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#to shoot one’s shot

moonstruckme · 2 months

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Hi!! Could you do a Bodyguard!James Potter x reader where he is guarding her during a high profile event and something happens? With a bit of angst to fluff? If you’re comfortable of course! I hope you have a wonderful day, i’m new to your page and ADORED your bodyguard james. <3

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: guns, shooting

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You shift your stance a bit and have to bite down on a whimper.

“I’m going to have to throw these shoes out after this,” you mutter to James. “I’m pretty sure there’s blood pooling around my toes.”

“You wanna take them off?” he murmurs back, lips barely moving as he keeps his face in a mask of businesslike impassivity.

You sigh. “I wish.”

“You could. Just step out of them, no one’s looking over here.”

It’s true. Every camera in the chamber is pointed to where your mom stands on the podium, her right hand raised as she takes her oath. As much as you hate coming to these things, you can’t ignore the kernel of pride shining behind your sternum. She’s waited so long for this day, dealt with so much opposition, and now she’s finally going to be able to enact some real change. You can keep up appearances for her.

“I’d better not risk it,” you tell James. “With my luck, the second I do—”

You’re on the ground before you even register the sound of glass shattering. James’ grip on your shoulder is harsh, almost painful, but the noise that follows has enough adrenaline spiking your bloodstream to forget about that. The loud, rapid popping of gunfire fills the chamber.

James’ hand moves to clasp around your elbow, but you tear away from him, headed in the opposite direction. The podium is empty. Where’s your mom? Did they get her already? Is she hurt? Did she—

You’re not fast enough to outpace James, definitely not limping around in your heels, and he gets an arm around your waist, hauling you away from the center aisle. You can’t tell where the gunfire is coming from—who has the guns?—but he pushes your head down before you can look. A low buzzing burrows into your ears. You try again to go to where you last saw your mom, but James yanks you back to his side, a cutting “Stop” hissing past his lips. Any other time, a tone like that would have you stilling like a frightened bunny, but you know he’s not the danger here.

When you don’t listen, he lifts you off the ground. The crowd is swarming, frantic and disorganized, but James maneuvers through it expertly, running down the hall until he finds an unlocked door. The bathroom door swings open for you, and James sets you down quickly, locking it before you have a second to recover.

You lunge for the door anyway, only for twin bands to wrap around your middle. They pin your arms to your sides and press you securely to James’ front.

“Stop. Stop it.” His tone is as hard as his grip, dispassionate to your struggling. “You cannot fight me when you’re in danger, understand?”

“They’re not here for me,” you plead. Your voice is scratchy with desperation.

“No, but I am. I’m here for you.” His hold tightens, but now it’s less a restraint than a comfort. You can feel his heavy breaths tickling past your ear. “Your mom has her own detail, okay? She made it out before we did, they probably have her somewhere safe.”

Now you can hear your breathing too. Short, stilted pants that wheeze in and out of you. You think you might be shaking.

“That’s enough,” James says gently, starting to lower you both to the ground. Your knees give easily, relinquishing your weight to his hold until he settles you both on the tiled floor. “That’s enough, alright? Can I let you go now?”

You’re not sure you want him to anymore, but you nod. He slips out from behind you, checking the lock on the bathroom door and then removing his gun from the holster at his hip. The sight of it makes your trembling worsen. He checks something with it while murmuring to the people on the other end of his earpiece, convoluted jargon you’ve long since ceased paying attention to.

“She’s fine,” he says after a minute. “Your mom. They got her into an office, and now we’re all just waiting for security to clear the building before we can go.”

You drop your head to your knees, relief like a tidal wave washing over you. You hear James’ footsteps move back toward you before his big hand lands on your head. It smooths down your hair as he squats next to you. When you glance at his gun balanced on his knee, he catches the look.

“I have to keep this out for now,” he says, looking you in your eyes like he’s making a promise, “but the safety’s staying on unless someone tries to come in here. Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, still trying to get your breathing under control.

James strokes your head again, his touch weighty and reassuring. The noise outside of the bathroom seems to be lessening, but you’re not sure how much sound is blocked by the door. There could be shooting still happening just past it, people hurt or dying in the halls.

“I’m sorry for fighting you so hard,” you say quietly.

James blows out a breath. “I get it,” he admits. “In those situations, it’s natural to freak out and head toward the person you want to keep safe.” He flashes you a little smile. “I’m lucky it’s already my job to do that.” You grimace back, but his expression grows serious again when he says, “You just have to keep your head, though, you know? The whole reason you and your mom have protection is to make sure someone else is already looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about her, you just need to trust me.”

You look at him. His body is still taut, ready for a fight if one comes to him, but his expression is gentle. It’s easy to forget it’s his job to take care of you when he seems to do it so naturally. Caring emanates from James like it’s the core component of his soul.

“I do trust you,” you tell him.

His mouth slants, expression unbearably fond. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll work on those instincts, okay? I get that it’s not an easy adjustment to make.”

“Have you ever had to do that? Run away from the person you cared about the most?”

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m lucky. I always get to run towards you.”

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theresamouseinmyhouse · 3 months

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tbh i do get a little bothered by the notion that tim took the first shot he had to drop out of school because he hated school and didnt wanna do it and all of that bc i feel like it ignores the probably very important context that he dropped out after his dad (as well as steph-or at least, he was led to believe, in the same week) died, also he was in a school shooting. He did attempt to go to a school in bludhaven but the kids there were so wildly insensitive about the shooting that tim dropped out under the pretense of his "uncle" homeschooling him. In his oyl era, he /did/ go back to school, and it provided him some form of normalcy. Tim was a normal kid, he wasnt crazy about school but he still went to school and it helped him feel like a normal kid, something he desperately clung to. He only dropped out again to do his Brucequest, in an era where he was notably Not Doing Well (which. Yeah. he wasnt doing well bc he was like 17 and almost everyone in his support system was dead, he recently had hits put out on him, got blown up, and backstabbed by his not-dead-ex, he couldnt support his theory that bruce was alive and was extremely stressed about that, and he didnt know wtf he was doing. I love him btw.) Basically tim dropping out of school was a signifier that he wasnt doing well and he was giving up on the normality that he tried to cling to and im a bit of a nitpicky person who gets irked by minor things

#robin 1993 #tim drake #red robin 2009 #rambles #Tim Drake wanted to cling to the idea of normal #Including going to school #School shooting mention #Tbh if all the shit that happened to tim happened to me id probably also drop out???#Like his sorta friend philmont got murdered at school #His friend darla got shot and he gave her corpse cpr (dw she came back as laura fell)#There was that one kid at brentwood who overdosed in meth i think that tim tried to save and couldnt #dc #Just things that i get bothered by a little bit????#This isnt crit aimed at anyone i literally just had too many thoughts and they had to escape #Tim Drake my beloved

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antianakin · 1 year

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TOTJ: The other Jedi all died because they didn't have Anakin's super special clone blocking endurance training he gave Ahsoka.

TCW: Rex is able to hesitate for about 10 seconds extra after he gets the order, which allows him to give Ahsoka a warning before anyone starts shooting that literally no other Jedi is able to have. This also has the double effect of giving Ahsoka access to information that allows her to know she can reclaim Rex as an ally if she can just remove the chip somehow, something no other Jedi is able to have.

#totj #tales of the jedi #ahsoka tano #the clone wars #tcw #captain rex #totj spoilers #tales of the jedi spoilers #literally most of the jedi are shot at within like 5 seconds of the clones getting the order IF THAT which means they have no time to react #THAT'S why they die #ahsoka gets a very handy warning and 10 extra seconds of no one shooting at her to figure out what's going on #she can see rex struggling #she can tell he's being controlled but that he can't hold on forever and WILL eventually start shooting #which is essential knowledge for her ability to not get shot immediately #if rex hadn't been able to hesitate the way he does #ahsoka would've been shot to death on that bridge just the same as everyone else

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apollos-boyfriend · 1 year

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i’m not even that big into cinematography but marble hornets is THE exception for me because it’s genuinely just so impressive at times. because of its structure and how everything is shot in tapes basically all of it is straight, unedited shots. so you have anywhere between like 2 to 10 minutes of a continuous, unbroken take, and that’s SO fucking impressive. because even other works like unfriended who claimed to be “shot in one take” utilized different takes/clips, and used camera glitches to cut everything together, but marble hornets doesn’t. it’s just straight footage that must’ve been reshot dozens if not hundreds of times for all the correct camera framings, line deliveries, prop works, etc, and that’s just so fucking cool to me. indie creators just do it better!!!

