karskarmen - Tumblr blog

[karskarmen]

“Looking Over My Shoulder.”

TW: Trauma, fictional violence, mentions of ideations and mentions of superslide

Even when letting go, I still watched their eyes that looked over my shoulder. At first it was for approval, had it been evil enough? Had things turned in a way that even if they were just voices, had it stirred their bellies in disgust at how I was being? I wanted them sick, I wanted the twists and turns of agony in their stomachs to the point it was more than rage. I wanted them to feel it, the crawling of skin and the punctures of my words.

But that feeling hadn’t lasted long. The looking over my shoulder, when the storms of my violence had passed, only became a haunting memory of every mistake I had done. The excuses that turned into lying scripture, the insults that turned into the scars that lay themselves around my wounded legs and burning red arms. I had worked too hard to keep things afloat, I had worked too hard that I became unbearably selfish. I had worked hard, only to keep an image that I was loved.

The days stretched on, staring at the bottom of the building. It was high enough to end me, though thinking about it made me unbearably sick. The ledge made my head spin, the feeling of the eyes would only go away the more the ledge showed what waited for me down below. Even when I left the building and the faulty ledge, the eyes over my shoulder didn’t end. They made more, they made multiple that pried their way beneath my skin. They watched my blood move, they listened to the sound, they whispered amongst themselves.

The times I couldn’t block out the noise I came to the ledge again. My feet digging into my shoes, my eyes stinging with tears. But I didn’t have it, I didn’t have the strength to make it stop and leave the eyes that looked themselves over my shoulders. They couldn’t touch me, they couldn’t feel the skin when the ledge came into view. Only he sat on the ledge with me. And when he spoke me, the voices were silent.

“I created you,” he said, though I couldn’t see his face. Voice deep, calm and collected. He had a tinge of an echo, it made the goosebumps arise and my chest fall flat as if I couldn’t breathe anymore.

“I want you to stay here.”

Little words, little words that removed the chains in my backside and removed the sharp claws from around my neck.

“I want you to stay here.”

The ledge became a distant memory, though the words had stuck themselves within the nerves of my brain. A reminder, a reminder that took my hands and took the eyes from my shoulder. He put them behind the glass, and he gave me my eyes back. They were only little things, little things that only knew enough to poke but not nearly enough to draw blood.

Though they loom over my shoulder, the army they’ve created has been outgrown. The peace, and the silence. Silence, something I never knew was so calming.

Staying here wasn’t so bad after all.

[karskarmen]

"Is this what you asked for?"

Note: hey I'm back with some self angst mwhehehehehehe

TW: Mentions of SA, bullying, blood

When I first made them up, it was molding every imperfection of chaos that came from the very depths of what I had left. I didn't have much, just bits of pieces that showered in thousands onto my head and neck. It was like this every single day, the showers of pieces and the staring as they came down. I didn't look up, I didn't turn my head, I let it happen.

At first, they stung. It was like acid, only it left little cuts and scrapes rather than a burn of something thicker. But with buckets of those pieces, full of cement, that's when I started making them. Femininity was not in their name, and neither was it in the form which I decided to make them. The only thing feminine was what was left of matted hair. Blonde, matted hair, remaining the same. Never growing further than what was decided.

Every piece I took, it seemed to only fit the places where the hurt was what remained. No matter which piece I tried, all that was left was the burning prints. When they first came alive, the wail that made its way to my ears was something made me feel guilty. The wailing, the painful screaming of what was left. I couldn't let them out of my grip. This wasn't a creation anymore, it was a torture I put on them. There was no longer a girl, a woman, just some sort of entity of hell.

Of agony,

of my fucking pain.

There were times they'd wail in the night, head stuffed into a pillow to muffle the screams of anguish. They claimed the prints burned, they burned so badly they'd scratch them until they bled. I'd have to wake up, sit them on the base of a toilet and wipe the blood of those angry prints. They were stuck to flesh, no matter how much I promised or tried to really pull off what handprints remained all over them.

This wasn't a creation, this was a torture. Torture I implemented on someone who had no damn childhood. Someone who was robbed of innocence left with rage and a grueling pain that made them bleed like a river each and every night. I tried to ignore the tears, I tried to hold them close to me whenever someone passed and a sickening smirk was what they showed to her. They didn't care, all they wanted was to make them cry.

