Mink/Aoba Pirateverse One-Shot AU for @ficwip's 5k AU challenge! Tumblr Exclusive (atm)
Content Warnings: Near-drowning, smoking/secondhand drugging, light medical themes, vaguely sexualized scenarios and references to kidnapping, questionable life choices.
Not Rated // Mature Themes present
First-Person Writing (Aoba's POV)
Final Word Count: 4,430
Summary: Aoba nearly drowns when he's swept out to sea during a storm. When he wakes up, he realizes he's been brought aboard a pirate ship. And he's not dreaming.
What am I going to do?
I clutch my waterlogged coat closer to my chest as I dart between buildings like I have a chance at staying dry. It doesn’t do much; I’m already thoroughly soaked by the downpour because I hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella today. Of course, the one time I forget an umbrella, the skies open up and let loose like a freakish End of Days scenario that those guys on the street corners always scream about every Friday night... of course, this unusual weather has become almost usual lately, but I tend to be inside or asleep during the storms so I don’t ever really notice how bad it is. Now all I can do is run for my life and pray I don’t have to swim to get home.
How is Granny gonna fare in this weather? What if the house floods? What if that hole in the roof finally caves in and the entire upstairs becomes a self-contained pond? Then what?
I know I’m going to get the scolding of a lifetime for showing up at the door in drenched clothes---and far later than the time I said I’d be back home, too. *“Don’t come in here with all that water, wring yourself out in the doorway! If I slip and fall and break my neck and your carelessness is what finally does me in, I’m gonna haunt you for the rest of your miserable life! You hear me, Aoba?!?!”
Yeah, I hear you, I hear you... even if it’s rhetorical. Maybe if I’m lucky Granny will be asleep when I get back. It* is pretty late. I bet she’ll sleep through the thunder if she’s tired enough.
I glance toward the horizon, the opposite direction of town. The white-capped waves glisten between bursts of rain, highlighted by cracks of lightning over the churning water. The crests have to be at least as tall as I am; they crash over the distant pier with intense bloodlust. The waves slam into the old wood with such force, the whole structure may be washed away if this keeps up through the night.
While the seas are usually tranquil this time of year, something has left the waters tempestuous nonstop since the summertime began. That’s just about the time that the Toue Corporation announced their official sponsorship of the island, but... maybe those two things aren’t connected. Maybe they are, or maybe it’s just coincidence. There’s a lot of coincidence in this town---but I’m getting too cold to think. All I want to do is run home (and make sure Granny is still alive), peel out of my clothes, dry off, and sleep the rest of the storm away.
The wind kicks up. My hair whips across my face like stinging branches. It’s getting harder and harder to see. Thunder rumbles dangerously close and I immediately head for cover---but I’m a split second too late.
A boom, a crash, blinding white. The force of the lightning’s impact throws me backward. I tumble, over and over and over again. My shoes scrape cobblestone, then thud resoundingly against wood. Oh, no. I’m being pulled out to sea---nothing I reach out for to stop myself lets me grab hold of it; the wind tosses me carelessly like I’m little more than a piece of paper.
And then a wave overtakes me, sweeping me away---despite the summer heat, the water is so cold it’s paralyzing. I open my mouth to scream but saltwater floods into it and I choke on the bitter, acidic taste. My lungs feel like they’re on fire, yet the mouthfuls of water I’ve swallowed do nothing to extinguish the burning. Am I going to die? Is this what drowning feels like?
The current pulls me under and suddenly, I’m weightless. This... isn’t so bad. If this is what dying is like... maybe it isn’t as horrifying as I’d always assumed it would be. I guess it really is that easy to make peace with yourself, when you have no other choice but to accept your fate. Who would have guessed giving up was so easy?
