#this is the fic that i said i was going to post today

[tizahfanfics]

This POST reminded me of a fic I wrote a long time ago. It's basically Gordon and Scott on the beach (but it's angst, because... it's me, so it's always angst).

💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡

MURKY WATERS

"I was lost in a sea of despair, but you pulled me back..."

"You wanna surfing today?" The question came out of nowhere.

Gordon blinked and stared at his brother. It was ridiculously early, even for his morning habits. Scott stood in front of him, wearing this weird, expectant look.

"Scott… what?"

"I'm heading out to catch some waves. Thought you'd wanna come along."

"Sure, just—give me a minute. But, uh, why so early? It's gotta be freezing out there." Mornings on the island were always chilly, with winds that cut like a knife. Not exactly Gordon’s ide.

"What? Thought you liked a little challenge. Or are you chickening out?" Scott smirked, looking way too amused for Gordon's taste.

"No way! Just didn’t think you’d wanna hit the waves this early," Gordon said cautiously, choosing his words like walking on eggshells. Scott had been… touchy lately. The wrong tone or phrasing could set him off.

"Fine. I’ll meet you on the beach." Scott spun on his heel and left, leaving Gordon momentarily stunned. Well�� maybe this was good. Maybe Scott was finally feeling more like himself. Gordon loved surfing with Scott, so… why not?

Gordon got dressed quickly and headed down to the beach, grabbing his board on the way.

It was definitely cold, just as he'd thought. Gordon considered trying to talk Scott into waiting a little longer, but when he spotted his brother already out in the water, grinning ear to ear, he let it slide.

Bracing himself for the icy waves, Gordon followed Scott into the surf. The wind was sharp and biting, and the water was frigid. Hopefully, Scott would realize this soon and they'd both head back in.

They paddled out and caught a couple of small waves, Gordon staying close enough to keep an eye on his brother. If anything went wrong, he was ready to haul Scott back to shore, no questions asked.

"Hey, remember that time at… what was it, Malibu?" Scott paddled closer, his nose red from the cold and his eyes bright with energy.

"Yeah, I remember. You didn’t wanna go, but then we couldn’t get you off the board," Gordon said with a laugh. Back then, Scott had been down in the dumps for some reason, so Gordon had dragged him out to Malibu for a few days with some friends.

Scott had initially bailed, saying he had "stuff to deal with," but right before Gordon left, he showed up, packed and ready.

"I didn’t wanna go," Scott admitted, his voice quieter. "That was the day Erin dumped me."

Oh.

Gordon hadn’t known that. He’d met Erin a few times, but never thought their relationship was anything serious. She was the free-spirited type, not someone who seemed interested in long-term anything. Besides, Scott had been gearing up to head to the Air Force Academy anyway.

"I had no idea," Gordon said, his brow furrowing. "Why didn’t you tell me? And why'd you decide to come, then?"

"It was… something she said," Scott replied, trailing off as he stared at the horizon.

Gordon waited for him to elaborate, but Scott just stayed there, lost in thought, before suddenly paddling further out.

"Hey, you just gonna sit there? That wave looks killer!" Scott called, breaking Gordon's train of thought.

Gordon smiled at his brother's excitement before trying to follow along. Scott wasn't making sense today;but after weeks of having a very quiet and untalkative brother, this seemed like progress. Gordon hoped it was.

He watched his brother advance and felt a tingling in his stomach that told him not to lose sight of him.

"Wait! Don’t go too far!" Gordon yelled, but Scott kept paddling toward a swell forming in the east. Gordon couldn’t help but feel like a worried parent on a beach trip with their kid. Usually, that was Scott’s job.

Apesar do frio, Scott parecia estar aproveitando o momento. Era bom ver seu irmão relaxando.

He enjoyed the sea. The day was truly beautiful, the cold already beginning to give way to comforting warmth as the sun rose in the sky.He looked around, not wanting to lose sight of Scott. Everything seemed so normal, just like old times.

A strong wind began to blow like the howl of a wounded animal. Gordon felt a strange chill, his Squid sense suddenly began to beep. He didn't know what it was.

His brother continued forward and Gordon realized he was heading in an unsafe direction. Stroking faster he began to move forward to get closer to Scott. His brain told him he was just freaking out over nothing.

But something in Gordon’s gut told him he needed to get Scott out of the water. Like, now.

He paddled faster, trying to catch up. Scott shouldn’t be pushing himself this hard—his body was still recovering.

"Scott! Slow down, man. Save some energy for the next set…" Gordon tried to keep his tone light, but his concern was bleeding through.

