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killerpancakeburger · 8 months ago

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Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic.

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world.

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea.

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?”

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension.

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise.

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever.

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down.

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor.

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.”

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone.

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.”

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction.

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.”

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation.

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

“Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal.

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?”

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant.

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment.

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

#mine #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost fluff #hurt/comfort #cod fluff

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storiesbyrhi · 5 months ago

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: The promise of snow in the shadow of a falling curtain. 2172 words.

Note: The scenes in this chapter starring Ev were co-written by her IRL counterpart @vintagehellfire.

1986

November came with a cold that promised snow soon. Still, the coven continued to build and grow. While magic shimmered outward, you, Eddie, and Ev spent hours poring over grimoires and speaking with the Witches Who Came Before. If you were going to empower Eddie with some sort of supernatural ability to see the worst in people, the work had to be sound.

Ev was the natural choice to help. She worked close to death and had an affinity for darkness and transformation. It felt so good and right to be practicing witchcraft with a sister again.

“Are we still thinking touch is the best trigger?” Ev posed.

“It has to be,” Eddie answered. “This cannot go wrong. We cannot be wrong.”

You slid off the armchair and kneeled in front of where Eddie was seated on the floor, piles of books and parchment around him. “You will always have the final say. You will always be able to ignore all this.”

So as not to curse Eddie with the sight 24/7, it was decided a charmed object would suffice.

“We could use a necklace?”

“What about one of his rings,” Ev suggested, pointing to the cross ring already adorning Eddie’s hand. “We could let it charge in potion,”

“Under the next full moon,”

“Yes,” Ev nodded at you.

“Okay, so now we need the potion… Black-eyed Susan for justice and gladiolus for moral integrity and a strong sense of character,”

“Horehound for revealing the truth,”

“You have horehound? Where did you get it?” you asked her.

“I cultivated it before we came to America. I’ve had some stashed since then,”

“That’s convenient… Okay, next… Splinted fir tree wood, also for truth, but determination and hope for the future too,” you said.

“I think this may need to be a bit viler. Something more substantial too,”

“I take it you have an idea for that?”

Ev looked from you to Eddie. He grinned as he saw the wicked smile spread across her face.

“Well… In my line of work, I have access to certain things others may not…”

You blinked hard at her. “You mean… dead bodies?”

“Yes,”

“What have you done?” you asked her seriously.

“Nothing a few simple cloaking spells and glamours can’t hide,” Ev said with a casual shrug. She smiled. “If we want this magic to work, we need offerings. I can offer the ground bones of evil men,”

“Of course you can,”

“You’re not judging me, are you?” Ev teased.

“No. Nobody is. But everyone judged me for what I did, but you’ve been skulking around with dead men’s bones and a wolf boyfriend for ages.”

She laughed. “Whatever. The point is, using the bones will call a stronger power. We need to be careful,”

“We will,” Eddie said.

“And we can add our blood. Offering witch blood will prove that our magic walks in the light. That we seek to do good,” you said.

Eddie and Ev nodded.

Next was workshopping the spell.

“By the bones and branches, I call to thee. Reveal the evil that lay beneath?” Ev proposed.

“Oh, okay, I like that. Let me write this down.”

When wordsmithing and potion brewing were done, you stored all the work away. The next full moon was on the sixteenth, so casting would be postponed until then.

You walked Ev back to her house, listening as she told you about how she met her wolf.

“It was organic. The first thing we talked about was music. He loves The Misfits. I love The Misfits. Danzig over Graves. Rollins era Black Flag. Even when we disagreed we agreed. Like about when our Iron Maiden cut-off is,”

“You know, Eddie is really getting into that kind of music. Maybe they would actually get along,”

“Well… Eddie’s mortal enemy was meant to be you, so I guess next in line might be exempt too,”

“Double date?”

Ev laughed. “Double date.”

…

Finding Max Mayfield and healing her had not left your mind since the Halloween party. When you set off on your mission, you left Eddie behind. He didn’t like that you were out beyond the limits of Hawkins alone, but he understood why it had to be that way.

When the sun went down, Eddie walked to Kelsey’s house. She welcomed him in and let him sit while she pottered around, doing things that seemed very sweet and domestic, even if Eddie wasn’t sure what the purpose was.

“Can I ask you something about the coven?”

“Of course,” she answered him.

“However… you cannot tell anyone that I asked.”

Kelsey turned and looked at Eddie. She narrowed her eyes. “Anyone?” Even her?

Eddie nodded. “Anyone,” he repeated. Even you.

…

On the night of November the sixteenth, you, Ev, and Eddie took all you’d need through the woods and out the other side. Upon a small rise, you blended the Black-eyed Susan and gladiolus flowers with horehound and fir in a bowl made from oak. Ev sprinkled in her dead man bone ash.

“Blood,” you said, holding your hand out to Eddie.

Gently, he took it, biting just below your thumb. You felt his tongue swipe over the puncture, tasting you just a little before letting you go. As you let the blood drip into the potion, you glanced up at Ev, her pupils blown.

“Rude not to ask me to join in,” she quipped.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Ev,” Eddie replied just as quick.

“Gross. Stop it. Both of you… Eddie, give me your ring.”

You dropped Eddie’s ring into the bowl and nodded to them. Standing in a circle, holding hands, you all recited the spell. Eddie knew that his contribution to the incantation may not add any magical strength, he felt that it was the right thing to do.

“From Veritas, from Aletheia,

To Themis and her scale.

By bones and branches,

Reveal evil, let light prevail.

Under full moon,

By blood of coven,

Give this immortal power,

To morality govern.”

The wind picked up, the cold seeping in. You dropped hands and watched as the potion began to move, almost like it was alive. A bowl of sentient sludge. Writhing eels.

“What now?” Eddie asked.

“We leave it here. In the morning, the bowl will be empty save for the ring. It will be charmed, and you will have the sight,” you answered. You looked to Ev, she nodded.

“May I escort you ladies back home then, before the cold kills you?”

You let Eddie hook an arm through yours.

Ev hesitated. “I’ve actually got some other plans… I’ll see you tomorrow…”

“Plans on a full moon?” you teased.

Ev pulled a face and set off back into the woods in the direction opposite to the coven.

When you and Eddie got home, you disappeared into the apothecary. After making you tea and lighting the candles that helped you sleep, Eddie came searching for you.

“What more is there to do on this night?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You turned to him. You loved him all of the time. You loved him when his eyes were wild and his lips stained with blood. You loved him when he was charming and wooing your coven sisters. You loved him when he was washing dishes and engaged in his on-going battle with figuring out the right settings on the iron. But like that, sweatpants low on his hips, scars and history on display… Hair with knotted curls and messy bangs… Doe eyes and gentle movements… You loved him most.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back, opening his arms in invitation.

You took a jar, the object of your search, and went to him. He held you safe while you explained.

“We never finished the spell. Your spell.”

Eddie thought back to the black hellebore and apple. How the night had melted into adoration and sex. How, come morning, Forest Hills Trailer Park suddenly didn’t seem like the type of place to cast a spell about the future. You had both decided to save it for when it felt right.

Eddie held the jar of powder and, with a blanket wrapped around you, you followed him outside. Sitting side by side on the front steps of the house grown with love and magic, you said nothing.

The night was quiet and bright, the moon gloriously round and high. Hawkins was peaceful and the coven were dreaming of new beginnings.