__
I dreamed my love came in my sleep
Lowlands, lowlands away me John
Her cheeks were wet, her eyes did weep
Lowlands away
She came to me at my bedside
Lowlands, lowlands away me John
All dressed in white, like some fair bride
Lowlands away
__
I can hear it, the sound of distant singing, of men’s voices harmonizing. It’s rough, but beautiful nonetheless. This isn’t quite what I imagined hearing in the afterlife, but... when I open my eyes, instead of darkness, I see dark wood overhead. There’s a soft yellow hue to the room, flickering; there’s an oil lamp on the table beside the bed I’m laying on. I’m---wait. I’m wearing another shirt. It’s far too big for me, but it’s dry and warm and comfortable. It’s only a simple white overshirt with a deep split down the middle loosely held together with interlaced braided cord, but I can tell there’s a lot of history in the fabric. Some washed-out stains, some sewn-together tears...
The longer I look around the room and my senses return to me, I realize I’m on a ship. Or at least something that looks (and feels, and smells) like a ship. Am I still dreaming, am I dead? Or was I hauled out of the water by pirates? What would they want with someone like me? Because they saved me, does that mean I have to work on the ship for the rest of my life? Isn’t that how these things work? I have so many questions and no one to answer them. Or so I thought---
The door swings open and a man shuffles in. He has to shove himself past the door; his broad body barely fits through the frame. There’s a cream-feathered bird on his shoulder, and it ruffles its wings in what must be apparent discomfort as it gets jostled by the door. This stranger is tall and bulky; a mass of a man with long, dark hair dangling in loose braids from beneath his tricorn hat. Oh, oh no. This is his room, isn’t it? Is he the ship’s Captain? I have to apologize, to get back to land so I don’t make him angry, he looks pissed---
“Don’t get up,” he says after a gruff sigh as he drags the chair over from the desk and sits down in it. “You nearly drowned. You need to rest.”
“But... where... what’s going on?”
The man stares at me silently. Instead of answering my question he takes out a pipe from a box in his coat and begins to smoke. That kind of thing can’t be good to be breathing in when I did almost just drown, but... actually, the scent of it isn’t horrible. It smells like spices. Warm and rich and full, like cinnamon and anise, yet with something deeper to it. Could it be some kind of tobacco? Whatever it is... it’s oddly relaxing. Which can’t be too bad. I hope. It doesn’t hurt my head and that, honestly, is a miracle in and of itself. It seems to have the opposite effect instead---and whatever keeps a headache away is worth letting happen, at this point. I’d been starting to get desperate. Crap, if I’m stuck here, how am I going to get more medicine? I must’ve lost it all when I fell into the water... This is not going to end well. Great...
I let out a small sigh of my own and turn my gaze toward the ceiling. The way he’s staring tells me he doesn’t want to make smalltalk or give me answers to my questions. But I’m okay with that... for some reason. Just the proximity to this silent pirate and his avian companion is enough to keep me from panicking about being stranded on a ship who knows how far away from home. With my head kept still on the pillow I can feel the rocking of the ship as it moves with the waves. If I’m not careful, I might fall asleep. Oh, but he did say I should rest. Maybe I should take him up on that. If he wanted to hurt me, wouldn’t he have done that already? Or just left me to drown? He can’t be that awful of a person if he’s gone this far to rescue me.
“We’re too far from the island to turn back now. The storm blew us off our course, so you’ll be staying with us until we circle back---if our travels allow us to stop there at all, that is. I won’t take requests, begging, or otherwise to change course. If you want to swim back, you’re more than welcome to jump ship but I wouldn’t recommend it. If the undertow doesn’t kill you, the sharks will.”
What? What does he mean, ‘if’ our travels allow? Wait. Does this make me a hostage? If I don’t have a way to leave, isn’t that the same thing as being kidnapped?
“But... if you want to stay, you can. You’ll be in here with me until you’re healed.”
“There’s only one---”
“I know.” He cuts me off with a huff and smoke trickles out from his mouth as he talks. He looks like a dragon, like that. Not a bad image, honestly... wait, what am I saying?
