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#half rambling half short fic

teecupangel · 1 year

Note

I've been thinking of a 'little' plot bunny for a few weeks now after spending the last few months getting into AC fanfiction. It seems everyone mostly writes timetravel! fics with 2012 Desmond, like he gets sent back after touching the eye. My thoughts are, what would happen if 16 year old Desmond, with his fresh scar and having just run away, gets sent back in time, to Ezio's or Altair's era specifically, with no explanation on Desmond's part on how this happened, but with certain hazy memories from 2012 Desmond?

I'm thinking kinda like your 'Yew Branches' series, where he has vague idea's or understanding of things but no clear idea why. He'd definitely be confused, most likely paranoid, but also weirdly ok with the situation? Like if he's not only in another country, but another time, his dad DEFINITELY can't get to him. He can do his own thing. That just so happens to end up being becoming an assassin anyway.

If in Ezio's time, Maria and Giovanni would surely adopt him, I mean he is obviously from an assassin family, and probably been abused, there's no other reason he'd be so touch adverse, or why he was already so close to being a master assassin.

If in Altair's time, I could see him as being found by a Dai or Rafiq in a city, and they notice the resemblance to Altair, the mentor's up and coming young assassin, and suspect him to be a half brother or something and write to Masyaf about what to do.

And as for what 'vague' memories he'd have, I'd say probably some more assassin skills he hadn't learned yet, or just straight up technique Ezio or Altair use that is different from what Desmond was learning. And he'd definitely have the importance of December 21st, 2012 in his head, and that something called and 'Apple of Eden' was important and he needs to get it before anyone else.

Sorry for the long ask, but I just wanted your opinion on this plot bunny, how do you think desmond/altair/ezio would react?

Don't be sorry, nonny. I love asks no matter what length they may be.

Ooohhh, okay, so before we go to how this kind of plot could go, let’s finalize the limitations that Desmond would be facing since we are yanking a 16 year old Desmond who just ran away from the Farm

The limitations of the Bleeding Effect: will Desmond retain his ability to understand Arabic and Italian?

The limitation of his knowledge: how much does Desmond knows, specifically: would he even have an idea of what would happen in the 3rd Crusades or in Renaissance Italy in terms of both world history and the history of the Brotherhood?

Limitation: Language Barrier

Since we are letting Desmond keep a bit of his bleed in terms of skills and techniques but not the actual memories of his ancestors, it could go either way. Are we counting language as more of a skill than simple memories? In this case, I would suggest we go for Desmond not knowing the language. This would make Desmond feel more isolated and confused but this will also have a ‘good’ excuse for us later.

Limitation: Knowledge

Since we are removing Desmond’s memories from his Bleeds, he would have to rely on his own memories and knowledge (for now, anyway). And, considering his reaction when he heard he was going to relive Ezio Auditore’s memories, it’s clear that he didn’t know Ezio was one of the legendary Assassins. The same could probably be said about Altaïr. So his knowledge could probably be summarized as “Templars want to kill Assassins and they exist in this time period (3rd Crusades) or they might not exist in this time period? (Renaissance)”. Also, let’s remember that Desmond didn’t believe the Assassin vs Templar thing until he was kidnapped. He thought his parents and the Farm were hippies (or cultists).

Next: let’s talk about what other similarities each plot would have

Altaïr and Ezio will have the same age as Desmond at the start (16)

Desmond will be ‘pushed’ by the plot to meet them early on (this way we can develop some kind of bond between them)

Altaïr and Ezio would be the ones to help Desmond learn the language (for more bonding points)

With that out of the way, let’s now focus on what may happen:

==================================================

Altaïr: The Third Crusades

Al Mualim would definitely order that Desmond be sent to Masyaf and everyone would assume that Desmond is Altaïr’s half-brother. Most of them would believe that Umar had Desmond after Maud’s death, perhaps in a fit of grief and loneliness. There was a high possibility Umar didn’t even know he existed because Desmond would continue to say that he had parents and Umar wasn’t his father. Altaïr, on the other hand, would be… well… curious and hopeful at the same time. My hc is that Altaïr and Abbas had their falling out when they were 16 and that’s how Altaïr got his scar. And now, there was this boy who looked so similar to him and even had the same scar as him. He’s still hurting from Abbas’ hatred and anger so he clings to Desmond. Desmond, on the other hand, tries to keep his distance but he would see what Altaïr tries so desperately to hide.

The loneliness that has been wrapped around him ever since his father died.

Because Altaïr had always wanted to have a connection with someone. It would be years later that he would realize that what he wanted was to have a family that he could love and could show that love publicly… which was against Al Mualim’s teaching.

And Desmond…

Desmond wanted that same connection too. He couldn’t even feel that connection with his own parents so he tries to form a connection with Altaïr instead.

Now, the endgame of their connection would depend on what genre we’re going for. However, their relationship would definitely be more on the deeper side of codependency. Both of them are lonely children who has no one else and they clung to each other. That will only grow as they get older. This means that they would be protective of each other and there’s some jealousy involved even if it’s just Kadar asking help from Altaïr with his form or Malik helping Desmond with his chores. It’s the same kind of jealousy a child feels when someone plays with their favorite toy.

Now, here’s the snag we’ll get since we picked up a 16 year old Desmond. He doesn’t want to be an Assassin. Being an Assassin to him means pain and that feeling of being never enough. Not to mention, Altaïr would be at the top and Desmond would be compared to his ‘older brother’ the entire way. This would make it easier for Desmond and Kadar to bond, of course, but I think Altaïr would actually push for Desmond to be removed from training because he could see how much Desmond hates it (even if Desmond does retain some of his Bleed’s skills, his mentality is still that of a freshly ran away 16 year old).

In the case that Al Mualim allows it, Desmond would either become some kind of help, perhaps an errand boy or maybe a kitchen help, if he was still required to be in the castle. If not, Desmond would probably become some kind of apprentice in the village, like the apprentice of the blacksmith or the baker. Desmond would definitely be much happier being in the village but keeping him in the castle is more probable as it gives Al Mualim an easier time to keep an eye on him.

As for these vague memories from 2012!Desmond, let’s make it gradually. The older Desmond gets, the more hazy memories he gets when he dreams. And he tells all of this to Altaïr.

Things would still happen as they did in canon. And when the plot of AC1 is about to kick off, Desmond’s own vague memories are making him wary of Al Mualim. It finally breaks when Al Mualim stabs Altaïr after his failure and, I think, in this case… it won’t be surprising if Desmond tells Altaïr that they should run away. Why should they stay in a place that could easily kill them just because they failed? They don’t need anybody else. They have each other. That was enough. And Altaïr would agree to it because Desmond is the one who asks it.

So they plan their escape and they decide to steal Al Mualim’s treasure as a final ‘fuck you’ and as a way to get some money they can use to get out of Levant, to travel far away from Al Mualim’s reach.

And then Desmond touches the Apple of Eden.

The moment he touches the Apple…

He will have all of Desmond Miles’ memories.

(CLIFF HANGER!!!!)

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Ezio: Renaissance Italy

Okay, so, in general, this one would be more light hearted than Altaïr’s version for one specific reason: this will be a healthy family relationship.

