I decided to try my hand at whumptober this year, however because of lack of motivation and time I decided to modify it a bit to fit me better.
I chose my favourite prompt from each week and will be posting it that friday, which means 5 fics in the next month (which is 5 more than I’ve posted in the last year.)
Thank you for the support on my previous post and I hope you all enjoy these upcoming ones.
Friday October 3rd
A Sorceress’ Fall
Dragon!Sylus x Sorceress!MC
No. 1: Lamb to Slaughter | Ceremony | Beg for Forgiveness
Friday, October 10th
“No grave can hold my body down”
Simon riley x reader
No. 6: Caught in a Net | Medical Restraints | Pinned to the Wall
Friday, October 17th
“Tell me it hurts”
COD Reader Insert
No. 15: “You can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts.”
Failed Rescue Attempt | Body Part in the Mail | Live-Streamed Torture
Friday, October 24th
One Red Rose
Sylus x MC
No. 20: “That’s new.”
Symptomatic | Fancy Event | Resignation
Friday, October 31st
COD Reader Insert
No. 31: “Even with the smallest cuts. You can still lose so much blood.”
Bleeding Out | Gunshot Wound | Rescued by the Enemy
➛ Trigger Warnings :: Body Horror (Hannahaki Disease), sickness, unrequited love (supposedly), No happy ending, cut to black, blood, saliva, probably ooc Sylus
My first hannahaki AU attempt. Feedback and constructive criticism welcome (that stands for all my fics).
“What is this?”
Sylus spoke, face impassive as he examined the piece of paper in front of him, eyes boring into it.
“My resignation.”
I held my chin high in false confidence as I spoke, hoping to disguise the tremble in my voice, or the shakiness of my tightly clasped hands.
A laugh burst out of Sylus’s chest. The kind brought on by surprise and disbelief.
“Very funny Kitten. April fools is in April, not October.”
He tossed the paper to the side, rolling his eyes as he spoke.
“Get back to work, I don’t have time for your jokes right now.”
I frowned, frustration and doubt building in my chest. I looked towards the floor, willing the tears away as my nails dug into my hands in an attempt to stop their shaking.
“Sylus no. I'm resigning. I can’t do this anymore.”
I could feel his eyes boring into me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet them, instead focusing on the desk between us.
“What do you mean you’re resigning. I don’t recall that being an option I gave you. Where will you go? What will you do? Your place is here, with me.”
I had never heard him so shaken, his voice wavering as he rambled to me.
“I have family in Skyhaven. I’m going to stay there. Away from Onychinus.”
I doubted every choice I had made up to that moment as I finally met his eyes. The doubt and shock in them shook me to my very core. I wanted nothing more than to leap over the desk between us and let him hold me, whispering that I was joking, and ‘I can’t believe I got you’.
But instead I simply met his gaze, hoping he couldn’t sense the uncertainty swirling through my mind.
“Did I do something?”
He finally spoke, his voice uncharacteristically cautious. I shook my head frantically, glancing back down to the desk, eyes finding the discarded resignation. My mouth opened and closed as I searched for the words before closing my eyes tight to stop the tears from welling up inside them.
My heart stuttered as I heard him round the desk, stopping in front of me, so close I could smell the remnants of the aftershave on his skin. I felt his hand grasp my chin softly, allowing him to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
“Please Kitten. Tell me how I can fix this.”
I could feel the tears in my eyes as I scanned his face as if memorizing it.
“You can’t”
I whispered.
My chest tightened as a cough forced its way out of my lungs, my body instinctively curling on itself, hand flying to my mouth and throat when a now familiar sensation of something in my throat almost caused me to gag. My mind raced as I pleaded with my body not to rebel in this moment, eyes watering in desperation now. The faint feeling of petals slowly sliding back down my esophagus was uncomfortable, but welcome in the moment.
I could feel Sylus’ hands on me as he led me to a nearby chair, his wrist coming to check my temperature as I tried to catch my breath. He looked almost terrified, but understanding seemed to surface in his eyes.
“Very well. If this is what you need I will let you go.”
He stayed crouched in front of me, both hands holding one of mine.
“But know that you will always have a position beside me.”
He slowly stood, turning back to the desk as if he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.
“My only request is that you still accompany me to the Gala on Friday. I will have a dress and accessories delivered to your residence.”
He spoke as if it was already decided, and I suppose it was. I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, slowly rising to my feet.
“Of course sir. I will return to my duties.”
His head whipped around at the title. I hadn’t called him sir since I started at the company years ago. I couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, the betrayal and anger that was no doubt residing in them would have broken me. I could hear him sigh, hard, before speaking.
“Take the rest of the week. Go home and rest. I will expect you back on Friday for the Gala.”
My heart clenched again as I nodded, head down as I slid out of his office, tears beginning to stream down my face as soon as the door closed behind me. I couldn’t tell if the lump in my throat was from distress or the flowers slowly killing me.
A week flew by and before I had realized, the gala had arrived. My coughing had gotten worse, but had done little but make my throat and chest tender with overuse.
The morning of the gala, a package with a gorgeous dress and mask arrived with instructions to wear them to the event that night. I had burred to get ready before the car arrived.
When I finally was called down to the lobby, I was unsurprised to find Sylus waiting in the car for me, even if part of me was hoping we could avoid an awkward car ride.
I was pleasantly surprised by the absent of small talk, allowing my mind to drift away, in the silence.
I was lost in thought when a masked Sylus opened my car door. Having not even noticed him slipping from the seat beside me, it startled me from my spiral. He said nothing, only offering me his hand and a soft smile. I attempted to offer one back, although I was sure it looked more like a grimace than anything pleasant.
I accepted his hand, adjusting the white feathered mask on my face as I stepped out of the car. As I stood he gracefully transferred my hand to his elbow, linking our arms.
I glanced at him in slight surprise. His red eyes gleamed with mischief, but I could see the doubt shining behind them. They were stark against the plain black crow mask hiding the top half of his face, a perfect mirror of the mask he had me wear. The feathers adorning both our masks matched the embroidered ones wrapping around his suit and my dress. We truly looked like a matching set, the only difference being his all black colour scheme, and my contrasting all white one.
We walked arm in arm towards the front steps of the venue, a gorgeous 18th century mansion just on the outskirts of rural linkon. Jack o lanterns lined the grand staircase leading to a gorgeous double door entrance.
“I didn’t know the elites enjoyed halloween.”
I grinned, looking at Sylus teasingly, my attempt at regaining a sense of normalcy, if only for the night.
“Its only right when most of us are what go bump in the night.”
He teased, a sly smirk spreading on his lips.
I rolled my eyes in fake exasperation as we finally made it to the entrance. Sylus briefly exchanged a word with the man who stood to the side of the door before gently leading me into the room.
The sight that greeted me was a grand foyer, filled with people in masks and elaborate dress. The room was sparsely furnished, left mostly open for people to mingle in. Paintings that were probably worth more than my life lined the walls of 2 grand staircases, the landing between the two providing an oversight of the room. Dark hardwood floors provided contrast to the simple cream walls and gold sconces spotted around the room. There was a constant buzz of conversation heard over the faint tinkle of what was no doubt a live string quartet. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged wine, a sign of the tastes of most at the event.
My survey of the area was halted by a man approaching Sylus, once again startling me. Sylus took note, and gave me a curious look before greeting the man. Their conversation became background noise as I felt a familiar pain and tingling in my chest, a tell tale sign of a “coughing” fit.
I gently excused myself, ignoring the confused and concerned glance from Sylus as I made my way to a side hallway, where I could only pray a bathroom could be found. The pain in my chest grew, leading me to stumble into a random side room which appeared to be an unused office. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it as the coughing and hacking began.
I closed my eyes, hoping to let it pass quickly, letting instinct take the lead as my lungs tried and failed to dislodge the flowers growing in them. I finally felt it dislodge, but that was when the pain began. With every hack and cough I felt as if my insides were being torn apart.
At some point I felt my legs go weak, falling forward onto my hands and knees, mask falling off as pain wrecked my body. It felt like forever before it finally surfaced, entering my mouth with a surge of pain. I let it fall from my mouth into my hands, before finally taking notice of the copper taste in my mouth. My heart sank as my eyes finally opened, peering at the plant I had just forcibly ejected from my body.
If it was any other situation, the image might have been beautiful, a blood soaked rose that seemed to have been white at some point, sat in my hands. It was almost wrapped in a stem, its thorns and leaves dripping blood.
“Well that’s new…”
Another cough was forced from my body, spraying blood from my mouth and all over my discarded mask before dripping from my mouth, staining the front of my pristine white dress in red.
Panic tunneled my vision as I struggled to breathe effectively drowning in the blood flowing down my torn up esophagus.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. Or maybe that was the knocking on the door behind me, courtesy of the cause of my infliction.
I couldn’t hear as the door opened but I felt Sylus approach me, laying his hands on my shoulders in comfort and confusion.
I slowly turned to look at him, revealing the blood rolling down my chin and wet breaths, unable to focus enough to take in the pure panic in his eyes as he took in the sight of me, curled up around a blood soaked flower.
I could’ve sworn I heard yelling and felt strong arms supporting me as the sweet release of unconsciousness finally greeted me.
➛ Prompts Used :: (Day 15) Failed Rescue Attempt | Body Part in the Mail | Live-Streamed Torture
➛Word count :: 1.5k
➛ Trigger Warnings :: Restraints, graphic depictions of violence, gore, and injury, implied kidnapping, hostage situations, blood, Military Inaccuracies, purposeful mutilation, Hurt/No comfort, Angst, Makarov. just a lot of nope (If i missed any please let me know)
I honestly kind of forgot the prompts as soon as I started writing the actual fic lol.
The package was inconspicuous. Slipped into a pile of incoming mail by a passing shadow. Delivered straight to the captain’s desk by an unsuspecting private. Opened with the same disinterest as all the others.
It was the contents that set it apart. Oddly enough it wasn’t the fingers that startled Price the most. It was the picture that accompanied them. A familiar figure, bloody and bruised, a tattooed hand holding your hair, forcing your head to face the camera. You looked nearly unconscious, tiptoeing on the edge, your eyes cloudy, staring right through Price.
From then on his office was frantic. Laswell was called, and put on the first flight to london. MPs rushed around the base, a lockdown ordered after the package was reported. The camera footage was combed through, not revealing any additional information besides the time the package was dropped into the mailbag by a shadowy figure. The phone rang what felt like constantly, higher ups demanding to know how such an oversight had happened.
But Price was frozen. Sure he went through the motions, explaining the situation when it needed to be explained, providing the necessary information when required. But his mind wandered, wandered to you, your whereabouts, your condition.
He thought of how he could have protected you. Maybe if he hadn’t sent you on leave after that last mission. Allowed you to stay on base like you begged him to do. Let you work yourself to death as you had always seemed to do after a bad run.
He sat in his silence and self-pity for hours, until Laswell had arrived and joined Gaz in his attempts at finding you. He watched as his team tried desperately to find their teammate. The one he was supposed to keep safe. The one he sent away.
It wasn’t until Gaz finally found a lead that he broke out of his trance.
“Found something!”
Anger replaced his shock as Gaz explained the facts that led them to an abandoned warehouse just outside the borders of Stalingrad in Russia.
The next few hours happened in a flurry of phone calls and paperwork as he and Laswell worked to get the mission passed. At hour 4, they finally got the ok to take a small team to rescue you. No more than 4 men and a pilot.
The decision was obvious as the 141 automatically began suiting up, preparing for departure as Price ran through the plans one more time. He, Gaz and Soap would breach in stealth, with Ghost at a lookout watching the outside, a pilot on standby for evac.
One phone call later and they had a pilot who was stupid enough to help them get their Sargent back.
Nikolai had worked with the boys before and knew Price wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. As soon as he heard it was one of their own, it took little convincing for him to agree to their plan.
It took only 45 minutes for the plane to be loaded with the basics, and off the ground.
It was almost easy to forget that one of their own’s life was on the line, falling into routine as they leapt from the plane only 30 kilos from the warehouse. They reached their destination quickly, took their positions with ease.
It was simple, quick, and efficient. It wasn’t until they breached a downstairs window that they realized.
Everyone was gone. There were signs of life in the form of coffee mugs with once warm coffee still inside and the occasional folder of unimportant documents, but it was obvious that it had been abandoned. Perhaps in the last few days.
They pushed forward, hope dimming with every empty room they cleared.
Price’s breath hitched as they reached what was once an old basement that they had obviously adjusted to become a makeshift interrogation room.
The walls had been striped bare, nothing but the cracked concrete of the foundations and the occasional screw remaining. The room was empty save for a table in the corner, almost covered in shadows.
But that wasn’t what caught his attention. His eyes were locked on the puddle of blood underneath a simple wooden chair that sat in the centre of the room. The chair still had ropes wrapped around the arms and back, with more having fallen to the floor after being untied and left there.
A laptop sat on the chair, the light of the screen casting an eerie blue light over the entrance. Price heard Soap faintly swear, and Gaz’s breath hitch at the sight, neither offering the information to Ghost who he could distantly hear from the coms. Price swallowed hard, moving forwards towards the chair and laptop as his sergeants cleared the room behind him.
Price absentmindedly heard Soap confirm the room was clear, the sergeants taking their places flanking him, but his eyes were focused on the screen in front of him.
There you were, tied to the very chair your image sat on now. You looked better than you had in the photo, and that fact made Price feel ill.
Price’s fears proved correct when Makarov walked around from behind the camera, seemingly in the middle of a monologue, the audio distant from the small speakers in the laptop. He couldn’t make out the words he spoke, but from your reaction it wasn’t good.
You snarled and struggled, glaring daggers at the man who stood in front of you. A punch made you fall silent, head falling to the side from the force.
Price could see your chest moving, heaving from what was undoubtedly rage and adrenaline. He made an unintentional noise as Makarov grabbed your chin, forcing your head back as a knife found its spot on your neck, a thin trickle of blood seeping from under the pressure.
He could just barely make out the defiance in your eyes, but the fear that sat underneath it made him nauseous.
His eyes tracked the knife as it moved downwards, tracing along your collar bones. Seemingly without warning, Makarov sunk the knife into your shoulder, your scream echoing out the speakers, and Price was suddenly thankful they were so quiet.
Your head twisted, body trying to fight against the restraints and escape the pain, but it did nothing but obviously entertain Makarov. He left the knife in your shoulder as he disappeared behind the camera, one of the no doubt few guards in the room stepping into view, a metal pole hanging loosely in his hands.
Price couldn’t hear the order given before the man swung the pipe into your chest, hard enough to no doubt shatter a rib or two. He watched as you heaved and struggled, your lungs struggling to grasp air through the pain.
