Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: John “Soap” MacTavish & Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish/Simon “Ghost” Riley
Characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley
Additional Tags: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Freeform, john price - Freeform, Kate Laswell - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Rescue Missions, Gun Violence, war crimes are committed, as per usual, theres so many little head canons in this, could be read as gen or m/m, but know that in my heart it is full on slash
Summary:
In the aftermath of a mission gone wrong Ghost is lost. There’s nothing Soap won’t do to have him back by his side.
I dedicate this to everyone that at some point equaled Soap to a guard dog, y'all were my true inspiration💜🙏
Love how the gameplay subtitles aren't accurate translations because when they bust Alejandro out the prison cell the actual first thing Rudy says to him is "Coronel-! Relejate, cabrón, somos nosotros" which is so fucking funny if we consider the number of fics where he is oh so worried for Alejandro's wellbeing but no, my man was PISSED, he has been dealing with Alejandro's hot head for 20 years, he is TIRED
I also have a personal headcanon that he let Soap and Ghost open the door because he knew Alejandro was going to attack the first person to walk in there and didn't wanna get decked
There's something to it, Ghost thinks, Soap, that is. Something in the way the ocean is both beautiful and violent. Something in the way a rabbit becomes a hare. Something in the way even the smallest, friendliest dog can become a wolf. Something like awareness and anger. The anger isn't what captivates Ghost, nearly is; could be if he let it; but Ghost knows anger, inside and out, has loved it and nurtured it, was moulded by it. It's the awareness that traps Ghost in the wake of Soap's anger. He can't even, really, place his finger on what it is, he wants to say it's an awareness of God, some God, a God, any God; but that's not exactly right either. No it's more like staring a wolf in the eye as it bares it's teeth at you; and if you're smart enough; waiting for it to move, to attack, except all it does is watch; like realizing it doesn't want to kill, but it will, if it has to, and it won't hesitate if it does. It's like watching a godless creature bare it's fangs at the God that molded it's flesh into life.
Have we thought about Ghost with a DNR, terrified of surgery or CPR ruining his time in the military. He'd rather just go than be forced to medically discharge and spend his days rotting at home. Nobody to take care of him, nobody to check in. Broken goods cast aside. Leaving the field from massive injury would be a slow, agonizing death.
But he completely forgets about it by the time he meets Soap. And it never came up, because why would it? Until he goes into cardiac arrest on a mission and the medical team have to tell Soap they can't save Ghost.
And have we thought about Soap pulling out his gun and putting it to the temple of one of the medics, forcing them to save Ghost while Price and Gaz scream as him to stop. Too bad he'd be damned to let them sit by while Ghost died. Either they save him or that entire plane goes down. It's their choice.
I love the fact that the 141 are some of the most highly skilled military men in the world on a special team for their deadliness and thus would want to blend in during covert times, yet we have...
Mohawk
Big guy in ski mask
Mutton chops
And just the prettiest boy you'll ever goddamn see
I'm never getting over how Soap keeps pointing out big things when he sees them in mw3, like. "big fuckin' boat" this "big fuckin' gun" that. You bet your ass his first thought when he saw Ghost was "big fuckin' brit".
my favorite flavor of 09 soapghost is them being insufferable in front of recruits. them lowkey irritated that ghost gets away with half the attitude he throws at mactavish, they’re not together but everyone assumes they’re hooking up bc riley gets “special treatment”
riley follows orders impeccably bc he’s a great soldier, but as soon as they’re back at the helo he’s disregarding mactavish’s request for help. he’s throwing lip at soap when he’s told it’s his turn to overlook training back at base
the two of them are just annoying, mactavish scruffing riley and shoving him toward his office every time they need to “talk”
it’s fairly assumed they’re together.
but they’re not, just toeing the line of what’s appropriate because mactavish refuses to use rank to get laid. even if riley does hint that no one would care, that he’d be more than willing
just need them constantly blue balling themselves to the point that they’re pissing everyone off
People sleep on Gaz when his introduction to 141 was basically him ranting to Price how they won't let him do the war crimes and Price going "you wanna do war crimes come with me"
Following them to go to Russia and threatened with killing a woman and a kid in order to get information from their pretty sure illegal POW
I feel like people in this fandom obsess over masked people when it's the unmasked ones that are psychos
Gaz and Price are actually an insane duo. Like Price saw this random guy who was passionate and wanted to do very bad things for good reasons and was like "yes, you. You're mine now. Come with me" and we're focusing on some emo in a mask???
