#yes I’m avoiding drawing Time’s armor cause holy hell no

[maesonc-artistic-adventures]

An equal exchange.

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

What if Fionn was the Grand Saber

the justice we deserve... I literally have no idea what that would look like in canon but boy oh boy do I have IDEAS and COOL IMAGERY that I want to see regarding this

(read more because it turned out longer than expected WHOOPS lol)

Picture the final stage of the Camelot Lostbelt - the reverse side of Avalon, if you will. A crumbling tower surrounded by black flowers, each one draining mana from the air. Sherlock Holmes is long gone. Da Vinci and the rest of their crew, from the Shadow Border to the Wandering Sea, is far, far, far away. Beryl’s Assassin Servant has killed King Arthur, preventing them from destroying Beryl with a blast from Rhongominyad. Beryl has possession of Excalibur, the Holy Sword of the Planet, and intends to destroy it - the last remnants of the guardians who once protected this cursed land - and unleash his Lostbelt until it covers the world. The Phantasmal Tree is in full bloom, raining stardust. There will be no more gods, or faeries, and Galahad’s protection is as far away as it ever was.

Ritsuka’s power is fading, too. When they first came to Chaldea, they were considered a biological phenomenon - a human with no magic circuits that somehow produced enough mana to power a small city - and they’ve only gotten stronger with time. But it’s not enough. Not against this endless sea of curses, not against the embodiment of wickedness itself.

One by one, the Servants who assisted the remnants of Chaldea begin to fade away. Cu Chulainn, Queen Medb, Fergus and even Scathatch, the True Scathatch of Pan-Human History, who has finally met her end against an opponent she did not train, who she did not even anticipate. It has been a long and bitter war. The knights of the Round Table - first Lancelot, then Tristan, and brave Gareth, and Gawain, and Mordred, though the Traitorous Prince manages to send one last blast of signature red lightning through the skies. It does not reach it’s target, and Mordred slumps before disappearing. Finally, there was Sir Bedivere, winking out like a comet passing over the horizon.

Even if this place hadn’t been so evil, even if Assassin wasn’t so challenging as an opponent, it wouldn’t have mattered. Ritsuka can no longer support the Servants, can no longer cause them to manifest. It is hard to tell if they are dying, or if the flowers have swallowed their very Spiritual Origins, feeding the Phantasmal Tree.

Paracelsus and Jekyll are barely hanging on, trying to keep Assassin busy behind Mash’s cracked and broken barrier. The mold of Camelot is going to fall, and when it does, they will die.

There is one Servant, though, who does not stop fighting even for an instant.

The arc of Moralltach burns through the air. When it comes into contact with the black flowers, the hiss and fade away, filling the air with a burning stench. Diarmuid is nearly as fast as Assassin, and it’s clear that the enemy Servant is getting frustrated.They cannot keep Paracelsus’s spells at bay while simultaneously blocking each of Diarmuid’s attacks forever. Indeed, the dual-classing Servant has proved their greatest weapon in this Lostbelt. Closely attuned to the ancient gods and fey of this world, able to destroy any magic and even cut the threads of fate with his weapons. He even resisted the nega-genesis. Provided that he didn’t get too close to the Phantasmal Tree, Diarmuid seemed able to keep fighting indefinitely. At least, that seemed to be his intent.

Assassin must have realized it, too - and must have realized that Beryl was too busy playing around with the seals of Excalibur to be of any help - and that was why they changed tactics.

Ritsuka saw it unfold in an instant, and opened their mouth to shout a warning.

Assassin changed course. They were not heading for Jekyll, whose work with Diarmuid had given him an extra combative advantage - or for Paracelsus, who was drawing his sword and taking aim.

Instead, they went for the cracks in the Mold Camelot.

They were going to kill Mash.

She could block the blade - and destroy her barrier, leaving them vulnerable to the nega-gensis.

Or she could take the hit, and pray that she was strong enough to stand after Assassin was finished with her.

Time moves very slowly - Ritsuka feels like they are moving through molasses - and then, something happens that they didn’t expect.

Gae Dearg reappears; his Spiritual Origin flickers and shifts, contracts in response to the sudden change - Diarmuid has aimed for a killing blow while Assassin’s back was turned to him.

