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reds-skull · 7 months ago

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Post script on BLOOD||HUNGER

OOOkay, like I said in the ask I got earlier, this post is gonna be LONG. I’ll be covering the poems at the start (and sometimes end) of each chapter, the source of inspiration for them, the timeline of the fic compared to canon, deleted scenes and maybe most importantly the true identity of the Hunter.

I’d like to say before I start rambling that I appreciate each and every one of you that commented, liked and gave kudos! It really means a lot to me, that you’re here reading my silly little stories haha.

I’m gonna start with the beginning - how I started thinking about the main plot of BLOOD||HUNGER.

So, I kept thinking about the Alone mission in mw2 (as we all do), but thinking about “what if Soap was a civilian in Las Almas when it happened?”

(This is slightly inspired by this fic by TRaena, which I read months earlier and kept thinking about its setup because it was so damn good. I highly suggest reading it!)

So originally, I imagined a whole plot where Soap is a football player, having a vacation in Las Almas when Graves suddenly attacks. Ghost is in the 141 like in canon, but he’s the one that gets shot in the shoulder. The two of them meet, and because Ghost is injured, and Soap is stranded alone in a foreign country, they decide to fight together to get out.

In that original plot, Soap continues sticking by Ghost throughout the campaign, creating distractions for Rudy and Ghost while they rescue the vaqueros, and getting kidnapped by Hassan where he gets dangled over a window in Chicago and Ghost saves him. As you can tell I thought about that version quite a bit, but I made one change that moved it in the direction of the actual story I ended up writing.

What if Soap was dishonorably discharged instead?

That trait changed his entire character, from a guy that got dropped into a war where he has no experience fighting, to someone that is bitterly familiar with it, yet he was exiled from participating. And yet it followed him.

Ghost’s character is actually inspired by who I originally thought he was, when I first saw the mw2 campaign.

See, I first watched my friend play it, and he’s been playing cod since the original mw. He built Ghost up for my like he’s this op guy (which he is), and when he said that he’s been doing guerilla warfare for years in Alone, I thought to myself ‘was this guy just running around fighting with scarp, when the British Military just… decide to pick him up and make him a soldier since he was so good at it??’

I didn’t know about any previous campaigns, and obviously not about ‘09 Ghost’s backstory. Straight up thought he was just some weirdo the SAS recruited because they went ‘why the hell not’.

Now, let’s get to the timeline differences between B||H and canon.

So, like mentioned in chapter 5, the reason Soap got dishonorably discharged was because he killed Makarov on the helo when they were exfiling with him, as seen in a mission on mw3. Soap shot him, by the way, because Price and Ghost weren’t on that mission. He didn’t respect his COs enough to not succumb to his gut reactions, so he ignored them. Because mw3 takes place in 2023 (if I remember correctly, since mw2 took place in 2022), that happened in 2019, and I specifically put it before the formation of the 141. When Soap and Gaz meet for the first time, as Ghost reveals his true identity, Soap mentions he didn’t know Gaz was in the 141, and that was the reason.

Price did want Soap on the 141, even with his track of insubordination. It was another reason he felt bad about his discharge.

I put Ghost’s capture by Roba and torture in 2009. He managed to run away and kill Roba in 2010. B||H takes place one year after Soap killed Makarov, meaning it’s 2020, so Ghost has been a mercenary for about a decade (as is mentioned in one line).

Ghost tried initially, like I wrote, to avoid fighting. He didn’t want to return to the military. After discovering his family was killed, however, he realized he has nothing. And so, he became a merc.

Which brings us to the last difference between canon and the fic (and the biggest one) - the Hunter. And to explain the Hunter, I have to first talk about the poems.

I’ll say it straight up, I have no clue what made me come up with the idea of the poems. One day, right before I was going to sleep, I shot up in bed and wrote down one poem. I put my phone down and instantly fell asleep. No idea what was rattling in my brain that night, but in the days afterwards I wrote down a few more poems, establishing the story of the Blind Man and the Beast.

Those poems I wrote in my notes app weren’t written in the same format as the ones in the fic, instead they are more… modern. I didn’t like that, I wanted them to emulate the format of a classic fairy tale or folk tale, but I didn’t really know how to write that. So I started doing research, and I decided to focus specifically on Medieval English poetry.

That is where I found the Exeter Book. And that find shaped the entirety of the fic.

Small history lesson on the Exeter, it is a codex of Middle English poems and riddles from the 10th century. Most of the poems are older than that, but the first (sometimes only) appearance of them written in text was in the 10th century.

The first poem I found a translation for and read was “The Wanderer”. The name just jumped out for me, so I chose it first.

The Wanderer is a poem that is basically a monologue of an exiled knight. His lord and companions have died in a past battle, and he now roams the land, with no goal, pondering the nature of men and war. He starts the poem as a melancholic, frankly depressed man, with pessimistic views on the world, and by the end he is referred to as the wise man, learning the values a man must keep close to his heart in order to be a good man.

Soap, as he is a sort of exiled fighter, fitted right in with that poem. Honestly, I was shocked at how much it fit. And so, he is based on that poem, the first word in the fic “often”, is the first word of “The Wanderer”.

Often, in The Wanderer, means “always”, according to the translation I was going off of. The first line of The Wanderer is “Often the solitary one”. In truth, The Wanderer is always the solitary one. The first line of the first chapter (not in the poem), is “Often was Soap told, “stop trying to be the hero, MacTavish.””. Often here, also meant to be “always”. The first line of the first poem, “Often were the stars, the only witness to me”, is in the same vein.

After reading a few poems, I moved on to the riddles. A lot of them are quite odd, some having innuendos on purpose, and some having such a weird answer I honestly have no idea how anyone found the actual solution. One riddle jumped out for me, though. It’s one I refer to as “the sword riddle”, as the answer is sword. Or at least, so it seems so, at first.

See, this riddle has possibly a different solution, but it is unfinished in the Exeter, as some pages seemed to be missing. The sword riddle starts out as follows: “I’m a wonderful thing shaped for fighting/beautifully dressed, dear to my master.” (sidenote: many riddles were in first person). The first half of the riddle continues similarly, as is a sword was explaining its victories in battle, and how it protracted its master. Except, the poem suddenly shifts, when the sword says:“I have often hurt another/at the hands of his friend. I am far and wide hated, /accursed among weapons.” as the riddle progresses, it becomes clear that this is not a sword talking, but a knight.

This riddle was the basis for Ghost, his struggles with his failure as a Lieutenant, and the resulting dehumanization he did to himself to distance himself from those emotions, as Ghost. The first lines of his introduction chapter, chapter 2, are inspired directly from the sword riddle: “It was an extraordinary thing - shaped for fighting, a strong, solid body, adorned with black…”

You can actually at some chapters find my direct inspiration for that chapter’s poem/s, if you look at the names. Every chapter name in B||H is taken from a poem or riddle in the Exeter, and I’ll list them here:

1 - Wræclast (Path of Exile): The Wanderer, line 6a.

2 - The Death-way: The Seafarer, one specific possible interpretation of a word in line 63, onwælweg.

3 - The Ruin: The Ruin, the poem is in reference to the church Soap and Ghost fight their way out of.

4 - Vainglory: Vainglory.

5 - Hell Rising: a line from “The Descent into Hell”, from a translation I don’t really like, but it’s the only complete one I found.

6 - Droops and Decays: The Wanderer, line 63a.

7 - Wont of Devils: The Whale, towards the end.

8 - Accursed Among Weapons: the sword riddle, line 16.

9 - The Downfall of Kinsmen: The Wanderer, line 7a.

10 - A Secret Disease: The Rhyming Poem, from a specific translation I chose.

11 - The Battle-Sick: Wulf and Eadwacer, again specific translation, this website has a weird format that might be broken, but it kinda makes the poem feel different, and I liked it. [Here's the Wiki for it]

12 - The Bearer of Gold: this one is from a fragmented riddle, one where the answer can’t be determined.

13 - The Song of Us: Wulf and Eadwacer, same translation.

14 - Famous Fate: The Wanderer, 100a. The translation notes this means “turn of events”.

15 - Where All Permanence Rests: The Wanderer, 119a, the last line in the poem.

To properly see all the little tidbits I took from each poem, I’ll have to explain each one, and probably also paste it here so you can read. I would if that hadn't taken five years to do, and I want to talk about other stuff haha. But I just wanted to list the ones I did reference.

So, now that I’ve explained how the poems are referenced in the main fic… what about the poems I wrote?

Obviously, the first poem references The Wanderer, just as the first lines in the fic do. But what is the story of the poems?

Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde, a fictional codex I made for the fic, is a book similar to the Exeter, collecting stories from the 10th century. Except, unlike the Exeter, all the poems in the book tell the story of the same characters: the Blind Man, the Beast, and the hunter (not to be confused with the Hunter, capital H, which refers to the character in the main plot). Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde, by the way, meaning “Blood Starvation” in Middle English. Or, Blood Hunger.

Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde does exist in the world of B||H, Soap, Ghost and the others are simply not familiar with it. I had a plot for the story in the poems I wrote, which is in direct parallel to the main story in the fic. In fact, some poems spoil some plot points, if you go back to read them after you finish the chapter they were in.

Like I mentioned in the ask I got today, I’m not sure how much, if anyone, really understood what’s going on with the poems. I honestly don’t know if it was clear, I never have anyone beta my writing, unfortunately. So, I’m going to explain the story told in the poems, and how it connects to the main plot.

I’ll be explaining the poems in the order they appear (not always the order of the book itself, as noted by the page numbers on each poem).

The Blind Man is a fallen knight (sidenote: the Beast never refers to the Blind Man with that name, and he usually calls him Fallen Knight), who lost his mates and Lord in battle, the same battle that took his eyesight. He roams the earth with no destination, simply mourning what he used to have.

The Beast starts out as a terror on a road leading to a village. The trader that first meets him decides to go to a different road, and the young girl is so afraid of him, she turns back. All the village people fear the Beast, for they know how it terrorized others in the past. The Beast at present, however, is mostly docile.

The Blind Man bumps into the Beast, while he walks on his road. The Blind Man apologizes, explains how he lost his sight in battle, and asks the Beast kindly to move. The Beast does, but he also asks the Blind Man (the Fallen Knight), if he could let him follow, as the Beast too doesn’t have a goal or destination. The Blind Man agrees.

The Trader sees the Blind Man walk with the Beast, and he worries about him, as he thinks the Blind Man didn’t realize he’s walking alongside a Beast. The Blind Man asks the Beast if he plans on hurting him - to which the Beast answers, if the Blind Man finds that the Beast pushes him on a path of death, he asks the Blind Man to kill him.

The Beast, at a later point, asks the Blind Man why isn’t he afraid of him. The Blind Man answers, that he doesn’t believe in monsters, he believes in mankind, to be kind, and cruel. For him, there is not such thing as monsters.

A knight, who once fought besides the Blind Man, spots him alongside the Beast, and he stops them both, threatening the Beast to leave the Blind Man alone. The Blind Man assures the knight, that the Beast is calm, it doesn’t hurt him. The knight asks, how come the blind lead the sinner, and the Blind Man replies, that when all other paths are unavailable, sometimes only the blind can truly lead.

The Blind Man asks the Beast what is his true name. The Beast answers, that Beast is the only name they know. The Blind Man insists that it is only the name the village people call him, and the Beast repeats his answers. It is then that the Blind Man decides he will name the Beast himself, with deeds this time, and not words. He is telling the Beast he can be defined by more than his past, than his looks. The Beast asks how, and the Blind Man answers, with ferocious will to mark yourself with actions yet to come.

At this junction, they meet a man called “the hunter”, who announces that this land is infested with many Beasts, and if one wished to do good in the world, they must kill them. It is why he, the hunter, slays such creatures. He asks how could the Blind Man protect such evil, to which the Blind Man answers, that the Beast is no more different than a man than he is. The hunter accepts the answer, but comes to the conclusion that they’re both Beasts.

One day, the Blind Man asks to see the Beast’s face. The Beast answers, confused, that he thought the Blind Man was, well, blind. The Blind Man says he’s correct, but that his hands have yet to fail him. So the Beast lets the Blind Man feel his face, his hands. The Blind Man then realizes, that the Beast isn’t actually a beast, but a man like him. He tells the Beast as much, but the Beast says that perhaps the Blind Man is also a Beast, if he thinks the Beast is like him.

The Beast asks the Blind Man how could he care for a monster like himself. The Blind Man smiles and says, how could I not?

They come across a village the Beast terrorized in the past, and the villagers come out to curse at him, telling of how the Beast took their children and ruined their crops. The villagers ask how could the Blind Man stand to not kill the Beast. The Blind Man first asks if what the villagers are saying is true, and when the beast confirms, that he was a terrible thing before anyone saw him as more than a monster, the Blind Man understands. He, too, felt like nothing more than a blind man, an injured knight, before the Beast joined his travels, and treated him as more than just his bloody past.

In the next poem, it is revealed that the Beast was once a knight himself, one that slayed friends and foes, as his masters ruled. He was cursed to be seen as a Beast by everyone that casts their eyes upon him, and that he’s damned to be starved of blood and flesh. It is here that the reason the Blind Man recognizes the Beast to be a man becomes clear - because he is blind, he doesn’t cast his eyes on the Beast.

The following poem is a riddle that its answer is “the hunter”. The hunter used to hunt for consumption, but now hunts sinners. He says, only those that know justice will know his name.

The Blind Man asks the Beast, one night right before the sun rises, what he thinks will be his fate, once he dies. The Beast replies that death comes to all equally, knowing the Blind Man’s past. The answer comforts the Blind Man, that his death will be the same death as his fellow knights, and as his companion, the Beast.

The knight returns to warn the Blind Man and the Beast, that he learned what makes someone a Beast. He tells them of knights who were tortured many years, that were labeled “Beast”. Of the young girl, that instead of cursing the Beast blocking her path, only prayed for her safety. Of a man, that fell in battle, and was abandoned by all but death, that he was also labeled “Beast”. This man is implied to be the Beast travelling with the Blind Man. The knight goes on to say that the hunter, who says he’s versed in justice, calls himself a hero. The knight disagrees, says he’s no better than any of them, and that a man like the hunter, who thinks he’s above God, must be sent to the only equalizer, to death itself.

The knight leaves his sword with the Blind Man.

The hunter approaches, and he swings towards the Blind Man, but the Beast slashes his face, blinding the hunter. The Beast tells the Blind Man, that they will fight as equals. The Blind Man, with the Beast’s aid, manages to kill the Hunter.

The village people hear of the hunter’s death, and they come out to investigate. They find the blind Man and the Beast, but now instead of a monster, they see the man that he truly is. Killing the hunter lifted the curse. The Beast, the Cursed Man, however, isn’t extremely happy, because the Blind Man has always seen him as a man, when the rest saw a monster, and that is what he cares about most.

The Blind Man asks the Cursed Man, where would he go now that he is not viewed as a Beast. The Cursed Man answers, that he has no place he belongs to, but by the Blind Man’s side. The Blind Man replies, that then they will travel together, until their death, and perhaps, if God gives them mercy, they will always be together, no matter which path they belong.

Now that I explained the story of the poems, I can start explaining how it connects to B||H.

Each main character in B||H has a direct parallel in the poems, with a few exceptions.

Soap is the Blind Man, a man who is defined by his failure. He is the first one to see the Beast for what he truly is, and consistently compares himself to the Beast. He is the one that kills the hunter.

Ghost is the Beast, later on the Cursed Man. Everyone sees a monster when they look at him, and he himself ended up convinced he is one, after years of being called a Beast. He admires the Blind Man greatly.

Price is the trader (I chose that profession because of his surname), he meets the Beast before the Blind Man. Unlike Price, the trader does not know the Beast before he became a monster.

Gaz is the Knight (because of his relation to Soap and his VA’s surname is literally knight). He threatens the Beast, thinking he means bad for the Blind Man. He also ends up being on the Blind Man and the Beast’s side, giving him his sword so he could kill the hunter.

The village people are the city people in the story. Alma actually accuses Ghost of being the reason their children are dying, just like the village people do in the poems.

Other characters like Laswell and the communicator do not have a parallel character in the poems.