Is this what a monster was? They wept in fear, each and every day having to see the looming shadow. There was no education, no effort, every time the looming shadow remained there. I had demanded he leave, but it was only them there instead. I had to hold them many nights, blood-staining breasts wherever I tried to pick the wounds and sew them up again.

But then, the wheels of time turned a little further. They turned a bit faster, and I could place them there while I made their bed and brushed their mats into flowing locks again. I held them in the night, and little by little they'd speak to me. They told me that they loved me, and it was over that little bit of time they started speaking to me.

"Was it my fault?"

"If it was your fault, I would not hold you."

They asked me that every night, and every night I had the exact same answer. At first, taking care of them was like a chore. A chore, a deafening silence. There were wounds I had to fix on my own, just me and them all over again. Is this what being a mother was like? A bunch of pieces of agony piled into a living body, a bruised body, a hurt body. But every day, there was something new.

I could sit and watch them draw and write for hours. The stitches, when they unraveled, they didn't cry anymore. Instead, they woke me, holding back tears and pointing to the thick scars across their breasts. They held in tears, they vowed to me they were a big person now. That they could heal. And tonight was new, as the healing had been.

"Karis?"

I paused to look at them again, stitching with needle and thread of the handprints on their breasts. It had come undone, though they held in tears.

"Is my name, still Chaos?"

"Do you want to change it?"

There's a silence between us before they swing their feet and look at me again.

"...Is Kars fine?"

As the silence remains, and a single nod of my head, I believe this is what healing is.

I love you. Chaos, Kars, or who Karis has become. And I always have, and I always will.

[karskarmen]

Snippet Of Red Tree's "Burn The Bodies"

"A Father Does as Told." (Quinn's Story)

Triggers: Blood, gore, infection (zombified), death of wife, domestic violence, etc.

Note: I WILL WARN YALL NOW.. This is not SFW, and it is the most depressing thing I have written. I promise, he gets happy in the end, but just a fair warning.

Family.

My family wasn't stable when I was growing up. Too many traumatized faces, too many traumatized minds. I'd be lying if I hadn't been one of the faces bloodied and bruised, I'd be lying if I said I didn't do the same. He was bigger than me, stronger, but it didn't stop me from taking my anger on him after what he did to my mama.

It's why when we had a military ball I refused any alcohol. It's why when I got married to my first wife, I refused to take a hit at my bachelor's party. I had seen what it done. I had seen the monster it created out of my step father. And I made a promise to my wife, to my mother, that I wouldn't touch the honey liquor on the shelf of forgotten wisdom. I kept that promise.

Until now, staring down at my wife. Or who use to be my wife. Her face is bloody, thick spurts of pus that came from nowhere and landed at my boots. They told us it wasn't this bad, they told us to just take them to the hospital, but she refused to go.

"They'll hurt the baby." Bethany pleaded, everytime I mentioned that the sores and the veins were getting worse. She was blue and purple, thick red veins that now swelled and hurt her more when she walked. She was already swollen full with baby number three, another little girl. They had sent me home, told us to watch over our kids, keep everyone well and safe.

But this had gone on for too long. This wasn't some damn little sickness, this wasn't even a damn pandemic. This was something worse, something that tore the body inside out and into balls of flesh. Something that made them hungry, made them feral like bears. For the most part, I thought this was a nightmare. I wondered if it was the movies I had watched recently, or maybe the flashbacks, but this... It was so much worse. She's still clawing at my boots, swollen belly sliding along the wooden floor of our small cottage housing. There's blood, every corner there's more and more blood. I tried to deny it. I tried to deny that the monster clawing and wheezing at my feet is my wife. But the ring on her finger doesn't lie, neither does the baby that made her bigger in the belly.

"Quin... Ton..."

I want to puke. I can't breathe, the air thick with the stench of blood and iron. She calls me, and I feel like I'm going to faint. I looked down at her again, watching as her fingernails dug to my boot, but they'd never pierce. I swallowed back the bile, raising my pistol down at her again. They were waiting for me. The other two. My babies, my beloved little girls being pushed into the closet when their mother attacked me.

This isn't me. This isn't a nightmare. This isn't my wife. There's something stirring in the top of her head, folding it forward as she lets out a breathless groan. I laid my finger on the trigger, a breath leaving me.