Scott ignored him. When the wave came, he rode it perfectly, and Gordon followed close behind.

Being inside the wave was exhilarating, like flying. Gordon thought maybe that was what Scott was chasing—freedom.

When they surfaced, both gasping for air, Gordon swept his wet hair back and glanced around for Scott. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Scott popped up right in front of him.

Scott’s expression was… strange. A mix of fear and uncertainty.

"You good?" Gordon blurted out before he could stop himself.

Scott frowned, like he was trying to work out the question, then turned back to the horizon.

"Yeah. I’m fine," he finally said, but his tone didn’t match the words.

"Scott, why don’t we head back now, huh? My leg’s cramping up a bit. Don’t think I should risk it," Gordon said, hoping to appeal to Scott’s protective instincts.

Scott gave him a long look, and for a second, Gordon thought he’d agree. But halfway back, Scott stopped abruptly.

"You’re lying."

"What?" Gordon asked, caught off guard.

"You’re lying! I’m fine, damn it! Why is everyone acting like I’m made of glass?" Scott shouted, his voice shaking as he tossed his surfboard aside.

"Whoa, hey! Where’s this coming from? We’re just worried about you!" Gordon said, letting his own board float as he reached for Scott.

But Scott wasn’t having it. "Worried? I’m sick of it! I know what I can handle, Gordon! I know what I'm capable of, I'm not broke! Can I at least ride a wave? ....I need this. Either that or would you rather I take a plane to relax? I—" He laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that made Gordon’s chest tighten.

"Scott! Calm down, man. Let’s just—"

But Scott was already paddling back out, ignoring him completely.

Gordon’s heart was pounding. Something was wrong.

"Scott!" he yelled, picking up his pace as a wave rolled over them. When Gordon surfaced, Scott was gone.

Panic hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Scott!" Gordon shouted again, spinning in the water. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Without a second thought, Gordon dove under, scanning the cold, murky water. It wasn’t long before he spotted a flash of blue—Scott’s wetsuit.

Scott lay motionless in the murky water.

Fuck fuck fuck!

He swam faster than he ever had, grabbing his brother and hauling him toward the shore.

By the time they hit the sand, Scott wasn’t breathing.

Gordon’s throat tightened, but he shoved the panic aside. His training kicked in;ignoring how much he himself was shaking.

Minutes felt like hours until, finally, Scott coughed and spat out water.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. He wanted to cry, from relief, from fear, from all the feelings that were boiling inside him.

Gordon quickly came to his senses upon hearing the distressing sounds of his brother. A mixture of coughs and sobs shook Scott's body, making Gordon's heart tighten even more.

Pulling his brother so he could breathe better resting on his chest as he calmed his own nerves from the terror he felt when Scott disappeared into the water.

"Shhh, you're okay. You're okay bro, we're okay." He knew they were far from okay; but somehow they would get there.

When his brother's rapid breathing and sobs finally calmed, he pulled Scott so they were face to face, still supporting him with his hands on his shoulders.

"What's gotten into you?!" ?" He didn't want his voice to crack, but he couldn't help it. It would give him many nights of nightmares.

Scott looked away and frowned, as if understanding had only just dawned on him.

"I don't know…oh my gosh. Fuck! I'm so sorry." He began to speak, his voice low and muffled by his own hands, which were shaking uncontrollably.

"Damn it! You don't do that Scott. You don't go into the water and underestimate it like that, ever. And you can't do that to me! You scared me to death." He stood up, needing to breathe and calm himself. "If I hadn't found you, you would have died! Do you see that? We just got you back…you can't-" Then everything came crashing down; he could no longer contain the tears that insisted on falling suddenly.

Scott tried to get up, but his legs betrayed him and he almost fell back into the sand if Gordon hadn't rushed to catch him.

They locked in a desperate embrace as if they could put all the broken pieces of themselves back together with just the endless love they felt for each other.

Gordon held his brother tightly. Scott was shaking under his hands. For a minute they stood there, breathing. Until Gordon realized that Scott was now shaking badly and still a little panting. He maneuvered his brother to steady him, and they both began the slow walk toward home.

"Let's go home, Scotty. Let's get you warm again." His brother said nothing, but squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.

You don't have to run, Scott. You can lean on us. We'll get through this, together."His brother made a very timid sound of agreement beside him. Gordon accepted this, it was the best he could ask for at the moment.

Scott had only been home from the hospital for a month. He looked much better physically, but Gordon knew there were unseen wounds that would take longer to heal.

"Thank you Gords" His brother thanked him, softly, almost a whisper.

