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a-hazbin-spider · 10 days ago

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Angel might know a thing or two about manipulation, there really was no way around it when the whole ‘honest work’ thing didn’t get him shit. Not only that, but the entirety of his resume- or so he’ll call it, was built on crime. Even fronting with selling other things, of learning the languages and the ideals of those around him- the useful everyday shit, had millions of dirty tricks and falsehoods that they would be used for. Even good things, like knowing how to fix someone up- that on its flip side meant knowing where to deal the most damage, or the most pain.

He sure as hell knows what those things felt like. And more often than not, some words could offer a hell of a lot of help to avoid the worst of it. All the time? Not quite, but it was like having tools. Making someone slip up, making them feel powerful and special, getting a rise- upping his value, pull people in and what he probably liked most of all: push people away too. His opponent in that mind game this time was Alastor though. Maybe if he’d had success, he would either be a heap somewhere up the stairs, or perhaps a carcass by now. For once he can just be grateful, and relax.

Through this, Angel had gotten to know a bit more about Alastor, the man was still sketchy, but- whatever, he can’t say he wasn’t, it was kind of nice to make a connection if he needed to be begrudgingly honest, he’d even gotten an invitation to dance. With that fresh in his head, perhaps in passing out, he might have a chance at something restful, maybe he’d dream of something nice. Nice like the genuine words Angel is still nearly awed to hear. That had been a pattern here, each kindness making for quite the pleasant surprise. Sure he agreed to do something at a later date, that never meant the sweet things would continue. So he’ll allow himself to enjoy that. Much like he is going to enjoy laying down without any fucking involved for the rest of the night at least.

When a hand is offered to him, he seems to take a moment to figure out how he’d go about it. He had remembered enough of Alastor’s inherent dislike of touch, and how previously the whole walking thing seemed to be an inconvenience. What was he again? An invalid? He didn’t really like the thought. But, in general he hated being a weak link, a burden. He was going to hate that part anyhow.

Alastor is quick to ease his seconds of half baked thought, giving him permissions and what one could take as caring- if a wish for anything but his downfall (literal in this case) counted. Which, he doesn’t really read into it too deeply aside from appreciation for his body having ensured safety. Maybe the sweeter contact was doing things for him too, but he’d rather stick a gun in his mouth than unpack that bag of gummiworms.

His body is careful with how he takes the support, sure he is- really a slight fellow, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be dead weight. Alastor’s body was a gracious support, though, comfortable and safe, his state of being was too weak still to do things himself. Or- walk without doing what Alastor feared he might do. Better now than before, sufficiently drugged and head a little lighter on his shoulders. For whatever reason, the pill or otherwise- he feels fuzzy, not even in a bad way.

“Thank you.” Wrapping his arms around the stag was treated like a delicate task, but he still responds upon getting a bit of a grip. It feels like he’s said it a million times, parroting it. But, it is easier to do when he’s a little less miserable. Plus, Alastor is yet to call him repulsive, or insult him, tell him to burn the shirt when it was said and done- he didn’t need to steal this shirt to cover himself either. It’s just been plenty of help without any push for him to do anything as it were. He almost feels a little drunk like this, and pleasantly not sick.

“I’ll still take care of em.” He mumbles soft against a shoulder. “They’re cozy. N’ smell nice. You took care of me too. Least I c’n do.” Usually his words don’t slide out like that, his obligations don’t go far past saying he’s got to perform, or begrudgingly needs to join an activity, things like that. His walls need a bit of rebuilding like the rest of him. There aren’t many more words he had to spew, mostly a few grunts any time he’d lost his footing.

Snort..! The truthfulness regarding the buttering up, rings too many bells on Angel’s end. It’s kind of funny though, he can admit, especially when they try to flatter! Such a mess it can be! Even Cherri, she sure likes to bribe or push the envelope far as she can so she can convince him to see it her way. Not that it was all bad really. Just. Well, it can get to be a bit much, especially when he just wants to rest after getting his shit kicked in.

C’est la vie, what can you do, though. There was a certain push and pull, like a scry in a way. Flows to things that could be better just to give in to and let the current push him. Angel is a fighter, a scrappy bastard to boot, actually. Yet he still wears down. Takes an ‘easy’ way out.

