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calxprince · 7 months ago

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❀ LOVE, OR THE LACK THEREOF (4)

. . . a kabru x gender neutral reader story

# CHAPTER 4 : Is it possible to hear your own heart physically break?

# genre : multiple parts. breakup angst. reader can't move on for the life of them.

# notes : definitely a beefy chapter! thank you all for your support so far! i love hearing your guy's thoughts ♡ ( 5023 words )

-: ✧ :-゜・． MASTERLIST <- click me!

You soon regret your decision once you're now fully aware of the fact that your ex is, quite literally, living and breathing in the same room as you.

And you kind of want to kill him.

Or kiss him, you're not sure.

HONESTLY? YOU’RE FUCKED — Your brain seemed to have successfully checked out from the chains of your mortal body, as if it has claimed that there is no longer room for it inside. Instead, your consciousness found a comfortable refuge in the sky as it nestles into the clouds.

It felt like watching yourself from a third person perspective, observing your limbs move smoothly yet having little to no conscious control over them. Even if you did try to gain control, your brain fogs over and sends over a strange feeling of suddenly transversing through the fabric of time and space itself.

Your arms sway lazily, fingers grasping at the rough texture of your leather bag — itching for something, anything to ground yourself back down. However, your senses grow distant, each texture, each sound and sight only felt like a faint whisper down your neck.

The quiet murmurs of the party around you only dissipate into unidentifiable chatter, urging you to turn around and finally face them. However, it felt as if gravity had taken you in as its number one enemy— and decided to glue you down in your position. Could it have been fear? The fear of the billions of possibilities of what might happen next.

Your feet shuffle aimlessly, eyes eerily locked onto the cracks of the dungeon wall. Yet your heartbeat thumps against your ribs, a sound like a quiet drum. A reminder that echoes from inside you; you are still in this reality. So you press a mindless yet firm palm towards your chest, feeling around as your chest rises in a deep inhale.

You shake your head a bit, squeezing your eyes shut — only to open them back up to the same concrete wall.

‘I’ve been facing the corner for too long… That’s… Embarrassing...!’

The sudden thought yanks back your consciousness, like a splash of ice cold water jolting you awake. Your spine snaps straight, shoulders pulling back as you pivot on your feet —spinning around just a little bit too quickly. You wobble, looking around at the party with a sheepish expression.

Everyone is currently pre-occupied, which provides a bit of comfort to your raging fear and nervousness that consistently gnaws against your confidence (which probably doesn’t exist at this point.) Your hands fiddle around with your wooden staff, arms wrapped around behind your back. Your fingertips run against the grooves and indents of its wooden material, feeling the mana flow through it like a gentle river.

Your hand grasps it down firmly, seeking refuge in its comforting familiarity and stability.

Though, right before your eyes could focus in on Kabru — Mickbell’s frustrated groan cuts through the silence, as he desperately scratches his scalp through his blonde hair. His foot impatiently stomps against the rocky floor, kicking against the dust and debris that roll under his boots. His outburst catches the attention of everyone currently present, but no one dares to utter a word just yet.

“Everything is complete, but our barley! Who steals just barley?!” He exclaimed, a certain roughness to his call. His gloved hands desperately shake his precious bag, turning it upside down and watching as his dungeon trinkets fall to the ground. It creates a sporadic shuffling sound, followed up by a series of metal clinks! And clangs! Along with the occasional muffled sound of piles of fabric and clothes softly thumping on the floor.

He desperately throws the empty leather bag onto the floor, in a fit of anger.

Despite the seriousness of the situation—being mugged of your food rations—you can't help but feel a warm, endearing sensation in your chest. His exasperation and the way he fusses over the scattered items make you smile. You glance at the objects strewn across the ground, skipping over the usual equipment he always carries...

Gold coins, dwarven artifacts, gears, a chipped beyond recognition jewel, darts that are most probably dipped in poison, and a… stray gold coin that seemed to pick itself off and crawl away?

Often, important and valuable items are given to Mickbell for his protection— he has a weird yet endearing habit of collecting and somewhat hoarding items from the dungeon, when it has the slightest chance of being valuable. In his words, “If it can be made use of, then use it.”

However, you never really hold him against it, or pin him for hoarding unnecessary items. Since about most of the time he can haggle quite a hefty price for even the most nonsensical items. Which always ends in a celebratory dinner, alongside frequent visits to their favorite tavern.

And getting black out drunk, off the rails and unaware of how much gold has been spent— piles and piles of empty shot glasses (curtesy of your drunken state ordering one right after the other.) It usually ends with Kabru and Kuro dragging the rest of the lot around, like heavy sacks of potatoes.

However, those moments are usually scarce and distant in between. You all were a severely unlucky bunch.

��Augh! This sucks! These thieves are insane…!” He groans, whining as he haphazardly cleans up the area— using his hands to scoop up the items and throwing them back into his backpack. His boots scuffed against the floor, dragging them around in an aggressively childish manner. He then proceeds to, somehow, defy the laws of gravity as he boosts himself up into the air— scrunching his body together as he jumped.

He clicks the clasp of his backpack closed, flinging the slightly deformed bag over his shoulder. The piles of messy clothes and trinkets create lumps in the leather, making you snicker slightly. With one last defeated sigh, Kabru finally decides to speak up.

“That seems to be the last of our food rations, it’s best to head back now. Let’s give up, and try again another day” Kabru smiles, a little bit too handsomely might you add. He comes in swiftly, approaching Mickbell from behind and clasping down on his shoulders. He soothes his worries by gently squeezing his hands on his shoulders, rhythmically massaging them. It looked like an all-mighty prince, coming down to soothe the worries of his people.

“Give up? You’re taking this failure a bit too lightly.” Rin adds on, her foreign voice giving you an aggressive whiplash. Her tone was gentle, and sweet like a bite of sweet cake. It was low, and you could sense the stern attitude through her lips— her words coming off cold, but you knew there was a certain fondness in those words.

“I can take failures lightly, but not the safety of our wellbeing’s. If we have no food rations, continuing onwards is basically walking straight into death’s hands.” Kabru scoffs back, a smirk tugging against his lips— his cheeks pulling upwards as his half-lidded gaze directs towards her. His words had a certain bounce to them, he’s being a tease. Their banter was something you couldn’t digest, as it was all too familiar.

You can’t hold him back anyways, but that all too nostalgic teasing tone made you want to pull his curls out— cluster by cluster using bare hands. Or you could possibly make him mute for all eternity, so he could never utter a word in that tone to anyone else but you. It was supposed to be a luxury for only you to enjoy, not anyone else.

His voice left a sweet taste in your mouth that quickly bubbled into something bitter and rotten. The blinding anger only fuels a fire in your heart, a deep desire to swiftly blast a heart shaped hole into his body out of sheer desperation. Or possibly even turn him into a frog, stripping him away of his handsome, princely face and toned body.

Jealousy is a fickle thing, like the devil on your shoulder that whispers horrible scenarios to fan the intrusive thoughts and the urge to act upon them.

But of course, morally speaking you can’t act upon these (As much as you want to do so.) And even if the feeling spreads as an irresistible itch that dances all around under your skin.

“If Kabru says we go up, then it’s definitely the best option for us all.” Daya mutters, smiling gently at the party around her. She stretches her arms out behind her back, fingers intertwined as she sighs at the sudden popping sound from her tired joints. Kuro, who had somehow appeared next to Mickbell’s side had barked in agreement.

The rest of the party nods in accordance, accepting their defeat once again with a collective sigh. Your gaze sweeps over their tired, crestfallen faces, which slowly starts to blur into a sweeter moment as you watch their confidence and general mood bounce right back.

It's bittersweet to you, but it soothes your troubled heart just a little.

You can’t hold back the melancholy smile that creeps up your face, watching as the distance between you and the fleeting party grows bit by bit.

Seeing your old friends safe and sound, despite the hardships, brings a sense of comfort.

However, their careful and deliberate attention to their general well-being and health was a sharp contrast to how you have treated yourself in the past years. Especially how Kabru and the rest were so quick to accept defeat, only to treat it as yet another small hiccup in their lives.

It serves as a bitter reminder that they were all doing just fine, without you. That they all have matured and become even closer with little to no difficulty, generally not affected by your disappearance in their lives.

They all have gone much farther in their lives, evident by their newer and higher-rarity equipment. Their uplifted mental, and well-established new outlook of life— like they were a breath of fresh air now. Something that you were all too adjusted to, yet still manages to prove to you that you cannot stay static as a person. They’ll always be susceptible to change and becoming a better person day by day.

But you are still forever in that same place since you left. Not someone better, not someone worse— but someone who has stayed unchanging and alone. Someone who clings onto the fragments of the past, relishing in the old familiar joy that they once had.

It makes you wonder if your existence had any valuable weight in their lives, and if you were even a memory that was worth remembering.

Was it admiration, or pure envy?

For them to bounce right back at the sudden face of failure, for them to treasure themselves over the slim, high-risk chances of success.

Maybe it was a sign from the dungeon, or even the mad mage himself. Could it have been that fate had deliberately given you the chance to see them once again, even in such a short and fleeting moment in time— to act as a wake-up call?

To slap your face with such vigor and intensity, which will sting for eons to come— to serve as a reminder that life will forever go on, with or without you. The friends and loved ones you once made will not stay hung up on you forever, sulking in the coldness of their rooms at the dead of night. They will move on one day, and that day may come sooner than it will for you.

No matter how heavy or light of an impact you were in their lives, they will always seek the light at the end of the tunnel.

Unlike you, the pathetic and miserable person who refuses to seek out the better side of things.

You, who instead relishes in the melancholy prison that holds your mind and body in confinement.

You, who would rather feel sorry for yourself— crying in the dead of night and desperately grasping the fleeting memories of the past.

You, who falls into the same dwelling hole again and again.

Addicted to the serene comfort of familiarity, as sadness is all you have ever known.

Instead, you sigh— keeping a bittersweet smile on your face as you turn away to start walking deeper into the dungeon. You knew your own rations wouldn’t last yet another floor, alongside the venture back up to the surface. Nor were you completely equipped with the correct gear, since you had never planned to even go that deep down in the dungeon.

You were just a stubborn idiot that was too bothered by the thought of going back up alongside them, just to trail behind like a lost puppy. Because, yeah, sacrificing your life instead of going out of your way of having to ask them if you could come with was a much better option.

You bite your tongue, seeking comfort in the pressure of your teeth sinking in, the sting hastily preventing you from calling them back. However, before you can turn your back on them, a soft voice cuts through the silence. It sent chills down your spine and dropped your heart straight to the lowest floor of the dungeon.

“Hey, where’s Y/N?” Holm questions, his voice laced with concern. His head begins to whip around, twisting and turning his body to catch sight of any sign of you. This cues the rest of the party to scan their surroundings, anxiously shifting their gaze from wall to wall— person to person before laying their eyes on your figure.

You had been staying in the same place as before, showing little to no signs of movement. Most of the party, notably Rin and Kuro tilt their heads in confusion. While the rest let out a deep sigh of relief, possibly thankful that you hadn’t been eaten by a merman in complete silence— or even kidnapped and dragged into the walls by a ghoul.

Nervous, your heart pounds against your chest, the rhythmic thudding echoing in your ears like a drum. A sheepish smile creeps across your face as you catch sight of their dumbfounded expressions, realizing you haven't moved an inch since they left.

Mickbell darts toward you with a sense of urgency, his footsteps quick and light, while the rest of the party trails behind (However, less enthusiastically.) He tugs on the fabric of your sleeve, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks up at you with a mix of desperation and hope.

“Where are you going?” He whines, almost angrily— in a borderline childish manner. Your gaze shifts around in avoidance, shuffling your feet as you let out a quiet chuckle. You shrink at the realization that all eyes are on you.

Even Kabru’s.

“Ah… I’m going to keep going deeper into the dungeon.” You awkwardly cushion your words with gentle laughter, the sound feeling forced and unnatural. Your arms feel unnatural as they stay still by your side, opting to scratch your cheek and sway around your staff using the other.

