#The Anomaly LTS

[wowieeitsisa]

Late To School whiteboard dump I did with CrystalDaMuffin on twt <33

Sleepa cuz I didn’t react to her redesign reveal on July 1st + hey, don’t cry, LaughxJames doddle dump + cat content that evolved to weed

[occasionalpanic]

Pls draw both anomaly and V1RS trying to kill player and PL4YR together I headcanon them as cousins-

Scratches head. Man. I kinda forgot about this account :']]

anyways:)))

Cousin on cousin violence.

[ask-lts]

HEHE IMA READD THE ANOMALY AND SEND IT TO YOUR DIMENSION >:) >:)

[ I have no idea what this means but ok- ]

“Im not getting out of here anytime soon.”

[hardlyinteresting]

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers  Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by  Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

 Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber. 

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin. 

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat. 

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job. 

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying. 

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips. 

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley. 

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself. 

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”. 

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.” 

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case. 

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while. 

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be. 

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet. 

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival. 

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk. 

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained. 

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. 

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful. 

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked. 

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him. 

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?” 

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?” 

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed. 

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right. 

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”. 

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance. 

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf. 

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods. 

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate. 

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth. 

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship. 

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them. 

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer. 

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight. 

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”. 

She believed him. 

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever. 

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more. 

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind. 

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit. 

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence. 

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow. 

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand. 

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life. 

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands. 

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.  

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before. 

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation. 

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus. 

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him. 

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her. 

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love. 

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another. 

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”.  But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong. 

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

 “I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving. 

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep. 

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer. 

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting  the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent. 

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments. 

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey. 

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows. 

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky. 

“Jake,” she manages. 

“Yeah, Angel”. 

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it, 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken. 

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside. 

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario. 

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too. 

[softaestluv]

Breaking Bread

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. Your lieutenant who has only spoken a handful of words to you.

Simon Riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Sergeant! reader

Tags: Tags: Short n’ Sweet, Fluff, Pining, Slow burn if you squint, Food as a love language, Eventual romance, Eventual smut, Military inaccuracies

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

on ao3 here!

You weren’t exactly sure what festered in your chest at the table with Ghost, but it ruminated and bloomed thickly in your throat between each gulp of his tea. It made you nervous around him, in a far different way than the nerves that prickled your skin because he was your superior. Nothing more than the dominance and assertiveness his stature demanded.

But somewhere along the lines the pricks morphed into tingles, claws against flesh became bristles on a brush, started in your chest before swooping low and fluttering in the pit of your stomach.

You almost wished you hadn’t realized the change, that you were anxious simply because your lieutenant wore a fucking skull mask and could snap your neck in two if he wanted. Not because he managed to crawl under your skin between the handful of short sentences he’s spoken to you.

But Simon Riley wasn’t a man of words. You didn’t need them anyways, they were insignificant in the palms of his actions.

So, you began to swim in the warmth that radiated your flesh in his presence— drowned in it with the tea he made just for you. Choked on it when he shared his food with you. When the counter ran out of something before you were able to get it, walked to the table with a pout, and he would place his own on your tray without a word. Or grabbing an item he knew you liked just so you could have double of your favorite— voice gruff when he mumbled ‘these the ones you like, yeah?’

You protested everytime because as much as you like the action, the thought behind it all; you also wanted him to eat. He was a giant, massive, needed more sustenance than you did, but he never responded to your denials. Made you learn quite quickly to accept it without a word because he wanted you to have it more than he needed it. So, like a good sergeant, you always do, fills you in ways you’ve never felt before.

Then, he began to save a seat for you in meetings and debriefs, just as his eyes urged you to the spot in front of him in the mess hall, they flicked to the empty space next to him everywhere you went. During training, on heli rides, in the rec room, in vehicle transports. Maybe it was subconscious, an automatic reaction to seeing your figure standing there searching for an open seat, but even when you had a spot on the rec room couch, he would find a way to your side. Sat next to you more often than not.

It became a running joke between the other sergeants, moving from the spot next to you if Ghost enters the room with a hushed ‘better move from the lieutenant’s seat.’

It burns your cheeks when they’re right, when he sits next to you without a word like that’s where he belonged. You almost feel bad for Soap when you see the look of betrayal on his face when Ghost tells him to move from his spot next to him— ‘LT, ah thocht we were closer than that.’

Mouthed a ‘sorry’ to him as you took his spot— your spot next to Ghost.

You thought maybe you were reading too much into it when a large hand on your shoulder to correct your form became two palms on your hips. When the ghost of his hand to guide you down the hall or to your shared table became a firm touch. When his pinky finger would slide lower than the rest, barely brush over the seams of your pants and resting on the top of your ass.

When he sat a little too close on the rec room couch, thighs pressed together. Knees knocking when you sat across him during lunch, or his foot sliding between yours so your legs would encase his. When a gravel ‘Sergeant’ became ‘dove’ or a murmured ‘sweet’art.’

Each touch had a fire ignited under your skin— in your core. Burnt you alive when you were alone in your room and all you could think about was the distant memory of his large fingers curled around your skin or the way his accent was thick, vibrated in your skull with each term of endearment he murmured to you.

And then, the two of you began to share food outside of the mess hall. The first time it happened you were on a covert mission with him and Soap. Ghost insisted he keep watch during a rest stop, told you and Johnny to sleep. Which you did, but you had waken up soon after. Lifted a drowsy head to find Ghost perched opposite of the window.

“Ghost.” You whispered.

“Dove.” He said lowly, didn’t even turn his head to face you.

You crawled over to his spot quietly as to not wake up Soap, stopping in front of him, “Are you tired? I can watch the rest of the night.”

“What are you on ‘bout?” He remarked, like you had said the most absurd thing, “Go back to sleep.”

You maneuvered to his side anyways, sat next to him as you began to unzip the pocket in your vest. Pulled out the granola bar you had stashed in there when you found out you were going on the assignment with Ghost.

It was smushed and crumbled, a sad remanent of the protein bar it used to be, but it was the best you could offer your lieutenant on an extended assignment. His eyes hesitantly flickered to yours as you broke it in half and held it out for him.

When he didn’t immediately accept it, you spoke softly, “Our little secret.”

“You’re distracting me, dove,” He grumbled, but still, he was a little too eager to eat it.

