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reds-skull · 7 months ago

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Post script on BLOOD||HUNGER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if Soap was dishonorably discharged instead?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 - Vainglory: Vainglory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The knight leaves his sword with the Blind Man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hunter finds them. And again, he fails.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no. They’re lying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poison.

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

Not kill. They want him alive.

He has to GET. OUT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(They know. The communicator. The Hunter.)

Johnny knows.

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

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

“Didn’t you,

Simon Riley?”

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

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

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

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

(Lieutenant Riley was his most caring soldier-)

(What’s wrong, son?-)

(LT-)

(SIMON-)

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

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

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

Rage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you see, he wants to ask.

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

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

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

I can’t be Simon again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon wants to be destroyed by him.

If only to feel that searing touch once more.

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

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

Soap inhales sharply. That’s it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After what?”

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps he wouldn’t feel as doomed.

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

EDIT: I FORGOT TO PUT THE POEM AAA SHIT

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

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

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

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

As he is nothing, when his steps sound alone,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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valtiantian · 2 years ago

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It was still dark outside when Lan Wangji woke up. It's not necessarily unusual during winter, but it is not winter, and he can't hear the birds singing to themselves.

He reassesses. He's lying on his side, Wei Ying curled up in his arms, his face pressed against his neck. He doesn't need to relieve himself, he doesn't feel any pain. There are no sounds that he can hear, no foreign presence either.

But he must have woken up because of something.

And then he hears him. The sound of small whimpers, almost unnoticeable if not in complete silence. Lan Wangji can feel them on his skin, the puffy breaths of Wei Ying, the shakiness of them.

He shudders a little, his face crumbles in sleep, brows furrowed and lips down turned slightly. The whimpers are louder now.

Lan Wangji can feel the tears before he hears them, and it's such a devastating sound he immediately emerges from a daze and wraps his arms firmly around him.

Wei Ying is sobbing now, shaking from the force of his tears. Lan Wangji doesn't know if he's awake or not, but that is inconsequential. He holds him tighter and lightly pets the hair that spills all around the bed.

"La- Lan zhan," Wei Ying whimpers, nestling closer to Lan Wangji, resting his ear against his chest.

"I'm here, Wei Ying," he whispers softly over Wei Ying's head, loud enough that he knows he's heard, quiet enough to be gentle.

"You can rest," he kisses the top of his head, caressing his hair and combing through it with his fingers, his other hand stroking his back tenderly.

He feels him gradually calm down. The shaking going down to shudders, sobbing becoming whimpers, the tears receding; and then slowly, he feels him succumb to sleep. Little mumbles falling through his lips, tickling the skin on his throat. He seems to be having a much sweeter dream.

Lan Wangji settles, breathing deeply, closing his eyes now that Wei Ying is asleep. He doesn't stop holding him, and he's still combing through his hair. It's a soothing motion that puts wangji to sleep as much as it does Wei Ying.

Now that all is calm, he lets the weight in his arms comfort him, and allows himself to follow Wei Ying. Hopefully they'll share the same pleasant dream. But secretly, he still thinks there's no sweeter dream than this.

#mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #I just had to get this out of my system #tried my best #hopefully it doesn't suck #English is not my first language so pls tell me if there are any mistakes

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irritablepoe · 1 year ago

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A Ship For The Two Of Us (Bram x Lovecraft)

FIRST OF ALL: this fic was inspired by @lee-apolla's fanart (link1; link2 link3) (you inspired me fr)

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Behold, i did it!!! :D

fyi this fic will contain horror elements; there's only implied smut y'all, and otherwise some very sweet devouring humans together (i think this counts as fluff for them lmao). Also i made both of them more "alive" and talkative, so maybe it's kinda ooc? but honestly i think it could be in-character, considering that this is pre-canon and they're both free from responsiblities or even a sword or a stake in their torso lmao (this could be kinda canon-compliant too tbh, idk how old bram and lovecraft really are or how much time there is between bram becoming a vampire and his beheading). I used they/them pronouns for lovecraft

some more cw:

blood (so much blood);

lovecraft-typical body horror ig;

corpses and implied eating of them (is this cannibalism if lovecraft isn't human???)