"Anytime, bro. I'm here for you, whenever you need me. But I'd rather you didn't pull an Aquaman, my heart is fragile."

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 7

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.4k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: How will your next practice go, now that you've talked?

a/n: so what will dancing together be like now? Posting early because I'm traveling later today. See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), fluff!!!, more talking

Chapter 7

By Monday, you were exhausted and most of you hurt, but you walked into morning class with a smile playing around your mouth.

You’d nailed Hermia, and you didn’t think you could feel better about it. Adrian had already tackled you in a hug the day before, after the third performance — thankfully already out of his glittery Puck costume. (Or Elena and Max, the costume heads, would have been pissed.) But he’d been amazing, too, and you told him so. 

As you put on your shoes for barre, you felt someone come up and stand next to your spot along the wall. You looked up and saw black shoes and black tights, and smiled.

“Hi, Din,” you said, looking up to meet his gaze.

His face was as expressionless as always, but you could have sworn the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly when your eyes met. It was small, but it was there.

“Morning,” he greeted you softly. “You were amazing this weekend.”

You grinned as you moved to stand. He offered his hand and you took it. “You saw?” You hadn’t seen him in the wings or the audience, but that didn’t mean anything — it was a packed house for all three performances.

He nodded, squeezing your hand before letting it drop. “Yesterday. I brought Grogu, too, he loved it. But we couldn’t stay after, so I couldn’t look for you to tell you how good you were. You captured her perfectly. I could feel her confusion and turmoil.” He turned to walk towards his spot at the barre and you moved with him. “It felt so… tormented. I could almost see her indecision.”

You smiled and ducked your head as you reached the barre. You grasped it in both hands and leaned into it a little. “Um, thanks.” You looked up at him and found his gaze was soft behind his mask. “It did feel good. I was really happy with it.”

He nodded at you. “You should be. It was beautiful.” He paused for a moment, looking at you, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.

Din opened his mouth to say something else, but Alexa called out for everyone to start, and you started to move towards your spot at the barre next to his. 

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to catch your arm. “Can we meet tomorrow? After lunch. To rehearse.”

You nodded. “Tomorrow.” 

…

On Tuesday, Din told you he’d reserved one of the tiny practice rooms set aside for just that purpose. You promised you’d meet him there. As he stepped away, Adrian stepped up to fill the space. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Were you just lurking there, listening in?”

“Obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “What’s the practice room for?”

You laughed. “We’re going to work on the pas de deux, before rehearsal on Thursday.”

He waggled his eyebrows at you and you elbowed him. “Oof. Rude. It sounds like things are going better, then?”

You nodded. “I think so. We haven’t tried it again, yet, but I think it’s going to work better, this time.” You’d already told him all about your conversation with Din, leaving out the personal details Din had shared. You didn’t think he’d want you to spread those around.

“Good.”

Alexa called out to Adrian and you moved off, waving as you turned into the hallway. 

…

As you walked towards the room Din had reserved for you, you couldn’t help but notice how different you felt, compared to your walk to rehearsal, so full of dread the week before. 

You found the small room, tucked away at the end of the rehearsal hall and around the corner. You almost never came back here, you realized. 

Din was already inside, fiddling with the sound system.

“Hey, Din,” you said, smiling when he turned to look at you. You closed the door and moved to join him. “Did you go home for lunch?”

He nodded. “Grogu had a half day today, so I got to eat lunch with him.” He smiled — just a small thing, but the obvious difference from how he was in class warmed you. 

“That’s great,” you said, and sat to put on your shoes. “I’m sure he was excited to see you.”

Din made a small noise, and you looked up. He was smiling a bit bigger, and you realized he had laughed, just a bit. You grinned. “He was. He said he talked about the ballet at school and danced for his teacher.”

You laughed. “That’s so cute, oh my god.”

Din ducked his head and you thought you saw an even wider smile take over his mouth.  You looked down at your shoes to keep yourself from staring. He looked good when he smiled. (He looked good all the time.)

You cut off your own thoughts, moving to stand. “So, did you have something in mind for today?” You asked.

He nodded. “I was thinking, what if we talk through what we have so far? I’d like to hear how you think about it. What you’re feeling and how you want to show that. I think that would help me.”

You blinked. “Sure. I can do that. And I want to hear from you, what you’re thinking is going on in your character’s head. That’s how I usually start — what is she thinking? And how can I show that, in my body? Should it be obvious or subtle? And then the emotion can come out in so many different ways… but I always start from what she’s thinking.”

Din looked thoughtful. “I usually do think about that, too, but I guess I haven’t had as much freedom before. In terms of what I can do with it.”

