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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 months

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A Pirate's Dream For Me

Summary: Captain Fortune, pirate queen of the seven seas. You could never be tied down, no matter who it is that asks, no matter what it is that comes after you.

Notes: ~1.3k words, NAMED READER cause I thought it would be hilarious if a woman on a ship was named misfortune, cause yknow, they were considered bad luck *slaps knee*

Warnings/Tags: slight possessive Dream, but he's chill frfr

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“Hard to starboard! Heave those ropes, now!” You scream as you run up the steps to the boat’s wheel. You hear your first mate repeat your orders and your crew flies into action.

Thump… thump… thump…

The sound comes from deep in the waters, ripples following its movements. The air is heavy and hot, it’s stagnant even as the wind pushes on your sails. You shove away the person at the helm, ushering them to help out their other crewmates. You spin the wheel fast as you feel the wind change its course on you.

“Come on, my beaut, fly for me,” You mutter to your ship.

Thump.. Thump.. Thump..

You could smell it before you could see it, the vibrations of its tentacles came closer and closer to your ship and crew. It smelled of rotten fish and old metallic blood.

Thump! Thump! Squelch…

“All hands on deck!” You scream again as you hear the slimy sounds of its large arms begin to crawl the walls of your ship.

Your heart is racing in your chest, but you find yourself caught in a smile as you watch the beast emerge from the depths of Davy Jones's locker. Tentacles three times the size of your mast, filled with suckers the size of the very wheel you mastered.

The Kraken.

A beautiful, deadly creature, come to take the love of your life away with one fell swoop. Well, you certainly won’t go without a fight. The sun blazes down on you, the feather on your captain’s hat whipping violently in the chaos of it all. Your crew falls silent, shocked and stunned at the view of the large beast.

“Arm the cannons, fire at will!” You order as you watch those below you scrambling over each other. Your command brings them back to the present.

Some disappeared below deck to start the cannons, and others began to raid the armory. The sound of blades being pulled from their scabbards and the clicking of guns being loaded penetrate the air as the ship sails the rough waters.

Screams fall shortly after as the Kraken’s tentacles start to block out the sun. They come slamming down, the action sounding like a cracked whip. Its tactile arms feel around in large swoops as it grabs anything it can get a hold of. Barrels of gunpowder, crates of illegal goods, and your crew.

You grab a random rod that was snapped out of place and jammed it into the helm, keeping your ship on course. With a yell, you fly down the stairs and unsheath your blade in one hand and cock your pistol with the other. A slimy appendage comes for you, which you shoot. The sharp pain of your bullet is enough for the beast to pull back its arm. But, not before it comes back again and finds itself wrapped around your first mate. His arm shoots out and quickly you grab it, the other coming down with a force to slice at the beast.

You’re losing your men left and right as the tentacles climb higher and higher. You’ve seen this before, you’ve seen the absolute power the creature possesses. And amidst the chaos of splintering wood and screams you shouted your last order.

“Abandon ship, head for land!” You scream defeated.

At once, your crew drops whatever they are holding and heads for the longboats. They climbed over each other, dodging tentacles as much as they could before dropping haphazardly into the raging sea. You’re the last to leave, ready to heave yourself over the railing but the deafening sound of your ship snapping in half leaves you abandoned.

You fall with the ship, and the humidity of the Kraken’s breath surrounds you. The floor cracks, leaving you falling to the ship’s magazine. The gunpowder was still dry…

With another bout of adrenaline, you crawl to your feet and throw the gunpowder's kegs against the walls. The kegs break against the force and you’re covered in the black soot of the explosive material. The sun disappears as you hear the grinding teeth of the Kraken close on themself. The ship groans under the pressure of the Kraken’s throat and with a deep, final breath you aim your pistol at the pile of gunpowder.

A spark, a flash, and a boom.

The last thing you hear is the screams of your name on your crew’s lips.

“You killed my Kraken, Miss. Fortune,” A voice pulls you from the depths.

You feel the soft sand beaches of the tropics underneath you and you force your eyes open to the blazing sun that was probably giving you the worst sunburn imaginable right now.

The voice that calls to you, it was one that you’ve heard twice before. Once upon a dream, when you were but a young girl watching your father making maps for the royal navy.

“It’s Captain Fortune, and your Kraken destroyed my ship… Dream of the Endless” You groan as you sit up. Your clothes were tattered and burnt at the edges. “She was beautiful, though.”

“My beast, or your ship?” He asks as he looks down at you.

He stands against the backdrop of every worker’s dream. The palm trees in the distance sway in the gentle breeze of the topics as they use their energies to bare the juiciest coconuts. His black attire made him stick out like a sore thumb, and his skin was ghastly pale compared to your sun tanned one after years at sea.

“They are both your creations are they not, Dream Lord?” You respond with a smile.

“Indeed they are,” He replies softly. He watches you carefully as you painfully stand on your feet.

One of your shoes was missing, which he only acknowledges with a raised eyebrow. Otherwise, you seemed more or less intact, save for the burn marks on your forearms and upper thigh. If he hadn’t come at just the right moment, he feared he might have lost both beauties of the sea.

“Have you reconsidered your answer to my question?” He asks.

Your face snaps towards him with a frown; partially to block out that sun (where is your captain’s hat?) and the other because you hated that he asked. Your mind recalls the second, and only other time, you’ve encountered this otherworldly being. It was on the dawn of your 24th birthday, right before you woke up. He came to you in a hazy dream, asking if you wanted to become his queen. To rule the land of the Dreaming together, forever.

You scoff as you remember. “Given my near death experience? The answer remains the same.”

“Which is?” Dream prompts slowly.

“No.” You sigh and look out to the horizon. You need to get a new ship, and a new crew, everything can be replaced, but never freedom. You need to get off this island as soon as possible.

“Then what is it you dream for?” Dream asks even though he knows the answer. He just wanted to keep you by his side for as long as possible, your very presence felt like a clarifying drug to him.

“For the open seas, the chaos of life, the shine of buried treasure…” You begin to list off, shrugging. There were so many reasons. “A pirate’s dream for me.”

“I will keep coming for you, my pirate queen” He promises in your ear, or threatens. The words balance on a thin line between the two.

“I’ve already killed your Kraken.” You smirk and give a flamboyant, sarcastic bow before turning away.

Little do you know that he has already gifted you a new ship on the other side of the island. He’s sure you’ll love it just as much as the last one he made for you. Dream doesn’t follow you, only his eyes do as your figure disappears. He’s already thinking of another beast to come for you.

The sea excites you, the chase excites him.

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#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #pirates

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arc-misadventures · 8 months

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The Sleepover

A Girls Sleepover

~~~

Blake: Hey guys?

Yang: What’s up?

Blake: You guys want to summon a demon?

Weiss: What?

Pyrrha: Excuse me?

Nora: Hell yeah!

Ruby: But, why?

Blake: We’re having a slumber party, so lets do some slumber party things.

Yang: What kind of slumber party’s have demon summoning as a part of it?

Blake: We had them all the time back home.

Weiss: What other weird faunas slumber party traditions are there?

Blake: Well, we often play spin the bottle.

Yang: I’m up for that!

Pyrrha: Aren’t we supposed to have some boys for that?

Ruby: Can we summon demons instead?

Weiss: You really want to do that?

Ruby: Why not, can’t be worse than dealing with, Grimm can it?

Pyrrha: Well… It does sound like it could be fun…

Weiss: …

Weiss: Fine, lets summon a demon.

Nora: Fuck yeah, let’s do this!