Enjoy! :3

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Bram licked over his teeth. It would barely make a difference. His body was covered in blood anyway; his clothes dripping wet with the delicious liquid. Most of it now filled Bram, making him all warm and dizzy. He looked around himself. It was ironic that the corpses to his feet were the only thing that could make him feel alive. They made up most of the floor and there was barely room to place your feet.

He breathed deeply. Not one minute ago the air had been filled by screams of agony. Now it was silent and Bram chose to thoroughly enjoy it. The only sound that reached his ears was the creaking of soaked wood from the ship; just like the slowly calming waves against the hull.

A dangerous smile split his lips as he heard something else. A slow thud against the ship that caused it to waver. Water foamed at the edges and threatened to wash over the deck. It sounded like a polite knock. Like someone was asking to be let in.

Bram waited until the thudding calmed down and then made his way to the railing. He looked into the dark water and saw a shadow floating right beneath the surface.

“Do not be so timid, I do bite but I’m sure it’ll do you no long-term harm.”, he spoke.

The surface broke and a purple mass ascended from the depths of the ocean. Slowly, it warped into a body, a face, arms and legs, and at last hands and feet. A human form for something that was the farthest thing from anything human.

Bram wasn’t scared. He was intrigued. Had been for some time, in fact.

He himself was not human. Of course, he looked close to one but this made him into an even more dangerous hunter among lowly mortals. Hid him from suspicion. While it didn’t bother him most of the time, it amused him now that Lovecraft stood in front of him.

That they met each other seemed to him a lucky coincidence. It wasn’t rare that one met another ability user these days. The world was so much more connected now that telegraphs and so many ships that cross the ocean exist. But Lovecraft was different. They seemed so alien, so different from anything that Bram had ever seen before. And he had seen a lot. He was old. Lovecraft, though, seemed even older.

“Good evening.”, a deep voice cut through the dark.

“Indeed, it is a pleasant night, my dearest.”, Bram said, straightening his back. His gaze wandered to the useless corpses and pride filled his being.

Lovecraft followed his glance and squinted. “They’re all dead?”

“Quite right. Due to your irregular visits, I chose to enjoy myself. I hope you’ll excuse me for not keeping one of them alive for you for I didn't know you would show up.”

Lovecraft licked their lips. “I don’t need them to be alive.”

Bram let out a small laugh. “Well, in that case I’ve prepared you an entire feast!”

They looked at Bram like they were dying of starvation. The need, the pure desperation, in their eyes sent a shock through Bram’s core. “Would you mind if I ate first?”

He let out a shaky breath. “Quite the opposite.”

He chose to turn around. Just once he had caught a glimpse of Lovecraft eating their enemies and that had been the moment Bram realized, who he was dealing with. It had almost broken his mind when he saw the mouth that hadn’t been a mouth, with teeth that had been beyond what anyone would call teeth. To this day he was shaking from this experience - if of terror or something else he didn't know. But it was enough for five or even more lifetimes. He would see soon enough though for he was immortal.

Lovecraft ate silently. If you could even call it that. Devouring was the closest word that Bram knew of that could describe what exactly they were doing.

Bram watched the moon as it revealed itself through the thick storm clouds bit by bit. The gaps in them eventually showed stars shining alongside the moon, trying to imitate it. Bram loved the darkness, though he couldn’t bring himself to hate the pale light that caressed his face. Sometimes he wished he could drink the moonlight. Fill it into a bottle and let it cool his sore throat when he was thirsty. Maybe it would cure his everlasting exhaustion and melancholy when he wasn’t freshly filled by blood.

He had been so lost in thought that he startled when long arms wrapped around his torso. Shortly after, a face snuggled into his back, an even longer tongue licked at his nape.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my darling?”, Bram asked.

“A bit too much. You already did a great job emptying them of their blood. Didn’t make much of a mess.”, Lovecraft said.

“I’m happy to be of service.”

“You’re so kind to me.”

He quirked up his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Lovecraft placed a kiss on his neck. “Yes.”