That made sense, based on what you knew of CBC. But something about what he said caught your attention. “Din… what if we use that. In the dance.”

He tilted his head at you and leaned against the barre. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we know Kuiil wants our characters to learn from each other and then create something new together, right? Or form a new connection that affects each other.” He nodded. “Ok, so what if your character becomes freer or more open over the course of the performance?”

His eyebrows flew upwards. “Oh.” He sounded like he was as struck by the idea as you had been a moment before.

You nodded. “Yes! And so you could start from something more familiar and change, over the course of the dance. And that’s what we could work on. So you’re not starting from something so new, but instead growing towards it. Maybe we could even work that in, that my character is sort of drawing yours out? It would add to the back and forth between us, and the give and take. And I could even mirror you a bit, to invite you in! Your reactions could sort of waiver towards and away from the openness my character is inviting you to have. Right? Between acceptance and rejection. What do you think?” You ran out of breath, and you knew your hope for him to agree must have been showing on your face. Now that you’d had the idea, you were attached to it. It seemed perfect.

He looked down, and you bit your lip. “Din—“

But then he looked up, and he looked relieved. He nodded. “I like it. I think that’s perfect. And it will feel like so much less pressure. I think I was getting too in my head about getting it right from the beginning.”

“Oh, good! Ok, great.” You reached out and squeezed his arm. Almost immediately he covered your hand with his free one and pressed down gently. You couldn’t help but notice how big his hand was, as it covered yours, and you felt your face heat up and ignored it. You needed to get used to touching each other, anyway. “I think this will be good, Din. We can do this.”

You were standing so close, you realized, since you’d reached out to touch him and he’d held you there. You hesitated. “So, do you want to start by talking it through?”

He nodded. For a moment he didn’t move, but then he squeezed your hand again before releasing it and stepping away. “Let’s start from when we first see each other.”

You nodded and moved to join him in the center of the small room. As you began, you could feel it. This would work. 

…

Rehearsal on Thursday was so different, you could tell Kuiil was both surprised and over the moon with excitement.

From the moment the music started, you could feel it. You and Din were still dancing separately, still “meeting” each other in character, but you were working together. Something had shifted, since you talked and practiced and began to work together. And it might not be what it needed to be yet, but it was so much better than what it was before.

You could feel him moving across the space with you, and it was like a tentative connection formed between you that you could pull taut and release. It was almost like you were listening for each other, taking cues from changes in each other’s breath or even small movements. His body would echo one part of the music, and yours would follow another in response. You extended your leg, and something in the way he moved his shoulders responded to it. He turned, and you spun around, meeting him from a different angle. It felt good. It was new, but it was there. 

You ran through it once, and Kuiil looked like he might actually cry, or jump for joy.

“Oh, yes, yes!” He said, coming towards you in the middle of the room. He rested his hands on his hips and looked between you, smiling widely. “Yes, I knew it — I can see it forming within and between you. Well done, both of you. Could you feel it?”

You and Din both nodded, and he gestured widely with his arms. “Of course you could! The energy, you have found it. You are building it.” He nodded again. “I can see that you have talked, and settled more into your characters. Now we can truly get to work.”

And so you did.

��

February began to fly by, much faster than January, and with much more ease. You and Din found a rhythm together that actually worked. You were friendly, in the mornings in class, though he still hid behind his mask around the rest of the company. And then you started to become something more like actual friends when you were alone or rehearsing with Kuiil. 

Din seemed more comfortable with you than he had before, and that comfort allowed him to open up in a way you hadn’t seen him do yet in his dancing. Kuill began to focus on the second movement, when your characters circled each other, and you could see Din relaxing his form and beginning to open his movements beyond the emotionless technique that had been drilled into him at CBC. It was beautiful to watch — you were so impressed with him.

Two weeks later, rehearsals for Swan Lake had picked up, and so had your rehearsals for the pas de deux.

Kuill had just walked you through the crescendo of the second movement, which involved jumps, some partnered turns, and a complicated lift section. It wasn’t the first time Din lifted you in the choreography, but it was the first time you needed to rely on him and his support so completely, with two lifts and transition into a different hold. 

It wasn’t your first time being lifted by a partner, of course, but it was your first time doing something like this with Din. There was always a moment, when partnering with someone new, when you found out just how much you actually trusted each other. You didn’t need to be best friends to dance together well, but you did need to trust in the support of your partner. 

You shook out your arms and legs and rolled your shoulders. You trusted Din. He wasn’t hidden behind that expressionless mask anymore, not with you. I can do this.

