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trekscribbles · 26 days ago

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The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Seventeen: The End!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

A soft clicking sound pulled him awake.

He couldn’t place it at first—his thoughts were fragmented, frayed like a threadbare shirt sent through too many washes. Whenever he tried to focus, a gust of pain would tumble through him and scatter whatever he’d managed to gather, and he’d have to start over. The clicking, though. It stayed consistent, a beacon through the fading mist.

Tick tick tick pop, click, tick tick tick.

“You missed the buried treasure,” said the voice in his head. Except it wasn’t in his head; it was at his side, next to the clicking sound. “There used to be a shed in June’s yard, I guess, and Elizabeth Classen wrote about a loose floorboard where she hid her letters from her family. When she moved away, she took her letters with, but left the money. Now it belongs to June.”

He took a breath, dragging himself away from the windswept pain toward the sound of her voice.

“Now that Lancaster isn’t around to bother her about it, it might actually do some good,” she went on. “Nate and Hardison are helping her authenticate the find. You know, with the paperwork and the taxes and whatever other boring things go with making official historical claims. It’s a shame. I would have found a better place for the money. They wouldn’t even let me smell it. Hardison was afraid of mold or something.”

“Parker,” he said.

She stopped talking.

The silence enveloped him, and panic clawed up his throat. “Parker?”

“I’m here.”

He opened his eyes, blinking in the faint light coming through the window. He was in his room at Sunny’s, lying with a quilt tucked around his chest and Parker sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him. She had her back against the wall and a lock in her hands, just like his dream. When had he dreamed it? It was after he woke up earlier, after he went back to look for her, back when she was—when she was... God, was she…?

“Are you real?” he whispered.

She tilted her head. “You mean like solipsism? Like, the only thing we can know exists for sure is ourselves, which means everyone else is only a representation of ourselves—myself? Er, yourself?”

“Parker,” Eliot gritted out. “Are you here?”

“Oh!” She dropped the lock into her lap and did what he couldn’t do, this time or the last.

She took his hand.

“I’m here,” she said, closing her fingers around his. “And you’re here. I don’t think solipsism is all that popular anymore.”

He lifted his free hand and laid it on his forehead, grinding the heel of his palm into his eyes. It was splinted and wrapped—he must have sprained his wrist in the second explosion—but it didn’t matter. She was alive. He hadn’t dreamed it. She was here, sitting next to him and being weird and he’d forgotten how much he loved that, how much he missed her, how badly he needed her.

“You remember me?” Parker asked.

Eliot spoke without moving his hand from his face. “I think so. I don’t—I don’t know, there’s still… How do you know what you don’t remember?”

“Hmm.” She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, pulling him farther from the pain to center his attention on her touch. “Do you remember the time we stole a diamond that was actually a potato, but it turned out there wasn’t a diamond after all?”

“…No?”

“What about the time Nate hypnotized Hardison and he played the violin at that concert hall?”

“Um… maybe...”

“Or the time you were a minor league baseball player and you made a commercial for the Japanese energy drink?”

“That never happened.”

Parker laughed, and the sound filled Eliot’s chest, chasing out the empty ache and the tight, lingering fear. She was here. Fatigue weighed on him, filling his head with a thick, fuzzy haze of pain and disorientation, and nausea swirled in his stomach and his leg hurt, but the Parker on his bed was real.

He felt better than he had in days.

He took a grounding breath, trying to compose himself enough to look at her, but a sound at the door broke his concentration.

“Parker?” Hardison said. “Do you have those photocopies from—” He stopped, and Eliot lifted his hand so he could see him standing uninjured in the doorway, a laptop in one hand, his pants dusted with dirt.

“Hardison,” he said.

His voice was still rough, and Hardison’s eyes watered at the sound of it. He dropped the laptop on the dresser and kneeled on the floor beside the bed, wrapping his arms around Eliot before he could fully sit up. He seemed to be making an effort to be gentle, but Eliot pulled him closer, throwing his right arm around Hardison��s shoulder and pressing his fist to the back of his neck. His left hand was still in Parker’s, and he clung to it, pressing all the fear and remorse and relief he couldn’t voice into the contact.

“Hey, man,” Hardison asked unevenly. “You okay?”

Eliot nodded into his shoulder, and Parker pressed his hand, and the last of the fear coating his thoughts splintered apart. There were details he knew needed his attention—Lancaster and June and the other properties he and J.B. had found—but at the moment, he was content to let them exist in the background, a problem for his future self. For now, he wanted nothing else but to know that his people were safe, and he was safe, and that the void in his existence wasn’t going to stay empty forever.

Finally, Hardison eased back, and a wave of dizziness swept over him at the lack of support. When he blinked the spots out of his vision, Hardison’s hand was on his upper arm, and Parker had let him go so he could hold himself up.

“J.B. said you’d probably feel weak when you woke up,” Hardison said. “Hang on, I’ll get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

Parker helped him sit up as Hardison hurried from the room, stuffing a pillow behind his back to keep him upright. “Do you want to see your brain scans?” Parker said excitedly. “I kept a copy.”

“Uh… maybe later.” He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose to control the nausea brought on by the movement. He hated concussions. “The others are okay?”

His voice came out gruffer than he meant it to, but Parker didn’t seem to mind. She leaned back against the wall and stretched her legs over his lap, settling over him like a blanket. “Everyone’s fine. Well, except for Lancaster—he was inside the building when it exploded. Janish, too. But the rescue teams did get the guards you knocked out in the basement. I guess the staircase held up, and they were able to pull them out. They’ll all be fine.”

At least that was something. “The bombs were on a timer,” he said. “Lancaster stalled to keep me inside.”

“But you made it out,” Parker said. “You kept your promise.”

She said it like it was a given, like he was someone who could be taken at his word, and her certainty sent a spark of shame spiraling through him. He still had no idea who he had been before. Parker was a thief, Hardison was a hacker, Sophie was a grifter—criminals, all of them, but he knew in his heart that they were good. Even more so after they gathered together under the leadership of a man they respected, a man who had made them a family.

But Eliot? He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t innately good like they were.

What hope was there that he could change?

Parker was still watching him, her head tilted, and he forced a smile to his face. “Yeah,” he rasped. “I promised.”

Parker opened her mouth, but footsteps in the hall announced Hardison’s return, and she let the conversation end.

