#and that he prefers to stick to the paperwork side of things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rookiesbookies · 1 year ago

Text

Monster AU

Thank you to @shotmrmiller for helping me idea generate for this

Hc under the cut for 141+ Konig, Krueger, Alex Keller, and Keegan

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

General background for the AU:

When the blood of monsters was first found at ancient sites, the first thought the humans was: Can we bring them back. And when they couldnt, the second thought was: can we make ‘hybrid’ humans with the blood and will it give them special shit?

Long story short? It did. And so the race for the best and most monster/human soldiers was born

Some side effects were wanted. The speed, strength, the aggression, the dexterity.

Some side effects weren’t. Like the voices in the soldiers heads, the loss of life from incapability between a monster and a human, and the ruts, heat cycles, & craving to breed.

So the government hires what they call Operation: Darlings - a group dedicated to their monster infected lovers to keep them docile and content no matter what when they’re on base. Each given a year's supply of: military grade birth control, spermicidal lube, and condoms and one goal - be a monster's mate.

When wind of this got to other military companies, they did basically the exact same thing.

Price

Griffin. His beard now looks like furr now and less like hair. His muscles which were once covered in thin layers of fat, are now bare. The fat melted away. His wrinkles are now much lighter. His has more energy and is much less motion sick.

His eyes now have a predatory gaze. His nails are sharper like claws, and he’s much faster and more agile. His reflexes were much sharper.

With his darling he has the urge to scent her all the time. He loves nothing more than her warming his cock, his tight balls sitting on some chair as he rubs her hips while filling out paperwork. Cooing at how well she takes his fat cock.

His room is now full of pillows and blankets and baby proofy, he cant have his lionese accidentally getting hurt? Even if its just small bumps.

Soap

Phoenix. He now runs hot as an oven, everyone swears his skin glows, and he has this bad habit of insisting he needs random sticks. Every time he dies his injuries and infection turn to dust and fade off into the wind minutes to hours after and he walks away.

His nails are now just a bit more tough like talons and if he drinks alcohol or gas he can breathe fire.

He has this craving to sit in high place too, always has to have almost a perch to sit on above everyone.

When he gets his darling he has this urge to preen all the clothes she’s wearing off her like they’re dirt in her feathers. He makes little clicking noises at her and will fluff out his mohawk to get her attention, almost dying it red and orange and other bright colors because the phoenix voice demanded they had to be flamboyant and bright to truly keep a mate. Loves to rub his nose against her like a bird rubs its beak on things it loves, nuzzling into her especially if she’s nude.

He also craves nuts and seeds as a snack.

Ghost

Barghest. A bug black bad omen of death. Also has a skull face in some depictions. A big fuzzy stain in Yorkshire mythos. Simon immediately noticed how his hair on his head stayed its blond color but the rest of it (pubes, chest hair, happy trail) turned thicker and black as the night. In the dark he can see much better. He’s less sensitive to cold. And he craves raw meat.

For other physical differences he notices how his cock swells differently. His whole body leaned and slimmer. He runs faster, and endurance is significantly better.

He growls deep in his chest and uncontrollably when people try to touch his stuff. When he’s around his team he lets out a purr similar to that of a rottweiler.

He also notices he finds it harder to stay away during the day, as he prefers now to exist at night.

Gaz

Aswang. His teeth are now much sharper. His eyes now randomly bleed but not in a medical issue. His skin mow ashier than it normally would have been but that's fine. He’s more worried about the blood. His tongue is now long and snake-like, too long for his mouth and flat.

His body is leaner than before. Shoulders becoming broader. And his ears are slightly pointed. He’s also off put but his fingers got longer and his hands got stronger.

He hates how it’s voice hisses and whispers so loudly in the back of his mind. Never quiet.

Konig

Cthulhu. Of all his comrades who were chosen, he had some of the most physical change. Tendrils sprouted from his spine, his skin turned cold and the texture closer to a shark. His teeth all got a bit sharper, and his eyes became slightly better suited for seeing in the night. The worse his anxiety got the more tendrils littered his face and wings threatened to sprout from his back. The voice made the madness grow in his head, loud and ringing. His body was an impermeable surface. His fingers had grown a bit longer, more claw like. His voice got even more booming and he was always cold.

When he got his mate, his skin warmed. The voice of the monster that infected him calmed for the first few days. She didn't mind the odd texture of his skin or the tendrils that littered his body. She let her warmth seep through his body.

Krueger

Amarok. As seen in his tattoo on his back. He notices small things like thicker and darker hair on his body and the need to spend more time alone.

He notices his body get meatier, the muscles taking up more space. His hair is growing longer than he’d like, and much faster. He’s much stronger and much more durable, the usual overwhelming stain of the butt of a gun to the face now just a mild sting.

He growls from his throat when he is annoyed now, and is very off put by it because he never realizes when its happening. He has also grown a bit, not taller than Konig still but he is a least an inch and a half taller than he was. His arms now much wider and beefier, with a soft yet flattering layer on top.

He can now hear much better and he doesnt know if he likes it. If someone is fucking on base he can hear it all so now he has to constantly wear his shooting range headphones to hear how he did before the change.

Keegan

Minotaur. His body now gets too hot when under armor. He craves to suckle a tit like a calf and hide in darkness. His eyes are not adjusted well to the lights at all, he now has to constantly wear sunglasses. His nose is now a bit wet and leathery. His body now more easily builds muscle and the skin of his feet and hands thicker. His nails are stronger, like the human equivalent of hooves he guesses.

His breathing is now heavier, his body much heavier. He now stalks around instead of a natural walk. He craves meat, the monster wants him to consume human flesh but Keegan is satisfied with a steak.

Alex Keller

Hydra. He can grow back any lost limps and heal quickly. Only limp he cant grow back is the leg he already lost because he lost it pre-infection. Physically it changed very little, his eyes turn to slits in bright lights instead of small dots, he occasionally gets scales if his skin is extra dry, and he now had crazy sharp fangs for canines but not much changes.

He also hisses at threats and keeps building nests in dark places (his room with the lights off) with stolen blankets and pillows, pulling women into his room to show them hoping they compliment it as a sign of agreeing to mate.

When he gets his darling the little hydra voice in his head goes wild. She compliments the nest, doesn’t mind his painful love bites to stake claim, and most importantly doesn’t mind staying in the nest until the nest smells like her and she smells like him.

Also he has two dicks (human ones, not snakes), one on top of the other, upper one is slightly smaller.

#cod x reader #call of duty #captain price #captain john price x reader #konig call of duty #konig x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mctavish x reader #soap call of duty #alex keller #alex keller x reader #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost x reader #keegan russ x reader #cod keegan #sebastian krueger x reader #cod krueger #cod monster au

236 notes · View notes

dirtyoldmanhole · 9 days ago

Text

using this from @kidlightnings as a selfship meme :P sfw/nsfw questions under the cut!

note: some of these answers may make far less sense without the brighteyes/zihark lore/timeline essay i typed up here over on dreamwidth (especially since i imagine they're involved in both FE10 and FE:Heroes. you don't have to read given it's long, but fair warning ~ this is also all crossposted on dw.

SFW questions

Do they have petnames/nicknames for each other? Is there a reason why not, or a reason they picked what they did?

zihark (even in canon) tends to tease more with witticisms and backhanded compliments verses pet names ~ i think pet names are a touch too kitschy/maudlin for him.

on the other side, bright eyes knew she was fatally fond for him when shit like 'my love' slipped out completely unironically much to her horror :D that said 'zi' as a shortened version of his name is the most frequent way she refers to him ~

Who cooks? What's their favorite thing to cook?

zihark cooks since she's horrid at it, and doesn't even try to resist when he metaphorically elbows her away from the counter. :3 the logistical timing honestly works too given she's usually occupied with hours-long mage-work for pay (tellius) and/or constantly held up at strategy meetings (askr).

when he's gone on his occasional long diplomatic/mercenary trips he'll leave behind little prepared lunches. ;u; the first time it happens it totally takes her off guard and melts her heart ~

i'd say both of them in general prefer lighter portable foods - fish, rice, vegtables, sushi-esque type of rolls. i get the sense food is one of his minor ways of showing affection since he's gone out to restaurants before and makes a point of paying.

Are they ok with PDA? What counts as public to them? Are there levels?

they're both quite reserved/have a peculiar sense of piscean detachment when it comes to outsiders, so not really.

that said - notably, when he can tell she's about to make a very bad tactics call on an emotional instinct and lets the mask slip in anger (quite rare; the amount it's happened can be counted on one hand), he'll lay a hand on her shoulder from behind. and then she'll snap right back to the ever-pleasant-charming mask. it's quite unnerving to those who witness it, almost like a glitch.

What level of pain/sickness are they comfortable showing each other? Is there anything they hide?

endearingly, way back in early Radiant Dawn she knew she was down bad for him and there was Something from his side too when he had the flu and he let her fuss over him and stick around longer than was strictly necessary for platonic "old friends" :3

bright eyes is pretty pragmatic/independent when it comes to sickness/(recovering from regeneration-spirit-charmer powers); having been invalid for so long means it's a natural instinct to try to quietly minimize the amount of help from everyone. he's remarkably courteous about being sensitive to it.

Are they the marrying types? Or something else?

yes, post-RD by a few years :) i kinda go back and forth if they marry again in heroes-verse (or do some kind of re-commitment ceremony); most likely yes if they stay there for more than ten years.

If they lived together, whose name(s) goes on the lease/mortgage?

bright eyes! mind you, zihark's good with paperwork (and she passes it off to him quite frequently lmao) but she came with more resources and more of a home-base mentality wheras he's always more the wanderer. give him a couch much less an actual bed and he's grateful for that alone and doesn't have a habit of asking for beyond that. (a bad habit of his, she thinks. more reason to spoil him.)

that said heroes-verse when they've been together for a while, i do see him purchasing a small little studio away from everything. generally as a safe house-slash-place for him to retreat in his moody spells, but it eventually becomes a getaway for them both.

Is there any early bird/night owl split? How do they deal with it, if so?

annoyingly he's the early bird of the two by far :p that said, watching him get up and dress makes bright eyes a lot more amendable to cracking the eyes open to begin with, something he mercilessly uses to his advantage ~

Do they have hobbies that take up a lot of space? Is this ever a problem, if so?

he keeps an incredibly small footprint (able to travel on a dime with just his sword, bright eyes never understands how he does that).

she on the other hand, always has more stuff she's attached to -- most notably a library of books, but she always has a residence in general to keep them, even if it's long term storage. mage-work takes up a workroom as well, but sanaki/anna pays her well enough that's not an issue. :)

that said, i think zihark would genuinely have fun in askr developing an antiquing/furniture restoration hobby at her encouragement ~ by then it's pretty clear they're not needed to be on the road as much so he's gradually little less frugal as he gets older and feels safer to put down roots.

Who slams the oven, and who plays the trombone? ( https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/when-mama-isnt-home ) Is it a trombone, or a different instrument?

skkjkjjhajka. bright eyes = oven, him on the trombone, absolutely.

Who can keep plants alive? If nobody, who has the best rate of success?

bright eyes is like the personification of death/decay (both cheekily and also significantly thematically), so hell no :p zihark would be able to handle a plant with instruction given he's detail oriented, but he wouldn't be around with regularity to start it, and he'd question the commitment.

Are they in agreement over shoes off or shoes on inside?

i feel like this is more cultural than individual, for some reason ... honestly i see them having their 'marching/muddy boots' but then a general pair of shoes for domestic stuff. like..... his boots are gorgeous. shame not to see them indoors just sayin'. :)

Do they stick to fairly fixed roles in their relationship, or is it flexible?

oh this is funny since i've been thinking about this in more detail for the last few months. it's interesting - early on in RD when they were just genuinely getting to know each other, they were settling in comfortably in a bodyguard/employer dynamic, and a lot of their life roles extends from that.

he's always been a hired sword and even after that initial stint (where i headcanoned that tauroneo was the one who hired him for her), she's had the resources to keep him on indefinitely. not solely as mercenary protection - she's quite physically/medically frail given the whole spirit-charmer-pact and the downsides there; there's a few notable times when she's been bedridden. on his side - stability's always been an illusion since timeline-wise he would have grown up right in the worst of Daein's plague and likely moving from place to place for money, and ideals when it was possible. having that guarantee - and frankly, a certian kind of rare, open emotional non-judgementalness from bright eyes that he doesn't see elsewhere - makes him inclined to stick around.

and later as she learns a little more about him (headcanons, here), there's a .... strong desire? to ensure that he's never ever left financially vulnerable again or coerced by an employer.

(...somebody needs to tell bright eyes that getting romantically involved with your gorgeous bodyguard is the definition of coercion. :p) (the fact this plays into similar sketchy themes as the askr contract isn't lost on me)

that said it honestly works out for both of them. he's got some of his own sketchiness in that he likes playing with subtle control/coercion/'i have the upper hand even when it doesn't look like it as a kink' vibes right back(i swear i wrote an essay on this somewhere??) behind a pleasantly bland pretty smile, so it's very much a grey-area-mutual-winking-knowing-dependency..... Thing.....

(alphonse is a little grossed out when he figures it out, he's no dummy lol.)

