#next up will be Gaz!

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story II: Graves

[Story 1 - Konchar] [AO3]

Ah yes, the oneshot I promised 4 months ago. I got sidetracked with bloodhunger, and I'm still busy with uni (when am I not...), but I finally found time to write Graves' story! I'll be honest, I kinda procrastinated on this because I wasn't sure I would be able to really capture his voice correctly, but I like how this turned out.

I got a few more characters on the list for side stories, but if you're interested in seeing anyone in particular, you're welcome to suggest them!

“You’re such a piece of shit, Graves!”

Philip smiles as wide as his mouth full of dry MRE cake allows him to, “I know you’re the one that put boot polish inside my shoes two weeks ago, Collins. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Collins’ face twists in anger, in a way that is quite satisfying to him, “I was fuckin’ saving that cake for after the op.”

“I know.” Philip swallows, grin finally able to stretch across his face. Collin doesn’t grace him with another reply, instead stomping away while muttering curses under his breath. Serves him right.

He leans back against the armored truck they’ll use for infil, in about half an hour from now. He’s been ready far before that, always the first on the tarmac. He has to, if he wants to be in his superior officers’ good graces, if he wants that promotion.

Being a Corporal is nice and all, but Philip aims higher than that. He thinks – no, knows he wasn’t made to follow orders till the day he dies. No, he’s much better suited to command, to lead, to make the final call.

He just needs to make the higher brass see that as well.

Among the buzzing activity of the final preparations for the upcoming operation, Philip spots Lieutenant Reed inspecting a crate of equipment. The man is build like a shit brick house, all 6’4 inches of pure muscle. That’s not to mention the Lieutenant’s special little revenant status, which makes sure that even if you manage to shoot the giant bastard, he’ll get back up quicker than any human being should. Apparently, healing powers are quite common for soldier revenants, not that it matters when their kind is as rare as it is.

A pang of jealousy shoots through him, at the sheer power the man clearly exudes just by standing there. It goes away quickly enough.

Lieutenant Reed is a great commander, don’t get him wrong, but Philip always thought he was too… caught up by his own moral compass. More concerned with doing what’s just, instead of doing what’s right. Admirable, but dangerous on the field.

A man who puts his and his squad’s life over the mission, is not a man who will go far. A man that puts things like righteousness over the mission…

Philip pities him, really. Reed could’ve been a General by now, if he understood that. But he’s grateful, in a way, that the Lieutenant is the way he is, to teach him this lesson.

The Lieutenant’s eyes meet his, and he motions with his head to move. He ruminated around long enough – time to get to work.

The mission is simple, a milk run, really. When he enlisted, Philip expected to be constantly fighting, to truly feel with each shot how he changes things in the world.

He sure didn’t expect to be loaded up in the back of a truck with five other soldiers, and act as basically a glorified delivery man, transporting gear to an American base in another part of a foreign country.

Those were the fantasies of a younger, stupider Philip. He now knows just how much is required to upkeep a base, both from first-hand experience and from his studies on his time off. After all, being the best doesn’t only come down to his physical abilities, it demands the best mind, the strongest will, the smartest of tactics.

This means he’s got less time to socialize with the soldiers in his unit, but he’s truly not mourning that. They seem like a bunch of idiots anyway. It only motivates him further to get the next promotion, if only to get away from them.

The downside to that, is that Philip barely knows the last names of the people currently in the truck with him. Lieutenant Reed is in a truck ahead of theirs, his rank high enough to grant him the privilege of not being shoved between crates and sweaty recruits.

Philip keeps half of his attention on the low conversation between the soldiers next to him, scanning the empty, dry grasslands surrounding the road.

“Heard the fellas up north have been attacked, last time a convoy went through.” a soldier he thinks might be Johnson murmurs.

Collins answers from the other side of the truck, “yup, I got a friend there. Two from his unit died.”

Maybe-Johnson shakes his head with a huff, “fuckin’ gangs man… The US might as well fund them, with the amount of supplies they drive right to their doorstep…”

“Think we’ll meet them today?” another soldier joins (Gonzalez? Fuck if he knows).

“If we do, I’m going to wipe ‘em out.” Collins grins, and Philip has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t wipe out his grandma, let alone several trained gang members. “‘Sides” he continues, “we got the LT on our side.”

Gonzalez (???) laughs, “damn right we do! Can’t kill a man twice, can ya?”

Philip internally groans, jaw tightening. They think Reed is some sort of immortal, just because he died once and survived. A fucking bullet to the head would kill him all the same. The only thing the Lieutenant is truly invincible from is infection and diseases - what originally killed him. If any of these bastards ever bothered to pick up a book, they’d know that.

He apparently didn’t manage to school his features well enough, since Collins turns to address him, “what’s with the face, Graves?”

Philip does roll his eyes this time, “just because Reed is a revenant doesn’t mean y’all can just sit back and relax, he’s just one person.”

The road they’re on cuts through a hill, casting long shadows over them.

“Yeah, a person that heals from a stab wound in half an hour!”

“Those are just rumors.” Philip spits, “have any of you ever looked at the actual reports??”

A few soldiers groan as Collins answers, “not all of us are fuckin’ suckups, bro.”

Philip watches the lot of them laugh, a sharp smile slowly spreading on his lips, “not all of us are going to become Sergeants, bro.”

The laughter dies, Collins’ face twists in anger familiarly, “you’ve always been a piece of shit-”

The world becomes bright white for a moment, screams Philip later registers as his own rip out of his chest as the truck swerves and crashes.

His ears ring, limbs refusing to listen to his orders. “Hrgh… shit…” he forces his eyes open, as his hearing returns.

Gunshots flash between the wreckage and the top of the hills, soldiers taking cover behind the upturned truck. It seems like he was the only one blown away this far.

The fuckin’ gang must’ve hit him directly. Just his damn luck.

Philip tries to crawl forward, not particularly keen on staying alone with no cover, but even that small movement shoots intense pain through his body, his vision darkening for a few seconds. He winces, carefully turning to look at his torso and legs.

He swallows down the bile rising to his mouth, blinking down at the deep craters at his right hip. That… can’t be his own body, right? He thinks he sees bone.

Another RPG whistles through the air, missing the truck by only a few feet. His squad turns around, shooting down the gang members attempting to corner them from their flank.

He needs to get to them. They should have enough knowledge of first aid to at least stop the bleeding, or give him a stim shot, fuckin’ anything!

Philip starts screaming, “HELP!!! I’M STILL ALIVE!!!!!” he grits his teeth, desperation starting to crack his voice as he realizes he might actually die here, “COLLINS!!! GONZALEZ!!! HELP!!!!!”

Hope bubbles within him when he sees Collins turn his head to his direction, searching for the source of the shouts in the shadows. Philip raises his arm as far as he can, waving it to catch Collins’ attention.

He thinks it might be the first time he ever felt actual happiness to see Collins’ stupid green eyes lock onto his.

“I CAN’T MOVE, YOU GOTTA FUCKIN’ HELP ME!” he yells, pointing to his right leg.

Collins’ eyes trail down, to the puddle of blood coloring the grass under Philip red. He lifts a hand to his comms, mouth moving too fast for him to read.

He must’ve reported his condition to Reed. Collins is not completely useless, Philip muses.

Collins nods in response to whatever Reed told him, and Philip’s heart drops when he turns away from him, and points to the forest.

They… they’re not gonna run, are they? They’re not gonna leave him here, bathing in his own damn blood, right?!

Yet, that’s exactly what they do. The five soldiers, his own teammates, wait for an opening in the relentless shooting from the hostiles, and run. Without him.

Philip shouts again, anger now booming through his throat, “COLLINS! YOU FUCKING COWARD, COME BACK!!! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE, I’LL DIE!!!!! WE’RE ON THE SAME SIDE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, HELP- HELP ME!!!”

Collins doesn’t even look back once, and Philip watches the figures of his squad disappear between the trees. He screams in frustration, hands shaking in fury.

His mind returns to the moment Collins nodded. Lieutenant Reed… he must’ve told them to disengage. Ordered them to leave him behind to bleed out.

