#TW talk of MCD

[daniwib]

911 7x03 Red Shirt Poll

There are at least nine people left on the cruise ship at the end of 7x02, possibly ten if Jarod, the greedy poker chip guy, didn’t die on impact with the window he fell onto (but I think he did so I didn't include him!).

So who do we all think the red shirts are? I personally think Norman is a goner, as much as I adore him. He’s badly injured, and uh… heavy. Transporting him through an upside-down ship full of debris and obstacles to get to the hull is going to be nearly impossible and that’s if nothing ruptures inside and he bleeds out on the way.

And given 9-1-1’s penchant for karmic retribution, I don’t see things going well for Lola and possibly Julian as well. He’s redeemed himself a bit, but will it be enough? Will Lola heroically decide to stay with Norman when he can’t continue and sacrifice herself to be with her husband after realizing her mistake? I can’t wait to find out!

Here’s a variety of options for who you think is going to die, if I’ve missed any add them in the tags, tumblr would only let me have 12 answers.

Please reblog for exposure, I only set this for a day so we could see results before the next ep!

[laurancezvhalkisser]

TW: Cannibalism‼️

I’m currently thinking about if being a shadow knight in MCD came with cannibalistic tendencies to eat humans. I’m thinking they’d do it because of the need to feel human again so they consume humans to attempt to regain their humanity.

With this in mind, Laurance has 100% become incredibly close to eating someone but similar to the calling (or whatever its called that makes him want to go to the nether), he just holds it back and ignores it. I also wanna add that he found it strange that he had less of a temptation to eat aph as he did anyone else because of the relic that meant she wasn’t entirely human. That probably also spent a lot of time hanging around Travis because demon’s weren’t appetising to him so he never wanted to eat Travis.

Laurance has 100% bitten Garroth accidentally in an attempt to eat him but immediately been stopped by himself and Garroth

This part isn’t Laurance related but if this was canon Gene probably ended up eating people in his and Dante’s village after he basically kicked Dante out. Potentially he ate their parents in front of Dante, which would be traumatising as hell and give him more trauma and even more reason to be a good father and raise his kids to not be like Gene.

TL;DR: what if shadow knights ate people

[oopbackinmymcdphase]

Tw for sui ideation (this is a redraw)

*no surprises intensifies*

[fruitedsnack]

Having very serious thoughts about the Aphmau multiverse rn.

Also hey! If ur interested in reading abt this scene I drew from my MCD rewrite, that’s below the cut ! :>

Small TW: child abuse (not graphically depicted, just mentioned), religious trauma, fire, injuries

This is a scene from my MCD rewrite I’ve been working on. Basically in my rewrite Aphmau is a bastard child between a Lords wife and millers husband. The lords wife carried out the pregnancy in secret and in shame, and when she was born abandoned her on the steps of a convent where she was taken in and raised by nuns. Aphmau in my au has retained some memories and feelings from being reincarnated thousands of times over as Irene. She talked about this but because reincarnation is blasphemous she is mistreated and misunderstood by the other children and the nuns. She feels connected to Irene, but disagrees with the church itself. After years of mistreatment, she finally escapes the convent at about 20-21.

Zane is the first person she ever sees outside of her convent. After escaping to a nearby town, she finds it nearly leveled by flames, in the wreckage is Zane searching for an Apostate he’d leveled the town looking for. Immediately he recognizes her as a descendant of Irene (not yet realizing not only that but literally shares a soul with Irene) and attempts to return her to her convent, and essentially force her to be a nun. She’s badly injured, and has just picked up a weapon for the first time, so she’s pretty defenseless. But at the last minute before he can return her she has a surge of magic leaving her with strange black marks, running off into the woods.

Then from there she ends up at the steps of the guard tower in Phoenix Drop, badly injured, severely traumatized, and in a horrible state of shock. That’s where Garroth takes her in, and gets her back to health. I could rant a little bit more, but that’s all that I wanted to say. Anyways I was feeling insipired so I made this. Though if you’re interested hearing more about my Aphmau rewrite, feel free to drop anything in my ask box. Or if u have any suggestions! Always working on stuff like that.

[marauders-bs]

august 6- rosekiller prompt: green @rosekillermicrofic tw: mcd

When Barty met Evan at eleven years old, both of Evan's eyes were the same shade of blue.

It was the first thing he noticed. The blonde-haired twins at the train station talking to a black haired boy had soft blue eyes. The black haired boy - Regulus - had eyes like bitter coffee.

--

When Barty saw Evan again second year, his right eye was gold. Pandora was the same way, and Barty didn't get an answer as to why.

--

Fourth year, and he finally found out. The twins had spoken about how Barty wasn't so bad, which he would've taken offense to if the situation had been less dire. Their parents had overheard, and they had transfigured thier right eyes into blind, golden ones as a reminder.

It was the first time Barty considered murder.

--

Fifth year was the first time Evan held Barty after a nightmare, green curtains a comfort after the horrible nightmare about his father.

--

The day after winter break fifth year was the first time they kissed. It was an accident, and neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but Barty liked it.

Because Evan.

--

Sixth year, Regulus got the Dark Mark.

--

Seventh year, Evan and Barty got it as well. Pandora and Dorcas didn't, and Barty never saw either again.

--

The last time Barty saw Evan, he was racing to his house to show him a spell. He thought he might've finally found the counter-jinx to Evan's blind-eye thing.

The last time Barty saw Evan, Evan Rosier was dead.

[reds-skull]

Dual Loop

[AO3]

(Note: TW for suicidal idation, mild gore, self harm, depression. That being said, there's no MCD, and it has a happy ending. This one is a little heavier than my usual stuff, stay safe <3)

So... I expected this to be like... 5-6k words. It ended up being over double that. Enjoy!

Also, I decided to have a sort of mini post-script in comments in AO3, so you're welcome to check it if you're interested!

The 141’s common room might be Soap’s favorite. It’s nothing fancy, a couple of ratty couches shoved into one corner, and a kitchenette in the other. It doesn’t have a TV like the other common room, and they have to constantly clean off mold from beneath the sink.

Soap wouldn’t have it any other way, as it has something no other room on base has - his taskforce. Despite not having much to do, just lying beside Gaz and shit talking the rookies with the Captain is pleasant, Ghost moving about in the kitchen.

He watches the giant man turn around and reveal a steaming mug of (probably) tea, and decides to call him over, “oi, LT! Come over ‘ere, I’m sure ye got some horror stories from your recruits.”

Ghost’s dark eyes drag over him for a few tense seconds, before he responds, “got paperwork to finish, MacTavish.” he nods toward the others, “Garrick, Captain.” and leaves.

His displeasure must’ve shown on his face, because Gaz reaches over to pat his head, “awwh, maybe you’ll convince him next time Soapy”.

“Awa’ wi’ ya, yer messin’ mah hair!” he bats his hands away, pouting at Price’s laughter.

The Captain’s moustache twitches with a hidden grin, “Simon values his alone time, Soap. It’s nothing personal.”

“I know, I know. Wish he could stay around at least one night, though…” he frowns.

“He will in his own time.” Price groans as he gets up from the couch, “right lads, rather not stay out of bed after eleven. Don’t go to sleep too late.”

Soap and Gaz both answer “okay dad!” in unison, cackling when Price flips them off as he exits the common room.

They fuck around for a little longer before calling it a night as well and separating ways to their barracks. He spends a while tossing and turning in bed, mind too restless for him to fall asleep.

Maybe there’s one thing he’d like to change about the common room, and perhaps in the 141 in general. And it all starts and ends with the masked bastard they call Ghost.

What they have right now is fine, relatively close work relationship, joking around on lookout duties, trusting each other with their sixes. It’s good.

Soap huffs and finally settles down under his scratchy blanket. He battles with opposing emotions, daydreams of him and Ghost being close, closer than a Sergeant and a Lieutenant have to be, and anger at his own ridiculous thoughts.

He falls asleep to memories of brown eyes staring at his.

Soap wakes up to a knock on his door. He quickly blinks away the remaining drowsiness in his mind, and reaches for the handle.

Out of all the people he expected to find, Ghost was definitely not one of them, “morning, Johnny.”

Johnny? Soap tilts his head, “LT, did something happen?” they must have gotten some time sensitive intel about their latest target, if Ghost himself has to come and get him first thing in the morning. Last he heard, they were operating within the UK…

Ghost’s eyes crease in a way he’s never seen, and for a moment Soap wonders if he’s still dreaming, “no, was about to go to mess. Know you were gonna go there soon.”

“Oh” he says intelligently.

Ghost lets out a half-laugh,  “you coming?”

His brain finally wakes enough to process his invitation, “oh! Uh, aye, just gonna change…” he motions awkwardly to his rumpled clothes.

“I can wait.” Ghost leans back against the wall, and Soap slowly closes the door. He stares at it for a second before walking to his closet, pulling out a shirt and a new pair of pants. His mind wanders as he automatically goes about getting dressed.

He never sees Ghost before noon, and that’s if he’s lucky. The masked man doesn’t eat with them in mess, wakes up before the sun rises, and begins working before most soldiers have blinked away the last of their sleep. It’s… certainly a first.

Then again, you shouldn’t really look a gift horse in the mouth. He adjusts his fatigues and exits his room. Ghost is still leaning against the wall, motionless as a very foreboding statue.

He wordlessly motions Soap to start walking, and they make their way to mess. They should bring Gaz and Price along, really take advantage of Ghost’s practically unheard of great mood. Gaz’s room is just a few doors from his, he could knock as they pass-

Ghost places a hand on his shoulder and stops him. Soap opens his mouth to question him, but not a second later, Gaz’s door opens, almost hitting him square in the face, and Kyle busts out.

“Oh shit- sorry Soap, didn’t see you there.” Gaz straightens his baseball cap, and clocks in Ghost’s presence, “Lieutenant, sir! Didn’t see you either.”

Soap tenses. Well, there goes that once in a lifetime opportunity to see Ghost actually socialize with the team-

“All good, Garrick. In a rush to get the chocolate pudding?” Ghost asks calmly. What the fuck?

“Yeah, Smith texted me.” Gaz grabs his arm, dislodging Ghost’s, “c’mon, we have to get there before they run out!”

He lets Kyle drag him, throwing a cautious look back at Ghost, relieved to see he’s still following. As much as he wants to reach mess fast, no pudding in the world is worth leaving Ghost behind.

Mess, expectedly, is chock-full of hungry soldiers, and the table serving the pudding is barely visible between the bodies.

Soap almost instantly loses all hope of reaching the table in time, but Ghost once again surprises him by diving head first into the crowd. His reputation and imposing appearance clearly aids him in making his way to the table, and Gaz sends him an incredulous look.

“Am I seeing things, or is the Lieutenant carrying two cups of pudding for us?” Gaz grins.

Soap can’t help but join him, “aye, don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but Ghost is certainly in a special mood.”

“Hearing Simon’s in a ‘special’ mood doesn’t calm me in the slightest.” the Captain’s voice appears behind them.

“Come and see for yourself, Cap. It’s a bloody miracle!” Gaz subtly points to Ghost, who at last reached them with the prized puddings. 

He hands each Sergeant a cup, and greets the Captain, “I know you don’t like this sweet shite, Price. Maybe they’ll have sausages tomorrow.”

Price blinks a couple of times, “right… well, let’s get to our table. You two better eat some actual food before you start shoveling that garbage into your mouths.”

They sit down, Gaz taking his right, and Ghost his left. He takes a moment to marvel at the simple act of Ghost existing in a nonwork related situation, a calmness in his movements that Soap didn’t know he needed to see. He has to temp down a goofy smile at the sight.

It really shouldn’t shock him anymore, but Soap senses all three pairs of eyes in the table snap to Ghost, who rolled up his mask above his mouth like he doesn’t care if anyone else sees, and started eating.

“It’s… nice to see you here with us, Ghost.” Price says slowly.

“Wouldn’t want to miss this five-star meal.” Ghost points his fork to the grey sludge on his tray. He decides to go along with whatever Ghost’s odd behaviour throws at him.

He elbows him gently, “hey, LT” the giant man hums, “why did the skeleton need to go to the barbecue?”

Soap waits for a beat before continuing, “because he wanted to get a spare rib”

Gaz groans to his right, absolutely done with his awful sense of humor, but Ghost…

Ghost smiles. It crinkles the scars bisecting his lips in an unexpectedly endearing way, and his dark eyes crease into little half moons, and his stomach drops because fuck, he’d do anything to see that smile again.

Those brown eyes linger on his, and Soap knows he should look away, that his infatuation could be dangerously visible on his face, but he can’t.

Price saves him after all, “Kyle, you got recruits in 20, make sure they don’t pass out in this heat.”

Gaz just groans louder.

“I’ll go with ‘im.” Ghost pushes away from the table, Kyle jumping from his sit, “you will?! I mean, uh, the more the merrier, I guess.” and rushes after him.

Price’s eyes meet his, and Soap gives him a hesitant smile, “told ye he was in a special mood.”

The Captain picks up his tray, “can’t say I’ve ever seen Ghost act like this in the time we’ve known each other.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Price. Soap has only been on the team for a few months, the newest member of the taskforce, but even he can tell this is unprecedented. It worries him a little, if he’s honest. People don’t just… wake up one day and decide to completely change everything about the way they act.

But then again, Ghost isn’t like most people. That has also become obvious very quickly.

He could write a book worth of Ghost’s little oddities, like the way he shoves knives up his sleeves even while on base, how he likes to go to the gym at night, how he somehow has a mask for every occasion.

It’s infuriatingly charming, it makes him want to know more, find all the little things that make Ghost the way he is, open his chest like he does with explosives, and see the way everything ticks. Find that off switch that keeps the Lieutenant calm, learn which wires go where.

By now, Soap can confidently say he knows a lot about Gaz and Price, but Ghost remains an enigma to him. Today just solidified that.

Price rises from his chair, stretching his back with a groan, “do remember you have paperwork due today, Sergeant. You don’t have time to play with your Lieutenant until that’s on my desk.”

Fuckin’ hell. He forgot to finish that last night. Dejectedly, Soap answers, “yes sir.”

Writing down reports might be Soap’s least favorite part of his job. They went on a mission, killed some guys, found a bloody USB stick, came back at an ungodly hour. Why does he have to write several pages on that is beyond him.

After hours of semi successfully trying to harness the last of his attention span towards that, Soap enters Price’s office to place the accursed reports on his desk. The Captain isn’t there, but that way there’s no risk of him giving him even more menial tasks.

Soap wonders about base, searching for someone to entertain him (perhaps someone very specific, whose name starts with G, and ends with host).

He eventually comes across Gaz in the larger common room, “how was training with Ghost?”.

Soap flops down onto the couch, jostling Kyle, who kicks him in retaliation, “was a lot less annoying than with you cunt.”

He gasps theatrically and puts a hand over his heart, “you don’t mean that!”

Gaz laughs, “no, but…”

“...but?”

Gaz’s brows furrow, and his tone becomes more serious, “we had a… surprisingly deep conversation. He kinda helped me through a few things, with responsibility and death and... Never expected him to be this understanding.”

Soap puts his legs in Gaz’s lap, getting comfortable, “you told me before that he cares, even when it doesn’t look like it.”

He still remembers the talks both Price and Gaz gave him, about Ghost. They were quite protective of their most legendary member, and for Soap it cemented his love for this taskforce; they don’t act like other teams he’s been on at all. They actually care about each other, beyond watching the other’s six.

Gaz sighs, “I still stand by that, but the reason I said it is that Ghost usually doesn’t show it. And if he does, it’s in a roundabout way.”

“Where is he now?”

“He dragged the Captain out of his office after we finished with the rookies. Dunno to where.”

Soap pouts, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling. Everyone gets to have one-on-one time with Ghost but him, it seems. It feels only a little unfair.

Gaz coos, “are you sulking because our scary Lieutenant didn’t come to spend time with you today?”

“Ah’m not sulking!” Soap kicks Gaz, the Brit giggling and pushing his legs away, “and you have no place to talk! I was alone the whole day doin’ steaming paperwork!”

Kyle picks his legs back up, giving them a comforting pat, “you’ll have tomorrow, and the days after that. I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush.”

He exhales roughly, “what if he won’t be in a mood to talk after today?”

“Then he’ll just go back to how we all know Ghost to be. Was that that bad?” Gaz asks.

“...no.”

“There you go. Now, I heard there’s a footie match with Scotland in a few minutes-”

Soap reaches for the remote before he could finish the sentence, “they better fuckin’ win this time!”

