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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

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At Her Mercy

Pairing: Simon “ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Summary: you’re needed to help guide the task force 141 group, when you meet ghost, it would tear open your wounds.

Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warning: mentions of murder, childhood abuse, physical violence, ghosting, heartless reader, typical cod violence, child death, bit of physicality between ghost and reader. Ptsd. No happy ending.

Note: I have a lot of requests and I’m sorry I just have so much Simon brain rot I need to get this out of my system. Sorry this is angsty. May be open for p2 idk lol.

You try not to linger around the grave too long after having sat here for 23 minutes, the longer you sat the longer it usually was harder for you to walk away. You couldn’t afford that attachment today; you had a plane to catch. Time didn’t stop for you, the world didn’t stop spinning and you knew you’d have to trudge through the metaphorical mud you often got stuck in again once you’d left; leaving was always the hardest part.

The clock on your wrist didn’t slow for you, the hands tick with each passing second you spent knelt into the unkempt overgrown grass at the cemetery. The headstone was old, in desperate need of a pressure wash to restore it’s original state. The arch shaped stone seemed to stand strong in the structure itself, your fingers had swiped the cobwebs off the top and base of the stone, clearing any critters that tried to make this memorial their home.

You knew you shouldn’t have purchased a whole bouquet of flowers, the bunch of red and orange flowers sat at the base where you’d carefully placed them upon your arrival, a mix of his favourite colours. You’d even purchased him a small gift, a hot wheels car, a red mustang with white stripes across the bonnet. He had always loved cars, playing with them and working on them; he mentioned a dozen times he’d wanted to be a mechanic, now along side him in his coffin; lie his dreams. A life unfulfilled and cut short at no fault of his own. It had been 10 years and 7 days; December 18th was the day your semi-normal but functioning life was stripped away; the day he was taken from you.

“Sorry I couldn’t come see you last week kid, I know I always make sure but things got-complicated. Hope you’ll forgive me.”

Things were definitely complicated. You were contacted by General Shepherd, you knew of him; being he was in charge of several units across the United States Military, including your section. He had a lot of contacts and if you worked for him; there was nothing about you he didn’t know. He directly had asked you to come and command the task force 141 team, alongside a man named Captain John Price.

“John Price is a good man and a damn good Captain.” Shephard stated, hanging off his last word on the laptop he’d called you on, his face could barely look at the camera.

“But?” You question impatiently.

“We fear he may’ve gone soft on the men here. We could use your..” he trails off, looking for the right word to use. “Resourcefulness and ruthlessness.”

“Do you think I’m ruthless, General?” You deadpan. His face pixilated as the wifi on your end fails to keep up.

“I’ve heard many a stories about you, Captain. Plane leaves in two days. John Price will meet you upon your arrival.”

“Copy that. I’ll be in touch General.” You shut your laptop screen, the call automatically ending as it meets the keypad.

You check your watch once more, the action becoming more frequent as the minutes passed, knowing you were cutting it close to missing the plan which left in half an hour to your new workplace.

“Sorry kid I better get going. I miss you everyday, still keep you near to my heart.” Your fingers trace the small ‘m’ letter necklace, the simple silver letter was attached to a small-link chain. Something that spent more time by your bedside table than around your neck these days-something you were ashamed to admit. The small trinket was one of the few items you owned of his, you tried to keep his memory alive as your brain often forgot what he looked like, the sound of his voice and laugh. The day you received this gift was one you’d remember until you died. You pull your mask up to cover the bottom half of your face, reaching underneath your eyes, closing yourself off and your vulnerability.

Christmas Day was always hectic in the household; spending time with your husbands family, his brother and wife, your nephew who was practically your own son.

“Hey, hey! I give up, put me down!” The boy giggled through his fit of laughter, short brown hair brushing the floor as you held him upside down.

“Gotta say the word otherwise you don’t tap out!” You manage through your own burst of laughter, his parents watching on with their own smiles, your husband watches you with a fondness and hope for your own children someday.

“Mercy! Mercy!” The boy squeals, finally. You set him down on the carpet gently, once he stands his cheeks are red and freckles are visible now more than normal.

He walks to the heavily decorated Christmas tree, bends down and precisely plucks a small, messily wrapped gift and hands it to you with a shy smile. The yellow Christmas lights shine in his blue eyes as he watches you expectantly, waiting for you to accept the gift. The first thing you notice is the outrageous amount of tape that secured the wrapping paper, the second was his messy hand writing that had scribbled your name, with a love heart next to his, you tear off the note and secure it in your pant pocket, too valuable not to keep.

“Do you think you can help me open it? I might need your big muscles to help unravel all this tape. Whaddya say?” He grins, nodding, helping you claw at the tape he had fervently taped last night after his parents had finally lent him some money he’d been begging for weeks.

Once the paper is gone, it’s exposed. The small white cardboard top that covered a black velvet box; the brand of a well known jeweller splayed in a cursive font on the box in silver. “This is so sweet!” You hum, completely delighted before you get the chance to even open the gift.

“Just wait till you open it! I think it’s neat.” He boasts proudly. You open the box, a small silver letter ‘m’ shines back at you, casting your reflection in the cursive letter. Before you can question him, he’s already starting to explain.

“It’s for Mercy, it’s something that reminds me of you when you’re not here. We always have so much fun playing together and I hope you like it.”