The next time it happened, you were in the rec room sprawled across the couch. It was late, one or two sergeants lingering in the space. Ghost had walked in with a cup of tea, presumably to walk through to his room, but he stopped when he saw you reading. Made his way over when you gave him a small smile, squeezed himself in the spot next to you.

And because you enjoy seeing the annoyed glimmer in his eyes a little too much you ask him if it was tea before hiding your laugh behind your palm, “Smells nice.”

To your surprise he held it out for you as an offering, raising your eyebrows in response, stammering, “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that! It’s yours, I can go make my own.”

As you began to shift from your spot, because tea did sound good, he grunts disapprovingly and nudges you back into your seat.

“I’m sharin’,” He explained irritatedly, and when you don’t immediately take it, he dips his head lower, continuing quieter, “Our little secret.”

You can’t even hide the smile that smears across your lips, leaning forward, so he could press the rim to your lips.

“Careful,” He murmurs, watching you intently, “‘ts hot.”

It is hot.

Makes your mouth and throat burn.

You’re hot.

In other ways than from the tea.

It swirls in your chest and scalds your skin. Stings. Sears.

Fingertips aching at your side, digging into the pages of your book to alleviate the sensation.

Ghost stays with you until the both of you finish the cup of tea. Taking turns to gulp the liquid down between pages in the book you long gave up on reading, couldn’t focus with him right there. When he keeps turning the cup so he can drink from where your lips pressed, a breath of a kiss from your lieutenant every time he twists it back for you to drink from the same spot.

It might be subconscious, maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but his eyes focus on you intensely, lips parted wantonly as you drink his tea. It makes swallowing difficult, makes breathing near impossible. Lips clinging to the rim as if you were trying to suck the imprint of his mouth clean off.

You probably shouldn’t, you know you’re being quite greedy over your lieutenant’s sharing and silence, but most days you sit on the couch waiting for him. Some days he doesn’t show, too busy with Price or too tired to trudge to the mess hall for tea, but maybe he wanted to sit with you just as much as you anticipated him between each page of your book. Maybe he felt bad everytime he saw you laying there, waiting for him, and carved out time to ease your desperation.

Though he’s there most nights than not, one cup of tea in gloved palms. His figure looms at the entrance, standing quietly until you notice him, like he had been waiting for your permission to join your space. And just as he flickered his eyes in the mess hall, you flash yours to the spot next to you.

And what’s the relationship between the two of you if not sharing small treats with each other? So, you begin to store chocolate in your pockets in preparation for your shared tea time.

The first time you pull a piece out and hand him a slightly melted slice he looks at you with complete amusement.

“You just always got chocolate on you, dove?” He asked, exhaling a soft laugh as he peeled his gloves off.

“Only for you,” You confess, placing the chunk in his bare palms.

You find his gaze when he keeps his hand open, doesn’t immediately throw the chocolate into his mouth eagerly like he usually does. His eyes were unwavering, fixed so strikingly you think you might’ve said something wrong, diverting your stare somewhere else, so you could remember to fucking breathe.

“Um I,” You begin to stammer because you’re not entirely sure what to say, but he cuts you off before you can form a complete thought —“Our little secret, right?”

You nod at him wide-eyed. Starry-eyed. Open-mouthed as he pops the piece into his mouth like he wasn’t pinning you to the spot seconds before, stripped you bare and exposed in the rec room.

The rec room, just like the mess hall, becomes yours and Ghost’s. Public spaces with the two of you at the center, sharing more than food and fleeting glances that the both of you seem to miss every time.

[yanderestarangel]

☆𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐁 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ♡

TW: Yandere themes, manipulation, daddy issues lightly considered, rough sex, non con, dub con, Daddykink, manipulation,age gap, reader is of legal age, nsfw, smut, blood, death citation, bites, bloodkink, Dark!Miguel O'Hara, vaginal sex, creampie, AFAB READER, Pet names, DILF! Miguel O'Hara.

You really didn't know how you ended up in that situation, your life turned upside down overnight.

You were a normal person, you had a best friend, a monotonous and routine life, always doing the same things over and over, repeating the days every week or month, but you liked it, it was your pattern. until Miguel O'Hara came into your life.

Miguel met you through an unfortunate coincidence, he was the father of Briella, the little girl you were hired to take care of and give tutoring in literature and grammar after college classes, you accepted because you needed money and enjoyed teaching the little girl but I had never seen her father's face, Miguel always left early for work which no one knew exactly what it was, he always tried to be punctual, not wanting to leave his daughter in your hands more than necessary so as not to bother you, but he had been late that day, and that's when it all started.

You taught Briella peacefully, a few books spread across the white marble table while you recited some tale by 'Edgar Allan Poe' requested by Briella herself, Miguel was an hour late that day, having been trapped on a mission in the Spider Society, fighting against another anomaly, but it took off running and throwing red webs home quickly.

Miguel composed himself as he entered the house, soon encountering you, your aura light and angelic even, your features, your body covered by the soft fabrics of your clothes, the world of O'Hara stopped there, he felt the heat in his chest, such warmth that he had not known that his Briella's mother and his late wife had died, but now you were there, before him, like a graceful and beautiful angel.

You could have sworn you saw two red hearts in the older man's irises, and it was strangely disturbing, Miguel's lower lip trembled with anticipation and desire, a desire to make you his, physically and emotionally, body and soul, every particle and The atom of his being, wholly O'Hara's, was his new life goal and he would do anything to get what he wanted.

You two spoke quickly and he apologized, trying to keep his composure and not do anything stupid in front of his daughter or scare you, but from that day on, your monotonous life wasn't so monotonous anymore, you felt someone watching over you, someone was around, you could feel it and it was awful.

Miguel also strangely increased the time you were supposed to teach Briella, the problem is that every time you went, the little girl wasn't there but her father, Miguel, always with a warm smile but masked by something darker, something that slowly surface of the "Good single dad" facade, and soon you fell into his Perfect facade, to your bad luck.

Miguel started giving you very expensive gifts or extra money, even if you denied it, he always said the same sentence.

"-Don't worry mi carinõ, that's nothing, you are an angel in my life and my daughter's." - Miguel would speak with a smile of white teeth and a little shaky as he watched your body and face.

𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌

𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌

𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒂𝒏

𝑨 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖&lt;3

Soon the manifestations of possession would start, mainly manipulation, he would talk like a "concerned father" because you are younger than him, but in reality he would just use some of his mental and family instability to bring you into the web of possession it, especially if you have Daddy issues.

