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kindheart525 · 1 year

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“Woo! Yeah!”

Rainbow Dash flew through the air, whooping with every flip and trick she performed as if she were beating some sort of record. Really, she was always at the top of her game, but now she had a new little fan to perform for.

“You like that, Ev?”

She called over to the tiny little colt, sitting on a cloud with his eyes wide in wonder. Her colt, Evergreen Blaze. The very sight of him made her heart swell in—well, what felt like pride, but this was different from the adoring cheers of thousands of Wonderbolt fans.

This was something special.

The colt started to whimper, clearly fixated on something within his sight.

“Yeah buddy? What is it?”

Evergreen clearly didn’t have the ability to explain himself, so he tried to tell her in the only way he knew how.

“Whoa there!”

Rainbow swooped in to catch him just as he launched himself off the cloud, his wings buzzing with all their might.

“You don’t have your wings quite yet! Soon though! You’re gonna learn early, like me. Just you wait.”

But Evergreen clearly had no interest in whatever his mom was saying, even as she held him. He had something else in his sights.

“Oh, the weather factory? You wanna see that? Not my radical flips?”

Eleven months of no flying and my kid doesn’t even think I’m cool?

Rainbow thought to herself, but she didn’t take it seriously. She couldn’t be mad at her boy even for a second.

He whined even louder, pointing to the distant structure and struggling to break free. So his mom let him take flight.

“Okay, we’ll go to that cloud over there!”

She pointed to a cloud a few yards away before swooping down under him, creating wind with her wings to lift him up.

“I got you, buddy! You’re doing awesome!”

Rainbow couldn’t help but laugh at his expression, the determined little face he made with his tongue stuck out.

“Flap as hard as you can, we’re almost there! You can be the wind in my wings too!”

The mother and baby made their final push until they got to the cloud and made their landing.

“Whoo! Good job, Ev, that was a long way!”

She looked back at the other cloud just a short ways away, knowing she was lying about the distance. He had done a great job for somepony who had only been out in the world for a few months, though.

Not too long ago Rainbow Dash would have found it super lame to be slowing herself down for a baby, but since Evergreen was born last winter, her outlook had changed. Her life was full of surprises—she never expected she’d be a mom at all, let alone by the stallion who was helping her career take off. It was crazy if she really thought about it.

But none of that mattered. She didn’t need to think about it. All she knew was that here and now, she had a little guy to look out for. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You wanna go for another fly? To that cloud over there?”

She pointed out another few yards, feeling excited for another trip through the skies, but Evergreen was intent on staying right where he was.

“Alright then. We can watch from here.”

Rainbow settled down beside him, chuckling as he cuddled into her feathers.

“I got you, Ev. I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Background by WaveCipher

Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark by BlackGryph0n

#thirdverse #KindsArt #my little pony #mlp fim #mlp g4 #next generation #rainbow dash #evergreen blaze #mother and son #baby pony #pegasus #before everything goes to shit

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reds-skull · 2 months

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BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So I wrote both this and the oneshot on the strike week, just had to add the quotes and polish them a bit before posting :)

This chapter's name is "Wont of Devils"

[Wont means habit, didn't know that before looking it up]

Page 15 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 6:

What shall I call you, the Blind Man once asks,

A Beast is all I know, the creature answers,

Yet the man urges, heart yet sated,

It is but what people past have named you,

A Beast is all I know, the monster answers,

The Blind Man quiets, so a Beast speaks,

I shall name you anew, not with words,

But with deeds,

How would one do so, the Beast queries,

The Blind Man finds his answer,

With terrible mercy,

With ferocious will,

To not stand on a path paved, but to carve,

Mark yourself with actions yet to come.

Yet again, Soap rejects the easy way out. He can feel Ghost’s gaze prickle his nape.

He wonders, what the soldier thinks of him now. Ghost agreed with his past actions, in a way not many did… and when he told him of Price and Lieutenant Riley, Soap could swear he saw something different in his eyes…

Almost like a light ignited behind them.

Soap turns around to look at Ghost. Somehow, he can still see some of that light, muted within his dark brown eyes. He shakes away those thoughts - he’s not here to befriend the criminal. They have a job to do.

“We should move. Not gonna find anyone to grab around here.” he moves past Ghost, and past his damn absorbing eyes. He hears the man trail him.

Soap steps around the many corpses Ghost left behind (all with one clean slit in their throat - efficiently and expertly killed), “what intel do you have on the Hunter?”