"I didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.
I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.
TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡
CW: Graphic depictions of violence, blood and injury, vomiting, hospitalisation, canon-typical violence
Tags: CoD Collective Writing Events, cod x bmth, based on a Bring Me The Horizon Song, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Simon "Ghost" Riley Loves John "Soap" MacTavish, Oblivious John "Soap" MacTavish
A/N: Written for an event in the CoD Collective Discord server (link here: https://discord.gg/6gYjucUv) and I tried so hard to make this into a one-shot. Clearly, I failed. This is based on the song Avalanche by Bring Me The Horizon, beta read by @gratia-illi-puella and @ijustwannaasksomething
Chapter 1 - Hands Around My Neck
The pungent smell of blood was what finally snapped Soap back into consciousness. It flooded his senses, making his throbbing head spin.
Groaning, he reached a hand up and gingerly touched it to his forehead. His gloved fingers came away coated in hot, sticky blood.
He barely had time to turn onto his side before he vomited all over the concrete floor, his stomach convulsing violently. By the time he was done, his entire body was trembling, his heart jackhammering in his chest.
He rolled onto his back, shaking hands clutching his head. It felt like needles were being pushed into his brain, going deeper and deeper with every frantic beat of his heart. The pain was so all-consuming, he barely noticed the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, of guns being cocked and punches being thrown, bodies hitting the floor and shouts bouncing off the walls.
Gingerly, Soap turned onto his stomach again, tucking his hands under himself and slowly pushing up onto all fours. His vision went black as another needle of pain shot through his skull at the movement, but he pushed on until he was crouched on shaky knees. His hand went for the pistol fastened at his hip, only to find it was gone, and he couldn't remember why. He didn't even remember where he was, or what he was doing there, and the harder he tried to remember, the worse his headache got. Still, he needed to get his bearings, or he was a dead man.
The room he was in was small, furnished with file cabinets and a dingy desk, papers strewn across the floor, splattered with blood. The desk could provide cover, though it didn't look like it would last for long. The walls were bare, the lack of windows casting the room in darkness, only a small flashlight on the floor providing a slim column of light. His flashlight, marked with pale blue tape Gaz had given him.
The footsteps were getting closer now, and Soap was still unarmed and unprepared for what he was about to face. Hiding behind furniture would've been the smart move, but the throbbing pain in his head kept him in his place. He reached into his boot, pulling out one of Ghost's throwing knives and bracing himself for an attack. The thin handle felt strange in his hand, but familiar at the same time, more delicate than he would think something of Ghost's could be. It helped calm his jittery heart. He was too vulnerable in this position, crouched down in the middle of the floor, but he knew that if he moved too much, he would just make it worse.
With his eyes trained on the door in front of him, Soap gripped the knife tightly, ready to throw it. A new kind of nausea swam at the back of his throat as the footsteps thundered down a set of stairs and stopped at the entrance to the room. As soon as the door started moving, he threw the knife as hard as he could, sending himself sprawling to the floor in the process as his shaky legs gave out.
The knife clattered uselessly to the floor as the door was flung open, smashing against the wall.
Ghost rushed into the room, pale mask splattered with fresh blood. His wild eyes scanned quickly over the decrepit room before they finally stopped on Soap's prone form. He was kneeling at his side in the blink of an eye, pulling Soap into his strong arms. Soap slumped against him, his head falling back against Ghost's shoulder as the last bit of fight left him.
His Lieutenant ran his gloved hands all over Soap's aching body, searching for injuries. Soap screamed when Ghost gently prodded at his neck, agonising pain flooding his senses and making his vision go dark. He could feel warm blood running down from his neck to his chest, a steady stream he hadn't noticed before, soaking through his shirt and vest.
Ghost's chest was rumbling against his back as he spoke, but Soap couldn't tell what he was saying through the ringing in his ears. The trembling had subsided, only to be replaced by an overwhelming stillness. He tried to move his hands, his lips, tried to ask Ghost what was going on, but he couldn't. His limbs were too heavy, his tongue like lead in his mouth.