Who would take up more of the closet? What do they have the most of?

oh zihark, unquestionably. :p man's a peacock. honestly both of them are quite sparse in the "quantity" of clothes but he would absolutely hold himself to a higher degree of quality and something for different occasions wheras she takes on the steve jobs mindset of 'one iconic outfit for everything because my god i do not have the fucking brain for this shit'

NSFW questions~

Are they particular about where to/not to have sex, like nothing on food prep surfaces, only in bed, nothing outdoors? If so, what are the rules? Are they in agreement about said rules? :3

"nothing in public" was one of the original.... agreements...... except funny thing is they both keep getting awfully close to skirting that rule. :p

i think zihark specifically has a low key thing for it. cough. anyway. alphonse does not want to know how many times the war table and/or the summoning stone has been utterly defiled right before a meeting. :3

or as @kidlightnings said on that last one: 'between a rock and a hard place' lol

Are sex toys something casual, or reserved for special occasions, or not used at all?

toys, nah.

objects on other hand like, uh. sheaths/boots/swords? :)))))c

given the next strip late on this year has a strong chance to be sword-cleaning-with-the-most-obvious-bootblacking-overtones?

i'll let you guess ~

How about roleplay? Casual, or something that would be meticulously planned out? Can they stay serious during it?

nah, not really a thing for either of them -

Do they change the sheets after sex, or just avoid the wet spot?

he's fussier about being clean and sensory details and not messing up the nice sheets so the Fuck Towel is a thing as a easy compromise.

he rolls his eyes every time she calls it that :D

How pressed do they get if the other doesn't orgasm during sex? Is it personal?

nah, not at all. for bright eyes it's wound up far more in the act of service/intimacy, and just by the ahhh, mechanics of it, he's usually satisfied either way.

on his side he's patient enough to figure out what makes bright eyes tick, and she's a much easier puzzle than some than he's dealt with. :) his nose alone. jesus. ahem.

Would they be bothered by a pet walking into the room?

lol. nah. a pet jumping on the bed would merit the critter getting nudged off ungracefully with a leg (and the door closed afterwards) but that's about it.

Are they comfortable being intimate if a housemate was at home? If so, do they try to be quieter?

bright eyes in particular is very much a private animal socially and they'd both probably refrain if there's anyone over at all, which there probably wouldn't be.

it cannot be stated how much she hated the tent life, lol, given she's a little spoiled/far more of an urban person. it was major reason of buying a house and splurging on actual rooms at inns whenever possible, as well as wanting to spoil him rotten as well after surviving so long as a sellsword.

Are their sex drives pretty well aligned, or different? How do they handle it?

pretty aligned ~

Is the relationship open to other partners? If so, what are the rules around it? How would a conversation around opening it go?

absolutely not romantically. also not in tellius in general.

but in askr, sexually...

i do see him as a very skilled infiltrator of types and bright eyes in askr sends him on those kinds of missions with the idea of 'only if you're comfortable/the initiating party, if you see some information you can get thatways, the door's open to play around.'

it's more of a 'don't ask, don't tell' thing. sometimes the telling happens to make sure it doesn't become blackmail for somebody else (given it's usually an enemy party) but it's kept brief.

on the other side, bright eyes isn't interested in anyone else. valter in askr came the closest (before zihark was summoned when she was feeling emotionally low), but frankly the guilt at the thought of doing anything was enough that nothing happened.

(i know there's probably a few of you on here surprised i don't mention gunter. :p nah, for me his thing's with corrin and a certian somebody else in different worlds~. i have eyes, sure, lol, but i think our personalities would clash horribly, and i truly see him as a fellow leatherdaddy-coworker-to-have-a-beer-with after writing as much with him.)

If applicable, is contraception something they think about?

to be honest, with FE worlds i just take the easy 'there's a magical charm that'll take care of that~' route. (I do think due to the spirit charmer demon pact bright eyes is simply infertile as well.)

Are marks/bites something they'll let be done to them? Do they cover them or have rules about where they can be done?

he's the all over this, both giving and receiving. :) always have headcanoned him as bit of a flagrant masochist especially when it comes to shallow cuts versus impact play (impact play being a squick).

generally they'll both stick to places that are covered; it helps that they don't really show a lot of skin in the usual outfits.

How long did they wait after getting together to have sex?

a few weeks - they both talk about making a point of wanting to take the romance slow. really, it only happens when it does because he gets wounded and hurt/comfort vibes are just too irresistible :3

Any uncommon kinks/fetishes? Would they bring it up, and how so?

mm~~ there's a bunch for both partners i'll decline from mentioning.

The only hotel they can get accommodations at is a sexy themed one – how do they feel about it? What room theme are they picking?

y'all are going to die laughing but i kinda. headcanon this happening. already..... in canon when they're having that week-long stint free in Crimea between the marching.

a lot of the inns are already booked solid with half an army encamped around Meilor, and given the seedy nature of armies, the usual red-light districts are doing a good business and advertising prominently. Mind, Ike and Titania would keep a tight leash, but (imo) realistically, there's only so much discipline one can have with hired soldiers and the types of businesses that follow an army column. (Especially when there's other factions in that particular march. I imagine there's a few hawk tribe soldiers that get some good beorc puss. :p)

he wouldn't go for one of the tackier ones, but if it's classy enough with a humorous edge, he would. :)

#selfship shenanigans #i haz thots #i am incapable of being Concise with these two apparently

7 notes · View notes

danibee33 · 1 year ago

Text

Part III of undercover!Ghost 🩶

ghost x reader (callsign: Hela)

word count : 4.7k

>>> [PT 1] [PT2]

You aren’t avoiding Ghost. Not really..

Ok, maybe you are.

The week since the undercover mission had been busier than usual, so it’s not like you don’t have an excuse for your absence- you did have other duties and responsibilities to attend to collaterally to the one-four-one. But were you using said collaterals to possibly steer clear of a certain person..? Well, that’s not important.

“Been awhile, lil’ LT..”

You return Soap’s grin, looking up at him as you both take tentative steps- him reaching out first, and you deflecting,

“D’ya miss me that much, sergeant?” You say, eyes skimming his form, looking for any weakness in it, waiting for the right opening.

It wasn’t a planned meet up, you just needed something to do- you’ve been so restless lately, like no matter what you do, it’s never quite enough to stem the relentless flow of thoughts. Which is how you found yourself on the sparring mats opposite the equally restless man at such an ungodly hour.

“Always miss ye, hen..” Soap grunts just before lunging for you, attempting to swipe your leg but inadvertently opening himself up for you to get your arms and legs wrapped around torso- using your body weight to bring him to his knees,

“Steamin’ Jesus, lil LT- worse than a fuckin’-”

Whatever insults he might’ve tried to spew are cut off when you suddenly readjust, but he recovers quicker than you expect- lifting up and bringing you along with him,

“If ye wanted to cuddle, ye could’a just said so..” Soap says, that flirty little lilt at the edge of his words, the same one you’ve heard him use at the bar a hundred times now. And the lopsided smirk on his lips is all too familiar as he tightens his grip around your waist–

God, he’s such a fuckboy…

With a breathless groan, you switch your hold again, crossing your arm over his face in order to put distance between you while still keeping him mostly trapped,

“Shut it, MacTavish. I’m still winning, aren’t I?”

You go back and forth like this until you’re both struggling to breathe and your muscles begin to quiver with fatigue- throwing jokes and jabs easily. It had always been effortless to talk with Soap, banter with him came naturally, but you think it’s only because you two are alike in that way. Never at a loss for words to fill a silence.

And by the time you’re both thoroughly exhausted, all sweat and panting breaths as you stick uncomfortably to the mat, does he roll to his feet, brushing his hair back in the same motion,

“Always a pleasure, ma’am.” He grins, dwarfing your hand in his own as he tugs you up, “And we’re, uh, we’re goin’ out tomorrow night- or well, tonight, I s’pose.” he fumbles over his words in that adorable way he does sometimes, like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, “If ye’d like to come.. I can have LT text ye the details.”

At the mention of Simon, you feel the very tips of your ears begin to burn. The sergeant’s prompt too quickly bringing back all the thoughts and memories you had been trying to purge yourself of by coming here,

“Um.. Sure. No promises, though. It’s been busy, ya know..” You say, fighting to keep your tone flippant and casual- but John MacTavish is more keen than you might have given him credit for.

He walks by your side out of the gym, obviously searching for the right way to bring it up, until finally it’s almost like you can feel his own curiosity win over his better judgment,

“Ma’am.. Did somethin’ happen? On the last mission?” The next few seconds are filled with him trying, and somewhat failing but it’s amusing nonetheless, to explain why he’s asking- mostly due to your unusual absences since returning that night. The way you’ve been avoiding the entire team in favor of doing paperwork in your office-

Which you never did because you said you hated being back there on your own.

No, you always preferred to take care of those things in the common spaces, where the chances of having company were always high.

“Was it seein’ LT’s mug? I ken that’s always a bit of a shock for first timers, but-”

“What?” You interject, eyebrows raised in surprise, “No.. no, it has nothing to do with that..”

Well, that’s also not entirely true, is it? But you don’t think it’s for the reasons Soap’s imagining.. It’s more about the fact that everytime you even catch a glimpse of the giant man, you’re reminded of how handsome he was on his knees in front of you, how big his hands felt over your thighs, how his tongue-

“Well, just think ‘bout joinin’ us, won’t ye?”

The sheer amount of hope in Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, replacing the memory of amber eyes with bright cerulean ones, and that signature fucking smirk,

“Fine! Just chill out with the puppy dog eyes, MacTavish.. Begging like a damn dog.” You concede, waving him away and turning toward your hall without waiting for his reaction. But he doesn’t let you get far before you hear his chuckle, husky and chocked full of guile, bounce off the concrete walls,

“Woof, woof, lil LT..”

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

He doesn’t like being unfamiliar with his surroundings, because he spends too much fucking time being unfamiliar in nearly every surrounding he’s sent to. He doesn’t like leaving things up to chance, doesn’t like how much more stress accumulates around his shoulders and neck- it annoys him, the ache.

But Johnny and Gaz had just been so damn adamant about trying out a new pub. One on the opposite end of town, and he can admit it’s nicer than their usual hole in the wall, but still.

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

Well, that was until he caught sight of you. And then he found himself slightly more drawn to the low lighting that danced over your skin, the way it glowed in your eyes as your survey the bar-

“Hel’s ‘ere?” He asks, downing the last nip of bourbon in his cup.

Johnny’s head whips up then, spotting you in an instant- and there’s something about his response that causes Simon’s gaze to narrow at the shorter man. It’s too… giddy, too reverent for his liking.

“Aye! Invited her the other night.”

That ache in his neck returns but somehow significantly worse.

The other night? You had been with Johnny the other night? When this entire fucking week he hadn’t been able to get three fucking seconds alone with you-

Ok, no, he hadn’t worked up to trying to just call or text, that felt too impersonal. He was shit at all that anyway, he needs to see your body language, needs to analyze all the little expressions that give away so much more than words do. But you had somehow found a way to beat him at his own game. You turned into a ghost, only ever catching your silhouette from the corner of his eye, hearing your voice but never being quick enough to be within a few meters of you.

And possibly the worst was when he would enter a room you had been recently in, the smell of you permeating the air, causing his heart to stutter just so with every deep breath.

Fucking hell..

But here you are. And at Johnny’s request, no less.

Ghost despises new places.

Yet, he does think he could learn to like the overly enthusiastic beat of the music when he sees your hips sway to the rhythm as you wait for your drink. You’re in tight jeans and a black leather jacket that fits your figure like a goddamn glove- and he swears he can feel the silk of your skin by just memory alone, the curves of your body already etched into his mind.

“Gonna get a refill.” He grunts, already walking away from the table with the empty glass in hand.

The sound of a cup being sat on the bartop snaps you back to the present, followed by a heady rush of chills when you hear the baritone of Simon’s voice far closer to your ear than you expect,

“So, she lives.”

You let out a small breath, turning to find the burly breadth of his chest taking up nearly your entire field of view- clad in black from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise you one bit, but it’s not his usual hoodie and jacket. No, this time he’s in a black henley that fits more like a second skin, the fabric deliciously stretched over his pecs and shoulders, the top button left open to give you just a peek at the silver chain glinting underneath and… is that a tattoo?

“She does..” You say, meeting his eyes.

And you really should know better, with too many of your nights haunted by the deep amber of his irises- but the instant it happens, it’s like you’re back in that damned office all over again. The music grows faint, and the people around you turn into little more than blurs at the edge of your vision. He’s all you can feel, the heat of him, the intensity behind his gaze, the way his head tilts softly to the side, studying you as if he might be recommitting your features to memory- not that he needs to.

Because you’ve haunted him just as much. You’ve been the bane of his existence this last week, and somehow the only thing he can see when he shuts his eyes. The sole focus of his loathing and his desire-

“Ma’am, your whiskey sour-” The bartender announces from behind you, effectively breaking the spell you’ve been so wrapped up in right before you hear another small clink, “and a bourbon, neat.”

