aku-writes

[aku-writes]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65899378/chapters/169762300

[aku-writes]

Note: Posting because i kinda like it atm and while I'm not happy with it I'm trying-

~~~

"We deserve a good story before we get too fuckin' pissed to walk straight," Johnny whined.

"Couldn't walk straight even if we held your 'and while sober, MacTavish. I got one, but mnot gonna repeat it after this. Got it?" Ghost stared at Gaz and Soap who gave him a mock salute before leaning on closer to their lieutenant.

"Couple years into the start of 141, was just me n' Price, you and Gaz hadn’t even been born yet-  We got sent to some base in Colorado...Colorado or somewhere around there.  It doesn't matter.  We were doing some glorified hide and seek for a training exercise. Easy enough, good at hidin'." Ghost paused, taking another sip of his glass of whiskey. 

"People forget to look up.  Holed myself up in some sturdy tree, held my weight, and kept me out of sight.  Probably too well.  Had groups of hunting parties pass me looking for others.

"Still,  no one ever looked up.  Got a few good hours of peace and fucking quiet up there.  Even had a book with me.  Dime novel or some shit I picked outta the trash.  It was nice for a shit training exercise.  Until the sun started setting, that's when more of the nocturnal beasts came out.

 "So color me surprised when a half-decent buck bursts out of the bush and slams head-first into my tree. Horns don't stick, doesn't care, it backs up and does the same thing. Over and over. I've seen heads splatter, I've done the splattering. I don't understand what it was trying to do because it kept going until brain matter splattered against the tree and an eyeball popped under the pressure.

"Then it stopped.  Not stopped 'cause it died, not just stopped and stood there before sniffing the ground. I had been holding my breath the whole time. Don't know why, everything told me this was wrong and that I needed to shut up and stay still.  But eventually, it stopped sniffin' and twisted its damn fucking broken neck to look up.  It was quiet but clear, not like anything else was moving anymore not even the wind, and whispered "I know you're there", then ran off.  

“I stayed in that tree the whole night. Pissed myself too.  Didn't care. I wasn't coming down or moving unless someone or thing dragged me down.  They found me there in the morning.  Thought I froze to death.

"They had to get Price to get me to come down from my spot.  Wouldn't say a word to them, which didn't help my situation.  They thought I was 'avin an 'episode', went crazy during the training event, and killed something or maybe even someone from the mess they found around my tree. Who was going to believe that I watched the deer do it to itself?  So I kept quiet as Price and the others escorted me back to base.  Never found it.  But no one ever said anything about it seeing as how I was clean of blood."  

Gaz and Soap turned to their Captain, eyes weary and expectant.  Price huffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I remember. We had searched for this twat almost all night before some private found'em. He thought it was weird, the tree, and looked up to investigate and came face to face with Ghost's blank stare under his hard plate skull mask. We had two sets of pissed pants after that. When Ghost wouldn't talk about why his hiding place was a fucking mess of bone and meat he had mandatory psych evals for the next month."

[aku-writes]

Note: Before you read this please keep in mind it hasn't been edited and is incomplete and idk if I ever WILL finish it

Now, I present; Sometimes the Dead Still Walk

The holidays were always stressful for Soap, no, John. He was John while around his family.

The stressors he suffered from then were ones it felt like everyone had; what to get people, working off the meals, making it to family gatherings. Now he had to do all of that and remember how to be a normal person. John had to remember to be John, not the 141's Soap MacTavish, not a soldier. Worse, he had to remember not everyone could take 'classified'* as an answer.

But he always looked forward to coming home at least for a few days during this time of the year. This year was only a little different. One of his sisters had adopted her foster son! He hadn't gotten to meet the kid yet, any chances of leaving this year had been squashed until now. A well-deserved rest, Laswell had told all of them.

Parking his car, Johnny quickly marched up to the door and gave it a few rapt knocks. When it opened, the tension left his shoulders enough to ease some of the seemingly permanent achings he felt. It smelled just like he remembered. "Ma!" He yelled as he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around the older woman.

"So, Joseph, how's settling into ma sister's home goin'? New friends?" When was the last time John had to talk to a child, not in an active war zone?

