#And Price would go you know what? He deserved that. Stab him again

[martuzzio]

Soap's self-preservation instincts must be dead and forgotten in a ditch somewhere because there is NO logical explanation for how he speaks to Ghost, one of the most prolific mercenaries of the century

(Aka an excuse for me to draw Medieval armor in detail. That's what this whole au is)

Check out more Medieval 141 here

[thegnomelord]

Ahh I love the food thing that you got asked <3 food can have such a special place in our lives it's so precious

Ya think Hound develop concerning eating habits due to Makarov? Due to the whole stressful situation

I just want someone in the 141 to cook him a meal, filled with love and care, maybe Hound is in the kitchen watching them cook it for his own security.

I just want him to have a nice meal 😔

-����

I do feel like Hound would have some food hoarding habits or just distrust about eating something he didn't make himself. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten drugged through food...

But the 141 making food communally would be a fun idea lol so here's a quick brain fart :D :

You feel out of place. Well, you're always out of place, but you feel especially out of place sitting at the table while Soap and and Gaz busy themselves by the stove, Price humming to himself to the side as he gets the mugs to make tea. Ghost sits next to you grumbling under his breath, both of you in 'time-out' — you hadn't done anything (save for not being trusted around anything sharp), it's Ghost that had gone and microwaved beans in the can. Now Johnny swears up and down the microwave is possessed.

Your eyes flicker between Soap and Gaz, watching them cook you don't even know what. The only British 'cuisine' you know of is the cremated steaks Price would sometimes make you before. . . that. But nothing the two are making smells nearly as bad as the charred hockey pucks Price would feed you and Simon.

"Hey!" Your brought out of your thoughts in time to see Kyle swat away Price's hand with his spatula. "Don't you dare cap! I'm not about to get rained on because of your bad cooking." You hadn't considered Gaz could take charge, too soft in your eyes, but you're surprised by how tight of a ship he runs when he's by the stove.

"Alright, alright." Price huffs while Ghost lets out an amused huff. He's not quite laughing, but you can see the subtle tremor of his shoulders in silent laughter.

That gets Soap to point a spoon in Ghost's direction. "Oh yer one te fockin' giggle. Mr. 'ah cursed the damn microwave with me beans'."

"Sod off." Simon grunts, but there's no edge to his words. Soap tuts, but soon enough starts off rambling about something you're not quite able to follow along to when your eyes once again focus on where their arms are, how they move, paying especially close attention any time they rest them by their sides (even though realistically you doubt they'd try to drug the same food they'd eat).

You still tense when you feel Price's hand on your back, only now noticing that you'd started hunching your back, your shoulders raised closer to your ears. "You're alright, straighten your spine, sweetheart." His voice is calm, his hand warm as he applies gentle pressure on your back until you straighten back out. "There you go, good man." He rumbles, hand going up to ruffle your hair before he pulls away before his touch can turn into stinging pain to your skin.

You blink as a plate full of food is placed in front of you. The food smells good and doesn't look like it had been cremated, made with care you don't deserve. "I. . ." You don't know why but your throat feels clogged, like someone had poured hot tar into your mouth and forced you to swallow, the collar around your throat constricting your breathing even more.

Simon's shoulder bumps into yours, "If you don't eat that I will." The childish threat makes you breathe out a small laugh.

"Aye, the bastard's like Henry the hoover, he'll eat anything." Soap supplies as he sits down opposite of you with his own plate. Though you get the impression he's talking about himself when he stabs a sausage with a fork and almost inhales the entire thing.

"Mhm," You grunt, taking the fork. "I don't doubt it." You stab a piece of black pudding. It tastes earthy, but the small coppery tang of blood sizzles down your nerves, but fuck it tastes good.

"Look at that, is it good?" Kyle chuckles as he watches your facial features shift as you swallow the food, his own face that of pride like he already knows your answer, but you nod your head all the same.

[lucyskywalker]

This will be critical towards 600 strikes. Don't like, don't read.

"Oh, but Dyomedes stabbed a god..."

The last time I checked this story is not about Dyomedes and the God in question wasn't Poseidon.

The context and message behind the myth is completely different. Actually, the message behind Dyomedes duel with Ares and Aphrodite is the opposite. It's to establish one of the main themes of the epic: how human choices and efforts become insignificant when fate and immortals are in control.

Dyomedes myth only proofs that if Poseidon wanted Odysseus dead for good, he would be dead. End of the story.

Odysseus was punished by his Hubris. Like Lesser Ajax was before him, like Niobe and her children also were slain by Apollo and Artemis.

It wasn't just a torturing journey for some petty reason.

It was a lesson.

And when he learned that lesson, he went back home.

Using Dyomedes to defend what happend in 600 strikes is literally absurd.

"Oh, but Poseidon deserved it."

The fact you say that proofs u don't know shit about Greek Mythology and how it is deeply rooted in how this ancient society worked and worshipped those gods.

Poseidon didn't deserve any of this. Not within this myth.

Odysseus was the one who committed Hubris, over and over again during his journey.

Odysseus was the one who believed to be above the gods due his witty and cunning nature.

Odysseus was the one who put his crew in danger because of his own pride more than once.

Odysseus was the one to harm Poseidon's son and left him alive in an act of mockery during the Odyssey.

Even during the retelling of Jorge in Epic the musical, many things Odysseus have done are pretty much debatable and are the roots of all his problems.

Even in Jorge's retelling, he stablishs angering the gods is not a good idea. Like in the song Munity, when Eurylochos kills Apollo's cows (or Hellio's).

Even before it, he established that not hearing them or going against them is not smart choice.

My Goodbye and Remember Me.

Odysseus tought he was wiser than Athena for showing mercy. But the fact is... he wasn't and he paid the price for believing such thing. Which can also be depicted as a consequence of Hubris.

It happend again during his entire journey later on. Odysseus choose to go to the underworld to avoid Poseidon. He choose to sacrifice six of his remaining men to not face Poseidon.

Because Poseidon is that much of a threat. It is a force of nature so powerfull, Odysseus cannot expect to face it.

Later, in Thunder Bringer, once again we are reminded of how powerfull, mighty and terrifying the gods truly are

Making some kind of final battle between Odysseus and one of the eldest gods, where he ends not only torturing Poseidon, but also commanding him, and somehow gets out alive, not only goes against all his journey lessons and everything the Odyssey is about, but it is also extreamly ooc of Jorge's own writing.

Odysseus never rellied on strength and a face to face battle to win.

Actually, he is "a warrior of the mind". He rellies on strategies and deceptions. He was never meant to be like Herakles nor Achilles.

And be helped by the ghosts of his dead crew? When he is pretty much the reason why they are, uk, dead? Even if they were willing to help, how did they left the Underworld? By a bus of ghosts?

What is Hades doing? Throwing a party?

I'm not even going to debate the jetpack stuff.

You can say whatever you want to apologize the writing be it "the fates wanted that way, so it doesnt matter", "he won because of Ares's blessing".

Whatever. You just crossed the line of an adaptation to a straigh up fanfiction.

Study the classics about the tale you so claim to love instead of saying so many things with no basis with so much pride.

[fluenzed]

AFTER OBX

fanfiction | jj maybank | alternative ending | obx4 | 3827words

warning : mention of sex, alcohol, drugs and spoilers.

This is the first story I've written, so please be kind and understanding! English isn't my first language, so feel free to let me know if there are any mistakes or if something is unclear.

Enjoy! ♡

♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔⋄ 𓍯 ♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ ⋄ 𓍯♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ 𓍯

summary:

— two years ago, JJ maybank faked his own death with the help of an accomplice. John B's words still messing with his head

"Yes JJ, that's all your fault"

And JJ knew he was right. Wherever JJ was going, chaos followed him. That's why he made the choice of faking his death. So his friends could live a more peaceful life, and if the the price to pay was not being a part of their lives anymore, JJ was ready to do anything.

"Pain is temporary, freedom is forever" said JJ to his accomplice.

♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ ⋄ 𓍯♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ ⋄ 𓍯♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ 𓍯♡̶ ̇。୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ ⋄ 𓍯

CHAPTER 1 'in fact, you seem pretty normal—but i can tell you're broken'

2 years ago, Morocco.

The Last Act of JJ Maybank

Morocco was supposed to be their last adventure. After years of chasing treasure and dodging danger, the Pogues had found something extraordinary: the legendary blue crown of a Spanish king, said to be worth more than any treasure they'd ever imagined.

But with great treasure came even greater danger.

The crown had brought them more

enemies than they could count, and this time, it wasn't just about survival. JJ Maybank knew that their lives would never be normal if they kept living like this.

The Pogues deserved better. Sarah and John B deserved to raise their family without fear. Kiara, Pope, and Cleo deserved lives where they could dream bigger than running from danger. JJ felt it deep in his bones: the chaos always seemed to follow him. He had to

end the cycle, no matter the cost.

In a hidden riad at the edge of the city, JJ sat across from Groff. The man was a mercenary, a treasure hunter who cared about one thing: profit. He'd been on their tail since they discovered the crown, and the Pogues hated him with a passion. That made him the perfect accomplice.

"

You want the crown?" JJ asked, pulling the velvet-wrapped artifact from his backpack. Groff's eyes lit up, his greedy smirk confirming everything JJ already knew about him.

"That's what I've been after all this time, Maybank. Hand it over, and maybe I'll consider sparing you and your friends."

JJ gave a dry laugh. "No, this isn't a negotiation. You get the crown, but on one condition —you help me disappear."

Groff raised an eyebrow. "Disappear?"

"I need you to make it look like you killed me. Stab me, just enough to make it real, but not enough to kill me. Leave the rest to me."

Groff leaned back in his chair, stroking his stubble as he considered. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because once you stab me, the Pogues will think I'm dead, and they'll stop running. You'll have the crown, and they'll vanish. Everybody gets what they want."

Groff chuckled darkly. "That's twisted, even for you. But it works. Fine. I'll do it. But if I miss and you die, don't haunt me."

JJ slid the crown across the table. "Just stick to the plan, and you'll never hear from me again."

The Pogues had agreed to meet in a courtyard near the edge of the medina, far from the bustling souks and prying eyes. JJ arrived early, his heart pounding as he scanned the

area.

This was the last time he'd see them—not alive, anyway.

He heard footsteps behind him.

Groff emerged from the shadows, his hand resting on the

hilt of a small but deadly-looking knife. "You ready for this?"

JJ took a deep breath, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Just do it quick."

Groff stepped closer, the blade gleaming in the faint light. "You'll want to brace yourself. This is gonna hurt."

Before JJ could respond, Groff plunged the knife into his side, just below the ribs, exactlywhere they had planned. Pain shot through JJ's body, stealing the air from his lungs. He staggered backward, clutching at the wound as blood spilled over his fingers. Groff pulled

the knife free, leaving JJ gasping as he collapsed to the ground.

Groff smirked, wiping the blade on his jacket. "Good luck, kid," he muttered before vanishing into the night.

Kiara arrived moments later, her heart stopping as she saw JJ lying in a pool of blood.

"JJ!" she screamed, running to him and dropping to her knees. She cradled his head in her lap, her hands trembling as she pressed them against the wound. "No, no, no. Stay with me. Don't you dare leave me!"

JJ's vision blurred, but he forced himself to focus on her face. "Kie... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice faint and pained.

"Don't apologize! You're gonna be fine. You hear me?" Kiara's tears fell freely as she tried to stop the bleeding.

The rest of the Pogues arrived in a rush. John B froze, his face pale as he took in the scene. "JJ, no. This isn't happening."

Pope knelt beside Kiara, his hands shaking as he reached for JJ's arm. "We need to get help. We can—"

"Too late," JJ rasped, cutting him off. He looked at each of them, his heart breaking as he saw their faces. "I... I love you guys."

Kiara sobbed, clutching him tighter. "Don't you dare say goodbye, JJ. Don't you dare."

But JJ's eyes fluttered shut, and his body went limp. His breathing slowed, then stopped.

"No!" Kiara cried, shaking him. "JJ, come back! Please!"

The Pogues were frozen in shock, their grief raw and overwhelming. JJ Maybank, their brother, their rock, was gone.

__________________________

The Pogues buried JJ in a small cemetery outside the city, their hearts shattered. Kiara placed a single flower on the grave, her tears falling silently. She didn't speak; none of them did. There were no words for the weight of their loss.

"

We have to go," Sarah finally said, her voice thick with emotion. "This place isn't safe anymore."

John B nodded, his jaw tight. "He'd want us to get out of here. To keep living."

With heavy hearts, they left Morocco that night, vanishing into the unknown. They promised to live quieter lives, free from the chaos that had taken JJ from them.

Hours after the Pogues left, Groff helped JJ to his feet in a hidden safe house. JJ's wound was bandaged, but the pain still burned.

"You're lucky I didn't miss," Groff said, tossing JJ a water bottle.

JJ leaned against the wall, staring out at the darkened horizon. "They'll think I'm gone.That's what matters."

Groff smirked. "You really think this'll give them peace?"