A hysterical laugh shakes his shoulders. So much for ‘no man left behind’, eh, Lieutenant? Fucking hypocrite. Philip hopes that wherever revenants go after they die, Reed will suffer for the rest of his existence.

His laugh devolves into choked sobs when the reality of his situation sinks in. He’s gonna die. He’s going to die because his own team abandoned him.

Philip always knew they were useless, but he expected them to at least not fuckin’ betray him, y’know? 

As his vision fades for the last time, Philip smiles. Not because he accepts his fate, no.

But it’s nice to know he was right, the whole damn time.

“Philip Graves”

“Graves”

“Graves”

Philip’s eyes snap open, and he inhales sharply. It takes him a few moments to comprehend he’s not in that damn valley he was abandoned in. He’s… not anywhere on Earth… is he?

His own reflection stares at him, multiplied over countless times, like a hall of mirrors in a carnival. He raises a hand to his right side, pressing tentatively at first, and digging into the muscles when he realizes his wounds have been healed.

…What is this place?

“This is my Realm”

“Realm”

“Realm”

Several voices echo around him, and Philip looks around only to see his own wide blue eyes.

“W-where are you?!” he snarls, fear beating at his heart.

“Up”

“Up”

“Up”

He cranes his head up, mouth opening in shock at the creature above him.

A writhing mass of limbs coils onto itself, arms and legs and faces, creating the vague shape of a person. Its face is blank, nothing but a maw. 

“You’re… a Reaper…” Philip mutters dumbly.

“The Reaper of Many”

“Many”

“Many”

The Reaper leans closer, Philip’s body shaking at the sheer scale of it, “so I did d-die.”

He doesn’t know how, but he gets the feeling the Reaper grins at the words.

“YES” “YES” “YES” a terrifying chorus of voices confirms. The twitching limbs seem to move quicker in excitement, “TELL ME, PHILIP GRAVES, WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Philip covers his ears at the screeching Reaper, eyes squeezed shut in agony. In the back of his mind, he remembers the transcript from interviews of revenants, of this very question they all had to respond to.

Of the identical answer they all give.

“I just- I JUST WANT TO LIVE!!!”

Philip’s quick breaths slow down, when the Reaper doesn’t scream again.

“I just want to live…” he repeats, opening his eyes and lowering his arms. After a few moments of nothing, he finds the courage to look up.

The Reaper’s hand is hovering above him, finger uncurled and pointing to him.

“Give me your soul, Philip Graves, and I’ll let you live” 

“live” 

“LIVE”

Philip nods shakily, “It’s yours, Reaper.”

Giggling bounces between the mirrors surrounding him, gleeful and horrendous. The finger moves closer, Philip leaning back on instinct alone. It feels like his blood is boiling over, brain liquifying into mush, yet he physically can’t open his mouth to scream.

“From this day on, until the day you die, Philip Graves, you are mine.”

“Mine”

“MINE”

The Reaper touches his forehead, his vision flashing with bright colors he doesn’t have a name to.

“My revenant, Revenant of Many”

“Many”

“MANY”

“MANY”

“MA-”

Someone is shaking his arm. Philip pushes away, scrambling back. He opens his eyes.

Something decidedly not human greets him.

“The fuck-” Philip curses.

“The fuck-” the creature answers. It doesn’t have a mouth, or any defining features. Barely a dark shape, like someone cut out the silhouette of a person out of the fabric of reality.

Philip feels an odd presence in his mind, like dozens of eyes looking up at him, awaiting command.

The valley is quiet. He looks up at the hills, finding more shapes lingering, all looking at him. Philip looks back at the one that touched him.

“What are you?”

The shape answers by echoing his voice, “-you?”

Philip breathes out a small laugh, hand carding into his hair in amazement.

His admiration of his new powers is cut short by the sound of an engine. Philip jumps to his feet, body still feeling a phantom pain of sorts, and orders his shapes, “disappear.”

In a blink, the shapes melt away into the shadows. He runs to the woods, taking cover behind a thick tree trunk when the vehicle rolls around the bend into the valley.

Philip’s eyes narrow when he sees that the vehicle is none other than the US military’s. He averts his eyes, scrutinizing the setting sun. It has been at least several hours since Collins and his group of dickheads left him to die.

The vehicle stops near the wreckage, the fire burning the truck long extinguished. Lieutenant Reed out of all people climbs out, instantly ordering his men to clear the area of hostiles. Burning rage ignites within Philip at the sight.

Without his will, the shadows around him materialize, blank faces all staring at him.

He gets an idea. It’s stupid, and frankly will probably put him in a lot more trouble than it’s worth, but honestly Philip literally died a few hours ago and so did his fucks to give.

“Seize them.” he tells his shapes, his Shadows.

The dozen or so Shadows instantly start running, tackling the squad of soldiers. Philip barely contains a laugh at their terrified screams. One of them manages a shot on a Shadow, but the creature simply ignores the gaping hole in his thigh, and wrestles the man down.

Lieutenant Reed needs two Shadows to force him to kneel, but soon enough they all stay down, lined up on the dirt road.

“If this is how it feels to be a revenant, I would be a cocky bastard too”, Philip thinks to himself while looking at Reed.

“Lieutenant, what the fuck are these- these things?!” one soldier asks frantically.

Reed growls, fruitlessly attempting to shake off the Shadow restraining him, “revenant powers. But I’ve never seen something like this-”

Philip chooses this moment to reveal himself, “impressive, aren’t they? I’d say they’re a fair trade to dying, wouldn’t you, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Reed’s face slackens in shock, “...Corporal Graves?”

He smiles unkindly, “the one and only. Tell me…” he crouches in front of Reed, “when you ordered Collins and his group of bumbling idiots to abandon me and run away, did you even feel a speck of remorse? If not for me, at least for my poor mother, that would’ve had to live with the fact the men that were supposed to be on his side left him to die?”

The Lieutenant at least seemed to pretend to be horrified, “I- it was the Commander, not me, Graves. I didn’t make the call to leave you behind, kid-”

Philip cuts him off with a few slow claps, “wow, Lieutenant. I’ve already gathered you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, but a liar as well? You should’ve been an actor instead of a soldier, sir. You’ve got a natural talent right there.”

His digging remarks only seem to make Reed more guilty, “...I may have not made that order, but I take responsibility over my soldiers. You didn’t deserve to die, Graves. I’m sorry.”

Philip falters at the genuinely heartfelt apology. He didn’t expect Reed to actually be sorry about it. It only twists something in his gut further.

Philip’s voice loses the mocking tone it had before, “you have nothing to apologize for, sir. Without you, I would’ve never received such power.” he spreads his arms, motioning to his Shadows.

Reed’s brows curve upwards, regret painting his features, “really, I should thank you, Lieutenant.”

Philip grins as wide as his mouth allows him, not a lick of joy within it, “thank you, for letting me die alone.”

He knew he’ll get in trouble once he arrives back to base, but he didn’t expect Major Shepherd to be the one disciplining him.

Philip knows to dread the punishment the moment the Major opens the door, his face severe as ever as he dismissed the other officers in the room.

He rises to his feet, saluting the Major, before the man waves him off.

Shepherd takes the sit in front of him, staring him down for a few tense moments before speaking, “Corporal Philip Graves. Do you know how much shit you’ve put yourself into, with that little ‘prank’ you did to Lieutenant Reed and his squad?”

Philip doesn’t shy away from the Major’s burning gaze, “yes sir.”

Shepherd doesn’t look impressed, “the Lieutenant told me about your powers. Which Reaper got you?”

“Reaper of Many, sir.”

“Reaper of Many… can’t say I’ve met a revenant from it.” the Major drawls, “most of your kind belongs to the Reaper of Flesh.”

The one in charge of healing… Reed’s Reaper.

“Your powers are exceptionally strong, Graves.” Shepherd smiles, oddly enough.

Philip blinks, taken off guard by the praise, “... thank you, sir?”

The Major leans back, his demeanor less serious, “no need for formalities right now, Graves. I’d like to speak to you as an equal at the moment.”

…What is the Major’s angle here? He doesn’t seem angry at him anymore.

“About what?”

Shepherd smirks, something about it raising the hairs on Philip’s arms, “What do you see yourself doing, four, five years down the line?”

“...What?”

