#pain misery agony etc

[antimnemonic]

presently being tormented by an intrusive thought of being forced to eat shrimp (im allergic to shellfish) (shrimp is gross also)

[housewarningparty]

Writing fucking sucks because you need to have, like. IDEAS before you can start doing it. And what's even worse is the ideas have to make SENSE to other people

[cannedvampirejuice]

literally physically sick from trying to move too much and eating too early I'm so happy I have tomorrow off

[glowwormz]

It can also lead to feelings of guilt and shame associated with engaging in distractions and/or things you enjoy when ill. Which if you end up chronically ill (or were chronically ill the entire time) can really fuck you up long-term.

Parents who say, "If you're feeling well enough to play video games, you're feeling well enough to go to school!" don't seem to realize they are equating an extremely low impact leisure activity with a high stress and difficult involuntary obligation.

Source: reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts

[mosspapi]

It should be illegal for scars to be itchy. Literally what the fuck. U aren't healing anymore brother. Cease.

[rootfauna]

Every time I hear a variation of the argument ‘human women are the only animals that actively resist mating or deny a male animal access to them bc FEMINISM’ etc I remember being on my great-grandfather’s land down on the Osage Reservation. He had a few head of cattle and one cow had gone into heat and the bull had taken notice, but she was having NONE of it. The more he tried to mount her, the more pissed off she got until she kicked him. 

It was so much worse than it sounds. 

Despite human males calling their erections ‘boners’, they have no bone in their penis. This is NOT true for the majority of male mammals, bulls included. When this cow kicked him, she snapped it so instead of being straight, it was fractured to a 90 degree angle. The bull was in unimaginable pain, and, having not seen what occurred, 8 year old me legit thought there was some mutant monster outside on a rampage. THAT’S what it sounded like, and the bull was in such agony my great-grandfather didn’t even wait for the vet before putting him out of his misery himself (the bull would have had to be put down anyway). 

Ground beef for thought. 

[suguru-getos]

|| octaves part -1 | gojo satoru x geto suguru x f!reader ||

summary: being suguru’s s/o, you were in agony with the news of his death, and satoru had only one mission in his head, heeding the last words of his best friend and saving you from being broken

warnings: lots of angst, this series will have sm angst and dark themes, comfort, etc.

a/n: i just want to bleed thru my words for stsg else i cant cope up with how my heart breaks for them😭 lmk if you wanna be tagged for part two !!

the skies felt drenched with the heaviness of the grief you carried in your heart. you dragged yourselves out of the bed, footsteps dragging against the wooden floor as you strided towards the balcony, glossy eyed and gazing up at the sky. the only sight in your head was suguru’s smile. he looked so tender, as if he was made of glass. breakable at the slightest touch; whenever he was being himself. a lonely rain drop fell on your cheek, and before you could envelop your senses for anything more, you were drenched. your tears mingling with the rain, masking your choking grief and misery.

suguru geto was no more…

the man who killed his parents, just because they were non-sorcerers, couldn’t bring himself to kill you. he thought the immense cursed energy you had within yourself could be controlled, could be— moulded into something that’s supreme. suguru refused to see you as a filthy monkey, even though. that’s just what you felt you were. yes? you could see cursed energies, but you were no sorcerer. sometimes you wonder if the man who so tenderly cherished you would’ve slayed you just because he hated you for not being one of his kind.

“let’s curse each other.” is what he had said to gojo satoru, and still— he didn’t let you enter the battle. himiko and nanako opened the door to your room. locked by suguru and hugged you till they passed out crying; telling you suguru was no more. you had no words, no emotions to explain the tightness in your chest, your head haunting with the daunting fact of suguru’s absence which will linger forever.

you didn’t really agree with what suguru wanted, you knew in the end; he just wanted the suffering to end. he didn’t want his comrades to be gory dead bodies. suguru cared, suguru cared oh so much that it took him his heart. you didn’t mind that. you were broken just like him, suguru accepted you as it is. only fair you did too… even if; it was… unacceptable. besides, you thought you could change his unhinged ideals. typical case of, ‘i can fix him’, while he continued getting worse.

suguru never wore his kimono/monk dress with you, with you he was— suguru. smiling softly, wearing clothes that scented like him, that scented like home. the way he’d smile and grin whenever you’d kiss him on the cheek, whenever you’d kiss his forehead and tell him he’s beautiful. whenever you’d pout over his hair being longer than yours… suguru geto was an exquisite man, and now you were bearing the consequences for loving him with all your being.

it was like your heart was slowly forked out, carved out of your chest with the pain, you wanted to scream out until your throat burns and you wanted to kill yourself… you didn’t want to live in a world without suguru geto.

“y/n san.” himeko called out, shaking your tranced form in the bathing rain. dragging you inside and wrapping a blanket against you. you still remembered them as little girls, dazed eyes and shaky hands wrapping and cupping her face as a pathetic chuckle escaped you. tears drenching your face. “himeko chan, where’s suguru?” part of you knew the answer to it, yet asked the same question. refusing to believe it.

“geto san-” himeko teared up, leaning her forehead against your knee. “please, y/n san. please.” she silently babbled, begging you to not ask that again. you were his family and he was yours. right now, all you felt was intolerable grief.

“make it stop.” you mumbled, eyes strained from the lack of blinking due to your haze. “himeko chan, leave me alone.” your words didn’t seem like a suggestion, it was an order. the girls knew better than to respect you, especially in a time like this. when you were shattered, broken, unmendable.

himeko got up, looking at you and wiping her tears. you wanted to be there for them, for everyone. but you wanted to be selfish as well. you wanted to destroy the world, you wanted to destroy yourself, you wanted to destroy every single thing in this world. the next thing you heard was her footsteps, fading away from you as you sunk down the couch.

there was a pin drop silence, until you could hear the second hand of the clock tick with every moment. everything started to seem overwhelming at that point, suguru’s smile engaging with your grieving soul. his warm hugs, the intimacy of feeling him inside you.

a shrill scream echoed, tearing through the deafening silence of the room. it was you, horrified with everything. you screamed until you couldn’t anymore, until your silent tears turned into wails, broken sobs and panicked breathlessness. “come back, come back, come back please please pl-”

meanwhile, the man who stood outside your door, satoru gojo. hearing everything and also sharing your pain as tears spilled from his baby-blue eyes, remembered the last conversation he had with his best friend, the only one he had.

“any last words.”

“… no matter what, i fucking hate those monkeys”

“suguru…”

“satoru… promise me. you will take care of y/n. i deliberetely kept her away from everything- from,” a weak chuckle escapes suguru, causing him to cough out blood. “from who i am as a whole, just so she is redeemable if i am not here. that’s my last word to you. neh? satoru. promise me.”

[cheersyouslxg]

╰┈➤ 💀 Ghost 💀

Word count: 6,986 ┆ ┆ MDNI - 18+┆ ┆ »»———- I started this as a SMALL drabble for a pairing made with a friend with Simon that turned into.. this. ———-««

TLDR; Simon is taking on his last mission before retirement. Why? Because in this world, Simon found the love of his life and began a family. With three girls and another baby on the way, Simon decides its time to hang up the mask and take a desk job within the company to be home with his family more... However, This last mission goes awry, losing communication with his team, and Ghost will do anything to bring himself back home to his wife and children.