Eddie twisted the lid off the jar and poured half the dust into his palm. He closed his fist around it. He looked as if he were making a wish. It was a brief moment, then he uncurled his fingers and blew the dust into the fall air.

“Your turn.”

He tipped the rest of the dust into your hand and you copied what he had done. You watched the dust swirl in the breeze, twinkling with an unnatural glint.

“Thank you for the spell,” you said, your sentence punctuated with a yawn.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

…

Three things happened at the same time that night, on the eve of December. Max Mayfield returned to Hawkins, healed and full of questions for her friends. She vaguely remembered a visitor. Vaguely remembered a miracle. Vaguely remembered threatening her mother if she didn’t let her return to the small shitty town. She was different. Made both stronger and softer by what she’d been through. There was something else too, something not even Lucas could put his finger on.

It would take years for the magic to bloom in Max. When it did, your coven would be waiting.

A far more somber event was taking place just down the way from you. Steve Harrington’s ghost had begun to fade. Mel noticed it before he did. He was hardly there at all now. “This is a good thing,” she told him, but her sad eyes made him ache.

“I don’t want to go,”

“You’re meant to. There is more out there for you now,”

“But what about you?” he asked. Death had not changed Steve. He thought of others first.

She couldn’t put it into words. The feeling of being loved by Steve. The feeling of a soul ignoring death and instead, letting themselves be pulled to her.

As Steve moved on, a definitive moment, Mel crawled into bed and cried. She’d let herself grieve and she’d do it alone. Of course, you would notice her sorrow. You’d find her in the darkness and pull her back to the light of the coven. But not then. Not on that cold night.

In your house, you tried to distract yourself from Eddie’s absence by reading, then spell writing, and finally – television. MTV had a feature of new films being released soon. You made note of The Lost Boys, deciding it would be good for a cinema date night. Eventually, you retired to bed and waited up for Eddie. He’d be home from Chicago soon.

Eddie could smell it on them. Hear it in the spitting syllables of their words. And now, graced with his charmed ring, he could see their sins too.

One touch and he saw the entire span of human guilt. Not keeping off the grass. Gum stuck under desks. Fake IDs. White lies about going to the post office but actually going to eat a cheeseburger in peace. Unpaid fines, unreturned library books. A little weed in the back pocket. Teenage pranks, stolen stop signs, the accidents they caused. Running red lights. Running away from a crime scene. Running away from everything.

It was almost sweet, Eddie thought, what made some people feel shame.

Almost.

Unlicensed firearms. Running cons on elderly people. Animal cruelty. Methamphetamine cooking in a back shed. Dosages of medication that were not what the doctor prescribed. Setting fires. Hidden disks of child exploitation material. Manifestos by white men who knew how to build a bomb. Battery. Trafficking. Home invasion. Aggravated assault occasioning bodily harm. Sexual assault. Assault resulting in death.

It was easier than ever finding someone to drain. Eddie followed him out of a bar and towards the L. In a blur nobody would remember, the man was pulled into the darkness. As it happened, as the shock turned to paralysing fear, your skin broke out in goosebumps. All the way in Hawkins, you watched the hairs on your arms stand up straight.

Eddie’s teeth punctured skin and you yelped, a stab of pain coming from somewhere in you. Doubling over, you fought to breathe.

The man was tense, then limp, then dead.

Forcing deep gulps of air in, then out, you were more worried when the pain suddenly dissolved. Slowly, you got to your feet and blinked tears from your eyes.

If Eddie had felt your suffering, he’d mistaken it as the man’s.

Max’s homecoming, Steve’s final goodbye, and Eddie’s justice balanced by the price you’d always pay. Events that were determined long ago. Fated to coincidence. And would echo through time forever more.

End note: Shout out to @neonghostlights for helping to brainstorm types of sins.

THIS IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER. Yep. Only one more chapter after this and it is not quite finished. So, any last requests or ideas need to be sent to me ASAP if you wanna find yourself in the story.

The Grimoire and timeline are updated. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, especially now in the final hour.

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @pastel-pillows @moviefreak1205

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Witch!Reader

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alicerosejensen · 8 months ago

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I love your page so much omg. I‘m literally obsessed with your work😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also I have this imagination in my mind going on about how Leon would try to help his girlfriend from recovering from her mental health issues since she’s always helping him. I was recently thinking about how he would react finding her not moving on the bathroom floor and trying to bring her back! I rewatched American horror stories and the scene with tate and violet in the first season episode 6 (ig?) is always in my head. I‘m still recovering from my past and my unhealthy habits and tbh recovery never felt better.

If this is too much for you or triggering please ignore this.🫶🏼❤️

I had a terrible period in my life when I was a few steps away from doing something like this in my life and unfortunately this shit often comes out. I'm not sure that such texts help me work through my psychological traumas, which were, in fact, inflicted on me and continue to be inflicted by close people who do not consider me a person, but at least such works help me to vent my pain, which I cannot permanently bury in myself.

I have been postponing this request for a long time because I was probably waiting for the right moment to write this text.

There are mentions of suicide, psychological trauma, severe self-doubt and anxiety, so if this is not acceptable to you, then please just block it.

Perhaps there is a similarity with my previous texts, but I am writing this with strong emotions now that I am trying to cope with it again.

the text is chaotic, I repeat, written while I was under the influence of strong heavy emotions. Maybe I'll delete it later, when my brain gets back to normal a little bit.

If a songbird doesn't sing well, they wring its neck.

Maybe it was the costs of Leon's profession and the result of his constant missions, after which something human is gradually dying in him despite the constant struggle to save everyone. Raccoon City was supposed to teach, if not to survive, then make him begin to understand that some are doomed to die.

Leon Kennedy was taught not to offend, but to protect the weak, especially weak women. But it is difficult to calm the flow of disordered thoughts and put aside the fear that has seized him in order to clamp bloody wrists and apply something to them to stop the blood. Leon knew many strong women: Ada was perhaps the first among them, he did not know either her past or her real name, only the present that pushed their foreheads against each other; Claire, a fighting friend of misfortune that he met in that ill-fated city; Ashley, who turned from a baby eagle into a proud eagle; Angela Miller and others…

Your strength dissolves in the water, coloring it scarlet while your heart stubbornly still beats, let the rhythm noticeably shorten.

In truth, over the past few months it became clear that this was the only way out. When even your loved ones considered you an expired product and did not hesitate to remember this and remind you every time. In the end, their words turned into an obsessive worm that settled in your head, slowly day after day, month after month, devouring you and the circumstances seemed to be not in your favor. Instead of support, you somehow faced reproach, as if the universe was screaming that you were an wrong person, nature's mistake who had no right to live.

Escape attempts were doomed to failure. At first you tried to suppress it in yourself, helping Leon, because, in your opinion, he was the only one who had the right to complain about life, although he did not do this in front of you, because everyone said that you had no problems: you have everything limbs, there are no fatal diseases, all loved ones are healthy and there is a roof over your head, as if this is enough to not fall for nonsense and not walk around forever with a sad face.

This was the last time you shared your experiences. You didn’t even bother telling Leon, but everything inside was torn from constant pain. The feeling was as if you were being beaten by two extremes that led you to the edge of an abyss where you ultimately voluntarily jumped.

no, you really loved him, it was just other people’s words and your own speculation that convinced you, despite your strong relationship with him, that Leon would find someone better, someone more confident in himself, someone who would not be you because you had already missed the chance for a good life because it moved too slowly. Ultimately, a couple of sips of alcohol with sleeping pills and a sharp blade in his hands simply promised to correct the mistake in the form of you with your own hands.