He will love to know that.

He'll be everything you want him to be, he'll start taking care of you, calling you "My good boy/girl" every time you do something nice or warm to him and Briella, complimenting you on how you look, asking if you ate or remembering how important you are, even if they are Miguel's genuine concerns, he will also use this to manipulate you and keep you close, you are his after all, even if you don't know it yet.

Bonus: he would force you to call him "Daddy", "Papi", "Papito" or "Sir" as a form of respect (But he knew it was for his own satisfaction, as a title that marked that you were his to him do whatever he wanted, you were his to own and keep, you are the love of his life whether you like it or not.)

Miguel will also push any love interest out of his life, regardless of sex or gender, he is an influential man in the multiverse and powerful, both physically and in status.

He will manipulate you so much that you will find yourself locked in his mansion with a luxurious and comfortable room, with no access to the outside world, just him and Briella, Miguel will manipulate Briella into believing that you are going to be her new Dad/Mom, while smiling little girl believed tall mexican's lies.

"-Oh that was your boyfriend? I'm sorry dear/sweetheart, his muscles were no use after all."

-Miguel would speak with a malicious and psychotic smile with fangs dirty with human blood. You will never leave there and if you try Miguel will punish you severely, either with poison bites, paralyzing you for a few minutes.

Leaving sexual pheromones and making you writhe with pain and lust and you won't be able to touch yourself, with Miguel watching you with a malicious and cruel smile.

Or worst case scenario, fuck you mercilessly, he'll thrust his cock inside you without warning after lubricating it with a little saliva and his fingers, with all his strength, trapping your body underneath him easily, while you listened to the older man moan and growl words of possession as he felt his cock hit your uterus and rise in your womb, while Miguel growled.

"-You are... Fuck so tight... (Y/N) you should have just stayed quiet, why did you try to run away from me? Don't you like your Daddy Miguel anymore? Hm?" - Miguel would speak in a mocking tone as he struck harder, holding your hips and leaving painful marks on your flesh with the tip of his claws.

"-I'll fuck your fucking brains out if you keep being a shitty brat, just obey me and everything will be fine."

- Miguel would speak with a sadistic and cruel voice, while he played with your clitoris with strength and anger, while he continued to stick his dick in your tight pussy, a painful and delicious mixture, you couldn't take it anymore, it was the fifth orgasm of the night, but Miguel wasn't going to stop, he never was.

"-I would destroy everything for you and build everything again from the ashes if you asked me to, and you still say I don't love you?" - Miguel O'Hara would speak with a few tears of pleasure in his eyes as he came inside you, painting your pussy with hot, thick cum, biting your neck hard and leaving a painful trail of blood and vicious bites.

♡Some quotes from Yandere Miguel O'Hara♡:

"-I really don't think you should try to get rid of me. If you try again I swear I'll make them all suffer in front of you."

"I really would hate to hurt you but you don't give me any choice darling/dear."

"I finally found you. You are so silly aren't you? You really need a punishment."

"You can't run away from me my love. If you leave my side I swear I will kill anyone who tries to help you leave my side and I would kill myself in front of you."

"I adore you so much, I would literally rip my heart out and give it to you, kneel at your feet and kiss the ground you walk on."

[thephonemenarentreal]

FINALIZED CONCEPT FOR THE MEANIE TV! Had fun with this one!

NAME: LT-2; Paralipsis NICKNAMES: The Bastard in Chief, Murder Machine, Parasshole, The boss man (Mr. Biggs), Satan TV (Tremolo), Para 2 ALLIANCE CLASS: TV Man; Just shy a few inches to be classified as a large TV man WORK CLASS: Special Unit Attack Force (formerly); Supervisor of Outpost 51 GENDER: He/Him

CLASSIFICATION: Unknown (anomalous activation and no clue where or how the AI developed)

RANK: Supervisor of Outpost 51

Paralipsis is the eternally pissed off supervisor of Outpost 51 and is known for being rather insufferable. A micromanaging tyrant who will intentionally cause misery for others, he is known to be a mean-spirited sort when he isn't just holing up in his office binge watching soap operas.

Once a vicious alliance fighter, he was put into the supervisor position to take him away from the battlefield as he was deemed a threat to himself on account of his concerning fits and extremely self-destructive tendencies. He has taken the "promotion" with a lot of spite and content to do the shittiest job he can and make it everyone's problem that he hates his job.

MORE LORE UNDER THE CUT <3

Paralipsis picked his name out of irritation of TV men always talking about him without directly mentioning him. He is more polite to his fellow TV Men, but he still is a passive aggressive hostility as he hates being "studied" and treated as something strange to figure out.

He was meant to be the second large TV man but given he activated pre-maturely before he was finished, engineers had to rush to get his body completed so he is just short of the large TV man designation. He still kept the designation LT-2 on record.

What Paralipsis's AI is is a mystery as unlike other AIs, there was no training as he awoke with complete memories like he had been in the war for a long while....and seems to have knowledge of top secret information that should only be known by a few. Yet at the same time, he has no habits of human transferred minds indicating some ghost in the system. He is a strange anomaly among TV man.

Whatever program that is in him seems to be fixated on being "useful" and when this is not achieved, can lead to intense depressive moods that increase risk of "episodes". Around other TV Men, he is a touch more polite, but also has higher rates of "episodes".

He is known to be extremely mean to others, either outright, or in just a rather pensive silence. Paralipsis intentionally pushes people away and keeps them away as he doesn't want people to miss him or want him around. Mostly due to self-destructive tendencies.

Paralipsis is a danger to himself, especially during "Episodes" which are usually preluded by bouts of twitching, shaking, more aggressive behavior and insults before seizing up.

Stage one of Episodes starts with him flashing the image of a broken screen while starting to exhibit behavior like he is incredible pain, discharging, and going into a state that seems like he is suffering from severe critical wounds as his systems start to seize up. It is best to calm him during this state before he hits stage two.

Stage two of an episode the screen will take on a glowing core looking design and start to ramble on incoherently or rambling about needing to be "fixed" that he isn't "correct" and something is "wrong". In this state, he is fixated on "escaping" his form, attempting to usually stab his screen or some other self-harm behavior. At this point, a controlled shock to offline him temporarily is favored unless professional can de-escalate this heightened state of mania.

Paralipsis does not talk about what goes on during episodes, brushing it off and set on just trying to control them. It is noted that these episodes do not occur when within sight of the Titan TV man, however he gets somewhat catatonic. It has been agreed to keep the two apart due to these strangely zoned out reactions.

