#i need to consume as many translations as possible.
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this is going to have me on my hands and knees dry heaving
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Hi Hal!
Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊
I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.
If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.
As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!
Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!
Lengths Of Love
PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.
WORDCOUNT: 10.7k
WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.
A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement.
“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this.
Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime.
“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.
Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air.
“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava.
“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.
Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after.
You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.
But such was life.
All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.
“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!”
The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately.
“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”
You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.”
You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.
You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”
Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger.
Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.
“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint.
Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.
“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets.
“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.
Later.
“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!”
You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.
As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling.
“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!”
There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.
Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”
Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds.
“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”
A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”
You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.
“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice.
“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”
Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room
“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?”
“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.
There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things.
“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.”
As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.
“Be safe.”
That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again.
Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had.
The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision.
“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider.
“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line?
“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.”
There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious.
“You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”
You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.
“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.”
There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”
If we get back.
You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”
“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”
Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead.
Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.
When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough.
“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing.
The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.
“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!”
You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.
“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out.
“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.
Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly.
“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”
Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.
“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.
Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”
You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes.
The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment.
“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”
“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline.
Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand.
—
You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.
“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”
Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.
“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth.
Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.
“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them.
Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.
“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones.
Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”
He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.
“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”
It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment.
Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas.
The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”
“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.
“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”
“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt.
“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh.
You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad.
You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow.
“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond.
You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed.
For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.
“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”
“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!”
Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door.
The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.
But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.
Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger.
“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge.
Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide.
When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle.
There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms.
But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.
You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused.
Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.
Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.
Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.
“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs.
Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.
You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile.
Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.
“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”
You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience.
You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.
Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes.
You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.
The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.
You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette.
At the end of the train, only the engine remains.
“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”
You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man.
“Merrick, do you copy?”
“Copy, Hesh.”
“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.
Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.
Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”
You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”
He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.
“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering.
Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.
You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?
You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet.
Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.
Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.
So now he pays attention.
“Shit, Harp!” So little time.
Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher.
The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame.
The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion.
There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts.
Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor.
The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.
“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.
“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air.
Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake.
“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.
Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you.
“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.”
“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”
“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”
His mind was dead to all else.
You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.
“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”
“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”
“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”
“Checkmate!”
“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch.
There’s no time to think.
“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”
Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.
“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot.
He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple.
As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.
“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”
“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.
—
The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you.
“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.”
Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up.
A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.
“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”
You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.
“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”
“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!”
Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.”
Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse.
“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”
“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you.
Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.
You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.
And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?
“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”
“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.
“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.”
Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves.
Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck.
“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”
Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.
“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch.
“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.”
Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.
“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat.
Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard.
“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up.
Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains.
“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion.
“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.
“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now.
“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.
“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”
Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.
When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming.
“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”
Your face voids of blood.
Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh.
He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.
“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”
Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast.
“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”
“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony.
“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”
“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly.
Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.
“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath.
“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat.
Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice.
Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function.
Move!
Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack.
“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist.
“Harp!”
“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty.
The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh.
He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction.
“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.”
“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied.
You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you.
But he can’t move.
“Harp!”
And you can’t feel your fingers.
“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry.
And Rorke chuckles.
—
You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross.
What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils.
You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy.
In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze.
You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this.
Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly.
You can’t break—not like Rorke.
No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.
Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull.
...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.
You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.
But it’s easier said than done.
In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless.
The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out.
“Where do we inject….”
“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”
“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”
Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do.
A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you.
When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later.
Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before.
“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.”
You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open.
Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood.
Your wounds blazed.
You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.
—
Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.
They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth.
But Hesh. Hesh.
He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.
“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.
You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.
Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.
“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.
Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”
“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”
“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”
“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh.
What was he doing to you?
“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.
“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”
—
It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.
You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse.
Breathing is becoming a chore.
“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes.
“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches.
You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.
Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt.
This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.
There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.
“Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”
Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground.
There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage.
“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!”
Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.
Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion.
Keegan?
“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.”
The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree.
“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger.
In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid.
The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed.
The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.
“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.”
There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”
“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad.
“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.
“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.”
“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!”
Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again.
“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head.
Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious.
“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.”
Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him.
“Christ,” he hisses.
You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick.
Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane.
He looks like a spirit of utter revenge.
Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold.
Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding.
“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan.
The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.
Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead.
“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body.
Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still.
Hesh’s mouth opens and closes.
All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you.
“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”
You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion.
The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.
Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”
“Hesh!”
You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob.
“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.
Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on.
“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”
“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.”
“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”
“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”
It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how.
Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.
—
Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind.
But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.
You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence.
Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard.
He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had.
Two months.
Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet.
When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President.
He’d denied all of them.
If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety.
More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.
In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open.
He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention.
Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none.
His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.
He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you.
You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.
They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.
Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.
Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.
“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.
Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing.
“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?”
Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.
“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight.
Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.
“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully.
It’s a moment before he answers you.
“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.”
Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room.
Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.
But you were still scared.
“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say.
Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy.
What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?
Oh, but he never could when it came to you.
“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”
But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.
“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again.
“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent.
“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks.
In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there.
You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.
Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them.
You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it.
But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr.
Hesh. You want your Hesh back.
Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging.
Home.
You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.
But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.
“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.”
You push yourself into him tighter.
Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture.
And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love.
The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.
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@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast
#cod#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#x female reader#call of duty x you#call of duty x reader#hesh walker x female reader#hesh walker x reader#david hesh walker#hesh walker#cod ghosts#cod ghosts x reader#call of duty ghosts#cod x female reader#x fem!reader#call of duty: ghosts
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Another translated portion for you guys. This is a continuation of the last post.
Quackity: And from the beginning I knew in my involvement that in order to achieve a total change I had to start with the people who affected me and affected the project and who were the cause of many errors that have been happening all this year.
As soon as this part could be defined what was done was to start looking for a financial strategy for the project because the costs of the project are very high and the project was going to close, as I had already mentioned. And as soon as I could define through different QSMP strategies and events if there was a way to support the project, the next step was to reestablish different elements of QSMP that no longer existed. And I want to make something very clear given the financial circumstances of the server, I did not want to make anybody promises that I didn't even know was going to be fulfilled. For this reason, I kept figuring out this part- the financial part. And I could not give more internal updates because I was working on a very important part of the server. The financing. So I understand and I comprehend that the lack of communication has been notorious and I reiterate I tell you it is not on purpose. There are many issues behind the camera that I have wanted to solve but I have had to be very, very careful.
I understand if there are people who do not agree with the methods or the process and if you do not trust the project and do not trust this process that is being carried out, do not worry, there is no problem if you stop consuming the project, I totally understand. I said that I had a personal conviction with the project and it will remain that way. I have been working very hard and I will do everything possible for the project to continue but with the best possible conditions and something I need to make very clear is that this process takes time.
This is something that I have to make very clear that this process takes time. Guys, there are people who have left the project and who will continue to leave the project of their own free will and I totally understand that. And I have no problem with anyone who makes or will make that decision. And I wish them absolutely all the best. In fact, I had made an internal communication where I warned that a restructuring would take time to take place. And there are people who for reasons do not want to be part of that process and I totally understand that because it is not easy to be in transition stages so I understand that. One thing I communicated at the beginning was that my main goal was to get this project back to normal but in the best possible conditions. This can be achieved by following the dynamics and examining exactly the right scenario for each person contributing to the project and this is not achieved in three weeks.
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One of the main reasons I love things like Reverse Robins AUs, is how they can help you figure out what's important to a character, and then look at those things through a fun house mirror to learn them better.
This is why my new favourite Reverse Robins concept is Tim, the second Robin, dying protecting a 4 year old Dick Grayson and his parents from the Court of Owls.
Part of why he dies is that Damian has made showing weakness so painful that he doesn't call for help. Dick leaves Gotham with his parents and gets another 5 years of happiness before they're killed by Tony Zucco. Tim becomes a Talon. He becomes active in Gotham when Jason is 16, and nobody knows who he is until Dick has become the newest Robin and the Court sentences Batman and Robin to death, a year and a half later.
Things that I find really satisfying about this idea:
It keeps the canon Dick+Tim 'Relationship Transformed by Kindness and Death' dynamic, but flips it. Instead of Dick being trapped in the place of his tragedy, surrounded by reminders, and Tim growing up silently watching him; we have Dick being whisked away from his tragedy, growing up surrounded by reminders of what's been saved.
It allows us to play with Jason's 'I Can't let Go of My Death and So I've Lost Myself and Everything I Loved' issues. Tim can't let go of his death, and it's his only link to himself and everything he's lost. He remembers saying 'The Flying Grayson's will fly again!' Keeping Dick alive is more important than avoiding being thrown back in the Labyrinth. Protecting Dick from the Court is his path back to his family.