The red spear sinks into Assassin’s stomach, and then, it disappears -

An illusion! Ritsuka forces their legs to work, and breaks into a run.

Assassin’s blade sinks into his back, sliding cleanly between powerful shoulder blades. 

At once, Gae Buidhe stabs outward, slicing a clean line down Assassin’s torso as they leap to get away from the weapon. There’s a spray of blood, and then a scream of delirious laughter, and then the enemy Servant is gone, back to their Master to get healing before they come back to finish the job.

But even though Diarmuid ua Duibhne sinks to his knees, blood streaming into the bed of black flowers beneath him, he does not immediately fade away.

Ritsuka feels a bubble of panic rise like a scream in their throat as they come up to Mash, who is in tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry -”

“No,” says Diarmuid, levelly, putting a hand to the exit wound in his chest. “I managed to get a fair number of strikes in. No matter what power source they are drawing from, it cannot last forever. Nothing can. I think we have some time now, anyway. You must hold the barrier, Mash. It’s important for what comes next.”

Mash nods, even as tears streak down her cheeks. “I will! I won’t let go no matter what!”

“Good. Master?”

He looks up, clear-eyed and expectant. Tears prickle in Ritsuka’s eyes.

“You should have given me more of a warning,” they say, choked. “I needed more time.”

Diarmuid smiles, almost sheepishly. “Well, if I’m right about this -” a wet cough; blood bubbles up from his lips and Ritsuka feels cracks spreading in their resolve. “- which I am, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me now. Everything will be fine.”

And even though everything is awful, he says this with such radiant confidence, that Ritsuka believes him.

Diarmuid holds out his hand, and Ritsuka hands him the hunting horn that they had collected from the Wild Hunt. Ritsuka comes close and helps Diarmuid stay upright, pressing their hand tight against the gaping wound, feeling the crackling energy within - Assassin’s poisonous mana - and with gritted teeth, begins running through a healing spell. Please, oh, please, let this work.

Diarmuid speaks in a language that Ritsuka does not know or recognize.

Then he lifts the horn to his lips, and -

All other sound disappears.

A single, clear note, pure as a hawk’s cry.

A breeze washes over them, and only then does Ritsuka realize how unbearably hot this flowerbed was - a greenhouse from hell - and even as the thought crosses their mind, the flowers wither and die. Mana is immediately restored to the area behind Mash’s shield, and immediately, the Earth begins to repair itself. Ritsuka feels it like a pulsing heartbeat, and thinks, Is this Avalon restoring itself? Or is it - the Counterforce?

No, that didn’t make sense. But - at the same time - they are summoning a guardian. The circumstances are extraordinary, and before it was cursed, this was indeed Avalon. So perhaps...

A hand comes down on Ritsuka’s shoulder, and they look up.

A familiar-looking man is standing there, even though there had been nothing here a second before, and there was no way for anyone to enter this place since Beryl had sealed the gateways. He is wearing a blue cape over simple, fur-lined armor. His hair is spun gold; he seems to be glowing faintly. He is at once divine, a giant, and perfectly normal, though he smells faintly of river-flowers and dark woods. His eyes are filled with fire, infinitely gentle and warm, and he carries a sword across his back that is not Excalibur - but -

“Please,” says Fionn MacCumhail. His voice is just as Ritsuka remembers, but at the same time, it seems to come from everywhere. It fills him with a sense of strength and peace, and Ritsuka thinks they might cry all over again, just from sheer relief. “May I?”

Stunned, Ritsuka steps back.

Diarmuid grumbles when Fionn takes a waterskin from his side and pours a measure into his hand.

“Took you long enough,” he says, as Fionn tips the water into his captain’s mouth.

At once, the wound on Diarmuid’s back closes, and Assassin’s poison disappears as if it had never existed. Ritsuka registers a surge of mana - that counts as a mana transfer? 

Diarmuid stands, and Fionn claps him on the shoulder.

“You’ve done well to protect these two,” says Fionn. “Now, please - I know it is difficult for you to avoid showing off - but please don’t get in my way.”