Although, I don’t think the Auditores would adopt Desmond. At least, not officially, anyway.

I think they would take Desmond in as kind of their ward/servant.

Because they are nobles and it would look suspicious if they just adopted some random kid.

Not only that, by this time, Desmond is already 16 so adopting him officially would probably gain too much attention.

However, Desmond and Ezio are of the same age so they would naturally gravitate towards one another. Ezio’s carefreeness would attract Desmond because he wants that.

He wants to feel normal for once.

And Ezio has heard from his parents how they believe Desmond had been abused so he’d be kind to Desmond in the beginning.

Ezio’s kindness and Desmond’s desire for normalcity would transform into a bash-brother type of relationship between them. People would see Desmond as Ezio’s lackey/yes-man because he’s supposed to be a servant but anyone who was close to the family know that Desmond and Ezio are both dumbasses and Federico had to bail them out more than once.

This does mean that Desmond would know what it would be like to have a warm home and a happy loving family.

For a year.

Because Ezio lost his father and brothers when he was seventeen.

And Desmond would start to feel… uncomfortable and paranoid the nearer December gets.

It would come to a point that Desmond would feel a bit ill and be unable to help Ezio with his chores.

That day the guards would enter Palazzo Auditore and Desmond’s body would move on its own, helping Federico and Giovanni as they defended themselves.

Giovanni would recognize some of his moves. After all, the one who trained Ezio in the canon timeline was Giovanni’s brother, Mario Auditore. It’s only logical that many of Ezio’s moves that Desmond knows via his residue Bleeds would be familiar to Giovanni.

And Desmond wouldn’t have any answers for him. The fear on his face as he didn’t understand what was happening to him would be clear even to Giovanni and they had more pressing matters to take care of. Like finding Ezio and making sure he was safe.

Now, this is where the canon timelines diverges severely. Giovanni would be the one to meet Ulberti to give them proof of their innocence and he would recognize Rodrigo Borgia. The story can go either way by this point.

Giovanni dying will propel Ezio to seek revenge while Federico will be trained to take over Giovanni’s duties. Desmond would follow Ezio because, as much as he doesn’t want to be an Assassin, he wants to avenge Giovanni as well and he wants to keep Ezio safe.

Giovanni may live but he would be severely wounded and he would be the one to train Federico to take over his duties. Ezio would be left to be trained as an Assassin and be more like their ‘field agent’. Desmond would be reluctant but his worry for Ezio’s life would propel him to join Ezio as an Assassin.

Either way, Ezio and Desmond would be the ones to cripple and destroy the Italian Templar Rites.

And, in this scenario, Desmond wouldn’t touch the Apple at all. Ezio would be the only to touch it.

However…

Once Desmond hears…

“The rest is up to you, Desmond.” as Minerva turned to face him, Desmond will lose consciousness.

And wake up with all of Desmond Miles’ memories.

(CLIFF HANGER!!!!)

==================================================

Yup. Ending it there. Sorry. That’s as far as I got. (Honestly, nonny, if you don’t want Desmond to remember everything, that’s okay too. We can just cut that part out and Desmond only feels some connection with the Apple. That would work too.)

The main reason why Ezio and Desmond don’t get to be super codependent with one another like Altaïr and Desmond in this setup is because Ezio and Desmond have a support system and Desmond actually only has 1 year of peace with Ezio as shit hits the fan when Ezio was 17. On the other hand, Masyaf (and Al Mualim’s favoritism) will keep Altaïr and Desmond isolated from the others and they would have 10 years to deepen their bond before shit hits the fan. By the way, I call Desmond and Altaïr’s relationship as codependent but it’s not necessarily a negative thing… HOWEVER, it would be ssoooooo easy for it to be.

#half rambling half short fic #business as usual i guess #possible idea: desmond x adha & altaïr x maria or vice versa #or you know desadhaltmar hahahaha #deskadaltmal would work too #just saying #ezio will still fall in love with cristina #desmond is his wing man #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ask and answer #once more this has elopement in it

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lavenoon · 1 year

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Lave-san i need help i desperately need fics where the DCA does not like you initially/straight up dislikes you and avoids you. Bonus ppints for mechanic y/n

So I'll lead with the disclaimer that I crowdfunded this reply because I am a pitifully slow reader, which translates to me actually reading only very few fanfics. However, I trust my sources (from the Sleepy Cove Server <3), so I'll wholeheartedly recommend these!

First the two I have actually read:

Our Orbit is Elliptical by @sycopomp and @madame-mongoose

The Daycare Attendant is very protective of his role in the Superstar Daycare; he was made for this job, after all, and he finds it insulting that management seems to think he needs help. They insist on saddling him with human assistants, over and over, no matter how many quit. Not that he does it intentionally, of course... but if they can't handle the stress, then perhaps they aren't fit to be working with children. Hmph.

You are the new Daycare Assistant at the Superstar Daycare! Despite some reservations, you're determined to do your best and prove-- mostly to yourself-- that you deserve to be here. You're inspired by Sun and the ease with which he gets along with the children, and you hope to impress him with your go-getter attitude and unflappable confidence! (Even if both of those things are about as flimsy as construction paper...)

aka: Sun is passive-aggressive to his new assistant, whom is so determined to do a good job that they're too oblivious to notice.

Almost Human by @vilz

“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.” ― Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

---

You get a new job. It's a struggle.

And now the ones that make me wish I could read faster or simply have more time in the day:

Two Choices by @thelonereni

You chose this.

There was regret of course, but turning back wasn't an option anymore. You couldn't lose this new game you found yourself in, and somehow you managed to feel more and more alive the longer you played...

You have worked in sanitation since the pizzaplex opened, but that all changed when you had a bit of a mishap in the kitchen. With the only real option left being an assistant in the daycare, you decided it couldn't be worse that your previous position.

Between the surly daycare attendant, bosses breathing down your neck and the corporate overlords coming for a visit, your starting to think you make really shitty life choices.

What's The Moral Here? by @/siquieres on ao3

Your little brother is invited to a birthday party at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex, hosted inside the Superstar Daycare. The Daycare Attendant takes a disliking towards you, or at least, that's what you think it is. Despite this and the violent nightmares of a sun god that plague you, you keep letting your brother bring you back. You keep coming back.

A sort of mean-spirited take on the Sun/Reader dynamic. Reader is often injured, intentionally or not.

What's It Called When Light Hits A Prism? by @/TooManyPsuedonyms on ao3

The PizzaPlex has been running--and the Management needs a new operator for one of their salvaged animatronics.

You are just trying to live independently, so of course, you'll take the job.

You have no idea what you're in for. Granted, you never really know what you're in for, but this can't be much different than working with regular human people… right?

And perhaps one where the DCA doesn't outright dislike Y/N, but the premise still causes tension in their dynamic (and you get mechanic Y/N!):

It's Curtains For You! by @muzzlemouths

|| “You will be befriending, then dismantling the animatronic,” he gets right to the point, “and you’ll have about a month to do it.”

You're not here to make friends. You're here to earn what you can, smile and nod with simple Yes Sirs, and keep your head down low. An open position as the Daycare Attendant's newest 'mechanic' doesn't change any of that. You're on a tight schedule with the disassembly and you can't afford to be getting attached.

