#do you not know that a man is not dead when his name is still spoken//name mb

[themotherofhorses]

simon riley x fem!reader

Imagine holding Simon when he cries. 

Simon Riley is an incredibly strong man, an absolute force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Since joining the SAS in 2001, he has created a name for himself. A military legend—seemingly more ghost-like than flesh and blood. But that is the farthest from the truth, isn’t it? Cause, at the end of the day, he is still human. You’re his girl, the love of his life. His true love—his only love.

You are a source of comfort he somehow found in this shitty, cold world. The home he never had the privilege of experiencing; your arms have provided him with everything he was denied during boyhood.  

So imagine your Simon arriving home one evening—dead silent—merely shuffling his way to where you’re seated comfortably on the living room couch. His duffle bag drops near his leather recliner before the balaclava is tossed to the side. On his face is a certain heaviness, a sadness twisted in his handsome features; his blue eyes are not as bright as they usually are.

You swallow. Did something happen during the mission? 

“What is wrong, baby?” You coo, stretching your arms out wide to welcome him in. 

Without another thought, Simon tucks himself into your embrace, with his head resting gently on your chest. Against your breast, he can hear your heartbeat thundering away in your chest, moving in a rhythm that matches his. He reckons he is the luckiest bastard in the world, to find a soulmate who compliments him in every aspect of life. 

He lets out a small sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling his throat closing up as tears begin to well up. His bottom lip trembles before he bites down on it. 

“Simon,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “What happened, my love?” 

Another tear, followed by three more. A tiny, shaky exhale. Simon remains utterly still for a moment, not saying anything, until…“It’s my father’s birthday today.” His voice is quiet, breathless, unbelievably thick with sheer sadness. 

Your face falls at that. “Oh, Simon.” A sad smile pulls at your lips while you hug him closer, peppering more kisses up and down his hairline, pausing to brush back soft, blonde strands. You say nothing more as he continues to weep in your arms, entire body racking with choked-up sobs and uneven breathing. 

“I loved him,” Simon rasps out, pulling his face up from your neck. Both his cheeks and nose are a cherry-red, with baby-blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, lined with fresh tears. For a moment, he wasn’t the Simon Riley you fell in love with, but the Simon Riley who was five-years-old—all scrawny, little legged and freshly bruised, hiding behind the bookcase in his parents’ bedroom. 

“Loved him so bloody much.” 

You don’t know what to say. What can you even say? Nothing can heal those wounds, cut so deep in his heart and soul that any slight movement reopens them. “I know you did.” You kiss his nose, minding the mess of tears and snot. 

His fists slowly tighten, knuckles whitening as all the memories of his father begin to flood through him; they all carry an agonizing sensation, the kind that is too fuckin' painful to discuss aloud, yet too damn gut-wrenching to keep bottled up inside.

“Do ya…” he hiccups, clearing his throat. “Do ya think…in another life…?” 

In another life. You think for a moment, carding your fingers softly through his hair. “Maybe, my love…” 

Simon nods. “Maybe,” he croaks out, keeping his arms tight around you. There, on the couch, you continue to hold him, letting his torrent of tears soak your shirt; time and time again, your fingers run through his hair in some silent attempt to ease the little boy wailing inside. 

“It’s okay, baby.”

You kiss his temple.

“You’re alright. Let it out, baby.” 

He’ll be alright tomorrow. You know it. In the morning, he’ll be barefoot and content in the kitchen, baking his mother’s special recipe of blueberry and pineapple pancakes—a cup of milk, one egg, blueberries, pineapple, and, of course, the batter—all while waiting for your arms to circle around his chest. 

But for right now, he is five years old, finally being embraced in arms so warm and loving and protective—so unbelievably perfect. The feeling incites more tears.

"Thank you, baby," he mumbles, gently kissing your collarbone; it's a kiss so rich with love, appreciation, and adoration that it stirs up butterflies in your tummy. "For everything."

For everything. Oh, you silly boy. "Simon." You smile down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "For you, my love? I'd do anything."

note: a little drabble for my "let simon riley cry 2024" campaign. thanks!

#vic writes 🧸 #call of duty #cod mw #cod ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x fem!reader

[rebelliousstories]

Not Like The Movies

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Violence

Word Count: 1,688

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: How Cooper got landed with someone of her sunny disposition, he will never now. And it does not help that she knows his films.

“Good morning, you cutie. Oh who’s the best little girl ever?” A feminine voice brought Cooper out of his deep slumber. His eyes had to adjust to the bright light outside that flooded the building they had stayed the night in. He looked around for the source of the noise and was relieved to see it was just his partner playing with DogMeat. The man sat up from the bed that was miraculously in the building that probably used to be someone’s house and began to roll the sleep from his muscles and bones.

“Well, good morning to you, cowpoke.” She greeted, allowing the dog to roam around wherever she pleased.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. Whatcha doin’ up this early?” He asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His boots hit the floor right next to where his partner was, as she sat up on her knees to pull him in close. Physical affection was something Cooper was still not used to after all this time, but he was slowly coming around to it. All of the affection happened behind closed doors, or in this case, a closed house. He still had an image to maintain after all.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I spent some time with Bella.” She said cheerfully into his chest. Cooper just sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t go naming the thing. Then you’ll get too attached and then you’ll be depressed when it dies.” He groaned out, shifting their bodies so their eyes met.

“But she can’t be named ‘DogMeat’. That’s not a proper name,” came her cry. She laid on the puppy eyes really thick.

“DogMeat is a proper name because that’s what it is.” He argued back, tilting her head up by her chin.

“Fine,” she relented, and smushed her face back into his chest. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, gotta head into town now. Stock up on some supplies, gather a new bounty hopefully.” Cooper pressed a kiss to her hair, and shuffled so that he could pull both of them up to stand.

“You gonna behave when we get into town?” He drawled, voice leaning into dangerous territory. His partner giggled and nodded her head.

“Of course, Coop. When am I not?” She inquired, biting her lower lip. That woman knew the easiest way to get Cooper riled up was to do just that motion right there. Because, in an instant, his eyes were locked on to her lips.

“What about back in Filly where you kept smilin’ at folks, leaving me to save you from someone’s fist in your face? Huh?” Howard recalled, watching her shift in his arms as she, too, recounted their last adventure into town.

“How was I supposed to know?” Her whimper made Cooper weak, but he had a job to do today.