"S'okay...Can I ask you something?" The teen looked up at him. The lad had just the biggest eyes, right bonnie, and big lashes with how dark they were. They reminded him of Simon

"Ask away, kiddo-"

"Miss Marsha said you were in the military...Are you SAS?" John blinked slowly and opened his mouth before nodding slowly. He wasn't sure where this was going. "Cause my uncle was, or I guess maybe IS still in the SAS and I was wondering if you knew him..." Joseph's eyes glanced away. He was checking to see if anyone was watching or listening, that would be Soap's first move too.

"Maybe, but ye gotta tell me his name first, Joe. Plenty of people in the SAS, doesn't mean I'll know'em."

Joseph gently grabbed John's hand and stood up, giving the older man a small pull to follow. And follow John did, curious to see where this would go.

The boy chatted quietly as they walked down the hall, "I can't just tell you his name because it's like all the old people know his name. They just tell me he's gone and or hiding ‘coz he's a coward. But I know they're wrong, adults just don't listen to me. I hope you're different."

"Lad-"

“Uncle Simon was never a coward. I mean, sometimes he was but only in social situations where he had to talk. Dad wasn't the same, he could talk to anyone and anything. Come on, I have a photo in my suitcase lemme show you!"

Finally, John stumbled into said guest room that held Joseph's suitcase. The young teen quickly rummaged through a few books, old ones to that had faded sticky notes in them (clearly not written by him), before procuring a bent and aged photo. Wide eyes stared up at Soap with careful and hesitant hope as he handed over the folded-over photo. "His name’s Simon Riley... Sargent Riley, I think? I don't remember anymore. Like, his rank, not his name. Look, you’ve probably heard ‘bout my family but…please?"

John felt bile creep up his throat as he unfolded the photo. Even without the years of sleepless nights and pain plaguing the face of the man in the old family photo Soap knew who it was; the cropped, yet still shaggy blonde hair, the biggest bonnie brown eyes, the split in the man’s top lip near the corner, it had to be Ghost. "Aye...I do know him. You...that's-. Excuse me, Joseph. I need to make a few phone calls."

Johnny had nearly run out of the house while dialing the number Price had given him. “Common common common, Captain pick up the damn phone!” it took a few rings before Soap could breathe as he heard Price pick up.

“What’s the emergency, Sargent?”

“Well, it’s not exact-” John didn’t even finish the sentence before Price hang up. So, he did what anyone else would do.

“Soap, stop fuckin’ calling me if this is not an emergency. Five times now, so it better be worth my damn time.”

“Aye, sir, I promise. Just, I need ye to tell me the truth. Off the record, ‘course, did ye know Simon’s wee nephew is still kickin’?”

“What the fuck did you just ask me?”

“Captain, just, listen to me. Mah sister just took in this new kid from the system, he looks just like Ghost. Ignoring tha’, the kid just handed me a family photo that has Ghost in it lookin’ ten some years young and less like he fell into a blender.”....

END

------

And then the clown stopped writing because they lost motivation. I still like the concept I just don't know how to execute it well.

[aku-writes]

It's been a while since I have even posted anything writing-wise. I have been generally burnt out, but I liked this one enough to post it.

[aku-writes]

I just saw a story on AO3 tagged "pet p!ay"

TIK TOK MUST BE STOPPED BEFORE IT DESTROYS LANGUAGE

[aku-writes]

[aku-writes]

Hot take: Actual literary analysis requires at least as much skill as writing itself, with less obvious measures of whether or not you’re shit at it, and nobody is allowed to do any more god damn litcrit until they learn what the terms “show, don’t tell” and “pacing” mean.

[aku-writes]

A Ji-Woon Hak and Frank Morrison ship fic ^^

[aku-writes]

Bottle thoughts

I tried to break this up more for your reading purposes. TW: Mentions of suicidal thoughts and Alcoholism

Clink. . .Clink. . .Clink. . .Frank tapped his beer bottle on the front of his chair as he leaned over, an emotionless gaze meeting the non-existent one of the laminate flooring in his kitchen.

Another day.

That's all it was to him.

Just another day of working all day and trying to get laid while half fucking drunk at the bar.

Clearly, both of those didn't happen as he was sitting at home drinking alone.

Which, well, to be honest, was quite normal. It's not like he really had adult friends his age, just three fucking barely legal kids.

God, his life was pathetic. His only friends are three stupid fucking high schoolers who he practically babysits and teaches petty crime tricks. He couldn't even hold a steady relationship. Too much baggage for the fucking hozer cunts around here. Too much trauma for anyone to even prepare for. Fuck, he can't even prepare for his own bullshit.

