#tinyduckies goretober 2024

[roachsideblog]

Goretober Day 16: Crying

Thanks @nonsenseafterdark for the list!

TWs: None, surprisingly.

Ghost finds Roach in a compromised emotional state. He empathizes.

Words: 681

Pairing: GhostRoach

~~~

Ocean wind blew in from the rocky coast, thick with the stench of brine and seaweed, carrying sand that abraded everything in sight. It eroded the little town west of Manchester Ghost and Roach mistakenly chose to spend their leave visiting. Not a surface in sight was free from its weathering touch: statues found their details eaten by time, cement walls and walkways chewed up into crumbling aggregate, even Roach’s cheeks wore red from its force. And Ghost knew it wasn’t sunburn. No, not lick of sunshine came all week. Judging by the anvil cloud looming over the Irish Sea, the second week wouldn’t be any better.

Ghost sat up in his king bed of their hotel room. Indulging in a little voyeurism he watched his Sergeant outside drape over the balcony. Roach’s bed, furthest from the sliding glass door, lay messy after he’d been tossing and turning all night. Some selfish part of Ghost wondered if he’d sleep better if they shared the bed. If Ghost could hold him. Cuddle and coddle him.

Weary, the Lieutenant rubbed his face, stubble catching his calloused hands. He needed a glass of water to wash the taste of sleep from his mouth. Roach might appreciate one, too. With two paper cups now full of lukewarm tap water, since their overpriced room had no mini-fridge and the ice machine was broken, he stepped outside to join his sulking friend.

Roach jumped but said nothing.

Ghost set a cup on the rail beside him, fingers hovering to ensure it wouldn’t blow over, and sipped his own. He waited to be addressed, gut instinct whispering that some situations don’t require words to resolve.

Roach hugged himself. He shuttered in the dropping autumn temperatures—scratch that; his shoulders shook and his chest heaved breaths that smoked out into the abyss. They rose and dissipated as if they never existed. Meanwhile, very real tears dripped from his scruffy chin towards the streetlights below.

Ghost thought it started raining at first. He’d never known Roach to cry.

“Fuck,” his Sergeant whispered. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Wasn’t sleeping well, anyway. Too quiet.”

Roach let out a single half-hearted laugh. He sniffed viscous snot back up his nose as he said, “That’s the whole reason you suggested we get out here.”

“I can’t think of the right expression. Only thing coming to mind is ‘don’t meet your heroes,’ if that makes any sense.”

He hummed. “You’re tired. Go back to bed.”

“Seems like you need some company.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Ghost sighed, waffling his arm before deciding to rest a hand on Roach’s shoulder. “Drink some water then come back to bed with me. We’ll turn off the lamp and I won’t be able to.”

“I can’t. I’ve been having nightmares,” Roach confided. He made no effort to shrug off the comfort. “What if Shepherd actually killed us? What if Price hadn’t warned us in time? We were about to march right into his bloody trap. What if I watched him put a bullet through your head? Simon, I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Ghost was no stranger to nightmares. To preemptive grief brought on by what-ifs. He had no advice because if he knew how to fix it they wouldn’t be waking him up on vacation, only to find his Sergeant up and dealing with the same issue.

He slid his hand flat across Roach’s back until his arm stretched around the man, pulling him close. “I’ve got you. I’m here. It didn’t happen.”

“It was so close! Who knows what would’ve happened, I mean—!”

Ghost cut him off with a kiss. When Roach reciprocated, turning to rest a hand on Ghost’s peck, the Lieutenant moved his hand to the back of Roach’s neck. It was sweet. All lips and no tongue. Spurred on by love rather than lust.

“I said I’ve got you,” Ghost repeated. “I’m here with you, right now, and we’re both alive. Let’s make the most of it, yeah? Come in to bed and let me hold you.”

[sideroachblog]

KINKTOBER DAY 8 KAJCJSKDK

It's car sex (helicopter sex 🤫)

For those of you in the tags I frequent who are tired of my kink/goretober posts, you can blacklist 'tinyduckies kinktober 2024' and 'tinyduckies goretober 2024'

Thanks @nonsenseafterdark for the prompt list!!

Anyway. Have some GhoapRoachGaz. Ghost eats some trans!Roach pussy while the other two get handsy.

Words: 635 and they're ALL unedited <3

No TWs. Only the words pussy and t-dick are used to refer to Roach's anatomy. Sorry the sex scene isn't better written, I am so tired and I didn't have the energy to get super creative with it.

Also. @youredyingthatsallthereis because you mentioned wanting to be tagged in ghoaproach stuff 😅 hopefully you like a lil bonus gaz action!

---

Ghost grinned and signed, ‘What’ll Nikolai do if he notices, anyway? Turn the helicopter around?’

BSL was handy to know when dealing with a noisy chopper.

Roach sat in his seat in the Black Hawk, sandwiched between Captain Soap and Gaz. His helmet straps hung unclipped, goggles stuffed in his rucksack, gaiter pulled down to his neck. He laughed nervously as the Lieutenant knelt between his feet, hands spreading his knees so that his legs touched the men on either side. Pretty blue eyes begged from under that stupid skull balaclava.

He glanced at Soap, a silent ‘is this okay?’

Soap smirked and threw an arm over his shoulder, leaning in to yell, “Well? Tell him what you want, lad!”

Gaz gave him a similar look in encouragement when they met eyes.

Ghost’s fingers found the fly of his fatigues. He went no further, waiting for permission. Then Roach nodded and his pants were down to his knees before he could even blink. The air was fucking freezing. Luckily, Soap and Gaz scooted closer to help with warm caresses on his bare skin.

The Lieutenant lifted the balaclava over his crooked hawk-like nose and planted a trail of kisses up Roach’s inner thigh, each one with more suction than the last, leaving pretty purple bruises. In order to do so he leaned over Roach’s pants at a silly angle—if he didn’t look so desperate to eat Roach out, it would be funny.

Roach gasped as Ghost reached his goal and began mouthing at Roach’s pussy. His mouth was warm even through the fabric. Wet. He started with short, sweet kisses before licking up over Roach’s t-dick with an open mouth and scorching hot breath. It elicited a moan from the Sergeant.

Gaz squeezed Roach’s leg. He didn’t hear the sound but definitely saw it. Definitely wanted to. Roach tilted his head to bonk their helmets, then his cheek was ambushed by Soap’s lips. The Captain grabbed his cheek and turned his head so they could make out. Then Ghost ripped his boxers off and a tongue was invading him on both ends. He cried out only for Soap to swallow it, pussy getting wetter by the second. His t-dick throbbed against Ghost’s upper lip as the Lieutenant tongue-fucked him as deep as possible. His pants seam protested as Ghost forced his legs open as far as possible, even considering how hard Roach’s legs tensed in pleasure.

Soap pulled away and forced his head towards Gaz. “Don’t let Garrick feel left out, Sanderson!”

With eyes half-lidded and a gaped, panting mouth, Roach met the other sergeant halfway to gnash their teeth together. He fisted Ghost’s balaclava to hold him in place with one hand, the other drifting to Gaz’s fly to pull the man out Soap licked at the crook of his neck from behind.

The pleasure between his legs grew and grew until his body shook. He squirted as he came on Ghost’s face but the man wasn’t phased. Didn’t pause for one second. It was nearly too much, but the man knew how to ride the line without overstimulating—he edged Roach to a second orgasm, only letting him finish after Gaz came, shooting powerful spurts that hit Roach’s face. Soap decided he looked better that way and stood to cover him with more, bracing with one leg on his seat as he slapped his cock on Roach’s face.

Only after all three were done did Ghost even consider taking himself out. He pulled Roach down in his seat so his ass hung off the side, leaning against the separation between the cab and passenger bay to grind on Roach’s soaked pussy. He slid up between Roach’s lips, their tips touching with every thrust, until he shot his load into Roach’s bush.

[roachsideblog]

Hey y'all! I'm gonna try gore/kinktober this year (using the list @nonsenseafterdark made here!! I love this one)

This blog will get my sft/gore fics while my nsfw blog @sideroachblog will get the nsft/kink posts <3 (NO MINORS OVER THERE. PLEASE.)

Anyway, I swapped days one and four because I'm a sucker for airway trauma <3

Goretober day 1: "He can't breathe!"

Starring Roach and Gaz. Soap cameo at the end.

Words: 490

TWs: strangulation, stabbing, blood, cyanosis, throat/airway trauma, hypoxic brain injury, seizures.