~~~

A Boys Sleepover

~~~

Neptune: WHO THE FUCK KEEPS SUMMONING THESE FUCKING DEMONS?!!

Neptune yelled as he unloaded his rifle into the face of a demon as, Ren darted past him unloading his magazines from his machine pistol into the oncoming horde of demons. His shots skimming past, Jaune as he broke a massive demon’s back across his knee before retrieving his sword, and severing the head off another demon. All the while, Sun sat upon a tower of corpses, boombox held aloft in the air as the, Doom music applauded their bloody slaughter.

And, to think, all they wanted to do was play video games…

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #weiss schnee #ruby rose #lie ren #neptune vasilias #sun wokung

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cordeliawhohung · 6 months

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Sun Bleached Flies - Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem. Or maybe they're worse. It's difficult to tell when you're still stuck in that basement.

warnings: PTSD, angst, anxiety/panic attack, blood, hurt/comfort

wc: 7k

Simon was always good with a gun.

Well, not always, but he learned quickly after he joined up. Countless hours were spent down at the range, cleaning, loading, aiming, shooting, working on his technique and stance; becoming a lethal and effective killer. Practice makes permanent, and he found himself using a handgun to shoot several yards at a target at an outdoor range, which felt wrong. The distance was much too far, and he couldn’t even tell if he was hitting his target effectively, let alone if his grouping was alright.

That wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. His M1911 felt too light, even with a full magazine, which seemed like it held too few bullets. He swore he loaded nine rounds in, but could only squeeze the trigger three times before the slide was stuck open, telling him he was dry. So he’d reload, rack the slide, and try again just for the same events to occur.

Eventually, he got frustrated. Too damn far to see the target properly, and he certainly had faulty equipment, so he holstered his gun and glanced around the area, defeated. The range itself was proper, but something seemed off about it. It was his feet, constantly slipping on something, and it wasn’t until he looked down that he realized it was sand. Desert-like sand, but it seemed too moist. Was he at the beach?

“Did I not say I would find someone who would make you talk?”

Simon turned around so quickly he swore his neck would snap. It was Bukin. Always Bukin. He grinned like a hyena with rotting teeth and a decaying core, and his chuckle was just as sour. An unexplainable rage began to smother him at the very sight of that creature, and his fingers twitched as he reached for his gun once more.

“You don’t deserve her,” Bukin continued as Simon aimed the muzzle of his pistol at him. “She would’ve been better off with me.”

A single shot echoed in the air, but there was no ringing in his ear, or crack in the distance. His gun didn’t jump, and Bukin still stood as if a bullet had never been fired in the first place. In anger, Simon stomped towards the man, gun still pointed at him, and pulled the trigger another time. Once more, there was nothing but a single shot and no blood.

“Or maybe you should have never had her at all,” Bukin mused as he crossed his arms over his chest, unphased. “You had to have known it would happen, yes? Death follows you everywhere you go, Ghost. It was going to get her eventually.”

The stiff end of the muzzle pushed against Bukin’s sternum, and Simon held it there firmly as he pulled the trigger once again. He had gone through the actions so many times. He knew what it sounded like when the breath was torn out of someone after the impact of a shot. Where was the thud of Bukin’s body? Why was the light still in his eyes?

“Ghost?”

Simon turned around at the sound of your voice. There was a small waiver in your tone that made his stomach drop, and he could feel his heart scream and shatter at the sight of you. Hands covered in blood, trembling lips, tears pouring from your eyes as you clutched your chest. You stared at him as if begging for him, as if he was the only person in the world who could save you.

When he tried to take a step forward, he felt his feet starting to sink through the sand, like the earth was trying to swallow him whole. Legs straining, he tried to push through, climb across the land and claw his way to you. You continued to stand there, hand clutched to your chest, blood flowing impossibly fast through the wound. Had he caused that? Or had you always been like that? Broken? Bleeding? Why did you look at him like that? Like you were forgiving him?

Sand swallowed him up to his waist by that point, and there was so much blood soaking the ground he couldn’t tell how much of it was yours, pouring from your wound, or his, pouring from his nails; broken and ragged from clawing to get to you. The worst part was, there were no hands holding him back, no biting words degrading him. Nothing in the world was stopping Simon from saving you except for himself. There was more blood than earth by that point, and the roaring sound of the ocean waves drowned out your crying and begging.

Eventually the earth felt pity on Simon, and the sand swallowed him whole.

Simon hardly needed to set alarms those days. His body did all the work for him, consistently waking him up with a frenzied jolt. A thick layer of sweat permeated his sleepwear, and he could feel strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. A terrible, chest rattling drum pounded in his body, and he could feel the way his ribs heaved in order to steady his heart.

The first place he turned to look was to you. Fast asleep on your side of the bed, the only clue that you were even alive was the subtle movement of your shoulders with your soft breathing. He knew he should have been happy to see you sleeping so peacefully, but when his eyes settled on the bottle of Ambien on your nightstand, a sour taste soiled his tongue.

Turning his attention to one of the windows, Simon took notice of the dull spring sunrise peeking through the curtains as he sat up. It was soft and white, like there were too many clouds in the sky for the sun to shine properly. It was only a matter of time before your alarm woke you up for work, and though he usually liked to stay around until you left, something was telling him to run. Run, fight, scream, because then at least the pounding in his chest would make sense.

Instead, he turned back to face you and your sleeping form. So soft and quiet underneath the covers, hidden away from the world that was much too cruel towards you. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, and not even that stirred you out of your sleep. Still, it made him feel a little better as he slipped out underneath the blankets and began to dress himself for the day.

One day the bed would grow warmer. He’d wake up with you in his arms again, smiling up at him, and his nightmares would finally fade away. But he was too afraid to cut you on the broken pieces of himself, and he was tired of seeing your blood. Your happily-ever-after would come someday. Eventually. Just not that day. Not while he still failed to save you, even in his dreams.

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Once again, the sound of Jace’s shoes were driving you up the wall. The man had grown partial to wearing a full suit at work, for some strange reason, which only proved to annoy you even further. Strutting around in his charcoal grey suit all important-like while he breathed down the necks of every poor girl that worked there. He wasn’t a creep or anything, just much too enthusiastic about his job, and with no concept of personal space it didn’t take much effort for the man to irritate you.

Luckily, you were working on fixing a jam in the cash dispenser, which meant you were mostly out of your manager's line of sight. It was a difficult jam, something that couldn’t be fixed by simply opening the side panel and yanking the paper cash out by hand. Grime built up on money too easy, and the tips of your fingers had turned grey just from handling what little cash you had managed to yank out of the dispenser. No wonder that shit got jammed; there was so much dirt and dust stuck in that machine. Did anyone even bother to do any cleaning while you were gone?

You nearly laughed out loud at that thought. While you were gone. Why did you make it sound like you were gone by choice? Would it have been easier if you had just gone willingly? Would it have saved you from the pain?

No. No, you were at work and you needed to focus. There was no room for you to slip away, to go back to that house, that beach, that orchard, any of it. Your hands stilled on the machine as you took a shaky breath. No room for emotions; just for cleaning.

You stepped away from the machine for a short moment, trying to change your focus to something else while you reached for a can of compressed air. It made quick work of the dust and buildup crammed into the sensors and circuits of the machine, and you watched as it swirled in the air around you. A tingling sensation settled deep in your nose, and you tried not to think about the adverse effects that inhaling literal human grime and greed would have on your health.

Jace’s shoes hit against the stone floor of the bank again. Their terrible click-clack sound was not at all similar to boots on wood, and yet you still found yourself looking up towards the ceiling. There was no second floor to the building, no rooms above your head. Nothing but bright lights and fancy fixtures greeted you, and you found yourself swallowing hard as you looked back down at the dispenser. It was an instinctual reaction, something you couldn’t stop yourself from doing, and yet your heart raced all the same.

Sniffling, you shook your head and continued messing with the machinery in front of you. After opening a few more panels and removing a few parts, you found where the worst part of the jam had occurred. Someone didn’t check the cash well enough for slight tears, and it had gotten caught on one of the belts and torn, leaving a large pile of money behind it waiting to be processed. You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you reached into the machine to pull the disfigured money out, and you did your best to ignore it as you started to close everything back up.

Something cracked behind you, and you froze. It was nothing more than someone scooting back in their chair, and you knew it. It was a sound you had heard plenty of times at work. You knew what it was, and yet your body didn’t. Your body heard it as a thump above you. A chair toppling over after someone shoved it in anger. Then it was followed by footsteps. Boots on wood. Stalking towards you as the sound descended downstairs. He was right on top of you. Right behind that door. Waiting to tear you apart.

Then his hand was on your shoulder. Always touching you. Always grabbing you like he owned you, like you were nothing more than a pet to him. Maybe you had been. No, you were less than that; you had just been livestock. An animal he tried to use to keep himself alive, something to bargain with. And his hand was on your shoulder, ready to take you away to be slaughtered.

“Hey, are we getting anywhere with this j-?”

When you turned around, you led with your elbow, and it collided with something squishy, followed by a yelp. Your eyes landed on your manager, Jace, who stood in front of you, doubled over as he held his nose. Blood splattered on the ground, staining his fingers as it poured uncontrollably from his nose. You looked down at the mess and noticed he had gotten some on the tips of his shiny, annoying dress shoes.

“Bleeding fucking christ,” he said through gritted teeth.

All you could do was stand there in shock with your hands hiding away your mouth as you looked at the mess you caused. You wanted to be angry, you deserved to be angry. He fucking touched you when a simple question could have easily gotten your attention. But he was bleeding, all over the floor, and when he looked up at you with involuntary tears in his eyes, you found your stomach churning with guilt.

“What the fuck was that?” you asked. You tried to sound large, but your voice only shook as you lowered your hands away from your face.

“What?” Jace asked, peeved. His voice was congested due to the blood he was trying not to choke on. “I should be the one asking you that! You broke my fucking nose!”

“Do you know how to talk to people without touching them?” you retorted. But your voice gave away what strength you tried to fake. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop shaking.

“My apologies, didn’t realize it was a bloody crime,” Jace muttered, the sarcasm almost covering his anger.

Even after all that time, it was always the same. Greedy hands on your waist in a bar. Vile hands holding your wrist, threatening to shatter it. The hands of your idiot manager trying to get your attention. Each and every time you knew it was wrong, that they shouldn’t have been touching you like that, and each and every time you were the one to blame for it.

It was always the same. Nothing had changed.

Different voices, kinder voices, tried to get your attention, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of your terror. That pulsing mass of muscle in your chest, or the hyperventilating of your lungs. Sometimes your chest ached so terribly you thought you would die, and that’s how you felt in that moment. You’d just keel over on the stone floor and drown in the blood you accidentally spilled over a fucking panic attack.

So you left. You hadn’t even fully realized you were leaving until you were outdoors where the bitter spring rain almost instantly soaked you to the bone, even through the thick fabric of your blazer. There was the vague sound of the bank door opening behind you, but you ignored it and kept walking and prayed that whoever was behind you would leave you to be devoured.

Your walk home felt like a blur; like you were just some puppet with her strings being pulled. There wasn’t a single action you had taken the last few days that actually felt like your own will. You had turned into a simple bystander for your own life. People said that spring rain washed away everything so that there was room for new growth. The only thing you felt in the rain was cold, and it certainly didn’t wash away the anger that tried to strangle you or the sobs that choked you.

When you arrived home, everything was quiet. Usually Simon was there to greet you, but you also usually spent more than two hours at work. Really, it was for the best that he wasn't there anyway. He had always managed to find you in such vulnerable states, but you weren’t sure if you could handle him seeing you like that. Soaked to the bone, uncontrollable tears falling from your eyes, having probably just lost your job after essentially assaulting your manager.

It was a coo that caught your attention. Brought you back to reality, if only for a moment. It came from Boo, of course, who stood near your feet. He looked slightly disgruntled at the small puddle of water that had gathered around your feet, like he wanted to rub against you but didn’t dare get his paws wet. You wished you had his ignorance.

You felt bad for doing so, but you left Boo by the entrance as you pushed deeper into the apartment, headed straight for the bedroom. Your blazer was peeled off of your body and you carelessly left it in the middle of the hallway before hiding yourself behind a closed door. It didn’t take Boo long to track you down and attempt to paw at you through the gap under the door but you just couldn’t. He was an ignorant cat, and still you wouldn’t put him through the horror of watching your breakdown.

A squelching sound followed every step you took as you walked to sit on your side of the bed. The utter anxiety and pain in your chest had diminished but you could feel it slowly being replaced by a terrifying numbness. In order to preserve itself, your body had placed itself into some sort of limbo, and you didn’t know what to think of it.

Sighing heavily, you wiped at the moisture on your face, unsure if it was from your tears or the rain. When your vision cleared, your eyes settled on the bottle of pills on your nightstand. A half empty glass of water sat next to it, almost enticingly. Fucking Ambien. You shouldn’t give in, and you knew that. You’d fuck up your sleep schedule even more than it already was. But whatever was happening, whatever it was that was going on inside of you, you didn’t want to be conscious for it.

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Smoking after any sort of physical training was certainly a terrible idea, and Simon was fully aware of this, yet he didn’t care enough to stop himself. So he stood outside, close enough to the building that the rain didn’t get him too wet, despite the fire laws that went against it, and puffed away. He hoped the rain would wash away any lingering scent of nicotine from his clothes.

He worked harder than he should have, and his body paid the price for it. Achy muscles plagued his arms, legs, and for some reason his core, even though he hadn’t focused on it all that much. Progress was slow, and he was still further away from his old self than he liked. A part of him wondered if he would ever see combat again. Did he even want to after everything that happened to you? Could he stomach leaving you again, not knowing if you’d be there when he came home?

The thought of leaving you made him sick.

It didn’t take him long to finish his cigarette, and he shoved his mask back over his face before venturing off into the storm. Noon would roll around soon, and he figured he’d need to eat a big meal after the hours he put in at the on base gym. After suffering through mid-day traffic for longer than what felt legal, Simon arrived home where the rain was just as unrelenting. Avoiding the moisture as much as humanly possible, he dove into the apartment.

A small puddle of water greeted him at the entrance, and he found his eyes narrowing at the sight. Was there a leak? Dark eyes glanced up at the ceiling, worried the roof wasn’t holding up, yet there didn’t seem to be any sign of cracks or a burst pipe. Sighing, he slipped into the kitchen where he removed his mask and coat and set it on the counter. His pack of cigarettes peeked out of his pocket, as if trying to tempt him to take another, but he ignored that thought in favor of leaving to grab a towel to clean up the mess instead.

Simon hardly took a step into the hallway before he froze. Something was wrong. A sopping wet mess of clothing sat in the center of the hallway, and a ring of water settled around it. It wouldn’t be good for the flooring, but that was the least of his concerns. The door to the bedroom was closed tight, and Boo laid on his side, nose peeking underneath the crack as best as he could. Simon ventured a few steps closer, catching the attention of the impatient feline, and he instantly hopped up and trotted up to the man, meowing.

“What’s up, mate?” he asked, leaning down to gently scratch the cat's ears. The question was playful, but it didn’t help the uneasiness that had an iron grip on his stomach.

Boo followed Simon to the door and was the first to dash in the moment it was opened. Your sleeping frame was the first thing he noticed, and if he didn’t know better he would have thought you hadn’t moved at all since he left in the morning. But you were on top of the covers rather than under them, and in your work clothes instead of pajamas. You hadn’t even bothered to take off your shoes.

Concern didn’t even begin to describe the mess of feelings swirling in Simon’s head. You were supposed to be at work, not a soaking, unconscious mess in bed. Carefully, he approached the side of the bed where he tried to assess you as quietly as possible. No marks, your breathing looked and sounded okay, your eyes fluttered like you were in deep sleep; you looked fine. But you weren’t. He knew you weren’t, and he didn’t like that.

Maybe he should have left you alone, but he couldn’t stop the hand that reached for your shoulder. Your clothes were still moist, and his skin stuck to your dress shirt as he gently shook your shoulder. You were icey to the touch, and he tried not to flinch at the feeling.

“Sweetheart? Hey…”

His voice was so soothing it had to be a dream. No, not just his voice, but everything. It all felt so far away and muted, yet so close, as if something was clawing inside of you, trying to get out. Lungs expanded with a deep breath, your eyes fluttered open, and your vision was completely obscured by Simon. He knelt on the floor next to the bed where he leaned forward so that his hand could brush against your cheek. It was only then that you realized how cold you were. Damp clothes clung to your body as if trying to suffocate you, and your muscles attempted to turn into stone with how stiff they were. It was like waking up on wet grass.

And it all came back to you. The crunching sound of your elbow smashing a nose, the panic that footsteps stirred in your chest, how you couldn’t be touched without feeling Bukin instead. You stared at Simon with glossy eyes, and you tried to open your mouth to speak but stayed silent instead. His concern only grew at your silence, and you watched as the proof of it etched onto the features of his face. He looked at you like that so often you were certain his face would be stuck that way.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked softly. Everything he did was soft when it concerned you. Like he feared he would shatter you.

“I… don’t know.” Your response spewed out of your mouth before the thought was even formed. The Ambien you had taken shrouded your mind in murky water, and you weren’t sure if you should be grateful for it or not. Neverbefore had you ever felt so light and heavy at the same time.

With an odd burst of energy, you sat up and Simon’s hand fell from your face. It was as if no time had passed at all. You had just been stuck in some sort of limbo and thrown right back into reality the moment you had woken up, and fuck did it hurt. A heavy dryness overwhelmed your throat to the point you were certain your vocal cords would crack, and there was some evil creature running around wreaking havoc in your head.

“I’m gonna get some water,” you said as you scooted towards the edge of the bed. Each word that you spoke felt too big for your mouth, but you let them tumble out anyway.

An uncomfortable squish sounded as your still soaked shoes hit the floor, but you ignored it as you pushed yourself to your feet. Boo curiously paced in front of you, eyes trained on your face as if he too was attempting to read your mind, but you ignored him as you wandered out of the room.

You hadn’t realized Simon followed behind you like a lost dog until you reached the kitchen. Before you could even reach for a cup, he had already gotten one down for you and was at the sink filling it up. Rain continued to fall just as fiercely as it had been during your walk home, and you could feel the low grumble of thunder reverberate through the entire complex.

“Did you walk home?” Simon prompted as he held the cup for you to take. He was trying to test the waters. Trying to figure out why you were home, but not fully there with him. In a way, you reminded him of himself, half awake, walking around the house smothering toothpaste on his face in a traumatic driven daze.

“Yeah,” you answered bluntly. Sniffling, you raised the cup to your lips and took a small sip of water before continuing. “My manager was just, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I’m probably fired anyway.”

“Fired?” Simon repeated, the disbelief obvious in his voice despite how hard he tried to keep his tone neutral.

You really didn’t want to talk about it. Because you could say that you smashed Jace’s face with your elbow, and you could say that you didn’t like the sound of his shoes, or how he touched your shoulder. That was easy. Those were facts. What you didn’t want to explain was why. Why you responded with such violence, why the sound of his shoes ignited some deep fear you tried to smother, what you were reminded of when he touched you.

So you looked around the kitchen in an attempt to distract your brain enough to come up with a lie. You had always been so terrible at lying, and you knew Simon was aware of that fact, too. Eyes focusing around the room, you looked everywhere as long as it wasn’t at Simon. An old grocery list held up by a magnet on the fridge. The slightly cracked handle on the microwave. Simon’s jacket bunched up on the counter.