Triggers: bad militant writing (Just look past the things that don't quite make sense. I did my best.), angst, gore and injury, swearing, torture, ghost being scary ghost, etc etc

⊹ Comments, feedback, thoughts and reblogs are encouraged! ⊹

This wasn’t the first time Ghost had been in the dark, but it would be his last. 

The first twenty minutes, maybe thirty, in hiding had been spent wandering down a self depreciating hole of misery. How could they have been so stupid? Were there signs he missed coming into the target location? Every seemable precaution was made. They’ve checked and double checked their sourcing claiming that their target was hiding out in that damned safe house! But they knew that, didn’t they? Azimi and his men had put out a lure with a fresh slab of bait on a hook and waited. And foolishly, they had taken it. Line, hook, sink, catch. 

Quickly, it became clear that wallowing would do nothing but have him willingly lying in wait should the enemy sweep through the area one last time. He’d done enough to prostrate his ass as a target, willingly walking into the fire to be burned. With no working radio, no eyes watching his movements, the team effectively evacuated without him… Ghost crawled out from the spot he’d shoved himself into while running from the enemy. His left shoulder had sustained injury from a soldier high on his luck, pouring heaps of molten lava into his shoulder every time he attempted to move it. 

He spent another ten minutes using a knife to dig into his flesh with gritted teeth clamped down on his gun’s shoulder strap. He’d endured pain worse than a bullet in the arm, in his own personal hell crafted by whatever cruel deities saw to it to conspire against any chance of happiness that came within arms reach. This failed mission had meant to be his last. On paper this was a simple capture and take into custody. Everything looked easier on paper, but he’d been convinced the mission was a walk in the park. The park just happened to lead into hell. 

The blunt of the bullet was scraped and clawed at by steel until enough blood lubricated its exit and plinked silently into his lap. The pain had not been as kind to have left with the bullet, shooting through his nerve endings and lighting up his spinal cord. The brain was truly a remarkable organ. Its function was to keep the body alive, projecting whatever means it had to whilst attempting to survive. Where blinding, white hot roils of agony burbled through his body, the brain sent message after message to the adrenal glands that his body was in crisis. Responding effectively, his heart raced and drowned out the thundering pain of his shoulder. Possibly to encourage his ass off the ground and back towards the false safe housing unit, Ghost was reminded of the reason he was here. 

Three little faces crossed behind his eyes in a mental image, slowly becoming more vivid as a camera lens focused onto its subject. Smiling faces and hopeful grins pushed him forward, recalling the haunting laughter of his squealing daughters. The image grew hazy, a sharp spark of pain undulating through his body burning up the film of the picture. He would hear them laugh again. Right foot forward, left quickly in pursuit to launch itself past its twin until Ghost broke out into a run. An amateur’s handiwork patched up his shoulder enough to keep the bleeding contained, though his muscles ached as the wounded left arm steadied the butt of his gun against his right shoulder. 

Including himself, four of the original seven men in his team had appeared to survive. Scattered amongst them were soldiers in friendly uniforms brought down in the fray as they assisted in immediate evacuation. Not even their tags had been brought for proper identification. Resounding waves of guilt were buried under his resolve to move quickly, stopping respectfully to each fallen man to retrieve their patch and tags. His wife, he thought, would prefer to have Ghost’s tags should he ever have fallen. Something to have a memorial in his honor. It was a silly daydream, casting away the lingering dread brought along with the implication that he may not return from this mission. 

Less enemy lay on the ground as he approached the safe house, running the outer perimeter quickly before entering through the splintered back door housing numerous bullet holes. Glass crackled slowly under a trained boot floating through the wreckage on high alert for the slightest infraction in the air announcing unidentified movement.  Even wounded he was a soldier of flawless rhythm, trusting his feet as he waded through the kitchen and into the living room that was also clear of other life. The first floor was swept clean, being guided by the end of a barrel upstairs onto the second floor. There, Ghost found four enemy bodies, one of which was still groveling with death for a second chance. By the looks of it, the soldier was bluffing about what cards he had in his hand, and death had just picked up the last card he needed to complete a Royal Flush. 

Looming over the crumble of debris in the husk of a man, Ghost’s pistol pulled from his belt spoke before he did. A warning shot rang through the air and bit into the wood beside the man’s right shoulder. He swiftly sank to his knees as the other recoiled in the shock of echoed ringing resounding from the bullets' holler. A warmth was pressed to the man’s temple, ghost's knee lodged between the man’s leg with considerable weight pinning his thigh into the ground, much to the soldiers' chagrin. This enemy was wounded before ghost had arrived, too weak to truly fight this encounter. He did, however, have enough wind in his lungs to spew aggressive attacks of venomous words shrouded by a language Ghost did not understand. 

Ghost remained unconvinced that this agent of evil couldn’t understand him when he demanded he speak English. Ragged intakes of air stoked a fire fueling Ghosts rage. He’d caught a fistful of the soldiers hair and slammed his head into the floor beneath them, silencing his prattling with a sharp cry instead. This left room for ghost to speak, making his intentions very clear if this final demand was not met promptly, “Speak English.”

Maybe it was the strikingly raw, unhinged tone of Ghost's voice, which nearly relieved the soldier of the contents in his bowels shaking so viciously under the Lieutenants capture. Or maybe the blood loss and head trauma he’d sustained while falling had blurred his vision so much that he believed he was looking straight into the face of the grim reaper. He couldn’t help but wonder what the Grim Reaper was doing in Britain to have such a thick accent, nor was he expecting death’s eyes to be as piercing and cold as splinters of ice~ unnaturally blue  crystals encapsulated within a blood splattered skull. Either way, death’s eyes drilled deep into the tendrils of the young soldier’s heart and struck enough fear to silence his charade of playing dumb, speaking in a broken English accent, spilling all of his master's secrets to stay alive. Even so, it wasn’t enough to sway Ghost into his decision of putting the rest of his clip into his skull, but then- Ghost heard the crackle of the soldier’s radio come to life, spewing the foreign language. 

Ghost grabbed the beacon of communication before the soldier had the thought to announce a survivor, pressing the cooling barrel under his chin tightly, the radio at his ear. “Translate.” Almost literally, Ghost had the man by the balls, his knee hovering uncomfortably close over his groin to ensure that any attempt of escape would result in searing pain. Either by a quick and shocking bullet to the head or a mind numbing impression of his knee and all 250 pounds of ghosts weight crushing into this twats dick. There seemed to be no other choice, held under the extreme duress of fear when dealing with death himself. 

Quivering lips trembled more violently than leaves on an oak in the torment of a summer storm, relaying to ghost moments after each warble of the radio went dead that Azimi had been transported securely to their harbored location deeper in the mountains. The sick bastard had enough gall to be right under their noses, hiding out in the same damned country that he’d had Ghost’s team sent to their deaths! Some foreign location was mumbled, furrowing Ghost’s brow underneath the mask. 

“Where is that? How far away are we from there?” He pressed quickly, shoving the end of his pistol further into the soldiers flesh between his jaw. He could imagine the bloodbath he’d endure if he pulled the trigger then, lips twitching in minor intrigue. An unadulterated savage man lay within the stare once frozen, now melted under a rage boiling so hot the orange and yellow flames were consumed by the blue heat. The soldier had been able to compose himself under the expected cold of which death brought each member of his new legion with his touch… but the fires of hell burned at a temperature lower than this devil’s stare. 

