#i really need to start writing fanfics

[btxtyuri]

my brain these last few days has been full of nobafumi thoughts 😭😭 help the yuri childhood friends to lovers got my ass again

[walkingstackofbooks]

Consider: Julian being pregnant with Yoshi and going to Federation parenting classes with Miles and Keiko. And encountering a list of all the rights and freedoms every child is supposed to be entitled to. Some of which... don't sound like his childhood. (Cw child abuse)

I've got SO MANY more ideas for this it may turn into a series who knows??? But I want to share it now so people can maybe like it? Because I have feeeelings.

--

"So these are just, uh, suggestions, right? Parents don't have to do all of them?" Julian asked, instantly regretting it. If Miles' dirty look was anything to go by, clearly that had been the wrong thing to say.

"Julian," he gritted out, "you're my best mate and you're carrying my child so I'm going to give you a chance to explain. What the hell do you mean by that?"

Julian really wasn't sure that he could. Some of the statements on the poster had surprised him, that was all, but he didn't really want to get into the reasons why.

"Don't, uh-- Don't worry. It's not important," he tried to deflect.

"It bloody well is important, if you're just planning to ignore what you're learning here."

"Miles--" Keiko broke in, placing a hand on her husband's knee.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Julian exclaimed, cradling his stomach protectively. "I was just saying that, um... I guess that they're not all as important as each other, are they? Lack of privacy, for example -- that's not exactly abusive, is it, like some of the others?"

"That's a common misconception, but no, Doctor Bashir," answered Mx Rakoto. "Any parent showing a consistent failure to meet any one of these standards would be enough to investigate them for abuse."

"Oh."

"What do you mean, "oh"?" Miles asked, with an irritation that compelled Julian to shrug and look away.

"I guess I just didn't realise it was taken that seriously," he replied, feeling kind of silly and small as he said it. "I know we learnt about them in school, but back then it was more of a thing for teachers than parents, wasn't it?"

There was a pause, before Keiko said tentatively, "...These have always been for parents, Julian."

"Mrs O'Brien is correct," Mx Rakoto added. "Your parents would have completed a very similar course to this -- some things have changed of course, there's always more progress that can be done, but the fundamental rights and freedoms of children haven't changed, and nor has the law."

"No, but..." Julian's brain didn't seem to be working properly; was he missing something?

"You're saying these are things I should have had at home and at school?"

"Yes?"

"And my parents should have known about them?"

"I would find it hard to believe that they didn't. Parents are required to access learning about this every few years."

"Oh." Julian's voice had gone very quiet at the point. "I think I-- I need a minute..." he said shakily, eyes glued to the poster in front of him, reading and rereading the information as he tried to figure out what he'd got wrong.

Right to privacy.

Right to choose their own name.

Right to appropriate support and accommodations of a disability.

Freedom from unnecessary medical interventions.

Freedom from torture.

Right to make mistakes.

"Julian?" asked Keiko softly, startling him out of his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I mean, it's not like I thought they were great parents, you know, but I didn't think... Well, most people complain about their parents, don't they? I didn't think mine were abnormally bad. But there are so many things--" His voice quavered, almost breaking. "And you say they could have been investigated for just breaking one?"

"What... what kind of things?" asked Miles hesitantly. "Only if you want to tell us, of course."

Julian's eyes flicked around the room, but Mx. Rakoto seemed to have left the room.

"They've gone," confirmed Keiko, seeming to catch onto what he was thinking. "I can go too, if you'd prefer..."

"No -- it's alright," said Julian. "It's just... a lot to take in."

His eyes returned to the poster. Right to encouragement. Freedom from humiliation and constant criticism. Right to self-expression. Right to relax and play. Right to mistakes.

"It must be hard, right," he started, looking to them both anxiously, "to keep these all in your head? There's a lot of them, it must be normal to not remember all of them all the time?"

Miles and Keiko exchanged glances, a second-long conversation that Julian was not privy to.

"All parents make mistakes," said Keiko kindly. "It's when these things start getting ignored often that there's a problem."

"And some of them you barely have to think about anyway," added Miles. "You know, "right to shelter", "right to food", "right to clothes" -- it's not difficult stuff. You don't have kids if you don't want to look after them properly."

"Then why did my parents find it so difficult?" The words burst out of Juliann before he could stop them. "What was so wrong with me that meant they didn't do all this?"

"No, oh no, Julian," said Keiko, as Miles reached out to pull him in for a hug. "Don't think like that. It wasn't you--"

Julian wasn't really listening: his question had finally given him the puzzle piece he had been missing -- he'd realised what hadn't been adding up.

"No... no, it's fine," he said, feeling a little floaty now he'd got his thoughts all in order. "No, it was me. I was a difficult kid. That's..." He shook himself, feeling his cheeks get hot as he wondered what the O'Briens must be thinking. "I'm sorry, this session was supposed to be about your child, not about me."

"Our child," corrected Miles gruffly. "And this is important, Julian. I don't give a damn if you were "difficult", your parents don't get to just ignore your rights."

"You don't understand," said Julian desperately, hoping he'd be able to make them see even without mentioning his enhancements. He'd made a real mountain out of a molehill here, he didn't know why he hadn't managed to connect the dots quicker before this all had spiralled out of control. "I tried to piss my parents off. I'd stay out too late and go drinking illegally and date guys way too old for me just because I knew it would annoy them. And I'd always talk back and argue with my dad, and find ways to be smarter than him, and--"

"And none of that was enough to lose your rights, Julian," said Keiko gently. "That's not how it works."

Julian was shaking; he didn't want to listen to them. He'd figured it out -- it was his fault his parents hadn't done everything they were supposed to, because if it wasn't his fault, it was their fault, and that meant... well, that they were abnormally bad parents, and that... that...

"Hey," said Miles, more softly than Julian had ever heard him, peeling Julian's hands away from where he'd been covering his ears. "Let's say you're right -- just for a moment," he added in response to Keiko's hissed "Miles?". "Maybe we don't understand everything that went on. Why don't you tell us which of these you weren't getting from your parents, yeah? Explain it to us a bit more?"

Flashing him a weak smile, Julian nodded. he should have known he could always count on Miles.

"Okay, yeah, um -- so I guess, uh, "right to choose your own name"?" he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he watched Keiko pull the poster up on her PADD and circle it, but choosing not to comment. "It wasn't like, transphobic or anything though," he defended. "They'd just always called me 'Jules' since I was little, you know? So it's not really..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Okay..." said Miles, and Julian tried to ignore the dubious look his friend shot at Keiko. "Anything else?"

"Um -- I always had to, uh, leave my door open? Or if I closed it, they wouldn't knock before coming in... That's not that weird though, right? One of my Academy friends thought it was, but--"

"Did you feel like your parents respected your privacy?" asked Keiko, and Julian looked at her for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

"But they were my parents," he said. "That was just how they looked out for me. They were supposed to look out for me."

"And you were supposed to have a right to privacy," replied Keiko, making another circle on her PADD. Fuck, this wasn't going the way Julian had thought it would. Hurriedly, he looked for a different one to try to explain better.

"Constant criticism," he said, distantly noticing the strangled tone to his voice. "That's hardly surprising, right? I mean, if you get things wrong all the time, you're going to be criticised, that's just how it works."