Paralipsis has four arms, but he actually rarely extends out all four out of some sort of spite that makes sense to him and by his own take, he hates them, thus keeps them folded up. However when push comes to shove, he will extend them. During episodes, the arms will engage and often act erratically. When spooked or needing to act quickly, will extend arms as well, but often rips up his jacket and gets pissed off needing to get a new one.

He actively pushes away help from others and dodges around topics, usually insulting or turning the conversation back on the person, making it clear he does not want help. Or does. He tends to have very conflicting feelings about everything. There seems to be a want for companionship, but also a general distrust of the intentions of others that is very hard to get passed.

Despite his piss poor attitude, utter lack of work ethic when he doesn't want to do tasks, his inability to take orders from higher-ups, and general inclination towards causing trouble for others, during times of crisis, Paralipsis will help others in the alliance, often putting himself at great risk to do so.

He's the second strongest of the group after Mr. Biggs, but is the most proficient fighter of the group when it comes to close quarters and stealth.

Paralipsis is very fond of his soap operas and will binge watch them for hours and ignore the world. He also has a TV in his room to use for "therapy" to help calm his moods and try to help stabilize whatever triggers there are for his episodes and general depression.

Incident -015: The Ghost Event (Log of event)

The Ghost Event took place upon the Titan TV Man's return to base after suffering critical injuries from the knife through his screen by the possessed Titan Speakerman. The Titan had suffered damage to critical functions and engineers had moved quickly to stabilize and calm the enraged Titan to keep damage to base structure to minimum.

However, once the cortex and core were hooked up to main systems, a massive surge was detected, shorting out systems in the TV man base. At the same time as this surge, incomplete units in the process of being built activated, leading to what those present described as something out of a horror movie. Incomplete unites began to attempt to move, babbling incoherently, although all but LT-2 shorted out, their cortex's exploding and melting down.

LT-2 was disconnected by the system before reaching this point, going offline before regaining consciousness. LT-2 was taken to interrogation to assess unit. Unit appeared to have memories and knowledge not expected for a newly awakened unit, able to correctly identify TV man staff and even facts about them that it should not have known. At first Unit was forthcoming with answers, but quickly became more sullen, withdrawn, and disagreeable, leading to it becoming far more agitated about the questions and refusing to answer further. Unit took on the name Paralipsis and at times exhibits fits similiar to that of what happened at its awakening.

LT-2 is effective in battle, but has no regard for its own safety and due to the research into neuroengineering the unit presents and the general concern of engineers for the well-being of the unit, LT-2 is to be kept away from conflict until EMCs can confirm the mind has stabilized. Current theory is that the Titan TV Man's high level of agitation and distress as it edged to critical failure caused a subconscious response that activated the units. The how and why remains unknown as no repeat incident has been recorded.

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 3/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Apologies if some grammar makes no sense. English is not my first language.

I do have another Lucifer angst fic right HERE, there's currently 2 parts but I swear I'll update it. There are just too many ideas flowing in my head right now and I don't want to forget them!

Really appreciate the likes, reblogs, and comments &lt;3<3

---------------------------------------------

The two Sins arrive at the very edge of Sloth where Lucifer can see a long barrier with multiple guards.

Scientists were everywhere and from the looks of things, no one had gotten any sleep.

Belphegor leads Lucifer past the barricade. Many of Belphegor's employees stare in awe and dread as the king of hell passes by.

They both come to a stop to a series of black and red roots on the ground, crawling their way out of hell's deepest realm. (Imagine those root things of the Upside-Down of stranger things)

Belphegor: Apologies again, Lucifer. I should not have kept this from you for as long as I did.

Lucifer: And why did you?

The Sin of Sloth is nervous. She and Lucifer are close friends, some may even call them (all of the Sins, really) as siblings. Despite being an ex-angel, the Sins hold Lucifer in high regard. They were created because of him, after all.

Belphegor: You have entrusted me with this duty when I was bestowed upon the title Prince of Sloth. I... simply did not want to- I have no excuse.

Lucifer: And how long has this been like this?

Belphagor: A scientist of mine spotted the anomaly a month ago. It was barely the size of a puddle initially. It did not grow more than an inch for 2 weeks. But then, seemingly overnight, it grew a mile. We set up a perimeter and tight security after..

Lucifer: After?

Belphegor: An animal escaped from a nearby farm and made contact with the anomaly. And it.. it took over its whole body. It acted like a parasite, controlling the body. We shot it dead.

Lucifer: Did you retrieve it?

Belphegor simply points to the creature, blood dried from where it was killed.

Lucifer: And I'm the first to know of this apart from your guards and scientists?

Belphegor: Yes. We've been monitoring every bit of media and so far, information regarding this is still contained. The locals have dubbed this as a personal excavation of mine.

Lucifer hmm'd and walked a little too close to the anomaly than Belphegore would like. The king crouches down and-

She panics and surges forward as her friend, her brother, touches the infected ground.

Belphegor: Lucifer! What are you doing?!

She pulls him back and freezes. The Sin of Sloth has never felt more awake than she did now as her brother's arm became engulfed in glowing red root-like veins all the way to his collarbone.

Lucifer stares at his twitching hand and arm and pays no mind to Belphegor's concerns.

Lucifer: Call for a meeting, Bel.

She stops, confused.

Belphegor: With the Sins?

Lucifer: With everyone. King's decree.

--------------------------------------

What to look forward for in Part 4:

By everyone, he means everyone (Sins, Overlords, Ars Goetia, etc.)

uh oh, Lucifer has the cheese touch

Is it painful? who knows

[iconuk01]

From about ST:TNG Season 4-ish: After an spacial anomaly leads to the disappearance of the Enterprise shuttle Einstein, it is believed that it has cost the lives of several crew members: Commander Riker: Lt Commander Worf, Ensign Wesley Crusher, Dr Selar and a few other minor characters.