But what happens when you do?

#answer let luce #anonymous #fnaf sb #fic rec #I'm sorry it's kinda short? I have no baseline admittedly #yes some of these havent updated in a hot minute but that doesnt mean they're bad fics #and given that just yesterday I updated a fic I haven't updated in one and a half years because of 1 (one) nice comment #I encourage you to just read and enjoy what's there and maybe let the author know if you liked it #I also read It's Curtains For You I just remembered it last because it doesn't *quite* fit what you wanted #but I cannot wait for the fallout #did. sorry realization moment did I ever reblog the fanart for ooie that I submitted via ask.#I was still “stealth” when I drew it oh my god i dont think thats on my blog #ive had friends say “ooie reader behavior” any time I do something angsty for rejection sensitivity catharsis and theyre right #also vilz has so many good takes on Sun I love their interpretation of him #makes me go insane /pos #anyways yes thats. thats a long tag ramble I'm just gonna unleash this

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clare-with-no-i · 11 months

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I was thinking earlier about squibs and JKR’s flawed rendering of disability in the HP books — and how, sort of in spite of her, exposition about the anti-squib nature of the magical world might actually serve as a sound allegory for social modeling of disability irl — so I perused the internet and found this really interesting academic article about Filch, Arabella Figg, and the quiet pervasiveness of abeism which underlies the series.

I particularly enjoyed this passage at the end, which I think really drives home what can be so radically good about fanfiction. highly recommend reading

#it's a short article!#which should make it more enticing!#shoutout to ms Meghan Rhodes at GW for writing this #discourse #i also have a lot of thoughts about the magical world as a social model for disability #they are half formed but they center around how pointedly indulgent the HP magical world is #as in: so many of the things that are done with magic are done so #for very little reason other than to do them with magic #and i think that reflects the way that tech and development are pointedly exclusionary #towards disabled ppl irl — based on the theory that disability reflects a macro problem #of a state's inability or unwillingness to accommodate people of all ranges of mobility etc #and is not at all an individual-centered issue #anyway i ramble but #pls read this!#esp fic writers who incorporate these characters!

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eldritchmochi · 9 months

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i wrote 3.5k yesterday and had hoped to repeat the success but ive been incredibly distracted all morning THOUGH i have come close to how much i had written by this time yesterday so

is the adjustment to my afternoon meds, first dose of which was yesterday, REALLY the cause of my suddenly many words?????? (pls)

#mochi rambles #mochi's medical mischief #mochi fic #its been one single (short acting) dose and im already reasonably sure im gonna bump at least my morning dose as well #so for ease itll probably be all three doses because i do not need one bottle of 50mg and one of 75mg thats silly #i have an hour and a half til afternoon meds tho so 👀#we shall see

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blinkbones · 1 year

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hey ofmd fandom. have a writing warmup that turned out alright Jim/Oluwande post s1 stuff for a "fear" prompt. hope u like <3

Finding their way back to the ship was no relief, even when they were all allowed on board again—all but Stede. Which meant that most of the other outcasts had stuck to him, but… he had been unable to. Not with Jim stuck there.

They were, perhaps, the scariest part of all this. Now, this should not have been a surprise: Jim’s homicidal potential had been long established, and their mere presence should, by all means, have been enough to make anyone uneasy. But of course, they were also his partner, the tender wolf kissing his cheekbones and stroking his neck where the pulse would always jump into disarray. Oluwande trusted them to be on his side, as much as he trusted their competence with a knife. He had seen it first hand many times—ghost-quiet, a spirit made of sharp wind. They would have that steely stability of absolute focus in the way they moved that reminded him of a buzzard. It had been hot to look at, many times. One cannot overstate the pull of attraction of a very dangerous creature that knows what it is that they are doing, and are oh-so-good at it.

Or so you would think.

In this new context, Jim was in that state of keen battlefield awareness, perpetually. The enticement was gone; instead, Oluwande felt a mixture of sadness and dread, topped with the occasional spikes of terror that had him reevaluate his ability to swim. Jim looked tired. A few thin lines of stress had been permanently folded into the sides of their eyes. Another ran up the space between their eyebrows. Their jaw had a constant tension in it, like the next punch could hit at any point.

(To be fair to them, they had been hiding it exceptionally well. The only reason that Olu had noticed at all, was because he spent such an inordinate amount of time and energy paying attention to them.)

The implications were frightening.

#is this too short for a read more? i played it safe #our flag means death #jim jimenez #oluwande boodhari #ofmd oluwande #ofmd jim #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fic #ofmd #my writing #jim x oluwande #oluwande x jim #if i have to type anymore similar tags my eyes will cross #anyway. correct my english? YES critique my writing? not here. this is sketchbook equivalent and i barely checked for typos #i mean. if u WANT to critique it's fine i dont mind. i just think this aint worth it LOL #my english tho... always........ please.#also fun fact: i had to google both of their names lmfao #such a poser i am #i am SO tired i honestly cant think of any etiquette thign i might want to check i did right. and u can tell im tired because im hardcore #--rambling. yeah. yeah. author is half asleep in the tags. it happens #im just concerned about etiquette because fandom is.... stressful #anyway. if u read this snippet i love u bye #my posts

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gilded-garnet · 10 months

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*looking at my pile of WIPs*

I'll finish you one day...

#personal #rambling #I have so many half finished short fics at this point

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sunsburns · 3 months

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kiss of life (ii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

part one

summary: i actually suck at writing summaries but basically this is part two of part one of that soulmate au fic i posted a week ago lol

—or: luke castellan is being haunted by kronos and... well, you.

word count: 6.42k

warnings: sorry for any spelling errors, i haven’t checked yet, suppperrr angsty, luke castellan pov as he's slowly being corrupted by kronos, long reading time, descriptive injuries, blood, pre-tlt, luke is stubborn and a dick, loser!luke, annabeth smacking some sense to luke, grover being an icon, reader is lowkey unreliable tbh... cliff hanger (again... lmfao sorry)

a/n: part two!!! thank you guys for all the love on the first part! i am so grateful for everything and i love reading all the comments and reblogs. i hope this one doesn't end up flopping lmfaooo. i honestly wanted this to be a short angsty fic but i got carried away and now i'm planning a whole multi-part fic for this, phew. anyways enjoyyy <;33

At eighteen, Luke was cursed with nightmares.

They clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel the fragile front of peace that he had fought so hard to maintain. Each night, he would awaken drenched in a cold sweat, the echoes of his tortured dreams lingering in the corners of his mind like a haunting melody.

The Hermes cabin, once a sanctuary from the outside world, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around him with each passing moment. The moon, a silent witness to his torment, cast its ethereal glow through the window, illuminating the slumbering forms of campers. Some were children of Hermes, like himself, bound by the tenuous ties of blood and kinship. Others, however, were unclaimed, their parentage shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

And as Luke lay awake in the stillness of the night, a sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of doubt. In the depths of his troubled sleep, he could feel the tendrils of darkness closing in around him, threatening to consume him whole. And try as he might to deny it, he knew that his nightmares held a deeper significance, a harbinger of events yet to unfold in the shadowy pits of fate.