Nate, Sophie, and J.B. followed Hardison into the room, and Eliot sat up straighter under their worried looks, trying to look as healthy as possible. Sophie moved to the head of the bed and took the chair from the desk by the window.

“Parker,” she said, frowning. “He has a bullet wound in his leg. Should you really be lying on him?”

“I know where it is,” Parker said, lifting her foot to prove that her weight was distributed safely across his upper thighs.

Sophie shook her head. “Still, you probably shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Eliot said, too quickly, afraid that Parker would pull away if Sophie kept talking. Her absence would hurt far more than the little bit of pressure she was putting on his injury.

Sophie studied him for a moment, her brow furrowed, and then handed over a bottle of water. “All right, but make sure to tell her if it gets to be too much. Here, drink some of this.”

“How are you feeling?” J.B. asked from across the room. He was standing just inside the doorway like he didn’t want to intrude, but at Eliot’s nod, he took another step toward the bed. “I can’t believe you don’t have serious brain damage, but your scans were encouraging. Your memory should return once you’ve had some real rest. Which means you’ll actually have to rest, and not go running off into any destroyed buildings or starting fist fights, and I’d highly encourage you to avoid getting blown up for a day or two. Got it?”

Eliot gave a weak laugh. “Deal.”

“I got the deeds,” he said. “The ones you got from Lancaster’s office. Sophie was kind enough to help me retrieve them before the building went down.”

Sophie looked up at him. “Is that what was in the envelope?”

“Yep. I’ve been posing as a messenger to the office for the last few weeks, trying to pick up information on Lancaster, so we thought it would be a good cover to pick up the deeds once Eliot found them. We just had to get him into Lancaster’s office.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Eliot muttered. “He relied too heavily on his security. The deeds were in a filing cabinet next to his desk.”

Hardison sat on the end of his bed, crossing his legs and setting his computer in his lap. “Well, I was able to take the deeds you guys found and the files Sophie downloaded from Lancaster’s hard drives, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to return the properties to their original owners.” He flashed a grin at Eliot. “You continued our job on Lancaster without even knowing it.”

His gaze drifted to Nate. When he and J.B. had decided to go up against Lancaster, they hadn’t meant to get the deeds. They were just going to try to keep him away from Sunny. Eliot was the one who had changed the plan, once he realized how many other people Lancaster had hurt. It had been an unconscious decision—a realization followed by an instantaneous adjustment—and he wondered now how much of that had come from Nate’s influence. Without meaning to, without remembering the details… had he done what he’d thought Nate would do?

“Sunny’s fixing something to eat,” J.B. said, his eyes on Eliot. “I’ll be back to check your vitals in a little bit. Drink that water, all right?”

He backed out of the room, and Eliot obediently lifted his bottle to his lips. It gave him a chance to let his hair fall over his face, hiding his expression while his emotions churned in murky circles.

Sophie laid her hand on his arm, anchoring him as his thoughts spiraled. “I’ve been thinking,” she said gently. “Until your memory comes back completely, you’re a bit of a blank canvas. You have a chance to be whoever you want.”

He shot her an uncomfortable glance. That was too lucky a guess to be coincidence, and one look at the careful way she met his gaze was enough to convince him that yes, she was posing this question intentionally, and he wanted to change the subject and turn their attention away from his gaping insecurities, but she had her lips parted already, and the way she watched him said that she had anticipated that, too, and that she had another topic ready.

Whatever I don’t know, we’ll make up, she’d told him. Not a threat, but an offer.

Who you were doesn’t matter. Who do you want to be?

He cleared his throat. “Anyone?”

“Anyone,” she said, squeezing his arm. “It’s the role of a lifetime.”

Hardison nudged Eliot’s foot. “How about a chef? You’re a wizard in the kitchen, man. You could open up a restaurant in Paris or something and serve all them fancy little plates with like two bites’ worth of food on ‘em. You know the ones.”

Eliot considered that. He had no specific memories of cooking, but the thought of sitting at a table filled with his team and his food gave him a warm, contented feeling.

But Sophie was shaking her head. “No, no, that’s too obvious. I think—hmm, let’s see—I think you’d be a dancer.”

“A what?” Hardison laughed.

“It’s perfect!” Sophie said when Eliot wrinkled his nose. “You’ve got the athleticism for it, you know how to lead and how to follow in a fight—it’s not that different from dancing. I bet you’d be so good in an improv competition.”

“I think he’d be a pirate,” Parker said.

They looked at her, and she shrugged and turned her attention back to her lock. “Then you could have a parrot.”

“You can have a parrot without being a pirate,” Hardison said.

“I stole a parrot once,” Sophie said. “Horrid little thing. It started yelling just as I was making my getaway.”

Nate leaned his hip against the dresser and raised his eyebrows at Eliot. “What about a cowboy?”

Eliot groaned, but Sophie tapped his arm excitedly. “No, no, that could work—you can ride a horse, and you can pull off the hat. We could get you a little ranch in Texas, and you can sit out on the porch in a rocking chair sipping iced tea—oh, I like that one.”

“I’m picturing more like a Gene Autry kinda thing,” Nate said, sounding far too serious for comfort. “A rodeo performer and a musician. Between the stunts and the singing, I think you’d keep busy.”

“What do you think, Eliot?” Hardison asked.

Eliot took another sip of water, sifting through the jumble of feelings and fragments of memory, aware of his team’s patient silence. He’d spent the last few days so worried about his past that he hadn’t given a thought to his future. The only skills he knew he had were fighting, and he’d assumed that made him a violent man. But Sophie had looked at that knowledge and said he could be graceful instead of dangerous. Hardison believed he could create something to share with others. Parker… well, Parker had called him a thief, but that was probably a compliment for her.

And Nate. Back in Lancaster’s office, Nate had said he was a good man. It was what made Eliot decide to go with him, even though he still hadn’t settled on the truth, even though every clue he had suggested the opposite. He’d wanted to believe Nate’s words. He’d wanted to live up to them.

Maybe he wasn’t a good man yet. But maybe it was enough that he wanted to be.

“Eliot?” Sophie said quietly.

Eliot looked at her, then at Parker and Hardison tucked against him on the bed, and finally at Nate. “I want to help people,” he said at last. “With you. That’s what we do?”

Nate smiled. “That’s what we do.”

Sophie squeezed his arm again and sat back in her chair. “You should rest,” she said, smiling reassuringly as she gave him one final pat and stood. She touched Nate’s shoulder as she went past, and he pushed away from the dresser to follow.