Without hesitation, Simon leans closer, big arm reaching around you to pull his glass from the bartop and the black surgical mask covering his mouth and nose down in the same motion. He keeps that same heavy gaze on you, your own eyes growing wider at the sight of his face, his crooked nose and scarred lip. You watch him take a short sip, but just as quick as it happened, his mask is back in place, and he’s stepping back,

“C’mon. Table’s over ‘ere.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt whiplash quite like seeing Ghost turn his back on you, easily carving a path through the patrons that fill the space-

But you are damn sure the infuriating Brit isn’t going to get the last word in this.

Ghost can feel your stare, feel how it’s directed right at the back of his skull. A perfect kill shot if he were a betting man. But he can also hear the quiet click of your boots following after him, the tightness in his jeans growing more noticeable with every step-

Fuck.

“Lil’ LT! Glad ye’ could make it out!” Johnny shouts over the crowd, blue eyes cast in mischief and that open sort of admiration that Ghost is sure the man couldn’t hide even if he tried.

You round the table, looking up at the Scot with a devastating smile on your lips before nudging his shoulder with your own,

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure your ego wasn’t too damaged after kicking your ass this morning, sergeant.”

“Ach! -”

Ghost can hear Johnny sputtering on and on in that terrible mashup of English and Scottish slang that’s always grated on the lieutenant’s ears- but whatever he’s saying doesn’t quite register. Instead, he can only really hear the way your laugh brightens the dim room, see the way your head tips back as you take another sip of your drink.

And it’s only then he realizes that he just wishes you would look at him like that. Wishes that he could draw the melodious sound from you, that he could be the reason you smile so brightly-

“Well, well, well-” the group looks over to see Gaz and Price meandering through the throng of bodies, the younger man with outstretched arms, “Hela! Thought you’d up and left our sorry arses!”

All Simon can do is grit his teeth as Gaz embraces you in a quick side hug, Price close behind with a warm grin even on his bearded face,

“And miss out on all the fun? You know me better than that, Garrick.” You say, raising your glass to the Captain in greeting.

So, no, Ghost doesn’t like new places.

But he can’t deny that as the next hour passes he’s smiled more than a few times at his team’s antics. And he certainly can’t say that he hasn’t missed the way you bring them all a little closer, your bubbly brand of forwardness allowing them to each get out of their heads, even if just for a little while.

“What’s this about you handin’ MacTavish's arse to him?” Price’s voice booms over the music, which has only seemed to get louder the later it gets-

Ghost watches you down the rest of your whiskey sour without so much as a flinch, your cheeks flushed such a pretty pink from the alcohol,

“I mean, is that really a surprise?” You shoot back, the man in question all but slamming his glass down on the table in rebuttal-

“Ooh- yer arse is oot the windae! I want a rematch!” Johnny’s words slur together just enough to give away how good he’s really feeling, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “Watcha say, lil LT? And this time we’ll have a proper judge, right Cap? No cheatin’-”

It really isn’t fair how you lean into him as you chuckle, that ache in Simon’s neck creeping up again at the sight.

Christ alive, why can’t he just get it together? Why does he care? You’ve never been one to shy away from physical touch… but fuck all if it doesn’t eat at him.

“Oi, who wants another round?” Gaz, thankfully interjects, drawing everyone’s attention with a collective and resounding sound off.

The others waltz away through the crowd in the direction of the bar, everyone but you- standing across from Ghost at the table, toying with the toothpick in your glass,

"Late night spar, huh?" You don't miss the added gruffness in his tone, or the fact that he refuses to look at you now, staring somewhere over your head.

And if you were a better woman, you wouldn't feel the need to play into his offputting display of jealousy- but you're you after all.. and he's Ghost. So, you give a little hum before plucking the tiny skewer from your cup,

"Couldn't sleep.." You shrug, looking up at him under you lashes, his eyes already on the maraschino cherry that drips down your fingers, "Figured I'd do something a little more productive since I was up anyway-"

Simon tracks your hand, falling right into your terrible little game as you bring the fruit to your lips- it's tooth achingly sweet when you finally bite into it, mixed with the burn of whiskey. And it's when the juice runs down your chin that you meet his gaze, swiping up the liquid on your thumb, he watches with a severity that sends a dangerous chill up your spine- not even daring to blink as you suck the digit clean.

You know he's keenly aware of exactly what you're doing, but that doesn't stop the lust and satisfaction from rushing through you at his deep growl- those coppery eyes darker than you've ever seen.

All too innocently, you flash him a smile, "I think I'll have one more.. you want anything, sir?"

Ghost thinks he can feel the crystal glass in his hand begin to splinter under his grip, unable to tear his eyes away from the red stain on your lips- it's enough to drive him mad.

He gives you a curt shake of his head, knowing that if he had another drink, he might lose whatever vague sense of self-control he's clinging onto so precariously.

And instead of watching you walk away, he turns toward the pool tables, needing something to do with his hands- because if he clenched them any fucking tighter he think he might draw blood with the way his blunt nails dig into his calloused palm.

Without waiting for the others, he racks the balls before picking up a cue stick and breaking the formation- moving around the table just as Johnny sidles up to him,

"Did’nae take ye for a billiards guy, LT.." He says, quickly working to chalk up his own cue.

Gaz and Price follow soon after, eager to join in on teams- and it works, for a short time anyway to distract him. If he can just stay focused on making each shot, then he won't have time to think about you. But, that's a rather silly notion, isn't it? Because sure enough, just as he leans in to take a shot, he spots you bump elbows with his Scottish counterpart.

"Here to give me some good luck, lil LT?" Johnny looks down at you with a lopsided grin, both hands wrapped around the cue stick as he leans on it.

You take a slow sip of your drink, just enough time to glance at Simon- sleeves now pulled up to expose the thickly corded muscles of his forearms and the faded black ball cap on his head turned backwards. He's calculated in his shot, efficiently knocking a striped ball into the nearest pocket-

"I don't think you want any of my luck, sergeant.." You drawl, eyes flitting up to see his deep blue ones already on you, "Can't say I have the best track record when it comes to that."

Soap's chuckle is warm and laced with silk in your ears, watching him copy his superior's movements, finessing his own cue to score a bankshot. Gaz is next, followed by Price, and you follow them ardently, moving around the table as they go until it's back to Ghost-

"Aye, LT-" Johnny calls, "Why don't you show Hela how to do a jump.."

You've managed to get close enough to the towering man now that he has to look down at you before glaring back at his sergeant,

"'m sure she can figure it out on 'er own, Johnny."

"I've actually never really played." You say before your better judgment can stop your mouth from moving- maybe you have had a little much to drink.

And the way Simon's jaw clenches, having taken off his mask as the other patrons slowly dispersed, makes your core tighten- biting the fleshy inside of your cheek between your teeth. You shouldn't push it. You’ve done enough of that already, haven’t you?

Yet, in one swift motion, Simon's hand is on your hip, the other taking the half-empty cup from your grasp before positioning your body in front of his. It isn't exactly gentle, there's a roughness to his movements that put you on edge, a stiffness in his voice that only stokes the the fire in your belly,

"Hold it 'ere.." You take the stick in your hand, the wood still hot from his touch, "and 'ere."

When you grab it this time, he covers your hand, easily repositioning it further down- "Like that."

Very suddenly, you're regretting putting yourself in this situation, so swept up in the feeling of Simon all but dwarfing you, his proximity far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol you've consumed tonight, that you don't notice the sly smirk on Gaz's face- nor the knowing looks shared between your teammates.

In your defense, Simon makes it hard to concentrate on much of anything with the way he slowly leans into you, urging you to bend forward- his hold light but still strong enough to make the slightest adjustments to your stance,

"Lift your elbow now." He mutters, his breath tickling over your exposed shoulder, your jacket left slung over the nearest chair. But it's his hand that catches you off guard, because unlike every other movement he's made with purpose and intention, a man simply doing a job; when he moves now, it's slow, his fingers grazing up your side before softly caressing the skin of your arm,

"Good."

You shift on your feet, your body feeling like it might combust at any moment, the one word spoken in his brassy accent threatening to unravel you on the spot.

The next few moments seem to pass in a blur, you feel him lean in just a bit closer, his left arm bracing over you on the edge of the table as his right hand lands right behind yours on the stick. Whatever he does after is more like a magic trick than logic, rushing the tip downward on the ball with enough force to nearly jerk you forward, but with enough finesse that the little sphere hops off the table- knocking what you assume was the intended target into its pocket.

It takes longer than you're proud of to recover, scrambling to put a bright smile on your face, moving when he does and hoping to whatever deities might exist that it's dark enough to hide the red hue of your cheeks,

"Look at that, a natural, ma'am!" Gaz shouts, clapping a wide palm over your back- and you try to force out a laugh, try to keep your eyes away from the dark form that's moved back towards the table now.

Away from you.

And you wish it didn't make your stomach twist, seeing him pull his mask back on and fixing his ballcap again so that the bill sits low over his eyes-

"Headin' out, Simon?" Price speaks up, an unlit cigar propped lazily between his lips now.

Simon gives his signature nod, which barely a perceptible gesture, but you're all used to it enough by now. The captain, already out past his bedtime, is happy to begin rounding up his own belongings as well, urging the sergeants to get it together and get to the truck,

"I call shotgun!" Soap calls over his shoulder, already barreling towards the exit, Garrick hot on his heels,

"Fuckin' hell.." Price grumbles, looking back at you, "Need a lift, love?"

"No, I'm good. See you tomorrow, Cap." You say, a tired smile reassuring him enough that you would get home-

And just like that, the once bustling pub is more like a ghost town when you step out into the crisp night air, watching the tail lights flicker away. You had gotten a taxi here, but you feel too wired to call for one now- your body felt like it was vibrating, still so lost in the fading memory of what happened inside. But maybe you were just imagining it.. maybe you had let those lines between reality and fantasy blur a little too close for comfort.

Simon climbed into the driver's seat, his hands hitting the steering wheel before ripping the hat and mask off and throwing them onto the dash-

"Fuck."

What was he thinking? He should have never given into it, never touched you the way he did, held you, gotten close enough to feel you against him again. Should have never fed the monster.

God-fucking-damn MacTavish and his annoying fucking antics, never knowing when to quit. Ever since the undercover mission, the man had been a hound with a scent. Testing and prodding and sticking his damned nose in places it didn't belong-

Simon loathes new places.

But there you are. Standing under the milky glow of the street lamp, your hands tangled in your hair and your cheeks puffed in frustration. And so fucking beautiful he can't stand it.

He should leave. He needs to go back to base, needs to take a shower so cold it hurts, needs to bury himself in work just like you did. He needs, he needs, he needs.

Yet, he doesn't do any of those things.

No, like the awful, depraved man he is, he steps out of the truck and makes a beeline right for you- which, looking back on it, might not have been the best course of action because the instant you see his hulking frame he watches how you go on the defensive. Your posture stiffening and your hand reaching for one of your many concealed weapons if he knows you like he thinks he does.

That's ok though, he imagines you could stab him right here in the parking lot and he wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, you could slit his throat and he would smile as he bled out at your feet.

Thankfully, you do neither of those things.

And as soon as you're within reach, he's got those big hands framing your face, crushing his lips to yours.

Shock is all you can register at first. Your mind and body flooded by adrenaline, ready for a fight when you initially saw the shadowed figure coming for you. But in those same few seconds, you recognized him, recognized every purpose driven stride, the steady sway of his shoulders-

Though him kissing you hadn't necessarily been on the list of things you had expected.

You're pulled to your tiptoes, and for a moment you think it might be a dream, the way he audibly groans when your lips begin to move against his. But he doesn't relent, and you don't want him to. So you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as your muscles can catch up to your thoughts.

You feel his tongue gently glide over your bottom lip, a gentle urging for you to reciprocate- which you're more than happy to oblige. The kiss turning somehow more heated, sloppy even, something you had never experienced yet something that you never want to end.

But all too soon, he does pull away, his fingers threading through your hair, "I'm sorry-"

Again, hearing Simon Riley apologise was just not on the bingo card for tonight.

He presses his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his, remnants of whiskey and bourbon filling your nostrils,

"Sorry?" You look up at him, eyebrows tightly knitted, "For what?"

"The mission.. I shouldn't have- I didn't-" --he stumbles over his words, scarred lips finally pulling into a grimace, "Hel, is it true?"

The way his gaze bores into you feels intimate, like he's trying to peel you apart, "Gonna have to be a little less vague there.. I'm smart, but I can't read minds."

Your breathy chuckle helps to ease the tension, if such a thing were possible with how close he still holds you,

"That you've never been with anyone, like that.."

Oh. GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU, MACTAVISH.

When you take a step back, he reluctantly lets you go, his expression faltering for a moment- and you hate it. Hate that you had possibly hurt him- but you just needed space to put it all together, to try to explain.

"Yes.." his face falls even more, and it's like you can feel the shame that radiates from him, your hands reaching for him on their own, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, "But I wanted it.. I wanted.. you. I want you- jesus, fuck- I'm so bad at this."

"You didn't say anythin'.."

You shake your head, a laugh huffing through you as you look to the inky sky above, "Would it have changed anything?"

"I wouldn't have-"

"You wouldn't have done what you did? Why?"

That seems to stump him, his mouth opening and then closing, opening again, "You deserved more."