The tears in your eyes are fluent, your mouth is wet as you fill to the metaphorical brim of the cup with emotion, about to overflow. “Like it? Are you kidding, I love it. I promise we’ll come see you more often okay?”

“Yeah, that would be so neat!”

The memory replays as you’re sitting in the taxi to the Military airport, a junction that’s privately owned and used by few occupants that require urgent travel. The plane is being boarded with flight crew when you arrive; the army plane was one of many you’ve seen before; the dark grey would be a blip in the perfectly blue sky, like the little boy on your mind; his absence was your loss; your dark grey blip.

“Captain, please, let us take care of your luggage. Board the plane swiftly as we are on time and due to depart in 10 minutes.” You offload your giant luggage bag to a low ranking worker, his uniform clear indication he was what the higher ups call a shitkicker, or rookie. They were generally to stupid-or immature to be anything more than a servant, someone to fetch and do basic physical training until they were filtered out; booted or into the military as a low ranking soldier.

“Thanks kid.” You offer the younger man, kindness wouldn’t hurt with the rookies, you’ve been there and were there for two years-they were a necessity in the industry, without them there would be no new soldiers, no people to do the dirty work, like cleaning the toilets and washing the bedsheets.

The inside of the plane was nothing fancy, while it’s seats were mildly stiff and there was a lingering smell of cigarette smoke you didn’t complain, it was better than being seated where the low ranking soldiers were strapped, in the back of the aircraft with the luggage and whatever cargo they were shipping to the next location.

“Anything to drink, madam?” You look up to meet the eyes of a tired stuartess.

“Got any whiskey?” She nods politely and you pull the plastic tray down that’s attached to the seat in front.

“How would you like that made madam?” She’s pouring from a glass bottle, by the look of the honey coloured liquid, it was expensive.

“On the rocks, prepare me a second. Better make it a double.” You grab the drink, throwing it back and swallowing it in one go, the bitterness burned going down your throat, followed by tones of malt and honey.

You hand the glass back to the middle aged woman, she prepares you a double as you ask and you set the cup in front of you.

“If you need our assistance please don’t hesitate to ask, enjoy your flight.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your voice is rough, the whiskey was harsh on your throat, despite the sweet after taste, it was harsher than you were used to, the ice adding a coolness that made your teeth sensitive with every sip of the liquid.

You pull out a small baggie from your top right pocket of your dark uniform, two small white rounded pills sit at the bottom of the small ziplock plastic bag. You fish out the pills, your fingers a decent size too big for it to be an effortless task. Getting disgruntled and sick of waiting another minute, you tip the baggie upward and crane your neck back into the seat, the two pills falling from the bag onto your tongue. The powdery residue on your tongue is bitter and unpleasant, you don’t take another second to pick up your glass and swallow the pills.

After a few years of using the sleeping pills, you’ve gained a small tolerance, it takes close to 15 before your eyelids start fluttering, the loudness of the aircraft starts to drown out, all the emotion from the gravesite seems to fade away as you fall out of consciousness, you would enjoy the peace as it came; no nightmares, no pain, just blissful ignorance.

You wake just as the plane lands on the runway, the loud screeching of the rubber tyres hitting the tar at great speed. To speed up the process of waking up, you gulp down the last of your whiskey, the beverage barely relieving the dry mouth the pills had caused you on a daily basis. You clear your throat and lick your lips, looking around at the view outside of the moving scenery as the plane circles around to its final stop, where two military grade unimogs full of soldiers await your arrival.

You adjust your black mask, the material clings tight to your chin as it drapes down your neck. A man approaches you as you walk down the giant ramp of the aircraft, the noise ceasing as the engines come to a halt, the blades rotating slowly as they realise their journey has ended. The man stands a few inches taller than you, his brown mutton chops frame his face, blue eyes piercing you with a friendly look that makes you uneasy, the crows feet around his eyes are a knowing sign of his stress. You don’t even want to get started on that stupid hat.

“John Price, Captain John Price. Nice to finally meet your acquaintance.” You shake his extended hand firmly. Believing all you need to know in a person is all in the handshake; take Price for example, he’s firm, friendly, a business man, his hand doesn’t linger for longer than it needs to.

“You can call me Mercy. Glad to finally meet you Captain Price. Shepherd hasn’t informed me much of your men, I hope they’re up to standard.” You begin to walk to the truck, Price has his men load your luggage into the back.

“I firmly believe they are, Captain.” He holds the door open for you to sit in the backseat, an unusually kind gesture for someone you just met.

“Guess we’ll see about that.” You deadpan bluntly. You had seen your fair share of failures in your time, leaders who weren’t harsh enough on their men, who didn’t correct their mistakes or claimed to be a family unit. You hated that dynamic, you weren’t here to build a family or make friends. You were placed here to help the men of this task force with their dedicated mission and get the fuck back to your own unit, you had your own men that relied on you.

“Hope you don’t mind the introductions will be made off base this evening.” You raise an eyebrow, turning to the man beside you.

“Is that so? Where exactly will this off base location be? Is the area secure, will you have men patrolling the area?” These are all necessary questions and this man had looked at you as if you had two heads, which answered your questions for you.

“We can have it arranged Ma’am.” You hum in distaste.

“It would want to be arranged, I don’t leave base unless I know myself and my men are safe. I’m sure you understand Captain.” You already showed no fondness to the man who was supposed to be leading a task force, how incompetent were the men he were in charge of if the Captain himself didn’t pre-organise this off base meeting.