Ghost was holding him tighter, his hand gripping Soap's jaw tightly, forcing him to meet his gaze. Soap could feel blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, soaking into the fabric of Ghost's glove. Ghost's voice got louder, more urgent, ringing in Soap's ears. He was still shouting when Soap's eyes finally got too heavy, and everything went dark.
+
The first thing Soap felt when his mind came back to him was the thirst. His parched throat and mouth ached with it. He licked his lips, trying and failing to wet his dry mouth. Second was the throbbing in his head, starting in his teeth and jaw and moving behind his eyes, to the back of his head. The incessant beeping echoing through the room did nothing to ease the pain, nor did the indistinct chatter of voices that reached his ears.
From the sound alone, Soap could guess that he was in the hospital, and he had no idea why.
Gingerly, he opened his eyes. The fluorescent white lights hit his retinas like a flashlight, but he pushed through the pain, looking around at the room he was in. He recognised it as a military hospital room, sterile and white. There was an empty plastic chair pushed up to his bedside, a paper cup resting on the table next to it. The sheets underneath him were crumpled and damp with his sweat. He felt like he was on fire, his skin angry and irritated. Scratchy bandages pulled at it, and he itched to tear them off, to claw at them and scratch at his skin until it was raw and bloody. He reached for the bandage wrapped around his throat, running a finger against its soft cotton edge, his nail scratching at it.
Quiet footsteps to his left made Soap turn his head, his eyes locking with Ghost's where he stood in the doorway, a black surgical mask covering his face. His eyes widened when he saw Soap awake and alert, concern radiating from their hazel depths. Soap tried to smile reassuringly, but the pain it sent through his skull turned it into more of a grimace.
Ghost was at his side in an instant, reaching a gloved hand out towards Soap's cheek. Soft leather touched Soap's fevered skin, spreading more fire in its wake and causing hot pain to shoot through Soap.
He flinched away.
Ghost's hand froze in the air, hurt flashing across his face before he stepped back, letting his hands fall back to his sides. Guilt gnawed at Soap's insides at the hurt look in Ghost's eyes.
He opened his mouth, an apology on the tip of his tongue, his hand reaching out for Ghost's. Heavy footsteps interrupted him as Price came into the hospital room, a folder tucked under his arm and a cup of coffee in hand. He smiled softly at Soap when he saw him awake, entering the room and closing the door behind him. The noise from the hallway quieted, and Soap sighed with relief.
"Good to see you're still kicking, Sergeant," Price said as he pulled a second chair to the other side of the hospital bed, gesturing for Ghost to sit in the one closer to the bed. Ghost hesitated, glancing at Soap once more before sitting down.
"Good to see you, too, Sir. How long have I been out?" Soap asked, his voice raw and raspy. The thirst clawed at his throat with renewed wrath, and he swallowed painfully.
"Not long, a little over a day. Ghost's been here the whole time, making sure you didn't kick the bucket before I got a chance to talk to you," Price replied, leaning back in the chair with a lazy smile. Soap glanced back over at Ghost, who hadn't moved since he'd sat down. His eyes stayed locked on Soap, roving over his entire form with furrowed brows. The intense gaze made Soap's skin crawl with unease at the same time his cheeks warmed, and he looked away.
"Are you up for a little debrief while I'm here?" Price asked, holding the folder he brought with him with a raised brow.
"Sure, best to be done with it, aye?" Soap sighed, scooting further up in the bed. The feel of the sheets against his skin made him wince, but he pushed it down. Price nodded and flipped open the folder, scanning over the pages briefly before looking back at Soap.
"First, tell me how much you remember. Doc said you hit your head pretty hard, that your memory might be a bit rough around the edges. I just wanna see where you're at," he explained. Soap nodded, closing his eyes and thinking back.
"I remember we were tracking the Scorpions. We were looking for their leader, Martyr, when Laswell notified us of a lead, a safehouse. We headed out later that night." He paused, glancing over at Ghost as the night came back to him with a shooting pain in his head, all of it centred on his silent Lieutenant and his calculating, hazel eyes.