You didn't have the courage to do it any other way.

But you really didn’t think that if you could try to open up to your loved one, you would meet support and not condemnation. Perhaps in a mad world he would be the only one who would heal your wounds as you healed him in your time. Leon clenched his teeth, feeling tears flowing down cheeks, seeing these crimson stains, when he pulled your body out of the bath, holding you close to him, repeating “I’m holding you. It's allright"

He so carefully laid you on his lap, managing to pull out a first aid kit and then bandages to tightly, albeit carelessly, wrap them around your wrist in order to somehow stop the bleeding. At least you were still breathing, thereby giving him hope that everything could still be fixed. the darkness and emptiness came to life, calling in a whisper to dissolve into eternal silence where there is no pain or condemnation. Your body will be in a grave under a gray stone, while the remains of your soul will float like a small grain of sand in infinity.

For Leon, everything happens in a fog; he tried more than once to save people, but he had no right to lose in this battle, even if you yourself surrendered to death. Shaking his head, brushing away the tears, he wrapped your body in a large terry towel, kissed your temple and picked you up, trying to somehow warm you, pressing you closer to him. the ability to provide first aid in the field and pull suicides out of the other world is not the same thing. Leon would have thanked God if he had believed in him, convinced that blood loss was the least of the evils that you had caused yourself, until he saw the remains of some substance at the bottom of the glass that stood on the table along with an almost full bottle of alcohol.

You really didn't give him a chance.

The ambulance took several minutes, which seemed like an eternity. In fact, Leon wasn't sure if it was worth trying to make you vomit when you'd already lost so much blood that it was already seeping through the bandages. Surely you would need a transfusion and Leon is ready to give you all his blood if only you would wake up. Holding his breath, he carefully looked at your chest, watching whether you were breathing and fortunately, your heart was still beating, slowly, but it was still fighting for life.

He stroked you on the head, kissed you, promised that he would take you somewhere else, quiet, where no one would dare to offend you, even if it was your family. You could have just asked him for help, just cuddled up to him and he would have protected you from other people’s attacks, but you preferred to remain silent. Kennedy was tired of waiting for the medical staff to let him in, although relatives should be allowed to see the patient first, but the position of a government agent sometimes had its advantages, and they concerned not only the high salary. When he was let in to you, it seemed to him that you had become half your size while you were lying on the bed, curled up under the blanket. It didn’t work out to pull off a beautiful suicide, which meant that soon angry relatives would come here with new sweat of bile especially for you. They won’t care about your feelings, but Leon sat down next to you, trying not to intrude too much into the space in which you imprisoned yourself, as if this blanket cocoon could be a separate world where you could hide. He spoke to you carefully, hating himself for not being able to understand in time what was wrong with your behavior; perhaps if he had been more attentive to you, the incident could have been avoided. You would see a psychotherapist, take a course of medication, and your environment would definitely be taken care of.

You cry, not letting him come to you, hating how you weren't just left to die and how much you hate this world. Hysteria after hysteria, nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown, in the hospital you repeatedly tried to commit suicide, but the attentive staff managed to prevent this before you inflicted fatal injuries on yourself, and if after some time Leon still managed to carefully break through your armor, then your loved ones This did not concern relatives in principle. You only allowed one person to visit you while you were undergoing psychological treatment and you behaved calmer and calmer, listening to the velvety words that soon all this would be behind you.

“We’ll go home soon,” Leon smiled, gently holding your hand and kissing your forehead, just glad that you’re alive, that you’re breathing and that your psycho-emotional state is slowly but improving. “You know, I have a surprise for you, I think you’ll like it when we get home.”

Soon what happened will become another nightmare in his life, a blessing with a good ending, but for the sake of this happy ending, Kennedy is ready to descend into hell at least every day.

You nod at him and smile a little, fearing that the gift is some kind of party on the occasion of your discharge. In fact, the last thing you want is to see someone’s faces, especially those who diligently hammered into your head how insignificant you are. Why do you even hope that the doctor will postpone your discharge, but the plans for your further treatment were completely different.

On the other hand, after taking antidepressants and psychological help in a special medical institution, how many men are ready to stay with their girlfriends who have been there for several months? For Leon, it seems this was not a significant problem, or he simply carefully did not show it. However, there were no parties, no calls, you simply returned now to his home where there were new interior items. it became somehow more comfortable... but something else surprised you.

Puppy. A small puppy of a couple of months old ran towards you and Leon to meet both of them, but stopped and began sniffing your shoes, while something thawed in your heart.

“Animals seem to help us well, They feel when we feel bad, it seems to me a good idea to get us a little companion,” Leon said quietly, stroking your back while you were busy with the puppy, rejoicing at the little living soul who will love you with the same pure and devoted love.

Ultimately it should have a happy ending too. Leon is ready to go to great lengths so that his beloved songbird starts smiling and singing happy songs again, even if it is necessary to remove other birds from her family who sleep and see how to pluck all her wings again.

You and he also have a chance for a happy ending.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy resident evil #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon

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soon-palestine · 1 year ago

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in 2015 he was only 13 years old.

Ahmad Manasra has been held in prolonged solitary confinement since the beginning of November 2021, in violation of the absolute prohibition of torture and other cruel, inhumane or degrading treatment or punishment. The Israel Prison Service asked to renew Ahmad’s solitary confinement for a further six months on 17 April 2022. A hearing that was scheduled to be held on 15 June 2022 with regards to his solitary confinement was postponed to a later date. Ahmad Manasra’s mental health worsened during his incarceration. In October 2021 an independent Israeli clinical psychologist working with Physicians for Human Rights – Israel (PHRI) diagnosed him with severe psychiatric conditions, and stated these had developed since his incarceration. Ahmad Manasra’s parents said in February 2022 that their son had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, is suffering from psychotic delusions, and is severely depressed with suicidal thoughts. His lawyer, Khaled Zabarqa, told Amnesty International: “We have asked the Israel Prison Service to release Ahmad into home and community care as a matter of urgency because there is a real danger to his life. The prison doctors themselves recognized as much in their report on 13 June which led to his transfer from the prison cell to the prison hospital.”

#Ahmad Manasra #palestine #gaza #free palestine #stop the genocide #ceasefire now #gaza under attack #end the occupation #human rights #PPSMO

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rahabs · 10 months ago

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the fact that you would defend the israeli government after they’ve murdered 30,000 innocents in the largest bombing campaign in modern history is literally despicable and borderline evil. if a genocide documented ad nauseam cannot make you cognizant of israel’s colonial and deeply racist regime, then literally nothing can and you are beyond reasoning with. actually incredible how multiple history degrees have clearly taught you nothing about how a genocide works — or perhaps more concerningly, they have, and you simply don’t care because the victims are palestinian. the fact that you would use those very history degrees to excuse israel’s genocide of palestinians is deeply disturbing and indicative of the rancid hypocrisy within western academia. history will exonerate the indigenous palestinians, and it will be unkind to those like you who defended and cheered on their annihilation.