~~~

To see the moment a teammate's life completely changed, the instant it became irrevocably ruined, was more like watching a space opera than a horror flick, to Gaz's surprise. Every enemy an alien threat, their tanks and fighter jets intergalactic ships, their bullets stray asteroids whizzing by that might impact at any time. And, with nukes the reason they fought, stakes were planetary. In the midst of all this he was tiny. Doing what he could. Not to say the horror wasn’t there. No, it pounded in his veins so hard the pressure caused a splitting headache, especially because he couldn’t do enough.

The horror welled in Roach's eyes, too, stretched across his face in a tight grimace as he saw his world about to be wasted by a death ray. An enemy boot pressed across his throat. His movements became erratic as he struggled under its sole like a wild animal, training forgotten as instincts kicked in. The bastard was big. Knocked Roach to the ground while the Sergeant passed extra ammo to Gaz. Bastard had a buddy, too, who stopped Gaz from helping throwing haymakers his way.

The first bastard leaned his weight into it and Roach’s airway began collapsing. It elicited a choked sound like a pig with its throat cut for slaughter. His death grip left clawmarks on the mans ankle without a doubt.

Gaz cried out for him, then an uppercut reminded him he couldn’t be distracted.

Bastard Number 2 ran at him like a gorilla. Gaz remembered his knife last second before getting grappled, assailant impaling himself on it through the stomach where his kevlar didn’t meet his pants. A wounded enemy was not a neutralized one; a wounded enemy was desperate. He threw his weight into every punch until he got off balance. Blood trickled from the wound, soaking his gear.

Gaz took this moment of weakness to grab him by the head and slit his throat. The body dropped. He whipped around rammed into the back of Number 1, who toppled off Roach into a heap. Gaz lunged for Roach’s pistol and popped two bullets in that motherfucker’s skull.

On the ground, Roach gasped for air. Tried to, at least. His throat whistled as his lungs heaved as hard as possible. His diaphragm strained to get any oxygen intake, lips already blue. Gaz must’ve spent longer fending off the second bastard than he thought.

“I've got you, Roach!”

The whistling broke as he choked and coughed. Panic widened his eyes, dark irises completely visible, yet they were glassy. He was looking but not seeing. He reached up for his teammate.

Gaz planted a firm hand on his chest. “Stay still. Stay calm.”

It was as if Roach didn’t hear him. Or didn’t understand. Roach kept trying, started struggling, trying to escape, only his limbs weren’t cooperating. His right leg began to twitch, small kicks he didn’t seem to control, then the arm on that side followed suit.

A seizure.

A brain injury.

Fucking. Hypoxia.

Soap burst into the room. “Garrick, what happened?”

“He can’t breathe, Captain!”

[roachsideblog]

HEY I'M BEHIND.

Day 18: Hidden Wound

GhostRoach!!