The man then swung at your knees, hitting the right one with enough force to probably shatter the kneecap. Price was helpless as he watched you sob, your mouth hanging open as blood began to drip from your lips. He couldn’t help but hope you had only bitten your tongue and your lungs hadn’t been punctured by the assault.
He almost sighed in relief as the guard finally took a step back, away from your heaving and broken body, only to regret it instantly as Makarov stepped back into frame. He grabbed your hair in one hand, forcing your head up, as he gripped the knife in your shoulder with his other. With a cruel whisper, he twisted the blade before yanking it out, letting it lie beside your hand on the armrest.
Chills ran down Price's spine as Makarov turned to the camera, grinning wildly and speaking again. Whatever he said caused you to struggle weakly, unable to do anything as he slowly lowered the knife to your hand.
Guilt filled Price's chest as he turned away, squeezing his eyes shut as your screams erupted from the laptop once again. Your shrieks and sobs stopped, still echoing in Price’s head as he slowly turned back towards the screen. Makarov still stood above you, but a guard was knelt beside you, gathering your separated fingers into a familiar package. Your head was limp, and Price could tell that you were fighting unconsciousness.
The guard stepped away, taking the knife and your appendages away from the camera’s view, revealing the bleeding stumps left behind on your right hand. Makarov grinned, gesturing for the person behind the camera to bring it closer.
The screen jostled as the camera was lifted and quickly brought towards your limp body. Makarov’s hand forced your head up, your eyes cloudy and wet, a familiar shot, one from the package price had just opened that morning.
For the first time, Price was able to hear Makarov’s words through the small speakers.
➛ Prompts Used :: (Day six) “No grave can hold my body down”, Medical restraints, Pinned to the wall
➛ Word Count :: ~1.1k
➛ Trigger Warnings :: Restraints, medical trauma (somewhat), mentions of injury, mentions of Ghost’s OG backstory
This is not great, but I like the premise so in the future I may revisit it. Also, super unrealistic and definitely contains military inaccuracies
You’re not going.”
“What the fuck do you mean I’m not going.”
“I mean you’re not going Simon!”
Price shouted at his lieutenant, frustration etching his every word.
“You’re too fucking close to it!”
“He has ties to Roba! I am the only one who ever killed the fucker! Im the best intel you’ll fucking get!”
“We don’t know who will be there! What we’ll find. I can’t risk you getting reckless and endangering yourself or the team!”
His gaze softened as he continued.
“Lord knows you would never forgive yourself if he took anyone else from you.”
“1.. 2.. 3.. BREACH”
Price’s words rang out as the heavy door was forced open.
The light flowed into the room revealing an empty room, nothing but a dirty mat laying in the corner.
Soap entered the room, gun raised, sweeping his gaze around the room.
It wasn’t until his flashlight pointed to the corner that he finally noticed her. A girl, covered in nothing but a tattered tshirt and the remnants of blood and dirt, with a familiar scar across her eyes.
“Fuckin hell… Price you’re gonna wanna see this.”
“Let me see her.”
“Now simon-”
“LET ME SEE HER”
“Simon we have no way of-”
“Johnny told me about her fucking eyes. What more proof do you need?”
Price sighed, hand running down his face in exasperation.
“Simon just because she shares some scars doesn’t mean it’s her. We have to wait for a positive ID. And we both know that you’re way too close to this case to even be allowed to see her, much less talk to her.”
Ghost opened his mouth to argue before a frantic knock interrupted. He glared at his captain as Price called out.
“Enter”
A nurse opened the door, obviously out of breath and out of sorts.
“Sir, its the patient-”
She could barely finish her sentence before Ghost was out the door, rushing towards the medbay ignoring the yelling of Price.
He reached the secure wing of the medbay in what seemed like record time, following the sounds of shouting towards your room. He flew around the corner, almost falling as he slid across the linoleum. He paid no mind to the startled nurses he passed as he barreled down the hallway, his vision tunneling as he saw the source of all the commotion.
He froze in the doorway to your room, chest clenching and breath catching as he finally took in your form. You struggled against your restraints, teeth bared like a feral animal as the poor nurses surrounding you attempted to reconnect the heart monitor. Bandages covered what little skin he could see, except your face, where a familiar slash across the eyes remained. Your cloudy right eye darted around frantically as your left remained unseen behind thick white bandages. His heart clenched in fear for your remaining vision for a moment before being startled out of the thought.
The nearby nurses shouted as you broke through your right restraint, quickly using the leverage to throw yourself out of the bed and away from the hands surrounding you, the movement tearing the leather straps holding your left hand against the bed. Your hands flew up to the bandages over your remaining working eye, tearing the dressings away and regaining your sight. You blinked wildly as the sudden light assaulted your eye, the bright overhead fluorescents doing nothing to help the throbbing in your head.
You barely could make out the shape of a doorway before you took off, ignoring the pain rippling through your body and the frantic yelling of the nurses. A dark form blocked your exit and you reflexively tried to duck beneath their grasp, but the pain and bandages obviously slowed you down. You had no time to react before you were grabbed by the shoulders and practically slammed against the wall, a thick arm bracing against your shoulders and keeping you in place.
Your hands flailed, reaching for the body in front of you, nails scratching at their face as you struggled to escape. You could feel the mask your captor wore slide away under your struggle to injure them, and you took the chance to scratch at their eyes. Quickly, your hands were captured as well, a large hand almost softly grasping your tender wrists and forcing them down between the two of you.
It was at this moment that your hearing slowly began to return from your panic, the almost pleading shout of the person in front of you to ‘please calm down’.
“You’re going to hurt yourself!”
The voice shook you to your core, a familiar accent, now roughened with years of smoking and yelling, sinking into your bones, freezing your struggle. Your eye blinked wildly as it attempted to focus on the face of the man in front of you, recognition causing your mouth to go slack.
“Simon?”
Simon grinned in front of you, the pride shining on his face almost stronger than the worry in his gaze.
“Yea it's me darling.”
He spoke, slowly loosening his grip on your sore wrists as your body began to almost go slack, the shock and familiarity causing the adrenaline pumping through your veins to freeze.
Your lip trembled as the shock in your eyes melted away to hope. Your eye darted around his face, as if trying to find proof he wasn't really here. That you weren’t really here.
But it was him. The boy you curled up with every night in that damp dark cell. The boy whose wounds you bandaged and he yours. Despite the extra scars, and lines deepened with age, it was still him. The boy they tried to break you with.
“You’re… you were dead… They buried you… With- With-”
He smiled at you gently, more gently than you deserved, as he led you to the floor, sinking with you as your legs lost their remaining strength. He gathered you into his arms, softly collecting your exhausted body into his lap as you examined him closely before tucking your head beneath his chin as you had always done before.
➛ Prompts Used :: (Day one) Lamb to Slaughter, Ceremony, Beg for Forgiveness (Loosely)
➛ Word Count :: 1.3k
Its a little bit cliche, and tropey, but bear with me.
It started as a normal night. I walked through the woods, foraging basket in hand, absentmindedly following the hidden path that I walked 100s of times. My small basket carried the herbs and spices my mother had requested for dinner, as well as a few berries that I had stumbled upon along the way.
My mind couldn't help but wander as I thought of the fortune I had been granted. My mother, previously dangerously ill, had made a miraculous recovery what seemed to be overnight. Just a week ago she had laid in bed, telling me about everything she wanted me to do after she passed, and now she stood at home, probably in the kitchen, waiting for me to return home with the final ingredients for our stew.
Perhaps if my mind hadn’t left me, I would’ve noticed the light flickering through the trees earlier. Perhaps if I had just been paying a bit more attention, I could’ve heard the shouting of many coming from the direction of home. Perhaps if I had kept my wits about me, I would have gotten home faster, and if I had, perhaps I would have been able to stop the men from forcing my mother from our home and into the front yard.
As I broke through the treeline, breath stuttering in my chest, our eyes met. My mother’s tearful gaze met mine as the cruel men of Philios knocked her down in front of the Sacred Judiciator. Her mouth formed around words, maybe a plea, maybe a warning. Or maybe a final goodbye as the axe of the executioner swung his axe down, severing her head from her body.
I watched in shock as her body was thrown into the burning remnants of our home, and her head was unceremoniously placed in a bag, and placed at the feet of the sacred Judiciator, like a cat bringing their owner a dead bird.
My mind buzzed. I felt the basket fall from my hands, body tingling, separated from my mind. My eyes refused to leave the body of my mother as they unceremoniously dragged it away, tossing it into the burning remains of our once peaceful home. I watched as the cruel executioner dropped her head into a bag, setting it in front of the sacred judiciator as a cat would a dead rat to their owner.
“THERE. THE SORCERESS.”
The butcher from town was the one who called out, pointing at me in anger. The person who once gifted me left over bones for broth for my once ailing mother now pointed at me accusatorily.
Heads all around turned to me, nothing but rage and bloodlust in the eyes of the many. I felt my hands slowly rise in reflex, feet slowly moving me backwards absentmindedly. I could barely hear my voice as I spoke.
“Please… I didnt…”
“GET HER. SHE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MAJESTY’S SUFFERING.”
The masses surged forward as I turned around, sprinting deep back into the forest. The familiar path gave me an advantage, as I heard the mob fall behind, rage-filled cries sounding out through the trees.
As if laughing at me, the sky opened up, fat drops of rain soaking me, and the world around. My feet splashed through the puddles, soaking the bottom of my dress in mud. I felt nothing as I slipped, falling into a puddle, further soaking my person.
The sound of the mob pushed me to scramble back to my feet, running in the only direction I knew, south, towards Miss Mary’s home.
I practically burst through her back door, tears and rain ran down my face as I heaved, gags and hiccups forcibly leaving my body in pure guilt and mourning. I could barely feel as Miss Mary's hands grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. I could see her mouth moving but heard nothing except the blood running through my ears. A sharp pain in my face finally snapped me out of it, my head forcibly thrown to the side, Miss Mary’s hand still raised from slapping me. Her grip returned to my shoulders, forcing me to look at her.
“You do not have time for this. You have to run.”
I shook my head, dazed and still shaking with sobs.
“Why… what…”
“They think you traded the prince’s life for your mother’s. He came down with the same illness as hers and is thought to die within hours. You need to leave.”
My chest heaved as I shook
“They… they killed her. Why did…”
“I don't know darling but you need to leave. Now.”
“Where do I…”
“You need to go towards the Fiend’s pit. It's the only way. They won’t dare follow you.”
“But… but…”
“Anywhere else you are but a lamb to the slaughter.”
We were cut off by the distant shouting of the mass. Me and Miss Mary shared a panicked look before she began shoving me out of her door.
“Go! Now! It's the only way!”
I had no other choice but to listen, stumbling out the door, only looking back to see the distant flickering of torches approaching the small cottage.
As I ran, I heard the distant shouting, Miss Mary’s desperate pleas could be heard briefly before a scream, then nothing. Another sob escaped me as I stumbled through the forest. Branches and thorns scraping against my skin as I raced towards the fiend’s pit.
I stumbled through the treeline stopping at the edge of seemingly endless darkness. A chasm sat between two mountains, an impossible feat of nature. Maybe that’s what started the legends of a fiend trapped in the pit. Even though the legends were nothing but story, the darkness and threat of wanderers guaranteed that no one would follow me. But at what cost.
The shouting behind me forced me forward deep into the darkness. I crept along the edge of the deep pit, stumbling as I forced myself deeper into the point of no return.
Far behind me I heard the shouting of the riot begin to lull as they arrived at the edge of the pit. It wasn’t until I heard the Arbiter’s voice, I allowed myself to relax for just a moment.
“The Sorceress has been Judged! Greed and Evil shall perish so long as his Majesty and the sacred Judicator protect Philos for all eternity!”
Angry tears blur my vision as I collapse along the edge, rage and hatred replacing the grief and terror I had felt just moments ago. I thought of my poor mother, who probably begged for forgiveness that she did not need before they burned down her home and killed her in cold blood. I thought of Miss Mary, who risked everything to help me, even just a little bit, and her unknown fate.
“I will avenge you.” I swore, looking down into the chasm, scarlet raindrops running down my face, while far below they gather into a gurgling stream in the depths of the abyss.
A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, causing me to sink deeper into the shadows. My heart races as I push further into the chasm, holding myself in an attempt to retain any heat I can get. If the wanderers didn’t kill me, the chill of the darkness would.
My mind races as I stumble.
“Please. I can’t die here”
I mutter to no one.
The shadows seem to have a life of their own, dancing as lightning alights the sky. From my periphery I can see the claws of wanderers closing in, the glint of their eyes flashing in the shadows as they seem to play with their food.
“I won’t accept this…”
My heart races as I stumble deeper, pressing myself into a crevice along the wall. The hatred and anger rise in my chest. How am I to get revenge if I let the wanderers of the abyss take me now.
tags: ghoap x reader, protection dog attack (no gore), mentions of reader being attacked in the past, this is probably considered a meet ugly, ghoap being unbearably charming despite that, 3.5k words
i. DO NOT PET - I BITE
The first step outside is always the scary one.
You put it off for days until you can’t any longer – until the laundry piles up, the (good) food runs out, the trash gets far too full; something inevitably forces you to leave the safety of your apartment. Which, according to your therapist, is a good thing. Exposure and response therapy, etcetera. Something about healing. Terror that, theoretically, will be analeptic.
Yet healing still feels like this: heart rate well over the normal count and sweating, hand outstretched but stopped just short of the doorknob. You get stuck here every time – the part where the decision falls on you. The part when you have to choose to be brave, despite not feeling that way at all.
There’s always been an allure to the alternative. Inside the fear, a reprieve – an inky, unclear numbness only achieved when sleep was pushed away, far enough that the tension brought it back to you hard, like a baseball bat to the skull. There were no nightmares there, no grainy recollections of ichor on asphalt or the tearing of a part from a whole. All senses broken off at the tap. Without a body, you couldn’t remember what it felt like to injure it. Unessential – pushed out.
It worked for a while, until the acceptable time to process what happened ran out, and then your collapse became a nuisance for everyone else. Two weeks of time away and a referral for counseling was the extent of support available to you. Concern turned pernicious. Patience worn threadbare. An ultimatum – seek treatment or find another way to sustain yourself.
Your stitches hadn’t even dissolved by the time you were meant to return to work, but you just – couldn’t. Your front door was impermeable, the message clear: leave here and see what happens. So you relented – found something remote that kept you safe within the walls of your home. As long as you kept yourself busy, it wasn’t so bad – at least during the day. Night brought a certain desperation to avoid the things that made you human.