And the last one… The Hunter. He is the hunter, obviously.

Except, he’s literally the hunter. The only character that is exactly the same, and I mean, the same person, is the hunter. The only one whose name is identical to the one in the poems.

And this is the plot twist I was keeping hidden in the poems all along - BLOOD||HUNGER is a fantasy story, only not from Soap or Ghost’s perspective.

There is a third story, beside the main one and the one in the poems. The story of the hunter.

The hunter, after being killed by the Blind Man, finds himself in the future. He doesn’t know how, doesn’t know where, but he knows one thing:

The Beast is alive, he walks with the Blind Man, and he must be killed.

The hunter finds them. And again, he fails.

It’s not known how many times the hunter fails. But each time he’s killed, he wakes up decades into the future, with an innate knowledge that the Beast and the Blind Man are alive, and he has to kill them.

The hunter wakes up again in 2019. He knows the Beast and the Blind Man are alive, and this time, he tries something new. He gathers an army, he hides his face, and he waits for the right moment to strike.

He thought, perhaps if someone else kills the Beast, he could be free from the curse placed upon him centuries ago, by death itself, as punishment for his hubris.

And the events that follow, are the plot of BLOOD||HUNGER. And as you know, the hunter fails yet again. He will wake up again, but Ghost and Soap will be long gone by then.

This is why the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist on paper, a year before B||H. Why he knew so much about Simon, despite the fact it shouldn’t be possible. And this is why he says to Soap what he said to the Blind Man the first time he died. Because, in the Hunter’s eyes, Soap IS the Blind Man. Soap mentions that when the Hunter’s face is uncovered, he seems familiar, and after he dies, he feels like it happened before. Because it did.

The claw marks on the Hunter’s face are the biggest clue that he is the hunter, as the hunter’s face was slashed by the Beast in the poem.

And the Blind Man’s wish, to always walk alongside the Cursed Man, is the reason both Soap and Ghost feel like they belong with each other. They’re destined to meet, no matter what form they take. Whether as enemies, friends or lovers, they will walk the same path eventually.

See, I don’t write stories like BLOOD||HUNGER usually. I write fantasy, sci-fi, supernatural stuff like every other work I posted. But this, the poems, the Hunter, are the reason I wrote BLOOD||HUNGER.

Because it’s not fully set in the real world. Still, this fic was quite a challenge for me, with no magic, enemies-to-lovers (which I never use, I don’t know why I decided to here, but that’s how it ended up), and limited characters.

A little tidbit about the city - it isn’t named on purpose, I wanted it to have more of a vague vibe that fairy tales (and the poems in the Exeter) have. I was also initially considering having the entire fic set at night, one night, but with the amount of things that happen it felt a little ridiculous. Most of it is at night, though, as Soap and Ghost sleep through days more than they do nights.

Also fun fact, the names of the civilians are all names of family members of mine, with the exception of Mihail. The name he’s based on is Mircea, and it’s a little too Romanian for my purposes, so I changed it so something more vaguely Eastern European, which is where the city is.

Now, onto the last section of the post script, the deleted scenes! (Are they really deleted if I keep them, though?)

Like with Not Alive, Nor Dead’s PS, I’ll try to give each of them context and the reason they were cut:

[Context: the entirety of the scene where Ghost gets betrayed and poisoned by the Hunter in chapter 2.]

He didn’t get a potential location for intel, so he started methodically searching all drawers and cabinets, lightly passing over surfaces to search for abnormalities. The longer he goes on finding nothing, the more an icy chill spreads through his gut.

Every cell in his body is screaming something is wrong here.

Footsteps on the lower floor catch his attention. Multiple, heavy, hurried. Ghost snarls.

The soldiers climb the stairs quickly, Ghost melting into the shadows, watching them pass by him. The soldiers are the Hunter’s, their blood-red insignia staining their black gear.

He’s being betrayed again. He needs to get out. He has to get out.

“We know you’re here, Ghost. Change of plan, we need you on another location.” The soldier communicating for the Hunter calls.

No, no, no. They’re lying.

“Commander”, another soldier says, “he might be gone.”

The Hunter doesn’t answer, but frantically, Ghost hears the floorboards creak closer and closer to his location, until a red glove reaches out and pulls him out of the shadows.

He instantly shakes it off, “the fuck are you doing here?!” he growls. The Hunter looks to his communicator, “this target was a ruse, Ghost. We have a new one for you.”

They’re lying. They’re lying. Ghost can feel the barrels of rifles at his back, lifting slowly to strike him down. He can smell the gunpowder and the bite of metal-

Ghost glances behind him. The soldiers are busy searching the house. He nods.

It feels so wrong, but… could he be wrong? Is he just getting paranoid over nothing?

“Give me the location.” he grunts, his back constantly tingling with the weight of phantom gazes.

The soldier walks over to the balcony, pulling out a spotter scope, “your target will be in the central city, the high rise building next to the church.” the building is lit by neon lights, red and foreboding in the darkness of night.

Ghost carefully walks to the balcony, taking the scope from the soldier. He doesn’t put it up to his face, not when there are phantom breaths on his nape.

They’re waiting. They’re watching. They’re going to-

A hand wraps around his neck, roughly pulling his mask up to reveal the pale skin underneath. Ghost grabs it, pushes it away, when a sickly cold sting bites the side of his neck, followed by a disgusting chill that seeps into his bloodstream.

Poison.

Ghost shoves the soldier off, swiftly sliding a knife to his palm and slicing his neck. The man doesn’t have time to react, before Ghost drops down to avoid another attacker. The world explodes with hands reaching for him, weapons slung with purpose to strike.

Not kill. They want him alive.

He has to GET. OUT.

A hostile rushes to tackle him, and Ghost uses the momentum to grab him and jump off the balcony. Glass surrounds them both for a moment, before they all fall down.

The body beneath him crashes with a sickening crunch, and Ghost takes the pistol in his hand to swing around and shoot at his attackers. A few of them fall over the railing, and the resulting confusion is enough for Ghost to take off and run.

Ghost feels the poison corrupt his blood, physically sense the way it travels down his neck, the chill spreading to his fingertips. He mutters a few curses.

He should’ve listened to himself. Never trust anything but himself.

[Reason to cut: I didn’t want Ghost to suspect anything before the Hunter attacks, I thought it would be scarier than if he anticipated it.]

[Context: the last lines of chapter 2 (can you tell I struggled with that one lol)]

Ghost internally sighs. This whole ordeal drudges up too many old memories, things he rather would’ve stayed buried in an unmarked grave. But he just has to put up with Soap until they leave the city.

And after that? He can leave him to the wolves.

[Reason to cut: Ghost sounds here like he wants something bad to happen to Soap when he leaves him. I wanted him to just not care about what happens to him.]

[Context: the talk Ghost and Soap have in chapter 6, when Soap reveals he killed Makarov.]

The Sergeant laughs bitterly, “he was already captured. I slit his fuckin’ throat when his hands were cuffed.”

“Really?” Ghost drawls, “as if bars would’ve stopped Makarov.”

Soap bristles, “so what, yer saying I was right?”

“You were the only one with half a brain there, it seems.”

Soap is visibly stunned at that, quieting down and averting his gaze. Did he really believe that he shouldn’t have done that? Shouldn’t have killed the worst man in modern times?

Really thought those restraints were made for the betterment of humanity, rather the benefit of the powerful few?

They continue walking in silence, the only sound accompanying their steps is the bristling of crops.

[Reason to cut: didn’t like how the dialogue sounded, wanted the conversation to be longer.]

[Context: the first time Ghost called Soap “Johnny”, chapter 7.]

Soap has a feeling the nickname just slipped, and he didn’t mean to call him ‘Johnny’. His mind, as it often does, starts mulling that small detail over.

If it was a slip of the tongue, it means this wasn’t the first time Ghost thought to call him that. How long have he thought of him as “Johnny”? Does that mean, under that bleached bone, he

[Reason to cut: didn’t like where Soap’s thoughts were going. Didn’t know what to do with them.]

[context: beginning of chapter 8, when Ghost’s real identity is revealed.]

(From the grave rises someone else, someone wrong-)

Soap takes a step back, the sound echoing through his mind and returning him to the surface-

(They know. The communicator. The Hunter.)

Johnny knows.

[Reason to cut: I liked the first line, but I wanted it to be memories of Simon’s rather than introspection of Ghost.]

[Context: start of chapter 8 again. It’s always the Ghost POV ones I struggle with huh?]

“Didn’t you,

Simon Riley?”

Ghost ceases his attempts to move. Thoughts slipping away from him, sinking down to the dark sea, drowning him.

(Don’t cry like a pansy, son. Just like your mother, you’ve always been weak-)

(You always had a bleeding heart, Riley. Time you wake up, see how the world really works-)

(The rotten flesh, the maggots borrowing into his ears, the dirt and grit between his teeth-)

(Lieutenant Riley was his most caring soldier-)

(What’s wrong, son?-)

(LT-)

(SIMON-)

Ghost feels him claw out, from the fortified casket he buried him in. Memories as his weapon, he rips through his chest, uncaring of the trails of broken bone and blood he leaves behind, splattering on the floor.

From the grave, a dead man rises. A man who always found the world too cruel, too loud, too unforgiving.

And with him, emotions Ghost long buried; Hurt, sadness, confusion. Fear.

Rage.

The knife in his sleeve slides easily to his palm, cool metal doing nothing to soothe Simon. He winds his hand back, and throws.

The blade shines almost blindingly across the room, missing Johnny by less than an inch and hitting the gleeful communicator in his eye. The man slumps over, smile melting away with the last of his life.

Simon heaves a breath, arm still forward, eyes snapping from the corpse to Johnny.

Johnny, who turns around, shock in his bright blue eyes, mumbling, “What… the fuck… did you do?”

He can’t look at those eyes again, can’t see the betrayal cloud them over, the pain he caused, always causes, spread through him. And so Simon, the coward he is, looks away.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Johnny repeats, stomping forward to haul Simon up by his vest. “LOOK AT ME! YOU JUST KILLED OUR ONLY WAY TO THE HUNTER!”

Johnny’s hands are trembling, Simon notes, when they take hold of his face to force him to make eye contact. Simon watches Soap’s expression falter.

What do you see, he wants to ask.

Do you see the man he was, Or the monster he became?

The clanking of the metal staircase behind them makes Soap sharply turn. Simon can’t see, doesn’t care to when Johnny is in front of him.

Tell me, he wants to scream, tell me I’m irredeemable. Tell me you hate me. Bury me, please.

I can’t be Simon again.

But Johnny ignores his silent pleas, grabbing his forgotten rifle and throwing it to Simon. With a dirty glance, he growls, “don’t think I’m lettin’ it slide. Get up, we need to fight.”

And Simon would’ve stayed in the tower, waiting death to take him for the final time, if he could stomach the idea of taking Johnny down with him. Simon, stupid, foolish Simon, wants the Sergeant to do what he couldn’t. To be better than him.

He takes the rifle, military instilled instincts helping him push up and take aim. Johnny is already ahead, fighting his way down the stairs.

The world outside is loud, gunshots and screams, bullets dinging off metal, blood dripping down to the earth below. Soap shoots them as the come up, but he’s quickly getting overrun. Simon spots a pile of crates right at the edge, where Johnny is currently taking cover.

He runs at it at full speed, shouldering it and pushing it down. Johnny curses at him, before he watches how the heavy crates clear them a path down. The soldiers groan, struggling to get up. They run down, barely avoiding the hands grasping at their feet. Below, soldiers attempt to shoot them, but they make an almost impossible target on the spiraling steps.

Simon jumps the last few, firing at the group around their truck to cover Johnny. The Sergeant shouts at him something, but he’s too focused on the enemies aiming at them.

A few bullets hit him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of Simon.

He doesn’t get time to recover when another bullet pierces through his shoulder.

It hurts more, oddly enough, after Simon clawed his way out. Everything feels… more.

Johnny takes out the shooter, and drags Simon to the truck. Throwing him to the passenger sit, he starts up the engine and shifts it to reverse to run down a few hostiles.

“Yer not gonna die on me, are ye?” He grunts, examining the blood sluggishly flowing down his gear.

Simon opens his mouth to answer, as he sees from his peripheral a wounded soldier shakily lifting his gun to aim at Johnny.

He pulls out a knife to throw at him before Soap can even clock the danger, the soldier crumpling back down in a blink. “...Thanks.” Soap’s eyes narrow. His eyes are no less bright for it, Simon reckons.

He returns to his sit, applying pressure to his gunshot wound, “drive.”

In the silence, Simon’s mind drifts. He’s finding it harder and harder to focus on anything besides Johnny.

[Reason to cut: a few things here are the same as the final version, but I specifically didn’t like how Soap acted here, and the fight Ghost soloed.]

[Context: chapter 10, after Soap bit a guy, and Ghost lost control of his limbs because of the poison again.]

The pain doesn’t even register in Ghost’s mind anymore. Nothing does, except Johnny’s form, sure-footed as he rushes back to battle, mouth still red.

Johnny is a disaster. An omen of ruin. A harbinger of death.

Simon wants to be destroyed by him.

If only to feel that searing touch once more.

[Reason to cut: Ghost is a little too in love with Soap with the way he’s talking here. Didn’t want that yet.]

[Context: chapter 11, the very end of it, where they realize who could find the Hunter.]

Soap inhales sharply. That’s it!

“Simon.” Dark eyes look up at his urgent tone, “I know how we can get to the Hunter.”

Gone is the softness in his eyes, Ghost turns to face him fully

[Reason to cut: wanted Ghost to come to that conclusion, not Soap. Thought it would be more impactful, if Simon chooses that fate on himself.]

[context: chapter 12, when Ghost and Soap explain to Price and Gaz that the Hunter is responsible for everything that happened in the city, not Ghost.]

“The Hunter?” the name makes Gaz falter, “who-”

Ghost cuts him off, “who do you think is in charge of this militia, Lieutenant?” he says the rank mockingly.

The Lieutenant fires back, “according to our intel, you!”

Soap shakes his head in disbelief, he and Ghost sharing a baffled look, “yer tellin’ me ye never heard of the Hunter?!”

This complicates everything. Ghost himself knew of the Hunter because of his line of work, and he was aware their existence was a closely guarded secret, but for the 141 to not even know of them…

It’s like they popped out of nowhere, a special hell designed for Ghost.

It does clear out one thing. The reason they wanted to pin the massacre of the city on him, leave him poisoned to rot until the 141 catches him. If the SAS believes they took down the militia, the Hunter would be free to do anything they wanted, under the radar.

Cut the head off the snake, it dies. Unless you cut the wrong head.

“You’re telling me”, Price starts, “that we’re after the wrong person?”

Soap sighs, “Ghost may not be a bleedin’ saint, but he’s not the leader of the fuckers shootin’ everyone out there.”

Gaz scoffs, “John, you know I’ll fucking take a bullet for you, but I won’t be able to believe that without some solid proof.”

Price joins him, “even if there is another individual… “The Hunter”, you called him?” he realigns his gun with Ghost, “we still need to take Ghost into custody.”

Soap bodily pushes Ghost behind him, again, “if you want ever want to catch the Hunter, you’ll need him! We’re not gonna-!”

[Reason to cut: Okay, I did a little mistake and completely forgot that Gaz and Price brought up the Hunter by name before, therefore they know of their existence. Had to cut a few pages because of that, as you can see…]

[Context: chapter 12, after Ghost falls because of the poison, still discussing the Hunter.]

Price holds it still, “Laswell said local police reported of a skull-masked man.”

“I haven’t seen a single police officer in the entire city.” Soap says slowly, “fuck- how did we miss that?”

“This city…” Gaz’s brows lift in shock.

Simon grunts, “the Hunter’s soldiers took over before I ever stepped foot here.”

[Reason to cut: didn’t like this explanation, didn’t feel like it made sense to me. The final version uses the informant instead, which ties in with the man Ghost kills for the Hunter in chapter 2, and I like that way better.]

[Context: chapter 13, when Soap and Gaz talk while he’s smoking.]

“John, mate. C’mon.” Kyle places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to whisper, “tell me, what are you going to do after?”

“After what?”