It keeps the obsession and connection between Tim and Dick, instead of trying to convince the reader that Tim idealized Damian. I've struggled to translate Tim's motivation for becoming Robin in a reversed setting, and I can't make it work. This gives that motivation to Dick, instead, and allows us to explore how DICK would have been transformed by that one meeting. He didn't need love and affection in the same way Tim did. But I can see him holding on to the hope and heroism he saw, and instead of getting consumed by his rage when his parent's die, he's motivated to live up to Robin's legacy.
It gives a reason for my favourite reversed dynamic: instead of Bruce being broken by Jason's death, Bruce is convinced to step up by Tim's. In this universe, Bruce didn't choose either of his first 2 kids, and found it easier and safer to deny Tim even WAS his kid. (During Tim's tenure, Batman and Robin start patrol from the central Wayne Ent. Batcave, leaving the Manor to Damian, because it's easier than keeping Damian's vicious resentment and jealousy in line. Tim learns to mostly avoid the Waynes as civilians. Bruce deals with anything he sees, but doesn't confront the roots of the issues, and Tim loves being Robin but never feels particularly safe in the role.) Bruce 'got a kid killed' by holding him at arms length, and so, when Jason comes into his life and Bruce's attempts to find him a better place are stopped by corruption at every turn, Bruce chooses to truly become a parent.
One of the few things Tim remembers is his certainty that Robins aren't safe around Damian. This lets me keep Dick's canon struggles with Tim and Damian's conflicting needs. Both want to protect him, but Tim wants to protect him FROM Damian, and clingy baby Dick idolizes Tim, but NEEDS to hang off various parts of Damian for as much of the day as possible. Damian is drowning in guilt and wants to make Tim as comfortable as possible, but has committed to raising Dick. He can't let Tim stay between the 2 of them at all times.
It doesn't give as many hooks for Tim and Jason's relationship as I like. And I remain conflicted about whether Cass and Steph should come before Tim (to properly reverse canon) or after Tim (to make them contemporary with Jason, because he deserves to have contemporaries in AUs. Canon denied him). Duke is swapped with Babs, and I have fun thoughts about him, but that's a different post.
I don't think I can write this, but I want to see it!
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A Rose Under The Moon
Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader
TW/CW: Violence, graphic violence, blood, fighting, human trafficking, mentions of abuse, drug use, child abuse, sex trafficking, angst. So much angst.
MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME
A/N: Whew! I'm proud of this one! Many thanks to my bestest friend, Artemis, who himself has DID and helps me understand this condition and describe them (hopefully) more accurately! His system is a big help in me learning more about this subject! (Extra note: any Spanish spoken in this fic is in italics. As I am not a fluent speaker by any means, it is mostly translated by Google. Have fun!)
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Chapter 2:
Inside Voices
(Steven, no…) Marc's voice groaned out, glaring at him through the shared reflection in the glass door.
"But Marc! I've lived here for ages and didn't know this shop was here!" Steven beamed, smiling widely. Thankfully the wireless headphones he had on made him look like he was on the phone, and not completely off his rocker…
Marc ran his hands through his curly black hair. (You have enough books!)
"But this store might have books I don't have!" He pointed out.
(Just let him look, hermano.) Jake sighed, his reflection staring up at Steven from a puddle on the ground.
"Yes, thank you, Jake. At least somebody encourages my hobby!" Steven huffed indignantly at Marc.
(Jake, stop babying him!)
(Hey, nothing wrong with having a hobby?) The man snorted.
Marc rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders, he directed a tired glare back at Steven.
(You gonna go in or just stare at the front door?) He finally asked.
Steven grinned like an excited boy going into a candy shop.
Marc really needed to have a talk with Jake about this. Steven already had too many books in their flat!
Steven pulled the headphones out of his ears and shoved them in his pocket as he opened the door, nearly jumping when the bell dinged.
He looked around, rather impressed with how much was inside a small space. Steven almost jumped again when the clerk spoke.
"Hi! Welcome to Here Today Books!" She said cheerfully.
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(I'm just saying, Steven… that's too many fucking books.) Marc said, crossing his arms at Steven through the reflection in the window across from his desk, cluttered with papers, folders, and books on various subjects of the Egyptian religious pantheon, architecture, etcetera.
"Oh, hush." Steven hummed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he examined the pages on one of the old books he held in his hand.
(Steven…) Marc sighed, exasperatedly.
"I know, I know." He sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The stubble there was getting rather coarse. Maybe he could talk Jake out of growing that mustache or goatee he was thinking about…
Steven looked over and picked up the bookmark, sighing deeply as he looked at the gold-tipped rose sealed so lovingly in the plastic. Small vine-luke designs had been penned into the colorful sheet of paper inside the plastic as well.
(Very Beauty and The Beast, no?) Jake mused, his reflection from the mirror on the desk looking at Steven with a cocky grin.
It helped them, they found, to have as many reflective surfaces as possible in their flat; it enabled them to talk to each other simultaneously and "see" one another. Sure they could all talk in the headspace, and when they co-fronted it was almost like they could feel each other; rubbing shoulders, as it were, but sometimes you just needed to see the other person, y'know? Outside of your own head? Shared head? The terms still confused poor Steven, at times.
"I s'pose." He hummed, holding the plastic in his fingers gently, as if it were made of the thinnest glass. Absentmindedly, he pulled the sleeve of his shirt up and looked at the inside of his left wrist.
A mark was there.
A rose, to be precise.
Sometimes it would look like it was wilting, other times it was blooming and vibrant… other times it was closed, not ready to bloom.
Right now, it was somewhere between wilting and blooming. He wasn't sure what it meant. He thought back to Marc's ex-wife, Layla. And how he practically fell head over heels with her when they first met.
He had hoped, with Layla, that she had a corresponding mark… but she didn't. Layla was one of the few who didn't have a mark, or in the very least it hadn't shown up yet. Which isn't entirely implausible… But… something happened. After escaping the Duat, coming back to life, fighting Ammit… finding out about Jake.
They just drifted apart. The sparks that may have been there snuffed out, any hints at romance gone from the equation. They all decided it was better to leave it at that.
Well, at least they were all still on friendly terms, Steven mused. Layla still spoke to he and Marc via phone, or even email. It took Steven forever to convince Marc to ditch that "old dinosaur piece of plastic" he called a phone, and stick with his touch-screen.
Except… Jake. Ah, Jake. Layla never fully trusted him.
(Steven.) Jake said, getting his attention, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Hm?" He hummed, turning the bookmark over and over in his hand thoughtfully, eyes fluttering back to their mark on their wrist.
(It's my turn tonight.) Jake reminded him softly.
"Oh… right." He cringed. "Bollocks, I hate this…"
(I know, hermanito. But it has to be done, or the bad guys roam free…)
"All right, just… don't let me see any of it, yeah?" Steven sighed, placing the bookmark on the table as he put his hands in his lap.
(Of course.) Jake replied.
Marc stayed silent.
Suddenly, eyes flew closed, the jaw clenched; a bit of a sharp pain fluttered briefly through the brain at the sudden switching. They were getting better at seamless transitions, but sometimes some form of discomfort lingered. The body sat, almost like an empty vessel waiting to be filled. Whether it was five minutes or five seconds, it was unsure.
When the eyes opened again…
Jake was sitting where Steven sat. Steven's reflection wasn't in the mirror as Jake's had been, previously. He was left alone with Marc staring at him from the inky-black reflection in the window.
(I really hate that we have to do that to him.) Marc sighed, shaking his head.
"He's too gentle for our work, Marc." Jake said, clicking his tongue as he stood, walking over to the wardrobe in the corner and reaching out to grab his old leather coat. "He's too… good."
(I know.) Marc's reflection was in the fishtank now, where Gus the Second was swimming alongside… they really should think of a name for the other two.
Jake tugged the old worn garment on and pulled the gloves out of his jacket pockets with a sharp yank, flexing his fingers as they filled out the soft, well broken-in leather. Lastly, he pulled out that golf cap and slid it on his head, and looked at Marc.
(You don't have to see this, either, Marc.) He said to him.
(Somebody's gotta bear the weight with you, brother.) Marc said intently.
"Gracias por eso, hermano." Jake mumbled, twirling the flat's keys in his fingers as he walked to the front door.
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He sat, kneeling on the rooftop, his body hunched in a way that made him look like a gargoyle, unflinching and unmoving in his gaze; the cape gifted to him flared out almost like a long, tattered set of broken wings.
He wasn’t sure why he decided here of all places was a good place to talk. Why here? What drew him here? Was it the lingering joy and comfort Steven felt when he came in earlier that day?
The sign was hand-painted and in need of a new coat. Flecks of it had chipped away, the exposed wood beneath bleached by years of exposure. But… why was the bookshop important enough to stand outside now?
