#DISCHARGE Three Skulls

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

NOTHING BUT PURE "CLIFFCHARGE" ON THIS THRASHBACK THURSDAY.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a mega photo-dump of the late, great bassist/American musician Cliff Burton of METALLICA, photographed in bed while rocking the classic DISCHARGE "Skulls" tee, c. mid '80s.

Fuck me, is this a treasure trove of sheer awesomeness, or what?! Not only have I never seen this photo set before, but it's Cliff rocking the Dis-fathers, FFS! This is a win for thrash metal, hardcore punk, and extreme music in general. HAIL!! 💀💀💀

In memoriam -- for Cliff (1962-1986), another legend lost -- Dis nightmare still @$!*#&% continues!!

Sources: www.picuki.com/media/3172185333009209353.

[ohsunnyboy]

coherent waves | lee anton ˚₊‧⁺˖

people say the first touch of fate feels like a circuit being completed. so why does lee anton's soulmate seem to hate him?

TAGS: soulmate!au, college!au, gn!reader, cute and awkward engineering majors!anton and reader, confessions in the rain, kiss!

A/N: this boy bias wrecked me SO hard i paused writing a sungchan fic for this haha self-indulgent SCREAMiing as always (to clarify, his mark is on his left, our right)

WORDS: ~1700

Everyone knows Lee Anton's face.

No matter what, everyone's got their campus crushes. The people they'd linger around a corner for in hope of seeing, those with soulmarks you wish would line up just perfectly with your own. Somewhere out there, someone's walking around with your first touch of fate around with them. It's for that reason everyone knows Anton as the campus crush.

It's impossible to miss the six feet of cuteness, the shoulders broad enough to span the Californian coast and the tan handprint branded across his left cheek. Lee Anton, the sweetest guy on campus whose soulmate was destined to slap him in the face once they met. Nothing in it spelt destiny for you, but it was definitely curiosity at first sight.

"Hey, are we okay? Just at group study…” And your brain sputters like a misfiring car. He’s right behind you, isn’t he?

You want to pretend you didn’t hear him over the bucketing rain – maybe even your thunderous heart. Without an umbrella, you’re screwed if you run down the library steps into the dark and you’d look insane to push past him back into the library. Damn.

Not once did you dare speak to him during the entire group study. Though the feeling of his curious eyes lingering on you alone lit you up like a fuse about to blow. No wonder he's asking you if you're okay. The entire time you acted like some tween with a stupid crush. Which you’re not. Clearly and obviously not. First year electrical engineering has enough problems to give you a migraine.

Something about being around him sets your brain off like a capacitor discharging. Everything firing off at once, without a thought of where to go.  

"No? Yes! Yes. Fuck – sorry. We’re fine." Is what you come up with.

And some boy can apparently render you stupid within two feet of him. Someone needs to remind you how you’re a candidate for the dean’s list again.

Your stilted answer and the ensuing silence cause the corner of Anton's lip to quirk into a grimace. "Ah – okay. Sorry, I'll see you Friday.” When he takes out his umbrella it nearly whacks you in the face before he starts to run down the steps, leaving not a glance behind him.

Ah, shit.

Stunned, you’re left with a) no umbrella and b) a burning sense of mortification about how badly that went. Before you know it, your feet are running you down the path he took. One problem at a time… c’mon fix this. "Hey! Hey wait up, please! Anton!"

Running in the pouring rain was something you never planned on doing tonight or any day of the week but for fixing whatever you’ve got with Anton – it seems worth it.

Whatever they used to say about stem majors being chronically unfit bookworms definitely applies to you, as your heart thuds in your skull and lungs start to give out. Somehow after months of trailing behind his broad back, you underestimated how quickly he can escape you. 

Finally, like a lighthouse in the night, his blue umbrella is radiant under the light of the bus stop. “Anton!”

Three months of dodging each other’s eyes and scampering out empty classrooms early, Anton’s eyes are at the edges of almost all your memories. You know his wide eyed look anywhere. But with as much grace of a new-born giraffe, you sidle next to him under his umbrella, unaware of the blush warming Anton’s face.

Thankfully there’s no one else about apart from him to watch you keel over for a solid minute to gather your breath. Internally you think you’re as bright red as the LEDs you use in the labs. That, and so soaked you’re sure you're waking up with a cold tomorrow. Though, it could be worse. It could be whatever happened earlier.

Caught again in his orbit, you feel it again. The charge crackling under your skin that makes you want to claw at it.

It’s a moment before anyone speaks, still too busy process what exactly is going on. Eventually you gain your bearings and look into his shifty eyes with resolution.

“Hey look – I’m super sorry about everything,” you blurt. “The entire thing with the study group and completely dodging you in class. I – well, it’s not on purpose but I don’t know why but it’s like I get caught in some interference feed within like a metre of you and I just can’t think straight. Everything just sort of fires off in an incoherent mess. I’m trying, I really do but for once, I just can’t explain it.” It pours out in what feels like one breath. You feel like you’re teetering on the spot, on the cusp of embarrassment or sheer confidence. At this point, it might just be both. “… Sorry if I made you uncomfortable about anything but you’re top of our year, so damn cool and collected all the time – I feel like my wires get mixed up.” 

There’s an ache in your neck from looking up to him and watching his reaction. Calm and collected as always. It must be the longest you’ve ever got to look him in the eyes properly. Until,

“Me too.”

Huh?

Anton pauses for a moment, worrying the inside of his cheek before admitting, “I… I really wished we could talk more but you’re always busy and I feel awkward butting in. You’re really intimidating in the group studies, you know? You know everything and get along with everyone so easily. I psyche myself out.”

As he talks, your cheeks warm in endearment and you shuffle closer while he’s distracted. The familiar scent of cherries that would haunt you around campus suddenly right under your nose.

“I mean, I thought you’d just be another person put off by this-“ he waves a self-conscious hand over his soulmark “-and being avoidant because of that. Though I guess I figured you didn’t care because you never lingered on it like… like everyone else.”

It comes to you all in pieces. Anton always ducking his head away, never looking anyone straight on, always pursing his lips and turning away whenever someone brought up soulmarks. Those rumours haunt him.

However, standing here you’ve never been more confident. You know your what your hand looks like.

Does he?

“I think it has a good story.” The look of disbelief he gives you is priceless but you push on. “I mean, mine’s just on my palm just like seventy percent of the population so it can be boring.” Under the light, you raise your hand to him, showing the contrasting darker skin on your right palm and the small shake of your fingers. Anton locks onto your mark with a laser focus that you’ve never seen before. “And besides… I think you know what your soulmark actually is.”

One step closer: you’re just a hairsbreadth away. So close you can feel is body heat through his hoodie and see your breath leaving goosebumps on the expanse of his exposed neck. In the reflection of his blown pupils you can almost see yourself.

He swallows, eyes never leaving your palm. "You know what everyone says about it." Anton chews at his lip, bitten raw from worry. It’s stupidly endearing whether he knows it or not. Instead of dropping it, you raise your hand, leaving it to rest on his shoulder in comfort. “That the only reason I get slapped is because I’m secretly an asshole?”

"You don't know that it’s a slap for sure.”

"Then what else could it be then.”

"Really, Anton?" you hum. He’s so tense under your hand you feel like he could shatter from where you touch him. His eyes dazed and lingering where your hand used to be "We’re both smarter than this.”

Under the streetlight, what he has is clear as day to you while you trace his mark with your eyes. The thumbprint that curls across his left cheekbone, to the fingertips that edge from his hairline to his jaw and even the light shadow that touches the corner of his lip – as if he’s pressing a kiss to the heel of their palm. "Whoever it is, they're holding you."

“…Whoever it is… ?” he murmurs.

Anton’s unwavering gaze finally bores into you. Two interstellar blackholes swallowing you up and bearing down. An infinite number of thoughts or none at all. All behind those eyes, calculating and calibrating. You wonder where he is in that brilliant mind of his.

“Do it.”

You’re so careful.

You don’t know what you’d do with yourself if you hurt him. Maybe this doesn’t work out? What if you’re just another person in the crowd watching and waiting for someone else. You knew from the moment you started high school, life was a bunch of problems that you had to solve. The sheer existence of uncertainty guarantees nothing in any aspect of your life. What is guaranteed already, what are the variables, what are you working with. Whatever this is – it’ll be another problem but not one you get to calculate – it's one you need to guess.

His skin is too warm, and your hand is too cold. Nothing sparks but something is complete in your heart.

It fades. The marks – yours, his, all of it. It recedes back as if it never existed.

"I told you so."   

The clatter of the umbrella is your only warning before his hands cup your face and he kisses you. He kisses you in earnest, softer than you'd expect and warm enough to make your knees weak. With a deceptive strength, Anton presses you back against a railing, and your arms loop around his neck, hands burying in his hair. Hidden muscles you used to wonder about, tense where you touch him.

Eyes closed to the rain, foreheads knocked together and not a care in the world. You’re pulled into him like air. Both of you are trembling with relief. Like coherent waves, you come together in sync and everything you feel is amplified between you two. It’s then you know exactly what was racing in his mind.

Smiling into your neck, Anton sighs. "I'm yours." His voice lower and a little bit breathier. It makes your heart skip a beat, and your mouth turns up at the corners.

All across your veins it’s like a current is pushing through your skin. Anton and you, a circuit complete.

blehh i'm rusty but i'm starting uni as a mechEng student soonish so wish me luck 🫡 a reblog or a like always helps to encourage more thank you! ⭒ masterlist

[lemonwrap]

Imagine: werewolf Ghost turning Soap to save his life.

The mission to find Makarov goes to shit. Ghost isn’t there in time to prevent Soap from being shot. He is there in time to see Makarov fire a bullet straight through Soap’s skull, to see his beloved sergeant crumple to the ground like a sack of bricks.

He’s over to Soap’s side in a flash, clutching him close and calling his name frantically as the blood pours out. Soap is quickly dying, and there’s nothing he can do.

No, there’s one thing.

He shifts faster than he ever has in his life, in less than thirty seconds. A werewolf’s bite does nothing unless they’re in their wolf form. His clothes and gear are torn to shreds, and he pays no mind to Gaz and Price nearby as he grabs Soap’s arm, and, in a fit of desperation, sinks his teeth in.

It was the one thing he vowed he would never do. He would never turn a human. But he can’t let Soap go, he can’t just not do the one thing that could save his life. With a werewolf’s superior healing, Soap might have a chance.

Soap doesn’t die, but it’s a damn near thing. They take him to a nearby hospital, get him admitted and under the care of multiple doctors.

That was three days ago. It’s common knowledge that a human bitten by a shifted werewolf would turn within three days, and Ghost hopes that Soap is still unconscious when it happens, because the first time is a terrifying, painful process. He had been turned by Roba in his twenties. All day, he watches Soap carefully, but the man shows no signs of waking up from his medically induced coma.

Soap doesn’t wake up for another two weeks. When he does, he’s confused and utterly disoriented, and doesn’t recognize Ghost or the rest of the 141. Ghost pretends it doesn’t hurt. Even so, Ghost tells him that he had bitten Soap to save him, and Soap understands, is grateful even, thanking Ghost.

Despite his initial condition, Soap’s healing is remarkable. After a week, he recognizes his comrades again, and seems to be relieved of some of the confusion he had experienced. The wound near his temple begins to close up.

Ghost spends most of his days in Soap’s room. That room is where Soap and Ghost share their first kiss, Soap’s shaking hands grasping at Ghost’s jacket as their lips meet, Ghost whispering a soft Johnny against his lips.

Soap healed extraordinarily well, but even the healing powers of a werewolf can’t fully diminish the off and on numbness in his limbs, tremors, mood swings, and brain fog.

