#i couldnt write today but.

[ceilidho]

where's that one image of a dog jumping off a cliff to catch something and it's like "choices made in anger can't be undone?" anyway that but reader going to a dive bar alone because she's horny and needs to get fucked, and finding the biggest man in the bar to take home with her, only to wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried come between her thighs and on her belly, so sore that even twitching her finger hurts, and a gruff voice telling her to quiet, bird - s'too early for your bitching before manhandling her onto her stomach and shoving his raw cock into her cunt because she was too horny to remember to ask him to use protection the night before

[radioelly]

early shuake v third sem shuake based on this meme:

[rexecutioner]

Sorry ive been so inactive recently, I have a life that I needed to get back to for a bit! I am returning with a new hyperfixation (i am seven years late)

I drew me and my friend’s favorite characters in a silly artstyle!! We are going through the game together and we are almost done with Chapter Four (i am so scared) (ignore how tiny Rantaro’s head is) (i rant in the tags beware)

[littleplantfreak]

For good luck

Two leaders leave their partners to go to battle - not without a token of their love though

or to put it less dramatically, you give Choji and Ume something for good luck before a fight (separately)

SFW anddddd no other warnings ig

Characters: Umemiya Hajime, Choji Tomiyama

Tomiyama Choji

You're holding two cards left in this UNO match and one happens to be a draw 4. Just as you're about to put in down on the pile, Togame walks into the room carrying Choji's jacket.

"Sorry to interrupt, but it's about time for that fight, Choji." He looks to you apologetically and your boyfriend looks at the clock on the wall.

"Uno," you place your second to last card down and he looks back to the pile.

"Again?" Choji whines drawing four into his now ten card pile. It isn't the first time this round you had him drawing stacks of cards. You think he might just be incredibly bad at the game given how often you win.

"When you get back, the color's green," you say faking grumpiness at the fact that he's leaving right before you secure victory.

"If I win can it be red?" he pouts and furrows his brow. It's his equivalent of puppy dog eyes that he pulls out at least once a day, so although he looks adorable, nose all scrunched in upset, you're used to this ploy. There is no mercy in UNO and he knows that.

"You know you're going to win, and no, it's green." His cheeks are puffed out like a hamster as he puts his jacket on, but his mood switches up and suddenly he's the trusted leader of Shishitoren, ready to lead his guys into their next brawl. He still silly and excited, your little lionheart, as he gets pumped up to fight, but he's a little more serious too. "Choji." Never one to want to interrupt when he's about to go all out, but knowing it wouldn't feel right to let him leave like this, you're standing, waiting for him to remember the small tradition you two began in the beginning of your relationship.

The first time you ever sent him off to a fight, you were so nervous even Choji could tell. He'd said you were really lucky, so if you squeezed him as hard as you could the luck would rub off on him like a charm. You weren't really lucky, but you knew he was practically unbeatable if what Togame told you was to be believed. It did also calm your nerves, so you elected to always send him off this way just in case.

"I almost forgot my hug!" He spins and runs into you, grabbing you in an embrace.

"Big squeeze!"

"Even bigger squeeeeze!" Stretching your words to prolong the hug, you both release the insanely tight holds you had on each other. He's out of the door before you can say anything else, Togame close behind.

Leaving the cards on the stage of the Ori you were playing on earlier, you decide to make a quick trip to the store for snacks. Surely they were gonna be hungry when they got back, right?

Umemiya Hajime

"I'll hold down the fort while you guys are gone," you say, not looking up from the song book. Your boyfriend is the last to leave after hearing there's a fight outside the Karaoke Bar on Keisei Street. Nakamura and his gang were surely already there taking care of whatever troublemakers showed up, but your Furin boys couldn't hear the word fight without running towards it.

"Babe," his voice is strained as he's ready to head out. "can you...y'know?"

"Can I what, Hajime?" You put on an unaffected act, but it's not one you can hold for long. He taps his cheek as he bends towards you, a little bashful now that you're actually looking his way. "What do I get in return for giving you all my hard-earned luck hm?"

"My everlasting love and affection princess," he says bending his knee in front of you in an equally regal display. He places a small kiss on your hand and sees you crack a smile despite your initial play of indifference.

"How could anyone pass up an offer like that," you giggle, giving your prince a good luck kiss on the corner of his mouth as by accident. "You'll get a full one after you're back and in one piece," a hint of warning in your voice as you send him off. You hate when he comes back hurt, even if he says it's not that bad and that you really should see the other guy. A heavy sigh leaves you as you're left alone for whatever amount of time it takes for your boys to return from battle.

Once they're back, more people than had initially left showed up. It seems some of the Roppo-ichiza group heard there was karaoke and decided to tag along dragging some new faces into the room, not that you mind. Umemiya pops in while everyone is saying their hellos and takes his seat next to you again.

