#if I fight them on this I genuinely believe I will be forced to drop out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveindefinitely · 11 months ago

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

04 — I'M HERE REGARDLESS OF THE PAIN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

As it turns out, ‘real men’ fight bloody.

It’s a difficult journey, your escape, and you end up killing more men than you had ever planned to. With comms blaring in your ears, the weight of an assault rifle in your hands, and the windy night brushing against your clammy skin, you find yourself lost in the thrill of battle.

Everything comes to a head, however, when an unfamiliar voice enters your comms, and both Soap and Ghost seem to deflate with relief.

It’s with the roaring of a helicopter overhead, bullets flying by your running body, that a deep, gravelly British voice trickles into your ear – like the eye of a hurricane.

“All stations, this is Bravo Six – Get down!”

You’re not sure who ‘Bravo Six’ is, or why he’s helping you, but the telltale spark that sparks at the base of your spine has your entire being – your soul – ready to put your life in this man’s hands. It’s an all-consuming, threatening need, but one you find yourself clinging to regardless.

Whatever mental dilemma that is starting to form immediately gets put away with the rest of your ongoing ones. Your focus is now entirely set on the figure on top of the wall, firing a rocket at the enemy’s helicopter. As the pilot loses control of the aircraft, you can feel the thrum in your chest as it crashes and burns into the prison’s ground.

“It’s Price!” Ghost cries out, the most… not joyful, but pleased, maybe, that you’ve ever heard the man.

“Hell fuckin’ yeah!” Soap adds, and when you flit your gaze to your left, you see the beaming grin on his blood-speckled face. In the giant, bright lights surrounding the grounds, you can see all of his intricacies, even when running and shooting down Shadows.

Price, you now recognise the voice as belonging to, commands you all through the radio once more. “All Bravo and Vaqueros,” he barks, “Top o’ the wall. Get here and I’ll get you out. How copy?”

He’s a Captain, through and through. From his delivery, requiring no disobedience, to the undertone of compassion for his men. He’s the kind of man you’d be blessed to work alongside with – a true, hard earned leader.

“Loud and clear, Price. Comin’ to ya!” Ghost copies, and it feels as though the air around the lot of you has grown thick with tangible, genuine hope.

Rodolfo, closest to your right, looks to you with raised brows, before calling out to Soap and Ghost to your left, “Who’s he?”

Soap’s returning smirk is hardened, a hint of bloodthirst in it. The wrapping around his arm has, miraculously, remained on, with only a small patch of blood bled through. It’s a relief, and a compliment to your handiwork. “A friend,” he chuckles, and you believe it.

“I like him already,” Alejandro barks a laugh, before tilting his head to call out to his men, “¡Vaqueros, vayan al muro, entre las torres, ya!”

You can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your face, amidst the sheer panic inside of you. It’s easy to fall into the heat of the moment, the camaraderie and community.

As the five of you stop mere feet away from the wall, you see ropes get dropped down by the figure on top, allowing for all of you to ascend. Price tells you all as much, before you're clicking your ascender into place, and being shot up the rope.

You’re just behind Soap and Ghost, watching as two men – you’re assuming the one with the boonie hat is Price – grab their hands and pull them up.

They all greet each other, and it hits you what they are. Who they are.

This is the 141 of every soldier’s nightmares. This is the 141 who Soap’s confirmed is closer than anyone will ever know. This is the 141 that takes down enemies by each other’s sides, forever on each other’s six.

It’s odd, being an outlier, someone watching on from outside of their circle. Like a spectator in a real life motion picture, or a cameraman capturing the essence of a love so deep, no one could tell where it started and ended.

They barely pass a few words amongst each other, before each of them move to help the rest of you up.

It’s the other stranger – a man with tight, dark curls, and electrifying brown eyes, that stretches his hand out for you to take. With one breath to decide, you let your hand fall into place against his, your skin heating from the very first touch.

Time seems to stop, just for a moment, as the two of you make eye contact for the first time.

His eyes. They’re such a deep, earnest brown, and the dimples etched into his cheeks look as if they were made to be admired. He, like Soap, has a light dusting of freckles across the highlights of his face, and if one were to tell you he was carved from stone, you’d believe it.

In reality, this assessment lasts less than a few seconds, before he’s pulling you forward.

But he’s too strong, too fast with it, and you quickly find yourself crashing into his chest, your nose hitting against his collarbone, sending a sharp pain through it.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, love,” he rambles out, quickly placing his large hands on your shoulders and keeping you at arms distance, eyes flickering up and down your frame. And, oh, his voice. It’s like honey against velvet, warm and soft and accented.

“It’s alright,” you manage to say, around the stiffness of your jaw.

He, too, seems at a loss for words, his brows pushing together in confusion. Before either of you can continue your conversation in your small bubble, Soap bursts it with easy charisma.

“Ale, Rudy,” he jerks his head towards the two newest additions to the small group, before looking to you, “Sweetheart.” You can feel your cheeks heat, your knuckles whitening against the strain of fisting your hands. “Meet Captain Price and Sergeant Garrick.”

It’s a true insult to be referred to as such a vitriol-lidden endearment, especially when being introduced to the 141’s Captain. And the man who you can’t quite get a feel of – the one still watching you, now.

“Thanks for the assist. My men need cover fire,” Alejandro yells over the sounds of gunfights and firearms, reloading his rifle as he does so.

There’s a collective, exciting thrum to the air, your body coming alive within it. A rooted, organic part of you instinctively forces your attention to Price, who immediately commands his team; “The lot of you! Overwatch – now!”

It’s a good call, and quickly adjusting a scope onto the head of your rifle, you move to kneel and aim over the small stone wall.

Peeking over it, you manage to shoot a few in an arm or a leg – not fatal wounds. If you were at all thinking, you’d realise it was a self-preservation technique; when your body would finally crash from the adrenaline, the pure agony of killing your men would, maybe, lighten. Just a bit.

You jolt when Price barks a warning, “Vehicles incoming, right side!”

Quickly adjusting your stance, you manage to catch a glimpse of the said vehicle, its body covered in the shadows.

“That vehicle’s rigged –” Ghost calls to your left side, but by his dampened tone, you can tell the words aren’t directed to you, “Soap, detonate it!”

Through the scope of your rifle, between one moment and the next, orange and yellow fill your line of sight; nothing visible but the heart of an explosion. You can’t help your deep, surprised exhale, but the sound of Soap’s manic laughter soothes the tension in your shoulders.

“¡Escalen, Vaqueros! ¡Es su oportunidad!” Alejandro shouts through his comms, at the same time that Ghost calls out their status, “Vehicle destroyed!”

Ghost’s voice is such a deep timbre – all dominance and command, guttural and raw and gravelly. You feel almost guilty, how easily you find yourself clinging to their instructions, even if you outrank them all. Like scotch tape over your cracking porcelain brain, a quick fix; a necessary one, if you don’t want to break on this very cement.

“Shadows in the right side tower, watch your backs!” Price calls, and you instantly pivot to direct your gun to the stone tower to your right, hands assuming the most stable position on your rifle without a single tremble.

Your eyes go wide as you watch Soap storm in, efficiently taking down all of the Shadows within with easy shots and a final slice of his knife.

Minutes pass, then, yelling of orders, Soap landing shots of his grenade launcher, Shadows going down without a single KIA caused by your trigger.

It’s when Alejandro calls out to his soldiers, pushing his tactical glasses up and securing his rifle on his back, “Vamos, avancen rapido- mientras está despejado!!” That you let yourself breathe. In, out, the feel of your chest rising and falling with the sound of destruction all around you.

The rest of the previously captive soldiers rush up the ropes, you extending your hand and pulling up a few, just like the rest of the men on top of the wall.

“We’re good to go, coronel,” Rodolfo turns to report to Alejandro, his expression firm, a thin clinging of sweat shining with the fire of explosions below. A few small cuts decorate his face, one just nicking a mole on his upper cheek.

Alejandro nods, allowing himself a smirk to stretch over his face, before looking to you all with a narrowed gaze. “Let’s get out of here, hermanos y hermana.” You will never admit the small, blooming part of you that craves that kind of inclusion – how he adjusts to your presence in such small ways.

“Down the wall,” Price jerks his chin, wiping a hand over the scruff of his beard as he prepares to exfil, looking behind you all. “We are leaving!”

Your heart stutters in your chest – a sudden, all-consuming thought erupting in your brain like wildfire. If you surrendered – turned, and begged for the Shadows to take you to Graves – would they? Was there any hope of return, of normalcy, a way for you to go back to the life you always knew?

A sudden hand around the nape of your neck has you startling out of your wandering thoughts, your eyes fluttering where they meet near-black ones.

Ghost.

“You know how to get down, dontcha?” He tilts his head, the words coming out deadly soft in the gunfire surrounding you both.

With shaky, unsure movements, you nod.

He squeezes his hold on your scruff tighter, studying you like one would study a germ under a microscope. He leans in – his mask brushing the side of your ear as he seethes, “Then get down, Sweetheart.”

If he knew of your inner struggle, or if it was merely a coincidence, you aren’t sure.

All you know is that he’d just saved you. Intentionally or not – he had rescued you from both the Shadows, and yourself. With a firm nod of your own, you shoulder him off of you, and rappel down the wall.

As soon as your feet hit the muddy ground, you focus in on the exfil vehicles up ahead, the lights no longer shining on you all. Hints of sunrise peak over the horizon, the small bits of hazy orange decorating the men near the vehicle.

Two more footfalls echo behind you, and when you look over your shoulder, it’s to find both Soap and Price.

“These are ours,” Price affirms, pointing to the two vehicles in front of you. When his eyes meet yours, his jaw sets minutely, and you're quick to look away and to the rest of the group.

“Check,” Alejandro nods.

Soap, jogging up to the vehicle, gestures to Rodolfo, “Take the truck we came with,” the man quickly agreeing and rushing back to join his Colonel and men.

“¡Vaqueros, siganme...! ¡Rudy, movamos el rancho!” Yells Alejandro, jerking his head towards the other man, Rodolfo quickly responding, “Sale, Coronel, suerte.”

Adrenaline continues to rush through your veins like a second blood, your muscles loose and ready to react to the smallest snap of a twig. Turning your brain off is second nature, at this point, the rush of unneeded thoughts shut off like a faucet.

Directing Price to follow their lead, you find yourself lost on where to go – Rodolfo was the closest thing you had to a supporter, but at the end of the day, the deal had been made with the 141. Not the Los Vaqueros.

“Gaz, drive!” Price directs, before his steely blue eyes find you, frosting over, allowing you no way of reading his emotion. “You’re with us.”

…There’s your answer, you suppose.

The five of you manage your way into the vehicle, Gaz roughly hopping into the driver’s seat and the other three rushing into the back. Soap’s hand finds its way around your wrist as you go to hop in, pulling you forward roughly.

Elbowing him with a somewhat immature huff, you try and get comfortable, but being squished in with three other six-foot-something bulky men makes the act difficult.

It’s the least of your problems, really, because as soon as you stop your fussing around, all eyes are on you.

“You lot have three seconds to tell me what the hell is goin’ on,” Price grits out from under his breath. Somehow, it comes out a hundred times more terrifying than if he had yelled it.

Two nervous seconds pass, and just when you think that this is finally going to be the end of your road, Soap babbles out, “The lass is with us now. Sir.”

Knees spread, Price runs a tired, weathered hand down his face, letting out a long-suffering breath.