The sheer awkwardness of your current actions makes you want to leap into the nearest body of water and offer yourself to the mermen, sirens, and krakens lurking within.

“Going that deep into the dungeon, as a solo mage? Are you out of your mind?” Rin comments, her eyes set on you sternly. Her fingers messily intertwine in the strands of her hair, as she curls and spins it around. Her words were sharp and cut through you like a sharp blade through paper.

“You’re honestly lucky that you made it this far alone, but it’s not safe.” Holm adds on, stepping forward. His face etched with concern.

“You should know how dangerous it is! You should look out for yourself the same way you did for us!” Mickbell exclaims. The rest of the party unanimously hums in agreement, reflecting their collective concern over your well-being. Kabru was busy staring elsewhere, unsure if he was trying to ignore you or genuinely was more interested in the surrounding dungeon walls around you. Which was, quite possibly, both.

His eyes seemed to wander everywhere but near you. But the nervous and rhythmic tap of his boot hitting the floor, his fingers twitching and scratching at his collar, the sound of his cough before his hum of approval— it all leads you under the assumption that he was hiding his true feelings.

You’re not sure how to feel.

Happy, with your heart warm and swelling with love and care? Generally, upset and offended, as they assume that you are not fit for exploring alone?

You would have run straight to them, laughter bubbling from your lips, your hands ready to caress their heads and feel the warmth surge through your heart. However, your gaze locks onto Kabru, boring into him like bullets through cardboard.

Fear claws your insides, chopping you up like minced meat. Just the mere presence of Kabru right in front of you— the thought of having to spend possibly a week seeing him 24/7 was just enough to make you want to hurl. You would rather make a quick dash down, to wipe him away from your sight.

Your pride and ego battle within, both desperately urging you to convince them that you are a seasoned adventurer, fully capable of delving deeper into the dungeon. That you are not the same person you used to be— you’re stronger, more agile, stronger willed. Yet the words die down by your throat, as your tongue gets held down by your chattering teeth.

Your lips stagger and stutter, desperately trying to find the right words to say— to say something, anything!

“Aaah… It’s fine! I’ll just end up being a bother if I went along with you all.” Your smile comes out forced, jaw clenched and unsure. The sound of your voice manages to rope Kabru into looking back at you, underestimating the sudden flinch of his gaze as he ends up locking eyes with you.

He doesn’t bother wasting any time before looking away. It clenches at your heart painfully.

Is it possible to hear your heart physically breaking? Call in the scientists and researchers, because you just did.

“A bother? Nonsense! You’re coming with us, right this instant! Right, Kabru?” Holm shakes his head disapprovingly, his eyes slimming and glimmering with mischief. He turns his body towards Kabru, using his elbow to prod Kabru into agreeing.

…

Okay, maybe you aren’t currently the only stupidest person in the world.

You were very much high up on that chart, but only trailing behind in second place.

Kabru’s expression was unreadable now, however the sweat dripping from his forehead and the hand that won’t stop adjusting his collar, his suddenly slightly widened eyes— gave it all away. Maybe not to the rest of the party, but it was as clear as day to you.

And possibly, for once in the 5 years apart— you were completely sure that you and Kabru had one shared thought, in this very moment. Your intentions and feelings are in complete synch and in perfect unison.

‘I’m going to have to kill this guy and hide his body so well to make sure he is never found.’

It was a reach on your part. Imagining his voice synching in with yours and everything. But you like to have fun sometimes.

Kabru anxiously clears up his throat before speaking, his gaze flickering to you repeatedly.

“Yeah, its uh… Safer if you come along.”

The words that just came out of his mouth, might as well have sent you straight to the sun. Your jaw drops, remaining agape for a few seconds. Your mind lost a couple of screws and gears, with your gaze unwavering and locked onto his figure.

You’re not sure if you’re losing your shit now, and only imagining the faintest blush on his face. But it’s a good thing to hallucinate right now— as the view is currently making your heart pound. So, props to your imagination.

“YEAH! And let’s drink our failures away, just like old times!” Mickbell raises his fist in the air, impatiently tugging at your hand to close in the distance between you and the rest of the party. However, this time you began a steady pace alongside him. They all began turning their backs on you, beginning their journey back gleefully with you by their side. However, you keep your distance away from them at the far back.

The mention of alcohol makes you feel faint, as you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth— feeling a strange thirst as the taste lingers on your taste buds. You haven’t had a drop of alcohol since that day.

Honestly, it would’ve been quite a help if you were able to drink all your sorrows away.

You were a huge drinker, and quitting cold turkey completely went crashing on you. If it wasn’t for your weird thing where you hold such high sentimental feelings for the most random places and objects, as well as your constantly empty pockets— you would’ve rather spent the rest of your days wallowing in that same tavern.

“Really? I… Don’t really have the budget right now to go out drinking.” You gently tug back your hand away from Mickbells, bringing it back to sway by your side instead. He didn’t seem to mind, putting his arms behind his head and walking off alongside the party.

“We’ll pay for it.” Kabru suddenly speaks up. The way he spoke made it obvious that he was rushing to make a comment before the perfect moment flew away. His voice quietly cracked in the beginning, almost choking the words out as he spoke. But he spared you no glance, keeping his back on you and his gaze set on the journey ahead.

It fed into that little hope you had in your heart.

But you also really wanted to knock his head onto the floor.

If he was that desperate to string you along with his party for a couple of days, then why didn’t he come running to your house begging you to come back when you left?

You grit your teeth, letting out a heavy exhale as you decided to hold onto that small hope instead of riding off your anger.

“Okay.” You sigh, letting a gentle smile spread through your face. You decide to entertain them and allow yourself to succumb to your gluttony for their company. Taking risks is stupid, but you would rather accept and see where life will take you— rather than end up regretting your decisions later.

I mean, how bad could it be?

“Do we even have the budget to go out?” Rin opposes, fingers never leaving her long jet-black hair as she walks. It made you ponder; do they actually have the budget? If they did, you’re starting to consider that you’ve finally found a stroke of luck.

Just about enough time to dissect Rin and Kabru’s current relationship, Kabru’s state after the breakup, catch up with old friends— AND, you finally get to drink to your hearts content!

“I have been saving up a secret stash of savings.” Kabru replies, patting down the side of his hips— pretending to pat down an imaginary sack of gold by his side to prove his point. This causes a couple of excited cheers and hollers to erupt from the party. Listening to the upbeat chatter from them, makes your smile widen even more. With how casual Kabru seemed to talk and address them, seeing how close-knit they all are now; it made you feel as if everything was going to be alright.

With a sudden pep to your step, you catch up with them eagerly from behind.

The walk towards the next floor was boring, to say the least. Though, you’re not one to really get upset over the looming silence— since you had gotten used to it over the years. But the stories of your adventures in your mind had only registered the interesting parts, completely blocking out all the mundane parts.

Even though you were currently treading on water, not even the tiny fishes wanted to entertain you. The process of getting the blessings onto the party was severely mundane, since your current party now possesses three magic users— making the process extremely fast.

Minus when you almost accidentally smacked Kuro across his furry face, as you watched Rin take her time casting the spell on Kabru. There weren’t really any romantic hints or teasing in the air, since they both remained professional and blank faced.

You’re just… A little butt hurt that he didn’t come to you.

There was a thick tension in the air, which you were convinced that only you and Kabru could sense (It was only between the two of you, unfortunately.) He kept his head held high, as he could feel you basically watching his every move— peeling his skin away in your mind and analyzing each move of his muscle, each beat of his racing heart. It was coming to the point that it had become a battle of pride.

Though, it came to a pitiful end as he glanced at you for a second as he turns his head to the side— side-eying you. To which, you react by averting your stare in defeat.

You need something else to distract yourself.

So, you instead decided to analyze their whole party set up— to fight against the boredom and the frightful echoes in your empty mind.

Your gaze starts from Kabru, who stands firm and confident at the front of the party. It made sense, as he was one of the main fighters of the team who was excellent at close range combat. He is also skilled at closing in long distances, with his agility and high awareness of his surroundings. However, as you inch your stare to your left— there stood Rin.

Rin stood proudly by his side, providing a gentle teasing punch towards his arm. Kabru chuckles slightly, while she remains a strict and stern expression. Though the slight pink in her face catches your eye as his melodic chuckle makes it through her ears, making your jaw clench and scrape your teeth against each other.

If she was so daring to walk front and center alongside Kabru, she was possibly more knowledgeable on offensive magic. Usually, mages tend to mingle around the middle or possibly near the rear end of the party, letting the other fighters do the work as they take care of their flank and other enemies out of reach due to their longer ranged attacks. Mages don’t have a good set of defenses, usually depending on their party members to manage closer ranged enemies— Mostly due to the time it requires to charge and chant spells, as well as the position and stance putting them in a vulnerable situation.

The only sensible reason for her to be so confident at the front, was for Kabru to basically solo the enemies nearby for the sake of her safety. Working side by side, taking care of each other’s backs.

But you don’t want to accept that fact. So, you’d rather decide that she’s just there for… Other plausible reasons that you cannot think of.

Mostly because that’s what you and Kabru used to be like.

It churns your gut around a bit.

You haven’t seen her in battle, aside from casting blessings here and there— so you’re unsure of her specialty. You take a mental note to analyze the spells she casts in battles, whenever you encounter a monster on the way.

Behind the two comes another pair.

‘What is this, a buddy system?’ You groan internally

Daya trails closely behind Kabru and Rin, possibly yet another backup fighter in the cause for dealing with close ranged enemies that could surround the mage. She’s very strong, and much like Kabru is skilled and powerful using melee weapons— overpowering enemies using one handed combat with skilled axe wielding. Though, she lags slightly behind Kabru himself in terms of agility.

Next to Daya, trailed Holm. You could consider them close, but not necessarily too close knit with each other. Daya had once told you that she tends to gravitate more towards Holm due to their closeness in age, however they came off more as just friends rather than close friends.

Holm is very passive in fights, so being in the middle provides him some protection from his front and his back— while also allowing him to swiftly run away and escape. If you had thought that it was only fight or flight, he has the third one: freeze. He gets easily overwhelmed in fast paced situations, which are, mostly but not exclusively, battles.

He does not wield any weapons on hand, nor has any base offensive magic for assisting in battle. However, he does carry his elemental familiars with him— named Marillier and Essiet (Which, you found cute how he had given them names. Or did the familiars actually have names before being bound to Holm?) So being in the middle of the party allows him both to release his familiars easily with protection and having the freedom to flee or freeze.

Mickbell typically lounges behind the party, since he isn’t equipped with the typical weapons— nor does he have any confidence in fighting head on. He’s cowardly, and often runs away during battles. Sometimes, he’d make use of his poison darts to assist in the long run. His heightened senses allow him to detect enemies from behind easier, preventing any possible flanks.

Lastly, Kuro stands side by side with Mickbell— serving as his personal bodyguard and guarantees Mickbell’s safety. His heightened smell and hearing also pairs hand in hand with the halfling. He is also skilled in close ranged combat, as a melee fighter that uses his sharp teeth and strong jaw to his advantage.

And… Then there’s you.

You feel somewhat uncomfortable now, seeing how they complete each other so perfectly. You feel like when you finally finish a puzzle, but then there’s a random spare piece that doesn’t fit anywhere.

But it’s okay, knowing that they all have each other’s backs. They don’t need you anymore, but their safety and happiness— is your happiness.

-: ✧ :-゜・． TAGLIST

@sy1v30n @whatamidoing89 @meerpea @pop-ee104 @starriejin @valerayne @mshope16 @stefnarda @lovin-past @slightly-lonely-jonesy @auhokvam

#delicious in dungeon x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi #dunmeshi x reader #kabru delicious in dungeon #kabru dungeon meshi #kabru dunmeshi #kabru dunmeshi x reader #kabru of utaya #kabru x reader #love or the lack thereof calxprince

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thicctails · 5 months ago

Note

I love the get better children AU! It is so creative and I’ve been obsessed with Bill’s parents. (I need more lore on them!) I’m curious, is there a specific Gravity Falls Villain that they both REALLY despise? Like the gnomes for trying to force Mabel into a marriage? Cause I have a feeling that would not go well with them. Love your work!