After spending a suitably long time searching for any sign of them, the decision is made to call off the search and, along with some nice little moments like seeing how Riker's Dad, Selar's mother and Dr Kate Pulaski react to the news of the loss of their family/friends, we see the memorial service held for them on the Enterprise, and we have some rather nice eulogies. (For some reason I really like Geordi's tribute to Wes, it paints a good mental image) Star Trek: The Next Generation #21

Writer: Michael Jan Friedman Pencils: Peter Krause

(Of course, spoilers: they are eventually found)

[arachnoia]

avoiding | miguel o'hara

miguel o’hara x nb reader drabble

a/n | hey loves! first thank you so much for all the support on my last post, it means a lot!! I just made this as a drabble because I couldn’t sleep !! enjoy 😭

warnings- miguel acting a lil soft? reader is a spanish-speaker and understands what miguel tells them, sfw fluff, random drabble that sol came up with at 2 and it's a tad bit rushed &lt;3

————————————————------------------------------------------

“alrighty but that movie was literally life changing and amazing,” hobie said, motioning the characters in said movie he went to go see with pavi, miles. and gwen.

“oh my gosh yes. but i hated how the ending was “to be continued” like are you seriously telling me that i spent 2 hours just to be slapped with ‘to be continued’ LIKE-“ pavi stopped himself before he could start yelling about the ending and sipped his chai.

gwen glanced at you and smiled sadly, “you should’ve came with us, y/n! hobie was treating us to popcorn.”

“ahem. my guy STOLE the popcorn.” miles said, rolling his eyes while pointing to hobie.

“hey, i don’t believe in paying for that because it’s the movies and technically we should be treated to that popcorn nevertheless. tickets are expensive as it is,” hobie countered.

“no, it’s okay! i needed to handle an anomaly in some other universe with jess and peter. it was really sudden but it’s fine,” you sighed as you stretched your arms.

“i’ll get going now. bye guys!” you stood up from the cafeteria table, waving to your group, and started route out of the cafeteria.

you haven’t felt this tired in such a long time. it’s been almost 4 months since you’ve join the society and all you have been doing are missions on top of missions.

not even gwen or hobie get as many and they’ve been here longer

what’s the worse thing of it all? (except having to deal with all the back pain?): having to face him.

who’s “him”? miguel o’hara.

as a regularly optimistic person, you rarely would feel nervous to talk to anyone. that is until you met miguel and would freeze up if he was within a 25ft radius. hobie would especially tease you about it since all you knew was to say infront of him were “yes sir”, “okay”, “mhm”, and “alright”.

that was in the first week and it was actually fucking embarrassing. that was until you began forming a friendship with him which lead you both to turn pretty close.

but then he started sending you on extra missions and he started avoiding you.

although it stung, it pissed you off since you already had a job in your universe as an editor at the Daily Bugle and now this? it also turns out avoiding him as well didn’t stop him from sending you on every goddamn mission available, which pissed you off even more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“hey o’harararara! how’s your day been goin?” you said as you swung up to his platform. teasing miguel has been apart of your daily routine now.

“what’s up now n/n? it was alright,” he sighed as he zoned into the ministers infront of him.

“i’m telling him he needs a break but he won’t listen to me so you tell him,” lyla whispered, popping up out of thin air.

“c’mon o’hara. necesitas un descanso, estupido,” you said, grabbing his shoulders from the back of his seat.

miguel looked at your reflection on the ministers and you swore you saw a smile creep onto his face.

“let me finish this one thing and i’ll take a break,” he said as lyla looked at you two with a stunned expression.

“I told you, he likes you better than me.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

as you tried to make your way to the restroom to splash water on your face, hobie popped up from your side and taller you on the shoulder.

“hey n/n, miguel wants to talk to you.”

oh fuck.

“oh? for what reason?” you asked, not hiding the clear irritation in your tone and on your face.

“he didn’t specify but he wanted me to call you over? said it was deeply important,” he said in a serious tone before he busted out laughing hysterically, leaving you startled.

“oh my gosh n/n, you should have seen the look on your bloody face, man! it was fucking hilarious-“

“what’s hilarious?”

you and hobie turn around to see the person you’ve been talking about.

hobie hugs you and lets out a hearty laugh, “oh boss, it’s nothin. I was just joking here with n/n about something very strange.”

yeah, miguel o’hara is pretty fucking strange alright.

miguel’s face turned from stoic to confused (and a little mad? hobie couldn’t tell) quick, earning a smirk from hobie, “n/n?? who the hell is n/n?”

“oh it’s my dear friend y/n over here! she’s amaz-“

“claro que sí. anyways y/l/n, i need to speak with you later. meet me in my office,” miguel said as he went back to his stoic self before his exchange with hobie and left.

“holy shit I did not mean for that to happen-“ before hobie could say anything else, you patted his shoulder.

“no. it’s whatever. i’ll see you around hobie,” you said as you left hobie there, bamboozled as to what the hell just happened.

———————————————————————————-----------------

you marched to his office after every spider left and stood there, an old and familiar feeling of anxiety settling in your stomach.

what were you going to say? what did he want to say? what was going to happen? was miguel going to fire you?! you didn’t want to be fired you loved this job, even though you’re tired of the extra missions. then you felt your heart pang

your thoughts were interrupted when you heard someone talking.

“y’know as someone who has to see you two all the time it’s sad not seeing you guys interact. plus you were too shy to go actually talk to her!” that was lyla? who’s she talking about? was she talking to miguel or margo? what?

“i know and i miss her too but like i haven’t felt that way about a person for such a long time, lyla. you know this.” yep that’s miguel but who’s “her”?

all these questions were going to be answered until you accidentally sneezed and everything went silent from the other side of the doors.

“I think that’s her, miguel. maybe you should go answer. I think you should-"

“yeah I know, lyla. thanks for your assistance you can go now,” miguel said, running his fingers through his hair and sighing.

“y/l/n, you can come in.”

you rush into the room and take a deep breath.

“listen y/n-“

“no, o’hara, YOU listen. I think I need a break from all of these missions. I don’t know what’s going on because I know for a fact that missions haven’t been increasing in general. they’ve only been increasing for me and I don't like it how you're avoiding me and-“

“i’m sorry.”

he’s what?

you stared at him confused as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. you could practically cut the tension with a knife.

“pues quieres que lo repite de nuevo? I’m sorry. I just-“ miguel stopped and looked to the side.

lyla popped out again and rolled her eyes. “what he’s trying to say is that he’s sorry for sending you out and wants to give you a break…”

“-and didn’t want to get attached because he started to grow some little sparkly feelings for youuuu!”

“AY WHAT-“ before miguel could react properly, lyla left, giggling in the process.

“sparkly feelings? no sabía que eso era que sentías por mí, o'hara,” you said, chuckling a bit. you felt like this couldn't be real.

you also swore you saw miguel turn a little red.