Neither Keiko nor Miles looked convinced; clearly he wasn't trying hard enough, describing clearly enough why it had been alright his parents hadn't been perfect. He was getting this all wrong.

The right to make mistakes.

For some reason, those had been the words his eyes hadn't been able to leave alone. Every time he went past them, his heart caught on them, as though the words were a rusty nail left half-buried in his skin.

It wasn't a fair comparison, really. He had been different to the other children -- better, smarter -- so of course he hadn't been allowed to make the same mistakes they did. Of course his parents' expectations had been high; they'd known what he was.

But all the same, it sounded nice, that imaginary childhood where all mistakes were okay, not just the ones he'd carefully measured out to avoid detection.

He didn't realise he was crying until he felt a rough thumb wiping a tear off his cheek.

"Oh, Julian," Miles was saying. "It's okay, you can let it out now. We're here for you. I'm so sorry. I wish I'd known."

[myokk]

fast sketch of my one-shot with Ominis💓

legilimency

Word count: 1.700

Rating: M (language)

Ominis Gaunt is a lost case - lost to the whims of one very determined Gryffindor sitting at his side.

They sit in the back of the History of Magic classroom, the only two students not lulled to somnolence by their professor. He: trying his hardest to focus on Professor Binns’ droning (easier said than done). She: trying her hardest to distract Ominis while not being entirely sure of being successful or not (easier attempted than understood).

Professor Binns is completely insufferable, of course. Ominis wonders if the ghost is as blind as he is: Binns willfully ignores the fact that all of his students use his class as an excuse to get a nap in (maybe he simply doesn’t see them sleeping - only one of many reasons why Ominis has decided he could never be a professor), rambling on and on in the most boring way possible. As if he were trying to be as dull as possible (maybe he does it to avoid interacting with the students which…can’t be to blame). In a different life, Ominis could see himself quite liking the subject, but as things stand he despises it.

Especially now.

Ominis fervently wishes that he could fall asleep.

Then, he might avoid hearing her thoughts - they’re consuming him and he can’t ignore them as much as he would like to.

Normally, he loves this class - not the subject, obviously - but the class itself, for the sheer fact that it is the only time where he gets some peace and quiet. Everyone’s minds nice and quiet and shut off for the time being while they sleep. Although he has gotten used to ignoring the thoughts of everyone around him, their various voices mixing and mingling with each other into a dull thrum in the back of his mind, it is nice to have some quiet once in a while.

But right now, with everyone asleep except for the Gryffindor at his side, her thoughts are so loud it’s like she’s screaming at him.

So here he is, wishing he could fall asleep, leave the class, maybe turn off the infernal legilimency that has haunted him his whole life.

(His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

He is stuck listening to her.

It doesn’t help that she seems to have caught on to him - something he had managed to avoid until now. Nobody else, not even Sebastian or Anne, has ever suspected a thing. But, in all fairness, those two are extremely loud and say every single thought that passes through their minds out loud even when they should remain quiet, and nobody else has had the opportunity to spend enough time with Ominis to begin to suspect anything.

Until her.

He had to go and let that blasted girl worm her way into his life, not leaving him alone ever, always looking for excuses to talk and ask his opinion, and being so intelligent that he wanted to invite her to study with him and talk with him and…

Since it happened a few nights ago, he hasn’t stopped cursing himself for that stupid offhand comment he made. They had been studying in silence in the library together, by the history books where nobody else ever ventures (thank you, Professor Binns), and he could have sworn that she asked him if he was finally going to walk her back to her common room (he blames a lack of sleep and wishful thinking for this mishap). His traitorous face had flushed and he had jumped at the chance to escort her - maybe she would let him carry her bag, or… - only to feel his whole body go cold and his stomach drop when her response wasn’t what he’d expected.

A pause: then: a confused voice: ‘Ominis, I didn’t say anything.’

His Gryffindor wasn’t stupid like Gryffindors were normally wont to be. He knew her, and he knew that after his monumental mistake, the gears in her brain were turning and he was terrified that somehow she had figured it out.

(His Gryffindor?)

She had been unusually quiet around him since then, although he bitterly noticed that she was still acting normally with everyone else. Still finding every opportunity to punch Sebastian in the shoulder and laugh with Anne, still whispering with Natsai about Merlin knows what, still…

But she had been avoiding Ominis. He couldn’t stand it.

Well, avoiding him right until this stupid class, when she had to go and sit right next to him (ignoring the fact that she always sits next to him in History of Magic, that everyone already has and adheres to their unofficial seats), and he can’t ignore her.

She’s pretending to take studious notes, but he knows better. The scratching of her quill blending with the droning of Professor Binns’ voice but not drowning out her thoughts. They float above the other noises, her voice sweet and piercing. Ominis wonders vaguely what she’s actually writing, because he’s positive it isn’t notes.

Professor Binns looks so sexy right now with his medieval hat, talking about…whatever it is he’s passionate about. I wonder if he would let me talk to him after class without floating through me like he normally does…

Ominis is determined not to react. She’s obviously trying to bait him. But…what if she is attracted to Professor Binns? Is he an attractive man? At the thought, the fist that’s resting on top of his desk clenches, but he works to make sure his face remains impassive. Apart from a twitch of his lips, he thinks he’s been quite successful.

She: huffing and shifting in her chair, her robes rustling as she crosses her legs. He: keeping his head facing forward, steadfastly ignoring her.

She changes tactics.

Maybe she’s just as insufferable as the other Gryffindors, after all.

I wonder what Ominis would say if he knew I woke up moaning today after a dream about him -

He shifts slightly in his seat, hoping that she’s so busy taking notes (who’s he kidding) that she won’t notice his discomfort as his trousers tighten -

…the girls in my dorm have been bothering me nonstop about who I’ve been mooning over but I don’t want them to…

His hand is in such a tight fist it’s a wonder he’s not breaking any fingers as he tries to remain as still as possible, but his traitorous arousal is making her thoughts harder and harder to ignore. Had he ever been able to ignore her?

…his tongue was deep inside me as I screamed his name…

He feels his face heat up at the thought - where had she learned such vulgar language? - and his whole body stiffens. He’s sure that she can feel the tension and warmth radiating off of him in waves but that…she…his insane little lion keeps shouting at him in the silence of the classroom. She’s now stopped all pretense of taking notes and is sitting stock still.

…his cock deep inside of me as…wait…what else did I hear Garreth say to Leander that night?…um… She shifts uncomfortably, her knee grazing Ominis’s as she moves to squeeze her legs together. It’s all he can do to not groan and remain impassive. Oh god…I…what’s that feeling? This was just supposed to get back at him for probably - maybe - reading my thoughts and I’m officially insane because how would he even be able to do that?…his ears turning red from embarrassment are so adorable and I can’t stand this anymore and…

Ominis tries his hardest not to move his head in her direction. His jaw flexes. Maybe he can drown her out if he starts reciting potions ingredients, or if he focuses on what Professor Binns is saying, but even he knows its futile. He’s hanging on to her every word - thought? - and his head slowly turns in her direction as she keeps going.