A boiling heat rumbled in your chest when your eyes landed on a small cartridge that slid halfway out of the pocket of his jacket. At first you thought your eyes attempted to play a trick on you. Something that the Ambien made you hallucinate. But the more you focused on it, the clearer it became; as did that anger that threatened to engulf you.

“Have you been smoking?” you asked, eyes refusing to tear away from his jacket.

Simon followed your gaze, and the muscles in his throat flexed as he swallowed. You didn’t even give him time to answer before you set your cup of water on the counter next to you and snatched the cigarettes out of the jacket. Why did the sight of it make you so angry? No, you knew exactly why. You just kept playing dumb with yourself. Every time you thought about it, you were transported back in time to where the scent of it clung onto Eric’s clothes. How it burnt your nose when he got close enough you could smell it on his breath. It was the first thing you smelled when you woke up on the ground after Adakskin beat you. That terrible smell had haunted you for years, and you didn’t think you could stand it if it started following Simon around, too.

You marched over to the bin on the other side of the kitchen, and Simon called after you but you didn’t respond. Every muscle in your body had grown so taut that you had slightly crushed the cartridge before you tossed it with the rest of the rubbish. A restrained and frustrated sigh left Simon as he reached his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. There was something exceptionally irritating about not getting answers. Sure, he was used to people holding out on him during interrogations, but allies had more or less always been truthful with him. You had always been truthful with him. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t painful seeing you struggle and not knowing how to help.

“Sweetheart. Love, look at me,” Simon urged. It took everything in him to keep his voice mellow, to not get too frustrated. Like Gus had said, you didn’t have the same tools going into all that like he did. Eventually you did turn to look at him, eyes already growing wet. His gaze softened as he relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and face; it was the closest you had ever seen him to looking truly sad. “Talk to me.”

Every emotion that you had forced into dormancy began to erupt in that moment. All the anger you tried to swallow, the grief you tried to bury, the disgust you felt towards yourself; it all came up to the surface. The pounding headache in your skull didn’t help with the tightness you felt crushing your chest, and for a moment all you could do was muster a defeated shrug, hands bumping against your thighs.

“I don’t know how to,” you admitted in frustration. “I don’t know how to talk to anyone anymore. I want to. At least, I think I do. But, fuck, sometimes I think about what I want to say and I sound fucking insane.”

Pausing for a moment, you reached your hands up to rub at your face. It was difficult to tell if it was because of the Ambien or not, but everything felt fuzzy. More than it normally did those days. Your thoughts, your words, your movements, it all felt unreal. Even so, a flood had started. Everything had been building up inside of you for months, nearly crushing your organs with the pressure, and it felt like there was nothing you could do but watch it pour out of you.

“Like, I was fucking kidnapped. That sounds fucking crazy, like something you’d see on a true crime show, not- not something I’m supposed to experience,” you continued, pulling your hands away from your face. “And it’s weird because for a while I was just some sort of trophy for them. Something to taunt you with and it- it was fine when it was just that but fuck Simon he- that crazy bastard he-”

Words failed you, and you choked back a sob as you bit into one of your knuckles. Simon braved a step towards you as the tears started to stream down your cheeks. Somehow, talking about what happened was more painful than actually experiencing it.

“He didn’t even do anything serious so I feel like an idiot for even freaking out about it but I can’t- like- fuck, sometimes people touch me and it’s him. It doesn’t make sense but it’s just- it’s him and it terrifies me. Every footstep I hear sounds like it’s above me even when I’m in a single story building, the smell of cigarettes reminds me of waking up on the fucking floor.”

You choked on the snot building up in your nose and you paused for a second to sniffle and wipe away the uncontrollable swell of tears that fell from your eyes. Something in you urged you to stop talking, to just shut up before you said something you regretted, but you couldn’t. There was no dam in the world strong enough to hold back everything erupting inside of you.

“Sometimes I think about how he touched me, dressed me in his coat, the things he said to me and I feel disgusted. He ruined me. I can scrub at myself as long as I want and I still feel it. I can’t get clean. I know it doesn’t make sense but I don’t know how else to explain it,” you continued.

Simon only grew closer, slowly, as if he was trying to coax a wild animal into his grasp. Maybe that’s what you had become. Some feral beast that took too much effort to love. He was close enough for you to grab, and you wanted to so badly it ached. You wanted for him to reach out and swallow you whole because maybe then you’d finally be clean.

“And I want to tell you everything but I feel so ashamed to be alive right now,” you sobbed. “He ruined me. That sounds so fucking stupid but he- I wished he had been worse. I really, really do. They fed me and kept me alive and kept me clean like a goddamn pet when really the whole time I wished they would have killed me already because I felt like I was betraying you by being unharmed. But they didn’t. And I’m still alive, and I don’t think I’m supposed to be because I’m not- I don’t think I’m really here.”

There it was. Bubbling in the back of your throat. The confession that felt like it would kill you if you admitted it out loud. But there was no stopping it. All you had ever done was watch your life go by from the sidelines anyway.

“I can hear something that reminds me of being back there, and I know. I know why it scares me and what it reminds me of. I can reach out and talk to you because I know- I hope that you still love me after everything but I just can't because I’m not really here. I’m still in that fucking basement, Simon. And I want to be here with you, and I want to feel better but I’m stuck there.”

You hadn’t realized how close Simon had gotten to you until his hand brushed against your upper arm. That was the last straw. Whatever composure you attempted to hold together shattered, and a moment later you found your face buried into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so firmly it was like he attempted to hold you together. When your knees gave out underneath you, Simon fell with you. Gently, he lowered the both of you to the ground so that you sat in his lap while he leaned against the cupboards under the countertop.

Each sob rattled your body so violently you were sure you would break apart then and there, but Simon wouldn’t let you. His hand engulfed the back of your head where he kept you close to his chest, rocking you ever so gently. There was something bittersweet about the way he kissed the top of your head, how he buried his face as best as he could into the crook of your neck. He held you until your body was finished rocking your world with wails, and even then he still continued to hold you.

“There’s nothing in this world I care about more than you,” he spoke once the waves settled. “I wanted to tear the world apart when I realized you were gone, and I thank whatever sick creator we have that you’re alive. I’m not gonna judge you for doing what you had to in order to survive. It’s not gonna make me love you any less.”

His confession nearly had you sobbing all over again, but you bit into your lower lip and forced yourself to keep your composure. You weren’t sure if you even had many more tears left to shed, anyway.

“You should have never gone through that at all, and I’m sorry you did,” he continued. The hand on the back of your head adjusted slightly, gently moving your shoulder back. Taking his hint, you leaned back some and looked up at Simon. His thumb ghosted along your cheek, wiping away any remaining moisture. “We’re gonna get you through this, yeah?”

It felt impossible. Getting through it. Getting better. You wanted to deny it, claim that healing was meant for people who were still mostly whole. But you wanted to get better so badly it hurt. You swallowed and sniffled some as you nodded in agreement, and moments later he pulled you back into his chest once more.

That was the first time that you really felt like you were home. Crumbled on the kitchen floor in Simon’s arms. There was something lovingly tragic about it; about being destroyed and still having someone to love you. It was a promise. The kind that couldn’t be broken. So when he pressed yet another kiss to the top of your head and mumbled the words, “I love you more than anything,” you believed him.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been months since Simon had last seen you smile. Truly smile. Yet there he was, sitting on a log in the middle of the Forest of Dean watching you giggle as you dipped your hands into a small stream. The August heat was unrelenting, even through the canopy of foliage overhead, and he watched as you rubbed the fresh water up your arms. The two of you were roughly two hours into your hike, and it had been awhile since he had last seen you so energetic. Each waving flower, small critter, and neat rock had to be enjoyed, and you made sure to point out everything worth seeing.

Digging his canteen out of his bag, he took a deep sip of water as he watched you pick rocks out of the stream bed. You’d run your fingers over it, cleaning off any clinging dirt so that you could enjoy whatever colors were hidden underneath, and then place the item back in the water where you had found it. Even though your back was turned to him, he could still imagine the grin on your lips.

The last few months that you had been in therapy had been treating you well. There were some things that were still difficult, old wounds that would never quite heal right, but you laughed more often, and talked as if you had never known a moment of silence in your life. It felt nice. Better. Things would never be back to how they used to be, though sometimes he wished they would, but it was more than enough to hear you laugh again.

A gasp left you, and Simon watched as you slowly straightened into a standing position. Knowing that he was about to be beckoned over, he hid the canteen away in his pack once more before sliding off of the log he had been using as a bench.

“Simon, come look,” you said quietly, as if afraid to disturb something.

With careful feet, he snuck up by your side where he was quick to notice what had caught your attention. A small dragonfly had perched itself on the tip of your forefinger where its wings glinted like church windows in the obscured sunlight. It stayed remarkably still for a creature that chose an excited human to rest on. You whispered how beautiful it was, how the blue of its body mirrored that of the sky, or how the pattern on its wings could be put in a museum.

Once it had its fill of compliments, it fluttered off of your finger and back into the heart of the forest where it vanished from sight. You stood there for a moment with Simon by your side, the toes of your shoes just kissing the crystal clear stream water by your feet. Everything was fresh, warm, and real. Nature surrounded you on all sides, and it was the most free you had felt in a long time.

“I’m excited,” you suddenly blurted out, attention turning to Simon. “To move into our new place.”

He hummed in response as his hands found your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. Smiling, you leaned into him with the palm of your hands flat against his chest. He looked at you with such adoration, like even after all that time the two of you had been together he still couldn’t quite believe you were his.

“It’ll be a good workout. Lifting all those boxes,” he quipped with a slight smirk. “For me, anyways.”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and swayed in his arms, yet your gaze found its way back to those lush, dark eyes of his. As if your bodies were magnetized, his lips found yours in a sweet, deep kiss, and the warmth of the sun couldn’t even compare to the warmth that ignited inside of you. And it felt nice, beyond nice, being able to kiss him without fearing you’d taint him. You could hold onto him, and lean your head against his chest when the kiss was done, and you were there. You were there in Simon's arms in the midst of a forest and nowhere else.

“It’ll be dark soon if we keep going at this rate,” you sighed contently as he gently swayed you back and forth.

“I’ve got a flashlight,” he said.

“‘Course you do.”

“Always prepared.”

Another playful eye roll followed that comment, and the two of you slowly separated from one another. After recuperating, you started down the trail where you once again continued pointing out every single little thing that caught your attention. Simon watched on with a small smile and offered cheeky comments when it fit just so he could hear you laugh more. It was freeing to be out there in the fresh air, away from the noise of the city. It was even more freeing to know that soon you would be in a place where everything felt different and clean. Soon, you and Simon would be able to start over again, and you couldn’t help but grin to yourself at that thought.

As far as you were concerned, each step you took along that trail was another step closer to getting out of that basement.

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an-idyllic-novelist · 1 year

Text

Leonidas with Yoriichi Tsugikuni!fem!reader platonic headcanons

Warning(s): RoR manga spoilers up to ch. 78, historical references, violence, KNY anime spoilers, established relationship, strong language from Leonidas, ooc.

Collab work with @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @enryegotrip and @themoonisrising for their feedback in the drafting phrase!

Before reading this piece, however, I strongly recommend you read this story, as it acts as a part two. The link will be here.

With that being said guys, sit back, relax, and enjoy the chaos that is about to unfold :)

King Leonidas knew the gods existed and he hated them. Apollo, the arrogant little shit who was worshiped in Delphi all those centuries ago, is the god whom he despised the most. His men knew why but they were wise enough to never speak about the patriot of the arts in front of him. He did not, however, know that demons existed in Valhalla too…until that fateful night.

He and his men were settling in their campsite, bellies full and ready to resume their training or take the first watch and make sure no one tried to sneak past them…but someone did. It had been an old man, whimpering and cowering with a large lump on his head and wearing tattered clothes. Just when a soldier barked at him to leave or die where he stood, brandishing a spear in his direction…the old man’s body split in half, then half again until four young men began attacking the campsite. All hell broke loose, and Leonidas had no idea what the fuck was going on or how to kill them.

Guns didn’t work on the winged one because he was too fast in the air, the swords and spears of his men snapped in half when making contact with the bodies of the blue-eyed one before he impaled them with a halberd. The one wearing red robes possessed a staff that could create lightning within a seven foot radius, and the green one used a fan to blow away his men with a single swing. He used his shield when the latter and the winged one attacked, but it could only do so much against a sonic wave attack.

When shit looked like it was about to go sideways in the worst way possible, she showed up seemingly out of nowhere. She zigzagged across the field, dodging the winged one’s attacks and swiftly decapitating the halberd-wielding bastard, his head flying off and landing in the mud with a ‘thud’. That was when King Leonidas noticed something odd about the opponents…no, it wasn’t odd. These sons of bitches knew who exactly you were and they were afraid.

The horned demon in red raised his staff in the air, preparing for another lightning strike when she appeared in front of him. She inhaled sharply through her mouth and raised her sword above her head, the blade becoming ignited in crimson flames before striking him down, his body splitting in half. It was after taking this monster down that she addressed him.

“My lord….there is a fifth demon…heading northeast. That is the demon’s main body. If it is destroyed, then the other four will cease to exist. My comrades…they are on their way. They will be here soon, and provide aid.” She then looked him straight in the eye, calm and level-headed as if this wasn’t the first time she had fought against these things. “Normal weapons cannot penetrate a demon’s body…but seeing that you are carrying firearms, use this.” She pulled out three cartridges of ammunition from her robes and handed them to him. “Aim for the head. I must go…before the main body gets too far away.”

She then darted away from the campsite, disappearing into the darkness of the forest. Leonidas is a proud man, but even he knew not to look at a gift in the horse’s mouth. He unclipped the magazine in his pistol and loaded in the new ammo, opening fire but making sure that these bullets would not be wasted.

Just as the woman said, reinforcements arrived. All wearing robes and carrying swords, moving across the battlefield as if they were dancing and not fighting against these creatures.

Spartans are bred for battle and will die for battle. Never give up, never surrender. That is in their blood. However, a smart Spartan realizes the difference between an ally and an enemy, and that the flow of time constantly changes in the mortal realm. From politics to fighting techniques, if it can be used to take down an enemy, King Leonidas doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything else.

When his second magazine was on the last bullet, all of the demons disintegrated into ash. The soldiers shouted in Grecian, raising their bloodied spears in the air and smiling victoriously. Their mysterious comrades either relished in the moment or simply walked away from the battlefield, sheathing their swords with a grimace. A little while later she returned to the campsite, expressionless and covered in blood that was not her own.

She bowed deeply to him. “I apologize…my lord. If I had been sooner…there would not have been so much damage…and you would not have lost so many men.”

Leonidas just shook his head. His men were prepared to die in battle if it meant glory and victory in the name of Sparta, they trained to go up against even the most powerful of opponents. But what he could not stand is not knowing what he and his army are fighting…so what the hell were those monsters? He wanted information, and he wanted it now.

To his surprise, she was more than compliant to sit and talk with him. One of her associates, a tall brat with a large sword strapped on his back, barked at her, saying that it's against the rules to share confidential information with an ‘outsider’ but the woman replied that he has a right to know. He is the commander of these men; would it not be better to tell him and prevent this situation from happening again?

Furthermore, she is an unofficial member of the organization, so the rules do not affect her as much as it does to him or the others. When her associate turned away with a scoff, she asked him what he liked to know.

“Everything.” He snapped.

She nodded. “Of course.”

As the men cleared the debris and buried their dead, Leonidas fired question after question at the swordswoman, whose name he learned was [First Name] [Last Name]. Demons were nocturnal in nature, and consumed human flesh to gain strength. Their bodies were extremely durable; normal weapons cannot harm them, and they can only be killed by decapitation. Her sword, a nichirin blade, forged from Scarlet Iron Sand and Scarlet Ore, both of which can be found in high mountains that perpetually bathed in sunlight all year around.

Sunlight was the only thing that could kill a demon for good. The bullets she gave him were created from the same materials, designed for a Hashira that preferred guns to swords. A Hashira is a very strong Demon Slayer, and she is one herself: the Sun Hashira, which is why her blade ignited upon attacking the demons. The Breathing Style is…difficult to explain and to learn, but it is effective.

The Demon Slayer Corps had existed for over a thousand years, and it was revived in Valhalla under Lord Hades’ command. Another human soul, Nostradamus, destroyed the Bifrost and demons have been crawling their way into Valhalla ever since. The one he and his men came in contact with is Hantengu, a powerful demon who once served under Muzan Kibutsuji.

Muzan was the original creator of the demon race, and she had encountered him once many years ago.

“I wish I could tell you more my lord,” She bowed her head to him. “The only thing I can offer is to give you the name of the person who can create these bullets, though I must ask that you keep his identity a secret. Muzan might have perished all of those years ago, but seeing one of the Upper Moons here in Valhalla and still possess their powers…the possibility that he might have regenerated in Helheim cannot be ruled out. If he still wishes to destroy the Demon Slayers, he will make another attempt to kill the craftsman who creates the weapons that can destroy him and the other Upper Moons under his command.”

Lenoidas nodded. Makes sense, He thought. Keeping a supplier safe is crucial in war. The less an enemy knows who or how their opponent is getting their weapons, the better. Cut off the supplier and supply route, these people wouldn’t have the swords or bullets needed to destroy the demons. Still…

“Is it possible to meet the guy who made these?” He asked, holding up the empty cartridge. “I know that’s asking a lot from a stranger like myself, trust me, but just having the basic info on an opponent won’t help me or my army be prepared if this situation happens again. You said you’re an unofficial member of this organization.”

“...I am. However, to meet the creator of the bullets…I would need to speak to Lord Ubuyashiki first. He is…very protective of us all, like we are his children. The secret location of the swordsmiths had been exposed once before, when the organization had been on the decline in the Taisho era. You may have to speak and present your case to him as to why you wish to know the suppliers.”

“How soon can that be?”

“When I return to headquarters, I will go straight to him myself…though I am sure no one will want that. He has…not been well as of late.” [First Name] looked to the side, blinking at the large crow perched on her shoulder. “I will send you a message through this little one, should he allow this meeting. Is that acceptable?”

Momentarily surprised that such a large bird suddenly appeared out of nowhere, Leonidas cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s fine. I look forward to hearing from you…through your bird.”

The Demon Slayer nodded, bowing to him before she left the campsite as quickly as she had appeared, stunning the war general with her agility. Huh…were women soldiers in the Demon Slayer Corps always so sneaky? He’ll have to ask next time. Right now, he had to direct his mind and think about his next move. For now, it seemed going north would be the best choice; there was a Greecian military base there, so his men could rest until they were called to the next war. He’ll also need to let his wife, Gorgo, know what happened as well.

Gorgo remained Queen of Sparta when he was away at battle, in life and in death. She had just as much authority and political power as he did, so he knew their home in Valhalla would be well-protected in his absence. If he hadn’t known that these demons existed until now…could he truly say that their home is fortified against every single threat? No. And she deserved to be aware of the situation.

They were husband and wife for fuck’s sake.