JJ didn't answer. He didn't know. But he had to believe it would. His friends were free,and that was enough for him.

As Groff disappeared into the night with the blue crown, JJ sat alone, staring at the horizon. His heart ached for the life he'd left behind, but he knew it was the only way to protect the people he loved.

CHAPTER 1

**Chapter 1: Two Years Gone**

The faint hum of a fishing boat engine buzzed in the distance, muffled by the thick air of a chilly evening in Porto. JJ sat hunched behind the counter of the bait and tackle shop, pencil gripped loosely in his hand as he scribbled notes on an inventory sheet. The smallroom smelled of saltwater and rust, the only constants in his new life. The shop was cramped, walls stacked high with fishing nets, rusty tools, and jars of bait, but it had become his world.

He hadn't seen his old friends in two years—not since he faked his death to give them the peace he thought they deserved. He didn't blame them for their heartbreak, but the guilt still weighed heavy. Their lives were better without him. At least that's what he told

himself. The truth? JJ knew he'd messed up. He'd become a burden, always draggingthem into chaos.

With every letter and number scrawled onto the paper, he tried to push the memoriesaway, but the sting of John B's words lingered like a wound that refused to heal: _"It was all my fault."_

A sudden jingle of the doorbell snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up, squinting at the figure entering. A brunette stood in the doorway, looking slightly frazzled, her eyes darting around the cluttered shop before landing on him.

"Hi, um," she began, hesitating. "I kinda... crashed my dad's boat. And my friends—they told me you're good at this kind of stuff. So, here I am." Her smile was awkward, almost

apologetic.

JJ leaned back, raising an eyebrow. Her tone annoyed him.

"What did you just say?" he asked flatly.

"I need you to fix my dad's boat," she repeated, her words laced with panic now.

JJ smirked, leaning forward on the counter. "Maybe if you ask me nicely, I'll think about it. For now, I'm just minding my own business."

"Please," she said immediately, stepping closer. Her voice softened, her panic giving way to sincerity.

JJ studied her for a moment, his lips curling into a sarcastic smile. "Better."

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "It's my dad's boat. He's out of town for a few days for work, and it's... it's everything to him. He's a fisherman. That boat's his livelihood."

JJ nodded, his expression neutral. "What happened?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I kinda crashed it into a pontoon. With some friends. Last night."

JJ laughed, shaking his head. "Let me guess—wanted to show off but didn't know how to drive. Classic."

Her lips tightened. "No. I know how to drive, thanks. We were just... drunk."

JJ didn't hide his disdain as he shoved his inventory sheet into a drawer. "Drunk.Figures." He grabbed a half-empty beer can off the counter and took a swig. "Alright, let's go see this masterpiece of yours."

Outside, the air was crisp, the smell of brine and diesel thick as they walked to the dock.The boat sat there, listing slightly to one side. JJ inspected it carefully, running his hands over the damaged hull.

"Engine's fine," he said, more to himself than to her. "That's good—for you, not for me. Icould've made a fortune off you if it was busted. Looks like just bodywork damage. Won'ttake long."

"Thank you," she said, her tone warmer now. "Um... what's your name?"

"Jackson," JJ replied, pausing for a beat before adding, "But just call me J."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'm Alex, by the way. Since you didn't ask." JJ didn't respond. He walked back to the shop to grab his tools, and Alex followed.

As he got to work, she perched on a nearby bench, watching him in silence. Occasionally, she asked questions or tried to make conversation, but JJ kept his responses short, his focus

on the boat.

By the time the sun began to set, the job was done.

"Well," JJ said, wiping his hands on a rag. "All fixed."

"Thank you, J," Alex said, her relief evident.

JJ started putting his tools away when he noticed Alex trying to help. "No—" he began, but she'd already nicked her finger on a sharp piece of metal.

"Shit," she muttered, clutching her hand.

JJ rolled his eyes, grabbing her wrist to inspect the cut. "Couldn't just sit still, huh? It's not bad, but we need to clean it. Metal cuts can be nasty."

He closed the shop quickly and led her to his place—a small, dilapidated shed tucked behind the dock. Unlocking the door, he hesitated for a second, glancing at her as if bracing for judgment. The inside was as bleak as the outside: dark, cluttered, and cold.

Alex said nothing, but the pity in her eyes was unmistakable. JJ ignored it, grabbing a first aid kit and motioning for her to sit on the lone chair.

He cleaned the wound and wrapped it with a bandage, avoiding her gaze the entire time.

"There you go," he said finally, stepping back.

"Thanks," she replied softly. A beat of silence passed before she added, "You know what?Let me make you dinner."

JJ frowned. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"I don't take no for an answer," Alex said with a playful grin, standing before he could protest further. "You'll see—I'm a great cook."

JJ sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Just... don't burn the place down."

The salty breeze of the Douro River filled the air as JJ guided the freshly repaired boat through the gentle current. Alex sat beside him, quiet for once, her eyes focused on the path ahead. She had

insisted that JJ take the helm this time—she didn't want to risk damaging her dad's beloved boat again.

JJ's hands were steady on the wheel, the rhythm of the engine lulling him into a rare calm. His focus on the water allowed him a brief escape from the relentless noise in his head. When they

reached the dock near Alex's house, he carefully hitched the boat and extended a hand to help her step off.

"Thanks," she said softly as they started walking toward her house.

The neighborhood was modest but charming. Alex's house stood at the end of the street, painted a warm yellow with clay roof tiles that gave it a cozy, lived-in feel.

As they approached, Alex spoke, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

"My dad's a fisherman," she said. "We're originally from Brighton. My mum was English, but my dad's half-Portuguese. He always missed being here—this country, this town. They met in

Brighton when he followed the fish trade, fell in love, and settled there. He promised her he'd stay as long as she wanted. But when she passed..." Alex hesitated, her voice softening. "He kept his

promise to her in a way. Said he'd raise me somewhere he could be happy, too. So here we are."

JJ glanced at her but stayed quiet. He wasn't sure what to say—talking about loss wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Alex unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on a light. The house immediately felt warm, a sharp contrast to JJ's drafty shed. The scent of spices and the faintest trace of sea air hung in the

air. JJ noticed how every corner seemed to have a personal touch: photographs on the walls, knitted blankets over chairs, and little trinkets scattered throughout. It felt... alive.

"Nice place," JJ said, nodding appreciatively. "Way better than mine."

Alex smirked, choosing not to comment. Instead, she headed straight for the fridge, pulling out two beers.

She popped the caps and handed one to JJ.

JJ grinned. "Oh, now we're talking."

"I figured as much," Alex said with a smirk, sitting at the small kitchen table. "You made, what, three or four beer breaks while working today?"

JJ chuckled, taking a long sip. "What can I say? It helps when you're messed up like me." Heraised the bottle in a mock toast. "Cheers."

Alex clinked her bottle against his and took a sip. "You don't seem that messed up to me. In fact..." She tilted her head, studying him. "You seem pretty normal."

JJ raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure if she was trying to be funny or if she genuinely believed that. Before he could respond, Alex added softly, "But you do look broken."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His expression hardened, and he looked away. "This,"he said, holding up the beer, "helps with that."

"It doesn't," she replied simply, taking another sip.

"Wow," JJ said, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You're a real buzzkill, aren't you?" Alex laughed, unbothered by his defensive tone. She could see past the bravado and sarcasm.

"Well," she said, changing the subject, "I hope you like lasagna, because mine is the best."

She began pulling ingredients from the fridge, talking as she cooked. She shared more about her life: growing up in Brighton, moving to Porto, and her close bond with her father.

JJ, on the other hand, made up everything about himself. He told her he used to live in Australia, that he loved surfing and fishing, and that he moved here to enjoy the simplicity of it all. It was vague, but

Alex didn't push for more.

By the time they finished eating, JJ was nursing a glass of rum, the alcohol slowly loosening his already thin emotional armor. Alex washed the dishes, occasionally glancing at him with a mixture

of curiosity and concern.

Finally, she said, "You know, my dad won't be back for at least two weeks. If you want... maybe you could sleep in his boat? At least it's warmer than your—"

JJ's expression shifted immediately, his jaw tightening. "Why would I do that?" he interrupted, his voice cold.

Alex hesitated, taken aback by his sudden change in tone. "I just thought—"

"Oh, I see," JJ said sharply, standing up. "You feel sorry for me, huh? Look, I don't need your pity. The only reason I let you into my life today was because you were bleeding."

"That's not what I meant," Alex said, her voice rising slightly in frustration.

"Thanks for the beer. Dinner was great." JJ grabbed his jacket, avoiding her gaze. "But I'm out."

"J—" Alex called after him, but he was already out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

She stood there, stunned and frustrated. She hadn't meant to offend him; she just wanted to help. Sighing, she locked the door, cleaned the last of the dishes, and went to bed, her thoughts

tangled with the strange, guarded man who had just walked out of her life.

____________

The beach was alive with music and laughter, a stark contrast to JJ's dim, solitary existence. He hadn't planned on attending the party but found himself there anyway, drawn by the promise of

alcohol and perhaps a fleeting escape from his own mind. Perched against the wall of a weathered beach hut, a joint balanced between his lips, JJ stared out at the crowd. His thoughts drifted to

another time, another beach—his friends gathered around a fire, their laughter echoing into the night. The memory tightened like a vise around his chest.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the images. They were too painful now. Instead, he let his eyes

roam over the crowd, watching strangers flirt, laugh, and dance under the string lights. It was then he saw her.

Alex.

She moved through the party like she didn't quite belong, but her radiant smile and easy confidence drew people to her anyway. Her long brown hair swayed as she laughed at something someone said,

her green eyes glowing under the soft light. JJ couldn't look away.

There was something magnetic about her, something that reminded him of the life he once had but had long since lost.

Then, he noticed a shift. A man approached her—tall, broad-shouldered, and visibly drunk. The man grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the crowd. JJ frowned, his grip tightening around the

joint.

Something wasn't right.

He followed them at a distance, his steps careful and quiet as the man led Alex farther from the beach, down a poorly lit alley. JJ's gut churned.

"Louis, please," Alex said, her voice trembling.

"That's okay, baby," he murmured, backing her against the wall. "You don't have to be shy."

JJ's fists clenched as he saw Louis's hands moving over her, ignoring her attempts to push him away. Alex's voice grew more desperate, "Louis, stop—you're drunk."

He didn't stop.

"Come on, Alex. I know you want it too," Louis whispered, ignoring her pleas. Hepressed himself closer, holding her wrists as she struggled. "I saw you looking at me earlier."

JJ's blood boiled, and without a second thought, he flicked the joint to the ground and stepped out of the shadows, grabbing Louis by the shoulder and throwing him off her.

"J!" Alex gasped, relief flooding her voice as she saw him.

JJ clenched his jaw, his expression cold and furious. "Sorry, was I interrupting something?" he sneered.

Louis stumbled, regaining his footing with a smirk. "Oh, yeah, you sure did. We were just getting started."

"Oh yeah?" JJ's eyes darkened, fists tightening. Before Louis could react, JJ's fist connected with his cheek in a powerful blow, snapping his head back.

"You sick little—" he punched him again, sending Louis reeling.

"J! Stop!" Alex screamed, her voice panicked.

JJ shot her a look, smirking darkly. "I'm just getting started, baby!." He turned back to Louis, raising his fist again, but Alex grabbed his arm.

"Please, J, let's go," she whispered, pulling him back.

JJ took a steadying breath, his gaze never leaving Louis, who was now slumped on the ground, blood trickling from his mouth. "Do that again, and next time, I'll kill you," he growled, giving Louis a hard pat on the back.

"Have a good night, my friend," he added mockingly, lifting his arms

as he turned away with Alex.

They walked back toward the beach in silence, weaving through empty streets until they reached JJ's car. JJ unlocked the door and opened it.

"

Thank you," Alex whispered, looking down at the ground, staying still as she didn't know what to do.

JJ nodded, unsure what to say. They stood in silence for a moment before Alex turned to leave.

"See you around, I guess?" she mumbled, starting to walk away.

JJ frowned "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going home?"

"You're going home alone? After that?" He shook his head. "Get in. I'll drive you."

She looked at him, surprised, but eventually smiled and climbed into the car. As JJ started the engine, Alex let out a gasp, noticing his bruised knuckles.

"Oh my god, the blood on your hand," she said.

JJ scoffed. "It's not even mine. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"We should clean it up," she insisted.

"I know how to take care of myself," he muttered, brushing her concern aside. But he drove her home anyway.

Once they arrived, Alex got out and motioned for him to follow.

"Come on, we need to clean your

hands."

JJ sighed, hesitating. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Come on," she insisted. "You did something for me, so let me do something for you."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small smirk. "Alright, fine. Can't have you annoying me about this all night."

"Yep," she said, hopping out of the car when they reached her house. "Now, come on."

They stepped inside, and JJ couldn't help but glance around. Her home was still as warm and inviting as he remembered, filled with the same feeling of calm he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Sit," Alex instructed, pointing to the edge of the bathtub. He sat, for the first time, JJ let the silence stretch, watching her closely.

as she grabbed a cloth, wet it, and began to clean his hands gently. Her touch was careful, and JJ found himself relaxing, letting his guard down for a moment.