Kuill started the music, and you twirled into action, leaping past Din. He caught your hand as you began to move away and spun you around him. You “fell” into a collapsed position over his arm, allowing the spin, and then he guided you upwards with light touches into an arabesque. He tugged you forward through traveling turns that crossed the stage, squeezing your hip just at the right moment to let you know when to stop. Finally you attempted to pull away, and he pulled you back and spun you in a circle into a tour jeté lift. As you landed he turned you again and lifted you upwards into a horizontal spin that finished with your hands resting on his shoulders as you stretched your legs into a fully extended split, perpendicular to the ground. You paused there, for just a moment, before he lifted you by your hips and then brought you back down gently. You sprang away instantly.

The music stopped, and you turned back to look at Din, breathing hard. You were both grinning. You froze, staring at how it transformed his face. He was beautiful. 

Kuill called out that that the lift was perfect, but that he wanted you to work on the build up to it. You almost couldn’t listen to him. You were too caught up in the feelings running through your body.

You’d never experienced anything like that before. The first attempt, and it was perfect — Din had lifted you seemingly effortlessly, and his hands had gone exactly where they needed to go. You’d communicated with each other through touch with ease. You had felt fully supported and able to truly perform to the music, even when in the air. You felt amazing. And you could see on Din’s face that he felt it, too.

“My dear?” Kuiil asked, stepping up beside you. 

You tore your eyes away from Din’s, finally, and realized you’d probably missed what he said. “Sorry! Again?” 

Kuiil nodded, and you ignored his knowing smile. He looked almost smug. “Again,” he agreed, and you stepped back towards Din.

When you looked at him again, you found he hadn’t looked away from you. “Again,” he murmured, echoing Kuiil. The look in his eyes made your breath catch.

It went just as well the second time. 

…

prev | next

a/n: such improvement!

Partnering: so in this chapter we get an extended partnering sequence. I tried to find moments that looked like what I was picturing for each piece, and they’re linked above (and they should take you to the right spot in each video) – the hand grab, the traveling turns, communication while partnering, a tour jete lift, and the lift into the split. I hope it makes sense! This video has a bit more about partnered turns (though they’re doing traveling ones here) and this one has more about what the guy is doing with his hands during those turns. I linked to different spots in this one a couple of times but the video overall is great because Mira Nadon shares some really interesting thoughts about what it’s like to work with a new partner. 

I’m going to talk more about Swan Lake next week because it’s more of a focus in the next chapter. 🦢

[lexithwrites]

As someone that used to be a hardcore jegulus shipper, and now just likes them more casually, I’m allowed to not agree with how they’re portrayed a majority of the time. I’m not hating, I’m observing. I usually scroll past most of the posts or block most of the people I disagree with bc I don’t want to see it, but sometimes I’ve commented bc it’s gone too far. One of the big things is the fetishisation of size difference in that ship (some wolfstar shippers are also guilty of this too, I’m not ignoring that and hate that just as much) and it’s creepy. Regulus can be shorter than james, that’s not weird, but when he’s suddenly tiny and petite bottom and james is a huge top in comparison, it gets weird. Ppl know that dynamic is typically harmful and stereotypical, especially in things like BL and fanfiction. Why are we still brushing it under the rug? I’m allowed to speak my mind on it, I don’t always, but I’m allowed to. I also do agree that there can be a lot of jily hate from jegulus shippers now that I’ve been exposed to it. Just today I saw a tweet of someone saying jily is boring, why do you feel the need to say that? If someone said jegulus was boring everyone would go crazy in response, it doesn’t need to be said. Trust me, both sides can be shit, but I was VERY much in the ‘Jegulus does no wrong’ club until a few months ago and I can now enjoy the ship without feeling the need to defend it to death. Theres nothing wrong with me changing my mind on things, people change constantly. Ships aren’t that serious, but how they are written and portrayed in fics can be harmful (cheating, abuse, SA, harmful stereotypes etc), so just bare that in mind. I will continue to reblog and like Jegulus content but I try not to interact too much anymore, I much prefer being in the wolfstar corner lmao

[duchess-of-mandalore]

SSTW (Re)Read: Chapters 1–4

She Said the Word - A Star Wars: The Clone Wars AU

Here we go! Spoilers are fair game on my reflection posts, so your best bet is just to read the chapters first! But for now, I'm keeping my reflections fairly general.

First off … I legitimately think this is the first time in years that I sat down to actually read a fic of substantial length, and that feels so good.

Second, I’m so glad to get back into this world. I remember how excited I was when I first started reading these first few chapters of SSTW (before I knew the author) and I couldn’t believe that someone was writing exactly the fic that I always wanted to read (and at the time … the height of social distancing … was busting out a lengthy chapter nearly every day!).