A week flew by until the army reached the base, and another when the messenger crow flew through the window in his study one sunny afternoon, a scroll tied around its neck. Hoisting himself up from his hammock, Lenoidas marked his spot in the book he’d been reading and set it down on the floor. He walked towards the window and untied the rope around the crow’s neck, unfurling the parchment to scan the contents.

The meeting will take place in four days. A member of the organization, a kakushi, will personally escort him to the lord of the manor on the morning of the meeting. To ensure everyone’s safety, he must wear a blindfold the entire time until he is given permission to remove it.

Lenoidas’ brow twitched. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. He thought, annoyed, before he sighed deeply. [First Name] had promised him that she will try to persuade the clan head to speak to him in regards to the suppliers. This would be his first and only chance to negotiate peacefully.

He couldn’t allow the Sun Hashira’s hard work to go to waste…so he’ll play along.

Time passed quickly as he made the necessary preparations. Before he knew it, a fellow dressed from head to toe in black with a cloth concealing his face waited at the city’s gates. The kakushi blindfolded the king of Sparta, and then they departed.

But it wasn’t just one kakushi that escorted him…there were many of them, each with a different voice and mannerisms, switching him off at a designated post. Some were polite, curt. Others were skittish, can’t really blame them honestly. When he’d been granted permission to remove the blindfold, Leonidas was…surprised to see a young man smiling serenely at him, dressed in white and purple robes. He was flanked by two small children, and a woman sat behind him.

Safe assumption that these were his heirs and wife, but the Spartan general kept his comments to himself as he observed the lord. His eyes were clouded, unfocused. Blind. Probably caused by the rotten skin that’s spreading on his face.

The man and his family bowed their heads to him. “Welcome to our humble home, Lord Lenoidas of the Spartan Army.” He said softly. “[First Name] has spoken highly of you since her return. A courageous leader who remained calm in such a dire and unexpected situation…though you wish to meet the ones who have supplied my children with the necessary weapons to protect themselves and others from the demons who prowl at night. May I inquire why you wish to have access to our resources? How can I be sure that you will not spread this information to others?”

This was it. One chance to either get the information he seeked…or to lose it all, and his men would go back into battle unprepared. Leonidas inhaled a deep breath, and spoke.

He didn’t sugarcoat his intentions, plainly and respectfully to Lord Ubuyashiki. To his surprise, this brat didn’t get pissed off or talked down to him. Instead, the young lord understood where he was coming from. There have been more reports of sporadic ruptures in the Bifrost; try as they might, the Demon Slayer Corps cannot be everywhere and protect everyone. Lenoidas’ armies were the largest within the Grecian district, rivaling only that to Chinese militia, so it would be beneficial to supply the war general with the necessary anti-demon artillery, but only to his armies.

Right now, he was the only human leader outside of the organization who knew about the demons’ existence. As much as he wanted to help everyone, there were too many cons rather than pros to take another gamble with the supplier’s secret location should anyone else be aware that there were weapons that can kill demons.

As much as Leonidas wanted to protest…the brat had a point. The less people knew, the better. No good in causing a panic among the public. The gods could go fuck themselves, of course. The war general wasn’t too concerned about them so much as his fellow mortal comrades.

Then the meeting was settled. He along with the Sun Hashira would be escorted to the swordsmans’ village to meet the bullet crafter, and talk about business as needed. Lenoidas thanked the lord for his time…and politely asked to give his regards to [First Name].

That was the last time Leonidas saw Ubuyashiki. Within the following week, he and the Sun Hashira embarked on a journey to the suppliers alongside the secretive kakushi. He saw how the bullets were created, negotiated the amount needed to a fair price, and things propelled from there.

He also came to enjoy [First Name]’s company. She wasn’t a talkative person, though she had proven herself to be insightful and open-minded when they spoke on the way back to Sparta. She had agreed to go with him and his men on an expedition under the condition that she would teach them everything she knew about demon extermination. She warned him she was not good at explaining more complex Breathing Styles, and it might not be suitable for his men. There might also be questions that even she cannot answer fully, though she will do her best.

Leonidas said he was well aware but at this point, he was willing to take a chance with the Sun Hashira; these men were under his command, so he knew them like the back of his hand. Whatever Breathing Styles or demon exterminating techniques she knew and was willingly to teach would be appreciated. Hell, if there was a way to implement it in his army’s battle formations and even his own fighting style, Leonidas will take it for what it’s worth.

Leonidas grinned as he watched [First Name] training his men from the rim of his book. She had proven early in their journey that she was not to be underestimated or her lessons to be taken for granted. She’d saved their asses, helped them secure a supplier for a fair fee, and showed them how to combat against lower-level demons if they ever came across them at night. Didn’t even complain about the long hours spent walking or hiding up the mountains.

The only downside to this arrangement is that when it was time to restock their weapons with anti-demon bullets, spears, or shields, Leonidas had to go get everything himself.

Pain in the ass, but worth it in the end.

The war general wondered if he should consult Gorgo about adding women who can fight to the army’s ranks would be more beneficial and boost morale, or would just make things worse, when a scout shouted that a god was approaching the campsite. Lenoidas narrowed his eyes, getting himself out of his hammock again because shit was about to go down. Once he grabbed his spear and shield, he darted towards the enemy with [First Name] following close behind. The men were already in the phalanx formation, acting as a barrier around the campsite to prevent the intruder from taking another step further.

Lenonidas stared at the god. Tall, muscular, couldn’t be more than seven or seven and a half feet tall. Black tank-top with a weird ass rabbit on the front, orange robes tied around his waist and hands. Sunglasses, long blonde hair, light blue orbs…is that a fucking lollipop in his mouth?

Who is this punk?

“Buddha?” [First Name] said.

Lenonidas blinked once, then twice before he swiveled his head over his shoulder to glance at the slightly stunned swordswoman. “You know him?” She gave him a brief nod, then looked straight ahead with a confused frown. The war general followed her gaze and saw the son of a bitch standing right in front of him, his shadow almost towering over his own. The god blinked, munching on the lollipop with his oversized canines.

“Yo. You’re that war general from Sparta, right? Nice to meet ya. Soo…sorry for the sudden visit, but I’m takin’ the Sun Hashira back with me. Ya dig?”

“And what gives you the right to treat her like an object, shithead?” Leonidas growled. “This is why I can’t fuckin’ stand the likes of you or any others in the pantheons.”

The god stared at him. “Old man…I respect that you wanna protect her, but you should know more than anyone that she’s more than capable of defending herself. You’ve seen her in action, right? That’s how she met ya. And why she decided to go with ya on this trip. However, she’s been away from home for far too long.”

Buddha then walked past him and gathered up the swordswoman in his arms, with one hand under her legs and the other around her shoulders. “C’mon sunshine, we’re headin’ back to paradise.”

[First Name] blinked. “We are? But the men still need more time to be properly trained - ”

“Six months.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t been home in six months, and ya had the guts to leave your husband all alone in a cold bed.” He puffed up his cheeks in annoyance. “I might enjoy hangin’ around the bodhi tree when you’re not around, but I wanna cuddle with my wife more than once before she suddenly heads off on a mission without sayin’ good-bye! You could’ve woken me up before ya left so I know were you’re goin’, you silly rabbit!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ya should be! I almost had to call Kintoki and ask him to track ya down if your crow didn’t drop off a message beforehand! Think things through before you run off into action, darlin’!”

“Okay.”

Lenoidas and the army stared at the pair with slackened jaws at the sight of a god pouting like a child as he scolded the Sun Hashira, who has identified himself as her husband. She was married to a god, and didn’t say anything to them?!?

[First Name] looked over Buddha’s shoulder, waving her hand at him. “I’ll be going home, Lord Lenonidas. I’m sorry this trip has to be cut short, but feel free to send a message to my residence or Lord Ubuyashiki’s if you have any questions or concerns.”

The war general felt a headache coming on. “Yeah…sure. Don’t worry about it or the training, we can handle it from here. Just go home to your…husband.” He muttered. “And don’t be a stranger either, all right? You’re always welcomed in Spartan territory. If any of ‘em give you a hard time, I’ll knock some sense into them.”

She nodded, offering the barest hint of a smile before she looped her arms around Buddha’s neck. The god looked back at him and inclined his head. In an instant, the pair were gone, returning to wherever it is that they called ‘home’.

Bonus Content:

Soon as Lenoidas received word that the Sun Hashira had come to pay him and his family a visit as she promised she would, the war general invited her to sit at his table for dinner.

Gorgo was delighted to finally meet the swordswoman who had earned her husband’s trust and saved the men’s lives. It is rare to meet a skilled warrior who is not a goddess and is humble.

Leonidas received the second shock since meeting [First Name] when she quietly revealed that she is, in fact, a divine being. Well, not exactly. More like a mortal soul who had received the blessing of a god.

She had met Buddha shortly after ascending to Valhalla. They were good friends for a long time before marrying almost two decades ago, though the enlightened one mentioned he should have done so sooner.

Something about rivals for her affection?

When his wife pressed on what [First Name] meant, the swordswoman’s calm face briefly pinched into an uncomfortable expression. Inhaling a deep breath, she answered Gorgo.

The Grecian representative of the Sun, Apollo, had approached her on the pretense that they were a perfect match because they were affiliated with the same celestial orb: bright, warm, and influential. In his mind, he believed Fate brought them together. [First Name] did not, and politely declined his proposal of a courtship.

Apollo did not give up. He was persistent in the coming days, and Buddha had almost intervened on her behalf. But it had been her own mess. So in the context of Buddha’s “lingo”, she “wiped the floor” with him.

Leonidas had trouble breathing as he howled in laughter. That fuckin’ shithead had actually gotten his ass beaten by a divine being who used to be a mortal.

Good. The prick deserved it.

Taglist:

@themoonisrising

@onecantsimply

@praisethesuuun

@enryegotrip

@sarah22447

@sarcastic-cookie

@zebralover

@screechingfatdragon

@mortemorii

@myrisan-melodies

@moonreaper25

@nunezs-stuff

@diamondzoey

@dance-till-the-death

@thatstrangesheep

@puffy-bangs

@justamegafan

@zodiacs-web

@seii-fantasy

@rukia-writes

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #an idyllic novelist #record of ragnarok #ror x reader #snv x reader #snv #snv buddha #snv leonidas #ror buddha #ror leonidas #ror headcanons #ror x you #ror apollo #snv apollo #apollo record of ragnarok #platonic headcanons #yoriichi!reader

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nevadancitizen · 1 month

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-> O LORD, O LORD (WATCH OVER ME)

synopsis: joshua graham talks an awful lot about god and his blessings, and it leaves you curious as to what prayer is actually like.

word count: 1.8k

characters: joshua graham, courier six! reader

trigger warnings: mormonism, discussions of god + jesus christ

notes: this can be read as platonic or romantic, wasn't sure what direction i wanted this to go in :P also it was really hard to find information on mormonism without touching any mormon-affiliated sites but i rekindled my love for wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit!! everyone say thank you wikipedia <3333

The Lords of post-apocalyptic America are usually the ones with the most money, the most influence, the most soldiers on the ground. There is no bearded man in the sky, no Adam and no Eve, no christenings and no afterlife. When you die, you die, and there’s nothing beyond that. Nothing. Nothing remains. Someone might remember you for a little while after, but not for long.

And yet, somewhere in the cracks and caves of the canyon of Zion, there is still worship. There is still prayer and reverence and love for God and Jesus Christ and all his children.

But this is the first time you’ve heard of this mysterious “Jesus Christ” character and the weird way Joshua Graham talks when speaking of him.

He’s usually straightforward and blunt with his (and the Dead Horses’) needs and words, but when the topic of God comes around, he speaks in an almost poetic way – flowery, ornate. You usually only hear that type of talk from someone that’s day-tripping on Mentats, trying to sound smarter than they actually are.

But Joshua is smart. He’s a translator, with knowledge of language pouring over the cusp of his lips. His people are entranced by the inner workings of a professionally-crafted firearm, and he’s no different. He’s the prodigal son of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints. He’s basically a goddamn genius – in multiple fields, no less.

It’s only reasonable that you’d want to pick his brain as you sit, cross-legged, on the ground of Angel Cave, loading bullets into magazines. Joshua sits a few feet away, meticulously checking the numerous .45 pistols that lay across the table over and over again.

You clear your throat and the sound echoes a little in the small cave. “Graham?”

He glances at you, then returns his gaze to the guns in front of him. “Yes?”

“Is it – uh, this God thing…” You scratch the side of your nose. “You… I don’t really understand it. I mean, following a few laws and receiving eternal salvation and all that sounds good, but I just… don’t get it.”

“I understand,” Joshua says. He flips the empty pistol in his hand so that he’s looking down the barrel and pulls the trigger. A dull click. “Most survivors think that there is nothing more to this world: just a well-trodden trail that they’re supposed to walk, from the house of Birth to the house of Death.”

He flips the pistol so that he’s holding the grip and slides the magazine back in. “Those looking for faith had simply been trying to find offshoots in this path, other houses to occupy. That is, if they ever actually felt the calling of God, even if it was the voice of a false one. They say that there are only two houses, and only dirt connecting them. But this is untrue.”

You continue thumbing bullets into the magazine. “How do you know? I mean, I don’t want to be disrespectful, but…”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Joshua reassures. “I’ve met a menagerie of people, seen grotesque creatures that were birthed from mutations and chems instead of God’s perfect hands. I appreciate that you’re approaching this with an air of curiosity rather than judgement.”

Joshua sets the pistol on the side of the table of the pistols he’s already checked. He turns in his chair so that he’s facing you and sets his elbows on his knees. The pale blue of his eyes are stark against the burn scars of his skin as he looks down at you. “What would you like to know?”

Clips of his voice flash through your mind – “You’re a good neighbor to us,” “Good news is our most valuable commodity,” “The fire that had kept me alive was love. Their love. God’s love.” – but it settles on one: “It never stops burning. My skin. Every day, I have to unwind the bandages and replace them with fresh ones. Exposing my body to the air is like living through it again. But it's better to be clean than comfortable.”

“Well…” You shift under Joshua’s piercing gaze. “You’ve stayed loyal to God, right? All your life. You worshipped and prayed and… yeah.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet Joshua’s. The bandages that cover him in his entirety give nothing away. “So why did he let you be burned like that? If he’s, y’know, all-loving, all-forgiving, shouldn’t he have guided you away from Caesar? Or, let… let you die?”

Joshua stares at you, then blinks once, twice. It’s like he wants to be sure of his words before he actually speaks. “There are some things that you don’t want to do and you pledge to yourself that you won’t do. You forbid yourself, and then, suddenly…”

His eyebrows furrow. “They happen all by themselves. You don’t even have time to think about them: they just happen and that’s it. Then you’re left just watching yourself with surprise – disgust – and convincing yourself that it wasn’t your fault, it just happened all by itself.”

Joshua’s hands come together and the bandages make an abrasive sound as he folds his hands, his elbows still on his knees. “But things don’t happen by themselves. The Legion didn’t build itself – I had a hand in it. And so this is my punishment. My atonement for not noticing how things were changing day-to-day. Not noticing how translating became giving orders, how giving orders became leading in battle, how leading in battle became training, punishing, terrorizing.

“I am a wicked man, with a wicked soul. I can only pray to God that this is enough for everything I’ve done.”

Your eyes return to the half-loaded magazine in your hand, and the bullet in the other. You roll the bullet in your fingers as you think. It’s… weird, to you, Joshua’s relationship with God. He doesn’t sound all that loving and forgiving. So why worship him? Why make and keep covenants with him? It sounds contradictory and hypocritical.

“Okay.” You look up at Joshua again as you thumb the bullet into the magazine. “Then… praying. What’s praying? I mean, I’ve seen you doing the…” You set the magazine in your lap and bring your hands together, palm-to-palm. “Before eating. I know that’s part of prayer, ‘cause you told me. But can you, like, hear him? Or is it like talking to a wall?”

“I cannot hear him, no,” Joshua says. “But I know he is listening, and I offer every prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, who is a medium through which man can converse with God. I feel him touch my heart, and guide my mind with his blessings and counsel.”

“Blessings and counsel sound nice,” you say. “But what do they look like? Like, how do they manifest?”

Joshua tilts his head slightly, the bandages on his neck making a soft sound. “Rain in a time of drought. Dryness in a time of flooding. A bullet that makes contact in just the right place. A bullet that just barely misses. God’s blessings are diverse and many.”

“Sounds like I could use some of those blessings.” You laugh under your breath as you go back to loading the magazine. A few seconds pass as you fill it, then move on to filling the next. An idea pops into your head as your hands continue their repetitive actions.

Why shouldn’t you be able to get a blessing? From what you understand, it only takes a few words and an invocation of a holy name. It should be easy to get one – right? Or maybe not. Either way, you’d need it, especially with the way Joshua described the examples of blessings. Divine intervention sounds like it could literally be a lifesaver.

“What if, uh…” You scratch your cheek. “What if I want one of these blessings?”

Joshua narrows his eyes, the reddish burns of his skin cutting into the blue of his irises. “Do you… wish to pray? Do you want me to pray over you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you say. You glance up at Joshua, then look down at the magazine. Your hands fumble a bit, then correct themselves. “I don’t… really know how to, though.”

“I will lead you in prayer, if that’s what you truly want,” Joshua says.

All it takes from you is a single nod.

He gets up out of his chair and kneels before you, resting on the heels of his boots. You look up at him, and he’s looking down at you. You could swear he’s looking at you with some kind of hope in his eyes, but it’s hard to tell in the low light of the torches that illuminate the cave.

“Come on. Up on your knees.” Joshua takes the magazine from your hands and sets it aside.

You sit up on your knees, resting on your heels, mimicking Joshua. You clear your throat nervously. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay.” Joshua takes your hands in his, cradling your fingers with his and resting his thumbs on your knuckles. The bandages on his fingers are abrasive, but in a comforting type of way. “As I said, I’ll lead. Now bow your head and close your eyes.”

You do as he says, and his rumbling voice starts the prayer.

“Dear God, I thank you for this day, and I thank you for your allowance for life to continue prospering in this wasteland. Now, allow me to direct your attention to one of your creations: the one I’m praying with right now.

“Allow me to pray over this courier. I pray that no matter where they go, no matter how far off the trail of fate they fall, you will watch over them. Even if they fall to temptation – any temptation – that you will still protect them with all that you can, for I know you are merciful, and I know you are loving.

“In this world filled with defilement and savagery and violence and barbarity, the only comfort I can turn to is you. Allow me this comfort. Allow me to know that this courier, no matter what they do, no matter what sin they fall to or transgression they commit, is safe. In Jesus Christ’s name, amen.”

Joshua lets go of your fingers and brings his hands away from yours.

You open your eyes and look up at him. You glance around the cave – nothing’s different. Everything seems to be exactly the same.

“Is that it?” You ask, then register how disrespectful that sounds. “I mean – I just didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“Yes, the prayer is over.” Joshua stands, then holds out his hand to help you up. You take it.

“Now, please, make yourself sparse.” He glances at you, then his eyes flicker over to the table stacked with .45 pistols. “I have some of my own praying to do.”

#riptide writes 🌊#joshua graham #honest hearts #fallout new vegas #fallout: new vegas #fallout nv #fallout joshua graham #honest hearts joshua graham #joshua graham x reader #joshua graham x courier #joshua graham x courier six

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ducktoonsfanart · 2 months

Text

Donald Duck, Three Caballeros, Darkwing Duck, Ducktales and Duck family in Dragon Ball Universe - Duckverse and Dragon Ball - Crossover - Quack Pack Week - Tribute to Akira Toriyama and Dragon Ball - My version

I wanted to do this later, but since I found out last month about the bad news that Akira Toriyama died, I decided to do something special in his honor, but not to cry because I believe that he is safe in the other world and that which left behind a great achievement for all of us who love manga and anime, so I made a crossover of my favorite characters from Dragon Ball or Duckverse in Dragon Ball Universe.

Yes, and in honor of Akira Toriyama, in honor of one of my favorite manga and anime even though the action takes place in China and certainly dedicated to the 90th anniversary of the creation of the best Disney duck, Donald Duck. I drew three separate drawings of the crossover Duckverse and Dragon Ball characters and combined the various Duckverse and Dragon Ball variants into one. I wanted to add more, but not all characters would fit, so I'll post it separately another time. I mean especially the villains.