Sleep, mainly. You fought it off until you couldn’t – painfully aware of the hands that reached for you, inside of you – that waited for you just beyond the barrier of consciousness. Knowing that it would catch up to you, someday, but wholly unwilling to have that day be this one.
You experienced the next year in flashes and streaks of saturated film. Catching moments only in fading glimpses, any light against the reel immediately bleaching them from your mind. Eventually, lawyers started calling. You don’t remember what you said – you don’t remember going to court at all. You closed your eyes, and upon opening them again – you had Finn.
Finn presses his snout into the palm that falls limp at your side – lets out a little chuff of air that you’re sure you’d feel if your extremities weren’t numb. He stays there in his long-practiced show of support – moves a little closer when he finds it’s not having the desired effect. His body presses solidly into the side of your leg, just enough to be certain that you know he’s there – enough that when your body gets displaced by his weight, it knocks you back into the moment. That’s a little better – you’re able to wrap your hand around his maw, stroking backward over his head, pressing his ears flat until they spring back up again. He huffs a sigh – one you hear a little clearer over the ringing in your ears – seemingly pleased with himself. Something small like relief bleeds across the muscle that has your jaw locked up. Smooths it out a little. A pebble into a lake, instead of a boulder.
“Good boy,” you whisper, eyes still trained on the door.
Finn should not know how to do this. He is a working dog, but not a psychiatric dog – he’s trained only to protect you. The best of his class, his companionship came at a steep price – paid in full by the settlement you received two years ago. He’d been with you since, and the comfort you got just from his presence meant that you finally started leaving the house again, in increments. With no apparent regularity or warning, his old handler will invite you to a virtual meeting to review his progress so far, and to brush you up on training skills: desensitization, bite inhibition–how to keep the barrel loaded and pointed away from yourself. The list is long, but notably absent from it are the things he seems to be the most adept at. The handler has never been able to explain it – ‘he’s just your dog’, he’d once said with a shrug, like that cleared anything up at all.
And yet here he was, employing deep-pressure therapy like he’d been doing it since day one. And that was not too far from the truth, you suppose – he’d picked it up after about a week of being with you. You started teaching him words to go with the behaviors he already knew – it was easy enough to learn other helpful commands from there.
Your fingers close around his ear – soft and warm where your thumb rubs circles into it, like the outside skin of a peach. “Alright,” you breathe, steeling yourself for what, realistically, is just a trip to the grocery store for eggs — not anything more exciting than that. So you say to yourself, mostly: “let’s go.”
It takes only another minute for your fingertips to make contact with the doorknob, and then one more to grip it tightly enough to turn it. Finn stays static next to you, attached to you by the lead around your waist. Mostly for show, and for the reassurance of nervous mothers – quick release, so he’s able to neutralize a threat without dragging you along behind him. He doesn’t need it, but you find that the reverse psychology works on you, too – the knowledge that he can’t wander more than a foot away from you is a consolatory thing.
You pull the door open an inch, and then another – the roaring in your ears comes back as predicted, but you miss the way Finn’s flatten against his skull. Another few inches, and then it’s open enough for, say, a dog-sized body to fit through it, and then –
You don’t register another person until you peer your head out and see a body underneath Finn – unmoving, despite his teeth anchored into their arm.
You don’t move, you don’t breathe – the ‘recall’ command registers automatically from years of training, but right now you can’t speak. Out of the corner of your eye, you see small movement – the knowledge that there is another person shoots panic up your spine and out to your limbs like electricity, nearly knocking you off your feet –
A laugh – a cachinnation with the exertion of it, choked out between something that sounds like “dropped ye, didn’ ‘e?” – startles you out of your paralysis enough to react.
“Hier,” you heave, as loud as you can muster. It just barely breaches the threshold of silence, but it’s enough – Finn spits out the arm and high-tails it back to you, positioning himself in between your legs. Hackles still raised, a low growl reverberating from his being into yours.
“—fuckin’ hell.”
It comes from Finn’s victim, wheezed and heavily accented – who you’re now realizing is quite large – still flush to the floor. His companion – not nearly as intimidating comparatively but still very much a stranger to you – still bent over in near-hysterics, wipes at his eyes and tries to catch his breath. He reaches a hand down to help, pulling his friend up enough to sit. You reach the zenith of fear when you see what set Finn off: a mask, shaped into a skull and covering the entirety of the man’s face. The movement amplifies Finn’s growling. One last chance to communicate how thin the ice is here.
Scared as you are, you register the situation as one you can reasonably escape from – right through the door you’re pressed flat against. You try to summon up every bit of your bravery to communicate the danger these two men have found themselves in.
“The – mask,” you gasp out, throat constricting in time with the wild palpitating of your heart against your ribs, “he thinks – he’s trained to –”
At your panicked rambling, the one who’s been enjoying this straightens up, sizes up Finn – and seems to understand.
“Ah,” he says lightly, thickly Scottish through a grin aimed at his counterpart, “best ye listen to her, L.T. Seems the real deal, that one.”
The man on the ground moves then – slowly, and only his hands – to pull his mask down, down, down –
Finn settles immediately, dropping to a sit at the sight of what’s revealed. Dark eyes meet yours, revealed by the absence of the fabric – only then do you suck in a breath at what it was concealing.
Gnarled scars, chunks burned or scraped out of flesh and plastered over in a body’s attempt to stitch itself back together again. Some newer than others, by the look of it. Your hand goes to your abdomen – protecting the phantom pain. Knowing that just under your sweater, you look quite similar.
He keeps you there, pinned with what is surely only observation but feels heavy enough to hold you to the floor. You feel your panic fizzle out, dripping down fascia and tendon, dissipating a little at each nerve ending. Strange – you definitely should be a five alarm fire right now just given the sudden manifestation of the men before you, but you feel only a smaller, angry kindling in your gut. Still debilitating, but at least you can breathe.
“I’m sorry,” voice still shaking, you don’t move a muscle – you don’t trust your legs to keep you upright once you move them. “He’s not usually –”
“No. He’s just doing his job.”
Still fixed to his spot on the floor, his voice fills the space for him – deep and rough like an avalanche or the slam of the ocean onto the shore. Not exactly soothing, but it cuts your strings all the same. It’s a hard fall, a battering ram back into reality – looking at him, you suddenly remember what the hell you came out here to do anyway, and everything feels monumentally foolish and embarrassing and –
“Y‘right, lass?”
You startle, again forgetting and remembering the other one – blue eyes meet yours, bright and painfully sincere. He speaks to you softly, a small smile and hands half extended to you, like he’s trying to ward off another attack from Finn but this time it’s you poised to bite –
It’s too much, then – your sight is shuttered by a particularly violent wall of saltwater, the emotion clawing up and out until it’s all you can do to gasp in breath after pathetic breath. Finn pivots on a dime, turning his back to the men for the first time to reach up with a paw, pressing into your thigh as best he can. A clear indicator to sit– you follow it blindly and let him maneuver himself over top of you and under your arms. His weight is a welcome thing against your chest.
You run your hands over your face – trying desperately to get it together, hoping these guys are really not a threat because otherwise you’d make an easy victim right now. Again.
Motion in your peripheral startles a whimper out of you – instinctively curling in on yourself to protect where you are still soft, pulling Finn closer –
“Johnny,” rumbling and harsh when it meets your ears – it’s audibly a warning. The movement stops – the upright one settles back, however unwillingly. His name, it dawns on you. Johnny is his name.
They let you cry it out, then – silent and watchful while you fall apart and try to clumsily stitch yourself back together.
“Jesus,” finally wary of the silence, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see that swirling kaleidoscope, you laugh – a little self-deprecating thing. “Sorry. That was – really a lot.”
“No worries, hen,” Johnny says, smiling at you with a warmth you feel subcutaneously, “Simon’s been slacking on the training. Your boy gave ‘im a run for his money. What’s he called?”
“Finn,” you run your hand down his back, eliciting a very dramatic sigh from him. You notice that Johnny totally ignores your outburst, and your apologizing about the outburst, which is…not something normal people would do, probably. Your brain parses through the information you’ve just received, and latches onto the name. Simon.
“He’s a ridgeback,” the man in question offers, but you think it’s a question, so you nod.
“How’d you know that?” Johnny’s head on a swivel toward Simon, like this is a totally normal conversation to be having on the floor outside your apartment –
“Mates in my old unit worked with ‘em. Pretty rare now.”
You have no idea what to make of this, these two men talking idly with you and each other like this perfect stranger to them didn’t just have the breakdown of all breakdowns after their dog attacked them –
“Shit – is your arm okay?”
Simon cocks an eyebrow like it’s a strange thing to ask. He only grunts, something sounding sort of affirmative that mostly serves to confuse you further –
“Means yes,” Johnny offers, expression a little apologetic. “Simon’s used to gettin’ his ass handed to –”
Simon levels a glare at his friend – who is clearly reveling in this. “That’ll do, Johnny.”
“You called him L.T.,” you recall, feeling a little dazed. Half fact-finding, still assessing for a threat. Half, just – curious. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon shift his weight – a straightening of his spine. Finn’s ears perk up, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he makes himself comfortable, settling into you fully – his entire front half draped across your lap.
“Aye. Military thing. Old habits die hard.”
A lot of things make sense at once – the accents, the scars, the strangely normal reaction to your completely insane behavior. You reason that they’ve likely seen much worse than what you’ve got going on. It doesn’t make you feel as good or absolved as you’d hoped.
Johnny interrupts the quiet – you’re learning he has no problem doing that, which you’re immensely grateful for right now – “Were ye headed out?”
You snort, dropping your head into your hands, dragging them down your face and resisting the urge to gouge your eyes right out of your head. “Yeah. Grocery store. Don’t think it’s worth it after all…this.”
“What’d y'need? We got it.”
“Oh,” you immediately check Simon’s expression for any sort of vexation at his friend’s unexpected offer – he gives you nothing. “That’s really nice, but you don’t need to –”
Johnny is persistent. “S’alright, hen. We’re headed there anyway.”
Everything about the man is so startlingly earnest, you find yourself relenting to his kindness. Distantly, you wonder if this is some sort of military tactic, but the thought is faint enough that you…don’t really care. Not after the show you just put on. You tell him what you need, with no shortage of if it’s not too much trouble, really‘s.
He brushes off your bashfulness with a wave of his hand. He turns back to Simon. “You set?”
Simon’s not taken his eyes off of you this entire time. “Do you need a hand?”
And, wretchedly, you know the answer is likely that you do. You can’t feel anything below where Finn’s laid himself across you, both because of his heft and your adrenaline dump. But that acceptance brings its own low-level wave of anxiety, because that feels far too vulnerable of an ask.
“Think Finn’ll let me pet ‘im?” Johnny asks, and you know immediately that he and Simon have some working-in-tandem thing happening right now. Still doesn’t matter – whatever gets you out of this situation the fastest is fine. You’re not sure if Finn will cooperate, given the last 10 minutes. You tell him as much.
“Hm,” he hums, considering. He seems to make his decision just as quickly – sinking down to his haunches, making himself small. “Finn,” cooed, in as much of a baby voice as you believe Johnny can muster, “c’mere t’me?”
It takes a great deal of kissy sounds and coaxing, but eventually Finn slides off of your lap in something of an army crawl. He inches toward Johnny, tentative. He’s halfway there when he looks back at you – and promptly plants his rear. Johnny only grins.
“Better than I’d hoped,” he says, offering a hand out to Finn to smell.
“I’m going to get up now,” Simon tells you. He doesn’t move until he has your eyes. Yours stay on him through each small movement – planting his hands behind him and rising slowly, slowly, slowly, to his full height. Finn watches him – alert, but not on guard.
Simon takes a small step toward you – you plead with your heart to settle inside your chest. Both for your sake and Finn’s. But he takes another step, and your dog’s whole attention is on him now – despite all of Johnny’s sweet talking.
You turn your head to call for his attention, suddenly more exhausted than you think you’ve ever been. “Finn – platz.”
Reluctantly, he obliges – sliding to the floor, body still entirely rigid.
“Atta boy,” Simon murmurs, much closer to you now. “Good boy, Finn.”
Near enough to have to look up to see his face, you feel dwarfed by this wall of a man. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do, so you don’t move.
“Not sure whether it’d be less scary for me to crouch down or stay standing,” Simon tells you. Logically, you know he’s probably being considerate of Finn – the smaller, less rational part wonders if he’s referring to you.
For the umpteenth time today, you scrounge up all of your courage – and hold up a hand to him. He takes it in his own, and reaches down with the other to circle your elbow – careful not to grab you tightly or drag you up off the ground – letting you go at your own pace. Finn watches intently, but stays where he is. Blessed obedience training.
You try not to think of the way his touch feels – warm and mild and something else you are far too hurt to name – as he helps you up. He stays there once you’re upright – only backing off when you can confirm that you’re able to stay that way.
“Geh voraus.” You click your tongue at Finn, mimicking his plastic training tool, and gesture to the door with a nod. He pushes it open with his snout and then sits – head tilting expectantly, waiting for you to go in. Your heart swells with the knowledge that he will never, ever leave you behind.
“Here,” Johnny says, suddenly in your line of sight with a brightly colored sticky note held out to you, “Our numbers. In case ye need anythin’ else while we’re out.” He winks at you, and it’s more conspiratorial than anything else. It pulls a grin from you.
You shower them in your gratitude, and then shut the door behind you, closing off the rest of the world with it. Finn pads over to his bed, collapsing on it like he’s just gone through something gruelling. And he has – you both have, really. You make it to the couch and sink down into it – in your crash, you don’t even think to check the locks again.
When you wake up, the living room is dark. Finn snores lightly from his spot across the room. Arms above your head, you stretch until you feel a few pleasant little pops. Finn stirs as you do. You tilt your head to each side, stretching out the tightness of your neck, and you remember. The embarrassment of earlier comes back in an unfortunate rush. But – no nightmares. You’ve cut them down to a consistently fewer number per week.
“Finn,” you call, “Voraus. Bring.”
The alarm on the front door beeps in time with the scratch of dog nails against wood as he opens it. A beat passes, and you hear another beep, signalling its closing. It’s a tap-tap-tap over to you, and then you feel a weight in your lap. The weight of exactly a dozen eggs, specifically.
Nice to meet you – scrawled across the top of the carton in black ink that bleeds into the cardboard – happy to grab eggs anytime – S&J. You place the eggs on the coffee table in front of you, and deflate back against the cushions. God – did you even tell them your name?
You’d unpack all of this tomorrow. For now, you lie back down – allowing yourself to be lulled back into that familiar borderland, where nothing hurts and everything is gray.
Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x Fem!Medic!Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley
After a few rough nights of work, Johnny and Simon take care of you.