His nightmares were callings. A taunting voice would echo through the corridors of his mind, its insidious whispers weaving a thought of deceit and manipulation. It masqueraded as a voice of reason, a beacon beckoning him towards a destiny that promised demigods everything.

At first, Luke dismissed it as nothing more than the ramblings of a tortured soul, the byproduct of his own restlessness. But as the whispers grew louder and more insistent, he could no longer ignore the chilling realization that they were something far more sinister—a call to arms, a summons to embrace his role as a harbinger of the new world.

The nights he wasn't shaking from night terrors, he was tossing and turning at the thought of you. And he didn’t know what was worse. He couldn't escape you. The haunting image of you lingered in his mind even during sleep — your lips, your eyes, your skin, your voice, and that shared scar and your demise.

But at least, you'd given up on him by then. Your persistent efforts to reach out to Luke gradually dwindled into nothingness. Though you were still everywhere, a shadow that seemed to torment his every move, you no longer gave him even a fraction of your attention.

Gone were the days of you seeking him out, your footsteps no longer echoing in the halls of Camp Half-Blood in search of him. You refrained from asking for Chris's help, no longer burdening him with questions on Luke's whereabouts. The notes you once left behind were now relics of a time long past, their words fading with each passing day.

And as the full moon rose once more over the waters of the lake, you no longer waited by its shores.

Luke turned in bed, his mind restless as he tried to shake the image of you. He pulled the covers tighter around himself, seeking comfort in the warmth they provided, but the chill of unease still lingered in the air.

His gaze drifted across the row of beds, each a testament to the diverse personalities that inhabited the Hermes cabin. The floor was strewn with a chaotic array of sleeping bags, toys, and discarded clothing, while a collection of rocks adorned one corner near the closets, and drawings adorned the walls.

Despite the usual chaos that reigned during the day, the cabin now lay quiet and still. The children of Hermes, along with the unclaimed children and the ones of minor gods, had finally settled into the embrace of sleep.

But amidst the calm, a sense of unease gnawed at Luke's consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that had settled over him after he noticed the empty bed and the slightly ajar door.

Luke pushed back the covers and rose from his bed. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way toward the empty bottom bunk, hoping not to wake anyone. The sight of an old penguin stuffed animal discarded at the foot of the bed made him edgy. His eyes trailed to the traces of blood splattered on the hardwood floor, stark against the dim light filtering through the cabin windows.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Luke picked up the toy, its soft white and black material now stained with crimson. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he made his way out of the cabin, the urgency of his steps echoing in the stillness of the night.

He knew all too well who the missing camper was – five-year-old Penelope, one of the newest arrivals to Camp Half-Blood and possibly one of the youngest campers. Found wandering alone in the woods near the camp hill just a week ago, she had been brought to safety by a group of fellow demigods on a quest. Luke couldn't shake the resemblance she bore to a younger Annabeth, with her wide eyes and insatiable thirst for knowledge. He wouldn't be surprised if Athena claimed her as her own one day–that is if he ever found her.

Luke's worry for Penelope weighed heavily on his mind, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he combed through every inch of camp. The traces of blood he discovered fueled his unease, each droplet a stark reminder of the dangers lurking just beyond the safety of the camp's borders.

In his search, Luke traversed familiar paths and hidden corners, his footsteps echoing in the quiet stillness of the night. He scoured the armour, the climbing wall, and the camp store.

Luke had known all about campers disappearing, whether it be on a quest or to escape and try to live a normal life with humans that never really lasted long enough as monsters would dwell within the shadows outside of camp.

It was in the dim glow of the kitchen lights that Luke finally caught a glimpse of Penelope, perched on the counter in her pyjamas, her hair adorned with two loose pigtails. A sense of relief washed over him at the sight of her safe and sound, yet it was short-lived as he noticed she wasn't alone.

His hand hovered over the door, hesitating as he listened to the soft murmur of conversation from within. With a steady breath, Luke pushed the door open ever so slightly, peering through the crack to catch a glimpse of Penelope. And you.

You, who looked older than when you first met in the infirmary. There was an air of maturity about you, a gracefulness that hadn't been there before. Your features seemed more refined, your presence commanding attention in a way that spoke of inner strength and resilience. Luke couldn't help but notice how your beauty had blossomed, surpassing the standards of mere mortal allure. It was a beauty that seemed to defy classification, uniquely yours yet undeniably captivating.

Despite this, Luke sensed a shift in your demeanour—a resignation, perhaps, to the reality of his ignorance. You had lost any hope you once harboured for him. His guarded nature would forever keep you at arm's length. And while part of him knew that this was for the best, a small, almost imperceptible part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.

For in the crossroads of his heart, amidst the shadows that threatened to consume him, there lingered a faint glimmer of longing. The thought of being intertwined with someone who could offer solace in his darkest moments, who could bring light to the depths of his despair, held an undeniable appeal. And as much as he tried to deny it, the chance of you approaching him once more tugged at the fringes of his resolve, tempting him to let down his guard and allow you closer than he ever dared to imagine.

"So, you wanna tell me what you're doing up this late?" You approached Penelope with a gentle smile, a cookie in your hand as a peace offering.

Your words hung in the air, gentle and coaxing, as you tried to draw Penelope out of her shell. Luke watched from the shadows, his gaze flickering between you and the young camper, a sense of admiration stirring at how you spoke to Penelope.

Penelope hesitated, her gaze shifting between the cookie in her hand and you.

"You don't know?" You persisted, your voice a soft murmur that carried a hint of playfulness. You settled beside Penelope on the counter, your posture was relaxed as you leaned in closer to her. "Is it... a secret?" you whispered.

Luke noted the subtle change in your demeanour, the way you seemed to adapt effortlessly to Penelope's shy nature. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, one that resonated deeply with him.

As Penelope nodded in response to your question, you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "Let me tell you a secret," you offered, holding up your pinky finger as a symbol of trust. "I am the best secret keeper in this camp. I pinky promise."

After a moment's hesitation, Penelope tentatively reached out, her tiny finger linking with yours in a hesitant pinky promise. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Penelope murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got hurt."

"What?" You gasped in genuine concern, your eyes widening as you shifted your attention to the young camper. "Can I see?"

Penelope nodded silently, her arm outstretched towards you. Luke observed from his vantage point, his heart twisting with worry as he noted the faint hint of red near Penelope's elbow.

You took Penelope's arm into your hands gently, your touch tender and reassuring as you rolled up the sleeves of her pale pink pyjamas. Luke couldn't help but notice the familiarity of those pyjamas, a subtle reminder of Annabeth's kindness and resourcefulness in making Penelope feel at home.

"Oh, wow, that looks like it hurts," You remarked softly, your brows furrowing in sympathy as you retrieved a first aid kit from the nearby cabinets. "You're handling it very well," you praised Penelope, your tone gentle and encouraging. "So brave of you."

Penelope watched you attentively as you began to clean her wound, her small frame tense with discomfort. "I don't feel brave," she admitted quietly.

"No?" You glanced up at her, "why not?"

"I miss my mommy."

Her words were tinged with a sense of longing that struck a chord with both you and Luke.