I really gotta compile a lore dump for the Cipher parents I stg

Gideon is probably their number one enemy. Jeff is definitely next in line, but he wasn't really a problem after the whole giant gnome monster situation. The widdlest Gleeful, however, is at the TOP of their shit list, not just for being a creep towards Mabel, but because of how often he puts the twins in danger.

Thanks to them usually tagging along on Dipper and Mabel's adventures (probably either in the form of some kind of tattoo-like marking or hiding somewhere on the twin's outfit), as well as making Stan come along more often as well, Stan actually takes Gideon more seriously as a threat (seeing your nephew get tackled off a cliff will do that to you) and is a lot more hostile towards him. Soos and Wendy also get informed of how dangerous he can be, so Gideon gets his ass booted by Wendy way earlier.

(Soos doesn't do anything to him, but the man has been partially raised by Stan, so when the handyman gives Gideon a killer glare and cracks his knuckles, the pig nosed kid gets the message)

Stanford just straight up fires a warning shot next to him when they meet. He makes it clear that he will not issue another warning. This gets him slightly more into Scalene and Euclid's good graces.

#ask #au #gravity falls #gravity falls au #get better children au #euclid cipher #scalene cipher #dipper pines #mabel pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #gideon gleeful

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skeletwinsauaskbox · 1 month ago

Text

It's character profile time! And the first one is the eldest twin, Sans!

Comic Sans "Sans" Asterisk

1 ATK 1 DEF

The easiest enemy. Your very own pun-pal!

Multiverse Nickname: Lento

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Asexual/Aromantic/Aroace

Age: 19

Height: 4'6"

Skeleton Subtype: Script

Font: Comic Sans

Case: Lowercaser

Family: Papyrus (twin brother)

Personality:

Friendly

Kind-hearted

Supportive

Generous

Loyal

Humerus (lol)

Easily amused

Witty

Clever

Sassy

Blunt

Curious

Mischievous

Lazy(????)

Creative

Imaginative

Humble (a bit TOO humble :/)

Prone to tunnel vision

Brain go BRRRRRRR 24/7

Slightly anxious at times but otherwise chill

Savvy but somewhat naive at times

Magic Abilities:

Bone attacks (white and blue)

Gaster Blasters

Blue Magic (controls gravity

Teleportation

Time Freezing

Cartoon Logic

High Magical Capacity (able to learn new spells easily)

Reality Warping

Musical Number Activation

Skills:

High intelligence

Observation and people skills

Comedy

Music (can sing and play the trombone)

Strategy and puzzle-solving

Business

Arts and crafts (drawing comics, sewing, knitting, repairing clothes, creating stuffed animals and homemade gifts)

Likes:

Jokes of any caliber (except mean-spirited humour and adult-based humour, that goes over his head)

Pranks

Science (ESPECIALLY astronomy)

Sci-fi novels

Learning new things

Grillby's

Projects

Snow

Music (and singing)

Naps

Soft objects

Physical affection

Animals

Nature walks

Sweet treats

Dislikes:

Bitter-tasting foods

Being flirted with

Chores

Romance movies

Mean-spirited humour

The thought of a life without Papyrus

Being reminded of what he lost

Loud noises/Overstimulation (Papyrus is the exception)

Jeans

Eye contact

Injustice

Betrayal

Jerry

Fears:

Heights

Crying in public

Loud noises (Again, Papyrus is the exception)

Losing Papyrus

Failure

Fun Facts!:

He has no fashion sense, lol!

He covers up his embarrassment with jokes. This will be explored soon enough.

When he turns his eyelights off, his depth perception goes out the window and everything is darker. As a result, he's pretty clumsy in this state. That's why he stays absolutely still when he's trying to intimidate people. (He's only slightly less clumsy normally, lol)

Prefers baggy, long sleeved clothes. Likes having his arms covered.

Loves making homemade presents for his loved ones when possible.

A slob, even on a good day. Not particularly clean.

Laughter is his favourite sound.

Sings to himself when he's alone. Hates singing in front of others.

Lets Papyrus pick him up, but it's rare for him to let anyone else pick him up.

Likes doing voice impressions. Is very good at it!

Will happily embarrass Papyrus given the opportunity.

Genuinely looks up to Papyrus and admires him. He's basically his hero.

Is very good at spotting liars. Bad at lying himself.

He can sew and knit, and has been doing it since he was a kid. He repairs Papyrus' scarf every few years.

The resets don't exist yet, so he doesn't know about them yet.

Like Papyrus, he's autistic, but isn't aware of it. He does get the sense that something's "off" about him, though.

#undertale #undertale au #undertale ask blog #skeletwins #skeletwins au #character profile #sans

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tokoyamisstuff · 2 months ago

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Spellbound pt. 2

Chapter 2: Parce Domine (Lt. "spare, o lord")

3,1k. words | f! Reader | pre-canon | slow burn | not proofread

[Previous Chapter]

"Where is it, bloody hell, where?!"

Anderson frantically searches his room for that particular bible among the many he owns, internally cursing himself for keeping his room so unorganized.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he tucks it from a pile of books, making it collapse. He opens it, shaky hands flipping through the pages until he found the page you wrote your number into.

A clever move of yours, in hindsight - any other paper he would instantly have disposed of, but he'd never dare such sacrilege as to throw away the holy scripture, couldn't even bring himself to rip out a mere page of it.

He's found himself admiring your handwriting, mutely pronouncing your name as his finger runs over the dried ink. You had additionally scribbled a little arrow towards one certain bible passage, along with a smiley and an exclamation mark.

! -> "Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."

He grumbles loudly at your subtle provocation, but needed to swallow his pride for the situation at hand was dire.

At the very same time on a different continent, you were deeply concentrated with an experiment when you got startled by the ringing of your phone. Not many people have this number, and those that do certainly don't call with a suppressed number.

"Hi! Y/N here" you speak with a cheerful voice despite not knowing who it is, and Anderson can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage at the delicate sound.

For a while there's only silence from the other side, until a grim voice finally wrung out an introduction. "...this is Father Anderson."

A self-satisfied grin formed on your lips. If only you could see his face right now, he's probably seething at this humiliation of crawling back to you.

"Ohh, look who decided to call. And so soon already..." you tease, smugly leaning against your table. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

You hear him take a deep breath, the gravity of his sigh a bit concerning. "...a child in my care is...sick, very sick through something otherworldly, but we can't identify the cause. We've tried everything, even our most skilled doctors and exorcists, but..." his voice is shaking in apprehension, "I'm...at my wits end here...what if the boy dies...I can't-"

"Hey." Your whole demeanour shifts immediately upon hearing this, tone stern yet reassuring. "Calm down, it's alright. We'll find a solution, I promise."

Anderson lets out a small whine, running a hand from his face through his hair before speaking up again. "Please, just...hurry..."

It took you half a day until you were close enough to teleport, already the midst of night when you draw the coordinates Anderson gave you into your magic circle.

The orphanage is almost empty as you appeared in a blind spot outside in the garden, sending the paladin a quick message that you had arrived. He came to pick you up almost instantly, a dissheveled mess of a man rushing towards you only to be taken aback by your appearance.

"What in the world are you wearing?" he speaks between grit teeth at the modest, almost pious clothing you currently had. Even a gold cross necklace adorned your neck, and he could barely hide the obvious disdain of using his religion as a disguise. But he bites back any argument due to lack of time. "I'm in the midst of enemy territory, did you really think I'd draw attention by looking like a walking target?"

The priest nods mutely at your reasoning, waving for you to follow him. As you walk unseen through dark hallways, he can't help but keep glancing over to you, unable to decide if he was irritated or astonished by the way you presented yourself.

Seeing you like that almost makes him forget that you were far from innocent. He can't believe his desparation drove him into doing this, putting the orphans at risk by bringing some evil savage like you here.

But then again, this orphanage is not only symbolically a spiritual place - it is enhanced by countless precautions to keep the underworld away. Yet you roam it so freely, without even the slightest effect or repercussion.

Deep down he knew the plain truth - it's because you weren't a threat.

"How is the child?" you cut through the heavy silence coating you two, and his expression turns pensive. "Getting worse by the hour. But see for yourself."

When you entered the small bedroom your heart dropped. A small and frail boy, five or six years old at best had been tied hands and feet to the mattress. The noises he made were heartscattering, his misery causing you to let out a choked sob.

Anderson put on his usual strong and calm front as he walked over to the child, strained creaks filling the room as the massive man sat on the edge of the bed, exchanging a cold cloth on the little one's forehead. "We saved him from the fangs of an occultist a few days ago, and shortly after he fell into this state."

Your bottom lip trembles slightly at the sight, but you tried to keep it together. Not thinking about the impression it makes you pull out a small dagger from your sleeve, and without hesitation Anderson grabs your wrist roughly, twisting it just shy from painful. "Don't you dare try something, wench. I'm protecting these kids with my life, do you hear me?"

The paladin was on high alert ever since you stepped foot onto these holy grounds, and now all of those images Iscariot had indoctrinated him with were resurfacing.

One in particular, the old superstition that witches use the body parts of children to make their ointments.

"Darling..." The endearing term only adds to his fury, blaming himself for having been blinded by your innocent facade. Still, he automatically softens his hold when he sees your face grimace in pain. "Don't you think if I wanted to snatch a child I wouldn't have to go out of my way and come to the Vatican of all places?"

You drop the knife to the ground, looking at him and the boy with pleading eyes. "I just wanted to cut the ropes, I swear. They're unnecessary and cruel."

Anderson narrows his eyes at you before letting go with a frustrated growl, using a bayonet to cut the child free himself. You sit down way too close to the man but he wouldn't protest, since it means he can better stop you shall he not like anything you do.

"That's not a demonic possession, not entirely at least" you ponder, evaluating the black marks spreading like vines across the child's body. "It's a pact. The occultist wanted to use him as a human sacrifice...he asks the fiend a favor, and in return the boy either dies or the curse takes physical form eventually, causing a lot of harm."

Anderson angrily works his jaw, brow sinking deeper and deeper with every word you say - until he sees you tend to the child so tender and careful, genuine worry present on your face. Letting go of the tiny hand to put yours on the priest's shoulder, you try to raise his spirits. "I got this. Don't you worry."

He sees you rummaging in the small bag, to his confusion taking out way more things that could possibly fit in there. You let out an amused huff at his puzzled expression. "Pocket dimension, jealous? I bet carrying all those bayonets is really difficult."

It takes a while until everything is set up for the ritual, and Anderson already dreads how to explain all this stuff if anyone unexpectedly interfered.

You position yourself at the foot of the bed, while you sent him to a corner of the room, still wary yet trusting enough by now. "Oh, and Anderson?" Cutting deeply into your palm and letting blood drip onto the sheets, you look at the priest with a conflicted, almost fearful expression. "Yes?"

Your voice is filled with dread as you tell him your request. "Promise you kill me if things go south."

Although the mental image somehow made his guts churn like he had just been disemboweled, he wouldn't let it show. "...no need to tell me." You crack a forced yet hopeful smile at the man and continue.

The whole ceremony didn't even last a minute, and before Anderson could comprehend what happened - let alone if it succeeded - you collapsed to the floor, holding your face while screaming in agony. Instinctively he drew his bayonets, but then tossed them away and rushed to your side against all common sense.

"Hey, hey, talk to me!" He gently shook you as he called your name, but you remained paralyzed in pain. For a while he couldn't do anything but just held you firmly into his arms until your squalls ebbed down to breathless whimpers.

When you finally recovered and opened your eyes again, he was horrified to see the same pitch black that was tainting the child had swallowed your whole left eye. The iris is white and absent of a pupil, and yet he could still feel your soft gaze on him.

"Heh...heya there..." you chuckle weakly, and he can't help but mirror your smile in relief, reluctant to let you out of his grip just yet. "Oi, you scared me half to death.

"Sorry, sorry..." You blink heavily trying to adjust to the partial blindness on the left, only now realizing the position you're in. Wriggling your eyebrows at the man now that your usual smugness had returned, you sit up, positioning yourself in his lap.