…does he know how much I think about him? Oh god, what if he dreams of me the same way I…

He slams the open book in front of him shut, the loud noise causing Sebastian to jerk awake and babble incoherently for a moment before slumping back over his desk, drooling and snoring lightly. Nobody else in the class seems to notice except her of course. Blissfully, she has stopped talking - thinking - and he can finally -

It’s no use. He needs to get out of there. She has invaded his mind and…What if she starts up again with her filthy thoughts that are bleeding into his own and -

Did he hear me? I didn’t actually think…oh god, can he hear me now? What have I done?

Ominis very slowly brings his hand over to where he knows hers is. The quill falls out of her hand and he hears a sharp intake of breath at their contact. His fingers trace her knuckles and then he slowly trails them up her arm. His fingertips are so sensitive that he could swear that he feels every thread that he passes, her skin warm and alive underneath the fabric. Then to her neck, her throat bobs and he feels her erratic heartbeat. Finally, he reaches her face. She remains very, very still as his fingers brush over her features for the first time.

He has never touched someone like this before.

Her skin is like velvet, soft everywhere he touches. Now that he knows what it feels like he’s not sure he can go back to before. His fingers trace the curve of her eyebrows - he finds that her nose is straight before it flares up a tiny bit at the tip - his fingers ghost over her impossibly soft lips. He drags his thumb across her bottom lip as her tongue darts out to wet them. It’s impossibly intimate and the world has melted away and it’s just the two of them in that moment.

He leans forward.

“Ominis, I…” she whispers, stricken.

His hand moves to tuck some of her loose hair away from her face - does she always wear it like this? - and his lips brush against her ear. He inhales deeply, her sweet smell invading his senses. She shivers under his touch and he breathes, “I heard everything.”

[fearandhatred]

to rome: a play by fearandhatred

(5k words, 1/1 chapters)

While trying to tempt Caligula, Crowley makes a discovery that renders all his efforts for naught. But then it turns out that Aziraphale is here too, so maybe his trip to Rome isn't wasted after all.

***highly recommended to read on a phone because of the Multiplicity Of Line Breaks that just look very weird on a laptop unless your font size is huge

-----

i've always loved the idea of crowley falling in love with aziraphale in rome. in some ways it really is my roman empire so i figured i might as well make it happen! featuring many shenanigans and an annoying emperor :)

any and all support is greatly appreciated <3

anyway it all started with a dream:

so this is for @eybefioro @captainblou @crowleys-bentley-and-plants who challenged me to write a fic with no angst and also, coincidentally, for that one commenter who asked me on the same day if i would consider writing something happy for once. against all odds and with much difficulty, i have done it. love u guys sm <333

[sparxyv]

i'd like to introduce one of my hl ocs (not my mc), mousey! 💙

he's actually a nameless ravenclaw student in the game, but his interactions made me giggle so I wanted to bring him to life.

(p.s. mousey is 100% that name some kid gave him and it just.. stuck. poor guy 😭)

mousey in game! i'd like to also note that you can find him in the ravenclaw tower + great hall

[happyk44]

Nico grabbing an enemy by the wrist before they can strike down on him and it would be easy to steal the life from the pulse beneath his fingertips, turn the air in their lungs into his own, but there's a myriad of fighters around him and one life isn't going to power him enough to blast away them all when he's already so tired as it is. He wishes he was bigger, stronger.

He squeezes his hand tight around the wrist he holds back. It shatters. Their sword clatters to the ground. It's not a human noise they make - well, it is, they're human.

Until they aren't. Until boney spikes rip through their clothes, emerging sharp and dangerous from their spine. He squeezes harder. The skin around their skull ripples, like bugs crawling underneath. Then bursts blood and spit and flesh as their jaw unhooks. Teeth pitter-patter onto the ground as larger, sharper, whiter fangs emerge violently in their place.

Their face splits just above the nose as another jaw grows around their eyes, as their esophagus snaps and elongates upwards, as blood and flesh and viscera pour like an unholy flood, arms tearing, legs cracking, flesh hanging off bloody bone, nothing but a monster left behind.

Nothing but a nightmare.

It croons at him. The soul beneath is twisted, ugly, beautiful, spread thin across their new body, new bones, like the veins of their now still and battered heart. It pulses like the lungs torn by their feet once did.

The world has silenced itself in the emergence of Nico's new pet. He squeezes the new wrist, the bone firm and clean beneath his touch.

"Defend me," he whispers.

It croons again, shuffling back on four feet. The world quakes as it turns. The world shivers as it regards them, predator to prey, standing larger than them all, and far more dangerous as they ever recalled it to once be.

And the world screams when it lunges.

[petite-phthora]

This yours?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 12]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.

In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.

There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.

Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.

In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.

Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.

“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.

Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.

They start cackling.

“Mwuahaha!”

It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.

However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.

A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.

“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.

---

Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.

They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.

They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.

They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.

Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.

One thing seems clear to the Bats.

They’re searching for something… or someone.

“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”

“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”

“Good… thing?”

“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”

“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”

“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”

“I highly doubt that”

“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.

“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”

“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”

 “We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.

“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”

“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.

“Roger that.”

---

Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.

He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.

Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.

He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.

The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.

It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.

They both stare at each other for several seconds.

As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.

The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.

Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.

---

Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

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dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[introvert-in-hell]

The probability of learning Nuclear Physics for fanfiction is far more likely than you think.....

[disneydatass]

I haven’t said anything since November and I haven’t had the means to make gifs but the parallel between clexa and mizemi is so loud

Mizu and Lexa both thinking love is weakness and not to lead with the heart

Mizu letting Akemi be taken is exactly like when Lexa betrayed Clarke at the Mountain

Clarke and Akemi both wearing the stubborn princess titles proudly (they both will become leaders of their people while their badass girlfriends slay their enemies w a blade)

[jecki--lon]

Obi Wan Kenobi was dead.

Obi Wan Kenobi was dead, and Anakin Skywalker, now called Vader, came to in his bacta tank knowing that he had killed him.

It should have felt better.

There was gone the last chain tethering him to his lost youth, there was gone his once brother, now nemesis, there was gone the man who had left him in this half-machine state. Lord Vader had had his revenge.

Anakin Skywalker felt empty.

He had dreamed of it for years, spent two decades imagining what it would be like. It should have brought joy, elation. More even than the thundering, rapid pleasure the Sith had a taste in. Peace.

This is the man who you can blame for the death of Padmé, he tried to remind himself. The hole that was remained where Obi Wan's presence had been whispered back: you, your choice, killed her.

There was only Anakin Skywalker to take the blame. For everything.