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts drifting to his own longing for his mother. Penelope's admission resonated with him deeply, reminding him of the ache that never truly faded, no matter how many years passed, no matter how deep he tried to bury it.

It was a sentiment shared by every demigod at camp, a silent ache that echoed through the cabins and training grounds. Yet, it was a pain rarely spoken aloud as if verbalizing it would make it all too real, too unbearable.

The yearning for a parent, for someone to fill the void left by their absence, weighed heavily on each camper's shoulders. It was a burden they carried silently, masking their vulnerability with bravado and determination. But for Penelope, the longing was raw in its innocence.

At just five years old, she was too young to fully comprehend the extent of her emotions. She couldn't grasp the complexities of her situation, the world of gods and monsters that surrounded her. All she knew was the absence of a mother's embrace, the absence of a comforting presence to soothe her fears and wipe away her tears.

It was a pain she didn't deserve, a burden too heavy for such a young soul to bear. The gods, in their arrogance and indifference, seemed oblivious to the lives they had shattered, and the pain they had inflicted upon their own children.

"Yeah?" You responded gently, "How much do you miss her?"

"This much," Penelope replied, her small hands spreading wide.

"Wow! That's a lot," you remarked, a sombre note underlying your tone as you processed Penelope's words. After a beat of silence, you shook off the heaviness of the moment and mustered a smile for her. "There we go. All cleaned up," you announced cheerfully, pressing a bandaid onto her elbow.

Penelope's smile widened in response, a glimmer of gratitude shining in her eyes as she kicked her feet. In a quiet voice barely above a whisper, she murmured her thanks to you.

"So, you wanna tell me how you got hurt?"

"I don't know." This had been the most Luke had ever seen Penelope talk, and while her voice was still timid, the words slipping out hesitantly, she seemed to confide in you. "I woke up because my arm hurt."

"The cut was just there?" You asked, and when she nodded, you hummed sympathetically. "...I get those too, you know."

Penelope's eyes widened, "You do?"

"Yes," you affirmed with a soft chuckle. "A lot of people do. You get them from your soulmate. Did your mom ever tell you about soulmates?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, a long time ago, humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces," You explained.

"What?"

"I know, right? Super freaky. So freaky that Zeus decided to split them in half. So, now we have two arms, two legs, and one face."

"What happened to the other half?"

"That's our soulmate. Our other half. And Aphrodite gave us a gift to help us find our soulmate." The smile that had adorned your face slowly waned, "Every time you get hurt, your soulmate gets hurt too."

"Is that why you have a cut on your face?"

The question lingered, hanging in the air like a whispered secret. Luke held his breath, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for your response. But instead of answering, you reached out to Penelope, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you guided her off the counter.

"Let's get you back to your cabin."

Your words were gentle, a soft reassurance for Penelope's sake, but Luke could sense the undercurrent of sadness that ran beneath them. As you led Penelope away, Luke's heart ached in a way that felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time. It burned the same way it did when he returned from the quest when he hated the world and everyone in it, but this time, the only person he could find himself hating was himself.

He retreated from the door, clutching the stuffed animal in his hands. He felt a fleeting reminder of the times he would hide from the monsters with Thalia.

Luke's mind swirled with discordant emotions, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty. He knew he didn't deserve your answer, didn't deserve the solace of your words. He had made it clear too many times to count that he never wanted a soulmate, never wanted you.

But despite his protests, despite the walls he had built around his heart, Luke couldn't deny the tug that pulled him to you, the hunger in his soul that refused to be ignored. It was a longing he couldn't shake, a yearning that whispered of a connection he dared not embrace. Knowing that keeping you away was the only way to protect you from the darkness that lurked within him was what kept him sane.

"Luke?"

The sound of his name tore Luke out of his thoughts like a violent gust of wind. He spun around, finding you standing on the porch to the kitchens, Penelope at your side. She held your hand, a small beacon of warmth and light in the dimness of the night.

It seemed too perfect, too surreal, and Luke couldn't help but feel a pang of disbelief. Were you trying to kill him? It had been too long since the last time he spoke to you, let alone stood so close to you, and here you were, the epitome of what a demigod should be, even if you were still in the dreaded bright orange camp shirt.

"Hey," he managed to say.

You continued to descend the stairs, each step cautious and deliberate. "What- uh, what are you doing up?"

"I was actually looking for Penelope." Luke motioned to the girl hiding behind your legs. When he caught her eye, Penelope grinned and let go of your hand, darting over to Luke and jumping into his arms. He lifted her easily, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed her the stuffed toy she had left behind.

"Oh." You hummed, "I didn't know you're a Hermes kid?"

"I'm unclaimed," Penelope chimed.

"For now," Luke's voice was gentle as he held Penelope in his arms. "And what were you doing up?"

"I was looking for a bandaid. I got lost." Penelope's words were punctuated by a soft yawn, and she nestled her head against Luke's shoulder, her exhaustion evident in every movement.

You hesitated, your gaze shifting to meet Luke's. "I found her by the canoes... near the dock."

The silence that settled between you felt heavy, suffocating almost as if it threatened to engulf you both. Luke found himself wandering back to the memories of you waiting for him at the dock during the summer nights and the regret that weighed heavily on his heart for never approaching you. He remembered the countless times he stood among the trees, watching you from afar, paralyzed by his own insecurities and fears.

Were you waiting for him there tonight?

No, you couldn't have.

Guilt gnawed at him, threatening to consume him whole. "Listen, I-"

"I'm gonna go." You cut him off abruptly, your voice carrying a hint of tension. "Counsellor duties and all. I've got cabin checks in the morning so... you know, I gotta print papers... and stuff..."

Luke frowned at your lame excuse. "It's midnight."

"It's never too early to start now." You huffed defensively. "Bye, Penelope."

"Bye," Penelope mumbled sleepily, her hand lazily waving in your direction as you walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night and the trail leading to the Aphrodite cabin.

As they made their way back to the Hermes cabin, Luke held onto Penelope tightly, feeling the weight of her small body in his arms. The night air was cool against his skin, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of shame for the unease he noticed in you earlier. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between you, but the words remained trapped in his throat.

Once they returned to the warmth of their cabin, Luke moved with a careful grace, mindful not to disturb the sleeping campers around them. He gently placed Penelope back on her bed and tucked her in. But as he began to step away, her small hand shot out, wrapping around two of his fingers. Luke froze, eyes wide with surprise.

"Luke?" Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the cabin like a knife.

"Yeah?" Luke's voice was equally quiet.

"I think your soulmate is really cool."

Penelope's words hung in the air, a simple statement that carried more weight than he could have ever anticipated.

Seven hours later, the memory of your face lingered in Luke's mind like an unshakeable ghost. Tossing back and forth in his bed, he tried to rid himself of the image, but it clung to him like a shadow. Each time he closed his eyes, your face flashed before him, haunting his thoughts. Even when he turned away, the spectre of Kronos lurked in the depths of his subconscious, a reminder of the choice that still loomed over him.

As morning broke over Camp Half-Blood, Luke found himself seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of his fellow campers. Annabeth's presence brought a brief distraction.