Despite feeling his head spin at the indecent proximity, the priest's attention shifts to the boy again. He looks...better. Great, actually. All marks were gone from his body and color had returned to his cheeks. He was resting peacefully, finally able to give in to exhaustion after such a long period of torment.

"Thank god..."

"God had nothing to do with this!" you object with a sour expression, feeling like you're robbed of your credit. Anderson laughed heartily at the adorable sight, squeezing the sides of your shoulders ever so slightly. "Oh yes, he did. He sent me an angel to save my wee boy."

The word slipped his throat faster than his mind could catch up on and for a while you just stared at each other in disbelief. "...maybe" you mumble eventually, straightening your clothes and hair after standing up again. Seeing him so approachable and uncharacteristically happy for a change certainly did something to you, but you'd rather drop dead than to admit it.

Suddenly the door slams open and you both startle, leaping away from each other to gain some acceptable distance again. Two girls around their early teens bark in, visibly upset for their younger 'sibling'.

"Heinkel, Yumie..." The paladin speaks strict yet with a profound affection, "It's far late for you to be up. What are you doing here?"

"We-we heard screams and got worried" the more timid one of them explained, but the blonde was boring holes into your skull with her questioning glare. "Who's that?"

Anderson panicks briefly, feeling caught. "That's Y/N. She's..." He gazes over to you, sharp features softening briefly as he scans his mind for an answer. "...a-a friend. Yes."

Your eyes widen for a fraction but you're quick to play along to save his integrity. "Right. Your dear father called me to assist him heal your brother in faith. I'm somewhat of an...occult expert, if you may say."

That answer obviously wasn't satisfying their curiosity and they kept prying. "What oder are you from?"

"Oh, I tend to work alone..." You rub the back of your head nervously, pacing on spot. "I'm more of a consultant."

They both stare at you for a while, eyes darting between you and the father until they notice the soundly sleeping child. "So he's doing better?"

"The boy is completely healed." You smile gently as you reassure them, "He'll be alright." Hearing this the two practically rejoiced, rushing towards you as they riddled you with questions.

"That's amazing! How did you do that? What caused it? And why is your left eye closed? How long do you know our Father?"

"Heavens, girls..." Anderson shooed them away from you, adjusting his glasses as he scolded them. "Remember your teachings. Stop harassing the poor gal, we all need to get some rest now."

They pout a little, too excited to want to leave and yet obeying without question. "Alright..." one of them ends the sentence of the other. "...but will you still be here tomorrow morning?"

"I'm afraid not. Remember to study well and not cause your Father over here any trouble, alright?" You put one hand on each of their heads and they beam up at you with a pleading look. "But you'll come visit again, won't you?"

"W-Well...I-I don't think that's-"

"Who knows" Anderson interrupted your pathetic struggling for words, "She's a busy woman, but she'd be thrilled to come when she's needed. Or am I wrong?"

You choke on a gasp for a second when he looks at you as if that was an order and not a suggestion. "I-I mean sure, yes...anything to help..." Oh, he'd definetly get payback for this.

That compromise seemingly placated the already yawning tweens and they finally trotted towards the bedchambers again, leaving you alone once more.

"What sweet girls..." you say dreamily as you look after them, beginning to laugh. "And so well-behaved. I almost can't believe you raised them." Only almost, though. That blunt stubbornness surely didn't fall far from the tree.

"Silence" he speaks between grit teeth, but they hint a small smile beneath. "Don't you dare getting too cocky, little witch."

"Did you truly mean what you said earlier?" You then give the man a side-glance, unbelieving that he'd seriously want to associate with the likes of you. Actually you were prepared to never hear from him again after this was over, lest allowing you to step foot on here ever again.

He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, scoffing as he internally finished his moral debate. "Why not? After all, you're a frie- ally" he corrects himself in time.

Your lips curled into a crooked smirk at his revelation, yet you didn't want to push his buttons too hard. "I think I might need some fresh air..."

Anderson safely guides you out of the orphanage, away from any watchful eyes until you finally drop on a nearby bench. He keeps a watchful eye on you, face twisting in sorrow when you look up to the starry sky.

Despite everything, you still look like a surreal piece of art.

The priest sighs as he plummets down on the other end of the bench, looking anywhere but your face. "So..." he finally dares asking, though dreading the answer. "What about your eye?"

Leaning against the backrest, you let a hand run over the closed lid. "There was no way to purge the curse, so...I absorbed it instead." You turn to look at him, cheerful and appeasing. "I just need to keep it in check. I'll make it work somehow, I always do. Hell, I bet I even find a way to use it to my advantage. You just wait!"

The paladin faces the floor, arms resting on his knees as the familiar weight of guilt begins to settle in on his shoulders. "Why didn't you ask me on your stead?" You didn't even know this child, but you knew doing this would cost you this greatly.

Again, you just didn't make any sense at all.

"Too risky" you brush it off, waving in a dismissing gesture. "I doubt anyone would be able to stop a behemoth like you if the curse overwhelms you."

"...I honestly don't know what to say."

"How about 'thank you' for a start?" you laugh as if your sacrifice meant nothing at all. Your stoic friendliness despite the circumstances was almost deterring.

Anderson's mind keeps wandering back to what he's been conditioned to believe in without question - that witches are eldritch devil worshippers, capable of heinous evils.

But a person caring so deeply, so selflessly to protect an innocent soul cannot be completely corrupt, he concludes.

"Thank you, Y/N, truly" he speaks in a meek whisper, until his voice becomes more firm as he convinced himself to believe in you. "And I need to apologize too, I...misjudged you."

"No worries. Actually, you're full of pleasant surprises as well!" You pat his back lightly and the touch sents a shiver down his spine. "Didn't think you to be a children's man, for example."

"Heh. And I didn't think you'd be the type to fraternize with catholics."

"Touché." You snort, fondling with the cross dangling from your neck. "But I don't despise christians, I'm very fond of any believers in general." Organized religion that tries to twist their god's teachings for personal benefit, however... "Us witches believe in unison of all humans. Our philosophy is benevolence, unraveling the wonders of this and other worlds, and using this knowledge to aid others...so I'd personally call myself a researcher more than anything."

He nods at your exposition and tries to bite back any snark comment lying on the tip of his tongue. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, I was wondering..." You shuffle closer, stopping only when you felt him becoming uncomfortable. "...what limits you could break if you let me enhance you. I could give you equipment or teach you some spells. Imagine how freely you could move if you can summon those bayonets instead of carrying them in your coat, for example."

Anderson raises an eyebrow at you, his lip twitching in mild distrust. "And you're gonna do this out of your great pagan altruism?"

"Exactly...well, not completely." You poke his chest and he lets out an irritated huff. "You're gonna let me know the secret behind your regeneration."

"Oh please, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. Not even I have access to those kinda documents." You grin almost devilishly as you continued to persuade him. "Doesn't matter, I can figure it out myself. I just need you." That wording made the fine hair in his neck raise into goosebumps. "Also, you pretty much owe me one."

Right now it felt like he was offered a contract with something demonic, and it frightened him how close he was to give in. "And I will set my face against anyone who turns to mediums and spiritists to prostitute themselves by following them, and I will cut them off from their people." (Leviticus 20:6)

This again. Ugh. "Your regeneration ability also isn't standard nature. As are our conjurations. It's all science at the bottom line, or god-given, or whatever you want to call it."

"...let me think about it."

Gotcha.

"Well, you know how to find me, darling" you coo and he feels his resolve crumbling, the sound of your voice a witchcraft in itself. "You wouldn't be the first cleric to accept enlightenment."

[Next Chapter]

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alexander anderson #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #writing #fanfiction

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 2 months ago

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His enemies reproach [Robespierre] with having sent bloodthirsty proconsuls into the departments, but, on the contrary, he was the one who had almost all those who abused their unlimited powers to exercise dreadful cruelties recalled; he was the one who wrote to the representatives of the people on mission without cease that they needed to sober in their rigors and make the revolution cherished rather than hated. Many times he asked, without success, for Carrier, whom Billaud-Varennes protected, to be recalled. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 123-124

Laignelot: When I passed through Nantes to go to Brest, I met Carrier; he spoke to me about the drownings, and told me in the presence of Beaudit: ”You’re luckier than me; you have a bigger pool, and buildings to your service.” […] Before Carrier was denounced, I had told this fact to several of my colleagues. I went to see Robespierre, who was indisposed, I described to him all the horrors that had been committed in Nantes; he replied: “Carrier is a patriot; that was needed in Nantes.” Audition de M. Carrier devant la Convention qui remplit les fonctions de jury d'accusation, lors de la séance du 3 frimaire an III (23 novembre 1794)

It is known well enough in what way [Collot and Fouché] conducted themselves [in Lyon]; it is known that they made blood flow in torrents, and plunged the second city of the republic into fright and consternation. Robespierre was outraged by it. […] I was present for the interview that Fouché had with Robespierre upon his return. My brother asked him to account for the bloodshed he had caused, and reproached him for his conduct with such energy of expression that Fouché was pale and trembling. He mumbled a few excuses and blamed the cruel measures he had taken on the gravity of the circumstances. Robespierre replied that nothing could justify the cruelties of which he had been guilty; that Lyon, it was true, had been in insurrection against the National Convention, but that that was no reason to have unarmed enemies gunned down en masse. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 123-124

Robespierre murmured a lot about the forms that we had established in Lyon for the execution of decrees: he constantly repeated that there was no reason to judge the guilty when they are outlawed. He exclaimed that we had let the families of the condemned go free; and when the commission sent the Convention and the committee the list of its judgments, he was not in control of his anger as he cast his eyes on the column where the names of the citizens who had been acquitted were written. Unable to change anything in the forms of judgment, regulated according to the decrees and approved by the committee, he imagined another system; he questioned whether the patriots of Commune-Affranchie were not vexed and under oppression. They were, he said, because the property of the condemned being specially intended, by article IV of the decree of July 12, to become their patrimony, we had greatly reduced their claims, not only by not judging only a quarter of the number of conspirators identified by Dubois-Crancé on 23 Vendémiare, or designated by previous decrees, but also by establishing a commission which appeared willing to acquit two thirds, as it happened. Through these declamations Robespierre wanted to entertain the patriots of whom he spoke, with the most violent ideas, to throw into their minds a framework of extraordinary measures, and to put them in opposition with the representatives of the people and their closest cooperators: he made them understand that they could count on him, he emboldened them to form all kinds of obstacles, to only follow his indications which he presented as being the intentions of the Committee of Public Safety. Défense de J-M. Collot, répresentant du peuple. Éclaircissemens nécessaires sur ce qui s’est passé à Lyon (alors Commune-Affranchie), l’année dernière; pour faire suite aux rapports des Répresentants du peuple, envoyés vers cette commune, avant, pendant et après le siège (1794), page 23-24.

Come on now guys, which version is the truth?

#robespierre #maximilien robespierre #charlotte robespierre #fouché #joseph fouché #carrier #the fact we know charlotte and laignelot became friends after thermidor makes this quite interesting tho…#frev #french revolution

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reginakoilos · 25 days ago

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Chapter 1 Under the skin: Grief

word count: 2087 REVISED

To be the official Hacker of the Task Force 141 had its weight and to act in Missions where she needed to hug a rifle and pull on her abilities as a Sniper was even more weight pulled on her shoulders. She made a vow to her country to Protect, to act against ‘the bad guys’ keeping the people safe, with the rest of the Task Force she was working with. Elite soldiers with tough masks on their faces to hide their real self on the field fighting enemies that could have killed them and their families if they have known. She chose this life, a dangerous one, but she trusted in it, she felt connected to it.

There she was, Helena was trying hacking few feign sites to test herself maintaining her own abilities, her right shoulder was hurting and only the sound of the keyboard could be heard in the deaf silence of her office. She was trying to keep her mind busy avoiding her grief and thought about how changed her life was since that damn day when she saw her -more than- best friend killed coldblooded by Makarov.

But her mind started to travel to her painful memories without even noticing it.