“After you kill the Hunter. Are you going to leave back for Scotland, never see Ghost again, go back to your civilian life? Or…” Gaz nods towards Simon, “you’re going to stick with him?”

Oh… He didn’t even think about that. ‘After’... Soap swallows around the excitement the second option rises within him, “yer jokin’, right? I don’t- that’s not even a choice. What am I gonna do with Ghost?”

[Reason to cut: didn’t like how I phrased things here, felt like I could do it better.]

[Context: chapter 14, right before the operation to kill the Hunter begins]

It strikes him then, how much he wished they could’ve met on different circumstances. Perhaps if they knew each other before, they could’ve been more.

Perhaps he wouldn’t feel as doomed.

[Reason to cut: just didn’t really like it, it kinda introduces new feelings that I didn’t have time to explore in the last chapter before the epilogue.]

EDIT: I FORGOT TO PUT THE POEM AAA SHIT

Page ?? of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable ?:

What drives a monster from the woods, the merchant questions,

As evil often lies within the dark, feasting on sin and vice,

What drives a man from his home, the Beast replies,

As he is nothing, when his steps sound alone,

What drives a knight from his kin, the Blind man finishes,

As a vow cannot be fulfilled, when it is voiced to the dead.

[The only reason I didn't put it in is because there wasn't a good point to, sicne I wrote it when the fic was already ending]

And that’s it! Another fic done!!! I had a lot of fun, I think you can tell haha. I also feel like I improved a lot compared to Not Alive, Nor Dead, I love seeing the progress. Thank you, if you read this monster of a post script, and for reading BLOOD||HUNGER.

As a little thanks… I will probably talk about it more later, but I am planning on beginning work on Revenant AU part 2 after I finish my semester. It will involve new villains, new Revenants, new Reapers… I’m excited to be able to return to that universe again!

#BLOOD||HUNGER #not tagging everything bc this is a post script #fellas Ill be honest its like 2 am #if there are any mistakes pls tell me Im very tired and I dont think i got all braincells working rn lmao #edit i did forget. I forgot to put the cut poem. its here now

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jacquelynlscott · 2 years ago

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Creative Writing Mistakes to Avoid

✍️ In creative writing workshops, I often see beginning writers making the same sort of mistakes, so I compiled a list of some of the most common ones.

Bear in mind these pitfalls don’t apply to everyone, especially genre writers. However, to break the rules, you need to learn them first.

Some common mistakes beginning writers make include:

🤯 “Suddenly,” “Very,” Any word that ends in -ly

Think: “Suddenly, he laughed very loudly.”

Here’s a trick, substitute “damn” for “very,” then use the find function to delete them all. A man isn't “very tired;” he’s exhausted.

If you need an adverb to explain how loud someone is shouting or how hard that door is slammed, you’re not doing your job as a writer. We should be able to tell that kid is chewing loudly by the way he’s smacking his lips. You can use similes or metaphors to help you out here. However, be sure to avoid…

⚡ Cliché similes and metaphors

Think: Cold as ice; shaking like a leaf; struck him like a bolt of lightning

Try this: anytime you want to use a simile or metaphor, write 10 of them out that could describe what you’re talking about, then write 10 more. We tend to jump towards the cliché ones first because those are the ones we know. The more you force yourself to write different ones, the more interesting and unique they become.

Read More: What is Plot Structure?

💣 Gore and Violence for Gore and Violence's Sake

Think: Graphic shootings, torture scenes, etc.

It’s a betrayal to your reader to enact violence on them just for violence’s sake. If you're adding this for excitement, don’t. This isn’t coming across like you want it to, either.

📝 A note: This is general writing advice, applicable across most genres, but if you’re a horror writer, gore and violence may be expected.

Read more writing advice and author interviews at Jacquelynlscott.com.

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years ago

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4x02: Are You There God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester

Then:

Dean Winchester is saved

Now:

Olivia, a hunter, wakes to cold air and flickering lights. She runs for her shotgun just as Bobby leaves a message on her answering machine.

Her EMF is going nuts as she patrols her house. Suddenly ghosts that she recognizes give her the one two punch and she’s a goner.

At Bobby’s, Dean is vehemently denying that he was “groped by an angel.” Bobby’s got lots of lore on angels, though. It seems they’re the only thing that could pull a human soul from Hell.

Sam thinks it’s a good thing that Dean was saved “by one of the good guys.” And Dean wonders if there is a God. BABIES. Dean’s having a hard time believing there’s a god out there that personally believes in him. Oh, buddy, he cares just a little too much, I’d say. Dean’s self-loathing is off the charts though. And this is getting way ahead of myself here, but even though Chuck cares in the sense that Dean is a fun little puppet for him, it’s Cas that really cared all along. He believed in Dean so much, he gave up everything for this man. BIG SIGH.

Dean demands pie before digging into the angel lore.

Sam runs off to forget get the pie, when he sees Ruby lurking. She wants to know if the angel stuff is real. Ruby’s scared for her demon life and takes off.

Sam gets back to Bobby’s in time for all three of them to take off to investigate why Olivia isn’t answering Bobby’s calls. Also, he forgot the pie.

They find Olivia disemboweled on her bedroom floor. And Bobby can’t get a hold of any nearby hunters. They check them out to find everyone dead.

They need to get back to Bobby’s to regroup.

Sam’s getting gas for the Impala while Dean sleeps. He makes a pitstop in the gas station restroom. The room suddenly gets cold and Victor Henrickson appears!

He blames Sam for his death. He starts to attack Sam but Dean comes in with a save and a shotgun.

Bobby meanwhile is haunted by a couple giggling raggedy twin girls. Fun!

Sam and Dean race back to Bobby’s. They can’t get a hold of him so they enter his house with shotguns ready. The boys separate and while Dean checks out the upstairs, Sam heads outside.

Dean runs into the ghost of the woman who was once Meg Masters.

She blames Dean for her possession...and Dean hates himself enough to actually believe it all. It wasn’t your fault, dude. Also, as much as they’ve learned about demon possession and all, if they would have met Meg at any point in the future, they would have just stabbed her with Ruby’s knife and she’d be dead anyway. Idk, saving people is good in theory, but hard in practice for these guys. I also know this is a manipulation. “Do you know what it’s like to be ridden for a month by pure evil?” HE DOES! Leave him alone!

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to find Bobby outside. He’s currently being held down by a couple scary ghost twins.

Ghost of Meg continues to taunt Dean, and pins her sister’s suicide on him as well. MEG. NO.

Outside, Sam finds Bobby trapped in an old scrap car. He helps break him out and together they swing iron through the ghost girls.

Dean drags himself away from Meg, and aims his gun at the iron chandelier up above. DAMN BOBBY that’s some fancy light fixture work! The chandelier smokes Meg out...for now.

Back in Bobby’s living room, they realize that all the ghosts had a brand on their hands. Bobby hauls out the lore and leads the Winchesters down to...dun dun DUN...his safe room.

We get the grand tour because this is the FIRST TIME WE’VE SEEN IT. This safe room has everything! Iron! Salt! Devil’s traps! Lore! Racy posters! Booze! Weapons! The vanished hopes and dreams of Dean Winchester! A cot complete with restraints! The Winchesters are impressed.

Later, Dean breaks into a theological monologue while making salt bullets. My sweet sunshine! How dare you speak my love language! “If [God] doesn't exist...fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason - just random, horrible, evil. I get it, okay? I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” (Because, sweetie, freedom is a length of rope and God LITERALLY wants you to hang yourself with it.)

Bobby finds the brand - it’s the “mark of the witness.” They’re ghosts forced to rise and destroy people. In fact, the Rising of the Witnesses is part of an ancient prophecy. A prophecy of...DOOM. It’s a sign of the apocalypse. Dean suggests coping with a series of wish-fulfillment trips including: Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience, and the Bunny Ranch. Somebody please write me that fic. Instead of Dean’s plan, Bobby suggests running an ancient ritual to shut down the witnesses. To do so, they first have to race out of the panic room to gather ingredients before the ghosts have a chance to yank their insides outside.

Ronald from the bank heist greets them at the stairs. Bobby blasts away Dean’s guilt ghost for him, and we cut to a montage of spell preparation. The three of them split up to fetch supplies. Ghosts appear to torment them.

Meg appears to Sam, only she KNOWS more than she should. She knows about Sam’s fraternization with Ruby.

In the kitchen, Victor appears to Dean. He reveals that after the Winchesters left, Lilith gruesomely tortured those left in the station for almost an hour before blowing up the place. While Dean absorbs this fun fact, Victor makes his move, plunging his hand into Dean’s chest.

Sam saves Dean just in time with a well-aimed salt round. They start the ritual, Bobby’s living room teeming with ghosts. Bobby chants while the Winchesters play shotgun whack-a-mole with the ghosts. Meg jabs a hand into Bobby’s chest. Bobby drops the bowl and Dean dives for it like it’s a football, then tosses the spell into the fire to finish the job.

That night, Dean wakes from his slumber.

Castiel stands waiting for him (watching him sleep??) in the kitchen. He congratulates Dean on their triumph over the witnesses, and announces that he has already started doodling Mister Castiel Winchester in his notebooks!

Dean feels a little raw about nearly dying (again) and wonders why angels are total dicks. “Read the bible,” Cas advises. “Angels are warriors of God.” Oh, and also? He’s not here to PERCH ON DEAN’S SHOULDER. Oh honey sweetie baby.

Dean tries to read Cas the riot act and rails against God’s shitty parenting.

Cas: The lord works…

Dean: If you say "mysterious ways" so help me, I will kick your ass

Cas warns Dean that big...no, cosmic things are afoot.

The Rising of the Witnesses is one of sixty-six seals that Lilith is busily unlocking. Each seal is a lock holding Lucifer in his cage. Dean has trouble believing that Lucifer is even REAL. Sassy Cas smiles. “Three days ago you thought there was no such thing as me.”

Cas tells Dean that Heaven isn’t infinite. Angels have died in the battle so far, and more may be at risk. (Excuse me while I weep for the next twelve seasons. There have been 0 days since the last angel mishap.)

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?” Cas asks, telegraphing his series story arc. “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” Cas flaps out.

Dean wakes up for realsies. WAS IT ALL A DREAM? He asks Sam if he believes in the Devil…

You Should Show Me Some Quotes:

All I know is I was not groped by an angel

If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?

When have I ever forgotten the pie?

Where’s the pie?

I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #bobby singer #spn 4x02 #Are you there God It's me Dean Winchester #Victor Henriksen #ronald reznick #meg masters #supernatural season 4

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daydreamingcrackhead · 4 years ago

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"You're Worth It"

Bullied!MC x Julian Castillo

You've been spending your months wanting to drop out of high school because of Brian and the rest of his Hearst friends constantly torturing you after school.

You couldn't tell anyone about Brian's violent advances towards you, In the real world, whoever has the most money wins.

Countless attempts of telling someone, Like Emma or Caleb or maybe even a teacher but once you open your mouth, it always ends up in suspense.

Today you're running extra late for your English class.

'Damn it! Ms. Maddox might karate chop me in the face' You thought as you ran through the halls not paying attention to the sign on the floor

You took the wrong step which elicits a squeaking noise from your shoe.

Before your face could meet the cold tile, a strong arm swiftly grabs you by the waist.

You tilted your head up to see none other than football captain, Julian Castillo.

"Oh hi" He grinned awkwardly showing off his perfectly white teeth

A blush rose to your cheeks when you realized how close your faces were. Julian noticed your discomfort and awkwardly pulled back.

"Watch where you're going next time, alright?" He reminded, patting you on the shoulder

You stood there in awestruck watching him walk away with a small goofy grin on your face, who would've thought he was nice especially to someone who's an outcast such as you...Growing up watching cliché high school movies, the jock was always the enemy but Julian made you think otherwise.

You were about to go back to running to class but soon after the bell rung.

"Ugh.." You groaned, ignoring the students who passed you

｡･:*:･:*:･ ☆ ･:*:･:*:･｡

-After School-

It was finally home time, your most dreaded hour of the day. They say monsters only come out of night but who knew they can also appear during day?

"Hey little berry" Brian smirked, grabbing your book from your lap

You stare at them with disgust and hatred before getting off of the bench and walking away but suddenly Max grabs your arm.

"I don't think so" He chuckled "Anyways, we have a task for you to do and if you don't do it..."

"-we're getting you and your family evicted!" Kara continued earning a high five from Zoe

Getting your family evicted was the last thing you want, no matter how bad it was...You had no choice but to do as they say.

This time it can't be more worse than the stuff they made you do before...right?

"Okay fine...What do you want?"

With a satisfied smile, Zoe instructed "We want you to sneak into Burke's office and steal the playbook, don't even DARE try to ditch us once you get there"

"O-okay.." You mumbled, avoiding eye contact with them

｡･:*:･:*:･ ☆ ･:*:･:*:･｡

When you arrived back to school, you were just in time. Coach Burke exited his office to go to the bathroom, leaving the halls completely empty, you took this opportunity to barge into the office and find the playbook.

Tears of regret trailed down your cheeks as you continued your search, you were trapped between doing what's right or doing what's wrong for the good reason.

You stared down at the playbook, imagining the consequences you might face when you get caught.

A knock suddenly appeared followed by Julian's voice "Hello coach?"

Your heart began beating rapidly as the knocks became louder.

You looked around the place for somewhere to hide but unfortunately there were none.

"Coach are you- Y/N? What are you doing here?" His eyes moved from you to the playbook "What are you doing with that?"

You parted your lips, about to reason with him but instead of words, a sob escaped your lips, you dropped to your knees and broke down into tears.

Opening the floodgates of feelings you've been keeping for so long.

Instead of getting angry and reporting you to Principal Hughs, Julian's face softened and he crouched down to your level.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't mean-"

"Shh...It doesn't matter, Just tell me why you're doing this" The senior interrupted, silencing you by placing his calloused finger on your lips

"Brian.." was the only thing you could say but Julian understood what you meant

Without a word, Julian gets up from the floor, reaching his hand out to you.

You were hesitant yet curious about what Julian was about to do.

With a nod, you put the playbook back to its place and took Julian's hand, letting him lead you somewhere.

｡･:*:･:*:･ ☆ ･:*:･:*:･｡

You followed Julian in silence and stopped at the bench where you were cornered by the Hearst kids.

"Hey little berry! Did you get the---Julian?! What are you doing here?!" Brian asks in shock

"Don't act more stupid than you already are Brian! I know what you're doing to Y/N"

Max steps in along with Zoe and Kara "It doesn't matter what you know, this is between me and that penniless brat beside you"

Julian clenched his fist hard enough for veins to pop out and throws it at Max's cheek.

Max was knocked out cold with only a punch, perks of being a football captain was not only gaining fame but also strength.

While Kara and Zoe came to Max's aid, Brian on the other hand let out a scream of anger and kicks Julian at the side.

"Julian!" You shrieked, wrapping your arms around his torso

Julian gives you a weak, reassuring smile before pulling you behind him protectively and punching Brian square in the jaw, knocking him to the concrete next to Max.

With that being done, Julian grabs your wrist once again, taking you to a secluded area.

"I don't understand...How did you know?" You raised an eyebrow at him

"Because i know you would never do something like that and besides you don't even know anything about football" He responded casually

Your eyes suddenly widen in shock when you remembered what Kara told you, Tears started flowing in your eyes again.

Julian held you by the shoulders in concern "Hey what's wrong?"

"I-If I don't give the play book they'll" You paused with hiccup "Get me and my family evicted..."

Julian's lips curled into an apologetic smile, he then wraps his arms around you, placing a loving kiss on your forehead.

"I'll make sure that'll never happen, I won't let Brian or anyone get to you again okay?"