“I do not think even the politest gentleman would ever describe me as ‘kind’. I fear you’re wildly misinformed.”

“Misinformed or proven otherwise?”

“Ah, I see. Well, I have to say that gentlemen normally wouldn’t appreciate a meal made of raw human flesh. In that case, I’ll take my words back and say that you, my dear, have the most compatible needs to my providing abilities.”

“I like that word. Compatible.”

Bram took Lovecraft’s unusual long hands into his own and leaned back. He wanted to be closer to the non-human. So unbearably closer. “I like it, too.”

A while they enjoyed the shared silence. Every now and then Lovecraft kissed his face, his temples, his neck – whatever they could reach. Bram turned his face to receive the long-awaited kisses more eagerly.

“You reek of blood.”, they said eventually.

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” Lovecraft smiled crookedly. “But I still wish to fix something about your clothes.”

“We have the ship all to ourselves. Though I fear we will sink soon, if we don’t do something about the… lack of staff.”

“I’ll bring you to shore as soon as we’re done here.”

“Is that a promise or a threat? Or perhaps a smug deal you’re offering?”, Bram asked and smiled.

“More of a hopeful suggestion.”

“I love you.”, Bram said and felt in his heart a swell of emotions, that maybe this world wasn’t as doomed and boring as he had thought. Just because Lovecraft was in it. He laughed quietly at himself. He really was in love and he wished to continue to love. They both had all the time in the world. They had no rush. He had become a vampire, but only now did he realize that this didn’t mean the end of his life and capability to feel.

“I love you, too.”

“Take me wherever and however you like and I’ll happily obey.”, Bram answered, excitement rushing through his veins.

“Gladly.”

Lovecraft tightened their embrace and took him into their arms.

Bram let out a hearty laugh. “Carrying me over the threshold of the cabins like a bride, are you?”

“Yes. You’re mine after all. And I want you to have a comfortable bed.”

Bram hummed happily.

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i'll just tag some of y'all bc you seemed interested/asked me to tag you: @vestaldestroyer @daz4i @ice-devourer - i hope this is good hehe :3

will post it to ao3 too (link)

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd bram #bsd lovecraft #bramcraft #bram x lovecraft #bsd fanfic #tell me if there are any mistakes :3 #and pls don't slaughter me for writing them ooc this was very hard for them okay T - T #tbh i'm kinda sad that i didn't make them bite each other but maybe for a next fanfic *bows like an actor and exits waving to the audience*

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cherrycarat · 1 year ago

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my picrew is finally live and ready for use!

i'm also open to suggestions for new items; if you feel like anything is missing that you would need to create yourself or a character, please let me know! i can't guarantee every request but i want it to be as inclusive as possible 🫶

extra tips + terms of use are in the picrew description. enjoy!

#picrew #character creator #artists on tumblr #idk what tags to put on this one #ALSO pls tell me if you spot any mistakes so i can fix them bc i spent like a month just fixing stuff #this picrew stuff is HARD

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constantlyfeelsick · 4 months ago

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So i was reading @basil-does-arttt 's fanfic "Frustrations and Gentle Affections." and I realised something. For context, Nico has convinced the Spardas to sit down in their Devil Trigger forms and let her pick off loose scales for her experiments and creations. While she is doing this, she wonders to herself whether if demons groom themselves. This led me to the idea, what if demons moult?

(Bunch of stuff about moulting below. I'm no expert, and my sources are all online searches)

I will concentrate on bird and crustacean moulting for this. Moulting for birds is the replenishment and replacement of feathers. A bird's plummage will noticeably change over the course of the year. As their plummage dulls, they will then start to moult. They typically go through either partial moults (replacement of a portion of theif feathers) and/or complete moults (replacement of all feathers, birds typically don more vibrant features after complete moults).