“Just tone down the sun a little bit, alright? Maybe a nice cloudy day instead of bright ass sunshine.” He offered, bringing her face back up to his. She nodded and stood on her toes to reach his face. Cooperate, ever the gentleman, met her halfway and locked their lips together. They moved as one, letting their lips slide across the other’s. Hands roamed freely, and it was starting to look like they were not going to be making it to town soon. That is, of course, until DogMeat came back in the room with a dead iguana in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor, and pawed at the man and woman who were locked in their embrace. The Ghoul groaned as his partner detached them in favor of tending to the dog he claimed he did not want.

“Good girl. Such a good hunter.” The baby voice was back. Seeing that the dog was getting the attention now, Cooper moved to grab all of his effects from where they were strewn about the room. His duster sat upon his shoulders, while his hat found its spot on his scarred head.

“Come on. Let’s get goin’.” He stated definitely. His saddle bag was slung across his shoulder, and his hand helped navigate his partner through the abandoned house.

They began their trek into town, which thankfully was not too long of a walk. DogMeat followed on the other side of Cooper, hot on his heels. He kept his eyes peeled as they drew further and further into the town. There was a pharmacy, a trader’s hut, several food stalls, and even a mechanics repair shop. Plenty for the two of them. Turning to his partner, he passed her some caps and pointed towards a couple stalls.

“Go get you some dried meat, and get a box of ammunition. Don’t smile so much, alright?” Cooper stressed. She nodded in return and patted his arm as she left with DogMeat.

The Ghoul made his way into the trader’s hut first to find a new bounty that was around. Thankfully, the woman behind the counter had one, and it was simple enough. Someone had not paid her what she was owed, and now she had a hat out on the man. He accepted half of the caps upfront, before moving on to the pharmacy next door. Cooper’s eyes caught his partner and DogMeat traversing the stalls, already having several pouches of meat in her bag.

Which is why he was not afraid to leave her alone while he took his time getting his chems from the pharmacy. Being a ghoul certainly had its drawbacks; the stares, reputation, and fear. But it also held some positives; the stares, reputation, and fear. It certainly helped when acquiring what he needed for a reasonable price. A commotion caught his ears from outside, but he was not afraid that it was his partner.

Until he stepped outside. Cooper saw his partner being crowded against a pile of sheet metal while DogMeat kept barking up a fuss. The dog ran over immediately to the man and began to drag him by his duster over to the woman.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t play hard to get.” Some man crept into her space, making her cower down even further. Based on what he could see, and the description the trader gave, this must have been the bounty. She did mention that he tended to go where he pleased like he owned it all.

“Please. Let me go.” She whimpered. Her voice was full of fear and worry, and Cooper was not about to let that stand.

“Everyone’s got a price. I can pay whatever your price is.” He continued, placing his hand on the woman’s waist.

“I do believe the lady asked you to let her go.” Cooper finally made his way over. The man turned around, and smiled with blackened teeth.

“Don’t worry, Ghoul. Once I’m done with her, I’m sure you can have a turn. Certainly don’t wanna do it the other way around.” He laughed, as if what he said was the funniest thing in the world. Cooper began to chuckle lowly as he peeked his eyes out from the lip of his hat. Catching his partner’s eyes, she felt relief as she saw her savior in western gear.

“See, she might be bein’ nice and askin’ you to let her go. But I ain’t that nice. So now I’m tellin’ you to let her go. Now.” Cooper growled, feeling his patience wear thin.

“Or what, Ghoul?” The man never got to hear another response. In a flash, Howard had aimed his gun and fired on his legs. Blowing both of them off, the not-so-tough man now crumbled to the ground, screaming and crying, pleading for the ghoul to have mercy on him.

“Well, ain’t that some shit.” The Ghoul growled, tying a rope around the torso of the man, and began to drag him to the trader’s hut. He focused on the task at hand, knowing that DogMeat would take care of anyone else that had dared get close to her owner.

Walking out of the trader’s hut, Cooper’s eyes scanned the town as he tried to find her partner. He found her, hugging her lugs, stuck in the same place that she was being held. DogMeat was chowing down on the legs that were left. His pocket felt heavy with the weight of the caps, but all that mattered now was taking care of her.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Howard held a hand out for her to grab onto, and she did. Eagerly shoving her face into his chest and letting out a shaky breath as she processed the events that had just unfolded.

“I’m good. Can we go please?” Her words were muffled in his shirt, but he understood them plenty. Calling for DogMeat, Cooper led the three of them out of the town and into somewhere more secluded. Once they were there, tears fell from her eyes as the weight of what happened fully caught up to her. He set her down on something resembling a chair, and squatted down in front to check her over.

“You saved me.” She whispered, letting her partner do what he needed to do.

“Course I did. What’d you expect? Me to leave you with that man?” He countered with a ridiculous tone.

“It’s like one of your old sheriff films.” Her giggles matched his groan as he dropped his head.

“This ain’t the movies, darlin’.” Cooper looked up at her.

“It’s kinda like the movies.” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to bring him in close.

“I can always take you back to that town and leave you there.” He stated in her shoulder. She giggled again.

“That’s not very sheriff-y of you.” Every time he thought he had won, she proved him wrong.

“Alright,” he stood up and took her with him, “let’s get moving. Maybe if we’re lucky we can find another house to sleep in.”

“Ooo, do you think we could find one with a television and a few films?” She teased, already walking off away from town. Cooper groaned, but caught up to her and kept her underneath his arm as they walked away from that town.

#rebelliousstories #writing #cooper the ghoul howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x oc #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard #the ghoul x oc #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout imagine #fallout

[fxtalitygod]

X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

Love.

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya@pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx

#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #tw stockholm syndrome #tw death mention #tw dead body #tw suggestive #tw child murder #tw sui talk #tw arguing #tw body horror #tw g0re #tw grief #tw sucidal ideation #tw pregnancy #tw postpartum depression #tw graphic #tw blood #tw death #tw dubcon #tw noncon

[colonoscopys]

ch. 18

buddie I 900 words I ao3

He’s drunk.

Not the blazing, head so spinny he could hurl if he stood straight, but in the hours after drunk that comes with a dry, heavy tongue and a slurred voice he still has some sort of control over.

Buck’s in the same boat, or—he thinks he must be, he doesn’t know, sitting criss-crossed next to him outside their hotel room door because they can’t, for the life of them, figure out how to put the key card into the door.