They medically discharge him.

Soap goes home to Scotland, and Ghost follows. For a week, they settle in, but Soap shows no signs of transforming, despite his apparent possession of a werewolf’s regenerative abilities.

It’s a good day when Soap shifts for the first time. He’s bright and happy, like the sergeant Ghost knew before, and his confusion is almost entirely gone. His tremors lessen, and Soap hasn’t complained of the numbness that sometimes annoyed him.

What he does complain about is the sudden onset of a full-body ache, as if his bones themselves are throbbing. He becomes suddenly irritable, clawing at his skin and hair and pacing, snapping at Ghost and groaning in pain.

These are signs he knows. Soap’s going to transform, and he’s going to transform quick now that it’s set in.

“Ghost, w-what do I do?!” Soap stammers, looking like he’s trying not to panic, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He’s never seen Soap panic before.

“Just relax, Johnny,” Ghost says soothingly, because he knows there’s nothing he can do other than support him. Nothing can stop lycanthropy except death. “It’ll be alright.”

“It hurts!” Soap cries out sharply, and then his cry becomes a choked sound not unlike a growl. He drops to his knees and hunches over, putting his hands on his head and gripping his hair between his fingers.

And then he starts to shift.

His mouth elongates into a snarling muzzle, baring sharp white canines, his ears lengthen and migrate to the top of his head, and the hair he’s holding between his fingers turns into fur. Soap sobs and says something that sounds like Ghost’s name, but then his vocal chords change, too, and it turns into a throaty bark. His spine and bones lengthen and grow denser, his fingernails morph into sharp claws, and a tail grows out of his spine as patches of fur grow over his skin.

It’s a few harrowing moments filled with Soap’s agonized cries and whines that make up Soap’s first shift. Ghost knows the feeling, and his stomach knots with sympathy. His own first shift had been one of the most painful things he had ever experienced.

Now fully shifted, Soap is huge, easily eight feet tall when standing upright, with a brown pelt just like his hair, a stripe along his back, long limbs, sharp claws, and a fluffy tail. His wild blue eyes, alight with fear, fixate on Ghost. Ghost tenses, nearly expecting Soap to try to attack him. He knows Soap could rip him apart before he’d have the chance to shift and fight back. That’s what he did to Roba, after all.

Soap does no such thing.

Instead, Soap lets out a whimper and curls in on himself, his tail going between his legs and his claws digging scratches into the floor. He doesn’t look like an eight foot tall killing machine, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Johnny?” Ghost says quietly.

Soap’s blue eyes glance over to him, and he lets out another pleading whimper. His eyes hold a look of betrayal, of sorrow, of why me? His jaws open and something strangled comes out, like Soap’s trying to speak, but Ghost knows that they can’t, not in this form.

“Oh, Johnny,” he murmurs, and cautiously steps forward. He knows it’s dangerous to get in another werewolf’s space like this, but it’s Soap. When it comes to Soap, all rational thoughts fly out the window.

He reaches forward and gently touches Soap’s arm. Soap stiffens, and Ghost thinks he’s fucked up big time until Soap stumbles onto his hind legs, nuzzles into the crook of Ghost’s neck, and wraps his arms around Ghost. His claws catch on Ghost’s clothing and dig in as he grips Ghost tightly, and Ghost is momentarily stunned. He had acted in no such manner the first time he had shifted.

“See, Johnny? I told you it’d be alright,” Ghost says softly when he gets over his brief moment of surprise.

Soap stays shifted for the rest of the day, and shifts back as soon as his body is able.

It’s from there that Ghost teaches Soap how to handle his werewolf form. He transforms with Soap often, and they travel through the fields near Soap’s cabin, wrestle, play, and bond.

Ghost has never felt as understood or happy in his entire life. It’s a good life, what they’ve made for themselves.

[weskie]

Lover, Leader, Liar [Savior, Sinner] - (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.4k words | pining, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, the arklay incident, flashbacks, s.t.a.r.s era | Fic Directory

when wesker makes a promise, he keeps it. even if it hurts.

The clock was quite literally ticking.  Every second wasted was a second closer to the inevitable blast.  But there was a… variable that he hadn’t considered.  A scream, a stumble in the room above just barely loud enough to hear over the sharp bang of each discharged round.  If it were anyone else…

But it isn’t, so he bolts.  Shoves through body after body, practically leaping halfway up the stairs.  His boots fall quick and heavy and the door separating him from you is no match.  He rams into it and breaks it clean off the hinges, and there he finds a sickening scene.

That lumbering beast is upon you, trapping you in the corner of the room while you tremble and shake, clambering back until you’ve nowhere else to go.  The slide of your gun is locked open.  You’d spent your entire magazine on her, surely.  Poor thing.  Of course you wouldn’t know.

Your eyes flicker to him, blown wide with raw terror.  You’d been afraid since the moment Alpha Team touched down in the woods, though you'd tried your best to hide it.  The last time he saw you, Wesker had to rest a hand on your shoulder and reassure you that everything would be okay.  No one else would die.  You wouldn’t die.  Not under his command.  Not if he had anything to say about it.

Such is the promise he’s chosen to keep.

He draws his gun at lightning speed and unloads three rounds into Lisa Trevor’s back.  She stumbles toward you but whirls around to face her assailant.  Damn thing had been stalking him since he rose from the dead, so what was a little more time to tango?  Lisa wails at him, lumbering forward, which gives you enough time to crawl under a desk and run to him.  He’s almost resentful that you can’t quite match the pace of his sprint, but, so long as your hand is in his, you will not perish to that creature.

Your frantic breaths and the warmth of your touch are his purpose as he mows down beast after beast.  Hunters, dogs, zombies… it makes no difference.  The two of you must be out of here before time runs out.  There’s no time for your blubbering about the blood splattered all over his body from the wound that no longer exists.  There’s no time for your sputtering when he shoves another gun in your hands, nor any for your hesitation when Lisa reappears and blocks your exit.

He fights tooth and nail.  When that chandelier comes down, impaling and trapping her, Wesker hoists you onto his back and takes off as fast as he can.  It would not do to have you running after him.  Even hand in hand, you wouldn’t be able to make it far enough with what little time remains.  But now, with his new abilities, you’re no more than a mere feather.  Not even the death grip you hold around his shoulders phases him.

You whimper at the deafening boom.  He lowers you behind a thick tree and huddles close, pressing you against the trunk, taking cover against the shockwave that pulses through the forest.

“C-Captain…”

He finds you staring, tears rimming your eyes.  Could be any number of reasons you were on the brink of crying.  He’d wager it was, well… everything.  From finding Bravo Team’s bodies to your first encounter with the living dead, to nearly having your skull shattered by Lisa’s devastating strength, all the way to outrunning enough explosives to leave a crater in place of the mansion.  Your lower lip trembles.

The sight of you calls him back to the night before this whole debacle began.  You’d brought him coffee and dinner from the beat up diner down the road.  You mentioned how nervous you were to find out who the perpetrators were of the string of murders plaguing the area.  It wasn’t uncommon for you to visit his office.  In fact, your relationship had been inching further and further away from purely professional and more toward… well, whatever it was going to be.  Part of him always wanted to cave to those feelings brewing in his chest, but he knew better.  Or, at least, he thought he did.  Truth be told, your odds of surviving the manor had been slim to none and he was going into the situation nearly certain no one would make it out.  He’d been incredibly tempted to fire you just to keep you alive…  Words could never describe the regret he felt when the day came that it was too late.

But, then again, you could be like this because you knew that he was in on it.

Cold, shaking hands land on his forearms.  “Captain… your eyes…” You whisper shakily.  Not what he was expecting.  A nice right hook would’ve made more sense than the way you pat him down, searching for injuries.  He all but fully flinches when your fingertips graze his exposed abdomen.

“That’s not necessary,” Wesker says, pushing your hands away.  

He grazes your fingers with his.  A big stack of paperwork filled out perfectly, just the way he’d asked. “Thank you,” he hums.  Pink tinges your cheeks and a smile settles right in.  You feel it too, then?

“W-Were you hurt?”

Softness drapes over his shoulders.  He’s barely conscious, far too exhausted from his two-day stint without sleep to open his eyes.  There’s a soft clicking noise and the high pitched, barely-there buzz of the computer monitor ceases.  He knows it’s you.  Only you would do this.  Only you would take care of him this way…

“I was.”  He says, turning, still hand in hand with you, to walk away.  “Best not to waste any more time.”  Every three-letter agency in the world would be finding its way to the scene in no time.  Moreover, with the rest of Alpha-Team knowing of his involvement, said agencies would be beating down the door to his home within the day.  There was little to gather, but he certainly needed to stop there before disappearing.  “Come.”

It took many miles on foot before stumbling upon a residence with a perfectly procurable vehicle, and the drive back to Raccoon City had been tense.  You were still on edge, obviously.  It’s when he leads you to sit on the edge of his bed– he can’t let you out of his sight– as he gathers documents and necessities that you finally lean forward, hand over your eyes, and bite back your weak cries.

“D-Did you really… You knew?”  You sputter.  “You knew, and you just let us walk in there?”

Wesker holds your gaze as he strips his ruined vest, uniform button-up, and undershirt away.  Can’t sport the S.T.A.R.S logo anymore. Not that he even wanted to. “Yes.” He says, tugging a black sweater over his head.  He expected you to run.  He’s unsure why you haven’t tried.  At first he thought it was shock.  Perhaps you had been too shaken to consider it an option, but you’d calmed significantly during the drive and now…?

“You don’t have to stay late.”  He tells you, standing halfway in the doorway to his office.  Everyone else went home hours ago.  

“I know,” you say, looking up at him from your screen.  “I want to.”

He catches sight of his eyes in the mirror mounted beside his closet door.  Ocular mutations weren’t uncommon, but it would be one that he must hide from time to time.  Suppose, though, that it was simply solved with a new pair of sunglasses.

Wesker snags the duffel bag he’d prepared before the mission.

“– why did you save me?”  He’d been tuning out your sorrowful rantings, but there could be no ignoring the weak sob that preceded such a difficult question.  Why indeed…

His doorbell rings, jarring him from his focused writings. He opens it to find you, tupperware container in hand, with your eyes practically sparkling.  

“Hi– sorry!  I was just coming back from the little birthday lunch we did for Jill and I–”  You hold the container out for him.  “I dunno, I just thought you’d maybe like some cake?”

He regards you with amusement for a moment.  He’s only seen you in normal clothes a handful of times, usually if you were stopping into the precinct on your day off, but it never failed to tickle some small, cold part of his heart.  In turn, he knows this is the first time you’ve seen him out of uniform.  He’s dressed down, sporting a sweater and jeans, signature glasses left elsewhere.  He quite likes the way you try to hide your wandering eyes.

Wesker takes the container and gives you a soft, grateful smile.  Part of him feels that he should invite you in and offer you something– coffee, perhaps.  Engage in the rules of reciprocity drilled into his head with every etiquette class required in his schooling years.

“Would you like to come in?”  The smile on your face is all he needs.  “You’ve brought quite a large piece.  I might need some help with it.”

“You could’ve left me there!”  You’ve got him by the shirt now, wet eyes boring into his.  “You brought us there to die, so why didn’t you leave me!?”

He clamps a palm over your mouth, spins, and presses you to the wall.  

The chime to the flower shop signals his arrival.  He towers over the old woman tending the plants as he explains to her his need.  

“The most elaborate bouquet you can make for a grief-stricken recipient,” he says.  “Price is no object.”