[osamucide]

if this bothers anyone they can kindly feel free to leave or ignore it or whatever but can we stop flooding the x reader tags with half-baked thinkpieces on why people should or shouldn’t do whatever with their writing. every other post is “you shouldn’t romanticize [x]” “you’re problematic if you do [x]” “stop writing about [x]” “[x] is gross and if you write about it kill yourself” how about if you don’t like certain content you heed the content warnings, block the tags, don’t interact with it, so on and so forth. of course part of our responsibility as writers, especially ones dealing with sensitive topics, is to label and tag our works appropriately but let’s be real—i hardly see any writers (at least within the bsd fandom) who don’t make it abundantly clear what they do/do not write about, interact with, or tolerate. wait until you find out how much fucked up shit happens in real life and how much some person on the internet coping with their trauma by writing self insert fanfiction about a cartoon character doesn’t fucking correlate to the perpetuation of that fucked up shit at all. it doesn’t even have to be that serious. people are going to write and read the content they want and they’re allowed to and you spilling your complaints all over the x reader tags “to boost attention” isn’t gonna change that. if you don’t like something ignore, unfollow, block, mind your own business. it’s actually super easy

[longtallglasses]

it’s very interesting to me amongst the different fandoms i’ve been a part of in regards to their attitudes toward nsfw fanworks bc with the marauders those teens are always wildin’ - smoking, drinking, sleeping together - if they’re not i would even say it would be out of character for them? wolfstar is messy and horny and so in love, even if in a lot of fics they won’t admit it to each other. in atyd everyone is shagging up a storm, the girls, the boys, it’s still juvenile of course the way they discuss it and go about it. very little communication, feelings are hurt, they don’t know what they’re doing all the time. and it makes sense, they’re teenagers!

i have never once heard of discussion around it being ‘wrong’ to write them this way. that it’s ‘objectifying’ and if you’re thinking about it you must be weird or unnecessarily sexualizing characters. sexualizing characters? they’re already sexualized wdym? they have a sexuality, everyone has a sexuality, whatever the author/artist wants to give them, whether that’s a sex crazed maniac or the most sex repulsed asexual, they Have a Sexuality! even before the exact moment they turn 18, they have a sexuality. it’s just another facet to explore character through, to understand them more fully, and also sometimes for the author to help understand themselves.

i’m sorry age doesn’t matter when it comes to fictional characters. it just doesn’t. they’re not real you can’t hurt them. if someone wants to write through trauma, something ‘wrong’ and ‘problematic’ let them use fictional people. it may seem gross and you don’t have to read it, but its existence does not mean promotion of harmful behavior. it can mean so many different things to that author but it doesn’t equate to that.

i say this bc i myself have written some horrid things. i’ve never posted them, was not in a place where i wanted to, i wrote it all in a period of my life where i was seriously hurting, and writing fucked up horrific things stopped me from hurting Myself. i’ve read some ‘problematic’ fics that made me feel better, hurt me in a good way, reading comments of people who related and appreciated what was being explored.

most people who write about fucked up shit, SA, or some form of trauma porn or whatever it is have probably gone through something similar in their life. the people who read it and seek it out are usually drawn to it for a reason but we don’t need to know why. there is also just curiosity. and being curious doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you ‘like’ it. you may like the power dynamics at play, you may be intrigued by desires different than your own, you may… ANYTHING what you enjoy to read or write speaks to nothing regarding who you are in your day to day life. your morals, your beliefs, or what you want sexually or otherwise. i say this to a younger me, there’s nothing wrong with you!

with all that being said… there is also porn that is just porn. and that’s perfectly fine and good too. people have always written porn about whatever and whoever they want and they always will. if you don’t want it, scroll pass. you won’t be given a gold star for announcing you think it’s gross or wrong, you just look silly. i’m not saying that you must like it too, but attacking the moral character of those who do partake, shows an immaturity and lack of tack when it comes to these subjects. go out in the world and you will discover just how ‘abnormal’ and ‘depraved’ sexual desire can manifest itself as.

as someone who grew up a Very sexually confused person. not knowing i was queer or on the ace spectrum exploring sexuality through fiction was like my saving grace. and those books and those fics that made me feel seen, made me go huh! woah! ooooh my god that’s me! or made me go … wait why do i kinda like that? more often than not they were written by adults. bc they had made it through to the other side so to speak. and as An Adult now i find the traditional adolescent experience very intriguing as i did not have that growing up. the sexual experiences i’ve had now have shown me so starkly that that feeling which accompanies a new experience never really goes away. people are fumbling well into their 20s and 30s. reading the plight of a young person discovering who they are sexually i don’t think will ever not be relatable or make someone reflect. that includes the sweet and innocent as well as the ‘gross’/depraved horniness. it is not necessarily enjoyed on a basis of attraction to these characters, it is enjoyed on a basis of ‘i know this feeling’ or ‘i also do and have yearned for this kind of intimacy’. and if who you are isn’t represented in those stories, oh well damn, looks like i have to write it now. that’s how we have Are you there God, it’s me Margaret and the edge of 17 (the ‘98 and ‘16 iterations), all these stories written by Adults! that make us all sigh in relief and laugh and cry and aaahhh

fiction is fiction, idek what anti-ship means, let people be freaks in peace, fandom spaces are created to have fun in, let’s pls have Fun!!! explore and write and draw and fantasize whatever your heart desires bc there can be no right or wrong, it is just discovery.

if you feel kinship with characters and it feels natural to extend yourself to them, to take them and make them your own, amazing, gorgeous, beautiful. play dress up with them in all the ways you can, do whatever You Want!!

[spirk-trek]

so it happened again... another fic idea possessed me and i can't write it yet because i STILL don't have a laptop, but does anyone want to freak out about it with me anyway??? here's what the bio might be if i ever actually get to write it:

A young survivor of the Tarsus IV Massacre finds the katra of a Vulcan boy who failed his kahs-wahn. Together, will they survive being put back together?

i have everything in a convenient google doc so you can make comments if you wanted to! i would even love to collab with someone on it if it spoke to the right person :') idk :')

[axinite25]

passed out and woke up to the entire plot of my spy/celebrity au written out so I guess I'm focusing on that for a hot minute

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This is it! The last chapter before the epilogue!

It's also the end of a sort of riddle I've been leaving between chapters... I wonder if anyone even noticed, haha

I decided against splitting this chapter, so it's extra long!

Its name is "Famous Fate"

Page 59 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 16:

My brothers, who endured the agony of exile, Who suffered many winters in the cold cage, Were once knights, only to fall, They too, were called Beast. The young maiden, who left your companion, A pure heart, was her only sin, To not pray for a daemon’s death, only for her to live, She too, was called Beast. A man, fallen in battle, Abandoned by all but Death, but by worms of the earth, He too, was called Beast. The hunter, the knight tells, Who chases monsters, who alleges to be righteous, He calls himself, a hero. He is no better man than us, the knight says, One who declares himself justice, one who proclaims to be above the word of God, Is one we, as oath-bound knights, Must send to be judged, by the only true measurer, By the only arbiter still by our side, by Death itself.

“I know I won’t be able to understand, probably never will, but… I have to ask, Simon. Why didn’t you reach out? You knew how to contact me. I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t think there was enough of me left to save, Captain.”

“...What changed then?”

He looks away for a moment, to blue eyes that never knew fear from him. To arms that refused to hurt him. To a man that showed him more kindness than he ever deserved.

“I met Johnny.”

Ghost watches Soap sort through the supplies the 141 brought with them, wondering what kind of new contraptions the Sergeant’s vivid mind is imagining up right now. He’s grown sickly fond of them, just like everything else Johnny does.

Compromised, a voice growls in the back of his head. You’re only worsening a future pain, only making the inevitable betrayal more torturous.

No pain would make this any less worth it, another voice answers. It doesn’t matter if their destiny only holds blood and ruin, Simon would stay with Johnny as long as he’s wanted. And even then, maybe just a little more.