The base was small, a dozen buildings, one awfully large one in which you would assume was medical. One in which you would hope is medical. The trucks come to a stop, you’re grateful for your mask that filters the dust in which stops you from inhaling the swirling storm of dust as you open the door. Your boots leave an indented footprint on the beige dust, the grass growing in patches and the buildings invaded with overgrown weeds that haven’t been touched in what you’d assume were years.

“If you’ll follow me ma’am, I’ll show you around base.” You pull out the small notepad and pen, scribbling down how someone needs to hire a damn maintenance man to clean the weeds and mow the grass.

You come to the largest building which is attached to the other smaller ones in a large D shape. As you walk in, the room is outdated and the stench makes your nose scrunch in disgust under your mask.

“Captain what the fuck is that obnoxious smell?” Price turns to you, slowing his pace to match your own as you look into the windows of the old, outdated rooms, trying to figure out where the smell is coming from.

“This is the mess hall, we used to have people cook for us but they were all fired when the government stopped extra curricula funding.” You frown, speeding your pace through the dirty halls of the building.

“Why hasn’t it been cleaned, or demolished?” You finally exit that part of the building. Price doesn’t have an answer for you. You write some notes in your notepad about the foul stench and lack of use for that building, writing demolish with question marks and drawing a big circle around it.

“This is where we sleep, we have a dozen men on base at the moment, myself and 3 others are the task force 141 team you’ll be working closely with, your room is this one right here.”

You come to a stop, room 5F. He hands you the key, putting a spare in his pocket. Your luggage is sitting outside the door already.

“Keeping the spare key for any particular reason?”

“For emergencies only, we’ve had an incident where someone had a heart attack and locked themselves in. He passed away before we could get to him. Just a precaution, that’s all.”

The room is stuffy when he opens the door, the single bed is topped with a 4 inch mattress and one old flimsy blanket and a flat pillow, you’re grateful you brought your own bedding.

“If you need anything give me a buzz, I’ll text you the address of the bar tonight.” He gestures to a small piece of paper on the wall, sticky taped on all four sides. Written Prices name and mobile number.

“Right. Thanks.” You drag your luggage in from outside the door, the wheels are loud on the floor as it squeaks. You begin to unpack your things, deciding to put up the image of your nephew on the bedside table, having cropped out your ex-husband from the image to show the two of you, an image from your last birthday you spent with him.

“I want a corner piece please, please!” The boy pleas, his love for the crispy par burnt edges of your birthday cake were his favourite. You slice him up a large piece, swiping your finger in the delicious yellow frosting that topped his oversized piece. You lean into him and wipe it on his face, earning a groan of protest from him as he retreats from you.

“I’m trying to eat it, not wear it!” You laugh, cutting your family each a slice of the cake your brother-in-laws wife had made. The sunflowers were handcrafted with such delicacy you were saddened to cut into them-let alone eat them.

“Alright, alright, I guess I can leave you unbothered. But just for the moment.” You push his arm with your own gently in a playful manner.

To your surprise, he pulls out a sunflower from beside the seat he sits on, you set the cake down and grasp the flourishing flower, inspecting the beauty and vibrancy of the perfectly bright yellow petals, it had been picked perfectly. Tears pricked your eyes as you held the flower.

“God kid, you know how to make me cry dontcha?” He grins, his mouth full of chocolate mud cake, “good tears, right?” You smiled at your nephew and he smiled back, “right.” Unbeknownst to you in that moment-your brother in law had snapped an image.

A picture you held dear to your heart, and now bedside. You manage to pull yourself away from the image-a painful memory in which all of him had become, yet you had to preserve as there was no one left that would do so. You refused to let his memory die.

You pull your mask down as you near the sink, a crusty mirror hangs above it, barely clear enough for you to see yourself as much more than a blur. You reapply the black paint to your face as some unwelcome tears had fallen and dropped down your cheeks, ruining the pigment of the paint. You brush your teeth, turning the tap on to see a musty brown coloured water before it turns clear, note to self, don’t drink the water unless it’s bottled.

You apply some deodorant before pulling your mask back upward, your hot breath is once again trapped in the confines of the mask as you close yourself off. Your phone vibrates on the bed and you check it’s a text from Price confirming the location of the ‘meeting’. More like a typical military piss up, these men will find any excuse to drink.

Price: “Bar at 112 West Highland Road. Neon green sign out front, be blind to miss it.”

You: “Got it. Be there soon.”

The bar was quieter than you expected, sure it had a few typical rowdy drinks, but nothing like any of the chaos you’d experienced in America. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Price, your eyes scanning every face in the room as if you’ve got facial recognition in your brain, just in case you need to remember. Price stands from his seat, 3 other men sit with him, one is significantly larger than the rest, he’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, the rest you don’t see as he’s turned towards the bar.

You stand tall as you approach them, people moving out of your way as you barge into their shoulders roughly.

“Glad you could join us tonight. This is the rest of the team, Gaz, Soap and Ghost.” He points to his men and you shake the hand of Gaz first, “nice meeting you Gaz.” He’s got a bright smile that you find hard not to reciprocate.

“I’m John McTavish but you can call me Soap, ma’am.” You raise an eyebrow, two johns? Seriously? You shake his hand, “I’ll keep that in mind, Soap.”