Scotland did not win this time, but he and Gaz enjoyed shouting at the players and howling whenever they missed a goal. As much as he complained about not hanging out with Ghost, Kyle is as good company in his eyes.

Gaz left him after the match, too tired from a day of standing in the sun and running after recruits, leaving Soap alone with his thoughts. 

The hour was still too early for the gym to be completely empty, and he really wasn’t in the mood for some small talk, so Soap made his way to the shooting range. The lights were on, but he’s not likely to be pestered if he takes the furthest stall.

He stops in his tracks when he sees someone leaning against the opening. No, not just any someone.

“Ghost? What are you doin’ here at this hour?”

Ghost kicks off the door frame, “waiting for you.”

Soap brows furrow, “but- how did ye know I’m gonna-?”

“You’re predictable.” Ghost drawls, bone-white skull mask reflecting the moonlight, “also heard you were sulking from Gaz.”

He steps closer to the Lieutenant, “I was not sulking! It’s just…” he looks away, “you were busy, I get it-”

Ghost puts a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the step in front of the shooting range’s door, “I understand. Wanted to see you as well.”

“Ye did?” a little voice in his head cheers loudly. Soap shoves it back into the hole it crawled out of.

“Affirmative”, they sit down, knees knocking into each other. Soap expects Ghost to move. He doesn’t. “Noticed the looks you were giving me all day.”

Soap grimaces, “I was just-”

“Confused?” Ghost’s eyes are hidden in shadows, but he can still feel the weight of that stare on him, “that’s what I wanted to talk about, Johnny.”

There’s that nickname again. Ghost has never called him that.

“I decided something this morning.” Ghost looks away, to the dark training grounds and the base, “I’m… tired. Done in. So I’m not going to try anymore, I’ll take whatever I can get, and if it means this little bits of time with each of you, then so be it.”

Soap feels even more out of the loop than before. Furthermore, he’s even more concerned. What does Ghost mean by “not going to try anymore”?

“Ghost-”

“Simon”, Ghost corrects him, “I like it when you call me Simon.”

“I… I never called you that.”

Ghost’s head bows, his shoulders tense, “...right. Go on.”

“You- I’ll be honest, Yer worrying me. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy seeing ye finally talking with us, hanging out with Gaz and Price, but Ah just… are you solid, Simon?”

Simon lifts his head then, the meager light from the range finally allowing Soap to see his eyes, and it feels like a knife in his chest.

This calm demeanor has had for the whole day… isn’t from him being relaxed and content.

No… that’s the calm of a man in the gallows. Accepting his fate. Waiting to die.

Simon’s eyes crease again, his voice almost brittle, “I am, Johnny. Really. I understand now that I’ll never escape this. It’s fine. It will be fine as long as I have you, and Garrick, and Price.”

“What is ‘this’?” Soap wants to help, wants to know what is making those brown eyes so somber, but Simon is keeping something from him.

A gloved hand lifts, takes hold of the mask, and with it Soap’s breath, and slides the fabric and skull off.

Blond hair, curled when the strands have enough length, long nose that has been broken and reset one too many times, and scars, so many scars. Dark eyes surrounded by darker paint, running down pale cheeks.

Soap couldn’t have imagined a more heart-stopping face under that mask.

“You’ve asked this before, and I always answer. All it does is bother you, makes you sad, angry. I don’t want to see you burdened like that.” Simon murmurs, face oddly relaxed.

“I’m already worried, you numpty, so just let it out.” irritation bleeds into his words.

And the man simply smiles, an emotion Soap can’t identify in his eyes, “you never saw me as just the Ghost. Somehow, you can read me even through the mask.” Simon leans in a little closer, “always liked tha’ about you.”

The lights in the range abruptly cut off, plunging the both of them into inky darkness. Soap swivels his head to the rest of the base, where everything is dark as well. That… that shouldn’t happen. They have a generator, a backup source of power for situations like these.

Awareness prickles at his nape, an air of danger that isn’t supposed to permeate their home base.

Soap attempts to get up, “I’m going to check what-”

Simon pulls him back down, grip gentle, “stay.”

“What?” Soap turns to where he knows Simon is, nothing but a silhouette in the night now, “what if something happened, we should-”

“You won’t be able to fix this, Johnny. They destroyed the generators before going for the main power.”

“How-?!” flashes of light cut him off, distant explosions at the walls on the other side of base. Soap’s heart starts beating faster at the echoing sounds of battle crossing the desolate grounds, shots and screams and-

“Ghost, someone is fuckin’ attacking our base, we need to warn the others-!”

Simon doesn’t let him go, “too late now.”

“Too late- are you just going teh leave Price and Gaz-”

“They’re dead.” Simon’s voice is terrifyingly cold, no shadow of a doubt in it, “or, they will be within the next few minutes.”

Soap slumps back, shock shooting through his limbs, “how… Simon, what…?”

How could he know? He can’t, right? Gaz and Price… they can’t just be dead like that…right?

“Soap”, Simon pulls him closer, bodies leaning against each other, “what I’m going to ask of you is selfish, and weak of me, but I-” Simon exhales shakily, “I can’t do this anymore.”

His hand moves to his belt, and Simon pulls out a revolver, one of the models they have on range. He places it in Soap’s hand. Without uttering a word, Simon rearranges Soap’s fingers to be on the trigger, and lifts the barrel to line with his head.

He instinctually flinches away, but Simon hold’s on him tightens, keeping the gun aimed at himself.

“Simon-”

“Shoot me. No matter what I do, I can’t save all of you. I can’t watch you die anymore.” Simon’s voice quivers, “I can’t- can’t see your eyes like that, looking through me-” he feels the tremors in Simon’s body travelling down from his arms to their joined hands.

Soap shakes his head minutely, eyes wide open staring at Simon’s dark form, “Ah don’t want teh kill ye, Simon.”

Simon’s finger caresses his, gently lowers to his trigger finger. “I know, I’m- I’m sorry, Johnny. But you won’t remember any of this.”

Soap’s breath catches, his body frozen in shock, “don’t-”

Simon squeezes both of their fingers on the trigger.

Soap’s body startles awake, breaths coming out in small puffs. He rips the blanket off his sweaty skin, sitting up in bed.

This… nightmare, was more realistic than anything he’s ever experienced. He can still feel the revolver in his hand, Ghost’s pressed against his, pulling the trigger-

A knock startles him from his thoughts, and automatically Soap rises to open the door.

The last person he expected to see was Ghost.

“Morning, Johnny.” he greets.

Ice-cold shock shoots through his veins along with a sense of déjà vu, “Ghost…”

Ghost tilts his head, eyes narrowing, “...you solid, Sergeant?”

“A-aye.” snap out of it, it was just a fuckin’ dream, “something happen, LT?”

Ghost takes a moment to answer, “no, I was about to go to mess. Came to ask you to join.”

Soap nods, opening the door wider to step through, “yeah, yeah of course. Let’s go.” He starts walking towards mess, stopping after a few steps when he notices Ghost isn’t following.

“You’re going like this?” Ghost motions to his shirt. His moth-eaten, sleeping shirt.

Fuck. “Right. Give me a sec” he rushes back to his room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Soap violently opens his closet and drawers, pulling out the same clothes he did in his dream. Because that was all it was, a dream. A stupid nightmare, not a premonition of any kind. Because people don’t get visions of their friends’ untimely death the night before it happens.

He just needs to screw his head on right. He opens the door again, giving Ghost a sheepish smile and restarting their walk to mess.

When they almost reach Gaz’s door, Soap stalls. He’s about to move again, scolding himself for even entertaining the idea that Gaz is about to burst out, just because it also happened in the nightmare-

Except he does, not a moment later, “Oh shit- sorry Soap, didn’t see you there.” Gaz rights his hat, stare drifting away to Ghost, “Lieutenant, sir! Didn’t see you either.”

Soap turns to look at Ghost as well, only to find him already looking at him, with wide eyes and stock still body.

“...Ghost?” Gaz asks after a few seconds of silence.

Ghost blinks rapidly, “affirmative. You’re in a rush for-”

“The chocolate pudding in mess.” Soap finishes for him, gaze still boring into Ghost.

Every single thing that happened in the nightmare…

“Yeah, Smith texted me.” Gaz continues, oblivious that he’s simply reciting lines from a predetermined text. “Are you two sure you’re alright-?”

Ghost’s arm shoots forward to grab his, something akin to fear and rage in his eyes. Soap gets dragged away with a considerable amount of force, his legs almost tripping on nothing. He can hear Gaz exclaiming behind them, but all of his attention stays on the bastard crushing his bicep.

“Ghost- fuckin’ hell, let me walk-!”

The Lieutenant is silent, walking with quick strides and shouldering the door to the training grounds open.

“Simon, stop-”

Ghost slams him against the outer wall of the base, Soap hissing when his head bounces off the rough concrete.

“How long?” Ghost growls.

“Wha’?”

Ghost shakes him once, shouting, “for how long have you been stuck?!”

Soap stares up confusingly, “stuck- what the fuck are you talking about?!” he yells back.

“The time loop, Soap! You fucking remember yesterday!”

“Time loop-” his muscles slacken, the fight instantly leaving him, “...it wasn’t a nightmare?”

His hearing becomes muffled with the sound of blood rushing past them, vision blurring. Ghost’s grips becomes lighter, until it leaves him completely.

His voice is gentler when he answers, “not a nightmare, Johnny.”

“I-” he looks up at him, “I killed you.”

Ghost stiffens, before he exhales roughly and turns away from Soap, “fuck…”

They stay silent, and the reality of their situation sinks in. They’re both stuck in a time loop, like some kind of steaming sci-fi movie. Soap wants to laugh, part of him grasping desperately at the notion that this must be some sort of prank. But he knows Ghost wouldn’t, couldn’t have known what happened in the “nightmare” otherwise.

Their conversation in the dark resurfaces in his memory, “Ghost… this is the first time I’m repeating a day.”

Dark eyes return to his, a sort of relief loosening Ghost’s muscles. He nods, taking in a slow breath, “good. Wouldn’t want you hiding it from me.”

“How long have you been stuck…?”

Ghost hums, eyes unfocusing, “stopped counting after the second month.”

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Things start clicking in Soap’s mind rapidly. Ghost’s odd change in behaviour, the way he knew when each and every event in the day happens, how he knew where to find him…

When the attack will begin…

Ghost’s entire speech before it… how he’ll never “escape this”...

“You gave up.” Soap walks around Ghost, attempting to catch his eye contact, “yesterday. Is that why ye wanted me to kill ye?”

Ghost avoids him again, murmuring quietly, “thought it would stop it.”

“You-” realization hits him, “you thought you’d stay dead. Have ye never died in the loop before?”

Ghost sneaks a hand under his mask, scrubbing at his eyes, “never had anyone else kill me. Killed myself plenty, but whenever I tried getting killed by someone else… never works.” the gloved hands retreat from under the balaclava, marred with greasepaint, and it strikes Soap just how tired Ghost looks. Body bowing under the invisible burden of countless days, countless deaths.

Simon doesn’t have anything left to give. A flicker of determination lights up in Soap’s chest, a decision to do anything to lessen that burden.

“Then go on, tell me the rules of this shite.”

Ghost squints, “the time loop?” he sighs, “day resets when I die or kill myself, and if I don’t, it will the moment the clock strikes midnight.”

Soap nods. It sounds like it’s not Ghost’s survival that is the requirement to break the loop. Then…

“Ye think if we manage to save everyone, we’ll stop repeatin’ days?”

Ghost leans back against the wall Soap was slammed into earlier, “undoubtedly.”

Soap tilts his head at Ghost’s solemn tone, “but…?” he prompts.

“It’s impossible.”

“C’mon LT, you can’t just-”

Ghost pushes off, stomping to tower over Soap with a sudden burst of movement, “you think I haven’t tried everything already, MacTavish?! I can save one of you, but the other two die. If we separate, you all die. If I tell everyone about the loop, Price reports me to medical because he thinks I bloody lost my mind, and if I don’t, I can’t explain how I know an attack is incoming.” Ghost exhales harshly, “I tried… everything.”

Soap doesn’t back down despite the sheer amount of rage dripping from Ghost’s tone. Because he recognizes what that rage is hiding.

“But it’s different, now.”

Ghost’s shoulders drop, “yes. Now I fucked you over as well. We’ll never escape this.”

Soap shakes his head, “we haven’t tried doing it together yet, ye can’t jus’ give up!” he decides to risk placing a hand on his shoulder, “please, Simon.”

He didn’t expect the words to budge anything in Ghost’s grim resolve to abandon hope, and he watches in astonishment as Ghost sighs and nods, “alright, Johnny.”

Soap wonders what has happened to Ghost before, what he has experienced with other versions of himself that made him trust him so readily. A pang of jealousy at them rings through him, that they got to see Simon open up to them.

What could they have told him? Which one called him ‘Simon’ first? When did Simon start calling him ‘Johnny’?

A heartbeat later, he shook it off, choosing to be grateful to them instead. Without them, Soap isn’t sure he would’ve been able to convince Ghost.

Soap smiles at him, letting his arm fall from his shoulder, “right. What intel do we have?” approaching this as any other mission is probably the only way he could keep from losing his mind.

He watches as Ghost enters the same mindset, “Power shuts off at 2125, but a rat causes a malfunction in the generators at the start of the day. I can’t wake up before 0600, so I can’t catch him.”

“Do ye know who it is?”

“Affirm. Got access to the cameras once, they leave base at 0530.” Ghost continues, “we can’t prevent the power outage, if we can’t fix the generator. Main power failure at night comes from somewhere outside base.”

So they’ll have to fight in the dark in any possible outcome… 

Soap is reminded of the explosions he heard yesterday, “what about the charges that went off?”

Ghost sighs, “they run along the outside, placed approximately at 2136.”

“I’ll be able to disarm them.”

“They’ll catch you before you get a pinky on ‘em.”

“Well, good thing we got infinite tries, aye?” Soap smirks. “Wait… will the loop reset if I die?”

“I…” Ghost looks away, “I don’t know.”

Soap frowns, looking at the recruits making their way to the training grounds. Gaz should arrive here soon…

“We should test it.” Soap reaches for Ghost’s sleeve, telegraphing his movements clearly so the man doesn’t spook.

Ghost bristles, “Johnny-”

He rolls the dark fabric back, revealing a long blade hidden beneath it, “I killed ye when you asked, only fair you do the same.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Ghost mutters quietly, allowing Soap to take the knife despite his verbal protests.

Soap flips the blade in his hand, offering the hilt to Ghost. He doesn’t reach for it for several long seconds. “Ye rather I do it myself? Won’t be pretty.”

Ghost’s frowned brows regard the blade, before he takes it with a heavy sigh, “turn around.” he orders gently. Soap complies, feeling his heart rate jump at the touch of gloved hands on his nape. 

He’s not sure if it’s fear or exhilaration.

The hands tilt his head forward, and the tip of the knife barely scrapes the ends of his hair.

Ghost almost whispers into his ear, “relax. I won’t let you feel a thing.” he angles the knife so the blade will drive straight into his brain with a push, “tell me when you’re ready, Johnny.”

Soap takes a big breath in, forcing his muscles to loosen. He just needs to trust Ghost. Trust Simon.

It’s… scarily easy to.

“I’m ready.”

The world goes dark in a blink.

Soap opens his eyes to the sight of his barrack’s ceiling. He sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt painful for only a short moment.

Well, that answers his question, he muses to himself.

As the minutes trickle by without a knock at his door, Soap becomes worried. Where’s Ghost?

He quickly changes to his fatigues and walks out, feet taking him to Ghost’s door at the very far end of the hallway. It’s surrounded by supply closets and sits at a dead end, so most people don’t pass through here, making it unnaturally silent for how crowded the other parts of base are.

Soap knocks on the only door with a nameplate, “Ghost? Ye there?”

Nothing. Soap tries the handle, finding it unlocked, and slowly pushes in, “hope yer decent, LT…”

He spots Ghost sitting at the edge of his cot, elbows resting on his knees and eyes staring blankly at the bare wall in front of him.

“Simon?” he carefully walks over, crouching in front of him, “...ye solid?”

“...Didn’t reset.” Ghost eventually murmurs, jaw tight under his balaclava, “your death doesn’t reset it.”

Soap sits back on his haunches.

Ghost continues, “they found me, Price and Gaz. I didn’t- didn’t just want to leave your body there. They…” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat. Soap’s gut wrenches. “They apprehended me and shoved me in a cell. Interrogated me ‘till midnight. Never seen Price that angry, Gaz-” he shakes his head, as if to expel the memories, “kept screaming, threatened to come into the cell to off me, and-”

“Simon.”