Now moving onto crustaceans, specifically lobsters. Rather than an internal skeleton, lobsters have external skeletons called an exoskeleton. As a lobster grows, their exoskeleton will become too tight, and they will shed their exoskeleton and be left with a soft shell. Immediately after moulting, a lobster will pump their body full of fluids and enlarge their soft shell. A lobster grows ~20% per moult. After enlarging their bodies, a lobster will absorb water to rehydrate and will eat their previous shells to regain nutrition and protein. Due to an enzyme called telomerase, lobsters continue to grow through their lives, and the occurrence of senescence is slow. (It was actually due to this that the myth of lobsters' immortality came to place).

@basil-does-arttt 's interpretation is closer to that of a bird's moult. Individual feathers/scales fall off and are replaced. But I think lobsters' moult align more with demons. I'm pretty sure that as demons age, the more powerful they become. Lobsters also continue to grow as they age. Apart from natural old age eventually killing lobsters, another reason not all lobsters continue growing is that moulting is consumes a lot of energy, the larger the body, the more energy necessary to moult(like how triggering dt takes up a lot of energy for the spardas). Perhaps demons have a similar problem? They can't continue growing for eternity due to energy consumption, and that would explain why we haven't seen any behemoth sized demons. Lobsters' longevity is also seen in demons' long lifespans. Once again, this could be due to demons continually creating a certain enzyme to sustain them like how lobsters do. Also, I feel like eating their shedded moult is something demons would do, just feels right.

Another thing I wanted to bring up is this "cult" that is growing a leviathan lobster god. Sure, it is a joke thing to incentivise people into recycling and caring more for the earth, but they do have a point with the large lobster. The largest lobster found weighed 20.15 kgs (44.4lbs) , the average lobster weights ~0.6 kgs (1.3lbs). That means the largest lobster was ~3591.6% bigger than the average lobster. Now imagine that with demons, if the twins SDT is the average size of a demon, a levithan sized demon would be so fucking huge.

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youkaigakkou-tl · 2 years ago

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Hatanaka's birthday 2023

#youkai gakkou no sensei hajimemashita #a terrified teacher at ghoul school #twitter pics #translations #dear god this is so many words #translated this entirely from jp pls tell me if i made any mistakes...#birthdays

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frogcries · 10 months ago

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@silawastaken

I FINISHED!!!! i’m so surprised I got this done in one sitting, I haven’t drawn an art piece where I haven’t procrastinated in so long this is what this fic has done to me. i love it. saw it and knew instantly i had to draw it TO MY FELLOW USED TO BE WARRIOR CATS READERS!! FIC AUTHOR IS VERY AWESOME?!

also uhh artist notes about this redraw

This has The (not so) Perfect Pair spoilers!! Fic is very awesome check it out but also be handful of the tags.

-I think Ango would be a round kitty cat so ^^!

-Also made Oda and Dazai more spikier and has more pointy ears than Ango. I love ‘em

-I wasn’t going to add shading but I wanted to because I wanted to symbolize two people who made Dazai’s life in this fic a lil happier and how devastating it was to lose Oda😔😔

-Made Dazai happy because I know he won’t be for a while💀

-I JUST REALIZED I FORGOT THE FAMILY PORTRAIT TEXT screaming and crying

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #cat art #art #i like how it turned out #if any mistakes pls tell #and i’ll fix it!

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elysianymph · 1 year ago

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signed, sealed, (not) delivered

A collection of letters exchanged between Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene Mckinnon between 1975 and 1981.

dedicated to @lesbianmckinnonn

ZANDRA HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE <33 i wish you the best and hope you have a great day. i'm so glad i met you, you're so talented and i love talking to you about our silly little headcanons and screaming about the angst we write. sorry for giving you angst on your birthday (i'm not) but that's my brand and this idea came to me one night so i had to. hope you like it <33 (sorry if i make you cry)

The first letter — or rather piece of parchment that they wrote on together — was exchanged during a particularly boring Defence Against The Dark Arts class in their fifth year. Even Dorcas couldn't help letting her mind drift elsewhere as the professor talked, her manicured nails tapping against the wooden desk, counting down the seconds until the unbearably boring class would be dismissed.

Until a piece of parchment had landed right in front of her. She looked down at the offending object like it would turn to ashes from her gaze alone. The last thing she needed was a detention for passing notes.