“I- I no know! I no know! Uh- uh- many days trip from town! East!” Tears blinded his vision, sobbing in his native tongue for mercy. Maybe it was for his vast amount of time left unlived. Maybe it was for his mother, begging to keep her son on this earth. Maybe he had a wife and young babe. Unfortunately for him, Ghost couldn’t understand him. He emptied the clip, bathing ceremoniously in the splatter of flesh, blood and brain exploding from gunfire. Death had a family too; he would stop at nothing to see to it he held them again. The man in the mask didn’t flinch, hardly batting an eye more than was necessary to deflect brian matter from leaking into his corneas. The soldier hadn’t even the courage to meet death's final gaze, in the form of a ghost, crying and pissing himself. He died akin to the way he was born into this world: a blubbering, defecating baby. 

A town was nestled deep within the dense forests surrounding the mountains. It was the only town this side of the mountain, that much Ghost had gathered while taking a scan of the area before they’d deployed. As a consequence, people were scarce this far up the mountain aside from small huts and houses owned by the extreme reclusive types that could take care of themselves. Or a safe house where terrorists camped out waiting for death to visit. It was rude to delay them any longer than was necessary, heading east to track down the town. 

It was hard to keep his bearings in such a dense forest. The trees locked tightly by the heads and blocked out any sunlight, had there been any to block out. It looked like he would be walking through the night, guided only by a compass and night vision in a sea of ominous darkness. The sun had set three hours ago. Ghost still had a long stretch of night to labor in. Miles of walking offered a space where he could drift into the recesses of his mind now and again. Once the initial spike of fear had cemented into his chest, the anxiety became bearable overtime. It existed only as a discomforting thrum, easily ignored by vigilance to survive and common sense to not allow himself to sit and give up. 

As far as last missions go, Ghost was humored and humbled. His job had never been easy. No rational human being could look at the requirements and sign up because it seemed easy.  Decades of experience had a way to continually humble him whenever he began thinking that this was the hardest the job could become. A new threat to humanity introduced itself with a hard stick up the ass, serving Ghost new life lessons and piling upon him more trauma that would paralyze the average man. He took everything in stride, hoping for the worst and lightly surprised when sometimes the end result proved better than worse. 

The only time he’d even been proven wrong was when he married his wife. He had hoped for the best, and their nearly thirteen years of marriage had proved better than conceivably imaginable. Every single day he was stunned by the reality he woke up to as if he hadn’t built it brick by brick with her over the course of their relationship. She was his only constant in a world ever changing, ever worsening and dedicated to seeing Simon fail.  She made him a better man, helped him achieve new goals. Scarlett Riley was the love of his life and brightest star in the cold, cruel universe. 

Her glittering eyes stared back at him within the wallpaper of his phone, as well as the three pairs of near identical stars shimmering within her arms as a Father’s Day photoshoot one year when Olivia was nine. She was now twelve and filled with her own ideas and opinions that were strikingly similar to his own which meant they often came at an impasse. She was a spitting image of her stubborn and resilient father, her smile gleaming at him through the lighted screen almost challenging him now. Come home to us, daddy. We need you here.

For now he would say goodbye to them in the woods, taking out the sims card and smashing his cellphone with a rock. He incinerated the sims holding the keys to his heart, burying the evidence until the only tie to his family was the tattoo of his wife’s name on his chest and the poorly drawn field of flowers rising up his right arm from where his children had creatively given him the idea to tattoo their artwork on his body forever. The colorful work didn’t match any of his other tattoos, and he loved it all the more for it. He kept no printed pictures nor wore his wedding ring while deployed for the sole reason of remaining as alone as was possible. He would never have to say that he was the reason his family was tracked down and tortured because of careless keepsakes left on his person. 

Elaine was inching closer and closer to the double digits, breaking Simon’s heart daily the taller she grew. As it was with the most beautiful flowers, weeds tried their best to choke out her light with playground teases about her weight and shaming her for her softened heart. Simon could swear honestly and say he didn’t have a favorite between his three girls. He would place his hand on the Bible in front of a judge with a clear conscience and confess that each of his girls were loved wholly and without judgment on which he favored more than the other. However, Lainey held a special place in his heart for her demure personality, and he sought harder to protect it. Livvy was a firecracker, able to handle her own (oftentimes bringing him and her mother to visit the school principal from something she had said or did while defending her honor and her families.). Elaine Marie could not even hurt a fly which was considered an atrocity within her moral compass. She depended on her father to save her from pesky trolls and mean goblins and instead of fighting the dragon, she wanted her knight in shining armor to make peace with the misunderstood creature who only wanted her to be able to see the kingdom from a new angle in the tower. 

By now, nothing but rage and determination fueled Ghost's ambition. As far as he was concerned, anyone standing in his way was a threat to his chance of getting home and seeing his family. The mask he wore protected him from leaking emotion otherwise bottled to the festering brim. A red string of fate wound tightly around his trigger finger and guided him through the thick and almost stifling foliage. The end of the line was tied to Azimi, but through the long path tangled his minions Ghost would rip through one by one until it was impossible for Azimi to hide behind fire power and shrouds of smoke. Out-running death was as impossible as trying to get blood to pour from a stone. 

When he needed to rest, he allowed himself no more than fifteen minutes to catch his breath and relieve his aching shoulder of the pressure of his arm weighing down. A sling would have been ideal, but with that came stalling in the event that he needed to use his firearm. An emergency pack of food was rationed, water sipped frugally when the pits of hell opened up inside of his throat and introduced a thirst so vicious the man nearly gagged on nothing, the ducts of his salivary glands shriveling in consequence. 

By early eve the next day, the treacherous and seemingly endless void of trees opened up into a small path of dirt marking passage where cars and trucks came from more inhabited areas. From the little he knew and what he had been told by the soldier, there was only one small town within the mountains and calling it a town was considered generous. Few farmers lived in the surrounding acres, and a single truck saw to it that the dirt road was put to good use to transport products ready for sale. It drove from the town to a landing where it was flown then down the mountain because no one had ever been adventurous enough to carve out trees and rocks up the entire mountain for a vehicle to pass through. 

The man shadowed the treeline, following this path up through a winding incline to where he was sure it would empty out into a larger mouth of streets. His exact intention was unknown to himself, hoping to find food and possibly someone oblivious enough of his militant clothing to trust him enough and aid him as he passed through. Time was his ultimate adversary, the egging notion that the longer he took to get to the hide out of Azimi, the longer the man had time to find a new destination. He was lucky that Azimi was arrogant enough to remain in the country and so close by their ambush location. But he wasn’t foolish enough to stay here for long, and whatever he was planning in the near future would drive him further out into the world to ruin and slaughter the lives of hundreds, thousands of innocent people if Ghost didn’t book it walking double time. 

Had he worn an apple watch, his activity record would be off the charts. He’d never felt more exhausted and ready to throw in the towel and die in the barren floor of the woods than when he’d finally seen proof of life at the end of the dirt road. Coming into town was only the beginning of his journey, and had he not focused on his family waiting for him at home, Ghost would have let the moss of the earth consume him slowly. 