After a few minutes, he asked, "Who was he?"

She paused before answering. "My ex-boyfriend. We broke up a while ago, but he... doesn't seem to get it." Her voice softened. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't shown up. So,

thank you."

JJ looked down, feeling something he couldn't quite identify. "Well... I should probably get going," he said, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Alex gave him a soft smile, her green eyes reflecting gratitude and something else. "You're welcome here anytime, you know."

He nodded, returning the hint of a smile before standing up.

"See you around, then"

[bubuslutty]

Omg, what would Pirate! John Price and the reader say to each other or do the first time he saves her... when they stare at each other after that crazy moment at the wedding?

omg thank u so much for the ask, anon!

pirate!Captain Price au

word count: 813

I imagine that it's pretty intense because I'm assuming the reader never killed anyone before, much less stabbed them, so she's pretty much in shock I think. 

She's panting, trying to get as much oxygen in her lung as she can while Price's men stare at her, casting shadows above her and John, and she doesn't give a shit about the pirates because she just killed a man and it feels like her heart's about to stop.

John sits up in a squat and glances at his men, giving them a look that says 'go away' and they do leave them alone, busying themselves with their usual duties while their Captain stays there with the bride, who looks like is about to pass out any second now. 

"I killed him," She whispers and John looks at her, a cloth hovering over his blade so he could clean it. "I killed him," She repeats, meeting John's eyes and a single tear falls down her cheek and he feels a little bad now. 

"He probably deserved it." John says slowly, sliding the cloth over the blade to clean it, he'll have to probably soak it in hot water later on to get rid of the smell of blood.

She pauses her freaking out and stares at John with wide eyes, she licks her dry lower lip and John thinks she's about to tell him something, tell him what he did, or what happened to lead to this, to the murder of the man she was supposed to marry.

"I need to turn myself in." She realizes with wide eyes, looking down at her hands, still sitting on the floorboards of John's deck. "I need to turn myself in."

"No, you're not." John frowns and that actually surprises her.

"I need to." She repeats, reaching to remove the veil that was pinned to her hair and throws it to the side, now exposing her naked face to the salty winds and John's eyes. 

"Do you even know what they'll do to you if you do that? You'll ruin your life. I say you run for as long and as far as you can. Do you have anyone on land you can trust?" John asks her and she's so lost and confused, is this how pirates are supposed to behave? 

She was sure he was a pirate, the way he dressed, the way his men didn't have a uniform and how they attacked their ship with ease. 

The bride thinks for a moment and shakes her head, she doesn't have anyone she can trust left. 

John sighs and he scratches the back of his neck, "Look, how about you stay here for now until I figure out what to do with you?"

"Stay here– I don't want to stay here. Turn me in." She begged, smaller hands clutching onto her dress, her legs refusing to work so she's still bound to the floor, bending her neck to be able to see his face while he stands over her.

"I promise you, you don't want that. You'll be hanged, but not before they make sure they use you in any way they can." John says easily, not sugarcoating the truth and watching her with unimpressed eyes. 

How naïve.

The bride's eyes are starting to water again and her lower lip wobbles and Price feels a bit guilty, like he'd made the prettiest princess cry on his ship. 

"I killed him." She repeats again, voice wet and shaky, chest heaving up and down when she replays her actions for the millionth time in her head. 

"You didn't." Price's mouth says before he thinks. 

"What?" She sniffles and John's shocked at how he let himself slip like that. He grips his sword tighter, and lifts it up. 

"It's my sword who killed him. I killed him, not you." He says. 

"I doubt his family will tell the public their son was stabbed by his bride. They'll probably blame it on me, to twist a story of bravery and courage. They will probably tell everyone how hard he fought me but was outnumbered and died, and how I kidnapped his bride." Price says while the bride listens to him with her lips parted in shock. 

"How are you so sure?" She asks, quietly, her voice getting carried by the winds and almost overpowered by the sound of crashing waves. 

"Just trust me and I'll keep you safe." He says, smiling a bit. 

And she wants to push him to explain, wants to stand up and scream, but she can't, because not only her legs are refusing to work but her body has decided to stop working all together. She let's out a stuttered breath as her eyelids gets heavy, and the last hing She remembers was a big warm hand on her cheek, cushioning her face from the cold scratchy floorboards. 

[thebelugawhalefriend]

Hii! Love your writing. Do you do any sub character content? If so could you do Sub Muzan x Fem or GN reader?

Hihi!! I'm very excited to have a first request! I actually had to go back and watch the fourth season and read his wiki page because WOW this is gonna be a DOOZY to write! I mean this is a man who has every demon praying for mercy at any cost. But, I love a good challenge, so let's get into it!

Merciful - Sub!Muzan x Demon!Fem!Reader

CW: DEMON SLAYER SPOILERS, NSFW, Gore, Death

Note: I have really only watched the anime, so anything from the manga will stump me here ^^

It was 150 years ago when you first met him.

"You BASTARD! Let him go!"

Human and feeble. So weak and small to even your own kind. A towering man stood above you with pure spite behind his green eyes. Muscular with sleek black hair tied tightly behind him. In his hands he held your little brother, ready to slit his throat with a sickle.

"What, him? I caught this boy trying to swipe from my shop! If I had half a mind, I would slice him into tiny pieces."

You were but 18, shivering and scared. Your own blade looked pointless compared to his- only being a mere dagger. And yet, you clung to it tight. This rusted piece of junk was your only chance of your brother's survival.

"I said let him go! Not just for his sake, but yours!"

"And what are YOU going to-"

With the quickness of an eagle, the blade in your hand was digging into his shoulder. You clung to this man as if you depended on him not to fall. It's then you plunge into his back. Again. Again. And again.

"Sister, stop! Stop!"

Your brother was trying to flail from the man's arms- trying to free himself from his grip. It was, however, of no use. Even with a crazed woman stabbing into his body, his sickle made quickwork of the boy's neck.

SWING!

Thud...

"BROTHER!!"

And from there, those moments were a blur. Faint images came back to remind you of your crimes. The shop owner's once proud physique now a pulverized, sad corpse. Bystanders horrified by the situation now also blood on your hands and bodies on the road. Even nearby pets ended up slaughtered by your palms. But... You wanted more. Even if you were still human, this man deserved the most painful death and afterlife you could imagine. Taking his sickle, you carved his chest wide open and ripped out his heart.

"Now wait, young one. Wouldn't you want eating him to matter more?"

Now this man... He gave off a completely different feel than the man who'd killed your brother. Despite a similar look, he held ruby red eyes that peered right through you. You pause for a moment with the heart in hand.

"And just who are you?"

"Such raw emotion and strength... And yet still so weak. You couldn't even save your brother, and here you are, eating a man's heart just for your body to waste it."

"You don't know me! I'll-"

With a finger to your mouth, your body freezes.

"Hush. I'm here to help, just for a small price. I can tell you'll be of great use..."

---

"Lord Muzan~"

You call from one of the halls, flashing this man a daring look. From the moment he met you, you would never let this man have the respect he's earned. Even the Kizuki tremble in fear just uttering the wrong word to him, and yet for you? He would tolerate just enough teasing to let you have fun.

"Now of all times, ____? Can't you see I'm busy?"

His tone is cold, but your glare is chilling.

"Ten months, Muzan. You've left me wasting away for ten months! I understand tending to your other wives and taking care of those demon slayers, but ten months?"

His silence speaks volumes... But you? You've never realized the pure fear that comes with messing with Muzan. He's never put you in your place, and maybe... Maybe a twisted part of him likes that. You remind him of the authority he only had when he was human. No one could command or demand anything. Except... You.

"Come with me, Muzan... Please, just spend one night with me..."

Those (color) eyes you give him... His glare simmers down into a rare soft gaze, backing away from his desk to approach you.

"You're the most fortunate woman alive, ___. Any other would fall to their knees if they spoke to me that way."

"That sounds like a yes to me."

---

For every rough move Muzan would make, you were twice as bad. The poor lord of demons was pinned by the hands while you rode his cock for everything it was worth. Your fangs were oh so close to his neck, and yet Muzan was only encouraging that you bite him. Just one move and he could pulverize you. End your life over your own rush for power. And yet, you were headstrong and uncaring. His breathing was quivering and shaky, eyes of blood red looking up to yours with a submissive lust.

"Like that, dear- Fuck! Like that!"

You could barely focus on his blissfully soft voice. The most powerful man to exist and yet he's under you... Your fangs sink right into his neck yet stay absolutely careful not to drop an ounce of blood. After all, wasting anything precious of his was a death sentence. When his hands shift under yours, you let them go to see what he does.

"Don't be shy now... I know you want more..."

His voice is so quiet and soothing that your focus slips for just a moment, just enough time for him to grip your sides and push you down on him. Keeping you absolutely still. Is this a trick? Some sort of act? You sit up for a moment to look down, seeing him with a playful smile.

"Muzan... Are you sure you want to toy with me?"

One of his hands slip down to tease you as his member sits inside. Pulsing and needing more despite his cool demeanor.

"I want to see that fire I know you have. I let you take over too easily this time... Prove you're worthy to actually let me finish inside of you, ___."

Before the blink of an eye, your claws are quick to dig into his own sides in an attempt to keep going. And yet, one of his hands keeps you still.

"I know you have it in you. I can see that frustration in your eyes, dear."

Oh, you have a plan alright. While your hands worked to mess with his body and neck, your legs were building up strength to keep things going. Just a little longer... One of your claws lunges for his neck, Muzan quick to catch it with the hand that was teasing you.

"Too eas-"

While he was only slightly distracted by your lunge, the sheer force of your legs resumed the session despite Muzan's grip. The free hand practically pouncing to hold his chest down while your speed threatened to break the bed. Once playful eyes now looked to you in awe as he twitched and let out just the tiniest of pathetic whimpers.

"Don't you toy with me, Muzan. I know you like this too much to stop me!"

He really couldn't hold back. Just mere seconds pass before ropes of his semen come through and fill your insides. Yet, your body is absolutely sure not to let a single drop seep from your womb. You can't go wasting even his cum, now can you? Shocked red eyes look up to you, now with a renewed sense of pride.

"Y-you're so damn lucky I'm merciful towards you..."

[bettathanyou]

The Aftermath Of Being A Hero

Y/N x Cedric, Based on the fanfic "The Master Wand" by @shychick-52

A fanfic of a fanfic, y'all. Based off of @shychick-52 's A03 work, "The Master Wand", AN AMAZING FANFIC IF YOU HAVENT READ IT GO DO IT RIGHT NOW. It's still a work in progress, but after... Certain events, I needed to write something to comfort Cedric cuz my heart hurts too much.

Also, yes, I did spend a stupid amount of time researching 19th century/modern day rib fracture treatment. Also symptoms. For the sake of a fanfic of a fanfic. Sue me!

Anyways enjoy, shout-out to everyone else who read @shychick-52's work and deserves financial compensation.

Warnings: blood mentioned, alluding to injuries, implications of medicinal drug use

The days following Cedric's return back to Enchancia were... A blur, if he's being honest. It still felt surreal that he was back in his tower again, completely untouched from his absence as if it never happened to begin with.

Oh, how Cedric envied it.

Every breath was now a painful reminder of what he endured, and of the vile things he had to do for Sofia's survival. Every shadow felt like a trap waiting to be sprung on the sorcerer, dragging him back in chains that rendered him helpless.

Hell, he can't even look at himself without the evidence of those haunting events written in black and blue bruises across his eye and face.

The entire kingdom hailed him as a hero, again, and the newfound respect Cedric had been given these last few weeks is now "forever immortalized", as King Roland declared.

Cedruc glanced down at the specks of red against his fingers from another coughing fit, grimacing.

Respect was a hell of a price to pay, as he's come to know now.

Not that respect was the main fuel for his actions, anyways. Cedric had long since made peace with dying, if it meant Sofia was safely returned home without a scratch. Truthfully, he couldn't imagine a way to do that without laying down his life, but...

Now Cedric has to deal with the aftermath of being a hero, again, but this time didn't feel nearly as gratifying; if anything, Cedric felt like a fraud.

"...Am I really a hero after doing such awful, terrible things?" Cedric questioned himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. The lingering silence was his only response, of course. Cedric fidgets restlessly, the lack of an answer mirroring the uncertainty stirring in the sorcerer's heart.

Needy for a distraction from his thoughts, along with his broken rib, Cedric takes a drag on his pipe. Each inhale felt like both a blessing and a curse. He knew that smoking with a broken rib wasn't smart, given the breathlessness he's already experienced due to his injuries; but willow bark tea does little to nothing for his pain, and Cedric isn't going to accept whatever brain numbing nonsense, like opium, a doctor would prescribe.

May as well get some relief if I'm damned either way, Cedric thought to himself, shrugging as he takes another hit.