It‘s so amazing to me that you actually believe this, and that you‘ve so wholeheartedly swallowed the propaganda Hamas (known for using their own civilians as human shields, known for paying their citizens extra for killing Jews) has been peddling. So I am going to paste here some points others have already made that I‘ve saved over the course of information-gathering, though I doubt you‘ll bother to read or learn, judging from your asinine little comments here.

1) Palestine Gaza is a genocidal nation. The goal of the Palestinian government in Gaza is literally to destroy and commit genocide against Israel and kill every Jew by every means possible. This is literally written in their founding charter. "The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him. Only the Gharkad tree, (evidently a certain kind of tree) would not do that because it is one of the trees of the Jews." There is no solution for the Palestinian question except through Jihad. Initiatives, proposals and international conferences are all a waste of time and vain endeavors. The Palestinian people know better than to consent to having their future, rights and fate toyed with.

2) Palestine is an apartheid nation that has ethnically cleansed 100% of their Jews and stole their territory after 1948. There used to be tens of thousands of Jews living in the areas of Judea and Samaria, which was renamed to the West Bank by Jordan. However they've all been ethnically after the 1948 Arab-Israeli war and 0 Jews are allowed to live in Palestine today. 3) Palestine is an authoritarian dictatorship both in Gaza and the West Bank. Hamas won majority of the votes during an election in 2006, but the Palestinian president simply refused to recognize the results of the election and refused to hand power over to them. This resulted in Hamas siezing power in Gaza, executing hundreds of their political rivals, and they never held another election. Likewise, the leadership in the West Bank also refused to hold any elections and still continue to illegitimately cling to power. Abbas, the president of Palestine had a 4 year term which was supposed to end in 2009. He's still the leader today and has continued to postpone election after election. 4) Palestine supports the outright open murder of innocent civilians. I've already mentioned the charter of the Palestinian government in Gaza above where their goal is to eradicate Israel and genocide Israelis, but the Palestinian government in West Bank is just as horrible. There's the Palestinian Authority Matry Fund where they literally pay a salary / pension to any Palestinians who commmit terrorist attacks against Israelis, be it through stabbings, shootings or suicide bombings, and they've paid out billions so far. The Foundation for the Care of the Families of Martyrs pays monthly cash stipends to the families of Palestinians killed, injured, or imprisoned while carrying out violence against Israel.

5) Palestine is horribly corrupt oligarchy. Palestine receives billions from the USA and Europe in aid every single year. Whatever money isn't spent on paying literal terrorists, or on rockets to shoot at Israel ends up going to corrupt Palestinian leaders. Yasser Arafat, the first Palestinian leader, died a billionaire. Abbas the current President is worth $100 million. The Palestinian leaders in Gaza, Ismail Haniyeh, Moussa Abu Marzuk and Khaled Mashal have an estimated combined wealth of over $10 billion. Meanwhile the combined GDP of Gaza is only about $2.5 billion, meaning these 3 leaders wealth is equal to 4 years of Gaza's GDP. 6) Palestinians have caused wars and instability in every country that they've sought refuge in. In Jordan, Palestinains assasinated the Jordanian king in 1951, then attempted a coup of a the country in 1970. After they failed, they were expelled to Lebanon where they started a civil war with the Christian Maronites. This war lasted 15 years and killed several times more people than the entire Israel-Palestine war (150k died in Lebanon civil war vs 25k in Palestinian-Israeli wars). In Kuwait, the Palestinians supported Saddam as Iraq invaded Kuwait. In Egypt, they've been hit by several bombings by Palestinians. 7) There is no freedom of speech or equality in Palestine Gaza. No equality of sexes, no equality of races, and definitely no queer rights in the entirety of Palestine where you could be killed for the crime of being openly queer. [If you identify as a liberal, there is literally] no reason to support a country where majority of [your] friends would either have severely restricted rights, be treated like objects, or be thrown off a building just for existing.

Let me reiterate: Jews are indigenous to Israel. Jews have existed and lived in what we now call the Israel-Palestine region for thousands of years before the foundation of Islam, and even before the foundation of Christianity. In the game of “which Abrahamic religion came first?” Islam ranks dead last.

Israel as an identity as a people has existed for thousands of years and has been recorded as far back as the Iron Age on:

i) The Mesha Stele;

ii) The Tel Dan Stele;

iii) The Kurkh Monoliths; and (potentially)

iv) The Merneptah Stele.

While scholars have argued over the translations on the Merneptah Stele, the general consensus among historians, classicists, archaeologist, etc, is that it refers to the existence of Israel at the very least as a collective identity that existed at the time, and was called Israel.

They were eventually repeatedly forced out by other powers such as the Romans and many others, but that doesn’t change the fact that Jews had a continuous existence in Israel before being forced out by what people like you would normally call “colonising powers” were it not so contrary to your own ill-supported arguments. It also doesn’t change the fact that Jews, and Israel, existed before both Christianity and Islam, and long, long before Palestine.

So if your entire argument boils down to "who was here first" and the ideas of "colonialism" and "anti-colonialism" and "decolonisation", then I am telling you, Jews were there first. You could argue Canaanite groups like Moabites and Ammonites were there too, but Moabites and Ammonites don't exist as a continuous group anymore. No matter how you look at it, you are wrong, so let me parrot your horrible argument right back at you:

The fact that you would defend Hamas, a known organisation whose founding Charter literally calls for the annihilation of Jews, who have systematically purged Jews for years, who launched multiple attacks against innocent Jewish people (the music festival, the babies and the woman and the children slaughtered), the fact that there's a Palestinian Authority Matry Fund where they literally pay a salary / pension to any Palestinians who commit terrorist attacks against Israelis, be it through stabbings, shootings or suicide bombings, and they've paid out billions so far; the fact that you defend the existence of the Foundation for the Care of the Families of Martyrs which pays monthly cash stipends to the families of Palestinians killed, injured, or imprisoned while carrying out violence against Israel, etc... that you would defend this is "literally despicable" and not only outright evil, but ignorant to the nth degree.

If the continuous genocidal nature of Hamas against Israel cannot make you cognizant of Hamas' deeply racist, violence, and terrorist regime (to the point where none of the Muslim countries around them will take Palestinians in; even their fellow Muslim countries want nothing to do with them), then I'm not sure what to tell you. You say I am beyond reasoning, but from where I'm standing, your head is so far up your own ass that I don't even know if you're aware of anything that isn't the smell of your own shit.

It's actually incredible to me how you can ignore what multiple historians and scholars are saying because you want to cling to your idea that Hamas are just a bunch of "poor innocent brown people" who need help from the "evil white Israeli regime". Or perhaps, more "concerningly," that is just it: you hate Israel because you erroneously perceive them as white, and so therefore they must be evil. I don't know, but that is what a lot of anti-Israel sentiment seems to boil down to in the world of people like you.

The fact that you would excuse and ignore Hamas' outright horrific acts and ignore history is deeply disturbing and indicative of the rancid hypocrisy within the west, but particularly within western circles that claim to be "progressive", "liberal", and "leftist."

Hamas has said no to every ceasefire. Hamas has said no to every compromise Israel has offered even before October. If Hamas stops fighting, the war ends. If Israel stops, then Israel is annihilated.

History has already shown that Palestinians are not indigenous if we are playing the "who was there first" game with Israel and Palestine, you're just so ignorant that you will refuse to see the evidence right in front of you. You are the one cheering for the annihilation of an indigenous group, and the one history will frown upon is you.

