills the room before the gentle hum of the music begins.

A short gasp leaves your mouth as Rolmuth kicks down your chair by the back stile, your head immediately jerking forward before it slams down onto the cement floor.

He dismisses the two of his men.

Rolmuth’s hand levitates over the tray and he grasps an old tan hand towel, draping it over your face.

You can hear the buckle of Ghost’s pants tink lightly on the floor as he jerks himself. “Fuckin’ bastard!” He yells.

I don’t want to set the world on fire. 

It was going to be okay, you told yourself. You trained for this. Truthfully, you were one of the best swimmers on the task force. You can hold your breath—but if that rag manages to cave in, you’ll most likely panic and lose focus.

I…just want to start a flame in your heart.

“Are you ready for talk, now?” Rolmuth arches over you. 

In my heart, I have but one desire…

Your voice muffled, you call him something along the lines of an asshole and a prick, which is quickly silenced by the pressure of water that smacks you in the face.

And that one is you, no other will do…

Ghost watches the man pour a jerry can of water over your face. His breath hitching in his throat watching your body twist and turn trying to evade from the water. 

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

Your body arches up in protest, head jerking side to side as if it would make it any more easier on you.

I just want to be the one you love…

Focus on the music, you tell yourself. You can barely hear your own voice. 

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

Rolmuth’s smile is ear to ear as he continues tipping the canister over your cloth-covered face.

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of, believe me…

You violently thrust your body, panic surging  through you as you feel water invade and swallow your lungs. 

I don’t want to set the world on fire…

Involuntarily you gasp and choke in more water, you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.  

I…just want to start…a flame in your heart.

Your throat was burning like scolding lava, your heart throbbing inside your chest threatening to rupture. You don’t dare to make noise. 

You’re gagging, gasping, sputtering. That you can’t handle. But you don’t let yourself cry. Not like this.

I don’t want to set the world on fire, honey,

The music is starting to garble. 

Why is it starting to sound so distorted? You ask yourself. 

I…—you too—uch.  

“Stop, y’ll fuckin’ kill her! Bloody tosser!” Ghost grits his teeth before spitting out words.

Now that you have the chance to think about it, that song reminds you of someone.

I just want to start…

Your grandfather—you’d sit on that circular crocheted rug and listen to that song as him and your grandmother baked apple fritter.

A great big flame…

He loved that woman more than life itself; when she’d started to get sick with bone cancer, he helped her bathe, he helped her eat, get dressed. 

Down in your heart.

Your mother told you about how he had asked her doctor to keep the fact that she only had three weeks left to live just between them. 

You see, way down inside me,

She was still happy. So happy. He wanted to spend those last three weeks with her. He retired from his job and took her to all the places she’d talked about visiting. 

Darling, I have only one desire. 

She passed away, and he spent every day doing all her favorite things. He watered her plants, he baked. He listened to her favorite songs. 

And that one desire is you, 

He adopted a puppy—a beautiful Australian Shepherd which he named after her. Your mom would say that your grandma’s being was reincarnated into that dog. 

And I know nobody else ain’t going to do. 

Would that happen to you too? Who would you want to belong to? What kind of dog would you be? 

A deafening ringing fills your ears, you finally stop fighting. Breathing.

“She’s not movin—“ Ghost wheezes. “She’s not fuckin’ movin’!” 

He was trained for this. He couldn’t break. He couldn’t.

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

They could crack him, but they can’t break him. They wouldn’t kill her. 

Rolmuth finally puts down the canister and removes the rag from off your face, his body bends over to lift your chair back up. 

Your body twitching, struggling to release the water clogged in your gullet

“Wake up, bitch,” he snaps and his open palm cracks against your cheek. Your eyes shoot open.

Your mouth opens, your strained and bloodshot eyes widen with horror as you vomit out water, sputtering between your lips as you hack and gag. 

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach. 

Ghost calls out your name, catching your attention as you stabilize from your state of stupor. 

“So proud of’ya, Thaye,” he groans. “Y’r strong, ‘lright? We’ll kill these bastards, all of’em.” 

You can hardly spare the man a small nod before your chin is grabbed by Rolmuth’s uncut nails—blood and dirt caked underneath them.

“You tell who you are work for, I consider sparing life.”  Rolmuth runs a blade across your cheek, increasing the pressure slightly to slit your skin—a feeling similar to a paper cut. You moan in pain. “Your friend I can not speak for.”

Blood trickles down from the incise, slowly flaring through your cut and pushing from the barriers beneath your top layer of skin. 

“F…uck…—“ your silenced by sudden metal on your tongue, scraping gently like a threat. 

“I will carve out ur pretty little tongue, cut it in bits, and feed it to you.” Rolmuth coos. “Would you that, yes?” 

“Y’sick fuck, get th’fuck away from ‘er!” Ghost attempts to jerk himself up, the bonding on his ankles not allowing him to, his bruised ribs protesting in pain as he lets out a sharp breath.

Your eyes burn into his, your neck flinching as he slowly pushes the blade farther down your throat, his hand prying your mouth open. 

He chuckles lowly, small “ah’s” leaving him as he slowly opens your mouth farther to allow the tip of the knife farther down. You salivate, drool racing down your chin and over the creep’s knuckles. 

Ghost’s eyes divert from your face to the man’s hands. Disgust laced in his features. 

He swallowed thickly, he could feel his skin boiling. He wasn’t angry. 

Pissed.

He was incensed. 

More than that. 

“G..host…” your slightly muffled voice trembles.

His gaze fixes back on yours, watching as your left eye twitches at each of Rolmuth’s motions. 

“I know, love…J’s look at me, ‘lright? J’s look at me.” 

It presses onto the skin of your tongue, it’s curved edge digging into the fragile skin and tissue causing the metallic taste of iron to taint your sense of taste.

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

Saliva and blood dribbles down your neck, the sight no doubtedly arousing the male in front of you—his tongue leapt out to slowly trace along his bottom lip.

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

Your lieutenant purses his dry and cracked lips, but he doesn’t look away. 

He takes the blade out of your mouth, rubbing it against the cloth of his pants to clean it. 

Rolmuth raises the knife and pierces your thigh, the feeling of cold metal hitting you first along with the shock, the sound of cloth tearing.

“I want names!” The man hollered, spit landing on your face just below your eyes.

Ghost watches your pupils shrink, his own eyes widening and slowly shifting to your thigh. 

An intense tingling sensation swarms your entire leg, then a heat. A heat that felt unbearable. 

Ghost searches for your eyes again, his mouth moving, though you can’t hear anything he says.

He broke through skin and sinew, twisting the knife inside of the laceration.

“Talk, bitch!” Rolmuth’s eyes darken. 

It takes a few moments for the pain to surface, and when it does, it’s scorching. Your jaw slacks open as your eyebrows pinch together, a shrill whimper escaping you. 

“Don’ look, don’t.” Ghost pleads with you. Even he was struggling not to look at your thigh.

It didn’t take eyes to tell there was blood bubbling from the wound and dripping down your pants and trembling leg. 

A narrow vertical split across the midsection of the flesh of your thigh. Your eyes didn’t leave Ghost’s.

Was his hair bleached? It seemed like such an unnatural shade of blonde. Brunette underneath. He must bleach it himself.

Rolmuth gave it one more twist, releasing a thin, raw, scream from your throat. 

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them get the satisfaction of that from you. Especially not you. 

“They’ll b’ere soon, Thaye.” Your lieutenant says.

“You are weak,” Rolmuth spits. “You will break.” 

He rolls his shoulders before gripping your pointer finger and holding a jab saw above it.

Your eyes flicker to Rolmuth’s and Ghost calls your name. 

“I want a name!” Rolmuth’s scream makes your head spin. 

“Fuck y—“ your voice is replaced with a high pitched cry followed by gasps and whimpers as Rolmuth’s new blade carved through sinew and bone. He lifts up your finger against the blade and with one swift movement, your finger falls onto the floor. 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’bastard!” Ghost’s lips twitching in pain mixed in with a whole lot of anger. 

Your body jumps up, an animalistic noise escaping your throat as you swing your head back and wince loudly, the pain in your thigh 

“Name! Or I take another!” Rolmuth yells just inches from your face. 

You couldn’t handle it—your vision is swarmed by black spots and your head is killing you. Your body is in so much pain you feel so much, but so little all at the same time. 

When your eyes roll to the back of your head and lolls, you can faintly hear the man yell ‘shit’ before you’re unable to comprehend what is happening.

Everything fades into a subtle blackness, and the last thing you hear is Ghost yelling your name. Screaming your name. 

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

You wake up to the sound of loud groaning and thumping. 

It takes you a few moments to register that you’re awake and you can actually move. 

So you do—you upheave your head and take in the light spilling in the room from between the iron barred vent. 

It stings your eyes, blotchiness surrounding your peripheral before you’re able to adjust to the light. 

Ghost is on the floor taking blunt forces into his lower abdomen—the blonde sputters out a cough as his entire body jerks at the contact. 

The man grips the neckline of Ghost’s shirt, lifting his head from off the ground as thick red paste runs down his split and swollen lips.

His legs lift themselves up in an attempt to propel his body up and out of the man’s grasp, but he falls flat as his neck is slammed back onto the cement. 

Before Ghost can gasp for air the moment his neck is released, a closed fist slams into his cheekbone, knocking the wind out of him. 

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

Ghost is twitching on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth. His entire face is caked in red flakes and black and blue blemishes—the entire left side of his face is fattened with knots.

“No…” you snarl.

The man whirls his head and glares at you, an amused expression of disbelief stamped onto his face.

“No?” He says cockily.

The man paces towards you and cuts off your bindings, bundles your hair in his fist and drags you over towards Ghost, you whine and raise your unbroken arm to try and pry his hands off, but he only tugs harder. 

He pulls your hair up until you're positioned on your knees, chin raised up and neck tilted.

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun. 

He unsheathed a pocket knife. It was a fairly decent size. You were tired of seeing knives.

Ghost watches the man’s hand lower to your abdomen, fingers pirouetting across your delicate skin, it sends a shivering fear throughout your entire body like electricity. 

“Please…” you meekly whisper, attempting to pull yourself away, your body is so weak from lack of use. Your voice came out as a croak. 

His other hand holds a knife that teases the neckline of your shirt. 

Ghost thrashes against the floor attempting to wrestle out of his bindings. “I’ll skin you,” Ghost’s voice is hoarse.

“How would you feel If I just…” His fingers trace along the scars on your stomach. “Touch her, ever so lightly…Right in front of you?” The man snickers.

You yelp as his knife cuts a thin line down your blood-stained neckline until your cleavage is exposed. 

Tears surface the corners of your eyes. 

No, no, no, no…

“Keep y’r eyes on me,” Ghost whispers weakly. “That’s it, love.”

You feel your shirt tear entirely down the middle and fall down your arms, pooling around your wrists. 

Your vision blurs and your mouth starts to feel dry, teeth chattering in unison with your trembling lips. 

When the knife rests over the center gore of your bra, your breath hitches in your throat and tears bead down your cheeks. 

The blade slices through the cloth and immediately your hand rises to cover your nude chest.

Ghost’s eyes stay locked with yours, one half-closed from being beaten beyond his control.

You feel his facial hair scrub raw against your skin, sipping in your fear and vulnerability.

“Team Delta en route for seaside, Corbin, what’s your report?” 

His radio.

The man pauses and takes his hand off the midline of your ribcage to grab his radio.

“Delta, this is Pooch on standby—hostages are stable, the woman is awake.” 

You release a choked sob, causing the man to release the talk button and bash it against the side of your face, sending you straight onto the floor. 

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

You clutch your chest with your one hand as you feel the right side of your face swell. 

“It’ll ‘b over soon,” you tremble, releasing a shaken breath. “They’ll find..us…”

“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is slicked with spite. “Both of you.” 

“Pooch, this is Delta, rog that. Don’t kill our intel—0-7, signing off.” It crackles.

You lift your head and turn it slightly, blinking causes the pain on your cheekbone to burn like acid. 

“Go to h—“ the radio is bashed into your face again causing your vision to swim and make your head stumble. 

The sound of blood trickling and hitting the floor fills your ears, your left palm flattens against the cold floor. Missing fingers wrapped to keep you alive, not because they care.

He punches the radio into your right eye. You keep your head down in submission.

“You wanna act tough? Get treated like you're tough!” He yells.

His hand tugs your head back—you can see your own blood splattered against the communicator before you’re met with the same fate.

Ghost watches as the man beats the right side of your face in with the butt of the radio until it’s practically unrecognizable—caked and blistered. Bruising and swelling so tender on your skin. 

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch. 

You whimper and cry, hissing through your tears while your jaw clenched, the radio mercilessly landing on the same spot allowing more blood to cascade from the wound. 

The last hit is the hardest, sending your numbing cheek staggering back down onto the ground, you wheeze. 

If Ghost’s hands weren’t tied behind his back, the man standing above the two of you would be a mangled corpse. He knew that. 

Your breaths are shallow and rasped. It feels like hell to breathe—to move your face. Crimson just pools beneath you as Pooch flicks off your gore from his communicator.

He grunts in disgust as specks splatter onto the ‘cleaner’ side of your face. Like water spots on a windowpane or glass shower door. 

When you hear the door slam behind you, it makes you flinch. 

Your body has broken into tremors now, maybe it’s not tremors—but your spasming. 