“Make sure he stays in bed,” he said, fixing Hardison and Parker with firm looks. Then he nodded to Eliot and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “It’s good to have you back,” he said.

Eliot nodded back. It was good. He was good.

Or if he wasn’t yet, he would be.

Eliot woke to darkness. Not complete darkness—a sliver of light winked over his face, and he turned his head to avoid it.

“I can’t see how that’s comfortable,” said a voice in the hall.

Eliot opened his eyes. He was still in bed, lying on his back with a warm weight over him. Light from the hallway cast a long golden stripe over his right side, illuminating a pair of feet propped up on the mattress next to his hip. He followed the feet to their ankles and knees—upon which his sprained wrist rested, keeping it elevated above his heart—and up crossed legs until he recognized the still form of Hardison on the chair beside him. His arms were folded over his chest and his eyes were closed, his head tipped back on the backrest, breathing peacefully.

“It’s hard to explain,” said a new voice. Eliot blinked, trying to focus his blurry vision on the figure in the doorway. Nate. He spoke in a whisper, and Eliot tilted his head reflexively toward his words. “Eliot doesn’t normally show his vulnerabilities. It won’t sit easy with him, being out of commission like this. He won’t rest well if he doesn’t know where the team is.”

“I see,” said the first voice—it took Eliot’s muddled thoughts a moment to match Sunny’s name to it. “I suppose it’s reassuring to them, too, after all you’ve been through.”

Them. Eliot looked down at his chest, at the golden hair tucked against his neck, the head pillowed on his shoulder, the arm sprawled across his ribs. Parker. She’d draped one leg over his, covering as much of his body as she could without actually lying on him, as though trying to physically hold him down.

“He’s a light sleeper,” Nate went on softly. “At least now when he wakes up, he’ll know he’s safe. He won’t be compelled to search for us.”

“J.B. told you about that, huh?”

Nate was silent for a long moment. “This won’t be easy on him,” he said again. “When he starts to remember… They’re not all good memories. And from what J.B. said, it probably won’t all come back at once. He may remember the worst first.”

“How bad was the worst?” Sunny asked.

“Bad.”

A cold thread of worry wound around Eliot’s throat. He didn’t want to lose the progress he’d made, didn’t want to go back to fearing his past. He shifted toward the door without meaning to, lifting his head and shoulders, as if he could get anywhere with Parker and Hardison penning him in.

As if proving a point, Parker sighed in her sleep and burrowed deeper into his side.

“He’ll need us,” Nate said. “And he’s not used to needing anyone. And Parker and Hardison—” He paused, his voice low and fond. “They want to make sure he knows he’s not alone.”

Eliot relaxed into the mattress. Was that what they were doing? Placing themselves in such a way that he couldn’t possibly miss them? Making sure he felt their presence even when he wasn’t awake?

Parker’s fingers twitched on his chest, and Eliot looked down to find them resting on his necklace charm. She must have put it on him while he slept—which spoke to both her skill and his exhaustion—and the sight of it now filled him with determination.

He’d made a promise, and she’d returned it. However difficult the coming weeks might be, he would come through it—because he could do hard things, and he wouldn’t be doing them alone.

“That’s a blessing,” Sunny said quietly. “That you all understand him so well. That you found each other.”

Nate chuckled. “I could say the same for you.”

“Me? I just gave him a bed.”

“You did a lot more than that,” Nate said. “And I’ll never forget it. If there’s ever anything you need, any time… it’s yours.”

“All I need is a promise that you’ll come visit once in a while,” she said, laughing.

“J.B. thinks he’ll be well enough to head home in a few days,” Nate said. He eased the door closed, but his voice still filtered through to Eliot’s straining ears. “But we’ll make sure to come by again.”

“See that you do.”

Eliot closed his eyes, lying back on the soft pillow with one hand resting on Parker’s side and his other across Hardison’s knees. Nate and Sophie were safe, and Sunny was safe, and J.B. and Miguel would take care of anything he couldn’t until he was on his feet again. For once, he wasn’t worried about how long it would be before he was strong enough to return home.

As far as he was concerned, he was already there.

#leverage #fanfiction #leverage fanfic #the bushwhack job #eliot spencer #parker #alec hardison #nathan ford #sophie devereaux #this ending fought me. I wrote like 3 different versions split between 2 different chapters #but I think this one makes the most sense #I really tried to keep the ending close to The Man Called Noon's #which ends with the mc waking up in bed after being shot and thinking about home #but louis l'amour--God rest his soul--sucked at endings #they're all kind of just. okay the bad guy is dead. the end.#but I think this wraps up the themes in what is hopefully a satisfying way.#for everyone who's followed along with each update and reblogged and commented and liked and gone over to ao3 to read #thank you so much. you kept this story going when I would have given up on it #I finished it for you. I hope you like it <3

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olasketches · 5 months ago

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jjk ends in 5 chapters... wow.. :"))

#for the past week I've been in a constant state of fear and anxiety over this manga and the last week's chapter really did for me...#but now that I know that the manga ends in 5 chapters... I can finally calm down #Im not even feeling disappointed (at least rn) which I thought would be the case after hearing the news...#but oddly enough I only smiled to myself and felt a sense of relief #seeing how the story is quickly wrapping up and not knowing how long we have left till the end was more anxiety inducing than I thought #but now that I know makes me feel a bit more at ease weirdly??#endings suck in general and as a rule I don't expect stories to have a satisfying ending and that's how I've always felt about jjk #gege actually surprise me in more ways than I thought and his story gave me a lot more than a I could have a asked for #whatever he planned for the ending I hope it'll leave him satisfy and happy #I am beyond grateful to gege for giving us this special story #jujutsu kaisen will always have an important place in my heart #thank you gege akutami <3 #jjk

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thelonelyshore-if · 2 months ago

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Poll time for y'all, though this one isn't directly story related. Writing the waking up drabbles and the 2k special was a lot of fun, and helped snap me out of my writer's block. And they also got me thinking.

I know a lot of authors have Patreon or Kofi for their projects, and I was wondering if that's something people would be interested in for TLS? As in, paid monthly extra content/early access to game updates?

Disclaimer that this is not in any way an announcement or even a fully formed idea. I don't know for sure if it's something I'd want to do, especially if there isn't actually an audience for it.