#icarus speaks #and i ofc mean unedited just in the sense that it’s one shot #not multiple spliced together clips #don’t worry i know they are all HEAVILY edited #slenderman himself didn’t show up to shoots #or maybe he did idk his life #but yeah. very good series :]

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bingoboingobongo · 1 year

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the right thing to do (i)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff

Summary: You’ve become a distraction to Ghost, and so he’s started keeping his distance for the sake of the team. But when a mission goes awry, he finds himself stuck with you.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of/allusions to sex, brief mention of dacryphilia, brief mention of blowjobs, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, ngl i’m actually really proud of this fic, like deadass this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of starbucks. anyways i was thinking of including smut in this but changed my mind bc that shit’s hard to write so it’s pretty pg-13. i plan on making this a bit of a series (with smut hopefully) so while this chapter is gender neutral now (i think, don’t quote me tho) in the future the reader will be written as a girl. as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated, enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

It wasn’t right for Ghost to be paying you as much attention as he was. It felt right, and he wanted it to be right, but that didn’t mean it was. What was right was what kept the most people safe. What was right was what kept the most people alive. Usually that was what Ghost did. Ghost did what kept most people safe. He did what kept the most people alive. The problem, however, was that doing the right thing and indulging in his feelings for you were two diametrically opposing things. Indulging in his feelings — indulging in you — was wrong.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with you; there could never be anything wrong with you in his eyes. How could there be, when he was seeing you through rose colored glasses? Although in his case, he supposed, they were more dark red than rose. Trivialities aside though, the real problem wasn’t anything that you were doing, it was what he wasn’t doing.

He wasn’t peering around every corner anymore. He wasn’t focusing on covering his tracks as well as he should. He wasn’t triple checking every piece of intel the task force got their hands on. He tried to, he really did, but with a thousand thoughts running at a hundred miles per hour — and a large majority of them having to do with you — it was only expected that a few things slip through the cracks.

For the most part, nothing too bad had happened as a result of his carelessness. A few scrapes and maybe one-too-many close calls, but nothing that would have gotten anyone in trouble. Maybe, if he weren’t a lieutenant or if he were in a completely different field, he would’ve been content to let it slide. But as corny as it sounded, he was part of a team, and he wasn’t going to let more people get hurt on his watch. Not again.

So for the safety of the team, Ghost started avoiding you. It always hurt him to push past you in the hallways, ignoring your little attempts at small talk; or to use Gaz as an example for takedown demonstrations, when in reality all he wanted was to be able to savor the warmth of your skin, even if it was with you pinned under him. Although, if he were being honest, he wasn’t opposed to pinning you down in other contexts. But as much as he hurt, he knew he had to do it. It wasn’t fair to you or the rest of the team if he wasn’t at his full capacity at all times.

He had made that decision two weeks ago, and it was already starting to get to him. Sleep was harder to get by, he was snapping at his teammates more, and when he rubbed the eyeblack off, it was only replaced by the sunken shadows under his eyes. He missed you too. Missed the way you would always offer him a bite of your food during dinner even though he would never eat it; missed the way you would always shoulder him to get his attention while you were walking to the training room, your hands in your pockets as you began telling him about something you had read the night before; missed the way you would grip onto his arm and try to goad him into taking off the mask or telling you what he looked like. Always the utilitarian though, he shouldered the problems in stride. They were nothing, he told himself, he had been through worse and he would go through worse. That was just how it was in the military. Besides, Laswell had just told them about a new mission, and a new mission meant new problems and new distractions.

It had gone fine in the beginning, but after a certain point everything started going to shit. On paper, their mission was simple; extract Krasimir Zhelyazkov, an arms and ammunition dealer with the Bulgarian mob who had allegedly dealt with one of Makarov’s right hand men, Demyan Solovev. Zhelyazkov would take them to Solovev, and Solovev would take them to Makarov. Simple. Of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to war.

For one, Bulgaria in the middle of winter was cold, and with cold came snow and ice and wind. And of course, with snow and ice and wind came slippage and extra gear and low visibility. Ghost had been worried about the weather going into it; while all the members of the 141 had training in multiple environments, it was never easy going into a fight with snowfall as thick as blanks in a lottery.

The other problem was Zhelyazkov. While Ghost and Laswell both confirmed the validity of the intel they had received, there was no guarantee that Zhelyazkov would turn. Makarov was an intimidating man, and the stories of what he did to snitches were not pleasant. Either way, Zhelyazkov was unlikely to make it out alive, Ghost just had to make sure he got the information out of him before he died.

And of course, the other problem — which Ghost admitted was not unique to this mission but was still a problem just the same — was you. Even though he had tried to put distance between the two of you, he couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance in your direction every once in a while, just to admire the way your breath condensed in the frigid air or how you scrunched up your nose as if to make sure it was still there.

Ghost knew about these problems before they happened, and so he prepared for them. Worried about slipping on the snow covered ground? Request boots with better traction. Worried about Zhelyazkov not snitching? Get his family involved; it was unethical, yes, but if it was what it took to get the information then so be it. And you. Ghost knew he couldn’t afford spending anymore time eyeing you in the field, so he only increased the distance between the two of you.

Typically, if a target heard that someone was coming for them, they tucked their tail into their legs and ran — usually to a foreign country or some sort of island. But with Zhelyazkov, there was nothing to tip the 141 that anything was amiss; no sudden airplane rides, no sudden stoppage of shipments, nothing. Zhelyazkov kept living and doing business as he always had, seemingly unaware of the intel the 141 had on him.

Which is why when they approached Zhelyazkov’s compound, they expected it to be an easy takedown. In order to save personnel and to preserve stealth, the task force only sent one team out. For this particular mission, the team included Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and of course, you. Ghost was conflicted about your inclusion on the team; on one hand, you were a valuable asset to the mission, but on the other hand, seeing the way you rubbed your hands together for heat in the cabin of the helicopter filled him with an aching urge to reach out for you and was an obvious distraction that impacted his ability to protect his team. In the end though, he couldn’t hold his inability to focus over you and besides, you had experience from your time before the 141 working in similar conditions, not to mention the general tactical expertise you brought to the table.

The mission had started like any other routine extraction would. A chopper flew the five of you to a forest on the edge of the compound, the thick snowfall helping to cover you. Once on the ground, Price did a quick headcount to make sure everyone had landed alright, before readjusting his rifle and leading the group forward. The five of you traveled in a line, with Price at the head and Ghost at the rear. You were positioned behind Price, but even with Soap and Gaz in front of him, Ghost was still acutely aware of every step you took.

At the moment, it seemed as if there was nothing to worry about. The snowfall was heavy of course, but not too heavy that it hampered the team and besides, it covered their tracks and kept them hidden. At least it should have.

The sudden shower of gunfire actually wasn’t the first thing that tipped Ghost off that something was wrong. It had been their radios. Laswell had told them she would be checking in on them after they landed, but five minutes had already passed with no sign of communication. At this point, they had left the forest and Ghost tried calling in, but to no avail. His radio provided nothing but crackly static, buzzing and impatient. He knew something was wrong and he tried to call for Price, but that was when hell started raining down on them.

The thing about gunfire is that you could actually see the shot happen before you heard it. It had always been an odd phenomenon to Ghost, the slight delay between sight and audio. For a brief moment, Ghost watched the snowy skies in front of him become aglow with a barrage of flashing lights. In a weird sense, it was dreamlike. Mesmerizing. And then the sound hit him. Even with earmuffs on, the gunfire was deafeningly loud. It was like watching a fireworks display, except the pops were louder, harsher, and there would be no delighted children looking up at the air in awe.