"...I love you, Beth."

She doesn't respond, eyes wide and bloodshot as her fingernails continue to try and squirm. She's stuck to the floor, body smearing the wood with whatever else had come out of her. All I could do was let my ears ring, a familiar feeling as I watched her slump to the floor. Her wrists landed on the toe of my boot. She's gone, my wife, my baby. All gone.

"Daddy?"

I turned, slowly, watching as my oldest peered from the closet. She's holding her sister like she'd lose her next, looking between her mother's body and the gun in my hand. There's no excuse I can make. There's no time.

"We need to go."

"Daddy?"

"We have to go."

She doesn't protest, though the look on her face is more than fear. Her father had murdered her mother and her new sister all in a moment. Does she understand? I don't know. I don't want to know. She steps from the closet alongside her younger sister, slapping a palm over her eyes so she wouldn't witness the scene before her.

"Is mom-"

"She's not fine, sweetie. Just..."

There was nothing I could say. There was no excuse, there was a new burden, there was nothing I could fucking do. I stuffed the pistol in my pocket, picking them both up with an adrenaline filled ease before I walked out of the cottage. I put them in the car, strapping their seatbelts and putting the youngest in her car seat. There's a sickening silence. Heavy, dreadful that had me nauseous all over again. I couldn't forget her face, the veins, the blood.

What would've happened if I let her continue? If I didn't shoot her? What would've happened if I had gotten her help? I should've. I didn't care.

"Daddy?" My oldest asks again, watching as I strapped myself in the front seat and turning the keys. The engine comes to life, and I lean back to watch my blind spot as I pulled from the makeshift driveway. But I can't leave her hanging, not for long at least. It isn't until we're a couple of blocks away until I decided to answer her. "..Yes, baby?'

"Is mommy going to be okay?"

'...Sure, sweetie. We just.. Need space.."

Just space for now..

[karskarmen]

"Ruin My Silence." Ghost x Reader

Notes: This is like writing from 10pm I wanted to finish so hahahaaaaaaaaa I'm so sorry

Triggers: Blood, death, character death (?), trash ass writing. Maybe eventual smut.

Often when he sat alone, there was no peace. There was no idle sitting and staring out the window at the view of the desert. The silence he found was disturbing when not surrounded by the men he fought alongside. He’s staring down at the paper, mind seemingly lost with the blood that decorated his now in the wash clothing. The silence only made it louder, more of a bloodshed that only stained the inside of his mind. Though he stirs when the doorknob jiggles, a knock that resounds against the door of his office.

“Name and business.” He says, voice slightly raised with annoyance at the disturbance. Sometimes he’d like to be disturbed, though others he would want to pass them on. He wanted to be alone, to focus and pass them as they went by. Silence was his enemy, yet it was the only therapy he saw fit. The therapy he didn’t have to admit to. The therapy he could hide. When the name came through the door he raised a brow, turning up and heaving a heavy sigh before looking down to his papers. 

“...Come in.” He says, voice low and seemingly annoyed. There was no doubt he was, but then again, a disturbance was a disturbance for a reason. The door opens, the new sergeant standing with a struggling salute as she peered through the doorway and nervously shuffled inside.He raises a brow at the newcomer. 

“Don’t always have to salute.”

“Just thought it was appropriate, Lieutenant.” 

He heaves an annoyed sigh, writing something down on the slip of paper on his desk to turn to the woman in front of him. 

“Did you need something?” He asks, though it’s not clear of his emotion just by his voice. He’s annoyed, yes, though the other part confuses her further. 

“Something bothering you, sir?’

“I’m fine.”

“Sir if something’s wrong-”

“I said. I’m. Fine.” He says, sounding out the syllables with a gravelly voice. His eyes are digging into her skin, anxiety prickling like pulling needles from hair follicles up her arms. She thinks back to when the others of the group were speaking about their higher ups, how he stares at others when he’s upset. Was this what they were talking about? Fury and annoyance? She swallows the lump in her throat. Her mind is clouded, fuzzy from just being his presence. Oddly enough, the musk and the smell of something smokey isn’t bothering her. It's just… Attracts her more.

“Sergeant. I’m talking to you.” 