The last man you approach is large, he’s tall and a black baklava with a skull print covers his face. His hoodie is pulled up and a black substance covers his eyes, his blonde lashes untouched as they poke through, his blue eyes are piercing as they stare through you. “Ghost eh, interesting. I like the look.” He looks you up and down before nodding. “Appreciated Captain.” He sets his drink down on the bar and you take a seat in between him and Soap, there feels something familiar about his accent, those beaming blue eyes and blonde eyelashes, but you chalk it up to him being British. “Call me Mercy.”

“How’d ya come up that callsign?” Soap inquires. You exhale deeply, this was going to be a long night.

“Before I answer any damn questions, I need a drink.” The bartender took your order, within the minute you had the drink sitting in front of you, pleading for you to drink it so it could take your pain away for you, deal with the guilt and memories you found to traumatic to continue to think about.

You take a sip and smack your lips. “It was an inside thing between my nephew and I, the name kinda just stuck.”

You finished off your drink and slid it back to the bartender who gave you a refill as you asked. “You got family back home then?” Gaz questions.

Thank god for the refill. “Negative. All deceased.” The men went quiet and you sip on the liquid, it warms you from the inside out, taking away the guilt and stripping you down to where you had no emotion on the topic. They murmur apologies and you feel ghosts gaze on you, his eyes felt dark and sinister, like he was distant from his physical body, he didn’t really feel there.

“You ever marry?” You grit your teeth, your jaw is clenching so hard you can almost feel your teeth grinding. The mention of your husband boils your blood, but also breaks your heart into a million shards.

“Still married, technically. Piece of shit ghosted me when things got hard, haven’t seen him since. First thing I’ll do if I ever see that sorry bastard is serve him the divorce papers I’ve been carrying for half a decade. Cant change my last name without the divorce being finalised.”

You throw your neck back as you finish off your second glass of whiskey. Your bladder feeling full from the beverage, your mind hazy and spinning already, the talk of your husband is making your head ache. You pull of your ID and card, throwing it onto the bench for the bartender, “excuse me a moment while I use the restroom, prepare another drink for when I get back would you?”

The bartender watches you hesitantly and mutters, “sure.”

The bartender tossed your cards back to the bench in front of you, attempting to sit them where you left them, seemingly throwing it too far as your ID rolls off the bar onto the floor beside your stool legs. Soap mutters, “fuckin idiot.” As he picks up your card, setting it back upright in front of your drink, noticing the last name, he does a double take. He thinks his eyes are deceiving him when he sees your last name- Riley. This surely is just a coincidence, right?

“Eh Lt, you seen this lass’ last name, might be a relation to you.” Ghost turns to soap, irritated by his shenanigans, but glances towards the card anyway and can’t take his eyes away from it. He sees you- her. His wife. It’s her face and her name, how did you get this? His wife hated the military, war and fighting, she would never join it, let alone become a Captain of her own army.

He felt his blood boiling, the alcohol in his blood seemed to fuel the fire swirling in his stomach. How wife was killed that night along with the rest of his family- it made him sick to his stomach having to think you could try and come into this talk force and betray him.

“You alright Simon?” Prices voice is unheard, the noise of the bar and the photo of his wife’s face brings back too many painful memories for him to focus on the reality. Memories that plagued his nightmares- of you and him.

“What do you think Si?” She twirls in the blue sundress for him as her hair falls over her shoulders, he can only smile at the sight of her, her beauty was immeasurable to him-incomparable. He had never felt this way before about anyone. In that moment, he remembers how perfect he thinks she would’ve looked swollen with his child.

His hands snaked their away around her waist, pulling her into his body. “You know I think you look fuckin’ perfect baby, always perfect.” She rolls her eyes at his compliment.

“This is a serious matter you know! It’s a wedding, people will be taking pictures that last many lifetimes, you look so handsome and I have to match it.” He remembers cradling her face, forcing her to look him in his eyes, “you look better than I ever could, baby.”

She smiled but shook her head, “no one could ever be more handsome than my husband.” She rubbed her hands up and down his white long sleeve button up shirt, smoothing out the collar which barely had a wrinkle in it post ironing.

“What’d I ever do to deserve you hm?” His voice was a quiet whisper, she’d worked through previous hardships, his struggles and scars she had kissed better and even attempted to stitch up when he’d come home because he blatantly refused to let anyone else touch his body. She had been there through the worst of it, helped him through his family troubles, stayed after he applied for the military and stayed up during the nights he had nightmares, his ptsd was severe for months on end when he first signed up.

“You deserve me Si, more than anything you deserve me.”

“Ghost?” Soaps hand was on his shoulder, shaking him out of his hazy memories of his old wife.

“Need a minute outside.”

As he pushes through the large crowd, he finds you already outside, smoking a cigarette that blows large clouds through the cool night air. You pull down the bottom of your mask, not wanting to be exposed to the larger man. He towers over you, something about his size and silence is both terrifying and has you feeling safe.

“Don’t like people seein’ your face?” You’re surprised when he asks, having not said much to you this evening.

“No one but myself has in a long time.” He leans up against the brick wall, standing too close for your liking beside you.

“You ever get sick of it?” You turn to him, squashing your cigarette underneath your boot, the red light fizzling out on the damp cement.

“Sick of what exactly?” You turn to him, an arm on your hip.

“Bein’ a snake, pretendin’ to be someone you’re not.” This makes you frown, your impatience coming in at an all time high, blood pressure rising as this man insults you.