He tried screaming at the others to take cover, but the combination of winter winds and cracking bullets was hard to cut through. Somewhere to his right, he heard Price yelling, but his words were constantly interrupted by the enemy’s fire. Ghost tried looking for the others, but suddenly the snow was too thick, the bullets too loud, his teammates too far away. He did the only thing he could: run to the treeline for cover.

Between the sheer magnitude of bullets being aimed at them, the time Ghost spent looking for his team, and the time it took him to get to the treeline, Ghost had taken more than a few hits. Nothing detrimental, thankfully, but he could feel the familiar sting of a bullet that brushed him a little too close than he would have liked. He keeled over against a tree, listening as bullets flew past his face or struck the thick wood behind him. He tried using his radio again but it was no use; he couldn’t get a signal.

He tried to turn around, but the gunfire was too constant. He couldn’t get a clear look. He swallowed down an unceremonious groan as he considered the situation. Returning fire was an option, of course, but not a smart one. Considering his lack of a decent vantage point and the fact that he couldn’t even clearly see where the shots were coming from, even the best sniper on the force — which was him — wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot. Besides, he only had so much ammo on him, and if the attack was coming from Zhelyazkov, which he assumed it was, then he was seriously outmatched in terms of equipment. The man was an ammunition dealer, for Christ’s sake, if he couldn’t shoot Ghost, he could certainly keep him waiting long enough for hypothermia to set in.

“Shit, Ghost!” he heard from his right. He turned to look, and there you were, sitting with your back against a tree and your rifle in your hands. He was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of you, before cursing himself under his breath. He was in the middle of being fired at, why was he letting you distract him? “Where’s everyone else?” you cried, your voice barely carrying over the roar of bullets.

“Safe, hopefully,” he yelled, “I didn’t see where they went.” He watched you shake your head, you were probably cursing to yourself right now.

“Did you see who was with Zhelyazkov?”

“There was someone with Zhelyazkov?”

“Not just someone,” you yelled, looking at him grimly, “Fishers.”

Ghost turned away from you, leaning his head against the tree. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, before turning to look at you again. “You sure?”

You didn’t say anything in response, only giving him a grave nod.

“God damn it,” he muttered. “Well, we don’t have time to worry about that, understand? Right now we just have to get somewhere safe.”

You nodded again, turning back to look at the source of the fire. “Most of the fire is coming from an MG3,” you called out, “they’ll have to change the barrel soon, we can move then.”

Ghost nodded at you, briefly looking back as well. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began to die down and the two of you moved from your positions in the trees, running further into the forest. But whoever was operating the gun was well-trained, and it didn’t take long for them to replace the barrel of the gun and restart the fire. Ghost ducked behind another tree, his eyes watching you do the same as he took a breath.

That was the only way the two of you could move for a long time. Waiting for what felt like painstakingly long minutes for the barrel to have to be changed, just to be able to run maybe a few yards before the spray of bullets picked up again and you had to take cover. It was a painstakingly slow process, and throughout all of it, Ghost couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t get to cover in time, and he would have to watch as you died in front of him. He also couldn’t stop worrying about the rest of the team. It concerned him that you were here but Price, Gaz, and Soap weren’t. If they had died when the gunfire started he would have been able to see their blood in the snow, he supposed, as if that thought was supposed to comfort him. It didn’t do much, and he could only hope that the three of them had at least found each other.

Finally though, the deafening roar of gunfire began to quiet down, either due to distance or to lack of ammunition, and Ghost felt like he could breathe again. “Are you alright?” he called out to you, quickly scanning over your body.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you gulped in the freezing air. “You?” He nodded. You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, stomping to you through the thick snow. “You get hit anywhere?” he asked, his hand reaching tentatively for a scrape on your face.

You reached for your own face, freezing his hand in its tracks. He might have been a weathered war veteran, but even he got nervous in front of people he liked. He watched you wipe the blood off your face and stare at it, “It’s fine,” you told him, “it’s just a scrape. Motherfucker must have clipped me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t scar.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty enough to pull off a face scar. What do you think?” you asked, the minx-like grin on your face providing a sharp contrast to the sheer gravity of the situation the two of you were in. That was another thing you did that distracted him. Those snarky quips and sly suggestions that made Ghosts stomach flip and his cheeks heat up.

“Stop worrying about appearances,” he chastised, trying to regain his focus, “we don’t have time.”

“You were the one that brought it up!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

“Quiet,” he said, “just because they stopped firing doesn’t mean we’re safe. For all we know they could have men on the ground looking for us.”

You dropped your hands to your side, “So now what do we do?”

He pursed his lips, surveying their surroundings. “We make our way to the secondary location as planned. Look at the tree branches,” he said, gesturing above him, “trees will grow their branches towards the direction that gets the most sun: south. The secondary location was north of the drop site and we’ve been traveling in a relatively straight line. If we keep moving in this direction we should come across it in an hour or so.”

You chewed on your lip, “Do we even know if it’s safe? Fishers was with Zhelyazkov, for all we know we could be walking straight into an ambush.”

“You sure it was Fishers?”

“Yes, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Ghost asked again, “the snow was thick, I couldn’t even see anything besides Gaz and Johnny.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, “Me and Price were at the front, we saw the wall of Zhelyazkov’s compound. One of his cronies was up there with Fishers. He was standing next to an MG3 and pointing at us, I know it. I would recognize that stupid cowlick anywhere.”

Ghost groaned. Fishers wasn’t someone Ghost had known very well, so at the very least he was spared the painful feeling of being betrayed by someone he cared about — not that his feelings mattered. The traitor, Colten Fishers, was an American soldier. A veteran to military service, no doubt, but still considered a rookie in special operations. The official report would probably say that Fishers turned in exchange for some quick cash, that he was a cowardly traitor who betrayed them, but that answer didn’t satisfy Ghost.

Honestly, Ghost wasn’t even sure how Fishers had gotten onto the task force in the first place. Compared to the rest of the people on the team, Fishers’ resume was weak, his experience was subpar and his track record was a little too spotty for his liking. The fact that Fishers’ was even in a place to betray them worried him, almost more than the actual betrayal, because if Fishers was able to get on the task force with his lackluster résumé then that meant he had bad friends in high places.

“God damn it,” he muttered, “you have a point, but there’s not much else we can do. The more time we spend out here the more likely we are to get shot.”

“Or get hypothermia,” you said.

“Or get hypothermia,” he added. He reached for his radio, clicking it on only to be met with static again. “Bravo team, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?” No response.

“They probably set up signal blockers,” you pointed out, “either that or the storm is so bad it’s messing with our signal.”

He groaned, “Does yours work?” he asked.

“No,” you said, gesturing lamely at the damaged radio next to your chest, “motherfuckers clipped it while I was looking for Price. Scared the shit out of me too, thought they had gotten me right in the chest for a second.”

He walked up to you, bending down as he inspected the broken radio. He could feel you suck in a breath, and for a moment he let himself wonder if he gave you butterflies the same way you did to him. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at you, his mask inches away from your face, “this thing’s been shot to hell, there’s no way it’s gonna get a signal, even without a storm.” He lingered for a split second, captivated by the way your eyes stared up at him, large and round like a marble, before pulling back.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, adjusting his rifle. “We can’t afford to be stuck out here when night falls.”

Walking in the snow was hard, walking in the snow and feeling you glance over at him every other minute was even harder. He didn’t want to look at you, well that was a lie, he did want to look at you, but he knew he shouldn’t look at you. He needed to put on a brave face, that was his job as a lieutenant. He needed to be serious, to have a plan, to not get hung up on distractions, and he couldn’t do that when he was watching you.