She practically fumbles while standing, hurriedly keeping her hands at her sides and looking down at her higher up. She can’t have those thoughts, he’s her higher up, he’s her superior. She nods quickly. 

“Er… Captain Price wants to invite you for a drink. We’re all down in the basement waiting for you-”

“I’ll pass.”

His words sting, and she felt herself tense at the upright refusal of relaxing for the evening. She goes silent for a moment, seeing as he releases a heavy sigh and looks at the paperwork before looking at her again. She’s been with them a while, a while for him to know her name and silly little stories she told to pass the time. Chatterbox was his first thought, but after listening, he relinquished the comedy her life contained. 

“Well uh… We’ll be in the basement if you’d like to join us…” She says, turning and making her way to the door. He wanted to say something, to withdraw his mask and say something as Simon, though he goes silent as he watches her shut the door behind her. It’s liking sliding a needle into a vein, the blood leaking out on his chest as he watches her leave. Why did he feel so odd? So… Cold? Empty? He took another look at the paperwork, and checked the time on his watch. It had been late in the evening as she had stated, and would he the one to be dealing with all this damn paperwork?

He leaned back against the slightly uncomfortable chair (due to his size), staring back at the doorway. He wished she’d walk back through, beckon him to come join her and the rest at the table with a cold glass of bourbon, his designated favorite when he did drink on those spare times. She’s walked in on him before, freaking out once she saw him drinking and immediately apologizing for disturbing him. The memory causes his lips to lift into a soft, half smile beneath his mask. Why was she so skittish, why was she so… Afraid of him? He knew why. He knew the barriers around her he lifted up to the sky. There was so crawling up, there was no ladder, only the wall of truth.

He looked down at the paper and calmly pushed it aside. With a heavy sigh he stood from his chair, heavy footsteps making their way to the door and opening it. He turns, and down the hall he goes.

Upon walking into the room, it’s a sight to behold. All gathered around the table, some buzzed and playful banter bouncing around the basement walls. Price, Gaz, and Soap, all gathered into a corner huddled behind cards. He finds it amusing when Soap is drunk, being that his heavy accent is slurred to the side and all that comes out half the time is mumbled gibberish. It seems Gaz is having a laugh, and so is Price though it’s hidden mostly by the cards. But where was she? He turned, looking at the other soldiers who were talking amongst themselves. But she’s nowhere to be found. 

He waves to those whom wave to him, though his heart beats a little faster when he can’t find her amongst the crowd. He heaves a light sigh, turning to see a figure by the window. He almost leaps, though keeping himself planted as his heavy footsteps lead to the door. Opening slowly he turns, seeing a cigarette perched between her fingers and staring out at the night sky. The door opening makes her jump, and the presence of her superior only makes her shivers stronger.

“...Why aren’t you inside?” He asks, voice void of the emotion as he stands next to her. He’s horrendously tall, bulky and leaning near her to hear her speak. She nearly chokes on the smoke of her cigarette, regaining herself before speaking. 

“Just needed a smoke break.”

“Those aren’t good for you.”

“You should tell Price that.” She says, chuckling as she turns back to the view. The stars aren’t exactly out that night, though the folding colors of the clouds and the color blue are pleasant. So is the summer breeze, it’s not as hot as it is in the day. Her joke makes a low rumble in the back of his throat, though he holds that laugh. It rests there, never to be opened. There’s a long silence between the two before the air brakes again. Cigarette smoke wraps around them like a hug, and the scent burns the edge of Simon’s nostrils. 

“You didn’t have to come.” She protests, looking over to him and he only shakes his head. “I wanted to.” Though he doesn’t actually explain. He leaves her wondering, and she always wondered about what he was thinking. She had only seen his chin, clean shaven and hiding beneath that filthy balaclava. She can’t exactly read him. He’s too quiet, too private to actually be read. How he was so close to Price and the rest of the group, it was a mystery that she couldn’t crack. Again, silence between the two.

“Well, I’ll be out here for a while longer. Go ahead, Price has a glass of Bourbon waiting for you-”

“You aren’t joining?” He interrupts, and although it makes a bit of an annoyance, she’s confused by the way he questions her. She turned to him, blowing smoke from her lips and tapping the ash off. He watches her, eyes following her breath and every little movement she makes. To her, it’s almost as if she’s under a delightful microscope. It’s not exactly comfortable, but she’s convinced it has some meaning.