More than anything, I'm just curious to see what people think!

#author posting #polls #for real though this is mostly curiosity on my part #i definitely wouldn't be doing anything until the new year/after chapter 3 is out #some things i also think id release to the public eventually #such as playable povs #anyway hope y'all are doing well!!#if you vote thank you for helping satisfy my curiosity lol

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ttomuras · 5 months ago

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the last five chapters were extremely rushed and the ending feels generic and boring to me. like i literally joked about how there is going to be a timeskip, deku is gonna be a teacher and they’ll have a pull-out-your-ass solution about how deku can still be a hero. joked in a “this is too goofy” way just like ppl joked about “this is our hero academia”. this feels v?? goofy?? but in a not fun way for me

#yes i had high hopes for this chapter #but honestly? this is just not good writing for me #he could have done it in a different way that i might have still not been satisfied with but if it was not rushed #made sense narrative wise #didn’t kinda…abandon deku’s character development #i could have been okay with it #facts is deku returned to the quirkless kid he was who does not take initiative to follow his dream and who just lets stuff happen to him #like he is lonely and upset about not being a hero but he just sits down and let’s it happen because why would he take matter into his own #hands #just seems to me like maybe he didn’t care about being a hero that much #which would be fine!!! like maybe he changed his mind or the war changed him #(not that we saw any of that cuz there was a timeskip and we didnmt partake in deku’s thoughts for the last idk how many hundred chapters)#but then if that was the case why is he so happy about the support item #idk it’s v generic shonen #why did i even expect more #my fault honestly #bnha leaks #bnha spoilers #bnha 430

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running2reanimation · 1 year ago

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For @cindersnows - for the AVA/M gift event!

Formality

"It's a formality," Victim reassured, gesturing with a glove-covered hand to the bespectacled stick, "We all know I'll be hiring your crew no matter how this dinner goes."

"Of course, sir."

Striker was pretty sure this was actually yet another test from the enigmatic head of the Rocket Corporation. Inviting a bunch of mercenaries to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Stick City could be nothing less than the ultimate test of his leadership abilities.

Could he make these idiots presentable? Behave in ways that were at least semi-appropriate?

"I want to wear my cape; the nobility of the past used to, it counts as formal wear, right?" Ballista folded his arms as his summoned cape billowed behind him as Primal nodded in agreement;

"They did, so it should count."

"No, you will wear a suit or dress. Those are your options," Striker could already feel the pressure pulsing behind his shades, "That goes for you too, Primal. Suit or dress only."

"I refuse, they both hinder my movement too much," Primal shook her head stubbornly, "What if this is some sort of trap? Or what if we have to defend our new client from would be assassins?"

"It isn't a trap," Striker put his foot down resolutely, though he couldn't discount the possibility of assassins. Or that there would be some type of test of their abilities mid-dining. Victim was capricious like that, "You can wear a loose dress with a slit for more mobility, but you have to wear a dress."

"..." Primal at the very least didn't flat out refuse, so Striker was going to count that as a win.

"Any crazy requests from you, Logo?" Striker turned to the bulky yet-paper-thin stick who shook his head in two quick frames.

"I have a suit from the last undercover thing we did."

Striker heaved a small sigh of relief - at least one of them could be reasonable and logical and knew how to behave in public.

"I'm gonna wear my cape!" Ballista insisted, intentionally billowing it into their leader's face.

"You'd better not," Striker warned, pausing the cape's movement and stepping out of it.

"Lemme wear my cape!" Was the refrain Striker got to listen to for the next several days, every single time he laid eyes on the bitcrushed warrior.

The smaller stick had even ambushed him from one of the upper cupboards - Striker suspected Primal had put him in there, since there was no sign of a chair he would have used to make the climb into them.

"Just let me wear my cape and I'll stop," He pleaded and Striker realized that chances were that Ballista would wear it regardless, and at least this way he might be able to set a few rules.

"On the condition that you keep it from billowing - I know you can control it."

"...Fine, even if that's half the point of wearing it," Bit sagged as though he'd not just gotten what he'd wanted.

"Less than 15 minutes until the transportation arrives, is everyone dressed appropriately?" Striker looked over his assorted group, adjusting the tie of his usual black suit.

Primal had worn a dress, the slit was maybe a bit higher up the thigh than was appropriate for fine dining, but it was too late to do anything about about that. The way the silky black dress caught the light looked very nice with her scribbled style. Her usual ponytail was pulled up into a bun.

Logo was in his white suit with the black tie; looking sharp literally and figuratively.

Ballista still hadn't left his room yet, "Ballista, please tell me you're almost ready."

Striker couldn't imagine what was taking him so long; it wasn't like he'd exactly gotten the impression Ballista owned a lot of formal wear to choose between. He'd probably just left getting dressed until the last moment as usual.

"Ready!" Ballista announced, throwing open the bedroom door. He'd picked out a white suit, it almost seemed somewhat military in style, but the white cape went with it at least, "Oh hey, we've got a black-and-white colour co-ordination thing going on, gang. Nice."

"Limo's here," Logo announced, heading out the door, Primal close behind them. Ballista dashed out past Striker while he grabbed the keys and locked the door.

Striker ducked into the vehicle and a grey stick closed the door behind him. The limo was surprisingly spacious inside, though still not quite tall enough to comfortably accommodate Primal.

And seated in the back with them was their new employer: Victim. He seemed dressed in the same suit as usual, but Striker made a mental note of the black cufflinks that weren't part of the usual ensemble.

"Thank you all for coming to dinner tonight. I know this is a bit unusual for you."

"Thank you for inviting us," Logo bobbed his head in gratitude, taking the lead when it came to socializing, "It's nice not to have to cook for once and I've never been to this place before, Olive and Wine?"

"Yes, I'm not surprised, it is fairly new, but I can assure you it's quite good."

"You're paying, right?" Ballista piped up from Logo's elbow and Striker and Logo both glared at the guy but Victim just laughed.

"Of course, though with your reputation for success, I'm sure you could afford it regardless."

"Oh, totally," Bit grinned, as the limo pulled to a stop, "Looks like we're here."

The exterior of the restaurant was fairly plain and unassuming, with the curtains drawn, a soft golden glow shining from beyond them and a green neon sign proclaimed the place was 'open' in flowing cursive.

The grey stick opened the door and the mercenaries stepped out single file, but they paused to let Victim pass them. Primal once again had to duck, but that was almost expected everywhere.