He sputters out the smoke with a fit of short, painful coughs that quickly give rise to wheezing. Cedric's coughing had only gotten worse as he returned home, the restrictive tugging on his chest growing by the day; equally, to the darkening of the bruises and swelling on his left side.

The sorcerer covers his mouth with his sleeve, feeling lightheaded from the struggle to just force oxygen back into his lungs. Tears began to build as he coughed, at first from the physical pain; the stabbing, radiating burn and soft clicking of broken bones felt as if Grimtrix was digging his foot into his side, over and over again.

But what really stole the breath from Cedric's lungs, was the foul tang of his own blood in the back of his throat. The sorcerer can't help but gag; he wasn't squeamish by any means, before the Order. But now, the taste, even the sight of blood was enough to make panic take control of his heart.

Cedric didn't really know when the coughing slowly started to dissolve into weak sobs, but the tears were falling, plip plip plip, as hot and heavy as his own blood from his lips.

His free hand scrambled to hold onto the workshop bench, leaning forward onto it for support until the cough spell faded.

Just as the lanky man was regaining his composure, a knock at his door made Cedric nearly jump out of his skin.

A strangled yelp catches in his throat, and if Cedric wasn't so pissed off at the sudden interruption, he would've been embarrassed by such a noise leaving him.

The sorcerer waves his hand with a soft curse towards the heavy oak door, not having the energy or care to bother greeting whoever it was. Cedric had it made up in his mind that he would just give them what they wanted, then swiftly kick them out again.

He turns to glare at his unwelcome visitor, honestly expecting one of the royal children or a castle staff member.

Before he gets the chance to speak, however, Cedric's mind immediately blanks when his caramel eyes meet yours.

"...I wasn't bothering you too much, I hope?" You offered with a nervous, apologetic smile. Cedric had made it clear that he felt fine enough to resume work like normal, and DIDN'T need any doctor's aid for his injuries, and you wanted to respect his wishes, of course.

Although your own anxiety had won out anyways, which has led you to knocking on the sorcerer's door.

"No, not at all."

Cedric replies with a tight smile, which makes your heart sink.

"I just- wanted to check up on you. I know you said you're fine, but, well... You know me."

You rub the back of your neck as you eye Cedric with a knowing look, which melts his stern face with a tiny smile in reply.

"I'd like to think so, my dear."

He replied back, suppressing the urge to cough as his breath waned. The sorcerer clears his throat, trying to downplay it. You notice how he doesn't really answer

And I know you too, Cedric. You think to yourself after a moment, your eyes leaving his to scan his body properly.

You saw how torn up the sorcerer was when he first returned- despite your pleas to help him, he insisted to be left alone, that he was fine.

Now, you weren't sure if he looked any better or worse since that day.

At least he wasn't covered in so much blood this time.

The dark circles usually under Cedric's eyes have somehow gotten more dark, making it appear like he has two black eyes instead of one. The gash on his forehead has been bandaged, at least, but the linen strips are already beginning to unravel. Your gaze settled over to his hands, wringing in a nervous habit, thick bandages surrounding the base of his knuckles and fingers.

You didn't glean any details from Cedric yet, but you heard enough from the rumors flying about the castle from what Sofia recounted. Cedric got beaten up, bad, and it showed.

I can't imagine what else he's hiding underneath that robe... You think to yourself, swallowing the dread as you step forward and approach Cedric.

The sorcerer watches you with wary eyes as you come closer, not really making a move to embrace you.

You pause for a moment, a tense silence filling the room from a million things left unspoken between you both. You look up at Cedric, eyes searching for... You don't even know, really. Confirmation, that he really is okay?

Or that he actually isn't, because who would be? How could you even begin to console him after such horrors?

You exhale through your nose, but shove your insecurities aside. Your hand rests on Cedric's arm, squeezing it gently. Your palms rub up and down in soothing motions, feeling how tense his body was underneath your touch.

"... Your bandage is starting to come undone." You whisper softly, lifting your hand away from cedric's arm to free the strands of silver hair sticking out from the gauze.

"I know."

The sorcerer sighs wearily, turning to rub his cheek and avoid the concern etched on your face. Cedric felt the dull ache of unshed tears behind his eyes, pent up from the thick wall of his defenses.

"I'll fix it later- you don't have to worry, darling." Cedric mutters, inhaling sharply in pain as another chunk of hair was unraveled from the loose linen wrappings. He squeezed his injured hand shut, resisting the urge to flinch and make his discomfort be known.

You frown in turn, exhaling softly in slight exasperation.

"I'm already worried, Cedric."

Bits of dried blood still clumped at the ends of his hair, the white locks stained a rust color. It was evident that the bandages were made in haste, and haven't been properly looked after since. You knew Cedric was a perfectionist to a fault, and the feeling of loose cloth rubbing against his forehead would've surely made him go crazy by now.

Something was definitely wrong here; your gut was right. Cedric wasn't taking care of himself at all- instead opting to isolate in his tower, until he can properly mask his own emotional disarray from others.

Cedric shrivels under your piercing gaze, knowing that the effort to pretend to be okay was ultimately fruitless. Yet he still does it, like a bad habit he still can't quite shake off. Guilt begins to gnaw at him, and he shifts in place restlessly.

You grab his hand, seeing his anxiety and offering him relief through your touch. Cedric intertwines your fingers together, his thumb caressing yours. The silence wasn't so dense, now.

If felt opposite, in fact- fragile, like one word would shatter the sorcerer into a million tiny pieces.

He takes in another painful breath.

You hear the slight wheeze in his following exhale, and it pricks your heart. Gently kissing his unbandaged fingertips, you try to impart love and care into his skin, to show that you're here, with him, and he can trust you.

"We need to change those bandages together... alright?"

Your gaze lifted upward towards the sorcerer, desperation and love swirling together alongside the welling tears in your eyes.

Cedric swallows, hard, trying to keep up the facade of composure. As if there was any more room within himself to stuff down the tears, or the lingering sense of doom and panic that keeps him up at night, or the inevitable feeling of his soul cracking and splitting in half, much like the broken rib lying in his chest.

Which is why, with only a quiet sob, Cedric says, "I know."

________

You gather the remaining ingredients and supplies necessary from Cedric's workshop into your arms before dutifully walking back to the washroom. Cedric was sitting on the floor, the cold tile pressing into his thighs grounding him still to reality. He heart was racing, the fear of your reaction making him almost regret agreeing to this at all.

But seeing you round the corner, supplies in tow with your arms barely balancing it all made a smile creep along his cheeks.

You huff, placing everything down haphazardly on the edge of the sink. Bandages, tinctures, a wound salve Cedric uses for everyday accidents, scissors, alcohol, a couple rags, and a small bucket were amongst the lineup of things you had prepped.

"Spared no expense, I see..." Cedric commented, trying to crack a joke to keep his fear in check.

You smile to yourself, then turn to Cedric.

"For you? Always."

That got Cedric to genuinely smile, his previous fear transforming into soft butterflies in his stomach.

After washing your hands thoroughly, You kneel down in front of him, scissors in your hand.

"I'm going to cut away the old wrappings first, okay?" You lightly touch Cedric's cheek, and he responds by giving your hand a quick kiss, followed by a nod.

You get to work cutting through the loose linen, your heart racing by the second as the cloth gets more stained with the rusty color of dried blood.

Carefully peeling away the old bandage from his forehead, you gasp at the clotted blood and hair sticking to the gash, a semblance of a scab forming at the edges. The skin around it was smeared with blackish brown blood, mixing with the bruises lingering on his brow.

"Cedric..." You whispered in anguish, your face falling.

The sorcerer hangs his head, and you tear your eyes away from the injury to grab a rag, dipping it into the warm water gathered in the bucket you brought in.

You wipe the mess on his forehead clean, Cedric wincing underneath you. The sound breaks your heart of course, but you knew you had to keep going. The wound could've easily gotten infected by now, and the idea of letting that happen to him made you angry- at him, for not letting you help in the first place; then, yourself, for not acting sooner regardless.

But that anger doesn't hold a candle to rage you felt towards the people responsible for this.

"...Are you alright, dear?" Cedric asks in a small voice, his finger touching your arm as it works on his head.

You sigh, heart breaking. Of course this sweet man would ask- always concerned about the needs and emotions of others around him, even with his head split open.

"I should be asking you that-," you reply, frustration seeping into your words more than you liked. You feel Cedric's sad eyes burn into you, not knowing how to reply.

You turn away, unable to bear those brown eyes that make your heart ache.

"I'm fine, love. Really, I... I just." You stop, unable to find the words to say that could explain yourself. You sigh loudly, leaving your sentence hanging midair as you turn to the sink to change the subject. This wasn't supposed to be about you, anyways.

"I don't know what to put on your gash... I kinda just grabbed stuff." You muttered, gesturing to the bottles you've seen Cedric grab a few times when accidents injured him.

Cedric doesn't even lift his head as he replies, "The yellow jar- with the mismatched lid."

You grab it, returning to his side. Cedric stares at the lid that squeaks in the way that always annoyed him, because he lost the damn lid due to an explosion, while patching up another, different injury.

He feels the familiar ointment be pressed into his skin, and a pained groan leaves him at the biting sting of it. Cedric leans further into the wall, and you cringe apologetically.

"I'm sorry- should I stop?"

"No, no- just, make it quick, please." He says through gritted teeth, and you quickly cover the rest. Grabbing the rag, you clean the dried bits of blood out of his silver bangs, until they get back to their soft white-grey color.

He exhales in a sigh of relief, but that triggered a coughing fit as his bones creaked in protest. He doubles over, the wheezing taking hold as his entire frame shakes with the force of his coughing.

"Cedric-?!" You cried in concern, staring helplessly as the sorcerer continued to struggle to inhale. The pain stabbing in his lung felt like his side was on fire, and his hands scrambled to grab the rag on the floor to cough into- tasting the metallic tang already climbing up his throat.

You see the blotches of red staining the cloth, the air in your lungs stolen.

"Cedric..? You-"

"I know, it's bad." He grimaced, cutting you off as he groaned.

Seeing your skin blanch, he's quick to console you.

"It can't be helped- broken ribs sort of do that, I suppose!" His voice cracked like his rib as he forced out a laugh, hoping you would crack a smile.

You didn't.

"If you knew it was bad, why did you say you were fine! You can't just hide a broken bone from me, Cedric!" Your voice hardens, brow furrowed deeply as your gaze holds on the fresh red specks on the rag.

"....I know- I'm sorry, (y/n)." Cedric shoulders droop, his arm cradling his inflamed side as well as his wounded heart. The guilt cut clean through him, and there was nowhere to hide from your piercing eyes that always stripped him down to his most vulnerable.

Cedric cuts through the silence first, tracing the grout between the tiles of the washroom floor.

"I know I should've said something. I know I should've- asked for help..." Cedric sighs, painfully.

"I just... I couldn't. I couldn't keep looking at it- the bruises, the cuts, the- the blood..." Each word makes the sorcerer tremble further, cringing at the rag in his hand. Another piece of evidence damning him to that same night, where he was beaten half to death.

"Everything since that day has reminded me of it, somehow. I just- I don't know, I didn't want to see you, or anyone else, to see me like this. Broken."

Your frown deepens, then your eyes, soften as you process what Cedric said. Your own tears start to form, and you regret snapping on the man. He was already hurting enough, and now instead of helping, you were making it worse.

"Or, having to see the way you're looking at me right now." Cedric added, lifting your chin away from the rag, your eyes crashing into his sweet caramel brown irises.

You hold each other's stare, until you break the silence next.

"How am I looking at you, Cedric?" You ask, voice soft and apologetic. You trace the curves of his cheeks with your hands.

"Like you blame yourself..." Cedric replies in a melancholy tone, his sad eyes locking with yours.

You swallow the urge to apologize on instinct, but a small "I'm sorry," leaves you anyways, turning your face away to take your eyes off him.

"Don't apologize, (y/n)." Cedric catches your face in his hands, turning you back to him.

"I thought I wanted things to just go back to normal- you know. Before, everything happened..." Cedric's eyes darken, but he presses on.

"But it seems like no matter how much I want to avoid it, I can't. Don't have much choice, really." His flicker down to the bloodied rag, damning him once again.

Your eyes track his, biting your lip in a concerned pout.

"You don't have to do it alone." You offer gently, resting your hands on his shoulders, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Cedric smiles, grasping your hands in his and squeezing them back.

"I know; I'm sor-"

Cedric gasps as his sentence is swiftly cut off by your warm lips. He melts into the kiss, his hands cupping your face. For a brief moment, it was like all the pain and tension bound to his body faded with each brush of your lips together. Cedric can't find the strength to pull away, needing every passing second to last longer.

You feel him finally relax, and you kiss him a few seconds longer before you have to part for air.

Cedric cough slightly trying to catch his breath, the pain making him flinch a little while he hugs his side.

You noticed, playing with the seams of his robe.

"Let me see?" You coaxed nervously.

"It's not pretty, darling..." He replies with a sigh.

"It's you, so that's clearly not true." You retort without missing a beat.