Ghost lets out a huff, “practically nothing. They’re more thorough than me, don’t think anyone alive has seen their face.”

“Nationality?”

Ghost shakes his head, “unknown. Never talked to me, had a communicator relay information for them.”

“A communicator… think they’re the ones on comms as well?”

“Know they are.” Ghost murmurs, “recognized their voice. They were there when the fucker poisoned me.”

Soap watches Ghost’s leg shaking again, sees how his arm loosens its grip on his knife. “Most of the soldiers runnin’ around here won’t know where the commander is, most likely. But I bet the communicator would…”

The radios of multiple dead soldiers crackle up, a tinny voice demanding a status report. Soap is struck by an idea, and leans down to unclasp the comms from one body.

“-have you located the Brits?”

“Affirmative.” Soap grunts, donning on a more American accent, half smirking when Ghost’s head whips around to stare at him, “one soldier, unconscious. Should we bring ‘em to you, sir?”

The communicator instantly replies, “unconscious? If you haven’t roughed him up too much, get him to the abandoned water tower over east. I’ll deal with him personally.”

Soap smiles, answering easily, “copy that, sir.”, and clicking off the radio.

Ghost’s eyes are slightly wider than usual, and Soap takes it as a win that he managed to take the man by surprise, “well? What are ye waitin’ fer? Let’s get teh the water tower.” he lets out with a heavy Scottish accent.

The Brit shakes his head, huffing an almost-laugh, “after you, Sergeant.”

Something odd bubbles up Soap’s chest, while he and Ghost make their way to a vehicle. He never cared much for the approval of his COs, something that was probably detrimental to his career in the end, but…

He doesn’t finish the thought. Despite how, over the day, he started seeing the man hiding behind the skull mask, that man still betrayed him. Ghost is an enemy of the 141, not someone to be trusted.

Soap had seen men do unspeakable things in the past. You don’t need to be a monster to be evil.

The drive to the water tower is quiet. Soap occasionally glances at Ghost, watching his limbs spasm every once in a while. Ghost catches him, and from then on tries to suppress his muscles, which only makes the rest of his body shake with exertion.

Soap thrums his fingers on the steering wheel, brows furrowed. He’s not been trained on interrogation tactics since his unit was forced on a course for that, and even that knowledge was rusty before he got discharged. He opens his mouth to ask Ghost about it when the man beats him to it.

“I needed to go to the doctor for my inability to navigate roads.” he mutters through clenched teeth.

Soap tilts his head, “...what?”

“Turns out I just needed directions.”

Was that… is he…?

He groans, “not my strongest one, I know.”

Soap turns his head to stare at Ghost, “... that was the worst pun I’ve ever heard.” the fuck is he quoting dad jokes for all of a sudden??

Ghost’s eyes crescent with hidden mirth, “I’d like to hear you-shit- hear you do b’tter.” his right arm started shaking too, Soap notes. The poison is started to spread there…

Oh. He’s… distracting himself.

“...A drill Sergeant once told me, ‘I didn’t see ye at camouflage training this morning, Private.’” Soap slowly says.

Ghost hums, the shaking going from his shoulders right down to his fingertips.

Soap continues, “Ah told him ‘well, thank ye very much, sir.’”

Ghost closes his eyes behind the mask, leaning his head back on the headrest, “not bad. What do you get when you drop a piano on an army officer?”

“Tell me.”

The Brit’s leg kicks uncontrollably, “a f-flat major.”

Soap couldn’t stop his chuckle, “alright, I’ll give ye that one.”

“We could do this all day.” Ghost murmurs, the convulsing recedes and his limbs finally relax.

His brown eyes open to stare at him.

Soap averts his eyes, “that’s what I’m afraid of…”

Soap thanks every god he could name for the tinted windows their stolen truck has, making it so when a soldier passes them by, he just drives away.

The water tower is a large, domed structure, which was once white but over the years lost most of the paint job. Soap spots a man overwatching the makeshift base underneath him. Must be their target.

He rolls the truck to a stop near the staircase, hopping out and taking cover behind a stack of crates. Ghost soundlessly joins him, surveying the area.

“Only way up is through the stairs…” Soap says half to himself. The stairs wrap around the outside of the tower, leaving whoever climbs them completely exposed for the entire way.

Ghost grumbles, “we’ll need to look convincing only from afar.” He lowers to a tighter crouch, “get on, Soap.”

Soap blinks, “huh??”