“...Where’s she from? A stray?” He asks, looking to the two – so dismissive, you just can’t help yourself. You’d earned your title, you were worthy of respect, even if it was from the Captain of the 141.

“She’s right here,” you retort, voice hard and unbudging – even when six eyes lock onto you once more. “And she is a Colonel. One who just killed her men because she wasn’t going to turn a blind eye to war crimes. Who just saved the lives of your men, for no reason but her humanity. Is that what you wanted to hear, Captain?”

Visceral, tangible silence fills the metal walls of the vehicle once more.

That is, until a low, impressed whistle from the front breaks it. Gaz. You look into the rearview mirror, meeting his smile-crinkled eyes. “Definitely what I wanted to hear,” he says, a grin on his elegant features, the minute lighting of the horizon cascading his skin is silky pastels.

“...Sweetheart ‘nd Johnny got in a scuffle while we were on the run,” Ghost supplies, eyes darting to yours for a second before focusing in on Price. “She gave him mercy. We agreed to enter a… mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Mutually beneficial?” Soap guffaws, then groans when you elbow him against his injured arm, his head hanging between his shoulders.

Staring down Price, you straighten your spine. “I help you all survive Graves and get the job done. You give me the resources necessary to knock some sense into him.”

Price raises an unimpressed brow, looking at the three of you in a strange sense of exasperated disappointment. “By ‘knock some sense into ‘im’,” he uses air quotes, “We help you kill ‘im?”

That is the biggest question of all.

Could you – would you – kill him? The man who was your everything; boss, provider, family, lover. If it meant protecting the greater good, if it meant sacrificing yourself, would you allow yourself to deliver the final bullet to his brain?

“No,” you manage, voice cracking softly when you look down to where your hands fist against the fabric atop your thighs. “This isn’t him. I don’t know what’s going on, but…” You swallow, finally looking at Price in the eye once more. “I just want things to go back to normal. He’ll come around.”

It’s like you’ve rolled over and bared your throat to the four men, allowing vulnerability in such a trapped space.

“And if there is no saving him?” Price asks, leaning his forearms against his thighs, entwining his hands together as he studies you. “We’re taking ‘im down, but…” Rolling his tongue against the back of his teeth, he considers for a moment, before nodding to himself. “We’ll allow ya to speak to ‘im. If anything goes haywire…”

“You’ll kill him,” you fill in the blanks, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. They taste wrong on your tongue, the syllables like sour milk.

“He tried to kill us both,” Soap spits out, his right leg bouncing as he looks around the van. “Yer lucky we’re giving ye this much.”

“I could’ve killed you,” you state, the words anything but a lie. They seem to shut him up, at least.

“Save the squabbling for later,” Price cuts in, a direct order to you both. You could, if you wanted to, point out that you were both of equal rank, really, but you decide against it. If you had it your way, you’d have the Captain of Task Force 141 liking your company. “What the hell happened to you, MacTavish?”

MacTavish is certainly a new one – if you had to take a guess, it’d be Soap’s last name.

With a roll of his eyes, Soap jerks his chin to his bandaged upper arm. “Got shot. Through and through. Sweetheart bandaged me up.”

“Where’d that one come from?” Gaz asks from the front, watching through the rearview mirror. “Sweetheart. Got a crush, Johnny boy?”

“Oh feck off,” Soap grumbles, casting a soft glare to the man up front. “Hen gave me those sweetheart lollies when aye was bleedin’ out. Had nothin’ else.”

Gaz hums as if to say that he does not believe that story for a second, and you see all four of them seemingly… relax. Easing, like how one would as they stepped through their front door after a long day at work. Familial and comforting and…

Not for you.

You don’t belong, that voice once again echoes through your ears, and this time, it’s harder to shut it out. It doesn’t matter that you don’t belong, not when you’d be finding your own feet after this bullshit gets sorted out. Really, there wouldn’t even be a reason to see the four men, or the Las Vaqueros, again.

For some reason, your stomach feels uneasy with that thought process.

“We found out somethin’ much more important,” Ghost admits, and the mood immediately settles into something much more cold, much more serious. “Shepherd burned us.”

That name.

It’s like a shot to your system, an invasion of your very being.

Shepherd.

“...General Shepherd?” You mutter out, without a single thought behind the words, your mouth directly connected to your mind.

“Ye know ‘im?” Soap blurts out, brows furrowed and torso turning towards you, hand flexing around the rifle in his lap. Your mouth is dry, your palms are clammy, and your head is pounding.

“He trained me,” you manage, breath tightening and words shaky.

“He was my first Captain.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

726 notes · View notes

domreader-headcannon-scenarios · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I really love your works sm, can i request a sfw or nsfw head cannons of the angels from WHB? Thank you!!

I’m so glad you liked them!! So I’m tryna write the angels as best I can Gabriel is the only one I’ve met outside of a event, I’ve seen the other two in the Halloween event! I like em but ngl they have…unique kinks I needed to google hifth

I hope you enjoy!!

Over all cw: blaspheme (I think?? ((Angels worshiping you)), death (not main characters), abuse of power

Sfw/nsft hcs on Angels!

Gabriel

Cw: inappropriate boners,

He basically a guard dog standing over your shoulder 24/7 to keep you safe, he calls you his ‘Lord/Lady/Highness’ and has an army of angels who think the same of you

He’s not very affectionate but if you just say ‘hold me/my hand’ or ‘kiss me’ he’d do it in a heart beat. As his God he only wants you pleased

He’s a terrible cook and somehow steals food and is terrifying good at getting away with it (it must be an angel thing??) he dosent even lie saying he made it, he’s just vague where it came from (only once have you caught him in the act and you made him apologize, but the person gave him the food regardless)

He dust a lot in your home and you cant help but notice the ‘home made’ duster he ‘found’ has feathers matching his wings…

Nsft

Canon Kink: Hierophilia; deriving sexual pleasure from religion, religious places and objects as well as find the act itself religious

He enjoys watching you participate in religious activities…maybe too much. He also finds pleasure in treating you as his god.

You jokingly thought of making him go to church, only for him to jump at the chance. He lowkey regretted it when you didn’t touch him, and made him stay squirming in his seat instead of helping him get off. He for whatever reason thought you’d let him jerk off or would touch him yourself as you were holy, nothing you did was wrong but…touching himself in this place is

You’ve actually caught him touching himself to you praying before, he got bashful upon getting caught but you swear you’ve heard him doing it after that, you just don’t catch him in the act (though you’ve caught him awkwardly standing by and adjusting himself)

He’s got a adorablely small and sensitive cock and he genuinely doesn’t need it touched to cum, roll it between your fingers for a few minutes and he’s trembling as he spills out all his cum

Michael

Cw: murder, inappropriate boners

He’s strict with everyone around you, but not you, in his eyes you are the law since he serves only you, you cant do wrong

He’s terrible if you have guest, he demands they now to you and though he’ll settle if you tell him to, he watches them like a hawk and makes sure nothing gets out of hand

You see that leash? If you get mad and pull on it, he will calm down and you have his full attention, give it another tug downwards, and he’ll drop to his knees in front of you, and anyone else in the room

He likes brushing and styling your hair, he’ll try to help you bathe, insisting you don’t need to lift a finger, he will take care of everything, just relax

Nsft

Canon Kink: Erotophonophilia; ‘Muder kink’, deriving sexual gratification from killing or watching someone get killed (BOY IS THIS A HARD KINK TO CASUALLY WORK WOTH)

If push comes to shove he has a habit of killing people who harass you too much/threaten you, but he gets…really excited afterwards and is pressing his thighs together to hide his erection, especially if you’re clearly not in the mood

You’ve seen him get in fights while still aroused from the last kill an honestly, when in public you sometimes just force a chastity cage on him to discourage him acting out

Though he believes self pleasure, or just the act in general is…sinful, he will do anything for you with no qualms, he only feels good when you touch him anyway

He suffered from wet dreams whenever you’re around him or he has objects with your scent

When he want to fool around desperately he will walk right up to you, kneel and beg you to touch his neither regions, stroking, slapping, pinching, doesn’t matter as long as you touch him

Raphael

Cw: messy kitchens, messy person, furniture abuse,

He’s messy and kinda gets annoying at times since he discovered how much fun it is to smash condiment packages

He’s good about cleaning, and he even cooks to make up for the mess…but he’s a sloppy cook too but at least it’s not intentional this time

He doesn’t understand that the furniture isn’t trying to hurt you and doesn’t need to be punished. He’s broken threee tables, one bed post and five chairs since he’s moved to being your ‘Guardian Angel’, all for tripping you or you stubbed your toe on them

He’s not affectionate but he’s not distant, he just follows your lead, he stands close by and if you ask him to come over he flops in your lap and looks up at you like a puppy. He likes when you watch tv and let him lay across your lap, he falls asleep easily that way

Nsft

Canon Kink: Automysophilia; getting sexual gratification from defiling oneself, being dirty or defiled

He enjoys getting messy with cum, blood, dirt, just about anything. He will be blissed if you strip him and cover him in…well it’s up to you ;)

He has no qualms with jerking off in front of you if you don’t want to touch him while he’s too messy, but he wants you to be fully clothed while he’s sprawled out naked in front of you

He’s fucked slime before since it feels…weirdly good around his shaft, to the point he gets excited when he sees it around the house. You had to punish him for thinking he could ‘fool around’ with it then hide it away again

He’s got a very sensitive halo, while other angels get off to them being touched like a devils horns, he avoids it since it brings him to his knees in seconds

#what in hell is bad #whb #Gabriel #Raphael #sub Gabriel #Michael #sub michael #sub raphael #dom reader #Gabriel x reader #raphael x reader #michael x reader #headcannons #nsft #sub whb Gabriel #sub whb Michael #sub whb Raphael

418 notes · View notes

silverthehedgehoganalysis · 8 months ago

Text

Here is a list of traits Silver has shown in the games, Sonic Channel and other Sonic Team made content:

Righteous, has a strong sense of justice and is driven to make things right

Kind-hearted, puts other people’s happiness before his own and will drop his mission to help others, is motivated by his desire to protect smiles, wants to use his powers not for himself, but to help others.