A low tone responds in kind to the information, verbal affirmative grunts to let him know that he’s listening, even if it might’ve looked like he was sinking closer to sleep. He really did hold interest, as much of an apathetic or flippant type he might seem to be, bits and pieces of information like that, those were held with a higher regard. Maybe Alastor can immediately catch it on him, how he really wasn’t too educated, but until Angel heard it, he never really gave it thought. And now that he had it, his brain would hold onto these things however it could!

“I… hear it. Yeh, you got a kinda…” one of his hands clicks his fingers fruitlessly for a moment. “Diction. To all ya words. Sound tha part of all them things ya are. All schooled, an’ concise. Bookish. Bright. Not that I mind not needin’ to buy a radio an’ wait for a timeslot to listen.”

The smile on his face may in fact be a bit of a sluggish one, but he still seems to find humor in Alastor’s small joke. Mentioning that he isn’t seen as quite the type though- that does take him in a little shock. Sometimes he forgets just how modern and especially distant from their era he seems to be. Not bad, just a bit of a reminder. As himself, the time he lived, where he lived, how he lived? Yeah, it sucked, it sucked major ass. But, parts of him still clung to some of the better things like a goddamn cocklebur. Such as the musicians Alastor mentioned. Or horror novels he could sound his way through.

“I don’t?” His head cocks the opposite direction to mimic the response and reflect the almost playful curiosity. Wondering more now of what Alastor thought of him.

“I s’pose some of it is bein’ product of my time, but tha rest is cuz they’s- they’s really pleasant. I always had a soft spot of it.”

Oh, wait- was Alastor offering to take him dancing..? The softer look of a pleasant shock can’t be hidden, it makes him feel almost like he could be one of those bashful teens receiving an invite for the first time. Had… anyone ever asked him to dance like this..?

He was far too drawn by the kind to be upset about any of the persistence on the ‘proper’ comment. “Ya mean that, huh? I think I’d like that, Alastor. I’d like t’do a lil bit of dancin’ with ya. I don’t think I could refuse a deal like that, s’ a compellin’ offer.”

His head bobs a little, keeping it up as it were wasn’t impossible, but evidently going through the wringer might grant him the impossible feat of sleep sooner than later. Likely a good thing, it isn’t typical that he can ever feel quite safe as he does now. Could be the layers of exhaustion helping out, but the care he’d experienced here- having his needs finally met so comfortably- that lowered his guard as if it were easy. And in truth, it feels like pulling teeth trying to take down any walls.

“Mmh, such a gentleman. Sounds like a good nap, I don’t think I’ll get that long, but. I. I really could… use some rest. Still, I feel lot better.” One hand raises up to rub blearily at his eyes while something is muttered about keeping the clothes clean, hard to totally translate in the yawning slur of words he had there.

“I’ll… yeah. Would ya? By- by t’morrow I shouldn’t be so… tricky. I c’n bounce back..!” Though he wasn’t sure how much of his garbled words were for Alastor or just for his own kind of reminder. He would need to be a little speedy, it was often expected of him. Still he’d almost seen to double dying again, Alastor saw that much. When that shit happens, he may as well be dead to the world for a week. Sometimes he almost thinks it’d be worth it for a break.

#the ball rolled back!: reply #angel dust; y’know from tv?#alastor: my dear deer friend #radioiaci #it’ll be worth the nicities #he agreed to be snacc o7 #anyway i am very normal about the narrative voice it’s hevking delicious

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hirik0 · 2 years ago

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I bet 10 gummiworms that Soap will remember

What do I have to do for more Warrior! Ghost and Spoil! Soap???

I am but a little Fella obsessed with you cod AU's so please begging on my hands and knees for a part 3 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

Heyo! This is actually pt 4 now! Crazy how fast we got here! Part 3

Ghost stared at the ceiling after he woke up.

Bonnie.

He had heard the term before of course. Multiple times from other Scots. Usually not directed at him.

His skin tingled slightly.

Soap was an idiot. Whatever game he was playing at, Ghost wasn’t interested. Even if he did look good in his clothing.

Ghost bit the inside of his cheek until blood started to fil his mouth. He had to remember Soap was trying to survive. Doing his best to not be killed. He didn’t punish him for trying to escape. Wouldn’t punish him if he tried again, despite the vague threats he made.