“If you’ve got something to say, Ghost, I suggest you spit it out.” You snap accusingly, pointing at his chest as you stand tall, keeping eye contact and not intimidated by what he’s doing. You take a step closer and he comes off of the brick wall, standing a foot in front of you.

“You’re the enemy, have to be smarter than to use an ID of someone who is dead!” He snarls, his voice is booming as he swings at you, his fist connects with your stomach and it sends you sliding backwards on the wet cement. You exhale, steadying your breathing after the hit. You lunge towards him, ducking at the last second to avoid is hands trying to grab you, you kick as his knees and one falters, nearly bringing him to the ground, you had quickly figured out his weakness.

He levels himself on his leg, watching you with a look so furious in his eyes you want nothing more than to erase the look from your mind, if you had to accomplish that with violence-so be it.

He pulls out his knife from his boot, you scowl as he does so, “fucking coward, fight like a man!” You yell at him, he ignores you and charges like a raging bull, heavy footsteps slow in comparison to your nimble movements which allows you to narrowly avoid the knife he aimed to plunge into your ribs.

You pulled out your own knife, “wanna fucking okay dirty hm? Come on then you fucking prick! I’m not scared of you, I eat shitheads like you for fucking dinner.” You’re eyeing each other off, circling like predator and prey, although no one knows who is which yet. The rain makes it difficult to see, the drops falling onto your mask make it more difficult to breath through. Through the scuffle part of your hair had fallen out of its plait, the strand of hair irritating and blinding you as it sits in front of your eyes.

“Fuck it.” You growl lowly, tearing off your mask as you cut it with your knife, all while avoiding a blow from Ghosts forward attack, you pull your hair backwards and tuck it behind your ear.

The man freezes in place, his movements stop entirely, the knife falling from his hands, clattering onto the wet sidewalk. As he sees her-you, his wife. Your face is more matured, it’s grown into its features and you have a sternness he doesn’t recognise, eyes as cold as stone as you watch him fall apart before you. He notices a giant scar along your nose that has never been seen before.

“It can’t be, you’re dead, you died-“ he trails off, eyes wide as he watches you like a Hawk.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You growl, confused and still pent up from the fight.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t mutter a single word, he barely finds the strength to lift his hands to the bottom of his baklava and pulls it off his face, revealing himself for the first time in over a decade. He felt himself crumbling, so vulnerable and exposed to the world, his world-you. His wife and the woman he loved so much-loves.

You stutter for a moment before your face hardens again, you storm forward and shove him, your fists hit his chest so many times you can’t count, he doesn’t react, he just stands like a punching bag for you to let out your Pent up anger. You pull away from him, the thought of touching him and him touching you, made you nauseous.

“You piece of shit! You left me! For better or worse my fucking ass!” You pace the sidewalk, kicking the trash can as a decades worth of emotions come crashing down on you. “You weren’t even there for the funeral Simon! Have you even visited them? Since they’ve died, have you? I see Joseph whenever I get the chance.”

Tears are falling down your face at the thought of him, your nephew Joseph.

“Don’t talk about him.” Simon growls, obviously still a soft spot for him. You roll your eyes, “I thought you were fucking dead with them! When I ran through that house and didn’t find you I thought they’d taken you to fucking get back at me! I chased every piece of intel for years on end trying to find you.” He steps towards you, his big chest heaving. The street lamp above you shines above him, his face looking more scarred and handsome as ever.

“I killed every damn one of those motherfuckers and you were still nowhere to be found. I dedicated the past decade of my life trying to find you and you’re in the fucking military, alive and fine.”

You slap him across the face at his accusation.

“If you think this is me fine Simon Riley, you’re stupidly fucking mistaken. Now get the fuck out of my face! I’m your Captain, you’re dismissed! Get the fuck out of my sight.”

You storm away from him, sheathing your knife into your leg harness. Once you were far away enough and sure he couldn’t see you, you slipped on your mask and sobbed, uncontrollably against the wall of a building in the street, forgetting about the bar, the team and the ID you’d left behind. Screw all that, in the morning you were going home. The rain poured on you, your uniform heavy on your skin as it sticks.

You mindlessly walk until you reach base, not realising how far you’d walked until you ended up standing out the front of your room door with the key in hand ready to unlock the door. You exhale and close the door, removing your mask and grabbing a fist full of wipes to clean the smudged black face paint that had dropped down your neck from the rain and probably your tears. Fuck Simon, you couldn’t stay here, not when he was a constant reminder of the pain, your past was too much to have to relive everyday. The death, blood, the screams, the way he abandoned you.

You sit on the chair beside your desk, grabbing the photograph of you and Joseph before your emotionally exhausted body begins to slump over the desk, eyes fluttering shut before you can remember to take your pills.

You’re preparing Joseph’s things for a bath, his clothes laid down on his bed, his green towel and toothbrush on the bed. You’re about to call him up when you hear the front door bust open.

“Kill every last one of them, I want no survivors. Riley has to pay.” It’s a foreign voice you don’t recognise, the fear of something happening to your family and realising this is the end as they fire the first gunshot. The screams of your brother in law shake the foundation of the house as gunfire rings through the walls, his wife begging through her sobs for these men to stop, “we’ll do anything, please!”