He senses the presence of another person a moment before Gaz speaks up, “Ghost.”

“...Gaz.” he answers, curious.

The Lieutenant shifts in his place, shoulders taut and squared, “since we’re going to work together, for this mission at least, I figured I should… apologize.”

Apologize?

Gaz continues, his eyes finally landing somewhere on his mask, “Soap explained to me, you never tried to hurt him, after that time we caught you two. I shouldn’t have jumped into conclusions.”

Ghost tilts his head, “I’d doubt your capabilities if you didn’t.” he looks back at Johnny, huffing when the Sergeant grumbles in Scots, “I’m glad he has someone like you on his side.”

Gaz’s mouth hangs open in surprise. He shakes it off to say, “It’s- of course.” Ghost can tell he’s hesitating at his next sentence, “I still have a hard time comprehending you were Simon Riley all along… You’re a bloody legend in the SAS.”

“I suppose they had an easier time making my death seem heroic than trying to actually save me.” Ghost mutters lowly. Gaz just nods slowly, eyes dropping to the ground.

And that’s a kicker, isn’t it? That apparently, the SAS made him a myth, someone for the rookies to look up to, a glamorized shell of a man that no one, including himself, will ever live up to. The same men that left him to die, now say his name with fondness and admiration.

Funny, how those same men now fear him enough to send the 141 on him. Ghost wants to grin with the twisted satisfaction it gives him.

“What’s your name, Lieutenant?” Ghost eventually asks.

“Huh? Uh, Kyle Garrick.” Gaz raises a brow.

Soap gathers up the last of his creations, face turning to his to nod, “Garrick. I know we started on the wrong foot-”

“Understatement of the century.” Gaz offhandedly remarks.

“-But you can trust me with Soap’s six. And I hope we can trust each other on ours, as well.”

Garrick blinks, expression growing serious. He then nods, offering a hand to shake, “enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that?”

Ghost hums, taking the hand and squeezing. He can feel, even from their short interactions, how Johnny and Gaz were cut from the same honest cloth.

He takes off his mask, “affirmative. Let’s move.”

Price’s eyes mellow, the hand on his bicep squeezing gently, “that lad is something else, isn’t he?”

Simon’s scars stretch with a small smile, “I thought he was an idiot, at first. Saving me, giving me another chance again and again. No matter what, he refused to kill me.” he breathes out slowly, the numbness of his limbs ebbing at last, “whoever discharged him was a goddamn moron.”

The Captain sighs, “I tried convincing Shepherd to let him off the hook, but the bastard was mental. He had Makarov in the palm of his hand, wanted to show off how he locked up the worst criminal of the decade, only for MacTavish to choke him out on exfil.”

It was Shepherd, then? Of course it’s that bloody wanker. Ghost can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest, “and here’s Johnny, fucking everything up for the higher ups yet again.”

God, what did he do to deserve meeting this man…

Konservy warehouse is a large building, surrounded by silos and containers. At least they’ll have some cover, besides the shadows of the night. Ghost can tell the offloading garage is blessedly open, even from the road their vehicle has parked in, meaning infiltration will be easier than they originally thought.

A thunder makes them all look up to the sky. A heavy storm is brewing, threatening to cover the stars and moon. Good. The darkness is their ally.

They jump out of the truck, gathering around the trunk, doing final checks to their gears. His hands move automatically, in the same way all of them were trained in the SAS. Some part of him is unsettled, the one that labelled himself a lost cause, a monster, a sinner with no salvation.

But as he looks up, at the masked faces surrounding him, Simon can’t call the position he’s in anything but atonement. 

He’ll carve forgiveness from the Hunter’s flesh, write amends with their blood. Untie the last knot on his self-made noose.

The poison in Simon’s body makes itself known at all times now – an uncomfortable buzzing tightening around his knuckles, weaving through sinews and leaving little pinpricks of pain. He looks towards Johnny, his blue eyes a silver grey in the moonlight.

Price wordlessly nods to him, a silent check. Simon schools his features and nods back.

They begin making their way to the garage door, the tall grass their only cover. The Captain motions to the left, where two guards stand under a weak light. Garrick pulls out his EBR, and not two seconds later, both soldiers fall dead with silenced shots. Their group continues pushing forward.

Soap stops walking in front of him, struggling with something. He stops besides him, watching for a moment as he tries to get something out of his pack.

He leans in to whisper, “what are you trying to get, Johnny?”

The Sergeant freezes, “I made some proximity mines with the C4 Price brought, but they’re stuck down there-”

Simon reaches into the pack, gently moving Soap’s hand aside. Their fingers wrap around the bomb at the same time, “you ought to organize it better, what would you do if you were alone?” he admonished.

Johnny’s eyes widen a little, before they crescent in a hidden smile, “but I’m not alone, am I? Ah got ye.”

Soap pulls away, quietly catching up to Gaz and Price. Simon, for his part, stays motionless for far too long, his brain looping Johnny’s words again and again.

It strikes him then, a sudden stab to his heart, that Soap trusts him. With his weapons, with his wounds, with his six.

Johnny trusts him. Simon fights down a smile, happiness overflowing him. He trusts him.

The others send him a confused stare, when Simon doesn’t move. He finally unsticks his legs and sneaks in, eyes instantly drawn to Johnny strapping his unhinged bombs under each vehicle, his “gifts” for any hostile trying to get reinforcements in the future.

Simon can’t force down the smile that his lips form then, when the Sergeant turns around and gives him a thumbs up, almost child like and so at odds with the amount of potential destruction he just planted in the garage.

The others return from clearing the area, Price readjusting his bucket hat over the mask (which looks as daft as it sounds, but Simon can’t help but feel fond of that stupid hat), giving Simon one last look, “how are you feeling, son?”

“Solid.” he flexes his hands, testing the numbness. It’s not enough to inhibit his performance, not yet at least.

Price places a hand on his shoulder, patting it, “good, keep it that way. Our mission may officially be to eliminate the Hunter, but finding an antidote is no less important.” Price’s face darkens, “don’t take unnecessary risks, Simon. I… I don’t want to lose you again.”

Simon swallows thickly, unused to this amount of people caring for his fate. It was far easier to accept a bloody end when no one was there to mourn him, “...I’ll do my best, Captain.”

Price’s moustache lifts with a smile, “good lad. I’ll see you when it’s all over.” he gives him one last pat before drawing away, “let’s move out, Gaz! We need to clear the way for our boys.”

Gaz gives Soap a fist bump and comes by the Captain’s side, “we’ll radio in when you have a way through.”

“Solid copy.” Soap responds, finished with the mine setting, “give ‘em hell, mate.”

Garrick grins, “as always.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to fight?”

Simon scoffs, “I don’t ‘ave a choice, Captain.”

“I am giving you a choice right now. If you think you can’t fight… We can take the Hunter down without you.” Price says, expression severe.

He thinks about it. It is not only a matter of what he wants. When working with a team, he must take into consideration that his inability to fight will endanger the others.

“The poison gives me enough warnings to know a few minutes ahead when I’ll be incapacitated. If I fall while we fight, I’ll be able to secure myself beforehand.” he rolls his wrists, muscling through the pain of regaining feeling, “you’ll need every help you can get. Don’t do my mistake, do not underestimate the Hunter.”