That got Cedric to relax a little, a small smile spreading across his cheeks.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Cedric smirks, but his eyes still are wary.

You kiss his cheek, shrugging off his robe.

"Don't worry about it. I'm here to help." You reassured him, stripping him down slowly and apologizing every time he winced from the crack of his ribs.

Shirtless, you lift Cedric's arm out of the way. You can't stop the gasp of shock that leaves your mouth; purple and green splotches lined up Cedric's side, as well as in clusters all over his chest and arms. It makes your eyes sting, and your heart prick, looking at the extent of the damage.

"Oh, Cedric..." You breathed out, your hands barely brush against his bare skin, afraid to even touch him.

"Told you so." He replied, chuckling awkwardly.

"...I'm not going anywhere. We need to ice this." You speak firmly, steeling yourself to treat Cedric further.

"Allow me, then." Cedric straightens up slightly, eager to flaunt his magic. He mumbles the magic words, an ice pack manifesting in your hand.

"...Thank you, love." You reply, pressing the cold pack against Cedric's angry looking bruises.

Cedric groans instantly from the contact, and you aren't sure if it's in pain or relief. His body seizes up a bit, and before you can pull the ice away from him, he rests his gloved hand on your arm.

"I should be telling you that..." Cedric mused, rubbing soft circles into the crook of your elbow.

"You don't need to. It's what I want to do- by making sure you're okay."

You smile, kissing the tip of Cedric's nose.

"...I will be, as long as I'm with you." Cedric sighs, feeling content for the first time since he returned to Enchancia.

He pulls you into his lap, then shortly into another kiss. It was sweet, and soft, and perfect.

"I think I feel better already, love." Cedric eyes you with a flirty smile, and you laugh, a sound that lights Cedric up from the inside out.

Yeah.

He was going to be alright.

[ofherpinkways]

"We all go little mad somtimes"

What type of Ghostface I think cod characters would be! Pt1

A/n : THIS ONE IS FOR THE COD AND SLASHER FANS ,Scream [1,2,5 and 6 ] and Halloween Ends spoilers. Not proof read. I'm writing this at work waiting for the lunch rush to pick up so mistakes are bound to happen ,I'll edit them later if needed (let me know if I should add you to the tag list for future characters! - 🤍🩰🧸)

Warnings: blood and gore

Characters: Price,Gaz,Horangi,Graves

Price : He definitely a perfect mixture of mama Loomis and Detective Bailey. Some of Ms.Loomis craziness. Obviously has Bailey's strength,speed and skills. Has both of their determination of killing those he thinks deserve it and making it gets done no matter what. He'd do whatever it takes. You killed his sons afterall (the rest of 141 ofc)

He's not your average clumsy Ghostface. No,no he's something more something that should more feared then your regular old Ghostface

He's quick with the kills. His kills are aggressive and bloody not showing any mercy

How he'd act when not as Ghostface: once again definitely like Detective Bailey. Acting all sweet trusting, offering all his help to "find" and "takedown" this masked killer. That he'd completely removed from the suspect list .

Horangi: for Horangi we finna go classic this man is like Billy Loomis with , bit of Stu Macher The boy next door vibes . He would have the same wit as Billy fully aware and sharp about everything. Studying everything and everyone for own sick little game afterwards,ready for the kills. He full out plan for everything. Has "great" reasoning for why he's killing all of his own friends.

I don't think he'd be clumsy like Billy or Stu though. He's be fairy quick lot of strength of course

His kills would be simple but well done . Ends up doing lot of damage . I'm thinking a fast throat slit or a knife to the back

How he'd act when not a Ghostface : Yes he's smart about everything but this goofball would struggle on making himself not look suspicious asf. Finding the situation amusing ,gigging to himself,making bad jokes at the wrong times just like Stu

Gaz: okay, okay tbh for Gaz? He screams Corey Cunningham vibes which I know isn't Scream, yes I know Corey is from Halloween Ends. So basically with Gaz it's Halloween but make it Scream. He just vibes just cute soft boy vibes. The kid everyone loves because he's so sweet and caring, up until people start taking advantage of his kindness making him snap and hate the world along with everyone in it . Everyone but you of course. Offing everyone who wronged the both of you,because he loves you and would do anything for you. He'd burn the world down if he'd have to.

If you've seen Halloween Ends then you'd know exactly how gory the kills were so as said before it's Halloween but makes it Scream . He'd use whatever he has around him to kill. A flamethrower happens near him ? Bet ya ass he's gonna that flamethrower . His kills would so stomach twisting

How he'd act when not as Ghostface: Just like Ethan did in Scream 6. He'd act all innocent and shy. He'd act he's scared and doesn't know what's going on.

Graves : Just like Richie Kirsch (Scream 5) . Should definitely be shoved in the "loony bin" . Acts clueless and innocent. Makes it seem like he no idea of what's happening. A gaslighting girl boss . No seriously he does a shit ton of gaslighting . Making not trust your loved ones and even yourself. Brutal and strong with the kills but becomes a whinning puppy once you get the upper hand against him

He won't hesitate to break a few bones,stab repeatedly. Although he's violent the dumb ass is clumsy and maybe not smartest it comes making sure you'd free yourself so you end getting away and killing him after all.

How he'd act when not as Ghostface: Like mentioned earlier acts like the clueless boyfriend, acts like he knows nothing about horror movies or the recurring killings. Constantly suggest leaving town because he's "scared" .

[ I feel like you both would enjoy this @puff0o0, @matcharyu]

[six-eyed-samurai]

Mentions of gore, so if you feel squeamish I apologize but don’t read. I also apologize for it being rather short and rushed and not very detailed but 🥲🥲🥲

I’ve seen a lot of versions of this over the time I’ve spent on Tumblr, usually revolving around the line of Yuichiro turning into a one-armed angry Hashira or maybe him living as a demon.

I present to you my version: Tokito Yuichiro the Mercenary.

Say the night the demon came to town and sliced off Yuichiro’s hand, Muichiro immediately leaps forward and blocks off his twin as the demon strikes again. Instead of simply stabbing him or causing both twins to be tri-limbed Muichiro’s head drops onto the floor, along with his body and bubbling fountain of blood for a neck.

“What? Died so fast? The weak really don’t deserve to live!”

Similar to Muichiro, Yuichiro doesn’t clearly remember what happened next either - other than the fact the last thing he remembers is screaming himself hoarse and using his remaining arm to snatch up the woodchopping axe and wield it like a madman at the taken aback demon.When he does recover from this blackout he’s standing over the burning body of the demon that has been hacked to messy, messy pieces by sloppy strokes of an axe. His missing arm hurts like hell, but the back of his head hurts worse: he knows, he knows, he KNOWS, but he crawls back to their home with the tiniest hope what he had witnessed to Muichiro had been some injury-induced pain. Obviously it’s not and Yuichiro passes out next to him from both the physical and emotional agony with Muichiro’s last words thundering in his head from before.

"NOT HIM!"

Why not him?

When Yuichiro wakes up again he finds himself in the Ubuyashiki Mansion tended to by Amane and her children. She informs him that their slayers had been tracking the demon for weeks and apologizes for not protecting them or the slayers not arriving. He says nothing and for the longest time lies there, be treated and recover.

For now he’s too weak to move - so he waits and bides his time, letting the woman assume his silence is due to shock and hurt…until the night he managed to get up.

In this version, Yuichiro wouldn’t just hate and blame demons for the death of his twin, but the Corps and the Ubuyashiki family as well, simply because he thinks that Muichiro may have lived if they had just showed up in time. Why didn’t Amane send a slayer to protect them if they were so valuable, if she knew where they lived and the dangers of it? Why didn’t any of these so-called demon slayers do their damned job? Why did his brother had to pay the price?

In actuality Yuichiro blames himself, for not stopping Muichiro from jumping in front of him (he was the oldest, that was his job), for refusing Amane’s offers, for not being nice to his brother and telling him all those horrible things and calling him useless. The crushing weight of this guilt was enough to send Yuichiro into despair so he channeled it all by scraping reasons to blame everyone and everything.

That and training.

Unbeknownst to Amane the night Yuichiro “vanished” he had stolen a Nichirin sword from their Mansion (either for display, left by some slayer…just roll with me) as he had overheard much information about the Corps when he was pretending to be asleep. If he had the strength to kill a demon so brutally single-handedly, why couldn’t he train himself to master swordsmanship and invent Mist Breathing? He practiced hacking at trees and bamboo hiding in the forests and only going to villages and towns if he really needed to over the years, working nonstop to extract his revenge, before moving on to hunting animals - and finally demons.

The slayers never knew who he was, but he just known as a silent assassin: someone who would get there before them and leave a demon headless, someone who was just as deadly to their side as he never hesitated to attack any slayer that got in his way.

Since Muichiro’s death has also just proven to him the world is terrible and being good gets you nowhere, Yuichiro’s mindset and personality honestly just took a turn for the worse. You can basically imagine him with the cutting words of Muichiro, the brashness of Inosuke coupled with the tendency to believe the worst in everyone and a refusal to interact with anyone.

How does Yuichiro fit into the canon events now if he’s a mercenary?

Gyokko and Hantengu are now not the only ones to head to the Swordsmith Village in the hopes of wrecking a blow to the Corps. Yuichiro too has discovered its hideout and is determined to wreck absolute havoc.

To kill two Upper Moons too? Two birds with one stone.

For the sake of this version let’s say Genya was the one to pick an argument with Kotetsu, wanting to train harder to meet Sanemi. Of course I don’t think Genya is the type to get physical with little children but he’d definitely garner Tanjiro’s attention with his swear-filled shouting. Later on in the scene where Muichiro enters Tanjiro’s room and pinches his nose would be a very red-faced Genya here to apologize for being a jerk and wake him up violently shaking.

Cue Hantengu entering, and cue Yuichiro who had been stalking him to appear and slash at him.

I think all the Hashira would be alerted to him by Kagaya although none of them know who it actually is, only to keep a wary eye out for the demon and slayer killer with a long ponytail and blue eyes on the loose. In turn when Tanjiro stayed at the Butterfly Mansion Shinobu would probably warn him about the mercenary after he stumbles upon a couple of slayers recuperating following a skirmish with him, so both Tanjiro and Genya would quickly realize it’s him.

During the fight with the clones, Yuichiro would furiously tell them both to back off because of his intense hatred for slayers, so while Genya ends up in place of Muichiro in canon Tanjiro and Yuichiro battle Hantengu’s clones together but are not doing well due to Yuichiro’s rejection at the suggestion of working together.

Let’s just jump straight to the Kamado Effect. At some point during the battle, probably during the verge of death, Tanjiro’s kind, sunshiny nature would remind Yuichiro of Mui and after Tanjiro insists on believing in them being able to protect the swordsmiths (Yuichiro blatantly stating they all deserved to die for helping the Corps at the beginning) and saying there is still good in the world, Yuichiro will reluctantly have a change of heart and fight alongside the slayers. Tanjiro too would ask what happened to Yuichiro to make him hate everybody so much, causing him to flash back and wonder what Muichiro would think of him now. However later on Tanjiro catches him preparing to leave as sneakily as he came with the curt answer that he will continue hunting demons alone to avenge Mui and mentions he’ll stop attacking the slayers (well, most of them) now. Tanjiro excitedly tells him he could simply join the Corps and slay together, but Yuichiro declines saying that he’s been labelled an enemy and honestly there is too much bad blood between them both.

Then Tanjiro pulls out his trump card by using his super nose to sniff that Yuichiro actually does not harbor that much hatred to to the Corps, it’s all directed at himself. He gets Yuichiro to open up (after an exceedingly long time) and in the end is the one to finally give Yuichiro closure by assuring him it was never his fault. He finally convinces Yuichiro to return to the Corps when he points out that the slayers he met at the Butterfly Mansion were attacked, yes, but seriously injured? No. And Yuichiro had gone out of his way to save Kotetsu…he didn’t hate them all that much, wasn’t that bad of a person, not that cold-blooded killer he always thought he was nowadays.

When the battle’s over Yuichiro decides not to turn against the slayers he’s just fought with and stands awkwardly at the side while Mitsuri grabs everyone in a group hug before Tanjiro and her yank him in too. For the first time in ages Yuichiro doesn’t feel like the world hates him and neither does he.

However later on Tanjiro catches him preparing to leave as sneakily as he came with the curt answer that he will continue hunting demons alone to avenge Mui and mentions he’ll stop attacking the slayers (well, most of them) now. Tanjiro excitedly tells him he could simply join the Corps and slay together, but Yuichiro declines saying that he’s been labelled an enemy and honestly there is too much bad blood between them both.

Then Tanjiro pulls out his trump card by using his super nose to sniff that Yuichiro actually does not harbor that much hatred to to the Corps, it’s all directed at himself. He gets Yuichiro to open up (after an exceedingly long time) and in the end is the one to finally give Yuichiro closure by assuring him it was never his fault. He finally convinces Yuichiro to return to the Corps when he points out that the slayers he met at the Butterfly Mansion were attacked, yes, but seriously injured? No. And Yuichiro had gone out of his way to save Kotetsu…he didn’t hate them all that much, wasn’t that bad of a person, not that cold-blooded killer he always thought he was nowadays.