"Okay...But seriously Julian, you didn't have to go all out just for me"

"You're worth it"

#playchoices #play choices #choices game #choices stories you play #choices #pixelberry #hss #high school story #julian x mc #julian castillo #oneshot #random

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waketothefire · 3 years ago

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CANON MUSES

ARTHUR MORGAN (Red Dead Redemption 2)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; thirty-six +Arthur Morgan has been an outlaw almost his entire life. He’s been running with the Dutch van der Linde gang since he was fifteen years old. Friends have come and gone, and some have even died. The gang is his family, however, and he’ll do whatever’s necessary to take care of them. +FC: tbd +tw: death, robbery, animal death, guns, murder

BLAKE LANGERMANN (Outlast 2)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; thirties +Lynn Langermann is an investigative journalist and her husband, Blake, happy to behind the camera instead of in front of it. While investigating the murder of a pregnant woman in the desert of Arizona, their helicopter crashes into the middle of Hell. Lynn is taken hostage by cultists, leaving Blake to save her. He is not a fighter and can only run, hide, or die. +FC: avan jogia +tw: gore, body mutilation, demons/occult, blood, death, animal death, human experimentation, rape, cannibalism, murder, torture, child death, forced pregnancy, forced abortion

BOBBY SMITH (NoPixel GTA RP)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; thirty-six +Born in Dallas, Texas, Bobby had made it his dream to play professional football. He started to reconsider after the death of his twin sister, Matilda, in a drive by shooting when they were fifteen. After having his ankle stepped on during a game, he was forced to change his plans. Bobby became a cop in Dallas before moving to Los Santos, San Andreas where he eventually became the Chief of Police. Rather than honestly rising through the ranks, however, he used his relationship with his now ex-husband to get there. +FC: tbd +tw: guns, drugs, robbery, murder

CHARON (Fallout 3)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; 200+ +Charon doesn’t remember anything about his life before the bombs fell over 200 years ago. He doesn’t remember the time when his skin was soft and smooth. He doesn’t remember his real name. All he remembers is being Charon, forced to do the bidding of whoever holds his contract. +FC: none +tw: human experimentation, brainwashing, body horror, guns, murder, cannibalism, death, torture, war

DAVE TORRES (The Edge of Sleep)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; twenty-nine +Ever since he was born, Dave has struggled with nightmares. They kept him awake at night and he was passed from doctor to doctor, all of them unable to find a treatment. Diagnosed with parasomnia and REM sleep behavior disorder, a normal life isn’t exactly in the cards for him. Dave was finally able to some form of normalcy as an adult, until suddenly one day, everyone who feel asleep didn’t wake up. +FC: mark fishbach +tw: death, nightmares, self harm, attempted sexual assault, torture, guns

DEBRA MORGAN (Dexter)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis woman; she/her; thirties +Debra Morgan is a damn good cop and she knows it. Her dad was a cop and motivated her to be where she is now. There’s a lot of serial killers in Miami, but she knows how to handle them. The politics that come with her job however? Well... +FC: jennifer carpenter +tw: death, murder, serial killers, guns, blood, needles

EDDIE BROCK/VENOM (Venom 2018)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +trans man; he/him; thirty-eight +Eddie Brock had always been known as an investigative reporter who found at the truth, no matter what. When trying to crack open the Life Foundation, he came into contact with an alien parasite that calls itself Venom. Now with another voice in his head, he suddenly gained incredible powers that came with an insatiable hunger. +FC: tom hardy +tw: body horror, cannibalism, death, murder, human experimentation

EDDIE MUNSON (Stranger Things)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; twenty +to be added. +FC: joseph quinn +tw: monsters, murder, death, blood, guns, body horror, human experimentation, body mutilation, period typical homophobia, gore, drug use

GENJI SHIMADA (Overwatch)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +trans man; he/him; thirty-five +Son of the infamous Shimada clan, Genji was born into wealth and power. His interests, however, drew him into a reckless lifestyle. After the death of his father, and the protection he provided, Genji was nearly killed by his older brother, Hanzo. After being saved by Overwatch, he was built a new body and worked with their stealth subdivision, Blackwatch. After the fall of Overwatch, Genji traveled the world and ended up in the apprenticeship of an omnic monk named Zenyatta. With him, Genji learned patience and to accept his body. Rekindling his relationship with Hanzo has become his main goal. +FC: tbd +tw: fratricide, body horror, amputation, human experimentation, transphobia, death, murder, body mutilation

JAMES BUCHANAN “BUCKY” BARNES (Marvel)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +cis man; he/him; 100+ +He isn’t sure if he’s more human than weapon, more Bucky than Winter Soldier. His memories from before the brainwashing and torture are still fuzzy. The world doesn’t know if Bucky Barnes is a war hero of World War 2, or one of history’s most verifying murderers. And at this point, he doesn’t know either. +FC: sebastian stan +tw: brain washing, torture, death, guns, human experimentation. amputation, internalized homophobia, period typical homophobia

JOHN SILVER (Black Sails)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses (brought over from @longsilvcr) +cis man; he/him; twenty-nine to thirty-two (season dependent) +Most everyone has heard the legend on Long John Silver. He was a pirate feared by many. Those who knew him personally, knew him long before he became a ghost story, knew the real him. From the beginning he was a thief, one that would turn on anyone for his own gain. Since he held no loyalties to anyone but himself, cared for no one but himself, betraying others was so easy. But then he grew attached. He had never wanted to be a pirate, but he had little choice. It was a chance for freedom. It broke him, what he endured to protect his crew. The loss of his leg, however, sent him spiraling down. Where he was once a man with the means to accomplish anything, he was left an invalid, a broken man with anger in his veins. His crew where the only thing in his life keeping him afloat. The war for Nassau was the only thing that gave him purpose. +FC: luke arnold +tw: amputation, disability slurs, guns, death, murder, past child abuse, sex work

KLAUS HARGREEVES/NUMBER 4 (Umbrella Academy)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +genderfluid, he/they, thirty +info to be added. +FC: robert sheehan +tw: death, torture, human experimentation, drug use, sex work, child abuse, gore, murder

SCAR (Alien Vs. Predator)

+tag ➜ photos +cis male; he/him; unknown +To his kind, humans are ideal prey due to their intelligence. In the Earth year 2004, Scar came to the backwater planet for his rite of passage, but in the end became allies with a human woman in order to survive. Despite the ideas he’s always had about humans, he got to see a glimpse of their potential as hunters. +FC: none +tw: death, murder, torture, body mutilation, body horror, gore, blood

VASILY SAZKALJOVICH (NoPixel GTA RP)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +trans man; he/him; twenty-three +When Vasily’s father suddenly went missing, he left Russia and came to Los Santos, San Andreas to find him. He quickly became absorbed by the city, drawn to the idea of riches made through less than legal means. Settling himself into his new life, Vasily opened the tattoo parlor Blazing Tattoo as an artist. +FC: tbd +tw: guns, robbery, drugs, drug use, internalized homophobia

VIAGO VON DORNA SCHMARTEN SCHEDEN HEIMBURG (What We Do in the Shadows)

+tag ➜ photos ➜ verses +genderfluid; he/him or they/them or she/her; 380+ +info to be added. +FC: taika waititi +tw: blood, demons/occult, gore, death

#canon muses #muses #do not reblog

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danishmiilk · 5 years ago

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kiss, marry, kill 🏹 🔪

pairing || kim doyoung (did not appear so tbh what is the point but it’s funny i swear) x fem!reader

genre || crack

warnings || swearing

au || idol!doyoung x haechan’s sister!reader

word count || 1.3k

summary || friday game night at the dreamies’, where they force you to admit that you like doyoung + you’re haechan’s sister and you visit them every friday

note || you’re a 00′ liner! i decided that there aren’t enough doyoung fics with this kind of setting and i love the party games so here goes

“Let’s play a gameeee,” Jisung whined from his position on the couch, tangling his fingers in Chenle’s orange hair to pull himself up. It was Friday game night at the dreamies’ dorm, which was a big deal. You and the dreamies would sit around the living room with numerous card, board and video games strewn around the floor while ordering takeout for all the food you could get your hands on. These nights normally ended with the ‘127 hyungs’ bursting into the dorm a few days later and cleaning the place up for you. These cleaning sessions were normally accompanied by grumbles of, “damned pigsty” “how do the kids even live in here”. You would like to stress that nobody asked them to come down and clean the dorm because the dreamies were perfectly fine living in the poor excuse of lodgings (after all, dirty was their natural habitat), and to quote CEO Chen’s indignant comment in Mandarin, “Nobody told them they had to clean up for us! We’re perfectly fine! Now what they COULD do would be to actually cook lunch for us, because setting the whole building on fire is something nobody wants to do.” Basically, these nights were a disastrous, chaotic mess. Though everyone had to admit - it was an enjoyable one.

This one game night hadn’t been much different from the weekly ones, except (and this was a very big except) that Jisung had tripped over the carpet and spilled a whole bowl of ramen onto the gaming control, which now ceased to work. “And what do you suggest we play, monsieur Jisung? Our video game night is ruined, so thanks a lot,” Renjun groaned in obvious boredom and displeasure, finally looking up from his phone to slap Jisung’s thigh, “Oh and by the way, you’re buying us a new gaming control. We were just going to pool our money to get one for Christmas, but since you��spoilt the machine, I guess our wallets are saved!” “Hyung~ I said I’m sorry! Now please please please let’s play something, I’m about to be bored to death,” Jisung pouted slightly and schooled his expression into a pleading one, with those puppy-dog eyes that always worked on his hyungs. “Fine, fine,” Jeno succumbed to the magical power of those enthralling eyes and reluctantly peeled himself off the ramen-soup-stained floor, “Should we play... blind man’s bluff?” “God, Jeno, you’re really no fun,” Donghyuck threw a rainbow-coloured sequined pillow across the room, hitting Jeno’s face perfectly. “Bullseye.” “What should we play then?” You huffed slightly impatiently. All this banter was getting you nowhere. Seeing a conspirational glance pass between Hyuck and Jaemin, you should have gotten suspicious and said no immediately, but curiosity got the better of you. “Kiss, marry, kill,” identical smug grins appeared on both the boys’ faces as they chorused the name of the suggested game. “How do you play that,” Renjun asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Did he not play that game in China, or was the game they played just another variation? You laughed and explained, “Okay, so we’ll give you three or more names, and you have to choose one person each to kiss, marry and kill. Hyuck can go first!”

“Hmm... y/n, Mark-hyung and Jeno,” Jaemin leaned forward eagerly, eyes twinkling. “Wait... can we come to an agreement that whatever is said in this game, stays in this game?” Everyone nodded, knowing that there was to be countless litres of tea spilled during this game, making for extremely convenient blackmail. (You realised by now that nobody planned on keeping this promise). “Well... Hyuck?” Your brother shifted uncomfortably in his seat before opening and closing his mouth like a fish. You knew that he’d already come to arrive at his answer, but just could not gather the courage to actually speak it. “Go on, Hyuck, when have we ever judged you?” Jaemin stared at him with a smile that was probably supposed to be encouraging, but ended up looking creepy and maniacal. “Okay, well there was the time he tried to put cheese into his milk tea and you screamed at h-” “No, Jun, we don’t talk about that. Putting cheese into milk tea is literally a crime,” Jaemin slammed a hand over Renjun’s mouth, all the while smiling crazily at Donghyuck. “Uhh... you don’t convince me, but firstly I guess I’d kill y/n? I mean I don’t want to commit incest and she’s my sister so I’ll just throw her a grand funeral and be done with it.” You clasped a hand to your chest, pretending to be mortally hurt by your brother’s words, jerking like you just got shot, “For the 127th time, words can hurt, Hyuck! I-I’m so hurt- I’m d-dying” Ignoring your show completely, Haechan continued, “Then... I wouldn’t marry anyone I can’t kiss, and since we can kiss without any feelings involved, I’d kiss Jeno? And then gargle with holy water. Yeah I’m done, let’s continue.” “One sec, you need to say ‘I’ll marry *your choice*’ before you’re finished,” Jaemin grinned at him. “i’ll marry... Mark-hyung,” the tips of Hyuck’s ears turned red while he spoke, casting his eyes downward. “Hyuck-hyung likes Mark-hyung?” Jisung asked, eyes widening, “Wait, does that mean they’re dating?” “I do not like Mark-hyung! And even if I did, he wouldn’t like me back,” Haechan mumbled in obvious disappointment, “But anyway, enough about me! Y/n can go next!” “OOOOOOH, I KNOW HER CRUSH!” Renjun suddenly jumped up and down with glee, “LET ME ASK HER THE QUESTION.” Your eyes narrowed, shooting daggers at Renjun, whom you had only told your crush to because you were the closest to him among the NCT members and nobody tells their brother their crush. Chenle nodded quickly before telling Renjun in Mandarin, “Renjun-ge, force her to reveal her crush when she answers ‘marry’” “Chenle you little shit- I SPEAK CHINESE TOO,” you yelled in betrayal.

“Whatever, y/n. Hmm, Doyoung, Taeyong and Chenle, kiss, marry, and kill.” “Firstly, I would kill Chenle after subjecting him to hours of starvation and torture,” you basically spat in Chenle’s direction, extracting a sound of displeasure from him, “I’m too young and rich to die!” “Then, uhhh, I guess I’ll kiss Taeyong?” You were getting more uncomfortable by the minute and the dreamies could see it. “And who would you marry?” Renjun wriggled his eyebrows. “I won’t say it! I don’t want to!” You could feel your ears heating up. “Say it, or I’ll tell Taeyong-hyung that you want to kiss him,” Renjun threatened you, completely disregarding the privacy agreement. “Damn you, you bastard,” You called him some very attractive names in Mandarin before muttering at the lowest volume you could muster, “I’ll marry Doyoung, okay?”

The whole dorm exploded into cheers, like they were cheering for their favourite football team winning the English Premier League or something. “How long have you liked Doyoung-hyung for?” “Would you KEEP IT DOWN? 127′s dorm is upstairs! WHAT IF THEY HEAR YOU,” you shouted hysterically. “HEAR WHAT,” Johnny’s voice floated down from the floor above. “Fuck. NOTHING!” you replied. “And... about two years? Ever since the empathy era?” “Noona, you and Doyoung-hyung should get married! Then invite me! And give me free food! And get hyung to cook, his cooking is amazing!” Jisung chirped excitedly from the side, running around the living room. His next step brought his bare foot into the empty bowl of ramen which he had spilt earlier, and he tripped... falling face-first into the table of food that you had ordered, spilling everything over the floor and making an even BIGGER mess. “Oh. My. God. KUN-GE!!”

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justjessame · 4 years ago

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First A Moses, Then A Cooper Chapter 1

Making dinner as my son and daughter fought over one of their many shared tech gadgets, I had to ask myself if Will and I were sane for wanting a third. With him working constantly, and me doing the brunt of rearing our little demons, I had to think that a third child might be outside the realm of my abilities.

“J, Mira, stop fighting!” I snarled it, causing both kids to look up at me from their spot just inside the living room and I knew I had hit my limit and also stopped being the mother they knew and expected. “Dad called and we’re having guests for dinner.” I hoped that helped them understand, but they continued to stare. “WORK guests.” That got them moving, suddenly they were working to straighten the living room and they were miraculously using their inside voices. “Thank you!” I went back to working on dinner, trying to decide if the last minute additions were foodies, or if they’d make due with comfort foods.

“Honey?” I heard Will’s voice, and sighed as I put the finishing touches on the table. “Michelle,” and then his warmth was surrounding me and a ton of my extra tension started to relax. How he could manage to do that would be a mystery forever. “Something smells delicious.” He was saying it into the side of my neck so I had no doubts that he didn’t mean our dinner.

“Yeah, is that pot roast?” Another voice, bringing me back to the reality that we were having guests for dinner and that our kids would be in attendance. Damn it. “Sorry,” the man didn’t look sorry, he looked like he was holding back laughter at Will and I wrapped up in one another.

“Michelle, sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Frank Moses.” My eyes widened, I couldn’t help it, I KNEW who this was even if his face wasn’t familiar. Will moved on, introducing the two other guests who made up the ragtag band who would add to our table. I barely listened, even though their names were known to me too. None hit me like Frank’s. “Honey?” I looked up at my husband, seeing him staring at me with confusion.

I shook off my look of amazement, and smiled reassuringly. “Welcome to our home,” I offered to the trio as our kids joined us, clearly hearing the additional voices. “This is our son, James and our daughter Mira.” I saw Frank look at both my children and then back at me. Clearly trying to place me, but he wasn’t having much luck. And he wouldn’t, because my mother made certain that no one would ever know just who I really was. I gave a silent prayer of thanks and told everyone to get comfortable at the table while I brought dinner in. Will was on my heels, offering to help, but I knew my very observant husband had questions.