#antisemitism #Sorry for everyone on my dash who had to read this long reply.#I have sat on this for a month wondering whether to release it. Seriously grappling with everything. But.#Here we go. Will I delete it later? I am not sure. But.#There are too few people willing to speak up on this because they're scared of militant Palestinian supporters.#And truthfully I am scared of them! Militant Palestinian supporters are terrifying and my country has MANY #But this is my line in the sand. I so rarely draw them with political conflicts but this is it for me.#If you support Hamas you are DISGUSTING.#And you cannot divorce the fact that the vast majority of Palestinians have supported and do support Hamas.#People literally cheer for Hamas in the streets here and call for the annihilation of Israel.#Universities defend this shit too (see: the scandal with Penn State and Harvard)#I am so open politically I neither identify as right or left I so rarely truly put my foot down and say #'if you believe this you are disgusting'#But? Yeah.#And maybe I will have a mas exodus of followers now but whatever.#ancient Israel

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leasstories · 10 months ago

Text

Mutual Healing

Eddie Munson x Gn!reader

TW : Depression, suicidal thoughts

WC: ≈2.1K

Depression is a bitch. You’ve been suffering from depression for 2 years now. Your beautiful face slowly lost color and life, you started losing weight and isolating yourself. Now, you are alone. You pushed away your only friend, her name was Robin Buckley and after months of trying to reach out she simply gave up. Everyone abandoned you in your life anyway, this was just, according to you, one more proof that you were not necessary. The problem with thinking that, with feeling useless and unimportant is that it fuels your want to disappear. It comforts you in the idea that life doesn’t worth being lived.

Your dad died when you were 10 and your mom has been neglecting you ever since. She drowns herself into alcohol and is most of the time away from home. We are in January, and you finally gave High School up. Well not officially, but you haven’t been going for weeks, even months now.

Today, you have to go to the store as your mom left for weeks on end now. You have no strength and you’ve been postponing it for days, but now it’s not just food that you don’t have anymore, it’s also the essentials such as toilet paper, paper towel… You can’t postpone anymore. You drag your tired body out of you bed, you push the wastes under your bed. You sit at your dressing table and put your tangled, dirty hair in a bun. You then go to your dresser and look for clean sweatpants as well as a clean t-shirt and hoodie. You look at yourself in the mirror and is disgusted by what you see, but you can’t bring yourself to make yourself more presentable. You take your bag, go down the stairs and leave your house. As soon as you leave your house, a wave of anxiety sweeps over you. You force yourself to put one foot in front of the other and walk towards your mom’s car. You open the door and sit on the driver’s seat. You wait a few minutes before putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. You slowly drive to the closest grocery store in Hawkins. You park and stop the car and stay sat in your car. You rest your head on the headrest and close your eyes. You take a deep inhale before getting out of the car. You then go into the store and start panicking. They aren’t even a lot of customers. You take a cart and start navigating in the store. You put pasta, tomato sauce, rice, cans of food in the cart.

Then you go to the toiletries aisle. You put some shampoo and toothpaste in your cart, even though you don’t have the strength to take care of yourself. As soon as you put the toothpaste in the cart your breathing starts becoming shallow, you can’t hold yourself straight, so you sit on the ground, next to your cart. One of your classmates also known as the fellow “Freak” from Hawkins High is passing by the aisle at that same time. He slowly approaches you and then crouches down next to you, saying your name softly. When you don’t react, he gently puts his hand on your shoulder. At the contact, you flinch.

“Hey, hey, hey I’m not here to hurt you” Eddie says, putting his hands in surrender. When you don’t answer Eddie keep going “It’s Eddie Munson, we used to go to high school together.” When you nod, Eddie takes it as his cue to get up and then crouch down in front of you. He puts his hand on your knee and when you don’t flinch, he starts rubbing circles. He waits for you to speak, giving you as much time as you need. Eddie’s physical touch helps you calming down a little and even though your breathing is shallow you manage to say, “I’m sorry”.

“Hey, none of that, you have nothing to be sorry for. Can you tell me what happened?” Eddie gently tells you.

Your breathing is still shallow, and you can feel a pain in your chest, you grab Eddie’s arm with your hand and say “I… I can’t breathe… Eddie… I can’t breathe…”

Eddie lets you grab his arms and keeps rubbing circles on your knee. “Hey, hey it’s okay… It’s okay darling, you are having a panic attack. You’re not dying, everything is fine.” Eddie tells you in a calming tone, far away from the loud personality everyone knows him for.

Tears start running down your cheeks and your breathing doesn’t calm down. Eddie takes your hand in put it on his chest. “Hey darling, follow my breathing, okay?”

You keep your hand on Eddie’s torso and start following his breathing. It takes you a while to match Eddie’s breathing, but once you do, you start calming down.

Once you’re calm enough Eddie helps you up and guide you to your cart. Instead of just leaving you, Eddie starts taking the cart for you and nonchalantly says. “Where to next?”. You look at Eddie baffled.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! I’m not gonna let you finish your shopping on your own after the panic attack you just had!” Eddie answers, pushing your cart through the aisle.

“I’m going to check out” You answer, looking at your feet, ashamed of the fact that you bothered Eddie when all he was going to do was grocery shopping.

Eddie looks at your cart and vehemently shakes his head. “Nope. I’m not gonna let you go home with only canned food.”

“’m not a good cook” you answer to Eddie.

“Love, I can see you’re not in a good mental headspace at the moment, and that’s why, the humble Dungeon Master that I am, cannot let you eat only canned goods, and that’s also why I’m going to offer my services, for free of course!” Eddie tells you.

“Oh no, no I don’t want to be a bother, you don’t have to do that” you answer, embarrassed.

“I don’t have to, I want to. I know what it is to feel down and lonely, trust me. I want to be there for you.” Eddie earnestly tells you.

“Thank you, I guess?” You answer.

Eddie drives the cart through the aisles and start buying some fresh food. “’Kay, I’m not a good cook at all but I’m gonna try. Can’t let a pretty one like you starve.” Eddie says right before stopping in his tracks. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?” Eddie asks.

You shake your head no, really baffled by what is happening right now. When Robin stopped trying to reach out, you thought you were doomed to be alone forever and now Eddie arrives and makes you feel wanted. He doesn’t seem forced to spend time with you.

“Great!” Eddie says. “Let me grab ingredients to make the infamous Munson homemade Mac N Cheese! You like Mac N Cheese?” Eddie asks in his excitement.

“Mmh” you answer.

“You’re not really talkative, are you?” Eddie asks while putting butter in the cart.

“I’m sorry…” You say while looking at the ground.

“No, no Sweetheart don’t be! That’s not why I said that. Can I tell you a secret?” Eddie asks trying to make conversation without forcing you to talk too much.

“Go ahead” you answer, curious of what Eddie might tell you.

“You’re one of the only persons who didn’t run away when I approached you. Ya know I have a pretty bad reputation.” Eddie tells you, really happy that someone let him in. Yes, Eddie helps you, but by accepting his presence, you help him too.

“I’m sorry people don’t see past your looks Eddie. I know you’re not a Freak.” You answer.

Eddie is really moved by what you’re telling him. It is the most you spoke to him since he found you panicking and the fact that you decided to speak more to reassure him warms Eddie’s heart.

“Eh! That’s fine. I’m used to it” Eddie tells you. “But to be honest, when you flinched, I thought it was because it was me.”