She saw herself there, while her drones were guiding them down the fight as she was bracing her rifle, fighting against the Russians shoulder to shoulder with Ghost and Gaz, as Soap and Price were disarming the bomb down the tunnel.

Her velvety voice roared in the comms as the fight was going, as the bullets flew around her, one hit her “Fuck!” She cursed behind gritted teeth, her right shoulder was bleeding, but the pain of the bullet was secondary right now.“They are more than we thought Price! We are running out of time and bullets!” Price rumbled with his low and raspy voice at the other side as the gunshot was flying around “We need you all to resist a bit more, we found the bomb!” She looked at Ghost, feeling her stomach turning upside down. “We can resist Price, but not for long!”

They were fighting the enemy second after second; they were all tired as the squad behind them. When the Russians started to be down numbered and retreating Ghost spoke with his deep voice to the comms “Price we are coming to you both!” ; his English accent added more gravity to his yet harsh tone, she followed him with Gaz, they ran to their teammates; other shots, other bullets.

Soap was working with Price; his sapphire eyes met hers light blue ones for a fraction of seconds, till the inevitable happened Makarov arrived right behind Soap, at first he was able to avoid the bullets the Russian was shooting him, but then, a single shot, right to his head.

The bullet has been shot from the gun, entered Soap’s head and came out on the other side, she was petrified, something that shouldn’t have happen to trained soldier as her; she could feel the air of her lungs becoming poisonous, incapable to breath for long seconds, time seemed to be freezing as finally the voice left her throat screaming “NO!” Tears ran down her face as she ran to him, down the floor lifeless. “SOAP! NO!” She was in confusion, her mind was relented by what she witnessed, she was shocked, freeze in time and space as everything around her seemed to stop. She found herself incapable to move further, as her long Jet black hair covered her face, Ghost and Gaz followed Makarov and his men, but was too late, he was too fast.

She was trying to do everything she could to come out of the nightmare she was trapped in; realization hit her like a walls of bricks falling on her, Soap was dead, his eyes widened looking at the ceiling, the life that once filled them was gone, leaned in a pool of blood, staining her uniform as Price and Gaz were disarming the bomb.

Despite that little victory, Price’s solemn voice spoke through the comms “Mission accomplished…but we have a K.I.A.” She cried more than she ever did that day.

Few minutes and the deafen sound of silence surrounded them all like a glove. War was lost and she fell down a precipice she would have never thought could ask for her.

As soon as she noticed her thoughts, her memories, the pain in her chest; her fingers stopped typing, tears started run down her cheeks as her heart was still hurting like that day. Her Light blue eyes stopped on the screen, as she was trying to decode a site. The black background and the red words “access denied” made her shiver. She lost her focus during one of her own practicing moments. She shook her head and from the screen her sight danced to the framed picture of them both posed next to her computer, on her desk and she whispered “I miss you Soap, every day more…” Her voice stained by sadness and grief as her hands were brushing away her tears from her face.

She looked at the clock, Two pm, it was time to retire in her quarters, she switched off her working computer and walked out her office to her Quarters closing the door behind her.

During her walk, distractedly Laswell’s voice down the hallway talking with Price, caught her mindless attention; they were having an animated discussion, it could be told by the movements of their hands and the expressions on their faces, she passed close to them but didn’t care much till she heard Price say “His mission is worst than we thought Laswell” In her mind she started to ask herself what mission, the Team was all there, who was on a mission? She shrugged her shoulders giving it not much importance; once she was about to arrive to her Quarters she passed in front of Soap’s door, stopping there and opening the door with her key.

Helena was the one in charge to clean Soap’s apartment, she was the one in charge to keep it in order and sometimes she asked herself why, what was the clue in that? She closed the door behind her and walked to his bed sitting there grabbing his pillow that still smelled like his cologne reminding herself of their moments together that would have never come back. All the times she couldn’t sleep and he was there, offering her a little place in his own bed hugging her tight to make her sleep better, all the times he used to sing and play his own guitar for her if she was sad or pissed, all the laugh he caused her by telling stupid jokes or stupid tales.

The contour of her face was heavy, the cheeks once full, now where sunken, her arms thinner so were her thighs than two years prior. She often jumped her meals, her stomach was clenched and in those moments the only thing she wanted was stay there, in his room, surrounded by his after shave perfume.

Helena got up from his bed and walked to the desk, something jumped to her eye, his journal, she never noticed it before - probably too distracted by his smell that still lingered there - but now that she did curiosity was taking its toll on her; she couldn’t break his privacy like that, she had to respect him also after his departure, Soap wouldn’t want it, he didn’t like it and she didn’t want to disrespect his memory.

An huff left her mouth as she was passing a hand on her hair speaking once more at one of his photographs posed on his desk “Is hard to go on without you…without your smile and your jokes Soap…is too damn hard. It doesn’t matter how much I try to…I still cannot wrap my mind around the idea you are dead.” She spoke softly “Why I feel is not as it seems?” She whispered again, her eyes danced around his room and returned to look at his journal, she took it in her hands and spoke “I’m sorry, forgive me Soap”

Helena opened his journal, smiling at the drawings inside it; he used to sketch a lot and she remembered the times she caught him drawing, he liked to draw people, but her mouth remained agape when she saw a drawing of her, he drawn her while she was looking out the window, with her glasses on, a messy bun and an old hoodie with her legs crossed on the couch of the Mess hall. “Oh Soap…why you never told me that?” She whispered going on to read turning the pages. She found his thoughts about the rookies, about the missions, about her blushing a bit at his thoughts; but she was caught by a page in particular. Soap wrote it two days prior his death.

This Mission is going to be tough, I will need to disappear and I will need to do it in silence, it won’t be easy, but I must, it will be for a greater good.

Hel won’t understand, and I know it, but…it has to be done, if only Price let me kill Him when I had the occasion, probably I wouldn’t need to do that; it breaks my heart, but I must protect them all, they are my family…

Her eyes moved avidly line after line, when she read.

I won’t be able to see her again probably, I would like to have the time to tell her she is one of the most important people I’ve ever knew and had in this shitty life of mine, but I do not have time, Forgive me Hel.

Her heart sunk down her stomach as she cried again touched and saddened by those words. Reading those she recalled the words Price said to Laswell. -His mission is worst than we thought Laswell- she trembled and closed the journal hiding it under her uniform shirt, she needed to read more now.

As soon as she stepped out of Soap’s room, she found Price in the hallway outside of it, he seemed surprised to find her there, but he knew too well that she was the one deputed to clean his room. “Hel…” He spoke widening his eyes, for the first time, Johnathan Price looked at Helena, her old self was just a specter of what she was in the present. “you okay?” He asked quietly, visibly concerned. Helena nodded “Yes, I cleaned his room as always. Needed to adjust few things…” Her voice was uncertain and Price took the hook “What’s wrong Helena?” She looked at him into the eyes and questioned “Two years today Price…Soap, is gone from two fucking years and we are not even trying to find his Killer…” Price paled to that words so direct, so unexpected “Hel…” Helena looked at the ceiling “Why are we not doing a single thing? Why we don’t even try to find Makarov and kill him once and for all?” Her question was more a pleading demand of someone desperate.

Price found himself to face a moment he hoped would have never come “Hel, is not as it seems…” She looked at him with puffed red eyes “No? so how it is then Price?” She asked him “Makarov killed him taking Soap away from me, from you, form every fucking one here…and we are doing nothing like his entire life meant anything. I’m struggling to go on, to have a life…but still not a single order to go and hunt that animal!” Price posed a hand on her shoulder “Hel, is complicated, more complicated than it seems” Price tried to find a way to answer but couldn’t “Helena…things are not as simple…”

She shook her head and spoke in a whisper “Nothing is easy Price…but stay here knowing that HIS Killer is around…destroys me inside…I cannot…” She trailed off as she felt tears falling from her eyes “Sorry me…I must go now…” She walked fast to her quarters as the pain stroke inside her again.

The Captain looked at her go, trapped between his duty and his friendship without knowing what else he could do; in one hand there were Laswell that ordered to remain silent, on the other he had Helena, visibly proved by the situation that was consuming her under his useless eyes.

#writerscommunity #creative writing #writers on tumblr #john soap mactavish #fanfiction #writing #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #task force 141

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legobiwan · 11 months ago

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It's 2024 and I've decided to make a Gravity Falls fic rec list. Because I do what I want, even if I'm showing up to the fandom a decade or so late. All fics are Gen unless otherwise noted, warnings can be found at the end of each description.

Birthday Dinner by Fordtato

A post-series short story featuring our two favorite old men out at sea, this work is wildly in-character in terms of their bickering and sometimes-competitive-to-the-point-of-self-sabatoge sibling relationship, but in the best and most hilarious of ways. Warnings for lighthearted discussion of cannibalism.

i know exactly where my blood is by strawberrybiscuit

There are a number of works that delve into Stan's possible suicidal ideation tendencies, both in his drifter years and post-Portal Incident. I find this to be a wholly conceivable notion, given both the absolute shit hand he was dealt in life and the hints we are given throughout the series that his self-esteem was pretty much in the gutter. Of the stories that explore this theme, I find this one to be one of the most grounded - Stan's borderline dissociation/gallows humor is very in-character, as is Ford's genuine horror when he learns the truth of the situation, which is rightfully emotional without delving into melodrama or transforming into a Saturday afternoon special. Warnings for intense talk of self-harm and suicide.

By Any Other Name by Zeragii

I, like many of us, am fascinated by the tantalizing tidbits we've been fed as to Stan's decade or so existence as a drifter. We know he's failed at somewhat more legitimate attempts at entrepreneurship (the dodginess of the actual products notwithstanding), we know he was living out of his car for a large majority of those years, we know he's been to prison three times in various countries, and we know something happened in Colombia. All this is to say, Stan's probably made a lot of enemies, and that his map of "States I'm Banned In" is more likely a summary of places in which he has outstanding warrants and/or a price on his head.

What happens when that past catches up to you?

While this isn't an uncommon theme in Gravity Falls fics, what I love about this story is the complexity of the interactions between Stan and Ford here, given this is a post-series fic. Yes, they've mended their relationship, but old patterns die hard. Neither twin ends up as the "damsel in distress" (a worrying recurrence in many GF fics), despite the fact they are thrown into multiple dangerous situations and the OCs/Pines family extension are well-crafted and three-dimensional.

The People That We Always Hoped We Would Be by SharoScylla

A Christmas Carol, but make it Gravity Falls. The section of this story that really sold me was Stan's climatic scene in a bedbug-ridden, hovel of a motel room in New Mexico. Guest appearance made by the infamous Jimmy Snakes, who I learned recently was going to be a real character (and essentially this universe's answer to Ghost Rider) until that whole bit about Stan's past biker life was cut (regrettable). Embracing both the humor and darkness present in the original show, this story sees a Research Era!Ford come face-to-face with his own proverbial demons (real demons not included) as he is visited by a familiar cast of future past. Warnings for suicide attempt.

O Brother by Obsessive_Reader

In progress. A timestuck AU with the Mystery Twins 1.0 being catapulted into the 1980s, a young Ford landing with an increasingly desperate adult Stanley as young Stan tries to navigate the thorny, icy adult his brother Stanford has become. Probably one of the most realistic timestuck AUs out there, as fences are not mended immediately between the adult twins nor with their children counterparts. Also, Fiddleford finally has a chance to shine!

Orpheus Descending by Sir_Thopas

Unfinished. Which is a damn, damn shame, as this is probably one of my favorite Gravity Falls fics of all time. Read it anyway. Yes, you'll swear vociferously at where it leaves off. ResearchEra!Ford goes to incredible lengths to bring his brother back from the dead as Stan's demise is not exactly what it seems. What exactly happens with Stan is incredibly realistic, given his circumstances, and the local color written in by this Georgian native just adds to the Gothic feel of the whole tale. To what lengths would you go to bring your family back? At what point do you cross the point of no return in order to survive? Warnings for graphic description of a decayed corpse and prostitution scene.