“Your aspirations, Graves. Aiming for Lieutenant? Captain?”

Philip frowns in confusion, “Commander, sir.”

“Commander, huh?” Shepherd hums, “I have a… proposition for you, Graves.”

Proposition? “I’m listening.”

“What do you think about PMCs?”

The rapid change in topic leaves Philip unsteady in his answers, “they’re… I think they’re necessary, but I’d rather stay with the US military. I want to fight for my country.”

Shepherd looks… disappointed? “Listen, son. I think you’re a great soldier, and you have been given great power to control. People like you… the military will just hold you back.”

Philip inhales deeply. Is Shepherd saying what he thinks he’s saying?

The Major continues, “I think you’ll do much better outside the red tape, Philip.” he pulls out a contract, a frankly absurdly high stack of papers, “I’d like you to work for me. Not as my subordinate, but as a collaborator.”

Philip stares at the papers, “you… you want me to leave the army?”

“Exactly. I want you to become your own PMC. I believe, with your amount of strength, other soldiers will just get in your way.” Shepherd adds, almost like an afterthought, “and you won’t need to worry about any sort of punishment about your actions today, your death will be completely redacted, and the Lieutenant ordered to keep his mouth shut.”

He looks back at the Major’s eyes, deep gratitude welling inside him. Shepherd offers his hand to him, right above the contract that will finally grant him what he worked years for, as easily as writing his own name.

Graves takes the offering, and shakes the Major’s hand.

“My Shadows will be at your service, Shepherd.”

Shepherd smiles, satisfied, “already prepared for your first mission, Commander Graves?”

Commander Graves. He thought it would take years until he was granted the name.

Graves flashes a grin, “was reborn ready, Major.”

[syoddeye]

someone's probably done this but,

you're six months into seeing dr. garrick on a weekly basis. you've made serious progress. setting firm boundaries with your family, managing work stress with more grace, and finally cutting ties with that incompetent, rude excuse for a boyfriend. you actually look forward to every session.

you know you're not supposed to project onto garrick. not supposed to think about him for too long outside of your appointments. picture what he's up to, imagine his life outside his office. but when he laughs at your jokes, soothes you when you cry, or, most devastatingly of all, praises you, that boundary in your mind blurs. you want more than you should. and that's something you really ought to bring up with him.

but you won't.

which makes it all the more mortifying when, as you gather your things at the end of a session, you casually let slip, "have a good rest of your week, love you," and nearly collapse on the way to the door the moment you realize what just left your mouth.

there's a beat of silence. an excruciating, long pause where your heart plummets straight to your stomach. you freeze, fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. maybe…maybe he didn't hear you. maybe if you keep walking or break into a sprint, you can pretend this never happened and—

"well. that's certainly a first."  

oh god.

you squeeze your eyes shut, mortification hitting you like a freight train, and slowly turn to face him. "i didn't—i didn't mean–"  

he chuckles, warm and rich, and when you force yourself to meet his gaze, he's watching you with a knowing smile. still seated, relaxed in his chair, notebook in his lap. there's something to his eyes, though.

"slip of the tongue?" he muses, tilting his head.

your face burns. "oh my god, please let me leave with what's left of my dignity."  

he laughs at that, actually laughs, and the sound does dangerous, stupid things to your already frayed nerves. "no need to be embarrassed," he says, and the gentleness in his tone almost makes it worse. "it happens. and hey," he leans into his chair slightly, smirking just enough that you're afraid of melting into the floor. "at least i know i'm making an impact."  

you make an odd, strangled sound, yanking the door open so fast you nearly stumble through it. "yeahokaybye, dr. garrick."  

"see you next week." he echoes, sounding far too entertained. then, as you're halfway out, "we'll talk about this then. in depth!"

you slam the door and hope a sinkhole swallows you on the way home.

[gomzdrawfr]

Merry Christmas!! they're exchanging gifts by the tree :3

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.8k

summary: child soldier joins task force141, stuff is complicated

warnings: violence, brief discussion of child soldiers

a/n: got this idea from somewhere, it marinated in my drafts for about half a year lol; second part

Waiting at the back of the base, Ghost is leaning against the building, waiting on the new addition to the Task Force. As if they even need one. Price sent him to meet the recruit, telling him the new asset should be highly trained and good for the team. Maybe he's right, but five people on the team seem too much for Ghost. Whatever criticism he has, they don't matter now since Price got you into the team anyway, meaning there's no going back unless you manage to mess up badly. Soap passes him by, having a clue on why he's waiting outside right now.

»Waiting on the new recruit?«

He gives a grunt as a response. »Supposedly, they're highly trained and an 'asset' to us.« Soap nods and wishes him good luck, but also prays for the recruit. Meeting Ghost as the first of the team might be scary for the new recruit, but Price probably doesn't really care about that or he wants that to happen. God knows what his plan is; no one really knows.

Some time passes after the interaction before a truck arrives with you in it, a smaller figure popping out of the vehicle once it stopped near Ghost. He doesn't register what he sees in front of him for a moment, too focused on the truck driving away, before properly taking a look at you. While about two heads smaller than him, you have a rather slim build but a gloomy appearance around you. And you're... not older than bloody fifteen. There's no way. That's either a bad joke or you just look incredibly young.

»Name?« Once his gruff voice reaches you, you can't help but already tense up slightly more than before. He looks intimidating, yes, but you're sure he should be your future teammate. Eventually, you briefly introduce yourself, and he is also very sure that he's got the right person in front of him. The new asset. Ghost isn't one to be nosy or ask personal questions, but he needs to really bite back on asking about your age. You look way too young to be here. Let alone meet him in person.

»And you're Ghost, right?« You ask carefully, standing right in front of him with a respective distance. With how stoic your expression is... you're too much like his younger self. Maybe Ghost thinks too much of it, but he hopes you didn't need to go through the same thing he did.

He gives you back a small nod, uncrossing his arms and sizing you up for a second longer before turning around to the door. Walking into the base without saying another word and expecting you to follow him just like that. Pretty scary, to be honest.

You don't know much, but being added to a team of four, not sure what their intentions are with either you or in general. Maybe it's better when he doesn't talk much to you; the less you know, the better. But the base looks too clean and organised for any shady stuff to go on. But you could also be easily mistaken. Looking around, you spot only a few soldiers walking by, how simple it's decorated inside, and it isn't cold like in other buildings. After some long corridors, he stops at a double door, a small sign next to the doors with 'Briefing Room' written on it. Ah, good to know.

Ghost eyes you for a hot second before opening one of the doors and walking in, following behind him once again. Walking in, you see three other men in the room already, looking less intimidating than this ‘Ghost guy‘. »Nice to meet you and welcome to the team.« Another deep but more soft voice greets you, a man with a beard and fisherman's hat giving you a small nod. His gaze hardens for a moment too, like Ghost's did before when first meeting you. He also realises something is wrong. You nod back as a small form of greeting, mumbling out a formal greeting back.

»Kid, tell me. How old are you'?« He asks as he straightens his posture and awaits your answer, tilting his head a bit to the side. It‘s clear this man doesn‘t beat around the bush and goes straight to the point. The other two men in the room stay quiet, silently watching and studying you as well. One with a mowhawk exchanges a look with the tall, scary guy, Ghost, before glancing to the captain.

»There was no age on your file, so I'm just curious.« He adds to his question, sounding polite even though you can clearly hear the suspicion and probably even concern in his voice. Taking a deep breath, you try to be honest, but you're also afraid of the consequences of being honest. There are four men after all, all taller than you, seemingly much bigger and stronger. You know how to fight, but it still gives you chills standing in this room with unfamiliar men, all alone.

»I'm sixteen, sir.« Is your answer and voice steady and calm even though your body language betrays you. Your whole body stays still, with hands behind your back, seemingly waiting for any possible attack or threat to come right your way. It's silent while you look around the faces of them, seeing both surprise and disbelief in almost all of them. Only Ghost stays unwavering, but that might just be his balaclava covering his whole face. He knew something was wrong but wasn't sure enough to ask you that same question earlier, having figured that his captain knew enough anyway to avoid this situation. It stays silent for another beat until the captain sighs out, leaning his hands onto the table in front of him.