Her pleas are ignored and she too is gunned down, silence fills the house, you sneakily hide in the bedroom closet in Joseph’s room, the door thankfully making no noise as you close the door shut, the old hinges working a charm for the first time ever. You can barely see anything through the tiny cracks of the closet door, the moonlight coming through the window is the only thing you see.

You hear footsteps running down the hall to your direction and you try to even your ragged breathing, you hear more footsteps running up the stairs, the thundering noise beats in your ears. You hear him crying, sobbing as he calls for help, for you to help him. You’re frozen, trembling in place as the kid stands there alone with a gun pointed to him in his own bedroom.

“He’s just a kid, can’t we leave him?” One man says, the other sneers at him, “boss said all of them, especially the kid.”

“No please!” Joseph begs before he’s gunned down, his blood splatters into the closet cracks and onto your face, you flinch and your eyes are wide as your nephew is ruthlessly murdered in front of you. You were too much of a coward to help him, you are compliant in his death.

The man walks closer to the closet, hand rattling on the closet door knob like he’s going to open it, then the sound of police sirens can be heard coming down the street, they’re coming fast and the red and blue lights are seen through the window, illuminating the room and the dead body but feet away from you.

“Hurry up and let’s get out of here. I ain’t goin to prison!” The hand releases the doorknob and trips over Joseph’s body, running downstairs as they escape the consequences.

Your body is trembling, stuck in a back and forth rock of trying to self sooth but to no avail. Your brain replays the scene over and over, him begging for your help and being shot by a couple thugs in a targeted attack.

“M sorry joey.” Is your mantra, you’re repeating it over and over, what starts as a soft whisper becomes a chant that attracts the police.

“Hey, we got a survivor over here!” The officer calls to his colleagues, trying to pry you from the closet. “What’s your name?” His voice is drowned out by your ears ringing, your dissociated state accompanied by the incoherence nonsense that leaves your lips, “mercy.” You mumble, mercy. That’s what you wanted, hoping the muttered word would stop the pain, stop the cruelty and stop the joke.

But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Your eyes shoot open as you’re gasping for air, the scream that leaves your lips is one of genuine terror, your arms are thrashing and shoving the weight you feel on your arm as someone’s hand.

“It’s me, it’s just me.” You recognise his voice, Simon. Your heart is thumping and you sit up from your spot on the chair, pacing the small area in the room that Simon didn’t occupy.

“You have em too?” Your neck snaps around to Simon, glaring at him through your tears and wet face. “Of course I have them, I hear their screams and see Joseph killed in my head over and over on reply, as if it happened yesterday.”

Simon stumbles backward, shocked by your confession. “You- you saw him..” you rubbed your hands over your eyes. “Yes.” Confirming what Simon would never want to hear from you. You watched your nephew die.

“I don’t want you or need you in here Simon, I need you to leave.” He shuffles on his feet, his eyes torn between you and the photograph of you and his nephew on the table you’d just been cradling.

“If you ever want to talk-“ you cut him off with a scoff, irritated by his presence.

“I don’t. Now get out, I’m fine. I’m not here to make amends with you and sure as hell not trying to be your wife again, Simon. You were a shit husband, now please, get out.” You sigh, sitting on your bed, completely exhausted.

Simons heart shatters at your words, every wall he’s built comes crumbling down at his feet, he’s now left truly alone. The hope of you had kept him going- now what does he have? He simply nods, wanting to respect your needs, when he reaches the door you call his name, he’s hopeful when he turns around to see you barely a foot away when you hand him an envelope.

“Sign the divorce papers Simon. Please.”

It feels like his heart has been stomped on the for third time tonight, you were trying to sever the last connection he had to you, his last name. The only proof he had that you were ever his, that his family existed at all; he holds the papers tight in his hand and walks out of your room, leaving you to take out your pills and swallow them dry, having a sleep that’s uninterrupted by those plaguing nightmares, those pills, your poison, you were at her mercy and Simon was at yours.

#Simon Riley #ghost #Simon ghost Riley #call of duty fic #Simon Riley angst #cod #simon riley imagine #Simon x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x oc #Simon Riley x mercy

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dribs-and-drabbles · 8 months

Text

Dead Friend Forever ep 1

I finally got sucked into watching. And since there's so much speculation around the characters and their actions/motives I thought I'd document my observations as I go. (small comments in brackets are things I've gone back to after the ep ended)

Who did the axe man hit for the guy on his own (Non, right?) to get splashed with blood, because the guy with him (Jin, right?) had already run off, unless it was his own blood from a wound lower down on this body... (So I'm guessing this is the original film that they made with Non years ago...no, wait, if Non was the 'killer' in the mask in the film then why is he running away from another masked person with Jin here? Is this also the film or is this their real experience. Oh ho hooo the mystery thickens...what's real and what's played out for the 'camera' [including for us]?...).

Also, I can't believed I'm watching this 🙈

I think the only way I'll get through the scary gore bits is to analyse their believability.

Ok, let's go! I like the opening credits music.

It's a good job it's difficult for me to figure out all their names because the things I've seen/read about the show so far mean nothing or very little.

The first believable thing! - no phone signal and no wifi in the middle of nowhere. I used to experience the same thing in the Swedish countryside.

Ok, I see those looks between Fluke and green-shirt-big-money guy...what secret do they have about what's on that external drive... And embroidered shirt guy doesn't know...or does he and he's a good liar?

EVERYONE IS JUST SO SUS.