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck slurs, looking at him with slow, wide-lidded blinks. “Where’s—where’s Chimney?”

He draws out Chimney. Chim-ney.

Eddie shrugs. He can’t make his mouth work for the life of him. He’s pretty sure he saw Chimney two hours ago—before the music started? Or at least when he started singing Maneater with one of the Drag Queens.

Buck knocks a shoulder into his as he slips down the wall, the smell of his hair briefly sifting into his nose. He smells like gin and lemons, and a little bit of that fancy curl product he tresses up his hair with before every fancy event.

I know his hair product, he thinks loosely, tilting his head against the wall as he takes Buck’s weight. I know his hair product, and the way he does his hair before work. I know it all because he helps my son do his hair just the same way. I know it all because my son wants to be like him, so I have learned him, for my son. I know it all because I have learned him. I know it all because I have learned him, for me.

I have learned him. I have earned him.

“Does—” And Fuck, maybe he’s drunker than he thought. “Does Tommy know your curl?”

Buck hums, non-committedly. He hasn’t heard a word Eddie said. He tries again.

“Does,” he spits out. Doooesss. “Tommy.” Ttttommyyyy. “Know.” Know.

Buck lifts his head up and ends up tipping too much to the other side. Eddie grabs him by the forearm, tight. The action feels familiar in ways that Eddie, for the life of him, can't understand.

Buck blinks at him, bright blue eyes stupid dilated. “Does Tommy know what?” He whispers. He draws out his name, too. Tom-my.

Eddie looks at him and loves him.

He’s always known he loves Buck. For the first time in his life, though, he thinks—I love you. What does that make me?

Eddie opens his mouth. The back of his throat burns—maybe from all the tequila shots or the lemons hitting the rim of his teeth or the raw pad of his tongue from licking salt off of Buck’s warm palm.

Does he know what you look like covered in blood, Eddie wants to ask. Does he know what it looks like when you haven’t showered in three days because you’re so depressed you don’t know if water burns more than the sun. Does he know what it looks like when you’ve got ugly red eyes because you’re so sad you don’t even know how to hold it. Does he know what it looks like to see you shining, like a savior, in the worst of the worst, in the worst of your days. Does he know what it’s like to lose you, really lose you, and see you swallowed up by white sheets and a lightning scar across your chest. Does he know what it’s like to be loved by you. Does he know.

He thinks—I love you. What does that make me?

Eddie tries to take a breath but it feels like there’s something crawling up his throat, so he tilts his head back up against the wall and tries to take a breath.

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Buck continues, as Eddie stares at him.

Eddie nods. “Good,” he says. Good. Buck. “Tommy.” Tommy. Tommy.

He looks at Buck and thinks of the answer.

It makes him a dead man, this love. It’ll kill him probably. It has to kill him. It has to be like a disease you can’t hear or smell or breathe, and you have to be alone in the hospital with your blood running in circles beneath your skin. It has to be like a disease that kills you before you take your next breath. It’s killing him.

I love you. What does that make me?

It makes a fucking idiot, is what it makes him, because god he’s always too fucking late, running into stupid relationships after relationships after being too fucking late in the beginning of it all. He is too late. He is too late and he is in love and he is burning up right from the inside.

I love you. What does that make me?

He heaves. He can’t breathe. Buck puts his head back down on his shoulder, and all of a sudden Eddie has to learn how to breathe, or otherwise he’ll disrupt Buck’s rest. He can’t disrupt Buck’s rest.

“Buck,” he starts, opening his mouth. Buck sighs, half-heartedly, and tilts back. He looks at Eddie. Eddie opens his mouth.

“I love you,” he says. Nothing comes out. “What does that make me?”

Buck looks at him, confused. He blinks, like he's thinking it through.

“Eddie.” He draws out his name, slow. Eddie.

#you are allowed. to hate this #buddie fic #evan buckley #911 fic #hello 😇😁 #eddie diaz

[emo-trash88]

Hello! Its me again, i LOVED your Tyler and Aiden one and i'm back with one more. So think about it, Tyler knows baseball right? So why dont he use his bat skills? (is that what its called?) To beat the shit out of phantoms when they first go to the phantom dimension? Maybe something like thr reader gets pulled by a phantom and tyler crashed the phantoms head with his bat?

I love this! Fr this, like man, put yourself to use for once 😭 I'm putting this at like the first-ish part when they all get attacked on the bus.

Home Run

Tyler x Reader

Pronouns: Second person

Word count: 491

Tw: Uhhh bashing in heads??? also blood.

So this wasn't exactly how you expected to be spending your nights with your boyfriend. Usually you would've expected sitting with him in his bedroom watching some stupid cringy movie or you forcing him to play a random game you found the night before. On the other hand, you haven't really had a night like that with him since Savannah, so what did you honestly expect?

Well regardless of how you feel about being unable to live your best life, you don't have a choice. You lay in your bed, waiting for it to finally hit midnight, like it has every other night. As you lay there you feel your mind wandering, and eventually you start thinking about where you all were last night. The bus graveyard, you were all running. But before you can finish the thought, you black out.

Almost as soon as you open your eyes, you hear Ashlyn whisper "Duck" and you, along with the others, crouch down almost in unison. As you all get down everyone starts brainstorming how to get out of this situation, how to get away from the lurking phantom. You sit there silently, almost in a trance, anxiety coursing through your veins.

After about a minute of debating, Ashlyn perks up and her eyes widen slightly, a sight you've gotten used to. She hushes everyone and after a second says "Hide under the seats.". You along with everyone else start army crawling under the seats, peering out periodically to see if the phantom is nearby.

As you try your best to stay still, you hear a semi loud creak. A creak thats too loud to be safe. You cover your mouth with your hand, your breath becoming more frantic with each passing second. You turn to look behind you and before you can do anything, the phantom grabs you by the ankle, pain searing up your leg as you let out a scream.

"(Name)!" You hear yelled, too freaked to be able to figure out whose voice it was. You grab onto a seat above you and start trying to pull yourself up while (attempting to) kick the phantom away. You let out pained grunts as the phantom digs deeper into your ankle, managing to weaken your grip on the seat above you.

You almost give up, the pain becoming almost unbearable for you, but before you let go, you hear a crunch. A loud disgusting crunch. And almost immediately afterwards, the phantom lets go, letting you pull yourself up.