»And what's a sixteen-year-old doing in such a place?« He asks you, even though he could ask that question himself. How could he allow this? Is that why there was no age to your file? And are there more poor children like you? It's obvious they're all against something like a 'child soldier‘ in their team, even when you‘re a teen by now. »I was sent here to be an asset to your team.« You answer him, deciding it's better to talk and communicate rather than stay silent and listen to the thick silence.

»Captain, that's-« »Another word and you're out, Gaz.« The guy with the cap is interrupted by the captain's loud voice, giving out a clear warning. You notice how tense it feels in the room, sensing just how badly this could go wrong. Price takes a short breath before turning his attention back to you, standing at his full height once again.

»What do you know? About this, I mean. Do you even know our names? What we're doing?« You simply shake your head, staying stoic and calm even though you have the strong urge to run out of the room, knowing you‘re most likely not welcome in this room. But you won‘t; you've learnt to stay put and stand your ground, to not show any weakness no matter what.

»Kid...« He sighs out, trying to find a way to put this correctly, »Okay, let's start with you first. Tell us about yourself.« This is much kinder than you thought this would be. No one's glaring at you besides one particular shadow in the corner, but that just seems to be in his nature. You answer him, your voice being as steady and calm as possible, while telling them about yourself.

»I've been trained professionally for nearly nine years, been on the field since then. My specialisations are weapon handling, sabotage, sniper techniques, and demolitions.«

You state, carefully picking your words and telling them information about yourself that seems to be most necessary for now. Price stares at you for a few seconds, all eyes on you, while the mowhawk and Ghost are occasionally exchanging looks with each other, seemingly unsure about you. It seems like the captain is thinking before speaking up once more, having decided it.

»That's a lot for sixteen years. You must be real good if you were sent here, no? I think you have potential.« »Price, are you serious-« The mowhawk snaps, glaring at his captain before glancing back to you shortly. »That's a kid.« He hisses, completely thrown off with his captain's easy acceptance of you in their team. »I agree, Cap'. There's no way we'll have a child soldier on our side.« Baseball cap, Gaz, chimes in and tries to convince Price otherwise of you.

It feels both refreshing but also scary when someone talks like this about you, not being used to someone recognising the falseness of this, but you're also afraid if they decide to not accept you into the team. All you can do is watch.

»There's no safer place than here for a kid like this. And the mission is too soon to search for other assets.« He argues back, thinking it's better for you here than anywhere else. He's not wrong; you're in better hands now. The thing is that you have no knowledge of who these people are or what they're fighting for. Or anything else, really.

»Trust me, Soap.« The captain reassures him, Soap, the mowhawk guy, taking his eyes back to you. It's uneasy for you when you know how none of them like the idea of you in the team but the captain. And that's pretty much the only thing keeping you in this task force for now.

»Sorry. We'll keep you in the team, but if you aren't really that good, then we'll have to get rid of you.« The captain's words cut right through you, understanding that this might be a warning for you. That, if you let yourself down or don't show your everything, this might be your end. But maybe he also just said it to scare you. Which worked either way, not wanting to disappoint him. »I understand, sir.« You nod, glancing around the other faces once more quickly as if to remember their faces. ----

Not knowing their names is difficult, having no idea how to ask them for it as well. Wait for them to introduce themselves? Might take longer than some missions. Ask them yourself? No, that's too embarrassing, right? I mean, the captain mentioned their names before in the briefing room, but you just couldn't remember them that quickly. Especially with the situation you were in. But asking them yourself might be a good idea too; practicing social skills and trying to get to know what their intentions are would be a good start.

Looking around yourself, you see only how everyone's preparing for the mission. After the briefing ended, the captain announced that you're all heading out, not able to waste any more time. The mowhawk guy, also the closest to your height, is preparing his guns and picking out some more stuff for himself. Besides him, there's the guy with the baseball cap, and he's doing pretty much the same as his teammate. They look harmless like this, but it's just the fact that these are men, all too unfamiliar to be comfortable around them yet.

Ghost is the only more scary and silent one among them, knowing not to mess with him just by looking at him. The captain is by the helicopter, talking to the pilot and seemingly going over the plan or route once more.

So, there's two people not doing much but preparing themselves, one who's waiting for everyone to be ready and the captain who is busy talking to someone already. Now's your chance, but also not. It doesn't feel right to just walk up to them and start talking, not used to such casual interactions back at your camp. But staring at them isn't really polite either, so you take your eyes off the poor men and instead study the helicopter while strapping on your gear. ----

Sitting in the helicopter is much more interesting, there are more buttons, more extra buttons, interesting technology, and other stuff to look at. Good thing you're sitting next to the captain, too afraid to move the wrong way as if he would care about that in the first place.

He's more focused on the mission and if everything is going according to plan. The others don't seem as nervous or excited in the first place, just like you being rather stoic or focused. To your left sits the scot, he is not looking your way, instead checking out the helicopter's interior as well. Looking straight in front of you, there's Ghost and the most normal-looking one. You could basically ask them their names now, but that could come off as awkward too.

Maybe earlier was a better idea than now... »What's your name again?« Asks the rough voice from your right, looking straight at you. You glance at him and answer him shortly with your name. He nods in response, gesturing to the opposite of him, and goes on.

»That's Gaz. On his right, there's Ghost. And on your left, there's Soap. These are our call signs. I'm Captain Price, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier.«

Hm, that's very nice of him, actually. You'd never thought he would be so soft spoken, even with his rather rough and raspy voice. But the way he introduces everyone gives you hope that this team might be just a chill and friendly one.

You nod back in return, considering shortly what to say to that. »Nice.« Soap smirks just lightly at your short response, the same goes to Gaz, who after that short introduction looks away once more. Ghost's eyes stay on you for longer, either sizing you up or just staring. Well, there goes your social skills, having thought too much about speaking up and how not to be awkwa-

»What'd you know about guns? You said you specialise in weapon handling.« This is on your left side this time, Soap, if you remember correctly. Your attention is on him now, answering his question after processing it quickly.

»Like, what kind of guns there are or what I have with me?« You ask back, unsure of what to reply exactly to him. He clarifies himself, shifting slightly in his seat to face you better. He tries again, asking you more about what kind of guns are your favourites and if you know some of the mechanics of them and how to tune your gun.

You learn a lot about tuning your gun or rifle, not having been taught that much in your camp. Even though you both haven't talked much, it still felt like you learnt a lot through him. Some would say talking about guns isn't appropriate with a teenager, but is there anything else to talk about with you anyway?

As soon as the helicopter landed and Soap had mostly rambled to you about guns, you're all ready to walk out and officially start the mission. It was rather simple, the plan is to clear a three-story building, get the intel and leave. It shouldn't take any longer than an hour, depends on how many difficulties there are going to be.

After the last few commands of the captain, it starts, pairing up in groups of two while Price goes to the front. Soap is by your side like before, while Ghost and Gaz are in front of you.The atmosphere shifts, and everyone is dead focused, having no place for mistakes. The task of clearing out the building wasn't difficult, it was difficult to actually focus on getting the intel. It was in the basement of the rather big house, only able to get in after having actually cleared out the entire area. After that's done, it goes straight to it, and there was no going back.

Your stomach drops once you reach the basement, it's silent but also so loud you can't hear what the others are saying. Several dead bodies, a dimly lit lamp from the ceiling, the intel in the corner, inside of a USB-stick next to the computer. Price steps in and first puts the stick in to check if it is really what's needed. After a few seconds of loading, it turns out that, yes, it's exactly the information you're here for.

You're finally able to breathe once Price turns around with the intel in hand before giving a firm nod, ready to go back out and return to base. The stench of the dead bodies was torture for you, let alone how dark it was in the room and how silent it was. Walking out was way easier, almost running out as the first one. But outside, there was another surprise. Right as the team went out of the basement, there was another team of soldiers, having just entered the hallway. One wrong move and you're done for, that's for sure.