Why is he still here?

It wasn't a new thought. Not at all. He's not sure why he hasn't just pulled the plug on himself, but something keeps pushing him to live.

And yet, he's found nothing to live for. The kids would get over him not being there. No one would miss him, his remaining family hates him. He has no friends. He's no one, a ghost, a shadow in comparison to everyone around him.

It would be so easy for him to disappear and have no questions asked.

But he won't. He'll stay.

He tells himself that every day. He makes it so there's always something to stay for.

Maybe it's to see Joey crack a smile or to actually help with homework, maybe it's just to not feel so sad.

He always makes an excuse to stay. Hoping that one day, things change. But he knows they won't. They never do. It will only get worse. So why does he keep making himself stay? The thoughts keep running in circles. Whatever. He can drown them out. All he needs is another bottle and hopefully, it will drown them out, or drown him.

[aku-writes]

I learned a lot about essay writing in high school and now I barely use it in college, so I thought I would share some of the tips I learned with y’all

just as a disclaimer, these are the basics that I learned in high school. always make sure to talk with your teacher / professor if they have specific guidelines or requirements for an essay (especially if it’s an academic / scientific paper). also, please don’t forget to cite your sources !!

happy writing !!

[aku-writes]

Hopefully that helps a little bit, anon

Would it be weird to ask you to highlight either the original bhvr content or the changed content you did for Ji-Woon? I have a hard time focusing on things I’ve already read when there’s such large chunks of text.

I can do that! I’ll color the original bhvr lines.  Some of the lines are the same but I did some rewording ^^ but I’ll definitely do that for you!

[aku-writes]

Would it be weird to ask you to highlight either the original bhvr content or the changed content you did for Ji-Woon? I have a hard time focusing on things I’ve already read when there’s such large chunks of text.

I can do that! I’ll color the original bhvr lines.  Some of the lines are the same but I did some rewording ^^ but I’ll definitely do that for you!

[aku-writes]

If you prefer I also uploaded it on Ao3 on another account I haven't used in forever.

[aku-writes]

I tried to flesh out Ji-Woon Hak more. Dunno, key word is tried.

Note: I kept some of BHVRs OG lines from his lore, so please keep that in mind. A good chunk of the beginnging is pretty much bhvrs.

Another note: Everything highlighted in blue is BHVR's original words. This will include rewording.

Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more.

Working at his family’s restaurant as a child, he would draw in business with knife-throwing spectacles. Gullible tourists gladly handed over their money to see part of the “traditional Korean experience”. His talent for knife-throwing was not the only thing that brought in customers, Ji-Woon was a natural with his voice and his father only nurtured his talent for singing. Ji-Woon’s father spent the restaurant’s earnings on dance lessons and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he could never achieve.

Ji-Woon did not disappoint.

After years of showing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he finally got his wish of a chance of stardom when Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited him into her training program. He was swept away as soon as possible to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star. Ji-Woon was not only taught how to move and sing, but how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty as well. Each detail was chiseled into him as if he were a statue.

Draining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, and with him, he brought raw new energy to their tracks that sparked almost immediate fame. Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated by it. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out.

But one person can only take so much pressure. Fame or no fame, Ji-Woon and his bandmates were still drilled on being more than perfect. It may not have taken its toll on him as physically as it had his friends, but those around Ji-Woon could see the change. There was a different spark in his eyes. A spark that would set everything ablaze. Including them.

They screamed out his name as the fire spread through the studio. Smoke filled their lungs as they pounded on the window for him to free them, their escape blocked by fallen speakers. Yet, as he stood there, seemingly frozen in his spot as he stared at the heavy equipment. . .he backed away from them. Ji-Woon’s back soon faced them as he ignored their cries as he quickly made his escape.

To Ji-Woon world had become stale; the fame, the fortune, the attention, all of it was becoming background noise. It was old news, he needed something new in his life, and fate had granted him the change he desired. The death of his bandmates reinvigorated him and his new solo career. No longer was he just part of NO SPIN, now all the eyes would be on him, The Trickster. He rode on the attention his bandmates gave him, moving him into a prosperous career as a solo artist and producer; a wild child with a soft heart hidden beneath the glam.

Something, however, was growing within Ji-Woon; something akin to the embers of obsession. The last words his friends had called out had been his name. Their voices were the fuel that fanned the embers. He needed to hear those cries again, the feeling they sparked in him filled the empty cavity that the staleness had started to create.