"Simon, just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I'm completely naive.." You initiate the kiss this time, mimicking the way he had held your face, pulling him closer, "I'm under no illusion that it's suppose to be this magical moment-"

He eagerly returns your kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist as you continue, "And, let's be honest, having 'The Ghost' on his knees was waaayy better than sex."

You feel his smile right before he bends down and hoists over his shoulder,

"Simon!"

But, your shrieks and giggles fall on deaf ears, hands smacking at his back in a lame attempt to wiggle free, "Mm.. no, no, keep screamin' my name, sweet girl. I like the way it sounds."

a/n: this one got away from me… but your honor, they’re down so bad for each other 😭 thank you for reading!!

[PT 4] (coming soon)

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #it’s getting hot in here yall #haha oops #it’s a four parter i guess #sorry?#call of duty #cod fandom #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reader #fem reader #no y/n

85 notes · View notes

tixdixl · 6 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Kingsley! - Room Relaxation

Vignette Part 2

[Diasomnia Dorm, Hallway]

Kingsley is walking down the hall towards his dorm room and hears another set of footsteps. He stops and peers over his shoulder. Gia is following behind him with a stack of papers. Kingsley’s posture does not change, nor does his expression.

Kingsley: …?

Gia: Hey, you got this thing you gotta do, I'll fill it out for you but just tell me what to put so I can get it back to Lilia.

Kingsley: What, like I can't do it myself?

Gia: You won't.

Kingsley: Touché… What is it?

Gia: Some sort of survey… says: 「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」.

Kingsley lets out a slight huff of disapproval.

Gia: See… told ya.

Kingsley: Fair enough.

Instead of actually fully approaching the dorm room, Kingsley deliberately waits outside a ways down the hall. He sits on the ground. Gia stares down at him.

Gia: Not going inside?

Kingsley: I’d prefer to interact with them as little as possible.

Gia: Afraid of losing too many brain cells?

Kingsley, smirking: That and I’d prefer to wind down in total privacy.

Gia nods in understanding.

The two can hear Kingsley’s dorm mates from down the hall. Their voices, though muffled by the door, echo from the acoustics of the hallway.

Roommate A: It seems like they want feedback on what it's like living on campus.

Roommate B: What, like they want us to voice our complaints?

Roommate A: Something like that.

Roommate C: Tell ya what? I’d love to not have a roommate with a giant stick up his ass.

Roommate B: That’s not a stick; it’s an entire log.

Gia glances down at Kingsley.

Gia: Wanna see a dead body?

Kingsley, quirking a brow: Sure…?

Gia approaches the door fully and jiggles the door knob.

The room erupts in high pitched shrieks.

Roommate A: H-HE'S NEVER HERE WHEN WE'RE HERE.

Roommate B: Y-you think he heard us?

Roommate C: Aw, man- dude, we are so DEAD.

Roommate A: I’ve heard that he’s nearly killed a ton of students.

Roommate B: I’ve heard that even Lilia and Malleus have had to get involved.

Roommate C starts whimpering.

Roommate B: Man– j-just pretend we said nothing. Maybe he won’t actually do anything.

Gia just makes a silent little huff laugh.

Kingsley lets out a singular small chuckle.

Gia then sits down beside Kingsley.

Kingsley: I suppose we can work on that survey while they clean themselves up.

Gia: You think they shit their pants?

Kingsley: You don’t?

Gia just smirks.

The duo go through the survey and enjoy each other’s company as the night wanes. Eventually, the trio in the room quiets down, and it seems like all movement has stopped on the other side.

The giant grandfather clock that’s in the alcove chimes quietly.

Gia: Hey, what time is it?

Kingsley glances over to the clock.

Kingsley: hm… it’s midnight already.

With a completely blank expression, Gia reaches into their bag and pulls out a box covered in aluminum foil. When Kingsley takes it, it’s warm.

Kingsley furrows his brows at Gia.

Gia: They’re rellenitos de platano.

Kingsley: …why?

Gia: …Happy Birthday.

Without letting him say anything else, Gia scoops up the paperwork, gets up on their feet, and leaves down the hallway.

[Diasomnia Dorm - Kingsley’s Room]

Kingsley navigates his room in near total darkness. He grabs a few of his belongings, a mesh hygiene bag and his sleepwear, before heading out once again.

After showering and washing out the product from his hair, he heads back to his room.

---

A/N: Thank you @ramshacklerumble for letting me use your shrimp. It's incredible how genuinely difficult it is to write for a character-monologue based vignette when it's frankly incredibly OOC for him to monologue to himself. Adding a secondary character genuinely helped get the ball rolling on this. ^^;

Part 1

Part 3

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch @elenauaurs @rainesol @boopshoops

@cyanide-latte @winterweary @inmateofthemind @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter

@lumdays @twstinginthewind @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

Lmk if you want added/removed

#twst #twst ocs #my ocs #my writing #my fanfics #Kingsley Tyr #twst room relaxation #Happy Birthday Kingsley

13 notes · View notes

bazwriting · 2 years ago

Text

Prices turn to be jealous. A captain temporarily stationed with the 141 had taken a keen interest in Gaz.

(Price x Gaz, SFW, mentioned guns, explicit smoking and drinking)

A captain temporarily stationed with the 141 had taken a keen interest in Gaz. That wasn't a bad thing. Everyone can admit that Gaz was one of the best soldiers in the SAS and was headhunted for his position. It was a good strong man with even morals. Anyone would be a fool to think he got the job based on favortism.

All this to say, no one was very happy when said temporarily stationed captain kept chasing after Gaz. He wasn't even bloody interested, very happy with Price now that everything from the whole mentee fiasco was settled.

But the person just wouldn't stop. Price found it hard to get a moment near Gaz without him around.

They had a little standing date every other wednesday they aren't on a mission at the gun range - they shoot targets, talk between themselves about anything that comes to mind. So close to lights out, no one else is out there and it is nice and peaceful.

When Price went the most recent week, a gun was already firing. Odd, because Gaz typically waits but the week might have been extra stressful - two short back to back missions and their respective paperwork. Gaz was leaning against the wall, smoking quietly, while the temp captain was firing.

"Sorry, love," Gaz murmured, daring to kiss his cheek.

"Come back to my office?" Price just about begs. He missed his boy, and the captain wouldn't be leaving for another few weeks.

"You're turn, Gaz," the captain offers the gun to Gaz. "Ah, Price. Come to practice as well?"

"Needed my sargeant for a moment. You understand," Price hummed before he goes to walk off. Gaz smiled and began to follow.

"You're just scared he likes me better," the temp had the gall to say. Price stopped, an out of place smile on his face.

"The fuck is he talking about?" Price asks Gaz.

"He was asking about when i go home. Seemed real interested in joining me."

"Did he?" Price laughed. "Kyle," Price offers a hand to the sergeant. "I think i hear that bottle of scotch and a few cigars calling out names."

"I think you're quite right, John," Kyle smiles at him. "I prefer my captain. I've made that very clear."

Its not that John Price is an insecure man. Quite the opposite. If he wants or needs something, he tells Kyle, and likewise. He didn't need to have pissing contests with men who don't stick around, especially not over Kyle. They make it to his office without another word, glasses pours and cigar lite, sit by side on the couch. Kyle takes the cigar from John's lips, kisses him before smiling.

"Only captain for me, John."

"I better be."

#pricegaz #gazprice #gaz garrick #john price #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty

81 notes · View notes

askmj-2-thestackedodds-fireteam · 3 months ago

Text

Ask MJ-2 / The Stacked odds

(updated info page and profile)

Hello, Name's MJ-2, friends call me Redstar, here with my ghost queens, you can ask me or queens stuff here or just chat if you prefer, My Fireteam the stacked odds are on here too so if you want ask them stuff too then go ahead.

Just please keep asks relatively reasonable, I can do an odd question or two but don't ask anything that's a bit too far and or you wouldn't want to be asked yourself...and don't ask for donations please, I'm not a wallet for what cause you need funding for, I may donate if I can but can't promise and please don't ask repeatedly if I don't answer.

Any questions I get I will try to answer in a reasonable timeframe considering the life of guardian can be quite tasking at times, so if I don't respond quickly, I do apologise but life is busy

Profile/Guardian Info/The Stacked odds

Name: MJ-2

Nicknames: Redstar(nickname earned from the obvious red star on his face), Jester

Race: Exo

Class: Hunter

Ghost: Queens

Subclass/Element preferences:

He doesn't have much as a preference often mixing different elements together, making him quite a bit of a wildcard

Appearance:

MJ-2 is about 6'1 in terms of height, his body being a slim build in terms of exos, Most of his body being general plain white / unpainted, having a decent amount of scuffs and scratches,there is a small splash of red on the face with one side having a red slab and a red star on a white background on the other which earned him the nickname Redstar. Though small he does have a red pattern on his lower right arm though unfortunately it is impossible to say what it is due to the amount of scuffs and scratches, making the red seem like random dots then an actual pattern. His optics glow white, with his mouth being red sticking with the general pattern of red and white, almost seeming as if he was based on a playing card ♦️♥️🃏

Personality:

He tends to keep to himself and queens most of the time but will strike up a conversation or two if it's a friend or find that person interesting. He may at times take a safe approach but when it comes to bets, there's a good chance he might flush you out. He often keeps himself busy in the hanger or the markets in the last city, Baking, fixing up his ships or making a new hat out of the unfortunate opponents that crossed him. If you got his back, he's got yours, just don't break the trust, he can be quite cunning when it comes to payback. Though overall he's a friendly guy to most people, not having much issues with anyone.

Name: Martyr

Nicknames: Canis, Shield bearer, Young wolf, Acolyte, Saint's Favourite, RaidersBane, Iron Hound, Stripe, Paperwork Nightmare.

Race: Human

Class: Titan

Ghost: Empress

Subclass/element Preference:

Being a protector, he tends to stay with the element of void providing cover to his allies, though when on the offensive, he may switch to a different element.

Appearance:

Martyr is about 6'0 in height, his body being smaller than most titans but he makes that up in muscle, his body holds many scars from his past life and current one's battles though not much else is present, his white hair, Green eyes and ,4 stripes over his eye show him as not a regular man but a warrior.

Personality:

Martyr is a man of the people, He will assist those in need if he cannot help with the issue, he will try to assist in other ways if possible, Martyr sees friends in all unless they prove him otherwise, he may often assist new lights with figuring out what they can. Though if crossed by a foe and is faced with a problem, well the world gave him two hands and a head. When not doing that he often roams the last city and often tells stories to children about his journeys and due his habit of not enjoying the concept of lying, Oftentimes he may do something irresponsible such as the time he tried riding a dragon in the dreaming city, which earned him two things, A Story and a travel ban in the dreaming city. He also tends to be dense when it comes to certain topics which could make things quite awkward. Overall he's a friend to all and he's got your back, if you like it or not.

Name: Jeremiah Sal

Class: Warlock

Nicknames: Sal, Notebook, Buzzkill, Scribe, scholar

Race: Awoken

Ghost: Apollo

Subclass/element Preference:

Being a man of focus and research, he does not concern himself with elemental preferences, he uses what works and will often combine elements if need be.

Appearance:

Sal is about 5'8 in height, having an average body build, lacking anything distinctive on his body, the only real distinct details being his dark blue face marking and his white hair, his appearance often makes people think he's in a bad mood.

Personality:

Sal is a Researcher and man seeking knowledge by trade as it was his role before his untimely death caused by an attack from the hive. He was buried with his personal journal which documented most of his life, causing him to be one of the only few guardians to remember his previous life. Sal can often act cold and disinterested in people as he tends to focus on his research and studies though will never fail to attend to his new duties as a guardian, he only tends to speak to people if they have been referred to him or If he finds interest in them. Overall his Stoic personality with a sprinkle of snob, he is an interesting fellow, who you will get along just fine, as long as you don't ruin his research.

3 notes · View notes

free-boundsoul · 2 years ago

Text

Okay, I'm sorry if this isn't good but I haven't written anything in months. But I had brainrot and this is what happened.

(Guy x Honey shifter reveal)

~~read on Ao3 here if you prefer ^^~~

They never thought they’d actually be thinking of this. It was one thing to get all that damnable paperwork done just on the safe side. That shit took months and was a huge headache. It was merely a precaution in case they’d slipped up, they weren’t perfect, they knew accidents were bound to happen dating an unempowered. At least that way Guy’s memories wouldn’t have to be altered because of their carelessness. It wasn’t because the thought of having someone routing through his chaotic mind had them feeling oddly (overly) protective.

But it was a long time ago that those forms had been submitted and approved. They’d done that once they’d moved in with him alone and his…confession. That fucking confession changed everything. Made them realize that their feelings weren’t just one sided, that they could actually have something more than just friendship with this bundle of chaos personified. He was so supportive, over their schooling, their career, their…less than social personality…

But how the fuck do you tell someone you can transform into a bear?!

Honey groaned, their head thunking down on the kitchen counter. How do I tell Guy that? They could already imagine the puns and that was the good outcome. The worst was he thought they were crazy and didn’t want anything to do with them. Though the gremlin had certainly proven he was crazy enough in his own right. But…the thought of his rejection still stung. It’s the only reason they’d been putting it off.