“I’ll join in a bit, Ghost.” And this time, she smiles. The way her lips tip up makes his chest tighten, though he remains distant and watches as she takes another inhale. There’s another long period of silence, only it was for a couple of seconds.

“...I’ll be waiting for you.” He says, turning and back into the place he went. She nearly suffocates on the smoke wafting around her lungs, hurriedly coughing into her arm as she whips her head back to look at him. He doesn’t say anything more, does anything more, just leaves inside the building again. She’s left in disbelief, looking around for any other witness before letting out a soft sigh. What was he doing? Why did he say that to her? What was this? Though when she turned back to stare at the night sky, he watched from the corner of the door, a smirk playing beneath his mask. He loved to see her flustered, confused… It made him remember, remember the good things about this new recruit. 

[karskarmen]

“Silence.”

TW: Blood mention? Angst, lots of sad, if you know me irl no you don’t, but of a vent

Notes: Today was just not cash money but let’s write it without writing it instead 🧍🏻‍♀️

There had been silence for days, she could hear the AC blasting but nothing else. Seven days, it had been seven days since the mention of what happened passed through her brain.

But all she seemed to be concerned about was the unique silence that fell throughout the house. The house with no members was cold, neglecting the summer heat outside, even a bug scurrying could be heard, within the silent house.

She hadn’t bothered to get up from bed either. Hair slicking itself to the back of her neck and the greasy aftermath was already beginning to set in. All she knew was silence, all she knew was the beginning of the decomposing flesh within her brain.

When the silence in the house was broken, it was usually by the vibrations of her phone or the wheeze of the air conditioner when it felt the house was too warm and needed to be cold again. She looked once or twice at the phone, but put it right back when she saw the name.

They were familiar names, though now masked by unknown caller ID and odd numbers. She didn’t answer, she let it ring until they got tired.

Did she want the silence? In all honesty, it had been great at first. A sense of peace within her house and no disruption. No overstimulation, just her in the zone for hours on end. She didn’t need a substance, she just needed silence.

Or so she thought. But now the silence made tears brim in her eyes. She hadn’t heard anything move but the phone and the AC. She had even known what time the AC wheezed, and it nearly drove her crazy.

The only thing that really kept her sane was the blanket with added weight over her chest. She could hide there, be wrapped in warmth and some peace. But the silence stayed.

Mail piling at the door, dishes unclean, tv off and the soft hum of the AC when it wasn’t being adjusted.

She stunk, she knew it by the way she laid there and could now feel the grease seeping into the cracks of her curls and skin.

“Silence.”

Is what she spoke out loud, though nothing answered. She looked over once a sound did come, looking to the cellphone that sat on her nightstand. She paused for a long while, familiar numbers of someone she hadn’t heard from in months.

With hesitance she leaned forward, taking the cellphone from the nightstand and pressing to her ear. But to no surprise.

Silence is what was returned to her.

[karskarmen]

EXPERIMENTAL CHAOS

(Vent Short) (If you know me IRL no you don't) Triggers: SA, Sexual harassment, blood, body horror if you squint.

Notes: Trauma? Spicy? Yes.

Trembling was what they described it, experimental being trembling at the man behind the glass.

Pushing, prodding, needle marks so deep in skin they made freckles of blood.

All had grown numb to the screams, the screams that now left their sonar against the television. Broadcast, all are use to it.

By now the prodding had ceased, though the lead, his fingertips didn't leave the experiment.

His presence never left, the thick calloused thumbs against vulnerability. That was when the woman was taken.

They took her without remorse, fingers that tore through breasts and through the behind of an innocent.

She cried, she fought, hands that met with cheeks and prodding back. How would you like it? It thought.

But he liked those things. He liked when she fought, he thought of it as a challenge. That's what made her an experiment, a challenge.

The scientists ignored her pleas, they told her she was the experiment, she had done something to deserve those angry fingers.

Those rancid, putrid, nasty fingers and needles. She forgot where her breasts were, only red handprints.

She forget where her teeth were, they tore them out with the voice. She forgot where her genitals wore, numb to the touch. Nothing.

All she felt were those horrid fingertips, scars where they left and now here she was.

Experiment is the only thing that comes to her brain. No longer a person, a woman, just the thick bundle of scars that align her face and disheveled body.