Simon gets up with no warning, hands flexing by his side, unable to meet his eyes, “I’m- Johnny-”

Soap rises to his feet as well, and in the spur of the moment wraps his arms around Ghost, pulling him into a tight hug. Instantly, Simon sags into him, his head dropping to his shoulder.

He was callous to think Simon could kill him and think nothing of it. This is not the Ghost he knew a few days ago – this is a Ghost that saw his team die again and again, stuck in a loop he couldn’t break, for months.

Soap doesn’t think he could conceive of a crueler method of torture.

“Ah’m sorry.”

Simon’s fingers twist into his shirt. 

“Promise me… that you won’t die.” Simon whispers, sounding so much like a young child, afraid of the monster under his bed, and not like a decorated SAS operator. “I can’t- can’t-”

“I’ll do my best.”

He feels Simon’s head shake, “promise.”

“...I promise.”

They stay silent after that, holding onto each other like they’ll fall apart once their hands retreat. Soap lost in regret, and fear, and unfathomable worry, that Simon really will just give up. Even with him here, stuck in the same loop.

They may have all the time in the world, but how long will it take until there’s nothing of Ghost left to save?

They leave Ghost’s room, hands still unable to leave the other. Soap wants to get back to making progress on their mission, but he worries Simon’s drained. As if sensing it, Simon squeezes his hand, making Soap look at him.

“I think we should tell Price and Gaz.”

Soap blinks, “but ye said it never worked?”

Simon nods, eyes half-lidded, “Because it was only me. They won’t be able to excuse it with hallucinations when two people experience the same thing.” he lets go of Soap, his hand instantly mourning the loss, “they’ve left mess already, if they’re still behaving like usual.”

Right. This is new territory for Ghost, so he can’t rely on previous days anymore, “I’ll call Gaz, can you get Price?”

“Affirm. We’ll meet in the Captain’s office.” the Lieutenant turns to leave, and Soap opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, wanting to say something to encourage Ghost, or help him in any way, before he gives up and pulls out his phone.

The call rings only twice before Gaz picks up, “where were you this morning?! You missed the chocolate pudding!”

“Good morning to you too, Kyle.” he huffs, “had to deal with an emergency.”

Gaz instantly starts interrogating him, “what? You alright, mate?”

“Aye, but we need to get to Price’s office.”

“Copy. Stay safe, Soap.”

“You too.” he ends the call, and makes his way to the office. Anticipation roils in his gut. He had a hard time believing the time loop, and he saw it first hand. How are they going to convince the others of it?

Gaz is waiting outside the Captain’s office when Soap arrives. He gives him a reassuring nod, before knocking on the door.

“Open.” Price’s gruff voice calls.

Ghost is already inside, leaning against the far wall, and if Soap didn’t know better, he’d look as composed as he is every day. But he does know better, and the tension in his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Right.” Price addresses Soap, “Ghost told me he and you have something important to tell us, and that it absolutely can’t wait for later, so let it out.”

Soap looks towards Ghost, a little lost with how to begin.

He regrets letting him start when he simply states, with no prior warning, “We’re stuck in a time loop.”

The office is quiet for a few seconds, before Gaz half-coughs, half-laughs. Soap sends him an unimpressed stare when he sees his lips tighten in an attempt to stay silent.

Price doesn’t sound amused in the slightest, “...if this is some sort of joke, it’s not very funny.” his tone becomes gentler, “but if you’re serious, Ghost, we can go to medical-”

Ghost takes a step towards Price, “I’m not having a psychosis episode, John.”

“Son-”

Soap intervenes, “Ah’m also in the loop, Captain.”

“MacTavish, this is not the time to fuck around!”

Shite, this is not working at all. He watches Ghost deflate, practically hears him give up again. He can’t watch him like this.

“Gaz” he turns to Kyle, “Smith texted ye in the morning, that’s how you knew about the pudding, right?”

Gaz’s brows shoot up, “yeah? How did you…?”

“There’s going to be a football match with Scotland today, ye were gonna invite me to watch with you.”

“You could’ve looked that up, Soap.” Price doesn’t sound convinced, but his expression loses the edge of anger it previously had.

“Scotland is gonna lose 0-2.”

The Captain sighs, “the match is at 1900, and even if you’re right, it still can be a lucky guess.” he leans back against his chair, “look, I can tell you’re serious about this, but I’ll need more proof before I can believe something like time loops exists.”

There must be something that could prove it, something one of them said that he shouldn’t know-

“Your favorite food is sausages, a specific recipe your father made. He died when you were nineteen, and you haven’t had them since.” Ghost murmurs. Price freezes, and his head turns slowly to stare at the Lieutenant.

“...I’ve never told that to anyone-”

“Garrick’s biggest fear is to watch his squad die.” Ghost continues, “he feels responsible for any injury any of us get, any loss. When one of us goes on a solo mission, he stays awake for as long as he can so he won’t miss any information about us.”

Gaz gapes, “How-”

“Price calls me Simon because he worries I’ll stop being used to the name.” Ghost crosses his arms, almost hugging himself, “Garrick was mocked during basic, was called weaker because he showed care to other soldiers, until he beat the records on several tests.” he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

The Captain removes his hat, brushing a hand through his short-cropped hair, “fucking hell. Okay. I believe you.”

“Yeah…” Gaz shakes his head, “alright. You two are stuck in a bloody time loop. How do we get you out?”

A weight lifts from his heart. Soap smiles in relief, and it broadens when Ghost finally looks at him.

“There’s going to be an attack on our base this night. At least two of you will die, caught off guard.” Ghost explains, the soldiers in the room listening with rapt attention, “we need to keep you alive.”

“A surprise attack? How is that possible?” Price frowns.

Soap joins in, “they sabotaged emergency power this morning, and they’ll cut off the main source tonight, while breaching the south wall with explosives. And ‘fore ye ask, we can’t fix it, unless any of ye know how to operate a generator.”

“Do we know who it is?” Gaz asks.

“Anthony Simmons. Our latest target.” Ghost grounds bitterly, “think we disrupted his business enough he decided attacking an SAS base is worth the risk.”

Simmons… responsible for most illegal arms dealing in the UK. He must’ve joined forces with some of the 141’s enemies to have enough manpower to storm a base, but then again, those aren’t hard to come by, are they?

“Wait,” Gaz frowns and turns to face Soap, “how many times have you repeated a day to know all of that?”

“This is only the second time for me. Ghost has been stuck for… much longer.”

“And out of those loops, how many times have you tried telling us?” Price looks over to Ghost, concerned.

“...Twice.” the masked man answers, like it doesn’t twist Price’s features in shocked anger.

“Twice”, Price scoffs, “I’m… do you really trust us that little-”

“He trusts you plenty, Captain.” Soap cuts him off, hands clenching and nostrils flaring with anger, because he won’t let him insinuate Simon hasn’t been trying, “ye don’t trust his word, you always jump to the conclusion he must’ve lost his mind instead of telling the truth. You’ve done the same today, and if Ah wasn’t also stuck in this shite, ye would’ve sent ‘im to a shrink ten minutes ago.”

“Soap…” Gaz tries to placate, but he ignores it in favor of sending death glares at Price.

“Johnny.” Ghost breaks his resolve, “enough. He doesn’t need to apologize for something a different version of him did.”

Price sighs, “I don’t need to, but I will. I’m sorry, Simon. For not believing you.”

Ghost’s eyes widen, and Soap thinks they become a little shinier. He drops his head to the ground, clearing his throat. “Don’t worry about it, Captain.”

“We should each tell you a secret.” Gaz says, “something that will instantly make us know you’re telling the truth.”

“Good idea.” Soap hums. He hates approaching this day knowing they’ll likely will have to repeat this conversation again, but if they could speed it up tomorrow it’ll make it less demoralizing. “Do ye have anything in mind?”

Gaz blinks, and looks away with a bashful smile, “it’ll have to be something I would never admit under any other circumstance… yeah, I think I got something, unfortunately.” he plays with the strings on his sweatpants, “Captain, you remember Farah and Alex?”

The names are unfamiliar to Soap, but a glint of recognition lights in Price’s eyes, “of course. What about them?”

“Uhm… fuck, I really would not say it if it didn’t help you.” Gaz’s voice lowers, “I might be a little… interested in them.”

“...In what way?” one of Price’s brows lift inquisitively.

Gaz pulls on the bill of his baseball hat to hide his face, “in a romantic way.” he almost whispers.

“Oh.” the Captain softly exclaims. “That’s… completely fine, son-”

Kyle hides behind his hands and groans, “can we please not talk about it, sir?”

Soap pats Gaz’s shoulder, “we won’t ask, mate.” he grins towards the Captain, “yer turn, sir.”

Price sighs, and strokes his beard in thought. When he grimaces, Soap knows he found a suitable secret.

“When I was about fifteen, I smoked my first cigarette. Couldn’t take more than a couple of breaths of it before I puked.”

Gaz removes his hands from his face to point at Price, “there’s no way this is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done!”

Price gives him an unimpressed look, “I puked directly on my crush at the time.”

“...Oh.” Gaz winces in sympathy.

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Price rolls his eyes, “now, let’s get back to that attack. You got anything else we can use, Ghost?”

“Affirm. I know how each of you dies.”

Soap almost laughs at how chilling that statement is, coming from a guy dressed like the grim reaper.

Ghost shoots him a look that makes Soap sober up, “Price leaves his office at 2122, gets caught on his way to our common room. Garrick fights along a few other soldiers from the rooms next to his barracks, they all die to a frag. And Johnny…” Ghost’s eyes meet his, “Soap’s the only one with a decent gun inside base at the moment of the attack, so he runs off to help the others. He dies last, with an empty mag and a knife in his throat.”

Soap swallows around the bitter taste on his tongue at the mental image of Ghost finding his body like that, “You said ye can save one of us, but never more. What happens then?”

“Only reason you’re saved is by either knowing of the attack beforehand or by acquiring gear.” Ghost grounds, hand flexing in an odd way, and Soap realizes he’s fidgeting with the knife up his sleeve, “and as I’ve said before, I can’t warn you because you won’t believe me. I can’t carry enough gear for four.”

“But we know now.” Gaz interjects, “we can go to the armory, ask them for our vests and rifles.”

“We can. But that won’t save the rest of the base.” Price sighs.

“I have no reason to believe it’s necessary for breaking the loop.” Ghost states firmly, arms crossing.

The Captain’s brows lift, and he narrows his eyes at the Lieutenant, “you… we can’t just let the base fend for itself, while we know something’s going to happen.”

“I don’t care-”

“Simon Riley, I swear to all that’s good and holy if you finish that sentence-”

“I can’t care, Price!” Ghost growls, hunching over the desk menacingly, “I can’t save three people, you think I can afford to try and save hundreds?!”

Price stares at Ghost, his expression mellowing. “We have to try.”

Ghost lets out a laugh that sounds closer to a sob than anything else, “sick of trying, Captain.”

Price pushes off his chair, and puts a hand on his bicep, “I understand, son. I… can’t say I can imagine what you’ve been going through.”

Ghost takes a few deep breaths, nodding slowly and gently stepping away from Price’s touch, “we’re burning daylight. We need to come up with a plan.”

Soap wants to pull Ghost into another hug, the way he did this morning, but he doesn’t think that’s what he would want right now.

Instead, he says, “I got an idea.”

“Soap, Gaz, what’s your status?”

He lowers into a crouch, walking along the outer wall of the base, “solid. Still not in position.”

“Copy, you got twenty before power’s off.” Ghost’s low tone rumbles over their comms.

The area surrounding the base is made up of mostly flat land, to allow the huge floodlights around the walls to illuminate it and leave no place for a hostile (or a confused tourist, mostly) to hide.

Tonight, this will be a disadvantage for their side, as they won’t have any cover if they get caught by hostiles out here.

Gaz, whose been walking in front of Soap, motions him to stop, and points to one of the watchtowers above them. The soldier on duty seems to be alert, and Soap resists the urge to hold his breath while they wait. Not a few seconds later, the soldier startles, and pulls out his radio. He exchanges a few words with the caller before getting up and leaving the tower. That would be Price’s work.

The Captain reconnects to their line, “Watchtower’s empty, boys, you’re clear to proceed.”

“Copy.”

They continue their careful walk to the wall between this watchtower and the next - the planting site for the charges that will breach it.

Their plan, which was mostly Soap’s idea, is to separate to 2 teams; the first stays on base, making sure the soldiers are gathered together and ready for an attack, and the second slows the infiltration of Simmon’s men.

Both teams have to do so covertly, since they’ve come to the conclusion that even if they alert the higher ups of an approaching attack, without any more concrete evidence than ‘two of our elite operators are stuck in a fucking time loop’, nobody would believe them. They decided that Price and Ghost will stay, as they have higher ranks and therefore are able to order around more soldiers with less need to explain their reasoning.

Soap and Gaz, then, were left to be here, waiting for the hostiles to plunge the base into darkness.

Before leaving, Ghost pulled Soap to the side, his eyes a fake veneer of professionalism, but shaking fingers betraying him. Soap only gave him a smile, a soft punch to his shoulder, and walked before he could allow his nerves to show.

Because he is nervous, in a way he hasn’t been on a mission since he joined the 141. Not because he’s afraid to die, but because he doesn’t want Ghost to hurt any more than he already is.

Soap promised Ghost he’ll try to not die - and he will drag himself back to him with broken arms if he has to.

“Two minutes to power shutdown, get ready.” Ghost rips him away from his thoughts.

Soap flips his NVG’s over his eyes, blinking while they get used to the muted green-blue hues. Gaz ahead of him does the same.

“Copy, in position and ready.” Gaz radios back.

The seconds trickle by slowly, Soap feeling his heart rate rise in anticipation, and mentally chiding himself for being this anxious. He shouldn’t, considering he knows he can’t die (or stay dead, really). But somehow, the stakes feel higher than any other mission he’s been on before.

Maybe just like Simon, Soap too can’t watch someone he cares about fall apart.

The power shuts down, the electrical hum that previously filled the night air abruptly cutting off. Sop checks his clock.

2126. Ten minutes left.

He quickly pulls out the several kilograms of explosives he packed into his tacvest. Ghost gave him an approximation of the enemy’s trucks parking locations, but he hasn’t spent enough time in his previous loops here to give him exact coordinates. Soap decided to stay on the safer side, and pack more than he would’ve.

He throws the packs of C4 a good distance from Gaz, as the last thing he needs right now is to explode both of them. It might not be enough, but hopefully it will slow the hostiles down enough for their soldiers to realize something is wrong.

In the unnatural silence, Soap can hear the engines of several trucks approaching their position. Gaz clicks off the safety on his assault rifle. He gives one last check that the explosives are connected correctly to each other and the detonator, and returns to Kyle’s side.

His heart screams that they’re not going to win this time around.

“Hey Gaz?”

“Yeah?”

Soap gives in to the sinking feeling in his gut, “if I don’t make it… can you make sure Ghost doesn’t see my…”

“I won’t, Soap.” Gaz reaches for him, putting an arm around him as much as he can with all the gear on them, “let’s try to not get to that, though.”

“Aye.” he can make out the shapes of trucks filled to the brim with hostiles hurtling towards the base. Gaz switches the sights on his gun.

“You got about 5 seconds before they reach the explosives.”

Soap’s finger hovers over the detonator, counting under his breath.

Three…

Two…

The trucks roll over the half-circle of charges around them. Soap presses the button.

One second the vehicles are there, the next a flash of light blinds them both. Even though he knew to squeeze his eyes shut, Soap could still see colorful shapes dancing in his vision when he opened them. A smaller explosion shakes the ground, Simmon’s men screaming at the surprise attack. Serves them right.

Unfortunately, they regain their footing quickly enough, and soon bullets started ricocheting off of the base’s walls.

“Soap! On your two, three hostiles!” Gaz shouts while aiming to his left, fire messing with their NVGs.

Soap shoots two men down, the third ducking away and only getting grazed. He takes out a Semtex, throwing it in the last man’s direction and averting his attention to Gaz right as he yells.

“Kyle!” he watches in horror as a bullet rips through his thigh, a matching wound in the other. Gaz goes down hard, with grunts of pain and bared teeth. Soap runs towards him, shooting another hostile down, but he’s not fast enough.

Gaz stares at him, eyes full of horror, gaze flickering back to the fight when a bullet almost hits his head. He’s stuck, unable to get to cover, fate practically sealed.