He looked down below, the curtains were pulled back still in the flat above, old lightbulbs casting a soft, orangish glow to everything inside. He could barely see from this vantage point across the street the boxes of books and book stacks lying on a desk in front of the window. Small knick knacks lined the sills, a hanging plant pot on the outside containing flowers of different kinds, slightly wilted from the lack of sun from the past few days, and now the night.
He stirred when he watched the young woman inside walk to the window in the living room and close the curtains; then tracked her movements as she went about her nightly rituals.
She seemed relaxed. Comfortable. Safe.
She didn't need protection tonight.
He felt the air chill around him, seeping through the wrappings of his armor.
“Jake Lockley.”
There it was. The voice he was waiting for. The voice that always knocked him away from his personal thoughts. The voice that told him of his duties during the night.
Khonshu.
“Yes, father?” Jake asked, standing up, turning to see the large imposing silhouette of a gaunt man, enshrouded in ancient, wispy linen wraps, a tattered shawl hanging from his bony shoulders, clenched in his fist; in place of a head was the dessicated and fleshless bone of a bird skull, small web-like tendrils wafting about here or there. Large, eyeless sockets fixed him in a crushing gaze, the skull tilting in an almost inquisitive manner.
(I wish you’d stop calling him that…) Marc grumbled from within.
“Have you located the evil-doers I sent you after?” Khonshu’s ancient and ethereal voice grated out.
“Yes. I plan on taking them out tonight.” Jake replied dutifully.
Khonshu tilted his head at Jake, and stood from where he sat on the aircon unit. “Now… Why are you here? This is not where you usually prefer to speak with me.”
“I… don’t know.” Jake admitted softly. “Felt like I had to be here.”
“Hmm.” The god hummed, stopping to stand next to Jake, looking down at the flat below. “Indeed.”
“Was there… anything else, father?” Jake asked, looking up at him.
“No. You can leave. I will issue new orders when our quarry is dead and dealt with.”
“Of course.” Jake bowed his head, pressing his fist over the moon on his chest; sparing one last glance down at the woman before walking away, leaping to another rooftop with superhuman strength.
Khonshu stayed. Observing, just for a moment longer, at the woman inside the safety of her home.
“Interesting.” He mused to himself, stamping his staff down and vanishing in a haze of mist.
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Jake panted, pulling one of his darts out of the chest of the man who had tried to previously shoot him just now. He sheathed the weapon and approached the shipping container, hesitating for a moment before smashing the lock open with his bare fist and hauling the heavy doors open.
Inside were half a dozen women and young girls, and children. Some of them naked, others half-dressed. Many of them were dirty and half starved, injuries evident on their poor bodies.
He noticed how they all flinched, backing away from him.
“I won’t hurt you.” He said, in a tone as soft as he could possibly manage, trying to ease their worries. “I’m here to save you.”
Jake leaned down and pulled the jacket off the dead body of the man he had just killed, stepping over the corpse to the young woman nearest to him.
She was clad only in her underwear, bruises and track marks lining her body. He draped the jacket over her shoulders, zipping it closed for her as he guided her arms through the sleeves.
“The police are on their way. You’ll all be safe, soon.” He said, his glowing white eyes fixed in the black abyss of his mask immediately zeroed in on three women, clinging their arms around a group of small children.
The youngest couldn’t have been older than three years old. Her eyes cold, far too ancient and haunted for one so young, clouded by the things she’d been forced to endure for the profit of her traffickers; her tiny body already bearing the scars of the abuse and trauma. Jake’s fist balled at his sides as he forced his breathing to try and calm; adrenaline surging through him again, a hot coal of rage dropping deep into the pit of his stomach.
He wished he could kill them all over again. He wished he could make them all suffer in ways they could barely process for the things they’d done. He wanted to–
His cloak was tugged on, snapping him out of his seething.
He looked down, and a small boy, all skin and bones looked up at him. He looked to be about seven. Could be older, as malnourishment can inhibit growth. His big green eyes looked up at Jake as he wrapped the edge of his cloak around his shoulders like a blanket, his dirty and grimy fingers clinging to the blood-soaked material, seeking comfort he so desperately needed. Jake felt his heart crack in two. He looked almost like...
He closed his eyes for a moment and kneeled, getting as eye level with the boy as he could.
“You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Jake said, his voice quiet, almost broken. He reached for a ratty blanket on the ground and covered the little boy with it, the sight of him covered in a bloody cape almost too much for him to bear.
He felt his breathing hitch when the little boy smiled up at him, gap-toothed and happy. He handed the boy off to a woman who looked to only be maybe nineteen.
“Stay…” He cleared his throat, looking at everyone within the container, standing back to his full imposing height.
“Stay here while I make sure it’s safe and I got them all. Someone will be here soon to get you all out of here.”
“Thank you.” One of the women sobbed quietly, clutching onto what looked to be her own child. They looked too similar for them to be anything but related.
Jake turned, his cape flowing out behind him like a white shadow as he stalked into the warehouse beyond, his fists already tight; the spiked knuckles on the back of his hands ready for blows he was all too eager to deliver.
He stepped over bodies, beaten, broken. Lifeless.
All at his hand. They deserved worse.
The eerie quiet of the cavernous space was only interrupted by the tinkling of chains suspended from the rafters, wind whistling through unseen cracks.
He could hear the sirens in the distance closing in, but he didn’t relax. He wouldn’t. Not until he was sure.
Not until he knew they were all dead.
Jake’s hands trembled with anticipation as that coal of rage ignited into an inferno, burning hot and low in his belly, sending sparks through his bloodstream. He was so far into that haze of red, he missed the man rushing him with a kabar knife.
He must have missed that one, the coward was probably hiding the moment the carnage broke out.
The moment he turned, he felt the blade slip easily through the wrappings of his dark armor, piercing the flesh and organs beneath, the pain tearing through his body like a macabre tsunami.
He brought his fist out, slamming the spiked knuckles into the face of the man.
The coppery scent of blood, the crunch of bones and cartilage filled his nose and were deafeningly loud in his ears. He was sure he watched his eyeball dislodge, hanging over the crushed and bloody expanse of his cheek as his body was sent flying into the cargo loader nearby.
The sound of his bones turning almost to powder overpowered the haunting ambience of the dark lair.
Jake marched over to him and gripped him by the shirt, rearing his fist back for another punch, even as his body hung limp in his grasp.
Only… he couldn’t land the blow. He just couldn’t. It was one thing to kill to protect. But it was another to beat a corpse that he’d already wrought with one blow. His ears picked up the sounds of shouting, sirens, bootfall. A helicopter whirred above, spotlight shining at the carnage below.
He stood, clutching at the knife still sticking out of his side as he dragged his feet, pulling the shell of his body outside, where he was met with armored police officers, wearing what he assumed was some kind of riot gear. The pain in his side was maddening, he almost didn’t hear them demand he kneel. But he did hear a woman cry.
He lifted his gaze to see the woman he’d handed the boy off to; the child still clutched in her arms as they looked over at him, their eyes locking with his.
“He saved us!” She cried.
“Don’t hurt him, please!” Another shouted.
“He’s a nice man!” A child sobbed, clinging to the emergency blanket around her frail body.
Jake felt like he could cry, he felt his heart swell to bursting; not able to tear his gaze away from the innocents he’d saved, that he killed for. Not even when one of the officers approached him, gripping his elbow to keep him steady.
The older man sighed, unable to cuff the man that the human trafficking victims were shouting and crying accolades for. Even if he apparently killed all these monsters bare-handed. “Come on, lad. Let’s get you looked at. We can’t leave that knife in ya.”
“I’m fine.” Jake mumbled, looking at the ground. His shoulders slumped.
“Like hell you are.” The officer turned and shouted for a medic.
“Perdóname, mi corazón." Jake muttered to himself. To someone else.
But as the man carrying the equipment bag jogged towards him, Jake gripped the handle of the knife and wrenched it free in one tug, blood spurting from the wound.
“Good God!” The officer gasped, reaching out to press his hand over the gushing wound. “Are you insane, boy?”
“Yes.” Jake mumbled, pulling his hand away from him, with gentle care that betrayed the violence his bloody fingers had wrought mere moments ago. He felt the wound close, the magic and blessed armor already performing its duty. Just as he had, so violently.
Jake straightened his posture as the medic and the officers backed away in a strange mixture of fascination, horror, and awe.
“Who… what are you?” The medic breathed.
Jake turned away, his gaze to the sky.
“I’m Moon Knight.”
And with that final goodbye, he leapt up, disappearing into the blackness and depths of the night, his heart heavy but relieved, cloak streaking across the shadows, as if to chase them away.
Chapter 3: Link
#moon knight#marc spector x reader#jake lockley x reader#steven grant x reader#marvel#my writing#khonshu#A Rose Under The Moon
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Oh, Odogwu!...⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ft. 42Miles
...₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles!
