sanemi loves fucking your thighs, especially if he comes home to you asleep. you just look so cute with your cheeks smashed into the pillow and his clothes draping your frame. you always like to wear something of his when he's away on missions, and seeing your bare thighs peeking out of his haori turns his cock to stone. he undresses and slips in beside you. you're so warm and soft; sanemi sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift against him. his haori smells like you now, and that's all he can think of with you pliant in his arms like this, his cock throbbing along your lower back. careful not to wake you, he nudges your legs apart and settles himself between your silken thighs, pumping slowly so he won't wake you. slick gathers at the top of your thighs, little gasps falling from your mouth while he works himself slowly. "my darling wife, waiting here just for me."
giyuu is definitely a virgin when you two first meet, so when he realizes how much he wants you like that™, he does everything he can to avoid you. he doesn't know what to do with these feelings of possession and feral need that you evoke in him, so he decides that being on mission constantly will prevent him from slipping up and making you uncomfortable. after all, how likely is it that you like him, too? but then you corner him, demanding answers, and something in him collapses. "I need you," he admits, watching you closely for signs of disgust. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything." you answer by tugging his mouth to yours, gently guiding his inexperienced lips with your own. when he feels how wet you get for him later, your pussy soaking his chin, your hands tugging on his hair and telling him how well he's doing, he can't help but spill himself onto the sheets.
shinobu likes to experiment in everything she does, and how hard she can make you cum is one of her favorite pastimes. she'll coat the tip of her tongue with just enough venom to make your clit sting and buzz, jumping for attention while she spreads your wetness all over her fingers. "I know they're not very big," she says to you in that soft, lilting voice. "but they can make my pretty girl cum, can't they?" whenever you're out together, shinobu makes you wear vaginal beads soaked in an aphrodisiac of her own design, delighting in the way you squirm and shift throughout the night. "please stay still, dear," she'll tell you, eyes flashing in subtle warning. "you don't need to go home already, do you?"
douma lets you leave so he can hunt you through the woods, scenting your fear on the wind. he's silent in his capture; one minute you're gasping for air behind a tree, the next his voice is a sinister coo in your ear: "found you." his teeth sink into the meat of your neck as his arms cage you in close. "you're trembling, but your blood's sweet with your desire." one nail presses into the hollow of your throat. "did you want to be found, pet?" he hauls you on top of his thigh. "go on then, you dirty thing. get yourself off and make your blood sing." shame mixes into your arousal when you start shifting in his grasp, pressure building in your abdomen. he holds you upright as you cum. "maybe then i'll let you live, hmm?"
gyomei is too big - like battering-ram, will-kill-you-if-you-take-it big - and he knows it. he never pressures you to take his cock, is more than content getting you off with just his fingers, but you eventually get fed up with him evading your touch. "i want to please you, too," you wheedle and whine, and so he caves one night, letting you undress him, your soft hands stiffening his cock before he can stop it. he's so big and heavy that he hangs even when fully erect, and you can't help but be intimidated and a little in awe. just the tip of him is enough to make your pussy stretch obscenely, your legs spread wide to fit the width of his hips. "perfect," gyomei mutters, tears filling his eyes. "you feel so good, my darling." he doesn't finish inside you because he's afraid to lose control. he pulls out and finishes on your belly, rocking two fingers inside you to keep you full during your own orgasm.
akaza doesn't care how many times you've cum - if he thinks you can give him another, you're giving him another. he's memorized your tells, knows where to apply pressure and how, until you're a keening, babbling mess whose eyes never stray from his. "look at who's doing this to you," he'll say, your ankles up by his ears, one arm locked around your thighs. "look at how good you look defiled by a demon's cum."
You wondered if Garcia would allow you to convince him that time was a psychological construct that didn't hold true application to a person.
You doubted he would; you also doubt that he would believe you were late because a certain ghost felt it right to mess with your watch again.
Said ghost was now sulking at the edges of your vision as you slipped into the meeting room, arriving with only seconds enough to spare.
You dropped into an open seat along the edge of the table, placing a journal onto the table and flicking it open as you sat. Your heart was still pounding in your chest from the unexpected run. Shame heated your cheeks as you brushed at a strand of [h/c] hair to tuck it behind your ear.
There was shuffling as others settled, and you hesitantly looked up, catching sight of Garcia, his eyes focused hard on yours, his gaze seeming to calculate some unseen risk before he turned back to the Captain of your squad, Alexander Spiros, a right old douchebag in your mind, but others held enough respect for the Griffin hybrid.