Journal #4 by Percival_T_Honeybee

To be honest, this story stops being a Gravity Falls fic a couple of chapters in, instead featuring characters we know and love in increasingly out-of-universe (in all ways imaginable) situations. This doesn't matter, though, as the world- and character-building of this swashbuckling, sci-fi epic are superb and will have you on the edge of your seat until the final chapter. When both Stan and Ford go through the portal, their futures become something they never could have imagined.

Turning by BrandyFromTheBottle

I've mulled over this conceit on more than occasion and truly think it's something that begs further exploration. What if Stanley Pines pulled a Saul Goodman and, after the world was saved, turned himself in, willingly going to trial, and eventually, prison as self-inflicted recompense for his past deeds?

And now for something different...

Entanglement by Haley3

Ford/Bill (to be clear, Triangle Bill. Accept no substitutions). I realize Billford is not everyone's cup of tea and I rarely, rarely post shipping stuff, but in full transparency, I find their relationship fascinating and the idea of their having interactions that may have seeped over the boundary of purely (well, not pure. Ford built a damned shrine and became a one-man cult while Bill was manipulating him the entire time) platonic is not out of the question. In other words, I'm not wholly immune to Billford, but I am rather picky about how they are portrayed.

This fic checks all my boxes. Bill remains a triangle throughout. Bill is unredeemable. Ford and Bill have a relationship whose complexity would rival the equations of the dimensional physics they debate. And, of course, Ford is lying to himself and those around him, deeply, deeply in denial as to the nature and profundity of his emotions towards his tormentor. Warnings for explicit sexual scenes, manipulation, emotional abuse. I mean, it's Bill, we all know what that means.

#hello there #fic recs #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #bill cipher #so i have one fic here that's a little spicy #so sue me #ahahahahahahha

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puc-puggy · 5 months ago

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s4 sucked, but Five wasn't out of character aside from the lila romance.[1] what he is is a broken old man finally showing the cracks. everybody wants to treat 5 like a snarky 14 year old brat, but he is NOT. that man is OLD. he has lived through over 60 hard years. he's a brat because he is an old, incredibly intelligent theoretical physicist stuck in the body of a 14 year old, and the body of the 14 year old encourages everyone to forget he is a nearly 70 year old theoretical physicist.

this Five spent 45 years in the aftermath of viktor's moon apocalypse, 28 days straight between the moon and nuclear war apocalypse, days to weeks in the kugelblitz apocalypse and then days in oblivion. 6 years to rest and then it's time for another apocalypse caused by alien elements that reshape reality. this five personally saved and ended the world at least 5 times, going the farthest out of all of the Fives in number of apocalypses and by attempting to create the Commission. [2] this five says over and over and over throughout s3 that it's not about you/us, it's about the world. five is not just tired, he's tried harder and for longer than anyone else. he tried for so long that he forgot his own name. he has lost delores, he lost his sense of a clear enemy, he lost his understanding of the universe and his place in it, and he is old now.

when he is told by his future self not to save the world and he decided not to go into oblivion, that was a turning point in his entire character directly caused by a world-changing crisis of faith. the reason all of the other fives in the subway station gave up solving the problem is because every last one of them loved their family too much to consider the idea that the world has to come at the cost of the family. but this five had been through a full lifetime of apocalypse. he survived for 45 years in an apocalypse and turned saving the world and his family into his sole purpose. he lost that purpose when his future self told him it was all for nothing. that it can't be saved.

and this is where i think that people forget that the hargreeves are not just about childhood trauma; they are also about wealth and power. reginald and the hargreeves are immensely wealthy and immensely physically powerful. think about what else he said in season 3: "this is what it means to be powerful. sometimes you step on ants. we will never be able to save enough lives to make up for those we take."

what we see in s4 is an old man that has been forced to ask for the first time if such power has as much of a right to exist as the ants do. and to his surprise as much as everyone else's, it turns out that the answer is no. they were made from the hubris and selfishness of an abusive egomaniac who released a dangerous, technologically advanced, and highly reactive alien element upon a captive population in an attempt to resurrect his wife from the dead. five and his siblings are that abusive egomaniac's tools. they carry a power manufactured by an abusive egomaniac, and while it was unfairly forced upon them, it is still by nature a power that comes at the expense of others and they find themselves unable to be separated from it.

because that power is too alluring, too much a temptation. ben literally drugs everyone against their will, and to five, an old man asking himself questions about power, the fact that all members of the family voted against it is not proof that they can create a better future absent of this power. the fact that they were drugged anyway despite their protests is proof that they can't, that they will always fall into this power's destructive gravity well.

and an old man that has just had his entire concept of the world and life's purpose ripped away from him is the guy that accepts the end.

[1] the issue with five and lila's romance in character is not five's youth. it's lila's youth. he's almost 70 fucking years old, and his accidental and unwanted sip from the fountain of youth did not and does not change the fact that this is a nearly 70 year old man. he treated lila as if she was childish and immature because that is literally how he sees her and the rest of the siblings. because he is almost 70 years old. he gets annoyed with her for dragging him into stupid risks because he's 70 fucking years old and actually does know better. he is nearly 40 years her senior. their dynamic is funny because he looks 14. not because he IS 14. LOOKS young, not IS young.

regarding "why were they having him flirt when he was underage" for the same reason he's a boozehound and knocks back any alchohol in a 30 foot radius. the character has been over 60+ years old the entire time. & as people age, they can safely participate in more activities. a 14 year old cannot safely roleplay everything a 60+ year old character would do. before age 18, the actor could safely speak flirty lines to other actors during their roleplay job playing a 60+ year old. when the actor turned 18, the actor could safely kiss other adult actors during their job roleplaying as a 60+ year old. the child actor portraying a significantly older character getting hints of romance but not kissing anyone on a set until they're 20 is a sign that things were handled ethically. not the other way around. actors age and stop being 14 years old and limited to the safety constraints of a 14 year old. an adult kissed another adult during their job roleplaying as other people. it was just a bad plotline.

[2] I don't care about timeline hijinks in context of whether that was really physically the exact same 5 from the same timeline that started the commission. he thought it was the physical same him & reacted to it like it was & the impact does not change and in fact might become more acute upon realizing that it wasn't physically him, that it was a whole other five, that there are potentially hundreds of years of attempts to stop the apocalypses, and that the collective mass of their apocalypse ending efforts across all timelines should have accomplished something and never ever did it do so. that's hopeless

#tua #tua season 4 #tua s4 #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

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call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter three

summary: the bird strike accident, and the stakes of life and death, push everyone a little closer to reconciling with their own feelings.

warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of death, strong possibility of military inaccuracies, second person pov, no use of y/n,

wc: 6.4k

listen to: the playlist

chapter two | masterlist | chapter four Halfway through week two the stress of the mission has gotten to you. It’s gotten to everyone. It’s easy to compartmentalize when you’re used to being sent into war. Sure, you’ve had some time to decompress – like the night you and Halo roped everyone into a skin care night, or the beach day where, for the first time since arriving, this special detachment had finally begun to feel like a team.

But the levity and your ability to compartmentalize are beginning to escape you as the intensity of this mission chisels away at every tool you have in the box. You can feel it in how exhausted you are, passing out for hours after training days end. You feel it in the way that your lungs feel virtually crushed by gravity when you pop up up, charging up from the hard deck – a number that seems to keep dropping lower and lower as time goes on.

“Cool it, Whiskey,” Maverick had chastised you, by the time you’d debriefed in the classroom. “Your decision would have ensured an attack by enemy SAMs. Might I remind you that you were Team Leader in this exercise. It would’ve been a dogfight for all of you.”

“I’m sorry, sir. You’re right. We were too early,” you apologize, in reference to pulling up too soon.

“You’re going to have to figure out how to fight gravity for just a little longer, Lieutenant. The timing has to be perfect for this mission,” Maverick instructs, a weight in his voice, like he hates doing this.

“Understood, sir,” you’d answered, accepting that you needed to pivot your strategy.

After each debrief, one unsuccessful attempt after another, Maverick haunts each of you with the question no one wants to think about:

What will you tell their family?

It's the heaviest weight to carry, especially as pilot of a two-seater, and everyone’s responded differently to the ferocity of this mission. Regardless of the fact that the only pilot who’s made it to the target is Rooster, Hangman continues to hide behind his arrogant demeanor, snapping at anyone who questions it or him. Phoenix is focused, near-robotic, cold, and calculating as she continues to work tirelessly towards the new time limit that Maverick’s set. While you’re impulsive and rash, you’re quick to respond in high stress situations forcing you to take risks that you wouldn’t under normal circumstances. But Rooster’s hesitant – a thinker – and you can see that he’s getting too caught up in his head. He likes to wait, examine each option carefully, before making a decision, which only frustrates him as he falls behind schedule each time.

It’s not till Jake’s very public, mal-intended, and vicious dig aimed at Rooster, that the tension snaps. What almost turns into a fight in the classroom makes everyone realize just how on the edge you’ve all been. As Maverick dismisses the group of aviators, you follow Hangman out of the room, hot on his heels, before shoving him into an empty classroom to talk.

“What the hell were you thinking bringing up his father like that, Hangman? Are you insane?” you hiss, slamming the door behind him.

With a smug, amused look on his face, he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against one of the desks.

“Why do you fucking care, Whiskey?” he taunts you, as if he already knows the answer.

His cool, unaffected act is really starting to piss you off, and you find yourself growing even more frustrated, the longer he sits there.

“That was out of line, Seresin. And you know it!” you exclaim, in awe at how unkind your best friend had been.

He scoffs, looking away from you for a second. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before his demeanor changes from arrogant to mean when he looks back at you.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen how friendly you and him have been lately. You into him or something? Is that what this is about?” he snaps, his tone cool as he avoids taking any blame whatsoever for his outburst.

“That’s not what-. You didn’t have to bring up his father. Not like that,” you argue passionately before continuing your tirade.

“Sometimes I don't know why you need to be so goddamn provocative all the time, Hangman. I mean what was the point? You want to get in his head? Congrats. You did it. You wanna piss off Maverick or something? I mean, what the hell, man?!”

Your answer doesn’t seem to satisfy him, his voice laced with venom as he spits:

“So this is about him. Rooster.”

“Why does it matter?!” you shout, frustrated by his attempts to answer any of your questions.

And truthfully, you’re getting pretty fucking tired of him putting this all on you.

“Because!” he yells, the anger bursting out of him. “You're taking his side, kid!”

He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself before lowering his voice. Jake knows that you don’t deserve this – that he shouldn’t take this out on you – but watching you stand on Rooster’s side when the fight broke up had stung more than he had the words to express.

He drops his gaze to the floor, his voice softening as he manages to get out, “It’s supposed to be me and you against the world, kid. Don't you remember?'

It’s not an excuse for his poor behavior, but you know he’s hurt.

Your mind floats back to the look of betrayal on his face when he realized you had rushed to Rooster’s side – not his. Of course he wanted you to be happy. He knew you deserved that. You were his best friend, after all.

You were the person he knew he could call after an exceptionally bad day, the only person on the planet who knew he joined the Navy just to piss off his dad, the person who’d seen every single side of him and hadn’t run in the other direction yet.

You were his one true friend.

Jake thinks back to his graduation from the Naval Academy – the day you told off his father. Mr. Seresin had spent the entirety of his graduation dinner making snide remarks instead of celebrating his son’s incredible accomplishment. Something about the working class this, and how he’d never understand why his only son would want to ruin his life by becoming a public servant instead of following in his footsteps.

And there you were, nineteen years old, standing up to the oil tycoon in a way he hadn’t even figured out yet. That’s the moment he knew: no matter what happened, no matter how much time passed, no matter the distance between the two of you, you were stuck with him, because no way in hell he would ever let go.

You were like his kid sister. His Texan. His Tennessee Whiskey.

And even though the idea that this was anything more than platonic was a long gone sentiment, he still hated the idea of having to share you.

Especially with Rooster.

He knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t help it, perhaps a symptom of his own stress from the last week.

“That’s not fair,” you point out, breaking the silence between the two of you.

He waits a beat before admitting, somberly:

“I know.”

You take a step towards him, softening your body language so that he knows you come in peace.