She looked up, hoping to see who had thrown it at her, and she immediately made eye-contact with a pair of smug hazel eyes that belonged to none other than Marlene Mckinnon, her rival on and off the quidditch pitch. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she glared at Mckinnon who wore a grin on her face, a dimple appearing on her left cheek from how hard she was smiling.

‘Open it,’ she mouthed to Dorcas, sending her a wink. Dorcas felt her cheeks heating up — in anger and annoyance, obviously — but her curiosity took over and she opened up the parchment carefully, bracing herself like it would explode in her hands.

‘Meadowes, are you going to grace us with your presence at the Gryffindor Tower this Friday?’ was scribbled on the parchment in Mckinnon’s messy handwriting. Dorcas’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

‘Why are you so interested? Hoping for something?’ She wrote and threw the note back to Mckninnon’s desk, making sure the professor’s back was turned so he wouldn't catch her.

Dorcas watched Mckinnon from the corner of her eyes as she quickly wrote down her reply, pausing before scribbling something else on the note. She threw it back to Dorcas discreetly.

‘Don't flatter yourself, Meadowes. I’ve just heard you’re good company when you’re high and trust me, there will be plenty of weed. My friends made sure of it.’

Dorcas rolled her eyes, taking a peek behind her to see the aforementioned friends sitting in the back of the class, trying to keep their laughter in at some ridiculous joke.

‘And by your friends I suppose you mean the four imbeciles sitting in the back poking each other in their asses with their quills?’

Mckinnon choked back a laugh as she read Dorcas’ reply and Dorcas had to force her head to turn away so she wouldn't continue to watch as Marlene laughed, mesmerised by how her eyes turned to crescent moons.

‘They’re having more fun than we are, you have to admit.’

‘I would be having more fun if you would stop sending me these notes.’ Dorcas threw the note back, not bothering to even look at Mckinnon.

‘I wouldn't have to if you answered my question.’

Ah, so Mckinnon wasn't going to let it go. Dorcas finally writes the question that had been going through her head the entire conversation onto the parchment. ‘Why are you even asking? It’s not like you're going to spend time with me.’

Mckinnon actually pouted when she opened the note. With a crease between her brows she threw it back at Dorcas.

‘How will you know if you don't show up?’

Dorcas stared at the note for a moment, perplexed and at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say to that? She turned to look at Mckinnon — hoping to read from her expression whether or not this was some big joke — only to see her biting at her lower lip, watching Dorcas intently. When she realised Dorcas was looking she perked up, eyes wide as she mouthed ‘please.’

Dorcas turned back to the letter and let out a sigh, her anxiety leaving her body along with the air as she made an impulsive decision. She wrote down her reply and threw the note to Marlene, not giving herself a chance to overthink it. ‘I’m expecting the weed to be free.’

Mckinnon threw the letter back to her with a playful wink. ‘I’ve got it all sorted out for you, don't worry your pretty head about it.’

Dorcas gave her one last look, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She rested her head against the palm of her hand and the rest of the class seemed to pass by in a blur, her thoughts occupied by the girl in red as she absentmindedly played with the crumpled parchment.

The second (first?) letters they exchanged were over the summer break right after their fifth year. Surprisingly, all that was needed to bring two rivals together was a bunch of weed and Firewhiskey. Dorcas and Marlene had bonded quickly after that night, fights on the quidditch pitch quickly turning into playful teasing in the halls. Marlene had even snuck into her dorm one night, a pack of cigarettes in hand and a soft smile on her face as she asked for some company. Dorcas was grateful that the cover of the night had hidden her flushed face from Marlene’s view.

Which is exactly why Dorcas was stuck in this predicament because Marlene had left her jumper in Dorcas’ dorm and Dorcas — instead of immediately returning it like a normal person — kept it under her bed and wore it every chance she got like some sort of creep. She had held onto it until the last days of the school year when she was packing her bags and reconsidering what she would do with it. Ultimately, she didn't have the guts to approach Marlene and give it to her. So now she was sitting in her room at home, writing a letter that she would attach to the jumper she should've returned months ago.