The moment he picked up that phone and you explained your need for time off through poorly suppressed sobs, he was already sure of where he’d be headed on his lunch break.  Your parents, you’d said.  A head on collision with a drunk driver.  It was believed they died on impact, but such a mercy didn’t quell your sobs.  Frankly, nothing could except for time’s power to numb the pain.

Wesker has no family to mourn.  No parents, no siblings.  As an orphaned boy in boarding school, he’d done his crying when the others would leave to spend the holidays with their family.  He can’t quite fathom the grief you feel at losing your only family, but this? He can do this.

“What would you like the card signature to say?”  Asks the old woman as she scribbles her notes.

He contemplates for a moment, weighing his options.  But he knows, deep down, the best and worst possible options are one and the same.

“With love,” he recites. “Albert Wesker.”

“You have two choices,” he tells you.  Wesker shows extra care to ensure the hand covering your mouth does nothing more than silence you.  You need not suffer any more pain.  “The first: I leave you behind.  You answer questions for every agency under the sun and hole up in your apartment while you wake, alone and afraid, every night when your dreams bring you back there. Just to spend every day adrift in a city that, I assure you, is doomed for worse than the mansion.”

Your eyes widen at his prophecy, but it’s the truth.  Birkin would be continuing operations in the area and, frankly, bad things come in threes.  Between the manor and the train, more was bound to happen.  You could choose to stay, or…

“Or you can come with me, where you need not be alone.”  

You hugged him as if your life depended on it when he showed up at your door.  The flowers had arrived earlier, delivered by the seller as instructed.  The crickets sing their song as he holds you, right hand rubbing between your shoulders while you hide your face against his chest.

“Thank you, Captain.” You murmur into his shirt.  You look destroyed.  His heart lurches for you, practically desperate to burst from his chest and engulf you in whatever crevice within it craves you so badly.  

“Albert is fine.  We’re not at work.”

You invited him in.  Showed him where you put the extravagant floral arrangement he’d sent.  Eventually, minutes of conversation turned to hours, and hours turned to the sun tickling at his eyelids, rousing him from the upright position he’d slumbered in upon your couch.  Your head rests on his blanket covered lap while you get your much needed sleep.  All because you asked that he stay.  You didn’t want to be alone.

“After everything we’ve been through, I won’t simply leave you alone.”  Fresh tears brim in your eyes and he removes his palm, letting it trail down and rest against the side of your neck.  “Come with me.” Wesker urges.  “Let me keep you safe. Don’t go down with the others…”

The conflict in your eyes coupled with your lack of response devastates him more than you’d ever know.  He turns, grabs his bag, and makes his way through the humid nighttime air to the car.  He grips the wheel tight enough to crush indentations into it.  He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He should’ve known it was only a pipe dream.  After what he’s done, there would be no going back to the old ways.  No more cake and coffee in his kitchen, no more sheepish smiles as you hand in your work, no more…  no more you.

“You’re afraid?”  He asks, doing all he can to keep the remorse from seeping into his voice.  He should’ve cut you loose last week like he planned.  Now you’ll be walking into hell itself for the sake of data collection and it’s all his fault.

“I just…” You try, pursing your lips as you think of the words.  “Bravo Team went missing out there.  That’s not– S.T.A.R.S members just up and vanishing?  I’m scared something really bad happened up there.”

He reaches across his desk, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He made his choice.

You made yours.

Wesker turns the key in the ignition and the engine sputters to life.  He fiddles with the seat once more to make it less uncomfortable than it had been on the ride back from the mountains.  In the rearview mirror, he can see the way his eyes glow.  Cat-like pupils stare back and accuse him of failure.  The tyrant, the restricted data, and–

The passenger door opens slowly.  His breath catches in his throat.  It’s like the whole world is moving in slow motion while you climb in and he can hardly believe his eyes.  In fact, he rubs them just to make sure.

“If we’re doing this,” you say warily, “I need to pick up a few things from home…”

Wesker can’t control the smile that spreads across his face.  Though he supposes now there’s no need.  Not anymore.  

[xenon-demon]

only one (1) coherent thought in my skull right now and it’s domestic steddie with Steve washing Eddie’s hair after he’s discharged from hospital post-Vecna.

I’m imagining Eddie’s being discharged to Steve’s house, because Steve is but a simple man with a saviour complex (and also a crush on Eddie) so he’s letting Wayne and Eddie stay with him. Partly so they have somewhere to be while the government sorts out some new housing for them, but mostly because Eddie needs support for these first few weeks out of hospital and Wayne is away at work a lot. Having Steve around as well means Eddie won’t end up in a situation where he needs a hand but is stuck home alone for hours.

Eddie’s recovered enough for discharge but still requires a lot of physical therapy, and one of the things he still can’t do is raise his arms above his head. He can’t wash his hair pretty much at all, and while the nurses washed it for him in hospital, they didn’t do it frequently enough for Eddie’s standards. His hair has been driving him insane, as the limp, greasy feeling against his face, neck and scalp makes him want to claw his skin off. When he’s told how long it’s expected to take before his arms have full range of motion again, he makes a joke-that’s-not-really-a-joke about going back to his buzzcut days just to avoid dealing with the feeling.

Steve is horrified at the suggestion, and immediately offers to wash Eddie’s hair for him. He also divulges that part of the reason he styled his hair the way he did in high school was because he played a lot of sports, and couldn’t stand the feeling of sweaty hair against his neck and face. Sure, he genuinely did want his hair to look good, but styling it up so it was out of his face was an added bonus.

Eddie’s hair is driving him so crazy that he says yes, especially once he realises Steve might actually get where he’s coming from.

Cue an emotionally tense shower, where both Steve and Eddie are stripped down to their boxers because they don’t want to this fully clothed but they sure as fuck don’t want to do it naked, either. (Spoiler alert, they’d both actually love to have a naked shower together, they’re just both too nervous to bring that up at this stage!)

But then Eddie slips while in the shower, still unsteady on his feet and learning to adjust to his bad leg, so Steve makes an executive decision to switch over to the bath. After a bit of manoeuvring they find a comfortable position to do this; Eddie sitting in front of Steve in the bath, Steve’s legs stretched out either side of him. Between the physical intimacy of having your hair washed by someone else, and the way they don’t have to look at each other’s faces as they do this, they end up talking. They get a lot more personal than they were able to in hospital or during Spring Break, and it’s such a nice experience that they’ll each happily put up with the sensory hell of waterlogged boxers.

Eventually - after Eddie and Wayne have moved into their new place, but Eddie and Steve are over at each other’s houses often enough that they might as well still be living together - Eddie can move his arms enough to wash his hair on his own. He’s gotten more used to his bad leg and can stand long enough to even shower if he wants to. They go about three weeks with Eddie washing his own hair, both of them desperately missing this little routine they’d built but not wanting to admit it. One day, however, Eddie feels so lonely and so tired from physical therapy that day that he asks Steve to wash his hair for him. Steve accepts in a heartbeat, almost before Eddie’s even had time to say the words.

It feels different that time. The energy between them is charged, everything feeling more intimate somehow. It’s so palpable a difference that after Steve runs the conditioner through Eddie’s hair to let it sit for a few minutes, Eddie turns around in the bath to face Steve. He takes a breath, trying to steel his nerves, and asks: can I kiss you?

Steve doesn’t answer him; he thinks the way he leans in and slots his lips in between Eddie’s is answer enough.

[itsohh]

QWERTY Part 5

A/N: Female reader.

Summary: At Makarov's side, Price sees you for the first time since that night when you first kissed.

Word count: 1573

Warnings: None

AO3 Masterlist Part 4 Part 6

KASTOVIA 2023

Injuries healed. People learned how to live with grief. Buildings could be rebuilt. 

The evidence was right in front of you. Despite it all, you couldn't help but feel slightly hopeful when you looked around the airport. The damage you had done since the last time you were there was completely gone, save the plaque at the entrance in dedication to those who lost their lives. 

Unlike the rest of your group, you stayed rather close to Vladimir. Side by side the pair of you walked without a word- no words needed to be spoken. 

The only time you parted was when you both reached the security. You placed your phone, jewellery and watch on their tray before you walked through the metal detector without complaint. Vladimir was far quicker than you but you had plenty of time. 

You weren't obvious to the looks that were exchanged around you, there was simply no need for you to take part in them. 

After being cleared you started to put your jewellery back on alongside your watch. Your phone slipped into your pocket. Small clicks of your boots echoed ever so slightly as you walked, they were high by any means. Only a small added heel to the back that still allows you to be practical but fit your appearance.

When you found him Vladimir stood in front of the flight plan and you could see the little camera trained on him. He wanted people to know he was there, a little fuck you to those who tried to stop him. His clenched fist drew your attention and you could feel the tension in his shoulders when you placed a hand on one. It wasn't nerves though, rather pure anger. A seething hatred that could never be fulfilled. 

You looked towards the camera and to your surprise he took your hand on his shoulder and brought it up to his lips. The demonstration had your heart race but all for the wrong reasons. Was this a show of care? Or was he deliberately placing a target on your back? Was it an action of control? To make sure you were stuck by his side. You didn't know. 

Either way, you allowed the man and gave him a small smile before he let go of it and turned his back from the security camera.

—

UNKNOWN LOCATION 2023

They paused the video after it zoomed in on both you and Makarov. 

“Who's the girl?” Gaz asked and looked towards Laswell. There was a look in her eyes and she let out a breath. 

“From what we know someone in Inner Circle. Possible second in command. Ex SASR.”

“Australian?” Nik asked and she nodded. 

“From what we can tell. There was a case against her for dishonourable discharge but ultimately it was changed to honourable.”

“What happened?” Gaz asked. 

“She shot dead three of her squad members in deployment. The case was changed when evidence was found that they had been serial raping local civilians.”

“Fuck.” Soap swore out and Price’s eyes flashed from the picture to Laswell for a moment then back at the picture. 

“It was closed relatively quickly and brushed under the rug.”

“How’d she end up working for Makarov?” Nik asked. 

“We don't know. Aside from her military career, almost all information about her has been wiped.”

“Makarovs doing no doubt.” Ghost said. 

As they continued to talk Prices’s mind wandered through his mind, trying to figure out how exactly he recognised you. 

—

ENGLAND 2017

A laugh was shared between the two of you that was soon interrupted by the bartender. 

“Sorry guys we've gotta close up shop.”

You nodded to the bartender and started to collect yourself, mainly your bag that was on the counter next to you. When you glanced over to John he skulled the rest of his drink and left the glass on the bar. 

He followed you off the stools and out the door. John couldn't help but be surprised at your level of stability, you didn't stumble once. “Surprised you're still standing.” He finally spoke up and you turned around to look at him as you walked backwards. 

“You drank a lot more than I did.” He elaborated.

“Were you hoping I'd get drunk?” You raised a brow and he fished for a cigar from his pocket. You clicked your tongue. “Or are you just judging me?”

“Negative. I'm not here to pick and choose how much you drink. You're your own woman. Drink as much as you want. Just want to make sure you're safe.” 

The pair of you stared at each other for a moment before your teasing lips curled upwards.

“What do you think I was drinking?”

“Jack and coke?”

“Just coke.” Your eyes watched as he slipped the cigar between his lips and lit it. “No need to worry about me. You on the other hand… I did buy you a decent amount. If anyone is making sure someone is safe I think I should be looking after you.” Your voice was at first humorous but grew gentle. 

“I didn't drink much a couple of glasses won't do much to me.” 

You looked away and nodded. 

“Well in that case I shall let you go home. It was nice meeting you.” When you turned back you had a kind smile on your face and continued to walk. 

“You're not walking home are you?” He called out when you turned to start on your journey. 