He continues, “Once you’re on your feet, I’ll have a hammock set up for you in here. In the corner. It won’t be much, but it’ll keep you off the floor.” The bird on his shoulder gives me a side-eye before clicking its beak at me and I have to squint my eyes to get a closer look at it. Is that bird wearing an eyepatch? This definitely tops the list of strangest days of my entire life and somehow it gets stranger every minute. It’ll make one hell of a story someday. If anyone will believe me when I tell it and if I live long enough to make it back home. I doubt that anyone’s gonna take me seriously. Hell, I don’t believe this and I’m the one living it.
But there’s a thought lingering in the back of my mind as the room fills with a spiced, smoky haze: I think I’m okay with this. I’ve always wondered what life was like outside the island, and this is my first chance at finding out. Go figure.
“You... never told me your name,” I blurt. He smirks.
“And you never told me yours. You first.” His bright eyes pierce through the smoke, almost like they’re floating. It’s ethereal. I love it.
“Aoba. Seragaki Aoba.” My face feels hot, my chest won’t stop shaking. It feels like my heart wants to jump out of my chest, rattling my ribs like the bars of a jail cell begging to be freed. I can’t stop looking at him, at the way his mouth twists into a grin and clouds form when he speaks like he could command the elements if he wished. Is he even human?
“Most of my crew calls me Captain. But,” he leans on one thigh and waves the pipe clutched between his fingers with a surprisingly graceful flourish, “You, Seragaki Aoba, can call me Mink. Now that you’re awake, and our pleasantries are through, I’m going to make sure you’re still in one piece under my shirt. Call it ‘playing Doctor’ if you want, if that makes it any easier for you. I’ll be right back.”
With that, he spills the contents of the pipe into a slot on the end of the box and tucks the pipe neatly inside the box. It must be very important, if he’s taking such good care of it. Not that I know the first thing about smoking, but I can tell by the way his gaze softens at the sight of the box... maybe it’s something sentimental. If a man as intimidating as Mink could be sentimental about such things.
He’s gone for a minute, just to shuffle the chair back to the desk and start digging through one of the drawers. When Mink returns he sits on the edge of the bed and drops the case he’d brought with him into his lap. Inside it is an alarmingly vintage-looking stethoscope but it’s well-polished so it must see semi-frequent use. ...Is that a good thing?
Oh, wow. The smell of whatever he’d been smoking is especially strong now. Like it lingers in his clothes. I want to lean into him, but that would be a bad idea. My body freezes up when he touches me; he slides his gloved hand beneath my head and trails down my back just enough to ease me into a semi-upright position. The world spins and I groan; finally the ache in my head I’d been fearing has finally started to make an appearance. It’s only a dull, stabbing sensation right now but it’s still unpleasant. Mink notices but doesn’t say anything to question me. Instead, he mutters something to himself in a language I don’t understand. Then he reaches up with his free hand and pulls his hat off his head to drop it onto mine instead. It’s so big it falls into my eyes and I catch the slightest hint of an interested gaze before the fallen hat fully obscures my vision.
I close my eyes and just let whatever happens... happen.
Despite the pounding in my chest, the prodding in my head and the odd, dreamy numbness keeping the rest of my body still now, I betray myself in trusting Mink. Despite my body screaming for help, my mind has other plans as his hand finds its way up my shirt. The cold metal of the stethoscope presses to my chest and I suck in a breath, still as a statue.
“Breathe in,” he says, and hums out a pleased sound when I do as instructed. His voice is right in my ear, a rough whisper as he continues, “Good. Don’t hold your breath. Just keep breathing normally. Have to make sure the seawater didn’t run too deep in you.” The way he’s speaking to me, praising me, makes me want to squirm---but I’m not sure why. I think this whole scenario is amusing to him, despite how mortified I am that a total stranger (my rescuer, at that) is listening to how thoroughly his simplistic words fluster me. I think he’s enjoying this a little too much. Fuck, maybe I’m really the one that’s enjoying this a little too much.