Extremely Determined

Optimistic and Hopeful, believes there’s always a chance as long as you don’t give up, inspires hope in the people he works with in Forces, the final story of Sonic 06 and when he helps Elise through her performance anxiety

Pure, has a “sincere, unpretentious and kind” demeanor and wears his heart on his sleeve, this genuineness and purity gives him an “enduring charm” that is one of the biggest things his friends, particularly Blaze, enjoy about him and makes others want to support him

Forthright, is very direct and frank with people and has a straight to the point mentality, is straightforward in his actions and thinking

Earnest and blunt to the point of naivety, expects people to believe and cooperate with him when he says he’s from the future, hides very little and is so honest that he announces himself when attacking Sonic

Not trusting post 06, doesn’t give Sonic a Chaos Emerald until he proves he’s real in Sonic Generations and is the most suspicious of Dodon Pa

Snide and Sarcastic, sneers at Eggman’s theme park in Sonic Colors and has a snotty attitude towards anyone he can one up, remarks “What am I doing?” when going with Amy

Brash, has rude/informal mannerisms and can be abrasive, particularly to people who are not his allies

Juvenile, described as young and immature by his creator Shun Nakamura, this immaturity ties into many aspects of his character as well as his purity but is also the source of his snotty attitude and rude behavior, supposedly he doesn’t like green peppers which is the Japanese equivalent of children not liking broccoli

Focused, proactive and practical mindset, seen particularly throughout Sonic Forces

Focused on his goals, Does not care what the plan is called in Forces, only that it works and when asked about his favorite race item he says that he likes Jade Ghost because “It lets him disappear and focus on the race”

Inquisitive and proactive, questioned others about how the world was destroyed in the Iblis future his whole life, fought Iblis to try and clear the sky himself, spent most of Team Sonic Racing cracking down on Dodon Pa and Eggman, reads into “Ancient Wisdom” in the good future

Sharp and intuitive, Figures out how to revive Sonic in 06, sees through Eggman Nega's disguises by noticing small details, does successful detective work in Sonic 06 and Team Sonic Racing, intuits Blaze trying to control great powers when seeing them for the first time, has solved various puzzles and mysteries by himself, “knows a lot” according to Sonic in Silver’s Sonic Channel introduction story

Skilled and Crafty, skillfully accomplishes various tasks during his Town Missions in Sonic 06, turns his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao in Sonic Rivals 2, Vector refers to him and Blaze as professionals in the Team Vector Nintendo Dream interview, has had jobs as a delivery boy, a figure skater, a “genius” skating coach and a butler

Trains off-screen and makes steady efforts to improve his abilities, seems to be self-taught in his skills

Sometimes takes everything on himself

Warrior with a warrior mentality, described as a warrior, enjoys fighting and will fight his friends for fun, fought and struggled for half his life in the Iblis future, values bravery and facing things head on, dislikes cowardice and indirect tactics, can endure “pain beyond description” and is undeterred by injuries (Shadow’s infamous kick to the head only made him mad)

Competitive and proud/confident in his abilities, has a smug attitude about his abilities and can get competitive over something as simple as handling Orbot and Cubot, clashes with Blaze the first time(s) they meet because of this

Headstrong and Confrontational, confronts Infinite alone because of this, gets offended when Blaze she calls him “weak” and treats him like an amateur

Very Emotional, tends to rush in and deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings and start confrontations because he gets heated, his passion drives him forward but this same passion can cause him to be rash as his actions are dominated by his feelings

Hot Tempered and impatient, can be easily angered and gets frustrated or indignant when things don’t go his way, can get annoyed at things that get in the way or impatient with things that aren’t to the point, his sense of justice causes righteous indignation at great injustices, his temper can be quite similar to Blaze’s

Has Aggressive energy in both his demeanor and body language, generally has confident or determined expressions, often makes fists, punches things when he's frustrated and gets up by punching the ground

Can be Ruthless, has resorted to playing possum, sneaking past Soleanna guards, robbing people and killing to accomplish his goals

Courageous to the point of being Reckless, puts other’s safety before his own, instantly reacts to protect those around him when attacked in Sonic Comic, Instantly battle ready when surprised in Generations, fought against Iblis and its monsters from a very young age growing up in an extremely hazardous devastated future, both values bravery and dislikes cowardice, recklessly went off to face Infinite on his own and is noted to not back down even in the face of his mighty power, will sacrifice himself without a second thought if necessary

His way of life inspires others and makes them want to cheer him on, this even extends to real life as the illustration at the top this post inspired everyone in the office to give him a high five that day

Cannot lie but can change the subject

Doesn’t know how to explain/express himself at times

Scratches his head with his index finger when processing his thoughts

Feels joy and anger loudly but is quiet in sadness and contemplation

Gets rowdy, riled up and puts his all into things he’s feeling but is very low and quiet when something is on his mind or he’s feeling down(He’s totally autistic, this is autistic volume)

Has a mischievous side

Like apples, ate apple flavored rations in the Iblis future

Deeply appreciates peace, prosperity and people‘s smiles, beautiful vistas and people living peacefully leave him breathless

His desire for peace is seemingly driven by strong empathy for both the people and environment around him, blue skies make him feel at peace, natural beauty and people living prosperously takes his breath away, desolate or destroyed areas sadden and upset him, he can’t help but smile when he makes others smile and can’t stand to see the suffering in his destroyed futures

Has a very quiet, introspective and empathetic side (he deeply and quietly reflects on the morality of his mission throughout 06 and quietly takes in everything about Elise’s past)

AB blood type meaning that he's dual natured and adaptable based on the situation

Is a Taurus

213 notes · View notes

chamomiletealeaf · 7 months ago

Note

Johnny 'I'll fist fight you (affectionately) if you don't think you're pretty.' MacTavish

AHHH I LOVE THIS (might project in this one because I’ve recently been feeling ugly asf because of my Telogen Effluvium (stress induced hair loss)

Warnings: insecurity, mild suggestive themes at the end.

You’d be in the bathroom holding back tears while trying to do your hair for the date you were supposed to go on with your boyfriend Johnny. You can’t seem to get your hair right and it shows way too much of your face. Or so you think.

knock knock

“Can I come in bonnie? Wanna see how pretty you look.”

You sniffle and try to make your voice sound as convincing it can be.

“Um. Not yet! I- I’m not dressed!” You say hesitantly.

“Now I really wanna come in.” He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice and you roll your eyes.

“C’mon, please? Wanna see my girllll.” He whines out and you give in.

“Ok fine. come on in.” You say, and he does.

He comes in the bathroom and smiles at you, even though your head is down, pretending to rummage through your makeup bag for something.

Johnny wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder, looking at you in the mirror.

“Hey girlie.” He coos with a smile, but you don’t look up.

“Hey.. look up bonnie. Wanna see that pretty little face of yours.” He says as he goes to reach for your jaw with one hand and forces your head up so you look in the mirror.

His smile drops and his brows furrow when he sees the tear streaks and your puffy eyes.

“What’s the matter dovey?” He asks with genuine concern. “Why ya crying??” He turns you around so you face him and he looks at your face still, waiting for an answer.

“I- I don’t know I just… can’t get my hair right, my makeup isn’t blending well, I hate the way this sundress fits me, I- I just feel kinda ugly I guess.” You sniffle but drop your head down and look at your hands.

“Oh sweetheart…” Johnny coos.

“Look at me.” He says softly, and you don’t, so he lifts your chin up with his hand.

“I said look at me lass.” He says, still in a soft tone.

“You look absolutely gorgeous. Fuckin’ stunning. You could have your hair in all different directions, a bin bag on, and dirt smeared all over your face and you’d still be the most beautiful woman in the world.” He says, still holding your face.

“I think your hair looks beautiful, and your makeup too. I like the eyeshadow color you chose. Makes those pretty eyes that much more captivating as if they ever could entrance me any more. And this sun dress?”

A smirk begins to form on Johnny’s face as he turns you back around to face the mirror and he places his hands on your thighs and runs them up under your dress until they’re squeezing your hips.

“This dress was fuckin’ made for you. God you know how I love sundresses on you. You replace every star in the sky with just how much you shine my love.” He says into your ear and you sniffle again, but your lips twitch with a small smile.

“Now look in the mirror and say that you are the prettiest woman in the world.” He says, and you look at him.

“Johnny-“ you start, but he interrupts you.

“Ah- say it.” He demands.

You bite your lip for a second, cringing at what he wants you to say, because you don’t believe it. But you look at him and try anyway.

��Don’t say it to me. I already know. Say it to yourself.” He demands again, and grips your jaw again to look at yourself in the mirror and not at him.

“I- I am the prettiest woman in the world.” You mumble.

“Again.” He says.

“I am the prettiest woman in the world.” You say again, with more confidence, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Aye- that you are bonnie.” He says, finally satisfied with your response.

“Now, let’s go out on our date hm? Wanna show everyone who my pretty little lass is.” He says into your ear as he squeezes your hips which makes you giggle as his facial hair tickles your skin.

“And when we get back?” He whispers lowly this time with a smirk, “I’m gonna prove to you again right between your thighs just how bloody fuckin’ beautiful you are.” He says, and you let out a little gasp which makes him laugh.

You forgot all about your insecurities with Johnny, because it was just you and him, and that’s all that ever mattered in the first place.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mw #cod #cod mw3 #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap cod #soap cod x reader #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader

249 notes · View notes

dreamtoge · 1 year ago

Text

Attention

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x GN!Reader

wc: 1.1k

a/n: apologies, i am a sucker for sleepy, clingy, cute gojo

When Satoru wants attention, he is obnoxious.

he will slither his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest without a care for those who are around. he will whine loudly, unashamed of the high pitched, "[Name], pay attention to me!" that falls from his pretty lips. he will even disrupt meetings and smoothly pull you into his lap, squeezing you close with a cheeky smile and reddened cheeks.

when Satoru wants attention, you give it to him.

when he wraps his arms around your torso tightly, you gently smile and kiss his cheek, ignoring the first-year students who groan loudly in distaste. when Satoru would verbally beg you to pay attention to him, you cup his face with the utmost care and pull him down, pecking his forehead as you whispered, "Baby, I love you, but please give me ten more minutes and I'm all yours." leaving him to nod with a slight pout and heated cheeks as he patiently waited till you were finished your task.

and despite the embarrassment of being pulled onto his lap during meetings, you would manage an abashed smile at the other teachers as you slipped into the same couch next to Satoru, hand finding his own as you intertwine your fingers and lift them, kissing the back of his hand as you gazed into his eyes.

he would sit silent for the remainder of the meeting.

so yes, Satoru Gojo was pesky and needy, but that was never a problem with you. in your eyes, he is more than just the strongest; Satoru has so much care to offer yet is simultaneously love-deprived. the calloused hands that itch to touch you, with a heart that craves affection are parts of Satoru that you cherish.

so perhaps that is why when you are asked, “How do you put up with him?” you smile fondly, because Satoru Gojo was simply Satoru with you. Satoru who cares, who loves, and who fights for what he believes is right. Satoru who protects, and does his best to help his students. Satoru who is still human at the end of the day, and deserves pure, genuine love like any ordinary person.

despite such an emotion being foreign to him growing up, he still yearns for it so desperately. Luckily, you find it easiest to love him.

“‘Toru? What’s wrong?” you whisper. the meeting with other teachers and the higher-ups is about to start, but you find yourself more concerned with the white-haired man next to you. he is smiling, but you can see the way the corner of his mouth twitches, the subtle crease in his forehead and the clench of his jaw that is normally lax.

he turns to you with his signature grin, “Nothing, my love! Just want this boring meeting to be over with already.” he whines slightly, causing Utahime beside you to scoff. you send her an apologetic smile before turning back to Satoru.

“It’ll be a quick meeting today,” you tuck a fallen strand of his hair behind his ear softly, “When it’s done, let’s go back to mine and nap?”

Satoru’s smile falters as he relaxes into the seat next to you. his forced expression is still there, though he seems calmer, “Of course! Anything you want, [Name]!”

the meeting begins, Satoru’s head turning to the front as your gaze lingers on the side of his face for a moment longer. you listen intently for the remainder of the time, but only after gently grasping his slender hand and caressing the back with your thumb. Satoru squeezes your hand in response, and you ignore the slight tremble you feel for his sake.

when the meeting ends, you are quick to grab Satoru’s arm and drag him out of there.

“So excited to cuddle you couldn’t wait a second longer?” he chuckles, amused.

you wrap your arm around his long one, looking up at him with a smile, “Yeah, actually. I miss you.” his face drops for a moment before his features smooth out.

“I miss you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” you know he is serious by his tone, and the fact that he is apologizing makes you more worried about his well-being than before. you take out your keys, unlocking the door, and pulling him inside.