So green shirt guy, Fluke, Jin, and embroidered shirt guy (Top!) were in this movie? And Non was the 'killer'. And Phee pretends he doesn't know who Non is even though I've seen that he and Non knew-knew each other... The two who don't know Non (for realsies?) is brown jacket guy (White?) and the guy sat opposite Jin.

Wow green shirt guy was quick to jump in to say he had a camera in the house to remake the film - that Phee suggested. SO SUS. Jin and tall guy (Tee!) did NOT like that.

"I don't want him [White] to get involved in what we have done" - What HAVE you done Tee? 👀

Also I love that all this is happening with White in a "Sexy Summer Time" t-shirt on 😂

An asthmatic who smokes 🤦🏽‍♀️ Yeah, he's definitely not going to find his inhaler when he needs it. (Is that Tan?).

Oh what if White isn't the innocent cherub he's made out to be? What if he's manipulating this to get revenge for Non? I've seen people say they want him to be the last girl standing (or whatever the phrase is) but what if he's orchestrating all this?

Whyyyyyy did green shirt guy (Por!) leave the house and go into the woods???

So, interestingly, Tee and Fluke instigated the search for Por, then Phee doled out instructions once they found him... Hmmmm...SUS

Por seems alive and conscious, why is no one asking how it happened? Also, even in his second year, Fluke should know to stay calm so as not to panic the patient more...

Who keeps jump cables in the house and not either in the car or in a garage/outbuilding, especially somewhere like that??!?

Again, they're in a house in the woods. Surely there would be a saw in some kind of garage/workshop? Why are they looking in a kitchen for a knife to cut a tree branch?? WHY IS THE SAW IN THE KITCHEN UNDER THE SINK?! 😂

It's incheresting that White concludes it's an attempted murder 👀 Thus sowing the seed in everyone else's mind...

BOYS, proving that there's a ninth person is NOT the priority here. Getting Por to a hospital is. 🤦🏽‍♀️

Also incheresting are the deleted scenes 👀 HOW COULD POR GO INTO THE WOODS ALONE ESPECIALLY AFTER HE COUNTED NINE PEOPLE?! Also, Tan was not part of the failed re-staging of the film...SUS.

Alright. I'm hooked on the mystery. I should make clear that I in NO WAY want any answers that will spoil the mystery for later in the series. Please and thank you! 🙏🏽 I'm just laying down some thoughts to come back to once more info gets revealed. Comments that don't spoil anything are absolutely welcome though! 😁

#dead friend forever #NO SPOILERS PLEASE #I am watching despite the horror and gore #although it's ok so far

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thesrctsoftheuniverse · 15 days

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finished season 4 last night and i once again have thought i would like to write down!!!

this time written on my phone bc im on holiday and havent gotten the wifi password for my laptop yet so bare with me

- may grant!!! I love that she got a bigger role this season. she’s so great and seeing her grow and learn the same way maddie had to learn was so beautiful to watch. her relationship to her mother is complicated but beautiful and i love that athena learns to accept that may is her own person. I hope we see more of her in season 5 and i hope we see more of athena and may together as well. her listening to her mom’s phonecall to 911…. I cried

-speaking of smaller characters getting bigger roles: josh!!! i LOVED what was basically a “josh begins” episode, he ATEEEEEE that one call where he had to direct several groups of LAPD officers around.

-bobby this season made me fear for a relapse. im so glad that he didnt relapse but im scared for him and worried. I hope he and athena can talk more and tbh i would love to see him open up again to the season 1 trio. chim, hen and buck helped him get sober after his relapse, i want to see them bond and vent together!!! the episode where he and michael played detectives LMFAOO

- i think ive mostly mentioned what i loved about athena this season in previous paragraphs, her relationship with may and her relationship with bobby. i absolutely LOVE how hard she went for that missing her, i loved her rescuing bobby from that sniper. there were some excellent scenes. i love her and hen together, my bestieesssssss!!!! i do wish to see her and bobby in more vulnerable scenes together, the fight and then aftermath of it was beautiful

-hen my love. what a rollercoaster. first of all i love her mom!!! she’s so fun and clearly trying to fix whatever went wrong between them. hen at med school is sosoosososo cool and i love her med school friends. she’s so cool being in med school even with everything else. I love seeing the main cast’s friends OUTSIDE of work, it adds so much to the characters . her and karen truly are so fucking important to me. the foster daughter arc with nia was so beautiful and heartbreaking. like im sorry you KNEW this could happen. but i love that they’re open to new placements even with the pain. and denny being involved!! and being scared of being taken away!!! Pls im gonna cry, the exact fear karen has

-chimney at the beginning of the season pissed me tf off. but then he was there for maddie in person and they were amazing!! girl dad chimney!! i love him, he loves his kid so much pleaseeeeee… and him telling the people who raised him how imporant they are to him. i love his character idk guys, hes just so wonderful to me. even if he clearly didnt see the signs of maddies post partum depression

- albert literally almost dying while his niece was being brought into the world was so fucking stressful jesus christ. i love him and i love his friendship with buck. uncle besties 4 life!!!

- maddie i love you so much. she was so beautiful this season, she deserves the world. she was so ready to be a mom but then post partum depression hit :( i hope she gets better, im glad she asked for help. her and buck’s storyline this season… the secret brother… for fucks sake how shocking and how HEAVY of a burden that must be to carry for so long. I love her so much.