They wished they had a better relationship with other shifters with unempowered partners. They knew the Alpha of the Shaw Pack and his Beta had unempowered mates. But fuck asking something that intimate. Meeting David had…not gone horribly but they didn’t say much to the other, sticking by the wall of a Shifter function because the crowds had been too much for them. There’s no way they could just ask him something so personal.

As for Asher…he was nice. Too nice. They didn’t need to hear all the mushy shit he’d tell them. He was known for gushing about his mate like a lovesick pup, even after the years they’d been together. They just weren’t good at mush…not when it didn’t come to their little menace.

A frustrated growl rumbled out their throat. They could keep hiding it, keep Guy in the dark but…but they were still empowered and Guy had started to notice certain things. Their absences every once in a while in a guise of hanging out with ‘friends’ which Guy knew they didn’t have many. They had to shift sometime, it was a need, even if they could put it off. It was like finally getting your back to pop after having a knot that only got bigger and tighter the longer you ignored it. And then there were the Solstices. That pattern was a lot more obvious. He’d even asked them if it had something to do with a religious thing.

The last thing they wanted was for Guy’s overactive imagination to run wild and him mistake their absences and little white lies as something worse, like cheating. They would never, but they’d read plenty of testimonies of other empowereds online about their partners thinking that. It was so frustrating, they couldn’t stand Guy having that thought. Not even for a second.

“Honey! I’m home! Oh what smells amazing? Do you have another bake sale thing? Can I please taste test this time? You know, you can’t just drop stuff off without tasting it, you gotta make sure it’s scrumptious. Maybe not as scrumptious as me but then what is?” Their lips twitched at his humility, though they made sure to school their face as he walked into their kitchen. “Woah, holy shit, Hon. How big is the bake sale, and are you doing it on your own?”

They felt their face flush the tiniest bit as they looked around. Baking was a coping mechanism. And with their current stress…they’d baked a lot. Almost every surface had a sweet. They rubbed a hand on the back of their neck, “There’s no bake sale.” They admitted softly.

And like that concern sparked in his eyes and he was coming up to them, his hand reaching out to take theirs. “Everything okay? I haven’t seen you bake like this since…well ever. The closest I remember was when you were stressing about finals. Though I will admit, I did like being able to help make sure they didn’t go to waste.” He teased gently as he squeezed their hand, eyes brightening when they allowed a little squeeze back and a small smile to curl their lips. “Sooooo gonna tell me what’s up? I’m waiting and very willing to provide any sort of comfort you need. And I do mean any sort-“

“Guy.” He stilled at their tone, eyes widening a fraction at how vulnerable they sounded. He wasn’t used to that. Frustration, exasperation, grumpy with a side of light violence…yeah, obviously. He loved being able to press their buttons until they gave in to those impulses. But the way that their hand started to sweat in his was not something he’d come to familiarize himself with. “I have to tell you something…”

Still, he was quick to nod, not releasing their hand even as his heart started to beat erratically in his chest. Whatever they wanted to tell him made their voice tremble, ever so softly. Guy knew it wasn’t the time for jokes, though he really wanted to fall back on them just to make them feel better, to make them scoff and roll their eyes or smack him. He swallowed thickly instead, “Sure thing, Honey. Do you want to talk here or…or in the living room?”

Honey took a deep breath, their grip changing to entwine their fingers with his. They hated how their palms were sweating and they knew he could feel it but they didn’t want to let go. Not if this was going to be the last time they’d get to hold his hand. “We can talk here,”

“Okay, okay. Wherever you want…is it about your job? Or did something happen with your family?” His voice was gentle as he met their eyes, his other hand reaching up to brush some flour from their cheek. Usually he’d be teasing them about what a hot mess they were. And he had to stop himself from voicing the thought. Focus you fiend.

Another deep breath to try and steady their nerves. “There’s something I need to tell you…And you’ll probably think I’m nuts, that I need to be locked up in an asylum or some shit but…but I’m telling the truth. I just…please don’t think I’m crazy.” Their words came out slowly at first until their words rushed out at the end and they winced. I already sound crazy…

Guy blinked, his head tilting minutely to the side as he watched them. His lips quirked up a bit as he squeezed their hand. “Well you’re dating me, so you’re already pretty crazy. But I don’t think that’s asylum-worthy.”

They couldn’t help but roll their eyes at that, “I’m serious, Guy.” Still, that little quip had the tightness in their shoulders loosening a little bit. They took another deep breath before they spoke, as calm as they could “I’m a bear shifter,” They kept their eyes on his as they said it. Watching as he gave them one slow blink.

“Honey…are you sure you’re feeling alright? Like I know you’re a grump, but that doesn’t make you a bear-“ He tried to tease, his hand tracing up their cheek to rest against their forehead.

They huffed as they swatted his hand off their regularly temperatured forehead (thank you very much). “I’m not sick, you goon. I can transform into a bear. Magic is real. This town is full of empowereds- magic users-.” They winced at the term, knowing Guy wouldn’t understand it. “I knew you’d think I was nuts…”

Guy furrowed his brow, it was probably the most serious they’d seen him. “Honey, magic isn’t real-“ his tone was so fucking gentle, like he was talking to a kid.

They let out a frustrated growl at the back of their throat “You want me to prove it? Will you believe me if I transform for you?” They snapped out before they froze. Did they really just suggest that? Fuck their temper, that would only freak him out! They should have suggested something else, they weren’t half bad at psychokinesis…

“Yeah,”

They blinked, eyes snapping back to meet his. He looked…calm. Well, at least he wasn’t screaming and calling the police on them yet. “What?” Oh so eloquent.

“Well yeah. If you transform into a freaking bear, I have to believe you, right?” He gave a small chuckle as he squeezed their hand. It just occurred to them that he’d never let go of them, he hadn’t even backed up. They swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. They hadn’t planned on shifting in front of him today…they hadn’t planned this far ahead. But if they didn’t do it…he’d totally think they were nuts.

“Fine, okay…let’s go to the living room. We need to move the coffee table. I’m…I’m not small.” They mumbled before tugging him out of the kitchen.

“I coulda told ya that, Hun. Though you won’t hear me complaining, especially those thighs-“ They gave him a tug that made him squeak, his words dissolving into soft giggles. “Sorry! Sorry! Right, this is serious.”

“You’re such a fucking menace.” They grumbled, reluctantly releasing his hand so they could pick up the coffee table, not bothering to take off the things that were on it before they placed it against the wall. They gestured to the couch. “Sit…please. And…don’t freak out.” Please don’t run away screaming…

“Bossy as ever, you know I love it~” He purred as he took a seat on the middle cushion. Guy wasn’t stupid, well Honey might beg to differ, but he could see how nervous they were. If he could try and get them to stop overthinking in that head of theirs, he’d tell all the stupid, dirty quips he could.

They pierced him with a withering stare before they started to take off their clothes. He couldn’t help but blank for a moment, heat spreading in his stomach despite the conversation they were having. He opened his mouth before they cut him off, “Swallow whatever perverse comment you’re thinking of. It might be magic, but it won’t save my clothes from getting wrecked from my form shifting….and I like this hoodie.” I bought them that one. Guy had enough brain power to register that thought.

They set their clothes on the floor. They gave him one last look, almost savoring the way his eyes were lit up as he watched them, glittering in that mischievous way of his. Why had they expected this gremlin to take this seriously? They almost wished they were a Telepath so they could just read his thoughts.

Before they could second guess themselves, they shifted. The magic changing their form, their bones reforming, fur flowing like a wave over their skin. Their jaw changing shape was always the weirdest feeling. But damn if it didn’t feel good, settling into a form so familiar it was almost home. Their head snapped up when Guy gave a quiet gasp, his eyes wide.

Oh shit, he’s freaked…please don’t run away, I won’t hurt you…you know that don’t you? Not anything more than my normal play hits anyway… Honey lowered their head, keeping their gaze on his. It was hard to look small in this form, though they tried to keep their paws with their long claws tucked beneath them. Keep their mouth closed so he wouldn’t see their teeth.

“Honey? You’re really…you’re really a bear…holy shit…I didn’t get attacked by a stray pizza peel, did I? Rosa almost brained me that one time-“ He paused when they slowly shook their head at his question. “Holy shit, you understand me? Of course you do, you just shook your head. Hey! Don’t give me that look! You’re a freaking bear the size of the living room! I don’t know how this magic shit works!” He rambled out after they gave him one of the stares they gave him when he asked a particularly stupid question. Guess it translated pretty well into bear form.

They quickly shifted back, starting to pull on their clothes. “Yeah, I can understand you, I just can’t talk. I don’t have the-“ They paused when they noticed him staring at their bare chest, their hand snapping out to flick his forehead “Will you please pay attention?” They grumbled before they pulled their hoodie back on.

“You can’t just suddenly appear in front of me naked and expect me not to take full advantage of the view,” He chuckled as he scooted over, patting the spot he’d been sitting in. They sat down beside him at the invitation.

“I could hope…this isn’t exactly easy to tell you.” They grumbled as they crossed their arms over their chest, leaning back against the couch. They jumped when his hand curled gently around their shoulder, turning to look at him.

“I know…and I have questions, like…a lot of questions. But thank you for trusting me with this…I know this must have been weighing on you. But you can tell me anything, Honey. Even if its crazy, I’ll still listen, you know? I want to be there for you…” His voice wavered with the sincerity in his words, and they couldn’t stop their heart from melting or the tears that welled in their eyes that they quickly blinked away. Still, it didn’t stop them from hooking their fingers in his shirt and pulling him in closer to press their lips against his. They could feel his smile against their mouth as he slid closer, his fingers curling into their hood. They pulled back for a moment, resting their forehead against his.

It felt…so incredibly right in this moment. No more secrets hanging over their head, his taste on their lips and his warmth at their side. Sure, they still had to answer his questions but the hardest part was over, right? He was still here, looking at them with that dopey smile, his eyes all soft as his fingertips trailed along their jaw.

“Hey…I have a question,” He whispered against their lips. They couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“You did say you have a lot of them. Hit me,” They pulled back slightly, ready to answer any kind of questions he had, even if they were asinine.

“Does this make you my Honeybear now?”

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fanfic #redacted guy #redacted honey #honey is a bear shifter #i feel so rusty #but i relate too much to Honey #and got brainrot

52 notes · View notes

sienne-k · 2 years ago

Text

how much should my longings fall like snow by Sienne

attack on titan | ereri | 2,8k chap 4/4 | fluff, winter vibes, canon compliant, set in s3

written for Ererimas event by Ereri Nation day 4, prompts used: [birthday], [knitting] and ["I've dreamt of this moment for so long but not like this."]

summary:

It is his birthday, and Levi is stuck in his office hard at work, no thanks to Eyebrows. At least Eren is there too, to keep him company... If only he would pay him any attention, that is. Levi might not be as patient and accepting of his lot as Eren, preferring to sulk petulantly, but he still gets his reward. And a double one, at that! Life's great for grumpy Captains, as long as there are Titan subordinates around.

full text under the cut. as long as yesterday, so might be better on ao3

Levi was sat behind his desk in his office, the usual mountain of paperwork divided into two smaller hills at each side. He was leaning forward between them, elbows on the desk while his chin rested on linked hands, completely ignoring his job in favor of observing his guest.

A guest who had invited himself in with a begging gaze that Levi had no reason to refuse, and who now occupied almost the entirety of his couch. He was fully immersed in whatever it was that he was doing, too, and paid barely any attention to the Captain. Even though it was his room he literally barged in. Albeit he did so politely.

“Everywhere else there are people distracting me, or Mikasa could walk in and see.” explained Eren without bothering to spare Levi even a stray look.

Brat, Levi thought half-irritated, half-fond.

Eren’s hands hadn’t stopped once in their movement, the swish-swoosh of the wooden sticks hypnotizing Levi into completely abandoning his work to focus on them. And on the long, slender fingers moving them with practiced deftness. The nails were trimmed neatly and there was not even a speck of dirt underneath. There were a few callouses from harsh training, but otherwise they were very nice fingers, attached to hands which were just as nice. Levi remembered that, as he held them tenderly in his just yesterday, the skin felt very smooth and warm, warmer than anyone else’s. That fit him just fine, as his own ran rather cold.

“Why is it such a big deal if she sees?” Levi continued the conversation, hoping to provoke Eren into paying him more attention.

“Because it’s a surprise gift! It’s tradition.”

There were no more words forthcoming, and Eren did not look at Levi, either. He pursed his lips, having half a mind to throw the boy out if he couldn’t even deign to indulge Levi in his own office, and on this particular day to boot.

But that would mean not having Eren there at all, to at least enjoy the sight of him relaxed on Levi’s couch. And it wasn’t like Eren knew it was his birthday.

Levi opened his mind to give it another try, but was interrupted before he even got to start.

“Um, I need to finish it today…” Eren bit his lip as his hands stopped and he (finally!) glanced at the Captain. He hesitated for a moment but then continued, “And I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, I know you said the Commander asked you to approve the new indoor training forms...”

Curse you, Erwin, Levi thought. For giving him more work on his birthday, but also in general, for being a pain in the ass. And curse you too, Eren.