Instead, he tried to think about everything that could go wrong from this point. It seemed pessimistic, he knew, but he needed to be prepared. You had a point about the second location. While Fishers hadn’t been told everything about the mission, he knew enough to severely compromise them. Besides, if he did have one of the higher-ups on his side, there was no telling how much he knew. The secondary location had once been a logger’s cabin; it was small, kitted with only the bare necessities. A bathroom, a small kitchenette, and an empty bedroom they had planned to keep Zhelyazkov in. In other words, it wasn’t an easy place to set up an ambush. But they could’ve rigged the outside, set up tripwires connected to shotguns or planted mines along the perimeter. The forest around it was dense, which once would’ve been helpful to keep them hidden but now only provided a wide array of hiding spots for Zhelyazkov’s men to hide in.

Additionally, there was no telling how many men Zhelyazkov would have waiting for them. Even by himself, Ghost could hold his own and with you, their chances only increased. But Zhelyazkov practically had an army, and it would only take one well-aimed shot before it was all over. Granted, some of his men would likely be looking for the others, and if they also went to the cabin, the five of them could probably hold their own.

But there was no guaranteeing the others were heading to the cabin, let alone breathing. For all Ghost knew, their team of five could’ve been cut down to two long ago. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, pulling Ghost out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at you for the first time since you had started walking. There were snowflakes on your eyelashes and your face was tinged red from the cold. He wanted to be able to cradle your jaw, to warm you up until your face was flushed from something other than the cold weather. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, that you would always be safe when you were with him, that he would kill anyone who tried to touch you and would do anything for a chance to hold you. “Just thinking about what you said earlier,” he said instead, “about Zhelyazkov ambushing us.”

You hummed, “Me too. I don’t know how likely that is anymore though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean think about it,” you said, “we flew over the cabin on our way here and everything looked fine, no footprints or anything. And by the time we did that and the time they started shooting, maybe ten minutes had passed. That would mean Zhelyazkov had ten minutes to get his men there, and they wouldn’t have been able to take a direct route or else they would’ve ran into us. Besides, why waste his manpower by setting up an ambush we might not even show up for? I mean, the plan was probably to kill us all right from the beginning, so why plan for us showing up at the cabin if we’re not even supposed to be alive? I mean, who in their right mind would do that?”

“Let’s not assume Zhelyazkov is in his right mind. It’s thinking like that that gets people killed,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Not that you don’t have a point,” he added when he saw you look down in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had fallen into that mindset before and he knew how dangerous it was. “For Zhelyazkov to waste his manpower on an ambush would be tactically unwise, you’re right, but we don’t want to go in expecting an empty house and get caught off guard.”

“So then what? We go in expecting to get immediately gunned down by another machine gun? How is that any better? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to prepare for that.”

Ghost grimaced, once again, you had a point. “Still, it’s better to be prepared,” was all he could say. You looked at him as if you wanted to say more, but your mouth stayed shut and your eyes turned to focus ahead of you once again.

The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of crunching snow to indicate that anyone was even in the forest at all. After what felt like ages, Ghost paused, holding out a hand to stop you too. He felt you looking at him, but he didn’t respond. He was studying your surroundings, scrutinizing the snow on the ground before searching the skies.

“What is it?” you finally asked in a hushed whisper.

“Checking for traps,” he said, his gravelly voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. “The cabin should be just beyond that treeline,” he whispered, pointing. You followed his hand, but you couldn’t see anything behind the dense wall of tree trunks. “Let’s go,” he said, “get your gun out.” You complied, mirroring him as he unshouldered his rifle and held it against his chest. He turned to look at you, your lips pursed into a tight line and your hair sprinkled with snowflakes. He wished you weren’t at risk of walking into an ambush, that way he could capture the way you looked with a camera.

He began slowly stalking towards the cabin, cursing to himself at the snow crunching under his feet. He arrived at the edge of the treeline, coming onto an open clearing with the small wood cabin at the very center. His head swiveled around, constantly checking for the familiar glint of gunmetal hiding in the trees. He turned back to you, “Let’s split up,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by his mask. “I’ll go left, you go right. Meet in the back and then sweep the house.” He watched you nod, and his eyes followed you briefly as you began to move in the opposite direction before he returned his focus to the task at hand.

The perimeter of the clearing wasn’t necessarily large, but it still took him a painfully long time to reach the back. “You see anything?” he asked when you arrived. You shook your head, and he cocked his head towards the cabin. “Let’s go,” he said, turning back to check on you as the two of you made your way towards the front of the house.

There was a small porch on the front, with a pair of steps leading up to it. Ghost skipped them, choosing to step over them and go straight to the porch. You weren’t so smart, and when you put your weight on the first step, it squealed and groaned. Ghost whipped around at the sound, and you rolled your eyes back and cringed, “Shit,” you muttered quietly.

The two of you were frozen for a second, you with your foot still on the step and Ghost with his eyes trained on the door. When nothing happened, you lifted your foot and stepped over the stairs, copying Ghost like you should have before. When you were both on the porch, Ghost gestured for you to open the door. You reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before swinging it open.

Ghost walked in, his rifle swiveling as he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear you following behind him, the snow on your boots crunching slightly as you went to the bedroom. He swung open the door of the bathroom, only to be met with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. His helmet was covered in snow, only accentuating the darkness of his eyes. When he had confirmed that the room was empty, he exited, watching as you came out from the bathroom.

“It’s clear,” you said, before he could ask.

“That’s a relief,” he said, letting out a sigh, but he didn’t lower his rifle.

“You think the others will be coming here too?” you asked, looking around the tiny house.

He wanted to say yes, but honestly he had no clue. The forest was huge, and he had no idea where the others might have been. They could be looking for the cabin as well, but there was no guarantee they’d find it.

He took off his helmet and cracked his neck. “Night’s about to fall, get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” he said instead, reaching into his pack and tossing you a bedroll.

You caught it easily, but made no move to set it down. “It’s fine,” you told him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep, you deserve the rest.”

“That wasn’t a request,” he said sternly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an order, isn’t it? Geez, you sound like Price.”

“Price is right. You need your sleep, a sniper could spot your eyebags from a mile away.”

“Rude,” you shot back, “and by that logic, wouldn’t a sniper be able to see you from, like, two miles away from all of your eyeblack?

“If they see me, they’re already dead.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m gonna take a shower then, you got any soap?”

He threw you a small plastic container, “Suave three-in-one? What are you, a high school boy?” you asked, shooting him an incredulous look.

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, “Beggars can’t be choosers, darling, you want luxury toiletries bring them yourself.”

You were silent for a moment, and Ghost started to feel worry bubble up in his chest. He didn’t mean to say that nickname out loud, it just happened. He was exhausted and paranoid and hungry and he was stuck in a room he could cross in about ten steps and it just slipped out. And if this was how it ended, in this stupid, tiny, suffocating house that could have gone in so many other directions; if he ruined everything because he couldn’t control himself, he would have never forgiven himself.

“You think I’m darling?” you asked with a grin, and Ghost could practically feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“Just go take your shower,” he said, but even he could hear the smile in his voice.

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” you asked, pulling out a towel from your bag. Ghost stilled. He could tell you were just joking, you had to be. But there had to be at least some truth in it, otherwise you wouldn’t have even thought to say that right? Suddenly the house felt uncomfortably warm. It was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. He thought the house’s lack of heating would have been a problem, but for some reason it felt like there were a thousand heaters in this tiny room.

“Geez, Ghost,” you said, giggling, “I was just messing with you. Dang, is it really that easy to get you speechless? Guess I have a new party trick to show the others when we get back.”

He stared at you, trying to come up with something to say. “I’m gonna set up outside,” he said finally, changing the topic, “leave the soap in the shower, will you?”

You hummed, slinging the towel over your back. He watched you step into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the door as it shut behind you. He could hear the shower turn on, but he made himself leave before he could hear your clothes come off.

The crisp, winter air provided a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of the house. The frigid winds nipped at his eyes and he could feel a shiver rack through his chest but he didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, feeling the freezing air fill his lungs and watching his breath condense in front of him. He sat down on the porch steps and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine. He picked out one of the bullets, thumbing it thoughtfully as he stared at the snowstorm in front of him. He put the bullet back and looked back at the house, making sure that you weren’t around before he pulled off his mask. He let out a sigh, thumbing the hard plastic skull in his hands and letting the frosty air kiss at his exposed skin before pulling the soft, black, skull-marked balaclava he wore normally out of his bag and over his face.

Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people did, Soap did, Gaz did, even Price did, but not him. It was just easier that way, he never really had a good place for his mind to wander to anyways. His mind had a tendency to lurk around dark places, and it always left him worse than he started. Once, he had tried to speak to someone about it, and that had only ended up with another dead body to his name. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on the task in front of him: watching the treeline for enemy soldiers.

Somehow though, you started to linger around the edge of his thoughts, and he didn’t push you away. He kept staring ahead at the snow-covered trees, but in his mind he was seeing you. He was seeing your stupid teasing grin, your fidgeting fingers that never stayed still, that smooth skin on the junction of your neck and your shoulder that he wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He could almost see your lust-drunk face in front of him, starry-eyed and teary, your lips swollen and red from how hard he would kiss you. He could practically hear you under him, all breathy and pitchy, your voice raw from how much he would make you beg for him. God, he knew he needed to stop these thoughts but he needed you more. He needed you pressed against him, your skin warm and soft and supple, he needed to feel you on top of him, to be inside you. He needed to know how it would feel to have your mouth around him, your eyes lidded as you stared up at—

“Hey,” you said, tiredness leaking through your voice. Ghost suppressed the urge to jump, turning to look at you. “You see anything interesting?” you asked, taking a seat beside you.

“Nothing,” he said, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way he had to slightly readjust his pants. You didn’t, thank god, for a special forces operator you surely weren’t the most observant, but he wasn’t complaining. You weren’t wearing much, only a pair of thin pajama pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. He was surprised you weren’t shivering.

He could feel you staring at him, partly because of the way your warm breath fanned over him and partly because you stared at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. He had to fight the urge to look back at you because he knew if he did, you would be able to see the star-struck in his eyes. “You need something?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

You turned away from him, your eyes scanning the treeline. “Not really,” you hummed, “but it’s lonely inside, can’t sleep.”

“Lonely?”

“Well— Not lonely, but— I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling, I guess.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he said, with a slight chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snorted.

“It means I’ve seen you do things that would make a grown man cry and you're scared of sleeping alone.”

“Uh, that is not it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m not scared, I’d just rather stay out here. Besides, it’s easier to fall asleep in the cold.”

“Is it really?” he asked teasingly, “or do you just like me that much?”

You yawned, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but when he realized how nice it was to feel you against him, he relaxed. “You got me pegged, Ghost,” you said tiredly. He had to suppress a groan when he saw the way you looked up at him. Your eyes were large and slightly damp from the yawn, and he could see the smallest speckle of teardrops on your eyelids. Everything about you was just so damn intoxicating, and for what? It wasn’t like he could act on it like he wanted to. He couldn’t push your slightly damp hair out of your face like he wanted to, he couldn’t run his hands up your body and squeeze you in all the right spots like he wanted to, he couldn’t push you down against a table and fuck you until you cried out for him like he wanted to. He wanted to do so much to you and he just couldn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice sweet and tired.

He stared at you, it’s not like he could tell the truth but it hurt him so bad to lie to your face. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re interesting,” you said simply.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring back at him, “are you gonna give me an answer?”

“Not tonight. You gonna sleep out here?” he asked, watching as you let out a yawn.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, picking your head up off his shoulder and staring up at him.

Ghost was silent for a moment, “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said finally. You gave him a sleepy smile which made his heart melt before resting your head against his shoulder again. “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing anything and your hair is still wet, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder, “Now you really sound like Price,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his jacket.

“And Price is right, again. You’re gonna get sick or catch hypothermia, go get a blanket,” he said, nudging you off of his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to push you away, especially since you looked so comfortable, but he was worried for your health. In this weather and in this line of work, catching a cold could have unforeseen effects, and god forbid you get hypothermia. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of Ghost, shooting him a pointed look as you turned back into the house. He turned back to the treeline, trying to remember the way your head leaned against his shoulder. He could still feel the shadow of your touch against him, the warmth and the weight of it. He wanted it back again, regretting sending you off.

It wasn’t long until you returned though, carrying a large wool blanket. “Happy now?” you asked, quirking your brow up at him as you returned to your spot beside him. “I stole it from the bedroom, figured nobody else would be using it.” You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, pulling your knees in so you could cover them too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder again. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

He looked up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but you had a point. The sky was a dark sapphire blue, punctuated by a canyon of stars down the center. Even with the snow falling, the beauty of the stars shone through, their light bright and blinding. He let his eyes wander down to you for a moment, and he could see the night sky reflected in your glassy eyes. Your eyes flickered to his and you grinned, “Like what you see, L.T.?” you asked.

Ghost looked away, “Go to sleep,” he said, missing the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at him.

Although he wasn’t looking directly at you, he could still see you in his periphery. He could feel you too. Feel the way you nuzzled into his shoulder, one of your arms snaking up to wrap around his like you were a koala clinging onto a branch. Feel the way your chest rose and fell against him as you breathed, small puffs of air condensing in front of you. He could feel the soft flutter of your eyelids on his arm as you buried your face into his shoulder, trying to shield your face from the cold. It wasn’t long before your breaths began to even out next to him, the puffs of condensed air arriving slower and more evenly.

He turned to look at you again, his eyes raking over your body. The blanket pulled tightly around you, your hair which fell slightly in front of your face, your lips which he swore were pulled in the smallest smile, the bridge of your nose, the ends of your eyelashes, that little scrunch in between your eyebrows. You were the most beautiful thing in that moment, stars be damned. He would’ve given anything to be able to snap a photo of you right now, but he couldn’t, so he resorted to tattooing the image of you into his brain. Not that it was hard, looking at you, admiring you, treasuring you, it was the easiest thing he would ever do.

Ghost shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to you, not here, not when you were so vulnerable and he was supposed to be keeping watch, to be protecting you. It wasn’t right. But wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? It felt right, and he wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right. He had spent so much time focusing on everyone else; what was safe for everyone else, what was healthy for everyone else, what was right for everyone else. But now, just now, couldn’t he just focus on himself for once? Couldn’t he just be selfish for once, to savor and relish in this moment? You were here and you were safe, and he was here and he was safe, and wasn’t that all that mattered in this tiny moment devoid of reason or time or outsiders? This had to be right. This was right. You were right. You always were.

He looked back at the stars again, taking in a deep breath as he savored the smell of you. You smelled like gunmetal and cheap soap. You smelled like him. He let your fragrance continue to fill his nose as he stared up at the sky. He watched in awe as a streak of bright light arced across the vast canvas of dark blue sky: a shooting star. He thought back to what his mother used to tell him in the backyard of their old flat in Manchester. “Look Simon,” she would say, tracing the path of the star’s tail with her finger, “that’s a shooting star. You make a wish, and you don’t tell anyone, and then it comes true.” Back then, he used to wish for allowance, new toys, a pot roast for dinner, one time for his dad to go away. They never came true, and he knew it was because he always told his mom what he wished for.

This time though, this time would be different. He would keep it a secret until the day he died. Another weight for him to carry, but one that would be worth it if it came true. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he wished for that night, with your sleeping form against him, soft and warm and comforting. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he wished you would love him like he loved you.

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totallynotsilversora · 1 year

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Can we appreciate and analyze how impeccable Vash’s skills as a marksman is bc I hadn't noticed anyone talk about it in length and this gif literally drives me insane:

Content warning: mentions guns / gun and shooting below the cut because otherwise this analysis would be moot.

This is coming from someone who used to only shoot air rifles for sport like how you'd see it in the Olympics with paper targets!

Ok so as I’ve said I've shot guns before (not at anyone ya sickos) and believe me when I say that Vash has such a good steady aim his arm doesn’t even bend when he moves it - he moves it from the shoulder/ his waist to keep that arm straight and relaxed as possible, which is crazy because that gun looks like a BRICK made of solid metal. There's no way that thing is light, there's definitely some weight to it, but the way he moves it is smoother than most people I've seen lift a credit card.