“Home? No, but I am walking to the motel I'm staying at.” 

“Alone at night in this area?”

“Don't worry I can look after myself.” You smiled. 

“Let me drive you there, it will be a piece of mind that you get there safe.”

“Oh, so walking isn't okay but getting into a car with a man I've never met is?” You took a step towards him. 

“I'll walk with you then?” His eyes followed as you came closer.  

“I don't even know your name.”

“It's John.”

“Bit obvious for a fake name huh?” You cast your doubts at the man and he sucked on the end of the cigar. 

“Could show you ID if you like.” 

You took another couple of steps towards the man until you almost touched him. 

“ID’s can be faked.” Your voice was matter-of-fact. 

“If you don't want to, that's fine by me sweetheart.” 

You moved in closer after he took the cigar from his lips. The smoke escaped his parted lips and you replaced them with your own. One arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into him. His lips moved as if they were made for you. You both danced in unspoken sync until you suddenly pulled away. 

Guilt crossed your face and you looked away. Right away he could tell you regretted it. “Sorry I…”

“No need to apologise. Don't do anything you don't want to.”

Your eyes snapped back to him and you placed your palm on his chest. 

“Oh, I want to. I desperately want to but if I don't stop then I'm very much going to let you escort me to my room. And then I'll invite you up and then…” Your voice trailed off. “I don't think I've met a man that has understood me as much as you do. Which is the problem. If we had met any other time…” You closed your eyes and took a step back. 

“I have work tomorrow.” Finally you settled. 

“Let me take you out for dinner then.”

“No, I'm… I'm moving to another country. It's a big commitment to my new job. Just another reason it sucks I suppose.” Finally you looked up into his eyes. “You’re a good man John. I wish the best life for you.” You turned away and started to walk. 

“Let me make sure you’re safe!” He called after you got a few metres away but you waved a hand in the air and brushed him off with a laugh on your lips. 

—

UNKNOWN LOCATION 2023

“So Makarovs new girlfriend, is she much of a threat?” Soap asked and Price was finally brought from his memories. 

“That's the thing, we don't think she is new. I did some more digging.” Kate brought up a picture into view and Price folded his arms. “This is some of the recovered security footage from Kastovia airport.” The picture zoomed into a blurry still of your face, blood painted your EMT uniform and a handgun was secured in your hand. “In 2017.”

“Is that?” Soap swore under his breath. “Is that what I bloody think it is?”

“It is.” Price confirmed. “While we were out getting Makarov she was leading the attack on the airport wasn't she?” 

His mind raved from the soft kind expression in his memory to the hard stoic look in the images. Despite your appearance being almost exactly the same, it was like you were two different people. 

“If she's orchestrating as much as he is then we need to take her out of the picture at the same time.” Ghost said. 

“There's no way in hell he would have been able to plan all of this in such a short time or in prison. She's been doing his dirty work on the surface.” Soap realised. 

“We get to Makarov, we get to her.” Gaz pointed to the original picture. 

Nik smiled and spoke. “Let's get to Makarov then shall we?”

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 8 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Leave a comment babes! They motivate me and help me gauge whether or not you are enjoying the direction the series is going in x

Synopsis: You're cleared for travel and head back to base. Ghost helps you through a trauma flashback. Word count: 1.5k Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, flashback/ptsd, light angst Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags) You're still suffering from being captured and tortured, nightmare trope but it's a ptsd flashback instead. Hurt/comfort, fluff, bit of a filler chapter x

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Price insisted the entire team stay on the base till you had been cleared by the doctor to fly; though you knew the higher ups had been trying to fly them all back to home base without you for at least a week now. You were grateful they’d stayed; Soap and Gaz kept you occupied most of the day while Price usually sat in the corner on a laptop, typing away. Ghost would visit you in the evening and it became in informal routine for him to bring you tea before settling into the chair at your bedside with a book he had sourced from somewhere.

Three books and two weeks later you stood, shivering slightly, on the icy tarmac outside. You stood and watched as a small cargo plane was loaded and refuelled – your ride back to home base. 

Ghost stood to your left, blocking most of the wind which whipped at your hair and rattled your discharge papers till you held them flat against your chest. Much went unspoken between you but you knew all of his silent questions by heart. 

Are you ok?

You’d let him know if you weren’t. Nervous, yes, but ok nonetheless. Open spaces felt wider than before, more vulnerable. Only the lieutenant beside you knew about the many deep breaths you’d needed to step out of the hospital room, let alone onto the tarmac. A gloved hand hovered at the small of your back till he was certain you were steady on your feet and then a soft squeeze of your elbow as you hesitated in the doorway. 

His actions had always spoken more than words. 

“All aboard!” Soap’s voice called out over the rumble of the plane’s engine. You flinched as a hand cupped your shoulder. 

“Ready?” The Lieutenant questioned, his voice low, and close to your ear. You sucked in a sharp breath, nodding. 

“Affirmative, LT.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The flight was long and not entirely comfortable; Soap and Gaz taking turns at being your head rest as you dozed. Price and Ghost spent most of the flight hunched over a laptop, talking in low voices – you knew the Lieutenant had been putting off work to sit at your bedside; he was always going to eventually return to being busy and elusive like his namesake. Though just his presence was soothing and you felt his absence keenly once Soap and Gaz had dropped you off to your room – “for a rest” the former had advised sternly.

Though you had napped for most of the flight, you felt heavy and tired, flopping onto your bed with a groan as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. Wrinkling your nose you realised it’d been weeks since you’d had a proper shower – the sponge baths in the infirmary could only do so much. The ensuite in your room was a luxury afforded to the 141 and you’d never been more grateful. You didn’t feel like traipsing through the halls to the communal showers in your state of exhaustion. 

The shower spurted on and you danced you fingers under the water to test the temperature, pulling off your cargo pants and standard issue shirt before flinging them into the empty hamper. The water was hot now, but not scalding and without thought you stepped under the spray. 

You were immediately pulled from your ensuite and back to the damp room in Eastern-Europe. Hands tied tight behind you, one gripping the hair at the back of your skull as the suffocating rush of liquid, the panicked struggle for air—ripped through you mind. Your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening as your body reacted to the vivid recollection. 

The present blurred as the flashback consumed your senses; hands clutched at the sides of your head, nails digging into your scalp in an attempt to ground yourself in the there and now. Consciousness wavering between reality and past, you barely registered the passage of time. The rush of the water cascading over your head melding with memories, rushing water, haunting echoes, and maniacal laughter. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ghost, two mugs of camomile in hand, knocked on the door he knew to be yours. He’d never been into your quarters, though he had a hunch you’d be awake. He knocked once, twice, three times. Something was wrong. Worry rising faster than he’d ever admit, Ghost wrapped a hand around the door-handle and pulled. It opened with a click.

“Rags?” He called out, albeit cautiously, though he was met with silence. The door clicked shut behind him as he took a step further into the room. 

“Rags?” It was only when he stepped closer did he register the sound of the shower and the tendrils of steam curling into the room from the en suite. Kicking himself for not thinking about the possibility that you were probably in the shower, the Lieutenant made for the door. Just as his hand met the smooth metal he heard a small sob. Stiffening, he cocked his head to the side. There it was again. 

Swearing under his breath, Ghost deposited the mugs of camomile on your desk before coming to the doorway, pushing the already ajar door open a crack wider. 

“Rags?” No reply. He pushed the door open wider, his gaze falling to the figure crumpled and shivering, lost in what seemed to be a torrent of memories he couldn’t see.

“Goddamnit,” the Lieutenant cursed under his breath, rushing forward to turn off the shower and grab a towel. Kneeling beside you, he reached out gently, his touch tentative but firm. 

“Rags,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the haze that consumed you. “You’re safe. You’re here.”

You jerked forward as his voice pierced through the chaos in your mind, gasping for air as if you had emerged from the depths of the sea. You blink, vision slowly clearing through the haze and steam of the shower, revealing Ghost’s wide cobalt eyes; concerned by calm.

Realisation hit you like a punch to the gut. You were back in the present, in your quarters, in your en suite, with Ghost of all people by your side. You felt your breathing hitch, feeling both embarrassment and relief well within you. 

“Sorry,” you manage, your voice shaky.

Ghost wrapped the fluffy towel around your shoulders, his hands steady. 

“No need to apologise. You weren’t in control.”

The Lieutenant helped you to your feet and you clung to the towel around your shoulders as he guided you out of the bathroom and to sit on the edge of your bed. 

His presence was stabilising and reassuring as he crouched in front of you, gaze unwavering and gentle.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur, cobalt eyes filled with genuine concern.

You nod, albeit slowly, your throat tight with emotion. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... I'll be okay.”

“Was it the shower?’ He asked gently, his hand coming to rest on your knee.

Your hands twine together in your lap, unsettled. “I think so. They had a bit of fun with the water boarding – a warm shower’s a bit different from an icy barrel though.”

Ghost’s thumb rubs back and forth over your towel-covered knee; eyes full of understanding. “Triggers don’t always make sense, it was probably the feeling of the water over your head.”

You hum in agreement, feeling thoroughly worn out. Moving your eyes from your hands and beginning to observe your surroundings as they solidify around you. “Is that camomile?” You ask spotting the two mugs on your desk. 

Ghost pushes himself to his feet, reaching for the tea and handing it to you. “I stole your teabags, hope that’s ok.”

“I don’t keep track anymore.” You say with a smile, the warmth seeping from the mug in your hands into your very bones. “I think we both gave up on that a while ago, LT.”

You lean over and settle the mug on your bedside table, the towel damp and your arms prickling with goosebumps. “I’m just gonna, uh, change, if that’s ok.”

Ghost looks up, eyes widening. “Oh yes, sorry, of course.” He pushes off of the desk chair he’d pulled out to sit in and makes for the door.

You feel your heart lurch slightly at the though of being alone, even for a moment. “Ghost?”

“Hm?”

“Could you – could you stay, do you think? I’ll just be seconds, you can just look at the wall.”

You watch as the lieutenants shoulders relax from where he has his back to you. “Of course.” He answers softly.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You are too tired to feel embarrassed about your Peter Rabbit pyjamas, yawning in between sips of camomile. You don’t even notice you’ve nearly fallen asleep before your chin hits your chest and Ghost is taking the mug from your hands.

“Here,” he says, voice gentle, “let’s get you tucked in.”

You don’t even protest as he pulls back the covers of your bed. You slip into the space he’s created, and let him adjust the duvet around you, tucking it in up to your chin. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you yawn, voice soft and sincere.

The lieutenant blinks down at you, your eyes already shut. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Masterlist

[forestshadow-wolf]

Because I am equally obsessed with cod and a video games call coral island, I have meshed the two together so often but imagine a very loyal protective guard captain of the menfolk kingdom ghost who distrusts humans and human soap who got out if the military and takes over the family farm as a fresh start and falls in love with ghost. Anyway I hope you have an amazing day!

Aww this is a cute idea :)

---

Soap had always had an affinity for the ocean. A couple kilometers down the road from the farm is a vast expanse of rocky cliff-shores. He used to spend his days as a boy playing, and swimming down at the rock flats with his siblings.

He fell out of touch with that side of himself not too long after joining the military. There is a severe lack of beach days in the army.

So I'm thinking about soap not quite fresh off of honorable discharge due to his demolition days having put a permanent ringing in his right ear, and a bad explosion wrecked his knee bad enough that he's got a permanent limp and sometimes it'll go weak and drop him. He's deep in depression without the direction and rigidity of military life. Sure he's working, his da sets him to work in the fields, but it's all just numb.