Akira Toriyama was born on the same day as me, April 5th, but in a different year, which is 1955 in Kiyosu, Aichi, Japan, and he started his career in 1978 working for a Japanese magazine and later published the manga Dr. Slump continues to write and draw the Dragon Boy manga after 1983, so that from November 1984 he writes, draws and publishes the famous Dragon Ball, which will later become very popular and even the most popular in the world. He was particularly inspired by Osamu Tezuka, who created Astro Boy and is the father of manga. In 1986, the Dragon Ball series began airing and it would become one of the best anime I could enjoy. Yes, it will come out through various series like Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, Dragon Ball Z Kai, Dragon Ball Super, etc. Unfortunately, Akira Toriyama left us on March 1, 2024, and many were affected by this, including me that this happened. Thank you for everything, good man that you have done for all of us! Rest in peace, amen!

The first drawing I drew shows Donald Duck, Jose Carioca, Panchito Pistoles, Aracuan Bird and Drake Mallard as Saiyan warriors along with famous Dragon Ball heroes. Not to be outdone, I drew Duckverse characters that they could relate to and be similar to. So Donald Duck is like Goku (Kakarot), Drake Mallard is like Vegeta (who says OVER 9000!), Panchito Pistoles is like Yamcha, Jose Carioca (Ze Carioca) is Piccolo and Aracuan Bird is like Majin Buu (I don't have to say why ).

Another drawing I drew shows other male characters and boys with other Dragon Ball characters, like Ducktales and Dragon Ball. Scrooge McDuck is with Master Roshi (I don't have to say why), Fethry Duck is with Krillin, Dugan Duck (Fethry's nephew) is with Oolong Pig, Huey Duck is with Gohan (Goku's older son), Dewey Duck is with Trunks (Vegeta and Bulma's son) and Louie Duck is with Goten (Goku's younger son).

The third drawing I drew represents the female characters and girls of Duckverse and Dragon Ball. Daisy Duck is with Chi-Chi (Goku's girlfriend and wife), Morgana Macawber is with Bulma, Gosalyn Mallard is with Videl (Gohan's girlfriend), Lyla Lay (Paperinik New Adventures) and Kay K (Double Duck) are for Launch (in the works about one woman, but with a split personality and one of her natures is good, the other is very awkward).

Yes, I combined from the comics Donald Duck, Duck Avenger (PKNA), Double Duck, Darkwing Duck, Three Caballeros and Quack Pack into one along with various Dragon Ball variants in my own way and drew them to wear the same clothes as in Dragon Ball. I hope you like this idea and this crossover. Feel free to like and reblog this and if you support this idea feel free to say so, just don't use my same ideas without mentioning me. Thank you! Also, happy 90th birthday to Donald Duck as well as 40th birthday to Dragon Ball and Goku himself!

Also, dedicated to the topic Crossover for @quackpackweek . And finally this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK1ZrwR5NWQ

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blubushie · 1 year

Note

hihihi can we get a part 2 for gun mistakes??? -leafanon

G'day leafanon!

FOR ANIMATORS/AUTHORS/ARTISTS PT. 2

SNIPERS WILL NOT STICK THE BARREL OF THEIR RIFLE OUT OF OPEN WINDOWS. Best case scenario is you’re sat in a mildly-uncomfortable chair while your spotter stands or sits next to you in an even more uncomfortable chair with a rangefinder. Before rangefinders were introduced (1990s and earlier) you were merely going off estimates (“That building is 50 yards, the next is 25, etc etc”). You never put the barrel out a window because it’d give away your position and put you AND YOUR SPOTTER in danger.

MOST MODERN SCOPES HAVE AN ANTI-GLARE COATING AND/OR A SUNSHADE TO PREVENT GIVING AWAY YOUR POSITION. This is especially useful when hunting as many animals (deer, turkeys, pigs) are incredibly vigilant and will bolt if they see the glint off a scope. This also helps with the sunlight hitting your scope and nearly blinding you from taking your shot. There are some cases of this still happening in “modern” times (notoriously the sniper duel between Carlos Hathcock and Cobra, a North Vietnamese sniper during the Vietnam War) but it’s very rare and scopes that are currently used by police, military, and most hunters don’t glint. This is what a sunshade looks like.

BULLETS DO NOT PENETRATE WATER WELL. Water density is much higher than air and the shape of bullets means they don’t travel well in water. Most bullets will fragment or fold upon hitting the surface of the water and their speed is greatly reduced. Supersonic rounds (such as rifle-calibre, up to .50) fragment within a metre (~3ft) of the water’s surface. Slower sub-sonic rounds (such a pistol-calibre) can travel up to 3m (~10ft). Once you’re a metre under the surface, however, it’s unlikely for any round under .50 to even penetrate you on contact as it loses most of its kinetic power. Arrows however are very aerodynamic and may maintain their kinetic energy up to 2m (~6) and perhaps twice that if you're shooting straight down.

RESEARCH. RESEARCH. RESEARCH. Know the weapons you draw/animate/write. It might not matter to you, but it will make or break it to your viewer. Is the weapon single-shot or does it use a magazine? What is the magazine capacity? What is the recoil? How do you reload? What do you do in case of a jam? Does your character know the weapon well? YouTube is your best friend in this regard.

CLIPS AND MAGAZINES ARE NOT THE SAME THING. These are clips vs magazines. Clips are open and hold the cartridge by the bottom. Magazines fully enclose the cartridges. Clips only hold rounds together to make them easier to feed into a magazine.

BLOODY TRIGGER DISCIPLINE. If your character is waving a firearm around with their finger on the trigger I am personally coming to kick your arse. You keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. YOU DO NOT POINT YOUR MUZZLE TOWARD ANYTHING YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO SHOOT.

PROPANE TANKS WILL NOT EXPLODE IF YOU SHOOT THEM. Also, handguns are rarely powerful enough to pierce propane tanks. CARS WILL NOT BLOW UP IF YOU SHOOT THE PETROL TANK.

IF YOU FIRE A FIREARM IN AN ENCLOSED SPACE IT IS GOING TO TEMPORARILY DEAFEN YOU. GUNS ARE BLOODY LOUD. That’s why we wear ear protection. This applies less in intense combat situations as (in my experience) tinnitus doesn't happen if you start shooting after your adrenaline starts pumping.

MAG-DUMPING. Not only is it very dangerous because of the recoil, it’s a stupid waste of ammo as the recoil buggers up your aim so you’re rarely hitting your target. Unless your character is in a panic and/or holding down the trigger out of rage, they’re not going to mag-dump because you’ll empty your entire magazine in only a few seconds (stupid in a combat situation) and rarely hit your target. Fully automatic weapons are fired in short bursts of 2-5 rounds at a time.

IT’S INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT TO HIT A MOVING TARGET. IT’S EVEN HARDER TO DO IT WHEN YOU’RE THE ONE MOVING. Rounds fired while moving are typically just suppression fire—basically shots fired to make your enemy take cover so that they have no time to shoot at you. You are not aiming at a specific target. It’s spray-and-pray.

HIPFIRING IS SPRAY-AND-PRAY. It’s EXTREMELY difficult to hit a target while hipfiring and hitting any intentional target while doing so requires EXTENSIVE practice. For this reason most hipfiring is spray-and-pray—spray, and pray you hit something.

SHOTGUNS ARE EFFECTIVE AT MUCH FURTHER THAN ONLY A YARD OR TWO. Most stay clustering within 50yds. That’s this distance. If you're firing a slug it can be accurate to up to TWICE THIS DISTANCE.

SHOTGUNS WILL NOT THROW THE VICTIM ACROSS A ROOM. They don’t have that much kinetic power, and even if they did, they’d throw the shooter across the room first because they’re taking the brunt of the kinetic energy in the form of recoil.

BULLETS WILL PEIRCE CARS. Car doors will not protect you from bullets, not even the door of a police cruiser. THE ONLY PART OF A CAR THAT WILL PROTECT YOU FROM BULLETS IS THE ENGINE BLOCK. The rest is just concealment cover and will not protect you.

MOST CRIMINALS IN THE USA WILL NOT HAVE FULLY AUTOMATIC WEAPONS. This is less applicable to scenes that occur before the 1980s when there were more full-auto weapons on the streets, but even then were INCREDIBLY expensive and even your most notorious gangster would be unlikely to have them. Unless your character is a top-of-the-line 1920s-1940s Chicago/NY mobster, they probably won’t have that Tommy gun unless they’re filthy rich or the weapon was given to them by someone else who's filthy rich.

YES, YOU CAN MAKE RUNAWAY GUNS (FULL-AUTO) OUT OF SEMI-AUTO FIREARMS. NO, I WILL NOT TELL YOU HOW TO MAKE THEM. The issue with runaway guns is that once you pull the trigger THEY WILL NOT STOP FIRING EVEN IF YOU TAKE YOUR FINGER OFF THE TRIGGER. THEY WILL KEEP FIRING UNTIL THE MAGAZINE IS EMPTY OR UNTIL THEY JAM. For this reason no one in their right mind is making a runaway gun.

STOP HOLDING YOUR HANDGUN SIDEWAYS. YOU DON'T LOOK COOL, YOU LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT AND THAT'S HOW YOU GET JAMS. Having a character do this is a great way to show they're all bluff and an idiot, though.

YOU CANNOT PUT A SUPPRESSOR ON A REVOLVER. Well, technically you can, but it won't work. There's a gap between the cylinder and the bore and in this space is something called the forcing cone. There's a gap between the forcing cone and the bore which allows gas (and sound) to escape from the cylinder, which renders the suppressor absolutely useless since the sound and gas just escapes anyway.

FOR VISUAL CREATORS SPECIFICALLY: REMEMBER EYE RELIEF. YOU NEED TO BE A CERTAIN DISTANCE FROM THE SCOPE TO GET A FULL PICTURE. IF YOUR CHARACTER HAS THEIR EYE TO THE SCOPE THEY ARE GOING TO GIVE THEMSELF A BLACK EYE WITH THE RECOIL. My personal eye relief when shooting my .30-06 is 10cm (~4in). Higher calibre means more kick, which means more eye relief.

As before, if I think of any more I'll add them later!

As always, if you have any questions feel free to send me an ask!

#blu whos #blu pew #bushman #firearms #art tips #writing tips #not tf2 again but w/e

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whimsimille · 26 days

Text

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 3: Cherry Blossoms

Jeong Jin-Man x Reader!

Ensuring the cold steel pin snapped back into the slide with a click? Check. Carefully inspecting the barrel, the recoil spring, and guide? Check. Examining the magazine, the safety mechanism, and the trigger, testing each one to guarantee they were functioning at their optimal level? Check.

“Yeah... I still got that," you murmur to yourself, the words barely audible over the soft crackling of the vintage radio playing a forgotten tune from the 60s in the background: Cherry Blossom Ending. Mom’s favorite.

Taking another long drag of your cigarette, you savor the rich taste of a blend of Turkish tobacco that Pasin introduced you to.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, you watch it drift upwards lazily before dissipating into the stale air of the room. The sight brings back memories of foggy winter mornings back home, when the world seemed shrouded in a blanket of mist. But, unlike those mornings, there's no fragrance of dew-kissed roses or the sweet scent of mom's freshly baked apple pie to erase your nose scrunching—not when this place smells like a battlefield. The distinct aroma of gunpowder and the sharp tang of sweat mix in the air like a witch's potion, creating an unsettling olfactory cocktail.

Your eyes fall on the poster of an old concessionary you once visited, featuring a sexualized pit girl with improbably large breasts for her leather crop top. You sigh. No amount of decoration, no matter how weird or random, can erase the sensation that men in tactical gear might spring up through the gun stock’s door any minute. In your mind’s eye, they empty all the shelves as they run, their gazes wild with bloodlust, chins coated with saliva as the drugs they took to make them more alert take hold of their minds.

Yet, amidst the chaos, your eyes notice the old wooden table, scarred with years of use and abuse. Its familiar creaking sound, especially from the third leg, the one that always needed fixing. Despite its oddities, this place has a certain charm.

As a woman, you know that there are environments that society still judges as masculine. But whether you want it or not, whether you identify as a feminist or not, these judgments don't matter to you.

Whilst memories flood back—your father patiently teaching you how to shoot, your mother cheering you on at the shooting competition—you can't help but listen to the echoes of your parents amidst the gunpowder. The rusty corner nearby the Glocks shelves reminds you too much of your old house, of mom and dad dancing across it the way they used to on Saturday nights, their laughter filling the room. Even the leftover smell of Gun's piss on the floor brings back how Honda brought home that forsaken cat that you've learned to love.

These memories remind you that this has nothing to do with being feminine or masculine. This is about being you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated, breaking your shitty reverie. It was a muffled sound by the work table, buried somewhere beneath the scattered assortment of guns—pistols, rifles, and shotguns—in your twin's meticulously disordered workplace.

Discarding your half-smoked baby into the overflowing ashtray, you slowly rise from the creaky stool, stretching your stiff muscles. A dull ache radiates from your lower back—the result of countless hours spent hunched over the workbench.

Ignoring the discomfort, you navigate through the maze of scattered tools and disassembled machinery, your boots echoing against the concrete floor, until you reach for the incessantly vibrating device under a pile of blueprints.

You lean against the graffiti and poster-covered wall, its coldness seeping through your top. Your gaze drifts to the multiple monitors displaying the gradually emptying streets of Seoul, illuminated by the neon glow of streetlights.

Honda always had an obsession with surveillance, with keeping an eye on every single movement outside.

To the uninitiated, it might come off as paranoia. But in your line of work, it was a necessity. The last thing you both needed was someone sniffing around your... less-than-legal activities.

You swipe the screen, bringing the encrypted chat to life.

Younger brother by 6 minutes:

Hey, sis! Just checking in.

I trust Sukku's client came to pick up his custom order—the modified Glock 19? Did he give any trouble? Notice anything out of the ordinary? Are there any signs of suspicion that we might need to worry about?

Considering the late hour and the fact that you've been alone in this place all evening, do you want me to swing by? Gunpowder is already fast asleep. I took her to the vet earlier. They think it might be chlamydia. Apparently, it's a thing in cats.

Big sister by 6 minutes:

Chlamydia? In a cat? That's news to me. Is she going to be okay? Will she need any special treatment?

As for the client, there are no issues whatsoever. He seemed satisfied with the custom Glock. Even complimented the grip modifications.

And don't worry about me. I'm used to the workshop without you by now. Besides, I’ve been productive. Uploaded a few of our modified guns and encryption codes on our site for our initial clients to browse.

I also completed a thorough maintenance check on the old Sig Sauer P226. Replaced the recoil spring, cleaned the firing pin and even polished the slide rails. It's as good as new now. You know, just in case we need some extra firepower.

But yeah, if you're free and not too worn out, do swing by. We can grab a late-night snack from the 24-hour joint down the street. Their kimchi jjigae has been on my mind.

But for now, don't rush. I'm fine on my own. I will keep the place locked down and secure until you get back. It's not like we have a shortage of security systems.

And tell Gunpowder her noona got her back. And ask her to keep her paws off my toolbox.

Watching the gray bubble with your message pop up on the screen, you hit send.

Just as you were about to pull up the Murthehelp site on your phone—the one you had coded from scratch after many long, caffeine-fueled nights—a sudden flicker on one of the large monitors caught your attention. You squinted, setting your phone down on the table.

There, in the grainy black-and-white footage, you could make out a figure. It was vague and blurry, moving in the shadows, but their height and gait unmistakably suggested a man.

He was coming towards the workshop, his path unwavering and purposeful. You quickly glanced at his attire—a dark jacket and a baseball hat pulled low over his face. Not exactly the outfit of someone who was just strolling by, especially not at this late hour when even the nocturnal creatures had retreated to their burrows.

Keeping your nerve, you reached for the console, fingers nimbly dancing over the buttons to turn off the monitors. You didn't want the soft blue glow of the screens to betray your presence in the otherwise dark room.

Leaving the gun stock downstairs, you entered the quiet workshop, the smell of oil and metal heavy in the air.

After tiptoeing towards the reinforced steel door, you hid behind a towering metal shelf cluttered with an assortment of spare parts, rusted tools, and half-assembled machinery, their metallic sheen glinting dimly in the ambient light.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the steady tick-tock of an old clock on the wall. Your heart pounded in your chest as you braced yourself for a loud bang, anticipating a forceful break-in. But instead, the soft rustle of someone kneeling near the entrance reached your ears. The muffled clicks of a lock being picked followed and then the door was gently pushed up, its usual creak betraying its motion conspicuously absent.

The moment the man stepped in, you sprang into action and the workshop transformed into a battleground.

You dove under a swing. A wrench grazed your arm—a missed punch. You retaliated with a swift kick, watching as he stumbled back, barely keeping his balance. But despite your best efforts, your back soon hit the cold metal of an old car under repair.

Cornered, with no way out.

A thin ray of light from a partially opened window cut through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows. As your eyes adjusted, you saw him—Jinman. His face was as cold as the winter wind, revealing nothing of his intent. He held a knife in his hand, the cold steel pressing ominously against your stomach.

"Complacency could get you killed," he admonished as he tossed his baseball cap somewhere in this place. "In Babylon, I trained you to be sharper, faster, but you've let yourself grow soft. One inch to the side, and this blade could have nicked an artery. It would've been a messy end."

“Damn you, Jinman! What the hell were you thinking, barging in here like some low life thug?" Your hand instinctively went to your side, where your trusty Smith & Wesson lay as you watched through hooded eyes as he leaned against you, his nose scrunching in what might be the unique signal of pain from your attacks. “I mistook you for some gangster trying to get a hand on our stash! I could've shot you, you reckless idiot!" You pushed his hand away, stepping out of the claustrophobic corner.

“Do you remember our lesson on critical injuries?”

"The intestine, when damaged, can lead to sepsis," you replied, his voice flat, your eyes never leaving his as he begrudgingly sheathed his knife. You quirked up an eyebrow as you saw blood under his nails, but you didn’t dare say a thing, you knew he wouldn't talk about it anyway. Jeong was stubborn like that.

"And if left untreated, the mortality rate is high, even with immediate medical attention.”

Ignoring his continued lecturing, you moved past him, heading towards the narrow staircase that led back to the lower level where the gun stock was kept. He trailed behind, his usually light steps now heavy and labored.

"So, care to explain your sudden, unannounced break-in, Jinman?" You questioned, the cool air from the underground level hitting your face like a welcome reprieve. Without waiting for his response, you kept talking, "And why the sudden interest in giving me a lecture on gut wounds? Planning on stabbing my twin next?

"Because you..." he began, but his voice trailed off, replaced by a pained grunt.

Alarmed, you turned around just in time to see him stumble, clutching his side. He landed heavily on the last few steps, letting out a string of curses.

"Jinman?" you called out, rushing over to him. "What's wrong?"

His response was a mere groan, his face a sickly pale hue contrasted by the cold sweat forming on his forehead. The hole in his shirt as he shed his coat could be a smudge of dirt from his shoveling chore, and the blood that has soaked his shirt is almost invisible in the dim light. He's now making a strange whistling noise each time he inhales. He'd been shot. Near his intestines.

"Oh, God, Jinman! This... this is serious," you stammered, your hand shaking as you reached out to check his wound.

You have seen injuries before. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, broken bones are occupational hazards that come with your line of work. But seeing Jinman, your former partner and mentor from Babylon, bleeding and weakening struck a nerve. A sudden adrenaline rush surged through you, coupled with a rising protective instinct. You had to act quickly, keep your wits about you. Panic wouldn't help either of you now.

"Alright, Ahjussi," you said, forcing a steady tone into your voice. "We need to get you lying down. Now."

He lets go, or maybe just loses the strength to hold on, as you maneuver him onto a makeshift bed—a heap of old, worn-out blankets and tarps that you usually use when working on cars. You pull back a little—not far. His eyes regard you from their deep and blackening sockets. They are as brilliant as ever, but you see, they are also full of terror and (this is what frightens you most) some wretched, inexplicable amusement.

Still speaking low—perhaps so only you can hear, maybe because it's the best he can manage—Jeong says, "Listen, little woman. I can handle myself.."

"No—you have to stop."

He pays no attention. He draws in another of those screaming breaths, purses his wet red lips in a tight O, and makes a low, incredibly nasty chuffing noise. It drives a fine spray of blood up his clenched throat and into the sweltering air.

He turns his head to the side, spits a wad of half-congealed blood onto the hot tar, then turns back to you. "I guess it's karma.”

You understand that he means it, and for a moment (surely it is the power of his eyes), you believe it's true. He will make the sound again, only a little louder, and in some other world, Bale, that lord of sleepless nights, will turn its unspeakable, hungry head. A moment later, if you don’t just move and fucking think, in this world, Jeong Jin-Man will simply shiver in this old place and die. The death certificate will say something sane, but you’ll know: his dark past finally saw him, came for him and ate him alive.

“I guess I’m getting old, huh?”

Leaning even closer. Into the shivering sweat and blood of him. Leaning in until you can smell the last palest ghost of the Prell he shampooed with that morning and the Foamy he shaved with. Leaning in until your lips touch his ear. You whisper, "Be quiet, Jin-Man. For once in your life, just be quiet. Don’t you dare make this pussy sound again.”

Looking around, you knew no bandage in your medicine cabinet would be enough, so you ended up tearing long strips from a sheet. The sheet is old, but you mourn its passing just the same—on a waitress's salary (supplemented by niggardly tips and only slightly better ones from the faculty members who lunch at Pat's), you can ill afford to raid your linen closet. But when you think of stuffing it into his mouth to muffle his screams and grunts, you don't hesitate.

You caught sight of an old bottle of Korean whisky, a forgotten souvenir from a past mission to Jeju Island. Honda had won it in a high-stakes game of poker but never got around to finishing it. Now, it seemed like a fitting antiseptic.