➛ Content Warnings :: Personal Negligence
➛ Word Count :: 2.2k
You practically fell into your chair, your body slumping forward onto your messy desk at first contact. You groaned, your hand harshly rubbing your eyes, willing yourself to stay awake. The seemingly infinite mountain of paperwork practically leaned over you, foretelling yet another late night.
Grumbling to yourself, you mourned your lost sleep, past, present, and future. Luck had not been on your side when it came to sleep; the chaos of being the head medic at the base prevented you from getting anything more than 6 total hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. This was the first downtime you were given, a break at the tail end of a long and tiring shift, and you found yourself overwhelmed with paperwork that was already long overdue.
Your eyes drifted to the mug of inevitably cold coffee in front of you, the cartoony ghosts almost taunting you with their happy little smiles. The mug was originally a gag gift, given to you by one of your boyfriends, Johnny, a joke playing on your other boyfriend's callsign, Ghost.
The thought of your boyfriends made you smile almost mournfully. Along with taking your sleep, your unfortunate circumstances caused you to miss the small amount of time you got with your boyfriends every night.
Simon, as a lieutenant, got very little time off, almost matching you in the amount of paperwork he had. One bonus though was his ability to adjust his own schedule, so what little time he had off usually lined up with yours and Soap's.
Johnny or Soap, on the other hand, was currently recovering from a minor injury, pushing himself in the gym to get back to where he was before. Much of his free time was spent in the gym, either running through his routine or sparring with Gaz.
All this, combined with your strict but unpredictable schedule, ended with very little time to spend together outside of mealtimes and sleep. With you eating in your office and sleeping at odd hours whenever you can, you missed your opportunities to see either of them the last two days. Despite having been apart for much longer periods, you missed them, their absence fighting your motivation to finish this paperwork.
You pushed yourself off of the desk with that thought, a soft groan escaping your chest as you arched your back, stretching out your spent muscles. You pulled your old coffee towards you as you stood up. Your mug, as predicted, felt cold to the touch, the cool liquid splashing around as you carried it toward the nearby sink and coffee maker. Pouring the cold coffee down the drain, you placed your cup under the coffee maker, replacing the old grounds with fresh but probably stale ones.
The sound of a knock on the med bay door made you jump, your whole body flinching at the sudden noise.
You turned your head as the gentle noise of the door opening sounded through the room. As you turned your head, you summoned whatever energy you had to replace your exhausted look with the cheerful persona you wore to reassure your patients.
Relief filled you as a familiar mohawked head poked its way through the crack in the door, his excited smile contagious as the tension in your body already began to melt away. A genuine smile crossed your face, and your shoulder relaxed.
“Johnny.”
Johnny slid into the room, gently closing the door behind him as he spoke. “Hey Hot stuff.”
He made his way across the room, his arms wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his body as soon as you were in reach. You felt yourself melt into the touch, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. You could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke, the feeling soaking into your body and warming your chest.
“We missed you, Love. When are ya done? Me and Simon wanna eat with you tonight.”
You didn’t get the chance to answer before he noticed the brewing coffee on the table behind you.
“Lass, you drink that now, and you know you won’t be sleeping tonight.”
You could practically feel his frown, the disapproval in his voice causing guilt to bubble in your stomach. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to finish up tonight-” a yawn interrupted you “-no break for me yet. You and Si shouldn’t wait up.”
Johnny pulled away from you, his hands raising, cupping your cheeks and angling you toward him, worried eyes examining your face. “Bonnie, how much sleep have you gotten?”
You looked away, suddenly self-conscious of how exhausted you must look, deep purple bags under your eyes, flyaways starting to separate from your standard issue bun.
You could do nothing but shrug in response to his question, despite knowing the exact answer, the number having rung through your head all day.
Johnny’s brow furrowed at your answer, one hand falling to your waist, the other moving to your chin to tilt your head around, no doubt examining your paler expression and dark circles under your eyes.
He shook his head slightly, a frown painting his face. You let him guide you toward a nearby cot, your eyes confusedly flicking between him and your mug of coffee as he led you away from it.
The back of your knees hit the cot, causing you to startle and sit down. Johnny towered over you, his eyes not leaving yours as he grasped your cheek in his big hand. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you basked in his presence for just a moment more.
“I’ll be right back, dove. Stay here, okay?”
“I have paperwork-”
“Stay. Paperwork can wait. For now, just listen to me, okay?”
You slowly nodded, confusion rushing through you, but you listened. As he walked out of the medical room, he looked back, giving you a look before disappearing through the door.
You sat there, looking down at your nails, idly picking at the skin around them, willing yourself not to get up and just continue your work.
You startled when the door opened again, not ten minutes later. Johnny entered the bay, one of the other well-trained medics in tow.
You looked between the two in confusion, the medic giving you a kind but sad smile, while Johnny moved toward you, stopping between your legs and lowering to look at you.
“Price has given you the night and morning off. You’re gonna come with me, eat something, and then we're gonna go to bed. Understand?”
His tone left no room to argue, and his eyes showed a steely stubbornness you rarely saw from him.
Your eyes widened as they darted back and forth between the two.
“But I have-”
“Price has given me permission to do what I can on the tardy paperwork and has given you an extra two days to do the rest.” The medic chimed in, a kind man by the name of Oliver.
Your eyes widened further, relief and realization soaking into your thoughts. You gave Oliver a smile, muttering a “thank you so much” as he nodded in acknowledgment.
Johnny quickly captured your attention again as he grabbed your thighs, settling you on his hip like you might a child. You yelped and wrapped your arms around him, before allowing him to guide your head into his neck.
The shock quickly wore off, exhaustion taking over and forcing the tension from your body, the sway of his steps causing you to practically melt into his hold.
You had barely realized anything had happened by the time you reached the room.
Ghost’s room to be exact. You both tended to bunk with him whenever you slept together, his bed being the biggest due to his size and rank. It provided ample room for the three of you to spread out, but you all ended up on top of each other by the morning anyways.
He softly set you on the bed, pulling back to look at you again. You could feel your eyes starting to droop, the familiar setting lulling you toward sleep. His hand returned to your cheek, his thumb rubbing it slowly as you leaned into his touch, a sad smile returning to his face.
“Our beautiful girl. Been working so hard and barely has time to take care of herself, isn’t that right.”
You sleepily nodded, his words and soft touch making your brain all the more fuzzy with the exhaustion your body was slowly succumbing to.
You knew that he wanted to reprimand you for putting yourself second, not taking care of yourself firstly, but he knew you were in no state of mind, or awake enough to care.
Besides, punishment was Simon’s job ;)
He instead slowly began taking off your clothes, giving you instructions to move every once and a while as he did so. You were so focused on his fleeting touches that it wasn't until he turned around to grab something for you to sleep in that you realized someone else was in the room.
The maskless face of your second boyfriend came into sight, as he crouched in front of you, a worried and slightly frustrated look painting his face. You gave him a sleepy grin, a happy whine of “Si” escaping you. His eyes softened, a soft smile replacing his frown, before he brought a plate of toast into your field of view.
“Lovie, you need to eat before you go to sleep.”
You childishly whined and turned away a bit at the idea of having to do something, too exhausted to do anything but lay down between your boyfriends and sleep for hours, days if they’d let you.
Ghost gently pulled your face back, stroking his thumb under your eye, much like Soap had done, as he chuckled.
“I know I know. But you need to eat love. When was the last time you even ate?”
As if as a response, your stomach let out painful gurgles, causing Johnny to let out a laugh from behind Simon.
He had returned with one of Simon’s shirts, one of your favorite ones due to how soft and well-worn it was. He stepped up beside you and gently pulled your arms through one by one, flipping the shirt over your head and body.
Johnny walked away once again as Simon picked up a piece of toast, bringing it to your mouth, allowing you to take a small bite. The taste of warm toast, covered in butter and cinnamon sugar met your taste buds, made better no doubt by your hunger.
Johnny then returned wearing nothing but a pair of clean boxers as he nodded to Simon before taking the piece of toast from him, taking his place in front of you and slowly feeding you the rest.
Before you realized, the food was gone, and Simon was back now, joining Soap in only boxers, as he picked you up off the bed.
You quickly latched onto Simon, pulling yourself as close to his warmth as possible.
Behind you, Johnny climbed into bed, pulling open the blankets, allowing Simon to slide your figure in. Johnny quickly pulled you into his body, so Simon could climb in after you, effectively sandwiching you in warmth and safety.
You swear you had never felt this exhausted, your limbs now heavy with lead as Simon scooched closer to you, pulling you onto his chest placing his arm around you and Johnny, who now had his arm loosely draped over your waist.
You struggled to fight your exhaustion, wanting to stay in this bubble of happiness for a while longer, but the gentle cooing of Johnny behind you, and the feeling of Simon’s deep breathing beneath you slowly lulled you into a deep sleep.
BONUS :: The sound of hushed yelling awoke you, and you quickly became aware of your boyfriend missing from in front of you. Johnny was cuddled ever closer, his figure surrounding yours, as he always did in the morning, but the spot in front of you, while still warm, was lacking the body of Ghost.
Cracking your eyes open, you could see your missing boyfriend standing in the doorway, nothing but a pair of pants and his mask hastily thrown on. His hushed voice and that of who you could only assume was a private sent to fetch one of you, barely reached your ears, only allowing you to hear random words.
A few like the repeated use of “she” and “medical” by the private are what caught your attention, and you mentally prepared yourself to have to get up for what was probably once again, not a real emergency.
What surprised you was when Ghost closed the door in the private’s face, saying something to him about “talking to Price” before leaving the man standing in front of a closed door mid-sentence.
He quickly removed his mask and pants, getting back into the bed, and looping his arm back around you and Soap.
You cuddled closer to him, looking up at him with tired eyes, confusion written on your face.
“What was that about?”
He grunted slightly, ushering your head back down to lay on his chest.
“Nothing for you to worry about. It's your morning off, go back to sleep.”
Pairing: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader
Summary: You are Death, guiding the men to the afterlife.
Wordcount: 12,467 | Rating: M (18+ only!)
Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS - Suicide - Selfharm and grieving.
A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better. Gave John a little backstory.
Being the reaper was a work of art on its own. It was your duty to guide the souls whose time was up to the afterlife, and you had made it your personal mission to make sure that as little as possible souls would cross to the afterlife scared. After all, death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.
As a result you had to divide yourself, as an immortal being that was an easy thing to do. Being everywhere at once, yet being nowhere at the same time.
You had the taskforce in your sight for a while now. Four elite soldiers going on missions, you almost had your work cut out for you. But they were good, good enough to keep you lurking in the shadows, for now.
Some of them had come close, close enough to dance the dance of death with you, only to be granted a little more time. John “Soap” MacTavish being one of them. There had been plenty of moments where you had held his hands already, almost revealing your true form before he got pulled away from your grasp.
Life enjoyed playing tricks with you, with death. But it was what humans needed, a little reminder of their mortality so they could enjoy their life again.
And so here you were. You had been following John for a little while now, sensing that his time would be up again. And it was special so to say to follow him around, for every life he took, you would see a version of yourself pop up, taking the life he had claimed to the afterlife, only for that version of yourself to fade again, the very fragments of your soul being scattered around the world in an attempt to make the experience of death a more pleasant one than the experience of being alive. Not that you succeeded all the time. Sometimes you had to guide lives who deserved to live for another fifty years, sometimes the souls were terrified, and sometimes they were waiting for you, as old friends finally meeting up again. It could be a cruel world, but you weren’t there to judge. Humans had free will, and you could not interfere with it.
John’s death happened quick. Too quick for your liking. You preferred it when it took a little time. Not that you liked the suffering of the souls, no, of course not. But it was the best for all whenever a soul was at peace with their death. And John certainly was not.
“What the fuck?” He scolded. “Why the fuck can’t I grab my fucking weapon?”
“What kind of bullshit is this? Cap’n are you seeing thi-“ His sentence cutting short.
Oh you had seen this film before, and you never liked the ending. The look of despair when they see their body lying on the ground.
“No. No! Nonononono.” There it was.
Time seems to be standing still when reality seeps into his brain, his hand reaching out to his limp body on the ground, but he goes straight through it. A look of confusion, pain, anger, sadness when he can see his teammates continue the mission he couldn’t finish. He sees them disarm the bomb, he sees his best friend, Simon, kneel by his body, frantically looking for a pulse.
“I’m here!” John yells, waving his arms in front of Simon’s face, but it is no use, John no longer belongs to the earth, nor does he belong to the afterlife yet. He is in your realm, your limbo and you are the only one who can grand him the freedom of moving on.
“Simon! I am here!” He yells again, but he is meet with the empty eyes of his best friend, and a soft. “No pulse.”
“Hello.”
Your voice snaps him out of it. “Who the fuck are you?”
But it should be clear, the big, dark, black cloak hiding you, hiding your face. “I am Death.”
“I have died?”
“Afraid so.”
“That is a whole lot of bullshit. Can’t you turn it back or something?”
“No.”
You give him the time to process what had happened, what is happening, and what is about to happen.
“So, what now?” He asks, a hand running through his mohawk, his eyes shifting back to his dead body again.
“That depends.” You answer. “Are you ready to move on yet?” Normally you wouldn’t give the souls a choice, no normally you would guide them to the afterlife, maybe have a little small talk, but there was something inside of you telling you this death would stir up some things. So you decided to give him the choice.
“No.” His answer is quick, and you can tell he didn’t think about it.
“Why not?”
“There are so many thing that I still need to do.”
“You know you can’t do them now, right? You are death, you no longer possess your own body, everything you say, or do, is not visible in the human world.” Sometimes you have to be blunt in order to get your point across.
“Oh.”
“So I ask you again. Are you ready to move on?”
“No.”
“Give me a reason.”
John’s gaze shifts to the three men standing over his body, the pain in their eyes is visible and it is undeniable that they had a strong bond, something more than just coworkers. And their pain is shared, as you can see the same pain in his eyes.
“I need to know if they will be okay.”
“You can’t change anything if they won’t be okay.”
“I know, but I know they will be okay, I just need to see it with my own eyes.”
“Very well.” You answer. “You get to decide when you are ready.”
He looks up when he sees other versions of you reap the lives he and his team have taken, his brows furrow and you can tell he wants to ask you questions. Humans have always been curious creatures. “If you have something on your mind, speak up.”
“Who are those?” His fingers point at a version of you who slowly fades away.
“They are me and I am them.”
“That tells me exactly nothing.”
A soft laugh escapes you, even death this man is fearless.
“They are parts of my soul.” You explain. “I prefer to guide every soul to the afterlife personally, but with the volume of souls on this earth, I have to split myself in order to keep up.”
“And I am talking to the main version of Death?”
“That is how you could call it.”
“Does it hurt?”
“What?”