One night he finds himself walking out the front door, down a distantly familiar path that leads all the way to the rock flats. He almost doesn't realize until salt water is splashing over his bare toes and soaking into his trousers.

And for once he actually feels something. He feels real. It feels like home. He should have come here sooner. He doesn't know why he hadn't.

Something catches at the corner of his gaze.

There sitting in the edge of the rock is a man. Sitting dangerously close to the water for the time of night it is. The tides get... playful when the moon comes out.

He moves closer to warn the man of the danger, but as he approaches he sees that its not a man. Or- it is (maybe) but he's not a human. He knocks a pebble with his shoe and it skitters across the rock.

The man- the mer, he sees now- whips around, some kind of viscous hooked weapon in hand. The man's large frame coupled with the bleach white skull obscuring it's face, and the wicked sharp teeth it bares at him, the man makes an imposing sight. Soap freezes, holding his hands up in Surrender.

A better look at the man reveals details a quick glance didn't reveal to him before. The three notches in the underside of the dorsal fin, oddly enough it looked red and almost fresh. Fresh scrapes along the length of his scaly tail that soap could see. What looked to be old scars, and fresh cuts on his chest and arms.

---

Another attack on the kingdom from the shadows, had left the kingdom wary, and Ghost on edge. He was working himself too hard, ghost knew, and soon Price was gonna send Gaz after him to settle. But for now he had a job to do. For now he focused on protecting his kingdom. And fight now that meant patrolling the area, making it known that they were as strong as ever, that should the Shadows from the south, or the Kretch from the east decide to attack, they were ready.

The Kretch had been fairly quiet as of recently, but he'd found another scouting group of shadows on his rounds of the land. Taking them out was a workout, they bashed him into the rocks, opening fresh wounds, and scraping up his tail, but nothing he couldn't handle. It was the dog they let loose on him that had been the problem. Bullsharks. Viscous creatures, even in the best of times it was smart to avoid them. But especially so if it was the Shadows' dogs, they keep them starved, makes them angry

He's strong, but he knows his limits. And he'd struggle with one on a good day. Injured and overworked, he has no chance. His saving grace? Bullsharks are fast, but he's always been faster. So he swims.

Away from the kingdom. Away from the people he swore to protect. He swims to land, dreadful, dry land. The only thing besides death that'll deter these beast is land. So up he goes onto the rocks. He'll have to wait it out.

I'll be continuing this later today. Let me know if you want a tag.

[inactiveuser374]

MIA (chapter two)

pairing; Simon “Ghost” Riley / Male!Winter Soldier!Reader

contains: graphic depictions of injury, flashbacks, fears of abandonment, mentions of abduction, human experimentation & torture, memory loss and regaining, brainwashing and conditioning, male anatomy for reader, slight sexual themes, lovers to strangers to enemies to lovers??

link to chapter one

Ghost’s once balled up fists loosened as he made contact with the eyes glaring into his. They were empty, hyperaware but completely vacant, resembling the eyes of a once docile animal provoked one too many times.

For a moment the features of the face in front of him were just like any other, but the raised discoloration that ran along the man’s cheek provoked him to study the rest of his face for what felt like an eternity trapped inside a few dreadful seconds as realization hit.

The soldier he’d lost nearly three years ago hadn’t been killed, that much was clear from the lack of a body. But you had been announced missing in action after disappearing with an injury that would’ve had you permanently discharged.

He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to actually realize that he had been the one who left you bleeding out in an empty house while he left to take care of the horde of enemies clawing at the doors like dogs.

Whatever had happened between then and now that lead you to wanting to kill him has happened because of his mistake.

….

It had taken your handler months to find just a single scrap of information on where your mission had gone, but an anonymous tip now had you stationed back in London waiting at a bus stop.

The sky was beginning to darken as you waited for the right one to arrive. You had already been sitting for hours, and just as you were beginning to doubt the instructions of your handler, another tall red vehicle slowed to a halt. The numbers on the roof matched the ones you had been given.

Your hood covered your face as you made your way up the stairs and past rows and rows of seats before something caught your eye.

Even though it wasn’t the same hyperrealistic skull he’d been wearing the last time you interacted, the black outline of teeth made you grimace internally, the taste of iron and failure mixing into your brain as you sat down directly next to him.

You were unable to see his face, but even through your hood you could feel his eyes peering at you as you sat unmoving beside him.

He could already sense something was wrong, but you knew he wouldn’t act unless he was sure of it given the current environment.

Deciding to give him a hint, you shifted your posture so that only the tip of your knife stared back up at him over your thigh holster.

He seemed to remain just as composed as he had been before as the bus started again. Every other seat was filled with innocent civilians and to start anything would be endangering their lives.

Though the ride was only about five blocks, it was long and filled with uneasiness with every small shift in your position or bump in the road. The hood covering your head acted as a fully opaque veil, masking what you would do next with no visible facial expressions.

Up until the very end of the ride, the hood remained tucked around your face. But as the bus slowed to a stop, you pulled the fabric down and followed Ghost as he stood and stiffly walked to the door.

Years of wearing a mask when on missions had clearly conditioned you to keep your face hidden when you realized with a pit in your stomach that everyone around could see you, and could probably read you like an open book due to not having to mask your expressions when the mask was on.

The hood had concealed it well enough, but now you were passing countless people, all of whom had already looked up thanks to the first man’s far from discreet skull mask and the way he towered over them all as he walked.

You suddenly felt like an animal let out of its cage directly into a stampede.

You could tell by the way Ghost balled his fist at his side that he was ready to turn and hit at any given sign of a threat while he stepped off the bus.

“Come to finish me off?” Ghost spoke, still faced away from you.

The sound of his voice only brought you back to the last time he spoke to you. When he had said that name as if he had just watched you slaughtered the person it belonged to.

You didn’t answer, instead you simply watched his movements before he finally turned to face you.

And then he said it again. Like a gas that breached past your defenses and gotten to you unequipped. The name bore holes into your skin and slowly burned the remainders until you were nothing but bones, and you stood shaking in the wake of a light breeze.

“You gonna say anything or were you just planning on dragging me into the alleyway and slitting my throat?” He sighed. His words were sharp but his tone was almost sarcastic.

Silence grew between the two of you before he finally spoke up again.

“I didn’t want leave you.”

Your eyes wouldn’t find a single spot to stay still on his face so you just looked at the wall behind him as you tried to make sense of his words and what they meant.

“If that’s why you’re doing this.” He motioned his hand towards your knife and you noticed that your hand had been hovering above the hilt without you even thinking about it.

He still hadn’t gotten an answer from you, but he continued speaking anyways.

“But why all the others?” His eyes showed a lot more than he probably thought as they turned to genuine confusion. “That mayor,” he continued.

“His daughter found his body the next morning did you know that?”

You wracked your brain trying to remember, but all you could think about was how he was speaking to you like he’d known you for years, how he showed no fear in your presence like any smart person should.

You couldn’t remember.

Your job was literally to do one thing, to kill people. How was it that you could remember not one of your past missions.

And who did this man- Ghost or whatever the hell he called himself, who did he think he was? He was speaking to you like he was lecturing you for God’s sake. Like a mother might talk to her child about being nice to people.

“[name],”

This was the third time he had called you that name, and each time drove you further to a point where you couldn’t help but feel the stinging rush rush of anger and fear manifested into your own adrenaline. Pleading to let you just grab the man by his hair and run him into the ground until he was gone.

Until all that remained of him was a ruined mass of flesh in the alleyway so you could just go back home, back to your bed and forget him like every other mission you had ever completed.

“Who the hell do you think I am?” The words tasted like venom in your mouth and they did their job like it too. Ghost’s expression instantly dropped. His eyes glossed against the remnants of black powder around his eyes that seemed to never be washed away by hundreds of times he had probably washed it.

His mask moved slightly to indicate he was trying to speak but you cut him off.

“I was told to do this, I don’t have a reason other than it being my job.” Seething you tried to quiet the screaming of your own thoughts brought on by this man.

“I don’t know you.”

Your words broke in your throat as you realized that you had been treated less than human, only as a weapon for so long that you hadn’t even questioned the lack of a name for yourself.

Every wall that had been built up, whether by you or by the people who had kept you caged for so long was now coming down in a cacophony of screams and voices and the outlines of what you perceived as memories of someone else, someone identical to you but who had lived another life before.

And another name rung out louder than the rest.

The same one that had caused you fear for the first time in years, not because it held a connection to trauma or was the title of someone you prayed to never see again. But because it was you, and somewhere along the way you had forgotten yourself.

link to chapter 3

taglist requests

taglist:

@chrrywiwss @edenstarkk @justicex101 @mrglubb @grizzersmamma

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 15. Cards and Coals | PL/Reader

AN: This one dedicated to @serenanight87 who keeps begging for more smut and is definitely getting coal in her stocking this year 😏

Content warning: set in a rehab clinic, mentions of suicide

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

You had been in the rehab clinic for a little over three months now, and it was starting to look like you were going to be there over Christmas too. You could always discharge yourself, of course, as you were there voluntarily, but really you knew it was the right thing to stick around.

You were alone in the rec room, writing out a Christmas card to your family with a cigarette between your lips, when you heard the voice of one of the orderlies showing a new patient around.

“Oh, and there’s [Y/n]! Her room is right across from yours. [Y/n], you’ve got a new neighbour! This is Paul.”

You looked up to see that your new neighbour was a man in his late forties and strikingly handsome with a mop of blonde hair.

“Everyone calls me PL,” the handsome man said. He seemed stable enough, but then again so did a lot of people in this place until something went wrong.

“Well, how about I leave you two to get to know each other?” the orderly said before scurrying off, leaving you alone with PL.

You leaned back and looked him up and down as he sat down across the table from you with a sigh.

“Let’s see…” you said thoughtfully. “Suicide attempt?”

PL raised an eyebrow at you. “What makes you think that?”

“I have a radar for these sorts of things,” you grinned. “What’d you do?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was innocent?”

You laughed.

“Go on, you can tell me, it gets out eventually. I’ll show you mine, look.”

You pushed back your hair slightly to show him an angry red mark on the side of your head.

“My mam always did say I had a thick skull. Can’t even shoot myself right.”

PL stared at you, flabbergasted. “You shot yourself and survived?”

“Bullet couldn’t get past my skull. Rubbish bullet, if you ask me. Go on, then. I showed you mine, you show me yours.”

“I really didn’t try to kill myself,” PL insisted. “I slipped and fell into the bay. Doctors wouldn’t listen when I said it was an accident.”

“Ah… so you’re here involuntarily. Good luck with that! You’ll never get out.” You took a last puff from your cigarette and stumped it out. You glanced down at his hands, which were fidgeting slightly on the table. “Got a wife outside?” you asked.

“No. Got a husband?”

You scoffed. “Nope. Wanna fuck?”

“Do you proposition every newcomer here?”

“Nah. Just the hot ones. How about it? It has been a very long three months.”

PL looked you up and down, then shrugged. “Alright.”

***

A few minutes later, having dodged being spotted going back to the same room by an orderly, the door to your room closed behind you as PL pushed you up against it and locked his lips against yours. You opened your lips to let his tongue slip past, and already his hands were on your body, grabbing hungrily at you. You were horny and lonely, and he was hot, so you grabbed at him too, your lips separating briefly as you both pulled your tops off.

PL hesitated, staring at your body, one hand on your hip while the other caressed your breast through your bra.

“How old are you?” he asked quietly.

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Forty-nine. That alright?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

He bent down on one knee and began nuzzling at your breasts, his nose caressing your skin as his tongue teased along the edge of your bra. He unzipped your trousers and pulled them down to your knees, causing you to gasp as the cold air hit your skin. His fingers danced along the edge of your knickers, then slid past to caress your lower lips.