“pues si, I mean I didn’t-“

“-want to get attached? I get it, miguel. and it’s fine because I know what you’ve been through and it’s okay.”

you went over to hug him. you felt bad and and miguel turned as stiff as a rock.

“supongo que también siento ‘sparkly feelings’ por ti, miguel,” you whispered. you didn't know what came upon you but it felt fun to tease him a bit. you couldn't believe how miguel o'hara could be nervous because he likes you.

"hm. interesting," he said, chuckling a bit and letting go. "i'd recommended to get some rest now. tomorrow's going to be a long day for you, n/n."

you froze and glared at him. "i thought i was getting a break? the hell happened?" before he swung and left his own office, leaving you confused as hell as to what just happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

translations -

supongo que también siento ‘sparkly feelings’ por ti, miguel | i guess i also have those 'sparkly feelings' for you too, miguel

pues si | well yeah

no sabía que eso era que sentías por mí, o'hara | i didn't know that's how you felt about me, o'hara

pues quieres que lo repite de nuevo? | well do you want me to repeat it again?

claro que si | yeah of course

necesitas un descanso, estupido | you need a break, stupid

[occasionalpanic]

The Anomaly :-)

[ask-lts]

Question for the anomaly (if he's still around)

Why did you possess alex?

[ ALRIGHT BEFORE YALL GET CONFUSED, the reason why the Anomaly still exists is because I hc after the final stance he got sent to the void for “all of eternity”, and his body is just a replica of Alex’s ]

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Okay I realized a scene I love comes up in the fic on this chapter, so I was like "well, I'm not doing anything right now, why not write it?"

So I wrote it. Enjoy.

(This one has description of some gore and aftermath of torture, very short segments, not worse than was already in the fic)

Ghost woke up slowly, the slick residue of his nightmares fading away as he lifted his head and groaned. Soap had already woken up, and by the chipper way he moved around the room, a while ago.

The Sergeant is getting better at telling when he’s being stared at, and he turns around to raise an eyebrow at Ghost.

“Sleepin’ beauty is finally awake!” he says with a smile.

Ghost drags a hand under his mask, sighing, “time’s it?”

“500 sharp, sir” Soap provides happily.

The fuck’s kinda person is this cheerful at this hour? Ghost exhales loudly and finally gets out of bed. The Sergeant opens his mouth, to probably comment on his old man habits, but Ghost shoots him a stare that would’ve killed a lesser man.

Soap just gives him a shit eating grin in return, “not a morning person?”

Ghost walks towards the bathroom, “I’m a normal person, you’re the fuckin’ anomaly.”

The Scot barks a loud laugh that makes him feel a little less groggy.

At mess, the taskforce finds a table of their own, and the Sergeants busy themselves with an argument about one daft thing or another. 

Price caught his attention and started speaking to him in his mind, “your nightmares are bloody loud sometimes, y’know that?”

Ghost bites on his toast, “don’t fuckin’ listen then.”

The Captain laughs a little before his features turn serious, “you wanna tell me how much of what the Reaper said in your dream actually happened?”

That’s what he dreamt about that last night? Fucking hell. Can’t keep secrets from Price.

“Won’t have to if you just told me, Simon.”

Ghost puts down his meal to stare intently at the Captain, “what did you see? In my dream.”

Price’s moustache twitched in thought, and he replied, “it said something about Soap bringing your demise?”

“It said ‘bringer of demise’, didn’t fuckin’ specify whose.” Ghost spat back.

“What else?”

Before he could stop him, he felt Price pull the memory to the forefront of his mind to watch for himself what unfolded on the plane that day.

“It told you to stay away from Soap if you wanna live?!”

Ghost banged his fist on the table, startling the Sergeants out of their idiotic bickering. He paid no mind to them, focus fully on Price, “I’m not going to stop working with the Sergeant just because my Reaper decided to be a little shit.” he snarls in the Captain’s head.

Price huffs, “I’m not going to let you die Ghost.”

“Did it say I’m going to die?!”

“Simon…”

Gaz cuts their exchange, “what’s going on? Are you two talking in your brains?”

Soap crosses his arms, “well, yer welcome to use your outside voice.”

Ghost gets up, “no need, we’re done.”

Before he can get out of range, Price tells him “keep yourself safe on this mission, Simon. We’ll figure it out later.”

He supposes that’s manageable. 

Ghost and Soap bid their farewells to Gaz and Price, as they go on their own part of the mission, and walk back to the armory to get ready for theirs.

The two of them get dressed up, Ghost armed to the teeth with various throwing knives. He’s not going to use Limbo, not with Soap being right next to him.

And he won’t need to - Ghost is perfectly capable as a fighter with no abilities. There’s a reason the rumors about him as so varied.

Near inhuman in every aspect.

Soap is done before him (less knives, amateur), and now sits to watch Ghost finish up.

A low whistle makes him twist around, “haven’t seen this get-up since the last time we worked together, lookin’ good LT”.

…huh?

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Ghost voices almost mechanically.

“Aye sir, yessir.” Soap gives him an overexaggerated salute.

He rolls his eyes and ignores the warm feeling spreading through his body for the billionth time.

The cartel member’s house appears in the distance after a few minutes of making their way through the wilder parts of Las Almas. Ghost and Soap take out the guards at the front gate and make their way in.

The house is a two storey, drab building, with no real defining features. It’s surrounded by a tall fence, and a smaller shed is stuck by the far left corner of the large yard. 

The suspected location of the kidnapped people is by the far end of the house. They’re tasked with making it inside without alerting any alarms, lest they start killing the people trapped inside.

With the front door clear, the two soldiers open the door and instantly check corners, covering each other’s blind spots.

“Clear.”, Ghost announces.

“Clear.” Soap lowers his silenced pistol a bit, “seems awfully empty, LT. Sure we got the right house?”

“Affirm, stay sharp Sergeant.” Ghost starts forwards, Soap not far behind him.

He feels unnerved. The Sergeant is right, the house is quiet, as though it’s been deserted weeks ago. But a quick look at the amount of dust settled on the floors tells him it couldn’t be more than a few days.

They continue forward, clearing rooms methodically. Ghost has a sense of satisfaction from the act, an enjoyment in working together with Soap besides him for the first time.

They complete each other’s blind spots like puzzle pieces.

Soap declares the first floor clear, barring one last room at the very end of the hallway. Up until then they found several evidences that there were narcos residing here in the past, including a hefty amount of white powder, but they’re not here on a drug bust.