Soap slides to a stop. He changes course to the nearest wrecked truck, more mangled steel than a vehicle. The lingering fire singes his arm hairs, but he doesn’t feel a thing.

They’re trapped, pushed against the wall with no backup in sight. They may be able to fend off by themselves, but the moment they run out of bullets…

He lifts a shaky hand to his comms.

“Ghost?” Soap whispers.

“Soap. What’s your status?”

He swallows thickly, “Don’t come to the wall.”

“What?” Ghost’s voice sharpen.

“Ah’m sorry, Simon. Gaz, he’s- his legs are fucking shot, they’ve got us surrounded, not gettin’ out of this alive-”

He cuts himself off when he hears a small sigh, clothes rustling on the other side, Price’s voice shouting from far away, “SIMON DON’T-”

And like a curtain at the end of a show, Soap’s vision goes black.

Soap wakes up with a sharp inhale, clean air jarring, when all he smelled a moment ago was smoke. He jumps out of bed, changing quickly and running out of his room.

He almost runs into Ghost in his hurry. Ghost, who was on his way to his room.

“Easy, Johnny.” he gets caught by his shoulders.

Soap pants, “Ghost- it was my fault, I should’ve placed the explosives farther ahead, detonated them later-”

“Sergeant.” Ghost squeezes his arms lightly, “I’m not mad.”

And he really isn’t, when Soap actually takes the time to look at Ghost, he discovers him completely calm.

“...You expected this to happen.”

Ghost’s eyes crease, in the way Soap has learned means he’s smiling, “this is what always happens. I’m just happy I ended the day before all of you were dead.”

Soap feels his lips twist downwards, adrenaline leaving him unmoored and tired. He’s not sure if he’s telling it to Ghost or to himself, when he says, “we have to keep trying.”

Ghost doesn’t answer, instead letting his hands fall away. “You got a new plan?”

A door behind them opens loudly before he can answer, “where’s-” Gaz turns his head to them, “oh, Soap! And Ghost. C’mon, we need to go to the cafeteria, Smith texted me-”

Soap drops his head, slightly irritated for having to repeat this conversation again, but happy to see Gaz nonetheless, “aye, there’s chocolate pudding in mess.”

“Yeah! How did you know?” Kyle gives him a lopsided smile.

He sighs and throws a thumb behind him, “stuck in a time loop with Ghost.”

Gaz stares at him before a laugh erupts from his throat, and he bends over giggling. Soap allows him a few moments before he comments, “are ye done?”

“Fuck mate you can’t do that to me this early in the morning, the look on Ghost’s face-” he laughs a little more, before forcing a serious expression, “yeah, yeah I’m done.”

“Good. You have a crush on Alex and Farah.”

Gaz freezes for a moment, and his brows shoot up, “how the fuck- how do you even know who they are-”

“I don’t. Ye told me yesterday.” Soap frowns, “or, well, today… was yesterday for me.”

Ghost taps him on the shoulder, “we need to get going, Johnny. Earlier we get everyone together, the more time we got to prepare.”

“Right”, he takes Kyle’s arm, nudging him in the direction of Price’s office, “let’s go.”

Gaz makes a confused sound, “prepare for what?”

Ghost mutters quietly, so lowly that Soap almost misses it, “another death.”

Fifteen times. They’ve tried fifteen times since that day.

The first three were similar, the same plan as before with minimal variation. One time, he went out with Ghost instead of Gaz. Soap ended up with a bullet to the shoulder, incapacitated and waiting to die. Ghost made sure he didn’t wait long.

After that, they tried telling more people. Alert the soldiers at the watchtowers, supply others with weapons. For the most part, they didn’t believe them, even when Price and Gaz vouched for the credibility of their story. And when they were believed, it wasn’t enough. The base too big, their enemy too strong.

On the fifteenth try, Soap managed to slow the infiltration with precisely placed explosives, toppling a recently vacated watchtower over the entrance. Ghost was alone, using the cover of night to pick off anyone getting close to the barracks, where most soldiers are at the time. Gaz and Price were with Soap, leading the charge on the main group of hostiles.

It went well. They reached 2240, the furthest they’ve ever seen.

Maybe it was that fact, or the fact that Soap has done this so many times, each day starting to blend together, each defeat the same shade of bright red.

He doesn’t know what it was, but he lost focus, and while the others were fighting ahead of him, he got blindsided by a heavy body slamming into his.

The hostile tackled him to the ground, and Soap barely managed to get his arms up in time to block the knife heading for his throat. He grunted as the blade dug into his forearm, and attempted to push off the enemy. The man was built like Ghost, big and muscular, and Soap might’ve been able to win, if he wasn’t on his fifteenth day.

But he was, and the hostile breaks his guard, stabbing Soap in the chest, then the shoulder, then the stomach. Soap can’t breathe, but by instinct alone his arm reaches for the pistol at his hip, and shoots the heavy bastard three times in the head, until the body drops.

Every single part of him hurts. Most of all, the vile taste of another loss on his tongue, and a broken promise.

Soap futilely tries to get the lifeless body crushing him off, but his muscles feel like jelly, and every small movement shoots fire through the several holes littering his torso, making more blood bubble up.

So Soap gives up. He clicks his radio on, listens to the others check in, notice his absence. He knows he should say something, let Ghost know this loop is a bust and restart, but…

He finds he doesn’t want to. For once, he just wants to stay here, bathing in his own blood, pain so blinding he can almost pretend it’s not there.

“MacTavish, fucking answer me! What’s your status?!” Ghost’s voice sounds… frantic. Soap doesn’t like it.

It takes a lot of effort just to click the button to answer, “s’rry, Ghost. Ah’m… Ah’m here.”

“...Johnny? Where are you?”

He coughs a little, a flush of cold making his vision swim, “in general? Stuck.” he laughs at his own stupid joke, the sound turning into a bitten off cry when pain shoots through his body again. “Fuck-”

“How bad is it?” Ghost asks, gently, in a way Soap doesn’t think he’s earned to hear from him.

“Bad. H-hurts.” Soap feels tears run to his hairline, “but Ah don’t want to die. Don’ want ye teh die. I can survive, just-” a whine rips from his throat without his permission, “just a wee bit over one hour till midnight, righ’?”

“I’m not going to let you keep suffering-”

“We are s-so close.” Soap’s eyes cease to see, blood loss taking his vision and plunging him back into the darkness he grew to despise more than anything, “Ah don’ want teh do this again, Ghost… please…”

Ghost sounds more muffled when he murmurs, “I’ll see you in a few, Johnny.” a finality in his voice that tells Soap he’s putting a gun to his temple yet again.

“No…” Soap wants to beg, but talking is starting to become more difficult than it should be, “Simon… please… don’t…..”

He hears a gunshot, and then nothing at all.

When Soap wakes up, he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. He knows what he’ll see, the same ceiling, in the same washed-out white shade, bathed in the same morning sunlight of the same fucking day.

It must’ve been a few minutes of him drifting into uncomfortable consciousness, when there’s a knock on the door. Same one he’s heard all the way back when this shit started.

“Soap? You still there?” Ghost asks behind the thin plywood. Soap can hear the handle rattle as Ghost checks if it’s locked.

Apparently, ‘yesterday Soap’ locked it. He couldn’t remember if he tried - it’s been weeks since ‘yesterday’.

“Johnny?”

How did Ghost survive this long alone? The world around him oblivious to the glitch in time, lives around him continuing like normal, as if they aren’t also stuck?

A heavy weight squeezes his lungs, a despair in a magnitude he’s never felt, the knowledge they’re not going to ever escape this caving in his rib cage. Soap keeps his eyes closed, because if he opens them, he’ll need to face another day, fight and die, like he won’t just do it again in the next.

The flimsy lock on his door clicks, and it slides open slowly, “I’m coming in”, Ghost warns, not that Soap cares.

He’s facing the wall, but he can sense Ghost walking towards the bed, and sitting down after a few moments of silence. Soap lets one eye blink open, still staring at the wall in front of him. Somehow, with just his presence, Ghost lends him strength.

Soap clears his throat quietly, words spilling out before he can stop them, “I don’t know if I can keep going.”

A hand finds his calf, slowly caressing him through the thin blanket, “we can stop.” Ghost murmurs, his tone similar to the way he talked when he understood they’re not making it out this time.

“Stop? And what, stay stuck?” Soap scoffs.

The hand warms his skin, more than this sun ever could, “yes.” Soap hears clothes rustling, “give up. But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“An’ how do ye know what Ah want?” anger starts bubbling within him, Soap regretting his harsh tone a moment after he lets it out. Ghost doesn’t deserve it, never does.

The hand leaves him, and Soap raises his head in alarm, because if Ghost leaves, there really is no point to continue-

His eyes widen when he sees him, mask in his hand, knee coming up to rest on the bed. Gentle blond curls almost glowing in the sunlight, brown eyes like dark pools that anchor him in the spiral he found himself in.

Simon’s thin lips move slowly, Soap enchanted by the way they pull on the scars, “I know, because you kept me going.”

“But-” Soap brings his knees up, “Ah didn’t know what ye were going through before. Didn’t know it really is…”

“Impossible?”

“Aye…” he drops his head to stare at his own lap. A gloved hand appears at the edges of his vision.

Ghost nudges his shoulder softly, “move over.”

Soap blinks up in confusion, and scoots closer to the wall, allowing Ghost to sit beside him. The bed was certainly not made for two people their size, and their bodies are pressed together. It’s comforting.

“That day wasn’t the first time I tried to get you to kill me.” Ghost lets out eventually.

Soap stares at him, “what happened the other times?”

“You got mad.” Ghost smiles sadly, “threw the gun away, as far as you could. Grabbed me by the face and forced me to look, really look, at you. And you talked.”

“And what did Ah say?”

Ghost’s light eyelashes flutter, “you’d always let me know, before anything else, how much of a ‘dafty’ I am.” Soap laughs a little at that, while Ghost continues, “then you’d say that I’m not allowed to give up.”

Soap frowns. “Why?”

Ghost turns to stare at him, “you said I haven’t seen everything this world has to offer yet. You promised to show me, if I stay. You were so…” he sighs, mind clearly far away in an unreachable fantasy, “determined. Sure that you could change my mind. I didn’t understand why you cared so much.”

Soap’s heart hammers loudly in his chest, his own words swirling with distant memories. Of yesterday, and the days before it.

“I called you Johnny, once, on a whim. Wanted to see your reaction.” Ghost huffs, “and in all the days I’ve been through, you never acknowledged it, never told me to stop. Always smiled wider instead.”

“Simon…”

He leans closer to Soap, their noses almost touching, “I know you want to live, because you made me continue living. I know how you look when you lie, and you never lied to me.”

Soap exhales shakily, “but Ah’m not that person anymore. Neither of us are.”

Simon wraps a hand around his nape, pulls his head to rest on his shoulder, “no. But we haven’t seen everything yet. We’ll keep changing, and maybe we’ll become something better by the end of it.”

Soap buries his nose in Simon’s neck, “and what if we won’t? What if this is really how the rest of our lives is gonna go?”

What if there really is no way out?

“Then… Then I’ll be glad it wasn’t alone. I’m glad it was with you.”

In the safety of strong arms, a warm body beside him, Soap nods. In acceptance of their unknown fate, of their hopeless endeavour. An understanding, that they have to try anyway.

Because trying and failing is worth something too, if they get to have this small moment; so insignificant in larger scale.

And yet nothing means more to Soap, than the fingers drawing small loops on his skin.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for someone to take notice of their absence, but it becomes obvious that it has, when both Soap’s and Simon’s phones start buzzing with no end.

Soap pulls away first, after several minutes of gearing himself up to it. Doesn’t make the jarring shift any easier. He leans over Ghost to grab his phone from the bedside table, and cringes when he sees the number of missed calls from Gaz and Price.

His phone rings again, and he swipes a finger to answer, “he’s still not picking up- Soap?!” Gaz’s voice becomes louder, as if he put the phone back near his mouth, “where the fuck were you?! I’ve tried calling you all day mate!”

“Uh- Phone was on mute, sorry.” he mumbles.

Soap winces a little at the answering sigh from Gaz, “...alright. You solid?”

He doesn’t know why that innocent question made tears well up in his eyes. Soap quickly wipes them away, not fast enough for Ghost to miss, though. “Aye, Ah’m good.”

Soap can tell from Kyle’s voice he’s not entirely convinced, “good. Wanna come torture the recruits with me?”

He smiles softly, closing his eyes, “yeah, think I’d like that right about now.”

Gaz laughs a little, “I’ll see you on the training grounds?”

“See ye.”

Soap tosses the phone on the bed, scrubbing his face. He looks up at Simon, who stayed close for the entire call, “what’s on the table for us today? Are we gonna tell ‘em after training-”

“Take the day off, Johnny. You need it.” Simon gets up with a groan, stretching his back and reaching for his mask. Soap stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Ye need it too. Come with me.”

Simon’s brown eyes turn a honeyed color in the bright morning light, “...alright.”

It’s been a while since Soap had what almost felt like a normal day, acting like tomorrow will come. Betting on who could come up with the weirdest exercises with Ghost and Gaz was more fun than anything he’s done since entering the loop, shooting the shit with each other and trying not to crack up when the recruits would look at them with bewildered eyes before hurrying to follow their orders.

In the afternoon, they went back to the common room, Gaz inviting them to watch the football match with him. Despite knowing Scotland will lose, Soap agreed, and they even managed to drag Price to sit with them.

And at that moment, Gaz throwing sunflower seeds at the screen, Price confiscating the bowl with a wide smile on his lips, and Ghost’s thigh pressed to his, eyes mirthful, Soap realized something.

He wants to have more days like these. Ones where he can just exist with his team, his friends, the people he holds most dear in the entire world. 

At about 2100, Gaz and Price say their goodbyes, leaving Soap and Ghost by themselves, TV off and the rest of the room silent. As the clock ticks closer to the attack, it feels as if all of his muscles twist tighter, a coil ready to snap.

He didn’t notice his leg started bouncing, until Ghost stops it with a firm hand. “I can stop today right now, if you want.” he asks.

Soap’s breath hitches, and he’s instantly thrown back to the first day, shaky hands wrapped around his, pulling the trigger-

“No.” he blurts, “I- I don’t want ye to…”

Ghost scans his features, before nodding and standing up, offering a hand for Soap. He takes it, a bit flustered when Ghost doesn’t let go.

“We can leave, then.”

“Leave?”

“The base. For tonight.” Ghost offers, “I have a place in mind. Will take us about thirty to reach it.”

Soap frowns, guilt gnawing at his heart, “and the others…?”

Ghost lowers his gaze, “won’t remember a thing.”

He swallows his feelings down, nodding weakly. It hurts, to let them die and do nothing to stop it, but they both know it won’t matter by the end of the night.

They would’ve been dead a dozen times over if it did.

Ghost leads him outside, motioning him to stay low and quiet as they reach the northern side of the wall surrounding the base. The Lieutenant kicks at the fence, a section surprisingly loose, enough for them to crawl out and into the grassy hills outside. Soap sends him a look, to which Ghost just shrugs and says, “I’ll report it when we reach tomorrow.”

When, he notes. Not if.

He continues walking beside him, his figure almost melting into the night skies, save for the bone-white skull mask he grew to love.

A gale brushes upon them, the tall grass and bushes sway along with it. It’s… peaceful.

Until a far away explosion rattles the earth.

Soap freezes, hand pulling on Ghost’s. He knows his eyes must be desperate, when they meet his.

Ghost delicately untangles their fingers, to instead wrap a supporting arm around his shoulders. He leans in to whisper, “just a little more, Johnny.”

It’s odd, how those arms can instantly make Soap feel safer, that voice guiding his mind away from base, to a little bubble of their own.

They walk up a small hill, where at its top stands a single, ancient looking tree. Soap marvels at the place, the fact that somewhere like this exists so near to their base, oblivious to the horrors of their endless deaths.

Ghost sits down, ignoring the crunch of dry grass beneath him, and lays back to stare up at the stars. Soap, as always, follows.

The sky seems endless this way, like his tether to the ground can break with a small tug. Stars shine brightly across the darkness, tiny specks that are still so beautiful despite being so far away.

Soap turns his head to look at Ghost, those brown eyes almost black now, reflecting the universe back at him. It makes something hurt in his chest, reminds him just how much he has to lose, if he chooses to give up.

And Soap finds he really, truly, doesn’t want to give up. If only to see the stars again, feel a cooling wind against his skin again, laugh with Gaz and get a pat on the back from Price, lay back and watch colors swirl in Ghost’s, Simon’s, eyes.