You shake your head. “No, it wasn’t Eddie… I’m sorry I made you feel like this. I was just surprised.”

“Hey, I understood that later... I didn’t want to make you feel bad.” Eddie says reassuringly.

“Thank you so much Eddie… for what you’re doing for me.” You shyly tell Eddie.

Eddie waves his hand as if it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it Sweetheart. As I already said, it isn’t a bother.”

Eddie and you finish grocery shopping while he tells you all about his last D&D campaign. You drink his words, feeling grateful that Eddie feels confident enough to talk about his passion with you. You then checkout and Eddie helps you load the bags in your trunk, he closes it and goes around your car to open your door for you.

“Thank you, kind sir” you tell Eddie.

“I’ll follow you with my van, lead the way” Eddie tells you.

“You don’t have to… besides my house is a mess and…” you start panicking at the idea that Eddie is going to see the mess that is your house.

“I don’t care about that. I’m coming and you can’t change my mind” Eddie says while closing your car door. You then watch Eddie climb in his van and you start your car and start driving in your house’s direction.

You park your car in front of your house and Eddie parks his van next to your car. He helps you unload the grocery and you come into your house. You’re grateful that Eddie says nothing about the mess, instead he follows you into the kitchen and help you unpack the groceries. When you put everything on the kitchen table without putting it in the cupboard, Eddie starts putting the canned goods in cupboards, he put the fresh food in the fridge and while he puts everything away, he tells you.

“Hey Sweetheart, while I cook, you should go shower, ‘kay?”.

You nod and drag your tired body upstairs, to your bathroom. You start undressing and when you cross path with your reflection in the mirror, you realize how much of a mess you look. After looking at yourself in the mirrors for several long minutes, you drag your body in the shower. Firstly, you put your hair down. You start the shower and look at the water running along your body. You stop the water and start cleaning yourself. Then you shampoo the tangle mess on your head and get out of the shower. You put on clean pajamas, take your brush and go downstairs as to not let poor Eddie alone.

You sit on a kitchen stool and look at Eddie cooking his infamous Mac N Cheese. He starts talking to you about music. “And you know what darling, I’ll make a mixtape for you!” Eddie says, hoping it will lift your spirits. You nod and smile at Eddie’s words while trying to brush your tangled hair.

At some point, you feel Eddie taking the brush from your hand. He sits on a stool behind you and asks. “Can I?”.

“You don’t have to Eddie…” You tell him.

“Hey, I want to help you.” Eddie answers reassuringly.

Eddie delicately brushes your hair, careful of not hurting you. “You know, I’m used to brushing tangled hair. You can’t imagine how much my hair always gets tangled. And you know sometimes I’m too lazy to brush it and I have to brush tangled messes you can’t imagine.” Eddie tells you, trying to make you feel better.

“You have beautiful hair.” You tell Eddie earnestly. “Would you? Would you let me braid them?” you ask him.

Eddie shakes his head chuckling and surprised by what he is going to answer. “Knows that I never let anyone touch my hair…” you cut Eddie off.

“Oh I’m sorry… Eddie I didn’t mean to…” Eddie cuts you off.

“Hey Sweetheart, I’m not finished. But if it makes you happy, I’ll let you braid my hair.

Once Eddie is finished with brushing your hair, he plates the Mac N Cheese and brings it to you on the couch. You both eats with the TV on. Well the TV is on but none of you are watching it. You’re busier talking about movies and music.

For the first time in month, you finally feel like you are where you are meant to be. And even though only an afternoon with Eddie can’t heal your depression, you feel like you belong somewhere, you feel wanted and at the moment, you don’t want to disappear. And Eddie finally feels like he can be apologetically himself with someone. He doesn’t have to seem mean and scary, to be sarcastic or intimidating with you, because he knows you’ll never use his vulnerability against him.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson is a sweetheart #mutual healing #Spotify

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girlactionfigure · 4 months ago

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🔵 WEDNESDAY morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( DOTS: 🔹blue - Iran war news. ♦️⭕red - Gaza & Hezbollah active war news. ▪️black - general Israel news. 🔸yellow - hostage deal news )

▪️HAMAS “elects” terror leader Yahya Sinwar as their political leader as well. Congratulations are pouring in from all over the Arab world, for the appointment of the worst mass murderer since ISIS and the Huti genocide of Rwanda.

▪️PRISON ABUSE CASE.. The detentions of five reserve soldiers suspected of the serious abuse of a Gazan terrorist mass murdering detainee at the Sde Teiman base have been extended until Sunday.

▪️FINANCE.. the shekel is slightly weakening as a currency: the euro climbs to NIS 4.20, the dollar to NIS 3.85.

▪️FLIGHT CANCELLED? you are due a refund! In any case of a canceled flight, and its starting point or destination is Israel, every passenger has the right to choose between two options: a full refund or an alternative flight ticket. The refund will be paid within 21 days, and it includes the full cost of the ticket, including fees, levies and taxes. If a person booked a round-trip flight from Israel with the same airline in one reservation, and only his outbound flight was canceled, he will be entitled to a refund for the return trip as well. If in the middle of a round trip and the return to Israel is cancelled, the passenger will be entitled to a refund of half of the amount he paid.

In addition, in the event of a canceled return flight to Israel, the airline is obligated to "provide accommodation, food, etc. services for canceled flights, until the passenger is able to return. However, it is likely that a court will impose this obligation within the limits of reason." https://www.calcalist.co.il/local_news/article/byv5wmrtr

🔹THE LEBANESE THINK.. “Israel will enter from the back of Mount Hermon to reach the Damascus-Lebanon axis, this is the only way they will be able to stop the rocket supply (coming from Iran).”

🔹The US ships almost non-stop unimaginable amounts of weapons to the Middle East via air transport. As well, the US significantly increases the jets at the air force bases in the Persian Gulf. US F-18’s and F-22’s spotted inbound in UK stopovers.

🔹Head of the Iranian Foreign Ministry arrived in Saudi Arabia to participate in the emergency meeting of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation. Analysts speculate this the reason for the postponement of the Iranian attack.

🔹All Iranian government offices and banks in Tehran's Alborz district will be closed tomorrow “due to rising temperatures”.

🔹Report: Some US analysts believe that Iran may be reconsidering the response.

🔹Conversely, since yesterday, signs of Iranian preparations to launch an attack against Israel have been received in the US.

♦️IDF in Judea and Samaria: "12 terrorists have been eliminated in the last 24 hours. Since the beginning of the week, 20 terrorists have been eliminated from the air and the ground via the undercover unit.

♦️COUNTER-TERROR OP.. overnight in Beit Purik, Shechem.

♦️US CENTCOM.. intercepted a suicide drone and two ballistic missiles launched from Yemen. (Doesn’t say if launched at cargo ships or Israel.)

♦️US ATTACKS YEMEN.. An American-British attack early in the morning on the Thais sub-district, south of the capital Sana’a.

♦️GAZA - EVAC ORDERS.. DF ordered the residents of the Gaza City neighborhoods Sheikh Zayed, Beit Hanun and Almanshiya to evacuate after rocket fire from the area.