“Splitting yourself?”
“I am no mortal being, pain does not exist in my realm. So to answer your question. It does not hurt.”
His fingers go to the bullet wound in his head, his fingers trailing on the edges, before he pulls them back and looks at the blood on his fingers. “Huh. I got so caught up with this whole being dead thing, that I forgot I got shot.”
A smile forms around your lips. “You’re not the first to which that has happened.”
He is mesmerized, can you blame him? It is not every day that you meet death in person.
“If there is a death, does life exist too?”
“Yes. And Life is quite nice.”
“You’ve met them?”
“Of course, without Life I would not exist, and without me, Life would not be able to continue their creations. We dance a dance of existence together.”
“Hm.” John seems content with your answer. “Hey, can we follow L.T?”
“Simon Riley?”
“Yes.”
“Sure.” The benefit of being an immortal creature was that the law of physics and time did not apply to you, or to Johnny for that matter. “Why him, though?”
“I worry about him the most.” Johnny admitted with a shrug, a flicker of emotions in his eyes before it dies down again. “He had a fucked up life, and we had grown to be good friends, I worry he won’t take my death well.”
Oh sweet summer child, if you only knew. But you cannot interfere with the living and it is no point in telling Johnny what you know, so you keep quiet and grant his request.
“He has become my best friend in the military, you know?” Johnny breaks the silence, as you watch Simon, who at this time, doesn’t seem to feel a thing.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Been watching the taskforce for a while.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“And you give a lot of answers. Now why were you watching us?”
“You’re soldiers. Death follows you around.”
“In the most literal sense.” He laughs at his own joke, and all you do is stare at him, blinking a few times.
“Jezus, even L.T. wasn’t as hard to crack.” He mutters.
“I worry.” John repeats. “I worry that when I died. Simon died too, and Ghost remained.”
In a sense he is not wrong. You can feel it too, the guilt that Simon carries, the hatred towards himself for letting a friend die.
“He is grieving.” You eventually say. “And while grief is a beautiful thing, it expresses itself in the most destructive ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
You can see his face shift, he understands Simon won’t cope well, and it doesn’t sit right with him. “I guess there is no way I can interfere with it, right?”
“Correct.”
“Huh.” He stays silent for a brief moment, while he watches the mission debrief going on, without him, but about him. “How does time work here?”
“I am not sure what you mean.”
“Can’t you speed up time or something? Turns out watching people gets kind of boring.”
Humans had always been impatient beings. “I can.” You say. “I can fast forward until we see Simon all by himself.”
His eyes light up, and you’ve hit the mark. “Yes, yes, I need to see how he copes.”
Alas, you grant him his wish, after all, you are death, not some cruel being.
His eyes widen as time around the two of you starts to speed up, the world moving at a faster pace while you are both the centre of it. You see his emotions shift to a sad one, he tries to hide it, but it is hard to conceal the emotions in his eyes, even for a hardened soldier. A soft sigh escapes him when he watches the sunset and you understand it. The sunsets are your favourite thing on earth too.
“It is hard to grasp that I’ll never see another sunset again.” John whispers and you can do nothing but nod. You understand, of course you do. “I just wish I would have appreciate them more while I was alive.”
“For what it is worth. You’re not the first who only appreciates the beauty of life when it is ripped away from them.”
A pained expression paints his face. “It is really the end, huh?” He mutters softly as you slow down time again. “There will be no second chances after this.”
“We are here.” You say, but you only form your sentence to get him out of his thoughts, of course he recognizes Simon’s quarters. He has been there before.
You guide him through the wall, knowing that what the both of you are about to see isn’t a pretty sight. Simon had taken his famous Ghost mask off, balaclava tossed on his bed, an empty look in his eyes, while he watches the dog tags in his hand. One of them is missing, and a smile curls around your lips when you realise where they are.
John doesn’t notice, instead he is hesitant to reach out to his friend.
“Fuck!” Simons booming voice startles John. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Simon is blaming himself and all that hatred needs to come out. His fists slam down on the mirror on the wall, the shards digging in to the skin on his hands, but it only fuels Simon’s anger. “It should have been me! Fucking me!”
Times like these make your job hard, while you do not understand humans all the time, you can understand their grief, their longing, their desperate attempts to cope with their loved ones being gone.
His hands clutch around the dog tag, the material reminder he has of his best friend. You know Simon wants to cry, to let out all the build up frustration, but you also know Simon is raised by violence and not by love, so he doesn’t allow himself to. Blood drips slowly from his balled fist as he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. Not that it is doing much, every time Simon catches a glimpse of himself, he is reminded of the loss that happened today.
“Is he going to be okay?” John asks.
“I don’t know.” You answer, but you know, you know what will happen, and you know it won’t be pretty, but John doesn’t need to know, not when you can see the pain on his face, the pain in his eyes. The pain in his very soul to see his friend react like this.
His breath hitches in his throat when he sees Simon looking for something, a hidden bottle of whiskey appearing from between his socks in his dresser.
“Fuck.” John’s voice is soft. “Fuck!” It isn’t as soft anymore when Simon takes the first swig.
“Are you really sure I can’t do something? Anything?”
You shake your head.
“Please, anything. I beg you.” The desperation in his voice is clear as day, he doesn’t even try to hide how he feels about his best friend drinking.
“I.. I.. I can’t see this. Simon CAN’T drink himself to death because of me, because I died, becau-“
“He doesn’t drink himself to death.”
And for John time stops again, the weight of the world falling off his shoulders. “Oh thank God.” He sighs. “I mean, thank you, thank life? What is appropriate to say?”
He doesn’t drink himself to death, it will be far worse.
“Thank God is fine.” You eventually answer.
John looks at Simon again, who keeps on drinking the whiskey as if he needs it to survive. “I’m sorry.” Simon eventually says, and John’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” John rambles. “It wasn’t your fault. We all knew Makarov was an asshole.”
“It should’ve been me.” Simon sighs, not hearing the words his best friend so desperately wants to hear him. “You had so much things you still wanted to do, you still had a life in store.”
“Bollocks, Simon.” John tries to tell him while Simon takes another sip. “Fucking bollocks. You can make something out of your life too! We’ve talked about this.”
The nearly empty bottle gets thrown to the wall when Simon locks eyes with the dog tag again. “Fuck. I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be alive, and this is all a horrible dream.”
Simon ignores the mess on the ground, he ignores the life outside of his quarters, he ignores the world that keeps on spinning, that keeps going on, while his life stopped the moment that bullet hit John. Instead he half undresses himself, slow, lazy movements, the alcohol making it hard to be precise. And he curls up in a ball, the single dog tag clutched in his hand, close to his heart, an gesture to keep his best friend close to him.
“Oh L.T. that hangover is going to hurt.” John mumbles. “And you promise he won’t drink himself to death, right?”
“I promise.”
“And I really can’t give him a sign that I am still here? Or you know, put a glass of water on his nightstand or something?”
“Afraid not.”
“I wish I could though.” John adds with a sigh, looking over the sleeping form of his friend.
“How is the rest coping?”
“You mean John and Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to see?”
His eyes light up again. “Can I?”
“Wouldn’t have said it, if you couldn’t”
“In that case, yes, yes please.”
“Who first?”
He needs to think for a brief moment, does he want to see his Captain first, or his other good friend? He isn’t as worried about them as he was about Simon, yet the decision seems an easy one.
“Kyle.”
“Very well.” You hold out your hand for him to take, taking him to the quarters of his other friend. The young man lies on his bed, above the sheets, just staring at the ceiling, tears burning in his eyes.
John needs to swallow a lump in his throat. “He’ll be fine.” Will he?
“But shit.” John continues. “I wish I had told him I was proud of him more often.”
The both of you stay quiet while Kyle rolls over to his side, facing the wall, eyes still wide open.
“He was a little younger than I was, but we had the same rank, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t become the best soldier out there. So young, yet so many achievements already.” John runs a hand through his mohawk. “I just.. I just hope he knows how proud I am of him.”
Another smile tugs around your lips, while Kyle rolls over again, it is clear that he can’t seem to get comfortable, the events of today replaying in his mind while he tries to process what happens, while he tries to find a balance between being a tough soldier, and being human.
“I want to become like you Soap, when I grow up.” Kyle mutters, before he finally closes his eyes. And you look over to John, making sure that he heard the words that left his friends lips and in that moment he looks like a proud father, the same words he had once told Simon, were now said by someone he was so proud of.
John wants to reach out, pat his friend on the shoulder and promise him everything will be okay. But he can’t and you can tell it is eating him inside. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and another.
“Okay.” He finally said. “I think I want to see the Captain now.”
“Sure.”
Once more you hold out your hand for him to take, allowing him to see his Captain.
“Oh.”
It Is not a pretty sight. Price’s phone lights up time after time, missed calls from Laswell, from Nicolai, but he doesn’t answer them, paperwork gets ignores while he smokes cigar after cigar. His way to cope with stress.
“Shit.” John curses. “I would’ve thought captain would be the least affected.”
But Price is only human, and humans grief in the worst ways possible. The taskforce had become the family he once dreamed of having, he found solace in the people around him, and losing one was always hard, especially when it was someone who was close to him. Price slams his fist on his desk, startling John.
“Makarov came for me.” The voice coming out of Price is soft, a stark contrast with the loud slamming of his fist only moments ago. “You died because you tried to help me.”
“You would’ve done the same, cap.” John answers. “You would’ve given your life to save any of us.”
Price sighs and shakes his head, his hand reaching out to grab a picture off his desk, a group picture, the four of them together.
“Fucking idiot.” Price mutters. “You should’ve never done that. I should bring you back from the death, only to kick you so hard you’ll die again.” It is almost an endearing way of coping and John can’t help but chuckle.
You give John a nudge, pointing at the dog tags Price is wearing. Instead of two, his chain has three. John’s being added after he identified the body and gave Laswell the details for the report.
John’s gaze softens as he notices. “I’ll never be far away from them.”
“Never.”
“You know what. I think they’ll be alright without me. They will learn to live again.”
You can tell he wants to tell you that he is ready to move on, but you stop him by raising your hand. “Do you want to see your final moment together?”
“Sure.”
Once again you reach out your hand for him to take, and within the blink of an eye you’re in the Scottish highlands, three adults standing by a cliff, an urn in their hands. It is almost peaceful, serene.
“Who dares wins, sleep easy soldier.” Price is the first to talk.
“See you down range, brother. We’ll take it from here.” Kyle is the second to follow.
“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon is the last to speak.
You and John watch Simon unscrew the lid of the urn, tilting it, allowing the ashes to dance with the wind.
“I feel… at peace.” John mentions, watching his ashes spread through the air.
He sits down on the edge of the cliff, patting down next to him, signalling you to sit next to him, and so you do.
“I want to ask something.”
“And if I can, I will answer.”
“Why do you look human? Are you human?”
“No, I am not human.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am death. I have always been death and I will always be death. However, if I choose to portray myself other than human, it will make your kind freak out even more.”
John can’t help but laugh at your words. “Truth be told, I think I would’ve freaked out to see something else than human, yes.”
His gaze falls on the beautiful scenery in front of the two of you.
“So, what happens next?”
“When you’re ready I’ll help you cross to the afterlife.” You answer.
“What is the afterlife like?”
“That depends. It is different for everyone.” You reply.
“Is there like a heaven and hell?”
“No. The afterlife is a place where your soul goes to after your body has died. Every soul gets its own realm, and there it stays, together with all the souls it loves.”
“So, does that mean I’ll see the soul of my grandmother?”
“If you loved her, yes.”
“Does that.. does that mean I’ll see Bobby again?”
“Your dog?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve missed him.”
“He knows.”
“I’m glad.”
John knows it is time for him to go, but he has to ask the question that burns within him.
“Will I see them again?”
“Eventually. I can tell your bond is strong enough for all of you to be reunited again in the afterlife.”
“I’ll wait for them.”
“And when their time has come I’ll be sure to guide them to you.”
“Thank you, Death.” For the last time John takes your hand in his. “I am ready now.”
-
Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?
Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.
It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.
And all you could do was wait patiently.
So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.
And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.
Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.
You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.
Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.
Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.
“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.
“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”
But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.
“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.
“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.
And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.
And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.
Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.
You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.
You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.
“Mom.”
“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”
“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.
And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”
A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.
You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.
“What is on your mind, boy?”
“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”
No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.
His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”
The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”
“Anytime Bearie.”
He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.
“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”
“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”
“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”
“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”
“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”
“Love you too mom.”
The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.
But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.
Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.
Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.
“Hello.”
Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”
“Not yet.”
“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.
“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”
“Afraid not.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”
“You did.”
“How did you know?”
“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”
A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.
His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.
“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.
“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.
“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”
One raspy breath, another raspy breath.
“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”
Lair.
He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.
Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”
“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“To guide you.”
“To hell?”
“No, to the afterlife.”
“Oh.”
It stays quiet for a little bit.
“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”
“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”
“Can I thank Life?”
“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”
A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.
He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”
You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”
“You can speed up time?”
“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”
He relaxes as time begins to speed up.
“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”
He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.
“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.
“Gaz, how copy?”
“Can I answer him?”
“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”
“Shit, they must be worried.”
“Kyle, how copy?”
“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”
Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”
“I did.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”
“Did he.. Did he mention me?”
“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”
Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”
“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”
“He did?”
“I have no benefit in lying.”
Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”
“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”
Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.
“I understand that.”
“God, she will be so heartbroken.”
“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”
Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”
“It sounds like you love her.”
“More than I’ve loved myself.”
You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”
He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”
Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”
Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”
“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”
“He won’t drink himself to death.”
“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”
He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.
“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.
“I can show you?”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.
A fourth dog tag on the chain.
“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”
The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”
“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.
“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”
“Will the captain be okay?”
“He will be the last of you four to pass.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”
“That he is.”
“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”
“He won’t drink himself to death.”
“Final question, will mom be okay?”
“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”
“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”
“Do you want me to show you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”
“That is fair.”
Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.
“Will I see Soap again?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”
“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”
Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”
“Very well.”
You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”
-
Simon Riley. You had been following the man ever since he was born. There had been times where he had been ready to leave this earth, only to be pulled back by Life on the last second.
It would be a lie if it wouldn’t make you question whether or not it would be ethical to keep certain people alive. But that wasn’t up to you to judge after all.
Even after he escaped the horror that was his childhood home, death seemed to follow Simon, his hand never steered clear from the blood that stained him.
But this time? This time it was different.
Simon couldn’t cope with the death of Gaz and Soap, leaving him a broken mess. But Simon was taught that feelings, emotions should be hidden inside, piling up until you couldn’t bear it anymore.