Raising the bottle to your lips, you took a swig, the liquid burning its way down your throat—a twisted semblance of courage. Then, with a grimace, you drenched the wound with the help of a cloth, the sharp smell of alcohol mingling with the raw scent of blood. Jinman’s body tensed, a deep groan escaping his clenched teeth.

“I’m hot.”

"Shit, Ahjusshi." Emboldened, you rubbed your freezing, leaking hand along his right cheek, his left cheek, and then across his forehead, where drops of whisky-colored water dripped into his eyebrows and then ran down the sides of his nose. He hums in satisfaction. "You should have been more careful."

The room was filled with a heavy silence, the only sounds being the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe somewhere overhead and Jinman’s labored breathing.

You remembered a mission in Gwangju, back when you two were still new to the field. It was a stormy night, the air was so heavy with rain that it felt like you were walking through a cloud. The neon lights of the city were blurred, painting everything in an ethereal glow. There was a sense of surrealism to that night, a feeling of being detached from reality. That was the first time you had seen Jinman truly vulnerable, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to panic as a bullet grazed his shoulder.

“It’s just a scratch,” he had grumbled, his hand tightly gripping yours as you tried to clean the wound. He licked at his lips. You saw the blood on his tongue and it turned your stomach, but you didn’t pull away from him.

Now, years later, history is repeating itself. But this time, the stakes were much higher.

"Listen to me, old man," you began, your voice breaking the overwhelming silence. "We've been through worse, haven't we? Remember that time in Busan when that crazy bastard tried to stab you with a switchblade?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, his eyes half-closed, the sheets between his teeth stained with blood and saliva. "Yeah, and you broke his nose."

"You're damn right, I did," you chuckled, your fingers gently tracing the outline of the wound, assessing the damage, before rising up again in search of your purple lighter somewhere in this place. "And we made it through that night, didn't we? So, we're going to make it through this shit too. But you need to stay with me, alright? Don't you fucking dare drift off on me!"

Found it!

As you kneeled again and prepared the needles and threads, sterilizing them over a small flame, your throat felt as dry as the barren lands of the Mojave Desert. Words stuck in your mouth like cotton, but you forced them out.

"Do you remember that pawnshop in Itaewon? The one with the old, rusted sign hanging crookedly and the fat, ginger cat named Tofu who would lazily sprawl across the counter? The owner—what was his name? Sungmin, right? He had this weird obsession with Elvis Presley. Used to play vintage vinyl records on that old gramophone he had all day long. You hated it; you said it was too 'old-fashioned' for your taste. But I caught you humming 'Love Me Tender' once."

His eyes met yours, a faint glimmer of amusement in them. You could see his chest rise and fall, each breath a little more labored than the last. But he was listening, a hint of a smile tugging at his bloodstained lips.

"And then there was that time in Hongdae," you continued, your fingers gently manipulating the sterilized pliers inside his abdomen. He hissed and jerked, the sudden movement causing the tools in your hand to clatter loudly. But a stern glance in his direction had him stilling, his jaw clenched tightly to suppress any further sounds. "We stumbled upon this cute little bakery at three in the morning. The owner was this old lady, who claimed her red bean buns were the best in all of Seoul. You were skeptical and said nothing could beat your grandma's recipe. But, after the first bite...”

You paused, recalling the look of sheer surprise on his face. "You devoured five of those buns in a matter of minutes. You even tried to flirt with the old lady, hoping to score the recipe."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his grip tightening around your free hand. "And she said... she said she had a... strict policy. No sharing recipes with… playboys."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you noticed the mischievous light returning to his eyes. "She definitely put you in your place, didn't she?"

“Shut…up.”

“I like you too. Please don’t die on me. I don't want to hear Honda crying in my ears at your funeral.”

As you finally found the bullet, the harsh reality of the situation loomed over you, a grim reminder of the danger he was in. But for now, for just a few moments, it felt like old times. Just you and Jinman, bleeding wounds, guns on your feet and hips. You and him.

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

The short walk from the taxi to Jin-Man’s porch had been enough to thoroughly drench you, with your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Raindrops dripped from the brim of your hat, splashing onto the porch's wooden planks, causing the aged wood to glisten under the feeble light from an old lamp hanging precariously above the door.

A sudden gust of wind made you shiver, and you quickly pulled your coat tighter around yourself, silently cursing the weather. You couldn't help but take a moment to observe the changes Jin-Man had made to the entrance—the broken lilies and the shattered pot had been replaced by beautiful blue hyacinths. You admired them briefly before bending down to retrieve the spare keys hidden beneath the ugly cat statue.

"Hey, ugly one! Been taking care of them for me?"

As you straightened up, key in hand, the door suddenly swung open.

Jin-Man stood in the doorway, his eyes softening as they took in your soaked floral skirt, the one he had always nagged you about, and the top that clung damply to your torso. He looked spent, with dark circles under his eyes and the distinct smell of ink and gunpowder clinging to him. The stubble on his face stood out more prominently against his tired features.

"I didn't think you'd come home.” Unusually, he started to balance on one foot while his hair was too long in the back—he needed it cut badly. You know he looks in the mirror and sees a Kpop star but you look at him and see a vagrant out of a Woody Guthrie song—dust in the wind.

What Jeong didn't say was, "Why didn’t you come in earlier?" Or, "Why do you look so hurt?"

As Honda had pointed out on more than one occasion, Jin-Man had what was surely among the rarest of human talents: he was a business minder who did not mind too much if you didn't mind yours. As long as you weren't making explosives to throw at someone, that was, and in your case, explosives were always a possibility.

You shrugged off his remark; the tension between you two is still palpable. "I'm not here for you, Jin-Man," you replied, your gaze hardening. "I'm here for Ji-An."

Stepping past him, you entered the house, your gaze scanning the familiar surroundings—a mix of vintage and modern decor. Everything was just as you remembered it; the mahogany coffee table with its assortment of vintage car magazines, the worn-out, leather Chesterfield couch that bore the imprints of countless lazy afternoons, and the rustic brick fireplace that still smelled faintly of burnt cedar—the same furniture, the same arrangement, the same scents.

As you moved further into the house, a familiar sound reached your ears: the quiet jingling of a collar. Turning around, you saw Gunpowder padding towards you, her amber eyes glowing.

"G-Pow," you called, crouching down to her level, your hand reaching out to her.

The moment stretched uneasily as she mulled over your extended hand and her new master, standing a distance away. “Betrayal alert: Hostile territory,” seemed to be the message running through her kitty brain.

Just when you were about to etch another loss, Gunpowder decided otherwise; tail held in festive high, she padded towards you, meowing a soft welcome.

A chuckle rippled through you as your fingers slid behind her ears, playing briefly, "Missed all this mess, didn't you darling?”

Gunpowder meowed in response, her tail flicking playfully.

“My good girl.” You kissed her fur before she ran away to the couch.

Standing back up, you turned to face Jin-Man, your gaze hard but determined. "Is Ji-An asleep?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you remembered well. "She's had a long day. But she'll be excited to see you in the morning."

"That's good," Bidding your drenched jacket and your hat goodbye onto the nearby coat rack, your eyes danced around the familiar kitchen layout till it landed on the kitchen counter, noticing the half-eaten sandwich and the glass of milk. "Eating habits are still the same, I see."

Jin-Man shrugged, his gaze avoiding yours. "Habit is a hard thing to break."

"You should try sometimes. It wouldn't kill you to have a proper meal."

His gaze finally met yours, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Y/N."

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. "I know you can, Jin-Man. But taking care of yourself doesn't mean you have to do everything alone."

He didn't reply, his gaze dropping to the floor. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head; his mind was probably grappling with the fact that you were back in the house after months of absence.

Deciding to break the silence, you moved towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning the contents. "I'll make dinner. It's about time we had a decent meal. And while I do that, could you fetch me some dry clothes? I'd prefer the black shirt with the Nirvana logo if it's still around.”

He sighed, closing the fridge door abruptly. “Stop it,” he demanded, his voice carrying that note that you hated so much. The note of a boss talking with his partner. “Stop thinking about me and go take a shower. You’re freezing, and no shirt, Nirvana or not, is going to help with that.”

"Okay, okay, bossy much?" You rolled your eyes as you moved past him, heading towards the doorway. "By the way, I'm not freezing. I'm just a little wet."

With a sense of nostalgia, you began to tread softly down the hallway, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards echoing in your ears.

Gliding past Ji-An's room, you lightly pressed the door ajar. Bathed in the subdued glow of her nightlight was a picture-perfect scene—a tiny human swaddled in warmth, clutching onto her fluffy bunny with all the ferocity her little fists could offer.

With feather-light steps, you ventured further in, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead as whispers of "Goodnight, Noona" danced around your heartstrings.

Clutching your top hem, your mind began to drift back to the past as you continued down the hallway. The memories of nights you spent in this house were like a movie playing in your mind: the arguments filled with passion, the shared meals around the worn-out dining table, and the shared silence that spoke more than words ever could.

After Honda’s death, you hadn't wanted the slice of cheesecake he would bring home from the restaurant for dessert, and you certainly hadn't wanted to go to any Hollywood movie... but you had wanted all those things with Jin-Man. Yes. Because over the last couple of months, and especially over the last months, you’ve come to depend on him in a funny way. Maybe it's corny— probably—but there's a feeling of safety when he puts his arms around you that wasn't there with any of her other guys; what you felt with and for most of them was either impatience or wariness. (Sometimes fleeting lust.)

But there is kindness in Jeong (hidden between the rusty corners and dark basement of his heart, but, yes, there was), and from the first you felt interest coming from him— interest in you—that you could hardly believe, because he's so much smarter and so talented. And he speaks a language you grasped greedily from the beginning. Not the signing language, but one you know very well, just the same—it's as if you were speaking it in dreams.

But what good is talk and a special language if there's no one to talk to? Someone to cry to, even? That's what you needed tonight. You’d never told him about your crazy fucked-up family or your past before him—oh, pardon me, that's crazy smucked-up talk in Honda's speech—but you meant to tonight. Felt you had to or explode from pure misery.

Walking into the bathroom, its altered landscape consumed your attention. Pristine countertop occupied by practical necessities: a single toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and straight razor aesthetically laying on top screamed 'functional' compared to it once being decorated chaotically with personal effects nestled among skincare bottles alongside makeup and a carelessly thrown hairbrush—an exquisite mosaic of a life once lived.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down your body, washing away the grit and grime of the day. Still, no water could stop you from remembering the last time you were in this shower—the last time you were in this bathroom.

"Can I join you?" Jin-Man's voice had echoed off the bathroom tiles, the door creaking open slightly.

Looking back, you found him leaning against the door frame, sleep-ruffled hair visible over the frosted shower barrier—a low-hung towel only embellishing his irresistible nonchalance.

“If you promise not to fuck me against the tiles again, sure, why not?”

“Alright, alright,” he had chuckled, opening the shower door and stepping in. The water immediately started soaking his hair, the droplets trickling down his face and chest. “I promise, no fooling around.”

You had laughed then, tilting your head back to rinse the shampoo from your hair. “Good. Because I need to get ready, and I don’t have time for your… shenanigans.”

Jin-Man simply smiled at that, his hands reaching out to help rinse your hair. His fingers were gentle as they massaged your scalp, working through the tangles. “I’ll behave. Scout's honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes at his antics but not being able to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

"But I could have been. Imagine how good I would have looked in the uniform."

You laughed at that, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls. "Yeah, right. You would have been the rebel scout. I can just see you now, trying to start a fire with a pocket knife and a piece of flint, and ‘accidentally’ burning down the entire camp because some weird boy thought it was funny to pull on my pigtails."

"Probably," he agreed. His hands moved to your shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. "But I bet I would have been the best at telling ghost stories around the campfire."

"That's true. You do have a knack for dramatic storytelling. You could have scared all the other scouts half to death."

His hands stilled on your shoulders, and he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against your back. "I only scare people because I care," he murmured in your ear, his breath warming against your skin.

"Is that so?" You turned to face him, a soft smile on your lips, and you reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "Well, in that case, I guess I should be grateful."

"You should be. Now, let's get you rinsed off. We wouldn't want you to be late, now, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't.”

As you stepped out of the shower, you reached for the towel hanging on the rack.

Dressed in the Nirvana shirt and a pair of his boxers, you padded back into the kitchen, finding Jin-Man leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked up as you entered, his eyes automatically dropping to take in your attire. He said nothing, but you could see the flicker of something in his gaze—the ghost of a memory, perhaps.

His other friends saw his talent and were dazzled by it at first. You saw how he sometimes struggled to meet the eyes of strangers. You understood that, underneath all his smart (and sometimes brilliant) talk, in spite of his stern expressions, you could hurt him badly if you wanted to. He was, in your dad's words, cruising for a bruising. Had been his whole charmed smucking—no, check that—his whole charmed fucking life. Tonight, the charm could break. And who could break it? You could.

Any tension laying dormant was pushed aside as you reached into the refrigerator, selecting ingredients for tonight's culinary endeavor: crisp bok choy leaves, thick udon strands slightly sticky to touch, and leftover samgyeopsal marinated with sesame oil, which filled the air with a slightly charred meaty smell while cooking yesterday. The symphony of chopped vegetables thudding on a wooden cutting board, accompanied by a sizzling pan flanked by the soft purring of the refrigerator, announced another evening feast showtime.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Stop staring and say something, Jin-Man.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting from the coffee mug in his hands to meet yours. “You look…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief, turning back to the stove.

“I wasn’t going to say you look good.”

“No?”

"Nope," he said, maintaining eye contact while parking his well-loved first edition Penguin mug with a soft thud. "You've got this 'This is my kitchen' glow about you—no make-up, tousled midnight hair against your cheeks, and my shirt on your body... You look like you belong at home, in this kitchen, with me."

“Oh, shut up, Jinman. Are you sure that coffee isn't spiked? That cheap bag of Dong Suh you've been hoarding since you bought it from that old market in Gyeongju?"

He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that echoed warmly around the room, bouncing off the peeling sunflower-yellow wallpaper and the worn-out, wooden cabinets. "I promise, it's just regular coffee. But if you're not careful, I might start spouting poetry next.”

"I'd like to see you try," you challenged as you moved to add the noodles to the boiling pot.

At the same time, however, a soft melody began to fill the room. Turning, you saw Jinman’s back turned towards you. He was hunched over an old radio placed precariously on the window ledge over the sink—an old Philco with a cracked case. It had been his mother’s; he kept it out in the barn and listened to it while he was choring. It's the only thing of hers that he still has, and you keep it in the window because it's the only place where it will pick up local stations. It was secondhand even then, when Jin-Man gifted it to her after earning his first paycheck, but when it was unwrapped and she saw what it was, she grinned until it seemed her face would crack and how she thanked him! Over and over!

The tinny sound of the old device was playing a song that you recognized immediately—it was your mother's favorite song. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched him, his fingers delicately turning the knobs to get the best reception.

At the end, he cocked a thumb at the radio and said, stupidly proud of his useless knowledge, "That's Busker Busker. The original indie version."

"Jeong…I—”

You had no idea where to go from there, and it seemed there was no need. The man raised the forefinger of his left hand like a teacher who meant to make a particularly important point, and the smile actually resurfaced on his lips. Some sort of smile, anyway.

"Wait," he said.

"Wait?"

He looked pleased, as if you had grasped a difficult concept. "Wait."

And before you could say anything else, he simply walked off behind you, turning off the stove before his hands found your waist. His warm body pressed against your back, his head burying itself in the crook of your neck.

The aroma of your cooking, mixed with the familiar scent of Jin-Man and the sound of the old song playing on the radio, transported you back to simpler times. Times when life was not about surviving, not about fighting, but about living. About enjoying moments like these.

He began to sway, his movements leading you in a slow dance around the kitchen. His touch was gentle yet firm and you allowed him to lead, your body moving in rhythm with his as you danced barefoot on the cold ceramic tile floor.

Beyond the rustic kitchen windows, Mother Nature cooed her own ballad—soft chirps cushioned in cool country air under the moon's watchful eyes, dressing everything in stretched-out shadows—that played on repeat. Gunpowder was outside too busy bullying a moth under a moon-bathed silhouette, while Ji-An’s gentle snores added a comforting motif to your nighttime symphony.

It felt like you were in some sort of dream, the reality of your world forgotten for a moment. You were not a killer, not a fighter. You were just a woman, dancing in the kitchen with the man she secretly might like.

Turning you around, he looked down at you, his gaze soft and filled with emotions you could not decipher. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers idly playing with the hem of his worn-out puma shirt.

The world outside did not matter at this moment. The only thing that mattered was Jin-Man and the way he held you, the way he looked at you. You could see a mirror of your own emotions in his eyes—longing, fear, and a hint of sadness.

As the last note of the song played, you rose to your tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was filled with promise, with hope—a kiss that said more than words ever could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen, the smell of your cooking still lingering in the air.

"Welcome home, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the radio.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

#imagine #lee dong wook #lee dong wook x reader #a shop for killers #jeong jin man #lee dongwook x fem! reader #lee dongwook x reader #jeong jian #seo moonjo x reader #lee dongwook #so minhye

23 notes · View notes

comfortless · 7 months

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write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

#cod fanfiction #mw3 fanfic #roland kaminski #roland swagger kaminski #cod swagger #Roland Kaminski x reader #swagger x reader #i hate this guys name my god #cod x reader #cod x you

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firearmsstoreineastmeadow · 6 months

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#9mm pistol #ar 15 rifle #ak 47 rifle #firearms #gunsdaily #assault rifle #air rifle #firearm #magazine #rifle scopes

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 15 days

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A teenager who tried to return a malfunctioning replica gun that shoots plastic projectiles to a sporting goods store in Washington state was shot to death by an off-duty security guard who believed the boy was holding a real gun and planned to rob the business, according to authorities.

The man arrested in the killing, 51-year-old Aaron Myers, told police that he was not working at the time he shot and killed Hazrat Ali Rohani, who was returning a malfunctioning airsoft gun to the Big 5 store in Renton. But he had offered to keep watch due to alleged rising crime in the area.

Investigators said security footage, which has not been publicly released, contradicted Myers’ statements to police, leading to his arrest. Authorities also said Myers is not a law enforcement officer and therefore “has not been trained in how to safely prevent crime” despite his employment as a security guard.

Rohani’s death is the latest in a spate of shootings across the US of people approaching homes or businesses for an innocent reason.

Experts say the US, which has more guns than residents, has a disproportionate number of those shootings because people assume – often incorrectly – they can use firearms with impunity thanks to lax weapons laws and self-defense statutes that are generally permissive.

Myers was allegedly waiting for his son to come out of jiu-jitsu class at the martial arts studio next to Big 5 when three teenagers walked past his car, including one who held an airsoft gun that Myers said appeared to be a Glock pistol.

Police said Myers then pointed the gun issued to him for his security job at the teens and told them to put their hands in the air. Meeghan Black, a Renton police spokesperson, told CBS that the teenagers immediately complied and tried to explain their gun was not real.

But Black said Myers fired several shots after claiming “the confrontation intensified … rapidly”, hitting and killing 17-year-old Rohani.