“You weren’t in the right there, dude,” you say with a sigh, only mildly resenting the fact that you have to state that explicitly. “What you said to Rooster… about his dad? About Mav? That was cruel... and frankly, really unprofessional, dude.”

Jake’s still, his body frozen and his eyes are fixed to the floor as he listens to you. He feels like a kid who’s gotten in trouble. He can’t look at you yet – too embarrassed by his own behavior because he knows you’re right – so he just listens.

“So yeah. I'm taking his side on this one…” you explain, as compassionately as you can. You take another step towards him, reassuring him with, “...but that doesn't mean I don't still have your back.”

“I’ll always have your back, Seresin,” you promise. The use of his name instead of his call sign is the thing that gets him to look up, his expression remorseful.

“I know,” he repeats, in acceptance.

You smile softly.

“And sometimes… because you insist on being such an arrogant prick sometimes… having your back means calling you out on your bullshit when you fuck up,” you add, only teasing him a little to lighten up the mood.

Even seated, Jake’s physical presence is still bigger than yours, but you match him with the amount of space you dare to take up.

“Yeah, whatever,” he smirks, looking away for a moment before returning his gaze back to you.

You reach out a hand to squeeze his shoulder, letting him know that you’re here for him.

“I’m sorry, Whiskey,” he mumbles, looking down once more, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You’re… you’re what? Did you just say-, because I’m not sure I heard you the first time. Was that an… apology?” you tease, playfully.

“Oh shut up,” he groans with an eye roll.

“It’s just that… I’m gonna need to get this one on film because no one will believe me if I tell them that you, Jake Seresin, actually apologized to me,” you continue to poke fun at him, giving him shit because you can.

“You better not!” he warns you with a laugh.

“Oh I’m telling everyone. I actually think I deserve a lifetime achievement award for this,” you celebrate, sarcastically.

“Fine, I’ll say it again if you just quit it!” he exclaims, with an exasperated sigh.

He takes a moment, before dramatically shouting towards the heavens:

“I said I’m sorry, Whiskey!”

“Bullseye!” you cheer, as if you’ve beat him at darts at the Hard Deck.

You watch as the corners of his lips twist up into a small smile while he holds his hands up in the air as a sign of surrender. His smile warms you, and you’re reminded for a moment of why you’ve put up with him for this damn long. The two of you exchange a laugh before allowing the comfortable quiet between the two of you to settle in.

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you voice, as seriously as you can.

And he knows you’re right about that too.

All you want to do is crawl into bed and come out when all of this is over. No one goes into the military – no one gets to be in the top 1% of naval aviators – without understanding the risk that comes with being in a combat zone. It’s the unique, exceptionally difficult, and limited time of this mission that seems to be kicking everyone’s ass, and it all becomes more and more of a reality the day that Phoenix and Bob’s F/A-18 goes down.

Once the doctors had given the Dagger Squad the greenlight to visit with Bob and Phoenix, you’d all piled into their shared hospital room in an attempt to keep them company. While both of them seemed to be in good spirits, the accident had scared the shit out of you. You understand why it’s easier – not to have attachments when doing this job – and today is one of those days where it feels like it would just be easier not to.

You look around the room, observing the wild cast of characters you call a detachment. Coyote’s just said something funny that’s got Jake howling with laughter, while Fanboy and Bob are fixated on some game they’re playing on Fanboy’s phone. Halo, Payback, and Fritz have gone for a coffee run, even though visiting hours are almost over. You can only imagine that it’s a sight for sore eyes: so many of you piled into one hospital room in your khakis.

You’ve all decided that you’re going to stay for as long as possible. After spending some time with Bob and Fanboy, it’s time to visit with Nat. You examine each aviator and the extra chairs that the hospital staff brought into the room for your group. Hangman sits in a folding chair next to Javy in between Bob and Phoenix’s bed. As you stand up with the intention of making your way over to Phoenix, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sight of him.

You fixate on the toothpick in Hangman’s mouth. He tosses it around, chewing on it while he scrolls through something on his phone as you walk by.

“Stop that! This is a hospital room,” you deride, as you snatch the toothpick out of his mouth. You earn a look of agitation and shock as Jake watches you walk over to the small trash can, tossing his used toothpick into a small trashcan.

“Hey!” he calls after you, before addressing the rest of the aviators in the room. “Does anyone want a little sister? I’m trying to get rid of one.”

“Always told you it was a nasty habit,” you shrug, and he glares at you in response.

“Y’all are so cute,” Coyote gushes, sarcastically.

“She has a point,” Bob backs you up, in reference to your previous comment.

“Shut up, Baby On Board,” Hangman grumbles, returning his focus back on his phone.

The scene you’ve caused gives you the perfect time to talk to Nat more privately, since everyone is focused on something else. It’s not that you haven’t spent much time together, but you’ve been surrounded by almost all of the other Dagger Squad members all day.

“How ya doin?” you ask Phoenix, as she flips through a trashy gossip rag you’d purchased for her at the gift shop.

“I’m alright. More disappointed than anything. I hated having to eject,” she admits, a bitterness in her voice. You settle into the nicer hospital chair that someone’s moved over to her bedside.

“I know. But you know the bird strike wasn’t your fault,” you reinforce, making sure that she knows it.

“Yeah,” she replies, though you’re not sure she believes it. She turns the page of the magazine.

Even though you haven’t said anything, Natasha can tell that you’re worried about her. It’s written all over your face, and she can feel it in the way that you’ve refused to leave her side all afternoon. She’d practically had to beg you to go on a gift shop earlier so that she could take a nap. She changes the subject, putting on her best sing-song voice in an attempt to make you laugh.

“Uh oh! Trouble in paradise?” she says, reading the headline out loud of the trashy magazine you’d bought her earlier. “Is it just a glitch or did Miley Cyrus unfollow Liam Hemsworth on instagram?!”

You laugh at the headline, leaning over so that you can take a peek at the magazine in her lap.

“Woah! Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth are splittin’ up? No way! Lemme see!” Coyote chimes in loudly, hopping up on Nat’s hospital bed to join in on the gossip session.

“Seriously! You’re surprised? That relationship’s been a rollercoaster ride for the last… few years!” Jake practically exclaims, in the same kind of way he’d rattle off a fact about the Dallas Cowboys.

“Didn’t take you as one to keep up with celebrity gossip,” Bob remarks snarkily, from his hospital bed, earning a laugh from everyone in the room but Jake.

Jake’s face falls for a moment as he sighs, “Whatever, Floyd.”

“Let me see, Phoenix,” Coyote encourages, holding a hand out so that he can take a look at the article. “Unlike Hangman over here, I’m shameless when it comes to this shit. And there better be horoscopes at the back of this thing or I don’t want it at all.”

You and Nat exchange a glance, giggling. Jake sighs crankily, before mumbling something about going to go ask for more ice chips. Nat sits up in her hospital bed, handing the magazine over to Javy while he flips through it, desperately searching for the horoscope page.

“He’s always been a sore loser,” you comment, smugly, as soon as Jake’s out of earshot.

“Hey, where’s Rooster?” Nat asks you, noticing that Bradley hasn’t been to visit at all.

“Oh uh,” you hesitate, unsure of how she’ll take it. You’ve exchanged a few texts with Bradley since the accident, but you’re mostly making assumptions. “Think he’s back on base. Last I heard Maverick gave him an update about you guys…. I think between the accident… and Jake bringing up his dad the other day… this is all… a lot.”

She nods in understanding.

“Do you want me to call him? I will if you-,” you begin to ask.

“No!” she interrupts you. “No, I’m not upset. I-, I just want to make sure he’s okay, you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply. You’re about to suggest that you FaceTime him when she grabs your hand, an ‘I need a favor’ kind of look plastered to her face.

“You’ll go check on him, won’t you? For me?” she asks, batting her eyelashes a few times at you in an attempt to butter you up.

You roll your eyes playfully, glaring at her as you accuse, “You’re the shameless one here! Not Javy.”

She shrugs, a fox-like grin on her face, because she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Pretty please?” she asks, so sweetly that you’re not sure how you’re going to say no.

You sigh in surrender, standing up out of your chair.

“You could’ve just said something if you wanted to get rid of me, Trace,” you chide, digging for your keys in the bag you brought to the hospital.

“But that would be a lie! You’ve been so great at cheering us up here. I think your services may be needed…” she says before lowering her voice and wiggling her eyebrows, “...elsewhere.”

“Mhm. Sure,” you hum, with a playful eye roll to follow.

You know exactly why she wants you to go check on Rooster.

And truthfully, you don’t mind being the one she’s asking to do it either.

“I am worried about him,” she confesses genuinely. “So thank you.”

“‘Course, Nat,” you assure.

It’s not a long drive back to base. By the time you find Rooster, he’s in the rec room hunched over the piano that’s probably been in there for longer than you’ve been alive. You wouldn’t exactly call what he’s playing a song. He’s just running his fingers over the keys, playing a few notes, then a few stray riffs here and there, trying his best to keep his mind occupied.

“Hey,” you say, your voice pulling him away from whatever he’s fixating on.

He’s surprised to hear your voice – surprised to see you – as he turns around to face you, still seated on the piano bench.

“Hey.”

“I thought you’d be with Phoenix and Bob,” he replies, quietly.

“Yeah, I was,” you say, beginning to approach him. “But… Phoenix wanted me to come check on you. See how you were doing.”

The smallest smile spreads across his face as he says, “Of course she did.”

You take a moment to take him in. He looks tired – more so than usual.

“How are you?” you ask, softly.

Rooster remains seated on the piano bench, his forearms resting on his knees. You can tell he’s been deep in thought.

“Not so great,” he admits, giving you a half-smile. “But. Better? Now that you’re here.”

You walk over to where he sits. Rooster pulls you into his arms for a hug, and it feels so good to be this close to him. It’s comforting: the way he feels warm against your skin, the way he smells like sweat and cologne from the day before. You hug him tightly and he’s burying his face in your neck.

“How are they? Bob and Phoenix,” Rooster asks, as he begins to pull away.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck while his hands remain on your waist.

“They’re good,” you answer, trying to keep your tone positive. “Just being kept overnight for observation but I bet they’ll be back on base by tomorrow morning.”

He gives you the softest smile, before pulling you down onto his lap. You giggle in response, both of your legs shifted to one side of him as you stretch them across his and the piano bench. Your hands go to the back of his head, drawing comforting circles at the base of his neck.

“It’s been a day, huh?” he sighs, enjoying the feel of your body against his.

Ever since your date over the weekend, you’d spent as much time together as possible: going for early morning runs, grabbing coffees in between breaks, eating lunch together. But it hadn’t gone any further than flirtatious friends, which was kind of the whole point of not sleeping with him a few nights ago. This had been the most intimate physical contact you’d had so far, and you take note. It’s strange really – a good kind of strange – how easy it feels to slip into his arms like this, like you’ve been doing it for years.

“What’s on your mind?” Rooster asks you, catching you deep in contemplation.

And as much as you’d love to kiss him right now, let him get you naked in the middle of the rec room and take you there, you can’t imagine what that would do to your focus. And you can’t lose it right now. Not after today.

“Let’s go to the beach,” you declare, impulsively.

You practically jump out of his lap and onto your feet, earning a look from Rooster.

“Right now?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.

“Right now,” you nod.

There’s a light in your eyes that Rooster can’t ignore – it’s something he wants to learn inside and out – so he agrees, following you out of the rec room and down the path from the base to the beach. You don’t give either of you much more time to think about… or any time to change. You’re not sure what you did to deserve his trust, but you hold his hand the entire way there. The two of you kick your shoes off at the top of the beach entrance, then hurry down to the water before you bring the both of you to a halt at the water’s edge.

“I love the ocean,” you sigh, as if a 500 pound weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. You take a deep breath, inhaling the salty air, focusing only on the sound of the waves crashing against each other. “It makes everything else feel so small, you know? Reminds me that we’re not in control. That there’s something so much bigger and that I’ve just got to trust.”

You chuckle before continuing, before shooting him a look.

“Guess that’s why I joined the Navy.”