So Simon did what he knew best, copying the coping skill of his father, empty bottles piling up just like the feelings piled up inside of him. Whiskey replacing the companionship that his friends no longer could give them, the burning sensation of the liquid making him feel alive, a feeling he thought he didn’t need anymore, but he felt himself craving it, chasing it.
And of course people around him were worried, John tried to talk to him, John had seen this way too often before. Soldiers not being able to cope with the loss, turning to the poison that roamed this earth, alcohol, drugs and self-destruction in the from of women. And John had tried to stop it, tried to warn him, but Simon was a grown man, capable of making his own choices, no matter how destructive.
You knew you had promises Soap and Gaz that Simon wouldn’t drink himself to death, and with the amount of liquor he was pumping into his system, you almost got the feeling you had been lying.
But Simon would bounce back from the alcohol abuse, with the help of his captain that is.
It had been a day like any other, Simon would try to focus on his work, his mind already on the numbing temptation of the liquor, briefings, conversations, details, they would all go past him like a blur while he tried to deceive the people around him. And usually after a day of work, he would lock himself into his quarters, drinking until he forgot his fallen teammates.
“A word.” John’s voice is loud, a little too loud for Simon’s liking.
“About what?”
“You.”
“What is there about me?”
“Why did you join the army?”’
You watch, slightly amused at the low blow John just spat out.
“Don’t you fu-“
“Answer my fucking question, Simon. Why did you join the fucking army.”
And you can tell Simon is struggling to answer that question, hell he doesn’t want to answer that question, because that would mean he could no longer pretend he wasn’t following his fathers footsteps.
“I joined to escape home.”
“And why did you have to escape home?”
“Because my father was an abusive alcoholic.”
“Then tell me, Simon, why the fuck are you turning into your father?”
“Bullshit John.”
“Bullshit? You think you’re sleek, only bringing away the bottles in the early morning. Do you think we really don’t hear the clinking of the glass while you wander these halls? Do you really think no one can smell it on your breath?”
“You don’t get it.”
You had seen John often enough to recognize the subtle anger in his face, flaring nostrils, a slight raise of his brows, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t get it?”
“You have no idea how much their death affected me.”
“I have no idea because you shut yourself out and rather poison yourself.” John spat back at him.
“You have no idea what I have been through Captain, and I would strongly advice you stray away to this topic.”
“You’re right. I did not have your upbringing, and I do wish you dad had healed before he came your father, but you do not get to tell me about grief.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I am affected too. I was the one who asked Soap to come with me to Makarov, I was the one who approved Gaz going on that mission. And I can’t let you drink yourself to death, Simon. I will not be responsible for your death too.”
Both men are silent, straying into territory they are not used too, at least not with each other. Both men had been told that their emotions were forbidden, that emotions should not be on display for others to see.
But you could see their hurt souls, their broken souls, needing the company of each other. John is the first to give in. Holding his arms open and Simon clings on for dear life.
“God fucking damnit boy, get your shit together, that is an order.”
“I forget then when I’m drunk enough.”
“I know. But forgetting them isn’t the way to go. You shouldn’t forget them, celebrate their life because they no longer can.”
“I will, Captain.”
“Good.” John let go off him, giving him a rough pat on his back. “Do you need anything from me, the military?”
“A little time off.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay all by yourself? I can get a therapist for you if you want.”
“I would like that.”
“Good. Now, get some rest, I’ll pull some strings to get you someone to talk to.”
“Thanks Cap, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Simon.”
Something was off, something was different, and John couldn’t really put his finger on it, but decided to not press any further. He had nagged Simon long enough and it felt as if his point had come across good enough.
Simon on the other hand, felt a calm feeling he hadn’t experienced before. A decision crossing his mind when he gripped his sink, tears streaming down his face when he recognized his father in the mirror. Simon knew he wouldn’t be strong to recover, he had become an alcoholic, just like his father.
“Fuck!” His fist slams the mirror, the second one this year, blood running down his arm while he takes in the freedom the pain gives him. His mind is only giving him one solution, the emotions, his grief, the craving to alcohol, they’re making it impossible to think straight.
Simons scribbles something down on a piece of paper. Before he takes a deep breath and looks around his room. John had been right, Simon thought it had alle been under control, but he was lying to himself, the half full bottles being the proof of that, but not anymore, not any longer.
He takes place in his own bathtub, a piece of glass gripped tightly in his right hand. You know what is about to happen and this is always your least favourite part.
He doesn’t drink himself to death.
Tears blur his vision when the sharp material pierces his skin, dragging down. He doesn’t even register the pain, all he can feel is the peace and quiet his mind gives him. So he does it again, and again, going deeper each time.
His head tilts back and he drops the shard of glass, causing it to shatter on the ground.
It stays silent, the only sound is his blood dripping on the floor of the bathtub. Life is nowhere to be seen, and you know this is his end. In a split second you make a decision.
The universe had been too unkind to Simon already, the least you could do was to make sure he didn’t have to die alone.
“Hello.”
“What the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in?” His eyes snap open and his head snaps back to face you.
“I am Death.”
“Did I die already?”
“Not yet.”
“Than why the fuck are you here?”
“Because this will kill you, and I did not want you to die alone.”
“Well thanks for your concern but I don’t need your pity.”
“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”
“How the fuck would you know?”
You chuckle softly. “I guided them too.”
His face softens. “How.. What.. What did they say?”
“Soap was pissed off, Gaz was worried he had let his mother down.”
“Sounds like them.”
“It is nearly your time, Simon.”
“Will the pain stop?”
“When you’re dead? Yes, yes the pain will stop.”
“I can’t wait to be pain free.”
“Tell me about your favourite memory?”
“Of what?”
“Anything you please.”
Simon has to think for a little while.
“My brother.” He eventually starts. “Had gotten a part time job, and he needed to give the money to our father, but he had hidden his first pay check. So when our father was passed out on the couch again, we snuck out.” A smile forms on his face.
“We bought a cake, one of those fancy ones with a lot of frosting. We ate it in the skatepark where we used to hangout a lot. I ate so much cake I couldn’t stand it for the longest time afterwards. But for the time that it took for us to eat that cake, we were happy, not a care in the world, just loads of sugar and each other.”
He hadn’t noticed yet, but the shackles of life had fallen off during his story, setting him free of his mortal pain.
“I miss him.”
“Tommy?”
“Yes, more than anything.”
“How’s the pain, Simon?”
“Which pa- Oh fuck.”
You watch as he gets up from the bathtub, looking at his body, he died smiling, his eyes closed, almost looking happy.
“You deserved better.”
“I did.” He agrees.
Simon clears his throat. “So what now? You take me to hell and I’ll burn for eternity?”
“Why would you burn in hell?”
“I am a soldier, I killed people. People who deserved it, and people who might not have deserved it.”
“And that is equal to eternal suffering?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Don’t you think you have suffered enough?”
His face turns pale, the words slowly sinking in while he recalls his whole life.
“So there is no hell for me?” his voice is a soft whisper.
“There is no hell for you.”
“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck I was so scared for hell, that had been the only thing holding me back from killing myself earlier.”
“So” He looks at his body again. “What would be next?”
“Once you are ready, I’ll take you to the afterlife.”
“How do I know I’ll be ready?”
“You’ll feel it.”
“I don’t feel it yet.”
“Then you can stay with me.”
He nods, liking the answers that you’ve given him. “I have some questions.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Can I ask them?”
“Of course. I’ll answer them if I have the answer.”
“How do you know which soul to reap?”
“I just know.”
“Okay, and now you are here with me, does that mean no one else dies on the world.”
“If that was the case a lot of deaths would’ve been postponed.” You answer. “I can split myself into fragments, therefor I am able to reap multiple souls.”
“How did you, you know, get into this profession?”
“I was created to be Death. It is all I have ever known, and it is all I will ever know.”
“Hm.” His eyes shift to his body again.
“What is the afterlife, and who will be there?”
“Everyone will be there, every soul goes to the afterlife, and you’ll reconnect with the souls that love you.”
Simon has to swallow a lump in his throat, he wants to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door. “Simon?” John’s ruff voice sounds.
“Can I answer him?”
“Afraid not.”
“Simon!” the knocking returns. “I swear to God.” John mutters, as he opens the door to Simon’s room. “If you have been drinking again.”
John looks around the room, and you and Simon watch him do so. John’s gaze fall on the piece of paper, his face turning pale. “God fucking damnit.” The paper falls on the ground, slowly twirling in the air before it gently settles down.
‘this isn’t your fault.’ Even though you knew what would be on the letter your eyes automatically shift to the words on the white paper.
Johns open the door to Simon’s bathroom, and he just stand in the door opening, taking in the dead body of his teammate. “God damn it, Simon.” He repeats. “You could’ve talked to me you know.”
John moves over to the body, taking in the smile on Simon’s face. “At least you were happy.” John mutters.
His hands reach for Simon’s dog tags, taking one of the chain to add to his own. John’s fingertips rest on Simon’s cheek for a brief moment. “I hope death treats you better than life.”
Simon looks at you. “You do.”
“Thank you.”
“Will the Captain be okay?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“I feel bad, for leaving him behind, for doing this.”
“He’ll understand, and when his time will come too, I’ll tell him about you.”
“Thank you.”
Simon looks at his feet. “I don’t know if you can do this, but I want to visit Johnny.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to go to the Scottish Highlands, to the place where we set his ashes free.”
You hold out your hand to him. “I’ll take you there.”
Simon’s eyes light up as he takes your hand into his, and before he can blink twice, you’ve transported the both of you to the exact same place.
“I forgot how beautiful it was here.” Simon says, as he sits down on the exact same spot where Johnny had sat down, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that their souls are happy together in another universe.
You go to sit down next to him. “It is beautiful here.”
The both of you sit in silence, you know Simon wants to ask you something, a question burning within him ever since John had interrupted, but you’re not filling anything in, letting Simon come to you when he is ready.
“You mentioned something about souls and love.” Simon eventually says.
“I did.”
“Who will be waiting for me?”
A faint hint of a smile can be seen on your face.
“More than you’ll expect.”
“Tommy?”
You just nod and Simon let out a shaky breath.
“It has been a while since I’ve seen him, I’ve missed him terribly. Who else?”
“Tommy, Beth, Joseph, your mother. Roach. Gaz, Soap. They will all be there.”
“Will they be mad for what I did?”
“They love you too much to be mad.”
“I’ve known more love death, than I’ve done alive.”
You turn to look at him. “I know, and I am sorry.”
“Is there anything I had done to deserve such a life?”
You want to wince, flinch at his words, but it is a fair question.
“No. Sometimes the universe isn’t fair when it gives somebody a course of life. You were a child, Simon. What happened to you, should’ve never happened, not to you, not to anyone.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re brave.” You add. “You’ve survived something you shouldn’t have had to face in the first place.”
“How do you cope with it?” Simon asks.
“With what?”
“The unfairness?”
You let out a sigh. “It is hard. Sometimes I have to guide innocent souls to the afterlife, souls I would have wished had a long and sweet life. And sometimes I see souls who I felt deserved death a long time ago. Unfortunately I cannot change the course of the universe, nor can I change the free will of humans.”
“Do you feel remorse?”
“No. I am no mortal, nor do I possess mortal feelings. I do however acknowledge the unfairness of certain situations.”
“I see. It is hard for me to imagine.”
“I get that.”
“Hey Death?”
“Yes, Simon?”
“Do you promise that they will be waiting for me in the afterlife?”
“I promise.”
Simon holds out his hand to you. “Then please, let me see them again.”
-
John Price.
The man had seen more than enough death for a lifetime. Yet it wouldn’t be the last of it. Being a soldier signed him up to a lifetime of death and despair. But unlike the others, John seemed to accept it a whole lot better. Yes he did feel guilty, yes he wished life could’ve turned out different, for him, for his team, for all of them.
But it didn’t, so he had to learn how to cope.
Even though you know his time isn’t there yet, you decide to follow him around, just a little more, just to see how he would cope. That is what you would tell yourself anyway, maybe you had been getting a little attached to this group of men.
You watch John approach the cemetery, four bouquets of flowers in his hands, a picnic basket hanging on his arm while he walks, silence lingering around him, and if he were in company, they would feel the tension surrounding him. But John is alone, except for your company, who would’ve guessed Death would’ve be such good company?
Three out of the four bouquets get placed on the ground, alongside the picnic basket, number four, a bouquet of tulips. Yellow tulips. John places them on the first grave, his hand brushes away the dirt on the gravestone. “Well, for someone whose nickname is Soap, it sure gets dirty quick.” John chuckles at his own joke. John kneels down at the grave, removing some of the weeds that had grown, using his hand to brush the rest of the gravestone clean.
“I’m sorry, Johnny.” He mutters. “Sorry I dragged you along to that mission. I’m sorry you had to catch the bullet meant for me.” John awkwardly pats the gravestone.
“If I had known that would be our last moment together, I would’ve spent the car ride to our destination telling you how proud I am of you.” He speaks, and while John knows that no one will hear his words, it feels good to get them off his chest.
“I would tell you how good you’re doing, how much you’ve grown. How much we all appreciated you. How we all enjoyed your jokes, even though some of us would rather perish than tell you that.”
“You probably already know, but Kyle and Simon joined you.”
“I wish I could have prevented this. Kyle.. He slipped right between my fingers, I never thought he would push and push the way he did, Johhny. I thought I was keeping him safe, keeping him busy, but in reality I was allowing him to die.”
John swallows the lump in his throat. “And Simon. I think I knew what was happening, I thought I knew what was going on, but I was wrong, so, so, so wrong.”
John takes a deep breath, inhaling the cold air into his lungs, before he slowly exhales. “You’ve been one hell of a soldier, Johnny, but more important, you’ve been an amazing person. I’ll see you again on the other side, take care of the boys for me, will ya?”
With a grunt John gets up from his knees, taking a new bouquet of flowers.
A colourful bouquet of freesias is put down in front of the next grave and John lets out a sigh again, staring into the distance. It is hard to read his face, and you can’t figure out what he is thinking.
“I’ve heard a lot of gut wrenching sounds, Kyle.” He finally speaks. “But I’ll never forget the screams of your mother when I had to confirm your death. The wailing will never leave my mind. I can’t erase it, no matter how hard I try.”
The captain uses his hand once more to brush some dirt of the gravestone, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m sorry.” He says once more.
“I really wanted to believe life had so much in store for you. I should never had let you take on that mission, Kyle. I should’ve seen the signs, the desperate attempt to prove yourself to me, to Johnny, maybe even to Simon too.”
“But the truth is, boy, you never had to prove yourself in the first place. We all saw your potential, we all saw the amazing leader you could’ve become.” John runs a hand through his short hair. “I really wish we could’ve talked about this more. I really wish you would’ve told me you didn’t feel good enough, Kyle. I could’ve shown you my point of view.”