You push yourself out into the aisle, seeing Tyler panting with a broken wooden bat and the phantom laying limp on the ground. You look at Tyler, tears in your eyes either from fear or pain. "Ben! (name) needs help!" Tyler shouts, running to you and pulling you into his arms.

This is when you're finally able to look down, and all you see is blood staining your pants, shoes and socks. It's slowly dripping onto the floor of the bus like a melted ice pop. As you stare at it, almost everything stops. You know Tyler is trying to talk to you to make sure you're okay (you're very obviously not) and you can see Ben tending to your wound with everyone else either staring at you or the dead phantom. But none of it feels real.

After a couple minutes Ben finishes wrapping your wound and Tyler pulls you closer to him (if that was even possible). "Please don't ever do that again" he says softly and he genuinely sounds worried. You nod in agreement and for just a moment, this feels a little better than a cringy movie night.

Omg I'm so sleep deprived, but I hope this turned out good :)

#school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard x reader #sbg tyler x reader #tyler hernandez #sbg tyler #sbg #sbg (webtoon)

[sadcambion]

They'll be all you remember.

Raphaël x f!Tav (reader) x Haarlep

TW: Questionable consent (The reader is under substance), rough sex

You were in a large luxurious red four-poster bed. Your mind was fuzzy, you remembered nothing. Your pussy was hot, sore, a warm, creamy substance flowed between your legs.

The little mouse, wanting to outsmart the cat, went to the fox. But the fox was not what he claimed to be.

And whatever you wanted to do when you came here, you seemed to have failed miserably.

You were nothing but a sex-hungry thing, seeking to be defiled. Haarlep’s voice spoke triumphantly, a smirk on the face. He was lying on the bed next to your amorphous form on the bed.

"Well, I wonder what face Raphael will make when he sees his little mouse here, so desperate…"

You don’t know who you are. You don’t know what this place is. You don’t know anything. Haarlep has poisoned your mind, his saliva has a phenomenal effect on you. Your misty eyes faintly rise towards his. You’ve been used so much in the last few hours...

"Raphael? Who is he?"

The smile of the incubus grows. He seems to delight to see you in this pitiful state.

"You know him pretty well, little mouse."

This nickname awakens something in you, but your mind in limbo is not able to remember … A shiver runs through your spine.

"I do not remember…"

Your body, still trembly , is trying softly to get closer to the incubus. It seems that he was not dead-handed with his aphrodisiac… He stops you, his claws gently sticking into the soft skin of your wrist.

"He’ll be here any second, sweetie, you better keep some for him… he’s very possessive with you, you know."

Another chill runs through your body, you’re so exposed and vulnerable, oozing from Haarlep’s seed. Obviously, you are not aware of the danger, the risks. You’re just a cock-thirsty thing and your body is hot with desire despite your exhaustion. You don’t protest when Haarlep stops you.

Somewhere in your mind you try to remember your name, you also try to remember who Raphael is. But nothing, your head is like an empty shell.

A man arrives, his complexion is tanned, his eyes brown, brown hair, he is dressed richly. He looks at you raising an eyebrow, the rest of his expression was indecipherable when seeing you in this bed, naked with his incubus, completely ravaged. He approaches, his calm steps betrayed no emotions. He looks at Haarlep, his eyes fixed on you.

"What’s she doing here?"

He was looking at you, his eyes slightly surprised masked by his neutral expression. This thing… It wasn’t Tav, it wasn’t you.

Haarlep is smirking as you look at the two men, you are lost in the wave in your spirit.

"Our little thief seems to have failed..."

He frowns. Of course, what else would you do here? You had nothing to do here. He is both mad with rage when hearing that you had come to him to steal his hammer and also mad with rage that you fell into the claws of Haarlep. Nevertheless, he will use this to his advantage. He looks at you, you perceive a mad anger in his eyes but also regret. You do not understand. Who is this man? Why is he looking at you like this? Raphael speaks slowly, calmly, despite the rage that is boiling in him.

"I never thought you’d fall so low, Tav."

"I don’t understand, what have I done?"

You look up at the man, seemingly indifferent to being naked in front of him, full of incubus sperm. Haarlep observes in silence, contemplating your rather wide hips and your bouncy buttocks. 

You don’t remember anything, but something in your mind, something far away screams to you that this situation is not normal, that you shouldn’t like it. Raphael look hardly Haarlep.

"Why did you drug her?"

Haarlep smiles, it’s a bit provocative considering the sharp look of Raphael. The incubus sigh before leaning towards you, his lips hovering over yours.

"Master... isn’t it better when she’s totally malleable? So eager..."

He speaks softly, his voice being lewd. He crushes his lips on yours, all in front of his master. It makes its tongue penetrate into your mouth, its saliva sending you again tingling in the lower abdomen. You kiss him greedily, lost in the throes of pleasure. He drugs you a little more every second of the kiss... His tongue plays with yours.

He finally retreats, before looking at Raphael.

"See? Isn’t that better? She wants more..."

Raphael looks at the contemptuous creature who has just kissed his little mouse while undressing gently. It is clear that his intentions are just as sinful as those of Haarlep. You feel like you’re going crazy wet when you see that man you can’t remember, naked. The devil smiles wickedly looking at your quivering body of desir. You have nothing of that woman he respected. You just looked like a whore.

It takes its shape of cambion before your misty eyes, empty of all emotion, except excitement. He climbs on the bed, his hands touching your throat and breasts. Your red nipples have been hard for so long. Raphael seems to think at something.

"Mh.. When she is fully conscious, she will face her actions. But while waiting..."

He smiled ominously, his two hands pressing your breasts as you begin to moan, they were sensitive and painful because of the many solicitations of Haarlep.

"While waiting why not enjoy what I have at hand... That’s the least you can do, isn’t it, little mouse?"

Again this nickname... But you are too in the mist to raise the threat of his words. You don’t remember him, but he seems less fun than Haarlep. He seems more sneaky, more sinister. More... Diabolical.

Once again, your mind is screaming that nothing like this is normal.

"I did nothing. No?"

He laughs insidiously before turning you on your stomach, your soft body can do nothing to prevent it, and anyway you don’t want it, you want it, you want to be soiled by his demonic sperm, you want to feel his cock spread yours walls to their limits. He raises your hips, your ass in the air, fully exposed. Your pussy drips on the sheets.