“On me Sergeant”, Ghost orders Soap before pushing the door open.

The scene inside is gruesome. Ghost is intimately familiar with narco torturing techniques, so the bloodied items strewn across the room were an unfriendly sight.

4 bodies lay in the room, and Ghost walks over to check for cartel tattoos on them. One of the bodies has dog tags, and he frowns while pulling it out of the dead man’s shirt.

They read “Thomas Anderson”. Why is that name familiar-

“Sergeant Thomas Anderson, 28. Revenant powers… ‘Breathing underwater?’”

Soap examines the torturing devices with wary eyes, muttering “steamin’ Jesus…” under his breath.

Ghost spots a large tub, filled with reddish water.

Anderson’s body is dry, besides the blood oozing out of his cold body.

The three other men in the room however… Their body is coated with an even amount of thinned blood, from their head down to their chests. They died from drowning.

What is the meaning of this…?

Ghost takes Anderson’s dog tags and stands up, “4 confirmed deaths, no survivors”, he radios in. 

“Copy, exfil inbound in 30, get yourself there.”

They both exit the room, “copy, out here.”

Ghost turns to stand in front of the Sergeant, “one of them was a revenant”, he dangles the tags in front of Soap’s eyes. The date of Reaping is listed right under date of birth, like in their own tags.

Soap frowns, a certain anger washing over him, “what do you think they’re playin’ at?”

“We can chew on that back at base, for now let get to exfil-”

Ghost barely finishes his sentence when he sees Soap’s eyes widen, locked on something behind his shoulder. Half a second later, he’s being spun around, and the piercing sound of bullets fills the air.

Ghost’s heart hammers, and he finally focuses on the view in front of him. Soap’s wide, blue eyes.

And several blotches of red peppered across his torso, spreading quicker than Ghost can process.

“...Soap?” his mind can’t, refuses to make sense of the sight in front of him. Soap isn’t… he can’t be…

The Sergeant’s breaths are erratic, chest rising and falling in big swells. The shock in his eyes transforms, burns away.

Until all that’s left, is rage.

“I’m so sick of this…” Soap murmurs. Shouts in Spanish echo behind them, but Ghost have eyes and ears only for his Sergeant.

Soap lets go of his shoulders, and Ghost scrambles to take him in his arms.

But Soap turns around and walks away, legs shaking and hands burning brighter and brighter by the second. 

One brave narco shoots at his shoulder, making the Scot stagger for a moment.

Ghost lifts an arm, to drag Soap back to him, to cover him from anyone who ever harmed him, to do something, anything.

But Soap unleashes a terrifying snarl and launches forward, grabbing at the narcos.

The explosions blind Ghost, screams and horrible sounds of metal creaking to the breaking point and bones snapping deafening him.

Soap whirls in the middle of this firestorm, exploding guns, heads, walls, anything in his path.

Ghost’s eyes water from the amount of dust and smoke that fills the air.

His Sergeant is radiant.

“Soap…” Ghost tries to stop the unstoppable. He just wants Soap to rest.

“Johnny…..” 

Soap finally stills, carnage creating a halo around him, and all Ghost sees is the red on his clothes, the wheezing of his breath.  

Ghost takes a step forward, and Soap collapses on his knees.

He rushes to grab him by the shoulders before he can fall further, “you’re fine Johnny, you’re going to be fine.” he sputters, pushing his Sergeant up to look at the wounds.

So many wounds.

He knows no one can survive this. Not even revenants. 

“LT…” Soap whispers, voice weak and wobbly.

“You’re going to be alright, you…” air leaves his lungs without a sound. He can’t breathe. How can he?

How can he breathe when Soap lifts a trembling hand, the gentle warmth of flames licking at Ghost’s nape, and looks at him like that?

“LT… I’m not gonna-”

They both jump at the sound of car tires getting closer. The narcos called for backup…

Ghost can’t breathe. He watches Soap shivers in front of him.

He doesn’t have a choice. 

Ghost takes Soap in his arms, hand on his nape mirroring his Sergeant, and presses his head to his own shoulder.

“Close your eyes, Johnny. It will all be over soon.”

He can hear Soap gasp, can feel his chest stuttering.

Ghost closes his eyes the moment footsteps enter the house.

Limbo courses out of him, darkness and emptiness and void filling the house, the residents of it screaming, snarling to take a bite at the intruders.

He holds Soap tight, pressing himself as close as he can. The protective wisps of light barely cover them both, but he will not let Soap be taken by Limbo.

Not Soap. Not Johnny.

In the next blink, Limbo is gone. The victims of the void quiet, as if they also mourn along Ghost.

Johnny pushes lightly at his chest, and Ghost separates them to look him in the eyes.

He seemed to try to form a sentence before a series of coughs wrecked his body, so Ghost laid him down on the blood-covered floor.

“G-Ghost”, he utters through clenched teeth, “d’ye… d’ye know how guns work?”

Ghost’s heart crushes at the sound of his Sergeants voice. He’s… not making sense anymore. Blood delirium isn’t unheard of… especially… especially with how much he-

“Yes”, Ghost softly whispers, more gentle than he ever learned to be.

“T-tell me”, Soap winces when more pain makes its way through his system.

Ghost wants to wither away with him. “The bullet goes into the chamber… and the primer is ignited to cause a small exp-”

His world stops completely.

“T-Teh cause a small ex-explosion.” Soap finishes slowly.

Johnny is…

“I’m not gonna d-die, LT”

Ghost’s eyes slide away from Soap’s, to the rest of his body. He slowly lifts his Sergeant’s shirt, to reveal multiple bullet holes where the tac vest didn’t cover him.

Bullet holes that are already closing.

Ghost wanted to scream out of joy, wail in premature unwarranted grief, shout at Soap for not telling him earlier.

But the radio informs them exfil is 10 minutes out, and they need to get a move on if they want to arrive in time.

Ghost slides his hands under Soap’s body, blood soaking his gloves in a way that takes him back 8 months ago. Back when it was different.

Soap grasps him like he’ll fall if he doesn’t.

Different, yet also the same.

The walk to exfil is quiet, save for Soap’s harsh breathing. Healing or not, he still feels pain.

The driver of their exfil car looks horrified at their shared state, but neither give an explanation and take a sit at the back of the car. It’s only after a few moments of nothing that Ghost mutters, “drive” to the Vaquero.