Police said Myers stood over Rohani and continued to shoot, which he claimed he did because he believed one of the teen’s companions was reaching for a gun in Rohani’s waistband.

A statement from police said King county sheriff’s office deputies were completing a training exercise nearby when they heard the shooting. They tried to provide first aid to Rohani, but he died at the scene, the sheriff’s office said.

The other teens present at the incident told police they were “dealing with functioning issues on the airsoft gun and wanted to take it back” to the store to either return or exchange it, officials said. The teens said they needed help with “a magazine issue [Rohani] was having with the firearm”.

In court documents, King county prosecutor Leesa Manion alleged Myers “took it upon himself to conduct ‘overwatch’ in a Renton parking lot, despite the fact that he is not a member of law enforcement and thus has not been trained in how to safely prevent crime”.

“Rather than calling 911 or waiting for any evidence at all that could confirm or deny his assumption, he claimed he had a ‘duty to intervene’ and did so,” Manion added.

Myers faces two felony counts of second-degree murder and assault. He could received a maximum punishment of life imprisonment if convicted as charged.

#us politics #news #the guardian #2024 #Washington #gun violence #gun crime #gun control #Aaron Myers #Hazrat Ali Rohani #Meeghan Black #Leesa Manion #second-degree murder #assault

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naisilla · 3 months

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The Emperor's New Muse Part .11

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: you need to stop Kayn. you die...

Was this crazy? Absolutely.

Did you really have much of a choice? Not at all!

With how dire of a state the Morningstar was, the closest planet that you could refuel or even better, hijack another ship, was the same planet you were fleeing from less than an hour ago.

Demaxia_Alpha was THE WORST planet you could possibly retreat to. It was the Demaxian capital, home to the king's palace and thousands of soldiers with the order to shoot you on sight. Only an insane person would return here and Jinx was out cold.

Even though your head was pounding from the stress of escaping the space battle, the adrenaline from the fight still left your hands shaking. It wasn't until now that the panic set in. The sheer insanity of even attempting to land on the Demaxian capital with a half-broken ship and two unconscious crew members. Shaking your head, you realize there is no turning back now. The only choice you had was whether you'd survive this mission or not. Turning your focus back to the controls, you took a deep breath and began searching for a place to land.

The air space and atmosphere of Demaxia_Alphas orbit was oddly vacant. You were sure that there would be fleets of military ships patroling the area with what is currently going on Kayn would have probably launched every ship they had to prevent your escape, so why weren't they here?

Even if this was some sort of ambush you had no choice but to go in and land the Morningstar next to the Palace.

The Morningstar sputters as you descend, coughing out plumes of black smog, the entire frame rattling like an elderly with Parkinsons. You bring out the landing gear only for the ship to give up and fall the last few meters as it finally dies.

The crash jolts you, making you fall to the floor of the mangled ship with the wind knocked out of your lungs. You scramble back to your feet and punch the dashboard button that opens the main door. You rush out into the demaxian palace grounds. The royal military station was abandoned, and not a single sign of life was to be found.

There was no time to stop and think about what that meant, you sprint through the base in search of any ship to commandeer. Just your luck that there were rows upon rows of fully operational Demaxian military vessels, always with the overproduction of everything with this Empire.

Running up to the closest one you immediately board it, or at least you try to, for there was no manual access to the ship entrance. Most likely you would need some sort of ID card to board anything as high tech as this. Cursing under your breath you spin on your heel and make your way to the control tower across the other side of the base. It took precious minutes of your time to be running back and forth like a lost chicken, you needed to stop Kayn and here you were fumbling around not even in orbit yet while he was already across the galaxy approaching the Ora Gate.

Hot tears of frustration and pain began to spill down your face as all your bottled emotions began to pour over the edge, Malphite is dead, Sona is dead. Kayn is winning. There was a physical urge that was tempting your body to collapse right there on the ground and just sob but you need to focus to stop Kayn and keep your remaining friends alive.

Sprinting to the control tower you skid to a halt at the automatic doors that remain closed upon your arrival, you grab the doors, sticking your fingers between them, and frantically try to rip them open. They refuse to budge and you kick the doors utterly infuriated while letting out a frustrated scream. Huffing you whip out Jinx's pistol and shoot at the door, one bullet, two bullets. Your face contorts, wrinkling in anger as you let out all of it's magazine, now aiming at where the door is meant to open from and finally, it is destroyed enough to bust through.

You run through the tower, now breaking your way through every wall and door that got in your way from the control panel. Alarms and sirens were sounding off with every violation the tower's interior received. Eventually, you burst through and into the control center. There was a ridiculous amount of stations with their own numerous monitors and elaborate keyboards.

Your eyes were peeled for any sign of one that authorized the aircraft and to your luck there was one station with a demaxian ship on its monitor. Rushing over you click through the software, checking every step with haste until you were rewarded with a clearance to take off. You memorize the ship's ID and continue on your sprint back to the aircraft bay to board your newly acquired spaceship.

After getting inside you have to navigate your way to the cock pit, finally things were moving along. You steer the ship and drive it over to where you had left the Morningstar, you had to drag both Yasuo and Jinx from one ship into the other but finally you could properly treat them using the medical a.i at your disposal. Now that they were treated, they could rest and recover while you began the high speed chase of your life.

Since Kayn had taken off he would have traveled an immense amount of lightyears across the galaxies and with no idea where the ora gates were you had zero input as to what direction to take off. That was the case until your ship's computer started to play some sort of message directed to all Demaxian Military. It was without a doubt Kayn's voice rambling through your sound system and by the sounds of it Kayn had completely fallen off the edge.

The reason why Demaxia_Alpha was abandoned? Because Kayn had ordered for all of Demaxia's military to surrender their current post and duties to meet him at the ora gates. Fortunately for you, the coordinates had been automatically assigned to every ship's navigation systems. Now that you were in space, the directions had activated and you were being auto-piloted towards the ora gates.

With your hands now free your mind was able to focus on the message that played on repeat. Kayn's voice was rambling on about how all should come bare witness to his ascension, how he was chosen for this destiny. The longer he talked the more deluded he seemed, it seemed that Rhaast had truly corrupted him beyond the point of redemption. Kayn's mind now weeps in the abyss between oblivions...idiot. What fool could think they could ever conquer the dark entity that is Rhaast.

After a while of listening to Kayn's voice on repeat a large hand comes into your view, clicking off the message. You flick your eyes to the side where Yasuo looks back at you, his gaze soft and comforting desire the grimace the rest of his features bare.

"How is she?" You ask.

"The treatment procedure is complete, she's fully healed but she's still out cold."

A pang of worry makes itself restless in your heart. "You don't think she's-"

"No, diagnostics confirmed she isn't in a coma. She's just sleeping."

You breathe out a sigh of relief. "Thank the universe."

"She was calling out to Malphite in her sleep." Yasuo mentions, his eyes cast towards the ground.

"Poor thing." You whisper, your chest tightening in empathy for Jinx. As the ship auto pilots you towards the Ora gates you are left with nothing to do but wait with your emotions stewing. They stirred in a pot that you forced the lid over while retrieving this stolen ship but now the lid was gone and your emotions begin to boil up and pour out over the edges, tears cascading down your face once more.

A dry hiccup draws you away from your second meltdown and you look back at Yasuo who just like you can no longer hold his tears back. "I let him down, Sona died in vain just like Yone."

Your hand reaches out to find its placement on his shoulder, you wanted to comfort him, tell him it was going to be ok. Have the perfect dialogue that could fix him and make everything better. But you had no words of encouragement or comfort and the silence hung between the both of you.

Instead, you chose to lean against him. You were right, there were no words that could fix the deaths of your friends. No friendship speech would bring them back. Your hand goes towards his belt and you grab at his hip flask, bringing it to your lips and taking a swig of the Vodka while looking out into the stars beyond. After a few sips, you look up at Yasuo and tilt the flask toward him.

He glances down, his eyes flicking from you to the bottle before shaking his head. "Now is not the time to give up drinking asshole." You wiggle the flask the reflection of its metal finish bouncing off of your tear stricken face.

Sighing Yasuo takes the flask from your hand and takes a swig from it.

"Better?"

"Fuck no." Yasuo snorts and leans back against you.

You both continued to indulge in the alcohol in what was otherwise a silent and solemn moment between the two of you. It helped, somewhat, to numb the pain of the entire events that had occurred thus far, but you couldn't help but feel as though it was only temporary.

The Demaxian Empire's capital planet Demaxia Alpha was swiftly approaching as the auto-pilot navigated towards the Ora gate. As you both continued to drink and stew in silence, you could only wonder what was to become of you both now.

Time passed, as space travel wasn't as instant as it's portrayed in movies. Even with light speed and wormhole hopping, it took hours before you approached your final destination.

You didn't need a GPS guide to say you were close when you could feel it for yourself. The air was thick, as your ship entered it you were hit with the pressure of the atmosphere that blocked your ears. The feeling made you stir and you stood up straight, pulling away from Yasuo who also seemed to be affected by the sensation. By now your tears had dried leaving your eyes dry and raw which only made the shining light up ahead sting more.

The light poured out from the structure up ahead. A golden glow illuminates the empty space, its shining rays stretching out far into every direction of the universe. It was ethereal, heavenly and warm, you couldn't help but be mindlessly drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Yasuo's eyes were blown out in sheer amazement after he finally adjusted to the light and could see what it was producing such beautiful light.

A void that drew you into its pull. Drawing out feelings of vulnerability and insignificance from your hearts as if feeding off of it. A gaping maw that drifted idly in the darkest corner of the universe. Your eyes strained to focus on its shape, it was round, then it was angular, then it was twisted. It was like staring into a heat haze or a shimmering mirage. But there were two things that you were positive about the Ora Gates. First they were massive and Second, it was gold.

There was something about them that was both unsettling and incredible to witness. The glowing light that poured out from it was warm and inviting, yet at the same time it felt as though it was beckoning you towards a horrible fate. But despite that fear, there was also a lingering sense of fascination and awe that drew you to them.

Your ship is pulled in towards the hoard of Demaxian ships gathered before the base of the Ora gates. Now, up close to it, you could finally make out details. It was like staring up at an ornate golden picture frame that slowly spun on its axis, its surface shimmered of the ora essence it is made of.

And there before it was Kayn's ship, hovering above the rest of the fleet, centered as the focal point. Once you got in range of him your dashboard glitched and opened a livestream hosted by the Fractal Shear. Kayn's face was suddenly broadcasted before you and every other Demaxian ship, basking you and Yasuo in the glow of its hologram projection.

"My fellow comrades! I am honored you would all come here today! In the wake of our fallen King our great Empire has gone into a dark age with no ruler to lead us towards eminence. With no heir to assume the throne I've taken it upon myself as the High Ordinal, Jarvan's righthand man and his closest friend to follow in his footsteps and embrace the role of Demaxia's new Emperor!"

Kayn speaks with an overly confident tone, his pupils are narrowed into tiny unstable pinpricks and his lips are curled into a wide, sinister grin. It was almost embarrassing to watch how overdramatic the Ordinal had become, no doubt he was teetering off the edge of sanity.

"Demaxia was ruled by a weak man. Jarvan lacked what it took to make our empire great, he was too soft and because of his weakness we still have outliers such as rebel groups, the syndicate, and the templar order standing against us."

“Demaxia deserves to be led by a strong hand. A hand that can eradicate any obstacles in its path. Demaxia, Deserves. Me.” Kayn’s arrogance and prideful tone continued ramping up the more he spoke. In his mind, he was truly a force to be reckoned with, a being that would propel the empire towards its glory.

"Our empire is already the greatest monolithic force known to the universe! But with my rule, will begin the era of the Demaxian Empire reborn. One that could truly live up to the power and potential that Demaxia truly possesses!"

Your eyes are drawn away from the hologram and out the window towards the ora gate where Kayn now floated before in the zero gravity of space.

"What the fuck? With no spacesuit?" You stare in disbelief as Kayn defies the law of physics.

Kayn basks in the moment, it was the rising action before the climax. The bridge before the chorus. Things were only going to get better and Kayn was savouring the feeling of success. He had already won, Demaxia- no, the universe and everything beyond was now his to rule.

A dark chuckle reverberates from the scythe still equipped in his hand, the vibrations running up Kayn's arm and resounding in his core. "Finally you have proven yourself worthy, with all the ora you have harvested you have become fully unbound, you are one with Ora Kayn can you feel it?"

"I can Rhaast, now I wield unlimited power!"

The Ordinal was truly unbound from his previous human form, with pure Ora coursing through him, Kayn's body was almost tearing at the seams with how supercharged on power he was. His eyes which were once a steely blue have been taken over by the golden glow that now shone from out of his sockets, his veins that spidered up his arms now resembled cracks of lightning that pulsed with the same golden glow, every time his mouth opened light would beam out from his insides.

"Open the gate Kayn, and unleash your power!"

With a manic grin Kayn lifts one arm, his hand reaching out towards the Ora gate. As if commanding it with telekinesis the Ora Gate responds to him. A loud and low groan reverberates from it causing the demaxian ships before it to tremble from the vibrations.

It's slow rotation begins to pick up, the rings begin to spin faster as if warming up. Crackles of lightning flash from within the ring and the low hum begins to turn into a gradual whirr.

Suddenly a bullet flies by Kayn's face, barely missing the side of his cheek. Kayn's head snaps toward the insolent being who dares interrupt his moment.

"YOU AGAIN!? I SHOULD'VE KILLED YOU WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!"

Kayn turns to look at the one rouge ship that dares to approach him, unsurprisingly it is piloted by you and Yasuo with its firearms activated. All the other ships immediately turn on you with their own weaponry trained on you. Kayn clicks his tongue and gestures for his fleet to cease.

In a blink Kayn appears right in front of the both of you, he now stands on the nose of the ship looking into the flight deck window. It was surreal seeing a man outside of a spaceship breathing and living in the vacuum of space, but Kayn wasn't an ordinary human anymore. He stares down at you with his glowing eyes.

Yasuo is quick to position himself in front of you. An intense glare is shared between the two men. You press down on the intercom button and project your voice towards Kayn. "Get away from the Ora Gate you don't know what you are doing."

The Demaxian fleet watches on from their ships in silence. You weren't surprised, everyone watching this wouldn't know what to do. Too scared to interfere with the Ordinal being so unstable.

"What are you doing Kayn? You're wasting your time with these insignificant pests! Just open the gate already!"

Kayn sneers at his scythe. "The gate WILL open."

Your perception of the Ordinal is challenged again as he steps through the window and into your ship, his body glitching out as he passes through the barrier that once separated you. You quickly draw out your pistol and don't hesitate to fire a round at Kayn, to your horror it merely passes through him and hits the windscreen behind, burying itself into the glass.

Kayn without even glancing back, makes a gesture with his hand and suddenly you feel a force weighing you down. You feel like you're underwater and the pressure of its depth is slowly crushing your organs inwards. Your finger loses control of itself and it uncurls allowing for the pistol to slip out of your grasp. You are paralysed and Kayn chuckles.

"You like that little trick? I can control the ora that is within any being making every living thing my puppet." As Kayn clenches his fist you feel a sharp pain internally. Kayn laughs at your suffering.

Yasuo growls his face contorting into an expression of unbridled rage and foolishly rushes Kayn. Not even sparing him the attention Kayn flicks his wrist and the telekinetic force throws Yasuo to the side, propelling him to crash into the side of the cockpit. Yasuo lets out a pained grunt and you watch on helplessly.

"You will sit here and watch me open those gates, feel grateful you get to witness this astronomical event."

Kayn then slips through the ship and repositions himself before the Ora gate, conducting it with his hand to make the Gate spin faster. It generates a loud resounding hum that grows in volume. You would try to ram Kayn with the ship but thousands of fleet ships had reengaged their firearms at you, any sudden movement and you would be vaporised by the entire Demaxian armada.

Something crashing from behind alerted you to Jinx's presence as she stumbles into the cockpit, barely awake. "Guy's? Why are we in a..." Jinx's confused voice dies out as she looks ahead.

The ora gates had gone from a gradual rotation into a whirling vortex, the acceleration now turning the beautiful details of the gate into a golden blur. The once empty centre of the gate was now swirling with a strange cosmic aura, it was like looking into an otherworldly mirror with a reflection made of a nebula.

Meanwhile, Kayn was calmly standing in front of the portal as he observed the vortex with a satisfied grin. "yes! YES! I COMMAND THE ORA GATE! ALL OF THIS UNIVERESES POWER WILL BE WIELDED BY ME ALONE!"

Yasuo's hand finds solace with yours as you link together. Jinx walks over to join the both of you, seeking shelter under your free arm which you use to embrace her, bringing her close to your side. You, Yasuo and Jinx watch on as the ora gate begins to flash as if fully charged.

"This is it, we lost" You murmur a sinking feeling pulling your heart down.

"Not entirely, maybe there's a chance Kayn fails-"

"Fails with what!? He's activated the gates! They are open! We're all going to die!" Jinx wails fresh hot tears streaming down her face.

A loud bang snaps everyone back to the Ora gates that were now open. Kayn draws closer and closer towards its entrance. "I CAN HEAR IT! I CAN FEEL THE ORA CALLING TO ME!"

"TAKE IT KAYN ENTER THE GATES!"

Everything went silent the moment Kayn vanished through the portal. It was the kind of silence that permeated an entire battlefield after a deadly assault. The ora gate had come to a hault and its center was filled with an inky blackness that drained the surrounding light. Was Kayn dead? What was going on in there??

The entire demaxian fleet were still, no one was willing to approach the ora gate to go after Kayn. Murmurs of the insane ordinal meeting his demise spread between the Demaxians. Your ship was still caught in the thick silence that suffocated each of you. Your breath refused to escape pass your through and your lungs began to burn as you waited in anticipation for anything to happen.

Jinx was latched onto your arm squeezing it tight in her grip in an attempt to ground herself from shaking. Yasuo continued to grip your hand tightly aswell, his features sunken with an internal dread. All eyes were transfixed into the void before you.

A low rumbling resounded from within the portal, one that was louder and deeper than before. It traveled through space and rattled the interior of the ships with its frequency shooting chills up your spine. It groaned and creaked, then it began to shake, like something inside was stirring.

You watch in awe as someone emerges, no, not someone, something. You wouldn't be wrong to assume it was a person as whatever it is was roughly the same size and build as Kayn, but this wasn't Kayn.

From the void came a being, a fractured and violent adaptation of Kayn. It's skin was made of darkness with a glowing red center held together by the ornamental shards that adorned its body. Upon his head was crowned an imposing set of arched horns and his ordinal uniform was gone expect for the torn pants. This being was no longer Kayn but the vessel reposessed by the sentient alien scythe, Rhaast.

Rhaast emerged from the ora his voice bellowing out across the galaxy for all to hear. "The test has ended. I am victorious! I am the herald of oblivion! I! Am! Rhaast!" The creature cackles in victory before approaching the Demaxian fleet before him.

"Kayn is gone. What is left is ruination!"

You turn to Yasuo in a panic "We need to leave, get us out of here!"

"But I'm the adventure pilot-"

"NOW IS NOT THE FUCKING TIME JINX." You regret snapping at her harshly but urge Yasuo with a push to take over the control center. You begin to break away from the hoard of armada ships as Rhaast approaches at an alarming speed.

Rhaast hovers before the fleet his serrated scythe glinting in his hand. "What an honour, Kayn. To watch me slaughter everything you wished to rule." And then Rhaast lunges to attack.

You watched in horror as the human sized being was able to tear through army space ships thosaunds of times his size. One ship, he sliced in half with one swing of his scythe. Another ship, he burrowed into, tearing a hole through, forcing Demaxian soldiers to be pulled though the opening into the vacuum of space outside. Their bodies torn and spat out. The next ship is invaded through his phasing abilities and Rhaast tears through the soldiers, ripping them apart.

Rhaast's slaughter is vicious and insatiable as he hops from one ship to another, slaughtering them faster than they can react. The surrounding fleet have also taken their chance and floor it, everyone is scattering into random directions. But Rhaast is an unstoppable force that can chase anything down. Other ships chose to fight as they draw their firearms to shoot at Rhaast who simply laughs at their attempts, he is simply too fast for them and the Demaxian armada end up hitting one another with heir own fire.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" Jinx shrieks drawing your attention towards the Ora gate.