But he thought of Violet May, his youngest daughter at home probably screaming and cackling as she fights her mother for the apparent god-given right to shovel as many stones into her mouth as she can or scrabble atop the back of their great pyrenees Benny. God, she loved that old dog, and god did that dog deserve a dog-house the size of a mansion in whatever afterlife was available for good boys when they pass over. Wherever Violet bounded towards with stubby legs and stumbling escapes, Benny Boy was behind her nudging her with a wet nose creating a ripple effect of giggles and squeals in the toddler demanding a ride back to the house where her mother scolded her for going too far from her sight. 

He had promised her a trip for ice cream when he returned from this mission. His last mission. As a man who strived to never make a promise he couldn’t keep, Ghost closed his eyes and rested for twenty minutes blurring right passed him in the blink of an eye and then he found a hiding spot for his rifle and pack. Nearing the town’s edge, he realized his mistake in stashing the larger firearm to appear less threatening to locals. A field stretched beyond him, and within the field was a line of workers collecting whatever plant they’d sifted months before in preparation for harvest. Outlining the field was the scattering of men wearing the same colors as the soldier he had performed an immediate removal of the brain on. It appeared that Azimi had taken control of the businesses in the town, and perhaps their reversed attack hadn’t been so planned afterall. 

With only a throwing knife, pistol, and two spare mags on his vest, Ghost calculated the best plan of action given his odds of survival in his current state of health. Gathering intel allowed for another brief moment's rest, watching the men chat idly with automatics relaxed in their arms jeering threateningly at any imprisoned worker let to glance their way. The way they conversated so nonchalantly while holding an oppressing thumb down on honest, hard-working citizens enraged Ghost, simmering silently. One soldier broke off from the group, sweeping the perimeter or venturing closer towards the woods to take a piss. Either was in favor of the shadow slinking back enough to skirt closer without being detected by ruffling branches and snapping of dead twigs; though, being honest, Ghost moved silently even under duress. 

A thrown rock disturbed the brush a few feet from the soldier, beckoning him to investigate the movement. For a brief second, Ghost thought it wouldn’t have been enough to lure him outside of the line of sight. He blended in with the large trunk nearby, peering in a crouched position until the soldier’s back was completely turned towards Ghost. The stalking predator inched closer, moving swiftly with a graceful complexity often only seen portrayed by felines. With knife in hand, Ghost blocked the soldier’s ability to breath with the blade shoved through his neck. He made only a soft gurgle of blood fleeing his body in protest of having to serve a future dead man. 

Since the other man wouldn’t be needing it, Ghost picked up the semi-automatic and searched his person for other useful tools he may be able to use. An extra magazine of ammo was located, and a hand held that Ghost wouldn’t pass up. Just in case.  It appeared that the universe was looking kindly down on the man now, for the gun had a silencer attached to it. The man’s phone was also pocketed as well as the radio. Noting that the guy on the floor’s friends would soon notice his absence, Ghost moved on in the woods closer to the gathering herd of soldiers. There was bound to be more, and since he couldn’t tell just how many, Ghost was put in a precarious position. 

Going in guns blazing was not a smart idea. One man against the unknown was a suicide mission. He couldn’t guarantee that the workers wouldn’t react if he took them out quietly all at once. Their screams might be heard from afar off and attract other soldiers, ruining the element of surprise. Or they could run into town for safety, and the same result would come to pass. Then again, leaving them to eventually come searching for their dead friend was also ill advised. He may have ten to twenty in such a case before he was found or reported missing and the hunt for something amiss would begin. Think, Ghost…

For now, he created more distance from the body while he debated his options. If the universe was in an even more beneficial mood, there may not be that many of Azimi’s men  in town. Three or four of them tops stationed at each field to keep their laborers in line… Maybe a few within the small center of town to oversee the general store. All he knew was that if he started, he would have to continue until all of them were gone. Or he would have to be the one gone before word would travel fast enough to push Azimi from his hiding. Fuck… He was in a bind. 

The mountain’s signal was scarce but nonexistent. A shred of hope kept him moving despite the exhaustion fighting to have him give up. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, Ghost shoved at the rock, glaring down the sight as he maneuvered two men into his scope before pulling the trigger. Within a second he was readjusting and shifting three inches to the right, dropping the last soldier before he had time to register the blood splatter on his face. Those in the field were stunned but didn’t scream, dropping themselves within the crop to shield themselves possibly from the ghost gunman. They would live to see another day, or at the very least would not be taken by Ghost’s precise aim. 

The nearest hut was void of people, sparking a flicker of hope that Ghost was careful not to let be fanned too hot lest the board be shifted and he fall from beneath solid ground. Hope gave security and security bred inattentiveness and vulnerability. It appeared to be used by soldiers by the looks of the inside. It may have been a friend he had met before. He didn’t push his luck, taking whatever food and rations he could rummage through and slipping out to stake out the town.  

Ghost stayed only as long as was necessary to gather what he needed and allow himself an hour or two of sleep. From the town he had borrowed their radio to intercept the radio waves and tweak it to reach the encrypted signal only used by his team. Wary of sticking around too long to chat, he offered only the directed coordinates to the safe house where he was headed next and to pass along word for his family. 

“Tell the stars I’m coming home.” Simple, yet effective, for the right people would know what he was referring to. His stars: Scarlett, Olivia, Elaine and Violet Riley…. And the littlest star yet to be born. 

With a confirmed coordinance and map of the area, Ghost felt better than ever as he continued his hike onwards towards victory. He had confirmation that approximately by the time he would arrive at the safe house his back up would arrive to meet him at the rendezvous and ambush Azimi once and for all. As far as he could tell there had been no emergency transmissions warning their leader of a survivor having ransacked their army in the town. He couldn’t know the future of the locals there, and he couldn’t worry about it either. 

In two days there was a total of 53 miles cleared. Ghost didn’t try to add up all of the other miles he’d trekked in the past week, directing the last of his energy and determination on the end mission ahead of him. Once reaching the rendezvous, he rested. All he could do was wait for his team and hope and pray to whoever was above that Azimi had not moved yet. Half a day passed where Ghost intermediately slept and kept watch, rousing from sleep upon the slightest crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot. Concealed well, he watched, coming out from hiding only when he saw the familiar boonie hat trailing through the thick trees. 

“Captain…” Ghost garbled, choking on dryness found in his throat from days without use of speech. All heads, and guns, turned to the familiar voice of their lost friend. He never had a doubt they wouldn’t come. 

“Ghost!” A harsh whisper exclaimed incredulously from the captain, drawing near to assure himself that he was not seeing things. If he had been hallucinating, his mind would have been playing a cruel joke on him. His lieutenant looked awful. Dirt and debris covered him from head to toe, sitting in soggy clothes from the morning dew and rainfall he’d walked through. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, were hollow and the skin around it sunken and sullen. Hell’s ash clung to his person, reeking of wildlife and neglect. But… He was alive. Above all, Simon was alive. “It’s good to see you, mate. How are you? Sanderson, take him back to the exfi site and wait for us there.” Price called in to Laswell, their watcher, confirming Ghost’s attendance and assuring command that he was alive if not fully well. 