“I want to try again, tomorrow.” Soap whispers, watches the moment Ghost processes the words, “and the day after that, and after that, until we reach an end. Whatever it may be.”

It brings him a significant amount of joy, that he has learned to tell when Ghost smiles by now, “whatever it may be.” he repeats.

Ghost’s wristwatch beeps three times, and Soap stares at it as he brings it closer to his face to read.

“Two minutes to midnight.” he informs.

Soap sighs, wishing the day wouldn’t have to end so soon, and yet also eager to get up and fight, “I’ll see ye in a few, LT?”

Ghost drops his arm, nodding resolutely, “always, Johnny.”

The stars melt into the void as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

A new day greets Soap, as it always does. This time, however, it feels different.

Soap gets out of bed, diligently dressing up, before a knock sounds on his door. Without opening, he knows whose behind it, and asks with a smile, “did ye ran outta bed today, Simon?”

“You’re just slow, Soap.” a muffled answer comes back, making him smile wider.

He unlocked the door, taking in the sight of Ghost. Same dark clothes he wears every single day (even before the loop, if he’s being honest), but the look in his eyes…

Seems like they both needed yesterday.

“Ready to talk with Price and Gaz?” Ghost motions with his head towards the hallway.

Soap cracks his knuckles, “let’s get teh work.”

Five minutes to power shutdown. The watchtower above him has been cleared, Price’s orders to the soldiers doing their work. Soap finishes planting the last of the charges, nerves somewhat settled by the fact he knows this part will work. There is a comfort in knowing exactly how a mission will go, for once. Well, this part at least.

“Got an eye on you, Johnny.” a low voice murmurs to him through their comms. Soap huffs fondly, sparing a moment to glance back at the base, searching for a sniper glint.

He smirks when he finds it, knows Ghost can read his expression with the scope he’s using, “only one? I’m offended, LT. Don’t think I deserve your full attention?”

“Think you’ve earned it?”

Soap makes a show of thinking over it, “hmm… What if I say yes?”

“Then I’d say you’re right, Sergeant.” Ghost radios back with a warmer tone. “Remember your promise?”

“Of course.”

A promise to try. A swear to fight. A vow to live.

“This is Price, me and Gaz are in position, what’s your status?”

“Explosives are set, in position.” Soap answers.

“Two minutes to power shutoff.” Ghost warns. Soap clenches his jaw and backs away, detonator in hand.

Their plan for this loop is similar to the last one, with Soap dropping the watchtower on the infiltrating group, while Gaz and Price take point at the barracks. They made minor adjustments to positions, using the intel they’ve collected in the previous run, and one major change.

This time, Soap has Ghost to watch his six.

He’s been through this so many times, he didn’t need to watch the clock to know exactly when the lights will go out.

The darkness makes his breaths quicken a tad, but Soap grinds his teeth and pulls the reins on his own mind. Even if they fail today, they have an infinite amount of tries.

He takes a sharp inhale, covers his eyes, and detonates. The familiar sound of dozens of tonnes of metal crashing down is like music to his ears, and Soap opens his eyes to watch bullets flash through the night sky. Ghost picking off the remaining hostiles.

“How was the light show?”

Ghost sighs, putting on an air of irritation that Soap has learned to see past, “splendid, Soap. I’d put a picture of it right next to the definition of a pyromaniac in the dictionary.”

Soap begins running towards the barracks, knowing he has mere minutes before the hostiles reach it, “ye say the sweetest things teh me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.” Ghost mutters, “I’ll meet you on ground in ten.”

“Copy.”

The barracks building fast approaches, dark windows flaring every few seconds with gunfire. He’s about to rush in when a hand wraps around his nape. Soap reaches for a knife he slipped up his sleeve when he hears a gravelly voice near his ear.

“Thought we’re not runnin’ off on our own anymore.” Ghost murmurs, scolding him lightly.

Soap sags against his grip. “Attacker doesn’t get me for another thirty-four minutes.”

“Don’t care. Haven’t been through this version of the loop enough times to know where every hostile is.” Ghost guides him to the direction of the side door, “be careful.”

Soap nods, skin feeling cold when Ghost releases him. They make their way down dark hallways, NVGs on, echoing bullets getting closer and closer. Someone runs out of a door to their left, and Soap has mere seconds to figure out which side they’re on.

Tactical vest, rifle in hand, ready for combat. A clean shot through the head and the man is dead.

The air around them is charged, his lungs almost choking on the tension, but his hands are steady on his gun, as years of military training drilled into him.

“Soap, Ghost, we’re getting overrun in block B! Where the fuck are you?” Gaz pants into his mic, choppy gunfire slips around his voice.

“Clearing block A, but Ah can come yer way-”

Ghost cuts him off, “we are on our way to you, Garrick. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Copy.” Gaz clicks off. Wordlessly, they start running.

So many things can go wrong, finish their loop early, make them fail. Before, it felt like the entire world was fighting against them, the very fabric of time and space coiling around their throats and smothering their lungs.

Ghost sprints ahead of him, a long blade in hand as he opens the door to block B, and the knife gets buried into an unlucky hostile.

Things are different now. Soap lines a shot with another bastard trying to flank Ghost. The Lieutenant turns to give him a thankful nod.

They have to be different.

Block B houses the 141, among other squads. Usually at this hour, its hallways are empty and quiet, the occasional sleepless soldier drifting towards the common room.

Tonight, barracks have been turned into cover for both friendlies and hostiles, every uncleared room a possible hiding hole for a henchman waiting to blow a hole in their face. Soap and Ghost find the rest of their taskforce in the middle of shooting enemies running between the rooms.

“What’s the situation, Captain?” Ghost crouches down beside Price, peppering a few shots when hostiles pop their head to return fire.

Price grunts, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, “fuckers keep crawling out like roaches up ahead, we can’t push forward like this.” He glances at Soap, “got anything left that we can use, Sergeant?”

Soap mentally runs through the supplies he gathered this afternoon from the armory, “got five Semtex, three frags, a drill charge-”

“Give me a Semtex.” Ghost orders, lifting a hand without looking away from the target-rich hallway. Soap places it in his palm, curiously watching him throw it on a hostile rolling to cover. The man had too much momentum to stop his slide, and he shouts when he realizes he’s just brought a grenade into a room full of his teammates.

A loud explosion, and Soap whistles lowly, “feckin’ ruthless, Ghost.”

The 141, along with the rest of the soldiers who have been sleeping in block B until the base was invaded, use the break in the enemy’s defences to push forward, overwhelming the henchmen and making them scramble back to avoid death.

As they fight, Soap notices a group of hostiles around a single man, seemingly protecting him. When one of them moves, he catches a glimpse of their face, and his blood boils over.

Anthony Simmons, in the flesh. The man responsible for the attack.

Soap knows, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that Simmons isn’t the one responsible for the existence of the time loop. He had no way of knowing, that attacking the base will cause time to break around Soap and Ghost.

But he has watched his teammates, his friends, get shot by his men countless times, felt unimaginable pain, helpless when that pain broke him, broke Simon.

Soap knows it’s not his fault, but fuck if he’s going to let him walk out of this intact.

Before anyone can stop him, he breaks into a run after Simmons. The man has lost more of his henchmen at this point, his little circle of soldiers dead at his feet, so he fled deeper into the building. The rest of his men, however, still stand between Soap and Simmons.

Soap pulls out his knife again, this time intending to use it, slipping under thick arms that try to wrestle him down, and stabbing his opponent in the ribs. He quickly slits his throat and continues the chase.

Voices ring out of his comms, a mix of concern and anger from his squad. Soap plans to ignore them, until one stands out.

“You fucking promised me Johnny, don’t do this to me!”

His steps falter, and after a beat he decides to answer, “Ah’m going to end this, once and for all. In pursuit of Anthony Simmons.”

“You’re going after Simmons alone?!” Gaz grunts, clearly in the middle of fending off an enemy.

Ghost’s voice is dripping with rage, “is he really worth killing yourself for, Sergeant?”

Soap can tell, behind that furious voice, that Simon is scared. That anger for Ghost is a smokescreen for anything else.

…They are the same in that regard, aren’t they?

“No.” Soap realizes, “it’s not.”

The comms are quiet. He scans the way ahead, understands that Simmons has no other place to hide besides…

“He’s in our common room. Waiting for backup around the corner.”

“...Copy. We’re five minutes out.” Ghost sighs, previous anger fizzling out.

Soap stares ahead, at the familiar path to their common room, now dark and lifeless. It’s a path he never walks alone, and today will not be any different.

His team arrives one minute early, bloody and bruised and worse for wear, but alive, so blessedly, wonderfully, alive.

“Gaz, keep an eye on our six, Ghost, Soap, with me.” Price commands, back straight and weapon at the ready.

They take measured steps to their common room, small noises and grunts like gunshots in the silence. Simmons sounds agitated, whispering orders into his radio. He clearly didn’t expect anyone to follow him, evident by the door he left wide open, and the fact he left his gun to lean against the wall.

Ghost walks ahead, footsteps perfectly noiseless, slinking behind their target like a predator circling its prey.

Soap cringes inwardly when his boot connects with the end of the couch, a small thunk alerting Simmons. As unprepared as the man was, he still noticed, head perking up and hand dropping from his comms.

Shite.

Simmons gets up with a sudden flurry of movement, hands instantly on his weapon. Ghost attempts to apprehend him, but the man starts shooting wildly all around him while screaming, “not gonna let you 141 rats fuck with me again!”

Simmons swings his gun to his left, and Soap watches in horror as the barrel lines with Price’s heart. He makes the split second decision to tackle the Captain.

They both grunt when they hit the floor, Soap feeling hot pain spread through his shoulder. Bastard got lucky.

Ghost takes the opening to Simmons’ right, and Soap barely sees the meager light in the room reflect onto his blade before it slices into Simmons’ neck. Ghost twists it once, and pulls it out, allowing the body to fall.

Gaz rushes into the room at that moment, spotting Ghost looming over their target’s dead body, and him and Price still on the floor, “fuck- Captain, Soap, are you broken?”

Soap pushes off Price with a groan, the Captain answering, “negative. Soap, what’s your status?”

Price places a hand on his shoulder, one that would be comforting in any other scenario, but in this one makes him yelp in pain. Price pulls his hand away, Gaz crouching down beside him to inspect the gunshot wound, “shit, Soap’s been hit.”

Soap’s mind transports him to the last loop, to Ghost’s unshakeable decision to reset before he could suffer any longer, and blurts out, “jus’ a gunshot wound teh the shoulder. I’ll live.”

He turns his head back to Ghost, the giant man standing above him like a fucked up guardian angel.

The power chooses at that moment to come back on, blinding all of them. They flip their NVGs up, rubbing their eyes and groaning, when Soap notices Ghost’s watch beeping. They make eye contact.

“Two minutes to midnight.” Soap whispers. He reaches with his uninjured hand to Simon’s, making him sit back on his haunches. He brings the watch closer to his face, senses Gaz and Price huddle around it as well.

Four pairs of eyes watch the little clock tick closer and closer to midnight with bated breath. Thoughts begin to whirl in his head, that perhaps this wasn’t the answer, that there is just no possible solution to this wretched loop.

2359…

0000.

Midnight. Soap looks up, sees his shock reflected in Ghost’s dark eyes.

They’re free.

The 141’s common room might be Soap’s favorite. It’s nothing fancy, a couple of ratty couches, a kitchenette. No TV, and near-constant mold under the sink.

Soap wouldn’t have it any other way. Sitting here, chatting with Gaz about nothing and everything, laughing when Price acts in a way that reminds all of them how old he is, feeling Simon’s arms wrapped around him, Soap wouldn’t change a thing.

Well… one thing has changed. A clock has been mounted on the wall, along with a calendar.

Time continues moving. Soap knows his future will hold unmeasurable amounts of pain, that his end might be closer than he thinks it is. That their little common room will eventually fall silent, for good. But Soap also knows he will get to have more days like these, memories of incomparable comfort and soul-deep calm. Moments that are worth the pain.

And it’s that knowledge, that makes hope bloom in his chest. In his heart, and in deep brown eyes, that now crescent for him more than Soap could’ve ever wished for.

[tobbotobbs]

Twinkle Little Star

Astarion Ancunin x Masc/Male presenting Tav/Reader (Reader referred to as Tav) 

TW: sad, angst, no happy ending, mcd, slight gore ig, sad astarion, he needs a hug

It was supposed to be an easy quest. Get into the brothel, find one of his siblings, take them gently or with force and then talk to them about Cazador and what he was up to. He was suppposed to get informations and then let his brother or sister go, hopefully with having convinced them into helping him with their plan to destroy the abomination of a man that was once their only hope and tortured them their entire life. After that they should have gone to the Szarr palace and easily killed him with maybe a few dead servants and a little blood over their clothes. This? No, this was not how it was supposed to go. Yes he talked to Leon, his brother, and found out that Cazador was not letting anyone into the ballroom. He also found out that he now seemed to be keeping guard dogs, Gnolls and Hobgoblins. Cazador never had much approval left for anything close to dogs. So why now? He wanted everyone to be locked out of his ritual of course, but how big the ritual was really going to be, Astarion would have never imagined. They underestimated the Vampire Lord and that was where they all failed. The second Astarion, Tav, Karlach and Gale stood at the end of the stairs in that creepy looking dungeon, Cazador had control over the situation thanks to the Spawn. Astarion was leaped from his feet by a powerful magic and taken to the top of that pyramid looking cyrcle his other siblings formed, who were also flowing in the air thanks to that blood red powerful magic that came from Cazador. He was the last piece that was missing for Cazador to fullfill his ritual, his deal with Mephistopheles and he went right into the trap, for the Vampire to finish his work to get even more powerful by killing 7000 Vampire Spawns and his 7 chosen Spawns, the ones wearing that lovely 'poem' on their back. To think he wanted to take over the ritual, once he had killed Cazador, was making him feel like he could throw up all the wine and the blood from Tav he drank today. Tav. Oh, his handsome, pretty and shy Tav. Always thinking too much, worrying- caring too much. Espacially about Astarion. He didn’t deserve any of this to happen to him and yet there he stood, a scared scream of Astarions name left his lips before he was dashing forwards to run over to him, to help him, to save his world. But he couldn’t do such thing. Karlach took a hold of his waist, holding his lover back so he wouldn’t do something stupid now. The Tiefling looked just as hurt by what just happened, but she tried to not let it get to her head just as Gale did, too. Who was now coming forward to stand next to them and faced Cazador. They all stood there, looking at the monsters face. It was ugly and disgustingly smiling at them. He laughed at them. Laughed at Tav for really falling for Astarions pathetic and weak character. Falling for the act and the seduction, just so Astarion would have protection and a save place to stay. For thinking they could stop him. For what he was about to do. 

If it weren’t for Tav’s ability to use misty step freely as he pleased, everything might have turned out differently. He teleported in the blink of an eye, right next to Cazador and his dagger already lifted to strike and cut through the Vampires throat. If he only had seen it coming. The hand that held 5 sword like sharp claws instead of soft fingertips. He tore right through Tavs chest. Thanks to the power that comes with being a Vampire Lord, it looked as if he had just punched through water, without any resistence. A weird and awful eery wet and cracking sound was flying through the silent dungeon. If Astarion and the others wouldn’t have had their eyes on Tav, it could have been also mistaken with the sound of wet fresh salary being crunched into pieces or like an apple, that was ripped apart by some Barbarian just like Karlach was. The time stood still as Cazador proudfully and with no shame held their groups leader with his bare hand and kept him from falling down to the floor. It must be hurting so much, Karlach thought as she watched Tav struggle to breath and keep the pained sounds at bay. He does not deserve this, was what Gale wanted to say out loud. Not him, anyone but him please. That is what was going through Astarions mind as he watched the love of his life slowly die at the hands of the monster he thought once saved him. What a fool he was. The Vampire Spawn was trying to move, tryied to do something just anything to get to his dear Darling. But he couldn’t. He was still restricted by the magic coming from Cazador, who was now laughing at Tav’s pathetic and stupid attempt to kill him. Tav was, even in his last minutes, looking with pure hatred and disgust at Cazador Szarr, who now lifted his body from the floor which caused him to let out a gut wrenching scream. He could feel every part in him moving and straining against the hand in his chest, could feel the sharp claws that punctured through his lungs and left him breathing in his own blood. Karlach was the first to move. She immediatly summoned Scratch and send their dog companion Astarions way to help free him from his restrictions while she herself came at Cazador with her battleaxe. Gale was fast to followe her lead and started casting spells at the guard dogs that were in their way, killing many at once with his large area and his favourite necromancy spells. Like that they came easily through to Cazador, who looked a little spooked now. The Vampire Lord already had dropped Tav a few feet away from him, no longer interested in his dying form. Now ready to have an actual fight and a little fun killing some people, the Vampire gripped his magical staff and aslo started throwing spells at Gale, to take the wizard out first. He wasn’t dumb, after all wizards are hard to kill with their ability to attack from distance and counter spell other spells thrown at them or magically protect themself and others. The barbarian, Cazador was smiling to himself, he would deal with later. He had the feeling she and his little pet had a deeper connection so it would be fun hurting her in front of Astarion right before the ritual to torture him one last time, even if their connection wasn’t as deep as the one between his chosen Spawn and that pathetic boy trying to kill him with a mere little dagger. Oh how he wished he could’ve saved that ones death for later. To terrorize his Spawn really good one last time. 