“No need to apologize, baby. I know you’re busy, just as I am. But it’s okay because we’re spending time together now!” you smile toothily at him, watching as he sighs with a small nod. you walk to your bedroom, rummaging through your drawers before throwing a comfortable pair of pants and t-shirt at him, “Change, and then get in the bed, please.”

his eyebrows raise at your bossiness, saluting you with a smirk before he leaves to change. when he comes back, you are already dressed laying in the bed, fresh clothes on and surrounded by the white fluffy comforter; Satoru finds the sight a little too tempting as he climbs in quickly.

he peels his mask off, running his hand through his hair before he lays next to you, face moving to kiss you softly.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he braces his arms on the sides of your shoulders, head dipping to meet your lips gently. you sink into the mattress beneath you, tracing your hands over his broad back as they make their way into his hair, tugging gently as he groans.

“Nap, remember?” you say out of breath. he exhales deeply above you, and as you gaze into his tired eyes, you know you need to get him to sleep.

“Nap. Right.” he smiles fondly, causing your stomach to swirl with joy. he moves to lay beside you once more, this time tucking his head in your neck as he wraps an arm around your torso, pulling you close. you run your hand through his hair as he closes his eyes, “Wanna talk about it, or sleep?”

while you can tell he is exhausted, you'd like a verbal confirmation of exactly what he needs.

Satoru doesn’t question the way you know something is wrong. you know him like the back of your hand, a fact that used to terrify him but only makes his heart jump now. and the notion of someone; you loving him so deeply still makes his breath stutter. he shifts, body moving to lay more on you, “Sleep now, talk later.” he pauses, “Please.”

you grin softly at his manners, “Okay, baby. Sleep, I’ll be here the whole time.” you feel him nuzzle your neck, pecking it with his soft lips as he nods.

“Love you.” he slurs sleepily, holding you closer when he feels you kiss his head, “I love you too, Satoru.”

so yes, Satoru Gojo was needy and craved attention. but that was okay with you, because you believed the whiny, affectionate man in your bed deserved all the love the world had to offer.

and fortunately for him, you would give him exactly that.

#gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #gojo x gender neutral reader

507 notes · View notes

chaoticgoodthief · 6 months ago

Text

STP Voices Personality Swap

Inspired completely by @remaking-machine's awesome AU! I decided to put my own twist on the idea and see how it turns out! (ramble under the cut so that my mutuals don't have to watch me go insane, as per usual)

Self-imposed rules:

Personalities swaps must be based off of this line (or at least my interpretation of it) to force me to think more about how that would even work:

Princesses must be kept as close to canon as possible. I would give a good reason but honestly, it's just more fun that way

Ok, without further ado, let's get started!

Hunted (swapped with Opportunist): Will be on whatever side keeps him alive. Will be completely on board with defeating the Beast since he knows he will die if he doesn't fight her. However, he drops all pretences the moment they aren't in danger of dying. All the other voices actually like him up until he drops the helpful act, which at that point they all immediately hate him for deceiving them. For the most part, acts similar to his canon counterpart but a lot shadier in a way that nobody else seems to notice.

Opportunist (swapped with Hunted): Treats the Witch like an ambush predator and thus always is correct about her next move. False bravado comes off like a prey animal puffing itself up to be more intimidating. Genuinely looking out for your survival, but generally disliked by the other voices for his flighty nature. Does not trust Thorn, but empathetic towards her pain. Generally acts very different from his canon counterpart, but his facade is a nearly eerie replica.

Skeptic (Swapped with Smitten): An seriously unhealthy amount of trust in the Prisoner and only the Prisoner. If she told you to stab yourself he would agree with her because he's that sure that she has a plan. Completely distraught in the Drowned Grey route because he knew she had a plan and it's all your fault for not believing in her like he did. It's actually creepy how easily Skeptic falls down the exact same path as canon Smitten after a personality swap. I love it.

Smitten (Swapped with Skeptic): Serious trust issues after being stabbed to death by the princess and locked away by the Narrator. Rather than you being the one to ask questions in the start of Chapter II, he will ask them before you get the chance. Since he will force you to grab the knife, there is a much higher chance of getting the Burned Grey route. Can be calmed down if you manage to get him to put his trust in the Damsel, but manoeuvring away from Deconstructed Damsel is also a lot harder due to his insistence to get answers. Somehow even more sceptical than canon Skeptic.

Stubborn (Swapped with Broken): Most downtrodden of the lot because of just how exhausted he is from the seemingly endless fighting. Even getting with him to the cabin is a pain due to his refusal to Do This. All the other voices think he's annoying and whiny, with only Contrarian vaguely getting along with him. Interrupts the Narrator's "You're here to -", with "Die. And die. And die again. And if we're lucky... die quickly." He's just as bad as canon Broken and it's so funny yet so sad at the same time.

Broken (Swapped with Stubborn): He's not physically strong in the slightest and failed to kill the princess once already, but this time he's going to win. Comes off as a yappy chihuahua trying to fight a lion. Again. However, he's actually on friendly terms with a good few of the other voices due to this. The Tower is vaguely amused by him up until the moment that he actually wins. And then? Then's she's pissed. Would be great friends with canon Stubborn, but only after proving himself in a fight.

Paranoid (Swapped with Cold): Turned off his emotions to focus on getting everyone out alive (think MoC Cold). Clipped, clinical tone for everything, including the Survival Mantra. Thinks the others don't appreciate him enough for the sacrifices he made in order to keep their body working. He is right. Completely numb to death in the MoC route to the point he doesn't even bother to use the Survival Mantra anymore, not that it matters at that point anyway. Very similar to canon Cold, but more apathetic than bored.

Cold (Swapped with Paranoid): Extremely superstitious, believing the princess to have cursed him with her death, which is only amplified when she returns as a ghost. Urges you not to touch the mirror because you might break it, begins talking about finding an exorcist if you let the Spectre possess you, refers to the Narrator as a malevolent spirit (I mean.... he isn't wrong), the whole shebang. I'm not going to lie, this one is honestly one of the funniest to me. Do not put in the same room as canon Paranoid. It will not end well for either of them.

Cheated (Swapped with Contrarian): Over the course of interacting with the Razor, he quickly starts just messing around after realising nothing he does matters. He treats the situation less and less seriously, to the point that he's making actively dumb decisions just to see how everyone reacts. Throw the blade of the window? Sure, why not? She'd kill us even if we had it! Throw her out of the window she's she's a bunch of blades now? Sure! Why not? She'll just come back, right?

Contrarian (Swapped with Cheated): Tried to get out and now look what's happened. Actively bitter about being trapped into a set path and determined to make it as much of a hell for everyone else as it is for him because of it. Curses like a sailor and is generally just So Done With This. He's not trapped with you. You're trapped with him and he will make everyone knows that. Will still try to make it up to the Stranger, the Hero and the player for his actions later on but does not hesitate to berate you for leaving him behind in the Stranger's cabin. Honestly, he's probably the closest to canon. Spicy Contrarian, if you will (get your mind out of the gutter not like that)

Hero remains the same, but his opinions about all the others are... very different, to say the least.

Phew, that was a lot of fun! Maybe I'll come back with a part two for SwapAU meets canon!

#slay the princess #slay the princess spoilers #alternate universe #rambles #stp rambles #voice of the hunted #voice of the opportunist #voice of the skeptic #voice of the smitten #voice of the stubborn #voice of the broken #voice of the paranoid #voice of the cold #voice of the cheated #voice of the contrarian

137 notes · View notes

yeen-meteor · 1 year ago

Text

I want to take a moment to try to express why i appreciate Haru's sadism as an actual serious part of her characterization and not just a funny contrast joke and 'yay girl violence!' don't get me wrong i love me some yay girl violence for the sake of it, but like. i think there's a lot to work with there for genuine drama writing, too, not just comic relief and i want to talk about it! (cw sugimura)

for all of haru's backstory and her life with her father, sure she's rich and has a lot of privileges, but the one thing she completely lacks is any sort of control. Everything about her life is being decided for her, her father has decided on the shape of her entire future, and she can't do anything to change it - she's being raised just for the sake of being outright sold as a sex slave trophy wife to a perverted creep who is certainly too rich and powerful to ever face legal trouble for marital rape. She's going through the motions, enjoying what she can of the life she has while she still has it, completely hopeless in the face of this horrifying future that other people are forcing her into. Her will means nothing, what she wants means nothing.

And then the Phantom Thieves come along, and they give her the power to make her will matter, to fight for her own freedom and happiness. And that power comes in the shape of violence, physically fighting images of all the things and people standing in her way.

But more than that, she starts to feel 'shivers of excitement' when she hears shadows begging and pleading beneath her. She feels what it's like to have something absolutely, pathetically desperate to make her stop, to deny her what she wants - and to bask in the feeling that she doesn't have to listen, she's the strong one, she can shut them the fuck up with an axe through the skull because their will, their selfish desire, their plan for her doesn't matter anymore, her will, Haru's will matters. It's catharsis, it's intoxicating, it's a rich and indulgent feeling of real actual control and the freedom that comes with it, something she's been denied all her life, and it's probably an unhealthy way to get that feeling but who cares? these are just shadows!

And that catharsis and relief and self-assured confidence she gets from that just makes her better able to be her sweetest, kindest, purest self around the people she loves! It doesn't undermine the sweet person she is, it helps it!

And then, she makes the choice to try to cure her father's brain-rotting greed and see if there's anything worth salvaging in his heart. It might not be the best choice, it could certainly be argued about, but it's her choice, it's her will, and she finally, finally feels like she's able to make that mean something-

and Akechi takes the choice away from her, and forces her to live in the future he decided for her.

I think when people write the dynamic between Akechi and Haru, they can sometimes miss the forest for the trees - 'you killed my father', without the underlying 'this was the first time i believed i ever had a choice in my own life, and you took it away from me and fucking crushed it before my eyes'. I've also seen it done very well too, and I love it! but i think a lot of writers are sleeping on the potential a bit, of haru & akechi focused stories, or even of haru as a source of drama and an interesting supporting character in shuake stories. In general, haru's potential for anger, frustration, violent desires and just a need to feel in control of her own life has a lot of potential in drama writing!

Atlus certainly dropped the ball on the akechi and haru dynamic, and kept the sadism thing as mostly comic relief, but Persona canons are all half-realized outlines of good ideas just begging for fic writers to come and actually flesh them out, anyway, so ah well!

all i hope for is that if you're a persona writer that doesn't know what to do with haru or how to use her, or doesn't pay her much mind, maybe this might inspire you or give you a clearer idea of how to write her dramatic side!

#persona 5 #haru okumura #goro akechi #i love haru so much because i also had a guro phase and a learned helplessness trauma phase at the same time lmao #send me good haru drama if you know of it or write it! <3

275 notes · View notes

brenhotapplepies · 7 months ago

Text

Seen some stuff about Astrid being problematic in the same breath as praising Essek. I know media literacy is tough, but let’s examine.

How is Astrid problematic and Essek isn’t? They both are manipulative when it’s called for. Both are capable of lying, killing, and other untold horrors. Both are incredibly powerful.

One has had a lonely by choice and privileged life as the weird but useful son of the head of a Den.

One has had their identity stripped from them in a way that combines the worst of cults and the military. Tortured, experimented on, changed in ways we don’t even know the extent of.

One has had the pressure of his Den, his mother, his father, his brother, his whole community pressing on him his whole life. He stepped up into the air and took the weight as if it was effortless. He focused his life on study because it was the only thing that gave him worth in this society and it was genuinely what he enjoyed, whatever enjoyment was for him then. He had access to materials, books, almost anything.