@nonsenseafterdark thank you for the prompt list <3

Words: ~700

TWs: Canon-Typical Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Bruises, Internal Bleeding, Fainting, Surgery, Near-Death Experiences

~~~

So there he lay in the ICU, mighty Captain MacTavish, held together with sutures and dressings like Frankenstein’s monster. Ghost looked in the window as he donned a medical mask, gown, and gloves to visit. He relieved Roach, who insisted that someone stay with the man at all times in case he woke up so he wouldn’t do so alone.

The Sergeant peeled his sweaty gloves off first, their rubber sticking to his shaky, clammy hands. His skin was pale, save for his knuckles and wrists where the latex rubbed most and aggravated his allergy. Itchy red splotches formed. Roach scratched them absentmindedly as he stripped his mask and gown off.

The mission threw him off balance. Shook him to the core. A Russian platoon snuck up on MacTavish and Roach as they trekked to an evac zone in the Tian Shan mountain range and lit the Captain up with bullets while the pair ducked for cover. Roach managed to fend them off; they were down a few men from an earlier encounter, possibly a few more due to exposure. Not to say it was easy. But he carried Soap to safety where waiting medics could stabilize him until they reached the nearest friendly hospital.

Bags hung under Roach’s eyes. He blinked, one at a time like a lizard, hair drenched with sweat. He grimaced suddenly and lifted a hand to the bottom of his ribcage.

“You alright?”

“Took a good punch,” he laughed.

Ghost patted his arm. “You did good out there. Saved Soap’s life.”

“H-he’s not out of it yet,” the Sergeant mumbled.

“He’s stable. He will pull through. You need some shut-eye.”

“Go in. Sit with him. Please. He needs someone.”

Ghost clapped his shoulder and sent him stumbling. “Jeez, mate,” he said. “”You sure you’re good? Not concussed or anything?”

“Just shock, I guess. Don’t worry. Nothing worse than some bruises.” His breath grew labored.

“How’d you get ‘em?”

The man’s eyes unfocused as his expression melted away. Numbness. A flashback. This was probably the first opportunity Roach had to process what happened, and Ghost imagined it wasn’t pretty.

…No, not shock—the light left his eyes next and he keeled over.

The Lieutenant lunched and caught him. “Roach!”

Nurses descended on them in seconds, peeling Ghost away along with Roach’s clothes, checking vitals and revealing massive swaths of purple. ‘Some bruises,’ Ghost’s ass—Roach was nearly seventy percent bruise at this point, chest and legs covered in massive contusions mottled with blue, red, and yellow.

The medical staff yelled out terms like ‘internal hemorrhaging,’ calling for an ultrasound. A gurney appeared and Roach was carted off.

…

It took hours.

Ghost agonized at Soap’s bedside, acutely aware that the Captain’s condition could still nosedive, eaten up by the fact that Roach might be dying one room over. He shot up when a doctor entered to provide an update.

“…Small rupture of the spleen leading to internal bleeding,” the woman explained. “He’s lucky it reached a critical point here in the hospital. Anywhere else and he might’ve died in transit. If he were alone, it would’ve been the end. He lost a substantial amount of blood—over thirty percent—and went into hypervolemic shock. Likely sustained organ damage, and is at an increased risk of organ failure and heart attack.”

Price relieved Ghost of his Soap Watch duties. He rotated to babysit Roach.

Roach, who sat up dizzily in bed after five hours of emergency surgery.

Roach, who hid his fucking wounds.

“Why?” Ghost asked.

“Huh?”

“Why hide it? We could have lost you. We might still lose you. Do you know how bloody stupid you are?”

The Sergeant looked ashamed. “Didn’t seem that bad,” he said, “a-and I didn’t want to take attention from Soap.”

Ghost pulled a chair to his bedside and grabbed his hand. A bruise ran down his arm, for which the Lieutenant gave sympathy by pressing a kiss onto Roach’s knuckles. The man responded with a light gasp and a rosey red blush.

"Never pull a stunt like that again. Do you hear me?"

[roachsideblog]

Goretober Day 12: Overworked

Thanks @nonsenseafterdark for the prompt list!

Day 11 here on my nsfw blog @sideroachblog (NO MINORS)

Words: 598

Pairings: None specifically, GhostRoach if you want! Or SoapRoach at the very end.

TWs: low blood sugar, fainting, needles/injections

Summary: A substitute Lieutenant overworks the team and Roach's body can't take it.

~~~

Roach stumbled off the track. His legs shook, body weak, sweaty, and ravenous, mood abysmally cranky. A familiar feeling, but definitely worse than usual. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Riley was out for an appointment, and the platoon leader that took them over skipped lunch hour to squeeze in vehicle maintenance before afternoon training. Dinner was hours away.

“You good, Sanderson?” Lieutenant Johnson asked.

“Fine,” he replied, voice weaker than expected.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Roach’s heartbeat wasn’t slowing and his hands shook, too. The world spun and his eyelids drooped.

Sensing something wrong, the man lunged forward just as he collapsed, managing to cushion his head from hitting the asphalt.

Roach woke propped up on a bench. Two medics flanked him, one checking his pulse while the other pricked his finger and collected a drop of blood into a glucose meter. Johnson filled his blurry vision.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Glad you came back to us,” one of the medics smiled.

The other said, “Thank god, our next step was to take your temperature. I see enough assholes in the shower room—the less I have to see on the clock, the better.”

The first exclaimed, “Holy fuck, that’s low!”

Roach barely registered what they said, nor when they rushed into action. His brain processed the sharp pain in his thigh—an epipen? He groaned as it shot liquid into his muscle. His consciousness began fading again. Did it not work?

The second time his eyes opened he still felt awful, but better at least.

Ghost’s voice greeted him. “How low was it?”

“Forty milligrams per deciliter. Fifty-five is considered dangerously low. We gave him a shot of Glucagon. That should wake him up soon. We’ll wait another five, check his blood sugar again, then give another dose if needed.”

Roach groaned. One of the medics sat him up straight, popped a bendy straw into some apple juice, and shoved the drink in his hands. He sucked it down before she even instructed him. The empty box was ripped away and replaced with a full one.

Ghost’s hand rested on his shoulder. “MacTavish is getting you a sandwich,” he said, rage poorly concealed in his voice. “You’ll feel better soon.”

The first medic turned to the stand-in Lieutenant. “Now that he’s alive, I get to scold you. Do not make me do this ever again. Take care of your sergeants so they aren’t dropping like flies.”

“Hey, the other ones are fine! He was fine until the end.”

“No the hell he wasn’t. Low blood sugar doesn’t just creep up to the point where you faint out of nowhere. Forty is potentially life threatening.”

“Right, right, my bloody apologies. I’ll give the toddlers a snack break next time, Christ.”

The medic said, “Damn right, you will.”

Soap rocketed into view from the left and slid to a stop on the asphalt in front of them, losing traction and slipping onto his ass, chest heaving. He saved the sandwich though, holding up a paper wrapper for Roach to snatch.

“Thanks, Soap," Ghost said. "Go get yourself some water.”

“Aye, Sir. How ye feelin,’ Roach?”

He shook his head through a massive bite of sandwich—peanut butter and jelly.

Ghost growled, “Lieutenant Johnson, meet me in my office in twenty minutes. They may be done chewing you out, but you’ve not been spit out yet.”

“And what are you saying, Riley? We’re equals, you know.”

“I’m gonna rip you a new one. If you won’t hear it from me, I’ll get Price in there with me. You’ll be lucky if you can sit by next week.”