Now it’s not unusual in sport to have at least some tiny weight on the end of the barrel to keep it steady and act as a counterbalance but that’s like Olympics, not a fight. Vash may be superhuman but I don’t think carrying a cross like the Punisher would make fighting any easier, so it’s safe to say holding a decently heavy chunk of metal filled with lead isn’t easy either (I’m pretty sure the humans we’ve seen so far held their guns with two hands either due to weight or stability and they're not so smooth anyways).

So him tracking someone with a gun like that in only ONE HAND is kind of impressive even at that close range bc it doesn't matter how many times you hit your mark, your barrel would NOT be as steady as Vash in that gif unless you're this gif of Kobeni from CSM:

Even that scene in episode 3 when Vash is aiming at Knives (which I can’t find a good gif of) he doesn’t move the barrel at ALL until he has to lift it and follow Knives’ head. No shaking, no wobble, not even the SLIGHTEST figure 8 you’d normally get when you aim down a barrel - it’s a smooth turn of his wrists following Knives’ head up.

And that’s all from EXPERIENCE. Look at the two gifs below:

You can literally see how much he’s improved since he lost his arm - he’s expectantly super wobbly compared to the last gif in episode 2. He notably doesn’t “force” the gun to stay in one spot and aim where it needs to be - he raises it then let’s it “settle” on where he’s aiming to shoot before firing. A good shooter knows how to aim and take the shot before they lose the target w/o moving (called “following through”), but a great marksman knows that when it comes to shooting you should never fight against the body’s natural tendencies to move the way it wants to even when you’re aiming at something because you’re less likely to wobble or move when your body is relaxed and comfortable. Moving it away from that position will cause you to quiver and inevitably try to return to that same comfortable position against your will. That’s not just something you pick up on naturally - you have to LEARN that shit.

Which means Vash literally took the time to either completely unlearn every single one of his body’s natural ticks in order to shoot like a pro OR he learned how to work along with each one so his aim was always on point. Either way, it took him 150 years of practice to reach that level and it definitely paid off for him I think!

There’s a bunch of other ticks I noticed, too, like him keeping his trigger finger on the side of the gun if he’s not aiming to shoot anything in that moment but still has the gun in his hand so he doesn't accidentally misfire:

Or how he never keeps one eye closed bc the twitching WILL make you shake and lose focus so he always keeps both eyes open when aiming so he sees better:

But this post is long enough as is and I think we all get the idea that he’s that fricking good at using a gun.

TL;DR Studio Orange did a fantastic job convincing me that Vash is an INSANELY GOOD marksman and this is coming from someone who used to shoot air rifles for sport and had an incredible coach who would also agree with me and say this guy’s aim is surreal if he ever watched this show. Also his reload speed is absolutely demonic too like what the actual hell-

EDIT: added that scene from episode 3 just to show you guys what I meant (sorry it's low quality but you get it!!! Also the fact he's keeping his finger on the trigger bc he knows how unpredictable Knives is and could strike him down at any moment just shows how confident he is at keeping his hand steady bc if he were shaking he would DEFINITELY have misfired by now).

#trigun stampede #text post #vash the stampede #analysis #gun #guns #shooting #marksmanship #seriously if this dude ever shot in the Olympics #I guarantee you everyone there would go INSANE #I used to shoot standing with my feet misaligned and it drove other coaches mad #because not only is it completely against how you’re supposed to be taught how to shoot (feet in one straight line)#but I actually shot better that way and landed bulls eyes consistently #bc my hips dont lie and my waist liked to move it like a blender ig but hey it worked!#anyways i think vash is neat!

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emile-hides · 7 months

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I was watching a Youtube video of all the Cinematic from the new Overwatch Invasion update (cause heaven knows I ain't buying it) and I noticed at the end Ramattra has this like.. Burn? Mark?? On his chest that goes through his cape

So I downloaded Overwatch on my PC to get a look at the Wandering/Traveling Monk skins this scene is using and I noticed..

Traveling and Wandering have a lot of visual differences, most notably in the burn the originally got my attention.

Wandering has been used canonically to show Ramattra's monk days previously, in his origin story and in the Developer commentary, but interestingly the artwork in those videos is lacking that very burn

Overwatch character designers are very good at visual storytelling, especially with Omnics (I could write an essay on what they've done with Zenyatta), so I believe this burn may very well be what became the Last Straw for Ramattra, what pushed him to leave the Shambali, what caused his fall into violence and eventually Talon.

Was he attacked? Or was he attempting to protect someone else? Despite his best efforts to shield them, the shot fired right past him, scorching his metal, cutting through his cape, and taking their life...

I hope we learn more about it.

#Overwatch #Ramattra #It's Emile goes insane about Overwatch Lore but only for the Omnics time again #Also while gathering screen shots for this I did become mildly obsessed with the red?? bag?? Cloth??? Ramattra is wearing when he meets Zen #99% because Zenyatta is wearing it on their walk to the Shambali #But also because Zen seems to STILL be wearing it AT the Shambali but as an obi(?) and he was also still wearing it in OW1 #But not anymore in OW2???#Where'd Zenyatta's comfort red fabric go??? What happened???#(well his ow2 design would have been cluttered with it with all the red cables is the real answer but kfdjgkdf)#I'M OBSESSED WITH ZENYATTA'S VISUAL STORYTELLING #Other Omnics have it too like Maximilien who has a lot of Human Augmentations like opening his mouth #Because he's a class traitor #Love that for him #Or how Bars has Tribalera Boots implying she's originally from Northern Mexico #I might be wrong about that one actually fkjgkf Assumption there #Anyway RAMATTRA'S BURN #I'm sooooooo unhinged about it actually #The idea of hims shielding someone begging the humans around him to put down their weapons not to shoot etc #Watching them die... Ooooh yeah #It wasn't his first time seeing his siblings die at human hands.. But he vowed it to be the last time...#It could also have been Zenyatta who got shot #We're still not 100% about that whole #'Those were the exact words I'd said to Zenyatta.. Right before I nearly got him killed'#Like when it happened or how it went down #I ASSUMED that was post First Meeting before Shambali #But it could have been while they were traveling and serving the community around them....#God I have you Activation Blizzard but I LOVE you Overwatch Creative Team #Can't wait to know more

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callmerainman · 6 months

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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 | 𝐊𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

fandom. Hunter X Hunter

pairing. Knuckle Bine x hunter!fem!Reader

spoilers!. huge Chimera Ant Arc spoilers

plot. the night before the final fight against King Meruem in the palace of East Gorteau, you decide it’s time to confess your love to none other than your friend and Hunter companion, the oblivious Knuckle Bine. Because you can’t sleep, and cause maybe you’ll never have another chance to tell him. But instead, Knuckle makes you promise something: to put the World before him tomorrow. Will you respect his wishes?

word count. 3,6k

prompts. Chimera Ant Arc, aftermath of the Chimera Ant Arc final battle, Reader is also a Hunter and Morel apprentice, secretly in love, love confessions, awkward romance, Knuckle is dense, kissing, making out, getting together.

You like many things about Knuckle.

In the beginning he didn't give you a good impression. You both got close to each other after you got taken under the protective wing of Morel, who instructed you along with Shoot. Shoot is a quieter type, really silent, but getting along with him was smooth and easy. With Knuckle it was a whole other story. During your first missions together he always raised doubts about the tactics you proposed, on the other hand you did the same with him. If you said A, he would say B. If he wanted to go right, you wanted to go left. And this would always end up in yelling, staring contests and headbutting. You understood some things about Knuckle: he was hot-headed, impulsive, loud and a braggart. But he was also kind. No matter how many times he shouted against you, he never did it for personal hatred. It was for genuine interest in helping people in need, and to make sure that the mission was successful. He never insulted you with more than a superficial "idiot", and from his eyes you always understood that he didn't really mean it and that he didn't want to offend your intelligence. Even Knuckle soon realized how kind you were, and how much you took care of things and people you cared about. He respected it. You two learned how to trust one another and make a better team, much to Shoot's and Morel's relief, who honestly couldn't take it anymore. Your fights decreased, replaced by an unconditional affection and a unbreakable loyalty. And from your part, even love. People would often ask if you and Knuckle were a couple. And every time both you and him would answer with a ferocious "OF COURSE NOT!". Knuckle's cheeks and ears would get hot, and you would feel your stomach erupt in warmth from embarrassment. You couldn't look at each other in the face.