Mink chuckles and the hand splayed across my back presses into me firmly. “Don’t be nervous,” he chides, but how can I not be nervous in a situation like this?“Your heart rate is awfully high,” he observes after a pause.
“You...” Maybe I should phrase this better, it’s gonna come out sounding odd... “My granny says the same thing. She’s been my doctor as long as I’ve been alive...”
“Oh?”
The stethoscope relocates, and he plants it a little to the left on my chest. His fingers brush against a nipple as he moves, but I have just enough control over my body to not make a sound even though the light touch has me shivering.
“Y-yeah. She’s been... the only one able to make medicine strong enough to get rid of my headaches. I’ve had these... headaches... since I was a teenager. Sometimes it’d be so bad, I’d just black out in the middle of whatever I was doing... even though I’m an adult now, it still happens from time to time. It’s not something any other doctor has been able to treat.” I close my mouth and my face starts to burn as I realize I’ve been oversharing. “...Sorry to, um. Burden you with my medical history. It’s just... I half-expected to wake up with a headache---well, being honest I expected to wake up dead, but I’m not in as much pain as I should be. And I’m okay with that.”
Mink pulls the stethoscope away. He lifts the hat from my eyes and sits back like he’s inspecting me. His gaze trails a long line up and down my body and then he crosses his arms. His bird flaps its wings and makes a soft purr-like chirp before settling down against his shoulder once again. They both watch me intently. “Must be the smoke,” Mink muses. The bird bobs its head as if in agreement.
“What is that stuff, anyway?” I ask.
“Medicine, technically.” Alright, not quite the answer I was expecting, but that does make things make a lot more sense now. No wonder my body feels so... strange around him. But, you know what? It’s not a bad thing. Maybe if I keep repeating that my body will take the hint my mind keeps trying to feed it. “I’m no doctor by professional means, but I keep this medicinal recipe very close. There are people who wish to steal it and will do anything to get their hands on it. This includes people on your island, too. As for me... I go where I’m needed, wherever the seas decide to take me. I treat whoever I believe needs treating and in return, I’m able to provide for my ship and my crew. It’s mutually beneficial.”
So that’s what he meant when he said ‘if our travels allow us to stop’ earlier, I guess. Now it makes sense.
“So... when you were smoking it earlier... that was to help me heal?”
Mink steals his hat back off my head and turns away, resting a hand over his coat pocket where the pipe box rests. “...Yes. It eases anxiety, as well. Some say it helps you forget things, and remember others. Over the years I’ve discovered that it affects everyone differently, but that’s the true beauty of it. The only people who have ever had negative reactions are those who have attempted to steal from me. I think of that as divine intervention. Our gods are very direct in their methods of teaching, I believe.”
All I can do is nod. Even though he’s sitting away from me, I can still feel the warmth of his hand on my back, a phantom touch left behind.
“Do... you think our meeting is something the gods decided, too?”
“Maybe.” He seems lost in thought, and I reach out toward him. The bird starts to squawk in angry defiance but Mink clamps a hand down firmly against its back to calm it. “Easy, Tori. He’s safe.”
To me, Mink says, “He’s protective. A guardian. My lookout. I don’t blame him for being defensive of me.”
“I don’t either...” Though I don’t want to be bitten, I can understand... “Especially not with so many people trying to steal from you. Being defensive keeps you safe.”
“But sometimes,” he says, leaning close again just enough that I catch that wonderful scent of cinnamon one more time, “Sometimes taking what you want and keeping it close is worth the risk.”
I want to say something back to that, but I can’t think of anything. Instead I just let him lay me back down against the bed and watch with silent excitement as he grabs the chair from the desk one more time to drag it to the bedside. When he sits down again, he says, “Now. Like I said, get some rest. Sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow. We rise with the sun, so prepare yourself.” Though the words are spoken as orders more than information, he still keeps his tone soft. “Tori and I will watch over you, to make sure you don’t stop breathing in the middle of the night. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve hauled men out of the water thinking they’re fine only to find them collapsed the next morning. I haven’t lost a man to the sea in years, but that’s because I’ve been far more timely with my own offerings. I’ve learned my lesson there.”