“I’m fine, captain. That won’t be necessary. I’m not finished, sir.” The severity of conclusion in Ghost’s voice silenced even his superior, admittedly unnerved by the resolution in Ghost’s eyes. There was no changing his mind. They were there only as his support now, to guide him safely home with Azimi alive. Or dead. Capture or kill.  Ghost wouldn’t comment on which he was most partial to. It should be quite obvious. 

~~~ 

The return helo might have been worse than the week he had endured in the middle of nowhere. At least before encountering Azimi Simon hadn’t managed to break three ribs. Before being thrown off a balcony and landing on massive jagged stones, Ghost didn’t have to deal with the emergency medic poking and prodding and bitching. He’d been kicked harder than an abused dog whose owner had come home drunk from an awful day at work, but at least in the field this twat hadn’t been there. 

“With all due respect, lieutenant, the mask needs to be removed to ensure that you have no major head injuries. You’re not breathing well as it is. I hate to pull this card, but my charge supersedes your title in this situation!” The soldier had valor, he would admit, but it was completely misguided and useless. Ghost’s breathing rattled like a broken chain rotating on a bicycle. Jolts of pain encompassed the entirety of his being with every shallow breath he choked on. 

Death’s cold stare shifted from the equally banged up and detained unconscious target, strapped beside Garrick, to the woman futility barking up the wrong masked tree. He tasted iron with every swallow of thick, pinkish saliva. “How about you fuckin’ focus-” He wheezed, groaning from the pain produced sharply while coughing. Groaning upset his body more which brought more pain which made him cough harder which brought more pain which- “f-focus on the bullet wound or ribs digging into my-” another wheeze. Another coughing fit. More pain. “Goddamn chest. The mask. Stays. ON.” 

Captain John Price redirected the medic, a hand gingerly placed on Ghost’s shoulder. “Forget it, Gallahan. Mask is fine where it is.”

Ghost didn’t meet Price’s gaze, returning his glares to the terrorist. A thousand and one ideas flashed before him on how to remove the worthless scum from off the earth’s shoe. Something in him had been defiantly tempted to go against his orders and assert much deserved revenge. He was better used alive, but would anyone actually have mourned his loss if Ghost had lodged a bullet between his eyes? It was the last thought he ruminated on before his vision blurred. Something had been administered to take the edge off, and it surely helped with his pain, but it also pulled heavily at his eyelids. 

“Stay with me, Ghost. Stay-” 

Ghost, for the first time in over a week, slept deeply. Though he didn’t dream, he felt as though he had been suspended under water. His eyes remained closed, but he had been able to see himself outside of time and its constructs. His body neither floated nor sank within the depths of an eerily still ocean, held by the lazy burbles of air pockets trickling from underneath his body in a steady flow from somewhere unseen below. He had felt them, as clearly as he felt the bed beneath when he did stir (which wasn’t very clear at all with how much dope they pumped through his system..), gyrate excitedly over his back in search of an unobstructed path towards the surface. The more he considered this, the more he concluded that these bubbles were pushing him towards the surface with them, or so his human reasoning decided. Humans were funny that way, assigning emotion and intent to inanimate things. Truth? These air pockets were only burbling to the surface from an underwater geyser or volcano. Then again, these air pockets were fictitious to begin with, so it didn’t fucking matter what they were or weren’t trying to do to the man. 

It was disappointing that the first thing Simon saw waking up was her. Taylor Gallahan stood over his bedside like the fucking boogeyman taking his blood pressure and checking his vitals. She had been doing so hourly for the entire evening, changed from her field gear into scrubs. The stench of his week had followed him, by his own command and stubbornness, mingling unsettlingly with the hospital's sterile air. Breathing proved to be no more easier than before, but at least the pain was nothing more than a dull prodding at his side when he inhaled. 

“Welcome back, sir.” Taylor appeared less than enthused to see the faded blue peering up at her. “Don’t worry about staying awake just yet. First dose of morphine always packs a punch.” Her eyes flickered to the IV stand holding various pouches of liquids all being fed into his body through veins of their own working tandem with his. Simon’s gaze weakly followed hers, attempting to blink away the blurred edges in his vision. “Rest assured, Ghost, your mask stayed on.” Irritation was easily noticed in her tone, even while Simon was higher than a kite. His lip twitched underneath the mask, lolling his head to the side. Again, he slept. 

A car met Scarlett Riley at Eloise’s flat. Two soldiers welcomed her into the country with a classic ‘Ello’ and instruction that nothing be spoken of in public regarding SpecGru or those it had in its care. Classic English city views shifted into the countryside as they drove her into the elusive base. Such a brilliantly hidden-in-plain sight machine operated at a high level of clearance. Arrangements were made quickly and efficiently when a certain CIA agent notified them that The Mrs. Riley would be touching down in England to see The Simon Riley. All of the SpecGru staff within the hospital seemed to have molded and framed their duties to tend to the soldier lost in the blind who returned alive with the most wanted target in handcuffs. These things just didn’t happen on a random fucking Wednesday. 

“Scarlett…” It should have come to no surprise to anyone that John was the first familiar face to welcome Scarlett into the building. East of the entrance was the intensive care unit designed for the soldiers put into situations such as Simon. The best in the world lay behind those doors rotating dutifully to see to it that their patients lived to tell the tales. Price held an air of warmth wherever he went accompanied by friends, but his eyes were just as exhausted as the rest of his teams sat in a line of chairs against the waiting room wall. None of them had gotten much sleep. None of them had left the waiting room after being cleared from the medical inspection. Kyle and Johnny had risen to their feet faster than the speed of light at the sound of her voice, reassuring her the only way they knew how with a hug. 

“He’s stable.” A smile grew on his lips, brushing off weight from her shoulders with his hands soothingly. “Got the best care in the world kissin’ his arse just beyond those doors. They won’t let anyone in just yet. I’ll talk to the attendant about having the doctor come and speak with you as soon as possible. Have a seat, dear. Johnny will go fetch you a tea. Just try to calm down, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Scar. I slipped my phone with him in the helo and had them give him a charger earlier.” Johnny’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, inviting her, guiding her to an empty chair. 

The world’s finest tending to Simon's ass? Yes. Kissing it? 

“Evening, sir.” Taylor’s voice disrupted Simon’s dreamless sleep, assisting the man’s search for something clear to hold onto in consciousness. “How are you feeling? Scale of one to ten?” 

Simon knew that her fingers pressed against his wrist, but he couldn’t find the pressure to feel it. He stared blankly at his wrist, mouth dryer than the Sahara desert. When he spoke, his voice cracked with a hoarse whisper, “Have to be able to feel anything to have a rating.” 

“That’s a good thing, Ghost.” Taylor’s smug smile tugged at Simon’s patience, using it to become more lucid. “Otherwise you’d be weeping in pain.” His vitals were recorded, bloody discharge emptied and Simon’s person checked. “Do you need to use the restroom yet?” To save Simon’s dignity, she didn’t mention having to clean his ass after he relieved himself while unconscious. It was common when the body was fighting for survival and couldn’t directly express attention to holding the contents of its bowels in. Whether or not he remembered was not for her to worry about. Simon shook his head, and she nodded. “Morphine will do that. You may be constipated for a while. If you don’t go within a day or two, we’ll administer a laxative to help soften things. You’ll have to… shit…before you’re released to go home.” She had heard enough of Simon’s cursing to feel comfortable enough to do so herself. She felt entitled after having to deal with his lively attitude… 