[roachsideblog]

GORETOBER DAY 7: INSOMNIA

Hiiiiii I'm back with another drabble <3 I'll probably post these on Ao3 once I write them all. If you're wondering where day 6 is, it's on my nsft alt @sideroachblog here (no minors or I'll put razorblades in the halloween candy i hand out this year)

Thanks to @nonsenseafterdark for writing the prompt list <3

Words: 364

TWs: forced drug use, LSD, torture, panic attacks, bad trips

Summary: Makarov has fantastic method for sleep deprivation. No ships/romantic pairings.

~~~

“Can’t sleep, Sanderson?” Makarov asked.

The enemy sergeant sat chained in the corner of a prison cell, hugging his knees like a child hiding from the boogeyman. Considering the amount of LSD they pumped him with, it isn’t unlikely that that’s what the man thought was going on. Makarov zoomed the outdated camcorder in on his petrified expression and laughed. Sweat and tears poured down his cheeks as he whispered, ‘no, no. Please. Please, no. Please,’ on repeat.

Lysergic acid diethylamide. A psychoactive drug that intensifies one’s senses and thoughts. At high enough doses, auditory and visual hallucinations occur. Each time  Makarov forced a tab in Sanderson’s mouth it caused another eight-hour trip at the very least. Was it possible to enjoy the high? Maybe. But the fate of a trip hinged on one's mental state, and the sergeant was already run ragged from previous torture. He was dehydrated. Hungry. Beaten. Lonely after a week of solitary confinement.

Makarov didn’t want to kill him, but was far from done playing with his toys. Luckily, LSD is relatively physically safe. It’s damage lies in psychosis. However, Makarov’s favorite side effect, was the insomnia. LSD didn’t afflict all his prisoners with an inability to sleep, but it had Sanderson in a chokehold.

The poor thing shook like an animal, sweated like a pig until his hair was soaked, sucked in shallow breaths at a rapid pace. His pupils dilated and his eyes were open as far as they could go despite obvious exhaustion. Makarov could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. This was Sanderson’s third dose in a row; nearing fifty hours awake in total (yes, the upper end of a trip length nears twenty hours). Makarov would be kind and give him a break after he came down from this trip. Eat, drink, and sleep in order to do it all again the next day. If only it didn’t build a tolerance so quickly and Makarov could keep this type of torture running long-term.

He couldn’t wait to get this video to that bastard MacTavish. To show what became of his pet project. If only Makarov could see in Roach’s head and record what horrors put him in such a state—he’d be the happiest man alive.

[roachsideblog]

Goretober Day 14: Technically Freezing/Hypothermia as per the prompt list by @nonsenseafterdark I did headwound.

Blacklist tinyduckies goretober 2024 and tinyduckies kinktober 2024 if you're sick of me, y'all <3

Words: 348

TWs: Facial trauma, graphic descriptions of wounds, gore

~~~

Freezing wind created by Nikolai’s chopper forced leafless trees and brush away from the landing zone. Powdery snow shot into the air providing minimal cover. In the center, Ghost stared down numbly at the flag of Japan.

“Move, move!” Soap yelled.

He checked the connection of his rappel, dropped the rope ladder, then slid down, barely registering the bullets whizzing by as Roach’s sprawled body grew closer, cherry red blood centered around his head. Landing in knee-deep snow, Ghost rushed over and checked for bullet wounds.

He need not search for long. A shotgun wound decimated Roach’s jaw. The entire right side of his face, honestly, reduced to ground beef. It was ripped up as if a pitbull got him. Mandible completely disconnected on that side, it dangled from the left at a nauseating angle. His tongue lolled out as Ghost sat him up. His helmet strap ripped, buckle falling to the left. The eye that wasn’t swollen shut opened, rolling from the back of his head to look at the Lieutenant.

“Up, kid! Get up!”

Roach tried and failed, barely moving before he made a pained noise that seared itself into Ghost’s ears. A gurgling howl followed by wet coughs that splattered blood over Ghost’s tac vest like the buckshot that caused his wound.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I've got you, Roach. I’ll get you outta this.”

He pulled the man up and clipped his loose body to the ladder. Roach voiced his pain as Ghost lifted him onto the second to last rung. Ghost placed his hands on the sides then stood on the rung below, holding him in place. A bullet impacted his backplate.

“Ready, Nikolai, get the hell out if here!”

The blades whirred as they lifted higher into the air, ladder swinging violently, blood and drool dripping from Roach onto the snow below like swipes of a paintbrush. Gaz and Soap began hoisting them up. The man leaned back against Ghost’s chest, head limp on his shoulder, his good side gazing up in absolute terror. From this angle it was as if nothing happened.

[roachsideblog]

Day 17: Held Down/Restrained

Thanks @nonsenseafterdark for the list!

TWs: Chasing, kidnapping, POW, the beginnings of torture, Philip Graves

Words: ~500

Summary: The Shadows grab Roach while they're looking for Los Vaqueros, Ghost, and Soap. Graves isn't happy to see him.