He feels numb, his arms and legs limp, gaze forward, but nothing truly passes through his brain.

Soap shifts beside him, letting out grunts of pain every once in a while. Making it obvious, despite what his heart tells him, that he’s very much alive.

The blood seeping under his fingernails feels freezing.

The Vaquero was at a loss of what to do with them once the car reaches the base. Ghost shuts the door loudly, and with it the connection to his heart.

Lieutenant first, human last.

“Where is medical?” He asks the man.

Ghost carries Soap all the way to the nurse’s hands, where he was stopped and told he had to clean up if he wanted to stay any longer. He wanted to scream infection doesn’t matter when the wounds will close in the matter of minutes, but the look on the nurse told him she wasn’t impressed.

He left medical to drag himself to the showers, energy left behind him with every step. 

Showers are usually a short ordeal for him, as efficient as they come. But Johnny’s blood going down the drain made him linger.

30 or so minutes later he comes out, and for the first time in what feels like hours there's  something in his brain, besides numbness.

It’s Price. Him and Gaz returned.

The voice in his mind sounds concerned, imploring him to explain why everything looks so dull there.

Ghost ignores it and goes to find his teammates.

“Ghost” Price greets, Gaz perks up from his previous position, head held in his hands. “Where’s the Sergeant?”

Ghost nods back at the hallway, “medical.” is all he provides.

Garrick startles, “Was he injured? What happened?”

“Flanked.” Ghost says, voice matching the emptiness in his head, “got shot.”

“Shot?! Fuck, where-”

“He’s immune.” Ghost cuts him off.

Gaz becomes confused, “immune?”

“To bullets. Primer ignition counts as explosion.” 

The Sergeant sits back down, body slackening, “thank fuck…”

Price catches ghost’s eye contact, “but you didn’t know that.”

Ghost just… shrugs.

“Fucking hell…” the Captain looks away, “it was one of the redacted details in his file…”

Gaz frowns, “why would they redact that?”

“Reapers know.”

The next couple of hours zoom past Ghost. His teammates try to coax him out of his unfeeling self, but Ghost isn’t truly in base.

His mind is stuck in a cartel house, in the Las Almas wilderness. On bloody and soot covered floor, with a dying man in his arms.

On eyes, shining with burning rage.

Pain! Pain! Pain! All I'm making Ghost feel is pain!

[imperatordavianus-blog]

T-888 Terminator.

The last of the 8xx series of battle endoskeletons, however, with Skynet's defeat and utter destruction by the resistance. Only a handful remain, though one cyborg was sent back in time not by SkyNet or by the Resistance, but by someone else. An I-950 Initiate to be exact, sent a T-888 Cyborg Goliath Unit #103 (a type of super Terminator mentioned and seen in the Terminator comics by Now! Comics 1988 - 1990) back in time. However, due to a random anomaly, he was sent back to an alternate universe where SkyNet & Cyberdyne Systems doesn't exist. With a metal endoskeleton made completely by hyperalloy & Colton, being covered by living flesh and tissue.

Rev-6 Terminator

Legion's finest heavy units in its war against the Founders & T-Force. Way before Dani Ramos founded her own Resistance. Previous factions existed facing previous yet advanced models. One of them being the Rev-6, a combat endoskeleton made completely by steel under both living tissue and synthetic flesh. This cyborg, was but a few infiltrators by Legion, originally considered as prototypes. This one in particular was not. However, as he was about to be sent into the battlefield, Legion had already created the Rev-7s of whom became the true precursor to the Rev-9. Now almost considered as obsolete. Legion decided to send this one back in time to search for the parents of Lt. Alex Church's parents to terminate them by mandate. However, upon being sent back, an unknown anomaly has happened and he ended up to an alternate world where Legion doesn't exist. Now ultimately stuck in a world that he doesn't belong to.

My commission done by Piotr Czaplarski aka Peter-the-Tomato. He has done a fantastic job with this. Also I added the old Terminator pic with the rest since it is better to add it.

[101-android-luvr-010]

Spot Tales pt1

Data's POV:

Second officer's personal log supplemental:

Stardate: 44250.0

This is the 1,339th day sense the Enterprise was first commissioned. The Enterprise has entered orbit around the planet Risa. The crew, including Lt. Barkley, Commander Riker, Captain Picard, and my best friend, Geordi LaForge, have taken shore leave for the next 72 hours. Today also marks 7 birthdays, a Klingon celebration of the Q'onoS Festival, 1 staff transfer, and 13 weekend school assignment of the 6 though 9 grade.

The door slides with a slight hesitation and Data walks out of his quarters, his brows furl in thought and he tilts his head at the door as it shuts. He begins to walk down the corridors of the Enterprise to engineering.

Data's POV:

However, I have noticed several minor anomalies within the ship's systems. Including environmental controls, the replicators and slight delays in the diagnostics system.... I plan to run a Level 2 diagnostics to ensure no underlying issues are present. This should take approximately 1 hour and 19 minutes to complete.

Data enters engineering, his strides long and deliberate. passing lt.s and other crew members under his, and Lt. Comm. LaForge's command. Back at his quarters, Spot lays on his desk grooming herself, when the door suddenly jitters open. The orange feline's ears perk up, stopping mid-lick. The door is frozen open, and Spot stretches her furry back and jumps down to the floor. The cat prowls curiously towards the opening, and walks out...

Data types away at the central control panel, approximately 11 feet straight away from the Warp coils. He then picks up his PADD that lays to the right of him, and glances down at the controls and continues to tap away on them with his lift hand. Showing the slightest glimpse of satisfaction, he puts his phone-like device into his pocket and starts to walk. His fingers momentarily lingering in the glass of the table.

Data's POV:

The anomaly in the ship's systems has been resolved. However, the resolution requires a complete systems restart to fully stabilize all effected systems. This process should take to all intents and perposes 25 minutes if it runs through optiomaily. In the meantime, I will return to my quarters and have some downtime... Perhaps play my violin and give Spot one of her feline supliments.

He walks to his quarters, but slowly stops as he sees his door wide open. He slowly approaches. His lips part slightly and he steps inside, having to manually close his door. He looks around, on his chair, by the plant she likes to try and eat and under his bed.

"Spot...?''

[amygdalae]

how often do you check your followers? idk if id notice losing a handful of followers but maybe i am an anomaly?

I dont deliberately check lts just that i tab over to settings on mobile to check my queue/drafts/inbox and its visible when I do that