One has had the pressure of her community, her background, in her face as she tried to beat the odds. The expectations for her were nothing, but she said fuck that. She studied with nothing, clawed her way into the venerated halls of higher magic learning. She does everything for the Empire, for Trent. She wants success for herself, because that is what gets her approval, keeps her safe.

One is in a position of power in his society. He has the ability to pull strings. He doesn’t think about how his actions impact his community or really anything besides himself. Sure maybe he wants to find something to impair the religion in the region, but it feels like even that starts out as a quest to prove himself right. His life is largely his own, despite the derision of some.

One is continuously tortured, tested, forced to PROVE herself. Cut her hair, stomp out any resistance to her mentor through any means necessary. Find some solace in their two peers. Made to kill their family to prove themselves based on a lie. She is conditioned to fight because who else will protect her country in the dirty, dark ways she has to? She is trying to salvage her sacrifices into a purpose. Bren is one of those sacrifices.

One kills indiscriminately if they get in his way. The man the Nein dropped off at the peace talks? I still remember how sad it was as he tried to piece together his broken mind, a mind Essek broke to save himself.

One kills for their country. Follows orders, kills when they find it necessary to protect those who cannot protect themselves. This is what she believes.

One GAVE AWAY a powerful religious artifact to HIS PEOPLE’S ENEMY. The intent was purely selfish curiosity.

One helped protect and study that artifact to PROTECT her country. The intent is curiosity to assist in her job, protect her country.

One finds the strength to allow himself to be loved and have friends after years of solitude. Because he just never was so fully loved. He finds the strength to let the ultimate time travel power and the knowledge that he was right go. To become comfortable with time he has left.

One finds the strength to listen to one of the only real, genuine relationships she’s ever had. Her first love. A reminder of her younger, hopeful self. She changes. She realizes the lies she’s allowed herself to believe. She finds the strength to not kill her torturer just to kill him. She finds the strength to testify. To promise that no other kids will suffer. Justice. To become comfortable with the time she has left.

One is a he.

One is a she/they.

I wonder what the issue is.

These characters are two sides of the same coin. They are both INCREDIBLY WELL THOUGHT OUT characters. They are more than just paramours of Caleb Widogast.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr2 #cr3 #astrid becke #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #widobecke #character analysis

72 notes · View notes

general-cyno · 1 year ago

Text

y'know, one zolu moment I don't talk about nearly as much as I should but that I love and find super interesting is the bar fight on jaya. and though I know there's mixed opinions on the latter, I also like the contrast between jaya AND whiskey peak.

when it comes to whiskey peak... I'm somewhere in the middle. as a concept I find it interesting too, since it involves zoro doing things on his own for the sake of the crew for the first time (iirc) and luffy being faced with the possibility of zoro not acting as honorably as he believes or trusts zoro to be at that point. thing is, luffy is someone who places great value in the kindness he receives and returns it tenfold. it's something we see throughout the story and in jaya as well actually, with cricket and his crew! this is also what's attracted him to most of the straw hats (if not every) and his allies also. so in theory, I don't think luffy reacting negatively to zoro attacking the ppl who'd been kind to him and the crew for seemingly no reason is entirely out of character, especially after waking up so disorientedly, and at least not that early on in the manga. he emphasizes it too, when he shows up to fight zoro,

the problem for me lies more on the actual execution of it rather than the idea as a whole. kinda goofy for luffy and zoro to drop lines like "now we'll find out who's superior" during it as if they'd had some sort of fighting style rivalry beforehand and it's kinda removed from the og point of the fight but they're dumb kids and the story can take some goofy turns at times so. shrugs.

I can't tell if whiskey peak was originally meant to have an impact or effect on their relationship afterwards (some opinions I've read insist oda was forced to include it) but if anything, it ended up demonstrating zoro and luffy are better off fighting together than against each other, even as they're going on about killing and beating the other up over a misunderstanding. it reminds me of one comment I read on a r/ddit post a while ago (about another topic though) that pointed out how in terms of fighting styles, zoro and luffy kind of complement and make up for each other's weaknesses, which is such a nice detail and layer to their relationship imo.

and assuming there was a genuine point to it all (it's more fun that way heh), I'd say that it really highlights the importance of moments like those in jaya and luffy choosing to trust zoro not to fight back against bellamy's crew.

as luffy has learned this far, zoro would never hurt anyone for no reason and if there's a "reason" it's usually, if not always, rooted in his wish and duty to keep everyone safe (in whiskey peak, the townsfolk were actually baroque works agents, bounty hunters, who had a tendency to trick pirates like them at the start of the grand line). plus, zoro may enjoy battle but he doesn't fight for revenge or feelings/motives of the sort, as he admits later in skypiea. he does, however, react when the people he cares about are in danger (*waves hand and points at anything involving luffy*), hurt (chopper in skypiea as an example, but there's plenty more) or he witnesses great injustice (like yasuie's execution in wano). he's also not the type to enjoy beating up someone weaker, much less for shits and giggles. he will even save enemies if luffy asks him to, as long as it doesn't pose a bigger or immediate (real) threat to the crew.

compare zoro saving smoker in alabasta vs him refusing to accept x drake as an ally at first due to his known status as a traitor in the wano arc, for example.

and of course jaya isn't an exception. when bellamy attacks luffy, zoro responds as usual:

luffy himself stands up ready to fight too, at first. but as nami brings up the sky island and everyone mocks them for it, then bellamy specifically takes it upon himself to ridicule them - insisting on how foolish it is for ppl to "waste time" chasing their dreams, especially pirates, luffy decides not to fight back and tells zoro to do the same.

this is one of those instances in which the "lu" of zolu really shines through, if you ask me. zoro's got a handful of grand gestures toward luffy on his belt, but this is one in which luffy does the heavy lifting for me. this is acknowledgedment and an insane amount of trust, a moment in which luffy's relying on zoro to understand his motives and to push back his usual protectiveness when faced with an enemy displaying a lot of hostility. and zoro gets it, stays true to the trust luffy's placing on him. he doesn't fight back, not even as nami watches and wonders why.

I sound like a broken record at this point, but OP's brought up in several and different circumstances the fact that luffy and zoro are actually pretty similar. they tend to behave the same way or echo each other's words even when they're apart, share similar views on death, on growing stronger for the sake of the ppl they care about, and more so when it comes to chasing and fighting for their dreams.

in the aftermath of the bar encounter, blackbeard tells nami that luffy and zoro actually won that fight. this includes a curious panel in which luffy reminisces both shanks and ace.

it makes sense why luffy shared this particular moment with zoro, when you think about it. those two are dreamers through and through, and if there's characters who can understand the importance of not only chasing those dreams but also keeping a promise, it's them - whose dreams they initially shared with ppl they cherished as kids and made promises to. for luffy there's ace and sabo, and shanks. for zoro it was kuina, then as an adult there was luffy himself. in a lot of ways, the straw hat is to luffy what wado ichimonji is to zoro. during that fight, bellamy represented everything luffy and zoro stand against both as characters and thematically speaking. and that, along with everything luffy's learned/come to know so far about zoro, is what he relied on. it's so good.

later, there's this scene with zoro and the rest, where nami wonders why zoro didn't go with luffy to face bellamy again:

(fun bit here is that zoro actually asked luffy before if he needed his help. it's a small panel but cute! he trusts that luffy can handle himself, as luffy told him he could, and knows there's no stopping him when he's made up his mind lol.)

whether zoro was referring to bellamy's strength or his lack of belief in/mockery of dreams, or both, it's clear he understood why luffy chose to do what he did and asked him to stay put back in the bar, and he could relate to luffy's motives as well. as I mentioned above, it makes sense why zoro in specific would, without luffy voicing them out loud.

the nicest part is how all of these moments are a product of the writing that's gone into luffy and zoro's relationship/dynamic. when luffy chooses to trust zoro with stuff like this, there's a chunk of context that precedes it (like whiskey peak). and when zoro decides to follow him, too, it's because his loyalty for and understanding of luffy has been continually built as the story progresses which is super compelling, and also wonderful to see.

#zolu #tp #long post #here I go again I knew I wouldn't be able to rest if I didn't type out the whiskey peak thing #anyway I hope this is somewhat coherent bc it's like. 1 am #love theeem. this also made me think again of blackbeard #so excited for the straw hats' eventual confrontation with his crew. he's so similar to luffy (and zoro to an extent) but in such #a different end of the spectrum at the same time #kinda insane that he was introduced so early on actually #ok this is less zolu but yeah #jay reads op

153 notes · View notes

sunonyoreface · 1 month ago

Text

He Knows - Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 21

Word count: 5589

Warnings: minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, use of weapons, mentions of injuries and death.

My feelings towards Price are continuously conflicted. On one hand, he’s been very generous throughout my stay with 141. He seems to trust my word at face value and has offered me protection with Soap and Ghost. He also seemed genuinely impressed with my work as a translator, and then again with my performance on the phone with my father.

On the other hand, he is the entire reason I’m here. Sure, Ghost arranged everything, but Price is the man behind every step 141 takes. Nothing is done without his permission. My existence is simply a form of currency to him. My value relies on how much my father is willing to sacrifice for me. Markets are rarely stable in times of war. One wrong move, and the stock will tank faster than in 1929. I feel the dip approaching like a rollercoaster at the top of a hill. Imminent.

As he stands in front of me, Price has a welcoming presence, despite all of the atrocities he’s committed. Despite everything he has put me through to gain the upper hand on my father. Despite everything he is going to put me through.

His voice is soft as he speaks. We’re alone in my quarters. He leans against the dresser as I sit in bed with my legs pulled to my chest.

“We identified another rat,” a double agent. Another one of their supposedly well-vetted men who turned out to be a terrorist in disguise. His shoulders remain rigid and his arms cross over his chest. “He was in our transportation unit,” Price continues.

I search my mind for some of the faces I’ve come to recognize. There are too many to remember. I don’t know if I’ve even talked to any of the task force members in that unit. Everyone I know is an extension of Soap’s circle.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” he answers. “We can’t risk tipping off the ultranationalists or the exchange being called off,” his thick English accent reminds me of a misty, fall day spent at a café. It’s cold, but there’s also something comforting about it - about him.

It makes sense how the ultranationalists always knew where we were. The mole could’ve tapped the vehicle GPS or tipped them off about which bases we were at. All of those attacks couldn’t have succeeded without him.

“Are there more of them?”

“Rats don’t lie alone,” there’s an underlying tone of disgust in his otherwise reserved voice. His message is loud and clear and more unnerving than ever. The men in 141 are even less trustworthy than I originally thought. “But I didn’t stop to visit about pest control.”

The air feels colder as the words leave his lips. My breathing pauses and the false ease of our conversation drops away like a theatre curtain.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms.

“When?” my soft voice is urgent.

“In fifteen minutes someone will drop off your gear. In forty-five you’ll get on the van. And in one hour we depart,” My chest clenches and I feel a nervous ball form in my stomach. I can’t believe how fast this is all happening. I’m not ready. I don’t have a plan to save myself if this all goes south. He doesn’t care if I live. Neither does my father. He might say he does, but he doesn’t, not really. I’m just an excuse for them to meet head to head. Just an excuse for them to pick a fight with one another. They don’t care what happens to me. Only I do. Price watches my reaction closely. I can tell he half-heartedly expects a breakdown.