In that moment, Rooster is completely enamored with you. He comes to the conclusion that he’s completely enchanted as he listens to you talk. You’re so vibrant, so full of life, and he likes that, while he gets so stuck in his head all the time, you’re the complete opposite. He’s so lost, so in awe of you, that he forgets to answer you.

You giggle at his loss of words, turning to him.

“Watcha thinkin’ about?” you ask.

He’s not sure what possesses him to say it when he answers:

“You.”

With a wicked smile on your face you grab his hands in yours as you say, “What about me?”

“You’re magnificent,” he marvels, his fingers intertwined with yours.

Your heart skips a beat and you can feel all the blood rush to your head in response to what he’s said. It makes you feel dizzy.

God, you can’t wait for this mission to be over.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you flirt back.

“Do you trust me?” you ask, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

“Uh… yes…?” Rooster hesitates, as you let go of his hands. He watches as you take a few steps backwards, pulling your collared shirt out of the waist of your pants. Rooster bites down on his bottom lip as he watches you pull the shirt over your head, before tossing it onto the sand.

“Shit,” he groans, his pants suddenly feeling much tighter. He doesn’t look away as you undo your belt buckle, shimmying out of your pants too. He wonders if he should look away – as it would be the respectful thing to do – since all you’re wearing now is your bra and a pair of seamless cheeky panties that has him gulping.

“What’re you doing, Whiskey?” he wavers, his breath caught in his throat.

“C’mon,” you encourage, winking at him.

You take off, charging into the ocean. The cold water hits your feet, and you think it may be just what the both of you need.

“Don’t be a chicken!” you taunt him cheekily, as a nod to his call sign.

You look back at him over your shoulder, before wading further into the water, and it’s as if his pants couldn’t be any tighter than they are now.

“God damn it, woman,” Rooster rasps, pulling his shirt over his head.

He’s not going to let you do this alone, and your little strip tease on the beach pushes him forward, as he strips off his pants too. In seconds, Rooster’s chasing after you, using all the force in his legs to propel himself against the tide. It doesn’t matter that the water’s a less than ideal temperature, that his time back at TOPGUN has brought up so much shit about his dad and Mav, that he’s hard as a rock from watching you undress on the beach.

You are intoxicating.

He watches as you reach a point where the water is deep enough to swim. You dive into the water before egging him on to come with you. He follows, and the two of you swim further out to where the waves calm and you can just breathe for a moment.

Rooster treads water, inching closer towards you, as the waves still.

You steal a glance his way. The way the moonlight catches him takes makes you absolutely breathless, and you’re not sure how you’re going to keep your hands off of him.

“Feel better?” you ask, optimistically.

“Yeah. You?” he grins back at you.

Only, it’s not just the water that’s made him feel better.

“Absolutely,” you answer, beaming back at him. “Cmon. Let’s just swim a little more.”

So you do, the two of you putting your military-grade swimming skills to the test. You enjoy the feel of the cold water against your body as you glide through the water, a feeling of relief washing over you. You finally settle on a spot where Bradley can stand, but you still have to tread water, moving closer and closer to him.

“Wanna swim closer to shore?” he offers, as he notices that you’re still treading water.

“No, it’s okay,” you reply with a shake of your head.

Before you know it, Bradley’s pulling you into his arms, and you’re wrapping your legs around his waist, the ocean shielding both of your bodies from the surface. And it’s in that moment that you don’t think, all thoughts and hesitations about being too distracted to fly your F/A-18 go right out the door. Fuck it. Fuck the risk. Fuck not getting attached. Fuck not getting distracted – even if just for a night.

It’s then that you decide to break all of your rules, placing your mouth over his into a passionate lip lock.

Kissing you feels like heaven, as he memorizes the way you taste. His tongue snakes out against your bottom lip, and soon enough, his tongue is in your mouth, tangling with yours. You swear could get lost in the way Rooster feels pressed against you as your hands drag across over his shoulders, the tough scars that run along his neck and shoulders, the hard planes of his abdomen.

“Shit, Whiskey,” he moans into your mouth. “You keep kissing me like that and I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait till after the mission.”

You pull away for a brief moment, taking a deep breath so that you don’t give in right here. It takes all of your self restraint to say what you say next.

“Well you’re just gonna have to,” you tease him, deviously. You press your forehead against his, your lips inches away from where you want them to be. “If either of us get chosen for this mission… think of it as an incentive.”

“For what?” he asks, breathlessly. He buries his face in your neck, tickling your soft skin with the texture of his mustache. He begins to tease you – since you seem to love teasing him so much – leaving soft love bites along your collarbone and tops of your left shoulder.

You giggle at feeling, and when he raises his head, you kiss him again like it’s your last night on earth. You’re sucking on his bottom lip and he’s reaching up to cup your face, holding you close to him. You indulge yourself in him for a little longer, wanting to savor every single moment of this, before realizing you have a question to answer. You begin to slow down your kisses, pressing your forehead to his once more before finally whispering:

“To come home. Incentive to come home.”

It takes all of his power not to melt into a puddle right then and there.

“Okay,” he agrees, with a nod, beaming across from you.

If you don’t do something now, you’ll end up fucking him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, so you plant one more soft kiss to his lips, reluctantly prying yourself away from his embrace.

“Think you can beat me back to shore?” you challenge, playfully.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, a half smile on his face as he watches you take off. “You’re gonna be the death of me,”

But instead, he swims after you, racing you back to shore. If he were Hangman in this scenario, he probably wouldn’t let you win, using his much larger stature to propel himself further and faster through the waves. But instead, he lets you win, because he knows just how much you like the competition. By the time you reach the shore, you collect your clothes, but know it’s no use putting them back on when you have to report for duty at 0800 tomorrow morning.

You stop by his car before heading back to the barracks, considering you both will be returning in questionable enough states as is. Bradley gives you the spare UVA pullover he has in his backseat, before slipping on one of his many Hawaiian button ups he had in his trunk.

“Exactly how many of those do you own?” you question, curiously.

But he doesn’t answer, instead distracted by the way you look in his pullover. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he thinks he may come from just the sight of you in his clothes. Instead of answering, he takes your hand in his and walks you back to the barracks, unable to let go of your hand now that he knows what your lips feel like against his.

About to part ways, you let go of his hand, even though you’d much rather follow him back to his room. He kisses you once, before turning to go, his room all the way down the hall from yours.

“Hey, Bradshaw?” you call after him, stopping him after a few steps.

“What’s up?” he asks, turning to face you once more, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“It’s gonna be worth it,” you state, confidently.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about as his eyebrows raise and then lower before replying with an:

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smirk. “I’m gonna rock your world, Lieutenant.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He’s so gonna have to get off by himself tonight.

“Is that a promise?” he asks, unsure how his voice isn’t shaking yet.

“Absolutely.”

As much as he’d like to throw you over his shoulder and continue when you left off back at the beach, Rooster charges towards you, planting one last heated kiss on your lips till the end of this mission. The way he kisses you leaves you speechless, and you swear you look like the heart eye emoji symbol by the time he stops kissing you.

“Thought I’d give you something to look forward to,” he whispers against your lips, because two can play at this game.

And for a moment, you forget to breathe.

He leaves one last kiss on your forehead, his lips soft against your skin, before properly pulling away.

“Goodnight, Whiskey.”

Nat’s fallen asleep.

As she begins to come to, stirring in her hospital bed, she hears the steady beeps of her and Bob’s heart rate monitors, and a scuffle of feet passing by in the hallway. She figures she must’ve dozed off because there’s no way that it’s morning already. Phoenix begins to blink her eyes open slowly, and the first face she sees is the last person she’s expecting to.

“Bagman?” she groans, her voice raspy with sleep.

The blonde startles, her voice waking him from his slumber – or at least what little, restless sleep he’s managed to stumble into.

“Phoenix,” he grumbles, peeking one eye open to look at her.

“What’re you still doing here?” she asks, confused as she sits up taller. She feels around for her phone that’s been thrown somewhere on her bed.

“Guess I fell asleep,” Hangman answers, with a shrug. He settles back into his chair, signaling to her that he’s not going anywhere any time soon.

23:37 pm.

“It’s late,” she states.

“No shit,” he’s quick to reply.

Natasha rests her back against her pillow, closing her eyes again. She figures he’ll leave – realize that it’s almost midnight – that they’ve still got practice maneuvers to fly in the morning. As she waits to hear the shuffle of Jake collecting his things so that he can leave, she’s surprised when she’s not met with her expected response.

She opens her eyes once more, checking to see if Bob is still asleep before asking:

“You good, Seresin?” she asks, her voice coming out strained.

“Yeah, I'm always good, Phoenix,” he answers, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed his chest. “You worried about me?”

She wants to make a snarky comment, but something stops her. For once, Hangman looks tired, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes are more pronounced, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“No, I just-,” she begins, her eyes traveling to the hospital room door that’s been closed. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Back on base. I let Coyote take the rest of ‘em home in my truck,” he answers, as if it’s no big deal at all. “Texted Whiskey an hour ago to see if she could come pick me up but she hasn’t answered. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

Jake had overheard parts of Phoenix’s conversation with Whiskey a few hours ago, but he wasn’t going to let either of them know what he knew just yet.

She smirks, shaking her head as a dismissal of his question.

“You could take a car home,” she points out, redirecting the conversation back to Jake’s presence.

“Yeah, I could,” Jake replies, casually. “You that quick to get rid of me?”

Phoenix doesn’t answer, and he’s not expecting her to. And instead of getting up to leave, ordering a car and heading back to the barracks, he shifts in his chair, in an effort to get comfortable.

The way he avoids her questions, her attempts to send him home, make Natasha believe that Jake Seresin has no intention of leaving, which only confuses her more. Underneath his arrogant demeanor, and all of the back and forth between the two of them, did Jake Seresin have a genuine bone in his body after all? Could there be something… real… here? Could something else be hiding underneath all of the back and forth, the competitive nature of their relationship, the way they act like they can’t stand each other? Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about it, but between the accident and the fact that Jake won’t seem to leave her bedside, she can’t help but wonder.

Jake observes her, searching for any kind of reaction on her face. Even though he hasn’t explicitly said that he’d like to stay with her for the rest of the night, that’s his plan. It’s why he gave Coyote the keys to his truck to take everyone else home. And why he’d lied about texting Whiskey an hour ago. He’s not sure he can be any more clear without explicitly stating it, which is not going to happen any time soon.

As he searches her face, he’s almost annoyed with how good she still looks. Who looks good in a hospital gown after ejecting out of an on-fire super hornet? Natasha Trace. That’s who. But with her hair down, and the way it falls around her shoulders, he finds himself hypnotized by the woman that he pretends gets under his skin.

The quiet between them is filled with tension. It’s just him and her. Jake double checks that Bob’s still asleep as he works up the nerve to say something real for once.

“Gave me a real scare for a minute there, Trace,” he admits, breaking the silence between them.

She shakes her head, a smirk on her face because she’s not sure whether or not he means it.

“I didn’t know you could care about anyone but yourself,” she counters, testing him.

He scowls at her comment, crossing his arms over his chest again.

“I don’t,” he says, as if it’s a challenge.

“Whatever you say, Bagman.”

Jake returns his focus on his phone, sending a quick text to Whiskey that he won’t be back tonight and that she shouldn’t worry if she finds his room empty. He’s just trying his best to make it look like he’s busy with something else. Like he doesn’t care. Like none of this is a big deal.

But it is.

And he knows it.

He just doesn’t know how to tell her the truth.

With the words practically on the tip of his tongue, he swallows them instead of saying:

I care about you more than you know.

read: chapter four

a/n: i told @not-two-shrimp that hangman and phoenix are too both two people who have too much pride to tell each other how they really feel and that's that on that. JUICY hangman x phoenix chapter coming NEXT!!!

taglist: @not-two-shrimp @wishfulwithwine @hangmanscoming @thefourrealms @hlkwrites

#call sign tennessee whiskey #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #hangman x phoenix #hannix #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix top gun #jake hangman seresin #rooster x reader #hangman top gun #jake seresin

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