Taylor genuinely smiled, pleased to be able to say, “I’ve been told to let you know that your wife has arrived. Doctor O’Rorke says that once your lungs are clear, you can have a visitor.” She took note of the stark difference in his countenance, a sudden clarity dawning across his eyes. For the first time, she saw a glimpse of humanity in his expression. Humanity cloaked his body, easily visible by any passing glance that he was physically human, but she was just now noting the desperation in his eyes. Quickly it was corrected, and she mistook it for the morphine thrumming through his body. 

Simon had promised her that she would be the first to see his face once he got home. It was a sort of ritual he had begun after Olivia was born and Scarlett retired from active service. Ghost carried Simon through the mission, safely into the hands of the very capable woman. He had been in and out of sleep over the course of the next three days, sporadically in communication with his wife whenever he could see clear enough to reply. (so he may have a slight concussion… maybe… perhaps… it didn’t fucking matter right at that moment!)

Regularly he was awoken by Taylor who would make small conversation while checking his vitals to ensure he was still operating as normal as one could in his condition. He never seemed like a peanut gallery, offering her the basic answers while staring her down. He was more respectful of her station when she was practically carrying his weight to sit at the portable bathroom chair. It was always then when she respected his desire for silence, quickly completing the necessary task and helping him back into bed before disappearing to flush his urine into the toilet. Soon, she encouraged, they could try walking to the joined bathroom. 

He was expecting the tall blonde when he was pleasantly surprised by the familiar silhouetted brunette. The door had become his alarm clock, blinking groggily until he was urged to wake up faster. She appeared by his side as an apparition, almost not believing she was real until her weight dipped the mattress, pulling shock and awe across his glazing eyes. 

“Lovie, How are you?” Simon whispered, or wheezed, regretting immediately his attempt to sit further up from his perched position on the angled bed (never allowed to lay back enough to truly sleep comfortably so his lung could drain properly.), forced back against the pillows by the jolt of electricity shredding through his battered chest. He settled for holding her hand, sliding his hand further up her arm for more contact. His thumb traced circles along her flesh, tapping gently before he retreated his only arm in working condition to slip off his mask. 

Air had never been so fresh, so refreshing when he was removed from claustrophobia. Self-imposed torture had been everything and more than worth it as he honored tradition, returning his hand into hers quickly. “It’s a lot better than it looks….I assume.” He cracked a smile, the creases around the corners of a bruised and swollen eye wrinkling. His cheek wasn’t much better with blotted purples and blues from smacking his face not only against the ground but his *mask*, but the very same mask had kept his nose from breaking in the fall. Ghost had kept him alive.

“Already feel a hell of a lot better now. Get my clothes. I’m ready to go home.” He teased, prodding to get her smile to meet those gorgeous eyes of hers. “May need a cookie first… to build my strength of course.” The back of her hand was brought to his lips, pressing kisses over each knuckle. Even her hands smelled fantastic. *Like home*. Her hand was returned to her, deftly searching her stomach with his palm. “Hey there, little Riley.”

[timetravelersdoctor]

How do you think the Autobots (TFA, TFP and ES) would react if they met the Dinobots' failed Combiner: The Beast?

The Autobots being overtaken and slaughtered by the Decepticons force Grimlock to make a decision: If we fall, they will fall with us.

Grimlock along with his companions to be able to unite in a combiner, the problem comes from the fact that his bodies were not designed for that function. So Grimlock had to do it manually… Cutting, separating, joining, mixing, etc.

The result was a deformed Combiner with asymmetry in its limbs, possessing strength beyond that of other Combiners. Unfortunately, he is also a mindless monster, whose only drive is to simply kill, regardless of his loyalty.

Grimlock, Slag, Sludge, Snarl and Swoop all writhed in agony as their bodies were torn and conjoined into a single creature, one that should never have existed. -The Narrator

Thank You For the Ask!

TFA Optimus Prime: He is horrified at the creation of The Beast. He'd be freaked out if The beast were to ever end up in his universe, it would give him nightmares.

TFA Ratchet: Ratchet has seen some messed up things in his life but nowhere near anything like this. He would make sure to keep the team away from the Beast if he could help it.

TFA Bumblebee: The Beast would give Bumblebee nightmares and truth be told he's do his best to avoid being anywhere near them. he would be very freaked out.

TFA Bulkhead: he would stick with bumblebee and avoid The Beast as well. he can't believe that a being like The Beast would exist in any universe.

TFA Prowl: Prowls first thought is to attempt to observe the actions of The Beast. After deeming it a threat he takes starts keeping track of anything that might be a weakness.

TFP Optimus Prime: Optimus, at first, wants to try to reason with The Beast but after realizing the it won't work he decides that it would be best to ensure the safety of everyone else. Prime would try to end The Beast's suffering quickly.

TFP Ratchet: Ratchet absolutely does not like The Beast's existence due to the horror the dinobots went through in order to create The Beast. He would want to help them but wouldn't know where to start so he decides it would be best to put them out of their misery.

TFP Arcee: Arcee thinks that The Beast it very freaky and should not be alive becasue the combination looks very painful. She is very supportive of putting them out of their misery.

TFP Bumblebee: The Beast freaks out Bumblebeea very much. He doesn't want to end up anywhere near The Beast.

TFP Bulkhead: Bulkhead doesn't want to ever see another creature like The Beast. He thinks the actions that were taken to create the Beast should never be recreated ever again.

[aropride]

i need to go to the store today because i have shit to do tomorrow and the weekend will be busy there. but ohnmy god the pains the agonies the miseries etc. When are they making it easier

[de1-os]

I wasnt able to get Leraye's Nastolgia card bc of i maxed out the minigame on the last day and was short by 1 replay screaming crying throwing up pain and agony suffering and misery etc etc etc

[antimnemonic]

perhaps the funniest development of all this is the way my hip starts killing me w hammers if im riding in a car for 20 minutes. cars are truly my enemy

[youremyheaven]

Hello, I’ve got a question, if you don’t mind me asking. Are karmic relationships always challenging and end up with pain? Or can they be positive/good/less harsh (idk how to phrase it 😅) too? From what you’ve seen/know. Could you give an example of a karmic relationship, please? Like from when it started and how it evolved and then ended? Thank you in advance if you decide to respond 🫰 Have a good day!

Karmic relationships are by definition challenging in nature, yes. The other person is meant to teach you lessons. These need not necessarily be romantic. You can have karmic relationships with anybody (and not just a romantic partner). I feel like every relationship has its ups and downs so karmic relationships are no different, it's not like you're in agony the entire time lol, it's just that there's a heaviness to the bond and you know that who you are now is different from who you were before you met that person.

I've had some brutal karmic friendships. All of them had their pleasant moments but the karmic remnants were 🥲😤

I've also had karmic relationships and other karmic situations (?) I'm currently in my Saturn dasha so 🤧karma is just a big theme in my life lol

With my ex friend, we became friends very spontaneously and I kind of immediately got the ick from her and knew that we couldn't remain friends? She was insecure, jealous and very patronizing? Also very judgemental? I just hated her vibes from the get go