There's another WIP I have for the 17th that I may post later (on my nsfw sideblog @sideroachblog) involving roach tied to a table, price, and gaz 😳

~~~

Roach pushed himself off the ground in hopes of escape only for a steel-toe boot to bash the back of his skull. It sprawled him forward, arms out in front like some stupid looking Superman impression. Suddenly, his arms were twisted behind his back, and a burlap sack tugged over his head. They shoved a rag up the neck hole. Chloroform, probably, considering how he slowly lost the energy to kick and scream as someone threw him over their shoulder.

His consciousness waned as they loaded him in a van. The last thing he remembered was the door slamming.

The mission had been going well until he was separated from his team when an enemy grenade collapsed an alleyway between them. The Shadows caught up, surrounded him, stripped him of his weapons as his team promised help, then ripped his comm unit off. He broke away but not for long.

Roach woke sitting on the floor of a dark concrete cell in the with his arms tied around a pillar behind his back. His body ached; looking down, there were bruises and scrapes from the chase. They stripped him to his skivvies and undershirt. A killer headache split his brain with every heartbeat. One of his eyes had swollen shut. He let the other one fall closed. Drool dangled from his busted lip.

Someone wolf whistled. It brought him to attention. A metal door screeched open behind him and slammed, then Commander Philip Graves came sauntering info view.

“In a bit of trouble, aren’t you, son?” The man drawled.

Roach spat at his feet.

“Easy, now, tiger. I don’t want no trouble. Seems like my boys played a little rough; I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting them to nab you, Sanderson. Was hoping they’d get one of those remaining Vack-way-rows.”

“You say that like a dumb Texan.”

Graves narrowed his eyes. “Help me help you,” he commanded, grabbing Roach’s jaw, gripping the Sergeant’s cheeks tight. “I’m happy to let you go; you’re a good soldier. You follow orders well. It’s what you’re doing now—I get that. I enjoyed working with you and it’s a shame our professional relationship ended the way it did. So, help me get you outta here by telling me where Parra, Riley, and MacTavish are.

“Otherwise, you’ll be thrown in with Colonel Vargas,” Graves sighed with a head shake. “You don’t want that. See, I have strict control over my men, but I’m focused on finding Hassan. They tend to run things like a zoo when I’m not around to… keep ‘em in line.”

“There’s only one double-crossing cunt in this room, Graves. I won’t tell you a damn thing. I don’t care what you do to me.”

“I’ll give you one last chance to play nice with me.”

“Choke on it.”

A heavy kick smashed Roach’s abdomen. He grunted and lurched at the impact. Graves gripped his hair with two fists to hold his head down, bringing a knee up to bash Roach’s forehead.

[roachsideblog]

COD GORETOBER DAY 10! Woo, still only a day late.

Blacklist tinyduckies goretober 2024 and tinyduckies kinktober 2024 if youre sick of this <3

Prompt: Surgery (thanks, @nonsenseafterdark !)

Words: ~1k

TWs: Insects, gore, body horror, medical horror, burns, torture, blood, insect/animal death, being drugged, gangrene, decay, emetophobia/vomit. No human death though. But maybe that makes this worse <3

Summary: Makarov tried playing surgeon and kidnapped Captain Soap to show off his results.

Shit's fucked up. I'm not kidding. Dead Dove, babes.

~~~

Smoke from the blast obscured Soap’s vision as he climbed through the hole he just made in a cinderblock wall. Makarov’s base of operations—the heart of everything they’d been fighting for so long, the final barrier between him and avenging two of his best men. It was quiet compared to the facility’s perimeter lined with guard towers but he dare not think too hard about the ‘Q’ word. He steeled himself, crouching below the black sooty clouds, smelling thermite even through his filtered mask. A faint buzzing sound emanated from down the hall.

Lt. Simon Riley and Sgt. Gary Sanderson. Ghost and Roach. Shot dead by General Shepherd, their bodies burnt to a crisp. All they wanted was to defeat Makarov. To ensure weapons of mass destruction never made it into nefarious hands.

He crept along the concrete floor. The buzzing grew louder. There was nothing. No one. Not until a staircase appeared, leading down into a dark room. Descending, the air was stagnant and sickeningly sweet with the smell of decay growing stronger and stronger with every step until Soap’s eyes watered.

Through the threshold. He checked his six and—

A sharp pain pierced his upper arm. A goddamn blow dart hung from his flesh by its needle as if he were a wild animal. His heartrate began to slow immediately, dizziness taking hold.

Footsteps.

Soap jerked up, saw Makarov emerge from the abyss ahead, then collapsed before managing to fire a single round.

…

He woke tied to a metal chair. The buzzing was louder than any explosion. It was deafening in the tiny, dark room. The walls, floors, and ceiling were painted black.

A corpse fly landed on Soap’s nose. He shook it off, only to startle thousands more into the air.

Only upon further inspection did Soap realize all the dark surfaces were actually coated in insects that wriggled like ferrofluid.

He gagged, mask nowhere to be seen. The stench of death was unbearable but if he breathed through his mouth the flies sensed its moisture and flew in. Breathe through his nose and the smell brought tears to his eyes that the nasty things landed on his cheeks to lap up. He scrunched his eyes, forcing air out of his nostrils to keep curious corpse flies out.

The walls were light gray concrete.

A floodlight turned on and they all went mad, nearly blotting out its intense light. They rammed into its glass case, shoved themselves inside to fry on its bulbs.

“Captain MacTavish!” called a familiar Russian accent. Makarov. He had to yell over the roar of wings. Lucky bastard had a hazmat suit with a face shield as he appeared from the glare of the light, every footfall crushing flies.

Soap couldn’t reply lest a fly crawl down his throat carrying remnants of whatever attracted them here. Rage filled his veins.

“You've been such a pain in my ass. A pest, if you will.” He laughed and gestured around. “Seems you fit right in. Tell me, why are you here?”

Soap’s nostrils flared.

“Yeah, yeah. To put a bullet in my brain. I know. Show some introspection skills. Because I think you’re here for the same reason all these fucking bugs are,” he spat, grinding his toe on the floor. Flies fled but it was too crowded; an unlucky handful were mashed into paste. “You’re confused, I bet. Don’t worry. All will be revealed.”

With Soap silenced by disgust, Makarov disappeared again, though not for long. He came back holding a rope that disappeared behind the light. He stopped walking when it grew tight. Faintly, Soap could hear someone shambling. Something dragging. The rope went slack and Makarov yanked it tight again, causing whoever was on the other end to stumble forward and pick up the pace. Their movements grew louder. The humid, rotten smell got thicker. Ragged wheezes could be heard, as if their lungs didn’t inflate fully. They groaned in pain.

Flies cleared the area near Soap and raced for Makarov’s victim. He gulped hard, on the edge of his seat wondering what the fuck was about to reveal itself.

Suddenly, a massive frame blocked the floodlight.

A wide set of shoulders. A torso about two men across. Yet the person was average height, if a little tall. Makarov leaned on Soap’s shoulder and yanked them closer. The silhouette became clear. It had three legs. Two heads.

Ghost and Roach shambled into the light. They were sewn together with thick leather thread, sutures not quite healing as their burned skin remained in active decay. About half their flesh remained pink and red, the other half varying shades of blue bruises, pale bloodless patches, and green gangrenous bits. Veins bulged. Roach was missing his right arm, leg, and that side of his face. Ghost’s legs did the walking, the right and middle two, while Roach’s left leg dragged limp on the ground as if his ankle weren’t fully attached.

Soap gasped at the horrific sight, coughing up flies.

“Had to fit them together like puzzle pieces. Sanderson’s one half was burnt to a crisp; I didn’t even need to cut anything off. Pulled him apart with my bare hands like pulled pork. Wearing gloves, of course.”

Soap vomited into his lap. It couldn't be real. There must’ve been something more in that tranquilizer.