"Reservations for Victim and company," Victim declared and the mulberry employee guided the group to one of the private rooms in the back.

"Your server will be with you shortly," they bowed and the group was left alone with the menus, simple things with a front for food and a back side for drinks.

"Not a big menu," Primal seemed unimpressed, looking it over.

"They have a steak board for two," Logo pointed out and Primal immediately scoured the menu for it. Having found it, she set hers in the middle of the table, atop Victim's, who hadn't even looked at it.

Logo continued looking, clapping his hands in delight, "Oooh, I've never tried arancini before!"

"Go ahead, if you don't like it you can always order something else," Victim took the menu from Logo and placed it in the pile with a broad grin, "I insist."

"Alright, sir, thank you," Logo smiled back at little nervously and glanced at Ballista who was still reading the menu, "What about you Ballista.

"I think I'm gonna get the cannelloni," Bit said, tossing his menu into the growing pile, "What about you, Striker?"

Striker had been so focused on making sure everyone else knew what they were ordering he hadn't even looked at the menu, "I'm still looking."

"Surely something appeals to you?" Victim asked and Striker could feel the pressure of the older stick's gaze upon him.

"Of course - I'll get the charcuterie board," Striker placed his menu upon the stack as Victim nodded in approval.

"An excellent choice when one is feeling indecisive."

Almost as if summoned by the stack of menus the server appeared, another reddish stick whose smile was too wide, "Have you all decided what you'd like to order?"

"Yes," Victim confirmed, "I'll have the pan fried haddock with potatoes with a Godfather and a glass of water, please and thank you."

After going around the table, the server took the menus and left to go place their orders.

"So, I got a question, Boss," Ballista piped up as soon as the server left and Striker and Logo tensed. Ballista wasn't exactly... good at polite conversation or asking appropriate questions.

"Yes?" Victim tilted his head, either oblivious to the tension or perhaps enjoying it.

"Why is every stick that works for you grey - not only that, they're all the exact same shade. They come from a game or something? Thought you couldn't discriminate like that."

"Oh, you can get away with any form of discrimination if you have enough money... but that's not the case here. Think of it like a uniform of sorts - we dye our workers grey and then at the end of the day we return their colour to them."

"Seems like that might make infiltration easy," Logo frowned, a hand to his chin.

"Never had a problem with it before," Victim shrugged as the server placed their meals down, confirmed they didn't need anything else and left.

Once the food was in front of them, the mercenaries all went quiet - not that most of them were particularly talkative in the first place, but they all focused on their meals intensely.

"Do you not get enough to eat?" Victim asked, and Logo looked up from their meal.

"Oh, yes, but this is a real treat, so we're really making sure we take it all in, you know? Speaking of, thank you for convincing me to try them, the arancini are fantastic."

"Ah, well, good, I'm glad," Victim nodded, going back to his plate.

At the midpoint of the meal a server came in again and asked how everything was.

Striker stared at the server, and immediately noticed that something was off - this one wasn't green or red, the only two colours he'd seen the staff here possess. They were a pale brown and their uniform didn't match the other one's he'd seen earlier in the night, the buttons were simple black, instead of the red roses the rest of the staff sported.

"You're not staff," Striker commented, getting to his feet, Primal immediately following suit with a growl.

In the time it took Striker to draw a line and Primal to vault over the table, three more non-staff members came through the door - these ones were armed with guns.

"Ballista, Logo, get Victim back to the limo and wait for us," Striker directed, deflecting a spray of bullets with his select tool, "As non-lethally as possible."

"You got it, sir," Ballista gave a salute and charged ahead, sword drawn, clearing a path for Logo and Victim to follow while Primal and Striker dealt with the initial ambush.

By the time Striker and Primal made it to the limo, Primal was only a little blood-soaked and her dress a little torn.

Logo sat in the driver's seat, the original grey driver unconscious in the chair next to him, while Ballista kept watch out of the sunroof.

"The driver was an impostor too. I'd appreciate it if you tied them up, please," Logo explained, starting the vehicle.

"Do you know how to drive a limo?" Victim asked as Striker tied up the driver as suggested and Primal joined Ballista, keeping watch out of the sunroof.

"Do I know how to drive a limo? Yes. Do I have a license for it? No," Logo laughed as they started moving.

The drive back to Victim's penthouse was quiet. They turned the driver over to Victim's security, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? How confident are you in your security?"

"...You know, maybe I should hire you for the occasional security detail too. But for tonight, I think I have it handled, though you all have clearly shown your aptitude," Ballista grinned with pride and Striker couldn't help his own proud smile. The team had done well tonight.

"Of course, we'll talk the contract over tomorrow, sir," Striker bowed, and nudging the others out.

"Primal, how'd you know there'd be assassins?" Ballista shook his head with a chuckle as they opened the gate and she shrugged with a little laugh of her own.

"Lucky guess."

"Hey guys, we didn't bring our car," Logo pointed out once the gate shut behind them.

"Dammit!"

#AvA Gift Exchange 2023 #ava gift exchange #alan becker #animator vs animation #ava #ava victim #victim #rocket corp #the mercenaries #this is the longest single chapter I have ever written #I hope it satisfies your prompt sufficiently #it kinda got away from me as I wrote more and more #happy holidays

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franeridan · 29 days ago

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okay it's been like, sixteen hours to get my brain unstuck from denki I actually want to talk about the epilogue now allow me the luxury to go on a possibily very long rant about bnha even if I haven't actively been in the fandom for about a trillion years, let's go

the thing about bnha is that talking about the epilogue by itself when you talk about whether it was a satisfying ending or not for me is sort of useless since, well, for the setup horikoshi gave to it yes! it was a good ending! I don't know how it could have been better and remained coherent with itself any other way, every plotline he'd held onto until the end reached closure and the characters, for the way they'd been written for ages by then, remained true to themselves and made all around reasonable choices with their lives and future

the problem for me has always been that at some point bnha lost part of what made it appealing to me, changed some characters in ways I didn't understand, and started focusing on morals and ideas I personally didn't share - so when you ask me if overall bnha was a satisfying manga to read, the answer is no. Especially if you don't count the new epilogue, the whole story felt like it had set up a lot of relationships and character developments in the first half that were just abandoned for no reason, and focused too much on relationships and characters I genuinely never thought would have any sort of relevance, so overall there are just some core things I'm not satisfied with, I did not enjoy reading bnha for ages before it ended, on a scale from 1 to 10 it's a barely passable 5.