It was a masterful maneuver. With one sentence, Eren implied for Levi to mind his own business and to stop being a nuisance so he could finish Mikasa’s gift in peace, while outwardly reminding him of the duty that he was supposed to be actually doing.

Levi was sure that on any other day, one that Eren wasn’t busy with his own thing, he would have bothered Levi regardless if there was any work request from Erwin; he would have simply pretended he was being helpful or that he didn’t realize it was important.

With a sigh, he capitulated and went back to his mountain of paperwork as Eren focused right back on his wooden sticks and colorful threads that were making a tangled mess on Levi’s couch.

Although he couldn’t help one last, bitter mumble. “And is there a gift for the Captain who tries his best to keep you alive and safe?”

“I thought you didn’t celebrate?” Eren replied innocently.

He was right, Levi didn’t. Thoroughly defeated, he took his pen in hand and once more focused on Erwin’s snobbishly elegant handwriting.

“I’m done!” Eren announced triumphantly, holding the finished scarf up in the air to properly admire it.

Levi put down his pen. “I’m done too, thank fuck.”

He put his hands up in the air similarly to Eren, but instead of admiring anything, he was only stretching his spine and shoulders. It had been hours and his back was killing him.

Levi looked at the scarf Eren had been toiling over for the whole day. He had to admit it looked rather pretty, all dark red like Mikasa’s current scarf, but with an elegant leafy pattern woven at the ends with thin silver and black threads.

“Didn’t expect you to be any good at sewing,” he commented, actually interested.

“Thank you,” Eren accepted his subtle praise, already a master at discerning what Levi wanted to convey.

“It’s actually knitting, not sewing. Mom would teach me whenever she wanted me to sit quiet and out of trouble,” he admitted sheepishly. His mouth twitched in a barely-there smile, eyes looking somewhere far away. “She thought it would keep me occupied for long enough to cool down from whatever angered me that time.”

Imagining a tiny Eren throwing around fists and shouting at whoever disagreed with him the way he still did with Jean… Yeah, Levi could guess easily why Mrs. Yeager might have wanted some peace and quiet. Even if the image was fucking cute… And Levi wasn’t in the business of using that word lightly.

“I’m sure Mikasa will be happy to receive it,” he replied awkwardly around the elephant in the house. He got up from his chair and reached for the finished paperwork.

“I just hope she will actually wear it and throw away that old, dingy thing,” Eren muttered. “It’s so threadbare and smelly even after washing…”

Levi pretended he didn’t hear that last part, though he couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body. For such a well-kept girl, that old scarf truly was the only blemish on Mikasa’s perfect image. Thankfully Eren seemed to keep his clothes clean and tidy, quickly replacing what needed to be replaced. Even if he always got the same thing over and over.

Eren noticed Levi was away from his chair, collecting the papers he had slaved over for the last few hours.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you going somewhere?” He began hastily grabbing the messy, tangled threads still occupying most of Levi’s couch. Strangely, there were more colors than Eren had used for Mikasa’s scarf.

“Yeah, gotta give these to Erwin.” And then finally freedom for the rest of the day. Or, well, what was left of it.

“Oh,” Eren said awkwardly. “So you will be spending the day with the Commander…?” he trailed off.

He was clearly fishing for information, but Levi let him off with only a side look and a raised eyebrow, and answered truthfully without further prompting. “No, I will be going back to my quarters. I need some rest, not extra work. Or Hanji talking my ear off.”

“Oh,” Eren repeated, disappointed. “Then you won’t want to be disturbed?”

“Yes, Eren, I won’t want to be disturbed,” Levi said, exasperated. He thought he made it pretty clear…? Oh.

Levi cleared his throat, turning around and putting his back to Eren, and moved to the door. “But I won’t be too upset if just one shitty brat came for a chat.”

Eren instantly brightened, “Yessir!”

“Clear that shit up properly and lock the door behind you. You can give me the key back later.” With that announcement, Levi shut the door and hurried to Erwin’s office.

Perhaps his birthday was still salvageable.

He made quick time dropping off the paperwork at the Commander’s office, but once he arrived back in his quarters he had no idea what to do as he waited. No one had ever been inside, aside from Erwin coming to bother him about something he deemed important, or Hanji, who by now knew better and only came by to drag him out instead of inviting themselves in and chatting his ear off like they had done the first few times, before Levi had violently taught them better.

There was no last-minute cleaning to be done since he kept the room spotless, and there were no snacks in the kitchen he could set out to share with Eren. He did have a nice gyokuro stashed away for special occasions which this did constitute as, but would tea be enough? Eren was still young, and teenagers always wanted to eat. Would Eren expect to be treated to something? Well, even if he did, it wasn’t like Levi could just magic something into existence. Just tea it was, then.

A loud knock interrupted his frantic musing. He opened the door, instinctively looking up at the perfect angle to appreciate the excited shine of bright green eyes, accented nicely by blushing red cheeks. Or some kind of poetic shit like that.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Eren said politely, hands folded behind his back.

Levi snorted. “No need to pretend I didn’t invite you.”

He crossed his arms and watched with hidden amusement as Eren replied, all the while trying not to look like he desperately wanted to sneak a peak of the inside of Levi’s private quarters.

“I did kind of invite myself…”

“Stop speaking like you’re Hanji and don’t understand what my boundaries are. Now get in.”

Perking up, Eren took a step forward, then froze. He smiled at Levi nervously, “After you, sir.”

That was suspicious, very suspicious. But it was Eren, so Levi figured there was nothing to fear, and anything he wanted to know he could pry from him once they were settled inside.

He heard the door close as he got comfortable on his couch, waiting for Eren to join him. But the boy only shuffled closer to the fireplace and kept standing there, shifting from foot to foot.

“Did you not clean your asshole properly or what?” Levi asked, suspicious. He had better not brought any uninvited worms with him…!

“What? No!!!” Eren refuted, thoroughly shocked. He shot Levi an offended and hurt look, like he couldn’t believe Levi would think of him so badly.

“What else am I supposed to think when you behave so squirrely?” Levi defended himself. “You keep squirming like your ass is itching.”

Eren coughed, face flushing a deep red. “I’m not… itching. Or at least, I haven’t got any worms,” he muttered petulantly.

“Oh, so you’re itching for something else?” Levi bit back a salacious grin, even as he couldn’t help himself from teasing further. If he didn’t like it, Eren could consider it a payback for ignoring him earlier.

Eren huffed and rolled his eyes, quickly getting back his cool. The deep red on his cheeks stayed, though. “I suppose you don’t want your gift, then. Sir.”

Levi straightened up from his slouch, sitting at attention. His eyes were sharp and focused, not moving an inch from Eren’s.

“I don’t observe the holidays, though?” he prompted, remembering their earlier conversation.

“It’s not a holiday gift.”

“Well,” Levi stood up and stepped closer when Eren made no further move. “Where is it then?”

“I don’t know, where you a good boy this year, Captain?” Eren snarked, clearly still offended at Levi’s earlier insinuation.

“Don’t push too hard, brat, or you won’t like what happens,” Levi warned in a low voice, standing close enough to Eren now that he could feel his breath. The teen’s eyes were glimmering brightly with determination and giddiness. Levi usually wasn’t one to share in excitation, but this time he couldn’t help the thrilling anticipation that welled inside him.

“Is that so,” Eren murmured, eyes lowering to Levi’s lips, glowing even brighter. “I suppose I have no choice but to relinquish my gift, then.”

“Quite so,” Levi informed him. But nothing more happened as they stood there, almost nose to nose.

Finally Levi could take the tension no more. “Should I close my eyes then, if princess is feeling too shy?”

Eren pursed his mouth, a movement which Levi tracked avidly with his eyes.“Yes, actually,” he said with more confidence than Levi expected from someone with cheeks as red as the mistletoe fruit.

Deciding he wanted his gift already, Levi closed his eyes obediently. Perhaps the present won’t be physical anyway, if one considered their current position…

And it seemed like he was right, because he could feel Eren lean closer, his breath and bangs tickling Levi’s face, closer and hotter and—

Something soft wrapped around his neck and shoulders and he quickly opened his eyes, not expecting the sensation. Clearly not yet ready for Levi’s gaze, Eren froze mid-motion, both arms hovering around Levi’s head, holding two ends of a… scarf?

“Um,” Eren said. And then nothing else came out of his mouth even as it moved open and close like a fish out of water.

“What,” Levi said.

And since he too could not come up with anything else, he regretfully took a step back from Eren, who let his arms fall at his sides. The distance was needed if Levi didn’t want to get any more distracted. And it helped him breathe more easily, too.

“Happy birthday?” Eren offered with a shy smile. “I know it’s not much… But I hope you like it.” He averted his eyes away from Levi.

Levi touched the scarf that was still only half-wrapped around his neck. It was very soft and smooth, knitted with thin yarn in a small, tight pattern. It was in a dark blue color with a grayish sort of tint to it, glimmering from the light from the fireplace like steel. It was clearly very carefully made, the various bumps and valleys all uniform in size, with short frills at the end giving the scarf a more stylish feel.

“Thank you,” Levi said quietly but sincerely, sliding his fingers along the scarf time and again.

It was very unexpected, both the gift and how much it affected him. But there was no hiding that he was touched, and a thoughtful present like this deserved an appropriate response in gratitude. So he stepped forward again and reached out one hand to grab Eren’s nape, pulling him down to his height.

Eren gasped lightly and shut his eyes tight as Levi’s face drew closer and closer to his. Levi aimed carefully and put his lips firmly on Eren’s smooth cheek. He stayed there for a long moment, much longer than Eren had dared that time under the mistletoe. He felt Eren breathe as it brushed over his own cheek, but finally released the teen’s neck from his grasp and took a slight step back.

He met Eren’s eyes. They were shining just as brightly as always, but Eren seemed frozen, not moving at all; not even to blink. Levi raised an eyebrow at him and it must have released him from whatever spell Eren had been under, as he chuckled quietly.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long, but not like this.”

Levi was not surprised in the least. He had imagined this moment many times, as well. He was curious what Eren had imagined, though. “Like what, then?”

Eren closed that small step Levi had put between them, smiling impishly as he grabbed him delicately by the hips.

“Like that,” he said, then pulled Levi in and lowered his head, closing his eyes and placing his lips boldly on Levi’s.

Levi couldn’t help taking in a sharp breath, thoroughly surprised. He shouldn’t have been, though, since he had been baiting Eren for long enough. His eyes fell closed as he enjoyed the soft feel of Eren’s warm, inexperienced mouth on his, letting him do whatever he wanted. They had time for more advanced techniques that Levi would teach him later. He was looking forward to it, too; he already knew that Eren was a hard worker and very ambitious, and that it always yielded high results.

He threw his arms around Eren’s neck as Eren’s arms tightened fully around his waist, literally and figuratively closing any remaining distance between them.

When they were later on sitting on the couch in Levi’s private quarters, Eren said quietly, as if sharing a secret, “At first I actually thought of making you gloves, since your hands are always cold.”

“Oh? And how do you know my hands are always cold?”

“It’s because you keep hiding them in your pockets.” Eren grinned, silently admitting to watching Levi all the time.

Levi hummed. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I what,” he asked, eyeing Levi’s lips distractedly.

“Why didn’t you make me gloves,” Levi repeated without teasing for once, simply enjoying the embrace and being so visibly desired.

“Ah,” Eren laughed sheepishly. An embarrassed blush colored his cheeks lovingly. “I just thought there are better ways of warming them up.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, interested.

Eren ducked his head down, trying to escape Levi’s stare, but it proved fruitless, considering Levi was the shorter one. “I thought I could keep them warm with my hands whenever you wanted,” he finally admitted, his face so red Levi thought he might start steaming soon.

“Hoh? Not bad.”

He took Eren’s hands to pull him closer, closing the gap between their mouths to get thoroughly kissed again.

#attack on titan #aot fanfic #my fanfic #ereri #riren #eren yeager #levi ackerman #fluff #canon compliant

19 notes · View notes

piecedpuzzle · 6 months ago

Text

kento nakajima. cis man. he/him. bisexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that sho tsukidate? i think that the thirty year old from kawagoe, japan works as a (very much unlicensed) private investigator, but outside of that people describe them as winding city backstreets where secrets lie in wait; a knowing smirk gracing clever lips; paperwork piled high and precarious, ready to collapse, on an untidy desk; the impatient tip-tap of painted nails, the varnish starting to fade and chip, against the table . i hear they are nosy & temperamental, but they are also known to be analytical & spontaneous . consider giving them a visit at their home in delilah's den gated community and get to know why they’re called the occult detective.

TW: disappearances/kidnapping, mild violence, implied bullying

TO START OFF REAL QUICK, if you've been keeping up and reading intros, you may recall that SHO is actually a character i've previously brought up & who is mentioned pretty extensively in rika's intro. i'm probably not going to waste too much time talking about his connection to rika, just because i've covered it before, so you can go check that out for more context! but the tldr is that they were running a slightly scammy fortune telling business until he set his sights on the mysteries of anchorage and they both agreed to move to alaska. except something came up and he ditched her. this went down at the end of 2022 and he's finally showing his face. also, this is very long, sorry. obviously, i'd prefer if you read the backstory (and at the very least, the basics section is very important) but a tldr for his backstory is that he was inspired to become a private detective by the mysterious disappearance of his best friend when they were both 15, an event for which sho was present but of which he has no memory. he's very invested in weird mysteries, esp where missing people are concerned, and has moved to anchorage for that reason. he used to work with rika. she kinda hates him for ditching her in achorage a year and a half ago. finally, please note that the stuff about sho's family & fortune telling isn't super heavily based in anything...real?? in sho's original plotline, he was a witch so i'm honestly trying to create some satisfactory parallels.