“Will Soap come get me?”

“Soap’s team left an hour ago,” they’re gone already? Why’d they leave so early? Why aren’t they all leaving together? I know the answer I’ll get if I ask these questions. I turn my attention back to the exchange.

“What’ll happen when we get there?” Price shifts his weight. He’s a busy man. He doesn’t have additional time to stand here and let me quiz him.

“We’re meeting at an old landing strip in the forest just past the Russian boarder. The exchange will happen in the clearing. Only a few of us will be there for the handoff: Ghost, myself, and a couple other sergeants. The rest will be waiting in the surrounding woods on our side. But they won’t be alone. The ultranationalists will have men waiting on their side of the woods. In the event that this all goes South, you’re going to retreat to the defilade,” he takes a decisive step away from the dresser with his feet pointed towards the door. I don’t have much time to get any other information from him.

“Wait what’s a defilade?” the word stumbles across my lips.

“The men in the trees,” Price pauses. Like always he has the army green hat on his head and is dressed in partial camoflauge. “y/n, I’m not saying it’ll turn into a dogfight, but your father doesn’t exactly have the best track record. Be prepared for that possibility.”

I heed his warning closer than anything else he’s said all morning. Why is Price going through with this if he thinks its going to go to shit?

“I’ll see you soon enough,” There’s a knowing look to his face. Maybe it’s the way his eyes slightly squint or the ghost of a smile that tugs at his lips. It ambiguous. Comforting yet concerning.

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, a member of the task force drops off a bullet proof vest and new clothes to change into. She is tall and wears a uniform almost identical to the one passed onto me.

“Once you’re dressed, I’ll escort you to transportation,” her voice is low and confident. There’s something reassuring about her presense and I’m just glad it isn’t Bennet or one of his friends taking me there.

After hastily throwing on the tactical gear and bulletproof vest, there’s still a piece of fabric sitting on my bed. When I pick it up I recognize the familiar black, fabric bag from several weeks ago. They’re blindfolding me again. Its eerily soft between my clenched fingers. I can’t fucking believe they’re doing this to me again. After everything, why now?

If Ghost was here, would he make me wear it too? Or is this all Price’s doing?

Her firm hand rests on my upper arm as she leads me throughout the compound. Soon the smell of gas filters through the mask and I hear the rumble of multiple engines. People are talking. Orders are barked from one person to the next. Gear is being loaded onto vehicles. Metal clinks and clashes against each other. Everything is in motion.

And then I hear his voice.

Ghost’s distinct tone cuts clearly through the air. It’s powerful and travels with a force that is impossible to ignore. I can pinpoint the exact moment he notices me. The orders he’s giving briefly falter. Then he’s approaching the sergeant and informing her he’s got it from here.

His strong hand replaces her’s. I imagine the warmth of Ghost’s hand through his glove and my sleeve. Ghost’s chest brushes against my shoulder as he leans down to speak. I blindly await his words, only imagining what we look like to the rest of the soldiers. Will they even notice or are they too preoccupied right now?

“You’re riding with me. Don’t say anything. The blindfold will come off once we arrive,”

“Where is th-“

“Don’t. Speak.” Ghost lowly cuts me off.

The van reminds me of the one before. Similarily, I think we’re strapped in against the walls of the vehicle. But I can’t tell for sure.

Ghost quickly buckles me in. His fingers are fast, yet cautious. He takes care not to pinch my skin between the clasps. For a second it almost feels like he’s lingering just to touch me longer. My remaining anger towards him melts for a moment. In a strange environment where I’m stripped of my senses, he’s the only thing that’s familiar. He’s the only one I might just be able to trust.

There are low murmurs amongst the other task members, but not the cheerful kind like before. These are the types of conversations reserved for before high-risk missions. Conversations that hum just above a whisper. They know not everyone will return. You can hear it in their voices.

The van rocks back and forth as we drive. Ghost’s thigh presses against my own. I melt into his side. The firmness of his strength is a reassuring senestion. My hand rests between our legs as my thumb gently traces back and forth along his pantleg. I wonder if he can feel it? I wonder if he knows how this is going to end?

The terrain progressively deteriorates from pavement to gravel to dirt to something far more unpredictable. When the van suddenly stops there’s a split second of absolute stillness. It only lasts for a single breath. Then, it’s go time.

The clicking sounds of seatbelts fill the air. Orders are reaffirmed down the line. Shuffling bodies exit the van. Cold air wafts through the doors.

The blindfold is harshly yanked off my head. Ghost’s calm eyes latch onto mine. In the sea of chaos flowing around us, he remains anchored.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Ghost only nods once, his eyes telling me all I need to know.

Thick forest surrounds us as teams of armed men meticulously clear the surrounding area. It’s daylight, but the shadows of the trees make it feel like dusk. The snow crunches under my feet and bitter air bites at my skin as visible clouds form when I exhale. We’re back in Russia. Ultranationalist territory.

Price appears from another van followed by a formation of armed men who surround Ghost and myself.

“We’re clear. Their men have claimed their half and the rest are waiting on the flat.”

“How many?” Ghost asks, his hand is glued to the automatic riffle clipped to his vest. His eyes continuously scan the area for threats. Everyone is on high alert. Something is happening behind the scnenes that I don’t know about. I can just tell.

“Half a dozen,” Price responds.

“Beyond the zone of action?”

“TAC estimates about fifty,” Price’s attention is entirely on Ghost. He trusts his opinion more than anyone else on the task force.

“We’re outnumbered,” Ghost’s jaw clenches under the skull mask. His response is short and matter-of-fact. He doesn’t like this. “Update on demolitions?”

“They’re ready,” Price smirks knowingly. What the hell have they got planned? Where is Soap?

Ghost processes what Price has just said. Despite his hesitancy he seems to find some reassurance in Price’s words.

“Right. Y/n,” my eyes are already on Price. “When we go out there, you stay in the detail circle until instructed otherwise. Keep your act up. Sell it to your father. If something happens, retreat to the West side of the flat,” his instructions echo between my ears. This is real. This is happening.

“Affirmative,” I force my chin up.

Then like no time has passed at all, we march as a unit through the trees into a long opening. It’s an old landing strip once used for planes with an abandoned hangar at the far side of the field. The sun gleams through the opening in the trees and reflects off the snow. The brightness hurts my eyes at firt, but then as they adjust, I see several men gathered at a table in the center of the air strip. Its them. It’s him.

Fear pummels through my veins. It’s violent and demands my attention. Every sense feels heightened. Dread fills my body and weighs me down like iron restraints.

It takes everything I have to push myself forward. Every action feels forced. Snow sinks up to my shins as we walk, adding extra resistance. The space is large, spanning multiple football fields. I feel their eyes on us from a hundred meters away. I don’t think I can stomach seeing my father after everything.

The tension is killing me.

Four men surround me as Price and Ghost lead them towards the group. The Ultranationalists have more men at their station, but some of them must be the prisoners theyre supposed to exchange.

At least that’s what I think until Price clears his throat. “You’re missing three sergeants,” His voice sounds different than I’m used to: louder, demanding, dangerous.

“No one’s missing, Captain Price.” My father’s all too familiar voice reaches my ears. “I assume it’s Captain Price, you didn’t exactly leave room for introductions.” it’s warm and relaxed. “They’re resting just beyond the treeline. We only wanted to garuntee your honest intentions before bringing them out,” he sounds completely in control, with his attention completely on Price. It gives me a moment to really look at him.

I haven’t seen my father in weeks and while he looks exactly the same, I can barely recognize the man in front of us. His beard is longer, but still well groomed. He’s dressed in dark greens and greys, the same as the other Ultranationalists. A toque covers his head and a warm winter jacket is hugged by a bullet proof vest. A chest holster hides a gun while his hands remain open and falsely inviting. His eyes look darker than normal. He must be tired. Or maybe it’s hidden rage that gives them that look. I can’t tell anymore. He isn’t the person I once thought I knew, that much is certain.

Our eyes meet and my blood runs cold.

“Dad?” my voice croaks. Price’s reminder to play into the traumatized daughter act weighs on my shoulders. Suspicious eyes square me up from every angle. There isn’t a single person here who fully trusts me. One wrong word and we could all end up dead.

“Y/n?” his brows furrow as his head cranes in my direction. “Y/n, are you okay? Just be patient darling, you’ll be safe soon,” I note how he chooses his words to influence my emotions. How many times has he done this before without me noticing?

“Right, lets cut to the chase then, bring the rest of my men out and she’s all yours,” Price says. I watch as my father eyes him up for a second and then nods in agreement. He barks an order in Russian to one of the men behind him who repeats it into a transmitter.

Then Price steps to the side, opening up a hole in the baracade of men surrounding me. Ghost does the same as he turns and our eyes lock. Under the skull mask I see his lower lids tense with suspicion. He doesn’t trust the Ultranationalists. Every person here has conflicting goals and values. No one is safe.

I can’t look at him for long. Beyond them, someone else expects me.

I take off running into his arms and hot, genuine tears fall from my eyes and freeze to my cheeks. As his arms wrap around me, I can’t hide the shudder of terror that ripples down my spine. It’s becoming harder and harder to separate my father from his actions. When I close my eyes, I see the footage of him ordering the execution of hundreds of vulnerable people. “I’m scared, Dad,” the hushed truth leaves my lips and brushes against the fabric of his coat. He doesn’t react to my words.

“Those aren’t my men,” A type of hollow furry reverberates through Price’s chest. A realization. A confirmation. They let me go too soon. Now I’m in my father’s arms, while the men marching towards them are more Ultranationalists. Not the taken 141 soldiers.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” he says with his arms still wrapped around me,” as I look over his soulder and past his soldiers, I see more men dressed in grey and green emerge past the treeline and stalk in our direction, guns in hand.

I hear Ghost whisper something into his com. I wonder how many guns are trained on us right now? How many snipers are hidden in the trees waiting for clearance?

“You don’t get to change the conditions of the exchange last minute.”

“I suppose you’re right. That’s not normally how we do things,” my father finally releases me from the hug. His leather glove wipes the tears from my face. The empty, almost irritated look in his eyes tells me he isn’t satisfied. “We don’t typically go through the effort of an exchange. However, Captain Price, these are unique circumstances. Yet, I can’t help the feeling that you are getting a better deal than we are. Look at all these men you’re getting. They’re incredibly valuable to us. They know a lot of information. Information that could hurt a lot of people. Not to mention your men who will be returned to you, once we adjust our terms, of course.”

“Is her life not valuable enough to you?” Ghost’s voice booms across the snow. It’s the first time he’s spoken since arriving. His official introduction to my father. In another life, I wonder if they’d like each other?

“Of course it is,” he brings a hand to his heart and holds onto my arm with the other. It isn’t. I feel his grip tighten. “But that doesn’t mean this is a fair trade,” My stomach drops. He just confirmed everything I’ve feared without directly saying it. My life doesn’t matter as much as having an advantage on 141. He wants more. That greedy fucking bastard.

“What is then?” Price demands.

“You,” he answers. “And several lieutenants. Then we’re getting somewhere.”

“Negative. Never going to fucking happen. Get that through your thick, Russian skull,” large clouds form in plumes as Price’s burning words meet the arctic air. I sense the tension rising as more Ultranationalists approach the group. We were already outnumbered. Now it’s at least two to one. Why haven’t they called backup yet?