That's my opinion on the manga as a whole! I've had this opinion of it for literal years by now and I will absolutely not lie, the only reason why I read it till the end is that for the past I don't know how many years I've read each chapter thinking "for sure, time another couple chapters it will end. there's no reason to just drop it if it's about to end." (spoiler, it was not about to end)

That said, when looked at through this context and accepting all the flaws I think bnha has, the epilogue was good, I liked it, it made me happy! I wanna talk about it, I wanna talk about why it made me happy despite it all

first of all, I do not like uraraka's relationship with toga, and I do not like toga - I think all things considered uraraka had no reason to be so obsessed with her, and I also don't think the positive and empathetic light horikoshi wrote toga in was in any way deserved. It's honestly somewhat ridiculous to me that when all's said and done years later uraraka is still thinking about how toga saved her life and conveniently forgetting that she was also the one that nearly killed her to begin with - but that's just uraraka for you! that's how horikoshi decided to write her in the second half of the manga! And if you accept that, if you accept that for whatever reason she was highkey in love with toga and felt responsible for her, I like that her solution to it was quirk counselling for kids. I think that's exactly where she should have gone with it - trying to help kids have a better relationship with their quirks, whatever they might be, and help them avoid whatever the hell happened to toga to turn her into that to begin with. It's good! It's very uraraka! It's also rational! And I like that it mirrors deku's choice to help teenagers navigate their desire to become heroes too

Talking about deku and uraraka, I've never made a secret of the fact that I liked ocha*deku so my thoughts on them are pretty obvious - honestly, whatever ship you might have for them you can't deny that the build up to them specifically was obvious throughout the whole manga, it did feel sorta weird that by the last chapter horikoshi hadn't done anything with it. I think I might be a little partial on this though? I did say that I've always liked the ship. And I think the way he wrote it was cute too! I like that uraraka was ready to stay friends with him and I like that deku needed bakugou of all people to tell him to get his head out of his ass - the whole "if you treat everyone as if they're special it means that no one is" is something I DO believe deku needed to hear, but I can't deny I'm sad it made it in the manga only by the epilogue

I think it should have been a core part of deku's character development. I think it should have been brought up when he insisted on saving shigaraki despite how dangerous and obviously adverse to the idea he was, I think someone should have told him that he needed to get his priorities straight way way way sooner, and not necessarily only in a romantic context. But the truth is that overall I used to have high expectations for deku's personal development and I realised a long time ago that it was just never going to happen, so the fact itself that someone told him that line at all was a pleasant surprise for me

Talking about deku and bakugou!! I can't say I liked the way hori made baku all about deku in the latter part of the manga, but whatever, we have what we have. I'll deal with it. I like that he offers deku to work with him, tbf, because I actually believe most of the things he does for deku are partly to make up for his own past actions and driven by guilt (not entirely, hori made it plenty clear he does like deku, I just think it'd make sense for his going out of his way for deku to be driven by that kind of feelings, in part), but I'm also happy deku told him no the way he did, because despite having resigned myself to character inconsistencies being the norm in bnha I do think it would have been ridiculous for them to have goals aligned enough to work together, by now

Okay let me talk about the stuff I actually care about now

I'm soooooooo pissed off that we needed an extra chapter to get bakugou and kirishima's relationship back on page, but the fact that they ARE still best friends is wonderful to me. I'll take it. I'll take the fact that kirishima can get bakugou to do what he wants by being a shit, I'll take it, whatever, I don't care, after all this time it's way more than I would have hoped for - I LOVE that he's shown to still understand bakugou best (the way he immediately understood what baku was trying to say to deku) and I love the fact that he still has the exact same hairstyle actually. I love love love that at the end it's he and mina and probably either denki or sero that are hitching a ride with baku, how long had it been since I'd last had any bakusquand interactions in the manga? Where were they, horikoshi??

On a related note, I like the dynamic between deku todo and baku. I like how relaxed it feels (I love todo too, even if his development outside of being a hero feels so rushed...add this to the very long list of things I'm glad horikoshi addressed at all, but that I wish he had brought up earlier to give them the proper attention and plot relevance they deserved)

Absolutely insane about the fact that Kirishima is one of if not the one with the highest ranking in the class after todoroki (can I be a broken record? This is exactly what he deserves but how about Showing This To Me instead of just saying it after a hundred chapters where he's done absolutely nothing, horikoshi??). Crazy about Mina's design, god she's gorgeous. Amajiki's design got me crying it's just a haircut why is he so beautiful - and the fact that he's still fat's sidekick!! I love that, I feel like that's so right for him. Sero.... deserved better. LOOOVE the implications of the fact that Aoyama is Hagakure's sidekick (did she help him after he came back to be a hero? Their relationship is so sweet... if only... horikoshi had spent more time on i-*gets shot*)

And yeah whatever I'll say it again Denki's gorgeous!! He's SO beautiful!!! He's Soooooooo insanely pretty!!! And I figure you all know that I liked kamijirou as a ship, but the fact that actually they're just friends is so sweet to me? They have such a cute relationship...... Denki saying he was nervous about starting solo so he picked the building next to Jirou please!! Besties behaviour I love them!! And the way the panel where they deny any romantic involvement is framed *shipper goggles on* with jirou leaning away from denki and on yaomomo I know what you girls are no need to be more explicit than this

(talking about having my shipper goggles on, when baku tells deku he can't see what's right in front of him... and deku says you're one to talk... what are we implying here, deku-san...)

anyway how long is this thing I dunno whatever I'm stopping now, I had a lot of things I wanted to say, I said them, I think I'll go back to thinking about how gorgeous denki is now. Like wow. Wowowowowowow. Wow

#@that anon that wanted my thoughts on it hope this satisfies you #i think i have many more thoughts actually but to talk about them #id have to go back and talk about the past hundred chapters too #and it's gonna be just me complaining the whole time and we don't need that #so !!!!#ye #let's end it here #www

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reds-skull · 1 year ago

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Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter was very fun to write. I listened to SUPERBLOOM by Silent Planet on loop (it's really good and underrated), if you want to get into the mood you can go listen to it too ig

The plan is practically complete now, the fact doing nothing to calm either Ghost or Soap. The Vaqueros who have been monitoring the bar have informed them they found the PMC’s base of operation - a compound deep in the desert surrounding Las Almas.