Confusion. He left her confused. There was no romance, he was her friend, why would a friend build his fingers on her body and stick them deep?

Why would he muffle her cries for help?

This wasn't normal. This wasn't a broadcast.

Help me, it wept, scarring tissue now pooled with thick red blotches onto the floor.

Fingertips that don't leave. Fingertips that stay.

A suffering anew.

[karskarmen]

"Relatives, they don't get it."

Pairings: Personal oc x Personal oc

Notes: Since no one really reads my writing.. We'll do it here mwhahaha.

Triggers: Mild homophobia, some angst

"I wish you would've chosen a man."

Diana nearly choked on the tea she had been sipping when her aunt said that. She put down the cup, trying to keep her calm and unbothered composure while trying to find where her aunt had the audacity to say such a thing.

"I dare ask why you say that." She replied, though she received a soft squeeze of the hand from the woman next to her. Her soon to be wife. She was a beautiful woman, masculine yet feminine. Sometimes she'd just lay next to her and paint the tattoos she had. Oh, she loved her. Her aunt was making her upset, but she's not losing that composure just yet.

"I want nephews and nieces. But I doubt as masculine as your lady is, she cannot provide that, can she?" Diana looked to the woman next to her, and she could see the discomfort. The fine lines her fiancée had turned sour, and she shifted uncomfortably. Diana had warned her of the snarky comments, the disrespect from the wealthy family member, though perhaps she didn't expect such cruelty.

"I have a name, madam." She says, hand now gripping Diana's as if she'd vanish. Diana had to bite down on her tongue to not say a word. To keep silent, to be unaware of the cruelty as she always was when she was around her aunt.

"Tell me, what was it again?"

"Florence. Florence Martel."

Her aunt's eyes went wide then subtle, giving her those eyes of immediate interest. Her aunt was surely a gossip type. She'd huddle with another group of family members when her mother had passed. She dragged she'd receive the fortune because she was the primary care taker. Diana had forgotten the times she'd caught her aunt doing this behind her mother's back. Primary caretaker? False. Her aunt had done nothing but barely feed her, yet she made sure to play the good sister whenever there was company.

"...Tell me, Florence. Have you been to prison before?"

Florence on the other hand hadn't minded telling people she had gone to prison. She didn't mind telling them the dastardly things her fiancée had to get her out of that situation either. What started off as a bodyguard commission had turned in something greater, something blissful for the two. The prison was past.

"I have. I was released back in November."

"Released by bail? I heard your trial was.. Dismissed."

This time, Diana squeezed Florence's hand with a threat to her bones. Florence raised a brow to her fiancee before directing her attention back to her aunt.

"Whatever happened with my trial, I wish you'd sew your own mouth. Your niece got me out, I prefer to stay out."

Diana had begged Florence to not make any threats, but she couldn't exactly take the pod boss out of the woman next to her. Perhaps that was another reason she took her out. Like a dog out of the pound, her aunt had told her when she left the house to do so. But her aunt seems amused by the threat, setting down the glass of tea before folding her hands over another.

"Why must you threaten me?"

"Old or not, you do not deserve respect for the way you treat my wife."

"She is not your wife yet, Florence."

"She will be. And I ask you stop disrespecting us."

But then again, those threats added the reasons why Diana felt safe. Normally she'd be at the mercy of her aunt. She'd beg her to come home, and Diana would do as she asked. But instead of reaching out, her aunt took the liberty to do so. She pleaded to meet the new spouse. How she assumed that 'he' would be a wonderful match. The shock on her face when they had arrived to the manner pleased her.

But, being put on the spot by her niece's fiancée, her aunt mumbled something beneath her breath before turning back to her with a calm smile. She's angry, and Diana is starting to be the one with pleased with the annoyance.

Her aunt is silent for a long while, and she calmly stands and grabs the cane by her side.

"Get out."

"Pardon?"

"Get. Out."

Florence looks smug, smirk tugging at her lips as she brushes her fingertips against Diana's hand again. But the two don't pester her any longer. It's one thing that they go out the door, it's another they laugh in the garden of her home.

[karskarmen]

"Newbie." Soap x Fem!NewRecruit!Reader Triggers: Swearing, flirting, mentions of blood and repairing wounds. Short fic,SFW, no mention of Y/N, code name is "Mercy". Soap falling in love at first sight <3 Note: This is my first fic, let me know if Soap isn't too accurate!