Right from the start, I loved the characters because just as in canon, their quest is for their vocations and that’s why they’re so compelling: Satine … who’s found her purpose but hoping for a partner who will live it out with her, Obi-Wan … who’s grown up in an order of monks devoted to service but who struggles to find his place in that world and believe he’s worthy, Qui-Gon … who doesn’t fault Obi-Wan for seeking his purpose outside of the Order, and the kiddos … Korkie, Lily, and Ani … who give their parents more purpose than they can handle (even apart from rebuilding a war-torn civilization).

One of the most fascinating parts of rereading these chapters is seeing just how different I think both the author and I view the Jedi now in comparison to 2020, when SSTW was first written. In these chapters, you definitely see what I would now call “misguided stereotypes” against the Jedi – seen in things like Satine’s accusation (and Obi-Wan’s grudging agreement) than the Jedi ignore their emotions – but at the time, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.

Thankfully, @tessiete and others set us straight, but my question to @the-obi-wan-for-me is this: if you were writing SSTW today, what would you change about the portrayal of the Jedi in these first couple of chapters? Would you portray the Jedi’s handling of Anakin after Qui-Gon’s death any differently, even if there's still some justification from TPM for believing there were those who were against him being trained as a padawan?

ALSO! In Chapter 4, we get the first glimpse of most beloved Tol'ket. For the author: what was your initial plan for Tol'ket? Did you have any idea that he'd grow to have such an important place in this story?

[the-heartstring-chronicles]

An Ode to the J/C fandom that raised me.

I was 21 when I logged on to the message board that would become my online home for the following three years and which still feels like home when I think about it.

The year was 2006.

Fandom Elders, welcomed me, taught me lore, encouraged my fledgling writing. Loved me as a person, wrapped me up in their support and care. Both as a fellow fan and an eventual fandom experience equal. Some even took me in to their real lives as a pseudo niece, sister, cousin.

Fellow newbies and I became friends or at least acquaintances, We celebrated each other's writing growth, cheered when each other got good feedback, especially when it was from writers we admired. Shared thories and perspectives, sometimes different from those of the elders

All fandom generations talked fandom news and current events togther. Small groups, chatted and ate dinners together over Skype and watched movies. We said goodnight to each other before bed in threads as a whole board ,

We celebrated birthdays and it was always fun to see which friend posted your birthday thread and who commented after saying they had wanted to do it. And it was fun to be the friend who posted your friend's birthday thread when it was their turn.

There were fic exchanges , run at a professional level, by fans for each other. And there was also the reality that we all knew each other well enough that we could guess who our match was most of the time.

There were fights, there were squabbles, there were sad times.

But we were a family, they still are famiy in my heart, all those people. They will always be, no matter how often we speak now, and though I have lost touch with some, if they reached out today, I would drop everything to connect or to help.

A couple of characters who love each other and love the stars brought me a extra home. And the fandom manners and skills that I have today.

My J/C fandom home was magical and I hope the light and love they showed me continues to shine in me and in all those who were part of it.

And I hope any fan that loves anything finds the treasure that I did when they go looking for their community.

[kissmypoets-hp]

@oknowkiss asked me fantastic question — what drarry fics would you recommend to your boss? 

and i took that SERIOUSLY... literally thought about this the entire day and i have some Answers

first of all, i feel like i need to clarify that my boss is not much older than i am, haha!! sorry if any of you thought i suddenly found myself in the presence of a legendary fandom elder who participated in paving the way for today’s fandom — though she is a legend in her own right, of course: her vibe is very much 🎀✨put-together corporate tech girlie 🎀✨(the kind with impeccable taste in fashion, kitchen knives, and interior design) .... at this point in time, everybody’s got fannish hobbies, and i already knew we both grew up on the internet and liked YA during its prime, but not everybody writes fanfic and actually posts it online, which is why i was literally so floored at this REVELATION i immediately logged into tumblr and had to Post about it…. 

that being said, she is STILL my boss and i’m pretty sure she hasn’t thought about the hp fandom in a long time, so. if i were to HYPOTHETICALLY give my boss a drarry fic rec list, i would start off with something relatively family-friendly 🤣 (also i apologize in advance for inconsistent link formatting)

first off: Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi.... this is actually the first drarry fic i read, ever, so i’m being Nostalgic and biased because this is the fic that convinced me back then. but i think this as a first rec works, too, because she was a dramione shipper, and hermione and draco are here, too (only, what if hermione was lowkey a fujoshi instead....)