They will start by spreading around the compound suspected to house the soldiers of the PMC revenant. 4 teams will form a half-circle, the fifth, composed of himself and Soap, opposite to them. Soap will infiltrate to commence the distraction, Ghost acting as a barrier for any stray soldiers trying to escape, pushing everyone towards the other teams.

Keller and Commander Karim will be the closest team, Farah protecting Alex while he surprises the soldiers, funneling them further towards the Vaqueros and Shadows, Price and Gaz lifting in the air to snipe and allow the Captain to attempt to connect to the revenant’s mind through their servants.

If that fails, their orders are to exterminate all hostiles. Soap was initially charged with that, but the Sergeant vehemently refused, stating his powers are too unpredictable for that.

What interested Ghost is that Johnny didn’t say he couldn’t do it. He just doesn’t want to.

They’re to be deployed tomorrow, using the cover of night to get to their positions covertly.

Ghost rummages around the small kitchen in one of the common rooms, sighing frustratingly when he goes through the same drawer for the fourth time. Where the fuck does Rudy keep all the bloody teabags?!

Gentle footsteps catch his attention, and he instantly turns to watch the door open. Soap stumbles inside, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, clearly not clocking in the other person in the room.

Johnny crashes into a couch, exhaling loudly and leaning his head back on the headrest. Ghost watches him for a moment, examining the exhausted scrunch to his shut eyes. He steps silently closer, leaning forward to stare directly down at his Sergeant.

“Bed too comfortable, Johnny?”

Ghost smirks at the Scot startling, eyes now wide open glaring at him, “yer a right menace, ye know that?”

His smile widens, “not my fault you all have zero spatial awareness.”

Soap grumbles something under his breath, and shoots an arm up towards his mask. Ghost barely has time to react before Johnny shifts the mask to cover his eyes, “the fuck are you-”

He hears Soap get up, the old couch screeching in protest, and the Sergeant pounces on him, starting to attempt to tackle him down.

Ghost almost laughs when he actually pins him to the back of the couch, his petty technique shifting the fight to his favor.

“What’s that about ‘spatial awareness’, LT?” Johnny breathes in his ear.

He moves slightly in Soap’s hold, “ah, I’m at a disadvantage here, Sergeant. It’s barely fair.”

The arms around him tighten as Soap leans in to whisper, “thought yer good enough to win without sight.”

Ghost turns his head to where he assumes Johnny’s is, “it’s not the blindness that got me. Didn’t have my nightly tea.” he states innocently.

Soap pushes off him with a groan, “awa an’ bile yer heid, fuckin’ Brits…”

Ghost chuckles as he rights the mask, finally seeing Johnny frown at him with (mock) disgust. He can’t help provoke him further, “any chance you know where Rudy hides his stash?”

Soap smiles sarcastically, “aye, I blew it all teh high hell, LT”

Ghost gasps, growling, “you didn’t”

“Aye, smelled quite nice, burnt to a crisp.”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run, Sergeant.” Ghost starts stalking closer to Johnny, who continues to smirk confidently at him.

“How generous of ye.” Ghost’s face hurts from smiling.

He stops in front of Johnny, reaching zero in his head, and swiftly crouching to grab Soap by the torso, slinging him over the shoulder while the man thumps at his back, “Oi! Put me down, ye feckin’ brute!”

Ghost hums, “I warned you, Johnny. It’s only fair, no?”

He drops Johnny on the couch, quickly wrapping his limbs around him to cage the Scot.

Johnny wiggles for a few seconds, until the fight in him runs out, and he settles against Ghost’s chest with a small sigh. Ghost tilts his head to look at Soap’s face, the smile slowly melting off his lips.

Johnny lifts a hand to caress the forearm pinning his chest, a mellow and quiet air hanging around him. “I can’t stop having… nightmares.” he starts unprompted, his voice weaker than usual. “Every night, I kill someone. I wake up and remember I didn’t, but it doesn’t change the fact I could.” his eyes look up at his, “I could kill you tomorrow, Simon.”

Simon relaxes his hold on Johnny into something more comfortable, pressing him closer to his heart, “I told you, Johnny. I’m strong. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Johnny twists to face him more properly, “promise me if yer in danger, don’t hesitate to use Limbo. Even if I’ll be in range, even if it kills me.”

His arms flex involuntarily, as if Johnny will fall apart otherwise, perish under his fingertips. He watches fire reflect in blue eyes, sun in grey skies. He wants to be angry at him, for asking something so selfish.

Johnny may follow him anywhere, but Simon will do anything Johnny asks of him. In that way, perhaps they’re both doomed.

Simon sighs, lowering his head to rest on Johnny’s shoulder, murmuring in defeat, “...I promise.”

Johnny pushes further into him, a gentle fire stroking his cheek in gratitude. Something breaks deep inside him, and Simon lays them down on the small couch, hugging Johnny tightly, letting warmth cradle him.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the crackling flames and soft snores became a lullaby for his aching heart, and he drifts off to eternal darkness.

Ghost watches the last team drop off, their Humvee now driving towards the fifth team’s position. Soap has a serious expression, hands grasping tightly at his own tac vest with a white-knuckled grip.

They jump off, the driver shifting gear immediately to return to Los Vaqueros base. Soap comes closer to fist bump Ghost’s shoulder, “I’ll see you on the other side, LT. Don’t miss me too much.” Johnny turns away with a forced smile, Ghost forlornly gazing at his descending figure.

“First team in position.” Commander Karim radios in. The rest of the teams give their own affirmative, and Johnny finishes with, “fifth team in position, awaiting green-light.”

“Good copy, Soap.” Price responds, “you’re authorized for explosion creation.”

Ghost observes the foreboding walls of the compound stand silent for a minute, before brilliant fire erupts and takes them down. The explosions ramp up, the blaze so hot, he feels it several hundred feet away.

He scans the horizon for soldiers, finding none attempting to save themselves from the blasts.

Did they assume wrong, that the revenant PMC would try to fight back? Ghost grabs his comms, “Sergeant, have you seen any hostiles on your end?”

Soap replies a few seconds later, a little out of breath, “negative. Did you?”

“No, keep burning it down-”

Someone, several hands, tackle Ghost from behind. He growls in surprise, twisting his body to shoot behind him blindly. A body falls to the ground. Three others take its place, grasping at his arms, cold limbs pushing his face to the sand.