“I'll…think about it.”

Think he does and in the final arc he appears in once more to battle alongside them and truly avenge Muichiro, to leave as sneakily and quietly as he did before when he saw Mui again.

[arathain]

Gift of Oblivion

Five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-three

The Mason watched from the Perch's unfinished tower as the little light flittered around the great stone bridge, gradually creating a perfect facsimile of ruination. In the afternoon light, the arches of the bridge cast shadows onto the walkway proper, leading up to the great hole, an artificial equivalent of Bonesburrow's natural location, that was Luxintrus's home. The Mason's old heart, ever more a cage than container, sank once more as they looked at the black mist that enveloped their very hands and face, pain welling as the eternal innocence below gathered yet another bucket of river water. As it should. Standing up, the Mason went back to their work, further erecting the decorational tower to overlook their grave's surroundings.

'Perhaps, one day, another will give them the love in kind they so deserve.' A cold murmur escaped the lifeless lips.

Between three thousand five hundred and three thousand eight hundred and fifteen

The lonely shadow looked over at the sleeping child, night falling on the lifeless lands around them. It has been months since the last incident - while their memory took a toll each time, it was an understandable price for the mind to take. Putting away the wooden training swords, the Mason tidied the little light's drab blankets, and dimmed the lantern that lit up the cliffside cave. Looking at the stars above, the all-too-old yet all-too-young idiot sage was too tired to pray for forgiveness, especially given knowing none would grant it. No, it was the Mason's burden, and theirs alone, to leave their voice, those hues that once illuminated their life so, behind. He looked over once more, at the tiny, radiant being.

'Do you see who I want to be for you, or who I am?'

The Mason scoffed.

'As if you wouldn't run away the second you found out. As you should.'

The Mason looked at their lifeless hands, as if waiting for the first cracks to show in the brickwork.

Twelve-Eight-Elevens

The Mason briefly panicked as the fire under the makeshift metal bowl roared, quickly raising the pot so as not overcook the ingredients. The makeshift 'house', made of great, perfect blocks of stone, contained the covered wound and the woundless light, protecting them from the wind and rain outside. Turning from the campfire, they turned to look at little Lux, rummaging through their belongings. A mixture of tired and cautious words exit their mouth.

'What are you looking for?'

Luxintrus looked back at him, an innocent expression on their face.

'Just looking through your stuff, mister.' She raised a cold, volcanic-glass knife, the Mason's eyes widening, if they could. 'I found this thing in your bags, what do-'

She suddenly stopped, her eyes slowly widening as the Mason approached, defeatedly. The little light screamed and bent over, staring at the approaching figure in overwhelming fear. The Mason grabbed the fleeing moth, taking the knife out of their hand. Before they could scream again, the knife stabbed firmly, once, extinguishing the little light, who would awaken in an hour or two, memoryless. Crushing the knife in their palm, the Mason went back to the stew.

'Three days.'

The Mason sat, alone, wandering in agony through the cold depths of their own existence. As they should.

Zero

The Wheel-Bearer entered the room, white fire burning as their comrades descended onto the town. Quickly evading the fumbled attack of their opponent, they pierced them through the chest with their stone greatsword, and then used it to stab the other, charging at them with a knife. Sword plunging through the ground, thousands of spikes pierced the two lifeless, but soon-to-live bodies, dragging them into the ground for an eternity of imprisonment, until the cold flames consume them all. Going further into the house, the Mason extracted another sword out of the stone ground as a small child approached them. Puzzled, the fool sage paused.

The little light beamed a smile at the murderer in front, both hands extending a cloth doll, vaguely resembling a wizard. They were blissfully unaware of the two dead in the room next door, or the blood on the Mason's hands, embracing the figure in front of them with earnest, blind love.

After a second, an hour, a century, the Mason fell to their knees, legs giving in under the burden of the Wheel. Screaming, they stabbed their sword into their head, black liquid flowing out and enveloping their body. As the child walked forward, it saw behind the crouched, ink-black mess, and the twin figure that slowly sunk into the earth before them. Eyes widening, they looked back at the inky figure that moments ago was but yet another friend, their fading hair now turned completely white, just as the fires that crept along the floor. Before they could react, however, the tiny being was snatched by the bitter, inky shadow, passing out from shock as the dark figure leapt from street to street, disappearing into the fiery night. As he should.

Five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-four

The shackled hands close upon the diary, returning the article back to the shelf it rightfully belongs to. A sharp, roiling sneer forms upon the dark, transparent face, savouring the tranquility of it all. 'Well, or so the stories say.'

[thebeanofdoom]

SoapGaz Headcanon

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Headcanons for some tired 141 Sergeants bc I'm abt to go snore mimimi myself. Enjoy

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The 141 had just gotten back from a very long and tiring mission, it was taking their all not to fall asleep in their seats as they flew back home. Even the ever stoic Lieutenant was starting to nodd off, doing that litte head falling forward slightly then startling upright again thing. Price was relaxed against his seat and had his hat pulled down into his face so one couldn't be sure if he was still awake or not. The two sergeants sat next to each other, opposite Price and Ghost. They were leaning against each other, trying to stay awake by talking about random stuff like weird posters they'd see in the building they'd just infiltrated. They were nearing "I'm pretty sure I'm so tired I can see the hat man" territory when the pilot finally announced that'd they were going to land in five. Price moved for the first time in 30 minutes and sat up straight again, while Ghost also snapped back into a more alert state (even though he still looked like death warmed over).

"Alright lads, we'll debrief tomorrow. We all need a fucking nap," Price said as he got up with the typical knee slap thing that old men (especially dads) liked to do.

Ghost followed after him like a lost puppy, seemingly still half asleep but knowing he could follow Price and end up in his own room for a well deserved nap. That left Soap and Gaz in the aircraft, both looking forward to nap time too but also dreading the walk to their rooms. Soap got his shit together first and got up and out of reflex put his hand on the back of Gaz' head to pull him forward a little so he could plant a smooch onto his forehead.

"Sleep well, wee yin." He murmured and turned to walk away, freezing after a step as he realized what he'd one.

Gaz was sitting there, absolutely flabbergasted. Not only had Soap kissed him on the forehead, he had also called him "little one", a term he knew meant that since he'd heard the man call his nieces and nephews that. Soap turned back Gaz and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Sorry about that, its a reflex. I always do that to my nieces and nephews when I'm home, guess I must be more tired than I thought if my brain thinks you qualify for that treatment." Soap explained, chuckling awkwardly.

"Its fine," Gaz said with a tired smile, getting up too and stepping up to Soap. "I liked it. You know what they say, you gotta kiss the homies good night."

"I'm not gonna kiss Price. Or Ghost for that matter. Pretty sure the mad lad would stab me if I tried." Soap grimaced.

"Oh? So you're saying I get special treatment? That's favoritism, Sergeant McTavish." Gaz hummed amusedly.

"So what? Yer gonna punish me for it, Sergeant Garrick?" Soap teased right back with a grin.

Gaz' eyes dropped to the scotsman's lips for a second, then back up to his eyes.

"No, but I think I'm going to return the favor." He almost purred, then leaned in and connected their lips in a short and sweet kiss. He had to chuckle at the noise of surprise that came from Soap and had a short moment of panic as the man seemed to freeze up, before his anxiety was washed away by the feeling of the other man's hands on his hips. They pulled back slowly, small smiles on both of their faces.

"That was unexpected, but very welcome." Soap whispered.

Gaz hummed in agreement, wrapping his arms around Soap's neck and leaning into him. They stayed that way for a few seconds, enjoying the closeness and comfort of the other.

"Alright, as much as I'd love to stay here and cuddle you all day - well, night, by now - but I think I'm about to fall asleep standing up. So, if you wanna keep cuddling me, we best get back to one of our rooms." Gaz said with a yawn.

"Inviting me back to your room already? Damn, buy me dinner first." Soap teased, receiving a weak slap to the shoulder for his joke.

"Oh shut up, you. That's not what I meant and you know it. Now, do you want cuddles or not?" Gaz huffed with a pout.

"How could I ever say no to that face?" Soap smiled and lead Gaz to his room by their entertwined hands for some well deserved rest and cuddles.

And if they stopped a few times along the way to trade a soft kiss or two, well, who was there to judge?

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A/N: Alright, that's it from me, Imma hit the sack (sadly no cuddles for me). Also, if anyone is wondering why Soap has 0 Scottish speech mannerisms, well, that's cuz I know jack shit abt the accent and I don't wanna fuck it up. That one nickname I used I had to google :'D so unless any of you wanna Scot-ify his speech for me, he shall remain unseasoned

[scary-friend]

This is for me, it’s been eating away at my brain and I just need to make a vent piece. So view at your own risk.

I have been in therapy, but this is something I need to cope with in my own way.

Tw, csa, violence, and foul language.

I fucking hate you so goddam much. You fucking price of human waste. I truly hope that you’re dead, every time I think of you I want to throw up. I WAS A FUCKING CHILD. I WAS 12 YOU FUCKING NASTY FUCKER! I just found out my parents were divorced, my dad moved out and I haven’t seen him in months. I was so fragile emotionally, I was all alone, and YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I hope your wife left you, I’m so glad you got fired, I just wish it happened sooner. Everyone knows you’re a nasty motherfucker. Even if its not the reason you finally got fired, everyone fucking knows now you piece of shit!

It’s been so long now, every time I had to walk into that class room I felt off, like something was wrong. I was so young I didn’t even understand what you did to me. You nasty fucking freak. I hope you get hit my car, I hope you get set on fire, and more than anything I want you to rot. I what you to get stabbed, one knife for each of your victims. We were children, you had children of your own. I hope they fucking resent you, I hope you die alone. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FUCKING NASTY FACE AGAIN! I WANNA KICK YOUR FUCKING TEETH IN!

I thought everything would be okay that year, but then you showed up and RUINED MY LIFE. I WANT MY FUCKING CHILDHOOD BACK YOU VILE MONSTER.

I remember a teacher said you got fired, and I felt so happy, i hated you then and I didn’t even understand how fucking sick you were yet. And then he admitted it was just a joke, and I felt so fucking crushed. I’d fake being sick just to avoid seeing you. How fucking dare you. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU LOOK AT ME, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU TOUCH ME, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU SMILE AT ME IN THE HALLS LIKE YOUR NOT THE FREAK WHO RUINED MY CHILDHOOD.

How fucking dare you sign my year book, wishing me well, I fucking hate you so much.

I was a child who just wanted a friend, i just wanted my family to be whole again. I was so lonely, and you victimized me for it. Well fucking guess what! I have more love and friends than you ever did or ever will for that matter. I’M NOT THE ONE WHOS UNLOVABLE, IM NOT DISGUSTING, AND IM NOT RUINED, THATS YOU! HOW DARE YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME! I HOPE YOU ROT, I HOPE YOUR LIFE CONTINUES TO FALL APART, AND YOU’RE LEFT WITH NOTHING!

You got fired because you shoved a kid into a wall, how fucking pathetic are you. You can’t just let us be happy or enjoy our lives, you have to fuck it up because YOU’RE A PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT! No one believes you retired. Every single student knows how much of a fucking creep you are. ROT IN HELL!

It’s been years, but I’ve finally forgotten your face. I’m so thankful, you don’t deserve to be remembered. You’re just a filthy parasite. I’ve dreamed of you, you were taunting me, saying I can’t do anything now. But then, you were gone, just a red pile on my floor. I killed you that night in my dreams and I’d never been so happy.

My therapist thinks you’re fucking pathetic too. She wishes she could hit you with her car, and that you would just die already. I feel the same way. I might not ever fully heal from what you did. But at least I can go to sleep knowing I’m loved and cherished such wonderful people. While you have no one. I’m so much more, I’m not a fucking victim, I’m a survivor. You can’t victimize me anymore. It’s not my fault, I WAS A FUCKING CHILD, HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I WAS DISGUSTING. YOU FUCKING MONSTER!

I hope you don’t rest, I hope you get dragged kicking and screaming to hell. And I hope you get eaten alive.

It’s been almost nine years now. I finally figured it out when I was 17. I googled the term, I had to learn it from a fucking tv show. I read that definition and I cried for 30 minutes, I screamed. I fucking remembered what you did. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real, that I was just overthinking it. But I know what you did. I’m not lying to myself anymore. IF I EVER FUCKING SEE YOU AGAIN, I WILL FUCKING END YOU.

I don’t even think of you often, I only think of my dreams where you die. How dare you seep into my mind like a fucking disease. All I picture is my dream of you getting swarmed by bugs and eaten alive. That’s what you fucking deserve.

I’m not making it up, I’m not a lier as some dumbasses would tell me. You’re the Fucking Freak who hurt me. I’m not disgusting, YOU ARE!

You’re nothing more than a bad thought, when I wake up in the morning. You’ll be a distant memory. I hope you’re dead.