That was not the important thing going on right now though, no. It was the fight that Cazador began to loose. Gale was a talented wizard, perhaps the most talented Astarion has ever met and he was surely not backing down or getting tired from this fight. Gale stood his ground and counter spelled every curse and element the Vampire Lord sent his and Karlachs way, meanwhile he also threw various powerful magic at their opponent. His spells hit and Cazador started to get tired and get more risky with his steps and his focus on both the barbarian and the wizard. He did not notice nor did he looked when Karlach suddenly vanished from his peripheral vision and appeared just a few seconds later behind him with her battleaxe raised high above her head and her mouth leaving a loud battlecry that was full of rage, sorrow, pain and grief. Karlach brought down the heavy axe and hit the Vampire right on the head which split open into two parts so easily, it was rather eery. Her eyes were full of tears of rage and sadness. Her breathing was hard and shallow and without a single care about anything she swung her weapon again and hit the now dead Vampire Lord under her again and again and again. Until she felt soft smaller hands frap around her wrist and tugged her into a warm welcoming embrace full of empathy. Gale was crying himself, he had just lost his best friend and they hadn’t even had time to really mourn. Just head straight into a fight to not die themself. While Gale and Karlach held eachother close they heard the quiet taps of paws on the cold stone floor, getting closer to them but then stopping a few feet away. A high pitched whine was all they heard and they knew it was Scratch who has found Tav’s dead, lifeless body on the floor laying in his own still warm blood with his eyes looking empty and into the nothingness. Scratch sat next to Tav and tried to wake him up with nudging his arm with his wet nose, but Tav didn’t move at all. Another whine left Scratches mouth. Karlach and Gale looked at eachother before they took another look at Tav and then at their other friend.  

Astarion was feeling like he was drowning, even though he didn’t even need to breath as Vampire Spawn. But it still felt like he was underwater, being dragged under the surface by some invisible monster. He knew he could move and all, Scratch had helped him after all and Cazador was dead now too, so the magic was gone and he could move and wasn’t dragged underwater by any monster. His eyes felt weirdly wet and his cheeks too, he was crying. Astarion had not cried in so long. He never found himself caring, loving someone so much in the last 200 years. He never cried but now here he was, his legs carrying him to his long passed lover and breaking down next to Tav. Hid eyes never stopped the salty tears and he could care less when he started whimpering and moaning in complete misery and pain. His hands shook as he tried to hold Tav’s hand in his and give it a soft, gentle kiss like he does so often when they spent the night together in his tennt, reading books or just talking. It felt unreal to him, seeing the strongest person he knew lie there, cold and without any life in them. His other hand creeped up Tav’s face to gently cup his cheek and caress it with his fingers. He cried and mumbled how it wasn’t fair this had happened. Whispered little nothings into the silence of the dungeon about how he was going to spent his eternity with Tav somehow. It was devestating to watch, even more so to hear and listen to Astarion talk to Tav as if he was still alive and could answer him.  

And the worst part was the little star necklace he had given Tav that he now held in his trembling hands. A little star pendant was on the silvery chain. It should remind Tav of him and make him feel like a part of Astarion is always with him. It was a joke first, after Tav found out his anme meant little star and hestarted nicknaming him Star instead of Astarion. It turned into something so much more and meaningful to both of them amd here they were. The twinkle of his star was gone. 

[nanaminokanojo]

00:00:01

Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | You

A spin-off to this.

TW: angst without comfort | mcd

I went to my personal Instagram account where I thought I won't see Satoru on my reels, but suddenly, this edit of his high school days comes up and the song was Lamp's "Yume Utsutsu" and I go, "Oh come on! I just stopped fucking crying!" Anyway, please enjoy and suffer with me.

~*~

You truly are alone now.

It was a selfish thought. It was uncalled for in that situation, unjustified even. Everything was at a standstill as the scales tipped over in favor of the curses. And in the middle of it all, Gojo Satoru, the only honored one between heaven and earth, has fallen.

The strongest has fallen. To everyone else, at least, what was palpable was the fact that the odds just became more daunting without him. If Gojo himself was defeated, lying in a pool of his own blood, what hope was there for anyone else?

It was the truth, but you couldn't process that at all, everyone else be damned. The whole world could be on the verge of exploding and the whole human race could go extinct in a blink of an eye. Still, all you could feel were the cold hands of loneliness as it slowly wrapped its icy fingers around your heart.

Gojo Satoru was your best ally in all sense of the word, one of the two dearest friends you have left. Above everything else, he was probably the only one in the world who fully understood the weight you carried all those years ago. It was a burden you shared with him, and somehow, it was easier knowing there was someone else who knew your pain in its molecular degree. It comforted you that for once, when he said he knows, you believed it.

And yet, you stood behind multiple screens, watching the only person in the universe who truly knew you. You've never felt lonelier in your life.

One last time, you saw the glory behind those impossibly blue eyes shine their brightest before turning glassy and dark as the life in them drained out, amplified by the red that began to surround his snow-white hair. The Gojo Satoru that you knew lay in tatters in the midst of the rubble, a patch of blue sky in a field of crimson blooms.

This time, no one will sit with you and hold you together while you drown every semblance of feeling like you did when Geto Suguru died by his hands. No one will know you well enough to know what to say or do. No one will comfort you enough to ease the debilitating pain that rendered you an inch towards death on the inside.

Your only true ally was gone.

"Brave of you to come here alone," the voice of your former lover said, coming like jagged spikes through your chest, knowing that it wasn't really him who was talking to you. "But I guess, I understand why you're here."

Geto Suguru, or rather Kenjaku, beckoned you over with a flourish of his hand, gesturing towards the chair across from him. It wasn't hard to look for him, having been too accustomed to the life force he possesses, one you would recognize without a doubt even if it was tainted and violated by a dark presence.

You did as you were told, glancing over the destroyed wall of what remained of the high-rise cafe he chose to witness the battle between Gojo and Sukuna. You merely stared down at the chaos below, merely recognizing the spot where Gojo currently lays.

"You mourn..."

Your lifeless eyes shifted towards the man before you, very much like the one you knew in your youth, loved and cherished with everything that you are, the same man Gojo Satoru calls his only best friend. The only thing that told you outright that it was a different being before you were those cursed stitches on his forehead, and yet you tried your very best to look past them.

An exhausted smile etched itself across your lips as you looked into those eyes, trying to find the amber in them despite being muddled in a darker color. He looked disconcerted as he regarded you.

"The day you died, I..." you started, swallowing the lump in your throat. You breathed in deeply, drawing as much courage as you can muster in your current state. With a sigh, you said, "Satoru and I mourned your death, you know."

"Geto Suguru cannot hear you."

You chuckled. "We were both such a mess." Again, you glanced at the spot where you knew Gojo would be, ignoring the vicious words that cut you deeper than any slashes Sukuna could ever inflict. "From the moment you decided you didn't want to stand on the same side with us anymore up to that moment you declared war. Satoru was way better at dealing with his feelings. Always have been, but I cannot say he didn't struggle to figure out where to start picking up the pieces, too."

Tears started pooling in your eyes, but you still smiled despite all the hurt. "No one understands us more than each other where you're concerned. And even in his last conscious moments, I bet he's thinking of you."

Just then, a hand covered yours, a familiar warmth surging in through every pore of your skin which it touched. Those fingers squeezed yours, reassuring albeit weak. It was gone before you could make sense of it, and you were met with the smirking face of Geto Suguru, a concealment of the fleeting sorrow that crossed his features.

You hung your head low, closing your eyes as memories of your youth with both Gojo and Geto started flashing before your eyes. And when you raised your head, your tears had finally fallen. "And now...the only person I share that with is also gone."

You took a deep breath, letting the painful truth of it all sink in and engulf every cell in your body. Gojo Satoru, who had been your rock through everything, wasn't there to hold you together like he did before even if he himself was falling apart back then. You wished you could have at least held his hand as he was lost to the world, made sure he knew he wasn't alone like he did for you back then. But what can you do?

"I'm going to miss him terribly no matter how annoying he is," you murmured through hollow laughter. "I couldn't even thank him."

You grinned bitterly. "I thought he couldn't hear me."

Kenjaku – you choose to call the being before you for who he really is – shrugged. "I must say Geto Suguru's spirit is just as hard to break as it is to face Gojo Satoru. It's not easy possessing this body like any other. I see why they're the strongest."

"You should instead see why they are friends," you corrected. "They're not just 'the strongest' as you put it. Shame you had to pit them against each other for the second time."

"I..." Kenjaku choked the word out, a single tear falling from his left eye. "Y-y/N..."

You nodded, directing your gaze down to where Gojo was. "I know, Suguru. I know. I'm sorry, too."

"Enough –"

Kenjaku can't seem to take full control as his face contorted into confusion and frustration, so you took your chance.

"You did your best for Riko. I'm proud of you, I hope you know that." Your tears flowed freely now. "Satoru did his very best for everyone, too, and I know he's just as proud of you for doing what you can until it got too much to handle. You two just grew up too fast, but I guess you can both rest easy now."

Again, you met his gaze. "Sorry we couldn't do as you asked us – live long and happy – but know that we both wanted to. Even if you weren't there anymore."

You stood up and crossed the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his dark locks one last time. You were half expecting to die at that very moment, but that moment didn't come even as you stayed longer than you could ever hope to do so.

"But at least Satoru can keep his promise to meet you again now." You kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sorry if I might take a bit longer, but I'll make the same promise Satoru did..."

You drew back and walked towards the edge of the open wall, and with a wave you said, "We'll meet again."

~*~

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20230924]

[julesdaydreams]

@rosekillermicrofic II May 2 - dread II word count: 956

I don't like canon all that much and I can't really write it so - naturally - I wrote it.

TW: Canon-compliant MCD, grief (a bit?) and murderous thoughts

Barty didn't know how he got here.

It was supposed to be a fairly unspecial day. He and Evan had woken up in the late hours of the morning, bodies intertwined, sharing lazy kisses and enjoying the fact that in the stressful days of the war they finally had a day to themselves.

Barty had made plans for the whole thing, from slow kisses in the morning, lazing about with the love of his life to a nice dinner in the evening. It was supposed to be only him and Evan.

And then the pecking began, forcing him out of his morning daze, draped over the love of his life and acknowledge the tawny owl at their bedroom window.

It was a letter. Demanding Evan's presence at a mission. That's all there was to it, but by now both Evan and him knew the Dark Lord's antics, knew that a “mission” could mean anything really, from a small job that was boring and tedious and over in about an hour or two to missions that required days of travelling and brought more than just a few broken limbs with them.

To say that Barty was afraid of what his boyfriend needed to do didn't quite cut it.

What settled in his stomach was sheer and utter dread.

Of course, Evan had reassured him everything would be fine. That it most likely wasn't something dangerous or the Dark Lord would've told them earlier.

Still, Barty couldn't shake the feeling settling into his bones. It felt like an omen that their good day was disrupted like this. He could almost see something going wrong and he desperately hoped it wouldn't be his boyfriend to suffer under the consequences

Evan reassured him again and again that everything would be fine and he'd be home with Barty lazing about in no time. He gave him a long kiss at the door, another reassuring smile and then he was gone.

It was dinner time when Barty got the letter.

About how something went wrong. How they were captured by Aurors. About how Evan didn't want to surrender. How he fought and blasted Moody's nose off in the process. How he was killed.

How Evan was killed.

That must be wrong, right?

Evan promised him dinner. Barty had lit candles at their small dining table, has made the effort of cooking something nice for the both of them.

Surely, this was all some crude joke. Surely, Evan would walk through their front door in just that moment, kissing Barty and talking to him about everything but the war over dinner.

Surely. The love of his life wasn't dead.

He couldn't be. If Evan had died, Barty would know, would feel it in his bones and down into his soul. Evan couldn't be dead, because if he was, Barty would be dead with him.

But the hours ticked by. And no matter how long he stared down the front door, no matter how long he prayed for his lover to come back to him, the door remained shut.

The war and just the general attitude of the Death Eaters didn't grant a loving goodbye. There were more than just Evan's body, face disguised behind the mask, but Barty would know his soulmate anywhere, from just his pinky if he had to. He knew it was him.

It hit him like a train the moment he got home and his front door banged shut. The moment he saw the candles, still on the table and burned down all the way.

He couldn't breathe. He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and was lying there with Evan beneath the dirt where he left him.

He should've done something. Should've gone with him, told him to fuck the consequences and stay because this should've been their day - just the two of them.

He didn't know what to do with it all and their little flat made everything worse. Evan was all over it. In the pictures on the wall, still moving and all smiley when times weren't as dark. He was in the wilting flowers on the night stand - roses - Barty gave them to him just a few days ago and he was sure that they've been fine this morning, still blooming elegantly, but they've wiltered now, like they knew Evan was gone.

Barty couldn't stand it. And as if something possessed him, he just- destoyed it. He blasted a hole through the wall with one snap of his wand, burned half their furniture to the ground, smashed vases and decoration with his bare hands because he needed to do somthing with them right now, couldn't just sit there and pretend his whole life hasn't been ripped away from him in a day.

When he was done, standing in between the ruins of what had been his home - their home - not even 24 hours ago. And he felt hollow. What was lives purpose now? What would make him do the next mission? What was there to fight for in the war if the love of his life, his best friend, his purpose, was gone?

What would stop him from running into the next best auror, unarmed, and just let them have their way? Who would stop him-

No. He realized then, it was still Evan who he needed to live for.

So, he made a decision.

He would kill that fucking bastard that took Evan from him. Even if it was the last thing he did.

[whumperofworlds]

TW: Suicide mention and MCD under cut!

I don't usually talk about death in whump, but consider.

Together in death.

Whumpee and Caretaker are close. Lovers, best friends, family, what have you.

Then Whumpee dies. Caretaker comes right after. How? Were they killed together, holding each other as they're both executed? Did Whumpee die and Caretaker dies of heartbreak? Did Caretaker kill themself just to be with Whumpee?

Either way, they died together. And I don't see that enough in whump.

[gaybae1021]

Kiki’s Rainbow Baby

Tw: Mentions of abortion and miscarriage

So I’ve had a lot of thoughts about motherhood in mcd. With Jess having a lot of kids, Aphmau the character ending up with 4 children by season 3, and Irene’s og title being “the Matron”, I think motherhood is a big theme in mcd. By itself that isn’t a bad thing, I love parental relationships, and the prevalence of adopted families is very wholesome. That being said, this theme of motherhood sometimes clashes with the actual content of the story. Specifically in regards to Travis’s mother, and Kiki.

Both of them ended up pregnant by absolutely despicable people, and at least for Kiki, came as a complete surprise. Despite this, the story can’t even fathom the idea that they wouldn’t want these children. They aren’t even allowed to have complicated feelings about it. I know abortion is a heavy topic that might’ve not have been appropriate for the age of the audience, but not only were the characters not offered a choice, another option just fully does not exist within the story. They are assumed to be baby-crazy, probably because that’s what Jess feels.

I’m going to largely focus on Kiki because Travis’s mom was never really much of a character, and my rewrite of her is still in progress. So here’s my thoughts about Kiki.

The amulet from the og mcd is the most terrifying thing I’ve seen outside of a horror movie. At least with sex people recognize that pregnancy is a risk. But Kiki was given a piece of jewelry, something she assumed was just a gift. And because of that simple act she experienced severe pregnancy symptoms had a child to take care of. As someone with a fear of getting pregnant this would absolutely cause me to have a complete mental breakdown. Because of this I’ve removed the amulet from the story entirely.