But we were karmically tied. No matter how hard I tried to cut her out, avoid her, ignore her, circumstances pushed us closer together and I had no choice but to try my best to be friends with her. It was a daily test of my tolerance and patience and I felt like I was walking on eggshells the entire time. She's the most toxic, vile, narcissistic person I have ever come across and she genuinely thrives off of other's misery. What they say about people who hate themselves hating others was so true in her case. I hated having to talk to her but I felt obligated to because she always acted like a kicked puppy if I ignored her for too long. She kept me isolated from everybody else and virtually put me in a position where I couldn't interact freely with others in her presence because she hated everybody and thought I was a "people pleaser" for wanting to talk to others lol (I probably did seem desperate for outside human contact 😭). She used every opportunity to insult me, drag me down, ruin my self esteem because she thought she was ugly and projected that on to me. One time I was looking into the mirror and feeling myself 😌and she said that "yk what's special about this mirror? it has a slimming effect and makes people look 10kgs lighter than they are" as if trying to imply that the only reason I looked good was because of the mirror??lol?? If boys checked me out, asked me out, complimented me, gave me attention etc she'd tell she felt bad for me because of how these boys thought I was "easy" and that it sucks how I'm perceived as a "slut" (random person: you're sooo pretty, my friend: such a shame that he thinks you're a whore 😔) she told me I did yoga because without it I'd be emotionally disturbed 🤧and I had to endure all this nonsense because I couldn't cut her out, I was stuck/trapped in a deeply abusive friendship. Finally, I decided I've had enough and I'll deal with the consequences of ending this friendship no matter how bad it gets and decided to end things. I think my karmic lesson was one in understanding that it's unwise to choose temporary comfort over long term suffering/harm. And that you have to be brave enough to walk into the unknown even when you feel like you have no idea what you're doing or how you'll survive. Don't continue to stay in toxic situations simply because that's all you've known. It can be hard to picture a different kind of future when all you've been exposed to is darkness and abuse but you have to have the strength to risk it, to believe that, even if you're alone, it's better than staying in a connection where you endure daily humiliation. Once I found that strength within myself and could walk away (we were friends for 3 years) everything around me started collapsing actually. Terrible things went down around me and it was the worst time in my life but it was like the air was being cleared for better things?? And life improved a lot after that. I couldn't fully be myself with her, I felt very restricted and the minute I left, it's like I could breathe again. The journey of this karmic relationship was a lesson in dependency and how it's genuinely better to be alone than it is to depend on someone awful. My friend had many good qualities and she genuinely took care of me in many ways but all of that came at a heavy price. I had to be willing to let go of the comfort and ease she provided me with and risk being on my own instead of wallowing in negativity and enduring disrespect. Everybody always says "you should just leave, you should just walk away" but if you've ever been in an abusive relationship, you know how hard it is and how it truly affects your psyche and worldview and the kind of strength it requires to walk away.

Obviously not all karmic relationships are going to be like this. And the lessons of each bond will be different but by and large, karmic relationships are connections that are inevitable. You were just sort of bound to each other, and even if you tried to walk away or leave, you end up going back because you have to reach a certain kind of growth to be able to evolve out of these karmic connections. Karmic connections are not supposed to last a lifetime (some do though because the karma is heavy, a lot of parent-child relationships and familial relationships are like this). They are meant to teach you things the hard way essentially.

[anunfortunatekinlist]

Peter's Betrayal.

Soooo I wrote a thing, I was so sick of having no reason for Peter's betrayal so I made one…. ig content warning for torture, kidnapping, blood etc.

He had been sat in the dark for hours, blindfold pressing on his eyelashes, tears soaking them and dripping down his chin, he has no idea where he is, and no idea who exactly who sat in the room with him, the only noise Peter can hear are muted screams and muffled laughter.

It had been hours, of taunting words, manic laughter and the incarcerous ropes cutting and burning his skin. Peter knew this was a consequence of the war, there was a slim chance that he would wind up like so many of their friends, but he never thought he was so important to have an audience. The fact that he was just sat in waiting for his captors to get bored of the others they were torturing to get to him next.

It was weird, having to mourn his own life sat in his own solitude, suffocating on his own dreams and and ambitions in a single moment until someone could finally put him out of his own misery.

The pure agony of waiting was finally halted, the blindfold finally pulled down to be met with a semi-familiar face, some kid he went to school with that he cannot quite place, one of the Slytherins in the lower year; several masked figures on the edge of the shadows, the room feeling as if it was going on forever.

Now Peter could finally take in his surroundings, he was in some type of abandoned warehouse, with the room only having one light on, the shadows consuming the rest.

"Well Pettigrew, welcome" the boy said, Peter could finally place him, it was Crouch Jr. He was a quiet boy back in school, went missing a year and a half back, many thought him to be dead, well they were all wrong.

All Peter could do was stare, transfixed, this boy was someone like him, and he had ended up one of his greatest enemies, someone who had killed his friends.

"You know Pettigrew, we haven't brought you here to kill you, that would be an awful lot of effort, so you can wipe that worried look off your face, you are awfully to helpful for a simple kill" Crouch stated, slowly walking out of Peter's sight towards the walls of the shadows once again, the wall of deep breathes and muffled screams filled the room once again, they were in front of him, through the shadows.

It dawned on Peter, they knew, the Death-Eaters know, they finally figured out that Peter was the Potter's secret-keeper, they wanted him for James, for Lily, for baby Harry.

Light consumed the room, flooding Peter's eyes, making him blink and having to focus his vison, he could finally see in front of him, through the masked men he saw four people in similar positions to him, tied and gagged. But Peter recognised them instantly, how could he not, his own parents and siblings were sat across from him, blood dried into their hair and tears constantly pouring down their face. All in their dinner clothes from earlier, now ripped and ruined.

He had just seen them hours before, they had all gone out to dinner for their parents anniversary, all able to forget the grief of war for a couple hours to celebrate their family and their parents love. It was heart-breaking to see the happiness ruined by the psychopaths in front of them. His little sister, only 17 years old was sat directly across from him, her dinner dress was ruined with dirt and her own blood.

Seeing his family in front of him, made his heart hurt, they were pain all because of Peter, his involvement in the war had directly brought them pain, it was all Peter's fault.

"No, no, no, why them? Why have you got them? You want me, not them. They are not involved in the war, it's me you want, not them" he was in distress, he couldn't understand why his family was involved in all this.

"Now now Peter, calm down, we won't hurt them if you do one small thing for us, I think you can guess what we want, just give us the location, and this will all be over, you and your poor little family can go home and forget this all happened." Crouch whispered, behind him now, there was no escape from his voice, it was all-consuming.

"I-I don't know what your talking about..." Peter whispered, choking back his sobs.

"Oh really dear, you don't know what I'm talking about." Crouch whispered in his ear.

One of the masked men walked over to his mother, and with his wand, cut down her exposed arm, blood pouring and her screams still muffled by the gag. Her sobs made his ears almost bleed, he was crying, trying to break away from the binds around his arms. "No, no. NO! Leave them alone please, please. They're innocent please."

"Then tell us what we want to hear, dear." Crouch now came and sat on his lap, as if he was enjoying a theatre show, glee written in his features.

"I don't know what your talking about you sadistic fuck, let them go, they have done nothing, I don't know what you are talking about." Peter sobbed, he was disgusted, he just want to be dead.