“You don’t appreciate art,” that fucking bastard scolded. “Anyway. Ghost’s left arm had to be amputated so their shoulders could connect. I think the burns acted like pottery slip—they fused together like two pieces of wet clay as they healed. Ha, ‘healed’ is such a funny word.”

Ghost’s eyes welled with tears. His polyester balaclava had melted into his face.

Roach groaned. Maybe if the skin around his mouth wasn't simultaneously stretched and sloughing off, Soap would hear him pleading for death. Goggle-shaped burns cut into his cheekbones and nose bridge.

“Care to join them, MacTavish?”

[roachsideblog]

Goretober Day 5 is here, everyone!! See Day 2 on my other sideblog for nsfw stuff (NO MINORS). Days 3 & 4 were skipped because I went to the aquarium and helped some friends with an event :3

Also thanks to @nonsenseafterdark for making the prompt list I'm using!! Find that here <3

I actually wrote two drabbles for this (under the cut). In both of them Roach gets #fuckedup and Ghost saves the day <3

First - 426 words where Ghost is a good lieutenant

TWs: graphic violence, gunshot wounds, blunt force trauma, facial trauma, eye injury.

Second - 870 words where Ghost is a violent, protective boyfriend <3

TWs: graphic violence, emetophobia/vomit, facial trauma, robbery.

~~~

1:

Roach was cornered. Empty hallway, no cover, completely weaponless after a previous scrap with a group of enemy soldiers, a three v. one he barely escaped. There was only one man this time, and Roach already managed to disarm him, gun skittering across the room into the dark. Unfortunately, the man found an improvised weapon: a long, thick chain sporting a hefty padlock on the end. He spun it to the side like a propeller, preparing to bash Roach’s head in with about a kilo of stainless steel. Roach covered his face.

The man loosened his grip and let the padlock fly. It zipped through the air directly into Roach’s abdomen. The Sergeant’s knees buckled and he doubled over, putting his arms out to catch his fall on reflex. This left his face vulnerable—the enemy swung the chain to the side this time like a right hook.

It slammed into Roach’s cheekbone. Shattered his eye socket. Fucked up his nose. He screamed and dropped to his knees in agony, then looked up just in time to see the chain start spinning again. Scary part was, he could also see the floor.

A gunshot blasted down the hall. It was impossibly loud as his assailant’s face exploded towards him like a Chestburster crawled out. The body collapsed forward onto him.

Shrugging it off revealed Lieutenant Ghost. Expression usually unreadable, the man’s eyes went wide and he sprung to Roach’s side.

“Christ alive, Roach, what happened‽”

He pointed to the chain. There was too much blood pouring from his nose to form any words. It drained from his sinuses into his mouth, too, and welled up from his eye until it rolled down his cheek. The bone below his skin was likely blown to bits. It seared with white-hot pain that throbbed from every heartbeat. His nose bent into his field of view on the left side at nearly ninety degrees.

Roach went to feel the wound until Ghost snatched his wrist. “Don’t touch anything.”

Suddenly, he realized why he could see the floor: his eye dangled into the lock-shaped gash where his cheekbone once was. “Fuck,” he said through blood and bone splinters. He coughed and gagged, once more reaching to cover the wound.

“I said leave it alone, Sergeant! Keep your head. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Roach was dazed. Confused. Probably concussed. He stammered but managed to reply, “Nothing deadly.”

Ghost handed him a pistol. “Good. Let’s get you out of here. I want to see that pretty face of yours pieced back together.”

~~~

2:

Roach groaned. The bubbly, breathy sound echoed in the bar alley, loud enough to reach the street yet not enough to outcompete the roar of traffic nor the bass from the club he just left.

Now a mystery hand fisted his hair, knee driven between his shoulders to keep him down as it yanked his skull up. His spine protested. Blood dribbled down his neck from his slack jaw and crooked nose. He wriggled in protest.

All he wanted was a smoke.

“Shoulda just let me ‘ave your wallet, mate,” his attacker hissed. “Fair’s fair: break my nose n’ I’ll break yours, yeah? I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Roach’s eyes crossed. His nose deviated from the midline of his face. Then the pavement approached full speed and the blood pool splattered his face. Not all of it was his. No, he gave the fucker a run for their money; were he sober there'd be no contest. Sidewalk gravel and at least one tooth stuck to his forehead, scratched his cheeks. The pain was blinding.

He stopped struggling to puke frenchfries and beer, didn’t have the energy to start again, had barely enough to scrunch his eyes in protection from the stomach acid. It burned his empty tooth sockets and scraped skin.

“Eugh, fuckin’ minging… You done bein’ difficult?”

He just laid there.

“Took you long enough to give up. Shoulda just listened.”

Roach’s assailant repositioned to crouch beside him. They began rifling through his pockets, the search thorough as it rocked Roach’s limp form. He let out a pathetic, agonized whimper.

“Christ. Look, I’m not a bad bloke. I’ll do you a solid. We’ve got time now that you’re not fightin’ me, so I’ll just pull your cash out. Leave the cards behind. Too many cameras now for card fraud, anyway.”

His wallet slid from his front right pocket. He heard his bills pulled out—a few twenty pound notes—then felt it land on the small of his back.

“Cute photos in there. Those your boyfriends? I bet mohawk hits it from the back, huh?” They snorted. “Naw, I'm just kidding… Forty? That’s all this was for? Hope your hospital bills are worth it, sheesh…”

Roach didn’t move.

Their attitude shifted. Their laugh trailed into a nervous giggle. “Hah, I didn’t kill you, did I?”

A foot nudged his side. The pain in his face was so white-hot and dizzying he couldn’t do jack shit about it. Vomit slowly flowed towards him as he lie in the low point of the gutter.

Mercifully, a hand grabbed his shoulder and lifted him out of it. Pray was all Roach could do: pray they were done, pray his neck wasn’t broken, pray there was only a concussion, pray he didn’t puke again and choke on it. His head hung.

“C’mon. On your side.”

They positioned him facing towards the curb so he’d be less likely to drown in puke. They even moved him upstream of what was already there.

The alley door opened. His attacker jumped to his feet and tried to book it. Roach heard them grunt as the newcomer somehow stopped their escape.

Ghost’s voice exploded in the air like buckshot. “The fuck you think you’re going, prick?”