“Chell?” I smiled up at him as I handed him the lined bread basket that I filled with warm rolls. “Honey, why did you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Licking my lips, I carefully arranged the roast onto a serving tray, then moved to grab the dish I had ready for the potatoes and carrots. “Michelle -”

“We have guests, Will,” I reminded him, swallowing the dry lump in the back of my throat because I HAVE seen a ghost. Just one that I knew about while no one else in the house did. “We can’t be rude.”

Of all the men I could have married, I picked William Cooper, one of the most observant men on the planet AND one who had the most in common with my birth parents even if he had no clue about that. He was studying me while I carefully filled the bowls with starches, then vegetables, then made certain the gravy boat was filled just full enough, adding the silver ladle my mother had gifted us with on our wedding day.

“Michelle Cooper, we will be having a conversation about whatever it is that has you on edge as soon as our guests are settled in for the night-” Wait, what? “It’s one night, sweetheart,” one night, I thought, feeling my tension ratchet up to a fifteen. “I know they look like a -” he stopped, considering how to describe the mess of a trio he’d brought home. “It’s one night.” I nodded. “A nice long, hot bubble bath with your husband should do the trick,” I smirked, and they said torture was outlawed. “You and me, Mrs. Cooper, after dinner.”

Will’s voice, when he wanted it to, could take on an octave that I swore could make me do things that nothing else could. He would laugh and say I was being silly, but I’d squint and challenge him back with the theory that he used it to get sources to do his bidding in all manner of terrible and wonderful ways. Since I didn’t have the type of security clearance that could either refute or prove my theory we would forever be at a stalemate on this particular argument.

“Take the bread out and come back for another load, Mr. Cooper.” My order was tempered by the lingering kiss I couldn’t help but give him. “Our guests will be more likely to settle in faster with full bellies.”

Surreal, that’s how dinner felt to me as I sat at the foot of our dining room table while Will sat at the head, J and Mira sat on one side and Frank flanked the woman he’d brought along - Sarah Ross - while Marvin Ross sat on her other side, the last to taste any of the food set before him - as if I’d poison guests in my home. Frank Moses, a man I’d heard stories about long before I’d met Will - I tried to show no extra interest in the man, not with my overly observant husband keeping watch, but it was a difficult thing. How would anyone manage such a task after the hero in their bedtime stories was plunked down to have dinner with them?

Lucky for me, Sarah seemed as ill at ease as I felt, and while I grew quiet, she grew talkative.

“So -” she smiled across the table at my children, both sitting straight and behaving as they were expected with people from Dad’s work in attendance. “What grades are you guys in?”

James answered first, his voice loud enough to be heard, but not too loud - Will’s pride shining as he listened to his son answer without faltering. “I’m in ninth grade.” He’d put his fork and knife down and was looking Sarah in the face. Eye contact was important when carrying on a conversation, something we’d worked on after the bullying incident when Frank Moses had first come into Will’s orbit. “I’m first string on the football team this year.” He was proud of that accomplishment, and so were we. It had been a tough won feat, and J had earned it.

Not to be outdone, Mira waited until her older brother finished, since we did have guests and etiquette was important, at least around strangers. “And I’m in eighth.” I smiled at Will, his eyes almost glowing across the full length of our table in pride. “I prefer dance.” Her tiny chin went up a notch as if daring any of the trio across from her to argue that dance was a lesser endeavor than football.

“Ballet or -” It was Marvin, not Sarah who asked the follow up and I shot a look his way to make certain it wasn’t coming at her in a mocking way, but he looked both sincere and interested - well knock me over with a feather.

“I do ballet, but also tap, jazz, modern, hip-hop,” Mira’s smile grew as she spoke and so did mine. I loved the passion that my children showed for anything - be it J’s football or love of drawing, or Mira’s need to move, watching them light up just from discussing it was enough to make me happy.

“You’re quite the accomplished tiny dancer,” Marvin’s smile wasn’t one I might find safe if seen in the wild, but at my own table with my husband close at hand I found it kind.

“And what do you do, Michelle?” I wasn’t expecting it. The question nor the person who asked it. I know I flinched and I know that it wasn’t only caught by Will. “I’m sorry, was that too forward of me?”

“Not at all,” managing to find my smile again by focusing on J and Mira I turned to face Frank. “I take care of my family, Mr. Moses.”

“She’s being modest,” Will cut in and my eyes flicked to him. “She’s not JUST a housewife, not that there’s anything wrong with that.” My eyes narrowed at the implication that anyone who made their family’s lives easier by being a homemaker was somehow less than, it was something Will had pointed out to me on multiple occasions. “Chell writes. She’s a published writer.” His eyebrows rose as if to dare me to contradict him, but I couldn’t, he was telling the truth.

“What have you written?” Sarah, clearly someone who couldn’t stand silence - awkward or not - wanted more information. “Maybe we’ve read it.”

“I’m sure you have,” Will’s smile was growing and my eyes were narrowing again. The tease. “She wrote ---” And there it was, him literally removing my mask and letting these three know my nom de plume, my secret identity - I should have told him I was going to have to kill him.

“Wow,” Sarah’s mouth dropped open and a large part of me hoped this meant she would be rendered speechless and dinner could go back to being eaten. “That’s -”

“Impressive,” Frank’s eyes were on me, and I inhaled deeply and met his gaze. “Where do you get your ideas?”

Shit, I internally added money to the swear jar that we didn’t actively use anymore - and hadn’t for years now, but honestly. Trust my husband to out me to this man, a man who he had NO idea was someone I’d known about for YEARS before he did, and now here were were face to face and HE wanted to now where I got MY ideas for books that - if someone wanted to hold a microscope up to them - bore a striking resemblance to a lot of what HE had a hand in over the years. Fuck.

“I have an EXCELLENT imagination.” I offered, thanking my genetics, my birth parents, and God above for the ability to lie the way I could.

“Yeah, I guess you do,” he looked like he might believe me. Maybe.

I took a drink out of my glass of wine and swallowed carefully. “Eat up, I’m sure you could use a good night’s rest.” Because I sure as hell could.

#william cooper/oc #red 2010 #alternative universe #after the film #slow burn #Frank Moses/oc

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mikeyhatesit113 · 4 years ago

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forever and never: Chapter 11

It’s 2009, and Janie and I are driving home from a nice dinner. The radio is up, and Janie is singing along to the old-school hip-hop melody blaring from the speakers.

Janie closes her eyes, vibing to the music.

“It’s all because of you, I’m feeling sad and blue, You went away, now my life is filled with rainy days...”

Janie opens her eyes and points to me from the passenger seat, smirking.

“I love you so, how much you’ll never know, Cause you took your dope away from me.”

I had fallen deeply for her.

But suddenly, I felt like I was just falling.

I jolt awake in my bed. A crash landing back to reality.

Of course, I hadn’t been in that deep of a sleep anyway. In fact, the only thing in the world I wanted was to fall into a deep sleep.

It had to be late night, for the room was full of darkness.

A lonely pit of hell.

But I wasn’t completely alone, per se. No, my imagination was right there with me, leering at me through the endless black.

It wasted no time in reminding me that I was alone on top of a box spring mattress cushioned by only blankets, and she was in another bed. Somewhere else. With someone else.

Doing whatever else.

Not that my brand new queen-sized bed would have been much more comfortable.

The queen-sized bed that was still sitting in our townhouse unoccupied, I hoped.

The $1600 queen-sized bed I had bought for her just 2 weeks prior to our breakup because her back hurt.

The queen-sized bed I had told her not to sleep on. And in a futile effort to provide an obstacle, I threw my clothes and football jerseys on top of it before I left the house.

If her and Steppenwolf wanted to have sex on it, they’d have to remove my clothing or just do the deed on top of my Tony Romo jerseys. Of course, neither scenario would be romantic for them, I was willing to bet.

And 48 hours after my Labor Day Sunday departure, my buddy and I were hauling that queen-sized bed out of the house and onto a box truck.

The same exact box truck I had used just two years prior when I moved out during the Corey incident.

But it would be for good, this time. That’s what I kept telling myself. After all that had happened, and all that I knew, I couldn’t see any sort of reality where we’d embrace eachother again.

My buddy and I searched the house for anything that was solely mine.

Anything that was ours? I left behind.

Furniture, lamps, the kitchen table, pots, pans, cups...etc.

Her children didn’t deserve to return to the skeletal remains of a place they knew as home. In fact, it was rather depressing how normal the place still looked after I removed all of my things.

It was as if I hadn’t existed at all, which was the goal.

However, when it came to things that were considered ours, I made one single exception.

My car.

The beautiful Lancer that she loved was coming with me, as it was solely in my name and I couldn’t risk a repossession.

After we slid the back of the box truck shut, I went inside the house and soaked in the deathly silence of a place that had seemed to hold so much love at times.

Our pictures still on the wall. Our leftovers still in the refrigerator.

I tossed my house key on the kitchen table that had held countless dinners and meals. I walked out the door, ready to leave it all behind me.

After dropping all of my worldly possessions off in a tiny 5x10 storage unit and then returning the box truck, my buddy and I sped through town in the Lancer.

That night, I was serenaded by a different tune as my buddy belted out the lyrics to The Black Keys’ “Next Girl”.

“Oh my next girl Will be nothing like my ex-girl. I made mistakes back then, I’ll never do it again. Oh my next girl, She will be nothing like my ex-girl. It was a painful dance, Now I got a second chance.”

Of course, that moment in the car with my buddy was one of the few high points.

High points came in small numbers, while the valleys I staggered through were innumerable.

No one wants to speak of those. No one wants to live through them.

That’s why many people hop from one person to the next with no time lapse in between, to avoid in the pain.

But it’s the only way.

The only way out of the fire was through the inferno.

I could not eat. I couldn’t sleep. I could not shut my mind off. This went on for days.

I fall out just long enough to wake up in sweat, tortured by mental images and physical heartache.

I’d look at my phone, a part of me begging to see her number.

A missed call. A text message. Something to show me that she still cared.

Something to let me know that she was hurting too. A single hope, no matter how faint, that she was thinking of me too.

I’d get no such relief.

I was angry to be alone, but other times, that’s all I wanted. I wanted the consolation from others. I needed to hear people assure me that it was going to be ok. But just as important, I needed them to abruptly leave me the fuck alone when I wanted space.

I had been a step-dad for 4 strong years. I had watched the boys grow. I had bought Janie nice gifts. Holidays, birthdays, family gatherings...

But as a step-parent, you have to accept something; if your relationship fails, then it all goes away.

The kids you took care of? No longer yours.

The responsibilities you shared together? Not your problem anymore.

You were merely a spoke in the wheel, and the wheel will continue spinning without you.

My friends and family were incredibly patient with me. I needed to talk about my pain quite a bit, and they always dropped what they were doing to hear me out.

Listen to me repeat myself, and question how she could act as if nothing ever happened.

They knew what to say during times I was simply inconsolable.

I remember the day I began to see a slight glimmer of hope.

My uncle and I had just returned from a pizza shop, where I ordered a sub I could not bring myself to eat, and we were sitting at home. Dusk was approaching, and as usual, I felt the dread rising in my chest.

Another sleepless night on the horizon with nothing but haunting thoughts and memories.

My grandmother arrived home shortly after we did, and she saw me sitting on the front porch agonizing over Janie, stuck in the same old routine of beating myself up.

“Michael,” she said. “You think she’s this great person, and she isn’t. You put her up on this...pedestal...and she isn’t all that,” she said angrily. “She’s NOT all that. Fuck her!”

A silence followed her words, as my moment of sadness was interrupted by the utter shock of hearing Helen Pper use the F word. It happened less often than viewing Haley’s Comet.

She was serious, and she was tired of seeing me hurt over someone she never cared for in the first place.

“She seemed rather fake,” she said, recalling dinners she attended that Janie had invited her to. “She wanted everyone to believe she was perfect.”

There was something about that moment that propelled me forward, and over the next week, being by myself got a little easier, and moments with my friends became more entertaining.

I felt normality creeping back in, and I welcomed it with open arms.

Sleep had even got a tad bit better, especially when I came home one day to find a brand new twin bed mattress and box spring sitting in the hallway.

My grandmother simply had the handbook on giving a shit about me, and giving me hope when all else seemed lost.

That’s the kind of woman she was. You never had to ask. She always just did.

As fate would have it though, fools always find a way to rush in.

And one day, Janie called me.

“How’s it going?” she asked me.

“It’s ok,” I replied.

“I’ve been ok,” she said. “I went hiking.”

This caught me off guard, because if my memory served me correctly, Janie was never into hiking.

“I reached the top of this peak,” she said, beginning to sob on the other end of the phone. “I was sweaty and dirty, but I was just so damn proud of myself. It was beautiful, and I cried, because I just wanted to tell you all about it,” she said.

I listened to her words, trying to understand this new version of her. After 3 weeks apart, and she sounded like a new person.

“Who’d you go hiking with?” I asked.

“A few friends from work,” she replied.

“Is Steppenwolf around?” I asked.

“No, we’re just friends,” she said.

We didn’t speak of divorce, and we said nothing about finalizing the distance between us. Which gave me hope, and then I asked...

“Can I see the boys?”

“Uh.”

“I really miss them, and I’d love to see them.”

“I dunno, Ekim. It doesn’t feel like the right time,” she said apologetically.

We hung up, and I was alone again.

On a damp, dreary evening, hope had visited. And then it left as quickly as it had come.

Days later though, it returned. With a vengeance.

“Let’s grab dinner,” she said.

We chose a local steakhouse, and as we sat in the dim decorative lights, we talked about how life had treated us the past few weeks.

We laughed. We responded to eachother’s quirks and quips.

Suddenly, we were in sync again.

One thing led to another, and we decided to spend the night together.

Not at my grandmother’s house, though. And not at the house we had shared together up until 3 weeks ago.

For some reason, she didn’t want to go back there that night.

“We should get a hotel together,” she said with the excitement of a spontaneous backpacker.

“Yeah!” I agreed quickly, feeling myself fall for her all over again. It was as if I had willingly forgiven, and forgotten about, all the pain I had just lived through.

None of that mattered now. She cared about me. She missed me.

We had found eachother. One more thing we’d overcome.

We were in love again.

We ran back to our respective homes and packed overnight bags. I came downstairs, and my grandmother looked at me curiously.

“Where ya headed, kiddo?” she asked.

“Oh, my buddy is having a video game party tonight, so I’ll just sleep there and go to work in the morning,” I said. “Oh, ok,” she said with a smile. “Have a good time!”

I ran out the door, and my car sped to the hotel we had decided on. She met me in the parking lot, and we went into the room together.

That night, I suppressed all thoughts of why we couldn’t just go home to spend the night together.

The only thing I cared about was having her back in my arms, where we both belonged. No matter how cheap the room felt, or how strange it looked with the nearby restaurant lights creeping through the blinds.

We were together again.

The next morning, I showered, got ready, and left that hotel room for work as she also got ready for work. Our two separate camps probably wouldn’t be fond of hearing where we’d spent the night, and we had no intention of telling them.

We were married, what was it their business?

So what if they had spent the past few weeks gluing our pieces back together? That didn’t mean we owed them anything. If they were truly on our side, they’d support us no matter what.

Of course, that night at the hotel was simply a spark that relit our inferno.

Blazing. White hot. Consuming.

The next night, we met at a bar to watch a football game, like old times. Afterwards, after 3 long weeks, I finally returned home.

We walked back through the front door as different people, but after taking one step inside, my eyes seemed to be deceiving me.

There had been far more changes than I thought.

Nothing was the same.

And it wouldn’t be.

“And now I’m running to you, trying to find myself, But I don’t even know where to start. I guess that time has a way of keeping nothing the same, Cuz I don’t even know who you are. Oh, I hate this feeling. You don’t feel like home.” Papa Roach “Feel Like Home”

NOTE: Though this is my side of the story, including my own personal recollections and opinions, the reader should not consider this note anything other than a work of literature. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

#never #forever #marriage #karma #taylor swift #broken #papa roach #relationships #breakups #depression #relationship advice #marriedlife #divorce #suicide #mental health #self help #counselling

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

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Chapter 32 - SBT

Here it is!