Diarmuid smiles thinly, amused. “No promises, my lord.”

“Dear shieldmaiden,” says Fionn, smiling down at Mash. “You have become an exemplary warrior! I see I was right to single you out back then! I have always had a keen eye for talent. Kindly lead the way for us?”

Mash stutters. “But the barrier -”

“It is no longer necessary. I am here now.”

He spoke simply, with no room for arguments. Ritsuka looks at Mash, whose mouth is stretched thing, whose lip is raw from biting into it.

“Mash, do as he says. We’ll take our cues from you -” Ritsuka pauses, blinking at Fionn, trying to get a better read on him and his new status. (A part of Ritsuka honestly hadn’t even believed Diarmuid when he proposed this plan - could summoning a Grand Servant truly be so simple as sounding a hunting horn?) “Saber.”

Fionn smiles. “Ah yes,” he says, with a chuckle, as if just remembering an obvious fact. “I still am a Servant, even like this.” He turns to Diarmuid, who is at attention. “Call for the others, will you? It is time for the Fianna to fulfill our responsibilities. Lady Mash, when I draw my sword - drop the barrier - we shall finish the battle now, without further delays.”

Diarmuid nods, and lifts the horn to his lips.

Fionn takes the sword from his back, and the battle begins again.

[astraldragons]

“In which Shiro shrinks on an unfamiliar planet AKA I’m not clever enough to come up with a title for this”; part 2 commissioned by the lovely @acetrainerhope!

Part 1

Commission Info HERE!

Warnings: Some peril, and spoilers for Voltron: Legendary Defender season 4.

~

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Good. Hold for four, exhale for four.

Shiro sighs and runs a hand over his face. Although he can’t tell for certain, he thinks it’s been about five minutes since contacting the other paladins— so Pidge would likely arrive at any minute now.

He’ll appreciate the help, but… he’s still bracing himself for the inevitable shock, both on his end and on Pidge’s. It’s not exactly every day that your leader gets shrunken down to about the size of… what, exactly? A mouse? Judging from his helmet, the only thing he’s even familiar with on this godforsaken planet, he’s probably about the size of one of the space mice.

...Ugh. Deep… deep breaths. Stay calm. It’s fine, it’s going to be fine—

Shiro’s shoulders stiffen up as a faint rustling sound draws his attention.

“...Pidge?” He calls tentatively. “Pidge, is that you?”

No response.

Shiro grimaces and quickly leans towards the speaker of his helmet, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. “Are any of you nearby? I’m hearing noises.”

There’s an agonizingly long moment of silence.

“I’m still the closest to you, but I’m still at least a couple minutes away,” Pidge’s voice chirps over the intercom. “Whatever that noise is, stay on guard. We don’t have much information on this planet’s flora and fauna.”

The rustling returns, louder this time. Shiro’s breaths quicken, his Galra prosthetic lighting up with its familiar, eerie purple glow.

“Alright,” Shiro breathes. “Pidge… I’m gonna need you to hurry. I’m not… gonna be able to fend off anything major. Not like this.”

“Wait, Shiro? Not like what—?”

Shiro pulls away from the helmet, arm at the ready as glowing eyes peer from the bushes before him. He can vaguely hear Pidge’s frantic calling behind him, but his focus is trained on the claws emerging from the undergrowth.

A long, thin, scaly snout, incredibly large, pointed ears, needle-sharp claws, and flickering, sky-blue eyes all greet Shiro at once, the creature letting out a rattling hiss as its three tails lash behind it.

“I’m assuming you’re not friendly,” Shiro mutters.

The creature lets out another vicious hiss before running towards Shiro, its ferret-like body moving impossibly fast. The black paladin growls and holds his ground, his arms up in a defensive stance. At the last second, as the creature lunges at him with its jaws wide open, Shiro jumps out of the way with his right arm outstretched.

A grim smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as the creature howls and the scent of burnt fur wafts to Shiro’s nose.

But he doesn’t have time to celebrate. No, he quickly turns on his heel, facing the creature head-on—

“SCRRREEEE!”