+
"You ready to go, Sergeant?" Ghost asked, casually pulling the straps on Soap's thighs and hips tight and securing them in place, something Soap was very capable of doing himself, though neither of them pointed that out. Soap nodded, patting his side-arm and checking his throat mic, making sure everything was as it should be.
"All good, Lt," he replied, turning the safety on his rifle off. Ghost nodded, taking a step back and doing one last sweep over Soap's body. The weight of his gaze sent shivers up Soap's spine, and he bit his lip, forcing himself to focus on the mission at hand instead of the Lieutenant's heavy gaze.
The plan was simple enough, really. Soap would enter through a back door, sneak through the house and enter the office located in the basement. Once there, he would gather any papers and information he could find before sneaking back out, trying his best to avoid detection. Ghost would be positioned on the roof of the next building over, providing overwatch and backup if needed. Hopefully, this would give them more information on the way the Scorpions operated, and where they could find Martyr. They'd been hunting him for weeks and somehow, despite Laswell's best efforts, this was their first viable lead.
"Keep your comms open, and try not to blow anything up," Ghost said, checking his own gear. Despite the mask, Soap could hear the grin spread over his lips. He chuckled, grinning right back at him.
"I make no promises." Ghost sighed, shaking his head, though amusement shone in his dark eyes, lit up by soft moonlight. Soap took a step closer to Ghost, grasping his shoulder tightly.
"I'll see you on the other side, Lt." Ghost stiffened under his touch, his hands clenching into fists. Roughly clearing his throat, he nodded at Soap, who turned, taking a step towards the safehouse, when he felt a hand grip his wrist so tight it could've left bruises.
He turned, a brow raised in question. Ghost pulled him back, so they were nearly chest to chest, Ghost's breath fanning over his face and their gear rattling together. Ghost raised his free hand, holding out one of his throwing knives for Soap to take. A warm flush spread over Soap's cheeks at the gesture, so simple yet oh so intimate. Ghost never let anyone touch his knives, or any of his gear, let alone Soap, who would probably lose it within five seconds.
"For luck," Ghost said, his voice low and husky. Soap swallowed, his hand trembling a little as he reached up, fingers wrapping around the hilt. His eyes met Ghost's, searching their depths for any hint of what he was feeling. His pupils were blown wide, which may have been due to the near dark surrounding them.
Soap slipped the knife from Ghost's fingers and crouched down, tucking it into the holster on his ankle, next to his own knife. When he stood up again, he found himself even closer, staring up at Ghost's masked face. Soap could feel Ghost's heat radiating from him in the cold night air, warming the bare skin of his arms. Soap's heart was pounding in his chest, anticipation and anxiety flooding his senses. He found he couldn't tear his gaze away from those beautiful, dark eyes.
"See you on the other side, Johnny." Ghost patted his shoulder once before turning, jogging away towards his lookout. Soap was left standing there, alone, heart fluttering with giddy joy and a smile stretching from ear to ear. He chuckled and turned, jogging in the direction of the safehouse, bolstered by the feel of Ghost's knife pressed against his ankle.
+
Soap blushed at the memory of Ghost's hand on his wrist, his face centimetres from his own. The intense look in his eyes. The sound of his voice. Price raised a brow, waiting for Soap to continue. Soap cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together before continuing.
"There were three cartel members in the house when I entered, all armed. They were watching a football game, didn't hear me come in. I made it to the basement unnoticed, started searching the filing cabinets. I collected every file I could, everything I thought they wouldn't miss, and started photographing the rest. That's when I heard something."
He paused, his headache worsening as he delved deeper into his memory. The hair on his arms rose as his heartbeat grew more rapid. He felt like he was back in that basement, felt the ceiling pushing down on him, the blood on his hands and face, the aching in his neck. Price noticed the change, leaning forward and placing a hand on Soap's. He barely felt the warm touch, or the way it burned his skin.
"I'd almost finished going through everything when someone rushed me. Don't know how I didn't see 'em coming, but I didn't. Next thing I knew I was on the floor, they were slamming my head into the floor and–" His fists were clenched at his sides, trembling as his anxiety rose. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply to try and calm his heart. Price waited patiently until he opened his eyes again.