And your hand is still covering your scar-ridden chest, but you feel like you might pass out again. 

Ghost’s own breaths are ragged—you wonder if lunderneath all the blood on your face if you’d look just like him. 

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.” 

You relax as much as you possibly can, your single eye twitching shut in favor of your other one. 

All you’ve had these past four days was sleep, yet it didn’t replenish. It didn’t make you feel any less tired or exhausted. 

With your bones feeling brittle and sore, it was hard to shift yourself into the mindset of falling asleep, but you tried. 

You felt Ghost scoot himself towards you, possibly just to shield your unclad chest and give you a taste of comfort. 

Your eyelids feel heavy with pain and fatigue, your body stilling as you allow yourself to sleep.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

Your hands are tied above your head, a gag set between your teeth which you gnaw at in an attempt to drag it down to hang around your neck.

Ghost is a few feet away from you—both of you hanging on metal piping with rope around your wrists. 

Ghost’s boots were on the floor, he was too tall to hang like you, where you could swing your feet. Did they take your shoes? 

You watch the steel poker ignite in the industrial furnace; the end of it glowing all shades of red, yellow, and orange. 

It was two different tools Rolmuth was holding, now. They had two different symbols on each one that you were unfamiliar with. He was choosing.

Rolmuth spun the branding irons with his thumbs and pointers, chuckling dryly to himself as he approached Ghost, setting one of them back inside the boiler.

His boots were so loud, they echoed off the walls of the room they were in—It looked like some sort of boiler room, but you weren’t too sure. 

You two must’ve been in a warehouse of some sort. 

Rolmuth has to look up to look your lieutenant in the eyes. 

When they’d woken you up, they threw you a gray tank top, so you weren’t as exposed as you were before. 

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag. 

“460 degrees of heat on metal…” he says as he lifts the hem of Ghost’s shirt. “You talk, I spare you more scar.” 

“Go fuck y’self, y’manky twat…”  the blonde snapped.

An open mouthed yell left Ghost’s throat as the metal is lanced firmly over the middle of his stomach, tugging at his flesh and skin.

Ghost’s eyes squeeze shut as loud whimpers escape from him, ragged winces. 

“Stop!” you cry.

God, you’d never heard him in so much pain. You never thought you’d ever hear him scream in agony, in physical pain. 

You're forced to watch the smoke trailing up the rod, Ghost’s back arching in tormentation. 

“You piece of shit!” You twist and turn your body causing the rope to shred through layers of your skin. 

His muscles tense and his knuckles go white from how hard he’s gripping the pipelines holding him up. 

Rolmuth removes the metal from Ghost’s skin—it could be described as a flesh eating parasite; the way that his skin sticks to the rod as if it’s desperate for that contact.

A hitched gasp manages to make its way past his lips as he feels a tinge of relief, his body twitching and pained moans and hisses filling your ears.  

You jerk your body weight down, kicking your bare feet until you feel the metal start to dent. 

Rolmuth sets the iron back onto the furnace over a rack, he’s bending over to adjust the heat, the fire is roaring.

You tug your arms down and you let out a strained whine at the feeling of your wrists starting to bleed.

When the metal gives in above you, it creaks and drops you down.

You slide down the metal and Rolmuth’s body swings up from fidgeting with furnace levers and knobs. 

His arms are immediately reaching for his gun while you lift your legs up and kick the heels of your feet into his shoulder blades, hard. 

Rolmuth’s head slams back into the brick base of the furnace, he lets out a groan, his form dragging down and slumping against the floor.

Your body lands harshly on the ground, an excruciating response coming from the back of your head.

Black spots cloud your vision as you slowly try to regain your composure. Your vision is blurring, everything sounds far away and echoed. 

The gun slides across the floor.

Your jaw clenches as you pick up your heavy head, your eye searching for the gun regardless of the pounding that distracted you.

When you spot the muzzle, you lurch yourself forward and reach, finger grazing the trigger guard before your pulled back by your hair, earning a yelp to leave you.

Your lungs refuse to cooperate in your chest as your scalp is nearly torn from your head. 

Rolmuth growls with clenched teeth, pulling you away from the gun and towards him as he kneels himself over you.

This was the first time you were able to get a decent look at his face—if it weren’t for your messed up eye—but you only can see the rage dispersed over his face as his hands gather around your throat.

He slams your neck down, adding onto the pain thrusting through the back of your head.

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

You suck in your gag, causing panic and adrenaline to rush through your entire body as your binded hands thrash and attempt to push him off of you. 

You duck yourself, bend your leg and kick it against his ankle to heave yourself up with all your weight upwards. 

He exclaims in his native tongue, some of which you can only recognize as insults and swears.

Ghost calls your name weakly.

Rolmuth’s hands slip from your throat allowing you to breathe and sit yourself on top of him, you tug your body and maneuver yourself until you're behind the man, pulling the knot of your bindings against his throat and crossing them over. 

His neck lifts to try and give himself access to air, though you tug and hold his waist steady between your knees. 

You yell with your clenched teeth, the fabric between your lips making the muscles in your jaw ache. 

Him wheezing beneath you, fingernails clawing at your split and abused hands before he shifts.

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

Rolmuth’s hands reach down to his vest to pull another gun, aiming it at your foot and pulling the trigger causing you to let out an agonizing scream, pain racking your entire body. 

The bullet shoots clean through, you knew that for sure. It was too close. 

Your grip on his neck loosens so you can slap the gun out of his grip.

In three quick motions, Rolmuth’s back atop you with his hands grasping your hair again, dragging you towards the furnace until your face is close enough to feel the heat radiate onto your face.

You feel the thickness of gore engulf your foot and drip down your toes onto the floor. 

Your grunting, muffled, and loud breaths make your head pound as the man squeezes your jaw and forces your neck towards the mouth of the forge. 

“No…” you snarl with bared lips, kicking your legs regardless of the pain, throwing yourself towards him to keep yourself as far from the flames as you could.

Rolmuth laughs dryly accompanying his guttural breaths, his body stretching yet keeping a firm hold on your mandible as he takes hold of one of the branding rods. 

“No!” Your eye widens and your hands reach up to push his face away from you.

“Fuck!” He growls, shaking his face to keep your hands off as he pulls the iron out of the furnace.

He wastes no time pressing it into your side regardless of the thin tank covering your skin, and the cloth does absolutely nothing in regards to the sudden gut wrenching sensation that makes it feel like your entire body was drenched in gasoline and set on fire with a blowtorch. 

Your cry is deafening to the ears and the smell of burning charred flesh is quick to fill your nostrils. You feel and you hear your skin bubble up, sizzle, then pop, then stick to the metal and entangle itself around the start of the handle taking the appearance of something similar to chewed bubblegum. 

Even trembling and shaking, you manage to find a way to position your hands so you can plant your thumbs into his eyes and use some of the only fingers you have left to press them into his eyes, causing the man to yell. 

Still, your screams aren’t matchable as your fingernails gouge into his sockets and claw at his eyelids, shredding through flesh easily as blood began to dribble down his face and over his lips like tears. You still manage to scream louder in anger than the man can in pain. 

Your fingers shove deeper into the grooves of his eye sockets, the organs are pushed so far back that blood sprays across your face and he finally releases the rod.

It clangs to the floor, and he starts sobbing in his native tongue, convulsing hands reaching up towards his red-painted face as you pull your gag out.

“Go to hell,” You seethe wobbly as you lift yourself and steer yourself behind him, taking Rolmuth by the nape of his neck and forcing himself inside the mouth, against the grills inside the furnace. 

He shrieks and cries, moving erratically as his face is engulfed by the fire. Slowly, yet quickly, his skin is shredded by the blazes and the bottom rows of his teeth are exposed. 

It takes him a while to stop making noise before you pull his head out and throw his twitching body onto the ground, then you finally allow yourself to lean against a boiler tank and take pressure off your injured foot.

You propel yourself off the tank by your palms and drag yourself regardless of your ankle to the edge of the furnace, turning yourself around to scrape the rope against the brick.

A gasp releases from your throat at the sudden relief around your wrists, the rope falling to the ground. 

“Ghost?” You lift your head. 

“‘M here.” He replies. 

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

“I know you can,” Ghost urges. “Find…” he sputters up blistering coughs. 

“…Fin’a knife, ‘n get me outta these binds, yea?” He huffs. “‘N I’ll do the rest.”

Your eye blinks as you grip the ankle of Rolmuth’s corpse, pulling him toward you to start flipping up his vest and pant pockets.

He didn’t have a knife on him. 

Got to be fucking kidding me.

A door is swung open, a singular set of footsteps stepping into the room.

Your eye searches for a weapon—anything that can deal enough damage.

A metal fire poker is hanging off the wall to your right, so you swing your elbows back and lift yourself up by the palms of your hands.

As quick as you can, you hoist yourself up by using the support of a metal deaerator, your arm sliding against it as you limp and throw yourself towards the wall creating a subtle thud. 

“What the fuck…?” A man’s voice murmurs.

You silently curse to yourself under your breath as you grab the fire poker off the nails that were being used to hold it up.

Using the heel of your injured foot, you shuffle against some shelving, looking between the gaps for the man inside the room. 

He’s holding a Fennec, nothing you haven't dealt with before. 

He’s twenty seconds to your left, carefully skimming along the floor with his eyes down the sights of his gun.

You pinch a metal screw off of one of the shelves and toss it into the corner closest to you to lead him your way. 

“Fuck,” the younger male jumps slightly. He looked young and lanky, at least from his physique.

When you hear his boots start to rub against the floor, you lift your head slightly to watch him turn towards your direction. 

Your fingers and nubs flex on the thin metal, it’s hard to gain a clear grip.

The man comes around the corner of the shelves, the sounds of his tactical gear shuffling alerting you when he gets closer until his helmet is in sight.

You immediately thrust the fire poker into the gap below his collarbone and into his scapula, dampening the fabric of his undershirt in that area as it rips. 

Out of panic and shock, his finger grips the trigger and you have to jerk him away before any of his bullets are able to hit you.

“Please!” The boy pleads, gun dropping to hang around his neck as he grips the caps of your shoulders. You only glare at him before plunging the fire poker further into that same spot until it tears and mauls through his back, sticking out on the other end.

He’s gasping out, but it’s almost like no air is exhaling, mouth held agape as his grip on your shoulders releases. 

You shout and cry out at every thrust until the hole carved into his skin is able to suck in the hooked tip. 

The male’s head falls and you allow his body to slump down and forward, the metal rod holding his stilled body up. 

You heave dryly and press a palm on the wall to support yourself, your foot is killing you—literally.

The blown out flesh and puckered skin walls made you want to barf. You could stick a finger through your foot and feel your pulsating muscles just hug around your finger. 

You lean down and unclip the knife holster from the gun belt, unsheathing it then hobbling around the shelving towards Ghost who was still hanging from the pipes. 

“Okay, okay…” you breathe sharply, struggling to lift yourself up onto the brick platform of the furnace, nearly stumbling off before you catch your footing. 

“Keep still,” you say, arching your hand to start cutting at his bondings until he’s dropped onto the floor.

Ghost lets out a loud groan, his arms clutching his ribs. They’d broken one of his ribs, maybe multiple. You both were in bad shape.

It takes him a moment to get himself off the floor as you seat yourself and scoot off of the hearth. 

He grabs both of the hand guns that had been dropped onto the floor, holding one out to you.

You unclip the magazine, then snap it back into the chamber at the sight of one missing bullet. 

It was the same one that Rolmuth used to shoot your foot. 

Ghost’s hand rests on your cheek, gently. “Y’did good, ‘lright?” He spoke with a lilt. 

“Can y’walk?” 

“A little.” You nod. “Fuckers took my shoes…” 

He lets his hand fall to check his magazine, then he nods. “‘Don’t know if I can carry ya with m’ribs.” 

“It’s okay, just don’t wait for me.” You reply.

His eyebrows furrow. “Bloody hell, Thaye, I ain’t leavin ya.” 

“I know but—“ 

“No.” 

Ghost’s half-lidded eyes glare at you, giving you all the warning to stop.

“Stay behind me.” 

He starts walking towards the door, slowly peeking it before leaving with you behind him.

Walking hurt—even while you only applied pressure to the heel on your injured foot, the muscles contracted and the pain was torturous. 

One man entered the hallway holding a box from another room, which Ghost took care of by shooting a single bullet between his eyes.

The box had opened and dropped glass equipment, alerting four others who had been lingering in the room he came from.

They yell and communicate in their native tongue, one sticking his head out of the door threshold to aim his rifle.

Ghost fires his pistol and the man swings his head back into the room, still opening fire into the hallway.

“Fuck!” You hiss, dodging the bullets and moving quickly behind a filing cabinet, lowering yourself down. 

Ghost’s back presses against a door to your right, pulling himself out of cover to fire at the man.

Two bullets miss and the third causes his head to fling back and smear blood as his body arches and falls down to the floor.

You lift your head and aim your pistol, gasping when your throat is suddenly hooked back from behind you. 

When the combatant turns you around and attempts to make a slash at your throat, you manage to extract yourself by gripping his wrist and snapping his elbow out of place, the sounds of bones snapping as he yells.

His knife drops from his hand and you scramble to pick it up from the floor.

You groan as his boot digs into your bandaged hand before you're able to pick it up, then his hand grips your neck to lift you up.

He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, locking his wrists over each other at your back. You clench your teeth and jerk violently in his grasp.