BASICS.

his full name is sho tsukidate ( 月館祥 ) and he doesn’t go by any nicknames since sho is already short and easy enough on its own. he was born 8th july, 1994 in kawagoe and was officially living in shibuya, tokyo until recently.

sho comes from a fortune-telling family; that is to say that they have long, long historical roots in the world of divination and even curses and the like. maybe a long, long time ago, they worked as onmyouji. nowadays, they're based in kawagoe, a town saitama prefecture known for its preservation of its edo-period architecture from when it used to be a castle town. a sort of old-timey business like this fits in well there.

he's fluent in japanese and english, having learned the latter to help with his work. he also speaks very basic tagalog but he's not especially confident. sho is of filipino descent on his mother's side, while his father is japanese. due to the historical fortune-telling family thing, he was mostly immersed in the customs and culture of his father's family but he does feel a certain connection to his maternal roots.

he works as a private detective. it's of not that sho has little faith in the judicial system and he doesn’t like the police. to be honest, he’s not even that interested in serving justice. although he calls himself a detective, his work is mostly based around helping people solve mysteries or find things. essentially, he loves a good mystery and he’s a nosy bastard. BUT he also has the skills to justify sticking his nose in other people’s business. that said, he doesn't usually go out of his way to help people unless they're paying him OR he's genuinely intrigued. (and, whenever there's an exception to this rule and his heart just genuinely starts to bleed...well, we don't need to talk about it after it's happened, okay? don't cramp his style.)

he’s a huge flirt. he doesn’t really hit on people so to speak, mostly because he’s not actually hoping the flirting will get him anywhere, but he likes attention so…y’know. winks more often than any normal person should. it's less...that he actively flirts with people and more that he's just kind of Like That. unless he's working a case or trying to get information out of someone-- in that case, it's always deliberate and he IS trying to butter them up. he’s not a perv bc that’s just not…funny or interesting to me.

that said, outside of this Charming Guy act, sho's actually...pretty irritable and very impatient. he has something of a sarcastic streak and can be pretty sardonic if he wants to. he's not a cruel or mean-spirited person but he has a little teeeeeeny bit of a temper and gets a little snippy if he's in the wrong mood <3 but he usually moves right past it and pretends it didn't happen, to everyone else's frustration.

that said, he does NOT like to shut up. he likes the sound of his own voice. if you thought some of my current muses were chronic yappers, sho probably has them all beat, purely because he KNOWS he's talking a lot instead of just getting carried away; he just doesn't care that you're sick of him. in fact, he even has a clause in his contract for when people hire him that says that, if you find him annoying, you’re just going to have to get over it.

he gets REALLY into the cases he’s solving if they’re interesting enough so, uhhhhh, be prepared for him to dump everything he hunts on you. he’s actually GOOD at his job and solving cases but he also tends to get carried away with his imagination so it might be a while before he reels himself in and gets focused on the actual point :/ he sort of falls into the whole eccentric detective category, i guess, but it's just not quite as obvious at first glance.

he keeps pet mice. this doesn't really fit in with the rest, it's just important to me.

KAWAGOE.

Taking over the family business, keeping tradition alive, doing whatever everyone else did generation after generation after generation...that was never really Sho's style. Not like he got much of a say in it, having been trained and tutored in everything he needed to know from a young age. Of course the other kids at school were going to think he was weird. Elementary school was an...experience. He was too overconfident for anyone to pick on him and he had no problem making friends.

By junior high, he powered through it; sure, he was weird but he smart and good at sports and wouldn't have looked out of place in some teeny-bopper boyband. In other words, he was pretty popular. But he wasn't stupid, he came to realise that, although the adults around him were fond of him and treated him kindly, they had always kept him at arm’s length, watching with a careful eye in case something happened. They had always been suspicious of him. They had been afraid of him.. Sure, he was admired but was he genuinely liked? Or was everyone just a little suspicious? After all, it turned out his family weren't just known for their quirky little fortune telling business. Instead, they'd been followed by years of bad will, a strange mistrust that went back further than any living descendant could recall. How petty. How pointless. Surely, that had nothing to do with Sho. He didn't even want to be involved.

Sho made up one quarter of a close friend friendship, consisting of four boys his age; two kids from his own school and Hayato Kamo, the son of a wealthy friend of his parents (who officially lived over in Tokyo but had no issue hanging out in Kawagoe with the others when they all had free time). The group had no hierarchy or leaders, they were all in equal standing, but Sho and one other friend, Yuuki, were particularly close; best friends attached at the hip, almost like brothers and rarely was one seen without the other. A team to the end.

Except the end came way sooner than it was supposed to, didn't it? They were fifteen years old when Yuuki suddenly went missing. Sho, who was never far from Yuuki's side had been there that day too. He'd witnessed the whole thing, in fact. Only, he didn't remember a single moment of it. No matter how hard he tried, Sho could not remember what had happened that day and the absence of it filled his mind like a great black puddle of ink, swallowing up whatever had been written beneath. There was so much about that day he remembered, the biting chill of the Autumn wind against his face and the crisp scent of browning leaves in the air, the stupid conversation they’d been having moments before it all happened and the blunt throbbing ache in his skull when he came to, but it was as though anything that mattered had been wiped away. The two boys had been together one moment and the very next, Sho was lying face down in the dirt with nobody else around to help him put the pieces together. And his best friend was gone.

Of course, the suspicion fell on the kid with the family nobody trusted. Big fucking surprise. That wasn't the issue, Sho could handle that. The problem was when his own peers, kids his own age, started to look at him sideways too, when he started to hear whispers about what Sho wasn't telling them (there was nothing he wasn't telling! if he could tell, he would! if he knew ANYTHING--) He was left alone save for his two remaining friends and even those days were numbered. Although Hayato, had taken Sho’s side from the start and stayed there, the other had grown to resent Sho and he was not secretive about it. Having been through quite too much already for one handful of weeks, it only took a few barbed insults for Sho to snap. Sho had never meant to break his nose. He didn’t think he’d even hit him all that hard. Of course, it's the way you punch a person and the speed at which you do it that makes a world of difference, even if you’re a scrawny, rage-blind teenager, but Sho hadn't known that then.

But that been the final nail in the coffin. Nobody was gonna trust him now. Sho wasn't popular anymore. A problem child, a dangerous spitfire liable to attack at any moment. The kids at school wouldn't look at him. If they did acknowledge him, it was never for any good reason. Finally, it was decided he'd transfer schools and off he went to live with Hayato's family in Tokyo; as a kind gesture, the Kamo parents agreed to pay for Sho's schooling at the fancy school Hayato attended. Sho still didn't fit in, refusing to politely rub shoulders with the rich kids, but being a delinquent among the wealthy was better than being a pariah.

Sho is one of the only people who even believes Yuuki still alive. He’s not sure why he believes so strongly that this is the case but there’s a gut feeling. Something he can’t place.

SHINJUKU, TOKYO.

Sho and Hayato managed to graduate high school without any further issues, besides the dark cloud of grief hanging over their heads, even if Sho still hasn't agree to let go of his convictions. Hayato goes to University but Sho decides to hold back and wait until he knows for sure what he wants to do. All the same, the pair also land jobs at a bookstore owned by Hayato's aunt, the nephew working part-time while Sho takes on a full-time cashier role. It's an odd little shop, specialising in the occult, and it fits Sho just fine. Not quite ambitious or fulfilling enough for his tastes but he figures it probably makes sense he'd wind up somewhere like this.

He stays at the shop for about four years before quitting at the age of twenty-two. In that time, he'd been working on setting up a personal project; it had started as him picking the brains of troubled looking customers and taking it upon himself to try and solve their problems. With time, he realised he was good at figuring this stuff out. Really good. And he learns pretty quick that there’s something cathartic about helping people find the answers they need when you can’t find your own. He knows what it’s like to have nobody to turn to and, if he can help others find closure, that’s better than nothing. Eases the survivor’s guilt a little bit. So, up and off he went one day, leaving the bookshop behind to set up business as a private detective, occasionally specialising in the unusual and slightly occult.

At least, that had been the dream. Very quickly, he find himself taking on more boring old adultery cases. There are only so many times you can catch middle-aged dudes cheating on their wives before the work starts to get monotonous. He'd still been hanging out at the bookstore from time to time, mostly just to bother Hayato at work, and it was there that he'd run into an intriguing young woman. She'd been his immediate replacement after he quit and she claimed to have a talent for predictions; well, no, that's not how she'd put it and, if anything, she'd really played the whole thing down but Sho was nonetheless intrigued by Rika Hoshino and her weird gift. He makes a deal with her, they'll start a pseudo-fortune telling business together, using her gifts and his knowledge of the field combined with his detective skills. It works out pretty well. (and everything from this point is in rika's intro so i'm too lazy to repeat myself. go read it pls. flutters my eyelashes at you.)

At some point, Sho develops an interest in mysteries father afield; in particular, he's intrigued by the town of Anchorage in Alaska and its reputation for its citizens going missing, as well as the townspeople's apparent apathy towards this fate. (Don't ask how he got all this information, he has his channels). At first, it's just a passing interests but he becomes stuck on it. Can't shake it off. Something about it reminds me too much of his own history with unexplained missing people. So, he sets out to move there and try to figure out the place for himself. He invites Rika along, of course, promising that they can set up shop there and solve this mystery together. After all, it seems like Rika's got a good knack for this stuff too.

He's in the middle of a case when he sends Rika off to Anchorage, swearing that he'll catch up with her when he's done. That day doesn't come; the case goes south, Sho gets into a lot of messy trouble, gets his ass beat by gangsters. It's a whole thing. And it's enough to throw a spanner in the works, that's for sure. And, then, around the same time, he thinks he's found a lead on the Yuuki case. He knows he can't let this chance bypass him so he drops Rika an email, apologises for not being able to show his face. That was the end of that. Anchorage was a pipe dream and he's already moved on.

ANCHORAGE

Or, so he thought. Look, we don't need to get into all the details of what happened with that other case. What matters is that shit has calmed down and his mind is back on Anchorage, enough that he's finally dragged himself across the world to check the place out. Sure, he's got some apologies to make where Rika is concerned but that's not the point.

Already, he's back at work as a private detective. Maybe he'll get another job, depending on how this works out for him in a small town like this, but the most important thing is that he doesn't let slip why he's really here; that the mystery in which he's most invested is just Anchorage itself. He may make a living off snooping around in other people's business but even he knows that nosiness gets a person killed.

#« 𝕊ℍ𝕆 » / 「 intro. 」#anchorintro #i hope this isn't a mess bc honestly i haven't really proofread it ahghhgjgjgg #i wrote almost all of it in one sitting and then ran out of steam for a few days and just #forced myself to finish it off just now so hopefully this reads okay hehehehe

0 notes

thethistlegirlwrites · 2 years ago

Note

Accidentally falling asleep together and one washing the other’s hair for John and Robin, reading a book together for John and Emma (you know what book lol), and patching up a wound and/or caring for the other when they’re sick (possibly blood or bite withdrawals) for Sierra and Shane (why is this happening? How did this end up as anyone’s best option? Up to you!)

Thank you! 💚

Thanks for the asks! These got pretty long so I'm gonna stick them under a cut. Hope you enjoy the results!

Stakeouts are some hunters' least favorite parts of the job, but John doesn't mind them. Not as long as he has a stash of cayenne pepper beef jerky and a good partner to wait out the night with. Being put up in an air conditioned motel room is preferable to sitting in the car, and less conspicuous. Especially when they're keeping tabs on a Red Cross blood donation center across the street that's been hit by vamp thieves three times in the past four months. The enhanced alarm system the agency installed last week (which in itself is part of what they're monitoring, vampire-detecting alarms are the latest hot commodity on the market and every company wants agencies testing theirs so they can put that on their promotions) is programmed to alert his and Robin's phones if it catches anything suspicious. But in John's opinion, there's still nothing like the good old human eye. He hears halting footsteps, and smells chicory and coffee, and then a warm mug is tapped against his shoulder. Robin joins him at the window, pulling up a chair and handing John his mug before curling in over his own. His broken foot is healing, but John wishes the accident hadn't happened in the first place. Being on stakeouts is much less enjoyable when the reason for them is having a partner on medical reassignment. Because God forbid Robin take actual time off like a normal human being to heal. John chuckles at that thought, earning him a confused look from Robin. "Is the coffee bad again?" "No. Just...thinking." "Should I be worried?" "Hey!" John says, cheerfully. "I'll have you know, my thinking has gotten me out of at least as much trouble as it's gotten me into." Robin chuckles, then takes a sip from his mug, hunching over it. John leans over to turn down the chattering AC unit under the window. It feels fine to him, better than the sweltering humidity outside, but Robin has never done well with cold. Not since Arion. John scoots his own chair a little closer to Robin's, and Robin leans in to rest against his shoulder, soaking up the body heat. John puts his free arm around him and continues sipping his coffee. At some point, Robin's breaths even and slow, and John sets down his own empty mug on the windowsill so he can gently take Robin's now-cold one before it falls and wakes the kid up. When the relief team appears at four am, John waves them over to the other side of the room, then closes his eyes. The only thing waiting for him back at the agency is a pile of unfinished paperwork and Maira's death glare. he's perfectly happy to wait here till sunrise.