In my rewrite, Zane and Kiki just have a normal one-night stand. Zane is less of an outright evil monster in my version, but that being said, his fling with Kiki was still built entirely off of deception, disguising both his identity and appearance. So I still wanted Kiki to have a strong reason to keep the pregnancy.

Shoutout to jurygarroth’s trans Kiki comic, not only is it wholesome, I also think it’s an excellent explanation for why Kiki would be excited about being a mom separate from her feelings about Zane. I definitely wanted to do something along those lines. Though obviously without the amulet, trans Kiki isn’t an option for me, so I had to come up with something else.

So I imagine Kiki is one of the slightly older characters, around late twenties during season 1. After the events surrounding Donna and Logan’s wedding, Kiki started to feel off. After this feeling persisted for a few weeks she went to Zoey, who confirmed that she was pregnant. Despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding it, after the initial shock Kiki was actually very happy about the news. However, as time went on Kiki began acting strangely. She isolated herself from her friends and brother. Her only significant interactions were her frequent check-ups with Zoey, with her growing more and more paranoid over every little thing.

Aph, growing increasingly concerned about Kiki, went to Brendan. He admitted that knew what was bothering Kiki, but also said it wasn’t his place to talk about it without her there. So Aph decided to pay Kiki a visit.

After some pushing, Kiki revealed that she was married when she was younger, but that marriage had fallen apart after a series of infertility issues and multiple miscarriages. Kiki had come to Phoenix Drop as a way to start over, a new place where she could focus on finding new things that made her happy, rather than hoping for something that just wasn’t meant to be. It’s why she got interested in animal care and handling. But even after finding her passion, it didn’t make her losses hurt any less.

Kiki had gotten into other romances while staying in Phoenix Drop, but always cut things off before they got too serious. To her, being alone was easier than risking more loss, both in terms of her lost children and her first partner’s rejection of her.

But now, she was pregnant again. And unlike the first times, she hadn’t even had to try. She took this as a sign, that if the pregnancy had come so easy then maybe this time, it would work. But she was so determined to not lose it that she was scared to do anything that might cause her physical or emotional stress. But of course, isolating herself with just her thoughts during this delicate time was only causing her harm.

Aph was, of course, heartbroken that Kiki had been going through this by herself. She eventually convinces Kiki to talk to Zoey about it, who gets Kiki to start going outside again. Kiki starts to open up to the rest of the village, and builds a good support system.

Leona was ultimately very premature, and had several complications. Zoey didn’t have much hope for Leona surviving beyond a few days, but Kiki was absolutely unwilling to accept that. The day after literally giving birth she took Leona to Bodolf’s tribe, in the hopes that turning Leona would give her the extra strength she needed. The turn was successful, and Leona’s health improved. Kiki finally got to see her child open their eyes.

[lilliesthings]

I saw it as Gideon feeding is own ego, with a protege of his own after being one to Max. He definitely was someone who could read people well (i mean he was a PROFILER). He found a young gifted man who didn't have anybody and paid attention to him and convinced him to join him in his career. I believe he tried to do the same with Ethan since they mentioned he was at the academy at the same time, but Ethan dipped to become a jazz musician. Gideon had the power to push Reid through the processes of joining theBau and Reid was essentially his pet project. Reid got someone who wanted him around and Gideon got praised for scouting him and their department running smoother than ever. Ultimately Gideon didn't really help Reid through anything, and then abandoned him with a letter instead of actually saying goodbye to him. He KNEW how much that would hurt someone like Reid and did it anyway. He set up a chess game and never showed and made him seek him out. (tw for MCD) Though, to be fair, it is surmised by some that they changed the script at some point, possibly due to Mandy's demands at the time. It's been said the original intent was for Gideon to have committed suicide and that Reid was supposed to have found him there along with a note. Which would have been WORSE, obviously. That all playing out just as Reid was also finally sober and had no other parental figures in his life, it would have been even more devastating.

I'm not looking forward to them bringing back someone with a connection to Gideon on the show, and without Reid being there who was arguably the closest person he had in the seasons he was on seems kind of dull. Then have Rossi bring him up, someone we only ever saw him talk to in flashbacks of their youth. He left the show in 2007 and died in 2015 I'm tired of Gideon. Are they going to just rehash Gideon drama forever?

Tbh, to me, it was Gideon assuaging his own guilt towards Stephen.

Gideon is a flawed flawed man, and a running theme they seemed to have with him is that while he takes those actions, with no malicious intent, he can't foresee their terrible consequences : the 6 agents, Elle in the Fisher King, Reid in Revelations, and in the grand scheme of things, bringing Reid into the FBI thinking he's doing right by him, which didn't turn out so good depending on how you look at it. When the consequences really catch up to him, he seems to be in way over his head and can't follow through. He didn't show up for his son to the point where Stephen thought he wasn't wanted (and was quite detached at the news of his death, in a striking contrast to Spencer). But Gideon is also compassionate and he genuinely cares, he bought Reid these tickets for his birthday, he walked him through that (not) date, through his first kill, told him he was proud of him. For me at least, the reason they gravitated toward each other is that for awhile they filled a void in each other's lives of the absent father and the distant son, and it was his way of compensating for abandoning Stephen. But I also think he cared nowhere as intensely about Reid as Reid cared about him, and even that too was not out of malice (which makes it kinda more sad)

He was right to leave, and he was wrong in the incredibly convoluted way he did it. He could have answered Reid's calls, he could have sent a text saying that he's safe but he's leaving, hell he could have MAILED that letter, because people loved him and were clearly worried for his well being and whereabouts at this point. But to make someone doing the whole guesswork of going to a cabin in the middle of the woods to fetch a letter? That looked bad. I would have had a heart attack. 

I admit liked him a whole lot as a character, I particularly enjoyed seeing him walking in circles in Hankel's bathroom telling himself that he did the right thing. I genuinely like watching character's fuck ups play out, but I agree that Gideon at this point seems so detached from the show, and without Reid there either to act unhinged at the mention of him ... eh ..... we'll see I guess.

[klance-brainrot]

klancing all things end by hozier

tw: angst, mcd, klance on-off relationship

They know they will break up again and then get back together and then break up again because they just don't work together but they can't live without one another.

Their personalities clash too severely for it to work permanently.

"The last time I felt your weight on my chest, you said: we didn't get it right, but love, we did our best"

this is them knowing they are going to break up again soon because they can't be together for more than a month and they both feel the end nearing. This is the calm before the storm, this is the night before another big fight, this is the cuddle before the argument.

"Just knowing that everything will end and we should not change our plan when we begin again"

this is them talking about their next try at a relationship and how, even though it never works, they would never change anything about their fucked up relationship attempts because at least they can be together that way.

"All that we intend is built on sand"

when starting new they both already know it's going to fail again. it's a fragile peace, it's all built on sand, it can be swept away by a single wave.

"If there was anyone to ever get through this life with their heart still intact, they didn't to it right"

this is Lance standing over Keith's grave and thinking about all they could've been and all they could've done together if it had worked. But it didn't work out. They tried so often but it never worked out, but Lance knows he doesn't regret a thing, he would've tried over and over and over again for those moments where it does work.

Until it doesn't.

Since he knows Keith, he knows, he didn't regret a thing either. Keith too would've tried over and over and over again just for those few moments of peace in between.

Their friends and family had tried countless times to tell them that it wouldn't work - it wouldn't work this time and it wouldn't work the next time they tried, but they never listened. For a while they tried to keep their distance from each other, but both of them were doing so bad during it. Lance was barely eating and ended up in the ER. Keith thought he was the only one suffering that badly but once Shiro let it slip that Lance was in the hospital he couldn't do it anymore and he came back. They always came back to each other. They cant live without each other.

"I have never known a silence like the one fallen here, never watched my future darken in a single tear"

this is the first time they broke up. They really thought it would work but their personalities and traumas and behavioral tendencies just work against each other unfortunately. Keith thought it was fixable, he would try everything, but one fight had gone too far and Lance breaks up with him. He sheds one single tear while doing it but remains otherwise neutral and says that it's probably better form him to take some time for himself. Keith is numb from shock and can't really say anthing, nothing that'd help Lance stay. So he watches the single tear fall and he watches him leave. For the first time. He will watch him leave over and over and over again.

"I know we want this to go easy by being someone's fault, but we've come long enough to know this isn't what we want"

this is their 5th breakup. They've done this before. They know how this goes. They get back together, they are good together for a few weeks until everything goes down the drain again. Most of the time there isn't even a trigger really. It's just a few fights too many and a few unfortunate things said that hurt bad. Too bad.

Lance says this when he's about to leave again - they both know it's both of their fault and at the same time it's noones fault.

Because that's who they are.

Keith with his parental trauma and need to distance himself from the ones he loves, and Lance with his fear of abandonment and being the second choice. He grew up in a happy family and can't deal with Keith's traumas forever. He needs to put himself first and he can't do that while being with Keith. But he can't live without him either.

They can't live without each other.

thank you @justdissimp for the beta and @numerous-bees-in-a-skin-suit for the encouragement <3

[mysticalsoot]

too, more, and most

A/N: this was originally supposed to be a lil valentine's blurb but then it took a very dark turn so it won't be that unless you want it to be, and in that case then sure, this very dark fic can be a valentine's gift to you all (all 70 of you??? what the fuck??) anywho ty all for the love on my writing, can't begin to express how fucking cool that is and how thankful I am!!!

TW// very dark, death is alluded to until straight out said, sorta MCD but redeemed, lots of swearing, derealization, hallucinations, death ish. that's it I think?

Summary: Wilbur is a broken man with attachment issues, his problems only worsen after reader breaks up with him. he finds out his love isn't here anymore but finds himself discovering what true reality is his.

Pairings: cc!wilbur x reader

Pronouns: they/them and use of y/n and l/n

Words: 3,378 (forgot to add at first, sry)

masterlist

@lvrboysoot love u, elliot. sorry for the pain I'm gonna inflict upon you with this</3

-------------------------------

Wilbur was picky with who he said I love you to. His family was one thing, parents, brothers—those were easy. When it came to others, friends, romantic partners—those were more difficult, more calculated when he eventually admitted it.

But once he did, he never stopped saying it. And he was stubborn, fully set that he loved you more than anything than anyone ever loved anyone else. 

He would say it at least once an hour, and if he was away he'd text the words to you, followed by some stupid mushy gif. He'd write love letters readmitting his feelings for you, attaching a little wild flower he found somewhere in the garden. He'd leave it on your side of the bed and sneak away back into his office. He sat in his desk chair and pretend to work as he listened for you to open the front door. He'd wait there, patiently dilly-dallying whilst he waited for your arms to wrap around him and kiss the top of his head.

He'd follow it by saying; "I love you, darling." His hands resting on your arms that snuck around his shoulders, your chin now on the top of his head.

"I love you too," Is what you would reply with, he'd chuckle and press a kiss to your arm.

"I love you more." Wilbur wasn't one to back down on this exchange, he was sure his love for you outweighed any amount of love for anyone or anything else.

Whoever ended the exchange would say I love you most.

It always mostly worked to end the exchange. Sometimes it just wasn't enough and strings of I love you's were exchanged. The word most wasn't the end all be all, unfortunately.

Or was that even...real?

                                        —★—

The ceiling was far from interesting, but staring at it was better than falling asleep in Wilbur's mind. The other side of the bed was cold, and the lack of warmth and a person beside him, infected his bones with the same bone-chilling temperature the sheets beside him had.

He'd reach his hand over every once and a while, subconscious habits taking over his actions, the exhaustion blurring his mind's ability to keep control. 

He forgot how he loathed being alone. And he regretted not saying those words sooner. You would still be here next to him, your hand on the back of his neck, your own head nuzzled into his chest and his arm holding you close to his body, the two of you now one.

Wilbur should have said I love you a long time ago. Sleeping wouldn't be a dreaded activity and maybe the bags under his eyes wouldn't be so dark they look like black eyes anymore. He'd have a reason to move forward.

His phone had been shut off by him for a few weeks, and the bills still went through but he needed to ignore all the pleas and notifications from friends and family.

No, James, Wilbur does not want to go out drinking and talk about it. He'd much rather have anything else.

And no, Tommy, Wilbur didn't want to join your next vlog at the beach. Do you want him to break down?

Jack asked to come over and play some Mario Kart with him to take his mind off things. They all had valid concerns and they were only doing their best but he didn't want to do anything.

Not when he could have prevented the situation he's in, he's in a void, and he has no purpose as far as he's concerned.

Ash was the most gentle of them all, he asked if Wilbur was okay a few times, always following it up with "you don't have to talk about it, just know that I'm here". He was kind, quiet, and gentle. Wilbur had genuinely contemplated answering his friend, spilling his guts on how it was his fault and that there wasn't anything he could do that would mend it, everything was gone and it was his fault. But he didn’t he kept his thoughts and feelings to himself.

He kept the too, more, and most to himself. He couldn’t tell you, so why tell anyone? It was best held close to his heart like an unforgiving secret, one that if spilled would put a ripple in space and time. So it was a secret forever held behind the bars of heartbreak.

He tried peeling himself out of bed, wiping his face of old dried tears--he couldn't cry anymore so the saltwater stains on his cheeks were days old, or maybe weeks, Wilbur couldn't tell. It took him a few minutes to coax his aching and tired body to sit up at the least--and even more time to convince himself to turn his phone back on. Maybe he would regret doing so, maybe he wouldn’t but the only way to know was to just..do it. So he did, the screen on his phone lit up, the classic white apple illuminating his face as he waited there, his eyes glued to the screen as it booted up. A few seconds and five password attempts later, his phone was unlocked and in the sms app.

He gravitated towards the last messages with you, it didn't take much convincing for him to open it and when he did, it felt like a train hit him. All of the emotions—the regret, the pain—came flooding back to him.

The last message he ever got from you was "I love you". He mentally kicked himself for never saying it and he threw his phone down on his bed, regret bubbling up his throat and he pulled on his hair. Dry, pained sobs escape his chest and he's shaking. This is so stupid. I'm so stupid. His thoughts ran wild, taunting him, stabbing him. Looking him in the face and telling him how this is all his fault. It's all his fault. It has to be all his fault.

He begins shaking, pulling his legs up to his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees, shoving his face between them. No tears fall, and the sobs lessen, although no less painful than before. He tries to take deep breaths, pushing the image of your last message to him that's burned into his vision, further and further from his consciousness. If his brain can push every other bad memory away, why won't it hide this one? God, he's so stupid—what person forces themselves to face the one thing that tore them apart? Wilbur would be it. He is the one to do that and he regrets it.

His breathing slows to a steady pace, and he drops his hands from his hair. He wants to curl up inside himself and just shrivel up until he's nothing but particles in the air. And he wants to, he really wants to. But he promised himself he would go out today and do something helpful for himself. Maybe some fresh air would help.

Or maybe it'll just remind him of you

Either way, he needed out. His bed was beginning to feel claustrophobic and the walls of his room felt like they were closing in on him. Not to mention he hasn't showered in at least a week, and the last time he did shower, James had forced him and stood outside the bathroom door the entire way because he knew Wilbur would try and trick him.

He lifted his blankets and tossed them to the side, throwing his legs over the side of his bed and pushing himself up to stand. His legs wobbled for a moment in a lack of use and then he mindlessly brought himself to his dresser, grabbing a sweater and some jeans, and whatever else he needed before his legs brought him to the bathroom and he turned on the shower.

The water burned his skin but was somehow comforting in the way he turned red as the water hit him. It burned, but it was nice. It was an unfortunate reminder he was alive, and this was real. But perhaps, a cold shower would be even worse, so the reminder of his reality through burning hot water droplets on his skin was a much better alternative than cold ice water douching him in the painful realization of never being able to get you back.

That was worse than anything. That you were forever to never be his again.

It wasn't much longer that he stood under the hot water, and then he soon stepped out, hurriedly wrapping himself in a towel to avoid the chilling cold you always feel after a boiling shower. He doesn't bother to change whilst in the bathroom, but instead snatches his clothes from the cluttered sink counter and pulls open the door, bringing himself back to the warmth of his room while he slips on his clothes, his sweater being last after a T-Shirt underneath.

He knew that if he made any more contemplation over whether he should go outside or not, he'd never make it past his bedroom door. So he was quick in grabbing his keys and wallet before slipping out of his bedroom door followed by his apartment door. He quickly locked the door until it clicked and hurried down the stairs. The faster he got downstairs, the less time he had to rethink his decisions.

He's quick to push open the clear entrance door to his apartment building, passing by some of his neighbors he's never met and then he's out of the stuffy building. He's hit with a wave of wind, hitting the tip of his nose, and the cool scent warming him in calm comfort. It's nice to feel comfort again, it's so, so nice.