‘Dear Marlene,

I hope your summer is going well. Everything seems easier now that the threat of our OWLs isn't ahead or at least in my mind it does.

While unpacking at home I found a jumper that definitely wasn't mine and after asking my roommates none of them told me they had lost a jumper while at Hogwarts. I came to the conclusion it must be yours since you were the only other person who I had brought into my dorm. You probably forgot it that night you snuck in.

I’m really sorry it took this long for me to realise but even the nights are too hot this time of year to wear jumpers, so I hope you didn't miss it too much.

From Dorcas.’

Despite second-guessing her choices and being unable to sleep one entire night, Dorcas didn't regret the letter after she had received a reply from Marlene in only two days — along with a pack of homemade cookies.

‘Dear Cas,

I knew I hadn't left that shirt at home! I couldn't for the life of me find it in my dorm room and I was scared I had lost it. Glad to know it was in good hands! Must’ve spilled some perfume on it though, smells just like you :) Not that I mind, you smell really nice.

I hope you’re having fun! I was wondering if you wanted to meet up over the summer sometime? Just the two of us, out in the town or maybe at a pool or something? We could even go to Hogsmeade if you want.

My mum encouraged me to send a gift back since you were so kind as to mail the shirt back to me, so I baked some cookies for you! I’m still new to it but these are my favorite to make so I hope they’re good enough for your tastes.

Can't wait to see you again!

Love, Marlene.’

The simple exchange had left Dorcas a giddy, smiling mess for days, impatiently waiting for the days to pass by so she would see Marlene’s face again, maybe wearing the jumper Dorcas had stolen.

By the time the summer holidays after sixth year had started, Dorcas had lost count of the letters she and Marlene had sent each other. That summer however, unlike the last, was radio silent until the last week of August. This time when a letter assigned to Dorcas arrived and she had recognized the Mckinnon family owl her stomach hadn't filled with butterflies, rather a sickness she could feel rising to her throat. The sickness had built up until Dorcas couldn't handle it anymore and she had finally, finally torn open the envelope that had sat on her bedside table for three days.

‘Dorcas,

sorry if you end up needing to use a decoding charm on this letter but I can't seem to stop my hands from shaking as I write. I’ve written this letter a million times and thrown it into the trash every time, which is why it took me a month to send this in the first place. I’m wearing my Gryffindor robes at the moment, channelling my inner bravery. It’s not working.

I’m sorry for kissing you on the train.

Well, I’m not, actually. I liked it, your lips are really soft, just like I imagined. I’d been dreaming about doing it for so long, I just wished I had done it in a better way. I didn't mean to run away after either. Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit.

I just wanted to let you know how I really felt before we all finally grew up and I was forced to deal with the reality of our world. All of my friends are talking about the war and the preparations, Sirius is losing his mind and Lily is determined to join the fight. James is right behind her and his boys will follow blindly. But all I’ve been able to think about is how I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms, run away with your hand in mine to some place no one will ever recognize us.

I know it’s wrong — not how I feel about you because a love as pure as this could never be evil like the people who can't understand it try to make us think — but the way I’m disregarding every other thing in favour of you. I can’t help it when all that I dream of is your eyes looking into mine and that pretty smile on your face, lighting up the room. Funny to think that even the dead aren't guaranteed to feel heaven but I already have, in your presence.

I’m sorry for being a coward and not saying this to your face, sorry for not giving you the love confession you deserved. Romantic candles and sunsets on the beach but I was never the type to follow the rules, was I?

Hope you like the blueberry muffins I sent you. I know blueberries are your favourite (they might be my favourite too now that they remind me of the taste of your lips).

Yours, Marlene.’

Dorcas hadn't dignified that letter with a reply, instead letting the bravery so unlike her green robes wash over her as she ran to hug Marlene at the train station, pressing their lips together and feeling the fireworks explode between them as the world melted away.

A crumpled piece of parchment was in her pocket, a simple ‘I love you too’ written on it in case her words failed her. But by the time she had pulled away from the kiss and seen Marlene’s teary eyes and wide smile, she felt like no words were needed when her actions had done the job.