She slid into the seat in front of him during breakfast and gave him a strange look, slightly out of breath from the morning rush, a half-eaten apple in hand.

"Hey," she greeted him, her voice carrying a note of concern. Pausing to tie back her braids, she studied him intently. "Who you looking for?"

Luke's response came too quickly, "No one," he replied, his voice strained. Thankfully, Chris had left earlier because he was in charge of the climbing wall in the morning, he wasn't there to tell Annabeth that Luke had been looking for you. His eyes scanned the sea of faces in the dining hall, a futile attempt to catch sight of you amidst the crowd. He felt pathetic. "What's up with you?"

Annabeth raised her brows. "Archery? Together? Remember? Or did you forget?"

"No. I didn't forget."

She only stared at him, skeptical.

"What?" he asked, "why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Oh, I get it," Annabeth's smirk hinted at a newfound understanding, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a laugh, the sound echoing through the dining hall, as she shook her head and rested her chin on her hand. "How long are you planning to keep this up for?"

Luke frowned, confused.

"This entire act you have with... you know," She didn't need to say your name for him to catch on. "It's getting out of hand, no?"

"I..." Caught off guard by her directness, Luke hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Choosing to play dumb, he feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Annabeth's knowing look pierced through his facade. She was always too perceptive for her own good. Fixing him with a narrowed gaze, she gave him a playful kick under the table, the impact enough to draw a startled reaction from Luke. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she took another bite of her apple before teasing him further. "Well, Grover said you're killing yourself."

"What?" He blinked at her, taken aback, "I'm not killing myself. Grover's just being dramatic."

"I don't think so." She said, slowly, carefully forming her words. "I mean, if I had a soulmate..."

Luke's defences bristled at the mention of soulmates, a topic he preferred to avoid. "Is this all you wanted to talk about?"

"I'm allowed to worry, "Annabeth reminded him, her words tinged with a gentle insistence. "Family, remember?"

The word 'family' carried weight, a reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged over the years. It was a phrase Annabeth often employed to coax Luke out of his shell, to encourage him to confide in her. When they were younger, 'family' meant everything to Luke, thanks in no small part to Annabeth's influence.

"You don't need to worry," Luke assured her, though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. "I know what I'm doing." But did he? Luke longed for the simplicity of a time before he met you when the idea of having a soulmate seemed like a distant fantasy. Now, every decision he made, every scar he bore, carried weight, knowing it could impact you in ways he couldn't comprehend.

"The least you can do is get to know her before she leaves."

Her words struck a chord within him, prompting Luke to cast a discreet glance around the dining hall, searching for you amidst the bustling crowd again.

"She's leaving?"

"Not forever, "Annabeth clarified with a chuckle, "Just on a quest. Search and rescue. Nothing fancy."

"...How do you know this?" he said after a moment.

"Chiron told me," Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "He also told me to tell you that the ceremony is tonight. I hope that doesn't kill you."

It did kill him a bit. At least, it felt like it did. Luke Castellan moved through camp with a sense of urgency, his strides purposeful yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding weapons, throbbed with a dull ache with the burn from the bow and arrow.

Shoulders tense, skin prickling under the relentless glare of the sun, he scanned the bustling campgrounds.

The weight of his bow rested heavily on his shoulder, the familiar weight offering a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. With practiced precision, he counted the arrows in his quiver, his movements fluid and sure.

Then, he heard it—the sound that drew him like a siren's call. Your voice, lilting and laughter-filled, cut through the clamour of the camp, pulling him toward you like a magnet. There you stood, leaning against the doorway of the Hephaestus cabin, a clipboard clutched to your chest as you exchanged banter with Atticus, the skilled swordsmith whose craftsmanship had forged Luke's sword.

There was something different about you today, something delicate, more approachable than he had ever seen before. Last night, with Penelope, you had worn a similar expression—gentle, caring—but it was a side of you that Luke had never been privileged to witness. With him, you had always been guarded, reserved, as though afraid that he would cut or maim you.

As you scribbled something onto your clipboard, Luke found himself intrigued by the way your smile softened. It was a stark contrast to the confident facade you often wore, and for a moment, Luke felt a pang of guilt for pushing you away so soon.

Unbeknownst to you, you were drawing closer to Luke with each step, your path inexorably leading you toward him. Part of him craved to reach out, while another part hesitated, unsure of how to talk to you after all this time.

"Hey," Luke finally managed to utter as you drew near, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You paused, a hint of surprise flickering across your features as you registered his presence. "Hi?" Your response was tentative, laced with a hint of confusion. After a moment's hesitation, you glanced down at your clipboard, "I'm not changing my rank on your cabin. I know three is low, but I was being generous."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Luke's lips. He was all too familiar with the chaotic nature of Cabin Eleven, where overcrowding was the norm and taking turns on the sleeping bags was treated as a game. "No, no. I just..." He trailed off, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought through the purpose of seeking you out. "I think we need to talk."

The confusion in your expression mirrored his own, and for a moment, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging between you. "Talk?" you echoed.

Luke nodded, his gaze meeting yours earnestly. "Yes."

"You want to talk...? To me?"

"I hope it's not that bizzare."

He tried to smile for you, but it felt wrong. Luke couldn't shake the weight of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew all too well that he hadn't been the embodiment of an ideal soulmate. In his mind, there lingered a pervasive belief that you harboured nothing but hatred towards him, something that you made obvious with every interaction between you two.

He wondered if this was the way you felt during the days he avoided you.

Luke had noticed the shift. There was a calculated recklessness to your actions, a deliberate disregard for your own well-being that bordered on self-destructive. You stubbed your toe on roots and table legs, tugged too hard at your hair, and scraped your knees. You started to pull your punches while sparring with Clarisse, just enough to ensure that he felt the sting of every blow. You never blocked a hit in the face, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that your pain mirrored his own. Together, you would limp into the infirmary, bloodied and bruised where you'd be grinning far too wide, barely offering an ounce of guilt when Luke held ice to his face.

You lowered the clipboard from your chest, letting it rest against your side as you faced Luke. The warm rays of the sun filtered through the dense foliage above, casting dappled shadows that danced across your features and forced you to squint against the brightness. The noise of children's laughter and the sound of feet pounding against the earth filled the air.

Your voice cut through the noise, "You've made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with me, Luke," you began, your words carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. "You can't blame me for being surprised."

As you began to walk toward the next cabin, Luke fell into step beside you, "Can you just give me a chance—"

"I think you're too late for that."

"I know, I just—" Luke's words faltered, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a desperate attempt to articulate his feelings.

"I have nothing to say to you," you declared abruptly, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him. Luke skidded to a stop just in time, his gaze meeting yours as you regarded him with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "Seriously. I understand, okay? Did I come on too strong? Maybe. Yeah, I'll admit that" you acknowledged, your expression softening slightly. "Maybe coming to you hours after your shit quest was stupid, but I gave you space when you asked—"

"I just wanted to wish you luck on your quest," Luke interrupted, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of remorse.

With a quiet "Oh," you stepped back, your eyes momentarily averting his gaze. Were you embarrassed? Were you disappointed? Did you want to fight?

"Sorry," you mumbled, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Thanks. I'm, uh, I'm seeing the Oracle after this. So... not technically a quest yet."