Cautiously, you peeked upwards as you set your pen aside and scanned over the room. There were the familiar faces of your squad mates, the familiar monsters, and a few humans. None bothered to spare you a glance, and a bit of the tension eased in your chest before you caught sight of the harpy from earlier, and your shoulders drew up higher as you watched Roach's own attention snap to the group that was seated at the front of the room alongside Spiros.
The 141, and suddenly, all the rumors of how terrifying they were seemed to have just a little more truth: the harpy had seemed kind enough in your brief encounter, but none of that ease from earlier was there as he sat rigid and at attention. The man from your table earlier, because life could not hate you enough, was there as well; you only recognized the hat—old and in need of a replacement—yet he was clearly someone who demanded respect. Being a dragon aside, you suddenly felt as though ice water had been dropped over your head as you realized how close you were sitting to a disaster waiting to happen. There was a wraith as well; you had met a few hybrid wraiths in one of your old platoons, but if the little wisps dancing around him were anything to go by, he was no hybrid. As if to add to his intimidation, he was wearing a skull balaclava, one that hid even his eyes from sight, and you quickly dropped yours.
However, as you cautioned a glance at the last member, you felt yourself lock up and felt how your own breath hitched--
--Claws, teeth, screaming... The feeling of dirt in your mouth and the suffocating stench of wet forests. Lungs heaving in desperation with burning muscles--
A werewolf, his gaze met yours, and before you thought better of it, your gaze cut to the familiar face of your own captain, suddenly so very, and unnaturally, grateful for Spiros' voice as it called the attention of the room.
***
The squad had units; every unit had a leader. You were relieved that nobody had asked for your transfer yet; Garcia was likely the only thing keeping you from being transferred, and you were grateful for that.
Units were used for assignments and training. Right now that's what was happening. Acclimation to the 141 being brought in, seeing how they functioned as a team and how best to divide them, going by strengths and what they could fill in another unit.
If the dragon's lashing tail was any indicator, he wasn't pleased with the decision but understood it well enough.
"You won't be going in today." Garcia said, tail twitching as he came to stand beside you, "Precautionary measure. Spiros doesn't want any of the humans up against 141 in the ring."
You grunted but gave affirmation of understanding. Watching was agonizing, however, as the harpy engaged with the Delta unit in the training grounds. "Will it be an issue, the werewolf and Caspian?" You asked, looking towards said man.
It normally wouldn't be an issue, but, from what you had gathered, Caspian, as a Sergeant First Class, outranked the werewolf, and, from what you had seen, vampires and werewolves in opposing positions never meant anything good.
"It should be fine. I'm hoping Spiros keeps them out of the same unit, at the least. But Caspian is reasonable, and from what I've heard, Soap gives respect when he thinks it's been given to him." Garcia replied, casting a glance your way and giving you a slow nod. Then, almost as if taking some reassurance for himself, he reached out and gave a pat to your head. "Besides, I think our worries should be on Spiros and Price; griffons and dragons don't traditionally mix either." His hand drew back, and he ran it through his own hair. "Just...keep up what you're doing. It's been good so far, and I don't want to have to worry about transfer papers on top of the mess this already is." He added. Before his ears perked and he tipped his head, you could see Spiros waving for him.
"Speak of the devil?" You offered lightly, earning a sigh from Garcia. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep your head above the water and we're good." Was the remark he left you with before he spun on his heel and went on his way.
Your gaze moved back to the fields, watching; everything should be fine. It was a lie to calm yourself as you watched the werewolf, Soap, creep alongside one of the walls. From what you could grasp, the directive of the exercise was elimination and retrieval, simple enough, except that the members of your squad seemed uncertain whenever faced with an opposing unit and whichever 141 member was with them, right now limited to Soap and Gaz on the field.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, glancing to your sides as Roach popped out from the floor, face tilted up to look at you, your reflection in his goggles. 'Simon isn't here,' was his signed greeting. 'They didn't have a human. I was hoping you could meet him, because then you could bond over being weird, squishy humans.'
You rolled your [e/c] eyes as Roach signed that, "Well...maybe he was transferred?" You offered weakly. You knew how transfers worked quite well, after all.
Roach shook his head, still half in the floor. 'No, Simon had fought to get where he was; why would he transfer?'