TWs: Cussin', Outta pocket Miles, Spanish that you CAN'T 'translate'
A/N: Nigerian Reader, but the plot isnt centered around her being Nigerian
You twirled around the hallway, your royal blue ankara print flowing at your sides and arms with every move you made. It was culture day at Brooklyn Visions Academy, and today's one and only goal was to show up and show out for your heritage. There was a Nigerian pin attached to the left side of your dress and another little flag painted on the side of your cheek you had done at the face painting table. There was music blaring from specific areas, beautiful shades of rainbow decorating almost everyone, and an atmosphere of joy and pride consuming the school as everyone scrambled to find their bird of a feather. You had roughly thirty minutes before you all got ready to head to the gym for the assembly and some games, but right now your main focus was finding your man.
There was a loud uproar of male voices coming from the lunchroom, waltzing in to see the entire cafeteria covered in flags of many different countries. It was beautiful, with everyone joining in joyous conversation and proudly exchanging facts about their culture. Amidst the cheerful commotion, you managed to pick out Miles at a large round table, actively engaging in what looked like a heated discussion, making wild gestures with their hands as they spoke like that would solidify their point. You quickly jogged over, mini heels clicking with each step forward. As you got closer, you realized that they most likely weren't arguing due to the occasional laughter and smug grins they sported.
"Si maldito mamabicho y los cerdos hablan-! Oh shit, hey Mama" Miles immediately dropped his sentence, softening his tone as he saw you walk around the table in pursuit of him. He spun around on his chair, hugging you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck and took advantage of this being the only time you'll ever be taller than him. "Ooh, look at my wife. Looking all good in her culture" He muttered, making no effort to hide the fact that he was checking you out. You grinned from ear to ear, doing a little spin and showcasing your beaded earrings as you took in his little outfit. He was wearing a predominately white outfit, with a neat button-up and a red piece of fabric tied around his neck and waist.
"Thank you, thank you!" You giggled as Miles pulled you on his lap, resting his chin on your head. "You look good. Reaaal good. Who you wearin'?" You asked as you leaned back onto Miles's chest. "My Ma. Jibaro pride, baby!" He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Yo, Miles. DON'T THINK WE FORGOT CUZ YOUR GIRL PULLED UP!" Some kid yelled at the opposite end of the table, sporting a similar outfit to Miles accompanied by a Puerto Rican and Dominican pin. "Ay, shut that bullshit up I wanna talk to my wife" he giggled, flipping off the poor boy at the end of the table.
"How you feelin', mama? You comfy?" He asked, used to seeing you in baggier or longer clothing. "I got a sweatshirt in my bag if you need it" He reassured. "Yeah, I'm fine! Thank you Obi'm" You smiled, gently holding Miles's hand and brushing over his semi-bruised knuckles as carefully as possible. You let the group entertain each other, feeling Miles stare cupid arrows into the back of your head. "I love this dress on you so much. Like you're really just so pretty" He suddenly stated, hugging you as tightly as humanly possible.
You gasped quietly as Miles lifted you up, silently taking you with him as he walked upstairs to the library. "Ok nigga you didn't have to kidnap me" you joked, clinging onto Miles's shirt while he practically sped through the hall. "I did though. I wanna spend time with my girlfriend, so that's what I'm gonna do" he shrugged, grinning down at you as he kicked open the doors to the library. You sighed, sitting down at one of the library booths and adjusting your pin. "So how's your day been so far Mrs. Morales?" Miles teased, placing a little kiss on the back of your hand and sitting down next to you.
"Ugh, I'm havin' so much fun. I didn't even know we had other African girls here!" You exclaimed as you leaned your head on Miles's shoulder. Miles smiled at your response. He was happy because YOU were happy, he loved seeing that precious smile on your face and would do anything in the world to see it as often as possible. "Yeah, there's an assembly after. They 'sposed to pick niggas out from each area or something and then they're gonna start a competition. You should go up" he shrugged. "HEYYY! You lost it, oh. You think I want to go up in front of the ENTIRE SCHOOL?" You sucked your teeth, judging his audacity with a livid side-eye.
"Tch, you buggin'. You not trynna rep your country in front of the whole school? Insane." He whispered as he slipped his hand in yours, quietly egging you on. "Actually, lemme borrow this real quick" He 'asked' as he took your little green and white pin, stationing it right next to his mini Puerto Rican flag. "I gotchu, don't worry"
"You don't have to, it's fine love!"
"Nah, cuz if my wife has such beautiful culture why would I not wanna show it off?"
Taglist
@ashsostrange @chessbox @faeriesoiree333 @janaeby @kxllanxtdoor @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv
#atsv#across the spiderverse#into the spiderverse#miles morales#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles#e42 miles x black!reader#e42 miles
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Lobo/muerte/death handlers HC-GN victim reader- muerte speech
!CW: suggestive and possible NSFW and google translate!
Whistling will be one of the most common sounds you’ll hear in a daily basis
You have to either be the most interesting being in existence or a Cupid must’ve used their most powerful arrow and ran out along the way
Perhaps one of, if not, the most dangerous in the Shrek universe
Would commonly call the victim conejito (bunny in Spanish) in a mocking tone
Running only motivates him to chase
An example you tried escaping him
“He will cling on to you like a demon in love with a religious woman”
Possibly going to any religious professional or spiritual professional such as a shaman or a fortune teller would all have their thoughts and astral minds clouded on your situation
It is merely impossible to escape the images of muerte wether it’s paintings, cards, cups or even posters the victim will see him everywhere
No tailsman or any religious or protective relics can save you from the personification of fear and death
The victim should get use to being in a continuous state of fear
The first time the victim hears those answers they’re at the state of confusion or laughter either way it doesn’t end right
Victim’s first time hearing the whistle placed them in the state of panic attacks or even anxiety attacks for their words are true
“Do not indulge with him for his appearance is most appealing”
“Mi amor engulf yourself in my aura for there would be eternal safety” he would announce with open arms that he has completely not recited for hours before introducing himself
“Do not feed to the delusion of his for it will consume you”
“I am indeed your one true love”
Mirrors are the reader’s worst enemy because muerte can watch them via the mirrors (like how some Jinns and demons can watch through the mirrors)
Tú pensamiento pobre conejito
Think someone can help nope! Not even witchcraft or a guillotine would get that wolf’s tongue out of your ass for as long as you cease to exist
Would destroy any form of communication with others because he believes “he knows better, he’s been on this planet since the beginning of time and knows every scenario by the”
He would hold the victim in his arms as a “protection” mechanism to make the victim feel safe in his delusions
“Mi amor, mi conejito I know what’s best for you, you don’t even have to repay me like those friends of yours just stay in my arms is all I’m asking for”
Any time you deny his assistance he would always find a way to get you to lean to him
Would purposely cause casualties to make sure you’re entirely dependent on them
“Mi conejito… I always knew they didn’t care for you only I care for you in the highest of levels because I am the only true love for you”
His sickles tallies the amount of family he has killed and is craving for many more to envelope their victim into isolation
I HC that he can interact with animals like how in some demonology books some demons can interact with someone via animals or revive and give messages
He says as the animal souls gave him the signal that your friend’s and family soul has reached the river to the ferrymen
Animal souls become a common visitor wether it is a message with gifts or regular message
You haven’t touched your drink you okay mate
The victim is either avoiding some pubs or finding hidden ones
The victim attempted to stand up and walk away but was soon stopped by a pair of arms gripping the side of their waist
Muerte’s breathe brushes against the victim’s ears
“mi conejita donde pensaste que podías correr” (my bunny did you think you could run)
Muerte would coo nothing less than sweet things whilst their hand explore the victim’s body
The victim’s breathe hitch as they try to stabilise themselves causing the bartender to question them in concern
“No one can see us so why don’t we continue this somewhere”
I don’t want to do this to you but you need to learn
If the victim managed to run that’s a miracle but disguised as a curse (Some NSFW)
Scenario A
The victim’s back has been slammed to the wall of an alleyway late at night during a festival
The victim’s hands above their head and Muerte’ touches teasing the victim under their cloak
The area getting steamy with huffing and yelps
Scenario B
The victim cannot find a proper disguise thus steals the poncho/cloak to hide in the crowd
The victim finally arrived to the back of a building to rest their breathing with their palms on the walls to avoid showing their face
“mi conejo, no puedes esconderte de mí, estoy tan en tu mente como en el área en la que resides” My rabbit, you can't hide from me, I'm as much in your mind as I am in the area in which you reside.
Was the last thing the victim heard before a leg was lifted and muffled moans escaped
“You look adorable in my poncho/cloak we should continue doing this for our ‘little sessions’ hm?”
Conclusion
“All I want from you is to act obedient and submissive under my rule is that too much to ask” he complains
He would throw the victim onto his back and walk back to an area where you cannot run nor hide
#death puss in boots#muerte x reader#pussylicker#puss in boots#puss in boots wolf#death x reader#puss boots the last wish#yandere#muerte yandere
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Child without love
Summary: Namor finds a marine biologist with the powers to control water and deep knowledge of the sea and is intrigued.