The sound of his boyfriend’s voice brought peace to Roach’s mind. No doubt the man would return violence in kind, if not worse. Roach’s pain was dampened by the sweet serotonin of revenge.

“Hey, hey, no worries, mate! Wasn’t me! I’m on my way for security! Thank god you’re here; I’ll watch him while you get someone—” They choked. Roach knew the satisfying sound of someone getting grabbed by the throat when he heard it. Next he heard their body hit the ground beside him.

“You’re dead meat,” Ghost growled, then decked them. The force slammed the back of their skull into the asphalt. Again. Again and again and again until they stopped choking. Ghost grunted in exertion from the energy he imbued into each one, the cracking wet impacts of head wounds filling the air.

Resting on the ground aided Roach’s dizziness. He managed to peel himself up onto his hands and knees. Even spotted the cigarette he didn’t manage to light even with his blurry vision, broken in half in the middle of some scattered butts.

He groaned. “Don’t kill him, Simon!”

“Oh, thank god!” Ghost exclaimed, jumping off Roach’s assailant to kneel by his side. The other person gasped for air when he got up. “You okay? Look here, love.”

Roach let himself be repositioned. The world spun as Ghost’s hand cupped his sore jaw and turned him.

“Fuck, you need a good dentist. How’s your head?”

“Concussed.”

Roach’s assailant tried getting up as quietly as possible while they spoke. A fool’s errand, considering their ragged breathing as they stumbled over beer bottles.

Ghost whipped around to beat them again until Roach stopped him. “You don’t need a murder charge.”

Reluctantly, he relented and pressed a kiss to Roach’s temple, vibrating with rage as Roach’s attacker limped into the night. “Let’s get you to a hospital. That your wallet right here?”

Roach nodded. He grabbed it, slung Roach’s arm over his shoulder, and helped him to the car.

[roachsideblog]

If anyone wants to know how my current writing prompt is going. This is going to be in some roanig btw

[roachsideblog]

I haven't given up on gore/kinktober yet but I DID GO TO THE AQUARIUM AND VISIT A BUDDY SO I'VE MISSED A COUPLE DAYS. Have some fishpics as an apology

[sideroachblog]

Day 9: Threesome

I LIED. Here's day 9. Yes, I know its the 10th. 10 and 11 *will* come tomorrow. Thanks @nonsenseafterdark for the list!!

If youre sick of my kink/goretober posts, blacklist tinyduckies goretober 2024 and tinyduckies kinktober 2024.

Summary: Roach discovers that the Colonel and Sergeant Major aren't exactly as they seem (they're VAMPIRES). They wanna suck on him in more ways than one 🤭