"You're back from war huh?"

"Yes ma'am! Can I collect my kisses now?" He's extra clingy, feeling bad that he left you alone for even a short while.  You can see no one is really hurt from the fight save for a few bloody knuckles and swollen cheeks. Ume himself only has a small bruise on his jaw and small cuts on his hands. "Gotta heal you first," you say putting your lips to his knuckles, your intention to kiss every injury being made clearer the farther along you progress. What he doesn't know as you're distracting him is that you've queue'd up 'baby shark' on the karaoke tablet about 20 times as payback for leaving you by yourself.

[screechingfromthevoid]

@disastertourwaterdeepedition

Sorry for the weird fucking post but like tumblr straight up ate your ask?? I had to search and screenshot from my email??

Its like super fine I love big rants and big feelings (especially about the blorbo of the month).

Whoa buddy if you wanna talk about a rant. This got so long I'm putting it under a read more.

I'm not sure any of this is above board conscious thought process. When he looks to Orym, when he thinks about how he feels about Orym, I think Dorian, king of compartmentalizing, gets a rush of all three of the things in the post. He gets a little too lost in thought looking at the way Orym's hair now tries to curl against his ear or how well tailored the armor is to his body, he first gets hit with the Will guilt. Then he thinks about "ohmygodtheresawaron" and he'd shovel all of that down. Because its not time to think about Orym and him. But he knows by the way Orym watches him "sleep". He knows by the way Orym refused to be princess carried in Aeror. (Seriously dude Dorian princess carries everyone. It would have been less suspicious if you let it happen). He knows because Orym didn't see his husband when they were in Zephrah. But when he dares himself to actually think about a possible future together, he uses the big three to shove it down. And no, he has no clue that Orym thinks he doesn't return his feelings. (Wow you're right. Pronouns are hard)

Lol to finally answer your question: I'm not sure! Because the thing is! Orym has gone down twice in a battle with Dorian there! And honestly if Orym being on death's door doesn't make either of them confess, i'm not sure what will! (thats a lie I do have an idea). But like Orym went to the moon and back and almost died on the moon and all the count communicate to Dorian was "I miss you"!! Orym nearly died twice in one battle and he didn't think to give Dorian a sloppy, "If I die again I want to have kissed you once" kiss before going in for another round of getting hacked on. Dorian watched him go down and had to bring him back from death's door (one failed save scared the shit out of me) and he didn't think to give Orym a "We need you, I need you" kiss.

My unfortunate thought process, which I can't decide if I want it to come true or not, is that Dorian has to get hurt. Like when I say hurt I fucking mean it. Taken down in a round or two, two failed death saves, hurt. Because then Orym will have to face losing Dorian again. Face losing the man he loves, again. He pours a healing potion into Dorian's mouth because warlocks don't have a single healing spell. (Just checked). Orym feels so helpless in saving Dorian, because a healing potion isn't nearly enough to keep him up. He starts to cry over Dorian's (now conscious) body. He whispers between sobs "Not again, not again. Dorian you can't leave me. I love you, please, I never got to tell you, please stay alive." and Dorian, having heard all of that, reaches up to cup Orym's cheek and says. "Alright, just for you though."

Or something like that.

As much as I would love for them to be adults and just talk to each other. I know thats not going to happen. (Please, Robbie, Liam, prove me wrong.) So I think major tragedy will be the reason they confess to each other. Because they're idiots in love with a lot of weight on their shoulders.

[triglycercule]

yall who cast reverse animal themes on my horror and dust,,, why we got BUNNY horror and PUPPY dust

ok but on a real note i was DYING drawing this. i cant believe its my first time drawing the 1 of the trio in a maid dress!!!! id like to thank underfella and calvateyla for inspiring me; i wouldn't have graduated from shit art college without you guys ❤️💜 (inspo) (SOMEONE GET THIS DOG OUT OF HERE DUST HAS A FUCKING CHAINED COLLAR???? 💀💀💀)

i didn't know what to do for the background either so i just added funny photos. HERE. yes its a coincidence the memes are both horror and dust themed i totally didn't plan that

[gomzdrawfr]

✧˖°.☪︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖☁︎ Day 4

➳ Moon

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

alt ver

rambles below:

Id like to hc that Ghost knows a lot about the stars, constellations and all

imagine they often need to stay out in the open during missions, to rest without roofs above their heads

perhaps its boredom, or something to occupy the quiet space, something to feed to the loud brain and make the thoughts softer in his head

so he picked up the knowlegde

though its different when Soap comes along, because that man will talk just about anything and rambles on and on about...