He stands there for a moment, taking in the cool, fresh air. To passersby, he looks like an idiot who's most likely high—but in reality, he's a broken man who hasn't left his house in weeks and feels he no longer has a purpose. Neither version is a good one, but what he really is, is much better than the alternative.

He pauses for a moment, taking in what's around him. Wilbur didn't think about what he was going to do past walking outside, so now he's stuck. Maybe he could go right back inside or maybe he—

There's a shadow of a person on the beach, or maybe it just looks like a shadow—but something about it draws him to it. Where the shadow seems to pace on the beach—the person-shaped shadow—isn't far from where he stands in front of his apartment building. He's curious, and the curiosity gets to him and he's hurriedly walking over to the stairs that lead down to the beach. He doesn't waste any time finding that damned shadow, he doesn't even know why he wants to know what it is, so badly. But he does, he really does and his hurried walking turns to jogging until he's full-out sprinting on the pebble beach, the saltwater-twisted air hitting his nose sharply.

The shadow becomes more and more of a human shape the closer he gets to it. And then he's a foot away. And the shadow turns around to face him. And it isn't a shadow anymore. It's a person. It's a fucking person. But it isn't just any person, no, no—it's you.

It's you. It's you. It's you. Oh god, it's you.

But you don't look…alive. You look dead, gone. You're practically transparent and he wonders if this is what it was like for people to see Ghostbur if the DreamSMP was real. Dear god, you're dead. Or are you? Maybe he's just hallucinating, maybe he spent too long in his flat and now his mind doesn't know what reality is and so it's tricking itself into believing you're here. But as a shadow.

He wants to run so badly but something keeps him angered onto the pebble-covered beach. Why can’t he stop looking at you? And why in all things good can he not move?

“Y/N,” It’s the only thing he utters, and it's broken and quiet in the way he says it. 

You simply stare at him, his expression cracking and shattering in the same way his heart does all over again, and then you’re gone again. You simply poof into thin air.

He takes hours before he can drag himself back to his flat, and he still hasn’t figured out if what he saw was real or not--but he’d rather not dwell on that for now. He just needs to get back home, he didn't even bring his phone with him, who knows how many people have tried contacting him whilst he was on his..walk. You could call it a walk, that’s for sure.

The door is opened haphazardly, and he nearly bangs his head against the side of it, not noticing his surroundings. He takes the stairs, his steps slow and by no means careful, and then hes on his floor, dragging himself to his flat. He unlocks the door until it clicks and then beelines for his room and snatches his phone off his bed.

He has a few dozen messages from friends, some from his parents and brothers--but he ignores them all and goes straight to safari;

Y/N L/N obituary

He presses the search button and turns his phone screen away from himself, face down in his lap. Wilbur has been offline for weeks--anything could’ve happened--and who would tell him anyways? Plus, who’s to say what felt like weeks to him, hasn't been months?

A few moments later and with some reassurance from himself, he turns the screen back to face him and his eyes glance to the first result.

Y/N dead at 26, drowned at brighton beach

It’s dated four months ago.

But they broke up with him three weeks ago? You were alive mere weeks ago! How did this--how did this happen?

It was your ghost he saw, that much he knows.

You died.

God…

You’re dead.

Wilbur finds tears sliding down his cheeks, droplets plopping onto his phone screen and he pulls the sleeve of his sweater over his hand to wipe away the salty liquid from his face and he sniffles.

How didn’t he know? Why didn’t anyone tell him?

He should go back to the beach.

The beach sounds great…maybe he’ll find you again, maybe he can ask questions and get answers for all of the wonders wandering his mind.

That’s what he should do.

And so he does, but this time he takes a blanket and his phone with him.

It’s the same path as before but now he knows where he’s going when he steps outside and its dark now. The biting cold wind of dusk hits his face in a harsh sharpness, but he moves on and continues walking, blanket rested over his arm and head held up as he looks around for you.

He spots you on an old pier and is quick to follow you, walking up the crickety stairs, being slow and careful with his steps, cautious to not spook the ghost of you again. He has questions that need answers, and scaring you away does him no good.

He keeps walking to the edge of the pier, there aren’t any railings, and its entirely open. He stops when hes one to two feet away from you and he drops the blanket on the planks of wood below. He looks up from the ground, eyes meeting your shadowy figure slowly revealing details about you, although still transparent, you aren’t just a shadowy figure.

“Hello, love,” Wilbur is sure to put on a soft smile when he speaks, and you shake your head at him, looking down.

You look up, head tilting and bottom lip poking out as a taunt, “I’m not your love,”

“I--I know you’re dead but--”

“No,” is all you say, and then you’re gone again.

Wilbur wants to break down again, decompose, and scream and sob and cry. But instead, he just stands there in cowardice. He doesn’t move, he simply stands in silence. He finds himself walking towards the edge of the pier and then he sits down, legs dangling over the water.

He wonders what would---

No, Wilbur, no.

He recoils. Pulls his legs up. Backs away from the edge. He feels someone push him. He pushes back and tries to find the source of said force--it’s just him up here. But he keeps pushing against the force trying to knock him off and he’s doing a great job of it--until he doesn’t and then he’s plummeting down and he twists in the air as he falls and something in his mind speaks.

“Your end is the same as your love’s”

And then it's all black.

The next thing he knows he’s choking up water or what feels like choking up water. But he doesn’t feel like he’s in water and-- But hes awake? Alive? It feels dry around him but he still can’t see.

He tries crying out, his eyes practically glued shut and he can’t force them open.

He jolts up and his eyes shoot open, his eyes frantically search the room, it's dark and he can barely see anything and then he sees an outline of a person; you. But you’re dead! And he’s dead!

Or is he, or are you? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know anything anymore.

The shadow-like figure--you, kneel down in front of him, hands on his shoulders and your features come into view; eyebrows knitted in concern, eyes wide with fear, and mouth agape with worry.

“Love,” You inch closer to him and he backs away in fear, breathing rapid and labored, “Are you okay?” You pull your hands away in response to his skittishness.

He shakes his head, “You’re supposed to be dead,” His voice is quiet and it cracks when he speaks like he hasn’t spoken in months.

“What?”

He just shakes his head and pulls his legs up to his chest, hiding the lower half of his face between his knees, eyes the only thing in vision and his gaze is locked on you--completely unwavering.

“I’m not going to hurt you, my darling,” You put your hand out as an offering and he takes it into consideration, eyeing it like it has the chance to burn him.

“You won’t leave?” Wilbur’s eyes glance to yours for a moment before refocusing back onto your offered hand.

You shake your head, a soft smile donning your lips, “Never,”

He utters a small ‘ok’ and takes your hand and a few moments later he catapults himself into your arms. Heavy sobs ricocheted out of his chest. Your arms wrap tightly around him, and his own arms do the same for you. The two of you sit there in silence, the only noises are of the fan set up in your room or the sound of his cries as you hold him.

“I love you,” His voice is soft, small but he means it. He means it so much more than you could know.

“I love you too, bur,” You place a kiss on his temple, your hand reaching to tangle with his hair, “so, so much,”

He hums in response and another silence blankets the two of you in comfortable warmth, and then you’re the one to break it this time;

“What happened?”

He shrugs, “So much,”

You rest your chin atop his head, one hand playing with his hair and the other rubbing his back, “Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, “No,” He pauses, gears turning in his head as he mulls over what to say next, “I love you more, by the way,”

A small, joyous laugh escapes your throat, “And I love you most.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening like that, in each other's arms, muttering reassurances of your love for the other--and eventually, he tells you of all he’s experienced. And you feel horrible, your heart aches for him but you’re happy he’s in your arms now.

And he smiles.

He knows you’re not going anywhere and he knows you love him too, more, and most.

[gaywiththesauce]

This is It

RenGiyuu, 1.1K

TW: mcd, attempted suicide, depressing thoughts, blood

Giyuu opened his eyes. It was midnight, a time he knew too well. He was laying on a roof somewhere he couldn’t recognize. He wasn’t alone. Kyojuro was sitting on the roof with him. He looked over at Giyuu with a soft voice, “Hey, good morning. How do you feel?”

Giyuu sat up slowly, “Where are we?”

“Not far,” Kyojuro answered, waving his hand in some direction. He looked at the lights of the small city ahead of them. “You didn’t answer my question, Giyuu.”

Giyuu hummed as a response. If he was to be honest, he felt awful. His head was groggy and he felt tired despite the nap. He shook his head, “I’m alright.”

Kyojuro looked over. His smile was brought down by the sadness in his eyes. “Okay,” he muttered, and Giyuu realized that he was caught in his lie. Neither of them elaborated further.

Kyojuro changed the subject, “I’m glad you’re awake, either way. I was worried that you might not wake up.”

Giyuu met his eyes, trying to see why Kyojuro would be worried about that. He looked over himself, missing the signs of blood or broken bones. Nothing. He was perfectly fine physically. He looked back at Kyojuro again, “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Kyojuro looked back at the lights, “Maybe it’s for the best. I’d rather you not remember.”

Giyuu didn’t understand why.

Kyojuro sighed and slid closer to Giyuu, “Can I ask a personal question?”

Giyuu nodded.

Kyojuro looked into the dark blue eyes of his lover, “What’s one thing that you’ve wanted the most in life?”

Giyuu gulped. There was no easy answer. There were so many things he wanted throughout his life. Acceptance, love, care, understanding, compassion, better speaking skills, friends, someone to talk to; all easy examples. Somehow, Kyojuro gave him all of those. He shrugged. “You?”

Kyojuro smiled and chuckled, “You flatter, but I appreciate it. I know it’s not true, however.” Kyojuro looked away, avoiding Giyuu’s concerned gaze. He continued, “You want him back, don’t you?”

Giyuu tried to see who he was talking about. They were the only two on the roof above the dead street. Despite the bright lights that made Tokyo look like daylight, the walkways were barren of any passerbys.

Kyojuro glanced at Giyuu’s hand, “You’re holding him now.”

Giyuu looked at his hand. It held onto Sabito’s side of the haori tightly. He let go. Kyojuro commented, “You miss him. Do you want him back?”

Giyuu nodded while he stared at his blood-stained hand, “Of course.”

Kyojuro put his soft hand against Giyuu’s cheek to guide his avoiding gaze to those burning embers of eyes.

“More than me?”

Giyuu froze. What kind of question was this? It felt like a trick. It felt unfair. Kyojuro was making him choose? Why? It was impossible. He loves Sabito and Kyojuro. They helped him through everything. Giyuu would be no one without them. He couldn’t choose, he couldn’t choose.

Kyojuro hummed. He was disappointed, but he couldn't understand it like Giyuu could. “Why do you keep it?” Kyojuro put his hand on Giyuu’s green and yellow shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“You do,” Kyojuro squeezed, “You don’t have a grave to mourn at, do you?”

Giyuu didn’t know how Kyojuro knew that. “I don’t.”

“What if you did? Would you stop wearing it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can mourn at my grave. Will you wear mine?”

“I don’t know.”

Kyojuro sighed again, knowing that he wouldn’t get another answer.

Giyuu held his breath, “I’ll miss you.”

Kyojuro looked at him, “Hm?”

Giyuu avoided his eyes, “If you die.”

Kyojuro glowed like an angel, “When I die, you mean. Death is guaranteed, Giyuu, and I miss you too.”

Giyuu felt tears stab at his eyes, “Will you wait for me?”

Kyojuro smiled out of the corner of Giyuu’s blurry vision, “There is no waiting, Giyuu. This is it.”

Giyuu looked up at him for the last time. Kyojuro’s smile was beautiful, open, and accepting.

It was his whole world.

It was over.

Giyuu blinked.

It wasn’t midnight anymore. He opened his eyes to somewhere different. The first thing he saw was the white that distorted his vision. He blinked away the tears and stared at the white snow on the ground. The ground was cold. Everything was so cold that it was warm.

Something touched him. He shook at the force, but couldn’t move at all.

“Oh, thank- Over here! He’s alive!” a feminine voice called out through his clogged ears. He was touched more. The snow was brushed off him and he was rolled on his back.

Shinobu’s face was in view. For once, she looked concerned. “Tomioka-san! Can you hear me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She worked on his stomach, doing something just out of his vision.

His vision narrowed, and the darkness bit away at the vision of the white clouds. Shinobu talked about something medical. Something about blood, about cold, and about living. Was Giyuu dying? The pain in his stomach hardly compared to his blue fingertips or his toes.

Giyuu rolled onto his side at the push of burning hands, eventually falling back onto something that wasn’t cold and red. The snow beneath him was bloody. It was his blood. In the corner of his eye, he could see his bed clothes stained with blood. So much blood, so much blood, the amount that’s when something pierces the solar plexus and goes straight through it. Huh. Giyuu didn’t know where that thought came from.

Giyuu’s head was held to view the sky. He saw something else, though. His sword hilt. It was pointing to the sky, held by a dainty hand. The leather of the straps was stained red. Why was it above him? With much more effort than he anticipated, he lifted his head enough to see where the blade was.

It was covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood. It was in his stomach. Seppuku, his mind reminded him.

“Stay down!” Shinobu shouted, pressing her fingers against Giyuu’s forehead as if he wasn’t already falling back. His head lulled to the side when she let up but scolded him further.

Another color caught his attention aside from the bleeding red and the rippling blue. Silver and gray, he could barely make out the symbols carved into the stone.

Here Lies Rengoku Kyojuro

Proud Brother, Dedicated Son

The Greatest Flame Hashira

Oh. 

He remembered what happened now.

It was his turn to save Kyojuro just as he saved him.

“You seem shy! That’s okay, my little brother is the same way! Tomioka-san, do you know anywhere close by where we could eat!”

Kyojuro saved him from loneliness. It was Giyuu’s time to return the favor.

I’m coming to save you.

I’ll save you, Kyojuro.

I’ll save myself.

I’ll save you.

I’ll save you.

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Soooooo got any angst ideas about the destroyer is your rewrite ? Like him having nightmares or just being trapped in the nether wondering what happen to Irene ? Or his hatred towards the divine warriors even though he actually rightfully mad ?

I greatly appreciate the erasure of Shad's name when talking to me, its a dumbass name

anyways

TW, mentions of violence, using a slightly gory/graphic description to describe physical sensation, typical Shad-convo stuff

What is he if not my angsty boy? My angsty wife, that's what.

Anyways, so my baby, right, he's not got himself a physical form in the nether/the Shadow Abyss (it's just 'the abyss' in LR for aesthetic reasons, the girlies that get it, get it), due to him being like violently murdered to the point his physical body was no longer suitable for life. However, regardless of this, he experiences near-constant phantom pains from every injury he ever sustained, healed or otherwise. Also, being only his own shadow is a very... vulnerable-feeling experience. It would be equivalent to walking around without your skin on, all of your nerves and muscles exposed. Pain. Which provides one very good motivation for someone to, idk, try and gain a physical form to try and stop the agony of your existence. which could lead him to redemption in a very 'i did what i had to in order to survive, just like everyone else' way, but.... idk, i dont know if i want to redeem him. I like how not-a-good-person he is.

Judgement (suprisingly a canon name for him, his actual name in my rewrite, because he's the OG edgelord) is plagued near-constantly with visions. Every Divine has visions of some sort, whether they're clairvoyant, or prophecies, or something. Judge's specifically are of... like... destruction. End of days, mass murders, wars, etc. it's his domain but it doesn't make it any easier to see them. It also means he dreams of his own death on a frequent basis. not fun for him.

Also, he's pretty sure he knows what happened to Irene, he was married to her for a very long time, he knew the kind of person she was. She banished him under the guise of ending all evil, and left to keep up that ruse instead of doing her duty to stay and protect people. He does think about it often, very very annoyed about it. It's another thing that leads him to do what he does. He's wondering just how many people have to die before she's willing to set aside her pride and face him. He never self-reflects on how many people have to die before he's willing to set aside his hatred.

He's spiteful towards the other divine, but he doesn't hate them, not like he hates Irene. I mean he does hate them... just kind of not as much as Irene. The others he expected to turn against him eventually, because his nature was always unfavourable, but she was meant to be his equal, they were both equally as destructive as each other (ironically).

A lot of his existence is more physically painful, he's able to cope with the visions and the bad memories, and the thoughts of 'what if' in his mind by channelling it all into anger, but things start slowly derailing upon him and Aphmau/Avra's first contact, and he doesn't understand why until he realises who she is. From there, he is the mayor of Angst town, population however-many-mcd-characters-exist.