"We're 'squishy humans'," You responded teasingly, keeping your voice to a whisper, "Maybe he had to transfer." Because that was better than the reality.
Roach, in turn, flipped you off and slunk a bit more into the floor, leaving his hand hovering above the tiles, making you snort to yourself.
"Something funny, Mania?" A voice hissed, and you spun around, hastily dropping your eyes from the siren-hybrid in front of you.
"No...Nothing, Daze." You replied. Really, there was no reason to be overly respectful with her; you were both the same rank, and she was only bigger, stronger, and a monster.
"Garcia still keeping you around with the 141 here is a mistake," Daze hissed, her melodious voice dangerously sharp. "You mess this up, and the cost is more than a psych ward visit for you." The warning was clear and ran a shiver down your spine because this was big. If anyone here was seen as worthy enough, they could have the potential of higher recruitment, a way out of this dingy base and barren land. And you knew that, to everyone here, you were a danger to that, because one wrong statement, and it could be Dark Zone all over.
Roach: Hey.
Y/N: Hey?
Roach: I can't sleep. :/
Y/N: I can. Goodnight.
***
Roach, to Y/N (After she had found his file): All right, let’s tell each other a secret about ourselves. I’m going to go first– I'm dead, and I don't mean the inside kind.
***
Y/N: Hey, are you okay?
Simon: Yeah.
Y/N: You don't look okay...
Simon: Then stop looking.
***
Soap, reading a recipe: Beat three eggs?
Alejandro : It means like in hand-to-hand combat.
Soap: Ohhhh-
Gaz: Both of you get out of this kitchen.
***
Rudy, wanting a late night gossip session: Psst, [Y/N] are you alone?
Y/N, looking at the overconfident ghost hanging off her bunk bed: Yeah. Totally alone.
***
Garcia, upon first meeting [Y/N]: I spent years working my way up the ranks, making a name for myself...Only to become an overglorified babysitter to a walking existential crisis.
Gaz blinked as he looked back in the hallway, gaze lingering on the young girl that had pointed him in the right direction, tried to ignore what certainly sounded like her speaking to nothingness because there were plenty of others in the hallway.
He could admit that he had been a bit ruffled at the initial introduction, seeing as how he very much dislike the idea of anyone but his flock touching his wings, but she'd seemed genuinely apologetic in the moment and so he let it go without scaring her --she had already seemed scared enough, he was used to that from humans, knew that clawed feet wasn't a particularly nice aspect for them.
Still, something about her stuck to him and he shook his head as he moved down the halls, keeping his wings tucked just a bit closer to his back as he walked because caution had never cost him much. Though, of course having not asked for directions prior was what got him lost, meaning he would no doubt have to deal with the team's harassment so it may be safer to say he was learning.
***
There was no way the jumble of chaos before you was the mess hall at nearly 14:00--no way this place normally accordingly vacant was so occupied with soldiers from varying positions so late into the day, not at the time you and Roach had discovered worked best for your unusual means of communication.
Roach seemed unbothered however, as he walked through tables searching for a place to sit with minimal eye sight, you could only roll your eyes, because anytime he turned and didn't see you right behind him, only for him to give you a 'Hurry up', you felt like giving him a different sign.
Regardless, the two of you sat down at a table that only had one more person, an older male, a winged monster of some sort--you quickly tore your gaze away, moreso from fear then respect, but also because Roach loved reminding you that zoning out to inspect someone was "creepy", but you did catch sigh of his hat resting beside him on the table and he seemed fully absorbed in whatever book he was reading, so you figured it was decent enough.
Roach snagged his orange juice from your tray, a smile in his eyes as he set it in-front of him.
You had noticed it before, how his ability to interact with things in the world came and went, as discovered when he had once tried to return a bird's egg back to its nest...safe to say you were considering finding a therapist who wouldn't ask to many questions.
"I wish I could have followed Simon; I really do miss him. He was human like you, but he was not a lick scared of monsters- Unlike you." He signed before he opened his orange juice carton, pulling down his mask, his face on rare display.
You felt your face drop as you stared at Roach, glancing cautiously at the mystery man before giving a response, not brave enough to even whisper, "No offense, but your general species as a whole are terrifying." And you knew anyone else in Roach's position would either be offended or lord that type of power over you, but he did not press, did not ask, simply gave you a thumbs down in a slow, dramatic fashion, like from one of the gladiator movies.