“It will. Wilingly or not,” there it is. The underlying threat of violence that has simmered just under the surface of this entire meeting has finally emerged. The Ultranationalists are more than willing to fight. Maybe they’re even counting on it.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Price sneers. I spare a glance in Ghost’s direction to find his eyes already on me. They’re unreadable. He’s never felt so far away.

“Yeah? What’s that?” my father’s cocky voice bites back. This entire time I feel his hands tighten around my arm as though my winter jacket isn’t there. The heavy vest weighs me down. The cold air hurts my skin. Everything feels off. And just when my attention is focused on every uncomfortable detail, Price’s words cut through the air with such clarity they almost don’t sound real.

“If you don’t follow through with our original deal, your wife will die.”

I feel my father freeze. His molten iron grip solidifies. At the same time my heart drops and it feels like I’m falling. My mom? 141 has my mom? My eyes flicker to Ghost, but he won’t look at me. He lied to me. Again. He fucking lied. Ghost had every opportunity to tell me and he didn’t. My cheeks flush with betrayal. After all this time… How could I be so stupid to trust him?

“That’s impossible,” for the first time, my father looks genuinely rattled. The Ultranationalists were supposed to have a team in New York to protect her. She would be almost untouchable. Yet, Price reaches into a large pouch on his vest and pulls out a tablet. On the screen is a livestreamed video of my mom tied to a chair in our family livingroom. The surge of panick that courses through my veins is indescribable.

Somehow, they did it.

“Go get my men,” Price lowly orders and I don’t doubt for a second he’d kill me or my mom to get what he wants. It’s a terrifying realization. He is willing to do anything to protect his task force. All notions of morals and ethics fly out the door when it comes to his men. Bennet was right. I’m not safe with them.

More orders fly out of my father’s mouth in Russian which are then repeated through the transmitter. All eyes are on the treeline waiting for the captured task force members to emerge.

I can’t bring myself to look at Ghost again. Not after this. Not after such a devastating betrayal.

Just as they emerge from the trees, a popping noise behind us in the distance snags my attention. I turn my head just before the men do, seeing nothing. But that noise, that unmistakable noise can only be one damning thing.

Just like that, all bets are off the table.

I’m yanked behind the line of Untranationalists as each side raises their weapons at each other. The line hudles together and pushes back towards the trees as men from each side scream orders and threats at each other.

Over the shoulders of the Ultranationalists, I briefly see the six task members shift into formation, covering all angles. Price yells out something about their men and I realize they didn’t get ahold of the promised Ultranationalists or their captured soldiers. They are leaving completely empty handed, with the exception of my mom. If this doesn’t turn around, they’ll kill her. Nausea floods my stomach. I feel the blood leave my face. If I wasn’t being pushed back by my father, I would be sick right now.

The distinct sounds take me back to the night the Ultranationalists ambushed 141’s base. I’d never heard gunfire so close before, but that’s nothing compared to now. What once originated on the other side of the field, now sounds to be only meters away.

Price said if I get the chance, to escape to the West side, but right now, that’s impossible. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know that it’s any safer than being with my father. Nowhere is safe. The forest is crawling with armed men and even if I did escape, everyone would be looking for me and I don’t have anything to defend myself with.

“They’re moving forward!” I hear someone yell in Russian. We’re just entering the treeline as more men flood around us and then break into smaller groups. Everything is so completely chaotic and yet seemingly rehersed.

My lungs burn and for a moment I forget how cold it is outside. Adrenaline and panic fight with eachother as I try to distinguish what to focus on. So much is happening. I completely forget about my father’s grip on my arm.

“Y/n,” he braces my shoulders, encouraging me to look at him. His eyes are wide with excitement. I feel like I’m going to be sick looking at him. ��Everything is going to be alright dear, we’ll escape to the trucks. Alright? Just follow me, okay?” I manage a small nod.

I’m yanked forward as we run through the trees. The group of men with us switched from those on the field and now there are only four additional Ultranationalists escorting us. I don’t know how long my father pulls me along for. It feels like miles and hours, but can’t be more than a few minutes.

A loud eruption shakes the ground as snow and dirt fly through the air and a tree crashes beside us. Holy fuck, that was close.

Smoke clouds the air as people shout and bullets fly. The scene can only be described as a deadly, gorilla clusterfuck with the goal of taking out as many people from the other side as possible. We are in an incredibly dangerous position.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, one of the escorts is shot in the leg and drops to the ground. Red stains the snow around him. My father yells in Russian to keep going.

We weave through the thick pines and any sense of direction I once had is gone. My heart thunders in my chest.

A loud shot rings through the air and another Ultranationalist drops to the ground. A second shot sends a bullet through his skull.

Someone is following us. Stalking us. Toying with us. My gut turns.

For a second, I wonder if it’s a sniper.

Then, a knife comes flying through the air, lodging itself into the back of the third of my father’s men.

It’s in this moment, I know exactly who is after us. After me.

The last soldier turns around and fires blindly into the trees behind us. As soon as his clip is empty and he pauses to reload, a single bullet pummels through the trees and it too, pierces his skull and stains the snow a brilliant red. His body slumps to the ground with a muffled thump.

My father pushes us behind the trunk of a large tree and grips his handgun in both hands. He doesn’t need to tell me to be quiet. I don’t think I could make a sound if I tried.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions echo in the distance, but there’s nothing close to us like there was before. The majority of the fighting is taking place closer to the air strip.

The only place Ghost ever struggled with stealth, is in the snow. There’s no technology in the world that’ll muffle the sound of his footsteps strategically approaching the tree we’re hiding behind. You can hear the frigidness in the air as the crunching snow gets louder. He’s close.

“Throw your weapons to the side of the tree and then slowly step out with your hands in the air,” Ghost’s demanding voice fills the air. A dissatisfied grumble ripples through my father’s chest. I shift to move from behind the tree and a large hand snags the back of my vest, pulling me back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

I bite my tongue. He doesn’t know Ghost like I do. There’s no escaping him. The best I can hope for is that he doesn’t want to kill either of us.

“I won’t repeat myself,” his voice sounds closer already. I can imagine him on the other side of the tree with his assault riffle pointed in our direction. Part of me wants to believe he wouldn’t fire on us. But I honestly don’t know anymore.

“Forgive me darling,” the hushed words come as my father wraps his arms around me from behind. He pulls me against his chest and presses the barrel of his gun to my temple before stepping out from behind the tree.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the panicked words bubble up my throat as I try and escape his deathly grasp. I twist and throw my weight around, but it’s no use. Even with one hand occupied, he’s simply too strong. “Let go!” The barrel of the gun bumps against my head as hysteria begins to cloud my better judgement.

Just feet away, Ghost stands with his weapon aimed directly at me. At some point he clipped the riffle to his vest and switched to his handgun. Behind the daunting skull mask, his narrowed eyes calculate our every move with extreme precision.

I’ve heard the rumors about Ghost. Caught wind of whispers detailing the horrors he’s capable of. I’ve even witnessed some of the brutality myself working as his translator. Yet none of that cruelty was ever directed toward me. Now, I find myself looking directly down the barrel of his gun. There is no escaping Ghost’s wrath. There’s no escaping my father’s wrath.

“Put the gun down,” he calmly instructs my father. There’s something different about his voice. Something tense. I notice a stiffness about his posture that isn’t usually there. I’m not the only one who picks up on his behaviour either.

“So that bastard was right,” spite laces my father’s voice. His hot words travel down the back of my neck as his arm wraps tighter around my chest. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

I blink. My mouth dries up and I’m left speechless. How the hell does he know? How did Bennet know? Who else knows?

“No, dad-” the words start to tumble out of my mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, little bird,” his tone is venomous. I’m a traitor to him. Sleeping with his enemy. “You fucking whore.”

Tears prick my eyes. His words stun me and I can’t help the self loathing that weighs down my shoulders.

“Let her go or I’ll shoot,” fearful tremors shake my body. My vision starts to blur with emotion. I’ve never felt so scared in my life. I truly may not survive this.

“Then what?” he sneers “You’ll kill me anyways.”

“If you don’t, your wife will die,” the ultimatum is clear. “Is she really worth it?” Ghost’s words sting like never before. I wish one of them would make a decision, put me out of my misery.

Then, as if without thinking at all, my father releases me from his grip and takes a large step back. My weak knees barely hold my shaking body and when I turn around to face him, I truly don’t recognize the man in front of me anymore. Hundreds of burning questions ache for air, but the only one that escapes my lips begs for the devastating truth.

“Do you- do you even love me?” I force myself to make eye contact with him. From the very start of this horrifying journey, something has been missing. Like I was trying to read a misprinted book.

My father purses his lips and furrows his brows. I know the answer when our eyes meet. Not now. Certainly not after betraying him like he thinks I did. He inhales like he’s about to answer when three deafening gunshots pierce the air. I feel the bullets whiz through the air beside my head and watch as one tears through my father’s arm and two hit him in the shoulder. His gun falls to the ground and his eyes buldge as he realizes what just happened.

Ghost rushes past me and tackles my father to the ground. He forces his arms behind his back, despite the bleeding wounds, and zipties his hands together. He groans empty threats, but they’re so muffled I can’t make them out. None of this feels real. Every part of my body feels numb and full of static. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult.

Ghost stuffs my father’s mouth with a gag and then covers his head with a black bag. I try to tune out the harrowing sounds of his muffled moans and the distant gunfire and explosions. I feel a panick attack building under the surface of my skin. This is all too much. My knees finally give in.

“Y/n? Y/n,” Ghost’s voice softens as he abandons my father for me. His gloved hands are gentle as they embrace both sides of my head. I flinch away from his touch, causing him to falter. “You’re safe y/n, I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe,” he crouches to the ground beside me and pulls me against his bulky chest. I missed feeling his warmth so damn bad. I want to trust him. God do I want to, but all he does is lie to me. “We just have to get closer to the runway. Then the extraction team will get us out of here,” he strokes my hair as he speaks.

I’m not ready when he pulls us up from our position on the ground, but there’s no time to be ready. Every second we waste in the forest - in Ultranationalist territory - is another second we risk running into more of their soldiers.

Someone is going to notice my father’s absence, if they haven’t already. And they will come looking, if they haven’t already. In which case we are in even more danger.

Ghost lifts my father to his feet and forces him to walk, at times roughly pushing him ahead. Watching them makes my stomach twist into a knot. I can’t believe I haven’t thrown up yet.

He switches the handgun for his automatic riffle again and uses the sight to scope out the surrounding woods.

I have no idea where we are, yet Ghost seems to know the exact path to our destination.

Twice, he takes out multiple men in the distance before they can spot us, but our treck back is otherwise eerily silent.

I don’t remember waiting for the chopter or boarding or the ride back to Latvia. But I do remember the pained sounds escaping my father’s chest as he sits across from me, still blindfolded.

I completely forgot about Soap’s absence admidst clusterfuck of everything else going on. That’s until I hear another member of the task force briefing Ghost on a separate attack they planned to take place while the exchange was happening. The whirling of the helicopter makes it almost impossible make out their words, but Ghost’s eyes give away everything.

“He was injured sir. Badly. He lost a lot of blood on the way back to base and they didn’t have the equipment to operate in the air,” I feel my heart rate pick up and watch as Ghost completely freezes.

I don’t hear what Ghost asks him next. I do however, see the soldier shake his head with remorse.

Dread consumes me.

#simon riley #cod ghost #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #he knows

51 notes · View notes

kaleidoscopewritings19 · 1 month ago

Text

Jason Todd x Reader

Title: “He Loves Me.”