After that, the years had passed by in a blur. The world had changed and Dorcas could feel it crumbling beneath her feet and threatening to swallow her too but she hadn't paid it any mind, too focused on holding her love in her arms.

Marlene.

Marlene with her pretty smile and soft lips, always a cigarette between them — a bad habit she couldn't seem to break. Marlene with her hazel eyes that pulled Dorcas into a forest she dared not to escape from. Marlene, beautiful and alive Marlene, whose arms would always be Dorcas’ home.

There was no need for fear when Marlene would press a kiss to her lips and wish her good luck on her next mission with the Order, a playful promise of making her favourite meal by the time she returned. As if Marlene wouldn't be far away on a mission by the time Dorcas was back. The reality didn't matter, not when they would always come back to each other, alive and in one piece.

At least until Dorcas had received another letter from Marlene. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't help the smile that had crossed her lips when she opened it, feeling like she was once again 16 and hopelessly in love. Only one of those things had changed.

‘Dear Cassie,

sorry for sending this on such a short notice but I had to tell you I won't be waiting for you at home when you return. Don't blame Dumbledoor this time, blame my mum. My brother is back from abroad along with his family and mum is insisting we have a family reunion in the middle of a war.

I can't even blame her when things are getting so rough. I hate to think about it but it may be the last time I see my family all together. I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m inclined to visit even when it’s so risky.

I assure you I’ll be fine like I always am. You take care of yourself, can't have you sitting in St. Mungo’s during our anniversary.

See you soon, love, miss you terribly.

Yours, Marlene.’

Dorcas held onto the letter like a lifeline only a week later, wearing black robes wet from rain as she watched her love be lowered into the cold ground undeserving of embracing her. Her salty tears had smudged the sacred ink which had immortalised Marlene’s last, hopeful words.

“I think it's strange…” Lupin began to speak as he walked up to her. Dorcas remained unflinching, staring straight at Marlene’s casket and hoping, praying for a miracle that would confirm this was all a dream. She would wake up in Marlene’s warm arms, safe and sound. Instead, Remus’ next words only served to twist the knife further in Dorcas’ chest: “That the Death Eaters just so happened to attack the one night that Marlene was there.”

“What are you insinuating, Lupin?” Dorcas asked, not in the mood for his vagueness.

“There are only a few close people Marlene would've told she was leaving to see her family,” Remus continued, “and we know there is a traitor among our ranks. I’m afraid Marlene may have just told the wrong person the wrong thing.”

Dorcas’ eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at Lupin, who was turning his head away, inviting her to follow his suspicions.

She followed Remus’ gaze, landing on Sirius’ hunched over form. She had to do a double take, to make sure she hadn't already gone crazy with grief but there was no mistaking who Remus was looking at. When she looked back up at Remus he only gave her a nod, confirming her thoughts.

But it couldn't be.

No.

Dorcas’ eyes trailed down to Sirius’ hands and there it was — the red and gold friendship bracelet Marlene had made back in 6th year for Sirius’ birthday. The two star charms still dangle from the worn out threads, shining against his pale skin. It was all the confirmation Dorcas needed that Sirius was innocent, as if the tears streaming down his face weren't enough.

She wasn't sure what had possessed Remus, if the war had really made all of them so distrustful, if perhaps she and Marlene had only been shielded away from it because of their love for each other. In that moment Dorcas dared to think death a mercy, for at least her and Marlene trusted each other until the end. At least she had lost Marlene instantly instead of watching her drift away and turn into an unrecognisable shadow of the version she had fallen in love with.

“Remus…” She looked up at him, tears that she thought she had bleed dry threatening to fall again. She spoke again, unsure of who she was convincing, herself or Remus: “You don't actually think that.”

She watched Remus shake his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m just telling you to be wary,” he said and walked off, leaving Dorcas alone with her thoughts.

One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to stop until every one of those wretched bastards was dead.

Dorcas’ body was found in early August of next year, surrounded by the corpses of Death Eaters she had dragged to death alongside her. One final act of revenge. She was buried alongside Marlene by request of her family, with two unused wedding bands on a chain around her neck and her final letter in her pocket — two declarations of a love that wasn't allowed to bloom.