"Oh, trust me, when I’m done having fun with you, you’ll remember..."

At the same time Haarlep who obviously hasn’t had enough of you is kneeling in front of your face, his length again hard, proudly erect.

Raphael positions himself behind you, the tip of his sex against your hole already mistreated and degoulinant of your juice and that of the incubus. You moan weakly at the sensation, Words try to come out of your mouth but Haarlep does not wait and pushes his cock in, making you silent.

You tighten the sheets under you, on your knees. Raphael also seems to be tired of being patient and he enters you in a hard and deep push by seizing your hips. Most of your screams are muffled against the cock of the incubus and unlike Raphael’s sloppy and angry blows, Haarlep is sweeter, at least, as much as he can be.

You feel the hard length of the devil entering deep within you. Your walls already dirty and already irritated because of the previous assaults tighten as a protest but given your muffled moaning and your buttocks which rise even more to allow him to take you deeply, it is clear that you want that. Your empty, drugged mind wants this. 

It violently hits your cervix and you almost bite Haarlep, the sensation makes you crazy. You can hear the cambion giggling behind you as the incubus grabs your hair hard, pumping his cock further down your throat. Haarlep speaks softly, between some moaning.

"Don’t bite, keep being a good girl for me..."

At the same time, the devil whose wings cast a sinister shadow on your naked and mistreated body plunders you relentlessly, hitting your collar to hurt you. It’s too deep, too strong, and you can smell it despite Haarlep’s aphrodisiac saliva.

The incubus holds your hair firmly and a trickle of saliva flows down your chin.

In the midst of the two evil creatures, you look like a wreck.

Your body trembles and almost begins to convulse, you can no longer, your body is hot. You are overstimulated on all sides and struggling.. And yet you still want it. Your hand slips between your legs to start rubbing your clitoris. Raphael firmly grasps your wrist, stopping you as you feel his cock throbbing in your warm walls, it is still against your cervix...

"You are really insatiable..."

He forcefully tightens your wrist with one hand and you feel that it will leave you bruises. At the sight of Haarlep’s soft moaning he also seems close, the tip of her sex rubbing your throat. Your throat hurts you. Your pussy too. You hear Raphael panting from time to time.

You feel them filling you simultaneously. Raphael’s burning seed was landing directly in your womb already so full because of Haarlep. Your orgasm strikes at the same time, imprisoning his cock in you, tears of pleasure bead at the corner of your eyes and Haarlep firmly holds your head, forcing you to swallow his precious seed while he ends up grunting.

Haarlep retreats, his body still quivering slightly while Raphael remains anchored deep inside you. His clawed hand goes through your messy hair, almost affectionately despite the circumstances and his hoarse voice is full of dark promises, you will not get away with it.

"Enjoy my dear, the rest will not be as pleasant..."

No, you shouldn’t like it, it’s wrong, so wrong, and yet... you find yourself wanting to be the whore of the devil and Haarlep.

#raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #tav x raphael #bg3 writing #haarlep x reader #bg3 haarlep #raphael x tav x haarlep #raphael x reader

[whatnor]

on any day i am stuck with excessive thoughts of sam and dean rotting in one grave for eternity. what's this headstone with no name on it? oh, nobody knows exactly who and when placed it here. they tell the story of a man digging up the earth on this very spot to bury his poor bride and finding two corpses, arms and legs entwined, holding each other. lovers' grave. so as it goes, this fella left them in peace. back then there was a lot of talk about how they actually weren't lovers buried together, but two brothers. hunters of some sort. outlaws. appeared out of thin air. real young and burned away so fast. a dangerous and unsettling, eerie pair. the kind you couldn't forget even if you wanted to, that's how they were. i doubt if anybody remembers their names, but you could still ask the old folk after them, they loved tales like that back in the time. so did someone wisely put two and two together or do people just love the gossip the juicier the better? what should you believe? if you ask me, the answer's right there beneath our feet. only dead men don't talk is all.

#samdean #wincest

[inspirationalucky]

👁️ EPIC: The Musical: Act One, The Cyclops Saga sentence starters. Because the lines are just That Good. Going by the exact lyrics, definitely change things to fit your muse's situation<3

Polyphemus

"I've gotta hand it to you both, this is quite the treat."

''It's almost too perfect, too good to be true."

"Why would the lotus eaters pass up on all this food?"

"We're just travelers, we come in peace."

"What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?"

"Don't you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?"

"Your life now is in my hand."

"Before I'm done, you will learn that it's not so fun to take."

"You came to my home to steal."

"A trade, you see? Take from you like you took from me."

"There's been a misunderstanding!"

"Now that I see we've done some damage, maybe you and I can make a deal?"

"I'll give you our finest treasure so long as we leave alive."

"A trade, you see? A gift from you, and a gift from me."

"I'd like to thank you. Stranger, what's your name?"

"My name is Nobody."

"I'm so glad we see eye to eye."

"You shall be the final man to die.

Survive

"If we're defeated, they're good as dead."

"No backup, no chance for support."

"Show me, how great is your will to survive?"

"Six hundred lives at stake."

"It's just one life to take."

"No dying on me now, defeat is not allowed!"

"We must live through this day!"

"Show him that we're deadly!"

"Don't let him get close!"

"He can't land a blow if we're out of reach."

"Stand up and fight for your lives!"

"He's got a club!"

"You've hurt me enough."

"You're dying here and now, escape is not allowed."

"You won't live through this day, now die."

Remember Them

"We must move quickly, we don't have much time."

"He didn't notice I mixed lotus in his wine."

"Mark my words now, this is not the end."

"What'll we do with our fallen friends?"

"We are not to let them die in vain."

"We're the ones who carry on the flames of those who've gone."

"This is how we're getting out of here."

"Let's kill him!"

"Who hurts you?"

"There are more of them?"

"Captain, we should run!"

"If nobody hurts you, be silent."

"He's still a threat until he's dead! Finish it."

"What good would killing do when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?"

"The blood we shed, it never dries."

"Is this what it means to be a warrior of the mind?"

"When we met I led with peace."

"Remember them the next time that you dare choose not to spare!"

"Remember them, remember us... remember me!"

"I am neither man nor mythical."

"I am your darkest moment!"

My Goodbye

You were reckless, sentimental at best."

"That's not a teaching of mine."

"You've grown soft, your dead friends can attest."

"Put your emotions aside."