Shiro grunts in pain as his body is knocked flying by a vicious swipe of the creature’s paw, hitting the ground roughly. He instinctively rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding getting a claw pierced through his armor’s chest plate. With another half-roll, Shiro is back on his feet and running like hell towards his helmet. He makes it within a few inches— to him, a few feet— before something snags on his jetpack and knocks him to the ground.

“PIDGE!” Shiro yells, clawing for purchase on the planet’s marshy ground. “Backup! Backup now!”

And then he’s roughly dragged backwards.

He sharply turns his head, noting one of the claws hooked on his jetpack, dragging him back towards the creature’s waiting maw.

“Not today,” Shiro snarls, his hand flaring to life. With a fierce lunge, his hand grabs onto the creature’s claw, the searing heat easily slicing through the light, sharp material. The creature lets out a piercing wail, nearly causing Shiro to go down from the sheer, splitting noise alone— but he hauls himself back to his feet, darts forward, but he’s not fast enough, the teeth are coming at him and—

The beast lets out another hideous scream as a sharp-edged, very familiar green edge slices into its side, leaving a sizable gash before the blade retreats, snaking back into the bushes— and then the bayard’s owner steps out from the shadows, weapon still drawn and aimed at the creature.

Pidge’s eyes narrow. “Pick on someone your own size,” she growls, continuing to step closer towards the creature and Shiro.

The creature’s hackles rise, but it’s clearly not stupid— as soon as Pidge draws closer, it beats a hasty retreat back into the bushes, presumably to lick its wounds and find a less dangerous meal for the night.

Pidge stops to rest a hand on her knee, panting quietly. And then her gaze shifts down, down… a little further down… until it rests on Shiro. Her amber-brown eyes widen ever-so-slightly.

“So I didn’t, uh… realize this was what you meant.”

Shiro keeps an eye on the creature’s escape path even when it’s gone, wary of a surprise attack. But he soon meets Pidge’s gaze with a slightly anxious look on his face.

“...Yes. I’m… kind of having a predicament.”

The two stare at each other awkwardly before Pidge clears her throat and speaks into the comm system. “Hey guys, I found Shiro and got rid of the danger-- yeah, I mean. He’s… He’s, uh. Alright. But we have a slight problem-- no, he didn’t get poisoned. I don’t think so, anyways. He’s a little on the tiny side-- Lance, shut up-- no, no, not like that, I just…”

Pidge pauses to huff in frustration. “It’s hard to explain. Look, we’ll meet you back at the castle, okay?”

She pauses again in what Shiro can only assume as relief-- the others must have agreed-- before she bites her lip and focuses on Shiro.

“Okay, so I’m pretty sure you know this already, but, uh. I’m gonna have to carry you, otherwise we won’t be able to get back to the castle before nightfall.”

Shiro grimaces. Of course he’d realized that while he’d been waiting for Pidge, but it didn’t make things any easier.

Pidge quietly coughs before kneeling down. “So… how are we gonna do this?”

Shiro runs a hand over his face. And then he tentatively approaches Pidge. “Give me your hand,” he sighs, making a beckoning gesture. He nearly flinches when Pidge’s hand comes down and rests palm-up in front of him, but he manages to hold his ground.

Deep breaths, Shiro. You fought huge monsters in the Arena, and even bigger ones in Voltron.

Regardless, he can’t help but feel a touch unnerved as he clumsily climbs up into Pidge’s hand-- as much as he trusts the green paladin, there’s something… wrong about being so tiny in comparison to the smallest paladin, someone he was so used to towering over on a daily basis for the past few months, at least.

Pidge carefully lifts Shiro up once he’s steadied himself, her eyes wide with what can only be described as pure awe.

“This really shouldn’t be possible,” she mumbles as she straightens up. “It completely violates the square-cube law, although… your suit is likely regulating your body temperature so you’re not too cold, so maybe—“

Shiro crosses his arms and sighs. “Pidge, we can discuss the science of how this works when we get back to the castle, alright?”

Pidge clears her throat and adjusts her glasses with her free hand. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right.”

As she starts walking back towards the direction of the castle, Shiro grips onto her thumb to maintain his balance, still looking to be quite unnerved by the whole situation.