‘My dearest, Marlene,

I love you, my star.

I know how much you loved to hear it when I would press a kiss to your lips and smile, whispering the same words into your soft skin. I hope the words reached you all the same when I whispered them at your grave with my lips pressed against cold marble.

Forgive me for not writing to you sooner, I’m sure you’ll understand why. Every time I tried to pick up a quill to write, the only thing that would stain the parchment were my tears. I had no words for such a long time, nothing to say, to express my grief when it seemed like everything was gone and everyone had moved on without me, without you.

The distant look in your hazel eyes still haunts me but I’m afraid I can't remember what your smile looked like. Your laugh still rings in my ears when I wake up but I can no longer remember the sound of your voice. The fragments are there and I’m still desperately clinging onto how your tongue used to curl around my name, how you would stretch the last syllable when you wanted to tease me.

I can still feel your hand ghosting against mine, your cold breath against the nape of my neck as I cook your favourite meal in our kitchen. I still make enough for two and bring out your favourite plates, although I’m not sure why. I hope you don't mind that I’ve been using your cherry perfume, that expensive one Peter bought you for your birthday last year, I know it was your favourite. I’ve used up almost all of it by now, even though I used as little as I could every day, but I can't help myself to find comfort in every small thing that reminds me of you. I’ve been wearing your clothes recently, the old ones that still smell like you and your cherry body wash, though overpowered by the smell of smoke that still clings to them. Your old quidditch jumper is very comfortable, if a little small, I’m not sure why I stopped stealing it from you.

You had looked beautiful even that day, as they lowered you into the cold ground and I watched my own life be buried alongside you. Ever since then, the world has been cold and grey, the same as your tombstone. I hope you didn't mind my constant company those first few weeks but I couldn't bring myself to leave you alone, I could barely restrain myself from digging my fingers into the dirt and wrapping my arms around your cold bones and carrying them back home. I think they would offer more comfort and warmth than this cruel world has this year. I think my love should be enough to wake you up from your slumber.

The heavens are not merciful enough to agree.

I’m writing this to say goodbye one last time for I never got the chance to before and I hadn't mustered up the courage earlier. I’m going into this mission knowing it will be my last, knowing that all that will remain of me is my lifeless body if I am lucky enough. I had expressed my fear of dying to you when we were younger, eyes brighter and lungs full, but now I find myself strangely numb to the knowledge that I’m inviting death to my door. I had been afraid then to die without living the life we had planned together, to die without letting you know how deeply my love for you lives inside me, engraved into my bones. Now that my biggest fears have come true, I find that the fear has left me — perhaps just another thing I left buried alongside you.

My hands are stained red from the revenge I’ve tried to take but I know you will welcome me with open arms. Your friends — and what little I have left of mine — have tried to comfort me, to help me but they can't understand how I feel without you. They do not know that without you I am nothing, not when I had spent half a decade planning my life with you. I love you so much that even in your absence you are all I can think about, the words and touches I did not get the chance to share, the plans I did not get to fulfil because of my cowardice. I cannot imagine loving anyone the way I’ve loved you in your life and continue to after your death. You, dead, are so much better than anyone alive.

I cannot avenge you because even if I killed every single one of them, their souls wouldn't be enough to make up for the loss of yours. At the same time I cannot move on, not when you stand in the way of my life and when I dare not push you away, you are so far out of my reach already. There is no other choice for me but to join you. So this may not be a goodbye after all, perhaps just a notice that I’ll be with you soon if the heavens decide to bring us together again.

Please forgive me for not mailing this last letter, I don't know your new address.

Yours, in life and in death, Dorcas.’

Somewhere, far away in time and place, brown eyes meet hazel and Dorcas’ heart beats once more with no other purpose than to love.

#this... spiraled out of control so quickly #HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ZANDRA <33 #dedicated to you and i think you can tell bc i stalked your page for headcanons of them and included as many as i could #poured my heart and soul into this i hope it shows #zandra the love of my life <3 #ignore any mistakes pls i am SO tired #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #dorlene #marauders #my writing

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