Soap shouts in his comms, “Ghost?! Ghost, what the fuck is going on?!”

His comms are still on, he realizes with a flash, “Johnny, get out of there! We’ve been compromised!” he snarls desperately.

“Where are you, I’ll- oh fuck.” Ghost’s rib cage is aching, pressure building inside and out.

“Ghost, there are ballistic missiles here. They’re locking onto something.”

Fuck, FUCK! Ghost fruitlessly tries to shake off his attackers.

Price’s voice rumbles through the radio, “Soap, Ghost! Get yourself out of there, NOW! The revenant, he’s-!”

One of the soldiers crushes the radio, Ghost gasping at the pain shooting down his left shoulder.

“Ah, Captain Price… figures he’ll be the first to find out. Always was such a pain in the ass.”

Ghost stills, craning his neck to lock eyes with the blank faces of the soldiers. The voice echoes from all of them, surrounding him.

The PMC revenant… he clenches his teeth.

One of the soldiers crouches down, taking hold of his jaw, Ghost unsuccessfully trying to shake him off.

“I told you, you will regret not giving the Sergeant to me.”

Cold ice pours down his veins, and he stills.

It can’t be…

“Graves…” Ghost gasps.

Laughter erupts around him, voices overlapping and distorting, “you really thought I’m a fuckin’ non-rev, Simon?” Graves spits his name like a snake’s venom, “I tried to play nice, I really did. But you…”

The faceless soldier tightens his grip on Ghost, “you decided to fuck it all up. I hope you were happy with your ‘Johnny’, because it’s time we have a little fun.”

Graves hums, “I’ve always wondered just how strong Soap is… after the carnage he left in Verdansk” the American whistles in reverence, “only you would be able to match something like that, wiping a quarter city in a flash.”

“Ghost! The soldiers activated the missiles, I have to detonate them before the launch, please just fuckin’ answer me!” a desperate voice calls behind him through comms.

Graves clicks his tongue, “well, Ghost? Wouldn’t wanna leave your boyfriend hanging, do we?” he holds a radio in front of Ghost’s face, “you can either let the missiles launch and erase Las Almas off the map, or you can die. Your choice, really.”

Arctic ice numbs his insides. The missiles hit Las Almas, they kill everyone… including their entire team.

The choice is obvious. And those are the hardest ones to make.

“Johnny…” Ghost rasps at the radio.

“Simon, thank the fuckin’ Reapers-!”

Ghost closes his eyes, indulging in Johnny’s voice for just a little longer, “detonate them.”

A shaky inhale passes through the comms, “are ye far enough?”

Ghost’s neck bows, “I remember the promise.”

Static fills the air for a moment, his breaths loud in his ears. Ghost bites on his tongue just to feel something other than freezing pain.

“It was my choice, Simon. Don’t feel bad about it later, alright?”

Ghost’s voice trembles when he whispers, “I hate you...”

Johnny laughs for him one last time, the sound bringing tears to his eyes, “I knew you’ve taken a shine to me, LT. I’ll see you on the other side.”

He doesn’t want it to end, not yet, not when he just started to feel like he could have this, not like this, not with those words as the last he ever hears “Johnny, I-”

Graves takes away the radio, “now isn’t that heart-warming? You even got your goodbyes in.” Graves sighs, “it’s an honor to see the Ghost die a second and final time. I’ll make sure they’ll know just how you died, Simon Riley. Alone.”

His voice fades away, only heartbeat and rushing blood passes through his ears.

A deafening sound crackles through the air, Ghost’s eyelids glow reds, oranges, yellow, as the wall of inferno comes closer and closer.

For a moment, he can’t feel the cold anymore. He considers letting go, leaving the world by Johnny’s hand, as he was destined.

For a moment, he considers breaking Johnny’s trust, sacrificing himself to let the other live. He imagines how he would react, how he would hate Simon for the rest of his life. He wants to smile. At least he would be alive to despise him.

He imagines, only for a moment.

Ghost opens his eyes.

Limbo envelopes the world, the dark, cold realm curling around him like death’s last hug. He screams, pushing the soldiers off, leaving them to be consumed by his victims.

Molten light leaks from Ghost’s eyes, pain like no other spreading through him. He doesn’t want to look ahead, to see where the residents run towards, to watch as Johnny is being ripped apart by his own murdered souls.

A strange creature moves in Ghost’s peripheral. He shakily lifts his gaze from the empty ground. A… moth?

A burning moth, wings fluttering and shedding embers of vibrant colors, circling his protective light.

Ghost tilts his head, the creature gentle and soft as it lands on his shoulder, warming him like a small ray of sunlight.

It reminds him of…

Someone screams. Not the gurgled wails of Limbo, a clear, anguished voice.

Ghost finally looks at Johnny.

He stands tall, fire covering his arms, trailing up his shoulders, lighting his back with white flames. Leaving a halo behind him. A single holy being in the void.

Dark hands grasp at his fire, try to steal it for themselves.

Johnny takes a hand, shouting.

He explodes the arm. Everything that touches his Sergeant, ignites in beautiful colors, lighting up Limbo in a way Ghost hadn't thought possible. Everywhere he steps, leaves marks of warm light. Everywhere he looks, moths flap softly and spread little sparks.

Johnny’s eyes are glowing, rapidly moving from shape to shape, decimating everything in his path.

Light traces its way down Ghost’s mask.

Johnny is breathtaking.

Their eyes meet, beyond the vast fields of the void.

“SIMON! I CAN’T HOLD ON MUCH LONGER-” One hand leaves a path of shadow on Johnny’s arm, “MAKE IT STOP! SIMON, MAKE IT STOP-!!!”

Simon’s breath restores, he inhales sharply and sends his arms forward, palms taking hold of the imaginary reins on Limbo.

One heartbeat passes.

“ARGHHH-!”

Simon pulls back his arms, yelling as he feels tendons snapping. Limbo swirls, fights back against him, tries to sink its claws back into Johnny.

He pulls harder.

Simon is flung back several feet as the void rushes back into him. His head hits the ground and then-

Darkness.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod soap #phillip graves #revenant au #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #>:)#I was planning a much meaner cliffhanger but I was feeling nice #also the chapter would've been super short otherwise #so many questions answered in this one finally #hope It's as satisfying to you as it is to me

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