Not having had sex in three months, you hadn’t groomed in all that time, but that didn’t seem to bother him. PL pulled down the cup of your bra and attached his lips to your nipple, at the same time pushing a finger up into you, easily aided by the liquid that had been pooling down there since you’d first laid eyes on him.

“Oh, fuck - PL…” you gasped, surprised that he was taking his time to explore you before even unzipping his trousers. You’d expected him to just ram it in as soon as he could, like every guy you’d ever been with before, but he seemed to be actually enjoying exploring your body.

Another finger joined the first, and you let out an embarrassing little whine when he scissored open his fingers, stretching your walls out. He let out a satisfied hum when he heard how much you were enjoying it, then with his spare hand he reached around your chest to unclasp your bra, which you promptly tossed aside.

PL released your breast from his mouth with a pop, leaving a shiny red mark behind around your nipple. He looked up at you, his amber eyes alight with mischief, and began thrusting his fingers up into you rapidly.

You cried out, and he had the nerve to shush you.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?” he said quietly, nodding at the door you were currently pressed up against.

“Bed,” you managed to say.

“If you insist.”

He withdrew his fingers from inside you, helped you step out of your trousers, and chuckled when you eagerly scurried over to your bed, which was hopefully far enough away that any orderlies walking by wouldn’t hear you. They never heard you touching yourself, or if they did they ignored it, but by the size of the bulge in PL’s trousers, you suspected you were going to be feeling a lot more pleasure today.

You sat on the side of the bed, and as soon as he got close enough, you hooked your finger under his waistband and pulled him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled.

“Someone hasn’t been fucked in three months,” you replied with a grumble.

“Is that what you want?”

PL grabbed your wrists in his hands, stilling your fumbling attempts to get his trousers off.

“Do you want me to fuck you, [Y/n]?”

You looked up at him, and your cross expression only made him laugh.

“Yes. I think I made that pretty clear. Fucking ruin me, PL.”

“And you’re just across the hall from me…” PL said thoughtfully. He released your wrists from his grip, only to squeeze your cheeks to open your mouth, and he slid his fingers past your lips, and you tasted yourself on him.

“Suck me clean,” he growled. “Go on, I want to see how skilled you are with those lips of yours.”

You obeyed, wrapping your lips around his fingers entirely, your tongue running up and down his digits to lick your juices from his fingers. He watched you with a burning desire in his eyes while you took the opportunity while he was distracted to pull his trousers down, and you couldn’t help gasping around his fingers when his cock bounced out of his boxers. You could tell from his bulge that he was big, but you hadn’t realised he was that big.

PL chuckled and withdrew his fingers from your mouth. You reached for his cock, your mouth already open to take him, but he pulled your head back.

“Ah-ah,” he said, shaking his head. “If you do that, I might well finish before we get started. You said you wanted to fuck, and fuck we shall. Get on your back.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you said obediently, pushing yourself up the bed to lay your head on the pillows.

A strange look crossed PL’s face. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, sorry. Just slipped out.”

“It’s alright.” He pulled the rest of his clothes off until he was as naked as you, then climbed on top of you, crushing you beneath him with his weight, and you felt the tickle of his cockhead brushing against your thigh. His lips grazed against your neck, and he held your body flush against his, as if he knew how much the pressure of lying underneath him turned you on.

“Twenty-five, you say?” he mumbled as he raised his head to look at you.

“Yes,” you replied breathily, wondering why he was age checking you again.

“And you… know your parents?”

“God, I talk about them enough during therapy every week, I don’t want to talk about them now,” you complained, your hips wriggling underneath him as your cunt tried desperately to seek him out.

“But you do know them?”

You frowned at him. He was being completely bloody serious.

Well, maybe he was nuts enough to be here after all.

“Yeah, yeah, I know them. They’re paying for me to be here.”

“Alright.”

He slowly thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding against you, just missing where you wanted him, and you whined in frustration.

“PL, please, please, oh my god, I fucking need you to fuck me. Please, please…” You begged, almost crying with need, and PL sighed.

“Alright, alright! Jesus.”

He reached down between you and took his cock in his hand to guide it to your entrance.

“Yes, yes, PL, please, fuck - fuck!” You gasped as he finally, finally entered you, his girth stretching you out so sweetly as he sheathed himself inside you.

PL let out a long moan of satisfaction when he bottomed out inside you.

“Oh, that feels so good,” you sighed with relief, feeling that sweet burn you’d missed so much. And was it just because you’d gone so long without sex, or was the stretch even better than you remembered? Then again, PL was definitely the biggest cock you’d ever taken, and it felt fucking fantastic.

He began thrusting inside you, slowly, and he pushed himself up so that he was looking down at you, and all you could see above you was him, his gorgeous hairless chest and his pleasure-addled expression.

“Faster,” you begged, your hips trying fruitlessly to thrust up against him from below, but he had you too trapped to give you any space to move. “Please, faster, faster…”

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” PL smirked.

“Yes! Yes, I’m fucking desperate, PL, please. You can fuck me slowly some other time, we’ve got months, but I really need to be railed, please.”

“Alright, then.”

You groaned in relief as his hips snapped faster against yours, finally bringing you the pleasure you’d been craving so desperately. He felt so damn good inside you, just big enough to stretch you out without hurting, and when he sat up on his knees a little more, his angle changed and his cockhead found your G-spot, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“Thought we didn’t want to get caught?” PL smirked.

“Don’t - care - fuck, that’s so good - god, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, PL…”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes!”

PL grinned and threw his head back, his eyes closed, and you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of your violent pleasure. There was nothing else in the world, nothing at all, just you and him and the smacking of his skin against yours, your groans and breathy mutterings of yes and please and so good.

Your groans peaked into a cry of pleasure when you felt PL’s thumb pressing at your clit, rubbing around the juices that were leaking from where the two of you joined. You grabbed at his thighs, desperate for more of him, and your nails dug into his skin as you felt an explosion of pleasure within you, causing your entire body to violently shake as you came harder than you had in what felt like an age.

With a gorgeous girl underneath him, screaming his name as she writhed in pleasure, what else could PL do but cum? Your channel clenched around him as he shot his seed inside you and you milked him dry for all he had. His groan was deep, guttural, animalistic and absolutely fucking beautiful.

He dropped your legs, his energy spent, and had to stop himself from collapsing on top of you, as much as you wanted his body weight on you.

“Fucking hell, [Y/n],” he panted. “I’d have gone to rehab a lot earlier if I’d known this was what it was like.”

You laughed. “A bunch of sad, isolated fucked up people confined to one building - what did you think was gonna happen?”

PL pulled out of you and rolled over to prop himself up on his elbow next to you. “And you say you’ve not fucked since you got here?”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t feel right… like I’m taking advantage of their vulnerability, y’know? But you’re hot, and you’re not supposed to be here either, so I figured it’s alright. Hang on, I gotta go to the bathroom.”

When you returned, PL was unfortunately now wearing his boxer shorts again, but he was still on your bed, so you took that as a win.

“What do you mean, I’m not supposed to be here either?” he asked curiously.

You froze in the middle of climbing underneath the blanket. Oh, damn. You hadn’t meant to say that.

Your hand flew to your scar instinctively, and you sighed.

“I didn’t shoot myself,” you admitted. “I said I did it myself to cover for the person who did.” You looked up at him urgently. “Don’t tell anyone, please. I don’t want him to go to prison.”

“Him?”

“Not the kind of him you’re thinking. We’re related, let’s leave it at that.”

PL glanced away, his eyes looking distant for a brief moment, then he shook his head as if to shake off whatever thought had crossed his mind.

“I should be ready to go again in about ten minutes if you like,” he suggested. “Since you’re so determined to set the speed, maybe you can take charge this time.”

“Are you asking me to ride you, PL?” you asked flirtatiously. “You are a naughty one, aren’t you?”

“Santa’s definitely bringing me coal for my stocking this year.”

You laughed. “Alright. You know, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun here.”

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE MOST UBIQUITOUS BAND TEE OF THE '80s UNDERGROUND MUSIC SCENE.

PIC(S) INFO: METALLICA being the biggest offenders with 3/4 of the band featured in this post alone -- Spotlight on the many appearances of the world-renowned "Three Skulls" DISCHARGE tee rocked by '80s punks, metallers (SLAYER, KREATOR, Jairo Guedz of early SEPULTURA, SACRILEGE UK), & one J Mascis of DINOSAUR JR.

TEE OVERVIEW: "Visually striking, instantly recognizable, and beautifully designed. The DISCHARGE "Three Skulls" shirt looks every bit as impressive today as it did in the 1980s when it was worn on stages, album covers and in photos by everyone's favorites.

Negative Insight is proud to bring this epochal shirt back in print through the official license of Rainy from DISCHARGE. 

Using a high quality master of the original artwork, we have meticulously reproduced these shirts in a way that exactly replicates the original 1980s essential. Every detail is matched: the shade of red on the DISCHARGE logo, the oversized dimensions of the design, and of course the detail on the image itself."

-- NEGATIVE INSIGHT (US-based hardcore punk zine/distro/record label)

Dis nightmare still @$!*#&% continues!!

Sources: Negative Insight, www.picuki.com/profile/discharge.fanclub, Spin Magazine, Monkey Defies Gravity (blogspot), Fort Bragg Zine, various, etc...

[captain-mj]

That memory loss fic has done me in. I’m on my knees, captain. A part 2 would make my week <3

I've seen the requests and I got you guys!! Was planning on this being the last part, but uh... it got rather long lol.

Price had escaped relatively unscathed despite how hard that punch was. Soap wasn’t too surprised, Price was very tough. It didn’t stop Graves from fussing over him. 

“Uh, Captain?” He knocked and interrupted them. “Ghost is still...”

Price sighed, sitting back in his seat. “Any luck figuring out what’s going on?”

“Yes, actually. He thinks he’s been with a Roba for four months. Thought I heard you two mention the name before.” 

Price visibly paled a little. “Ah. That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”

“Who is he?”

“Cartel leader a few years back. He had several soldiers taken. Experimentation, brainwashing, conditioning. It was nasty. Simon ended up the only person surviving it.” 

Graves stood up. “I don’t think Ghost would want me around for this. I’ll see you two later.” He kissed Price’s cheek, punched Soap’s shoulder and left. 

Soap nodded at him before continuing. “He thinks he’s four months in. He’s paranoid, not as much as I was expecting though. Let me give him a drink and only bit me once.”

Price nodded. “He’s not going to wear a mask like this. He didn’t back then. It would explain why he reacted that way in the van.”

Soap nodded. “Couldn’t see our faces.” 

“I meant the skulls. Roba wore skull face paint. Had all his men wear it too. Not to mention a couple of other nasty memories. It’s why Ghost wears it. Symbol of fear for him.” Price sighed. “Did you try explaining?”

Soap was a little caught up in the information he was just given. He didn’t understand why Ghost would wear something that would remind him of his past like that. 

“I told him he lost his memories and he said that’s a new form of brainwashing. Basically brushed me off. Gets real upset when you call him Ghost to. He also... made a couple concerning comments.... He mentioned a Lady. I said I’d reward him if he’d work with me and he said he didn’t want the Lady. Didn’t really specify. You know anything about that?”

“No. I’ll tell the nurses though. We’ll keep women from going in there alone, just in case. Doubt he’ll attack them, but we don’t want him anymore scared than necessary.” Price shook his head. “I hope we get this figured out soon. If not, he might have to go on leave and possibly discharged.”