"Come on, you have never had to fight a monster that terrified you to your bones?" You asked as you poked at the chicken on your plate, before taking a bite of the veggies--that looked like wilted weeds--around it.
"Not that I can think of. I mean some are scary sure but..." Roach shrugged as if making a point and returned to his drink.
"I get it, why you can not ask about Simon. But thanks for even putting up with how sassy I got about it." Roach signed as he looked up at you again, his eyes not meeting yours.
And you shook your head as you swallowed your bite, not really sure what to say in response to that, but before you could, Roach started up again. "That's why I am going to try and figure it out on my own he was my best friend, and if something happened, and I was not there to prevent it..." The way his shoulders slouched said it all.
Banshees were rare, but they were useful in any form of army. Their ability to predict deaths allowed for battle strategies to be rewritten a major downfall, however, and as Roach often reminded you, was that Banshee's could not see their own deaths, hence why he was...killed. Something he never dwelled much into, always giving an excuse of poor memory.
You didn't look up, as much as it tugged at you too, when you heard the figure get out of his seat and walk away, the smell of cigars following and you let out a sharp breath.
Only to grimace just as a recruit was thrown across the dining area, some werewolf and vampire duo no doubt, always at each other's throats. So, Roach let you finish the rest of the meal in silence, only to then repeatedly beg to go to the communal lounge because he wanted to watch a game of foosball before the 141's meeting with your own squad, and like the sucker you were for the one friend you had on the face of the earth, you agreed.
Bodies left the meeting room in no order, but you remained seated at the look Lieutenant Oliver García sent you when you tried to stand and slip out.
Hands in your lap you watched as he sighed, his tail flicking -- trying desperately to ignore how Roach leapt from the table and 'onto' the tail -- as his gaze met yours.
"I need you to be on your best behavior." He muttered, running a hand through his lightly curled hair, "No whispering in the rec room to empty air, no gasping in the mess hall, no random obscure facts you should not know, and no landing yourself another psych evalutaion." Had it come from anyone else, you know the words would have been a gag, a harsh and metaphorical slap across the face, but Garcia had been nothing if not patient with your 'outbursts' as he called them, and he had kept you in the unit for far longer than any other commanding officer before him had done. Albeit mostly under the guise for your skill
"I know, sir." You murmured, voice low, respectful, knowing it was decently close to what he wanted to hear.
Regardless of that, his shoulders dropped slightly as he looked over you, pale green eyes flitting over you silently, judgingly, "Please, [Y/n], this is big for the team."
He never encouraged the harashment had even stopped it at some points, but you could see it in his eyes, he was slowly growing exhausted of having to cover for you case after case, report after report; everyone did eventually, you couldn't blame them, as much as it stung you simply had to accept it, you didn't have a place, you couldn't have a place. "I know, sir, I promise to be on my best behavior."
Your tone was sincere, because you truly planned to be, but you also knew that fate was so rarely in your favor.
"Thank you." He murmured as he grabbed some of the remaining folders off of the briefing table, "You're dismissed now." He added with a wave of his hand, and you were quick to dart from the room, watching as Roach still stood in the room, oddly pensive as he stared at the files in Garcia's hand. You didn't dare break his reverie as you left the room silently, hands shoved into the pockets of your pants and shoulders rising as you expected the inevitable to come.
***
Hallways had to easily be the worst decision anyone had ever made, after all, who decided that surrounding bodies within a narrow, winding cage was a decent idea?
You would really love an answer, however you figured that such an answer would require more research than you'd ever care for.
"No Roach," you whispered as you twisted past an outstretched wing, careful to keep your voice low as you watched his hands flying and forming into statements.
"You could always ask? I need to know what happened to Simon, the last I heard he was working under Price." His hands moved rapidly, concerned for his friend as his face twisted with the expression of his emotions. "If he wasn't there then something happened," He was walking backwards in-front of you, his form wavering between solid and translucent, and making it a mess for you to try and navigate.
"You heard Garcia, he doesn't want me asking questions." You hissed, voice low, careful to keep it masked under the chatter of those around you.
But that statement made Roach's shoulders drop as he looked at you, pain in his milky eyes before he nodded. "Roach I'm not trying to-" He vanished suddenly and all that happened next was in a moment.
You didn't want to hurt him, but Roach was oddly emotional for a soldier, the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, so you knew that by refusing him an answer to his friend you had hurt him. However, he was also petty, and you should have expected some retaliation as you watched his form vanish into nothingness, only for you to slam into a pair of sleek wings that puffed at the intrusion of space.