"Hey, Sir! You're M, right?"

Mundy looked down, a few kids had run to him as he was about to hop on his van after his sandwich.

"Yeah, that's me."

"We got a message from L for you. He says to go to Maurice's street and be there at 3pm sharp!"

Mundy rolled his eyes at the 'sharp'. Yep, that did look like something that posh snob would say alright.

"That's in…" He looked at his watch. "Half an hour. Alright, I'll be there, thanks kids."

"You're welcome, bye!"

And the kids darted away while Mundy hopped in his van. He fastened his seatbelt and started the engine.

"Right, off to Maurice's then…"

He pushed the button on his radio and the song diffused in the air. It reminded him of the chat he had with Lulu, the singer. Ha, foolish Mundy thought the man would understand him. How could he, when all the sheilas who saw him admired him? Surely the man knew nothing about loneliness, he could have a different sheila wrapped around him every single night.

Mundy glanced at his inside rear view mirror and back in front of him.

And he was cheeky that singer! He did say that he did know what solitude meant. No! He didn't! Or maybe he did but not like Mundy. No one knew it like him, apart maybe from L. Yeah, L understood. He had lost everything a decade ago and lived like the ghost of himself ever since. Yeah, like Mundy.

The van stopped and Mundy hopped off. He leaned against the back of it and lit one of his cheap cigarettes. The contrast in quality with L's ones struck him at first. If the Frenchie's taste in clothes was odd, at least his taste in cigarettes was good.

Mundy took a drag off of it and blew the smoke away. He had a few minutes to kill so he just stayed there, watching the kids play football in the streets, the last beggars in the queue lining up for some soup, if some was left.

Suddenly, the children all rushed to the pavement and out of their playground to the motorcycle than came in the street. Mundy's eyebrows jumped. He didn't know much about motorcycles but that was a beaut' of a thing!

It stopped a house or so away from his van and its driver got off of it. He was dressed in a suit and tie, navy blue.

Nah, it can't be L, can it? The bloke can't drive that.

The kids went to the driver and he crouched to be at eye-level with them.

"Your motorcycle's amazing!" One of them said. "Can I touch it again? Please!"

The group of kids were overly excited about the beautiful vehicle. It was slim, black with a dark red sheen. The driver opened the visor.

"You may, and I will need you to keep an eye on it and on this…" The driver removed his helmet and Mundy realised that indeed it had been none other than L…

"Tell Maurice that I am trusting him with it, d'accord?"

[Agreed?]

"Yeah!" The kids cheered as Lucien left his motorcycle behind and approached Mundy.

"You may close your jaw." He was smirking. "Argh, and what kind of tobacco is this?! Is it even tobacco?" Lucien swooshed the air in front of his nose while wincing. He took Mundy's cigarette from his very fingers and dropped it on the floor before crushing it under his sole.

"Oi! That was my bloody cig'!"

"You call that a cigarette? That was poison you were inhaling!"

"Yeah, isn't that exactly a cigarette, mate?"

"Urgh…" Lucien rolled his eyes up. "In any case, what did you see that made you drop your jaw like this…" The Frenchman looked back in the direction that Mundy had been staring at. "The motorcycle? Ah, oui, it is quite beautiful. I did not know you were a connaisseur."

"It wasn't the bike, although it looks good yeah, never seen any like it before. No, it was you with the kids."

"Me?" Lucien repeated. "What did I do?"

"You were bein' nice with them!"

"Ah, and that surprised you? What do you think I am? These are only children, of course I will be nice to them!"

"Spook, I did see you torture-mh?!"

Lucien smacked his hand in front of Mundy's mouth.

"Not in front of the children!" He whispered with gritted teeth before removing his gloved hand. "You are lucky they are distracted with my motorcycle…"

"Ah, yeah, right… Anyway, you wanted me here, why?" Mundy asked.

"Because I had no idea where else we could meet. We need to have a chat somewhere calm." Lucien said.

"Uh… We could try at Maurice's?"

"Let us try then."

They went in front of the house and after introducing themselves as L and M, a beggar explained to them that Maurice was actually not in and he couldn't let them in. So a few minutes later, both men were back in the dirty street.

"You are the native here, where else can we go?" Lucien asked.

"Uh, I don't know…"

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"And I thought your knowledge as an Australian would be useful…" He walked to the passenger's door on the van. He opened it and slipped in.

"Oi, oi, you stop right there!" Mundy opened the driver's door and looked at his uninvited guest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lucien fastened his seatbelt and looked around him.

"Would you rather hop on my motorcycle? I don't imagine so, even though the seat there is infinitely more comfortable than this… Go on then, hop on and start driving, I will show you a place."

Mundy sighed.

"Spook, I swear…"

The Aussie hopped in and turned the key. The van woke up and she got away from Maurice's street. Mundy took a glance at his passenger. He was sniffing the air and squinting.

"The smell?" Mundy asked. "It's Dior, mate."

Lucien chuckled.

"I wish it were. Non, Christian never made such an atrocity. Continue straight."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"I told you it's Dior, not Christian or whatever. Still straight after that light?"

"Oui… Bushman, Dior is his last name, Christian is his first name."

"What?!"

Lucien rolled up his eyes.

"And whatever it is, it smells of apricots and he doesn't like them. Non, Christian most definitely would never design such a stench. What is it?" Lucien looked left and right, looking for the origin of the smell.

"Hold on, you talk like you know the bloke?" Mundy looked at him briefly, confused.

"I do."

"Shut your mouth!"

Lucien chuckled.

"Again, you are free to believe that I am lying, Bushman." He smirked. "Take it left now."

"Yeah, well…" Mundy was unsure if he was believing Lucien. "And to answer you, it's this thingy here that smells of apricots." He pointed at the apricot shaped air freshener dangling off of the inside rear view mirror.

"Why apricot of all the smells that exist? Take it right at the next traffic light."

"Because that's what I aim for."

"You shoot apricots in your free time?" Lucien mockingly asked.

"Nah, you genius. There's a part of the brain that we call the apricot. Hit it with a bullet and your target dies before they know what hit them."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"We?" He asked. "Who is that? Hunters? And you may park here."

"Oh, alright. And no, not hunters…" Mundy shook his head. "Snipers."

Lucien's eyes snapped wide.

"You are in the army?"

"Not exactly." Mundy parked and cut the engine. "My dad was one when he was in the army. He showed me how to use a rifle when I was hardly bigger than the damn thing."

They were in a street, the van was at a complete stop and they unfastened their seatbelts.

"But you told me your father hated guns?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, he hated people who came at night and stole our chicken and geese even more. And he liked hunting, he wasn't against the idea of hunting for food, just not for sports."

"Like father, like son." Lucien said. "I see where the respect and love for animals come from."

"Yeah. So he taught me how to use the bloody thing and by the time I had to go and do my service, people noticed my good aim. They tried to get me to enroll but the idea of killing people just didn't make sense to me. I refused, but that's how a lot of people called me back then, Sniper."

Lucien smiled.

"You went from Sniper to Bushman. I do not see an improvement there."

"And you went from Professor Ski to Spook, I don't know who's doin' best here."

"Pff…" They both chuckled and hopped off the van.

Mundy followed Lucien on foot until they arrived in front of an American style diner.

"Oh, I know this place. I've been in this diner before." Mundy said.

"Really?" Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I've had a few breakfasts here, their coffee's nice."

They entered and a waitress came to them.

"Hey guys - oh, L? Is that you under the mask?"

"V, may I introduce my… partner in crime, M."

Victoria looked at the tall man.

"I know him, you came a few times here, haven't you?" Victoria asked.

"Yeah, I did."

"Yeah, you're the coffee and croissant bloke, like L. Except last time you took a muffin."

"You have a bloody good memory." Mundy said.

"Yeah! So, want a table for you two, or are you expecting more people?"

"Non, just the two of us, somewhere calm, please, it is for important business."

"Oh, I see." Victoria answered. "Go to your table, L, I'll make sure no one gets near."

"Many thanks, V."

Bushman and Spook took a seat at the Frenchman's usual table.

"So, what did you want to see me for?" Mundy asked.

"First, choose something from the menu. If we are going to stay in this establishment, we might as well enjoy something to eat."

They took a moment to make their choice.

"I presume you had lunch already?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, you?"

"Likewise. I would go for a dessert…"

"Same. The pancakes look nice."

"I never tried them."

"Might be a lot though, wanna share?"

Lucien raised his eyes off the menu and he met with the lagoon blue ones. And for a split second, he saw it again, the man in the neatly tied ponytail, the black suit, and the shyness, the embarrassment he had to talk about his feelings. The Frenchman smiled.

"But of course."

Mundy smiled.

"Aces. I'll get a coffee with that."

"Which kind?"

"You gonna judge me on my coffee now?" Mundy asked.

"Of course. So, what kind of coffee?"

"I swear Spook…" Mundy shook his head and Lucien wiggled his eyebrows. "Black, there you go, happy?"

"Ooh, manly."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a sheila in case you hadn't noticed, eh."

"Really?" Lucien played on.

"Screw you, Spook… And you, eh? What kind of coffee d'you drink?"

Victoria came at their table, interrupting their banter.

"So, you guys know what you're gonna get?"

"Oui, I think so. After you." Lucien said.

"Right so uh, we'll share the pancakes and uh, a black coffee for me. What about you, Spook?"

"Spook?" Victoria chuckled.

"Don't you think he looks spooky with his mask?"

"True." Victoria said. "Why are you wearing that thing, L?"

"The same reason that you are calling me L." He said. "May I have a cappuccino, señorita?"

[Miss]

Victoria raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"Alright, pancakes, a cappuccino for spooky L and a black coffee for M, is that right?"

"Non" Lucien answered. "I might be 'Spooky L', but then my friend here has to be 'Wild M'."

"Wild M?" Both M and Victoria repeated.

"You, Bushman, you know why and you, Victoria, you don't want to know. Now, please, we have to discuss some business."

"Oh, sure, I'll be quick!"

Lucien nodded in thanks and Victoria left them.

"So, are you gonna finally tell me what you want?"

"I have a lead." Lucien said.

"Alright, I'm listening." Mundy leaned in over the table and whispered.

"You don't need to whisper, Bushman." Lucien shook his head with a smile. "But here is the deal: Duchemin is throwing a party next week. I can get us in."

"What?" Mundy's eyes snapped wide. "How d'you know that? And how are you gonna get us in?"

"A… friend gave me the information." Lucien started to lie. "You surely do not know him, he is a singer. Actually, you might have seen the posters around town a few weeks ago?"

Mundy's eyes snapped wide.

"You mean that French singer? Lulu? The bloke who sings at the Queen Victoria?" His eyes lit up.

"It is him indeed." Lucien went on. "He had two places but he cannot go. He thus gave them to me."

"Wait, you know Lulu?" Mundy asked.

"I do, quite well." Lucien answered. "Why? Do you also know him?" He feigned innocence.

"Yeah, no, I mean, not like a friend, but I uh… I've uh…" Mundy blushed.

"What is it?" Lucien pushed him.

Mundy removed his hat and put a hand behind his neck. He looked down.

"I've uh… I've been to see his shows. He's-he's quite good."

Lucien smirked. Oh that was it, the spy was back in action with the little mind games, he loved it!

"Have you? Lucky you, I know his reputation… What did you think of him?"

"Coffee and pancakes for the gentlemen!" Victoria interrupted them, put everything on the table and left.

"Thanks."

"Merci, V."

She nodded and left the two men alone.

"Where do you know Lulu from?" Mundy asked.

"First, you have to tell me what you thought of him."

"He's… I don't know, he's something else." Mundy helped himself to a pancake and started digging in.

"I am told he is quite talented." Lucien tried to encourage Mundy to tell him what he thought, and took a pancake.

"Mate, you should definitely go and watch him. And you understand French, so it would make maybe more sense to you than it does to me. Funnily enough, he sounds like you, you have the same accent."

Lucien smiled.

"I have even been told that we share some physical resemblance too…"

"Really?" Mundy stared at the Frenchman's face. "Actually, yeah, you have the same eyes roughly and uh… yeah, anyway." Mundy had been about to say that even their lips looked similar, those thin lips.

"Ah, I wish I could go."

"His next show is on Saturday," Mundy said between two bites on his pancake. He let his mouth do the speaking while his head was focusing on the dessert. "The place is awfully posh and you gotta wear a suit and tie - not that it would be a problem for you. It's expensive as all hell too. You'll like it. I can take you if you want."

Lucien's smile couldn't stretch more until that last sentence.

"Are you… inviting me, Bushman?"

Mundy stopped chewing, his eyes snapped wide and he raised his eyes from his pancake. His cheeks were pink.

"Uh, n-no, I mean, it's good music and stuff, and you'd suit the place. I bet you like that kind of posh stuff. Anyway, you've got the right to say no if you don't want to, eh."

"I would love to," Their eyes met, Lucien's looked… different. "But I'm afraid that my evenings are busy."

"Oh, ok, yeah, you got someone at home, I forgot." Mundy said.

"Thank you however, it is very kind of you."

"Mh." Mundy shrugged. "So, you have Lulu's tickets to get in Duchemin's party?"

"Oui. We are quite close friends."

Mundy raised his eyes to Lucien's. He didn't know if there was more to that sentence than just that.

"Although, Bushman, it is no ordinary party."

"What d'you mean?"

"It is a masquerade ball."

"What's that? Oh, don't tell me we have to get costumes…?" Mundy asked.

Lucien nodded.

"I'm afraid so. And that's exactly why I needed to tell you, or rather, ask you."

"Ask me what?" Mundy took a sip of his coffee.

"Do you want to go to that party with me?"

Mundy's cheeks turned red. He swallowed down the coffee and cleared his throat, pretending that it went the wrong way.

"So now you're invitin' me, eh Spook?" He asked.

"Bushman, you have to understand that it won't be any mere party. Criminals and rich men of all backgrounds, all more shady than the next, will be there. Besides, given my resemblance with Lulu, I will go as him."

"Ok."

"Non, you don't understand. Lulu has met Duchemin a few times."

"Did he? Why?" Mundy frowned.

"Don't look so preoccupied, it turns out that Duchemin also enjoys his evenings at the Queen Victoria. He watched a few of Lulu's shows and asked to meet him. What that means is that Duchemin will certainly talk to me as he would to Lulu himself and if you choose to come as my plus one, then he will surely come in contact with you."

"Oh…" Mundy started to realise the challenge.

"And you will have to pretend that you don't want to kill him and even do small talk with him. Are you capable of doing that?"

Mundy frowned and pondered.

"Well… Uh…"

"I can give you a few tips to try and act the part, should you accept, but it will be a nerve-wrecking experience and I don't want to bring you along for you to ruin it all."

"No, 'course not. I uh…" Mundy thought about his parents. Had it not been 'nerve-wrecking' for them when the farm had been set on fire? "I'll come along." He answered.

"Are you sure?" Lucien insisted.

"Yeah."

"You won't shred Duchemin on sight?"

"No."

"You won't run far away and shoot him from there?"

"Spook... So, what's the plan, we get there and then what?"

"I don't intend to kill him there. Even if we manage to get him to be alone, after a few minutes of absence people will start looking for him and we will no doubt get searched and caught. Non, that would be a terrible idea."

"So you just want to have a drink with him?" Mundy asked.

"Don't sound so jealous, Bushman…!" Lucien teased. "You are having a drink and pancakes with me right now, non?"

Mundy rolled up his eyes.

"Christ, Spook…"

"But non, my intention is not to enjoy myself there. I want to know more about the man, understand his close security, how untouchable he is. From that, we can think about how we will get to him."

"Ah, I see… Ok, I'll come with you and play by your rules. You seem to know what you're doing."

"Good. Now, I guess you need to get a costume too, don't you?"

"Y-yeah… D'you know where you'll go to get yours?" Mundy asked.

"I will go to my tailor's."

"Ooh, listen to you, you have a tailor and all… You're so posh, I swear…"

"Well, I make a case of presenting well. You perhaps should take notes." Lucien arrogantly said and sipped on his coffee.