about what exactly? Ghost remembers some bits, the important ones like how he loved blueberry muffins((seems like that man likes blue in general)), the rest muddles into a blur mess

"yer see that one that looks like a bucket?" it's not exactly a bucket, but close enough "those are called Big Dipper" it resembles Lyra more, but Ghost kept quiet

There's nothing more comforting to listen and let Johnny's voice filled in the empty space between them

sometimes they don't talk either, passing the time by hearing the the crackling and popping of burning wood, punctuating the still night

its soothing, a comfort routine that they're fluent in

and sure, the scene above their head was undoubtedly pretty, a graveyard of stars painted over the black canvas, glimmering and shinning with every passing seconds

but nothing beats more than to see Johnny's blue eyes sparkles

certainly

nothing can compare to dear Johnny

[opens-up-4-nobody]

You know that feeling where you have ideas. So many ideas. Too many ideas. And they all would take way too much time that you don't have if you actually wanted to execute them. So you just sit there giving yourself a headache because you cant decide where to start? Love that feeling. And by love, I mean I want to take my brain out of my skull and wring it like a wet sponge.

[fangsandsoftgrass]

Soft music and indistinguishable chatter filled the air around her as Cirwedh stepped onto the balcony of Beragon's townhouse, Gladriel in tow as the previous noise died down.

All eyes were on her as Beragon began his toast, and when they all called her name, one voice, in particular, caught her ear. Standing off to the side with his hands clasped behind his back was Fennorian, Ursilia standing beside him and conversing with some Skingrad noble the Count must have brought; glass of wine in hand. Their eyes met, and while the rest of the party faded they shared a moment of relief, having found each other amongst strangers. They would have time later, but Cirwedh could already feel herself being pulled in different directions as those gathered clamored for their chance to thank her. For what? they'd never remember.

Cirwedh weaved through conversational checkpoints like a needle and thread, exchanging clasped hands and well-practiced pleasantries until the sun sank low behind the trees, and the last few people trickled back into the townhouse proper (to continue the party somewhere with more food, she was sure). She had settled into a heated debate on the floor with Gladriel when the sound of her name caught her attention, just in time to see Ursilia close the door into the parlor. Fennorian was just as soon crossing the floor and pulling her into his arms. For a second, Cirwedh thought she smelled strawberries.

"I've been waiting all afternoon to hold you." the sentiment had her knees weak. As she pulled back to look him over, she noticed just how nice his clothes were. Fennorian had ditched the leathers altogether and instead opted for silken pants and a tunic, both dyed black and accented with silver closures that matched the coffin dangling from his neck. An almost opulent vest of deep maroon and scarlet florals brought it all together, visibly aged but still a fine piece of clothing. He noticed her staring and spoke up, "It was Verandis'. Seen plenty of court intrigue and ballrooms, I'm certain."

"And I thought I'd overdressed." A sparkling laugh spilled from her lips as she smiled and cupped his cheek with a sprouting hand. The only thing Alea had told her was to dress finely—well, as finely as she could, considering how she'd been covered antlers-to-toes in everything by the time she had returned to the city—so she draped herself in borrowed silk and leather, keeping it all on with living vines and the same blooming peonies she'd seen growing in the Skingrad gardens. Vibrant leaves and scars covered whatever skin was exposed, and beneath them lay enough freckles to make the stars envious.

"Considering some of the collars here were bigger than Glad's head, I'd say we're doing about average for this place." This earned a light chuckle. Somewhere below them, a gentle melody played, and muffled cheering could be heard from some other part of the city as people danced in the streets below. The arms around her tightened before releasing, and Cirwedh watched with a raised brow as Fennorian bowed deeply, eyes never leaving hers as he extended his arm for her to take.

"Would you give me this dance, Love?" a single pearly fang peaked from behind smiling lips. Small flowers crept up her antlers, and a deep blush settled across her cheeks as she took his hand and fell into his arms once more. The movements were slow and fluid, similar to a waltz she'd seen before in Alinor but never tried, and the setting sun painted everything golden as the stars shone like diamonds in the hazy dusk.

"I'm sorry I waited." She felt a pit of guilt begin growing in her gut. "I Saw Ursilia just standing there, and I think if I had gone over, she would have left with a few nasty scratches."

Fennorian sighed and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I know she's told you she's using my guilt over the engagement—I'll take that up with her later—But we did burn a lot of profitable stock. The least I can do is make sure the vineyard's workers are properly safe." He squeezed her hand in assurance and pulled her closer before, somewhere in the distance, a loud snore from Gladriel interrupted. Laughing breathily as he held her near, Fennorian dipped down to capture her lips in a kiss full of love and shared longing. Yes Cirwedh had given some rather colorful opinions on the Lady, but here, on this balcony, she remembered why she'd put up with that blighted vineyard in the first place.