"It's your first one, right?" Luke's voice softened, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"If you're worried about getting another scar, don't worry, I doubt it's anything dangerous," you reassured him, though your words held a hint of hesitation. There was a fleeting moment where your gaze lingered on him as if expecting a sudden change in his demeanour, but Luke remained still, his expression unreadable. "I just need to find Eros and go from there."

"Eros?" Luke's pace slowed, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he raised his brows in interest. Yet beneath the surface, a seed of annoyance sprouted, tendrils of jealousy winding their way through his thoughts. Your quest sounded far more intriguing than his own, and a bitter brew of envy churned in the depths of his stomach. Despite his inner turmoil, he attempted to play it off with a forced chuckle. "Has Cupid gone missing?"

"Apparently," you muttered bitterly under your breath, the resentment palpable in your tone. Luke sensed the edge to your words, though he pretended not to notice.

You sighed, "Is this conversation going anywhere? I really need to finish these cabin checks. I'm busy enough as it is."

Your words held an unspoken plea for him to leave, and though Luke understood, a pang of disappointment nagged at him. He couldn't entirely blame you; after all, he'd been an ass for months.

Both of you hesitated just outside the door to cabin eight, and Luke could feel your eyes on him. When you began to step away, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. You froze, eyes wide with surprise.

“I also wanted to thank you,” He said, words rushing off his tongue.

“For what?” you asked.

“For last night.” He wasn't sure why he brought it up, why he felt like he needed you to know. "With Penelope."

"It was nothing," you said, voice barely audible. "We gotta look out for each other, right?"

Then, you left, you hurried up the short staircase to the cabin door, barely sparing him a glance before knocking. From his place, Luke could hear someone welcoming you into Artemis's cabin. He watched you until the door was shut behind you, vanishing you from his sight.

As the ceremony approached, the hues of twilight painted Camp Half-Blood in a golden glow, a serene yet foreboding atmosphere enveloping the surroundings. Luke's unease mounted with the setting sun, casting stretched-out shadows that seemed to carry something unnoticed. He couldn't shake the image of the figure from his nightmares, its monstrous visage haunting his thoughts with each passing moment. Yet, amidst the creeping darkness, there was an allure to the unknown, a temptation that beckoned him; its words, its promise of seeing the truth.

His gaze remained fixed on the white marble archway, half-expecting the nightmare to materialize at any moment, its twisted form emerging from the shadows with outstretched fingers. However, it was you who appeared, ascending the steps with graceful determination. Your presence seemed to dispel the shadows, bathing the surroundings in a radiant glow that eclipsed the fears that had once gripped Luke's heart. You were a blinding vice.

"Didn't think I'd see you here."

A sudden jab to his side sent him recoiling, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. Luke winced, his gaze flickering to you as you flinched, subtly reaching for your own side. Quickly diverting his attention, he focused on the girl who had spoken.

Clarisse arched a brow at Luke, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Jumpy."

"Give him a break," Chris interjected, joining Luke's side and draping an arm over his shoulder. "Luke had a rough night, he lost a kid."

"Is that so?" Clarisse's grin widened. "And Chiron doesn't know? I'm assuming he doesn't otherwise, he wouldn't have picked you for this."

Luke scoffed and crossed his arms, "I'm the best swordsman at camp."

Clarisse's sarcasm was palpable. "Oh, I don't doubt it. The most humble, too," she retorted, unfazed by his glare. "But let's face it, a search and rescue isn't exaclty your thing anymore. You're more of an action kind of guy. You live off the glory of victory. Chiron knows that."

She was right, Chiron did know that. Which was why he rarely requested Luke to stand in unless there was a catch. Then, the flames in the torches flickered to life, and silence enveloped the candidates. Each demigod chosen by Chiron swiftly took their place, standing tall and resolute by a marble pillar, eager to showcase themselves as the prime choice for the quest. Anything for Kleos. Anything for glory.

Chiron nodded, his gesture sharp and decisive, as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before addressing the assembly.

"The Oracle has confirmed that this quest is a search and rescue," he stated, casting a brief, confident glance in your direction. "One where you will use all your best efforts to bring Eros back to the safety of Mount Olympus and restore the lost balance. I'm sure you know where to find him." His gaze then shifted to the rest of the candidates. "Here, I have selected some of our most compelling candidates from which you will choose one to join you on your quest, ensuring your success. Annabeth Chase, Atticus Brang, Chris Rodrigues, Clarisse La-"

As Chiron listed the candidates, you carefully evaluated your options, your eyes calculating. In the dim torchlight, Luke could just discern the thin line etched across your face, stretching from the end of your brow to your-

"I choose Luke."

The ensuing silence felt like something they could all drown in, leaving everyone stunned. Even Annabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she spotted Luke's bewilderment. Surely, he must have misheard. There couldn't possibly be any way you had chosen him, could there?

Chiron turned to you, his tone measured. "Are you sure?"

You never shifted your gaze from Luke, who refused to meet your eyes as he stared fixedly at the pillar across from him. Yet, the clenching of his jaw, whether from anger or annoyance or something else, was enough to elicit a satisfied smile from you.

"I'm sure," you affirmed.

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callsign-songbird · 3 months

Text

This was supposed to be a short rambling and ended up turning into a mini fic lol. I know the tense shifts, I know it's sloppy lol

Anyway, Simon has a sweetheart who gets kidnapped and gets to meet "Ghost" for the first time.

The first time you meet Ghost, it's supposed to be carefully planned and controlled. After all, Simon was so worried about opening that part of himself up to you. To you, he was Simon. Soft, introverted, sweet, desperately trying to break a cycle of generational trauma. You had never met Ghost.

But, of course, nothing in Simon's life can go according to plan, and when you have people that mean something to you, they become weaknesses. So, when you get kidnapped by a Russian military company with the intel that you were important to Task Force-141? Ghost has already burnt down the world once, you're sure as hell that he would do it again for his love. So, when you meet Ghost, it isn't carefully rehersed and planned like Simon wanted. No.

Instead, you're terrified, bound, and gagged on a cold concrete floor wearing little more than your skivvies as tears stream down your face. Then, out of the blue, gunfire and shouting rings through the halls. Stealth be damned, as soon as their cover is blown, you know that Ghost will fight like a rabbit animal. He barges into your cell, tackling a man against the wall with a knife to his throat and a gun at his head.

Those eyes that had looked at you so softly and tenderly were completely unrecognizable when they were this wide and intense, wild with bloodlust. "Where is the girl?" He spits out in fluent Russian before his eyes catch sight of you.

'BANG'

A single bullet through the soldiers' skull, splattering Ghost with even more viscera and gray matter. Ghost doesn't even seem phased as he holsters his pistol and pulls away, letting the body drop with a sickening thud. He walks brazenly up to you, but pauses as he notices the way you frantically back yourself into the corner, trying desperately to stay away from this monster who had surely come to drag you from one hell to the next.

Then, he crouches down and outstretches a gentle hand to you, letting you come to him. He called your name so sweetly, and that was a voice you recognized. You tried to muffle out his name through the rag shoved into your mouth and tied around your head. That earned a low chuckle, a dangerous one that you hadn't heard before. "Not quite, love. Ghost. Now, let's get you home, eh?"