"I'm sorry, Sir. That's all I remember," Soap admitted with a frown. Price nodded, patting his hand gently before looking back down at the file.
"That about sums it up anyway. Ghost came to get you as soon as he could. You were half conscious and bleeding from multiple wounds. He managed to pull you and the documents out, taking out the three Scorpion members in the process, but you were alone in the room by the time he arrived," Price said, closing the folder and standing up, with Ghost following suit.
"You lost over two liters of blood, so you'll be here for a couple days while they fill you back up, make sure there's no long-term issues," Price said, nodding to the IV pole next to Soap. He followed Price's gesture, eyes landing on a half-empty blood bag hanging next to a bag of fluids. The thirst came back with a vengeance, clawing at Soap's throat as saliva suddenly filled his mouth. He swallowed, turning his gaze back to his captain. Price smiled reassuringly at him.
"You're lucky to be alive, son. With that amount of blood loss, it's a miracle you're still kicking. Now, get some rest. We'll see you in the morning." Price nodded at him as he exited the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Ghost stood at the side of Soap's bed, eyes trained on his face.
Soap stared back at him, flashes of that night invading his thoughts once more. Ghost's intense gaze as he handed him the knife, the way he held Soap in his arms as he passed out. A second later, he was gone too, without a word, and Soap was left alone in a hospital bed, trying his best to fall asleep but unable to tear his attention away from the blood bag hanging at his side and the aching in his teeth.
+
Cold hands clawed at Soap. Scratching at his skin and trying to pull him closer as he fought desperately to get away. Nails tearing and breaking as he clawed at the unforgiving concrete floor. Blood covered his body, flowing from the gaping wound on his head and into his eyes. The hands disappeared. Soap tried to scream, but they returned over his mouth this time, fingers digging into his mouth, silencing him.
A heavy body held him down as the hands pushed his head to the ground, his skull creaking under the pressure. He groaned in pain, trying in vain to reach for the knife hidden in his boot. Before he could do anything, sharp knives stabbed into the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck, and his body was engulfed in flames.
He woke with a start, a scream blooming at the back of his throat. His hands flew up to his neck, expecting to find the knives still stuck there, only to be met with bandages and sweat-soaked skin.
Soap sighed, lying back in the bed and trying to get his breathing under control. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. The clock above the door read close to three in the morning, and despite all the trauma he had been through, Soap's body itched with the need for movement, the rough sheets scratching at his skin. His headache had finally lessened, but the fire burning under his skin had stayed, making every movement feel like he was being flayed alive. His gums ached now as well, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and the beating of his heart, until the door opened quietly. His eyes snapped back open, only to find a kind looking nurse entering the room with a tray of syringes. She smiled when she noticed Soap was awake, turning on the small lamp next to the bed.
"Hi John, I'm your nurse tonight, Kate. Just giving you your antibiotics," she explained as she emptied the syringe of air before plunging it into the IV line on the back of Soap's hand. His veins burned as the antibiotics flooded his system. He winced in pain and the nurse smiled down at him sympathetically, her eyes crinkling in the corners.
"Burns a bit going in, I know, but it should fade in a minute," she explained, tossing the empty syringe into a nearby biohazard box. "You having trouble sleeping, Sergeant?" she asked. Soap nodded, running a rough hand over his face.
"Aye, dreams've been running me ragged," he replied.
"That'll happen when you get a bump on your head like you've got. How about I get you some sedatives, just to help you sleep better?" Soap nodded, thanking the nurse as she left the room, leaving the door cracked open. The hall outside his room was dark and quiet, lit only by dim wall-lights casting an eerie glow onto the linoleum floor. The size of the hall just outside reminded him of just how vulnerable he was, the darkness looking like an open maw, just waiting for him to lower his guard. He swallowed, his hands itching for a weapon and his gut urging him to run. He tried to convince himself that he was completely safe, hammering it into his brain that this was a military hospital and that no one would be able to hurt him.
But when twenty minutes passed and his nurse still hadn't returned, the dread pooling in his stomach like poison only got worse.
Unable to sit still any longer, Soap got out of bed, using the IV pole to steady himself as he made his way over to the door. He leaned his head out the doorway, looking left and right and finding nobody there. The nurses' station at the end of the hall seemed empty as well, and the silence of the hall made his skin crawl. He steeled himself, before taking a shaky first step out into the hall as he clung to the pole.