Another one of the masked men walked up to his older sister, she writhed under her binds as they got closer, but it was no use, all Peter heard was silence until a small whisper of "Crucio" and a jet of red light emitted from his wand, and then the gut-wrenching screams of his sister filled the room, her sobs and pain stuffed the room, nearly breaking Peter, he could not go on until the death-eaters murdered his family.

"Fine, fine. FINE! What will you do to them if I tell you." Peter shouted and the screams of his sister finally let go, and Crouch smiled ear to ear.

"Aww has Peter finally come to his senses? Are you going to give in? Have I proven to you that we are superior?" Crouch said, still perched on his knee.

"No, go fuck yourself, I just want to know what you plan if I do actually tell you" Peter said, voice horse.

Crouch slapped him, "Now, don't be rude, all we plan to do is to deal with the boy, nothing more."

"You want to kill a baby! You want to kill my nephew!" Peter said disgust filling his voice.

"Fine you don't want to help." Crouch said again, and flicked his wrist towards Peter's family. One of the masked men now approach his father, "What should do to him, because it seems as long as they're alive..."

"No please don't." Peter begged.

"Oh really, don't what?" Crouch whispered, and on of the masked men dragged a blade up his father's arm, not stopping, going painfully slow, blood slowly oozing it's way out, staining his clothes and dripping on to the floor. But it looked like they would not stop this time, the cut went from his wrist, and was slowly making it up towards his shoulder, and not stopping, and the blade starts to make a turn towards his father's neck.

"NO NO NO, PLEASE NO DON'T!" Peter screamed.

"Come on then tell us." Crouch whispered again, the blade was now at his fathers neck, digging in deep, he watched in horror and his father's life was being played with, as if it was a gamble, that if Peter could watch his father die, on his wedding anniversary.

"Potter's cottage, Godric's Hollow, in the West Country!" Peter screamed, "Let me go so i can heal my father!"

Crouch laughed in glee, "Thank you Peter, aren't you very kind." And the binds and gags fell from Peter and his family, Peter rushed to his father's side and snatched one of the death-eaters wands in the process, and started spells to stop the bleeding and heal his father's wounds so that he wouldn't bleed to death. Leaving a scar instead, encompassing his entire right side.

Crouch was beside him once again, "Aww are you happy now Peter, trading lives, your as bad as us." Crouch had his hand on Peter's shoulders, watching over him as he preformed spell's on his family in an attempt to heal their wounds and make sure that they weren't hurt further.

"I am nothing like you!" Peter spat, tears still welling in his eyes, he could never imagine this happening, he just killed his best friend's son, but saved his father.

"It's all for the greater good dear, someone had to die for everything to heal." Crouch said, still smiling.

[carolingarts]

William Afton is a businessman with some engineering experience who owns a robotics company- Afton Robotics LLC. He's an asshole and nobody really likes him but he's good at what he does. He's just...unlikeable because he's genuinely unhappy. He doesn't want to be a businessman he wants to be a performer.

In fact, he spent a good chunk of his life wanting to be a performer only to be shot down for being too overweight, too off-putting, too selfish, mean, etc. So he's given up and resigned himself to what he considers a life of mediocrity...

Until he meets Henry Emily.

Henry Emily is aloof, shy, and an actual genius who (to William's annoyance) doesn't use his robotic skills to make money, he just wants to make *things*. Bonding over their shared miseries, required families (Afton has a single son, Henry has a daughter.) Afton sees an opportunity to exploit the inventor...but Henry is kind and shares his work and Afton becomes transported.

Point of fact he becomes obsessed and liquidated a considerable amount of his assets in his own company, barely retaining its name, to found Fazbear Entertainment and open its first franchise, effectively running away to join the circus with Emily.

Henry and he study the building of attractions and characters with William finding a degree of interest in haunted houses and the absolute control you have over an individual in an entertainment setting.

Afton is a conman at heart, a coward shaped by a lack of people praising what few positive qualities he has (if they exist) and the notion of total control, stimulating a mind with labyrinths of sights and smells to entice people to lose their inhibitions and live in a world controlled by single groups of people, fascinated him. He pursues this side of the business while Henry focuses on technology and means of it's advancement.

William Afton has never been *well*. He is however unwell in a way Americans can overlook. He is smart, he can be charming (until you get to know him) and he has money. It is ultimately Henry who creates the monster that Afton becomes thanks to his own hubris.

(AUs presenting Afton as a masochist who enjoys being in Henry's creation are fine. The creator of this theory however, considering canon and Scott's values- I can't conceive of the guy writing a dude who becomes aroused by pain in a kid's series.)

Afton becomes the victim of 'the spring lock incident" that leaves him physically damaged and knocks what few screws he had in place loose. Something happens here.

(Okay so B7-2 talks about remnant creatures in these leaks and a lot of people assume that Andrew and Afton splitting created a 'remnant entity' when I'm pretty sure agony in incident one did it and created Eleanor.)

William isn't stupid when it comes to science. Encountering this remnant creature he wants to study it. However he can't repeat the experiment on himself (coward) and he convinces himself he can't on adults-

(But this man is a scientist he had to have tried at least once and either failed or created something he couldn't conceive of or control...like shadow bonnie and freddy.)

He's a scientist tho. This is key. He's just obsessed with entertainment. He's never been able to do it. So he has to craft a space to put the techniques he learned about manipulating the senses into practice.

A haunted house or themed attraction could be the sort of thing that makes a perfect controlled environment. Humans respond easier to smells then sounds (just ask anyone who's been in a haunted house) so he crafts a gas- a toxin- designed to create fear for him to experiment with.

He finances this by going hat-in-hand and selling the idea of a restaurant to his former partners at Afton Robotics. Stealing and 'improving' on some of Henry's designs he intends to gather the fear and study it further. He builds his lab, designs his robots theoretically to collect more once he discovers what it can do and either kidnaps or has Elizabeth and Garrett.

He does care about his kids the same way any scientist would care about any experiment - important not to kill them off before he learns what he can- but Michael his only confirmed biological kid- ends up killing his brother.

(Michael it can be argued is the only confirmed biological child since when dealing with Old Man Consequences you hear Afton screaming for him to help him in hell.

He's also the only *actual* parallel - to *charlie.* Scott has said he takes the novel trilogy from different points of view. Michael is a 'robot' with ennard in him. Charlie is also a 'robot' with ennard in him. Charlie's a relative non-entity in the games only bringing people to life. Michael Brooks is a relative non-entity who uses Golden Fredsy to communicate in the books.

Afton's experiments don't produce results, they produce further psychosis. So he ends up in a fit of madness causing the MCI looking for more up close results, producing more remnant. Then he gets spring-locked a second time and 'dies' only to be reanimated.

There you have it. My supposition for Afton's motives, his plans for his work, the how, the why.

And it makes me wonder *just how powerful* his nerve gas is and what it'd do to adults because everything is warped in the mind of a child.

(And the obvious is obvious. Fazbear is bringing back his work presumably after acquiring Afton Robotics using his tech to create real immersive environments.)

Anyway. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society and such after a whole lot of manic produced rumination. I can provide documentation if requested, just too tired rn.

[mosspapi]

Whyyyyyyy does my knee decide to choose violence at 11:45 every fucking night. Like. I have been doing nothing that could cause it to want to act like a bitch for at least 5 hours. Today specifically I didn't do anything At All that would cause problems. Yet it chooses to act like a bitch. For funsies I guess. Because we can't have nice things in this goddamn world. I just wanna sleep man :(