Deep brown and black feathers met your face and nearly made it into your mouth as you stumbled back, an apology already on your lips, "I'm so sorry; wasn't looking where I was going." While silently cursing Roach in your mind for having done this.
As usual, and like most hybrids, the man was taller than you were. A harpy of some kind, his feathers sleek and well-maintained --a small shock considering how busy military life was, most harpy wings were well-maintained, but his looked nearly immaculate. However, it was the way he stared at you with dark eyes that caught you off-guard.
Most monsters stared at humans with disdain, as if your race was truly inferior and that you held every wrong-action of your ancestors on your shoulders.
He was smiling, a small one, but still a smile as he waved a hand through the air, "No, you're fine. Wasn't really looking myself, I'm a bit lost." He admitted as he stared down at you. "Actually, you're a soldier here. Any idea where briefing room 110 is?"
A small oddity, but the base was a transfer place for new regiments all the time because of its location.
"I- Yeah, I just came from there, just, keep down the hall and stick to the right." You replied, unable to stop the small, apprehensive part of your mind that was screaming at you to run that this man was more dangerous then he seemed.
He gave you a smile again and nodded his head as his wings shifted behind him, "Thanks." Was all he said as he went on his way.
And as he went on his way you saw that familiar shape making itself known and hissed, "Thanks a ton dipshit." To the cheekily grinning man who seemed to be in a somewhat better mood then before, having now ruined yours.
And with so few in the hall to witness it, you reached out as you started to walk and hit Roach's arm, making the man pout as he looked at you and sign, "The hitting is unnecessary, stop the hitting. Sorry, sorry." Like your one strike was a form of abuse on its own, and even then, you felt the tension ease as you chuckled softly.
Laswell stared at the files before her, hundreds of bullet points of information, paragraphs that soon lost their meaning. After the mess with Shadow Company, who was still at large, and Valeria's Las Almas Cartel, she realized her boys needed more help than she had initially thought, more than she feared admitting. The issue was finding a person suitable for working with the team who wouldn't clash with the already powerful monsters in the Task Force that had a bond beyond what anyone had thought.
She stared at the manila files before her, all viable applicants, all powerful monsters that had stellar records. She shifted another to the dismissal pile as she took note of the 'Vampire' status on his file, too soon. She groaned quietly and stood up, her back stiff from sitting and poring over those files for so long.
As she did so, she was given pause as her coat caught the corner of a file, and it fell from her desk, the files skidding over the floor, and she sighed heavily. She ran a hand over her face and crouched down when she paused, a file —thicker than any of the others she'd read through so far —peeking out from the others. She reached out and pulled it up, staring at the attached photo of a younger soldier displayed, a gentle feminine face with [h/c] hair cut to fall at their shoulders and a tense smile. Laswell didn't know what made her open the file, to be shocked at the number of psych evaluations and complaints against the private; it was odd, she seemed a competent enough soldier from the reports she could peek at...
A mission attachment caught her eye, 'Mission: Dark Zone,' and her lips thinned as she recalled glancing at the paperwork for the mission and the number of devastating casualties she had seen, and, forgetting about the files scattered on her floor, she flicked the file open wider, her attention stolen by sheer confusion.
***
A soft groan fell past your lips as you caught sight of the man dangling off of the foot of the bunk above you, a smile in his eyes as he waved —that was Roach, who was perhaps your only friend in the world at the moment, as sad as it was to admit, more so because he technically wasn’t in the world— with a sigh you flung your legs off the side of the bed and sat up, aware that nobody else in the bunk was awake; they never were, but early wake-ups were an unfortunate side effect of whatever it was you were.
'Small mercies though; not having to share the shower with anybody,' you thought as Roach appeared next to you, hands shoved in his pockets and looking every bit real. He had to be the most corporal spirit you've met so far, being able to interact with certain objects not already on him.
You don't know why Roach hung around so often, although you also didn't know if other...noncorporeals could interact with each other. But as he fell into step beside you, it was a comfort. There were a few others in the halls, but none that would spare you an extra look, and that alone was something to be grateful for after the last few weeks of finding your gear hidden, or being tripped up in the hallways, of the whispers behind the hands, and of the next impending eval after Veron spotted you murmuring to what seemed like yourself after a mission.
***
"As of 23:00 we have been given an alert that Task Force 141 will be touching down at our base for a recon in the surrounding area in hopes of finding Phillip Graves."