"They'll be delivering the truck around noon, said they've got someone new with it." Soap listened to the conversation the two in front of him were having. New people were common but not too common, but he was fine with being friendly unlike his fellow soldiers. He wondered if they were nice, he wondered what they'd be like. He's terribly curious, hence how he's always gotten himself in trouble every now and then. He scrunches his nose up. The rumble of a truck engine was enough to catch his attention by the way it came down the road. It kicked up dust and dirt, enough to make the collective around as it stopped hack and wheeze a little too hard. Price walked up, seemingly having a well conversation with the man in front who had been driving while Ghost stood by and calmly watched. "So you're bringing a medic?" Ghost ask, seemingly confused as the man in the driver's seat was busy undoing his seatbelt to help himself out. "She ain't bad, friend. I promise you. She's a good shot too, if you guys are really looking for that." The driver said, voice half muffled from the mask he had tied around his nose and mouth. He stepped out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him before walking over to the back with the other two. This surely made John curious, medics weren't exactly the thing to keep tabs on. But if she was a good shot, a good shot is what they may have needed. He stayed behind Ghost as they came to the back of the vehicle, eyes moving over the crates of supplies. Some labeled fragile. There's a shadow moving in the back for a moment, and his hand doesn't leave the rifle that's strapped to his chest. It makes him nervous, oddly enough. "That them?" He asks Price, slightly uncomfortable with not being able to see the face. Sure, he's use to Ghost, but then again Ghost was somewhat of a friend to him. He scrunches his nose again and looks around mindlessly. "Supposedly. Mind giving your new friend a hand?" Price asked him, to which Soap let out a soft groan. He unstrapped the rifle, handing it over to him before walking up to the truck. He stepped up, back kind of sinking from the weight of him climbing on to investigate. There's someone in the back, quietly shuffling through the crates of supplies. Though, he nearly collides with them as the figure backs up and turns to him. "Shit! I need my space!" John is confused, stepping back once the figure had collided with him. The woman turns, raising a brow at the man as she's in the middle of taking her things from the crate. Oddly enough not only is he confused, but he's actually very intrigued at the woman before him. She's cute, she's a bit shorter than him, currently scrambling for the supplies in the crate. Though she's confused, why was her team member staring at her like that? "Can I help you?" She asks, a tinge of bitterness to her tone. Soap came from his little observation daydream, staring now at the woman before him. He's got no words, near speechless and unsure of what to say. "Sorry. Captain said you needed my help." "..Yeah, just get me that box right there. Scared the hell out of me.." She grumbles, mostly to herself as she takes a small glass vial out and checks it. It's the prescription she needed. She moved passed soap, combat boots clanging against the floor as she exited the vehicle to introduce herself to the two that waited outside. Soap could hear it, the heartbeat in his ears. His face felt warm, a little tingle in his fingers as he watched her leave. He felt fuzzy inside, near uncomfortable but the same delightful feeling.

By now the woman is walking away, and Soap had barely got her name. It's a nice name, it rolls off of his tongue as he silently repeats it to himself.

"Soap, are you alright?" Soap again comes from his daydream, awkwardly giving the thumbs up to his captain as he gets out of the back of the truck. "Apologies." Though he can't see it, he believes that Ghost is raising eyebrows at him. "Seems someone has a bit of a crush." Ghost said, snickering to himself while Soap hands over a glare. "Normally you're so charming, Soap." "Be quiet, Ghost." "Is that a challenge?" He asks, laughing softly beneath that damned mask. Soap sighs, looking around as the woman is casually chatting away with another member. He wanted to hear her name again. For her to introduce herself to him. He sighed through his teeth, straightening. Whether he liked it or not.. He was going to speak to her. He dismissed the other two with a wave of his hand amidst the snickering and playground teasing. "Pardon me, madam.' The woman turns, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She holds out her hand. "I'm sorry for earlier. I was trying to find something." When she tells him her name, oddly enough there's fluttering in his chest. "..Soap.. It's a uh.. Pleasure to meet you.." He pauses to shake her hand, and the butterflies fly higher. "I hope we can get along.." He says, smiling to her. "More so, I hope you can see me as I see you." He thought.