Your adrenaline skyrockets and makes you act on impulse, shooting two soldiers down with clean head shots. They stop staring and act, one rushing right at you with a knife, probably thinking that’s an easier way instead of shooting at you. Thanks to your aggression that’s mostly caused by your adrenaline rush, you’re quick to block and counterattack him. The enemy soldier is clearly taller than you, but for some reason not hard to fight with at all. You quickly jab his side, which makes him gasp for air; using the distraction to choke him before stabbing him at his other side repeatedly. He cries out and winces before you let go, him holding onto his injured side and falling to his knees. You grab a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit his back with it until he collapses, aiming at his head until you’re sure he is done for. The team took out the rest and glanced to where the loud bangs were coming from, only seeing how you hit the soldier one last time before the fire extinguisher fell from your sweaty palms.

A look of surprise washes over their faces until Nikolai talks into the earpieces, informing you he’s waiting right outside with his helicopter, having about a minute before he needs to fly away.

Once the enemies are out, you're quick to leave the building all together and indeed, see the helicopter of Nikolai. Loaded in and safe, it feels like you've just run a whole marathon. Sitting down at one of the seats with a sigh, you relax your muscles as much as you can. Nikolai’s voice chimes in through the headset you're all wearing once again, all loud and clear and almost as soft spoken as Price's voice. Maybe a bit more warm than the captains, but laced with an accent. The conversation only consists of updating and some light jokes afterwards, it’s mostly quiet. The low grumble of the helicopter is the only thing filling the silence inside, not that it's uncomfortable. It's almost relaxing to finally be safe and at peace for now, even if it's just the way back.

That basement earlier took up some courage in you to go in and stay grounded, not to think too much and focus on the obvious. The surprise attack afterwards sure was surprising but nothing too challenging. The seat was strangely comfortable now after the mission, it's getting darker now anyways as the sun sets and your sore legs are able to have a time out for now. In fact, it's so comfortable that you need to force yourself to stay awake now.

Sandwiched between Price and Soap once more is enough to keep you awake, but not for long. Falling asleep seemed impossible in a room with these four guys at first but now you're napping against the shoulder of Price. Eyes closed and breathing steady, body very much relaxed. Price, on the other hand, is as stiff as a rock right now, not wanting to wake you or make this awkward. Gaz is pretty much amused at the sight in front of him, needing to resist a chuckle. The way you're just so relaxed and napping while Price is as tense as steel is also amusing to the other two teammates.

»We're almost there, just five more minutes.« Nikolai’s thick Russian accent is heard through the mic into the headsets, while Price is feeling relieved that you took your own off headset earlier. It's silent, so Nikolai speaks again, confused on why it's silent.

»Everybody alright?« He asks slowly, awaiting for someone to answer positively. »Rookie fell asleep. Trying t' stay quiet.« Ghost answers quietly back, and Nikolai has to fight back the urge to turn around in his seat and take a look himself. A low chuckle escapes him eventually as he shakes his head lightly and continues flying everyone back to base. ----

The debrief was... calm. Awfully calm. No one's arguing, and no one is yelling for no reason, it's just so casual but professional. Maybe your camp was abusive or at least unprofessional, but this almost feels too calm. It feels as if something will go wrong any second, but it doesn't.

Captain is telling everyone what he found on the USB stick, and the new plan and information are being displayed on the wall by a projector. He's going straight to the point and just tells the obvious, facing the team that is seated at a long table. The next big mission should be in about two weeks until everything is planned, it being a more complicated raid, with the main point of taking held hostages from a big building. Eventually, once he's done, his eyes lock on you and seem to become more serious.

»Before this mission, we'll need to train you as much as possible, so you won't make mistakes. Or worse.« You nod in return, already seeing yourself training day and night and trying to improve impossibly fast.

»We'll train all together and work on our teamwork. As well as spare a few rounds together, hm? Sound good?« You nod once more, feeling like this might actually be more pleasant than hard work like your usual training was. »Good.« You reply back, and once everything is settled, everyone can retreat back into their bunks and rest for tonight. ----

This night was restless for you like every other. Sleeping at a completely different and strange place is always off-setting at first. The bed is normal-sized, and there's nothing you would complain about in your own bunk, you just need to get used to it. Or maybe it was the one-hour nap you took before in the helicopter that prevents you from sleeping now. You're just glad no one addressed it later on after you woke up. Tossing and turning, you eventually fall asleep after several hours from exhaustion.

a/n: don't worry, there will be more chapters, just have to refresh my brain about my plot since I haven't touched it in a while... hope you still enjoyed it!

[ghouljams]

The Church of the Broken God (chapter 2)

Words: 5k Tags: Eventual John Price x reader, public masturbation, brainwashing, doublespeak, indoctrination, f!reader, passively suicidal ideation, self destructive habits, horrible bosses, depressed!reader, Cult Leader!Price Summary: Your life has been on a downward spiral for months. It's hard to find a real reason to keep going when everything you do seems to backfire. That is, until you get a flier for a meditation seminar that promises to fix all your problems.

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These women are… super nice. You don’t know why it puts you on edge. They’re not doing anything wrong. They buy each other drinks, compliment each other, they’re attentive listeners and laugh at every joke you make. You offer to buy a round, the same as they’ve been doing for you, and you’re not met with a rush to stop you. They look pleased, shoot off thanks and smile the same as they did for the other women. You feel like you’re doing the right thing, you don’t know why it makes your stomach squirm. Maybe you’re just not used to people doing nice things for you.

“You ok?” Nina asks, leaning over the table to frown at you, “you’ve gone all quiet.”

“Yeah, uh, I guess I’m just not used to crowds anymore.” You attempt to cover.

“It’s the compliments isn’t it?” Cassie jumps in, Nina waves her off.

“No, no!” You hold up your hands to defend yourself, “Those are really nice, you’re all really nice! I’m just not-”

“Used to it?” Nina finishes with a wince, “I wasn’t either, it was super awkward the first time I came out for drinks, you remember?”

“Oh my God so awkward, you were like a robot.” Cassie laughs, it takes some of the weight off your shoulders.

“But you get what you put out into the world, y’know? You give kindness, you get it in return, that’s what John says.” Nina nods, she crosses her arms and leans back against the booth. She feels serious, her jaw set and her brows drawn. “I was in a really dark place when I first took John’s class, it felt like I was living a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. My friends were drifting away, my fiance was cheating on me-” She shakes her head, you wince at how closely your situation matches, “-I was so bitter and it made me mean, I get why no one wanted to be around me.”

“Nina-” Cassie sighs, her sympathy obvious. Nina waves her off again, sitting forward to grab her drink.

“Whatever, it’s in the past now.” Nina mutters, your heart aches for her. You set a hand on her shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. She smiles at you. It feels… good. You can see yourself in her, your pain and suffering. It’s a weight that she carries the same as you. “Kyle really helped me a lot, Christ I owe him a whole bakery.”

“Nina!” Cassie squeals, shoving at her. Nina’s shoulder bumps against you, warm. Camaraderie. Did you forget what it was like to have friends? When was the last time you saw your own? The last time they laughed with each other, with you? “You’re so bad,” Cassie laughs.

“What? He’s hot!” Nina laughs back. You feel a little left out. Your stomach clenches.

“Sorry, who’s Kyle?” You ask, “Your boyfriend?”

“She wishes,” Cassie snorts into her drink. Nina shoves at her.

“He’s a counselor, life coach sort of guy.” Nina explains, “He has a class at the rec center on Wednesdays-” Claire’s phone pings “-honestly it’s worth going just to see him, God I wanna make a sandwich out of that man.”

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” Claire announces. You glance at the other women at the table. None of them move. Weird, you would have thought women this close would be biting at the bit to accompany her. You always used the buddy system with your friends. Especially at bars. In fact the other women at the table seem to ignore her, only acknowledging her enough to move out of the way. 

You guess there’s a black sheep in every friend group. You know the feeling. You tap your fingers against the table watching her retreat to the bathroom. You don’t have a good feeling about letting her go alone. Nina’s insistence on “putting kindness into the world” or whatever is running through your head and you just… you can’t let her be on the outskirts of the friend group alone. You’re not even really part of it, but everyone is being so nice- you won’t be the reason this girl is left out.

“Oh um, I’m gonna ask the bartender something,” You tell the girl on your left, shit what was her name “can you-?

“Sure!” She pushes herself out of the booth to let you out, quickly cozying up next to Nina when you vacate the spot. You glance at the table over your shoulder as you make your way towards the bar, then make a hard turn towards the bathrooms. No one’s paying attention to you, that’s good.