Words: ~1,850

TWs: vampires, blood, biting, possible dubcon trigger even though this was written with Roach consenting. The last one is especially true if you imagine vampires having the ability to charm people.

~~~

The rest of the team was out wandering Las Almas up to god-knows-what. Price suggested they go on a supply run now that they’d arrived, but Roach exhausted himself packing and traveling and so stayed behind at Los Vaqueros’ base. Hopefully they’d return soon; it was just after sunset as he unpacked his bag, stuffing items under his cot, and a storm was rolling in.

Two other cots were in the dimly lit room. Every so often the bulb would flicker as a moth circled it, tiny body clinking against the glass. Crickets chirped outside louder than London street life. Thunder rolled in the distance.

Roach sighed and stripped down to his skivvies. A shower would be killer; unfortunately, his body felt heavy with sleep so he pushed it off until morning.

The wood floor creaked. He glanced up to find Alejandro and Rudy peaking in. They were still geared up from the day and sweaty as if just returning from a mission.

“Ah, Colonel! Sergeant Major! Good evening.”

He searched his pile of somewhat-folded clothing for a sleep shirt. Embarrassment never crossed Roach’s mind. In basic, he had to get used to other men seeing him in practically nothing or fail to make the cut. He blocked the memory of his first encounter with a silver bullet after collapsing on a ruck in hundred-degree weather.

Oddly, Alejandro asked, “Hey, Sanderson. Mind if we come inside?”

He had a pleasant Spanish accent.

“Sure.”

They shuffled in.

“Eaten yet?” Rudy asked. His accent was thicker.

“No, I’m bloody tired. About ready to keel over.”

Alejandro stepped forward, blocking Roach’s exit from between two cots. “You’ll sleep better if you join us for a quick bite. We’re starved.”

Roach considered the offer. He always hated waking up hungry—it made him queasy come breakfast time. But the bed called his name which he could barely resist.

The Colonel rested a hand on his bare shoulder and said, “It’s better to be prepared, anyway. Never know when we’ll need to mobilize.” His hand was freezing. Something was wrong. It spiked dread down Roach’s spine. Then the hand drifted further up his neck, thumb pressing under his jaw to lift it and expose the skin.

Rudy glared like a predator. Licked his lips.

The dread intertwined with a different type of anticipation. Surely the sleeplessness was getting to him; he needed out before this gave him a boner he had no way of hiding.

“What’s, uh, what are the dinner plans?” Roach laughed, grabbing Alejandro’s wrist and directing it away, chalking the touchiness up to cultural differences. He knew US Americans tended to be friendlier with strangers and acquaintances than Europeans. Maybe that extended to Central Americans, too?

Alejandro's touch drifted down his arm. Roach watched it, then looked up into the man’s eyes to decipher anything he could. His beard was sharp, eyes dark as coal, a single lock of hair hanging down in front of his prominent forehead. A very attractive man who offered a tight-lipped smile.

Rudy said, “We were hoping you’d do us a favor, actually. Heard good things about British food, wanted to give it a try.”

“…Well, I know that’s a lie,” Roach gulped. “Sorry to be disrespectful, but… Why are you two acting strange? Is it a full moon or something?”

Rudy chuckled. His face was more ovular and dotted with moles. He flashed his teeth, then lightning struck and cut the power. Before darkness enveloped them Roach swore he saw two sharp fangs poking out.

Roach shuddered. He was fucking hallucinating. “I, truly, I think I should hit the hay. I appreciate the offer, but—”

Alejandro grabbed Roach by the upper arms and guided him closer, tilting his own head down to whisper in Roach’s ear. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

His breath was cold. It wracked Roach’s body and sent a shiver straight to his cock. The fear in the pit of his stomach only made it throb. It seemed the pair wouldn’t give up; Roach figured it best to appease them already so he could finally rest. It didn’t help that curiosity ate him up inside like a pack of coyotes; why the hell were they acting like that? They wouldn’t hurt him, right?

It scared Roach when he couldn’t definitively answer that question. Scared him more so when that brought his dick to attention.

“O-okay,” he relented. “For real, though. What’s the plan?”

Alejandro cupped the far side of his head in the dark. He jumped at the unexpected touch, relaxing for a moment until he was held in place as the man pressed their chests together. The tac vest was rough on Roach’s bare skin, the zippers cold, and the gasp he let out was hidden by the sudden onset of torrential rain. Then Alejandro’s other hand fell further to his hip, a distraction from the tongue that darted out and licked at his pulse point. The gasp lifted to an airy moan from the back of his throat.

“You okay?” The Colonel asked.

Roach nodded. It didn’t occur to him that they couldn’t see him until—

“Perfect,” the man growled, sitting on the cot and pulling Roach down into his lap so that the Sergeant straddled one of his thick legs. He hummed when Roach’s boner pressed into his v-line.

Rudy joined them. He sat on his knees facing Roach.

“This isn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rudy cooed. His voice flowed like smooth, rich coffee: bitter and iced,yet sugary sweet. “We’ll take care of you, Gary.”

Roach swallowed hard. His face grew hot.

Alejandro must’ve grabbed Rudy’s wrist because he directed it to Roach’s bulge. “Mira qué dura tiene la verga.” ("Look how hard his cock is.")

“Aww, ¡lo excitaste!” Rudy exclaimed. ("Aww, you excited/aroused him!") He wrapped frigid fingers around Roach’s shaft through the fabric and applied pressure along its underside sliding from base to tip. Rubbing its head, he pulled back a sticky thread of pre-cum. “Está tan mojado.” ("He's so wet.") His attention shifted from Alejandro to Roach as he purred, “You’re so wet, baby. We haven’t even touched you much.”

Roach didn’t know what to do. Did he fall and hit his head? He said, “I wasn’t expecting such a w-warm welcome.”

Alejandro grabbed his hips to grind against Roach, leaning in to suck bruises on his clavicle then soothe them with licks. “We weren’t lying about dinner. There’s something in it for us, too.”

He pulled back in confusion as if he’d be able to see. “I’m not following.”

The Colonel pulled him into a kiss, jamming his tongue between Roach’s lips. The Sergeant followed his lead, only to yell when something sharp pierced his lip. Lightning flashed revealing the culprit: Alejandro with a shit-eating grin and fucking vampire fangs, one of them tipped with blood like a fountain pen.

“Fuck,” Roach whimpered. What if they hurt him? What if they made him a vampire, too? He hated how his dick pulsed with every jolt of fear. “You two are gonna kill me…”

Rudy hummed, teasing the shell of his ear with his incisors. Roach was acutely aware of the fangs alongside them. “You don’t sound too upset about that prospect,” he said.

Roach shivered, then began pushing Alejandro away by the chest—his massive, muscly chest. Despite how horny he was, his fight-or-flight kicked in. “The guys are gonna be back soon,” he stuttered. “L-like, any minute now. Please, I just want to go to sleep. Don’t hurt me.”

Alejandro grabbed his wrists and pulled him in closer. “Relax. He’s teasing. You’ll be just fine, Gary. I promise. What would I tell Price if his favorite sergeant went missing under my care? Or if you turned up injured? He’d skin me—" the Colonel paused, then laughed, “Well, he’d skin me alive!”

The hand on Roach’s dick suddenly slipped below his waistband and palmed it completely. He hissed at the temperature difference, then held in a moan as Rudy began pumping up and down. Alejandro pulled Roach’s balls out over the elastic, exposing him fully.

Between groans, Roach asked, “What are you gonna do to me, then?”

“Make it worth your while,” Rudy replied.

“Make what worth my while?”

Alejandro’s tongue was in his mouth again as Rudy leaned forward to lick his dick tip. With all the adrenaline in Roach's veins, all the exhaustion, all the nights spent pent-up, it only took moments before an orgasm crept up on him. Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled into Rudy’s mouth as Roach’s climax peaked; as he tensed and cursed under his breath, Alejandro forced his head to the side and sank his teeth into his trapezius muscle.

Yell was all Roach could do, although it was broken by tsunami waves of pleasure that the pain only heightened. The Colonel held him still. Warm blood trickled down Roach’s peck where Rudy lapped it off his midriff before returning to his limp cock. Alejandro did the same, sucking crimson from the wound he created then licking up what pooled in Roach’s clavicle.

The Sergeant kicked his legs, digging fingernails into Alejandro’s sides. Then it was over nearly as quick as it started; the man stood up, holding Roach by the arms to keep him from tumbling over. No, it wasn’t over: Rudy laid down in the cot, pulling his dick out as he reclined on Roach’s laundry. Alejandro yanked Roach’s skivvies to mid-thigh then pushed him onto his hands and knees hovering over the Sergeant Major.

“What’s happening?” he asked, dizzy, uncertain how much blood he lost.

Rudy pinched his nipples, earning a surprised yelp. He said, “Ale got his fill, but I’m still hungry, baby.”

Alejandro spanked him then grabbed an ass cheek in either hand and spread. Shockwaves of Roach’s first orgasm still rocked his body as the man spat onto his hole and rubbed it in with a thumb.

“Good?”

“Fuck, yes, please!”

Another glob of spit was added, then a pointer finger gently inserted. Holding in air, Roach pushed back against it, the promise of having his brains fucked out suddenly taking priority. Besides, he felt his dick twitching again; they couldn’t have drained too much blood.

Another finger stretched him out. Moans bubbled from his chest, growing louder when Alejandro found his prostate. Soon the Colonel was fucking him, pile-driving so deep each thrust filled his poor little hole to its maximum. The man praised him, petted his hair, scratched nails up his back to earn shivers. Roach’s half-hard cock bounced in rhythm. Rudy jerked himself off below, finally cumming all over himself. When Roach joined him in another orgasm, tightening around Alejandro’s cock as the man shot his own load inside, Rudy sat up to sink his teeth into Roach’s other shoulder and suck.

When all was said and done they laid in a pile, Roach sandwiched in the middle. No longer were his superior officers cold to the touch, and when they kissed him he felt no sharp teeth. In fact, his shoulders barely hurt—in the morning, only small pinprick scars hinted that anything happened