“Matt’s gonna freak,” Pidge eventually mumbles to herself, unable to resist a little gleam in her eyes. “It defies the known laws of physics, and… say, Shiro? What happened to… uh. Make you shrink, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Shiro opens his mouth to respond before clicking his tongue and frowning. “I… I don’t remember. I think-- no, I know I was unconscious for at least a few minutes. There was a light, before I blacked out, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary when I came to.”

“And you feel alright?” Pidge questions, looking all the more intrigued by the minute.

“Aside from being extremely weirded out by this entire situation,” Shiro grumbles, “Yeah, I’m doing well enough, all things considered.”

Pidge pauses. She’s never been the best at comforting-- that was more Lance’s forte than anything-- but she shoots him a small smile. “If it makes you feel any better, you have three of the smartest nerds in the galaxy here to help you, plus Allura and Coran might know something. I’m sure we’ll figure out some kind of cure soon, okay?”

As the castle comes into view, Shiro appears to shrink in on himself a little more, his shoulders automatically tensing. “...That would be highly appreciated, yes.”

Pidge winces sympathetically. Of course this entire situation was hard on him-- and, judging from the rustling of foliage nearby, it was about to get even harder. As Hunk and Lance come out into the clearing at about the same time, Pidge instinctively holds Shiro closer to her chest.

“Hey, Pidge!” Lance calls as he quickens his step. “Where’s Shiro?”

Shiro, still looking to be quite agitated, straightens up as much as he can in some instinctive reflex to make himself taller. And then he waves, raising his voice. “Right here, Lance.”

Both the blue paladin and the yellow paladin stop dead in their tracks, jaws all but dropping. And then they both immediately crowd closer, a clamor of questions and wide-eyed stares.

“Whoa, Pidge, really? That… that shouldn’t be possible, according to--”

“Holy crow, Shiro, how’d you get so small--?”

Pidge backs up a step, lifting up her other hand to shield Shiro from the overwhelming onslaught of voices. “Guys, c’mon! Take it easy, one question at a time.”

Shiro shudders and nearly cracks right then and there, a paralyzing sense of anxiety bubbling up in his chest as the three teens loom over him. At least they’ve quieted down and Pidge has lowered her hand, but he can’t tell what’s worse: the clamor of loud noises or the sudden shift to sympathetic looks the three are all shooting down at him.

“Shiro?”

Shiro blinks at the sound of Pidge’s voice, tilting his head in order to look up at the green paladin’s face. “...Mm?”

The look in her eyes is… surprisingly gentle. He’s seen that look before, seen it in the eyes of Sam and Matt alike. His shoulders lower slightly.

“Shiro, it’s gonna be okay,” Pidge murmurs encouragingly. “We’re not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do. I can put you down, if you want, or… anything. Anything you want. I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but we’re a team. You can trust us-- we’re gonna do our best to find a cure for you, and in the meantime, we’ll do our best to make this whole… thing a little more comfortable for you.”

His focus briefly darts to Lance and Hunk-- both nodding in affirmation and backing up to give Pidge and himself a little more space. Shiro swallows thickly before glancing back up at Pidge.

“...Thank you. All of you.” He does his best to pull a tired smile. “For now, you can… keep carrying me. I’m good.”

Pidge frowns, lifting her hand closer to eye-level. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

And, surprisingly enough… he is.

Pidge was right. They’re all a team-- they’re his family. Of course he trusts them with his life.

Shiro straightens up, a determined glint in his eyes. “I don’t want to fall too far behind all of you, after all. We need to get going right away if we’re going to make this work. Pidge, I need you to bring me to Allura and Coran. We’re going to have to contact Keith so that he can serve as my stand-in while we get this fixed-- we don’t need any sneak attacks from the Galra catching us off-guard because I can’t pilot the Black Lion. Lance, Hunk? I need you two to get Matt. I’m sure if we all put our heads together, we can find out how and why this happened to me… and how to reverse it.”

A noticeable sense of relief lingers in the air, the three paladins at attention as they’re given orders; that’s their Shiro, alright, and it almost brings a sense of normalcy to this entire strange predicament.