You push the bathroom door open, trying to be quiet in case Claire’s shy. You’ll just, uh, wash your hands and pretend you’re fixing your outfit when she comes out. Nothing weird about that. Totally normal thing that people do, and not like you’re waiting for her to come out of the stall so you can- What? Commiserate about being left out? Ugh, you don’t know why you even-

There’s a distinct, wet, noise coming from one of the stalls. A ‘shlick, shlick’ sound that you recognize all too easily. You catch the bathroom door to keep it from slamming and cover your mouth. Fingers sliding against a wet slit, a soft huff of a stifled moan, and the quiet low rumble of a man’s voice. Deep and throaty, she’s on the phone with someone, or listening to something. You can’t tell which, what you can tell is that Claire --the girl who had seemed almost too shy to ask you to join them--  is masturbating in a public bathroom. And you’re standing there listening. You’re not sure which is worse. It squirms like bile in your stomach, you’re intruding, you’re being a creep. Your own cunt clenches. 

A quiet whimper leaves Claire’s mouth and you rush back out of the bathroom. You catch the door a second time to make sure she doesn’t hear it slam, then you press yourself against it. You fan your face, try to get your breathing right, fix your face. Fix your damn face! You press your hands to your cheeks, and squeeze your eyes shut. Oh my God.

You make your way back to the table, doing your best to avoid looking at anyone. The girl who moved for you initially lights up when she sees you, hopping out of the booth and ushering you in. You feel a little awkward sliding into the middle with Nina, but you don’t want to cause a fuss with so many people watching you. Good lord do they all have to look at you? 

“Did the bartender have what you were looking for?” Nina asks. Your eyes dart to her.

“The- oh, uh, no. I was wondering if he had a phone charger.” You cover quickly.

“I have a power bank you can use,” Cassie offers. You open your mouth to turn her down before remembering that would blow your story out of the water.

“Sure.” You relent, forcing a smile onto your face. 

“No problem,” Cassie chirps, digging through her purse to tug a power bank and two different chargers free, “it feels good to do nice things for people, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you agree absentmindedly, fussing with the charger and plugging your phone in. An alert for a non-branded charger pops up and you quickly dismiss it. 

The conversation moves on to other topics, but you hardly pay attention. Your eyes are glued to the bathroom door, waiting for Claire. When she does finally exit she looks the same as when she left. No ruddy cheeks, no guilty glances around, no rumpled shirt or anything that would give away what she was doing in the bathroom. You try not to narrow your eyes as they flick over her body. You don’t want to look like you’re checking her out, you just want proof that you heard what you heard.

“Welcome back,” Someone says, and Claire beams at them.

“Who’s buying the next round?” Claire asks.

You drift in and out of conversation. Someone offers to split an uber with you, apparently they live in the same building. You wonder how you never noticed them before, but they hug you before you get off the elevator.

“It was nice to connect with you,” She hums, “it feels nice being part of something, doesn’t it?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before the doors close.

-

Wednesday, you think, flipping through your phone while you brush your teeth. Nina said her life coach guy was on wednesdays right? Curious, you check the rec center’s website.

“For the Whole You!” The site banner reads in friendly font. You scroll down to their calendar. There’s a lot of pictures of people smiling, a pie chart of something, testimonials, blah blah blah. The calendar is easy to read at least. And packed. It looks like meditations happen every three days, you spot John’s name easily. Price, huh, that’s a cool last name. Wednesdays… 

You click on the only Kyle you see, and a page pops up with- Christ- one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Kyle Garrick, life coach with a masters in psychology. That doesn’t sound too bad. You thought life coaches were just con men in ripped jeans, but this guy seems like he might actually know what he’s talking about. John’s name pops up again, a short anecdote from Kyle about serving with him. Huh. That’s kind of interesting you guess. 

You think back on the meditation lesson you’d attended, the power that John seemed to carry in simple actions, the musculature, the way he’d pinned you in place with a single tilt of his head. Military fits you guess. You click on his class and tap your fingers against the side of your phone as you think. The class has a helpful registration counter at the side, letting you know there’s one spot left for the wednesday evening class. It’s not like you have anything else going on, and it’ll fill your usual therapy slot. It’s twenty for a single class. That’s not too bad, less than therapy co-pays. You make an account on the site, begrudgingly signing up for their email list, and send twenty dollars into the void. 

You get an email from Kyle about an hour later as you’re scrolling through instagram, avoiding looking at the time. It feels pretty standard, welcoming a new person, attaching a survey on what you want to work on. You type out a few quick words promising you’ll get to it in the morning. Your email pings a few minutes later.

“You must be an insomniac, just tackle it now.” You narrow your eyes at the screen, “Might help you sleep to accomplish a task before bed.” 

What sort of weird logic- fine. You squint at the questionnaire, typing out your answers as best you can. Honest enough to get some advice but not honest enough to get sent to the hospital has always been your MO with these things. This one is sort of weird, but you’re exhausted, too sleep-addled to pay proper attention.

Are you lonely? Do you ever feel out of place? Do you have dreams where you act as someone else? Have you heard of the law of attraction? When someone says they feel “connected” to you, how does that make you feel?

Do you ever feel talked over?

Do you ever feel pushed out of conversations? Do you find it hard to accept yourself?

Are you on the path you want to be?

You rub your eyes, typing as best you can. 

Where do you see improvement for yourself?

Describe yourself in one negative word.

You type, and type. It feels never ending. Worse than the insomnia that keeps you up. It’s nearly two hours later when you finish. You send it off to Kyle without another thought, and snuggle down into your blankets. You’re so tired.

Your phone buzzes. You roll over to check it. Another email from Kyle.

“Thanks, this looks great! :)” You sigh. At least your work checks out. That’s good, you’re sure it’s just an auto-response, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Another message pops up. Your email alerting you to a new response in the chain.

“How long have you had trouble sleeping? I know a few good remedies.” You sigh, the screen hurts your eyes. You don’t know what inspires you to reply, why you don’t simply roll over to sleep. The attention is nice, you suppose.

“A few months. What’s your miracle cure?” You stare at your phone, let the blue light laser its way over your eyes. The screen dims, you tap it to keep your phone awake. To keep you awake. 

“Have you heard of sleep restriction therapy?”

-

Your morning has never felt more miserable. You barely slept and you had to upgrade your usual tea to an instant coffee. You’re nursing the brown sludge that you managed to scrape together from the break room’s limited stores when your least favorite manager swings by your cubicle.

“Did you finish the reports I asked for?” Kevin asks. You do your best to keep your face neutral as you sip your scalding caffeine.

“I told you they’d take me until the end of the day.” You remind him, “It’s nine in the morning.” Nevermind that he’s swinging into the office a full hour late, but you know for a fact that you promised the updated numbers by five today. You have the email to prove it.

“Oh,” Kevin makes a face, his teeth grit as he exhales through them, “I was really hoping you’d work on them last night.”

“Outside of work hours.” You confirm, trying not to sound too much like you’re questioning his less than sound judgement.

Kevin sighs your name with a shake of his head, “You know you’re not going to get very far in this company if you don’t care about your work.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, inhaling as much coffee vapor as you can stomach. It does nothing to calm you down. You can’t be expected to deal with this level of bullshit on practically zero sleep. Maybe you should look into that sleep therapy Kyle sent you, you really can’t keep living like this.

“I care about my work Kevin,” You tell him with as much of a smile as you can manage, “I’ll have the reports to you as soon as possible.”

“Atta-girl,” Kevin praises, snapping his finger to hit you with a nauseating pair of finger guns before moseying back to his office.

If you thought reporting him to HR would do anything you might consider it. As it stands you’ve already tried that twice and gotten nowhere. It just made him more dedicated to making your work life hell. Crazy how they always talk about retaliation in the “Hostile work environment” training videos, but no one seems to give a shit about it when it’s happening to you.

You spend the next two hours swearing at the mess of spreadsheets that Kevin emailed you yesterday. If he’d bothered to clean any of the sheets up it would’ve made your life a hell of a lot easier. You don’t even want to think about how many cells could’ve been saved if he knew how to use just one function. You can feel the start of a migraine pressing against the back of your eyes by the time your stomach is starting to growl at you about lunch.