I’m tired of being told to forgive you. You don’t deserve anything, let alone my forgiveness. I’m never going to forgive you for what you did. The only thing you deserve is to be run over and set on fire. FUCK YOU!

Breath in, 1-2-3-4, Hold, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7, Breath out, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8

You’re okay, he’s gone now, clear your mind.

( ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹)

To all of you reading this, who made it this far, I love you all so much. You make me feel loved, you make me smile, you make me feel beautiful, you make me feel worthy of everything. You’ve helped me so much more than you know. And if you’ve also suffered I truly hope we can heal together💕 You’re beautiful, you’re wonderful, you’re amazing, and you’re a survivor. Don’t let anyone make you feel lesser for being as strong as you are.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

It's the end of Whumptober, the part of the year where I write random angsty parts of my series, The SOS Chronicles and post them with little to no context.

So, most of the whumptober writing I did this year I did for my fanfic on Ao3 "Zuko Alone", but I DID write the end of Mayday that had been haunting me for months, so... yay?

Brief context: this is the epilogue of the book. Almitak must pay the price for helping the main character, Oliver, escape from the "Net", the magical, anomalous region of space Almitak maintains. I might post the chapter he helps Oliver later, because there are some... interesting parallels between that one and this one that make this more angsty. But for now:

The Price of Defiance (day 30: "what have I done?", warning for torture and blood loss, manipulation and guilt)

            Almitak huddled inside his small space, his tiny sanctuary. It wouldn’t protect him, but it felt safer and more comforting than the vastness of the Net.

            Maybe he wouldn’t come. Maybe the Aguithans wouldn’t report that he’d let the ship go, maybe they didn’t know….

            (their ships were the only ones whose sensors could work through the Net’s interference. Of course they would know.)

            Slowly, darkness crept over him, sending a cold shiver through his tendrils. Almitak shrank in on himself, quivering.

            He was coming.

            “Well, well, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

            The voice was smooth and deep, even and measured. Almitak whimpered.

            “Come out, old friend. I have something to discuss with you.”

            Almitak knew it was pointless to refuse. The pain would come whether he hid or not, at least if he complied it might be less.

            Hesitantly, he slipped out of the dark box and slunk out into the place he always met his master; a blurred, barren wasteland that he barely noticed. All his attention was focused on the dark shadow towering before him.

            Almitak stayed close to the ground, tendrils drawn close to his center, waiting.

            “I’m surprised at you,” said the shadowy figure. “It’s been over a millennia since you showed any resistance. Have you, perhaps, forgotten what happens when you defy me?”

            Sharp agony shot through his mind and body and Almitak screamed, jerking and twitching, his limbs tearing apart, his soul fracturing-

            The pain vanished as quickly as it’d come and Almitak found himself huddled on the ground, bits of dark blue and purple magic seeping from the cracks in his tendrils and center.

            The figure knelt in front of him. “Now, what could prompt such defiant thoughts, I wonder?” a dark hand reached out and stroked Almitak’s center, sending tiny sharp needles of pain puncturing through him. “What have you done, my friend?”

            “I’m sorry,” Almitak whispered.

            An electric current shot through him and he screamed again. He shook as the pulsing agony lingered and more magic bled through his tears.

            “What have you done?” the shadow growled. “Tell me.”

            “I set the ship free,” Almitak admitted. It wasn’t as if He didn’t know. “I’m sorry.”

            More needling pain that grew stronger as the conversation continued. “Why? Why would you betray me like this, my old friend? What could possibly compel you to put my mission in jeopardy?”

            “I didn’t mean to,” Almitak whimpered. “I had to help him.”

            The shadow sharpened and focused. The needling stabs grew stronger. “Who?”

            Almitak cursed himself. He should not have said that, his master was powerful, if he ever caught Oliver again…

            “Who, Almitak?” the figure spat his name and Almitak quivered.

            “No one. I was compelled by the ship and the bravery of its crew, I felt they deserved to be free, so I-”

            Pain exploded through every inch of his body, his entire being was on fire, being sliced, torn, pulled apart, fracturing, breaking-

            “WHO?!” the shadow roared.

            Almitak writhed. “No-”

            The shadow seized his center and Almitak screamed as the agony grew stronger. “TELL ME!”

            “O-” ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-’ “O-li-ver.”

            The pain ceased immediately and Almitak sobbed. Purple, blue and gold magic flowed out of him like a current and several of his tendrils had disintegrated.

            The shadow pulled back and Almitak felt excitement rolling off Him. “It’s time,” He whispered. “Finally, it’s time. All my plans…” he turned and Almitak flinched when he was picked up and held close to the shadow’s hidden face.

            “It’s almost over, old friend.” He said. Almitak shuddered. “All these millennia and it’s finally time.”

            Dismissively, He tossed Almitak from his hands. Weak and battered, Almitak couldn’t stop himself from crashing into the ground, where he lay, weeping magic, shaking.

            “We will meet again soon, old friend,” said the shadow. “For now, rest. I can spare a bit of magic to maintain the Net until you’ve healed enough to continue your duties.”

            The shadow started to walk away and Almitak should have let him, should have stayed silent, but a question, a fear, even stronger than the pain was burning in his mind.

            “What… do you… want… with… Oliver?” he gasped.

            The shadow turned, and for a moment, Almitak saw a sinister smile on His face. “You’ll see soon enough, old friend. Suffice it to say he is significant to me. Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll remember this conversation for very long. You so rarely remember anything these days.”

            The shadow walked away and Almitak was left shattered in the dust, a sense of dread growing inside him as he realized that, no matter what his master had planned, Almitak was helpless to stop him, helpless to protect that precious little boy.

            ‘Forgive me, Oliver.’

[daidonzo]

Chapter 16 - I got my hopes up again, oh no, not again [Chishiya x Reader]

Chishiya got you out of the lobby before hell broke loose, his hand not having left yours since the game had been announced.

He had gone directly to the surveillance room, where you, him and Kuina watched what was going on. And it didn't help to ease your anxiety, on the contrary.

Aguni had stated that the Witch was not within the militants, of course, which left the rest of the residents of The Beach, all of them deemed suspicious. They would kill, and burn everyone in the pyre until the game would be declared over.

The images were frightening. Entire groups of people getting shot, stabbed. Begging for their lives, for mercy. Only there was none to be found. Everyone had gone crazy, the need to survive reigning over common sense.

The images you were seeing kept your eyes glued to the security TVs, only leaving them briefly to say goodbye to Kuina, when she said she was going to look for any clues as to who the Witch was.

"Stay safe." You had whispered before she left.

That was until you saw Usagi, in one of the cameras. You stood up, getting closer in order to see better, breaking physical contact with Chishiya. Yes, that was definitely her, carrying Momoka's friend by the hand. So she had escaped.

How could you have forgotten?

"I need to go help her."

You almost felt the need to slap yourself so you would snap out of it. She didn't deserve what happened, nor did Arisu. You started, slowly, to regain the determination you felt before the game had begun.

You walked towards the door, every step becoming harder and harder than the next one, but still resolved to do the right thing.

"Wait." Chishiya said. And you waited, of course.

"I just wanted to get you out of here…" He started after you turned around, his eyes on yours, the intensity of his gaze almost unbearable.

"I understand, and honestly, I thank you for it. But I don't want to get out of here if the price to pay is other people's lives. I just don't." You interrupted, little by little feeling like yourself again. Or, like a stronger version of yourself. The Hatter was really dead and would not return as Gandalf the White, but maybe you would.

He nodded after pondering what you said for some time.

"I did it for you."

"How is that an excuse for anything, Chishiya? Also, did you really do it for me? Because I remember you and Kuina were about to leave me here and run away with the cards."

"Do you really think I wouldn't have come back?"

Yes, actually. You thought so. But only because you were very angry right now, and you considered him a selfish prick. Which he was. But not when it came to you.

You were conflicted, so what? What was amazing was that everyone else was not.

"I don't know."

You couldn't bear to look at him any longer, so you focused on the nails on your right hand, pretending to find them so much more pleasant to watch than his beautiful face. He could have at least made himself look a little bit worse while you were trying to make your point. How unfair.

"Of course I would have."

"Okay, yeah, yeah, you would have. Sure. You still screwed up and I'm still mad." You summarized, still avoiding eye contact, not wanting him to realize that those words had almost made you smile.

He caught on it, because he was smirking himself.

"I'm sorry."

He knew your stupid rule. If someone said sorry, and they meant it sincerely, you would always forgive them. You had reached that conclusion when you were a child. Your parents had been going through a rough patch, fighting on a daily basis and you, in all your eight-year old wisdom, had vowed to never be angry with someone who repented. Like a priest.

You examined his face, looking for any sign that he was not apologizing seriously.

"I am not sorry for trying to steal all the cards. Not sorry for having used Arisu and Usagi to get them, either. " That seemed much more like him. "I am sorry for not telling you. For going on with the plan, even if I knew you would not like it, and for causing you pain."

You bit the inside of your cheek. That would have to do, for now.

"Fine, you are forgiven". You were almost tempted to make the sign of the cross, but felt like you needed all the help you could get and pissing off any grand deity with your sarcasm was not one of your brightest ideas. "I'm still going to go and help Usagi."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. Just, do me a favor…"

You raised your eyebrows. You should be the one asking favors, not him.

"Don't die."

This time, you had to smile. If (when, Chishiya would say) you returned to the real world you really would have to book a therapy session asap. All these mood swings couldn't be good for your psychological well-being.

"I'll try not to. But don't worry, even if I did, my ghost would come haunt you. What if you met another foreigner with fluctuating emotions during one of your games? Can't allow that."

"I don't want anybody else. I want you."

This time, it was you who kissed him, throwing your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his.

It was short, and bittersweet.

And when you separated, you were frowning in confusion.

"Wait, where are you going? You're not coming with me?"

He chuckled, and shook his head.

"The Witch is one of the executive members. So I'll kill them all."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- You were running to the last place you had seen Usagi in the surveillance cameras.

You had broken a construction pallet your way to the top floor and now you were carrying the biggest piece of wood you could carry with only one hand (with the other you held the phone you had been given at the start of the game) without getting too tired, to use it as a weapon.

Wouldn't do much, but if you managed to hit somebody in the head… Well, it would hurt them. For sure. And it was better than going empty-handed.

She looked scared when she first saw you. Then, visibly angry.

"I swear I didn't have anything to do with what happened to Arisu." You placed your wood stick on the floor, and lifted both hands above your head. "I want to help you. I really do."

She appeared to find your help better than no help at all, so she agreed to let you and your self-made weapon join her and Momoka's friend, who you learned was called Asahi.

It was when the three of you were going to start searching for Arisu that Tatta, and Joe, one of his friends, appeared, also wanting to help. You were so relieved at seeing him alive and well you almost wanted to cry.

But suddenly, gunshots. Getting closer.

"Let's hurry!" Usagi exclaimed, and all of you started running away from the noise.

You were opening doors left and right, screaming "Arisu!" at the top of your lungs. You had never realized how big The Beach actually was until that moment.

You felt as if you were going completely nuts, not wanting to look at the phone to check how much time was left of this stupid game. You almost selfishly wanted the militants to actually kill and burn the Witch, so that it would stop.

You were checking room 501 when you heard a fight. You ran towards the grunting sounds, the screams, recognizing Tatta's and Joe's. And saw they were struggling with two of the militants. So you swung your piece of wood, hitting one of the bad guys in the head, it making a noise you never, never, wanted to hear again but secretly feeling kind of badass.

You were about to take a deep breath to calm yourself when you head another gunshot. And saw the bullet going through Joe's chest, him falling to the ground immediately.

Saiko, a third member of the militants, was standing there, smoke still coming from the gun she was holding.

Tatta collapsed into her, throwing her to the ground, hitting her with his fists. You went to check on Joe, trying to see if he had any pulse. But no, he was dead.

"Where is Arisu?" Tatta asked the woman, holding her by the neck.

"Somewhere in the fourth floor."

You got closer to them, breathing slowly purposefully to calm yourself down.

"You better be saying the truth." You almost spat every single word.

"I saw Niragi coming out of a room." Tatta hit her again, leaving her unconscious. You looked at each other.

"Let's go, Tatta. Let's mourn later."

You extended your hand, and he took it, both of you running to meet with Usagi and Asahi.

You reached the floor in which Arisu was supposed to be located, the four of you suddenly surrounded by dense smoke.

"Is there a fire?" Tatta asked, and you looked around, wondering the same thing.

"Sh, I heard someone." Usagi said, and you all listened. All of you went from door to door, paying attention.

You were the first to hear it. "Someone!?" It appeared to be Arisu's voice, for sure. You grabbed the door's handlebar, but it wasn't budging.

"He's here!" You screamed, and coughed. The smoke was thicker than before. "But the door won't move!"

Two militants came out of nowhere, and started shooting at the four of you. Usagi run, and they followed her to a room. Tatta and you looked at each other, and you looked at your empty hands. You had left your weapon behind. Damn it.