“You told ‘em you captured an enemy. One of us needs to act as the captive, and the other needs to carry them up.” Ghost looks him up and down, “and not only you don’t look like a Hunter’s soldier, frankly I don’t think you’ll be able to carry me for that long.”

Soap tenses, wanting to argue back but finding no holes in Ghost’s argument. He steps closer to the masked man, awkwardly draping himself over his shoulders so he could lift him in a fireman carry.

“Jus’ so ye know, I would’ve hauled ye easily.”

Ghost rises up effortlessly, and Soap feels his gloved hands securing his hands and feet, “I’m sure you would, Soap.” He starts up the stairs, “hope your acting is as good as your Yankee accent.”

“Ye ordering me to play dead?”

“No, just knocked out.”

Soap rolls his eyes, “Ah don’t have to follow ‘em, ye know-”

Ghost pulls on his boot lightly, “sleeping people don’t talk, Johnny.”

His mouth snaps shut. Soap closes his eyes, leaving him with only one thing to focus. That being Ghost, the warmth exuding from him, the hold he has on Soap, and his words.

He never lets people call him “Johnny”. As a kid, he found it patronizing, and as he got older the feeling only got stronger. The only ones that won’t be in danger of getting punched for it would be his family, but that doesn’t mean he likes it even from them.

After being dishonorably discharged, he had to go back to being “John”. Over the many months in the civilian world, he grew to hate that name, grew to despise being reduced to that weak, pathetic mess.

And yet, when Ghost called him that, low and gravelly, deep Manchurian accent rounding the syllables…

Soap would have to lie to himself to say he truly hated that.

Ghost leans him against a wall when they reach the top, motioning him to stay still while a soldier comes to question them. The Brit waits until the unsuspecting soldier rounds the corner, and in a flash slices his throat and catches his falling body. He drops the dead man off (with much less care than he gave to Soap), and inspects the walkway ahead.

“Clear. Rise and shine, Soap.”

Soap doesn’t get up instantly, opting to search the body and take a few garments. Specifically, the bulletproof vest marked with the Hunter’s blood-red insignia of a skull, and the black face mask covering the soldier’s nose and mouth.

Ghost nods in approval, cleaning the bloody knife off on his pants and tucking it back in place. They both lower to sneak quietly towards the front of the water tower, where a small control room is built up against the dome.

The walkway is dead silent, and Ghost grabs the handle, lifts a hand to motion Soap to be ready on 3, and slams the door open.

The communicator inside startles, hand reaching for his weapon. Soap rushes forward, tackling the man before he could lay a finger on the metal.

“Who the fuck-” the communicator snarls, before his eyes widen so much Soap fears they’ll pop out of his skull. Ghost slinks out of the shadows, a blade twirling in his hand.

The man underneath him trembles in panic, “Ghost…”

The Brit looks down at him, “tie ‘im up.”

Soap grabs the radio off the man’s shoulder, letting it clatter to the floor, and yanks him up to the office chair besides the desk. He finds zip ties scattered among the gear on the table, and makes quick work of securing the communicator to the chair. The man struggles, but Soap roughly binds his arms and legs to the chair.

Ghost shuts the door, slowly stepping closer to the communicator, “we need the location of the Hunter. You are going to give it to us.”

The man spits, “fuck you. You can go shove your damn knife up your-”

Ghost stops his rambling by taking his jaw and shutting it, “I said”, he drags the knife down his throat, “you’re going to give it to us…” he presses the blade to the pale skin, letting beads of blood roll down the man’s neck, “by force, if necessary.”

The communicator tries to back away from Ghost, but Soap takes his shoulders and straightens him.

He lets himself soak in the anger and fury that fuelled him for the past several days. This man, along with the Hunter, are the ones responsible for the destruction that befell on the city. They’re the creators of orphans, the destroyers of homes, the instigators of unjust pain.

Soap growls at the communicator’s ear, “we killed the guard. No one will hear you scream from up ‘ere. I suggest you start talkin’.”

The man doesn’t look at him, his stare pinned on Ghost’s knife, now shining with deep red blood. Soap thinks the communicator’s voice is far less confident than he wants it to be when he snarls, “I don’t know where they are!”

Soap pushes his nape to face him, “bullshite.”

The man’s eyes flicker between his, confusion overtaking his dread for a moment, “who the fuck are you?!”

“He’s with me.” Ghost grounds, pressing the tip of the blade to the man’s groin, “and you better stop asking questions and start giving answers, otherwise I might decide to not leave you with a working pair.”