...

"What is this stuff?" John asks, holding up a gummed together chunk of Robin's hair. "Pine sap." Robin shrugs. "There was a kitten stuck up there." "I'm surprised it's not stuck in your hair now. Half the rest of the tree is." John shakes his head. "How do I get this out?" "Try with the oil," Robin says, nodding slightly toward the kitchen cabinet the Rowan is opening. "If that doesn't get it, you could use alcohol." "So much for that bottle of whiskey I was planning on taking home, I guess." "Not that kind of alcohol!" Robin laughs. "I have rubbing alcohol in the house." John takes the olive oil bottle a branch of the Rowan is holding out to him. "Okay, well, we'll try this first." John works some of the oil into the most matted strands of Robin's hair. It works better than he expected. The kitten responsible for the whole mess wanders into the kitchen, rubbing itself around John's legs and complaining at being ignored. "I'm working here," John says, shaking his head, but stops long enough to sort of awkwardly scoop the little pest up with his forearm to avoid covering it in oil, and set it in Robin's lap. The kitten settles into his legs, purring and kneading energetically. John winces, but Robin seems immune to the claws digging into his thigh. John shakes his head and continues working on the sap, until Robin stops petting the cat and looks up. "Um...he's got some sap in his fur too..." "Oh no. I draw the line at cats who try to bite my hand off when I touch them. He's all yours."

...

"Your great-great-whatever uncle was ridiculous," Emma says, absentmindedly petting Mr. Prickles where he's sitting on the arm of the couch. "Did he not think about the fact that there were people on the other side of that window?" "I mean, that side of my family does tend toward impulse decisions," John says, closing his battered, first edition, signed copy of Dracula and replacing it on the side table. "Like letting a vampire stay in your apartment while her club-which-doubles-as-apartment is getting repaired from fire damage? Which, I might add, is indirectly your fault." "It wasn't even Robin this time!" "My insurance company is already upset about the last time." Emma allows Mr. Prickles to crawl up her arm and snuggle under her chin. "At least this time most of the damage was water after the sprinklers kicked in." John flips the book open again. "Funny story, I was reading this as a kid and left it outside on the porch rail overnight, and I thought Dad was going to tan my hide for letting the dew get it. Probably would have if it was our good copy. This was just an early training manual, more or less. Already had blood on it." "So what you're saying is, water damage is inevitable with you." "Pretty much," John grins. "So, where did I leave us?" "Your great-great-great uncle at the height of human stupidity firing his gun through a window to the inside, because he saw a bat." "If you still think that is the height of human stupidity, I guess I haven't been doing my job right." "Okay. The height of human stupidity is setting a vampire's club on fire on three separate occasions. And then inviting her to live in your apartment." "Yeah, you're probably right." John flips the page over. "Okay, here it is, the second stupidest moment in human history..."

...

"This su..." "Don't say it." Shay grumbles, curled in on himself in the corner of the cabin. "Right." Sierra tugs the oversized sweatshirt sleeves down over her hands and clenches her fists in them so she's not tempted to scratch at the pinprick marks on her wrists. She doesn't regret it. They had a cover to maintain. Getting the information they needed to take down the people behind an underground vamp-fighting ring was worth it. That doesn't mean they're not both paying the price. And maybe it's only fair that if Shay has to fight through blood withdrawals out here, she has to handle the bite version. She's chilled from the blood loss, but the vampire saliva in her blood is burning like a fever. She wants more, she needs that fiery high. She's heard that vamp venom makes most people feel blissed out and docile, but however it mixed with the adrenaline from the escape made her feel kind of like the world was slowing down and moving at a different pace. It felt good. Now, it feels anything but. Shay makes a muffled sound from the other side of the room, and Sierra turns to see him with his face buried in a pillow. "You okay?" "Wh-oo-nk?" She doesn't need to hear the words to catch his meaning from his incredulous expression. "Sorry, stupid question." That seems to be the core of whatever it is they are. Stupid questions, questionable decisions, and messy aftermath. She takes a step toward the window and then stumbles, catching herself on the back of a chair. The dizziness is kicking in in earnest. "Need the bed?" Shay asks. Apparently whatever urge to bite possessed him is gone, because he doesn't sound like there's a pillow in his mouth. "No, you will in a minute." This might be Sierra's first time dealing with a bite, but it's far from Shay's first experience of withdrawals. They'd discussed what he'd be likely to start feeling on the way out. And if he's right about timing, he's about to get hit with the worst of it. Which is going to be a serious problem. She needs synth-blood for him. Which they don't have. Once she kicks her own withdrawals enough to drive safely, she can get somewhere with a signal and call for extraction. Pete's got to be worried sick, and he's probably already combing the Oregon wilderness for them. But until she feels like she's not going to swerve their stolen jeep into the nearest tree, they're stuck. "Then share." Shay pats the edge of the bed. "I've been sitting on it for an hour and it hasn't fallen apart. Can't say the same for that chair." Sierra looks down. She doesn't see anything wrong with the wicker-seated furniture, but Shay's hearing is dialed in well above hers. Any minor creak in the structure, and he'll know. "I don't think that's a good idea." He wants blood, she wants a bite. That close, they'll drive each other crazy. "Nothing about us is ever a good idea." Sometimes she hates how perceptive and honest he is. She had to get partnered with an infuriatingly emotionally intelligent vampire who can also be as dumb as a rock. "Fine. I guess if you bite me you can drive us to someplace with a signal." "That's the spirit." Shay smiles, a weak imitation of his usual one, which tells her how much pain he's already in, but he's trying. "Not that that's what I'm going to do." She wouldn't hate it. In fact, she'd appreciate it. But it would only be putting off the inevitable. She sits down on the edge of the bed, hands clenched white-knuckled around the edge of the mattress, her pinky finger brushing up against his. Sooner rather than later, he's going to get worse. But for now, she can offer this much. At least they can be miserable together.

Asks list here!

#asks #ask game #john stoker #angus robinson #robin #emma cole #sierra aguirre-stoker #shane barrett #magic & silver #compass

5 notes · View notes

icariathebard · 2 years ago

Text

The Arkham Hellion: Year One

Chapter 2: The One Where Everything Goes Wrong

Warnings: Violence, swearing, murder. hospital setting, prison setting. Dark, criminal, and adult themes. 16+

Characters: Connie Inviglio (oc), Emril Griffith (oc), Harvey Dent/Two-Face

Word Count: 1.2k

AN: See this is the chapter where we start cooking with peanut oil

_____

Every Arkham breakout made a sick feeling settle on Connie- as it did most of Gotham. It also made her angry--once someone dangerous was put in the asylum, they were supposed to stay there for good, until they were safe to be around other people--but Arkham was so poorly run that it was only really a matter of time before someone slipped through their fingers. This time, it was Harvey Dent, who since his accident preferred the title Two-Face; and because it was Two-Face specifically, she worried.

Harvey Dent was once friends with her father, when Dent was Gotham’s District Attorney, and Mr. Inviglio worked for him. Mr. and Mrs. Dent would go out to dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Inviglio, and it wasn’t uncommon for the Inviglio family to be invited to an event Dent was hosting. Mr. Dent was over ten years older than Connie, but Connie still saw him almost as a friend. She had fond memories with him in them, and with Gilda Dent, Harvey’s wife. When Dent was scarred questioning a criminal on the stand, Connie found herself worrying for her father’s friend.

And now that Dent had gone insane, and escaped the asylum he had been sentenced to, Connie found herself worrying again. She tried not to let it get to her… of all the things Two-Face would wish to pursue, her family couldn’t possibly be one. As she served herself and her loyal dog breakfast, she tried to forget how her dad had been the prosecuting attorney against Two-Face. As she grabbed her keys and head out the door, she tried to forget that Gilda might be one of his targets. As she drove through Gotham, she tried to forget that he was out there, and that something could happen at any moment.

Her positive psychology class helped boost her mood, and passed without a hitch. Afterwards, though, she was needed at Arkham. When she reached Arkham, she was forced to remember it all as she was faced with the aftermath of the breakout.

“Griffith!” she called as she entered Intensive Treatment. “What the hell happened last night?”

“I was at home, it was the damn night staff.” Griffith scowled, not so much at Connie but at the ever-incompetent system at Arkham.

“It’s always the damn night staff,” Connie grumbled under her breath. “You’d think that with us basically living out of Wayne’s pocket, the money would actually get put to some good goddamn use around here.”

“What, are you gonna take it up with Mr. Sharp?”

“Y’know, I just might.”

Griffith scoffed. “Like that’ll do any good. Save your breath, love. We’ve got to check in with the patients, see if they know anything.”

“Well?” Griffith asked, five hours later.

“They know two things,” Connie announced as she flopped into the chair across from Griffith. “‘Jack’ and ‘Shit.’ No one saw anything… they were either out of their mind, drugged to hell, on the other side of the building, or perhaps just too scared to admit anything. I’d honestly stick around, but I wanna check in at GCPD; the station is probably hell right now.”

As Connie logged out her hours, Griffith reached across, took the pen and signed it off.

“You told security everything, yeah?”

Connie raked a hand through her hair, and sighed,“Everything I could. But it's a little late to do any good, y'know?”

“Well, saying anything is worth something, eh?”

She hummed, and readjusted the bag on her shoulder.

“Ey, Inviglio?”

Connie looked up at her friend, and mentor.

“Stay safe, luv.”

An understanding silence settled in between the two, just for a beat.

“Thanks, Griffith. You too.”

Sure enough, the GCPD was completely on edge. She had paperwork to do, so Connie tried to tune it out and mind her own job. She didn't have a shift on Fridays, but she wanted to be here today. She just wanted to get everything in order, and be as helpful as possible. One of the other forensics, unfortunately, interrupted that.

“Hey, intern!” she called. “You work at Arkham, yeah?”

Connie turned around, and glanced over the speaker. She was short, maybe 5’2”, with her straight black hair neatly cut straight above her shoulders. A single barrette kept her bangs out of her face, and her beady black eyes stared pointedly at Connie. She remembered this lady - her name was Alicia Kemp.

“Yes ma’am. Can I help you?”

“How’d he get out?”

Connie sighed.

“I spent all morning trying to figure that out. I wasn’t there, and only the guards he beat on the way out saw him. None of the inmates know how he got out of his cell, or where he was planning on going.” Before Connie could turn back

“Shouldn’t you know these sorts of things?”

“I’m an intern there, just as I am here. And like I said, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”

Kemp turned to her colleague, and started whispering. He whispered back, but when she responded, Connie could here it.

“Arkham’s incompetent. If the inmates are just going to break out every other week, they should just bulldoze the place.”

Connie spun around in her seat to face Kemp. She turned back to face Connie, and arched an eyebrow.

“Arkham is not the greatest establishment known to man, but with the resources we have and the number of fucking psychos we have to deal with on the daily, Arkham is the most competent aspect of Gotham.”

“Really? You really believe that? This city is practically built on Wayne tower, and anyone with half a brain knows no one working at Arkham is even really trying anymore.”

Connie was on her feet instantly.

“You wanna know something? There are dozens of hardworking nurses at that asylum. And some of the most hardworking people I know are there. There are guards who genuinely do their goddamn best at Arkham, and they get shit on for it. So why don’t you save us all some time, shut the fuck up, and go unfuck yourself.”

Kemp glanced at her colleague, then back at Connie.

“That’s a lot of harsh language, intern.”

“My name is Caroline Inviglio, and Gotham is a harsh town. I can speak however I damn please. Now if you excuse me, I’ve got work to do, rather than just stand around and gossip.”

Kemp rolled her eyes as she turned away, as if Connie wouldn’t see it, but Connie could tell. It made her blood boil. Only after Kemp and her colleague had turned their backs did Connie take her seat, and turn back to her desk. Her temper hardly overwhelmed her like that, she worked hard to keep it under control, but this seemed to be an exception.

Friday night didn’t have any course classes, and Connie didn’t have to go to her self defense class that night. She was exhausted and bitter and on edge from a long day, so as soon as she got off work, she went home and collapsed onto the couch.

Arkham wasn’t a good establishment, but it was all Gotham had. It was all Connie had, too, and she refused to give up on the gloomy asylum. There was some good to be done there, some good to be found, even if Connie had to bring it to life herself.

When she finally went to bed, sleep came to her all too soon.

Four days later, Alicia Kemp was found dead in her home.

When Connie found out, she was almost sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t dwell on it. She worked for Gotham City Police, so homicide was no stranger. She just had to keep her head down, and keep moving forward.

taglist: @arts-and-sharks @burnthashbrown27 dm or ask to get added to the taglist

4 notes · View notes