With a small sigh, he dragged himself from bed. Price needed to talk to him, he was pretty sure. Or maybe it was Alejandro… One of them anyway.

He felt Soap’s hand on him, light and searching, still mostly asleep. Ghost looked at it for a minute before picking it up and slowly setting it

Ghost flushed, thinking about last night. The way Soap said called him pretty and leaned in. His soft mouth, inches away from Ghost.

Ghost was a glorious sinner, but the way Soap had said that.

He got up and cleaned himself in a nearby river so he didn’t have to worry about Soap. He redressed and went to look for his coworkers.

Alejandro was sparring with someone, trying to teach them how to sword fight more effectively. Their technique was terrible but he was a good teacher.

The student fell flat on their ass.

Most of the time.

“Hey, Ghost!” Alejandro put the blade to the person’s chest. “Need something?”

“Just out. Anything I can help with?” Ghost looked around, noticing Rodolfo trying to train someone else. The other guy was just as bad. This is exactly why he doesn’t train people.

“Mind telling this person where they went wrong?”

Ghost hummed and calmly told the person the long laundry list of what they did wrong. Their stance, their posture, the lack of center of gravity, even critiqued the way they held their blade.

“Eh, I think that’s enough, Ghost.” Alejandro was clearly laughing, even though the kid looked close to tears. “Now get up and try again with Smith.” He walked away from him, leaning against the fence.

“So. What state is MacTavish in this morning?” He grinned and leaned in close to Ghost, like they were whispering secrets to each other.

“I left him passed out in my bed.” Ghost answered, technically it was true.

“Damn. Stone cold Ghost.” Alejandro looked at him, something right behind his eyes. Some thought or emotion Ghost couldn’t quite pin down. “Price just got back from raiding a village. Had a bottle of bourbon he was saving for you.”

“Thanks, Ale. Good luck with these guys. They look hopeless.” Ghost pulled away. As he walked away, he could hear Alejandro laughing.

Price never locked his door so Ghost just slipped in. It smelled nice, like someone was baking. He could hear someone in the kitchen, so he looked for him there.

Ghost froze when he saw someone who was clearly not Price. Kinda short, blond hair, definitely not Price.

“Oh. Hi.” The person looked up at him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Ghost stared down at him, but they didn’t shrink back.

“If you’re looking for the Captain, he’s in his office.” They said after a moment. “Graves by the way.”

Ghost just stalked past him and went straight to Price’s office. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Uh. Long story, don’t feel like explaining. Why are you here?” Price was already sliding the bottle over to him and Ghost took it.

“Bored. Wanted to know when my next raid would be?”

“I think Shepherd has you grounded. Next one is Alejandro’s.”

“Fucking hell. I don’t like sitting still.”

“And Shepherd doesn’t like losing. Come on. Be honest with me, I know you. I know how you are. So I know for a fact, you aren’t doing anything to MacTavish.”

Ghost sighed. The scars on his body itch. “I didn’t… He said…”

“I know, son. But you painted a target on your back. You’re going to have to deal with the consequences until Shepherd gets over it. And that means being on basics for now. Stay home, protect the village, strike fear into people’s hearts. You know. You’re least favorite things to do.” Price smiled at him and Ghost groaned.

“Keep the booze coming. I’m going to be in a drunken stupor for the next few weeks.”

“Will do, Simon.”

Simon.

“It suits you.”

Ghost blushed under his mask and nodded. “Keep me updated on his moods. And the guy in there… It serious?”

“Working on it.” Price grinned at him. “Look, enjoy your vacation.”

“Absolutely not.” Ghost shook his head.

Price laughed. “Come on, Simon. It might be good for you. Get rested. What do you normally do between missions?”

“Hide in my home. I can’t exactly do that right now.”

Price was clearly trying to not laugh more. “Look, just… I think there’s a festival tonight. Go to that.”

“Where?”

“Near the church.”

“I’ll be on the opposite side of the city. Thanks.” Ghost stood up. “See you later, Captain.”

Price nodded and followed him out of the office, heading towards the kitchen. Ghost decided he didn’t want to stick around any longer, being in so many buildings lately was starting to grate on him.