"Hello?" he called, his voice bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hall. "Kate?"
No response.
Even the incessant beeping of heart monitors had quieted. He took another step forward, gripping the pole so hard his knuckles turned white. His heart raced in his chest, in time with the pounding in his head. He turned to the right, in the direction of the nurses' station, shuffling slowly down the hall. It seemed like it stretched on forever, his tired legs already missing the comfort of the hospital bed, but he needed to figure out what was going on. Maybe the nurse had been hurt, had fallen or been attacked or–
He stopped, his entire body tensing up as he closed his eyes, sniffing the air. Something smelled delicious . He let go of the pole, stumbling before catching his balance on the wall and walking forward with a speed and assurance that had seemed so impossible moments before. His mouth watered as the scent got stronger, until he could practically taste it in the air. He stopped in the open doorway of another hospital room, further down the hall.
A man was lying in the bed, someone he didn't recognise. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily with every breath. Soap frowned, and sniffed the air again. The smell was definitely coming from the man. He stepped closer, his teeth and gums aching as the scent filled his senses. The man was bandaged from his shoulder on and down his chest, the white cotton stained a deep red in the middle. Soap licked his dry lips, walking forward until his hand rested on the bed by the man's leg.
The blood stain was wet, soaking through the bandage and spreading out on the white fabric. His head swam as he stared at it, mouth flooding with saliva and teeth aching with the need to bite , to sink them into soft flesh and feel the warm, metallic liquid pour over his tongue as he drank his fill. All his problems would go away, and it would feel so good . His left hand clutched the sheets as his right reached out, fingertips itching as he inched closer to the liquid gold.
"Sergeant? What are you doing in here?" Soap froze, fingers hovering over the man's bandage. Frowning, he pulled his hand back and turned. Kate, the nurse from before, was standing in the doorway, a cup of pills in her hand and confusion written all over her face.
"I-" he started, but he couldn't even remember how he'd gotten there in the first place. "I was looking for you and…" he searched his memory, but all he found was an intoxicating scent and the feeling of hunger. Kate nodded, taking a step forward and looking him over. Her eyes caught on the patch of blood blooming on the man's chest and she frowned, pressing the call button on the wall above his bed.
"Must be the concussion, getting you all mixed up," she explained, holding his arm and gently guiding him out of the room, just as another nurse arrived in the doorway. "Could you please check Robinson's stitches?" she asked the second nurse, who nodded before disappearing into the room. Kate smiled reassuringly as she walked with Soap down the hall, back towards his own room and away from the intoxicating scent emanating from the man, grabbing his discarded IV pole on the way back to his room. "I'll set you up with a new line and get you to sleep, alright Sergeant?"
Soap nodded, looking at the IV line dripping onto the floor, then at the thin stream of blood running from a small wound on the back of his hand. He hadn't even felt it when the needle ripped out of his skin.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish & Simon "Ghost" Riley, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Characters: Original Male Character(s), John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley
Additional Tags: CoD Collective Writing Event, cod x bmth, Based on a Bring Me The Horizon Song, listen this is just a How To Be Safe At A Protest PSA disguised as a cod fanfic, i need you to hold my hand and trust, Canon-Typical Violence, Police Brutality, author is in fact very anti monarchy, and may I just say, ACAB
Summary:
Three more officers had approached Si while he was busy picking the cane up, unsure what exactly he planned to do with it now that he had it in his hands, but as soon as he saw the first one grab his partner's wrist, he stepped in-between to demand a proper reason of arrest despite knowing that he was unlikely to get a better one than what the poor woman had gotten.
Instead of an answer he found himself facing a gun, the crowd around them jumping back in shock as the officer leveled it on his chest. Jon froze in fear, grabbing tighter onto the smooth metal in his hands. He knew what would most likely happen next. He'd read enough about similar accounts in the news, heard about it from other people in their circles who'd had people dangerously or sometimes mortally wounded when situations suddenly escalated.
It was silent enough that he could hear Si whisper out a distressed “Darling”.
here’s my contribution to the writing event over on the CoD Collective on Discord, go check it out<3