"Alright, alright… Also, what are you gonna go for? I mean, what disguise?"

Lucien leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Louis the Fourteenth."

"Who's that? Please don't tell me it's a French king or something."

Lucien shook his head.

"It isn't a French king, he was the French king. The one who had the Palace of Versailles built just to prove that he was the greatest king of all Europe."

Mundy facepalmed.

"Crikey… D'you ever stop…?"

"It is my second name, Louis." Lucien said.

"What's your first one, then? Henry-the-bloody-Eighth?"

Lucien chuckled.

"Non, I'm afraid you are wrong and quite far from the answer. But what about you, what costume will you go for? An arborigenous man who lives in a bush?"

"What?!"

"Well, the costume itself will be easy to make, tie any old rag around your waist and poof!" Lucien snapped his fingers. "John's your uncle."

Mundy burst out laughing.

"First, it's 'Bob's your uncle', not John."

"Are you mocking me for it?! Try and speak French then, hm?"

"Partout, elle me fait escorte

[Everywhere, she accompanies me]

Et elle me suit, pas à pas"

[She follows me, step after step]

Mundy quoted the song about solitude that Lulu had sung, and Lucien's jaw dropped. His pupils dilated like a cat in the dark and his breath cut short. He recognised the lyrics of course, despite Mundy's accent. Mon Dieu, his accent… A music in itself. The way he slightly twisted the consonants, making them bend and be softer, the way the vowels melted into slight diphtongues. Lucien felt it like a punch to his stomach. He naturally answered with the following lyrics.

"Elle m'attend devant ma porte

[She's waiting for me at my doorstep]

Elle est revenue, elle est là"

[She has come back, here she is]

Mundy's eyebrows jumped in surprise. He didn't expect Lucien to recognise the song on the spot and he had even less anticipated that he would recite the next couple of lines. He said, trying to sing with his husky, low voice:

"The Solitude,"

To which Lucien answered, singing low too, for no else to hear them.

"La Solitude."

They both let silence fall between them. There was no other way to conclude this song that let the silence wrap those words and scatter them in the air.

"You know the song?" Mundy asked.

"It is more than just a song for me. It is an anthem, unfortunately." Lucien said as he finished his coffee. "I am surprised that you know it." He lied.

"Well… It's uh, Lulu. He sang it and uh… I really liked it."

"At least there is that." Lucien answered with a smirk.

"There's what?"

"If your sense of fashion and elegance in general is non existent, you have yet been blessed with good musical tastes."

"Yeah, well, thanks for noticin'..."

They both chuckled.

"Yeah, it's uh…" Mundy said. "Lulu sang that song and I couldn't get it out of my head. I even bought the cassette, listen to it in the van."

"Quite the admirer you are." Lucien said, just to see Mundy's embarrassment and it did not fail.

"Well, his songs really are somethin', the way he sings them too."

"I am surprised that you appreciate music to this extent, in a good way."

"Used to play the sax back in the days."

"Really?" Lucien's eyebrows jumped. "Quite some hidden traits you have."

"Hm, maybe. But yeah, to come back to your point, I'm not entirely sure what I'll go dressed up as. I don't… Uh… I don't have much choice in my cupboard, eh."

"You could come to the tailor's with me, if you wanted."

Mundy's eyes lowered down.

"What?! What am I gonna tell him? 'Please mate, do somethin', I need a costume for an awfully posh party of some sort'? And how am I gonna pay for it? The thing surely costs an arm and a leg!"

Lucien smiled.

"Says the man who has frequent dinners at Lulu's restaurant, hm?" He answered. "Back in the days, and when I came to know him, he was singing for the most prestigious restaurant of all Paris, where kings and presidents would eat, along with famous singers and movie stars."

Mundy's eyes were dreamy.

"Gosh…"

Lucien tilted his head on the side.

"So, will you come with me to the tailor's?"

Mundy was lost in thought. He was caught in a sudden and brutal daydream: Lulu, his beautiful silhouette, his poetic hair, in Paris, singing his heart out as he did so well, in the night, in the City of Lights…

"Yeah…"

Lucien chuckled.

"Bushman?" He snapped his fingers in front of Mundy's face and pulled the man out of his pleasant, open-eyed dream.

"Huh?" Mundy gasped and straightened his back. "Y-yeah, what?"

Lucien shook his head, still laughing by himself, and gestured to Victoria who came to them.

"So, how was it guys?" She asked.

"As usual, very good, V, thank you. Add this bill to me, I shall send someone to pay for it later if that is alright with you."

"Sure, you in a hurry?"

"Oui, time flies when - uh…" Lucien stopped mid-sentence and frowned.

"When you're in good company!" Victoria finished for him and Mundy could have sworn he saw L's cheeks get a bit of colour.

The Frenchman stood up and closed the button of his jacket. Mundy followed him out.

"Say hi to Perle for me when you see her, and give her a kiss for me!"

Mundy's blood froze.

"I will, thank you, V."

#tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #sniperspy #SBT

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footballfangurl · 5 years ago

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Eden Hazard - Squishy

Request: oooh can i request an imagine where the reader teases Eden Hazard about his bum. Like in a funny fluffy way. Such a weird imagine i know😩🤣

This is for the anon that’s been asking for an Eden Hazard one-shot. Here you go! Please let me know what you think of it xx

words: 1025

Your eyes trailed downwards, your gaze slowly slipping from his shoulders to his muscled back, down the curve of his spine before finally reaching your favourite destination. He was wearing one of his tracksuit bottoms from training, and slippers with socks pulled high over the bottoms of his trousers. One of the shirts you had bought him for Christmas was decorating his torso, and you smiled when you saw him wearing it. He only wanted to wear them at home when the boys weren't home because, to tease him a bit, you had them printed with suggestive comments about his good looks. Eden wasn't normally a blusher, but you distinctly remembered his cheeks flaming up when he had read them. Of course, they hadn't been his real gift, but it had been very much worth it seeing his reaction to them.

"That smells good." You said as you came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and settling your chin on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck whilst doing so. Eden hummed, his eyes not leaving the pan in front of him but his shifted his head slightly to the side to talk to you.

"Did you have a good shower?"

"I did." You mumbled in confirmation, watching as he flipped the steaks he was making. Your hands rested on his stomach, your fingers tracing the muscles there softly through his shirt.

"Stop it, that tickles." Eden scolded, swatting at one of your hands as it grazed a particularly sensitive part of his stomach. You snickered as he did so. Eden had always been ticklish there and it was one of your favourite pastimes to tickle him whenever you could. Fortunately for you, you weren't ticklish at all, or he'd have gotten revenge ten times over for all the times you tortured him like that. Deciding to listen to your husband just this once, your hands moved over to his sides and settled on his waist instead. You saw him glance at you from the corner of his eyes in warning, but you ignored it. Your hands very slowly and slowly sneaked downwards to his ass. Eden shook his head and you could see a grin appear on his face, but he didn't say anything about it. You smiled innocently in response.

"You know, I'd have enjoyed my shower more if you had joined me." You commented slyly, lifting your chin from where it was resting on his chin and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well," Eden cleared his throat as your hands finally reached his bum, just resting on it for the moment, "someone needed to cook us dinner. And I already showered earlier, after training." You hummed in reply, smiling mischievously as you suddenly and firmly grabbed hold of his butt-cheeks. Eden jumped in response and turned his head your way, shaking his head again and saying, "Stop touching my bum."

"Aw, babe. You know I can't help it. It's just too damn squeezable." You emphasised it by squeezing his cheeks again and grinning.

"Well, if you want a butt to squeeze, squeeze your own. Mine is off-limits today." He insisted, nudging me away with his elbow when he went to reach for the salt and pepper. You bit your lip to hold back your smile when he had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the spices you had placed at the top of the kitchen cupboard on purpose exactly for this reason. Often, when he had to stretch to reach for the spices, his shirt rose up a bit so you got a good look at both his stomach and his butt. You'd take advantage of that opportunity any day. Who could resist such a sight?

"Well, firstly, that's weird. Why would I be squeezing my own butt, huh? And besides, mine isn't nearly as squishy as yours." You emphasised what you were saying by a quick tap on his bum and he quickly moved the pan so it was off the stove before he turned around to face you. He crossed his arms and his face was red and graced with a scowl, but you could see the corners of his lips turned upwards as he held back a smile.

"My butt is NOT squishy."

"Bullocks. That right there," You nodded your head towards his butt, "is the squishiest butt I've ever seen and felt."

His angry facade fell away and he snorted out a laugh, shaking his head as he walked forward towards you.

"You," Eden laughed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him and pressing his lips to your cheek and then to your forehead, "are the silliest, the funniest, most admirable, most charming and most amazing person I've ever met."

"Oh, stop. Now you're exaggerating." You blushed as he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes holding you captive there.

"Oh, please. You can charm the pants off me any day and we both know it. And I'm not exaggerating." Eden leaned down to brush your lips with his before he reached down and slapped your butt as well, making you yelp at the unexpected gesture. Pecking your lips once more, he pulled away to get some plates out of the cupboard so he could fill them up.

"Now, if you can manage to stop making me blush for five minutes, we can eat, and then you can go back to charming the pants off me again." He continued and you immediately stepped forwards to get your plate out of his hands, putting one hand behind his neck to hold him in place so you could kiss him again for a few seconds.

"Now that's an offer I can't refuse." You mumbled against his lips before you pulled away, walking towards the dining table so you could finish dinner and take your husband upstairs for some well-deserved quality time.

tag list: @virgilvandick @avsensio @leroysanei @theblxefox @no-not-with-out-you @rafinasmarco @the-place-to-sparkle @football-laeli @del-boi @neymarlionelmessi7 @i-ship-it-okay

#eden hazard #eden hazard fanfiction #eden hazard one shot #eden hazard imagine #real madrid #real madrid fanfiction #real madrid one shot #real madrid imagine #football imagine #football one shot #football fanfiction #soccer #soccer imagine #soccer one shot #football fluff #eden hazard fluff

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castiel-left-his-mark-on-me · 5 years ago

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“Oh -- thank God!”

So I discovered after writing most of this already that Misha said they were actually still on set when looking at the astrology book, but my story was too far gone to change, so I just ignored that minor detail. Hope you like my version of events better anyway.

It’s certainly more fun and in depth than what we actually heard.

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“Hey, Mish—what’s your birthday?”

Misha looks away from the TV to squint at Jensen? “What? Why? You know my birthday.”

Jensen grins at the book in his lap but he doesn’t glance up to meet Misha’s eyes.

“Where did you get that thing anyway?” Jared asks around a mouthful of room service hot-wing. The football game they’re watching plays on in front of them, and Jared is already sucked back in before Jensen can answer.

“Got it from the make-up trailer. Not sure who left it in there.”

“And you brought it with you?” Misha asks.

“Just threw it in my bag … wasn’t really thinking ‘bout it. Now, c’mon. Tell me your birthday, Mish.”

Misha rolls his eyes. “You c’mon. You know what it is … August 20th.”

Smiling victoriously, Jensen sits up in his seat a little, hunching forward as he scans his finger down the page. “Oh—thank God!” he says finally, flopping back against the couch with a bit too much drama.

“Thank God, what? What did it say?”

Jensen just continues smiling as he closes the book and pulls himself off the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna head back to my room and unpack.”

“Jensen!” Misha chuckles, albeit, a bit annoyed now that he’s being so blatantly ignored.

“I don’t get why you bother unpacking, man. We’ll only be here for a couple days” Jared says—still with his mouth full, and still barely present in the conversation.

“I can’t plan an outfit if I can’t see all my clothes laid out” Jensen huffs, as if it’s something they all do. As if he isn’t the only one in the room who is truly concerned about these things.

Jared rolls his eyes and Misha snorts, and Jensen flips them both off before turning to head out the door of Jared’s suite.

After he’s gone, Misha turns back to Jared and wonders at him. “What do you think he meant?”

Jared is wide eyed, watching the Longhorns charge against the Sooners, but they were blocked right at the fifty yard line. “No! C’mon! Damnit!”

“Jared …” Misha tries again.

“Huh?” Jared sighs, finally tearing his eyes away to look at his friend. “What’d you say?”

Misha chuckles and then leans forward—elbows on his knees, as if this was a matter of great importance. “What do you think Jensen meant after he looked up my birthday in that horoscope book and said ‘Oh—thank God’?”

Jared’s eyebrows pile down on the bridge of his nose for a second, briefly having no clue what Misha is talking about; and then all at once, they shoot up again. “Oh, that? He was probably seeing if you two were okay to bang.”

Misha spits out a laugh, more at himself than anyone—because he honestly thought that Jared might give him a sincere answer for once. “Okay, yeah … well, I guess I’ll leave you to your game.”

Jared is already engrossed again, and he barely raises a hand to say bye as Misha gets up to head for the door.

Once in the hallway, Misha sighs—not sure why he puts up with those two. But then again, he knows exactly why. They are his two best friends, and they know him better than almost anyone, which is why they know all the perfect ways to torture him. It’s unfair really, and Misha tells himself that he probably wouldn’t stick around if it wasn’t all so fucking hilarious.

He peers down the brightly patterned hallway to see his room just a couple doors down from Jared’s, but then he turns his head the other direction to look at suite 509 … Jensen’s suite. And as if he can see through the door—he pictures Jensen standing at the end up his bed, six outfits spread out before him, four-too many for their short trip to Toronto. Inevitably, one of those outfits will end up in Misha’s bag on the way back, either because Jensen already wore it too many times, or because whatever Misha haphazardly threw together for this trip will not satisfy Jensen’s top-tier taste. Misha can’t count how many times he’s walked out of his hotel room at one of these conventions, just to be marched right back in by his ever-suave costar.

“You can’t be serious” Jensen would say. “You look like a busted piñata.”

Misha used to argue, used to act offended (even though he really could not care less) but then he saw how happy Jensen would be after he dressed him. The pride on his face as he stood behind Misha as they both looked in the mirror. The happy murmurs, the intense scans of Misha’s entire body, the genuine compliments that Misha never knew he needed until he heard them come from his friend’s freckled lips.

“You look so good, Mish.”

“See how this shirt makes your eyes look amazing?”

And the ever-invigorating “Damn!”

Misha found himself really looking forward to their occasional games of dress-up; so much so, that the cons where Jensen couldn’t fly in until Sunday morning always left Misha a little down. He still doesn’t care what outfit he ends up in, but he does like the boost that his friend’s praise gives him right before he heads out on the stage.

The knock on the door surprises him—because Misha finds that he’s the one doing the knocking.

Jensen opens it, already smiling as if he knew who it was. He could have known. He could’ve looked through the peephole anytime in the last few minutes and saw Misha standing there, daydreaming like an idiot.

Misha blushes as he waves awkwardly at the other man.

Jensen just leans against the door coolly. “Hey—long time no see.”

Misha blushes more and sighs. “Yeah, um, well … I was just wondering if you had anything I could wear? I don’t even know what all I packed .”

Surprisingly, Jensen frowns a little at that. “Nah, man. Sorry, I didn’t have time to pack as much as I usually do either, and I know everything I do have will be too small ya.”

“Really?” Misha says, instantly embarrassed at how disappointed he sounds.

But Jensen seems disappointed too. “Yeah—I only have a few things, and since you’ve been working out so much …” he grabs Misha’s shoulder for emphasis and gives it a squeeze, “I think my shirts would all be too tight on you.”

Misha slumps a little, but still smiles at the round-a-bout compliment he just received. “Alright, no problem. I’m sure I have something semi-decent in my bag.”

“Doubt it” Jensen laughs as he leans back against the door.

With another sigh, Misha looks over Jensen’s shoulder and spots the book on the end of the bed; and before Jensen can invite him in, Misha is moving around him to go pick it up.

But Jensen doesn’t seem to mind as he shuts the door and follows Misha into the bedroom.

“So …” Misha begins, not able to wait one more second, “why did you want to look up my birthday in this thing anyway?”

Jensen smiles and then pulls up beside Misha—their shoulders brushing as he puts out his hand so Misha can give him the book. “Well, they got these categories … compatibility between the signs and shit. Like friendship compatibility, frenemies … romantic compatibility. That sorta thing.”