"Stay behind, Asahi!" You warned the girl, Tatta and you entering the room as well. Usagi was nowhere to be found, but both militants were on the window, and you remembered what Chishiya had said to you, once: "She is a climber."

You missed him so much it was physically painful to think about him. You just hoped he was alright. To keep going, you had to think he was.

So you acted on impulse, hitting one of the militants on the head with a flower vase you found on the room's table. Tatta did the same thing, but on the back and using a chair.

"I really… Hate this." You sighed. A door opened outside. You and Tatta ran to the corridor, silently hoping it was not another armed bastard. And were extremely relieved to see Arisu, being held by Usagi and Asahi.

You kept going until you got away from the smoke, and entered the first room you found appropriate.

And you hugged Arisu, very, very tight.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so glad you are alright. I'm sorry." You thought you had no tears left, but that's where you were wrong. They were streaming from your eyes like waterfalls.

He must have had a similar policy than you did, because although he didn't hug you back, he did pat on you on the back, saying not to worry about it.

"I hate to break it to you, but we only have 30 minutes left." Usagi declared.

Your heart dropped. 30 minutes!?

"Explain the rules to me." Nodded Arisu.

And so you did.

"This is the worst rules ever." Was his conclusion, and you scoffed, wholeheartedly agreeing. "The Witch has to kill the girl at the start of the game and survive until the end of the time limit. In other words, the Witch only wins if it's Game Over for everybody else."

"But who could be the Witch?" Tatta asked.

"If I were the witch…" Usagi crossed her arms, thinking. "I would join the others in the hunting."

"I was thinking the same thing." You supported.

"So, one of the militants?" Asahi intervened.

"No." Arisu shook his head. "The militants would kill one another if that was the case. That doesn't feel like the purpose of the game, this is a ten of hearts, remember? These games are utterly wicked, you toy with people's feelings, betray, and killed each other. They're designed so that you can't win without feeling disgusted. If the militants were to win this way, there wouldn't be a conflict."

An hour and a half ago, when the game started, you were thinking maybe it could have been solved with no deaths. You clearly were very, very wrong. And an awful strategist. Luckily you had Arisu, who was racking his brains, wondering how he would influence the game if he was the Witch.

"No." He murmured suddenly. "I shouldn't be thinking like the Witch. I should be thinking like the game master! Some who knows the ins and out of the Beach and calculated the timing."

"Which timing, Arisu?" You asked, your head almost starting to hurt.

"Momoka's and the Hatter's death."

"Only the militants and Beach Executives knew about the Hatter's death… The Game Master must have known, as well." It did make sense. "But why did they wait for the Hatter's death to start the game? Ensuring chaos?"

"I think I know who the Witch is."

[asterdisaster06]

Something In The Orange

simon "ghost" riley x john "soap" mactavish

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt. 3

summary > “I’m tired of you disappearing for weeks and then waltzing back into my life like it’s nothing.”

“Better than me disappearing for good.”

“Is it?”

. . .

word count > 1.8k

warnings > simon riley pov

a/n >  hi guys, i think this one will really grind some gears (: although, it's shorter chapter because I’m not sure there’s much to say here. . .

ao3

Ghost had received the call; he had looked down at his phone, seen the caller ID of ‘my love’ staring back at him, and he still chose not to pick up. If you had asked him why he had done that then versus now, his answer would probably have changed significantly. Although, he’s not entirely sure he could tell you his motive. It wasn’t born out of malice though, that he could be sure of. Nonetheless, he knew damn well that he had fucked up as soon as Price refused his call. He had never done that in all the years Simon had known him. If that wasn’t enough, so did everyone else.

Simon “Ghost” Riley was well aware that how he acted was not what his love deserved. He knew that he should have tried harder, done things differently, called him back time and time again. He didn’t know how to though. It was similar to riding a bike - something many people knew how to do by being taught by their parents. Simon was never taught; whether that was riding a bike or how to have a healthy relationship with someone that he was supposed to show love and affection to every day of every month of every year.

The fact that he could never break the cycle ate at his bones and drove his young mind crazy. He wanted so desperately to get help, admit he needed it, grovel at Soap’s feet like he deserved. To worship the very ground MacTavish stood upon and kiss all of the scars left on his heart and soul. All that he was able to do was hold Soap’s head between his collar and jaw, well aware that there was no weight at all. There was no intimacy in the very essence of what used to be love and devotion that would’ve driven the two to the ends of the earth for one another. The gesture had been empty for far too long.

Simon awoke in the front seat of the car that he had parked off in the middle of nowhere. If he was being honest with himself, he had no clue where he had driven to. All that the broken man knew was that he was running away from the very thing that has kept him semi-stable all this time. He regretted it with every fiber of his being, knowing it wasn’t the life that he had promised his beloved. Far from it.

To Soap he was just a man, to Simon, Johnny was all he is. There was no identity separating Ghost from Simon beyond the person he had left in the dust. If Simon could change all of this, he would. It was a slow and steady decline into how exactly the two had gotten to this point; one that Simon wasn’t aware of until the straw that broke the camel's back. It sent a jolt of pain down his spine that he no longer remembered what the fight was even about. To think, this is what it culminated in. He had poisoned himself again, and something in the orange sunrise told him Soap was never coming home into his arms again.

Staring down at his scarred, rough, and dusty hands stained with the metaphorical blood of his once beautiful relationship with the Scot. What he wouldn’t give to be taken back to dancing in their bar on the corner where the wood used to creak. The memories he once held in such regard were tainted by the light shone upon them by the laughter of Soap. The very same laughter that was carved into the ribs of the British man who felt it stab him every time his heartbeat. Something that he wished sometimes faded into nothingness, the very same way that his connection with Johnny did.

Where the hell was he supposed to go? A part of him wanted to run back and beg for forgiveness from someone who sure as hell deserved ten times better than him. Wanted to prove that he could be better and heal the cracks with time and patience one day at a time. Wanted to find hope that his life could be any better than it seemed at that moment. The other part of him forced pride to choke its way up his throat, presenting as a lump that made it hard to breathe. Stones in his lungs wanting to keep him exactly where he was and start anew. Shame erupting from his soul that told him he deserved to be shunned like a dog out on the streets. A life destined to live off scraps and die from getting hit by a car.

He needed to hear Soap’s voice again, the very same one that had been waiting all night to hear back from a living man that haunted him. It sent a flash of regret and humiliation through Simon’s veins. Although, he knew he deserved all of it and more if he truly was going to attempt to make it up to the love of his life. Who was he kidding about moving on and establishing a new life? It would never compare to the one he had built from the ground up with the foundation set in blood and unbroken promises. He would rather die than never, ever see Soap or feel the gentle touch of him again. Simon was damned if he went back, and damned if he didn’t, but he wasn’t one to give up. Not again. Not ever again.

Simon RIley wasn’t a man to back down from a challenge. He was a flight risk, that’s for sure, but he was willing to fight tooth and nail when it came down to it. He didn’t care how long it took, how many years, whether or not Soap would even hear him out. His mind was set on bandaging the wounds that had been inflicted on the relationship and left to fester for far too long. Infected with inflammation running rampant and flies buzzing all around the necrotic flesh. It had been done from the moment he had left the shared apartment with the last view of Soap being one that tore at his heart. A view of the Scottish man with tears running down his tired features; features that Simon knew damn well were so very close to giving up. He wasn’t stupid, well, maybe he was, but he knew that he had to clean his act up.

It’s the exact reason why his first stop after revving his black truck up - a truck that held so many memories of star gazing in the bed of it with his lover - was to a small town. One that he had visited many times before; one that he had befriended an old woman after preventing her from getting mugged. An old woman that owned a small pawn shop where Simon had spent countless hours staring up at the cracked ceiling while pouring his heart out to her. Maybe it was a tad unorthodox, but she had always made the best tea and encouraged him to speak his mind.

Soap had always accused him of never getting help, never talking to anybody, never trying. And it’s not like Simon blamed him, especially with the damning evidence of a torn-up letter from the facility Price had recommended them for therapy specialized for ‘people like him.’ There was an entire argument with his little spitfire about how Simon didn’t want to be looked at with pity. Didn’t want to speak to someone who was paid to identify issues that Simon already knew he had. He had tried it before, both specialized and not. Neither one felt like it was enough, and Simon never was all that interested in an acting career. That’s why he stopped going, stopped the medication that made him throw up everytime he took it - and the doctors didn’t do a damn thing to help that symptom - and why he tried to act better for Soap. Wanted him to be able to depend on someone that wasn’t so broken, but being confronted like that felt like he was being told he was fragmented and unable to be what Soap wanted. He tried, so fucking hard, but he couldn’t do it. Having to face that thought head on alongside it being thrown in his face was too much.

He couldn’t even tell his lover how much it pained him, because he knew they would keep trying like they always had, and it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Soap was like that, always determined to help Simon in a way he never could himself. Simon supposes that’s why everything had built up this far. Piled under the carpet until it couldn’t be ignored. Sometimes all Ghost needed was patience and silent comfort. Sometimes Soap was impatient and loud in his attempts to help. He could tell that it was breaking his sweetheart more than he would let on. Simon could always read him like that. Simon wanted Soap to stop pouring his heart and soul into someone Riley felt didn’t deserve it. He supposes he could’ve been nicer about getting that across, but he’d add it to the list of things to explain and apologize for.

Simon suspects that he never told Soap about him talking to the old woman because it would mean admitting that running away helped him. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he was less proud that a pure stranger was able to aid him more than his own boyfriend. It would’ve made Soap feel like he should let Simon abandon him like that, which wasn’t something he wanted to let happen. It was a roundabout way of trying to protect Johnny. Or there was another theory in his mind that he wanted to keep it to himself for selfish reasons. To have something to himself away from the military life and taskforce that Soap had conquered easier than Simon could even imagine. Both in the tactical, domestic, and social way. He admits to being jealous there, but he didn’t want to seem it. This ‘him’ time was his way of protecting the one aspect of his life that was truly his own. What therapy was supposed to be as Soap said.

He acknowledges how stupid his actions were despite the complex reasoning behind everything. He should’ve been able to open up and explain his little quirks and behaviors before it had gotten to this point. However, he was going to try. If it was too late, he couldn’t tell. But the older woman encouraged him to do so. It was the least he could do after putting Johnny through hell and back as she said. As she said right after handing over the complexically designed ring that he had ordered the day he had left the shared apartment. The same fateful one two weeks ago to the day.

Simon Riley stared down at the engagement ring clasped tightly in his hand, hoping that he could turn this all around before it was too late.

[iamthemaster]

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐦!𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐲

In regards to my last headcanon about Missy being the redemption of the Master, I also have more excellent things I want to address between the short time we have of Simm!Master and Missy being together in "The Doctor Falls": 1. I don't think view Simm!Master's attraction towards Missy to be romantic. If anything, their relationship is strictly sibling like to me. He's fascinated with her, knowing she is what he will be in the future! The Master trusts no one except himself, so of course he thinks she is his "Partner-in-Chaos" right off the bat. Yeah, it's me and me against the world (and the Doctor!) Double the chaos! 2. But because she is his future, of course he hasn't gone through the journey she has yet. He hasn't put in the work to try and become better. Sure, he cares about the Doctor, the Master always has to a certain degree. He chooses to walk away and leave him alive another day despite constantly wanting to kill or humiliate him, but he isn't going to stand WITH the Doctor. At least not yet...not until he becomes her and goes through the journey to understand why it came to this moment (Missy stabbing Simm!Master and making him regenerate into her.) 3. Yes, he's mad at her for choosing to stand WITH the Doctor. He's mad at her for what he perceives to be lying to him, making him think she was on his side (his Partner-in-Chaos), when really, she was with the Doctor all along. He doesn't want this for them. It's never ended well for them, being friends with the Doctor and sticking by their side. There has always been a price that comes with it... (Theta telling Death to make Koschei her champion instead of him and all the countless betrayals through the centuries by the Doctor towards the Master, even down to abandoning them the day they left Gallifrey first, breaking that promise of them seeing the stars together.) But even if Simm!Master is rightfully angry with her for choosing this path, I don't think he would try to hurt her or kill her over it (sorry Moffat, but I reject it happening.) The reason he is mad with Missy comes out of a place of concern for themselves. It's also the same reason that Simm!Master REFUSES to stand with the Doctor. He doesn't want them to get hurt or abandoned by their 'best enemy' again. He's trying to look out for her, but see, she's also trying to look out for him too. 4. Which is what leads to Missy taking her previous self into a hug, telling him how much she loved being him, and then proceeding to stab him so he regenerates into her. Because, yet again, she is the redemption of the Master. This is her way of saying: Trust in your future, trust in me. We deserve better, and I'm going to give it to us for once. Your future is in safe hands with me, but you won't understand until you experience it...until you become me. ("You deserve my best") 5. So I like to believe that Simm!Master accepted it, wobbling back to his TARDIS, and putting faith in his future as he regenerates. (But of course we know what happens with Missy, which leads to my posts about how Dhawan!Master deals with it all after... ( X ) & ( X )