WARNINGS: ABUSE (domestic, verbal, and emotional abuse), Strong language, if you are in anyway triggered by the topic of abuse, please do not read. If you have gone through abuse, please, be aware when reading this, because it could set off triggers. 18+ due to the topic of abuse.

Characters: Jason Todd and F!xReader, Brent and Lily made up characters.

Based on some true events. Please be kind. This is someone else’s story being told from my perspective, and in my writing. It has been requested by a friend, and friend has approved of this x reader.

————-

Tears streamed down your face as you sat on the bathroom floor. Quiet sobs escaped your lips, your body trembled as your fingers shook over the bruise that now adorned your cheek.

You held the handheld mirror out in front of you. Tears stained your cheeks and your eyes were red and puffy. “He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. He really does love me. He’s just having a bad day.” You whispered to yourself.

The sleeves of your sweater raised up, and bruises were scattered all along your forearm. A pounding sound on the door made you drop the mirror to the floor, and you brought your legs closer into your chest. “I’m not finished with you yet!” A loud voice boomed on the other side making you shudder.

You leaned your head against the cabinet, wishing you were anywhere but here. “He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. He really does love me. He’s just having a bad day.”

Regardless of how you felt now, you knew better than to open that door. You knew how he got when he was drunk. You knew how he felt when dinner wasn’t on the table or the clothes weren’t folded and put away. You also knew how he reacted when you brought up his cheating. And yet, somehow, you always believed the next time would be different; even though every time he showed you his reaction would remain the same.

It started out small. Your hard headedness, and fiery attitude would earn you a few grabs of the chin, or him grabbing your face to force you to look into his eyes. Small bruises would form and you would cover them up. No big deal, right? You deserved it because you had your own personality.

Wrong. Your friends had told you how wrong it was. But your mind led you to believe other wise. He loves me. He’s making me a better person.

Then it turned into him grabbing your wrists, arms, hair— whatever he could grab in the heat of the moment, he grabbed. After his small rampages, he would kiss your lips, whispering, “Baby… I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again. I’m trying to be different, I’m trying to change, but it’s hard.” He would cry into your shoulder.

He did change— for a while anyway. Your daughter was born. He was in love and in awe of her— until he wasn’t. The drinking started again, and then the affairs happened. Multiple affairs had started. Constantly, you would cry to him, “I love you! Why do you have to find comfort and understanding in another woman’s arms?”

That resulted in him slapping you for the first time. “Shut the fuck up! Just shut up! You nag me so much! That’s why I do it!” He would scream at you, and then leave in a fit of rage.

After that, you were quiet. You didn’t speak unless spoken to. You knew when and when not to speak; he was a ticking time bomb. You tended to your daughter, and did what was expected and asked of you.

Tonight, it was different. Two years of him being abusive, tonight was the worst. Brent had been gone for three weeks. He never text, called, or came home to tell you where he was. You were genuinely worried about him… was he dead? Alive? The landlord had came knocking on your door at 7 that morning.

“Y/N, listen, you haven’t paid rent in a month and a half. You know I’m partial to you because I know your situation.” The older man said, as he looked around you, seeing your small daughter watching the television.

“But I have to draw the line somewhere. The yelling and the fighting, your neighbors have asked me to remove the two of you from the building.” He said rubbing the back of his neck.

“If— if you leave him, I’m sure I can make other arrangements for you to stay. My daddy treated my mother the same as your boyfriend does you. That’s why I have a soft spot for you, but if you choose not to— I have to evict you.” He whispered, and he glanced over your shoulder.

“Do it for that little girl in there. You have three days to come up with the rent payment for last month, if I don’t have it, or if you don’t get rid of the scum bag, you have thirty days to vacate the premises.” He handed you a sheet of paper, and slowly walked away.

Tears streamed down your face, as you remained frozen at the door. “Do it for that little girl.” Rang in your mind, and you closed the door.

You walked over and got on the floor, and cradled your daughter close to your body. “He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. He really does love me. He loves us.”

That night, you had put your daughter to bed, and Brent had decided to come home. He threw his jacket on the couch, and tossed his keys on the table near the entry way.

A paper caught his attention, and he picked it up. “When did you get this?” He questioned, and you leaned against the island that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Today. The landlord said we have three days to come up with last month’s rent, or we have thirty days to leave.” You said and he crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor.

Anger filled your body, and you couldn’t control the words that fled from your mouth. “Brent! You haven’t been home in three weeks. Three weeks! You haven’t called or text— I didn’t know if you were dead or alive!” You shouted. “Lily and I have been living off of scraps for two days, and the rent is overdue, and—“ before you could finish your sentence a stinging pain across your face made you freeze.

Brent was standing in front of you, “Shut up, Y/N! It’s none of your damn business where I was.” He said and you began backing up towards the couch.

The back of your knees were pressed to the edge of the couch, and his face was inches away from yours. “I don’t know why you think you can talk to me like that. I’ll pay the damn bills when I’m good and ready.”

“Where were you?” You demanded. “I’ve been here struggling, taking care of our daughter, while you’re out fucking some whore for three weeks?” You spat.

Angrily, he shoved you down on the couch. His body straddled you—his knee was pressed into your hip, making you squirm underneath his weight. “You’re lucky I’m even with you. You deserve to be treated like this. You don’t deserve my attention—I work hard all the while you sit here all day.”

You tried to push him off you, and with one hand, he had your hands pressed into your stomach. His other hand caught your gaze; it was cocked back and he was ready to punch you in the face.

“Brent—get off me, please!” You pleaded with him.

“You deserve this.” He said, but a small voice came from around the kitchen island. “Dada? Momma!” Your daughter squealed as she came running up to the two of you.

She had a smile on her face, and Brent jumped up off you. “Play time?” Lily asked, and you quickly grabbed her and ran to the bathroom locking the door behind you.

You sat Lily down, and she went to the basket where her bath toys were. That’s when you finally broke down into tears, watching your daughter play with her toys, oblivious to what was going on around her.

You picked up the handheld mirror and stared at yourself, why? Why did you let things go this far. Brent started pounding on the door, “Come out here now! I’m not finished with you yet!” He yelled. You pulled your legs closer to your chest, resting your head against the cabinets.

Lily stared at the bathroom door, and then looked back at you. “We’re okay.” You whispered to her, and she went back to playing with her toys.

“I’m going to go get beer. When I get back, you better be out of that bathroom.” He threatened.

When you heard the front door shut, you unlocked the door and quickly grabbed your cellphone. You dialed a number you knew by heart, and raced to the bedroom to pack up some of yours and Lily’s belongings.

“Hello?” Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice. “Y/N, are you there?” Jason Todd asked, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore.

“Jay— I need your help. But you have to get here fast. Please.” You whimpered into the phone. “I don’t know how much time I have left, before- before he comes back.” You said.

Instantly, you heard a car door slam. “I’m coming.”

——————

You had packed up important documents, all of yours and Lily’s clothes, and her favorite toys. A knock on the door made you jump. You slowly opened the door, and a pair of dark brown eyes stared into yours.

You flung the door open and Jason pulled you into his body. His forehead pressed against yours, “What’s wrong Y/N/N? Why do you have to leave? Where’s Brent?” He asked and he pulled away from you.

The bruise across your cheek had darkened, and so did Jason’s eyes when he seen it. “Did he do this to you!?” He asked and tears filled your eyes.

Jason brought you back into his body and cradled your head. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He said into your hair, and you pulled away. “Why did you stay?” He asked.

“We have to go. Before he gets back—” you say, and Jason’s eyes were fixated on something behind you. You turned around, and your daughter was standing near the kitchen island.

“Momma, I sleepy.” She said rubbing her eyes. You went over and picked her up, and placed a blanket over her little body. Jason’s eyes went from Lily to you.

“You.. this is why you stayed.” He said answering his own question. You nodded your head with tears in your eyes.

He picked up your duffle bags, and your daughter’s small backpack. “Let’s go.” He whispered and he led you down to a car you knew had to belong to Bruce. It was unlike Jason to not drive his motorcycle.

Jason helped you put the car seat into the car, and you buckled her in. Lily was sound asleep, and you pressed a kiss to her little head. You turned and stared up at the apartment building, questioning your decision to leave. He’ll just find me. He’ll apologize, he loves me. He needs me and I need him. But the old landlords words rang in your mind, “Do it for that little girl.”

With a deep breath, you tossed your purse into the passenger seat, letting Jason help you into the car. He closed the door and got into the drivers seat. Jason was silent the entire car ride to Wayne Manor. He had reassured you that Bruce was in Beijing on business, and the rest of the batboys were off patrolling.

Jason took you to his old bedroom, and he sat your bags near the closet door. Quietly, you placed Lily down on the bed and covered her with the blankets, leaving her teddy bear next to her.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pushing the loose strands of hair behind her ear. Jason leaned up against the old oak dresser staring at the two of you.

“What’s her name?” He asked, and you quietly replied: “Lillian Jayde. She’s two and a half.”

You looked over your shoulder. “Her middle name, Jayde, was inspired by you, Jay.” You said quietly, and he came closer to you, kneeling down to the floor.

“When did he start hitting you?” He asked and you clasped your hands together. “Six months into the relationship.”

“Why did you stay?” He questioned and you looked down at your hands. “Because I loved him. I was scared to leave him. He- he isn’t like this all the time…. I am stubborn and you know me, I have a big mouth and say things that are out of line-“

Jason cut you off, “What the hell- do you hear yourself? Why are you making excuses for that piece of shit?” He asked, and he held your hands in his.

His gaze softened, “A real man would never forcibly change you. You are perfect. Do you hear me? You are not worthless, you are not his punching bag, and if he loved you, he wouldn’t have done this to you.” He said pulling up your shirt sleeves.

“You could have easily kicked his ass. You were trained to fight- you are so strong, why?” He stared into your eyes searching for answers.

“Because I was tired of fighting. I felt safe with him, and I- and I got pregnant, and things changed, Jay, I don’t know.” You cried out, and he pulled you into his body. You explained everything that had happened that night, and after you had finished he said, “I will be right back.” There wasn’t enough time to ask him where he was going, or what he was doing.

You laid down next to Lily, expecting Jason to just run downstairs, but he was gone for over an hour. When he had finally come back, you got out of the bed and walked towards him. His lip was split, and his knuckles were starting to bruise- there was no need to ask where he went or what he did, because deep down you knew.

His brown eyes stared at you as he gently touched your cheek; Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, Y/N. I’m not going to let him come near you or her. I’m going to protect you both. You hear me?” you hugged him tighter. “We will figure this whole thing out, and I’m going to be with you every step of the way, okay?”

You looked into his eyes and gave him a grateful smile. You felt safe in his arms. Jason Todd had saved you and your daughter from a life of torment and abuse. The words “He loves me.” Had a whole new meaning to you, and you had finally done it for that little girl.

————

I know this was rough and sad. But I was asked by a friend to write this and bring awareness to abuse. Some of these events are based on a true story and real life, minus Jason Todd, but I am happy to say that his friend has met her “Jason”. This was difficult and different for me to write about this topic. Please do not send hate.

You are worthy of love. You deserve someone who will love you. You deserve to be happy. My inbox is always opened, even if you just need someone to talk to.

Much love,

Kaleidoscopewritings19 ❤️‍🩹

#jason todd x y/n #jason todd scenarios #jason wayne #jason todd #matthew daddario #the #dc red hood #the red hood #red hood #jason todd x reader

28 notes · View notes