You glance away from your monitor to rub your eyes, try to get some of the blurry tilt out of them. Your bag sits on the desk next to you, deliriously empty. Fuck.

Fuck that’s right, you’d decided to skip packing a lunch this morning because you were running late for your train. 

With a heavy sigh you check your lunch options just as your phone pings.

It’s an unknown number, weird.

You swipe the message open to delete it and pause.

“Hey, it’s Nina! I saw you work near me and was wondering if you’d want to grab lunch?”

You blink at your phone screen. How the hell would she know where you work?

Your sluggish brain clicks away as your stomach churns nervously. You guess Cassie works at the rec center, she’d see applications that come through, membership stuff. Maybe Cassie gave it to her? Nina was the one who suggested you sign up for Kyle’s class, maybe Cassie wanted to, you don’t know, spread the good news of your signing up?

Your head throbs.

You’re not really operating at 100% right now, you’re not sure you want to interact with someone who seems to have their life together.

“My treat?” Nina double texts you.

Alright, you can pretend to be a human being for free lunch.

You’re almost relieved to see Nina has a little darkness under her eyes, purple sleeplessness that she’s tried to hide with concealer. It makes you feel a little better for your own sluggish brain to think that she might be tired too. 

“I know this is probably totally weird,” She laughs when you greet her with a raised hand, “You’re probably like, oh my god this bitch is a stalker, how does she know where I work?”

“I figure Cassie gave it to you, because I signed up for your favorite class.” You yawn, as she nods.

“That’s smart,” She says nothing about your second yawn, “wouldn’t have been my first thought.” You hum, before deciding a verbal answer is friendlier.

“Yeah, I mean it seemed sort of weird, but you don’t strike me as the stalker type.”

“Tell my ex-fiance that,” Nina says with an eye roll, “ask to share your location one time- of course I was right to be a stalker but…”

You snort and she positively beams at you. You have to squint to avoid blinding yourself in the sunshine of it. She links her arm with yours and tugs you along to walk with her. You do your best not to tug your arm out from her hold, not used to being touched so casually.

“So what are you in the mood for?” She asks, leading you down the street.

“I’m not picky,” You tell her, trying to be easy. You could really go for something warm right now, you think you might be coming down with something.

“You look exhausted,” Nina coos sympathetically, “Maybe you should go home instead. Rest.”

You rub your eye with the heel of your hand and shake your head. “I’ve got a lot to get done today.”

“Surely your boss won’t mind you taking some sick time?” She sounds so sincere, you feel bad when you bark out a laugh. Nina frowns, “One of those, huh?” You sigh, letting yourself feel the heaviness in your limbs like a sick indulgence.

“Just a few more hours,” You assure her, “Then I can go home and sleep.”

“Let’s get something good in you before then.” Nina nods to herself.

Nina orders for you and sets a steaming bowl of rice and saucy vegetables in front of you. It smells heavenly, like ginger and coconut, and there’s little crispy bits of something sprinkled on top. She has a salad, and shakes it vigorously in front of her while you mix up the yellow curry and rice. Even just the thought of the food’s warm steam settling in your stomach energizes you. You glance at Nina and she’s got her head bowed. 

You-

Pause. 

A little awkward in the face of what must be prayer. You’re not quite sure if you’re supposed to start without her, or if that’s rude. You don’t know the protocol for this. After a moment she raises her head and blinks at you.

“Oh my gosh, were you waiting for me?” She asks, scandalized. You nod, unsure what to do with your hands. You settle on spooning a heap of curry and rice into your mouth. You figure that’s fine since she’s done. “That’s really sweet of you,” She smiles. She doesn’t give you any indication if this was the right thing to do. You stare at your bowl and chew.

“I was going to invite you to hang at the rec center after work,” Nina starts, waving her fork with a sigh, “but I don’t want you to push yourself if you’re exhausted.”

“Do people hang out at the rec center?” You question, trying to remember if you saw other people there when you went yesterday. It had seemed fairly empty, almost abandoned, but maybe you’d been too focused on getting to your class to notice anything else. The class was full, so there must have been other people hanging around.

“Of course,” Nina gives you a look like you’re crazy for asking, “like all the time. It’s a nice spot just to chill and see people. John doesn’t mind us hanging around.”

John. That was the meditation instructor’s name, wasn’t it? It’s pretty common, you doubt it’s the same guy. Why would an instructor mind if people hung around anyway? Cassie had pointed you towards a lounge area last night so there must be more of those to steal for chatting.

“The meditation instructor?” You ask dumbly. It’s not the question you want to ask, but it’s the only thing that sticks on your tongue. Nina hums her assent.

“He runs the place.” She explains, “he’s super nice, really cares about bringing people together, building community, connections.”

She says the word like it means something: connections. It sticks in your sluggish mind, but doesn’t raise any red flags.

“Sounds like a good guy.” You shove another bite into your mouth.

“He is.” Nina tells you. Tells you, like she’s demanding you try and disagree with her.

You blink. There’s a coldness to her face, there and gone. She smiles, and tucks into her salad.

Maybe she’s got a thing for him. You make a note not to say anything bad about him to her.

He seemed nice, good looking, she could do worse.

You suppress a shiver at the memory of his hands on you, pushing you forward and pulling you back like it was the most natural thing in the world. His touch is the first you’ve had in a long time that didn’t make you cringe and want to squirm away. Actually his class was the most relaxed you’ve been in, well, ever and the short nap you’d taken was probably the best sleep you’d had in months. You’d almost be willing to give up on going straight home after work if you knew John was going to be at the rec center, maybe you could slip in another meditation workshop?

You want to ask Nina about it, but you also don’t want to give her the wrong idea. If she does have a crush on the guy, it’s probably not great to ask too many questions about John if you want to stay in her good graces. 

“Right,” You try, “yeah his class was great, and I’m, uh, looking forward to Kyle’s class too.” Not your best subject change, but Kyle’s name makes Nina light up.

“Oh yeah, you’re going to love it!” She assures you.

“Yeah, I- yeah,” The attitude shift has you a little stunned, your molasses thoughts stick to your tongue as you try to collect them, “He sent me this huge questionnaire last night, it was really, um, in depth?” You try to remember one of the questions but wading through your mind is difficult with so little sleep.

“Well,” Nina stabs her fork into her salad, you flinch at each punctuating crunch of lettuce, “he has to get to know you, silly, so he can help you.” You stir your curry in jerking motions, for something to occupy your hands. “You can’t pull yourself out of a hole,” Nina tells you with a blank smile, “someone has to throw you a rope.”

-

You were almost happy to get back to work. Kevin chewed you out about taking too long a lunch, and you were probably going to get an ulcer from all the tylenol you took, but you were happy getting away from Nina. She’d chatted your ear off about Kyle and somehow didn’t answer a single one of your questions about him. Not that you had any chance to get a word in edgewise. You couldn’t handle the perky tone in her voice by the time your lunch ended. At least you didn’t have to pay for your own food.

You manage to get Kevin his spreadsheets before five. You still leave the office late and thankless.

You doze on the train home, your head tugging at your neck each time the doors opened, and you barely make it into your house before you’re collapsing on the couch. 

Yeah, you couldn’t have made it to the rec center like this.

You startle awake when your ass starts vibrating. You blearily fumble for your phone  and swipe at the screen, turning off your “call Baby” alarm. You should really delete that.

You toss your phone on the coffee table with a sigh and turn onto your back to stare at the ceiling fan. Ten. You slept for a good couple hours. You’re starving.

And you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight because of this nap.

Great.

-

You consider canceling your registration for Kyle’s class as you sit on the train heading to the rec center. You could just go home. You sort of want to go home, but Cassie had called you this afternoon to confirm your registration and she’d sounded so sad when you’d asked about canceling that you just couldn’t. Also you were pretty sure it was too late to get your money back. So here you were.

At least the rec center is busier than Monday. Cassie had told you the Wednesday meditation was full, maybe this is their busy day. You see people coming in and out, and look for a familiar face in the crowd. You’re hoping to see one of the women you met Monday, but instead your eyes lock on slightly less familiar icy blues.