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #Israel/HamasWar #Gaza #IDF #ISRAEL REALTIME #Hezbollah

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 1 year ago

Note

In Twilight, what if Bella's injuries were so bad after James' attack that she went into a life long coma? (There is no hope in waking her up.) Now, does Edward visits her everyday to get a sniff... I mean see how she's doing? Does he turn Bella? What do the rest of the Cullens do now that Bella is in coma? Does Charlie suspect/ start an investigation on the Cullens? Does Alice just turn Bella herself to get a "happy ending " for her family?

"Is the answer to Bella's problems putting her into a life-long coma she'll never wake from?" - Anon

A Small Discussion

So, the thing is, this is before New Moon which had a few key events. Edward and Bella's suicide attempts and then the meeting with the Volturi in which a foot was put down.

Bella remaining human was no longer an option. The Volturi had found out and given them a very small window in which to turn Bella or kill her, if they returned and she was alive, it would not be good. Even barring that, though, the Cullens found out that Edward planned to kill himself upon Bella's death, Bella very much wants to be a vampire, and she's now so entangled in this nonsense with vampires hunting her that the reasons to keep her human seem less and less viable to the point where only Rosalie and Edward strongly wish for Bella to remain human.

The point is, after New Moon, the writing was on the wall and we had Carlisle agreeing to turn Bella as soon as she wished no questions asked. Edward was the one desperately postponing it for as long as possible (which in the end only ended up being a few paltry months).

Before New Moon, though, especially with the guarantee that Bella will never wake up from this and never talk about how she had a vampire boyfriend, turning Bella isn't necessarily as compelling to all of the Cullens.

Back to the Ask

So, Bella's too injured and will never live a normal life and it's kind of all their faults, what are they going to do about this? The Cullens hold a vote/meeting in which Carlisle lays out the grim realities of Bella's future in that she essentially isn't going to have one and will bankrupt her family for as long as they choose to keep her on life support.

Attempting to turn her is really the only option at this point, and it's possible it would work, but she may be too far gone even for that and they'd have to plan faking her death. (Probably not too difficult if they convince someone to pull the plug and do some fake dead body shenanigans later).

There's also a whole bunch of problems of how to make it clear the Cullens weren't involved in all of this, when the last thing Bella did was break up with her boyfriend and flee home... and now she's been found beaten into a coma...

"We also have to disappear for a while" Carlisle notes as he doesn't think they can survive a murder investigation.

Rosalie's adamantly against, this is horrible, yes, but she wished someone had been there to pull the plug on her and she will not vote in favor of turning Bella even if it means she gets to live. No.

Alice is for because if we don't do this... guys... it's going to get bad... The entire family will collapse. Guys. Just fucking turn Bella. (She's considering doing it herself except that Edward knows she's considering doing this which is not good).

Edward, of course, just sucked out the venom to save Bella and is not going to bite her again even to save her from this. Bella's life has... just met its natural end is what it looks like.

Edward, panicking at the possibility of someone (Alice) turning Bella, as well as the fact that they are apparently disappearing now as Edward will be questioned on "why did your girlfriend break up with you and was found beaten to death in her home town when you were conveniently missing from the Forks area in the same time frame?" Has to pull the plug on Bella before she can be turned into a vampire.

He does so in a moment of true agony then goes with his original plan of going to Volterra and asking the Volturi to kill him because he told a human, who ended up in a coma because he brought her to a vampire baseball game, and he's now killed her so that his family members wouldn't turn her into a vampire.

"But you followed the law???" - Aro, who is having the strangest day of his life.

Edward walks into the sunlight and dies.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #alice cullen #rosalie hale #carlisle cullen #the cullens #bella swan #meta #headcanon #opinion

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sheepieberry · 2 months ago

Note

How did Kian and Xavier met in the first place? Was Kian a groupie, or just literally living his life?

Hi anon!!!! THANK U FOR ASKING AAAUGGHHHH I love those two sm

Kian was literally just living his life…. So here I mentioned before that Kian was sent away somewhere for awhile! He was actually sent to the US for 2 years!

Reasons being that before his parents had died he was under contract as a child model, but then you know, they died (big shoutout to Kians mom for that). He’s still under that contract but it’s been postponed due to him being underaged and grieving the lost of his family, Kian is put in foster care for awhile before eventually ending up in Baileys care, the relationship between them is rocky but Kian is meek and flinches away from hands, like a dog that been kicked one too many times, but a scared dog can still lash out, and that’s what happened with Kian, he did something Bailey didn’t like and had to pay for it, (he begs one of the only friends in town he has, someone not trapped under Baileys thumb the way he is, a sweet boy at the church for help, only to be met with averted eyes and a trembling frown, that’s the day Kian really wishes he had died with his family)

Kian gets sent away to the US, sent back to the company he had a contract under and in their care, he’s still a child after all, but he’s still Baileys property, that gives him comfort although it shouldn’t, it tells him he hasn’t been abandoned, not yet.

Kian is 16, a young and pretty thing with no proper adult around, it attracts the attention of all the wrong types of people, it attracts a man named Xavier.

Xavier is a star, a handsome man in his early 20’s, famous in his movies and for being a heartthrob with a gentle smile, he’s asked to model in a photoshoot with a partner, a small and soft wilting figure.

He meets Kian

More under the cut!!!! Tw for SA, Underage, drugging, Emotional and Physical abuse, attempted suicide

To Xavier, it’s almost infatuation at first sight, it’s romantic, it could be love

The shoot the photos, Kian doesn’t smell the way a boy his age should, he smells soft, sweet, like vanilla and peaches, it’s mouthwatering- Xavier wonders what kind of noise Kian would make if he bit hard enough to bleed, would he taste sweet?

It doesn’t take much for Xavier to convince a producer to,, scout Kian for a small role in a film Xavier’s plays in, Xavier isn’t a actor for nothing after all, soft smiles and touches, he can be kind to Kian, teach him the ropes and help him when he stumbles throughout the shoot, help him remember his lines and caress his head softly when he gets something right, a sugar sweet act that pays off when Kian stares up at him with shy mismatched eyes, pale face pink with flush and a smile, because Kian is young and dumb, and he’d do anything to feel important to someone

The movie is finished, it’s gonna be a hit, any movie with Xavier always is

A late night afterparty is planned, adults drinking and doing things they shouldn’t-

Kian is there, he shouldn’t be, but Xavier promised to take care of him, a warm hand against the low of his back, and Kian trusts him, why wouldn’t he? Xavier has done such a good job taking care of him these last few months after all. Kian trusts him, trusts him enough to find a drink he’s allowed in this party full of alcohol, trusts him enough to tell Xavier when he starts feeling bad, a throbbing pain in his skull and nausea brewing in his stomach, weak and woozy, he trusts Xavier to take him home-

Kian doesn’t go home that night, he doesn't go home for few nights.