Word count: 1.3
Tags: Smut in later chapters (no minors allowed), "water-bender" reader x Namor after the events from Wakanda forever, possessive Namor, mutant reader, talk of climate change, asphyxiation, the deep sea being a bit scary, war, violence, harsh language, Wakanda forever spoilers, the usage of y/n, sexual tension
Ps. I hope everybody's doing ok. I'm sorry for being late but I had two assignments due as well as a date. As usual, I accept any constructive criticisms in the comments
Masterlist
Chapter 3
Zyanya woke me up gently and pulled me toward a small pool of water. She started taking off my dress and I aided her. Last night left me drained and I think she noticed that. Every time she touched me or said something she did it as slowly as possible. It was as though if she spoke too loudly or felt me too roughly I’d break. I still don’t know how to answer him. I am well aware of the environmental and ethical issues my world has but these are ideals forced on us by colonial and capitalistic structures. We're forced to live this way by those who seek to uphold these values and those in power. I slipped into the pool while Zyanya lingered further away, keeping a watchful eye.
I, like many others, have thought of the positive effects of human disappearance. So much pain we've caused not only to the planet but also to ourselves. But it wasn't always this way, there have been thousands of civilizations that have lived in tune with nature and been part of its ecosystem. Surely there must be a way to go back but how? How do you convince a system based on greed and an exploitative hierarchy to allow resources to cultivate organically and only take what is needed? I sighed. I am not angry at his proposal. It makes sense but I'm worried about what that makes me if I were to agree? Many innocents will die and who am I to pass that judgment?
A splash emerged from another pool much further away and shortly after footsteps appeared and began to get closer and closer. I suddenly became acutely aware of my lack of clothes and slouched in the water as an attempt to cover myself up. Two figures emerged both were blue women like Zyanya but one had more adornments and a shawl whilst the other had a dress similar to Zyanyas. The more adorned woman spoke quick and sternly but not in a demeaning way. I'm sure what they were saying to one another but afterward, she turned to me and spoke to the other who then said.
"Ku'kulkan will meet you tonight. He urges you to have an answer by then. We have several guards in the area. Any attempt to escape with be dealt with harshly."
Then she left. The woman who spoke explained further.
"That was our general Namora and I am your translator, Izel. I may help ask Zyanya questions and give answers. I will not always be around but when I am, do ask what you need"
"Thank you" I answered.
The rest of the bath was filled with silence. After getting dressed I had breakfast whilst Izel and Zyanya were talking amongst themselves. Curious about their anatomy and how they came to be underwater, I asked Izel about it. She explained that due to a specific herb that was consumed by their ancestors as an attempt to run from colonizers, they develop breathing in water but it also meant that their skin would turn blue in the air and that they could no longer live on the surface without breathing equipment.
"Why does Ku'kulkan not have the same issues as you?" I asked and to that giggled slightly.
"Because he is not mortal in the way you and I are. He was blessed by the gods to have both sky, land, and water. He has seen us through all these years and will continue to do so till the sunsets of the last day."
I had a hard time wrapping my head around that. He must be a mutant like I thought but one whose mutation was wrought on by this herb. Prolonged life must be one of his mutations. I understand how they can view him as a god. He is captivating. The way he looked at me yesterday almost made me agree to any of his demands.
After wandering the cave. I noticed that Namora was indeed telling the truth. There were many guards all around. Escaping was not a viable option. Even if I did escape I don't know how far underwater I am. I sighed and went back to I went back to the pool and took a deep breath. Allowing the breath to mimic the movement of the water. Then I allowed my hands to do the same. When felt in total control I began pushing and pulling to my own rhythm trying to get the water to move as I see fit. Slowly it began to take shape like a small snake moving in a circle above the surface of the water. The bigger it got the harder it was to control but I needed more. I needed to feel more of it so I pushed my boundaries further and further until-
"You have already begun training."
And just like that my concentration broke and the water lost its shape and splash back into the pool. When I turned I saw both Zyanya and Izel buying slightly to him. He stood looking straight at me and I felt it again, that pull. He was drenched likely from swimming and the blue iridescence from the glow worms made him look divine. He said something to the girls and then proceeded to take my hand and began walking. I didn't struggle, I simply followed his lead and was overly focused by the feeling of his hand on mine. It is significantly bigger and callous and if you had asked me I wouldn't admit it but a part of me wanted it elsewhere. We walked into the cabin and he closed the curtains. I sat down on the chair in front of him. He began to wipe himself with a blanket not breaking eye contact with me.
"You´re answer?"
I gulped and felt my dress cling to my skin a little too tightly. "I- I am willing to help." And with that, his muscles soften. Just a little, which made me even more anxious for what I am about to say " But only if we allow people to surrender." He instantly tenses up again. I continued.
"There are people like yours who did not get away. People who are still struggling because of all that has happened. How is it fair to rob them of a chance to live like your people do? "
"I cannot guarantee that they will not try to exploit or harm what my people have worked so hard to build." He said bluntly.
"But can you truly call it a just cause if you're going to commit genocide on innocent people?"
"So you would have me do nothing?!" I felt his anger rise causing alarms to ring in my head,
"N-no. Not nothing. Just keep yourself open to aiding the innocent."
He stood quietly for a moment, thinking.
"Alright. I will consider sparing people. Only if you follow my every command without question."
I nodded. I knew this was the closest I could get to an ethical solution but it still felt wrong. He moved to my side and put his hand on mine.
"Thank you"
As the word fell out his lips I allowed my thought to wander too close to fantasy. He looked into my eyes as if searching for something. His hand moved to my face, slowly pulling me closer. I closed my eyes, leaning in. After a few moments, I felt his hand move away and I opened my eyes once again. He had turned away from me and before I could say anything he interrupted with.
"You can leave now. I expect you to train diligently"
Confused I left. It felt cold without his touch. I wonder what did I do to push him away? Or why did I allow him to draw me in so easily?
#mcu namor#namor x reader#ku'kulkhan mcu x reader#namor x you#tenoch huerta namor#namor x y/n#namor fic#namor fanfiction
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Perhaps the domino gowns of s5...they....they need a bit of love 😭
Couldn’t not upload my favorite pairs too while they’re in such nice attire, as a treat
Anyway, bestie these were WILD to look at
Redesigning these meant trying my best to keep certain shapes, and then saying fuck it for most of them and just lore dumping through dresswear instead
Musa, Flora, and Tecna are in nice formal wear with some traditional elements and general stuff representative of their respective homes as guardian fairies and members of the winx and Stella, Aisha, and Bloom are wearing formal wear that’s drenched in years of political context and a lot of it with handed down elements select to the leaders of the body of government
Stella’s is a hodgepodge of her own selection and custom tailoring and Aisha’s is a more modern take on traditional elements that she prefers her royal stylist to stick to as a way to stay on trend and match with what she likes
Lore stuff and some explanations for changed that I feel like justifying below the cut if you’re interested!:)
For Musa I went more Ming dynasty and tried a longer skirt but it just didn’t really look right to me, so pants it is. The only thing I ended up keeping from her og dress was a line down the middle on the upper part of the outfit.
Aisha has the green gem featured in her crown (the one for the heir of Androsia) and her parent’s headwear as I’ve featured in other pieces and has been shown in between the two diamond jewels in the same formal wear pieces and as is shown on her bracelets. I realized I never specified what those are symbolic of ahaaa
The two diamonds are for the land and the sea, each equal in size and color for the symbolism of equal emphasis and importance in the standing of the government, with the green circle being where they touch. The Diamond shape is to represent each form reaching for each other and outwards, encompassing all around it, and the dot where they drop into each other, making the surface of the sea. Aisha as heir is currently meant to represent this unity as she is the result of Land and Sea symbolically through her parents with the way Androsian government works, and she is meant to currently do what she can to represent all her subjects’ interests before she takes her final place as the representative for the Land Androsi (if she does take that position at all actually because there’s some political turmoil in my thing with how government works rn that I talk about some in this post but shhhh we’ll figure that out later)
Tecna’s is a purple girlie.
There are lots of natural ways to dye things purple on Zenith (they do a lot of it synthetically or magically now) so lots of traditional stuff is purple and lucky for Tecna, they, like anyone who loves purple, isn’t normal about the color and enjoys a lot of traditional Zenithian garb as a result since a lot of it has that.
Flora was much easier to do and less time consuming because she’s already a floral person and I could translate the shape easily into something close to traditional Lymphean garb from her area. The only shame here is I originally thought it would be nice to keep it more teal and green heavy since she so rarely gets the chance to wear those colors in canon when compared to her more pink heavy color palette, but I ended up caving to purplish petals instead.