John smiles at you across the street, and glances both ways before jogging across. You paint on a smile for him, and try not to look like you were avoiding going inside.

“Waiting for someone?” He asks in lieu of greeting. You keep your eyes on his, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen a little as you stare. 

“No, just-” You search for a normal time killing activity, “-people watching.” John hums and steps to stand beside you. The space he takes up feels enormous, like a black hole sucking up your attention, despite the way he crosses his arms over his chest. You peek at the bulge of his bicep against the dark shirt he’s wearing, the stiff fabric stretching to accommodate more man that it was made for. You would’ve expected him in the same comfortable yoga clothes as he was wearing Monday, but this feels more formal. He’s wearing slacks. And oxfords. 

“It’s intimidating,” He tells you out of the blue after a moment of silence. Your eyes dart to his face, and your confusion must be all too clear because he chuckles. The deep throaty noise of it makes your stomach clench. “Letting people help,” He fills in, “choosing peace.”

You make a face.

And John touches you.

His hand slides, big and warm, over your back. His fingers spread wide and he leans into your space like he might pull you closer, except you suddenly feel rooted in place. Fear shoots through you, anxiety punctuating your breaths unnecessarily. You fix your face quickly, tamp down the surge of adrenaline that makes you want to run. John isn’t doing anything but looking at you, his smile the same placid thing even as his brows twitch in concern.

“Sorry,” You find yourself apologizing, trying to unlock some of the stiffness in your shoulders, “I’m not used to people touching me.”

“It’s a natural response,” John doesn’t move his hand, his thumb rubs against your back and you feel the unnatural drag of your shirt against your skin like sandpaper, “You’re trying to protect yourself. Silly little thing that people have gotten into their heads these days, that everyone’s out to get them.” He tips his head, and you’re hit with a wave of claustrophobia, the open air seems to sink into you until you’re a single focus point in a tiny void. “Doesn’t that feel awful?” 

His words feel like they’re sinking into you, echoing every thought that bounces through your tensed musculature. It feels awful, you feel like a cornered gazelle, like a lame wildebeest, like a fly trapped in a spider’s net. 

You feel almost pleading the way you must be looking at him. Humiliated to react like this to something so simple.

He smiles brighter and his hand leaves you, you suck in a breath and feel your lungs ache, “That’s why it’s so important to pick apart that distrust, humans are social creatures, made to be connected to each other. All from the same warm pool, yeah?”

You nod. John nods his head towards the rec center.

“Let me walk you in, you’re here for Gaz’s class right?”

“No, um, Kyle’s.” You correct.

“Ah,” John laughs, his hand reappears on the small of your back, pushing you forward, “old habit, that’s what we called him in the SAS. You’ll like him, not as touchy as me.” He pulls his hand away with a small apologetic smile, “force of habit.”

“It’s fine,” it’s not, “Everyone around here is so friendly, I just have to get used to it.”

John hums, “Already untangling the web, good girl.”

Your stomach clenches pleasantly. You can see why Nina likes him.

[temeyes]

took the three of them to our outing today! the Bois had fun!

[stellewriites]

by chance you and your emotionally unavailable husband meet a friendly couple that invite you stay at their farmhouse in scotland. however the time spent there with johnny & kyle has you questioning if there’s a dark side to them you didn’t see before.

a speak no evil au

pairing: soapgaz x reader

notes: manipulative johnny & kyle, piv, noncon, somno, never explicitly acknowledged abusive relationship between reader and her husband (financial, physical, emotional, coercive control), drinking, murder, it’s dead dove horror people!! no one’s particularly nice, heed the warnings

chapter 1

chapter 2

email guidelines

[zkiner]

Better attempt at understanding mothman anatomy, and half-assed disquise for Dib as a sweet treat.

[shyravenns]

Some mermay stuff!! Gaz is a [checks my notes] clownfish? And Farah is pretty 🥰

[reds-skull]

Price plays poker properly only when Ghost is involved

(I don't remember how to play poker so they're also playing wrong now)

[the-whispers-of-death]

Smiles & Giggles

*In the recreational room* Stone, reading a letter from Kali: *failing to keep his smile from showing beneath his muzzle-like mask* Soap, watching him in shock: Is.. Is Stone smiling? Ghost, tilting in his head in confusion at what he's seeing: I didn't know he knew how to do that. Gaz, eating popcorn: Do you think he'll start to kick his feet if he keeps reading the letter? Price, shrugging: Anything can happen, he's smiling. He's been getting a lot of letters since Valentine's Day, do you know who's been writing him, Ladder? Whoever it is, they have a lot to say, because that letter's like five pages. Ladder, hiding her smile in her book: A man who Stone is oblivious about being in love with him is writing the letters. Any day now, they'll confess their feelings. Soap, eyes widen: Stone, in love?? Ghost: I shudder to think of the man who's in love with Stone. He's probably scarier. *Meanwhile, in The Lions' barracks in the Shadow Company base* Kali, reading Stone's letter: *chuckling to himself* Nala, feeling homesick: Cap's making me want to write home to my wife. Simba, single and feeling lonely: He's so in love. Cerberus, confused: Kali's been getting letters regularly. Who is he writing to? Sarabi, huffing in annoyance after twelve years of watching Stone and Kali pine after each other: A man who will hopefully be Mufasa's husband in the future. If they ever decide to put me out of my misery. Cerberus: He's exchanging love letters? That's so cute! Nala: They both think they're only best friends, oblivious to other one being just in love with them.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[gomzdrawfr]

Debrief

[pricetagged]

Please link me if it's been done before, but thinking of this gifset and need a Gaz, uhhh, 'meet cute'.

He's got Kate's voice in his ear -'keep an eye on her. We lose her, we lose Makarov'- so he knows he's got to be a little standoffish when you shuffle over and ask for a light. You're so sweet about it, smile not dropping despite his brusque tone and dismissive, 'I'm all out, just leant my lighter to another bloke.'

He's a professional, and he's got a job to do. So he doesn't feel bad about brushing you off. Especially since he dropped a tracker into your bag just before you walked away. Once the mission's wrapped up, he'll find you and make it up to you~

[morimementa]

Gaz and König go out drinking with the rest of the 141. Despite his size, König is a complete lightweight and asks Gaz to walk him home so he doesn't run into a wall or some such. Gaz, all too eager to spend more time with him, agrees.

They get home nice and safe and König asks Gaz if he wants to crash on his sofa. He's drunk, but he's not too drunk to worry about his friend's safety. While Gaz is tipsily putting blankets on the sofa, he notices the other man gazing at him with something like awe.

"Something on my face?" Gaz tries to cut the tension with a joke.

König is sitting cross legged on the floor, swaying slightly. His expression shifts to one of intense consideration. Impulsively, Gaz reaches out and steadies him. They're face to face, no masks, just each other.

"Gaz..."

"Yeah?"

"Promise you'll hold me like this when I'm giving birth to our child?"

And before Gaz can fully process that, König's fallen asleep.

(I had an idea for the most out of pocket accidental confession and now I bestow it on all of you.)

[ms-scarletwings]

I’m totally playing Devil’s Advocate for Gaz here but every time you think she’s being an absolute demon to her brother and it’s uncalled for, recall the full extent of Dib’s most insufferable and jerkass behaviors, and imagine being under the same roof as that guy every day. Sharing a fridge and pantry with that. Sharing a common living space with that after you’ve already spent a school day with it. You’re like, 11 and just want to play video games and do normal childhood stuff, and you live with Dib Motherfucking Membrane.

Yeah yeah, he got what he deserved for the Pork Taster thing, but I’m pissed off on sis’s behalf just watching how often the dude straight up shows negative amounts of consideration when it comes to someone else’s food. What the hell.

Use me as a guinea pig for dark magical arts and curses? Well, nobody’s perfect bro. We all make mistakes.

Drink the last soda unnotified like that? Fucking yoink my pizza slice out of my own hand??? You are catching some freaking hands you audacious little twerp.

[stellewriites]

I think being sandwiched between butch! Ghost and butch! Soap would fix something in me… can’t be anxious or insecure when I have two butches to love and be loved by in my life 💖

oh anon,,, now imagine four butches, living life on cloud 9 at that point