“But, we can’t undo what happened.” John continues. “I hope you can finally feel enough.”
“Your mother misses you. Your sisters too. Simon missed you. But I’m sure he has told you by now. Or not, we both know how he can be.”
“I.. I miss you too, Kyle. I would’ve loved for you to follow my footsteps.” John sighs again. “Simon couldn’t cope, but you already know that. Take care of him, yeah? I know he probably doesn’t want it, but he missed you and Johnny.”
John gives a final pat on the gravestone. “I’ll come back, I promise.”
He takes the third bouquet, a large bouquet of sunflowers, it is being put down on the newest gravestone. “Fucking hell, Simon.” He grunts. “Out of all people, I never thought you would do it. I thought I had it under control with you.”
“At least you had a smile on your face, and I wonder what went through your mind in your final moment.” A sad smile forms on John’s face. “I hope you’re at peace now.”
“Out of all their deaths, yours haunts me the most, Simon.” He confesses. “Because with yours it felt like I really could have changed the outcome, you know.” John kneels down next to the grave.
“I.. I.. I never got to say this Simon, but I am sorry that I compared you to your father. I was trying to get my point across and I’ve used words that I shouldn’t have used. I knew it was a low blow to mention him, and I’m sorry.” He rests his hand on the gravestone. “I hope my words didn’t push you over the edge, and I know you have made that little note for me, but I can’t help but feel guilty.”
John sighs once more, looking at the sunflowers on the ground. “I.. You didn’t have a home I could send you too, like Kyle, so I’ve spread your ashes on the same spot where we send Johnny home. I hope you’re okay with it.” He adds, with a meek smile.
“You’ve been one of the toughest people I’ve ever known in my life, and I’ve met a lot of tough motherfuckers, Simon. But you? You’ve bounced back from everything.”
“And no matter how guilty I feel, the fact that you had a smile on your face brings me a little bit of peace.”
“I hope that wherever you are, that you found your people again in the afterlife. That there will be enough souls waiting for you, to show you how loved you’ve always been.” John gets up from his knees again. “Don’t try to give the other too much shit, but keep them in check for me, yeah?”
He let his gaze fall on the three graves in front of him, a sad smile on his lips once more. His hand goes to the dog tags around his neck, there are too many to just be from one person. His gaze lingers on the names engraved in the stones.
John MacTavish
Kyle Garrick
Simon Riley
“It has been an honour. An honour to have known you all, an honour to have fought alongside you. The biggest honour has been to call you all my brothers in arms.” His voice is clear, never wavering as he pays his final respect, as he says his final goodbye.
“I promise you three that I’ll keep your graves in check, for as long as I live. I don’t care if they’re empty, they will forever be a reminder that you have all existed. Your legacy will live on.”
“I miss you all, until we meet again.”
After a final salute he picks up the last of the bouquets and the picnic baskets, and he walks further up the cemetery, walking past a grave that reads Herschel Shepherd. John gives the grave a quick nod. “You make me wish hell did exist.” He grumbles, flipping the headstone off. “Should’ve done it earlier.”
He continues to walk until he reaches another grave, putting down the picnic basket and the flowers, before he kneels down again, taking out a brush to gently sweep away any dirt.
Jenny Price
“I’m back again, love.” He sighs, as he tidies up the grave, making sure to pull the weeds, but leave the flowers that have grown intact. “It has been a while since I’ve visited, but I have a good reason, I promise.” He added with a chuckle.
He gets up after the stone is clean again, her name can be read again, and he takes a step back to admire his work. “Got you all cleaned up. Looking pretty as ever.”
He opens the picnic basket, taking out a blanket to lay it on the ground next to the stone. A bouquet of heliotropes, forget-me-nots and carnations. John sits down on the blanket, next to the gravestone.
“Next month..” He sighs, something he has done a lot this evening. “Next month, you’ll be gone for fourteen years now, Jen. And I still miss you as if it is the first day.”
He rests his head against the stone. “I miss the boys.” He whispers, almost as if he is afraid to confess it to her. “Blaming myself for it too. If you see them, take care of ‘m for me, please. Show them the love you’ve shown me.”
He takes out a small bottle of wine, and a cigar, leaving the picnic basket open. “I can only hope that Death guided them, the way you have been guided.”
“It’s been nearly fourteen year, love, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, searching for you, hoping you’ve just been in the bathroom and you’ll come back to lay next to me. I would give everything, Jen, and I mean everything, to just hold you once more, to feel your soft skin against mine again.”
“Being a captain, having my own taskforce, it all means less when I can’t share it with you. It all means so little, knowing that I won’t be able to hold you again, to hear your sweet voice ever again.” John opens up the bottle of wine he had brought, taking out the cork before he takes a swig, not bothering to take a glass. “You know.” He chuckled softly. “If I close my eyes and focus really hard. I can even hear you scold me again for drinking wine straight out of the bottle.”
“I finally had an orange again.” He mutters. “They apparently make special tools to help you peel them. So I can finally eat them again. It has been fourteen years, and I finally had an orange again.” He shakes his head. “I cried. I cried while eating it, the taste reminded me so much of you, the scent of the peel almost intoxicating. I remember how your hands would smell like orange the whole day after you’ve peeled mine. And I miss it, Jen. Fuck, I miss it so much.”
He falls silent, a stark contrast with the floodgates of words that spilled over his lips just seconds ago. His voice cracking when he speaks again. “It has always been you.”
“No other woman comes even close to you. It is weird, but I don’t even want another woman, I don’t feel the need to see someone, feel someone. Hell, I prefer to lay alone in that large bed, because when I fall asleep, you’re waiting for me in my dreams. You’re there, waiting for me to come home again.”
You’ve been watching him, while you sat on the nearby bench. Jenny Price. You remember reaping her soul, her husband had walked in on you, and he was the first mortal to see you, and to live to tell the story. But John kept it hidden, maybe that is why he had grown so strong, so tough, because he knew that death wouldn’t be an ugly thing, but an old friend waiting for you to come home again.
You’ve seen enough, as you get up from the bench. His time isn’t there yet, and you have enough to do anyway. Your gaze lingers on the captain, his head resting on the gravestone, his eyes closed as he brings up the memories he has with his late wife. It has become routine for him at this point, talking to her after a mission, visiting her whenever he could, keeping her grave as clean as he could. But for now you let him be. He deserved to have this little peace of mind before he would get sucked into the chaos of his day to day life.
Life goes on for the both of you, you have been reaping souls, he has been doing missions, neither of you meeting, although you take away the lives he has ended.
But his end is near, creeping up behind him, lurking in the shadows. Maybe he could feel it, maybe it was the universe apologising for taking away his wife, for taking away his teammates, but John finds himself at the cemetery again, talking to his old teammates, making sure that the weeds have been pulled, the flowers are fresh again. He updates them on his life, on the missions.
“We’ve done it.” He sighs, to no grave in particular. “We found Makarov. And I’ve put a bullet between his eyes, Johnny. Made sure he knew it was in your name. You should have seen the look on his face.”
And you remember, taking Makarov’s soul, it was safe to say the Rus was less than pleased, especially that John took his soul.
“Your mom is doing well, Kyle. She is still grieving as much as a mother does, but she is doing well. She finally got you that golden retriever you wanted as a kid. Named it Gaz, in your honour. Your sister graduated from her studies. She made sure to mention you in her speech. You would be so proud, Kyle.”
“And Simon, we have a mental health program dedicated to you, making sure that we can talk more open on base about mental health. So we can prevent that others feel the need to do what you did. You’ll live on.”
He moves on, once more laying out the blanket next to the grave of his late wife, sitting down next to her again. “There we are love.” He said with a grunt, lighting his cigar.
His gaze falls on the sky, looking at the setting sun. “You’re looking beautiful tonight.” He tells her. “I like it when you paint the sky orange. I never realised orange was my favourite colour until I found you in the sky every day.”
Maybe he could feel it, maybe your presence was looming to much on a cemetery. But John closes his eyes, breathing in the cold air into his lungs. He opens his eyes, seeing you in front of him.
“It is good to see you again, old friend.” He says.
“Hello.”
“Oh, you can skip the formalities.” He grunts. “I always thought I would die on the battlefield, not next to Jenny.”
“It has become a full circle, she passed in your arms, you will pass next to her gravestone.”
His eyes flash dark when he is reminded of how his wife had passed. “I never got to thank you for guiding Jenny.”
“It is what I do.”
“I know, but still. She was so scared, and you took that fear away.”
“I am glad that I could do it.”
“So, it is my time then.”
“Mhm, it is your call.” You respond. “But it will happen within the next few minutes.”
“Hm.” He answers with a murmur, as he rests his head against her gravestone again. “Wake me up when it’s done.”
You take place on the bench again, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath, his breathing turning steady as he falls asleep next to her gravestone. Sleeping together one last time.
You’re a patient creature, you have all the time in the world, so you wait, wait until his chest stops, until his heart stops beating. Before you can say a thing his soul leaves his body. John doesn’t talk to you yet, instead, he looks at his body, resting against the gravestone of his late wife.
“What a sight.” He sighs, turning to you.
And you just nod.
John turns to you. “I imagine that I also get to ask some questions before you bring me to the afterlife.”
“Anything you wish.”
John’s soul walks over to the bench you’re sitting on, having a view of the graves of his teammates and his late wife. “Do you think I am a bad person?”
“I am in no position to answer that question. For me and Life there is no such thing as a good person and a bad person. You all just exist with free will, and it is up to you how you use it.”
“If you were human, you would be a politician.” John snickers at his own joke.
You let out a sound that represents a huff. “Is this you calling me a bad person?”
“Only if you would be a British politician.”
“I would rather stay Death.”
He looks at the upcoming moon. “Did you guide my teammates too?”
“All of them.”
If he would be still alive he would be releasing a breath. “Glad you did.”
“They all wanted to know how you would cope.”
“They did?”
“Mhm.”
“Guess they cared more than I thought.”
“Of course they did.”
“Why was Simon smiling?”
“Why would I have something to do with it?”
“Because I know you wouldn’t have want him to die alone.”
“That much is true. I asked him his favourite memory. So he could die thinking about something happy.”
“And Kyle’s mother told me he has tried to call her and left a voicemail, I assume that is your doing too?”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Kyle’s upbringing was different from Simon’s.”
“As Death I do not discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. Life can be difficult and unfair enough. Why would I make their process of dying hard too?”
“That.. I.. I never thought about it that way.”
“I had no reason to grand you and Jenny some more time together, I had no reason to explain the afterlife to her, or to answer her questions about dying. Yet I did. Just like the universe does not need reasons to allow events in someone’s life to happen.”
“I see. Well, I think it is beautiful.”
John looks at his body, limped against the gravestone of his late wife.
“How did I die?”
“Your heart gave out.”
“Guess all those years of cigars, whiskey and stress finally caught up on me.” He chuckled. “I never noticed anything though, I mean I’ve been a little tired lately, but thought that was just the stress.”
You just tilt your head.
“Oh.”
“Heart diseases are something else.” You sigh. “A silent killer.”
“Learned that the hard way.”
His gaze shifts from his body to the gravestone next to him and he holds out his hand.
“As much as I liked seeing you again old friend, I am ready to go home, for the first time in fourteen years.”
NOTE: NOT CANON! this is a follow-up to my previous medical files post!
summary: Every soldier, officer, and civilian have their annual well visit, a patient is a patient. So, what does the documentation look like for the 141?
warnings: medical inaccuracies, mention of wounds/wound care, mentions of depression, medical terminology
a/n: hehe yk i LOVE my medical files so I thought I might try to do a full SOAP note and physical exam with findings + labs (live, laugh, love, pharmacy school). also someone let me know this made its way to both pinterest and tiktok which is absolutely CRAZY so I hope you all enjoy this part ii :)
My little poly heart is crying at your Alejandro and Rodolfo post 🥹
But it got me thinking…
Do you think, in your demon!darlings au, would Alejandro and Rodolfo share a demon darling? I can’t imagine them having separate ones.
I feel like it would be something with Ale earned a demon, and when Rodolfo found out, she just kind of got bound to him. None of them asked for it, but their happy with it nonetheless.
Even if they didn’t share, I feel like their demons would be inseparable just like the two of them.
OK YES I have ideas about Alejandro(and Rudy) in the demon au that are inspired by a waaaay old ask I've been holding onto because I love it but don't know what to do with it about Cadejos. Which is basically this:
Alejandro earns himself a demon, it's the loyalty that his men show him, his ruthless abilities in battle, it's also partially Hell going "yeah this guy will know what to do with one of these." Alejandro is smart, very smart, his demon shows up and he thinks the best course of action is integrating them into his ranks. Keep the demon close, but also visible. He doesn't like the idea of talking to shadows, and his demon doesn't see a need to hide if their summoner doesn't want them to. The problem: Rudy. Rudy is his right hand man, closer than a brother, he tells Rudy everything, shares everything with him. Of course Alejandro tells Rudy about the demon as soon as he gets them.
I think it's Rudy's idea to integrate the demon into their army, make the demon their third. It makes more sense for both of them to bring someone new into the fray. Then it's just... Well... They already share everything, and you have no issue being shared. As long as you're well fed and as long as Alejandro says it's alright you take orders from Rudy too. Now, for any other demon this could be tricky, but not you. What does Hell think Alejandro needs? More people he can trust, more fire power. I think Alejandro's demon can split in two, or maybe even more(I'm thinking Gemini for a callsign). So when the three of them are out in the field there's a demon on each other their shoulders.
Duplication magic is easy too, making more weapons, more ammunition, more money, more fuel, more people(although splitting themselves probably has a hard limit at two or three), and Alejandro is smart enough to make that work for him. Also I think it would be really funny for Ale and Rudy to show up to the 141's base with this new person that is clearly with them(in many different senses of the term) but was NOT there for MW2. Neither of them is mentioning it other than that you're trustworthy and- Oh no wait sorry you just whispered in Alejandro's ear that this place is crawling with demons, never mind the "normal human" act they can introduce you as a demon.
series summary: You live a carefree and happy life in Las Almas now that El Sin Nombre is gone. Unbeknownst to the people, a new narco moves in with his eyes on you and nothing to lose. Alejandro steps up as your pretend boyfriend while Los Vaqueros stage a plan to take down this new threat. It's fake dating until it's not. You and Alejandro slip into the roles too well and lines begin to blur. Will Alejandro be able to let go of his own rules to allow himself the chance to find love? Based off this request.