"If she takes any more than what is owed, what you feel is owed," her voice was a raspy whisper as she spoke against the soft skin of his lips, "I will turn her into soup." She pecked his cheek, mischief dripping from her tongue.

"I'm sure she would taste awfully bitter, my dear." His eyes glinted, reflecting in them a shared amusement as he shook his head.

"That is why I'll feed it to her, of course." her eyes wrinkled as she flashed her signature sharp-toothed grin.

Fennorian's chest rumbled against her with warm laughter as he spun her around and took her hands in his own, kissing her deeply once more. She had mourned the Paths not taken; it was true. But here, in the heavy, humid air that smelled of strawberries and peony, Cirwedh felt in the hands of her lover that she'd made the right choice.

IM FUCKING LOSING IT ANYWAY THANK YOU @saatoruus FOR ALWAYS SEEING THE VISION AND MAKING IT MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN I COULD EVER IMAGINE MWAH MWAH I LOVE U FOREVER

[lacnunga]

Been re-reading @silverfoxstole 'Despatches' series and I did wanna draw something for it - this one is a scene from chapter 48 'Cold Comfort' bc I love the boys cuddling :)

[mangomybeloved]

its night time and i cannot seem to sleep... lovely

[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.

[amvro]

pairing: amuro tooru x gn!reader

summary: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMURO !

cw: none :) (please lmk if i should add any!)

He could not remember when, but at some point he stopped celebrating his birthdays. Well, somewhere in him he knew it was most likely the first year he was alone.

But it really didn't matter to him, just as long as he knew how old he was. There was truly nothing exciting about getting a cake and lighting and candle for him to eat alone, and he didn't see the point in getting himself a gift so it was just like any other day.

Now, this year was a little different. The two of you had been dating for three months now and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder if something would happen for his birthday this year. However, he did not mention his birthday in any way, let alone tell you when it was so there was no way you would know. And he didn’t plan to tell you either because he really didn’t think his birthday was a day necessary of celebration. It was just a little thought in his head.

His birthday had finally rolled around, but it was truly just like any other day. He got up bright and early to exercise and he was working until horribly late, just like always. It was only until late in the night that he was finally able to check his phone and you were asking if he was still at work and telling him to take care. This was practically your routine at this point. If he didn’t say anything by 9 pm you’d text him a few messages, except these days were unfortunately far more common than not. Yet, this was all he needed to feel a little better after a long day at work.

“Furuya-san, did something nice happen?” Kazami asked.

“Hmm, why?” he questioned.

“Well, you looked so delighted,” Kazami replied. 

“Oh...” Amuro said, smiling. It was nothing but sweet to him that he’d let something show on his face, and that it’d be happiness out of all things. “I got the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

“Oh, what did you get? Hold on it’s your birthday today Furuya-san? Happy birthday! I hope--” Kazami started to go on.

“Hmm... it’s a secret,” Amuro responded. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He was finally driving home after he sent you a message that he was done work and that he’d be alright. The whole way home he could tell he was ecstatic and he was horribly embarrassed, he felt like a little boy for getting so excited. 

He was finally getting over his little burst of excitement when he reached his place and turned the lights on but his eyes shot open.

“Happy birthday Rei!” you said, cake on the table and a few balloons here and there. He wanted to cry.

”How... did you know?”

“Of course I know my boyfriend’s birthday!” you said, acting a little offended almost, but then you laughed. “It was a lot harder to find out than I expected.”

“I didn’t think someone still knew my birthday,” he said, still shocked.

“Sometimes I really think you don’t get just how much I love you,” you said, grinning. “Because I would rather die than miss your birthday.”

Everything was finally sinking in and he walked over to you without a word and kissed you. It was long and sweet, but he went in for another one right after, and yet another one after that, before he finally pulled away.

You were ever so slightly out of breath, looking so caught off guard, and he started to laugh.

“Hey!” you said, pouting slightly.

“No, I’m sorry it’s not that. I would never laugh at you,” he said. “It’s just that there’s no way I don’t love you more.”

[praesparo]

me after replying to every fuckin draft ... (i absolutely loved it tho)

[serpercival]

Pros of vacation:

- visiting friends (hi @remyfire!)

- potential stop in toldeo to take photo with Jamie Farr park sign

- manatees

- not being in my goddamn house for eight days

Cons of vacation:

- bathroom stop in bumfuck ohio where there was cum absolutely everywhere

- parents will not shut up

- beejtrap are trying to smooch in my docs but thanks to aforementioned parents not shutting up I'm writing at like 1/3 speed

[opens-up-4-nobody]

She's turning the rain to snow