since i’d HYPOTHETICALLY be trying to Win Over somebody already familiar with the hp books + the fandom — i feel like i’d have to start with fics that confront canon first, whether it means addressing plot holes or flaws in jkr’s writing and then subverting the shitty parts (the epilogue… lol) OR fics that are deeply rooted in the source material, so reading them would be like a refresher course on the hp world while also proving how compatible drarry are together in Situations, lol

i would also recommend Heal Thyself by astolat … in no particular order, some more classics: Dwelling by aideomai…. Away Childish Things / By the Grace by lettered… What We Pretend We Can’t See by gyzym… Running on Air, of course (the drarry fandom classics)… as visual people i truly think she would be charmed by dustmouth’s comics — i’d start with Going Postal and Harry Potter Gets a Job … 

so okay let’s say she’s getting convinced and i can now branch out to fics that are more TARGETED towards her specifically… i’ve never actually talked to her about fandom/trope preferences or fanfic prior to this day so i am definitely playing it safe ahahaha BUT we have bonded over rom-coms, coming-of-age stories, and lorde’s discography and email newsletters…. here are fics that give off That specific feeling to me:

Harry Potter and the Future He Doesn't Really Want, Thanks. (this was actually the first fic i thought of recommending tbh... something about loneliness in the city, hanging out with friends, it's time to play Ribs... HYPOTHETICALLY i wouldn't lead with a rated E fic though 🤣 also, as mentioned, i have a Strategy)

Faint Indiscretions by ignatiustrout

before a fall by eleadore

fics with rom-com references!!

you’ve got mail: Pages of You by wolfpants

mamma mia: if you’ve changed your mind by warmfoothills (orphan_account)

jane austen-esque references: amid this warm and steady sweetness by warmfoothills (orphan_account)

no specific rom-com as it's technically disney, but in here THE KIDS PUT ON A PLAY and it’s hercules…. we both enjoy musicals so this goes on the drarry syllabus: Falling for a Golden Boy by OTPShipper98

clueless au: Tis a Far Better Thing by The_Sinking_Ship

other recommendations i would give if i were able to successfully sell drarry to her:

Can I Tell You Something…? by Gallaplacidia (as drag race fans…)

we’re both designers who loved art first, so i NEED to recommend Truth to Materials by toomuchplor and lately. it's my duty

kylie minogue shade… the premise reminds me of an inside joke so INSTANT RECOMMENDATION: moonflower_rose’s Nothing But You On My Mind

fanfiction that would be appreciated by somebody who stanned one d*rect*on during their peak in the 2010s + the height of 1/D, 5sos fics on wattpad: Star Quality by who_la_hoop / Rich Friend by iota

fun fact, though: i roped another friend with very little prior knowledge of hp (apart from a few movies) into becoming a drarry shipper 🤣 so the moral of the story is there is a drarry fic for EVERYBODY even the non-believers… and drarry writers are so TALENTED they can convince just about anyone to come to their side...

this is so fucking wordy and self-indulgent!!! i took this WAY too seriously but i feel like tumblr is THE platform for long text posts anyway, lol. now if you've made it this far, i need to know: what drarry fics would you recommend to your boss?

just finished my 1:1 chat with my manager at work and i just found out she used to write DRAMIONE FANFICTION omg…. i wonder if i can get her to read drarry fanfiction in the year of our lord 2024…

[alien-girl-21]

lovely to be sitting here with you

There was a glimmer of hope in the form of a kind stranger that wanted to sale him on living. - Teun wants to kill himself, someone stops him.

guess who's back 😎

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[good-beansdraws]

Fe Aspec Week Day 2: Friendship

An indulgent piece for today!!!! :') It's no secret the trio's friendship has always had a really special place in my heart, and I've been grateful for the taste of acceptance and contentment it brought me during (and long after) I played the game. To see them find the most caring and complete friendship in each other was truly inspiring.

Here's to all of us finding the people that make us "never long for companionship throughout the rest of our days" <3

[dipplinduo]

Fun fact about me: April 18th is my birthday! :)

And part of what I wanted to do to celebrate this year was to give back. Introducing * ~ a dipplinshipping birthday oneshot ~ * :

Rating: T

Summary:

Today was Kieran's birthday, but it was the last thing that mattered to him. In fact, he vowed it would never matter to him again. Instead, he would focus on things that would keep him strong: his battling, his strategizing, and his crown as the Blueberry Champion. His sister and the Elite Four won't stop asking him random questions, though, and if anyone brings up Juliana any more than they already have since she arrived as an exchange student, he's seriously going to lose it. But...why can't he stop thinking about her? And why is everyone acting so suspicious?!