Ghost is fighting four other men, locking them in the crook of his elbow and smashing their skulls between the doors.

The man holding you in position crushes you in his grasp even with his broken arm. He tries dragging you into another room.

“Let me the fuck go,” you gasp, causing the man to laugh. 

“You will regret ever trying to leave your room,” he utters. 

You breathe a moment, heart pounding through your chest as you swing your head into the side of his neck and sink your teeth into his skin with all the strength in your jaw. 

Crimson liquid seeps into your mouth and down the front of your neck as you yank out the flesh of his throat. You spit out the skin and blood, wiping your mouth and tongue against the skin of your arm as the man’s grasp loosens

His shoulder blades and chest are glistening in red, gore spurting out of the torn spot in his throat as his body stumbles and he’s gargling on his own blood trying to speak.

“Fuck you…” You shutter weakly, eyes slowly skimming down to the knife lodged inside your waist. 

Shit.

He must’ve stabbed you before lifting you up, your adrenaline pumping so fiercely you couldn’t feel it until now.

You stumble on your feet slightly, shaking hands lowering to wrap around the handle and pull it out of the slit.

The runnel of red paste turns into a thick stream down as it drenches your tank top. 

You lift your head slowly and throw the knife overhead across the hallway, hitting a man who’s pointing a handgun at the back of Ghost’s head. 

It’s blade spades into the back of his skull and makes his body wriggle down onto the floor.

“Ghost…!” You gasp and press your open palm over your soaking top and open laceration. 

Ghost steps over both legs of a bloodied man before shooting him dead and advancing towards you.

“Shite…” He huffs, gently removing your hand and placing it back after gaining a clear inspection.

His hands grip the hem of his shirt and roughly tear at the fabric creating a long strip, then he moves your hand aside again to tightly secure it around your wound. 

You hiss and groan, hand gripping his shoulder as he tugs and pulls at your body while tying the knot of the fabric. 

“I’s ‘lright.” Ghost mollifies as he scoops his arm underneath your armpit.

It offers you some support as he guides you both out towards a staircase.

It wasn’t a warehouse—you and Ghost were just in a basement that was turned into a meth lab. 

Boxes and boxes full of lab equipment scattered along the floors. 

You’d never seen such a big basement, one with torture chambers and stonework rooms. 

Hell, in the corner of the room with all the steel liquid tanks and chemical barrels. 

A woman is in bright blue hazmat coveralls and a chemical mask standing on top of a metal stool. 

Ghost raises his pistol and you lower it slightly with your palm, his eyes glaring at you with his head kept facing forward. 

“You can’t miss, we don’t know what corrosives are in these tanks. Is it worth it?” You keep your voice low, personal between the two of you.

He doesn’t reply, instead he looks forward, then squeezes the trigger and picks the woman off by shooting her in the side of her neck.

You swallow thickly as her body spasms on the ground, the stool getting caught in her ankle as crimson fluid rises and bubbles inside of her mouth. 

Ghost guides the two of you up the cobble stairs, one hand dragging up the wall and the other across your lieutenant’s wingspan.

Your eyes flash at the sudden two objects being thrown down the stairs, the sudden silence as they roll down step…after step…after step before Ghost is swinging you up into arms and yelling.

He’s breaching himself through the door, into open fire before the staircase you had come up from explodes into the emitting heat compressed air and blasts behind the two of you sending you both flying forward. 

Smoke engulfs the room, giving both you and Ghost coverage to get behind cover.

You're pulled by the back of your shirt behind a deep freezer, bullets flying and hitting the metal.

“Fuckin’ pricks got us pinned!” His head lifts over to fire at three of the men who have ballistic shields covering those firing LMGs behind. “‘N I’ve got four left.”

You can’t see through the thick smoke—you can’t breathe while wheezing into the crook of your elbow. “Seven,” you inform him. 

“Cover me,” Ghost grabs your arm for a moment, letting go and serving around the freezer. 

You follow behind him with a raised pistol, shooting off at any glares you're able to see through the fumes.

Six…Five…

A man steps out from cover behind a wine cabinet, but before he can fire his rifle, you pop him in the eye.

Four…

Ghost quickly crouches down and shimmies the rifle out of the corpse’s grip, grabbing at a magazine and stuffing it into his vest he’d managed to keep.

You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.

You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two…

You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.

One…

Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.

You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw. 

Zero.

Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.

You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.

He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife. 

You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot. 

They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.

Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks. 

“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.

“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning. 

Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.

“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.

“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.

“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.

A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face. 

“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.

The men brandishing shields push further.

When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you. 

You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.

“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.

You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.

You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.

One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off. 

Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.

“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.

“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.

“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.” 

He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.

You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle. 

He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade. 

“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation. 

“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.

There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.

Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.

After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall. 

Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.

You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.

The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.

Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.

Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.

Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.

You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs. 

White noise fills your ears.

All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior. 

All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist. 

Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.

His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand. 

You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.

He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.

Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.

His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.

Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face. 

Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.

A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits. 

You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.

He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots. 

Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.

He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying. 

You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.

He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.

Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.

You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away. 

Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.

Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms. 

“I’m done playing games.” 

You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.

One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.

You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.

It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.   

His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.

You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.

He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.

A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.

 “Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”

There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.

You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.

“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words. 

His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.

You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.

Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.

Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.

You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.

The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin. 

So much.

Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.

“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”

Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.

Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.

“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.

It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.

His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.

“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.

You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.

You pause.

A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?” 

You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.

Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.

Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.

The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.

“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.

Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”

God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Babygirl,” he says weakly. 

All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.

Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.

“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.

You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.” 

“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.

“…’least I got to see your face before—“ 

Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.” 

It was a demand. 

“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?” 

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs. 

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.

“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.

“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.

One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm. 

A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor. 

His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.

You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.  

It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness. 

Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room. 

The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach. 

On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.

Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.

There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region. 

Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support. 

You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration. 

You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.

A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid. 

Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror. 

Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.

They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.

Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.

Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.

Ghost. Where?

You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out. 

A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.

“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.

“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.

“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.” 

The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.

It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.

You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.

“Ghost,” you call.

His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.

“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”

You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.

“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.

“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor. 

Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.

“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.

Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.

You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.

“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.

Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.

Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”

You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.

“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.

Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.

You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.

His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly. 

You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.

His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you. 

Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.

Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.

The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.

Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect. 

When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.  

When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.

“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.” 

You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.

“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

“Simon!”

“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently 

“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.

There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.

“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.” 

“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.” 

His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already. 

“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says. 

“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.

“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest. 

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly. 

“Christ…” he mutters. 

His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately. 

Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop. 

But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.

#simon ghost x reader #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 hurt/comfort #ghost modern warfare #simon ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine

[denialcity]

I Need to ask.

You said in a post that blessed sacrifice AU wasn’t about ships but just about Izuna, but there might be some Tobiizu 👀 what is planned for now?

Also I just saw it was supposed to be a sad AU….. tbh I’m a very sensitive person and I try to not read sad stuff because this brain is suffering enough already, so I’m wondering if I should still read it? I mean what type of sad is it supposed to be? What amount? I’ll get it if you don’t know what to answer to this hahaha

Completely fair, Anon! We absolutely understand and are happy to answer, but it is p spoilery, so putting this under a cut

Ships only happen later in the series, as the characters are all still kids in fic 1.  Currently planned ships (of sometimes debatable shippiness):

HashiMito (political, but both very happy with it)

MadaTobi (political, grudging roommates with a marriage certificate, they’re here bc they love hashi and izuna, there is neither romance nor sex here lmao, but it can slide towards companionable after a loooooooong time)

Izuna has... honestly a crush isn't the right word, but he's fixated on Tobirama. in the beginning is out now, so we can say that Izuna gave up his entire life and identity in order to build a new one that's all about Tobirama. Tobirama is the center of his universe and self in a very real way, so it's debatable whether he develops a crush or just interprets his obsession as one, but Izuna has Feelings of some sort.

For TobiIzu: Whether Tobirama will ever reciprocate Izuna's feelings or if Izuna will just chill a bit after some things are resolved and Izuna gets to have a more normal life is still up in the air. Either way though it will be very late in the series.  Honestly it's possible that we'll just see how the writing goes when we get there. But very intense Tobi&Izu will definitely be present and it could be interpreted as Tobi/Izu (feel free to do so, we like tobiizu, Red is just not sure whether it fits this particular fic bc plot/dynamics). 

Re: the series being sad/ types of sad:

loss and hardship, mainly bc of Izuna's isolation and identity shift, and trying to cope with it. That's especially prominent in the first few chapters of fic 1, because that's when Izuna has just left the Uchiha and hasn't developed any coping mechanisms yet, or even realized all of what he's dealing with. 

canon typical violence and injury, causing and receiving, bc there’s a war going on

grief; all the canon dead brothers are still dead, plus Madara and Izuna's mother, and Taijima (and Butsuma) will eventually die as well. Also Izuna is legally dead so he’s lost a lot of relationships even though the people are still alive. So that's going to affect all of the characters at some points, although it's not the central feel of the series. 

relationship conflicts, more in the later fics though.

There's going to be a shorter fic in which Izuna gets the mangekyou, but you could skip that and read the rest of the series if you wanted to.

Everything will be okay in the end, at least for the series as a whole. It's possible that some side fics might have sad-ish/ominous endings? And the first fic is a 'things aren't fixed yet but they're BETTER' ending, because there's more of the series to finish fixing it in. But Para also doesn't like sad stuff for similar reasons,  and Red dislikes complete tragedies, so our goal is a mostly happy ending eventually, just a lot of stuff for Izuna to go through on the way.

Basically it’s a ‘it gets worse before it gets better’ situation, so it probably depends on how well the ‘but it DOES get better’ promise works for you.  But there are better moments along the way too.

We hope that's helpful! If you'd like more details feel free to DM Para @firecoloredwater; of course we'll ask that you not share spoilers with anyone else but we absolutely understand the need to know what you're getting into with a fic.

#blessed sacrifice au #replies from the city council #spoilers

[burnedbyshoto]

Congrats on 200+ followers!!! You deserve it!!!!!!!! Can you please do a bakugo or todoroki angst and smut where it’s a villain au and the reader finds out??? Idk I had a dream about it and I immediately thought of you because I know that you’re the perfect person!!! Sorry if it’s not detailed enough Also ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

villain!todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: angst, smut, cursing, villain shouto

word count: 4,437

a/n: oh man, this was supposed to come out with a bakugou part as well because i have no self control and wrote them both. i haven’t quite finished bakugou because i am still adjusting to this new life schedule I have (and my roommate has me sleeping before my crackhead hours so i’ve been writing a lot less, but it will come out i promise!!!) anyways this is kinky public sex. like 100% straight up. i’m a bit nervous if you guys don’t like the smut but it’s the best i can do LMAO enjoy!!! also i dont really know if there was an actual villain au so i made it my own...with inspiration from horikoshi

Life was hard as a normal civilian.

To be quite honest you were mad that you weren’t blessed with some amazing quirk so you could be a hero. Instead, you had to be successful elsewhere. So you were a second-year university student with a quirk that allowed you to see probability in everything. Which, don’t get it wrong, helped you with multiple-choice tests, but besides the occasional better route to places, it wasn’t that extraordinary. 

Your boyfriend, however, was a hero, and a massively successful hero at that too! With only his hero debut two years ago he was currently the number three hero on the Hero Billboard Charts, it was insane. To be quite honest, you had met him during his debut when you had nearly died because of a villain. It had traumatized you.

You had already despised villains with all your being before that incident.

You had been in an eerily similar situation when you were younger when a villain swept you off the street and held you hostage on the tallest building of Japan. Since that moment, you were sincerely against every and all villains, none of them could be excused in your eyes. Nothing they did in the act of violence was justifiable.

But again, you guessed that the entire morality of people truly changed when people could suddenly do things that normally should not be possible. For instance, one of your classmates could physically remove his eyeballs from his eyesockets as part of his quirk and it made zero sense to you. It was a great party trick, but a terrible quirk.

You felt your hands shake slightly, a wave of dizziness hitting you as you finished walking up the hill. A few years ago, you had started suffering from anemia, your red blood count had taken a deficit hit and no one could explain why. Doctors had seen you countless amounts of times, but no one could explain to you why your blood had suddenly taken a hit. They had run tests, even going as far as culturing your cells in a lab in an attempt to find a solution, but everything was normal. So it left both the scientists and you stumped. Reaching into your backpack, you removed your daily pills to alleviate most of your symptoms and swallowed them before continuing on your way.

You walked up the stairs to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, a simple three-bedroom, with a two-bath apartment that he paid for with his earnings. “I’m home.” You call out, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you dropped your books onto the ground, trading your shoes for some slippers before walking into the common space where Shouto sat in his casual clothes.

“Hi, there,” Shouto greeted you as you groaned softly, trudging over to where he lay, and collapsed onto his lap, “Long day?” He asked, his fingers massaging your scalp softly.

“I had to sit throughout the worst lecture of all lectures because in my philosophy class we were discussing if ‘villains deserved to have second chances after inflicting damage on civilians.’“ You mutter into your boyfriend’s neck as he holds you gently in his arms.

“And your position?” Shouto asked, although already knowing your answer.

“They don’t, if heroes can’t get away with hurting other people without licenses, why in the world would I expect any less for criminals.” You say in a defeated voice as you remember most people in your class hadn’t agreed with your viewpoint. 