Bloom is doing The Most here, and I wanted to intentionally make her kind of awkward in terms of hair size compared to her body and fit in particular. Bloom doesn’t do much with her hair usually outside of a half up half down, but she has her mom’s fiery red locks and she is doing her first Official Royal Outing and not only is she going to dress to the 9s in a way that is over the top by most modern government standings, wearing as many official emblematic bits, shapes, and references to the royal body as possible, she wants to channel some of what Marion has as an expert diplomat and make her proud and she thinks looking like her might help. I feel like Marion has the genuine confidence, zeal, and presence through decades of experience and proper study and general demeanor to pull off the big hair though whereas Bloom is basically doing the equivalent of trying on her parents big shoes when she’s a toddler. It looks more like dress up on her than it does an actual fitting look for her first attempt at politicking (and Diaspro does point this out to Bloom, and while it is meant to be snide, it’s also meant to be her way of trying to tell her she’s trying too hard and she shouldn’t. Her and Bloom have a decent acquaintanceship of sorts at this point. They’re never going to be best buds but they don’t hate each other or hold any ill will. Their personalities clash though and they know their limits with each other at this current point in their relationship. No Diaspro Sky Bloom bullshit here thanks) and she’s anxious and insecure and desperately wants to make her Dominion parents proud, especially because of her insecurities for the obvious (didn’t grow up royal, new to magic, still scene as the legacy child for Domino even though it’s been newly resurrected, also meaning this is it’s first big foray back into the Magical Realm’s political sphere and it HAS to show they’re still a capable powerhouse, which is also part of why the meeting is being held on Domino too, as a courtesy favor from the other governments involved in The Infinite Ocean stuff to help get its foot back in the door), but most importantly, because she’s not Daphne, and that’s a sore subject at this current time.
For Stella, I managed to keep some shapes from the og dress, but it’s very slight. Stella at this point is big on embracing her moon heritage as well and advocating more for causes beyond just Solarian government stuff, as in the government body that lumps Lunarian stuff in with it, and is working hard on raising Lunarian interests as separate things, reenforcing the idea that their culture and people are separate but equal despite the attempted assimilation under the planet of Solaria itself, an assimilation that still hasn’t been fully stopped or systematically eradicated. She has charisma and charm to spare and is taking the actual nitty gritty “not so fun” parts of politics (ie actual info on sociocultural and socioeconomic trends, trade info, statistics and projected trends, etc. basically all the stuff that isn’t “show up to parties and mingle”) much more seriously now and is wanting to make proper and viable change in multiple areas of her future government, and she’s working on properly finding her footing in the world of direct action and political savvy maneuvering through proper head on negotiations.
#winx club#winx#asks#winx club redesign#winx redesign#outfit redesign#winx bloom#winx club bloom#bloom winx#winx stella#stella winx#winx club stella#musa winx club#winx musa#musa winx#winx club musa#tecna winx club#winx tecna#winx club tecna#tecna winx#winx aisha#aisha winx#winx club aisha#winx layla#layla winx#winx club layla#winx flora#flora winx#winx club flora#lore
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The Color of the Sunspot's Milk
We don't drink milk on the Sunspot.
It's not really a thing for us.
We did not evolve from mammals, so we do not produce milk ourselves, typically. Actually, our life can't really be divided up into the same categories as Terran life, anyway, and the Evolutionary Engines that are used to create people now produce such a diversity of biological development that we can't use sweeping statements like that meaningfully. But, we strongly suspect based on evidence at hand that the Ktletaccete did not originally have anything like mammary glands.
And, on the Sunspot specifically, we do not consume anything produced by animals. It just never even occurred to the Founding Crew to set up the ship and our culture that way. The ecological balance of the Garden requires that we let the fauna live as naturally as possible without interference from people. So, we do not milk animals.
But it turns out that we drink something that is kinda of vaguely like milk. It often serves a similar culinary utility, particularly in baking.
We know this because we have been talking to our Earth custodians of the Terran Tunnel Apparatus, and they have tried a product they call Ryze that is an approximation of what we use on the Sunspot, and we've been trading notes.
So, in the search for accommodation, the ancestors of the Sunspot Ktletaccete developed a mixture of pureed fungus and algae that could provide a very young child or a disabled or elderly person with nutrients that might not otherwise be readily available to them. And we have been calling this something that our translators have decided to call "formula". We understand that this echoes the term many of you use for a fortified milk that you feed your infants, and that's acceptable.
But our formula comes in many varieties, customized for each person's needs and even each use they might have for it.
Fungal and algae farming has always been abundant and easy for us, so it is the least expensive food to create. It may not have been central to the diet of ancient Ktletaccete, but it has become pivotal to survival in space aboard our Exodus Ships. And now we use it in nearly everything.
We also eat a variety of nuts, fruits, grains, tubers, leaves, stalks, and other vegetable matter (or their Sunspot equivalents to what these words mean to you). And some of those things provide proteins and lipids that compliment what is provided by our various formulas, so depending on how we combine it we can create foods that sometimes resemble your breads, quiches, meat loafs, stews, etc.
But, also, Artisan crafted beverages is a huge thing here, which I understand some of your cultures might relate to. And our formula is central to that.
So, what are the main differences between our formula and milk? And what are the differences between our formula and something like Ryze?
Well, obvious, our formula is made entirely differently from milk, and does not share it's color. It's not white or even white-ish, typically.
Though some varieties of it can come close to white so that Artisans can add vibrant colors to it more easily without it turning brown, but the processing tends to remove a lot of nutrients from it, so it's not terribly popular outside of that visual utility.
It's also usually somewhat low on lipids, though those are definitely added for many baking purposes.
It's more of a suspension than an emulsion most of the time, as a result. But again, that varies on it's purpose.
And because of that, and the fact that it's made from fungus and algae, makes it very similar to things like Ryze, which is apparently currently available for something you call "a lot of money" by purchasing it over your Network (or Internet, as you say).
There are other drinks like Ryze, but it so happens that the girlfriend of our counterparts purchased Ryse specifically, so that is the one that they are trying. In particular, they are trying Ryze Matcha, as opposed to Ryse Coffee, since we don't have anything remotely like a coffee bean on the Sunspot, but we do have a green stimulant kind of vaguely like Matcha that can be added to our formula.
We can't really truly compare the sensations of drinking our various forumlas to drinking Ryze, because there is an enormous physical gulf between the Earth and the Sunspot, and we cannot transport either liquid nor taste buds and nervous systems across that distance. And translating words, even with in the same language, between two individuals' personal experiences is inherently inaccurate to begin with.
But we can make some conjectures.
As far as flavor is concerned, we can infer some things. Humans are omnivors with a variety of sensitivities to flavors, and apparently our counterparts are something called a supertaster. They are more highly sensitive to flavor than their typical peers.
They report that Ryze Matcha tastes "green". Not just that it is green in color and therefore the flavor it has can be described as green, but that it reminds them of other green things that they have eaten. There is a bit of a spinach flavor, they report, but its very faint. There is also a faint green tea flavor. We don't know what either of these things really mean, but we know that spinach is a leafy vegetable and that green tea is also made from leaves. But then, they also say that these flavors are not like either of these things, either. They're similar but different.
More specifically, they report that Ryze Matcha does not taste like most mushrooms they've eaten. In fact, it bears a closer resemblance to the flavors they get when they drink from an old jug of water that maybe has some green stuff growing on the inside of it.
"Why would you do that?" I asked them.
And they replied with, "Carelessness."
Anyway, this seems relatively in keeping with our experiences with formula. Usually, it tastes kind of like some other vegetable matter, but different. But, whether those ways are similar to how humans experience Ryse and vegetables on Earth, we really don't know.
What we do know for sure is color. That's something that can be measured quite precisely via the wavelengths of light.
Of course, we may perceive that color differently than you, but thanks to technological measuring devices and mathematics, we can use the same names for the same wavelengths of light. So, when I say that something is green on the Sunspot, you will be able to trust that if you somehow visited your neurology will interpret that thing as what you know of as green, adjusting for the difference in our ambient lighting, of course.
And, yes, some formulas we use are nearly as green as Ryze Matcha, and they are gorgeous.
But most formula ends up in a wide spectrum of color between what you call khaki and a deep vibrant purple, thanks to the dominant colors of most fungi and algae found on the Sunspot.
Our sun produces more ultraviolet light than yours does and there is less shielding between it and the surface of the Garden, so most of our plant life has developed its own shielding, which comes in varieties of purple. Mostly, it's the algae that carries the purple coloring. Most of our fungus isn't green, either, but even when it is, the purples of the algae shift the colors to brown when mixed with it.
But green mosses, ferns, and algae are found in the darkest, deepest parts of our forests, where the sun never reaches the ground directly, and we find that color to be captivating, so our ancestors bred a small variety of green food algae strains specifically for culinary variety.