[photos are not mine, found on pinterest. all credit to owners]
warnings: Each chapter will have individual warnings. Here are the general warnings - no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance, original characters introduced, age gap (keep it legal y'all), stalker behavior by unwanted suitor, brief mentions of sexual harassment (not SA), mentions of blood/violence, mentions of narcos/cartels, mentions of drugs, mutual pining, unprotected sex, oral
a/n: my first series! decided to turn this request into a series since I couldn't condense it into a single one-shot. it will be split up into three chapters :)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Title is inspired by the song Mayor Que Usted by Natti Natasha, Daddy Yankee, and Wisin & Yandel
oml hiiii, i rushed here immediately when i saw your requests are open ive been in love with the idea of maybe ghost having a teenage niece (his older brothers daughter) who he basically raised when he wasn't on duty but like none of the 141 knows about it because he keeps her a secret. He's basically her father at this point cause the rest of the family was murdered when she was only a baby. Anyways, you can do whatever you want with this prompt or not if you don't want to. But like I can totally just imagine Soap just seeing them in a Tescos and absolutely losing his shit when seeing a teenager swinging from his Lieutenants arm.
if you choose not to do this prompt that's completely fine!!! thank you!!!
—Sole Survivor
⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ
╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞
When you were the only one to live, the sole survivor of that massacre, Simon knew he was in trouble.
He’d found you under the bed. The blood was still congealing over the wooden floors—whoever put you there, Tommy, his mother, Beth, or even his nephew, was all a mystery that no one would ever know the answer to. Yet, the larger question was how you, a baby, had managed to stay silent through it all.
Simon had picked you up with panicked breath and tears in his eyes as the sirens of the police had gotten closer, holding you to him as you blinked awake and yawned. The bodies of his family were strewn around the floor, broken and bent; murdered. But you. Little you.
Alive.
It would be best to leave you to be found by the authorities. To go somewhere far away from him and the future that was now stained into his soul—the pact of revenge and horror that would live through him like a brand. It was the right thing to do; the correct thing.
And then he remembers his mother’s eyes, and he’s already rushing to the back window while cradling your squirming body. The rest, of course, passed as the flow of time always did.
“I’m thinking we should have steak,” your voice pipes up as Simon grabs a bag of crisps from the shelf. Brown eyes blink down at you, balaclava tight to this face.
“You have steak money?” You were a teenager now, older and figuring life out one day at a time. He hadn’t told you the whole story, and he won’t until much later, but you know enough to a point that you were comfortable with.
You know your family loved you.
“You’re the one with the job,” he huffs at you as you utter under your breath.
“Exactly,” Simon grunts. “Eatin’ me out of house and home like I never feed you.”
“I,” you point a finger into the air, “am growing. Soon I’ll be just as tall as you, y’know that? I’ll be towering over everyone and giving them that same dead-eyed look that—” brown orbs level with you, unimpressed. You beam, punching his shoulder. “See! That one!”
“Fuckin’ piss off, would you?” Simon grumbles, moving down to the next aisle in his large and darkly-clothed glory. Your laugh trails after him, feet heavy on his heels. “Givin’ me a headache.”
You both walk around the Tesco, Simon getting strange looks while a beaming teenager walks beside him talking about supper, class, and anything in between. He offered short responses, sometimes sarcastic and sometimes serious—it depended, but the point was that he did answer you, no matter how pointless the conversation.
“I think I’m going to join a club this year,” you speak as you gaze at the items your Uncle puts in his basket. A gaze side-eyes you slowly.
“What, then?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, shoulder bumping into his arm and tilting your head. “Were you in any clubs?”
He grunts, shaking his head before a hand descends to your hair, ruffling it as you hiss in annoyance. “Never had time.” Simon hadn’t told you about his father or what he had done, and God help him if he ever uttered a word about it. That wasn’t something that mattered in your story, just his…he’d never place that weight on you willingly.
You frown as your uncle's arm loops your shoulders casually, keeping you to him as other people walk past you. Brown filters over posture and facial expressions—looking for the barest hint of ill-intent. When there’s nothing, and the forms move around you as easily as they had come, Simon’s attention leaves, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.
“Try Debate.” Your face turns to him, curious.
“Debate?” His eyes twinkle, and behind his face covering you immediately find the tell-tale twitch of a smirk.
“Argue so bloody well you could convince a rookie that a P890 can hold 10 rounds.”
You fight the shocked smile that pulls at your lips. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” Eyes swirl, and a hand squeezes your arm; jostling you slightly.
“It’s a compliment.”
“You’ve always been shit at those.” You get a firm glare and a grunt from above.
“Fuckin’ language.” Your lips mock his response, making fun of him before he sends a flick of his thumb and forefinger into your temple.
“Hey!” Simon chuckles lowly, walking closer to the front of the store to get ready to pay as you mutter. “Jerk.”
It was a surprise though, that when you had barreled onto your Uncle’s back for an impromptu piggyback ride as payback—which the man didn’t even flinch at, already used to your antics—that the wide eyes of a man with a mohawk met yours. Your head is atop your Uncles, resting there as the lady at the front gives you strange looks from behind the register as Simon places the items in front of her.
He was gobsmacked, this stranger with his hair all done up like that, and your eyes blink at the display of tags around his neck that mirror your guardians. Broad, yet not so like Simon, and muscled, also, not as much as Simon.
“Unc?” You ask, and the man below you hums in question, pulling out notes from his wallet absentmindedly. “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”
Simon tenses under you, fingers freezing.
“With the what?” It wasn’t really shocking that no one knew about you besides Price—and the only reason he knew was that in the event something happened to him, Simon had made the Captain swear that you would be taken care of.
Imagine his horror when his brown eyes darted up only to find them meeting the cobalt blues of his Sergeant, the Scot's hand outstretched to a box of pancake mix with a pack of Irn Bru in the other.
There’s an immediate sinking feeling in Simon’s chest when Johnny awkwardly tips his fingers in a shocked greeting—eyes flashing up to your curious face before he thins his lips and blinks.
Okay here‘s the promised list of German nicknames.
Feel free to Tag other German speaking characters if you repost , I could only think of König at the moment.
Masculine words will be in blue, feminine in red. Gender neutral in green. I also put a few swear words and general German language rules at the end, including why talking in gender neutral is impossible in German. I tried to explain everything as simply as I can.
And while I‘m at it, let me put it out that, even if it‘s super obvious, you can mix up the nicknames, so even if you have a fem reader you can use fem AND gn nicknames. It may be obvious but I still wanted to point it out.
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my (be)loved : mein liebster / meine liebste
my love/my dear : meine Liebe / mein Liebling
(however, if you were to say for example : „my dear y/n” the German translation would be : „mein lieber y/n / meine liebe y/n”)
In the same sense, "The Love of my life" would be: Die Liebe meines Lebens , even if the reader is masc. or fem. It‘s confusing, I know.
my treasure (a very German nickname) (and to a certain degree it means 'dear' as well) (you can also use it for 'honey'): mein Schatz. You can also use just 'Schatz', e.g. : „Schatz, kannst du das für mich holen?” (translation: "Dear/Honey, could you get this for me?")
baby (yea Germans use it too) : Baby/Babe
my bunny (albeit in English a very uncommon nickname, it is very common and normal in Germany) : mein Hasi / Hase / Häschen (i will explain the words with 'chen' at the end)
my angel : mein Engel / Engelchen
my bear (again I think a very uncommon nickname in English, but pretty common in German) (but I also have to mention that the nickname my bear is not something youngster use, it‘s more of a people in their 40's & 50's type of thing now) : mein Bär / Bärchen
you cutie : du süßer / du süße
you are cute : du bist süß
if you want to JUST say 'cute' or 'adorable', you can use one of these : süß / niedlich / knuffig (although knuffig is a extremely cute/adorable endearment and would most probably be used only in private) (and yes you can say „du bist niedlich / knuffig” if you wanna say 'you are cute‘ too)
a nickname that women use for their men or men for their men but rarely men for their women (probably because the men are usually the taller/bigger ones) is 'big one' (I will give the translation for the 'men for their women' regardless) : mein großer / meine große . This is mainly used when the one person is worried about the other person, e.g. : „Alles okay mein großer? Alles okay meine große?”, (translation: 'Everything okay, big one?')but I‘m sure it can be used in a normal and/or s3xual manner as well. I have also heard people call their dogs & kids „mein großer / meine große”, so do with it what you will.
little one: kleiner / kleines
To mirror the "Big one", you could also say little one, a different little one from the previously mentioned nickname. Because the "Big one" is actually "My Big One" so "My little one" would be : mein kleiner / meine kleine. I know it‘s a bit confusing but please bear with me. It‘s all about the situation. If, e.g., König says "Little one, sit down" you would write "Kleiner / Kleines, sit down". However, if in a situation he says sth like "My little one, are you injured?", the version w german words would be "Mein kleiner / Meine kleine, are you injured?“. Not that much difference except the fact that the fem version looses the s at the end, I just wanted to point that out.
good girl : gutes Mädchen (but technically you could also use : braves Mädchen)
good boy : guter Junge (other version would be : braver Junge) (to elaborate : brav means ‚well-behaved', but to translate good girl/good boy, both gut&brav can be used, so pick your fighter)
from here on out, I‘m gonna quickly translate a few nicknames which are usually not used in Germany but you can because at the end of the day it’s free game. And let me use this moment to clarify that even though all of these words are gender neutral, it is gender neutral towards the reader, that means the words themselves have a gender. But since the gender is not directed towards the reader but the gender of the other word, be it an object or living being, it is considered gender neutral. I‘ll try showcasing it with the first example.
my pearl : meine Perle (the word Pearl in German is Perle and it has a gender, it is feminine. However, when using it as an endearment or nickname, it is counted as gender neutral) (I previously mentioned the nickname 'my angel‘ and it is in the same category. Angel in German means Engel and it‘s masculine, but as an endearment it‘s gender neutral) (I could get into the why‘s and elaborate but I feel like it would cause unnecessary confusion).
my sunshine : mein Sonnenschein
my flower : meine Blume
my world : meine Welt
my one and everything : mein ein und alles
Okay I think I am done with the nicknames? If you have any specific nicknames you‘d like me to translate let me know. Also just an fyi but you can use all of the nicknames without the 'my' before it. Like, you can make a character call the reader just „Blume” or just „Engelchen”.
Now let me elaborate on 'chen‘ that‘s at the end of some words, like 'Bärchen', 'Häschen' or 'Engelchen'. Simply put, it cute-ify‘s the words. You have Bär (Bear) and Bärchen turns it into, loosely translated, 'little Bear'. The 'chen‘ at the end makes it sound more endearing and fitting for a lover, yk? You should also be aware that you cannot really add 'chen‘ to anything. I mean, of course, you could turn Regen (Rain) into Regenchen, grammatically it would be correct and it can be used as a nickname but no one would do that so it just stands out and is weird, you feel me? But hey if you wanna use that in your fanfiction, go ahead. German speaking folks will just raise their brow at it.
🌸🫧
Now onto the swear words. Some you‘ll be familiar with if you know König‘s Voice Lines, but I still added them nevertheless.
Fuck you : Fick dich
Fuck : Fuck (Yea we just took that over from the English folks…, don‘t use just „Fick” from „Fick dich”, it is a smart move but incorrect)
Shit : Scheiße
Kiss my Ass : Leck mich am Arsch (which translated actually means lick my ass but the translation for Kiss my Ass is still „Leck mich am Arsch”)
Son of a Bitch : Hurensohn
Daughter of a Bitch : Hurentochter (though Hurensohn has become gender neutral and the more commonly used one, so you can use it when your character just got hurt or is actually insulting someone, regardless of their gender)
Asshole : Arschloch
Bitch/Slut : Hure, Schlampe
Translated it means Dog, but it’s used like how you‘d use Bitch : Hund / Hündin (tho Hündin is more popular) (Hündin is a female dog but like Hurensohn, it has become somewhat gender neutral)
Idiot : Idiot, Blödmann, Schwachkopf (though I do have to mention that Blödmann and Schwachkopf (at least I feel like?) is mainly used by little kids while adults just stick to Idiot)
Just a few swear words. What‘s next on the Agenda? Oh right, simple German rules.
🍡☁️
Let me start off by explaining why gender neutral is so hard or impossible in German. To all of our writes here, you can ABSOLUTELY write a fan fiction, be it a 4 chapter type of thing or just a few bullet points, with a gender neutral reader if you stick to the gn endearments (could be from this list or some other). However, in real life, it works a bit different since you have to use other words to communicate with others. Let me explain it by using an example.
Someone who‘s a teacher would introduce themselves as "Hello, my Name is First Name Last Name and I‘m a Teacher". In German however, it is a bit different since the German word for Teacher is Lehrer & it means male Teacher. Female Teacher would be Lehrerin. There is no gender neutral Teacher, it‘s either Lehrer or Lehrerin. Same goes with anything else. Be it a Doctor (Arzt/Ärztin), Police Officer (Polizist/Polizistin) or a construction worker (Bauarbeiter/Bauarbeiterin). And yes, as you‘ve noticed, the female versions all end with a '-in', that‘s a good & easy way to recognize them. And even if you‘re not talking about Jobs, your gender and the other words' gender will change the way word are conjugated, and thus it makes it impossible to talk in gender neutral terms.
Next thing on the list is the way words are written. Just like in English, Names of people & places, food, nicknames etc. are all written down with the first letter being big, the rest being small. In the German language it does have a bit more importance than in English, since the difference helps us tell what is a place/person & what is a adjective etc. For example, we have this lovely sentence "In essen essen gehen." I just wrote that incorrectly so you could see my point. The correct way of spelling would be "In Essen essen gehen" (transl: Going to eat in Essen). Essen is a city but when written in small captions, it‘s the verb for eating. And don‘t get me wrong, most Germans can tell apart what word is the place/destination even if everything is written in small letters simply by the order of the words. And it‘s not like König fanfictions are all written in German, heck it’s always a few words which is FINE. So let me tell you that writing all German letters in small captions is FINE, us Germans still know what the hell is going on. This is just something I have noticed and thought I’d mention. But, again, if you write all in small letters it is not the end of the world, it’d only be 98% correct and there isn‘t really a German out there who’d be all "Aw gawd damn, they wrote all letters in small captions so now I cannot enjoy this work from the author anymore." Again, it‘s all cool, I just wanted to point it out. Stuff like nicknames, names, are all written in first letter being big. I have made sure to pay attention to that on my list.
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I think I‘m done? I don‘t think I forgot anything. Again, if there are any specific nicknames, words or sentences you‘d like me to translate, hit me up. And I literally mean that, like you don’t have to worry about „Oh god will I annoy them?“, because I genuinely enjoy doing stuff like that. I can also proofread German words/sentences, just let me know what to check.
Have a good day/night & I hope this was helpful ✌️