“But... I...”
“Shh. Sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. You’ll need a proper night’s rest to greet it properly. As for me... I have more important things to concern myself with right now. I’m prepared to beg the gods’ forgiveness in the morning if I must.”
This man would fight gods for me.
That thought chases after my wandering mind until I finally start to succumb to my own weariness. The sound of Mink humming, coupled with the soft sound of harmonized whistling, leads me into dreams before I can try to fight it.
__
I wake up the next morning when I’m thrown not-so-gracefully from the bed onto the floor. The whole world feels like it flipped sideways for a minute until the ground evens out and I groan bitterly as I knock my head against the wooden frame when I try to stand up and get shoved to the ground again by another oncoming wave that tilts the boat at a surely dangerous angle. Though several items that had previously been atop Mink’s desk are now strewn about the quarters, everything else is notably bolted in place. Now it makes sense.
Scrambling to my feet, I shove the door open and shout for Mink. Several men turn their heads as I fight to keep myself standing, and a few of them laugh at me as I realize I’ve suddenly forgotten how to walk. Well. I haven’t forgotten how to walk, I just haven’t figured out how to walk on a moving platform. Mink was right. I don’t have my sea legs.
“Alright, enough screwing around, all of you, back to work!” Mink’s voice booms from behind me, and I almost didn’t recognize it. I turn to greet him and his demeanor is entirely different than it was the night before. A scowl carves across his face as he scans the crew one by one until they scramble back to their stations, and only once everything is back in order does he relax it, ever so slightly. Tori hops off his shoulder and circles around the boat, diving and swooping every now and then toward a particular crewmate if they look like they’re not paying attention.
He runs a tight ship.
“If I hear any more snide remarks out of any of you, I’ll feed your daily rations to the sea. Are we clear?” Mink’s tone is loud and commanding, and even I straighten up as the crew shouts in answer with a notably enthusiastic, “Aye, sir!”
I cling to the side of the nearest railing, praying that the sea calms down for just a few minutes so I can get my bearings again. Mink steps over to me, scowl apparent, and I flinch. He says nothing but turns his arm toward me and glances my way before nudging his hand out in silent invitation.
“Thanks,” I mutter, blush burning at my ears as I cling to him like I’m a kid learning how to ride a bike for the first time. This is kind of like riding a bike, in a way. Only there’s no wheels. And no road. And a hell of a lot more water. But I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.
“We’re going back to my quarters. Walk with me, Seragaki.”
“Y-yes, sir.” I know he told me I could call him Mink but something tells me I shouldn’t do that out here. Not after all that yelling.
He pulls me aside, standing behind me as he guides me by a hand at my back into his quarters. It reminds me of last night and I can feel the blush creeping its way up to my ears. When the door closes behind us, Mink says bluntly, “You’re not wearing pants. That’s why they were laughing.”
Oh, shit.
“Wh-what?! Why didn’t... oh, I’m so stupid...”
“I’ll just give you the benefit of the doubt and say you got too much seawater in your ears, maybe it made its way up to your brain. That, unfortunately, isn’t something my medical knowledge can fix. But what I can fix is giving you your pants back. They should be dry by now. I didn’t mention this last night but I had to change your clothes because, had you slept in them, you would be far more sick.” He tilts his head and I catch that flash of a smirk again. I have to turn around to try to offer myself some sense of privacy from my shameful display, but he’s already seen me naked, apparently, so how much worse could this get?
“Ohh.” I say that like I’ve just been told an interesting fact, but in the back of my mind my internal voice is screaming what the fuck!!
Mink tosses me my clothes and I instinctively start to push him back to the nearest corner.