The chair rattles with the force of the communicator’s struggling, “I don’t know! I don’t know-!”

Ghost slides the knife off the man, only to sink it into his thigh. The communicator opens his mouth to shout, but Soap clasps a hand over it to silence it.

“Wrong answer, mate.” Ghost’s voice lacks any of the deep roundness it had when he was calling him ‘Johnny’. Instead, it is sharp and cold, so much so that even Soap has to suppress a shiver.

The knife is pulled out of the flesh, a dripping sound joining the muffled screams of pain. Ghost moves the knife up, positioning it over the man’s shoulder.

“Where is your commander hiding?”

Soap feels the communicator’s head shaking, his eyes squeezed shut.

Ghost doesn’t bat an eye, driving the knife slowly into his shoulder.

Soap has to bite his tongue at the sounds the communicator makes. He has interrogated before, seen a lot worse than this, but the way Ghost looks almost disinterested, completely unaffected by the man, emotionless and methodical…

He doesn’t remind him of a beast, or a monster, at this moment.

No, Ghost is a weapon. A serrated edge, a rusted knife.

A cruel blade.

“Stop!!! Please stop!!!!!”

Ghost wipes his blade on the man’s ruined shirt, “all you have to do is answer. You decide when it stops.”

The communicator gasps for air, tear tracks and snot running down his blotchy face, “I can’t! They’ll kill me, m-my family!!!”

Ghost slashes his chest again, ignoring the man’s pleas.

This is taking too long. Soap has moved to the door, keeping watch over the stairs for any investigating soldiers. So far, the coast has been clear, but they’re not exactly working with unlimited time here.

“You’ll die either way.” Ghost says apathetically, “you can die quick, or I can keep chipping away at you. And believe me.” Ghost flicks some blood off to the marred floor, “I know how to keep you alive to feel it all.”

“Please-!!!”

Ghost lifts his hand to swing at the communicator again, when his arm seizes up. Soap hears the knife clatter to the ground, Ghost soon following.

“Hrgh… fuck…” the Brit growls, his limbs convulsing uncontrollably. Soap crouches down to help him when he hears a wheezing laugh.

The communicator, tears still in his eyes, heaves a gurgling chuckle, “I almost started worrying you were immune to it.” he says between laughter, “the Ghost, brought to his knees. How I wish the Hunter was here to see this!”

“I’ll still fuckin’- fucking hell…” Ghost’s jaw is clenched, the words barely getting out. Soap drags him up to lean against a wall.

He’s fed up with the communicator’s laughter quickly enough, and stomps over to grab him by his short hair and pull his gleeful face towards him.

“I think ye forget I’m still here, you bastard. Tell us where yer boss is!”

The man winces at Soap’s handling, but his eyes are still curved in mirth, “why do you care?” he asks with a smile, “do you even know who’s your partner over there?”

Soap feels his anger overflowing, “I care because you’re here, massacring innocent people like they’re fuckin’ animals! Where the fuck is the Hunter?!”

“We did it to frame him”, the man nods to Ghost’s shaking form, “someone needed to take the Ghost down.”

…What? Some part of Soap shouts that it doesn’t matter. Another tells him he shouldn’t care what Ghost has done to warrant that.

A third, loud voice, commends him to dig further.

“Why?” Soap asks lowly, and Ghost groans behind him, clothes rustling as he tries to get up.

The communicator barks a short laugh, “why?! He’s a fuckin’ merc, buddy! Doesn’t care who pays, as long as they pay good! Do you know how many politicians this guy killed?! High ranking officers?!! He could topple countries, He survived the worst of the worst, cheated death himself!”

Ghost’s movements stop.

The communicator’s mouth curls into a sharp smile, “didn’t you, Simon Riley?”

Soap takes a step back, eyes wide in shock. That’s- Ghost is-?!

A knife wheezes past him, barely missing his ear before burying into the communicator’s right eye. The man’s cheerful expression lasts for a second longer, before his features slack and his head hangs down, lifeless.

Soap stares at the corpse, breath halted. He turns around slowly, stare sliding over Ghost’s extended arm.

“What… the fuck… did you do?”

Simon’s eyes don’t meet his.

Page 19 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 7:

There are many Beasts, who roam the blessed land,

Many creatures who one, who wishes for his fellow men well,

Must slay with no remorse.

It is why a hunter, a man such as myself,

Must take a heavy blade, and bury it within the monster.

Yet you, Blind Man,

You protect this evil?

The Blind Man answers, this is no beast,