Ghost. The name echoed in your mind, bouncing around as you tried to remember where you had heard it before. Your eyes flicked over to the corpse splayed in the doorway of your cell, making you nearly vomit in your mouth before looking away. Ghost shifted closer, using the knife still in his hand to cut through the rough ropes binding you. "Bloody hell... idiots didn't even use chains, could have escaped right easy, you could of." Ghost muttered, mostly to himself. The words were terrifying to hear.

He reached to untie your gag next, a chuckle rumbling lowly in his chest as you flinch away. He gives you half a second to compose yourself before he unceremoniously rips the gag off of you and tosses it to the side. Red marks are etched into your cheeks where the gag had dug in, and the sight makes Ghost seeth. "Oh, love..." His words are soft, but his tone is enraged, as if those marks alone could start his new crusade.

"LT!" Blue eyes and a neatly groomed Warhawk pop into the door, stepping casually over the corpse as the new face made his way over to you. "This her, LT?" A thick Scottish accent was present, along with a bit of thinly veiled appreciation. "Off limits Johnny, this is her. This is my girl."

Whenever Simon called you his, it was soft and reverent, as if astonished that he could call someone so precious his. But when Ghost said it? It was commanding, possessive, and left no room for argument. You were his. And that thought was almost scary.

Ghost wasted no more time, scooping you up into his arms and making their way quickly through the facility you had only caught glances of while Ghost and Johnny talked in some military jargon you didn't understand.

That's when you noticed it.

Even though Ghost was holding you so tight and close, even though his touches seemed so rough and careless, even though he was splattered with all sorts of blood and viscera, you had none of it on you. Ghost had been so careful with his touches, with how he held you, determined not to stain and taint your delicate skin with the fuel to his fire, the essence of his soul. And that was quite possibly when you realized that 'Simon' and 'Ghost' were merely two sides of the same coin. And they were both yours as much as you were theirs. his.

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bigfatbimbo · 4 months

Note

Vox x Reader SMUT where reader has some animalistic features and tendencies which meaaaaannnsss… it just happens to be a time where she’s in heat and riding Vox while he’s begging to have a break bc it’s been going on for several days at that point and poor baby just needs to recharge 🥺

Sorry if it’s too much 😭 head canons, oneshot, both idk but thank you for the Hazbin Hotel content regardless!

a/n — Wow this really reminds me of my old (cringey) hazbin hotel character who was like part lion? i haven’t seen her in years but i did lowkey ship her with vox so this was kinda funny of a request receive!

Also i’m not quite sure how to write a character ‘in heat’ and I did this in a rush. However, I do wanna post it tonight so… edits will be made tomorrow

Help, i’m rambling here’s the fic, even though it’s short.

“P—zzz—lease wait!” Vox pleaded from beneath you. “Fuck—bzz— please stop just wait—“

You didn’t even acknowledge his pleas as you milked his cock for all it was worth. You didn’t process what he was even asking, just that he had something you wanted.

“Oh—nngh— oh god,” Vox moaned and buffered. You had been riding him like this for what felt like days, not even letting up once after he came.

It was insanely hot but incredibly tiring. Vox felt like if you kept going like this for much longer, he would blue screen.

Unfortunately for him, you didn’t look like you were slowing anytime soon.

“Mm, so much—bzzz— it’s too much,” Vox whined loudly. He felt like he was loosing the ability to breathe, even though he wasn’t.

The only responses you had been letting out were animalistic growls and yet, he still looked a thousand times more wrecked than you.

He could barely think, his brain fuzzy with your relentless attention. Every now and then a spurt of electricity would shoot from his dick and he’d be sure the shock would slow you down.

Alas, it only made you ride him harder. He sobbed pathetically on the bed, exhausted and ready for a break, but both you and his dick disagreed.

“Please— tsk tsk— please stop,” He pleaded, earning a half audible growl from the back of your throat.

“Slo—ooo—ow down—“ He cried, buffering and moaning. He felt his dick twitch at your indifference.

He sniffled loudly, as if he even had been crying for a long time, and then, with nothing left to do, whimpered pathetically.

Finally, your growls and snarls built up into a final, almost dry orgasm on his cock.

With that, you went still, breathing heavily, pupils shrinking back to their normal size. You looked as if you were snapping out of a trance.

When you slid off his dick he whined at the emptiness. You leaned over and kissed his screen lovingly.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

a/n — i’m not very proud of this tbh, it’s not proofread but I hope you guys like it!

#hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel x reader #dom reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel smut

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hyeque · 2 years

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not doing kinktober but started writing a kurotsukki bday fic for myself lol

#my bday is in less than a month and a half !#i need to write a tsukki bday fic 😵‍💫‼️#it’ll be short #risu's rambles

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sunshine-on-marz · 2 months

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Hi lovely could I please request for Spencer Reid where the reader is in the bau and is the only one who asks questions when Spencer starts rambling because she’s genuinely interested and one day Reid asks if she wants to go see a movie after she asked him about it and Derek is all teasing like you got a date pretty boy ? Thank you so much ❤️

Hi my love! Now I just adore this idea and I hope I do it justice! (Also, my sweets, I tried out something new with the writing style at the start, I'd love some feedback on that and the fic as a whole) warning: reader is called princess but gender isn't mentioned.

"I wanna hear"

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer Reid, ever the genius, is entirely clueless to social cues.

Oh good lord that boy just doesn't pick up on it!... is what you would say if you didn't adore his rambling tangents. Jesus, all of it is perfect. All of him is perfect. But, not everyone sees the beauty in art. apparently.

"Reid, thanks for that, anyways." Derek starts to cut Spencer's rambling off, you watch Spencer's face fall, and it's entirely heartbreaking. You gently grab his hand "Keep talking Spence" you smile and he looks confused. "really?" he asks, you nod. "yes, I wanna hear." you assure him as you clasp his hand between both of yours, his eyes light up. He rambles on about the connection between 8 different serial killers with a specific disease and how despite them never meeting their killings looked almost like copycats. In all honesty half the words are out of your vocabulary and the rest of them are spoken to fast for you to pick up on details, but you listen to every single sound that makes it past his lips, even if you don't process it all.

"so they never met? did the know about the other killers?" you ask, resting your chin on your hand and he shakes his head "no, they didn't know about each other until they were arrested" he answers. "Hm, that's really interesting spencer, like, that's super cool- well not cool but you know what I mean", he chuckles "Yea, I know what you mean."

You were smiling bright enough to light up a room as you ask your next question. "Do you want to hang out sometime? Like after work... just us?". He nods "I'd love that."

There's a small gasp through the bullpen after his response. You and Spencer look over and see the team eavesdropping.

"Pretty boy and the Princess are goin' out!" Derek cheers, the girls laugh and you and Spencer blush.

Its going to take a while for the teasing to stop, surely, but it's all worth it for Spencer.. at this point, you might call anything worth it if it's for Spencer.

It's short and sweet but I just adore this <3

@the-phantom-author - Who promised to hype me up

@thesockbehindthewashingmachine - Who will hype me up without a promise

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you

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