But no one could see it, not even through his eyes, the gateway to the soul. A decade of being taught how to be perfect made it an effortless task to hide what had begun to burn within him.

The first time he killed it was at random, a spur of the moment. An open window. A fire escape. A bat to her skull. Gagged and bound, he played with her, dissecting her alive on her bed like a frog. But something was not right, there was no satisfaction in it. All Ji-Woon got from her was muffled cries and please, not the screams and wails he had craved.

But Ji-Woon learned and he adapted. He changed his tactics, from breaking in to abduction. It wasn’t hard for him to find a secluded area to do his dirty work, far from where anyone would hear and soundproof enough to hide the cries he let ring from his victims. Each kill was recorded, each sound was utilized and hidden into the music that he produced. But he did not stop with just incorporating the wails of his victims into his music; Ji-Woon began to leave a trail of breadcrumbs with each murder, a mink boa from a photoshoot around a slashes throat, teeth plucked out to mimic the mouth of a boxer that had appeared in a recent music video.

But he was not garnering the amount of attention he wanted from it. So he struck closer to home. The idol turned his attention to a fan who had recently come to a VIP meeting with him, she was to be his next victim. He brutalized her, keeping her restrained as he beat her. The fan’s wails when he carved his blade through the flesh of her breasts as he slowly spelled out I HAVE SEEN GOD sent shivers down his spine. Ji-Woon waited patiently as she neared death before he struck again. He drove his fingers into her eye sockets gauging the soft and squishy orbs from their holes, vitreous fluids leaking from one of them as it ruptured within his palm. In their place, he pressed the diamond cufflinks he had been wearing down into now empty sockets. There was a second where he paused, only to simply wipe the precious stones clean

But nothing lasts forever. Violence quickly became Ji-Woon’s preferred media of art. His obsession with the cries of death left him a mental wreck, all his focus being on planning and committing the gruesome murders. This, of course, did not play out well in the eyes of the executives. Though he may not have had the largest cut in the company’s revenue, his fame and audience still played a major role in the continued success of the production company.

They were going to give him one last chance. A last chance to create his magnum opus. If not, he was done. He was going to be cut off. Ji-Woon would go back to being nothing but a dying spark of what had been a bright career.

He was incandescent..

Exhaustion was driving his mind in circles of brutal attacks and complete focus on producing a hit with Yun-Jin. But it would be done, it would be his best performance yet. They would all see. The performance would be like none they had ever seen. And it would be their last.

Animosity swarmed in his chest as he strode to the performance room where he was greeted by the filth that sought to throw him out like dirty rubbish. Behind him the door clicked shut, the lock quietly being done to provide some privacy.

The clicks of the heels of his shoes echoed as he walked up to the stage. As the music began, it played like he had started with Yun-Jin, but it slowly faded into a vile and grisely beat. A twirl on his feet hid the motion of drawing a throwing knife from its hidden spot. None had even seen it escape his fingers until it was already lodged into the neck of one of the trash, blood spraying out and coating the desk and floor. It took Ji-Woon no time to fill the room with the stench of death as the blades flew from the tips of his fingers effortlessly, impaling and slicing through soft flesh. The only one who was left untouched by the whirlwind of death was Yun-Jin. She had been the person to drag him out from the grime of the masses. She would be the true VIP of his greatest performance yet.

There was no pause in Ji-Woon’s wave of violence as a dark cloud formed on the floor of the room. Fiery yellow eyes turned to Yun-Jin. She now would have his full attention, and his her’s. She had frozen to her chair the entire time, watching in dreaded awe. He settled the razor tip of a bloodied throwing knife under her pretty chin, tilting her head up towards his face. Gore drenched his clear skin.

But that scared look on her face disappeared as a dark fog began to swallow the room, her lips pursing as she spat in his face just as she was consumed by the plume of inky darkness. A roar of pure rage crawled out Ji-Woon’s throat as he swiped at the empty chair as he too was swallowed in the cloud.

It was not heaven nor hell, nor anywhere in between. It was a land entirely of its own. A stage with thousands of eyes watching him. A stage with many sets. Hunting grounds to make his prey scream beautiful notes for all to hear. All he had to do was accept and the only death in his story would be the continued slaughter of his victims.

His stage is The Fog, and all eyes are on him.

[aku-writes]

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[aku-writes]

ahahah cries im so tired