You should have been listening, but Roach kept pretending to pounce on the tail of the Serval shifter that led the small platoon you were stationed in.
It certainly seemed like a big deal; everyone knew of the 141, easily one of the most feared units to date. A picture popped up on screen, and Roach kept excitedly pointing at it.
Right, one of Roach's old friends also happened to be on the task force, or he thought so as a picture of a Wraith took the screen and Roach deflated, catching your eye, but, unable to say anything, you shrugged, glancing at the information packet in front of you that covered the barest of bones from this meeting: the arrival time, who, and the callsigns of the men on the team.
Unease settled in your gut as you inspected the file, but not of the Task Force, of the man that they were here for, Phillip Graves, a vampire known for his blood manipulation and leader of a mercenary group call the 'Shadows.' They were not small; they shouldn't be able to hide the way they were, and that was a terrifying thought, because you knew it meant they had inside help somewhere and with someone. And those types of situations never ended well; after all, that had been the whole reason for that accursed mission that had set the label of 'freak' firmly on your back. 'Mission Dark Zone,' a living hellscape that you shook away every time it crept in, and right now that was by listening to whatever information this rather useless session could give.
As promised, here was the first chapter. I'm still fine-tuning some things, so feel free to let me know if there is anything that should be changed and hopefully chapter two is out soon and with a little more refinement and interaction between characters.
You were never ‘normal’, not in a world flooded by monsters, and certainly not among your fellow humans.
It had started innocently, your parents talking about imaginary friends - you felt they were something more, those figures that would smile at you, that would sometimes indulge you in you childish games - but you never ‘grew’ out of it. Your peers ‘matured’, in your parents’ eyes, you did not. You hung on tightly to those figures, insisted they were real, and told your parents things a child should have never known. Looking back on it, you realized you should have kept your mouth shut.
Your parents considered it logical and merciful to take you to the psychiatrist; the lady had seemed nice. Her room had soft chairs, puzzles, and books in one corner and a jar of candy for good behavior. She was the one that recommended those tests, the needles that had pierced your flesh in search for something that didn’t belong because the science of the mind couldn’t explain you.
Nothing was ever found; you grew up in isolation, your peers were unsettled by you, the whispers followed you, and home was hardly any better, not when your parents couldn’t stand to look at you, not when you had perfectly normal siblings.
***
When you were allowed to enlist, you did so hastily; the need for escape had nearly crushed your lungs.
It was hardly different; you faced prejudice from both sides, you were reported to commanding officers, and you were given more psych evaluations than the most seasoned of veterans.
That didn’t stop you from talking to the lonely souls that lingered in the hallways, that had stories to share, that needed to share them.
It was why you were hesitant when a Sergeant Sanderson sat by your side in the mess one day — he was clearly a monster of some type, his eyes just not quite right, his skin a bit too unnatural — but he was nice, so real you had doubted yourself, except that everyone seemed to see the orange juice box he brought with him.
He introduced himself as ‘Roach’ a callsign he claimed had been well-deserved: “I’m hard to kill, just like a cockroach.” He had explained through sign language that he was a subspecies of banshee, one more mortal-blooded than the rest of his kin. He was nice and easy to get along with; he made jokes and never once called you out for speaking to others that weren’t there. He was an excellent friend.
That was why you became curious; Roach would always clam up when you tried to bring up a friend he had mentioned in passing or some devastating incident that followed. So you dug; for the first time in your life, you dug for information about who he was and about what happened. You were disgusted with yourself. You hadn’t needed to explain it to him; he had already known and had only given you a sorry smile, because now you did as well. Those figures that had haunted your past had never been made up; they had been real — at one point in time — and you could see them.
Just an idea, for bluegiragi’s monster 141 au. I know there are a lot of these out already but this is an idea I’ve had for a while.
A reader who’s human, like in most of the spin-offs of bluegiragi’s wonderful au, but even though the reader is human, the reader can see/interact with the dead that chose to linger in the world instead of moving on.
This causes issues with her between her peers, not just the monster ones but the human ones who don’t understand her and think she’s insane.
Maybe during a recruiting option for a mission, Laswell stumbles across reader’s file and become’s curious about the amount of psych reviews in her file, she gets suspicious and considering the area the 141 is going into Laswell decides it’s a safe bet to try and integrate this human into the team.
I’m still rough-drafting the idea, but would anyone be interested in reading something like this?