“What about if they’re inflicting damage because they got caught and didn’t see any other way out?” Shouto asked, picking away at your thought and you groaned again.

“Instead of being my incredible stupid smart boyfriend, can you just agree with me? Everyone already said everything you could think of and I’m sad.” You pout trying your best to disappear within your boyfriend’s arms. A small chuckle vibrates through your boyfriend’s chest and you can’t help the smile on your face as he places a kiss on your head. He was the best.

You found yourself later that night collapsed onto your shared bed, your face buried in the pillow as you longed for the next day to come. You had no classes the following day, and with Shouto having–at least so far–an open day, the two of you planned on making it a 24 hour date day. You trailed your tired gaze over to Shouto who was standing by the doorframe, his eyes concentrated on his phone, a very stiff and angry look on his face.

“Everything okay?” You ask, your voice muffled with the pillows as you watched Shouto typing away, his attention not on you in the slightest.

“Yeah…” Shouto trailed off, his face set in a small scowl as he turned off his phone screen and walked over to the bed, “The office called in, they made a stupid mistake that I need to… fix.”

You sighed softly, his office was always messing things up and you thought it was very unprofessional of them.

“Hopefully they’ll be able to work it out tonight without you, come on and sleep Shoucchan,” You yawn as your boyfriend comes to lay in your arms. “Just sleep.” You encourage.

“Okay…” Shouto nods his head as he wraps his arms around you as well, and you feel warm as sleep takes over you in the best of ways.

⋆✭⋆✭⋆⋆✭⋆✭⋆

You woke up to an empty bed, your eyes looking over at the clock on Shouto’s bed-side that read four in the morning, and you were confused. Where was he?

You sat up and quietly walked to the bathroom, but found it empty and it made you even more disoriented, where was he?

There was a low growl, almost a snarl like snap coming from the living room, and you walked over quietly to see Shouto sitting down on your couch, surrounded by villains. Villains you recognized as the ones on Shouto’s debut.

His back was to you, the villains not even the slightest bit aware of your presence as Shouto spoke.

“How the hell, could you mess this up? Again?!” His voice is low, angry, a whole new tone to it, and it was something you had never imagined you could ever hear from your boyfriend. “I supply you with so much blood, and you can’t even produce what I need you to achieve?”

Your breathing slightly quickened as you stilled in the hallway, disappearing back into the shadows.

“I have been taking y/n’s blood for years, and you’re still unable to come up with a resolution. It’s making it seem unusual to me, you aren’t deluding me, are you?” Shouto’s voice echoes through your mind as a choking breath escapes your lips, and you panic as the pleading voices of your boyfriend’s company subsides.

You turn on your heel, running back into the room, slamming the door. 

Your breathing was staggered, your fingers trembling as you heard footsteps in the hallway. “I’ll deal with you later,” Shouto’s voice speaks, “Get out before you can’t.”

You didn’t know who he was talking to at this point, and despite being in only your sleepwear, you ran to the fire-escape of your room and left the house. The sound of the doorknob opening almost screaming through your ears.

You climbed down the ladder as fast as you could, uncaring of the shooting pain going through your feet. Your heart clenching at the revelation of what was being kept from you.

You ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Eventually, you found yourself collapsing in the middle of the street as tears fell down your cheeks, what the hell was happening?

⋆✭⋆✭⋆⋆✭⋆✭⋆

Your head rose up from your childhood bed weeks later, it had been three weeks since you had last seen Shouto. Three weeks later and your anemic symptoms had all disappeared. Three weeks later and Pro-Hero: Shouto was still a name people loved. Three weeks later and not a single word or encounter with villains or your boyfriend and you weren’t really sure what you were expecting.

Everything just felt entirely wrong.

You still had feelings for Shouto.

Your feelings towards villains hadn’t changed though.

You now hated Shouto.

But you still loved him.

You missed him.

You resented him.

He had violated your body, for your blood, something you couldn’t comprehend as to why. Was everything between the two of you fake? Something created to obtain your blood?

Was everything a deception?

You walked aimlessly to university, your usual friendly personality had been scuffed to death at the moment, and you ignored the hello’s that still came your way. You sat down in your philosophy class later that day staring out the window, uncaring of the lecture that was taking place on the ethical and moral dilemmas that had resurfaced with the introduction of quirks and how even today it was in place. 

Your eyebrows scrunched as you saw a figure in the alley behind the building move into the sunlight, and your face muscles tightened as you saw Shouto standing there. Wearing casual clothing, staring right back at you as if he knew it was you looking at him.

You watched in slight horror as he picked up his phone as if he was signaling something to you, and a small buzz alarmed you of a text notification.

shouto: come here

You felt your blood chill slightly at those words. Why was he finally reaching out towards you? You knew that he knew that you remembered his dark secret. Despite having this information you weren’t going to be telling anyone, especially not anytime soon.

Your hands shook as if you were suddenly anemic again as you quickly grabbed your backpack and left the classroom, ignoring the curious gazes on your figure as the door closed behind you.

What the hell were you thinking? Why were you listening to him? He didn’t deserve to speak to you, and what if it was going to be a threat? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen if it was a threat. You would cry for sure, but god, you craved seeing him.

Without even fully realizing it, you found yourself stepping into the alleyway where Shouto was hidden in the shadows by himself. Your fingers tingled with uneasiness as you subconsciously moved your arms to shield yourself from him.

Shouto watched you from his position against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulder leaning against the bricks.

God why did you meet him in this alleyway, it was a secluded area on campus already, and if he decided to kill you no one would find your body for weeks.

You begin to mentally panic as you tried to figure out a way to get out of the trap you just walked into. 

“What do you want?” You whisper softly, refusing to look at him directly and you watched as Shouto’s feet shifted as he readjusted his stance.

“I think that’s what I am supposed to be asking,” Shouto’s voice speaks to you, but it seems sharper, so foreign to you, not the man you love.

You moved your gaze to look directly at Shouto who was staring at you, almost curiously, as if you were a subject he was analyzing.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You defiantly assert your facial features set in stone as you refused to let him read any emotion that was racing through your mind.

“Hm, well,” Shouto smirks softly as he takes a step closer to you, and you automatically take a step backward. “You wanna know why I lied about my profession.” His tone suggests that he’s guessing, but you knew he could read you like a book.

A noise struggles in your throat as you refuse to acknowledge his questions.

“Simple. Being a hero is bullshit, what’s the point in being a savior to undeserving people who merited the actions of the everyday villains. It seems wrong, you would never understand, y/n, but that’s okay. Besides, there’s something so liberating doing things that aren’t… expected of you.” Shouto’s voice almost taunts you as your eyes narrow slightly as he takes another step towards you, and instinctually, you step back.

“What else would the opinionated y/n have?” Shouto says as he brushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes, their piercing colors drilling holes into your soul. “Your blood, huh? Now that is something you’ll just love. You see, your probability quirk is amazingly powerful, did you know that? The number of scenarios you can use it is unlimited with the ability to be correct ninety-nine out of a hundred times. Your quirk is good luck, and you were an idiot for never noticing it.”

Now that hit a nerve, and your lip trembled the ever so slightest as an aloof chuckle leaves Shouto’s mouth, another step forward for him, and another step backward for you.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” Shouto smirks again then a sigh leaves his lips, “You had amazing potential, my love, but your anxiety just kept you from achieving everything. So yes, I did seek you out intentionally for your quirk, but you had this fear that I could never get you over, so I had to get your blood in an… artistic way, you can say.” 

You felt like you were suffocating when your back hits the wall, but you don’t react to the feeling of the harsh brick against your back as you concentrate on the man you don’t recognize in front of you. “But of course, why did I need it?” Shouto clicks his tongue as a hand comes to press against the wall next to you, trapping you. “It will act as the ultimate judgment for every person in the world, and we needed a lot, but it turns out I had a vermin in my midst, that’s why it took so long.”

He traces a finger against your face and everything he says slams into you. Maybe you didn’t know Shouto as well as you thought you did, you were in love with a villain after all, but there was something so artificial in his words that after months of feeling numb anger flared within you. You can feel nothing but anger and hatred seeping through you towards this man before you.

“You can’t possibly think you’re superior enough to enact judgment on everyone, because of what? You save a few bad civilians?!” You spat at him finally feeling emotions and energy run through your body as your hands come up to shove Shouto’s shoulders with unknown strength and he staggers back. “Are you fucking kidding me, Shouto?!”

Your face scrunches as he takes a step backward, and now you’re on the attack. “Are you some fucking idiot? You think you can act like my boyfriend for two years and expect me not to pick up personality traits of your own? I can practically smell the anxiety from your body, you dick!” You storm as you shove Shouto again. “Your words are too pretty, too fucking rehearsed, dumbass, you’re a leader by action, you idiot, not by words! God, is someone fucking feeding you that little speech?! You’re a fucking villain, not some martyr, so you can shut the fuck up, and go feed your feeble-minded words to assholes who believe that they are the ones to shape the world! Go tell this sob story to the world, how about to your mom, let’s see how many people fucking agree with you then, Todoroki.”

You feel as if your blood is on fire as you have Shouto up onto the wall, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly opened in shock. Your breathing is harsh, fast, panting, as your eyes glare into Shouto’s eyes that are quickly turning from shock to anger to lust. You don’t even know what’s happening to you until you feel your hands grab the collar of his shirt and slam your lips against his own.

Your lips connect with his lips at every touch in a hard fashion. Your fingers fisted into his shirt as you slam your taller boyfriend–was he even your boyfriend–into the wall. You’re intensely aware of his fingers gripping your hips as your bodies came to be mangled onto each other, leaving no room between your two bodies as you continued this angry kiss.

You felt as Shouto let out a low growl, his weight shifting and he shoved you against the wall. His hands moving from your hips to cup the bottom of you ass, roughly grinding his crotch against yours, and fury went through your body. 

Why did he have to fuck this all up for the two of you?

The kiss was getting sloppy, your teeth clashing too often, breathless heaves panted into each other’s mouths as your tongue slipped into Shouto’s mouth. You defiantly press your tongue against him, not allowing him the victory of entering your mouth as your hands leave your grip from his shirt to grasp onto his hair, tugging on it sharply that makes Shouto let out a tantalizing moan. This wasn’t fair to Shouto, you knew that’s how he saw it, and just as you guessed, he moves his hands to better grasp your ass as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist immediately. His hands removing yours from his hair to slam them up against the wall.

A pained but lustful moan escapes your lips from this action, and you rock your hips painfully slow against Shouto’s crotch and sigh in victory as Shouto removes his lips from yours, “F-Fuck,” Shouto curses, his grip on your hands lessening slightly, and your eyes crack open to see Shouto’s head thrown back, and a mewl leaves your lips at the sight of your man stuttering because of you.

It doesn’t last long as suddenly, Shouto’s lips are back on you, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, his teeth biting down almost animalistically with every other kiss, but fuck does it make your toes curl. “Yes,” you praise the man between your legs as you roll your hips against Shouto’s in a way of retribution, and the lust and fury of Shouto’s eyes are connected with yours.

You gasp breathlessly as Shouto’s hot tongue licks slowly between the cleavage of your breasts, combined with the harsh tug of your hair sends your head snapping back, “Fuck you,” You spat, angry with yourself that he knew exactly how to please you in the best way.

“I plan on making you do that for me,” Shouto growls lowly, as you slam your lips back onto his own. 

A muffled cry leaves your lips as you feel his hands go under your shirt and massages your breast harshly through your bra, “Don’t you dare fucking think that this is going to make things okay.” You snap as you grab Shouto’s hands increasing the strength on his already harsh grip on your breasts.

“I didn’t.” Shouto laughs as his head goes under your shirt, and you can only wait helplessly as you feel your bra unclasp and a harsh roll of your nipples between his fingers sends you through another moan. You feel anger resurge through your body as you can feel the victorious smirk on his lips as he bites the sensitive underside of your breast.

With your hips still rolling away on his own crotch, you don’t hesitate as you blindly unbuckle the belt on Shouto’s pants and slip your hand through the waistline, your hand seizing the base of his cock. You hear a hiss from Shouto, and you almost laugh in manically glee of making the man you shouldn’t want tremble. 

“You’re a bitch.” Shouto gasps as he removes himself from your breasts, and goes to press wild, uncontrolled kisses onto your lips. And the coil in your stomach is tightening as he jerks against your pumping hand and rolling hips.

“And you’re a coward.” You hiss as Shouto drops you to the ground, your legs wobbly from the uncontrollable emotions you had long submitted to, the pool of heat in your underwear only seeming to intensify as Shouto slams your stomach into the wall.

“Now, are you going to behave correctly to the big bad villain who has you trapped?” Shouto whispers into your ear, his teeth biting softly onto your earlobe, shoots of tingles resonating through your body as you feel his hand move from your waist to your inner thighs, too close for comfort, not close enough for the relief you desperately sought. 

“You’d be a bigger idiot if you thought I would simply submit.” You breathlessly reply as his fingers trailed up higher, and your hips rolled slightly as his fingers touched between your legs deliciously soft, and you fought another mewl leaving your mouth.

“Ah, don’t stop yourself from making sound,” Shouto grinned against your neck, “Tell the world how much you hate me.”

You could only pant as Shouto’s hand unbuttoned your shorts and let them drop to the ground as his fingers went inside your panties, and brushed against the hood of your clit, “Fuck off,” You repeat as soundless moans leave your lips, your head thrown back again as his fingers slip into your opening, slowly moving as his other hand goes to tease your clit in a way that causes you to bite onto your tongue to contain the pleasure-filled scream ready to leave your mouth.