His hair, first of all. They were his trademark. Always styled in a pompadour, they were really popular between high school thugs. Knuckle told you that he even formed a gang when he was a student, and that it was the most feared inside the school. To be honest, you were really sure that it was just a very normal group of friends who loved to slack off, and that he told you that just to sound tough. You like the stress lines under his eyes, which give him a serious look just how he wanted it. And you appreciate his ears, which become red and hot when he loses his shit or when he's embarrassed, two moods he constantly swings between.He has a pretty body, toned and muscular thanks to his intensive workouts and his inclination towards the art and use of Nen.And you like that he takes care of stray dogs, and the way he cries so easily out of sympathy and emotion. He's a sweet guy who gets moved to tears so often even though he hides it behind a tough-guy armor. You like more things about him than you can count.

One time, while patrolling alone with Morel and Shoot during a mission, you dared to question them about all of this.

"I wonder why people always ask me and Knuckle if we're a couple. For example, why not me and you, Shoot?"

If only Shoot had eyebrows, he would have raised them all the way up his hairline. So his hooded eyes were just comically wide. Morel, on the other hand, erupted in a loud, gigantic laugh that made you jump in surprise. A laugh so hard that he had to hold onto his pipe. You stopped, putting your hands on your hips.

"C'mon, what are you laughing at!" you pouted.

"Are you really asking why people think that you and that idiot are couple?!" Morel choked between laughter "you with the shiny eyes every time you stare at him? Who drools when he takes off his jacket during combat? Who plays with her hair like schoolgirl when we get out for drinks and he offers you a beer? You gotta be kidding me!"

And he proceeded to keep laughing again. Meanwhile, your face caught on fire. You smacked both hands on your mouth, shaking your head vigorously.

"I never stared at him!" you tried to object.

"If I may intrude" Shoot intervened, shyly "you stare at him a lot"

"That's not possible..." you whispered.

You wanted to threaten your own mentor to stop laughing, because what Morel said wasn't true at all. You didn't like Knuckle that way. But you just couldn't protest. Morel was right. You did really like Knuckle that way!

"Fuck, I like Knuckle! How could it be...and most importantly, what do I do!" you exclaimed, fisting your hair in your hands out of panic.

Morel sighed, puffing some smoke in the process. Then, he showed off one of the big grins of his.

"Boys are complicated, dearie, so I suggest we all get drunk tonight"

"Sounds like a great idea" you replied.

The step from liking to loving was really short. It was so easy to fall in love with Knuckle once you understood that you had feelings for him. Even though you kept fighting now and then, and you still called each other idiots. He cared about immensly, and you cared about him. Everything culminated one night after you promised to protect each other with your own lives. Morel took you out to drink as usual, and maybe you and him were a bit drunk.

"If the situation ever requires it, I'll give up my life for you, (Y/N)" Knuckle said.

Yeah, you did drink, and you were waiting for a taxi outside the bar you usually spent your free time in. But the way his eyes looked into you as he said that was so damn serious. And you, to such a determined and kind gaze, could answer with a stare just as serious.

"And I'll do the same for you, Knuckle"

Night before the selection

It's a quiet night. Clear, silent. You and your teammates would appreciate it more if only there wasn't this uneasiness in the air. Tomorrow the King of Chimera Ants, Meruem, will begin the selection, which will kill millions of people in no time. You, Knuckle, Morel and Shoot were selected to go to the NGL region to get rid of the menace. It's, without the shadow of a doubt, the most dangerous mission you've ever dealt with, you understood it during your fights against the Ants. And facing the Royal Guards will be way worse. Both you and Knuckle risked a lot, and if you ever had to die one day, you feel like it would be tomorrow. And you still didn't tell Knuckle that you love him. What if this is the last good moment to tell him? Tomorrow you won't have time for sure, and maybe not even after, because you're not sure that there'll be an after tomorrow. The thought creeps you out and prevents you from sleeping and gathering energies. You tried to sleep on the floor of the small abandoned chalet where you and and your squad are resting. But the fact that Gon and Killua keep doing push-ups doesn't really help. With a nervous sigh, you get up. You exit the chalet, taking a big breath of fresh air. You were feeling like suffocating before. The air is cold just right. And stars are really beautiful in NGL, without any artificial light the night sky is a whole other story. This could be your last chance to see so many pretty stars, because you're pretty sure that tomorrow you won't have any time to raise your nose up. An imperceptible sound of chattering makes his way towards your ears. You turn around to see if you have company, but there's no one. A small leaf lands on your nose, and you look upwards. Shoot and Knuckle are discussing something on top of a tall tree, you can't hear what they're saying but the concern in their voices is evident. Knowing that you aren't the only one uncomfortable relieves you, so you decide to climb up the tree and reach them.

"Trouble sleeping?"

As soon as Knuckle sees you, he jumps. And Shoot flushes red in a matter of seconds, sweating profusely. You raise a curious brow.

"What's going on? Did I interrupt something?" you ask, concerned.

Even Knuckle's cheeks become a blushing mess, his lips pressed tightly against each other and his muscular body stiff under his white jacket.

"No it's just..." Knuckle says, almost stuttering "y-you...YOU HAVE SOME NASTY EYEBAGS!"

Knuckle points a finger right to your face, and Shoot covers his face with his hand.

You're absolutely not convincing...he thinks.

But Knuckle still manages to make you mad as fuck, and you grit your teeth.

"That ain't true! It's just that I can't sleep tonight!" you protest, raising two fists in front of the Beast Hunter.

"I think I'll leave you two alone" Shoot whispers, and with only a jump he gets down the tall tree.

"Shoot, wait!" you exclaim.

Having his company would have reassured you, since he was just as anxious as you. You're always surrounded by impulsive Hunters without any sense of danger, who understands you better than him?

"But for real, are you okay?"

It was Knuckle who talked, who's voice got softer. He's looking at you with apprehension, the stress lines under his eyes frowning. You relax your gaze too as you meet his eyes.

"Not really" you sigh, and you sit right next to him on the tree branch, your feet swinging in the darkness beneath it.

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we went on so many missions before this one without loosing once. But we aren't invincible, and this is a really big menace. I'm worried that we might not make it"

You were so scared of never getting to tell him that you love him. Maybe you should do it now. Knuckle doesn't say anything. It's true, by this hour tomorrow he could have already lost you. The thought terrifies him. He had already faced 5000 battles without losing one, but nothing can guarantee him that you'll be with him after tomorrow. He presses his lips together and looks down. You can't stand his eyes either.

"You're right, this time we can't be so certain" he murmures "I'm sorry, (Y/N), I can't make you feel better"

You have to tell him now.

"Knuckle, there's something I have to sa-"

"Wait, (Y/N), I have to tell you something too" Knuckle interrupts you. He has never done this, he always respected your words, even when he didn't agree.

You hold your breath, gripping your clothes between your fingers.

"What?" you ask with half a voice.

Knuckle finally looks at you, serious. He reaches for you with his hand and softly grazes your face so that you can look at him. You hope he doesn't feel it getting warmer under his touch, because you feel that way in response of his unexpected gesture. You just know that your pupils are dilated now. You're drowning in his eyes, always so furious yet kind. After making sure that you're looking in his eyes, he lets his hand fall from your face slowly.

"I..." Knuckle opens his mouth, but it seems like words are stuck in his throat. He never had trouble talking, why now?

For a moment it seems like Knuckle's stumbling on his own words.

"I..." ha takes a deep breath, before shaking his head "made you a promise, one night in front of our bar"

You look at him intently.

"And I know that I was very drunk, but I always took it seriously. And I know you did the same"

You didn't expect him to talk about your promise. Instinctively, you scoot closer to him making your body scratch against the bark of the branch.