As Pidge marches up to the entrance of the castle-- making sure to keep her hand steady for Shiro’s sake-- the black paladin sighs under his breath.

This was going to be a hassle to deal with, for sure, but at least he had his team by his side.

His family.

[stareiiez]

Flower Petals and Blood

Leonard Church x Female Reader

Hanaki Disease AU

Wow, very hella late update to my series but hey! Its never too late for good ass angst. Also my inbox is still open for requests so pretty please send those in!

Not even did a handful of days pass once the black armored man, sorry bitch man, arrived at the blue base. Of course, you knew to never speak out against her, since she had this team by the balls in her right hand and the team flag in the left. Whoop dee fucking do, your eyes could roll to the back of your head from that mental image. If only you were transferred to Project Freelancer, instead of this shit hole, you could come back just as Texas but maybe your training could leave the female shitting in her own armor. The intimidating aura the woman gave off seemed to fuel your mood into nothing but negative, or stoic, hell you even tried to get along with her. Although nothing worked out, 'girl talk' resulted in her claiming the blues as her own and if you were there just to prove your place on the team she'd knock your ass in the ground. That talk left you with an itching trigger finger as a grated out 'yes ma'am' scraped out past clenched teeth.          

The sun seemed to taunt you with its bright rays that seemed to tan your legs to a crisp underneath the fabric of torn up civil jeans, that were fashioned into haphazard shorts. The warthog's radio hummed its overly played Spanish polka song through scratched speakers. Oil dripped on your cheek before it was cleaned away with a bright red rag that was looped lazily on the underside of the puma. Vehicles always seemed to be broken around the blues, or reds, but you didn't seem to mind. Being alone with your mind focused on just vehicles while Church, Tucker, and Caboose were clambered up on the cliffside. Humming under your breath, to the song, the wrench was tossed out the side of the puma before you yourself scooted out from underneath the vehicle. Grease and other fluids had stained the dark grey tank top you wore, but hell, command gave you too many clothes to go out and waste. Clothes, spare parts, supplies, and the occasional shore leave option came by every two months.

"You'll be purring for sure no like a large cat now." You told the clean four-seater. Moving to the driver side, you turned the keys in the ignition on. In a second the engine purred and rumbled like a happy cat laying in the sun.

Proud of your handy work, you turned the vehicle off. A nice sounding vehicle always brought you happiness. It brought images of you driving this thing in actual streets with the radio blaring old songs that you would sing along to. Maybe you'd have a shotgun rider who's be singing along with you, and acting like a complete fool with you, while you forever cruised down an endless black pavement into the future. Frantically, you shook your head. The shotgun rider had contorted into Church, his stupid smile infecting your brain while his sky blue eyes gazed at you with adoration in their orbs.

"Stop it." You scolded yourself ignorant of your own mind.

Your chest seemed to squeeze painfully at that blissful wonderland. Like your own organs were retaliating and voicing their own pain. It never seemed to hurt as much as you used to woefully mourn over the male's heart captured and locked away by another. The music of the warthog dimmed a little while your ears rang faintly, were you even breathing at this point? A hand rose to rest on your chest to check, the erratic heartbeat calmed you slightly yet the sting of oxygen deprivation made that fade. Drawing in lungs filled the air, you winced from the slight strain. A frown creased your brow, while your hand turned into a loose fist. A few light beats on your chest and the strain eased with a few coughs. Oxygen pulled in freely like there was nothing blocking your airway now.

It was nothing, you convinced yourself. It was possible you had gotten sick with some alien virus. As if nobody was sick in the last three months, except for Caboose. He came down with a small head cold that ended up almost frying his brain at high temperatures. Doc managed to help him breathe through the high fevers after the course of a whole week and a half. A virus couldn't hang around for that long right? Were his lungs hurting as much as yours was?

Your hand rubbed your chest in small circles as if that would ease the stress of the pain that plagued the vital organs. The music that the warthog played soon eased back into your once numbed senses and brought the Spanish polka music to a close with the press of a button from your finger. The silence was golden until the prick of the man who caused you so much pain and confusion was seemingly 'haunting' right over your shoulder. Great.

"What do you want Casper the little shithead aren't you supposed to be burning in hell?" You bit out with a slight venom laced with your words.