He went by his home and put the bourbon on the table. Before Soap could notice him, he left again. The festival was one of the ones for the seasons. For once, all of his mind was in agreement that that was not something he wanted to do.

Ghost ended up perched on a building most of the day, standing like a gargoyle. His presence seemed to be enough to scare most people away. He sighed, watching a bird flit closer to him and sit nearby.

“What, am I not as scary as a scarecrow?”

The bird cocked its head but didn’t move.

“Guess not.”

Soap. It felt like all his thoughts lately were dedicated to the man. He had moved closer again in the night. Ghost knew he should stop him. Should’ve shove him off or make him sleep in the floor. But he didn’t.

Soap’s hands had gotten so close to his mask. Ghost tried not to compare him to… anyone really. It was difficult. Especially when he said things like that.

Ghost carefully put his hands over his ears, not wanting to scare the birds near him. He was perfectly in control of himself. He knew that. It would be a terrible idea for him to be anything other than that.

Ghost was a sinner. An awful one. Sin permeated his being. Scars lacing his skin from it.

But he lusted. He wanted to hear Soap call him pretty.

Maybe not pretty.

They could find a better word.

Would those lips be that soft against his skin?

Soap had looked stunning in his clothing. Even better when he was asleep in his bed.

Sex wasn’t all he wanted. Greed. He wanted more. Wanted Soap’s attention. To make Soap his. Intimacy. Devotion.

He wouldn’t act on it. Wouldn’t be… Wouldn’t be Roba.

Ghost sighed. “You’re a terrible conversationalist.”

The bird chirped.

Ghost shook his head. “Talk to you later.” He hopped down, landing rather hard. His feet ached, but it was a good pain.

The walk home was quiet. At some point while he had been up there, the sun had disappeared and the air had gotten chilly enough for him to see his own breaths.

Ghost, after kicking off his shoes because they were slightly muddy, went straight to the- his room. He stopped quickly at the door.

Soap laid out on his bed, clearly drunk. He had undressed but the blanket had been draped over him. Ghost remembered seeing paintings of people as a kid. Beautiful women and men in lovely portraits. Soap just happened to be missing the wings.

“You’re home.” Soap said softly, like he barely noticed Ghost was there. HIs head tilted back and Ghost could see all the way down to where the v of his hips were. Could count the scars on his torso. The blanket just barely kept him from seeing more and for once he was thankful for it.

“I am. Waiting for me?”

“Getting even. Fixing each other’s problems.”

“What’s my problem?”

“The mask. Take it off.”

“No.” Ghost mumbled to the air. Soap was too sincere which meant he wouldn’t hide his reaction. Ghost couldn’t fathom what would be worse. A look of disgust? Indifference? A comment about how pretty he was? The only thing he knew was he couldn’t handle any of it.

“You said you didn’t look. You’re looking now.”

“I suppose I am.” Ghost stared to move closer. He could see Soap was afraid, though not as much as he probably should be.

“Is this what you wanted from me?” Ghost’s hand gently cupped Soap’s jaw, his thumb pressed lightly against his mouth. They would be just as a soft.

He chose not to answer the question.

The bottle of bourbon, now half empty, sat on the floor by their bed.

“You’re drunk.” Ghost tried to keep his voice neutral.

“A little. Got nervous.”

“Why?”

Soap just stared at him and Ghost could see now. The glazed look in his eye, the redness of his face. He could smell the booze rolling off of him.

“I think I scared you. Just a little. I don’t understand how.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“I did.” Soap grabbed his mask but Ghost caught his wrist.

“You’re drunk.”

“Exactly. Won’t remember in the morning.” It felt like bait. Ghost just couldn’t figure out what for.

He withdrew from him.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” He grabbed the covers and roughly pulled them up, covering Soap’s figure as he looked away. “You’re drunk.”

“Why would you care about something like that?” Soap stared up at him. It wasn’t judgemental. That was the worst part. It was just calm curiosity.

“You won’t remember anything in the morning, right?”

“Not a thing.”

Ghost nodded. “I kinda liked when you called me pretty.” He shoved him down so he was flat on his back and left him.

He made sure to grab the bottle.

It was empty before the morning came.

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