“We won’t, I just need to know-”

“I’ll be fine, Price. Been fighting my whole life with much less.”

“...I know, son. That’s why I would prefer you didn’t.” Price’s brows pull down in sorrow, “but I trust your judgement.”

“...Can’t ask for more than that, John.”

Johnny is silent beside him, eyes glued to the exit he’s overwatching. They’ve been waiting for Price and Gaz’s go-ahead for several slow minutes now, each trickling more sluggishly than the other. The pinpricks on Simon’s hands are growing – he doesn’t have much time.

“Ye think they need backup?” Soap eventually breaks the silence.

“If they’re compromised, we won’t be able to save them now, Sergeant.” as much as he hates the idea of leaving Price and Gaz to fend for themselves, they all knew the risks of splitting up. “For now, assume they’re still solid.”

“Aye, LT- shite, uh-” Johnny fumbles through the words, turning around to give Simon an apologetic look.

He huffs in slight amusement, at how much Soap seems to care if a word hurts him or not.

“It’s alright, Johnny.” he stops the Sergeant from continuing to backtrack.

Johnny’s teeth click shut, and he frowns, sheepishly asking, “...ye sure? It seemed to really bother ye, before…”

‘I wasn’t willing to lay my life for you, before’ he wants to say.

‘I didn’t have your trust, before’

‘I didn’t have trust in myself to lead you, before’

“You’ve earned it, Johnny.” he settles on. It seems to be the right choice, when Soap’s eyes almost close with how wide his grin must be. Simon hates the mask covering his face, for hiding that smile from him.

Their comms choose this moment to start crackling, and Price’s tinny voice comes through, “CCTV room is under our control, haven’t located the Hunter just yet.”

Simon radios back, “have you been spotted?”

“We may not be the Ghost, but we’re still professionals, mate.” Gaz joins in.

“Have ye professionals spotted any potential spot fer the Hunter to hide in?” Soap asks, his eyes still squinting with a smile.

“Still looking, this place is massive.” Price grumbles, “start making your way to the machinery room at the center, take out anyone on the way. I’m seeing a lot of equipment there, but no soldiers…”

“Copy.” Simon clicks his comms off, motioning with his head for Soap to take point.

The halls of the warehouse are eerily empty, little mementos of past life barely clinging to the barren concrete walls. Not for the first time, Simon wonders why the Hunter chose this city, out of all of them.

Soap’s careful steps thump behind him, a calming presence at his back. Simon is not used to trusting, but trusting Johnny feels… natural.

Not for the first time, Simon thanks whatever brought him to Soap. Fate, destiny, a God he doesn’t truly believe in, it doesn’t matter.

He shakes off those thoughts. If it was important for him to be at his best before he met Soap, now it matters a thousand times over, because he’s not alone anymore.

Their fates are interlinked now. And Simon refuses to be the reason they all fall.

He won’t fail his team a second time.

“After all of this is said and done… What will you do?”

Simon grunts as he sits up, finally able to move his torso. He stalls his answer for a moment, the truth so simple it scares him. “...I don’t know.”

He may have been lost many times in his life, tossed between his father’s cruel hands and the cartel’s, but he always had a goal.

‘Get out’

Now, though? The only thing he wants to run away from is the shell of a monster he was before meeting Johnny. A weapon, to be picked up and discarded as needed. 

Price must’ve seen a conflict twisting his expression, because he starts talking again, “I’d have you back in our ranks in a heartbeat, you know. But I don’t think that’s what you need.”

Simon frowns at the ground, hands massaging his aching legs, “and what do you think I need?”

“Someone to ground you. Make sure you don’t forget yourself again.”

“Someone like Johnny, then.”

“Another hostile on your 3, Simon.”

“Copy.”

Simon steps around another stack of crates, every move calculated and muted. The unsuspecting soldier walks right past him, arms relaxed on his weapon.

He waits for him to reach the end of the hallway, and the moment the soldier starts turning, Simon claps a hand over his mouth and slices his neck in a well practiced motion. He catches the body and shoves it into a nearby storage room. “Anyone else, Garrick?”

“You’re clear for now.” Gaz responds. He continues guiding Simon through the mess of halls that lead to the main room of the warehouse, alerting him to enemies. Soap has separated from him about ten minutes ago, taking the other rooms and making sure no one will be alive to raise any alarms.

Even if Price is keeping an eye on Johnny, Simon would’ve much preferred if he was in his sights. But he trusts the Captain.

“Any sign of the Hunter showing on CCTV?” Soap radios in, voice steady and calm.

Price sighs, “negative-”

“Wait-” Gaz cuts him off, “next to the main conveyor belt, right in the middle of the main room, is that…”

Simon holds his breath in anticipation as the line goes silent, Price and Gaz likely attempting to verify the ID.

“Skull mask, that’s them. Soap, Simon, PID on the Hunter!” Price nearly shouts.

Gaz’s voice is far more tense than before when he adds, “it seems like they know something’s wrong, prepare for combat!”

Shit, “Johnny, where are you right now?” they can’t be separated if they’ve been discovered.

“On my way to ye- fuck!” grunts and muted punches fill the comms, the sounds of struggle a sinking feeling in Simon’s chest.

Simon starts running. “Price, where is he?!” these bloody hallways all look the fucking same! He retraces his steps to the point he and Johnny split ways.

“Turn left, he’s straight ahead from there!”

He almost slams into the wall with how fast he turns, but the pain is barely registered when he spots Johnny.

Johnny, whose chest is heaving, three dead soldiers at his feet. His bright blue eyes meet his, “Simon?”

He’s capable. You can trust that he won’t die on you.

He blinks a few times before asking, “what’s your status, Sergeant?”

Soap wipes a bloody knife on his pants, “solid. Let’s move.”

“Your cover is blown. Soldiers are making their way to you!” Gaz tells them, “they’re going to the trucks to the front exit, might be trying to get reinforcements!”

He doesn’t need to see Soap’s mouth to know the way it curves into a dangerous grin, “they won’t get far.”

Simon slings his rifle around, toggling the safety off, “time to go loud, Johnny.”

Soap does the same, “with pleasure.”

The sounds of shots line up with his heartbeat. In a fast-paced melody of war, Simon and Johnny continue pushing hostiles back, headshot after headshot.

Heavy drops of rain shake the roof, thunder booming so close to them, Simon feels it in his heart.

Somewhere amidst the battle, several far away explosions rattle the warehouse, the soldiers in front of them taken by surprise. Simon thinks he can hear Johnny chuckling darkly under his breath.

Red paints the walls, brushstrokes of blood and fallen soldiers of the Hunter. It gives Simon newfound strength to push through the growing pain in his limbs, a blinding rush of adrenaline that lies to him sweetly, convincing him he could resist the poison in his heart.

One second, he’s shooting down enemy after enemy.

The next, he falls.

His gun clatters to the ground, legs convulsing uncontrollably. Simon uses the last of his powers to drag himself around the corner, to cover.

“Simon?! Fuck-” Johnny appears a moment later, attempting to scan him for injuries between shots, “poison?”

Simon groans, “affirm. Sorry, Johnny.” shame bubbles in him. He should be right beside Soap, helping him fight, and the poison decides to take it away from him.