“Do you want me?” Shouto breathes harshly against your neck as he ground his hard pelvis into your ass, and you could only nod your head as his fingers pumped into you. The heat in your stomach only grow as the coil in you felt tighter as both the pumping and teasing intensified, “Fuck, love, aren’t you just fucking wet as always.”

You let out an exasperated cry as his fingers leave your dripping sex, and you can only watch with hooded eyes as Shouto brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly licking your juices off his fingers. “Fuck me with the same passion you have in hating me,” Shouto whispers as he twists your neck to kiss you in this twisted position, and you moan as you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and before you can even savor the feeling of his tongue on yours, his jeans are bunched by his knees, and you’re completely bent over, your underwear joining your shorts on the floor.

“You want this, you want me?” Shout asks again his voice almost a growl, his facial features intense as he drops his own underwear and is stroking his already pre-cum leaking cock. 

“I swear to god, Todoroki,” You hiss staring at the man who had your heart seem almost unsure of what was the right thing to do, “If you don’t finish what I started, I will never forgive you.”

That’s all it takes, and the uncertainty in Shouto’s mind is made up and all you could do is let out strings of curses as he slams into you from behind in one quick movement. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” Shouto groans as you pant, your hands shake against the wall, god did his dick in you send you to another planet.

“Fucking move already, pussy.” You snarl and smirk as Shouto takes it as a challenge as starts thrusting his hips, ready to kill any doubt you had in your mind.

And then you could do nothing but scream out encouragement as Shouto’s hips slam into yours, harshly, at speeds you never envisioned the two of you reaching before.

Every thrust sent you grasping for support on the brick wall as he continued thrusting into you, his fingers gripping you waist as curses leave his lips.

Your jaw drops and a shrill gasp leaves your mouth as the coil in you tightens significantly at a certain angle he comes in, “Like that?” Shouto laughs although you could hear no humor in his voice as he comes in at that angle again, and you can barely control the sob of pleasure that rips out of your mouth.

“Sh-Shouto!” You arch your back and despite the position, Shouto is edging, you can feel the tremble in his thighs, his tell when he was almost over the edge. “Fuck me, faster!”

Shouto doesn’t disappoint you as you feel his hands grasp your hair and he snakes a hand back to your clit, and you find yourself clenching your eyes in concentration, trying not to satisfy him with cumming first.

You smiled in victory as shuddering gasps left Shouto’s lips as you felt his thrusts progressively missing his usual targets, and with a drawn-out groan from him, you felt him cum in you, and you couldn’t help yourself as you looked over your shoulder and saw Shouto’s face filled with relief.

His hips stilled for moments, but your own hips didn’t stop, and another string of curses left Shouto’s mouth as he focused distractedly on your own orgasm. His body rocked into yours, and your hips met him in every motion, your lip trembling as his fingers danced against your clit.

The coil in your heat tightened and tightened, and when he pressed a kiss on the back of your neck, his fingers pinching your clit, the coil snapped and you could only see white as an immeasurable amount of pleasure ripped through you, and a scream sagged through your body as you came undone.

You whined as you felt him exit you, and you slowly straightened back up, you felt uncomfortably sore. Quietness filled the alleyway as the two of your straightened out your outfits turning towards each other, then you locked eyes, and it finally hit you. This was goodbye.

Your breathing staggered as Shouto’s lips were on yours again, and you feel overwhelmed. Your fists are clenched on his chest, his fingers hooked onto your belt loops. Your brows are brought together, and you can tell both of your jaws are clenched. It almost felt like a magnetic pull between you two, but you had to deny it. So you shift so that your foreheads press together, your lips just brushing, just barely, so faintly touching until you pull away completely with a shaking exhale, your forehead dropping into Shouto’s neck.

“I am in love with you, but I can’t love you knowing what you are.” You whisper as you break away, grabbing your bag and leaving Shouto alone in the alley, wiping tears that inevitably fall from your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

and thats all for now folks, i also updated my masterlist again so if you wanna read more crap i write, check it out :D but yes! the blood stealing is weird i know, i was told but i am so outta ideas i just rolled with it ;) anyways let me know what you tHINK I LIKE HAVING OPINIONS ON WHAT I WRITE PLEASE SEND ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT IT MAKES ME SO UNBELIEVABLY HAPPY

KK LOVE YOU ALL, LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL FOR MORE

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki scenario #villain!todoroki #todoroki smut #bnha writing blog #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha scenarios #mha #mha x reader #mha todoroki #mha scenarios

[eldritchsurveys]

685.

what was going through your mind during the presidential campaign? were you relieved when it was over? >> This survey is from early 2009 and let me tell you, I don’t even remember the 2008 election anymore. I’ll be fucking relieved when this year’s is over, though (although depending on who wins, the noise might keep going right through the end of the year, so I may get no relief).

what do you think of the Duggar family ( 17+ kids )? could you handle taking care of that many children? >> I have my share of uncharitable thoughts about families with that many children, but I’d rather not give voice to that kind of rudeness. It’s nothing to do with me, anyway. I couldn’t handle taking care of one child, so that’s that on that.

in your opinion, do you think that you act your age? what do other people think? >> I don’t know what it is to act a certain number of years old. I don’t know what other people think regarding this and I really don’t care.

what is the nicest thing you have ever done for a stranger? >> Nothing comes to mind.

so far, what is the number one, best decision you have ever made? how has it effected your life? >> I find it difficult to think of my life in terms of decisions I’ve made, and direct results of those decisions. That’s just not how things work -- I’ve made choices, but the things that happened after those choices are not necessarily direct results of the choices I made. The element of other people and the element of randomness play equal parts, too.

have you reunited with any old friends recently? was it awkward, or just like old times? >> No.

when was the last time you talked to your first ex? >> ---

how different is your online personality from your offline personality? >> It’s the same personality, dude. It might manifest somewhat differently because of the difference in communication style (typed dialogue vs face-to-face dialogue), and that’s all.

have you made any headway on any new year's resolutions? >> I don’t make resolutions.

what are your favorite holiday-themed movies? >> It’s a Wonderful Life, Rise of the Guardians, Klaus, Love Actually.

do you listen to christmas-/winter-themed music when the season comes around? >> I sure do.

if you could create a law, what would it be, and why? what if you could take one away? which, and why? >> I have zero interest in the law.

is there anything that you do that's potentially controversial? >> Well, sure, depending on one’s worldview. I’m sure some special people out there don’t think I should even be alive, in which case my very existence is controversial.

would you ever sign up for a reality television show? if yes: which one, why, and how would you act while on tv? >> No. Absolutely fucking not. NO.

what is your most recent obsession? >> Hmm... Heartman from Death Stranding, maybe. Low-grade obsession, but it counts.

do you say "merry christmas" or "happy holidays"? to you, does it really matter which one is said / you say? do you do your best to remain politically correct? >> I repeat whatever is said to me first, because that’s usually how such interactions go -- I rarely initiate any sort of seasonal greeting like this.

if you could relive one week of your life, which would it be, and why? would you do anything differently, or keep it all the same? >> I would really rather not.

is there a part of your life you wish you could remember, but can't? >> Sometimes I get frustrated with the patchiness and distance, so to speak, of my memory, but I’ve come to expect it. Most of these memories aren’t specifically mine, after all.

what was the last thing / event to trigger a painful memory? >> A lot of my memories are painful because they make me feel alien and disjointed, or like I’ve “lost” something important, or whatever. So, like, I don’t know if anything triggers that, sometimes I just randomly remember shit.

if you had to give up one of your 5 senses, which would it be? >> No thanks.

what do you think of people that choose not to vote? >> I don’t think anything of them. That’s their right. The fuck do I care? Also, I was one of those people until very recently, and I still don’t feel any better or like a better citizen or whatever for having begrudgingly registered.

are you keeping anything from the people you love? >> I mean, not intentionally, I guess.

have you ever written a suicide note, whether joking or not? >> No.

what is the worst physical pain you have endured? >> Cramps.

what is one thing that you want other people to know about you? why is it so important that someone knows this? >> Meh.

what is something you wish people DIDN'T know about you? what would be different if they didn't? >> I have Trauma Brain so I irrationally wish no one knew anything about me because vulnerability bad.

what is the worst question that someone could possibly ask you? what about the worst thing that someone could say to you? >> *shrug*?

would you consider yourself a sensitive person? why, or why not? >> I don’t know. Maybe there is a sensitive person in here somewhere, but it’s buried in all the noise from Trauma Brain. Or maybe Trauma Brain is the sensitive person turned in on itself. I don’t fucking know, next.

you can spend the day with anyone, living or dead; who do you choose? what do you do / where do you go? >> ---

when was the last time you let something 'go to your head'? >> I don’t really know.

when are you most likely to show off? >> I don’t show off. I have nothing to show off, lol.

which would you prefer: spectacular view of the ocean, or of the mountains? >> I like both views. I don’t see why I should have to choose. I live on a landmass where you can easily make trips to see both. (Well, considering travel expenses, “easily” might not be the right word. But.)

do you follow any dating rules / play any dating games? >> No.

when was the last time you felt extremely confident about something? >> Good question.

how do you, personally, know when you are falling in love? >> ---

when was the last time you blew the seeds off of a dandelion? >> Maybe last spring? I don’t know. I do enjoy doing that very much, though.

in your opinion, which holiday is the least important? >> All of the United States-specific ones are just. Trash.

what was the last thing that happened that you couldn't explain? >> I can think of an explanation for anything. Whether the explanation makes any sense to anyone else but me is the question.

what do you do with all of your spare change? >> ---

where did you hear about your all-time favorite band? >> ---

how many cans of soda do you drink in a day? >> Zero.

what is your idea of paradise? >> I never bothered thinking of one. Maybe Inworld is the closest thing.

what do you think goes on in the minds of the opposite sex? >> You know. Thoughts.

what is the oldest thing that you own? and the newest? >> I have no idea what the oldest thing I own is, but I guarantee you it’s not more than 4 years old. The newest thing is an eyeshadow palette and a lipstick that Sparrow got me.

is there anything you wish you had never found out about? >> Probably.

describe your handwriting? >> I don’t know how to describe it. It’d probably be pretty difficult to forge.

have you ever had to choose between friends and family? if yes, what happened? >> No.

in what ways has music affected your life? >> Many ways. It’s a very integral part of my life and has been since childhood. It’s the one constant (aside from Inworld).

what is something that you refuse to believe in? >> I don’t refuse to believe in anything. Some systems just don’t work for me so I don’t use them. They might exist for someone, but they don’t for me.

what is something you wish more people believed in? >> ---

what food is your ultimate comfort food? >> I don’t think I have one.

have you ever put anything inside a time capsule? what? >> When I was pretty young, I tried to make one. But I opened it within like, a year. I couldn’t imagine waiting for like... ten years or whatever because I couldn’t even fathom that kind of time, lmao.

how did you come up with your bzoink screen name? what would you change it to, if you could? >> It’s just one of my standard usernames. I really only registered to avoid seeing that “this is a rated R survey” screen and having to click through it every time.

when was the last time you experienced deja vu? >> I don’t remember. Maybe never.

what do you do when someone snarkily corrects your grammar? >> Ignore them.

what was the last thing that you put quotations around? >> Part of my answer three questions ago.

in the time it took you to fill this out, what else could you have done? >> Well, it’s taken me a half-hour, so I could have done a lot of things in that time. Watched a show episode, eaten, done a dance, idk.

is there too much violence on tv, or are people to sensitive? >> There is a lot of violence on television. People should be sensitive to violence, because desensitisation to violence has led to a lot of bad shit. Personally, I’m mostly desensitised to fictional violence and that probably is becuase I’ve seen a fuckton of it, but fictional violence isn’t the same as real-life violence, and I would probably still react more acutely to violence that’s literally happening in front of me.

what is one "junk food" you enjoy? >> I refuse to label foods like this. It’s reductive and unhelpful.

what is one "health food" you enjoy? >> ^

what is something you used to fear, but no longer do? >> Thunderstorms.

who was your first hero? >> ---

is there anything your friends won't let you forget? >> No?

is there something you have trouble putting into words? >> There are many things I have trouble verbalising.

when was the last time you were at a loss for words? >> I don’t remember.

what bothers you most about getting older? >> The increased likelihood of disease and infirmity.

have you ever flown all by yourself? how was it? >> Many times. It’s lovely.

if you have one hour left to live, how do you spend it? >> ---

do you think it's important to know a 2nd language? >> Sure, but it might not be important to someone else, and that’s fine.

do you know anyone that's just naturally good at almost everything? >> No.

do you know anyone that's just bad at everything? >> No.

what is one emoticon you use often? >> xD

what is one emoticon you almost never use? >> Hmm.... I can’t think of one.

do you use emoticons to express yourself? >> Sure. That’s what they’re there for.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

going off the back of that post that i reblogged last night about being a virgin/not dating/not having had a relationship by your 20s should be normalised and not shamed.... i thought I’d make a separate post bc meh anyway.