A bittersweet birthday celebration fic for anyone who's had complicated feelings about their birthday. <3

Take this as a thank you to all of those who have followed my work and/or my Tumblr blog. I wouldn't have imagined having the support of this wonderful community on my last birthday, and I can't even begin to describe how encouraged and inspired I have felt to write since finding you guys. I have never written this much for this long, consistently, and your constant feedback and comments seriously brighten my day more than Juliana brightens up Kieran, LOL. Hope you enjoy this! <333

(And yeah, this fic is the "event based idea" that this poll was about. I thought it was so funny that some of you thought it was gonna be some devastating angst LMAOOOO. That's for after TTPD releases, tysm for the bday gift Taylor.)

[tetzoro]

omg hiii hi hi ! good morning & happy wednesday friendz !!!! today is a brand new day so let’s try to have a magnificent one ! i hope you find somethin to make ya smile today teehee & remember that you deserve to get the yummiest treat today ( ྀི∩˃ ᵕ ˂∩) ! ! 🤍💫

[kandicon]

*writes the same exact headcannons in slightly different scenarios over and over again*

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This is it! The last chapter before the epilogue!

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

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

Its name is "Famous Fate"

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

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

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

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

“...What changed then?”

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

“I met Johnny.”

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

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

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

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

“...Gaz.” he answers, curious.

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

Apologize?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understatement of the century.” Gaz offhandedly remarks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garrick grins, “as always.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We won’t, I just need to know-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I didn’t have your trust, before’

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

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

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

Simon radios back, “have you been spotted?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won’t fail his team a second time.

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

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

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

‘Get out’

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

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

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

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

“Someone like Johnny, then.”

“Another hostile on your 3, Simon.”

“Copy.”

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

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

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

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

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

Price sighs, “negative-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soap does the same, “with pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

The next, he falls.

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

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

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

He should be stronger than this.

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

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

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

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

“Away an’ bile yer heid, bastard…”

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing, Johnny-”

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

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

He puts the mask back on, and leaves.

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

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

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

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

“-The Hunter, they’re going after-”

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

The rain beats in incessant song in his head.

“-Wait for backup, MacTavish-!”

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

“-Can’t-”

“-SOAP-!!!”

Garrick sounds frantic. What are they shouting about?

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

The warehouse. Price, Garrick. The Hunter.

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

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

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

Simon follows the paths of blood.

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

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

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

The Hunter.

Their gun pointed directly at Johnny’s head.

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

His fingers shake around the trigger.

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

The Hunter’s head moves from Johnny to him.

Simon shoots.

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

Johnny turns around, blue eyes shining in the light.

Simon smiles.

“...Simon…?” Johnny asks.

He falls unconscious not a moment later.

Several minutes earlier

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

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

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

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

“Copy.”

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

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

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

From here on out, it is total chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soap scans the roof for any weak points. There!

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

Gaz answers, “Negative, what are you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 shots, and they’re down.

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

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

Pinpricks at the back of his neck make him turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t let Simon die, Captain!”

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

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

“SOAP-!!!”

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

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

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

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

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

He’s going to die here, Soap realizes.

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

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

Soap turns around, heart beating out of his chest.

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

“...Simon…?” 

Simon crumples, body falling heavily to the ground.

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

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

So this is how it’s going to be, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could he win?!

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

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

Take those disadvantages, and make them work!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soap freezes when he hears the Hunter talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ba-dump

Soap stills. Did he imagine…?

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

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

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

Soap barks a laugh, blinking away tears.

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

“The Hunter…” 

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

“You and me, Simon.”

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

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

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

The claws of an animal.

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

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

“You’ve earned it.”

Soap stares at Simon, before taking the mask. 

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

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

Price approaches them, “the antidote…?”

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

The warehouse falls silent as they process the words.

The Hunter is dead.

It is done.

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

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

[phoenixyfriend]

Sometimes you have the kind of Brand where people will reference you to you

And you just gotta be like "Yeah, that was. That was also me."

[amywritesthings]

wrote the first 500 words to part two of press four for more options xo

[hella1975]

end of march is crazy for writing like i have a 1.5k essay im doing today and tomorrow, a 2k word essay im doing wednesday and a 1k word research proposal im doing friday. and in the remaining week of the month i am WILLINGLY going to finish taob (~10k OPTIMISTICALLY) and make a solid start on tams (~5k-10k depending on how well writing goes). like yes girl write around 20k words worth of MULTIPLE PROJECTS in a handful of days there is no way this can end badly at all