And the flavor of that stuff is definitely what we could call green.
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hi so i was reading one of ur posts (tysm btw i love anyone that dissects raphael) u said this:
"If you look at Raphael's ambitions and how much it has consumed and plagued him for centuries, he has technically failed over and over and over (his inception by itself is seen as a failure by his own kin)"
can you elaborate on that? where can we see these ambitions? and what do you mean by his inception being a failure? this is so very fascinating to me and i'd like to learn more!
Hey there! Glad you enjoyed the post!
Okay, so I realised that post would be more clearer if you had exhausted almost every possible line of dialogue or notes from Raphael and know about some of existing D&D lore. So, my bad on that part.
We know about Raphael's ambitions and primary goals through his dialogue in Sharess' Caress and the epilogue. This would be The Crown. We know he has been coveting this for a very long time. As to how we know why this is so important for Raphael because he tells you The Crown has immense power. If you know about how the hells and the devils work with their system and hierarchy, having power = more standing = more freedom (as in freedom to do whatever you please). Raphael tells us that he has been at this for 1000 years. I see those failures being the Crown being stolen away by his father first and then by a soul who was supposed to be under Raphael's charge (this is Gortash). Beyond that, basically him obsessing over the Crown and not being able to find a way to gain it ONLY UNTIL Tav and co comes along (along with The Dead Three bringing the Crown back in play) can also be seen as a failure of sorts, because he STILL had to wait for fate to play its part, so this was still beyond his agency. His diary entries also give a really good insight into how much this goal has plagued him for a long time.
As for his inception, cambions are seen as a result from an unholy communion. That's not really the problem per say, but rather who is involved that makes the cambions. In Raphael's case, he is more powerful and noteworthy from most typical cambions because his devil half is from an archdevil, Mephistopheles. His other half though is a mortal human, which is not looked upon fondly. Raphael's unique position however (being practically a prince and heir to the most powerful devil besides Asmodeus) is trumped over by his situation and circumstance of being Mephistopheles' son. Mephisto, in the case of Raphael, does not treat his kin highly. In fact it seems he acts as if he does not exist. On top of all this, devils in the hells climb up the hierarchical ladder to become more powerful. Raphael if he were just a plain devil would have a better time doing so. So not only is he stopgapped by his own father despite being of the blood of an archdevil, he is also held back by his other half of being a mortal. It's a very unique predicament and it's completely out of Raphael's hands... UNLESS he can find the means to get out of it himself. Thus, power = more freedom. He plans to become Archdevil Supreme so that he doesn't have to answer to ANYONE. Besides that, he wants to instill more order and control in the Hells by uniting it under one banner and end the Blood War. There are MANY things to go over why this is insane, but that's another topic for another day.
Hopefully, this clears things up a bit! It always is much clearer in my head to explain until I lay it out in text and realise, "oh god i need to provide so much context", so sometimes details get lost in translation. 😅
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How I learned to read in my target languages (Part 2)
I will mention multiple others sources I used to improve my reading. Basically I would read for as long as I need to get 15 or 20 words daily.
I can't recommend WordSwing as much as I recommend DuChinese, but it's still worth using if you want to read more.
I don't remember using DuHanZi, but apparently I finished all free stories on it, there probably weren't a lot of them.
Once I had enough vocab and I was bored of DuChinese, I used a website, that I found on Reddit — www.mylingua.world.
It forms your recommendations on what news you can understand, based on your vocab knowledge. Once you see a word you've learned, you just mark it as learned. Gradually after marking more and more words, you see how much progress you've made and it's really motivating.
Would I recommend reading news to improve your vocab? Unless it's an article on your interests, I would say no. There's no need to force yourself to consume what you're not interested in to improve your language skills.
Another useful feature from this website is being able to add your own texts in chinese. Which significantly improved my reading skills in just a few months of reading fanfiction.
The main con of this resource is inaccuracy. While in most cases you won't notice it, some words on there have innaccurate translation. But don't worry, just use Pleco or an online dicitionary.
I have a dictionary I want to recommend to those of you who know Russian, it's name is PocketChinese. The app may be a bit laggy, but in a lot of cases where Pleco failed to explain a word or a phrase to me, PocketChinese succeeded. So as long as you switch between these two and mylingua.world, you'll probably be fine.
A few months ago they've set a limit on how many articles you can fully read weekly and on how many you can upload. But i assure you that even with the limit you still have a lot of possibilities to learn.
Just remember to bookmark articles you've found interesting, since finding them later is hard.
When I played games in chinese and had difficulties with writing down words to search for them I would use Deepl. It has a scan feature that allowes you to make photos of chinese texts. It automatically translates that, but you can also copy it and work with it.
My top resource is mylingua.world. Genuinely simplifies my life so much when I want to figure out new vocab in a new text.
#langblog#langblr#language learning#mandarinblr#mandarin langblr#mandarin#chinese langblr#chinese#pleco#pocketchinese#mylingua.world#wordswing#duchinese#duhanzi#deepl
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A Linguistic Analysis: Manga Translation (EN/JP/TWN) Comparison of Chapter 90.1 | Part 3
This is written in response to @connoisseursdecomfort's post Comparing Versions of Short Mission 11
((I realized that I should have just made this into a post because my response would be lost as a reblog. And it did... OTL
Also, this is an updated version with more insight/details))
Consider this is as a part 3 of my Linguistic Analysis posts on Spy x Family's Ch. 90.1 or Short Mission 11.
Part 1: A Linguistic Analysis of the Spelling "Ania" and "Anya"...
Part 2: "Ania" is the closest to an identity reveal
This analysis contains spoilers from Chapter 90.1 / Short Mission 11!
What's so interesting about the discourse analysis amongst Japanese, Taiwanese, and English translations is the hedging (word choices that lessen the directness of a dialogue) langauge that Loid uses. It is more clear in the Japanese ("by the way") and Taiwanese ("it came to mind") translations. Whereas, English's hedging is found in "...right?" What the three of them do share in common is that Loid's discourse is pointing to active voice by stating "your name is spelled A-N-Y-A". Apply all of these translations below:
(ENG) Your name is spelled A-N-Y-A, right?
(JP) By the way, your name is spelled A-N-Y-A.
(TW) It came to mind, your name is spelled A-N-Y-A.
It is consistent that Loid's tone is holding authority by demonstrating his knowledge on Ostanian orthography based off the transcriptions he's seen of Anya's name registered as "A-N-Y-A" which was spelled by her previous Ostanian adopted parents. So Twilight feels confident that the spelling of her name MUST be "Anya."
Another thing I wanted to add on to @connoisseursdecomfort's observation is catching loss of translation, which is so unfortunately common. English translation omits translations mainly because some expressions or dialogue that are common in a language (Japanese and Taiwanese) would be perceive differently in English-speaking countries (USA, UK, AUS, CAN, etc.). This is called cultural discount.
It's the reason why Squid Game English dub missed out on many jokes that are play on words in the Korean dub. It is also the reason why a lot of American jokes are not understood by non-English speakers OTL
But this is a general phenomenon because English native consumers would find the expression strange simply because we do not have this style reflected in our discourse. The best example is when @_mika60 translated the omitted text "Anya's heart stirred at the mention of her own name."
To an American (possibly English natives in general, but I can't really speak on behalf of British, Canadians, nor Australians beause their English may be slightly different in terms of cultural lifestyle/upbringing), this expression can be perceived as corny/purple-prosey. Because American discourse don't generally have this emotionally-charged reflective discourse. Hence, omitted. Which is unfortunate because it says so much about how Loid's spelling affected Anya's feelings. So this is a perfect example of cultural discount.
An example of loss in translation is the omission of Anya's text which explains why she can't carve out her name is due to feeling insecure about her bad handwriting. (Again, this is character analysis that English-reading consumers missed out on! Because anything written in the manga is deemed canon.) Whereas English, we completely omit that detail because English native speakers don't need that extra dialogue. The English discourse is typically straight to the point and English native consumers draw inferences from icons (images/illustrations).
Based off my explanation, this is how I see the above picture as an American consumer (using a think-aloud method):
Anya says, "I can't do it right..." and she looks frustrated as illustrated by the swirl above her head.
Her brows are furrowed which supports that she's annoyed/frustrated/angry.
Her cheeks... are they blushes? Is she embarrassed? I can't really tell.
She's also a 4 y/o or was it 5 y/o child (she lied being 6, right?) so it's obvious she probably might be annoyed because she can't draw straight lines.
Because she's an infant, I'm sure she doesn't have the strength to draw clean lines.
Based off my thought process above, do I think OR am I convinced that Anya feels insecure? No.
Can it be argued that she's insecure? Yes, absolutely.