"Of course I took it seriously" you say.

"But I gotta ask you to break it”

You spread your eyes open. Knuckle gets close to you too and lays his hand on your shoulder. A shiver goes down your spine.

"Knuckle I can't"

"But you have to, because this isn't just a mission, you just said it yourself. This is about saving the world, and promises can't count anymore. Except for this one"

"Which one?"

Slowly your hand trailed up your own shoulder to touch Knuckle's, caressing his fingers. Usually the embarrassment would be too much to handle. Your physical touch was always playful or angry, never intimate. But you don't have time to be embarrassed.

"Tomorrow you have to prioritize the mission, not me. Even if I'll be on the verge of death, you have to put our duty first, not me. I know that this goes against what we always said to each other, but please respect it. If the situation ever requires it, put the world before me"

Your fingers tighten around his hand harder. You feel yourself tearing up but you repress them. You grit your teeth and tremble. You start to really fear how you'll feel tomorrow if this is your reaction at just the idea of losing Knuckle. Would you ever take it?

"Alright, I'll do it"

Knuckle is surprised, but pleasantly. He really didn't want to fight with you tonight.

"But only if you'll do the same with me. If the situation requires it, choose the world and not me"

Knuckle holds your hand on your shoulders. He frowns. He always does it when he's conflicted. Then, he nods with determination in front of your eyes.

"Alright, I promise"

"Then I promise too"

Too focused on holding your hands, none of you noticed the free ones crossing their fingers behind your backs.

Dawn after the fight of East Gorteau

You broke your promise with Knuckle and Knuckle did the same for you. You woke up next to Ikalgo in a warehouse under East Gorteau's palace, where Meruem lived. The octopus explained to you that it was over, that the King was poisoned and was spending his last moments with Komugi, the girl you had in custody hours ago. You won. You're covered in wounds, but still able to stand up. You ended up like this while fighting against Youpi, throwing yourself in defense of Knuckle who fell in his trap. Your weapons were reduced to dust by the Royal Guard, but you were able to blind some of his eyes. However, the fight made both you and your Nen unable to fight. Your Nen was proven really effective against Royal Guards, so giving it up was a loss for your team and for the chances of saving humanity. You broke your promise. Knuckle did the same for you when Youpi threatened not only to kill Morel, but also yourself if he didn't deactivate Potclean. And so Knuckle did. You both broke the promise that you never intended to keep. After the fight you collapsed from tiredness and loss of blood. You had a brief and confused memory of Knuckle taking you in his arms before laying you down in a safe place. When you woke up, Ikalgo was next to you and told you the news.

"Where's Knuckle? Is he okay?!" you blurt out.

Ikalgo nods "The King knocked him out along with Meleoron, but he's fine. He should still be at one of the palaces towers"

Using your last energies, you stand up. Ikalgo cured all your wounds but scratches and cuts are still visible. Some scars will never go away.

"(Y/N)! Are you sure?" Ikalgo asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I'll go get him. Can you take me to him? There are some things that still haven't said to him and I thought I would never be able to"

Ikalgo, seeing your sincere and tired smile, nods. He takes you under one of his tentacles, supporting your body until you arrive in front of the room where Knuckle was laying down unconscious. You stand in the room. Sunlight beams through the window and delicately touch his sculpted body, his face still frowned in determination despite his loss of senses. You smile again, calm, before looking at Ikalgo. You exchange looks of understanding, then he trots towards Meleoron and takes away his sleeping but unscathed body.

It's just you and Knuckle now.

You get close to his body slowly, ruins crankling under your feet. You crouch down in front of him, sitting on your legs. You reach for his hair and start caressing them slowly. You almost don't want to wake him up, even though it's a tormented sleep caused by violence.

"Knuckle, it's me, (Y/N)"

His back rises as if he had been underwater for so long. He groans deeply before using all his energy to roll on his back. Now he's facing upwards, his gaze looking up at your calm and sweet smile. Knuckle squeezes and opens his eyes slowly, welcomed by your face. A small smile extends on his own face in response.

"(Y/N)..." he slurs, his voice raspy "you're alive...did we win?"

Carefully, you take Knuckle's head between your hands and slowly place it on your lap. He lets you do so without daring to protest.

"Yeah, we won. The King was poisoned and is spending his last hours in peace. It's over" you answer.

You gently start to caress his pompadour, now messy. Your delicate strokes go in tandem with your tired breaths.

"Great, but...I broke the promise" Knuckle goes on, a bit mortified.

"I did it too, it doesn't matter, I would do it again" you reply as you keep touching him.

You never had such an intimate moment, such a gentle touch under sun rays. You've never been so happy to see the sun rising.

"Knuckle, there's something I have to tell yo-"

"I'm in love with you"

You jump in surprise and spread your eyes open. For a moment you believe that he's just being delirious because of tiredness. But then you get lost in his gaze. Knuckle's face, always so angry and tough, completely melted in a tender and meek smile, kissed by the sun, pacified. You stop stroking his hair for a sec.

"What?"

"I'm in love with you, I really mean it. Tonight I realized how precarious the world is and that I couldn't afford to just not tell you" Knuckle says, in a whisper.

Your eyebrows arch upwards and a moved smile sprawls across your wounded face.

"I love you too, Knuckle"

Knuckle's reaction is similar to yours. Mouth slightly parted, a small inhale of surprise. It's really sweet. He didn't expect you to reciprocate, he didn't expect nothing from you in fact.

"(Y/N)..."

"I love you even though I always fight with you, even if you're hot-headed, stubborn, a braggart and with a weird haircut. But I love the way you care about others even when you deny it, and the way you cry for them. I love your haircut too, by the way. I just want to give you back the kindness you give to me and other people"

Your hands touches him again, this time caressing his cheek. Knuckle doesn't know what to say, words dying in his throat. You get lost in his eyes once again, then you snap out of it and your cheeks get hot.

"Ah-ehm, sorry...um...I wanted to say these things last night on the tree but I chickened out " you stutter awkwardly.

Knuckle breaks the silence with a laugh that echoes through the chamber.

"Hey, what are you laughing at?" you ask, scowling.

"It's funny, I wanted to confess too last night. Me and Shoot were talking about that, and that's why you scared us when you appeared out of nowhere. Ah, I don't even know why I told him!"

You chuckle "Maybe because you care about him a lot"

"That's not true, take that back!" Knuckle shouts, pointing a finger in your face.

Knuckle's face becomes a blushing mess, and you let yourself go in a laugh because Knuckle is always the same. Incapable of hiding his kindness and his affection towards other people. The finger aiming at your face touches your cheek, then under the eye, next thing you know his entire hand is encapsulating your cheek.

"Come over here..."

Without even realising it, you bend over Knuckle and you kiss. You often asked youself how kissing Knuckle would feel like, and this exactly corresponds to the idea. So delicate, but passionate. Knuckle's lips move on yours and you reciprocate immediately, closing your eyes. You press your mouth against his, it's warm like a hug of someone coming back from war. Warm like someone who couldn't wait anymore to say I love you. When you rise up you press your lips together, trying to suppress a smile, but unsuccessfully. You're sure that your face is a mess, just like Knuckle's which is really hot red.

"Wow..." you whisper.

"Yeah, wow..." Knuckle murmurs, dumbfounded.

You look down at him again "What do you say if we wait for Morel and Shoot to get better, then we all go out to get drunk to celebrate, then we go make love in my apartment?"

"Hell yeah"

Knuckle gathers some energies to hoist himself on his elbows and sit up. You help him stand up, but you have to support each other under your arms because both of you are too tired. You start to walk out the room.

"And after that you'll be my girlfriend?" Knuckle asks.

"I'm pretty sure that I already am"

Suddenly, you hear some sniffling echoing through the empty palace alley. You turn around.

"Are you seriously crying right now? For real?" you ask, startled.

"Shut up! I'm not!'

"Yeah you are, idiot!"

"Don't you dare tell this to anyone, or..."

"Or?"

"I don't know, I can't do anything to you you're my girlfriend now!"

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