Soap knew what that meant. If it goes on, Simon will disappear. He wasn’t technically alive. They’d be dumping him on the street. 

“Sir, I’m aware that Ghost doesn’t have any living family.”

“Don’t tell him.” Price said immediately. “I’ll make sure everyone knows. We need to make sure he does not find out.” 

“Why not? If he doesn’t wake up and he knows we lied...”

“Soap, that is a very valid worry. But Ghost right now is a very big flight risk. I’m... Simon will try to commit. He did it the first time he found out and he tried twice our first month of working together. He’s fragile. He can be pissed at us later. Right now, we have enough problems without needing him on suicide watch.” Price whispered it to him and Soap’s stomach turned.

“What do you mean tried to commit?? You’re telling me a man with three suicide attempts is allowed in the fucking army?” Soap hissed at Price. Besides the rules and regulations around those things, if Ghost really did try and Price just fucking let him go back. Let him on the field with big guns and plenty of opportunities to fucking die. Soap gritted his teeth to Keep himself quiet.

“Look, he’s legally dead. I know it’s hard to understand, but when he wasn’t let back in, he went to Mexico himself and destroyed an entire cartel single handedly. You want him walking the streets? Near civilians? Yes, in the beginning, he struggled. Was convinced he was dead. That he had never crawled out of the graves. Used to say and do shit that concerned me. He’s better.”

“Better? He wears a mask constantly and avoids conversation like the plague.”

“You didn’t see it.” Price suddenly sounded very far away. “I’m worried you’re about to, but you didn’t see it. You think Ghost is fucked up now? He walked around like a goddamn corpse. He found his family murdered only a few months after being tortured and buried alive. I feel like all things considered, he’s better than most.” 

Soap was still angry. So goddamn angry. He just didn’t think it was directed at Price. “When was the last time he... attempted?”

“Over a year ago. He’s been clean since. I check him occasionally.” Price sighed. “I... need you to keep an eye on him. He won’t be as slippery as he is now, not as experienced, but he’s smart as hell.” He shook his head lightly.

“Will do, sir.”

“Soap, I know you two are close. I trust you, okay? Be careful with him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Price shook his head and looked away. Soap could see the exhaustion sound like the plague.

“How long did they have him?”

“Seven months.” Price sighed. 

Soap nodded and then left Price’s office. He made his way straight to Ghost who was asleep now. One of the nurses smiled awkwardly.

“Gave him some drugs in his iv. Sedative and a painkiller.”

“Thought you weren’t supposed to sleep with a head wound?”

“Only when you first get them. He’ll be fine.” The nurse reassured. “You can sit with him as long as you want.” She took her leave and he settled next to Ghost again.

Soap hesitated before leaving for just a moment to grab his sketching tools. With his sketchbook and pencils, he started to sketch him. He so rarely got him maskless like this. He drew him with a loving amount of detail, including each scar and fleck on his skin. It passed the time as he waited for him to wake up.

After a moment, he reached over carefully and felt under his shirt, feeling the raised ridges of his scarring. When he had seen it, Ghost had explained it had occurred while he was captivity one time. They had made him. He had looked so ashamed that Soap hadn’t pressed.

Ghost yawned and looked up at him sleepily. “You’re here again. You were gone a while.”

Soap frowned. “Wasn’t gone too long.”

Ghost frowned at him, not saying anything. He noticed the book and tilted his head.

“Just taking notes.” Soap answered the question before he asked. He smiled gently. “Sleep well?”

“This bed is better than the concrete floor.” Ghost answered smoothly, smiling a little. It felt like an odd attempt at being suave. Soap blinked and nodded.

“Are sure? These beds might as well be made of rocks.” Soap laughed a little, trying to study the smile on the his face. He looked younger. Small.

Ghost looked away. “Didn’t say it was that much better.” He was clearly smiling again but he didn’t let Soap see it. Instead, he stretched as much as he could while cuffed and winced. “Morphine? That’s new.”

“How did you know it was morphine?”

“I’ve had to use it once or twice. Doesn’t have much of an effect on me but it takes the edge off.” Simon relaxed back into the pillows. “I’m starting to think you’re a dream. You were gone a while.”

“How long was I gone?”

“I don’t know. Time is funny.” Simon waved him off.

“What is usually used?”

“Opioids. Benzos. Hallucinogens. You guys keep me hiiiiiiiigh as a kite.” Simon’s words started to sound funny and Soap wondered if they maybe gave him a touch too much morphine.

“Well, like I said, i’m here to keep you safe.”

“Liar. They were just torturing me.” 

“I don’t think fixing your iv is torturing you. Or poking at your bandages.” Soap smiled indulgently.

“One of them cut me open and cut out parts of my liver.” Ghost looked at him and Soap felt his breath catch at the aching sincerity there. “He fed a piece to me. I’d really prefer if you didn’t say you’ll keep me safe. You’ll just waste your breath. I know when you leave, it’ll start again.” 

Soap stared at him. It must’ve been while he was asleep that he dreamed this. He looked at Ghost’s chest, what little he could see. Ghost had a giant y-shaped scar across his entire torso. 

Soap leaned over and touched his hand. “Are you okay?”

Simon stared at him before slowly relaxing. “I’m fine. It’s weird. I feel like I know you.”

“You do. You do know me.”

“No, I don’t.” Simon pleaded. “I don’t know you.” 

“Yes, you do, Ghost.”

“I’m not dead.” Simon said coldly. “I’m not dead. You can’t convince me I’m dead.”

“You’re right. You’re not dead. You’re right here with me.” Soap reassured, reaching up and gently tracing his jaw. Simon looked distressed.

“Stop it. Stop it.”

“What do you want me to stop doing?”

“You’re in my head. You’re messing with me.”

“No, I’m not. I promise you’re safe. I’m not going to leave again.” Soap comforted him until Simon weakly shook his head and dropped his head onto the pillow. 

“Please...” Simon mumbled, staring up at him. “Please, I don’t want them to go back to the rainbow room. I don’t want the Lady.”

“No one is going to, Simon. I promise. Why don’t you go back to sleep? Aren’t you tired?”

Simon hummed, clearly fighting sleep. He did so for a while before giving in. 

Soap took a deep breath and settled back down. His hands were shaking. After a moment of consideration, he messaged Price to update him, telling him that Simon woke up for a while before going back to sleep. 

Before long, Soap ended up falling asleep in his chair, focusing on the steady beat of Ghost’s heart monitor.

Screaming. It shocked him awake and he jerked up, watching Simon writhe and scream as loud as he could.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.” Simon mumbled between ear shattering wails. 

Price and Gaz were suddenly there, both just as panicked as Soap was. They tried to hold him down and watched as he thrashed, yanking so hard on his restraints that for a moment Soap wondered if his wrist would snap. 

Then, his wrist snapped. 

Simon choked out, sounding so angry. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t leave. There’s so much blood.”

Price grabbed Simon’s shoulders, pinning him down. “There is no blood. You’re safe.”

“it hurts it hurts so much. I don’t want it. I don’t want them.”

“I know, Simon. i know it hurts.” Price reassured. “You hurt yourself.”

“You bastards hurt me.” Simon hissed at him, but he was shaking so hard now. They were all trying to hold him down as much as they could. “Please. Please.” He begged, pleaded with Price to make it stop.

Price just stared at him, holding his shoulders down. He looked so helpless that Soap felt sick. 

“I know, son. I’m so sorry.”

“He promised. He promised he wouldn’t leave.”

“I didn’t leave.” Soap said softly, though he was looking at Price. “I think he’s dreaming through his memories. Said something about me being gone a long time earlier.”

“Shit. Can’t really protect him from that.” Gaz said softly as Simon finally stopped struggling, staring at the roof.

“Who’s the Lady?”

“Pilar. Her name was Pilar. She can do things with her hips that men would kill for.” Simon mumbled and it sounded like he was quoting someone. He eventually closed his eyes. “I don’t want her.” 

Soap felt like he was going to be sick. He traced the Glasgow smile on Simon’s face, despite Price’s alarmed look. “I’m sorry.”

“You left.” 

“I didn’t mean to.” Soap decided. “How long was I gone?” 

“It’s been... I don’t know. I think its been a month since we first met. It’s so hard. Time runs together.”

Soap bit his lip, feeling a hole digging in his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure when you see me, it’s nice.” 

“Fuck you.” Simon eventually coughed out and then just fell back against the bed. “Fucking hell.” He tried to curl away from their hands but it didn’t work. Ghost continued to shake for a while and they retracted their hands. 

Gaz sighed shakily. “Is he... okay?”

“Go back to bed, Kyle.” Price smiled. “We’ll watch him.”

Gaz nodded and quietly stepped back. He left them alone. 

Price shook his head. “Simon. Roba is dead.”

“No, he’s not. I see him. He’s there when I close my eyes.”

“Simon...” Price said softly. “This all happened a very long time ago.”

“Except it didn’t.” Soap pointed out. “To him, it feels like its right now. He’s currently going through it and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.” 

Small tag list of people who asked for pt 2 @sad-innit @confuseddipshit @lildoodlenoodle @imfeelingdizzy @robo-hips @cactusisconfused

[actualalligator]

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Buck frowns while doing the math. “You work twelves?”  “Kinda. Two to ten at the gas station, then eleven to three stocking at the grocery store,” Eddie replies.  “Two jobs?”  “Three. Overnight security on the weekends at a storage unit.”  Buck sits back. “Holy shit, dude.”  “It’s just us, Christopher and me,” Eddie says.  Buck breaks through to the surface again and pauses once he’s above ground. “Well, that’s fucking intense, but wow. I’m a little in awe of you. Especially since I’m doing nothing.”  “You’re healing, right? You said you were doing PT. That’s hard. It’s mentally exhausting to be hurt and to have to recover from it, especially if it also means the end of your career. I uh…” Eddie pauses and Buck can hear the way he draws in a breath, holds it, then forces it out. “I got hurt in Afghanistan on my last tour. Medically discharged and I came home hurt and unemployed. It really fucking sucks.”  Buck takes a second to let that sink in. Nobody has said that to him. And he hates to say it to anybody in his life too because they are all trying to be unfailingly positive. But it does suck. “Yeah,” he says after a second. “It really does. And everybody else just seems to be so positive all the time. But I hurt every day. My leg gave out in the shower yesterday, and I slammed my elbow against the edge of the tub. I was lucky it wasn’t my fucking skull. I need less positive and some fucking acknowledgment that this all fucking sucks.”  “It fucking sucks, Buck,” Eddie says. “I’m sorry you’re going through it. There’s going to be the other side eventually, but it does suck.”  Tears sting at the corner of Buck’s eyes, and his throat feels tight. “Thanks, man,” he manages after a second.  “Any time,” Eddie says.

tags under ✂️

Tagged by @tizniz and @spotsandsocks

Tagging: @anewkindofme @sznofthesticks @lochnesswriter @theotherbuckley @sunshinediaz @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

[stephsageek]

A preview of the upcoming chapter of my ghoulcy fic, "Ain't That A Kick To The Head":

“Danny!”

Cooper pivoted, one arm wrapping around Lucy as she struggled against him, the other lashing out, already squeezing the trigger of his pistol before it fully extended.

His efforts were rewarded with a bang! Followed by the sickening crunch of splintering skulls; the wet splash of brains against the cave walls and few voices less amongst the throng.

All at once the three companions found the tunnel they stood in, congested by guards. The helmeted masses were screaming, the sound nearly loud enough to carry over the deafening blasts of shotguns, pistols, and Uzis.

The smell of mildew and damp was replaced by gunpowder and blood, the heavy silence replaced with screaming, the discharging of weapons; and the inky blackness replaced by the strobing flashes of fire.