"You're a warrior meant to lead the rest."

"I don't know where I went wrong!"

"I warned you, and you failed the test"

"This way you'll know what your place is."

"This way when all is over you'll keep yours and I'll keep mine."

"This way you won't disappoint me."

"Unlike you, every time someone dies I'm left to deal with the strain."

"What a title that a goddess could lend if I'll never sleep at night?"

"I'll remind you I saw you as a friend, but now we're done."

"This way you won't plague my life."

"You're out of sight and out of mind!"

"This way, you close the door and have your damn goodbye!"

"You're not looking for a mentor, I'm not looking for a friend."

"I mistook you for a General. What a waste of effort spent."

"At least I know what I'm fighting for while you're fighting to be known."

"Since you claim you're so much wiser, why's your life spent all alone? You're alone!"

"One day you'll hear what I'm saying. One day you might understand. One day, but not day."

"After all, you're just a man."

"This day you sever your own head."

"This day you lost it all."

"Consider this as my goodbye!"

#rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence prompts #roleplay sentence starters #rp starter #rp starter meme #roleplay meme #rp meme #epic the musical #epic the cyclops saga

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!

Its name is "The Song of Us"

Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:

The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break, What do you believe, is a beast’s fate, Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp? The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas, Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast, Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men, For the unjust, for the cruel, For the kind, for the forgiving, All bones become one, until they become none, As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.

This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.

The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?

Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.

Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.

Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.

Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.

Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.

The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.

Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.

He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.

“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.

Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.

Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”

“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”

He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”

Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.

He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”

“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”

Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.

…Feelings?

…..Could he?

“I…”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”

“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.

Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”

And then what?

Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?

It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?

Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?

“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.��

“That’s because it isn’t-”

“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”

Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”

“Yer out of yer mind-”

“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”

How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-

“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.

That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”

“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.

“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”

“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”

“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”

Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”

Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”

His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”

Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.

“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”

“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.

“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”

“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”

“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.

Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”

“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.

The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”

“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.

Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”

Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.

He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.

On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.

‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’

It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.

‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.

Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.

“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.

Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”

Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.

He really is in over his head, isn’t he?

“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”

“...no.”

“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”

Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”

Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”

Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”

Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.” 

“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.

His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”

Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.

“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.

“Aye? Where would ye go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”

Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.

But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”

Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”

“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.

“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”

Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.

It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.

Gaz was right.

He’s in love with Simon Riley.

Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.

As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.

Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”

The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”

Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”

“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”

“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.

Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”

Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”

He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.

Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”

Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”

“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.

Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”

“What?” Price asks.

Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”

The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”

“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”

“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.

Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”

“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.

Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”

“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.

“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.

“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.

“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.

A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”

Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“Never failed me before, Simon.”

“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”

Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #kate laswell #BLOOD||HUNGER #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #gaz saying what we all think... finally someone notices #also taking some dialogue from the pre prison break cutscene dont mind me #im very excited to write the final battle i want it to be epic >:D #also this took a while bc i had to think of the plan and i always overthink shit when they make plans #like the thing with the informent: i searched for like an hour codes to cypher his message #only to realize... laswell would probably decode it before sending it to price and the gang......

[ellie-makes-mbs]

name moodboard for “kodi” for anonymous

#a true work of art//moodboard #sparks of creativity//my work #moodboard #aesthetic #mb #chaotic academia #dark academia #classic academia #light academia #academia aesthetic #downtown boy #downtown aesthetic #speaking through another//request #do you not know that a man is not dead when his name is still spoken//name mb

[hella1975]

sometimes i think about the fact my grandparents literally overnight just cut us off and im like. how did u even do that. does it torment you

#eeaao's 'how did you let me go so easily' moment. like i dont let myself even THINK about this too often #bc i immediately beat myself back with the 'if it's hard for you then imagine how hard it is for mum. her PARENTS cut her off' #but like. idk. my nan i couldn't give less of a shit about which is something i always find so interesting #bc even as a child with NO basis for it or any understanding of her behaviour both past and present i still wasn't Comfortable around her #like children are smart actually. i just Knew her vibes were off and i Knew my mum was weird when she was around #like i truly dont think i ever loved my nan even when she was a very frequent part of my life #but my grandad? i ADORED him. id see him multiple times a week and he's the kindest man ive ever met #and hannah what i told you about my mum saying certain people have magnetic auras THAT WAS ABOUT HIM #like i cant actually put into words what it was about him but people just wanted to know him and spend time with him #but he was weak and let my nan walk all over him and when push came to shove he chose her and now ive not spoken to him in 3 years #& i KNOW he loved me. he thought the world of me like it's a bitter unspoken thing between me & my sister that we KNOW i was his favourite #he used to buy me egg butties at agricultural shows when my mum said no and specifically ask for two eggs #he used to sit and eat his soup with me when he came over to do work at the house #he used to play with me. he used to smile all the time. i can so clearly hear the way he'd go ''iya [my name]' with his proper rural accent #or how he'd tell anyone who would listen 'she's tough as old boots that one' #and i could make him laugh like NO ONE else could and he'd light up and go 'give over' and he genuinely enjoyed my company #i KNOW HE DID. and i havent spoken to him in 3 years. he'll be dead soon #and i cant talk to my mum about it bc it's her DAD it is so much worse for her and i cant talk to my sister about it #bc she wasn't close with him like i was and she just shuts the conversation down and those are the only two people #who know my grandad and know what he meant to me so im just here like. he literally stopped speaking to me overnight #i stopped hearing from him i stopped meeting up with him im so so angry with him the love is still there i dont know where to put it now #why couldnt he stay. why did he pick her when she's a loveless void of inhumanity. why werent we enough #hella goes home #my grandparents on my dad's side are also not in the picture funnily enough but idgaf about them. she got that grandparentless swag

[rin-enjoyer]

It's late. Even underground, in the winding labyrinth of tunnels beneath Konoha where no natural light falls, Danzo can tell. There's a scent to the air.

Normally, he works through these quiet hours with the same dedication that he carries at all times. Tonight, however, his stacks of paperwork have all been meticulously combed through, signed, and filed. No one needs his attention. Nothing is wrong.

Danzo picks up his cane and begins the trek back to his old clan compound. He does not visit often. He is usually busy. He is not busy tonight.

His bones ache with a sort of weariness that denotes no real problem. He has learned to ignore this sort of pain. He ascends out of the tunnels, not bothering to muffle the sound of his footsteps with chakra.