“Turn around, okay?” I reel back my demanding tone and mutter instead, “...Please?”
He gives me a sarcastic side-eye before shrugging and turning around. “I’ve seen it all, but if it makes you feel better...”
“It does make me feel better!” I shout ridiculously, really trying hard not to think about this whole thing as I change back into my clothes. Actually, I just put my pants and shoes on. I’m keeping his shirt on, for now. I think it looks better. A t-shirt isn’t exactly “pirate material” but... okay, no, to be completely honest it’s just because I like his shirt better. And it smells good. And it doesn’t smell as much of wetness and sea salt as my clothes-I-nearly-drowned-in do. “...Alright, you can turn around again.”
When Mink turns around, his little smirk grows wider. “Stealing my shirt, are you? That’s an awfully high price to pay.”
This is a game we’re playing right now, isn’t it? Just a little playful banter. That side of him from last night is coming back. It must be something he lets out only in private. I like that. “Maybe not stealing, that’s kind of a loaded word, don’t you think?”
“But it is still stealing.” Mink approaches, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me into him. “Even if my shirt fits you better than it does me.”
I lean into him as I whisper with a grin full of yearning for adventure, “Sometimes taking what you want and keeping it close is worth the risk.”
I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:
Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.
The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.
The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.
The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.
Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.
The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.
Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".
He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.
This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.
Edit to add further developments:
Yes, this is all real. Check the notes and people have pictures. I understand the skepticism because it feels like a joke, but to the best of my knowledge, everything in the above is accurate.
Microsoft also owns the trademark on X for chatting and gaming because, y'know, X-box.
The logo came from a random podcaster who tweeted it at Musk.
The act of sending a tweet is now known as "Xeet". They even added a guide for how to Xeet.
The branding change is inconsistent. Some icons have changed, some have not, and the words "tweet" and "Twitter" are still all over the place on the site.
TweetDeck is currently unaffected and I hope it's because they forgot that it exists again. The complete negligence toward that tool and just leaving it the hell alone is the only thing that makes the site usable (and some of us are stuck on there for work).
This is likely because Musk was forced out of PayPal due to a failed credit line project and because he wanted to rename the site to "X-Paypal" and eventually just to "X".
This became a big deal behind the scenes as Musk paid over $1 million for the domain X.com and wanted to rebrand the company that already had the brand awareness people were using it as a verb to "pay online" (as in "I'll paypal you the money")
X.com is not currently owned by Musk. It is held by a domain registrar (I believe GoDaddy but I'm not entirely sure). Meaning as long as he's hung onto this idea of making X Corp a thing, he couldn't be arsed to pay the $15/year domain renewal.
Bloomberg estimates the rebranding wiped between $4 to $20 billion from the valuation of Twitter due to the loss of brand awareness.
The company was already worth less than half of the $44 billion Musk paid for it in the first place, meaning this may end up a worse deal than when Yahoo bought Tumblr.
One estimation (though this is with a grain of salt) said that Twitter is three months from defaulting on its loans taken out to buy the site. Those loans were secured with Tesla stock. Meaning the bank will seize that stock and, since it won't be enough to pay the debt (since it's worth around 50-75% of what it was at the time of the loan), they can start seizing personal assets of Elon Musk including the Twitter company itself and his interest in SpaceX.
Sesame Street's official accounts mocked the rebranding.
The above examples have been provided with the authors' permission to demonstrate what these look like.