Lucy continued to stare at the young redhead on the ground, blood running into his eyes from the gaping hole in his forehead. She twisted and pushed with all her might, but the ghoul was as immovable as a statue.

The narrow tunnel seemed to close in on both sides as Cooper tightened his hold on the writhing woman in his arms, twisting her back and away, his right hand coming up over her head to continue to return fire.

“He’s fucking dead, Vaultie! Now move your scrawny lil' ass before ya' end just like 'em!” Cooper snarled, practically throwing her to the ground as he let loose a half dozen shots in rapid succession. He had to duck to reload.

There're too many, Cooper realized, crouching on the hard ground. He found another pistol by his feet and quickly checked if it was still loaded. He sprang up and fired both weapons together.

[papytonpropaganda]

Hello! So, I've been really bored recently, and have been in full Walls brainrot mode again, so I wrote this little... i don't know what I'd call it... a fanfic of Walls? A fanfic of a fanfic? Basically, I took what I know about Walls and wrote a little paragraph or two of how the ending could (and almost certainly will not) go. If you have any problems with people doing this, please feel free to tell me! I don't mean to be rude or try to steal your work, and I'm not going to publish this anywhere, I'm just writing it for fun lol- sorry if you're not comfortable with that!

Anyway, here it is, because I really wanted to share it with you.

TW FOR SU!CIDE AND DRUGS

***

Papyrus sat in the hospital bed, Mettaton standing next to him, the two of them holding coffees in their hands. The two of them smiled awkwardly at each other, an orange blush spreading across the skeleton’s face, and was he hallucinating, or was the robot’s face slightly pink?

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Mettaton asked him, finally breaking the thick, stiff silence. 

“I-” Papyrus hunched over in embarrassment as he tried to get the (metaphorical) guts to say it. Rubbing his arms awkwardly, he took a deep breath. “So… Mettaton, I- I just want to say that I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he began. “I just- you’re such a kind, lovely person, and I- I like everything about you.”

Mettaton looked worried. “Papyrus, this isn’t a goodbye, is i-”

The skeleton cut him off. “Mettaton. Just listen to me.” His soul began to burn brighter. “I wish I could do more for you, I really do- I wish I could give you bunches of flowers and gifts and clothes and cars, and I wish I could be a better person for you, but this is all I can do, so I’m going to do it.” He took one last deep breath before saying the words he’d wanted to say for such a long time. “Mettaton, I love you. I love you with so much of my soul that none is left.”

Mettaton’s mouth fell wide open, the cup of coffee he was holding shattering onto the floor. “I-” He took a step back, and another, and another, to the door.

Papyrus’s eye sockets widened. “Mettaton?...”

Mettaton stepped out the door and ran. 

***

Papyrus was being discharged from the hospital in around a week. He sat there, skull buried in the blankets and knees up to hide his face. Sans, Grillby and Toriel had come to visit there, but Papyrus said nothing. 

“Papyrus, you must talk to us! We cannot do anything if you do not speak. Please, let us help you,” Toriel waved her huge paws around, speaking with an anxiety-ridden voice. 

Sans’s smile was almost gone as he walked up and put a hand on the taller skeleton’s shoulder. “Russ, please, you gotta wake up. We know you’re awake.”

Grillby, despite not being that close to Papyrus, had come with Sans, and signed at Papyrus although he knew he wouldn’t be able to see. Please talk to us.

Papyrus simply shook his head an inch to each side and resumed his silence.

***

Once the three older monsters had gone and the sun had set in the sky, Papyrus stepped out of the bed and walked down the corridor. There were a few doctors around, but they just assumed Papyrus was a patient taking a walk - and they weren’t wrong. In truth, he was a patient, and he was taking a walk. But he had something more to do. 

The door to the medical supplies was unlocked, as usual. The doctor who had her shift around this time was new and always forgot to lock it. Nobody had realised except Papyrus, who was now slipping into the cupboard in silence, taking a small jar of some of the medicine. 

And another jar. 

And another. 

***

“Fuck!” Undyne slapped her forehead

“Is there still time to visit Papyrus? I forgot my bag at the hospital…” she mumbled to herself whilst messaging those words to Toriel. 

“I should think so, but I cannot come with you! Apologies, I and QC are busy shopping,” Toriel responded over text, typing slowly with her big paws. “But I should think if you run, you should get there before visiting time is over!”

Undyne took a deep breath and sprinted to the hospital, managing to get there within enough time. She slammed open the doors and ran into Papyrus’s room just in time. 

He wasn’t there. 

“Papyrus?” She called out, but there was no answer. Assuming he had gone for a walk around the hospital, she nodded to herself, happy he was up and moving again, and took her bag and left.

It would be nice to walk back through the forest near the beach, Undyne thought. Around this time of year, it was dark enough for only a few people to be there, but early enough that it was still warm and the birds were still singing. So she went back through the forest, feeling an odd sense of serenity wash over her. Flowers to the left, grass in front, sea behind… and trees on her right, dappled lighting falling through the leaves, and birds singing in a bush just behind them. Stepping nearer to the trees, she noticed a figure hidden in the bush - clothed in a pale blue and white gown. Confused at why someone was in it, she went to check. 

There was something - no, someone - there. Covered in dirt, hospital gown on. Limbs - or were they limbs? No, bones - splaying everywhere. 

Papyrus. 

Her eyes widened in horror as she grabbed him, shaking him hard. 

“Papyrus. PAPYRUS!” she screamed. 

*** 

Mettaton, trying to clear his head, took a walk through the forest too, using the birdsong as a method to calm him down. Well, he would have been, if he hadn’t gotten a call from Devon. He smiled at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, listening to him talk on about his day at work and ignoring the nasty feeling in his throat. And the world did seem to be against him today, because he would have been able to talk to him a lot longer if he hadn’t encountered Undyne, tears running down her face and a death grip on his arm. He used his other arm to turn off the call and put it in his pocket hastily. 

“Ow, fuck, Undyne! What’s wrong?” He rubbed his arm and scowled at her. Undyne wasn’t having it, hiccuping and wiping her eyes. 

“I- It’s Papyrus. He’s- he’s-” She shook her head and yanked Mettaton over to where Papyrus was lying. The pit in the robot’s stomach grew. 

“Papyrus? Papyrus. No, Papyrus,” his eyes widened in horror as he ran over to the skeleton’s limp body and shook him. “Papyrus, wake up. WAKE UP!” he screamed. Undyne rushed away to see if there was anybody that could help them. “P-Papyrus,” he sobbed, tears pouring down his face as he clutched at the skeleton’s gown and wailed. “Papyrus, please… I love you too, Papyrus. Papyrus, don’t go, please…” This was his fault. It was all his fault. If he had just told the skeleton sooner…

He took out his phone to make a call to the ambulance, and saw that his phone was on the ‘Recent Calls’ page. He stared at it, speechless, the pit in his stomach growing by the second. 

It read, ‘Devon: last called - 5 seconds ago’.

***

Please do tell if you're not comfortable with this! Again, I'm very sorry if you are - anyway, I hope you liked this little thing! It's not fantastic, since I haven't had a lot of practice at writing, but I hope it's good enough. Have a good day! :3

OH MY GOD EVERYONE IT JUST HAPPENED I JUST WON EVERYTHING

anon you are the FIRST person I know (or remember at least) who wrote fanfic for Walls which is the DREAM. dude I know very few fanfic authors who wouldn't be honored to receive a fanfic of THEIR fanfic of this caliber in their inbox. this is INCREDIBLE thank you.

I honestly don't mind if you did post it on like AO3 or something, I believe AO3 even has an option to mark the fic as "being inspired by another work" or something like that. I do not see this as "stealing" from me at all, you don't know how amazing it feels to have inspired someone else to write about my story.

you are correct in that what you've written was not what I had planned (in fact the ending of the original was far, FAR off from where we left off). but it definitely invokes the kind of feeling I go for for the angst in Walls and it's a nice little continuation of the point where I decided the whole thing needed a revamp. I'd actually really like to see how your version ends!

thanks so much again, you don't know how much this means to me.

[matbenetti17]

♡ Name: Amentia Amantis

♡ Name in life: Marilyn 

♡ Age: 40-45

♡ Died in: 1960s

♡ Cause of death: lethal injection

♡ Sin: murder

♡ Species: orchid mantis demon

♡ Gender: female

♡ Sexuality: straight

♡ Occupation: cosmetics expert and hairstylist (often collabs with the Vees)

Amentia, Marilyn in life, ended up in Hell for having shot dead with a rifle her husband and his young lover around the 1960. After this, driven crazy by her grief, she beheaded him and fled with his head for months around the States until she was arrested, prosecuted and sentenced to death by lethal injection.

Having arrived in Hell, she made a name thanks to her knowledge in the commercial field, that was because in life her husband was the head of a famous chain of department stores and she was in charge of the cosmetics department. 

Despite everything, due to her rampant insanity Amentia still considers herself a married woman, she still wears her wedding ring and carries her husband's skull chained to her, as retaliation. She often talks with the skull or plays with it making it talk like a puppet.

Her husband and the lover never ended up in Hell with her, even though they were adulterers, because apparently for Heaven it's enough to ask for forgiveness on the verge of death to access the Celestial Gates. Which is extremely unfair in her eyes. Amentia was never sorry for what she had done, even during her execution she laughed and was proud of having killed them.

Amentia's taste in fashion and aesthetics made her to be noticed by Velvette who made her one of the first collaborators with the three Vees, in particular taking care of hair and makeup for Velvette's fashion shows and Valentino's porn movies.

Every now and then Amentia tries to convince Vox to oust Val and take her in his place but obviously he always refuses. She and Valentino are kinda like cat and dog, or more like mantis and moth.

Amentia has been looking for a new partner for some time but every time she is in bed with someone her madness gets the upper hand and she ends up killing the poor man accidentally with her claws. This is why she is convinced that emotions like love and affections are a weakness. She often frequents Cannibal Town and is friends with Rosie because when she accidentally kills one of her lovers she brings him to Rosie to get rid of the corpse in her own way.

Quotes:

“For the next extermination, be fabulous~”

“I won't be caught dead again with messy hair, dear”

“I'm a married woman!!”

“I'd like to go to Heaven just to find my cheating fucking husband and that little dirty whore AND KILL THEM AGAIN!”

“You need meee~ If it wasn't for me your little cheap movies would look like fucking amateurs!” –to Valentino

“Dont'cha think that the acronym VAV sounds so much better? Vox, Amentia and Velvette, let's discharge the midge, Voxxie~” –to Vox

“Ugh, how do you manage to work with these two, darling? They're two fucking hysterical fags!” –to Velvette

“Love? Love doesn't exist dear, it doesn't exist on Earth and it should be here? In Hell?”

“What did ya say sweetpea? Oh sure, they look horrendous~” –talking with her husband’s skull

“Oh for all the Seven Rings, can I have some cockroach blood in this hovel you call studio??”

Fun facts:

♡ Her hairstyle and the mole on her cheek are inspired by Marilyn Monroe (which is why she also had the same name as her when she was alive)

♡ The "gem" on her chest is used to hear conversations about her at any distance. It takes inspiration from the metathoracic ear capable of picking up ultrasound that mantises have on their chest

♡ When she is in a "semi-demonic" form the designs on her claws and "tail" light up neon pink and another three small eyes open up on her forehead. The three eyes are also present in the anatomy of mantises, called ocelli

♡ The chain to which her husband's skull is attached can stretch infinitely so she can use it to pull things towards herself, throwing the skull which bites

♡ Her design is inspired by the orchid mantis and the pokémon Lurantis