He should be stronger than this.

“None of that, mo chridhe.” Johnny says softly, taking down another hostile, “I’ll clear this wave, and we’ll get ye to a better spot.”

How could he be so gentle while killing people? Simon lays back down with a smile, loosening his muscles and letting the poison have its way.

Soap gets the last of them and returns to his side, looping arms under his shoulders and heaving him up, “steamin’ Jesus, ye weigh as much as a baby elephant.” he complains under his breath.

Simon chuckles, hissing as the jostling shoots pain up his limbs, “you’re just short, Sergeant.”

“Away an’ bile yer heid, bastard…”

Soap drags him to one of the side rooms, a storage unit that seems like it hasn’t seen the light of day for decades. About this time, Simon wishes he had his mask on, if only to filter all the bloody dust in this room.

Johnny fusses over him for a few seconds, until Simon stops him, “I’ll be fine, Soap. Once I regain movement, I’ll come to you.”

Soap stops, hands frozen on his shoulders. He frowns like he wants to argue, but he rises to his feet all the same. “I kept yer comms open, so if ye hear anyone gettin’ close-”

“I’ll radio in. Don’t worry.” Simon smiles, “go.”

Johnny opens the door, hesitating. Simon is about to order him again when Soap unexpectedly turns around, takes three loud steps towards him, and rips his mask off.

“What are you doing, Johnny-”

Warm, shaky hands cup his face, tilt it up. Johnny bends down, and softly kisses his forehead.

In the space between them, he whispers, “I’ll come back for ye, Simon. I promise.”

He puts the mask back on, and leaves.

Simon’s heart burns, his cheeks surely bright pink. He doesn’t know if it’s from the poison, or from…

No, the tight grip around his heart is definitely from the poison. An agonizing ache wraps around his chest, heavier than 6 feet of dirt. Simon’s lungs shudder for a breath.

He can distantly hear the others talk on comms, but the blood rushing through his ears prevents him from deciphering what they’re saying. Simon understands then, that this might be the end. With the poison gripping his lungs, and the lingering warmth of Johnny’s lips, Simon closes his eyes.

His last thought is of regret, that Johnny won’t be able to keep his promise.

“-The Hunter, they’re going after-”

Simon groans, unimaginable pain thumping at his head. Couldn’t death have at least taken that away from him?

The rain beats in incessant song in his head.

“-Wait for backup, MacTavish-!”

MacTavish… Johnny….. Simon remembers the kiss, his promise, and smiles. 

“-Can’t-”

“-SOAP-!!!”

Garrick sounds frantic. What are they shouting about?

Gunshots make his brows crease. Fighting someone… Where is he?

The warehouse. Price, Garrick. The Hunter.

“Johnny…” Simon rasps. A loud static is buzzing on comms. He pays it no mind.

He needs to get up. His limbs don’t shake anymore, but his lungs hurt like he breathed in sandpaper. Simon whimpers, pushing himself forward.

His rifle is laying right next to him. Trembling fingers wrap around the weapon, and with gritted teeth, Simon manages to take it with him as he gets up. He stumbles through the door, blearily noticing the trail of bodies leading deeper into the warehouse.

Simon follows the paths of blood.

He doesn’t know how long it took him to walk all the way to the central room of the warehouse, time slipping between the cracks in his mind. It’s so hard to breathe, dark spots take permanent residence in the edges of Simon’s vision.

The lights went out before he woke up, plunging the building into shades of red, the emergency lights making the blood appear black.

Only one light remains, a spotlight encompassing two figures. A crimson skull makes Simon’s steps falter.

The Hunter.

Their gun pointed directly at Johnny’s head.

It takes everything Simon has left in him to lift his gun. His lips move around a prayer, a plea to whoever is out there listening.

His fingers shake around the trigger.

He takes one last heaving breath, his eyes wide with fear.

The Hunter’s head moves from Johnny to him.

Simon shoots.

His bullet hits the Hunter’s arm, the rifle in their hands getting knocked away and sliding under a conveyor belt.

Johnny turns around, blue eyes shining in the light.

Simon smiles.

“...Simon…?” Johnny asks.

He falls unconscious not a moment later.

Several minutes earlier

Soap closes the door on the storage room. He takes a second to roughly scrub down his face. What the fuck did he just do?! Did he bloody lose it?!!

“Soap, what’s your status?” Price asks over the radio.

“Solid. Poison got Simon, left him in a storage room.”

The Captain sighs, “we will keep an eye on the door, son. He’ll be safe.” Soap exhales shakily. “More hostiles your way, keep pushing Soap.”

“Copy.”

No time to consider his fuckin’ action. He needs to focus.

He hears the rumbling steps of soldiers echoing through the empty halls, and pulls out a flash grenade. Now that he’s alone, he can start using some of his more… lethal equipment.

Soap huddles behind a filing cabinet, throwing the flash over his shoulder. Even though he covers his eyes, his vision is still painted bright red for a moment. He pops out of cover, noting the disoriented soldiers clutching at their eyes and ears, and methodically dusts them.

From here on out, it is total chaos.

Drill charges, Semtex, frags, every explosive in Soap’s arsenal gets thrown at seemingly endless waves of soldiers. He moves on instincts, hands shooting at targets his mind didn’t even register yet.

It is only when he gets to the main machinery room, that he comes back to himself.

Sentry turrets have been set up at the entrance, waiting for him.

Soap rolls away not a moment too soon, the floor he just stood on turning to shattered bits of concrete in seconds. 

“Captain, they have sentries!” Gaz yells, “Soap is pinned!”

Soap scans the room he’s in, noting the snaking cables wrapping around the sentries legs. Following them, he spots a large electrical enclosure. If he could create a shock, the sentries will stop working…

A thunder rattles the windows around them, soldiers spreading out in search of him. “On your 9, Soap!” Price informs him, and he shoots two soldiers getting too close to his position.

The rain… if he can get it to drop on the enclosure…

Soap scans the roof for any weak points. There!

“Captain, Gaz, are there any hostiles around me?” he growls into his mic.

Gaz answers, “Negative, what are you-”

“Ah’m gonna drop the power to take the sentries down, might take out the CCTV.”

One beat passes before Price replies, “understood. We will come back you up if it goes.”

“Solid copy, Captain.” Soap lines up a shot at a precariously placed piece of the roofing. With only the iron sights on his rifle, it takes precious moments to aim and finally press the trigger. The hairs on Soap’s nape raise as he hears soldiers close in on him.

Time slows as he watches the water spill down, flooding the electrical enclosure.

“He’s here! Get him!” A soldier shouts to his left.

The warehouse instantly falls dark. The electric hum stops, making Soap’s surroundings eerily silent.

He ducks away, sneaking around crates and containers, moving position to the soldiers’ flank, and just as the red emergency lights turn on, he strikes.

5 shots, and they’re down.

“The CCTVs are out, we’re making our way to you. Do not engage the Hunter alone, Soap.” Price orders through comms.

Soap lifts his hand to press the button to answer, but a new group of soldiers appears, shots wild as they spray the area he’s in. He jumps back, searching for his attackers, tracking the glint of the gunmetal. He shoots them, bodies falling, and for a moment he believes he’s in the clear.

Pinpricks at the back of his neck make him turn.