Xavier helpfully tells Kians manager that the boy needs a break, poor thing, working so hard for others. It's a good thing Xaviers here, it gets lonely in this big house, he's happy to host Kian for as long as needed. And as he hangs up the phone it's all done, and Kian is his, even if just for awhile, Xavier smiles as he brushes back dark hair from a sweaty forehead, Kians such a pretty little thing, even more so like this, pliant and drugged up in Xavier’s bed, eyes unfocused and foamy drool escaping his mouth

"Une si jolie petite rose~" he whispers more to himself, he knows Kian can't hear him even if he wanted to, not in the state he's in, it doesn't matter though, Xavier will say it over and over again, just so Kian knows how much he's adored, and Kian stares, body unwilling to move as he stares at the ceiling, a body slotting itself between his legs

It doesn't take long for Xavier to start officially sponsoring Kian, everyone with a brain in the industry knows what that means, what it entails for a boy his age, Kian is 17 and he wonders how much it would hurt to die, if it would hurt at all when compared to living like this, if this even counts as living-

Xavier is sweet, he always is, he tolerates kians scratches and outbursts, his screams and his tears, he watches Kian flip through conflicting emotions, the strain it puts on him, he doesn't want Kian to break from the demons in his head, he'd prefer it at his own instead, he gets taken to the doctors and leaves with two things, a bag full of medicine bottles with names he can't pronounce and a diagnosis for BPD, looking at his history the doctors assume it's genetic, the car ride to Xaviers home is quiet

Kian thinks about his mom for the first time in years, and he let's Xavier pull him into a gentle embrace, let's Xavier hold him and he weeps, in the arms of a man who's done horrible, horrible things to him, but is the only one there to hold him like a child, the child Kian often forgets he still is

Hes softer after that, Kian, a saccharine smile and empty eyes, he let's Xavier touch all he wants and puts up no fuss, just a smile and a stare, the day of his 18th birthday Xavier gifts him earrings, a reminder of the dull ache in ears, Xavier had done them himself, Kian thanks him with a kiss, one of Kians own will, a first in these 2 years, Xavier thinks he'd break kians legs if it would mean spending the rest of their lives together, Xavier thinks he's in love, but there's only so much a man in love can do when he wakes up to an empty bed, looking around the house to see light from the bathroom and a boy bleeding and quiet in the tub, water a deep red and head lolled back, there's nothing much for him do to, throat rubbed raw from his yells, shaking hands phone for a hospital, for help, hands wet and red as he drags a far too cold body into his hands and prays for the first time in his life to a god that doesn't exist, cause if they did, a good merciful god would've never let Xavier touch Kian

Kian survives, but he's unconscious and weak, Xavier visits for a week straight, bouquets of flowers in tow everyday, until he comes into an empty hospital room

Word spreads quickly, especially to Bailey, it's no surprise the minute he knew his most profitable ward had fucked up yet again that he sends for Kian, he wakes up and isn't even given half a day of rest before he's loaded up to a plane back, woozy from pain dulling drugs, a familiar feeling, and finger tips almost blue and numb with how tightly wrapped those bandages are around his arms, but he's comforted by a single thought, Bailey wouldnt tell anyone about his wards mistakes, and Xavier would think that empty hospital room belonged to a dead boy

#sheepietalks #ask berry #dol #degrees of lewdity #dol kian #kian the deceitful #dol pc #dol npc #Xavier the Star #dol Xavier #Wow that ended up really long #Thank u for giving me the chance to be crazy anon ily and sorry it took so long #writing this on the job lol hehehe #Getting payed while writing about a boyfaliure man and his victim

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fangsandfeels · 29 days ago

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Nitpicking Veilguard bios because I woke up and chose violence

What I find alarming about the proposed Rook bios is that how some of them are handled with kiddy gloves. For comparison, in Mass Effect, Shepard could the be known as the Butcher of Torfan -- meaning that Shepard ruthlessly and relentlessly wiped out every criminal stronghold and ended the presence of batarians (who are super pro-slavery and into regular slave grabs on colonies) in the Citadel area. That bio paints Shepard as capable of great brutality in order to do the job - and making the area much safer was a great result.

However, at the same time, the reason for that brutality was still to our interpretation - it didn't instantly make Shepard a bad person, it just offered a good starting point for a Renegade playthrough.

Logically, Rook's bios, no matter the faction, make one thing clear - Rook is someone who isn't afraid of making decisions. Rook is someone who makes a move when nobody else has the guts to. But there is no range it. I mean, the writers definitely try to show Rook comes as decisively altruistic, a life-saver - even when it doesn't fit the faction.

(hiding the rest under the cut, just in case)

Saving people as the Grey Warden/Black Dragon/Veil Jumper? Makes sense.

But an Antivan Crow making a move to save people? An Antivan Crow jeopardizing larger operation and only getting sidelined for this? Let's see if my memory doesn't deceive me:

Failure to eliminate a mark means the life of the operative is also forfeit.

They [Crows] train their recruits from a young age, and have no problem killing them if they make a mistake.

The Crows run Velabanchel, an infamous and feared prison where they keep people incarcerated for "fun and torture." Its reputation has earned it the nickname of "the House of Graves."

So, what has been established many times before is that Crows are not altruistic. Crows are fancy sociopaths who don't tolerate slipups and see torture and doing I-don't-even-know-what to their prisoners as a fun way to pass the time. They play an important part in the defense of Antiva, but they aren't exactly noble heroes or Robin Hoods - they are blades for hire, disciplined to be merciless even to their own. This is the environment recruits have to to survive in. Zevran adapted by maintaining his upbeat persona that worked perfectly for hiding his real thoughts and intentions - and yet once he lost his meaningful connections, he became so depressed and unable to deal with it anymore he volunteered for a suicide mission hoping he won't survive.

Even though Rook is mentioned to have entered the full membership by that time, it's highly unlikely they would have gotten away with a slap on a wrist and a timeout corner. Crows I remember aren't that forgiving - especially if the member followed their personal motivations rather than thinking about pleasing the superiors and not disgracing their mentor. Moreover, since it's mentioned that Rook acted out against the Qunari occupants of their homecity (and that Antiva hasn't been invaded so far), we can assume that they started their way as one of the orphans Crows usually buy to fulfill their ranks. Which means that they aren't an Antivan noble which would have given them at least some privileges and made it possible for them to avoid a potential death sentence. Crows wouldn't really care for your reasons - you were bought and taken in to serve their houses and the interests of Antiva and they have the means and tools to ram that point into you.

What I'm trying to say is that the Antivan Crow bio is a missed opportunity to establish Rook as capable of making cold and calculated decisions - maybe they saw an opportunity to not only take out their mark, but to weaken Qunari strategically (potentially making them postpone their actions against Antiva), without any regard to collateral damage. So yes, instead of saving people of their homecity Rook gets them killed - and while the Crows and outsiders see it as a cold move, there could also be a deeper reason: for instance, the prisoners of Qunari were already subjected to qamek, i.e. turned into mindless obedient thralls forever.

As a result, Rook isn't benched but decides to lay low because Crows are competitive and not all members are happy with them showing off and getting more favor. That, once again, wouldn't have made Rook an evil character or a bad person (but definitely traumatized by losing their homecity and the following harsh training by the Crows) - but it shows that if they see an important objective or a greater opportunity, you better not stand in their way. The bio could also create a situation where Rook knows there is a potential death sentence looming over them because they pissed their superiors off, which would have added a lot more tension to conversations with Crows.

Right now, even though mentions of Caterine Dellamorte abusing Lucanis to make him perfect at his job are consistent with the way the Crows treat their underlings, it's the reaction of others that I'm interested in.

A non-Crow Rook would probably be the first person to break it to Lucanis that this is NOT normal: because for his fellow Crows, stuff like that is just your usual upbringing.

#da: veilguard #da critical

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killerpancakeburger · 7 months ago

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Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

“Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him.

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified.

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily.

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it.

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst.

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks.

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.”

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…”

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that…

“Pretty please?”

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context.

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart.

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed.

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality.

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor.

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter.

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it.

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

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