Basic rundown:
They are all 3 sentences long
Perfect grammar, capitalization, and punctuation
Like absolutely flawless English teacher-style writing with only a single exclamation mark, ever
No mentions whatsoever of character names, settings, situations, or anything that could be tied to the story
The usernames may be identical to people who exist on ao3, but the name is not clickable, and no profile is associated with it EXCEPT when you directly search for that name. What this means: the comments come from an unregistered (not logged in) reader, bots scrape the site for real usernames, attach that to the comment, and post
Please spread the word about this so authors can filter comments and report them accordingly
There has been some speculation about why this is happening at all, and the best guess is that this is a feature that AI-training story-scraping tools are implementing to try and make their browsing traffic look legitimate
no, you know what? i don’t want to be nice to people who treat fic writers like content creators.
it’s not fucking normal to leave ‘reviews’ for fanfiction - that’s an insane and unkind thing to do. i have been reading fic on lj, ff.net, ao3 and tumblr for longer than some of y’all have been alive and i’m telling you that i have never seen people act like this.
the concept of “content” has rotted y’all’s brains to the point that you don’t see us as human, like we’re just robots who exist to entertain you.
we’re people - just like y’all - who have jobs and families and whole lives outside of writing fic and honestly, it only takes one rude comment/bookmark/message to completely zap the words right outta me and i know i’m not the only writer who feels that way.
if you don’t like something about a fan work, whether it’s fic or art or whatever - keep it to your damn self. complain in private to friends if you have to but the damage you’re doing to writers and artists by talking about it publicly - when nobody fucking asked - is astronomical, and hard to come back from.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: Soap/Ghost
Rating: NR
Word Count: 3333 (✨)
CWs: nightmares, intrusive thoughts, PTSD-adjacent descriptions
Summary: Ghost hasn't been sleeping. Johnny is determined to find some way to help... if Ghost will let him try.
This is the full fic to that angsty lil snippet I dropped here the other day! Enjoy <3
Context: Soap and Ghost are waiting for Price to show up to training and end up having some time alone together. Angst ensues. | decided to share some of my in-progress writing to tumblr to try to get some interest going for my fics! This is just a wip, so there will be more on my ao3 page soon! Unless you all want more snippets, I'd be happy to provide em >:]
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
The day went on without any further problems. Ghost showed up to training early, sneaking into the room behind Johnny who flinched in surprise when Ghost just materialized sitting at the desk beside him. It was just the two of them right now. Price had yet to show, which wasn’t unheard of---the man tended to get held up by phone calls at the last minute. Perks of being a Captain.
“What?” asked Ghost, though by the look in his eyes he’d been expecting, had been wanting, the flinch. “This is my seat. That a problem?”
“No, sir,” answered Johnny, swiping a hand through his hair. He couldn’t meet Ghost’s gaze, but he could feel those eyes bearing down on him. “Just scared me, is all.”
“Everyone’s afraid of the Ghost, eh,” Riley snapped while crossing his arms in a deliberate show of disappointment. “Even you, Johnny?”
Should Soap answer that question honestly? Would it piss Ghost off? ...Is that what he wanted?
“...A bit, yes, sir.” Johnny sighed. Ghost remained silent, but kept his eyes on the Sergeant. His eyebrow twitched and Johnny wanted to take it back. All he could do was try to steer himself back out of danger. “I just don’t know that much about you. It’s normal to be afraid of the unknown, yeah? Guess it’s just instinct.”
Riley had been about to retort, but looked away. He uncrossed his arms and turned so that his back was facing Johnny---probably to stare out the window.
“Do you know what ghosts fear, Johnny?”
The question was abrupt. Sudden. It caught Soap off guard as he pondered it. A riddle? A joke? More dark humor?
“No, sir.”
“They fear being forgotten.”
“You can’t forget about something if you never saw it, LT,” Soap challenged, perhaps a bit too boldly, and that was enough to get Ghost to turn back around. The glare in his eyes was sharp like a dagger, words pointed as he hissed out in a low growl,
“Listen, MacTavish, our demons don’t have faces. We can’t just wish them away. You’re so fucking innocent it makes me nauseous---stay that way, you’ll live longer. Don’t end up like me.”
thinking of crossposting some of my fic links on here... trying to find more 18+ soapghost peeps. does tumblr get mad if you post a Not For Kids link still or did they finally cut back on that--
origamiaround
izzy806
pixelskylines
dededos
discoholicmusic