Two giant, clawed hands creep from the blackness of the gate and perch themselves onto the corners of the portal. Something was coming through the gate and into your world and it was massive.

Suddenly your ship jerks from something strong hitting it hard and you are forced to look at Rhaast who has landed on the nose of your ship in front of your windscreen. Just like Kayn he is able to pass through the glass that separates you and he steps aboard. Now you could see his face in greater detail.

His face was featureless except for a toothy maw that is plated in gold forming segmented mandibles, the rest of his head is made of a polished globe with a nebula swirling within.

He approches the three of you and you make a point to step in between Rhaast and Jinx with an arm guarding her back defensively. But both of you knew you stood no chance against Rhaast.

Rhaast walks up to you, his tall frame towering over yours. "It turns out the scythe was evil and wants to annihilate all reality. Who could've guessed?" You take a step back and Rhaast cocks his head to the side in amusement.

"What happened to all that fire you had Y/N? You were filled with so much anger that field your passion. That's what I liked about you." Rhaast turns towards Yasuo and throws his scythe at him like a throwing knife that embeds itself into Yasuo's chest. You cry out for Yasuo as Rhaast walks over to the fallen captain and wrenching the scythe out of his chest causing Yasuo to bleed out onto the floor.

Jinx trembles and hugs you from behind, burying her face into your back. But Rhaast is quick to rip her away from you and tears her head off right in front of you, letting her head drop to the ground with a dull thud.

Now it is you and Rhaast, you had lost the only family you had come to love and care for and your entire life and existence was now about to be ended.

"Why?" Is all your able to croak out.

"Because I live to reap chaos and violence." Rhaast lunges forward and slices at your already wounded torso and then he disappears. You fall to the ground and clutch your wound, looking around confused. You can't see Rhaast but you can feel his presence, your body feels cold and something inside you stirs.

"I'm sick of being the one trapped inside a mind, how I was forced to witness to Kayn's thought's." Rhaasts voice echoes within your mind. "That idiot was an ambitious fool, he had delusions of grandeur. All he could ever think about was ruling the universe as a cosmic emperor, constantly I had to witness these fantasies of him being the greatest threat to the universe that's all he thought about, except for you. Whenever he wasn't obsessing over the ora gates or his duties he was thinking of you, I had to suffer seeing you live in his head as a source of obsession. Albiet one he never acted upon but something about you fascinates him...I don't see it." With that Rhaast finishes his ultimate move, bursting out your body, instantly killing you.

You fall to the ground lifeless and Rhaast gaze lingers on you before looking towards the giant figure that pulls itself out of the ora gate. Finally, his brethren have arrived.

"Bare witness to the Dark Star! Bare witness to Rhaast!"

Bad Ending: The Dark Star.

Took forever but I pulled through once again! For a long time, I've criticized Odyssey Kayn's skin. It is, in my opinion, his greatest skin of all time. It genuinely has the best voice lines and interactions that Heartsteel Kayn just doesn't have (fight me) and the idea/concept was groundbreaking compared to his previous skins. Anyways here's a shitty half assed redesign to his base form's uniform because I'm a fashion snob:

No, I'm not 100% proud or think that it's complete but it's been sitting around for MONTHS, might as well share it.

Part Twelve: coming soon...ish.

#kayn shieda #shieda kayn #kayn league of legends #kayn x reader #league of legends x reader #kayn league of legends x reader #odyssey kayn

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prismaticfaery · 1 year

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost takes a bullet for you.

TW: Violence, cursing, death, blood, typical Call of Duty stuff.

A/N: I firmly believe Ghost would do this. This is now canon to me. Enjoy! ❤️

Sweat clung to your brows as you mounted your rifle around the corner of a brick building. The heat was unforgivable, and the dryness of the air was chapping your lips and drying your eyes out. Evac was arriving for you and Ghost two miles away but the Al-Qatala forces were right on your tails as the two of you booked it through the streets of Urzikstan. It had been a miserable recon mission as you and your Lieutenant were the only soldiers that volunteered to carry it out.

You had gotten dangerously low on ammo, and Ghost was only able to hand you his pistol in case of an emergency, disdain of the situation could be seen on his face with how tightly his brows knitted, and you knew he was scowling underneath his mask at this very moment when he took the magazine out of his rifle to check how many rounds he had left– not many by the look of it.

“We should have prepared better,” Ghost muttered under his breath, clearly peeved about the circumstances you both had landed in.

“We thought there would only be a few soldiers by the looks of the reports we were given and all of the positions we found, there were only two or so posted– it’s not our fault,” you reply, moving slowly behind Ghost as he motioned his hand to press forward.

“We’re desperate,” Ghost raises his rifle to look at his scope in one hand while reaching his hand behind him to tell you to stop moving.

“Are you scared, L.t.?” You smirk, lowering yourself behind his position.

“Hardly,” he huffs, placing his other hand on the rifle to steady his aim and then pulls the trigger to shoot an enemy positioned on a roof straight ahead.

Moving through the outskirts of the town together, you kept your eyes peeled and your rifle ready, even though a few rounds left in the magazine may not get you too far in the case of an emergency. Ducking low behind a car for a moment to catch your breath, Ghost uses the scope on his rifle to search for any snipers perched on top of buildings.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you huff, taking a moment to take a swig from your water canteen. Pouring water into your hand, you splash it over your face, sighing deeply at how refreshing it felt to get rid of some of the grime and sweat caked on your face.

It was getting close to early evening, the Sun painting the scenery and town in shades of pink and orange. The town you and Ghost were sent to was long a ghost town with abandoned and nearly demolished buildings and houses, the residents leaving once Al-Qatala set up there left so many things behind that it was nearly haunting. Like time stood still.

Over the course of several weeks, there had been a number of odd delivery boats arriving in several countries around the world, and Al-Qatala’s prints were all over them. Once the boats were searched, large amounts of ammunition, firearms, and explosives were uncovered. It was enough to cause a huge issue if things were given time, but thankfully the crates were confiscated. All the Task Force needed was answers as to what those crates were for, so here you and Ghost were.

“It’s not often I fail on a mission,” Ghost spoke up after a pregnant silence between you both.

“Don’t take it too hard, we had every odd against us,” you trail off in your sentence, looking into the distance.

Ghost grunts, grabbing your vest and pulling you forward to stand in front of him, “let’s keep moving, evac is about to arrive and we don’t want to hold them up.”

Knowing that Ghost was disappointed in this mission and at himself made you question yourself in volunteering. Maybe things would have turned out differently if you hadn’t been spotted trying to go up a ladder to stake out enemy positions from the roof of a building. Ghost was often a lone wolf, choosing to go on recon missions alone for the sake of knowing he could be in and out quietly and without a trace and although you were a seasoned soldier, Ghost thought you were pretty clunky compared to him.

Ghost kept his rifle up, turning his body in a full 360 slowly as you pressed forward in the dusty and dry terrain to make sure your back was covered. The evac point wasn’t far off now. You could hear the familiar sound of helicopter blades in the distance.

Your parade would soon be rained on however as you could hear armored vehicles rush to your position. Ghost curses, telling you to pick up the speed. Gunshots whizz past you and over your head and your heartbeat could be felt in your throat as your feet were on autopilot, running as fast as you humanly could.

The helicopter is soon seen slowing down overhead, the pilot and co-pilot motioning you to come closer with their hands, “as soon as we lower down, get in so we can close the hatch,” you hear in your headset.

Ghost takes the pin out of a frag grenade, tossing it in the direction of the vehicles, the small explosive breaking apart in several directions as it goes off. One vehicle’s tires become flattened as the frag hits the rubber, but the vehicle still presses forward in the dirt. As Ghost continues to run, he makes sure to keep you in front of him at all times, yelling at you to keep going no matter what. To which you continue pressing forward, no matter how much your lungs feel like they might explode and your legs give out from under you.

Once reaching the hatch of the helicopter, Ghost pushes his hand into the middle of your back, causing you to fly forward and land inside the helicopter. You roll onto your back and sit up, reaching your hand out to pull him inside. Clutching your hand onto the back of his vest with the other hand pulling his arm forward, gunshots sprayed inside the helicopter, ricocheting and causing sparks.

Ghost turns over and gets himself into a crouching position, sliding the pin out of a flash grenade he grabbed from off of his vest, he throws it at an incoming vehicle, the driver covering his eyes with an arm. In the passenger seat, another man was aiming right at you as the effects of the flash began wearing off.

“Move!” Ghost yells, grabbing you to pull you down to the ground.

A gunshot sounds, Ghost’s body weight plastering you to the cold metal of the floor. He lets out a hiss, his breathing is quick and shallow and at first, you just assume it was from all of the running, until you could feel him begin to struggle to pull himself off of you.

“Were you hit?!” You scream, sliding your body from under him, pulling him up and flipping him over to rest his back against your torso.

“My shoulder,” was all he could muster in short jagged breaths.

Tears slid down your eyes, fear eating away at you as you began to unfasten his tactical vest, tossing it to the side. You then lift the dark hoodie he wore over his head and mask, seeing an angry gunshot wound oozing blood down his chest and stomach. Grabbing the hoodie he was wearing, you press it to his wound while you inspect the rest of his body.

“There’s an exit, the bullet went right through,” you say shakily, your hands trembling with fear and adrenaline as you hold pressure on the seeping wound.

“Bloody good shot he got on me, this hurts like hell,” Ghost jokes, taking the situation surprisingly well, “that was my favorite pullover.”

“You fucking idiot, why would you do that?” You sob, holding his body close, his head buried in the supple flesh of your chest.

“Simple really,” he tilts his head back to look at you, placing his gloved hand on your reddened cheek, wiping away the fresh tears that trailed down. “I’d do it all over again if it meant you were safe.”

#call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley

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adoresbutlers · 2 years

Text

DANGEROUS

prompt : Reader finally lets Elvis act out his fantasies after a “long day” with the colonel. (Mid 60s!Elvis). saw that people wanted this on the tag - i came to deliver.

warnings : 18+ fic, smut based fic, use of degrading pet names, hard dom!Elvis sub!reader, gun play/gun kink, m!oral, f!oral, faux sympathy, face fucking, age gap (not big- it’s only 5 years), just a whole bunch of filth. if you are under 18 or don’t like anything to do with guns or foreplay, dni <3 i’ll make more fics in the future!! you can also imagine austin!elvis if you’d like !

word count :

✩.

“Doll?” You heard a familiar voice call from the front door. Elvis must’ve been back from his meeting with his management team, all to which he left for a total of an hour before he came back. You knew Elvis, that never had been a good sign. These meetings lasted well into the night on a typical day, the longest you’ve ever heard of was a meeting that lasted damn near a total of ten hours before your call had broken it up, asking for your now fiancé to head home or his food would get cold. You feared for the worst as you looked up from your magazine, a blue baby doll nightgown that he had bought for you dawned on your smaller frame. You hesitated at first before pulling yourself up and off your shared bed, footsteps patting the floor as you b-lined for the stairs, lingering at the top and spotted a frantic Elvis.

“Yes?” You smiled from the top, trying to hide the poking confusion that lingered in your sparkling eyes as you watched him pace back and fourth. He stopped in his tracks when he heard your fainted voice, his eyes wandering your body like he hadn’t seen you many upon many times before. It didn’t take you long to catch his enticing gaze, shaking your head. Out of all the men that have caught your eye, Elvis was the dirtiest minded, but you didn’t mind a thing. Especially when he knew what he was doing.

You swallowed a shaky breath as his finger raised up in the air to beckon you closer, your feet like jello when you made your way to him like he asked. He gripped your wrist, pulling you in closer to his body, your eyes tailing up his chest and into his blown out eyes. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or what but he sure looked ten times hotter with whatever he had going on in his head. He moved his chin down so he was more your height, lips mere centimeters away from your own. “I thought i told ya’ only to wear this for special occasions, lil’ mama.” He whispered, your eyes anywhere but his own. “Look at me when ‘m talking to you, baby doll.”

“Figured daddy would need somethin’ to look at after his meeting.” You replied, your wave of confidence never dissipating. You grabbed ahold of the sides of his suit, hands resting slightly above his exposed chest. You played with the toughened material, rolling it around between your fingers as you gazed up. His hands held firm on your hips, dropping your wrist from his tight hold.

He chuckled lowly, a small shake of his head. “You lil’ minx. You’ll be the death of me.” Elvis tsked, bending down to scoop you up off your feet and start his haste straight toward the master bedroom. Before you could think, you were thrown on the bed, propping yourself against the headboard. You looked like pure sin, legs spread, looking at him with the biggest of doe eyes, your bottom lip through your teeth to keep a giggle from slipping out. You watched intently as he shrugged off his dress coat that was already open from the start - typical Elvis.

He made his way towards where you were on the bed, totally skipping over you to unlock his prized gun case, tsking with his head shaking. As if he was contemplating something. You really had no idea - you barely have even seen such a said case, that was something he purposely kept away from you. Until tonight. He hummed before wrapping his hand around his favorite of the many, an engraved pistol. You swallowed a breath, unaware of what exactly was going on in that interesting head of his.

He sauntered back over to you, running the cold steel slowly under your chin, your eyes wide with fear but the growing pool in your underwear had been betraying you. He tilted your chin up with slight force so you had no choice but to look him directly in the eyes. “Did my babydoll miss me? Cant even go an hour without me.” He chuckled, the slightest of smirks perched on his lips as he continued to trace the pistol along the undersides of your jaw.

The only response you found in yourself was to nod up in his direction, trying your hardest to fight your thighs from squeezing shut. “Y’know, darlin’. I was thinking.” Elvis trailed off, tapping the barrel of his pistol along your bottom lip, prompting you to open which you did after only a second of thought. It didn’t take you much to answer to every one of his commands, especially when you had already did miss him like he insinuated moments before. “Would you trust me not t’ pull the trigger?” His smirk only widened as he awaited your words, the metal finally hitting your tongue.

He knew his answer. You were his doll. Yet, he still wanted you to say it. Cheeky asshole. “I trust you, daddy.” You mumbled out your reply, a tinted pink blush sported along the freckles of your face. That made him laugh, a mocking laugh at you always being willing to do whatever he tells you to. He found it adorable, every time you were so willing to let him have his way with you.

“Hmm.” He hummed, slipping the metal from your lips, trailing the barrel up to your cheek, patting the flesh slightly still careful when hurting you that bad. You only could look up into his iced orbs, stiff and under his spell. With typical men before, you never fell for them easily, you always put up a fight - finding it never right to submit. With Elvis, it had been far too easy for you. He thought it was adorable how you were so easy, it was Mr. Presley after all. The cold feeling to your thigh brought you out of your daze, a purr slipping from his lips that always made your spine break into shivers. His pistol patted the surface of your thigh. “Is my precious doll in there, somewhere?” He chuckled, using his free hand to pull up your nightgown and spread your thighs.

You weren’t wearing underwear. A request he made, for obvious reasons. This night wasn’t any exception. “Always such a good girl f’me.” He smirked down at you on the bed, dipping his knee down on the bed to crouch over you, never taking the pistol off your skin, rubbing down on the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dipped down in between your thighs, rubbing through your folds that had been well-soaked by now, his smirk never falling from his lips.

“Never knew you were this dirty, honey’.” He rasped directly in your ear, a soft whimper slipping past your swollen lips filled with desire.

He reached back up to pat the pistol against your cheek once more, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulled the material all the way down so he could spring free. “C’mon baby. Use that pretty little mouth of yours.” You nodded, your eyes doe-like that could’ve made him melt right where he was standing.

You propped yourself up on your knees near the edge of the bed where he still stood, wasting no time in taking his cock in your hands at the base. Your eyes twinkled up in his direction as you looked up through your eyelashes in an attempt to tease him. Something you regretted mere seconds later when he pressed the pistol to your hair, cocking the hammer on the back, the sound clicking right near your ear. You yelped, a small snicker vibrating from above you. “A’a baby. You said you trusted me.” He hummed, tapping your bottom lip three times before pushing your lips apart, using the hand he had free to guide your lips around him.

You nodded slowly, adjusting to his size as you did your absolute best to take him whole like you had multiple times in the past. He groaned, he never liked waiting too long. He forced your head down, saliva spilling down your lips and your chin, your eyelashes touching your cheeks as you fluttered them closed. “So filthy, lil’ doll.” He mewled down at you, trying his best not to bottom out as he looked down your frame. You started to move your lips slowly around him, taking in the scene above you now. His head was tilted slightly back, one hand holding the unloaded pistol to your head, the other tangling in your hair, tugging at the edges. A strand of loose hair draped on his forehead. He was ethereal, you were sure of it.

He hummed from where he was standing, bundling up your hair in his fist as he started to use your throat in a pace that he pleased, pulling you all the way off so your lips wrapped around his tip then snapped his hips back in until he hit the back of your throat. “S’naughty letting me use you like this.” He smirked from your spot, intense stares connected as he used you exactly how he pleased. You started to swirl your tongue slowly around him, making the filthiest of taboo noises that set him back. He never heard you act so vocal, his pace becoming ungodly as he desperately insisted the same pretty noises from your lips.

Elvis’ grip lightened up on your hair before leaving entirely, pulling himself out of your mouth. Spit dropped down your chin, your lips swollen and pink as he took in the sight, a smirk curled onto the corner of his lips admiring his pretty little doll. The pistol never left his other hand, pressing the barrel further into the side of your head, rubbed against the tops of your ear. “Lay down and spread those thighs for me.” He demanded, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

You nodded frantically, scrambling to lay back against the bed, propping up your legs and spread your thighs wider until his expressions seemed satisfied. He purred, dropping the pistol with a thump, his finger grazing up your thighs as he moved so he was on top of you. He hooked his fingers in the straps of your nightgown, slipping them down to reveal your chest with a slight shake of his head from disbelief - though, he didn’t say anything which only led his reactions up to your imagination.

“God, honey. Always so eager to try any kink f’me.” He whispered against your ear, a trail of open kisses forming down against your skin as he rubbed his tip through your folds. A whimper slipped past your red lips as he slapped your inner thigh as a physical warning to not be so eager at the slightest of touches.

Without warning, he slammed his hips into yours finally giving you the friction you needed the most that night. “So tight, mama.” He purred against your skin, his hips starting an agonizing pace to only pick up seconds later as he eventually let himself sink into his desire. He raised one of your legs so it was laying on his shoulder, kissing up your leg and used the new position to burry himself deeper inside of your pussy.

“You were made for me, darlin’.” He moaned out in pure ecstasy making you mewl in reply as his pace picked up as if he was a beast who finally captured his prey. Hands running over your skin that found their ways onto your exposed hip, using the leverage to hit the spot inside of you that made you yelp on impact.

Your stomach formed into a way too familiar knot as he pounded himself into you, the only sounds of his skin slapping yours filling the room. “I’m close, daddy..” You whimpered out, your back arching from off the bed which only prompted his hand to snap your body back against the bed. His body leaned down to burrow himself in you, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Yeah? G’nna make a mess all over daddy’s cock, baby? Like his good lil’ slut?” He growled directly into your ear.

Your eyes immediately slapped shut, releasing all over his cock from his words alone, toes curling as you rode down your high. His thrusts became slower, concentrating on chasing his own. Elvis peppered kisses along your collarbone when he finally came in you, letting you feel everything deep inside as he spilled into your eager hole.

He pulled himself out, a cool breeze hitting your body. He smirked down at you, pulling you up by your hands. “Never knew you could be into that, lil baby.” He snickered, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.

“You’d be surprised, daddy.” You teased from below, taking his thumb between your lips.

A/N: OKAY had to short it down a lil because it was getting long. i hope i didn’t completely butcher this request!! as always babies, have a great day and drink plenty of water !! <3

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