"Can't a ghost of a dead guy show up to watch over his-" A hesitation in his voice hurt more than that pain in your chest ever could. "Teammate." He finished.

"You aren't-" Fuck, you can't come right out and blurt it. Flowers would be rolling in his grave as well as all of Project Freelancer. Hell, even his freelancer buddies who were running around would slit your throat if they reached you.

That's if they were still around, how many years has it been since the Project fell? Three years? Maybe it was less than that word about those 'scary guys with guns' was a topic you all avoided.

"I am dead, you idiot, my grave is right where you're standing. I guess I just have unfinished business here so God, or whoever won't let me rest." Church groaned out tiredly as if a ghost could actually be tired.

"Right, so why bother my ass again?" A brow rose unamused brow upwards.

"You know how ghosts can 'possess' people like in those out of date movies?"

"Right? And?" Your voice trailed off, although the idea was very clear to you now.

"I need to test that out." A scoff cut him off and he rolled his eyes behind the visor of his helmet. "It's just for research plus I'm bored so hurry up."

As if it was more of a demand than a suggestion you crossed your arms over your chest and let out a drawn-out sigh. "Is that the only reason?"

"Well, Tucker did say that I've been in you in more ways than one so." Church crossed his arms over his chest, his ghostly figure drifting a few more steps to you.

"Ah! That's enough Church. Just shut your mouth and hurry this bull shit up." You cut him off before your arms uncrossed and spread out to the sides.

With a smirk, the 'ghost' charged at you and sunk into your skin. The force was enough to actually lose your balance and move back a few steps. Your breath was lost and your brain spazzed out like you were having one hell of a seizure. Every organ seemed to shut down and then restart, under his control. It felt like someone pressed the restart button on your body, but you never had the controls anymore. Instead, an idiot had the controls and he was taking advantage of it.

"Holy shit!" You heard him yell in your voice that was slightly altered to form a combination of both deep and smooth sounds. "It worked."

Church fist pumped, well you fist pumped, in the air before a grin formed on your features. While Church was walking and talking to himself, and feeling your body, your subconscious was shoved to the very reaches of your mind. It was all black surrounding you and the echo of the outside world set your nerves on fire. Anxiety never bothered you but now you could feel the familiar squeeze of uncomfortable feelings snatch your throat in its maw.

"Church! Enough is enough get out." Is what you wanted to say, but you doubted your mouth could even form words right now. It was like you were too tired to even move.

The sensation of your 'lover' being inside you was suddenly exhausting for an odd reason. Your heart ached at the sensation. You could feel his presence, almost imagine would his 'warmth' spread through our whenever you were laying side by side in bed with him. Rants of every day were something you related to, and it was the most interesting part of your day. Your eyes squeezed shut, the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance and luckily an A.I couldn't feel pain, your pain, but they could sense what wasn't right. That was this time. His fun and games of yelling/flirting with a Tucker who was still stuck o the cliff was ceased immediately and his presence was no longer there. The reset button hit you again and only this time it hit you with relief if it wasn't for the series of coughs that slipped past your lips and landed in the square of your elbow.

Your name was repeated softly from his mouth until the coughs ended in six seconds and your lungs hurt. Your eyes shot up and landed squarely on his golden visor.

"You good? What was that?" Church placed, or tried to place, a hand on your arms yet instead, it passed through your cheek.

The action made you wince inwardly, as well as physically. The move brought the pain to squeeze your lungs until it ached with the intention to freeze your organs into cold blocks of ice. You felt cold and overall panicked.

"I really don't know but you're not helping me. Get Doc, before I pass out from stress or pain." Your teeth grit together while your eyes narrowed menacingly. The look caused his figure to stiffen and then blinked out of existence with a quick nod of his helmeted head.

Screams for Doc in Red Base as well as Sarge's gruff voice echoed from the canyon. You would smile over the arguing of Church and Sarge, while the screams for Doc rained over the conversation, but right now the pain was too much right now.

You damned hoped that Doc would move his grape ass to you because the suffocation would settle in from how shallow your breathing was.

"Please, God, let it just be the flu."