Soap’s eyes widen as he comes face to face with the Hunter.

They stare at each other for a second, before the Hunter simply walks away.

Back towards the way he came from, towards… Simon!

“Soap?! Soap, give me sitrep, now!” Price yells, snapping him out of shock.

“Price, the Hunter, they’re going after Simon!” Soap doesn’t have time to figure out how the Hunter knows that, no time to figure out how he knows that.

“Wait for backup, MacTavish! That’s an order!”

“I can’t let Simon die, Captain!”

At those words, the Hunter snaps their gaze to him, and with near inhuman speed, lift their gun and shoot.

Pain shoots through his right shoulder, making him drop his gun. Soap bites down a scream of agony, the burning of the gunshot spreading down his arm.

“SOAP-!!!”

The butt-end of a gun comes at his head, Soap falling to the ground on his back to avoid it.

A single light turns on above them, the sharp shadows casted on the grotesque red skull mask hiding the Hunter’s eyes.

The commander circles him, Soap crawling towards his gun. If he could only-

The Hunter kicks it away, the firearm clattering when it hits one of the metal support structures keeping the warehouse’s roof up. The reverberating sound bounces on the barren walls.

“I’ll never let ye kill Simon.” Soap snarls, desperation clawing at his chest. He frantically searches for an exit, a way to stall the Hunter, before they line the barrel of their rifle with his head.

He’s going to die here, Soap realizes.

He won’t be able to fulfill his promise to Simon.

A shot from behind him makes him jump, the bullet hitting the Hunter’s hand, making their gun fly off and land under a conveyor belt.

Soap turns around, heart beating out of his chest.

Simon stands behind him, his form shaking, face even paler than usual, standing out against the red lights.

“...Simon…?” 

Simon crumples, body falling heavily to the ground.

“-NO-!” Soap rushes to him, when a blade unsheathing makes him freeze.

The Hunter is flexing their injured hand, a knife held tightly in the other. Soap growls.

So this is how it’s going to be, huh?

Soap searches Simon for a moment, unsheathing his knife. The blade is long and cruel, one he’s seen take so many lives in the short time they’ve known each other. It’s only fair it will take one more.

Soap gets his feet under him, grunting at the pain from his wound.

They start circling each other, waiting for the other to strike first. The Hunter’s head moves for a second away from him, to look at Simon.

That’s when Soap rushes in, knife in his left hand, slicing at the Hunter’s other arm. He jumps away before the commander can retaliate, and they start trading blows.

Soap manages a cut at their wrist, bright red blood mixing with their uniform. The Hunter slashes at his injured shoulder, making Soap yell.

He disengages for a moment to catch his breath, watching the Hunter do the same. He feels doomed for a moment, when he realizes he’s fighting a soldier that bested even the Ghost.

How could he win?!

Another blow to his torso that Soap barely evades. He tries to go for the Hunter’s neck, only for them to block it, shoving Soap away with frightening force.

Think, MacTavish! You’ve always been shorter, weaker, younger than both your squad mates and your opponents!

Take those disadvantages, and make them work!

Soap inhales sharply, dodging another lethal attack. The Hunter is far stronger than him, if they managed to get a stab in…

A sharp grin stretches on his lips. Soap twirls around the Hunter, their knife predictably following with immense speed.

He lets it sink into his left shoulder, and he pushes towards it, snarling as it sinks in further.

The Hunter attempts to take it out, but it sank far too deep. Soap locks eyes with the red skull.

In a wide arc, Soap swings his knife, and slices the Hunter’s neck.

Blood sprays on his face, as the commander clutches at him, a pathetic attempt to keep themselves standing.

Soap freezes when he hears the Hunter talk.

Their voice is startlingly old, decrepit, as they whisper, “You are nothing but a Blind Man… a Beast… following… a Beast… you will not be more than that… you will die… monsters…..”

The Hunter’s grip slips from his biceps, and they fall to the ground, dead.

Soap stares at the blood spreading on the floor, as an unsettling sense that this has happened before washes over him.

He shakes it off when his eyes drift away towards Simon’s still form.

Soap falls to his knees, frantically searching the Hunter’s body, “Fuck, c’mon, c’mon…”

His fingers brush over a set of vials and syringes at their hip, and he yanks them off, trembling fingers slipping while he tried to get the liquid in the syringe.

Once he manages to fill one, Soap throws away the rest, crawling to Simon and tilting his head to access his neck. The poison has blackened his veins, the injection site the epicenter. Soap stabs it and pushes the liquid from the needle into Simon.

He sits back, arms pulsing pain from both of his wounds, the Hunter’s knife still in his shoulder.

“Simon… Mo leannan, please.” his eyes start to water, uncoordinated hands pawing at Simon’s chest, “please, wake up…”

He places a bloody hand over Simon’s cheek, tears now streaming down his face, “I kept my promise… I told you I’ll come back, right?” his voice cracks, “now ye just have to come back to me… Please…”

Soap feels his adrenaline waning, leaving him tired, so fucking tired. He rests his head on Simon’s chest, sobbing at the stillness of it.

“I…” Soap closes his eyes, “I wanted to tell ye…” his exhales shudder out of him, “I love ye…”

Ba-dump

Soap stills. Did he imagine…?

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-

“Fuck…” Simon groans. Soap’s head shoots up, and his brown eyes soften, “Johnny?”

Soap barks a laugh, blinking away tears.

Simon’s eyes trail down, to the knife in his shoulder, “fucking ‘ell, Soap, how did you manage that?!”

“The Hunter…” 

“Is he…” Simon stares behind him, at the growing puddle of blood, “fuck, Johnny, you took him out by yourself?”

“You and me, Simon.”

Simon smiles up at him, dark eyes breathtakingly deep. He sighs a moment later, slowly getting up to walk to the body of the commander. Soap follows.

Simon takes hold of the red skull mask, staring intently at it before taking it off.

Beneath it, was a face Soap feels he’s seen before, yet in the weeks following, he could not remember. The only feature burned into his memory were the four scars slashed across the Hunter’s face.

The claws of an animal.

Simon examines the mask. It looks similar to Ghost’s, but the red skull is sculpted to look furious, a permanent frown on it.

Simon offers it to Soap, who gives him a confused look.

“You’ve earned it.”

Soap stares at Simon, before taking the mask. 

The two of them swivel their heads back when a pair of footsteps sound through the hallway behind them. Simon slides a knife down his sleeve, ready to fight, when the source is revealed to be Price and Gaz.

“Soap, bloody hell mate, we told you to-” Gaz’s brows slowly rise as he registers Simon, and then the mask in Soap’s hand.

Price approaches them, “the antidote…?”

“Administered.” Soap says, “it’s over.”

The warehouse falls silent as they process the words.

The Hunter is dead.

It is done.

Page 63 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 17:

And the Beast attacked, cruel claws reaching the hunter, His eyes blinded, by blood and rage, And the Beast says to the Blind Man, you will fight as equals. The Blind Man, the Fallen Knight, Takes a sword, and strikes the hunter down, And as his blood became one with the dirt, the hunter tells, You are not but a Blind Man, not but a beast following a beast, You will not be more, you will die Monsters. And the hunter falls silent, forevermore belonging to death.