He does not blink when he comes out to Konoha's streets. It is just as dark out here as it was in the tunnels. It is late out. A glance at the thin, crescent moon puts the time somewhere around 1.

Danzo makes his way past shopfronts, apartments, and fields. His memory of the layout of the village is annoyingly spotty. The streets have changed too much since the Kyuubi's attack, and he does not spend much time in them.

He walks past Hokage tower. The light in Hiruzen's office is on, casting a dim, yellow glow into the air. Danzo does not stop to see him. Soft, tender moments would ruin the sparks between them. He cannot think of anything more unappealing than stopping to relearn everything about the man who puts poison in his tea once a week.

He used to know Hiruzen. It was a mistake. A good shinobi does not have time for sentiment. Teamwork is a strength- relationships are weaknesses.

He wanders the streets for what seems like an eternity, a ghost in the village he has given and will give everything for. He does not regret it. He does not regret anything. He has done everything right.

Like the dull, distant pain in his hip, something tugs at his gut. Danzo ignores it. He knows what he is protecting. He knows why he does the things he does. He does not regret it.

He does not look back at the light in Hiruzen's office. The hair on his neck prickles- he can feel Hiruzen's gaze, how it carefully avoids him, observing the street around him, but not Danzo. A good shinobi has no time for sentiment. Hiruzen may be starting to fall apart in his old age, but lessons he learned alongside Danzo decades ago still stick to him like wet, rotting leaves.

Danzo finds his way to the Shimura Compound. There are heaps of fertilizer sitting in the garden, ready to be mixed into the soil. The smell of rotting leaves dances around the smell of the night. Crickets, hiding in bushes of nightshade, chirp a quiet, steady song.

The siding of the buildings in the compound is all pristine, brown and orange and achingly unfamiliar. Danzo knows how to ignore aches that do not matter. There are twelve in total, each housing one or two families. Danzo knows every name and face of his clan. He has met sparingly few of them.

He does not miss them. He does not miss the way he used to live. He creeps into the house in the center of the compound, past the rooms where the clan head and her four nephews sleep, into his old, dusty office. He will rest here, for the night, only because there is nothing else for him to do.

Danzo reaches across old scraps of paper with shaky writing and sloppy drawings and turns on his old lamp. A dim, yellow glow fills the room. He leans back in his chair. His hip aches. His hands shake. He does not regret anything, but quietly, because there is nothing else to do, he allows himself to feel very, very bad.

The lamp burns, and the leaves rot, and the crickets chirp. Dim yellow light slips through the window and paints stripes through the garden of poisonous plants. Danzo rests, and lets himself ache, and the night drags on.

#shimura danzo #hiruzen sarutobi #DO YOU GUYS SEE MY VISION DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME. DO YOU UNDERSTAND #guy who feels so terrible all the time because of the emotional repression and ptsd and then is like “well whatever” #and goes and commits war crimes. in the name of a greater cause. grabs him by the shoulders. ahem. #SIR WHAT GREATER CAUSE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE SERVING . EXCUSE ME. A MOMENT OF YOU TIME PLEASE #hes not uniquely horrible o'er there in ninja land but like. OHGHGHGH he is a Good Shinobi. he's good at his job #and that means that he's jsut not a very good person. and he tears himself and anyone else within reach to shreds #danzen #naruto fanfiction #idk man idk. he drives me insane. “sentiment BAD” why are you still “trying” to kill hiruzen then? huh? huh? why isnt he dead yet #iiiiif it came down to it i do not think he would hesitate to kill that guy. but in the moments when its not necessary? well. haha. #anyways as it turns out trying to kill the guy you love for years on end as an excuse to not ACTUALLY have to kill him #turns the trying to kill each other into the way you flirt. you understand how it is. #whatever. WHATEVER. you guys know how it is.

[bumblingbabooshka]

The sentence “Mark Johnson and T’Pel are here again, sir” becomes every Starfleet admiral’s worst nightmare.

#he and kathryn aren't officially married but Mark calls her his wife playfully anyway #I am firmly on team 'Mark Johnson is a good person and he and Janeway love each other very much' bc it makes the tragedy 10fold #I think after they receive word about Voyager not being destroyed or otherwise lost forever Mark suffers from an extremely guilty conscience #if he'd just been able to believe a little more...hold out a little longer... #Mark: You know near the end I thought you were a little crazy. Still holding out hope. I didn't know how you did it - I still don't. #When they tell you to 'stay strong' they don't tell you how much it hurts. (sad chuckle) but I guess I'm a bit of a coward. I gave her up #for dead. I should have known better. Of course she wouldn't go out that easy. #T'Pel tells him that just because he moved on doesn't mean he's a coward - in fact it takes a certain kind of bravery to do that as well. #Most of the people around her certainly urged her to do the same. She just...couldn't. As long as there was a chance - she couldn't. #She supposes that's also a form of cowardice. #Mark laughs. 'It all depends on how you look at it huh? mm...look at us. Two old fools~' (silence between them as they look up at the sky) #T'Pel and Greskrendtregk are among the very few who didn't give up their lovers for dead #and I don't think he's a grumpy person at all - if anything I'd characterize him as more energetic and a bit frustrated by how #serene Mark and T'Pel are hehe #also in my head Elieth and Varith believe that Tuvok could be alive while Asil and Sek think he's dead and are frustrated by the others #Elieth believes more fervently than Varith does (Varith is more in the middle saying neither possibility has been proven) #it causes a bit of family drama #also by 'started a family' Mark means getting married while T'Pel thinks he means had a baby #God...his name really is 'Mark Johnson' huh. Bathroom sign of a name. The most avergae man in the world. Love ya guy. #Mark - T'Pel - Greskrendtregk <- star trek name spectrum #doodle page #bea art tag #st voyager mark #st voyager mark johnson #t'pel #t'pel art #greskrendtregk

[florenceisfalling]

like idk. i miss seeing content from s.igne (though i respect gab wholeheartedly). i miss fanart from my favorite artists. i miss older eras of j.se at times (and yes, there were older eras, the way people pretended he Never Changed is just weird). i miss old anti designs. i miss the old fic trends. i miss having a very active fandom (though i am so happy to see the new arrivals) and i miss seeing him interact with fans the way he did on tumblr back in the day. i miss the way i used to interact with some of the blogs here before i decided to fuckin,,, wage holy war and make enemies out of them (joking, but i have seen sides to some of these people that i wish i could tear out of my memory). i miss feeling confident that i could trust the good intentions of people here and even the big man himself (not god. that makes sean sound like god. you know what i mean). i miss when some of you weren't so fucking bitter which is funny because i'm the bitterest bitch alive. idk. i don't think it's bad to miss any of these things because i'm not going to be an ass and act like it's anybody's fault. i'm not going to be bothered by gab for being happy because i'm glad she is happy, and i'm not going to get bothered by sean taking a reasonable step back from this hellsite when people were cruel to him, and i'm not going to get mad at trends for changing because that is how time works. but i do miss things and i know its cringe and parasocial and perhaps even problematic but i hate having to pretend like i never have Any feelings about the past lest i break a hypothetical rule of what is the Normal level of attachment to an online community. okay. i think i'm done now.