but yeah going off that post, I hate how when I was 17/18 and 18/19 when I had guys approach me on facebook for sex/a relationship/to date etc the question i had the most from all of those men (who at the time were in their early-to-mid 20s) was “are you like waiting for marriage or some stupid fucking bullshit for losing your virginity? like why the fuck haven’t you slept with someone yet? you’re 17-19! you’re obvs broken and let me/us (the us part was when it was 2 dudes, one trying to set me up with his friend) fucking fix you! what the fuck?” and then obviously that rant devolved into my typical point of “you should’ve fucked someone by the time you were 15!” bullshit rant that all of these men rattled off after the marriage/virginity question.

but no. i’m not waiting for marriage to have sex/lose my very non-existent purely social construct virginity. no. i’m not waiting for it to be “special” bc I know a lot of losing your virginity is MEANT to be awkward and funny and uncomfortable, unlike all the media around it making it seem seamless and perfect half the time.

but you know what I’m waiting for? a person that fucking respects that, in a sense. a person who doesn’t fucking think their stupid fucking mostly good-for-nothing genitals (ok in these cases it obvs a dick) will magically control me and “make you (me) into a real woman who loves real dick, real men, and real sex” which is something that “I’ll give you sex lessons in my car” guy literally said to me in 2014 when he was angry at me for not having lost my virginity by 18/19. im waiting for just like the bare minimum respect level that SO MANY MEN fucking refuse to fucking meet that it makes me fucking sick.

warning: this next part mentions suicide/self-harm.

like y’all I went through a lot with my stalker constantly harassing me with his “will you fucking hurry up and fucking consider that wonderful weekend of sex down the coast, so that I can be the first to have your virginity???!!! (and also so that I don’t try and kill myself, you selfish bitch!)” act. like why in all honest fuck would I give it to a guy that consistently threatened me with his suicide/generally threatened self-harm each time I refused to touch him? why would i give it to the guy who made me terrified that he’d punch me in the face if i ever called that bullshit out or generally criticised his behaviour in any way, shape, or form???? why would i give it to the boy who DEMANDED in first two days of knowing me, that i “hurry up and get on the pill so that I can fuck you!” and then followed that up with refusing to use condoms and then the “we’ll get married & have kids one day bc you’re girlfriend material” line, as if he was going to trap me at 16 with a kid to be his baby mama, and then never let me go to uni etc bc i obviously had to be stuck with the kid while he fucked off and fucked around with other girls.

like y’all 16 year old me mentally read my stalker for fucking FILTH each time he pulled his bullshit acts. she knew that he was abusive/manipulative/controlling etc. why the FUCK would she give him the satisfaction of “being the first to fuck you (her)” like she was some gatekept special unicorn or other fucked up shit???? virginity is used to control women by these creepy manipulative men. and the men mentioned in the first half of this post all were like “like yeah he sounds fucking yikes, but you should’ve just fucked him anyway; to be normal and to not be a fucking stuck up, frigid virgin bitch like you are now! you should of just given the guy a chance!!!! 🤬🤬🤬🤬 maybe he would’ve treated you right if you fucked him and gave him what he wanted!!!! lower your fucking standards!!!!😡” like no????????? and y’all are really going to excuse suicide threats/self-harm threats and other violence towards women, over a woman not having lost her virginity yet???? what THE ACTUAL FUCK IS FUCKING WRONG WITH YOU?????? you are MOTHERFUCKING TRASH and you need to FUCKING LEAVE.

then yes there was the less yikes clear braces guy at catholic school. but all the same. 14/15 year old me DID NOT LIKE HIM in that way at all. I didn’t want to fucking touch him, because everything about him disgusted me (which was super fucking rude I’ll admit, but yeah).

but why the fuck was she expected to give up her virginity/have a relationship at all etc with a boy that she NEVER had feelings for???? why was she ALWAYS dismissed (typically more often by male students, but also by some female students and then eventually teachers) when she said she didn’t like him???? and even after she fucking dumped him???? WHY THE FUCK IS IT SO FUCKING HARD TO BELIEVE GIRLS/WOMEN when they say that they DON’T LIKE and NEVER LIKED someone?????

but other than that, why was I expected to give myself to him??? I had boys who always said to me “I bet you’d love licking the shit out of his braces. yeah get that nasty shit out of there for him with your tounge... I bet you dream about it” and other vile shit about this guy’s psoriasis etc, and other shit like that for 3 straight fucking years..... and then those boys fucking wondered why i’d fucking slap them and storm out of fucking class.... and then they always pretended to act all nice after it. why the FUCK was i expected to endure that?????

this is the relationship where the WHOLE year group pressured me into it (or at least I felt super pressured by my entire year) bc even the other half of the year started to harass me about it. whenever i told anyone to fuck off about it, they’d just push it harder. it was a fucking mortifyingly awkward and awful relationship where i never answered his texts.... where he would spell my name wrong although I was his “best friend” (although yes autocorrect but you wouldn’t over sight that in a text to your girlfriend, right?) and where I constantly faked sick or totally ignored his advances for dates...... by actually going over my friends houses, instead of going to the movies with him.... and then when he moved schools at the end of 2010 I felt like it was my fault bc I’d dumped him???? so he’d lost a good friend after that??? idek man teenagers suck lmao

but in the whole story about clear braces guy, I think you can see the underlying thing there was that i OBVIOUSLY wasn’t ready for a relationship, and honestly I don’t think this guy was either..... considering that when he asked me out over the phone he seemed awkward about it I suppose.... like we’d been pressured into FOR 3 YEARS of constant harassment from our year group..... so he felt like he HAD to ask me out finally. and then when he made it “facebook official” i gagged... and then snapped and then yelled at him. i was fucking livid. i cringed at the couple selfie he took of us at the end of one PE lesson after the “fb official” disaster. it was a fucking nightmare lmao.

can y’all see that this SHOULD NOT HAVE FUCKING HAPPENED AT ALL if we’d just left been left fucking alone to be friends that talked every day???? like yes he had his story of having a crush on me since the start of 2008/year 7, but I always felt nothing like that for him. EVER. we were just two metalhead friends bonding over parkway drive and marilyn manson and emo kids bonding over adtr and other bands which everyone else was into anyway.

like I did feel sorry for him in my class bc no one would sit with him, bc he was a bit weird (the braces thing didn’t help him either). he talked to me too bc most of my class was scared of me and my very dramatic screaming matches with teachers/emotional outbursts that would get me sent out of so many classes for most of year 7. but i always, ALWAYS saw us as just friends. basically it was just my group that believed that I didn’t like him (well eventually) bc they always got up and moved away whenever braces dude came to sit with me at at lunch/recess. like my group was embarrassed for me or something???? idek man.

but yeah. my point with braces guy is that why fuck should I have been pressured into that??? and ESPECIALLY why the actual fuck did it have to be a fucking whole year group level of sustained harassment for 3 straight years, where on every fucking level I WAS FUCKING IGNORED by everyone????.... and where that sustained harassment made me feel as though if I’d said no, i would’ve been called a selfish bitch/whore/slut bc teenagers are dumb as fuck. like even teachers started pushing it from time to time by 2010. i fucking hated it. why should a teenager be harassed ON THAT LEVEL FOR THAT LONG while still being invalidated..... and then still be expected to have a good view of relationships and sex exploration after that???? like it warped my views so much.... and then gave me a big part of a horrible fucking year long depressive episode in 2011..... and also gave me a weirdly obsessive and deathly obvious crush on one of the very popular pretty boys who had pushed me into that relationship anyway.... especially when that said boy gave me a flirtatious comment when I was “going out” with braces boy. like how the fuck is any of that healthy???? why was I expected to lose my virginity to someone I never had feelings for in the first place????

so yeah. this is my view on why people never having had a relationship/never had sex/not lot their virginity by their 20s should be a more normalised thing not to be shamed for...... and why teenagers should NEVER be harassed to have relationship that they don’t want, fucking period. just relationships in high school are fucking awful.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ilona whines about her shitty life to her followers lol #ilona whines about her shitty luck with men to her followers lol #trigger warning: suicide mention #i fucking hate all of these situations #ilona’s rants about her high school stalker

[troubleshipping]

Long list of various Team Rocket headcanons

Recently I had a really nice talk with @masterstarpikachu about Rocketshipping/general Team Rocket stuff, and some of the headcanons that were brought up are just too good not to be shared with the world so I have compiled them into a big post

Warning: Some small nsfw elements at the very beginning of this, please beware if you don’t like that kinda thing! Nothing explicit but like the evil word s*x is mentioned once so shield yo eyes kiddos

Contents of this post include:

- Controversy about the see-through level of Pokéballs - Meowth and the Pokémon shittalking humans behind their backs - Meowth and Jessie tease James about literally everything - Meowth is a supportive friend in the most asshole-y way possible - Jessie actually being nice for once - Food - Hot take but Jessebelle is a yandere - Jessie almost dies but it's okay because the ship happens

Actual list under the cut because this good content here got long

- Starting topic that triggered this entire conversation: - Jessie and James are about to get intimate, but just in that moment - *Pokéball release sound* “WOOOOBBUFFET” - So that raised an important question: - How much exactly are Pokémon able to see out of their Pokéballs? - Because most of the time when they’re called out mid-battle they immediately charge in without hesitating, so it seems like they know what’s been going on - Larvitar was able to see out of its egg shell too which suggests similar things for Pokéballs - Trainers, do not leave your Pokéballs in the same room you do private stuff in

- What if that’s how Meowth finds out Jessie and James are a thing - “Meowth, how did you know? What do you mean Seviper told you?? How did Seviper know???” - “…..oh my god” - Mime Jr was too young to see that - James will never live it down - He’s too ashamed to look his son in the eyes ever again - Probably needs to sit him down to have *the talk* and it’s the most shameful thing he’s ever had to do - Does Mime Jr even understand what he’s saying? Does it care about what humans do? Probably not, but Meowth won’t think it’s necessary to point that out

- I like the idea of Meowth sharing gossip with the other Pokémon in general - He’s barely seen talking to Pokémon, which is honestly a waste if you ask me? It’s like the writers forgot that bilingual people don’t actually forget their mother tongue - Imagine Meowth and the other Pokémon just complaining about the dumb shit the humans do - Besides, let him have some friends he won’t be the third wheel to lmao

- Literally tho, imagine all their Pokémon had seen their masters, ahem.. “blast off” - Poor souls didn’t know Pokéballs were see-through from the inside - Jessie would pretend not to care, she’s above that. There’s no reason at all to be ashamed. But she’d be blushing so hard she wouldn’t fool anyone. - Shit’s awkward no matter how tough you are - James wouldn’t even try to pretend, James would straight up die - RIP James

- On another note - James totally makes those little high pitched squeaky sounds during sex and you cannot change my mind it’s canon - You know exactly what I mean - There’s literally no way he doesn’t - He’s tryna be all sexy and smooth and stuff but then Jessie starts touching him or something and he just SQUEAKS - Secretly she finds it kinda hot in a weird way but she’d never admit it - Pretends it’s a coincidence that she’ll keep trying to get him to make more of those sounds - Meanwhile Meowth outside the door is like “what the actual fuck James” - “Jimmy’s such a weird one” - He’d tease James to no end about it - Meowth embarrassing James about details of stuff he shouldn’t even know about is my new favorite thing - Also Jessie trying to stop him but also holding back laughter because “well he’s not wrong” - “WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?!” - C’mon she can’t turn down an opportunity to tease him - James is then all embarrassed and lowkey offended and gives her the silent treatment - He refuses to talk to her ever again - Aka for like the next half hour or so - Eventually she’d probably apologize though because even she isn’t THAT mean - At least not when it comes to James - Not always - Maybe - She gets soft around him when nobody’s around to see it - Sometimes - And maybe he’d forgive her if she did those things again...