Misha nods as he watches Jensen flip through the book.

“And here …” Jensen continues, scrolling his finger down to the chapter titled “Leo and Pisces” he comes to a stop at the bullet-point for friendship. “Here it says that you and I are entirely different in character, but love the new aspects we bring to each other’s lives.”

With a smile, Misha relaxes his shoulders—relieved with the answer he finally received, but then all at once, he shrugs them up again. “But … you already knew that. Why the big exaggerated response at looking it up? Were you just trying to mess with me?” It’s more than likely, and Misha knows it.

Jensen grins as he turns around to sit on the edge of the bed—still grinning as he looks back up at Misha, thumbing over to the next page in the process. “And here … in the next category” he goes on, as if Misha hadn’t said a thing just a moment ago, “it says that the outward dominance of the Leo is willingly accepted by the Pisces, sometimes more than they let on. The Pisces’ submissive nature welcomes the Leo’s control, as long as it’s put forth with affection and love. These two are a rare match, but a good and strong one once paired.”

Misha tilts his head some, wondering down at the other man— suddenly noting that the category Jensen is looking at is for ‘sexual compatibility’.

Jensen sits proudly atop the bed, smugly smiling up at him, like he’s played the world’s best prank. “Huh” Misha says finally.

Jensen’s smile droops a bit. “Huh?”

“Yeah … huh. I guess Jared was telling me the truth.”

Now it’s Jensen’s turn to look puzzled. “What? Truth about what?”

Misha chuckles before coming forward and turning around to sit down next to Jensen. “I asked him why he thought you were looking me up in that book, and he said it’s because you wanted to know if we were fit to bang.”

Jensen throws his head back in a laugh, and Misha admires the view.

“He wasn’t wrong.”

Once Jensen settles, he shakes his head and agrees. “Nope. He wasn’t. Plus, he and I were talking about it before you even came into the room. I had already looked up Danneel and I; so Jared said I should look you up next, just to make sure that the stars weren’t pissed at us for being together.”

“Definitely don’t want to piss off those stars” Misha says with a laugh.

Jensen grins even wider. “Nope … sure don’t.”

“But, according to that book, they should be more than happy about my dominance over you in the bedroom.”

Jensen’s stare narrow as he sits up a little straighter—eyes flicking around for a moment before settling back onto Misha’s in front of him. “Well … we’re in a bedroom right now. Whatd’ya say we please some stars?”

Misha grins, reaching up to thread his hand around the other man’s neck, nodding enthusiastically as he climbs on top of him. “Oh—thank God!”

#Cockles #jensen ackles #misha collins #j2m #Ary writes #ficlet #torcon #torcon 2019 #jenmish

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

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Unforgettable-Chapter Four

Previous chapters on AO3 A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter Four

Claire pulled her mascara wand out and it was dry. Damn she thought, I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to buy makeup around here. She threw it in the waste container and dabbed on some lip gloss. The laptop was set up on her small table and she dialed the number with shaking fingers. She sent Jamie a text early in the week asking to Skype on Friday night. She wondered how he would get away from what’s-her-name, but he agreed so she didn’t care.

Her laptop flickered a couple of times and then he was there, smiling at her like she was right in front of him.

“God made eyes that color for one person only Sassenach.”

“Who?”

“Ye of course. How is it going over there? Is the hospital in a safe zone?”

“Sometimes. The second night I was here we had casualties from a raid nearby. Quite an initiation.”

“What kind of work are ye doin there, do ye like it?”

They stared at each other and their mouths moved but the action was happening in the heart. Jamie felt himself slipping back under her spell and Claire wanted to tell him about all the feelings, wars, doubt, and capitulation she was going through. They kept the conversation light.

“How can you be so far from the laptop and I can still see you clearly?

“I use my smart TV, and you are life-size as I watch ye.”

“Wow, that is awesome. Tell me about Edinburgh.”

And so it went, the benign conversation of two people in love that were not willing to expose themselves to the other. They would both feel the immediate vacuum sucking them out of the happy zone the minute Skype was closed.

They talked every week on Friday, afternoon for Claire, evening for Jamie. A package arrived for Claire and she ran to her room to open the box, so thrilled because it could only be Jamie who sent it. She pulled out a state-of-the-art laptop with a seventeen-inch screen and an exceptional camera. It was loaded with trending software and numerous picture files of his football team, Lallybroch, his camping trips, the fish he caught and the amazing sunsets from the top of the world. The card was handwritten; For the Sassenach, to remind ye of civilization and Scotland. I hope it makes ye happy. Claire hugged the card to her chest and rolled her eyes when someone knocked on her door.

“Claire! Let us in!”

Joe grew impatient and Claire finally opened the door to both of them. Kevin’s eyes lit up when he saw the new technology and he rushed to the laptop to investigate.

“It’s just lovely, I think Jamie is more than a friend all of a sudden.”

“No, it’s a friend present, nothing more. He is getting married, remember.”

“What, so he’s gonna Skype with you all the way to the alter?”

“Something like that.”

“Hey, he set up a gmail for you and sent a message.”

“Really? Claire rushed to the laptop to read it.”

Sassenach, I dinna ken yer email and I dinna like to wait. Send me a picture of the jungle! JF

Someone was knocking on the door but this time she could hear the urgency and pulled the door open.

“Report to OR on the double, Doctor Anderson is waiting.”

Cutter had already completed ten hours of surgery today, and so had she. She closed the door behind her and ran to the surgical wing. For the next two hours, she, Cutter, and another nurse worked hard to save a young man who came in with a meat hook stuck in his abdomen. Claire was clamping blood vessels as she found them, her arms deep in the abdomen, hands, and forearms covered in blood as they raced to stem the bleeding from multiple ruptured vessels. She and Cutter on opposite sides of the table, both suturing tissue as fast as they could.

Claire was the last to leave the OR and she was exhausted as she pushed into the scrub room and pulled her gown and gloves off. She held onto the scrub sink like she could collapse any moment and closed her eyes with the water running in front of her. The room was dimly lit, and she washed quickly so she could collapse in her Lazy Boy.

Joe’s phone had a high megapixel camera and he was quite good at using it. The close-ups he took of Claire, her eyes tired and grim, as she leaned over the washbasin on her forearms. Asleep in the Lazy Boy with her hand on Luna, surrounded by villagers, all needing something, were telling the story of Claire’s existence in this place.

Kevin joined the cause and had a folder full of Claire in action. Cutter was recruited to catch Claire with her two favorite men, Joe and Kevin, goofing off and teasing each other.

Joe recognized the signs of a man in love and sent Jamie the photos from Claire’s new laptop while she was working.

Claire pulled her new laptop closer and dialed Jamie. His face looked different, contemplative, and Claire’s heart rate shot up making her feel weak. He’s going to tell me he’s getting married she thought. Her instincts were shouting for her to disconnect. When you don’t want to hear something, don’t listen. She stared at him with wide eyes and he stared back.

“What is it Jamie, you look different.”

“Sassenach, I dinna have words to describe what your pictures showed me.”

“What?”

“Ye are the bravest lass I’ve ever known and the strongest. I had no idea what life was really like there. I am in awe of ye lass.”

“So far, you have not made a lick of sense Jamie. I didn’t send pictures to you. What are you talking about?”

“Well, someone did it for ye. They were in my email yesterday.”

Claire grabbed her phone and checked the sent emails, there were numerous emails to Jamie with picture attachments. Claire opened them and flipped through the pics with mounting concern.

“Jesus Christ, I wasn’t aware these were being taken, or sent. I’m sorry Jamie. My friend Joe had a very bad idea. I was not aware.”

Jamie leaned closer to the camera, “this is the real you as ye go through the day. I have an accurate account of the struggles ye face. Your work in the OR, yer haunted eyes when yer about to collapse and those two guys who hang on each other and make ye laugh. It’s incredible what I’ve learned about ye with these pictures. Yer amazing Sassenach.”

Jamie’s comments broke through her fantasy of killing all who conspired in this clandestine photo shoot. She heard compassion, pride, and love in Jamie’s voice. She looked up at the camera again and suddenly felt overwhelmed with love for the guys and appreciation for Jamie’s reaction.

“Ye dinna ken how special ye are, or how much ye deserve the best life. I��I will be happy to know ye finally get it, Claire. I feel emotionally invested somehow, please agree to be my video friend or pen pal for life. I’ll always wonder if ye don’t.”

Claire was surprised at Jamie’s reaction and she tried to rally her friend-face, control her expressions, and maintain composure in front of the camera. She looked into his eyes and wanted to shout at him that she was more than a friend. Jamie’s words were hitting her like bullets because he was now an observer trying to help her somehow, not harboring his own crush. At that moment she subconsciously jettisoned away from him, to the place she had been since the video calls started. In a box of his acquaintances he would remember from time to time.

Jamie continued to sing her praises and Claire did her best to cover the disappointment and hurt from misunderstanding his interest. She tried to rally but finally begged off with an excuse to feed the baby.

“Until next week Sassenach, take care of yourself.”

Claire slammed the lid on the laptop, “like you’re my psychiatrist or something? No thanks, I’ll be my own support thank you. If this is your entertainment to share with miss perfect, you will have to find something on television from now on. I am out.”

When Jamie saw the blood drain from Claire’s face, he knew she was completely in the dark about the pictures. That made it even more real for him and he silently thanked Joe for letting him into their world. No wonder she couldn’t settle in Edinburgh, it would be like putting a gorgeous butterfly in a jar, to slowly die from the lack of flight. He was deeply troubled that he had touched a dream girl, his dream girl, and the world had no equal.

The door opened and he looked at Geneva, here for a night of cat and mouse, and he was the mouse. He took a deep breath and suddenly wanted to be in a meadow, full of fish, where he could spend time with his memory of Claire and say his truth.

Jamie rose from the couch and kissed Geneva, promising a five-minute shower before they left. But the whole time, he was missing the girl who danced with a fish in his kitchen.

Claire looked at Joe with a laser sight on his fertile brain and fantasies of torture danced in her head. Joe retreated and disappeared before she got to him. She would have followed him, but she was pulled away by an unexpected visit from Luna’s mother.

Claire felt her tears drop onto her shoulders making her scrubs wet. She was always afraid this day would come, her miracle baby leaving with her biological mother. She pulled the baby to her and kissed her cheeks, repeatedly. She assembled multiple bags packed with food, diapers, blankets, and supplements that would sustain her. She would send her away and never know what happened to her and that was breaking her heart. Cutter pushed into the nursery and looked at Claire with compassion.

“Let me take her Claire. Kiss her one more time, then give her to me, he said quietly.”

Luna held Claire’s hair and yanked it trying to get her mother’s attention, the only mother her infant life knew. In her limited world, one face had always been there to give love and smiles and food. Claire broke down and Cutter pulled the sweet baby from her, pulled the bags of supplies onto his shoulder, and then left.

Claire sank into the Lazy Boy arms wrapped around her stomach and cried like she was mortally wounded. She bent over and her tears puddled on the linoleum floor. Her heart was breaking and there was no comfort to be had, just misery, her miracle baby was gone forever.

Claire laid curled up in the Lazy Boy and wondered how much grief one person could take in a day. “UNCLE”, she whispered, “no more for today.” The room grew darker as the sun set, and Claire remained until the door opened and a hand pulled her into the lighted hallway making her squint painfully. The hand pulled her forward and outside where it was easier to open her eyes.

Claire looked at the picnic table with a lantern on it and looked up at Cutter.

“What’s this?”

“A request from Joe, to get you talking and forgiving before you end his life for the pictures.”

He pushed her onto a bench and sat across from her with his hands folded on the table.

“Shall we begin, I rather like Joe, so let’s figure this out together.”

Cutter smiled and waited patiently.

“What? Um, I was mad at him for sending the pictures to Jamie. It was a sweet gesture, but it brought out Jamie’s true feelings for me and I was mad about that. I have the right to punish Joe because he’s my best friend.”

“What true feelings did Jamie reveal?”

“He wants to be pen pals, or video pals, so he will know when I find happiness. He doesn’t want to wonder about me for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus Claire, you had to let go of Luna right after that?”

“She wanted and needed my attention as I got her ready, but I couldn’t stop crying. I miss her so much already and I will never know what happened to her. I can’t take not knowing, Cutter.”

She stopped abruptly and looked up at her friend. The comparison of the two statements sinking into her brain. Her eyes got wide as she compared Jamie’s statement to her own. She loved Luna with her heart and soul, and it broke her heart realizing she will never know how she was. Could Jamie feel the same about her? She stared straight ahead and climbed out of the picnic table. She patted Cutter on the shoulder but missed and patted his face as she left.

“What about Joe? Can he come out of hiding now?”

“Mission accomplished soldier, he’s safe.”

Claire had a strange look on her face, but it wasn’t sorrow that Cutter saw, it was more like she just figured out the double-helix of DNA. Something wondrous.

Claire laid on her bed for the first time in four months and sighed deeply. Whatever Jamie felt for her, was big, that she was certain of. She will keep Skyping on Friday nights and maybe send an email occasionally if there was something exceptional or interesting that happened.

Jamie climbed in a thickly wooded area with a punishing pitch, feeling strong and healthy, as long as he didn’t start thinking. The woods were healing him of the past months of partying, drinking to excess, dealing with Geneva the shape-shifter, and his little Claire showing her heart and comfort to him. Breathing deeply in the crisp mountain air he felt capable of anything. Later in the afternoon, he laid back in the sun to rest. Winter was well on its way and pushing through his comfort limits, so this would be his last trip for a while. He would miss his time out here in nature. He paid dearly for it with Geneva but he didn’t care, it was bringing him back to who he really was.

Claire sat down next to Joe and across from Cutter at dinner. They had been in this medical camp for nine months, she could hardly believe it. The guys were displaying an air of excitement and fist-bumping Joe, well, Kevin was giving cheek kisses and Cutter did the bumping.

“Wow, I’ll bite, what is all the excitement about?”

“Jamie entered one of my pictures of you in a competition, and I won!” Joe was laughing. “Something Apple was doing to promote the camera in the new iPhone. Pretty cool, ha, and I get ten grand for first place!!”

“Jamie did that for you? Interesting. Whatever would make him even think of such a thing?”

Claire stared at Joe, letting him know she would not look away until he explained himself. She was making him antsy and nervous so this would not take long.

Joe sighed and told Claire about the photo lab tech who blew the picture up for Jamie asking all kinds of questions about the camera.

“He called me, told the lab tech it was an iPhone camera, tech said put the picture in the contest, he did, I won, and that’s about it.”

Claire picked up her tray and stood up, “Imagine that.”

The three men gaped at her as she walked away. They didn’t know what to expect from her, but it wasn’t that.

Claire smiled inside wondering how Jamie and Joe became telephone buddies. She was the common denominator and that’s all that mattered to her. She wiped the sweat off her face about to say goodnight to the guys when she thought of some cool relief.

“Cutter, remember that swimming pool I jumped in and you morphed into the incredible hulk?” What was that place?”

“Cutter looked around the room thinking about honesty versus a good night’s sleep for her. “It was my overreacting is all. I thought it was something different.”

“I do believe that is first time you have lied to me Cutter. I’ll ask again, what was that place, and…be honest.”

“It’s a rebel stronghold Claire. The attack on the villagers when you first got here, was perpetrated by that group.”

Claire’s eyes went wide, and her voice panicked, “they’re right here in our backyard? Jesus Christ, it’s no more than a few miles from here! If I had been caught in that pool they would have killed me, wouldn’t they?”

“Drop it pea,” he growled. “That’s enough on the subject.”

Cutter left the table cursing himself for telling her, thankful he left out the torturous death of women prisoners. They would have made it last before she drew her last breath and he would be dead trying to protect her.

Claire stared straight ahead, trying to wrap her head around their proximity to the enemy. She shivered with a full understanding of Cutter’s reaction that day.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

Joe had heard things, from the villagers, delivery drivers, and the news when they could get it. He had already put in a request to get them out of there. It was first come first serve and everyone was bugging out of Honduras. He intended to talk to Claire and Kevin tonight about leaving their post before replacements came. It was feeling creepy around here and his instincts were screaming it was time to go.

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