#one of my favorite writers left because they couldn't deal anymore and one of my favorite writers turned out to have shit views and one of #my favorite writers left because of something that was partly my fault and one of my favorite writers stopped writing because of two of the #others and one of my favorite writers hurt someone i love over and over and over and one of my favorite writers left because they were the #someone i love. two of the big names hate queer folk that don't align with their ideals and half the artists left for twitter or for dead. #the man himself left because criticism always becomes cruelty and people lie to make themselves feel good. #the editors all turned their accounts private and my favorite told me on livestream that i was good and starting somewhere but then forgot #my name. and i thought maybe i was the bitter one but then i look at some of the other people who have been here so long and wonder why #they even bother anymore because they care more about complaining with everything j.ack does than anyone who actually enjoys his stuff. #and you know i poked fun at *** for a lot of things. some deserved some not. and one of them was the fact that she compared fandom #to warfare. and yes that's still silly i don't think it's a fair comparison but i do know that she wasn't fully wrong. #when you've been here for a long time and ive Been here for a long time you start to get really used to names and faces #and the change can be like waking up to a new wallpaper in your room. not a bad one just a new one. #i don't want to pretend that this fandom is just a silly little hobby for me when lets be honest i know some of yalls personal lives a #little too dearly for that. ive loved people here ive lost people here the first person who showed me this place fucking DIED and i still #lose it sometimes over the fact that he would have loved jameson so much and we couldve been closer friends had he stayed alive a few more #years. so yeah. sorry for being fucking cringy or whatever but there have been times where i've felt like im on a sinking ship watching #everybody else row away and i refuse to go. so like. cool. cool. im glad things are good again but i never really got to process the bad #things.

[pinkpuffballdude]

I'm glad he got to see his channel hit 10mil. I'm glad he got to see everyone pull together for that last push. I'm glad he got to realize his childhood dream. I wish he got to enjoy it longer.

#true story #I miss him. I miss him. I miss him. I want him to be okay and he's not and never will be again and I hate it #death mention #I'm glad he got to meet Phil. #I hope. I hope they're all okay. #I hope they take time to themselves #god. not to bring myself comfort by crossing fandoms but do you know a man is not dead while his name is still spoken. gnu technoblade. #I was apologizing to my dad for crying cause I woke him up and felt so stupid for being upset #and my dad said 'you just lost a friend' and. yea. it's dumb. but god. he made and makes me happy when I'm sad #and he got me through one of the most shit years of my life #and made it. so it wasnt the worst. #in fact this past year and a half has been one of the better ones so far. #god. he was. he was two years older than me. #he made me feel like I could be happy

[ziracona]

Do gotta hand it to FO4; there’s something very poetic about The Railroad, a group taking its name from a forbearer that also at great risk smuggled slaves to freedom, made up of this small, struggling, regularly brutally purged, yet defiantly resilient group of civilians and liberated slaves, during the course of the game, operating and living out of a little church of historical significance, a symbol of freedom in its own right, living out of the crypts beneath it, among the bodies and the graves.

#everything about them is poetic and sad. it’s poetic and sad the last scripted Dialogue for Deacon’s first mission with the player is ‘End #of the line.’ Said happily about reaching escape. but also the quest name of the quest where you’re asked to walking into HQ & destroy them #there’s something poetic and awful and painful about how Deacon’s first personal remark to the Sole Survivor is that he’d take it as a #personal favor if they wouldn’t betray them to the institute since he vouched for them. it’s said laughingly. friendly. and the last thing #said to Deacon if the player /does/ betray them to the Institute is Desdemona’s ‘I should have known better than to trust your #recommendation’. before his desperate ‘I swear this wasn’t me. what the fuck’ and before they all die. there’s something deeply tragic and #poetic in that one of the women in HQ gives Preston caps excitedly and thanks him for the Minutemen. in that if you wipe them out with the #brotherhood you storm a church to be met by desperate civilian begging you to just leave them alone as they’re cut down pipe pistols to #power armor and Gatlings. not anger like the other factions. fear and desperation. pleading. trying to buy someone else time to flee #in that if Deacon isn’t in HQ when you destroy it if you turn on them he will hunt you down and try to kill you to avenge them. a #trait unique in every faction to him alone. In that they only move on the brotherhood when attacked. in that they attack the Institute to #save people not to destroy a threat. In that you find safe house after safe house with dead civilians in cloth. #in the way they’ve died many times before and someone always cares enough to pick up the pieces. in that every route points you gently to #them. but there’s nothing to keep them safe except choice. that even if you abandon them but don’t attack Dez will let you walk. #in the fact Deacon’s character exists at all. they are truly deeply overwhelmingly tragic. and it’s beautiful. and simple. just people #trying to do something that can’t be done forever knowing that for the days they can. everyone is standing in a host of ghost’s shoes #even the PC is given a dead man’s gun and can take his name. is recruited becuase they’re falling without him #and they live in a church among the dead in the crypts far from the light and their symbol is a lanter #Mama Murphy calls them the light in the darkness. truly. surrounded by it. but better to light one candle than to curse the dark #and hundreds of people have done so and died so that a few others could live. and they’re still doing it. and they don’t regret #Deacon calls them a family. P.A.M. stayed and helped for love of Glory. Carrington says Desdemona’s flaw is her heart - evidenced by her #allowing the PC to join or leave despite the risk they represent when the clinical call would be to kill them or another extreme measure. #and he’s right. but it’s also why they have a chance to live. Everything about them is about vulnerability and heart. Everything #fallout 4 #the railroad #the railroad fallout 4