- Jessie being soft with James is my absolute weakness though - Especially since they’ve been friends for so long and he knows full well that nobody else is allowed to see that side of her ever - It’d definitely make him feel special and loved - Imagine Jessie letting her guard down and being kind to James for no reason other than because she genuinely wants him to be happy - I am weak - Even if it’s just little things - Especially those tbh - Just trying to cheer him up when he’s down instead of simply telling him to get over it - Saving a nice bottlecap she found even though she never understood that hobby of his - Just saving it for him because maybe he’d want it - He’d be so touched - Probably would make his entire week - He’d save that one bottlecap forever - Even if it’s not one of the kind he collects, or a duplicate or sth - It’d be his most prized possession

- Something I really want to happen is them sharing their food properly, because you know that for those two that’d be a HUGE sign of affection - The anime may pretend they share everything equally (they say so in an episode) but honestly 90% of the time they get in literal fights over the last scrap - So one of them happily sharing could even be the first step of them realizing their feelings - Like, maybe James would let Jessie eat his portion - She’d definitely take longer than him to show any signs of affection - And she just - “Why’d you let me have it is something wrong with you?” - “No…it’s just…you seem really hungry” - When he offers her the food, instead of immediately devouring it like she usually would she just - Stops and doubles back - Stares at the food in his hands, then at him, back at the food - “Are you serious?” - In that moment he realized what he’s done and gets all defensive - “Just eat it, Jess!” - “I’m just not that hungry, okay?” (*stomach growling noise*) - Then they are interrupted by Meowth - “What about me? I’m starvin’!” - In the end they just split it in three parts because sharing with them both is a bit less awkward to explain

- Also - In the beginning when they start falling for each other, Meowth would be oblivious by choice - As in he sees the signs but he ignores them because “nahhh no way” - Then when he figures it out he mercilessly teases James about having a crush on Jess every chance he gets - Though he’d do it without her hearing about it, because he isn’t THAT mean to him - But when they actually start dating he realizes he was a FOOL and now he has to deal with that forever - Like - He probably gave James advice out of pity - (James totally confides in him at some point because he just needs to talk to SOMEONE) - But then Jessie went for it and he realizes too late what that means for him - Now he needs to live with the consequences

- Meowth giving James love advice about Jessie though - That sounds like a huge train wreck - I mean he may tease him to no end but they’re still best friends so he’d still try to help when he realizes James is serious - “That dumbass really got it bad huh” - Deep down he does care for his friends after all - He’s like permanently done with James’ shit but he still keeps his secret - Although he can and will use his newly gained knowledge as blackmail whenever he wants something from him - And at the same time half of his “advice” consists of “lol Jessie’s gonna kill you” - “YOU’RE NOT HELPING MEOWTH” - James is already well aware of that - That’s his problem - He’s been faced with the full extent of Jessie’s wrath before - He knows better than to risk getting on her bad side

- On the other hand, it’s canon that when Jessie falls for someone she tends to actually act friendly and kind around them to some degree - Which I’m assuming is an instinctive reaction because she doesn’t want to scare them off - But falling for James would be weird since it’d trigger her instinct to be soft and good but at the same time - “No that’s James wtf” - She’s been treating him full force nasty for years and so far he hasn’t left so there’s really no need - Honestly James tends to get freaked out whenever she’s calm because a nice Jessie is just WRONG - Pure boy got so used to her mean antics he gets worried about her when she’s friendly to him - As a result, before admitting her feelings even to herself, Jessie would instead get MORE mean out of defiance - That darn Tsundere smh - She cares a lot about him but she cannot show weakness her mind won’t allow it - Nope - Fight me, feelings

- Vs Jessebelle, who is a Yandere and should be feared - And should also be decked in the face by Jessie tyvm - Imagine an actual Yandere Jessebelle tho - Nightmare fuel - I mean that whip scene was already terrifying - She broke a fucking dresser with the hit that was aimed at James - I know it was exaggerated cartoon violence but like she almost straight up murdered him - And his parents are okay with that?? - Because he’s too delinquent for her - So he can just die apparently - Now imagine her getting obsessed with him to the point of actively following him around to get him to marry her - And trying to get Jessie out of the way to get him back - Can I just say Horror AU right there - I’m an angst writer don’t test me - I like to take dark stuff and make it WORSE - Picture this - James coming back from a short trip to gather firewood or sth like that, only to find Jessie unconscious and bleeding from a stab wound - :) - Maybe Jessebelle is still standing there and laughing because she finally won - Of course she’ll survive but just BARELY - They’re in the middle of nowhere and James frantically tries to find someone to help her but they’re all alone - I mean after all that blasting off they probably know some basic first aid at least - He could stop the bleeding and then take her to a hospital with the hot air balloon - Cue that good ol’ “refusing to leave her bedside until she wakes up” cliché thing - But also imagine Jessie waking up in the hospital with James asleep next to her - Maybe even subconsciously holding her hand in his sleep - Because he was too worried about her and was probably talking to her before he ended up passing out from exhaustion

#separated into parts bc otherwise it would've been too much text #this baby is over 2000 words #and yes all of this was literally just one continuous conversation #and lemme tell you it was one of the best i've ever had #pokemon #team rocket #jessie and james #rocketshipping #kojimusa #headcanons #tr headcanons #mine

[elijah-hwcng]

𝒾'𝓂 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ｃｌｅａｒｅｒ/𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝓂𝓎 𝐻𝒜𝒩𝒟𝒮 ɴᴏᴡ

╰ ☀ ✧ ˖ jeon jungkook. cismale. he/him ‖ 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕦𝕝𝕥 (ɪᴛ ɪꜱ) ‖ have you seen elijah hwang at the beach recently? i remember them being so free-spirited, but they seemed a little neglectful today. it must be tough going through such hard times at only 22. even then, they still remind me of aerosol paint, over-sized hoodies, lipsticks stains on coffee mugs, and open upright pianos.

basics

name: elijah hwang

nicknames: ellie, lijah, el

age: 22

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: he prefers not to label it, but pansexual and demiromantic is probably the best description

tldr

he’s a sweet boy, doesn’t hurt people’s feelings intentionally, but he’s a little flirty, a bit of a heartbreaker. he’s great at turning on the charm but gets flustered very easily when it’s turned back on him.

has a twin brother, daniel. his bio (and their family background!) can be found here

growing up in the shadow of his twin, elijah often acts out rebelliously for attention (and maybe just to spite his perfect police officer brother a little bit)

despite that, he does care very deeply for daniel - after all, they came from the same egg or whatever - and isn’t great at expressing it, but daniel is probably the most important person in his life

tw: drug abuse, gang violence, death

got involved with the wrong crowd shortly after high school - the whole gang, drugs, ‘bad guy, duh’ kinda shebang. he was with this gang for years, getting quite the reputation and a lot of illegal money, tangled with the wrong kind of people and relationships

he traveled a lot, but when he heard daniel and his boyfriend had been jumped, it was a little too coincidental with the gang initiation he knew was happening in the same area - the very initiation he, himself, had approved of

he has never told daniel that he feels responsible for justin’s passing, but he was so filled with guilt that he has since left the gang, lost all his assets, and now works as a stripper to pay off his debts. he has never told daniel about the gang, but he says the debts are from drugs - which isn’t a total lie

(also he’s in a band and plays the keyboard)

bio

alright buckle up lads here comes the details

like i said, family history can be found in daniel’s bio (bc i’m lazy) but - since daniel was obviously their mother, stephanie’s, favourite, elijah often felt inferior and would act out for attention. i’m talking graffiti, being noisy in class, the whole shebang

his other mother, michelle, was obviously his favourite. equally doting to both her sons, elijah adores her and was often glued to her side as a kid. the only time he would obey the rules was when she asked him to listen - if stephanie asked, he would only rebel further

growing up, he and daniel were quite close, even if he did resent his brother for being - well - perfect - but how could he begrudge him for being successful?

elijah didn’t work hard in school - it wasn’t that he couldn’t get good grades, but more that he chose not to, getting grades only good enough that he could stay on the cheerleading squad

NOW LET’S LAY DOWN THE LAW. my mans might be cismale, but he LOVES pretty things. skirts, red lipstick, DANGLY EARRINGS? fam u got it. he loves that pretty shit. cheerleading squad made him wear pants for competitions n stuff but by senior year you know my boy is strutting the hallways in that little cheerleader skirt and pretty pink lipstick. call him a girl tho? he’ll punch u. or his twin will punch u. he’s a boy, thank you very much, and he doesn’t see why boys can’t enjoy pretty skirts and make up too without having to identify as a different gender.

he loves music and art - can play many instruments, and has played the piano since he was little. music and visual arts were the only subjects in school that he excelled in because he enjoyed it so much. he wanted to go to college and study them further, but his grades just weren’t high enough

so, fresh out of high school and not really knowing what to do with his life, elijah could see his brother figuring things out and heading off to the police academy while he... still didn’t know what to do

tw: drug abuse, gang violence, death

had a party phase, hitting up every club he could with his fake ID. it was only inevitable that soon enough he’d get into drugs and - well - with drugs and beautiful men and women, it wasn’t long before elijah found himself involved in a gang with heart eyes for a woman named melanie who showed him the ropes

his role was pretty standard - using his looks and charisma, he quickly became one of their best drug dealers, did a great job swindling thousands of dollars out of other gang leaders and sugar daddies and mommies alike

elijah wasn’t big in the violence side of things, more on the deception and drugs side of it, but he knew that the gang he was in had a lot of that going on. melanie assured him he wouldn’t have to ever kill anyone and she kept to that - although whether or not she did something like that wasn’t something he ever knew. the two of them traveled a lot together with the money he’d gain from their deals, and while they were never exclusive, it was potentially the closest thing to a real relationship he’d ever had

he was in italy when he got the news from daniel, and the timing was too coincidental with the report he’d received from the newest members of the gang. melanie told him he was overreacting - “that’s life, baby boy. your brother is just fine.” - and, seeing her so flippant about it, barely caring that his own brother had been attacked, it finally clicked that his rebellious thing had gone too far, and that this life wasn’t the one for him.

elijah took the first plane back to new york because he knew daniel needed him. the guilt was driving him insane - he knew it was his fault

cradling his broken brother to his chest, elijah made a vow to himself that he could never indirectly cause this to anybody else, but more importantly, that daniel could never, ever find out his involvement with the gang that took so much from him

for the sake of his brother, who he loves so much despite his struggles to show it, he decided to drop the gang, drop the drugs, and do his best to turn it all around

falling for melanie was both a blessing and a curse - if he hadn’t fallen, he probably wouldn’t have been so heavily involved in the gang, but because she had a soft spot for him, she managed to pull some strings and let him leave the gang alive

it cost him all of the illegal fortune he’d made over the years, however, and plunged him into a heavy debt to melanie, which is now why....

𝒴𝒜 𝐵𝒪𝐼 𝐼𝒮 𝐼𝒩 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒮𝒯𝑅𝐼𝒫𝒫𝐸𝑅 𝒮𝒬𝒰𝒜𝒟

since college still wasn’t an option, and now he had experience with using his looks and charisma to swindle money, elijah figured stripping wasn’t all too different

he knows his twin would give him the money if he told him he was in debt and in need of it, but to tell him, he’d have to admit of all the illegal activity he’d been involved in and admit to his role in justin’s passing - not to mention he knows daniel would have to throw him in jail if he knew that he’d been doing more a lot more than just drug dealing

instead, he tells his brother he strips because it’s fun and to get enough money to do an entrance exam and try out the whole college thing one day and that he has a slight debt from the drugs but he’s “almost done paying it”

as well as this, elijah is the keyboardist in the band killer nuns, and is happy to at least still be doing music

he still likes to wear pretty things, although he tends to prefer jeans these days, but will still wear pretty crop tops, dangly jewelery, and make up. if he feels like dressing up, out comes the silky skirts and dresses!

(and he still graffitis his art all over buildings illegally, but he knows his twin will bail him out every time)

wanted connections

first of all, if you made it this far, congrats! let’s get to business B)

roommate; ya boy is ,, broke . he can’t always meet the rent but he doesn’t mind paying your character back in less conventional ways. he would ask his twin for money, but he doesn’t want daniel to know he’s struggling financially (taken: isaac lee)

good influence; your character knows elijah is only rebellious because he feels attention-starved - with patience and affirmation, they remind him of his favourite mother and can often convince him to tone things down

partner-in-crime; this person is a free spirit, and the two of them get into all kinds of mischief, whether it’s spray painting a building or dabbling in those drugs he decided to leave behind (taken: isaac lee) (but -- would be open to ONE more partner in crime if u rly liked the sound of it uwu)

regular client; your character knows elijah is only flirty for the money, yet finds themselves coming back every time for another taste

tutor; look... my mans out here tryna get into college. he won’t admit it but he wants to make his brother proud. help a brutha out. tutor him so he doesn’t fail his entrance exams. pls. (taken: yeri song)

gym buddy; lmao a stripper gotta stay in shape somehow man

dress up buddy/platonic wifey; note: this is a connection specifically for a female character! there is ZERO sexual desire here despite the constant “when we’re 30, we’re gonna get married and make some babies” jokes and ocassional ass-grabbing. they’re comfortable af w each other. she helps him with his make up and they go shopping together and give each other cute little fashion shows in their new pretty clothes. she’s affectionately named ‘wifey’ in his contacts list and it’s not uncommon for elijah to give her a chaste kiss in greeting and say ‘honey, i’m home’. they’ve probaly considered hooking up before but figured things would be weird and that they’re better off as friends.

hook-ups; he’s demiromantic, so he’s not gonna get a crush easily, but  he likes sex and he likes pretty people so . have at him ;)

#bio #tsunamintro

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #133

“i closed my eyes and she slipped away.”