If I were to talk to someone who posits Anya may be insecure because of his/her knowledge of children behavior and/or mannerism, then I would be convinced. However, I would arrive to this assimilation through negotiating observations and exchanging knowledge of children behavioral mannerism. However, this would become more of headcanon if it wasn't explicitly stated in the manga (keep it mind that the Japanese translation DOES explicitly state that she's insecure because of her bad handwriting, so yes, it is canon that Anya is insecure of her bad handwriting).
Anyways...
I love translation comparisons mainly because you get to experience cultural exchange if you are fortunate enough to understand or have access to a translator (*cough* @connoisseursdecomfort *cough*) who enjoys comparing multiple languages. Thank you for doing God's work @connoisseursdecomfort <3
#spy x family#spy x family spoiler#spy x family manga spoiler#spy x family chapter 90.1#short mission 11#loid forger#twilight#anya forger#sxf#analysis#linguistics#scarlywroteathing#updated analysis#discourse analysis#loss in translation#cultural discount
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Humans are like tape recorders.
To all language learners out there drilling grammar structures (and vocab to a lesser extent), I have some bad news. No matter how much you rote learn or memorise, you can’t say something* in a language if you haven’t already heard it said by someone else, many times.
In order for you to say something, you must have recorded it in your brain first.
The reason for this is twofold.
If you haven’t seen or heard something actually used, how are you meant to know how it’s used!? Gonna go out on a limb and say not many people here are able to speak Pirahã. How would you say “I just drank some water” in Pirahã? You don’t know, right? Because you’ve never heard it said! In this respect, a language that you can’t speak at all is no different from a language that you can speak a bit, or even a language you’re fluent in.
Memorising stuff out of a textbook or flash cards is not sufficient to count as “hearing something many times”. It’ll give you some examples, but not enough (especially if what you’re memorising is the grammar structure itself, and not example sentences). Your conscious thought processes (which includes looking things up in long term memory) are simply too slow to be effective if they need to be used more than once every few seconds during conversation. Rote memorisation works at the conscious thought level, and is therefore only useful as a supplemental tool. Hearing something actually spoken (many times) internalises it on the subconscious level, which is what is needed for fluid speech and comprehension.
*That’s not to say that it’s impossible to ever say anything original. When I say you need to hear something before being able to use it correctly yourself, I mean you need to hear sentence structures and words, not necessarily whole sentences like a script.
Our brains are very, very efficient at acquiring language, provided we give them a non-stop stream of data to record (this is how babies learn - they don’t need textbooks). Then, the brain can cut up the tapes, analyse patterns, paste separate tapes together, and allow us to speak in our target language without manually recalling from memory.
What does this mean for you, the language learner? Put down the textbook and watch as much content in your target language as possible. Use the textbook/dictionary to help you look up something you’ve heard if you can’t figure something out from context, but that’s all it should be used for. Watch youtube, kids shows, regular tv, news, podcasts, anything you can find. And never use subtitles in your native language! Your brain will turn off the tape recorder automatically if it sees an easier way it can parse the information.
In this video, Matt (from the youtube channel Matt vs Japan) says the following, which I have translated to English:
こういうアドバイスする時に一番反論として出てくるのが 「でも観てもわからない！」 だから 「できない」 っていうんだけど、わからないからこそ観るべきだよね
---
When I give the advice [to go hard on consuming input], the biggest counterargument people have is “When I watch it, I can’t understand what they’re saying! So it doesn’t work.” but it's actually the opposite: you don’t understand it, therefore you need to watch it!
The reason you should watch it is you don't understand it! You can’t understand it until your brain has recorded it!
#i should mention that this mainly applies to language learners whose goal is to actually converse with native speakers#people who have no intention of speaking the language feel free to rote memorise to your hearts content#but learners who are interested in conversing - youre wasting your time if youre rote learning grammar structures like maths equations#language#japanese#learning japanese#japanese language#langblr#linguistics#language learning#language acquisition#jimmy blogthong#my art#ms paint vibes
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「 all lights turned off can be turned on | the noah kahan series 」
various x gn!reader | fluff, angst & platonic | song inspired fanfictions.
↳ so i'm the biggest fan of noah physically possible (absorbing his music through an iv drip at all points in time) and this originally started with me choosing to do a songfic for his newest song 'forever' which is the first in this series !! i'm hoping i introduce some people to his music because he's the sweetest and his music means the world to me. anyways, let's enjoy!
bonus. shoutout to @ryuryuryuyurboat for sitting with me while i assigned characters to these and feeding me so many ideas, i'm glad i exposed you to noah HAHA
the jade's guidelines | honkai masterlist | genshin masterlist
each songfic has its own warnings and tags, please be sure to read all warnings and tags before consuming content!
i. forever | dan heng
( fluff, friends to lovers )
ii. catastrophize | collei
( hurt/comfort, platonic )
iii. all my love | yanqing
( platonic, childhood friends )
iv. save me | xiao
( hurt/comfort, established relationship )
v. hurt somebody | wanderer
( angst, ex-lovers )
vi. part of me | ruan mei
( angst, ex-lovers )
vii. your needs, my needs | kazuha
( angst, best friend's sibling )
viii. animal | wriothesley
( hurt/comfort, co-workers to lovers )
ix. bad luck | seele
( hurt/comfort, social class troubles )
x. howling | dr. ratio
( angst, tba )
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
© thexianzhoujade 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media. all songs & lyrics belong to noah kahan.
#( all lights turned off can be turned on: the noah kahan series )#xianzhou.nav#i am so excited for this you have NO idea#i’m virtually vibrating i love this man so much !!!#all characters were assigned through wheel spins <3#© thexianzhoujade#hsr#hsr x reader#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#genshin#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader
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⌜↳ lumea mea ˖⁺⌟
✩ pairing: pietro x reader
✩ requested: yes | no
✩ prompts: none
✩ cw: shitty google translate romanian sokovian, no pronouns or gender descriptors for reader (please correct me if i missed anything), not proofread
✩ word count: 0.45k
✩ a/n: just in a pietro kinda mood since i just finished my mcu script for him. this idea popped into my head so i figured i'd write it down. hope you like it as much as i did :))
summary: pietro always makes you feel like the luckiest person alive, even if he won't tell you exactly what he's saying
you can also read this on ao3
₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·
You lay on the couch, head against his chest and knees curled up against your own. You can hear his heartbeat in one ear, and the screams from the movie you're watching in the other, although you aren't paying much attention to the film anymore. His hand absent mindedly caresses your arm to comfort you, pulling you in tighter when you flinch at the screen. You hide your face in his shirt at one particularly scary part.
Pietro laughs a little, holding you close to him. "It's just a movie, remember? I'm right here, iubirea mea. Right here" He emphasizes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Nothing to be afraid of."
You pull your head away to look up at him, face still flushed from the jump scare, "What does that mean?"
"Nothing to be afraid-"
"No not that," you roll your eyes and try to hold back a smile, seeing a smirk already on your boyfriend's face. "What you said before that. What does it mean?"
His smirk widens, "What? Iubirea mea?" his hand moving to the small of your back to support you as you shift your position closer to him, "Where's the fun in it if I tell you, dragă?"
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and feigned frustration, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you feel heat rush to your cheeks "That one too! I want to know what it means."
"So many questions!" he teases with a shit-eating grin, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. He thinks his heart might burst when you place your hands on his chest to balance your weight. His cocky grin slowly softens into a loving smile, which you gladly reciprocate.
You feel his lips slightly brush against yours as he leans closer to nudge your nose with his, softly rubbing your back with his thumb, "Vrei să spui lumea pentru mine, dragă. Tu ești totul pentru mine. My everything."
You can't help but smile and feel your stomach swarm with butterflies, cheeks warming at his softness. You lean in that little bit more to softly press your lips against his, both of you hazily smiling into it as the late hour finally catches up to you. You've decided you don't need a direct translation of what it means; he always shows you all that you need to know. You pull away, burying your face in his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his torso.
You mumble out a quiet, "I love you."
"I love you more, dragă."
"Not possible."
Neither of you have the energy to continue your banter as the both of you give in and let sleep consume you.
₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·˚ ♡₊˚·
TRANSLATIONS: (again, im so sorry if these translations are horrible, but this is the intended meaning lmao)
"Iubirea mea" - my love
"Dragă" - dear; darling
"Vrei să spui lumea pentru mine, dragă. Tu ești totul pentru mine." - You mean the world to me, darling. You are everything to me.
#pietro maximoff#pietro#pietro x reader#pietro x y/n#pietro maximov#quicksilver#maximoff twins#peter maximoff#pietro maximoff fluff#pietro maximoff fanfiction#pietro maximoff x reader#pietro maximoff x y/n#quicksilver x you#pietro maximoff x you#pietro x you#pietro fluff#fluff#marvel fic#mcu#avengers#marvel#marvel mcu#marvel cinematic universe#mcu dr#mcu imagine#mcu fanfiction#marvel fanfiction#marvel x reader#marvel imagine#marvel studios
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