Do you wear a ring on your finger?  Yes, a friendship one with Sara. Do you expect to be married in the next two years?  There's a small chance I'd be engaged, but I doubt married. What is your favorite type of cookie?  Chocolate chip. Are you allergic to pollen?  I actually don't know if I am anymore??  So far this season, I haven't had any issues... Do you have more upper or lower body strength?  Lower like most females. Do you like hot tubs?  Yaaaaaas. Do you know anyone who is battling cancer?  Not currently, thank God. Have you ever donated money to a charity?  Yes. What was the last movie you’ve seen in theaters? Jumanji.  Excellent movie, so funny. Do you prefer Apple or Android?  Apple, but I have an Android currently. Do you like the color lime green?  Ye. Do you like the Silent Hill movies? First one's fantastic, second is a train wreck plot-wise.  I still like it, it's hard for me to not like something SH, but all things considered it's not a great movie. What movie scared you the most out of any other movies?  The only movie that's ever scared me is The Rite, but only because it played on a fear. Tell me something you’ve been made fun of for in the past.  Uhhhh... I'm sure there's something, but I can't remember. Do you support war?  Nope. Have you ever wanted to be on American Idol? When was this?  No. Do you like kissing lightly better than just making out?  No. You get a text from someone saying that they want to hang out - who would you most like it to be from?  Summer. Do you attend school, college, or university?  First I went to a community college, then a university. Name 5 things you don’t believe in.  1.) Destiny, 2.) Reincarnation (although I actually think it'd be quite cool...), 3.) Karma, 4.) Prayer actually affects anything (maybe), 5.) No free healthcare in America. If you could have any friend that you’ve lost back, who would you pick?  Megan. When was the last time you did something for the first time?  Listened to an audiobook. Do you have blinds in your bedroom?  Yes. When was the last time you had an interview? How did it go?  2016.  It went well, but I didn't get the job.  But now I look back and I'm glad lol. What was the most damaging relationship (romantic or not) that you’ve ever been a part of?  Jason. Who was the last person you cut out of your life? Do you regret it?  Colleen.  Nope. Who is the most attractive person you know personally? Not to be sappy, but the longer I date her, the more and more beautiful Sara becomes. Do you remember the first time you truly enjoyed sex? Or have you always?  He was good from the start. Have you ever done anything sexual in a car?  Maybe briefly make out while saying bye, but I dun remember for certain. What do you wish you had been better prepared for?  Adulthood. Do you know anyone with a semicolon tattoo?  Me. Who knows you best, excluding romantic partners?  My mom. The last news you got that shocked you, what was it, and was it good news or bad news?  My little sister may be developing depression.  Obviously awful news. If you have pets, who normally puts food and water in their dish?  Me or Mom. Do you organize the pictures on your computer into different folders or are they all just under “My Pictures”?  The latter. Do you think if someone is in a relationship, that it is acceptable to have sleepovers with other people of their preferred sex? Yes, so long you're not in the same bed. Would you shoot a gun if given the chance? If you’ve shot a gun before, how many different types of guns have you shot?  aajsfsjwoejieoqo NO. Do you feel uncomfortable sharing things like artwork or poetry you’ve written? Is it because you don’t think it’s good enough to show off or because it’s too personal?  OMFG YES I DON'T SHARE SHIT BECAUSE IT'S PERSONAL AND I GET EMBARRASSED TOO EASILY. For those who have anxiety, has anyone ever told you that you just need to calm down and actually face your fears? Were you insulted or frustrated by this comment? OH HI COLLEEN AND NO SHIT. Do you have any siblings you absolutely despise? Why do you despise them?  No. Do knives scare you? Is it from watching scary movies?  Yes, and no.  Their pain/torture capability is terrifying. Say lyrics from the song currently playing?  "It's more than a feeling, more than a feeling when I hear that old song they used to play." If you HAD to get a piercing (not ears) what would you get?  At this very moment, nose.  Once you can see my collarbones again, I'm getting them pierced. How many closets does your house have?
  Three. What has been your most epic cooking failure?
  Uhhhh maybe when I completely split a hot dog open in the microwave lmao. What was the last single item you spent over $100 on?
  A plane ticket. Have you ever climbed a chain-link fence?  Yes. What is your LEAST favorite Disney animated movie? I've never liked The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Who was the last person’s house you went to besides your own? Nicole and Allison's new place. Do you enjoy the birds' singing in the morning?  Yesssss<3 List these apple types from greatest to worst: green, red, yellow.  Red, yellow, green. On YouTube, who are two people you find hilarious?  GameGrumps are fucking hysterical, then one can probably guess Markiplier is an absolute hilarious goof to me. If you had to live in a palace, what would be the color scheme?  Black and pink because #aesthetic. Favorite dinosaur?  SPINOSAURUS. What is the best part of fall?  The colors. <3 Favorite style of hat? No fucking shame I love fedoras. How do you eat Oreos?  Split them apart to eat the center first.  Or dip them in milk.  Now I want Oreos. Name the first vine that you can think of. I cOuLd'Ve dRopPeD mY cRoIsSaNt. Beyonce vs Rihanna?  Beyonce is a Queen. What’s fake about you? Like extensions, fake nails, botox etc.  Hair color? Have you ever gotten into a Facebook fight?  Yup, with an ignorant woman regarding depression. What are your favorite smells? Lilac, honeysuckle, bakeries, coffee... Do you shave your pits?  Yes. Do you know anyone who has been on life support, and survived?  No. What light in your house was the last to have a bulb burn out?  Living room. Have you ever been in an abandoned house?  Yes. What is your favorite phase of the moon? Full. What season do you want to get married in?  Autumn. Besides the USA, what is your favorite country?  Maybe Scotland?  I wanna visittt. Would you rather go to Europe or Asia? Europe. Would you rather go to Africa or Australia?  Africa. Would you rather go to Mexico or Canada?  Canada. Are there such things as stupid questions?  Yes. Did you get in trouble for cussing on accident when you were a kid? Yes I literally yelled "HOLY SHIT" in the car lmao. What’s the highest you can count in a different language? 11 in German.  Don't remember 12... Where would you like to be buried?  I would rather be cremated and have a good bit of my ashes returned to the earth while my loved ones keep some. Do you think emo/scene hair is attractive? I'm fucking weak for that shit. Have you ever had yourself drawn in caricature?  No. Have you ever seen a ghost orb picture?  Yes. Do you think abortion should be illegal? No. How many keys are on your key-ring?  One. What are some piercings you want?  Collarbones, nose, TONS more in ears, maybe bellybutton once I'm a skinny legend again.  Maybe dermals in my lower back... maybe. Dogs or cats? Why?  Cats.  More chill, less maintenance. Do any of your pets have strange habits? Explain?  Teddy likes to dig and go in a thousand circles before lying down. Have you ever told an extremely inappropriate joke?  Lmao yes. What is your favorite non-traditional fruit? Pomegranate, probs. What's your favorite older film? The Outsiders. Aliens or unicorns?  Unicorns. Where did you meet your current or last significant other?  YouTube. Would you ever get a face tattoo? There's a small chance I'll get a small, red heart at the corner/below my left eye. If you asked your mom to describe you, what do you think she’d say? I've got a pretty good idea what she'd say: I'm very smart (yeah right, Mom), super creative, unique, and quiet. What is the one thing you'd most like to change about the world? LESS VIOLENCE. What are you most grateful for? My recovery, my girlfriend, my mom, my dad, my psychiatrist and therapist, my improving physical and mental health, my resilience... I have a lot to be grateful for. Who is the most interesting person you've ever met?  My Sara Jane. When do you love yourself most? When people tell me I help them. What would you most readily die for?  Sara. What single word do you hate most?  The "f" word regarding gays. Who in life have you felt the strongest need to protect? Sara. What would you most like to be remembered for after you die?  My mental endurance. What's the biggest surprise you've ever had in bed? Waking up because Jason was caressing my breasts. What is the most sacred thing in your life?  My mental health. Who have you most feared in your life? My dad.  Thank goodness that's not something I have to fear anymore. What was the quickest friendship you ever made? Maybe Priscilla. What single word would you use to most accurately describe your parents?  Dedicated. What is the worst word anyone ever used to describe you? A martyr, but not in the "I'll die for what I believe" way.

#survey #quiz #questions

[oedonretired]

super detailed questions about eli hawke (3/5)

aka “Dio lordVivek is still not existentially at 100% and wants to ramble about a beloved oc to the point of annoyance, part c”

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper? If you’ve never seen Elijah lose his temper, consider yourself immensely lucky. For the most part, he tries his best to keep it in check -- especially when it’s liable to do more harm than good, like in negotiations or when children are around. But there are some slavers, maleficarum, templars, and garden-variety assholes that have seen the wrath of Eli, and it wasn’t pretty. In fact, they can’t even testify about it, because they’re very dead.

Let’s put it this way: Ketojan doesn’t sometimes call Eli “Ataashi” for no good reason.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back? “Nug-humper” cracks him up. He doesn’t know why. It’s just... so ridiculous. All dwarven insults hit him right in the funny bone, which is why Varric uses so many of them around him. It infuriated Bartrand, though, because Eli couldn’t ever take his fits seriously. (When they got locked in the Deep Roads, Varric originally blamed Elijah for making Bartrand vengeful, lmao.)

But as far as actually insulting people, Eli doesn’t bother. Most people don’t deserve to be insulted, and those that do are probably also worth punishing in a more effective manner. He saves the insults for playing the Dozens with the gang at the Hanged Man. (He always loses, though. It’s hard to clown someone when you’re too busy losing your entire shit every time Sebastian slurs, “yer muth’r”.)

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces? He has a decent memory. Nothing remarkable. He’s sentimental, so most of his long-term memory is related to people he’s loved, lost, or both. If you want him to remember shit like Orlesian customs or what that particular Qunari insult means, it’s most likely a lost cause. (But that’s what Varric is for.)

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress? He sleeps like a starfish -- just all over the damn bed. It’s bad enough that he’s big, but he’s gotta sprawl out and shift around constantly, too. It pisses Fenris right off, lmao. Merrill is fine with it because they basically have boxing matches in their sleep (she’s a sleep-fighter) so neither can really complain about the other. Alain figured out the secret -- lay on top of Eli so he’s less likely to thrash about. (Be ready for the, um, consequences of that choice, though. Eli loves partner-on-top. Cough.)

The other secret is to put a baby next to him. Then he somehow magically settles into one of two positions: either flat on his back with the baby curled up at his side, or on his side in a sorta-fetal position with the baby curled up against his stomach. It’s... disgustingly adorable.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves? He finds the stupidest shit funny. Like double entendres, he loves those. And “Hawke stepped in the poopy” -- although to be fair, it’s mostly Fenris’ deadpan voice that makes that so funny. Either way, he couldn’t stop laughing for like ten minutes. It was embarrassing.

He doesn’t, however, find cruel humour funny. Like, the constant ribbing they all give each other is done with love, and that’s what makes it great. They also know what subjects are off-limits, and trust each other not to cross those lines. But outsiders hear it, and think that it’s carte blanche for them to say any old thing about Izzy’s boobs or Sebastian’s accent and then wonder why they’re spitting their bloody teeth into their hand a millisecond later. Not your family, bro.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions? Elijah’s very demonstrative in general -- so when he’s happy, he’s like a glowing beacon of euphoria. He’s boisterously affectionate, royally magnanimous, and is basically one tankard shy of skipping down the streets of Lowtown singing at the top of his lungs. But sometimes he’s quietly happy, too -- like when he wakes up and sees Fenris curled up next to him for the first time -- and then he kind of just vibrates with this loving, contented energy that rubs off on everyone (except grumpy people, like Fenris when he wakes up and sees Eli smiling all moony at him, snort).

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? Suffering makes him sad, and unjust situations he can’t fix, and death. He doesn’t always show it right away -- sometimes he doesn’t even register that he’s been affected. But he’ll be quieter, more serious; he’ll unconsciously seek Fenris’ or Sebastian’s (or whomever, you know the drill) touch; he’ll often try to leave wherever he is, get restless and touchy -- a flight response, basically. What really sucks is when rage wears off and he’s left with nothing to show for it but bodies. Then it’s like a crash of the highest order. Sometimes he does cry, then.

He’s a pretty open crier, he wasn’t ever shamed for being emotional as a child or anything so he’s not inclined to hide it. Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable, if they’re not used to it or don’t know what is expected of them (Fenris), but if you don’t mind two hundred seventy-five pounds of sad-sack draped around you, you can just hug him and rub his back. He likes that.

Sometimes he falls into depressions. This is gonna sound crazy, but sex usually helps in that case, or at least heaps and heaps of cuddles and kisses. It’s... the connection thing.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? His biggest fear is loss. Ever since Malcolm, he has carried this fear of losing the people he loves to things he can’t control -- things he can’t fight. He fights what he can, and fights for whom he can, but things like disease, age, the Blight... what is he, against such ceaseless and enduring enemies? 

Similarly, he also fears dying. You’d think he didn’t care, with some of the risks he takes, but they’re calculated risks even then. He knows what he’s capable of, and honestly, he’s capable of quite a bit. But he knows he’s going to die someday, either by the hands of violence or by the hands of time, and it’s like a steel vise around his heart every time he thinks about it.

He doesn’t know what happens. He believes in Daniel’s Maker, the one that speaks to Daniel and enables em to help Eli and help Kirkwall; but he doesn’t think that he’ll go to that Maker’s side when he dies. He doesn’t think he’s Fade-touched enough to wander the Fade at death (it doesn’t make sense to him that everyone goes to the Fade, he thinks it’s only some that are destined to become spirits). It’s the not-knowing that scares him. And what will happen to his family, to his friends, to all the things he’s done and all the tenuous peace he’s brokered? Blargh.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? Some fears he’ll tease about -- like how he and Merrill sometimes make fake spiders and put them in places Sebastian’s about to be in. But Sebastian lets them get away with it, so it’s all good. (After a while, he gets so used to it that sometimes he’ll see a real spider and think it’s one of Merrill’s toys and pointedly ignore it. Imagine his reaction when it starts moving.)

But he understands fear, so he’s sympathetic towards it. And he responds as the person wants him to respond. Fenris’ fear of intimacy is something he wants to work on with Eli, as painful as it is, and Eli makes himself available without pushing. Daniel’s fear of eir destiny is something that Daniel has to push through on eir own, and Eli stays out of it. And in any of these cases, if it seems like anyone else is pushing too hard, or unknowingly triggering someone’s fear, Eli attempts to put distance between them and the trigger as unobtrusively as possible.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out? Eli is very active, and gets most of his activity in doing things around Kirkwall, sparring with his fellow warrior friends, taking Fortinbras out on runs on the Wounded Coast, or having lots of sex. ...Hey, listen, that’s cardio, weight training, and flexibility training all rolled into one, so.

#about.elijah #ok break time