- buck this season going to therapy…. Damn dont get too mentally stable or else they won’t know what to do with you anymore hahahaah!! nvm watch your loveofyourlife bestie get shot in front of you, have to crawl under a truck even with your trauma to save him and then literally try to keep him alive until the hospital only to then have to tell his son what is happening. heres moreeeee traumaaaaaaaa woooohooooo!!! ngl i liked him and taylor kelly this season, i kinda wish they would remain friends but i can deal with her as a love interest for now. shes an interesting character! his whole world being turned upside down when he was just starting to get better from the therapy by her sister admitting to them having a brother and him being born for spare parts. love you king, sorry you never get to be fully happy with yourself!

- eddie diaz you absolute cutie pie. will you ever be happy? Idk but you sure were bitchy this season. i fucking LOVED it, please tell me we get your bitchy ass back for season 5. him in the jinx episode??? I laughed so hard, truly an icon. I love ana flores but that man simply doesnt know what to do with a woman like her. oranywomanforthatmatter. him and chris is always beautiful, that is MY family. he loves that kid so muchz and him putting buck in the will?? hand in marriage next…. I knew what was coming from spoilers online but him being shot and the scenes after that of buck getting him inside the truck were so fucking nerve racking and also FUN!! what a moment.

-carla is back for 2 seconds and already spitting facts LMFAO

-the jinx episode was so fun and sossoossoso good pls more of it and more of ravi as well

-the treasure hunt episode was so good too!! I love episodes where they all get a bit silly

-the dam breaking and mudslide disaster was really good, especially with may being freshly at 911 dispatch and her MOM being stuck in a house that crashed down the hill. nothing tops the tsunami tho

- i want more buck and diaz scenes. and by diaz i mean chris.

thats all i can think fo rn my brain is tired i love travelling but it makes me so tired

#911 show #911 abc #911 season 4 #911 season four #athena grant #bobby nash #evan buck buckely #henrietta wilson #howard chimney han #eddie diaz #may grant #josh russo

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girldragongizzard · 17 days

Text

Chapter 9: Breakfast sans bed

Do you ever get tired of your own thoughts and the words in your head?

It’s Thursday, day six of my actual life, the life I’m finally living, and the Kims have opened the shop again. But Jill is hanging out in the lobby, and Nathan is helping the delivery man carry the coffee shipment into the back.

Nathan is a graying, bearded man with a gruff cheerfulness that’s delightful and friendly, and I love him. He’s almost like a human dragon himself, but not a threat to my territory. And, even though he’s nearly six feet tall, he looks like a dwarf in one of the shop aprons, which are all hand sewn by one of the owners. He usually picks a brown and orange one with a floral pattern and black frills. It goes pretty well with his Spanish moss green button down shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and brown Keen Austins today.

Nobody is talking to me. But they are all talking to each other, and that suits me just fine. Though I can’t really hear what’s being said inside the shop. I get snippets of conversation when Nathan or the delivery guy go through the door.

Kimberly’s given me her tablet, and I’m occupied with the now lengthy and tedious task of making it mine.

I can’t remember my cell account information, and I’m not sure this device is compatible with it anyway. In order to try, I’d have to get back into my apartment and look for the original paperwork, which I’m not even sure I can manipulate well enough to keep it legible. Or open the locked door somehow and get someone like Rhoda to do it for me. That means finding my keys.

Doable.

But, in the meantime, I do have the shop’s wifi code. The tablet is already set up with it, but Kimberly gave me a slip of paper and weighted it down with an empty coffee cup, when she delivered my morning joe.

My stomach is full of a couple of awful seagulls, though. I feel like the process of getting them in there should have left me more disturbed by it than I am. They were alive recently, but not when I swallowed them. But I didn’t cook them and I didn’t pluck them. And coffee just doesn’t sound appetizing yet.

I’ve just got the AAC app set up again, and am now examining my deeply singed and questionable purse, when someone vaguely memorable walks up to my table with fists on his hips. There’s an envelope in his right hand, flapping in the morning breeze.

“This isn’t working,” he says to me. “We’ll box up your belongings and deliver them to an address you supply. But you cannot re-enter your apartment. Furthermore, we can’t have you on the premises anymore. [Deadname], you are being evicted.”

I sit up so that my head is slightly above his, and turn my gaze to face him, without saying anything or making a noise. I just study him.

This is Dave. He works with the property management. One of my landlords.

He takes a step back, blinking a couple times, and then holds out the envelope for me to take it somehow.

I look at the envelope, but do nothing else.

“Meghan? Is this man bothering you?” Nathan asks from the other side of my table, where he’s standing now, arms folded across his chest.

“Yes,” I say with my new tablet. Easy and quick. I don’t even change my focus from the envelope.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Nathan says with obviously great relish. “The lady here has expressed she has no business with you.”

Dave blinks at him, appears to stammer without making any noise, and then says, “I’m just doing my job and serving this… individual… an eviction notice as required by law.”

“I think not,” Rhoda says from behind me, well within my peripheral vision.

I did see her coming up, but had only shifted my focus to Dave’s face.

“What?” Dave says.

“If you evict this dragon, Dave,” Rhoda says. “Another will just take her place. And I don’t think you want any of the alternatives. She’s keeping the riffraff out. And I know. I’ve seen one of them.”

Nathan takes a determined step toward Dave, moving to crowd him off the sidewalk, or further down it.

But Dave stands his ground and raises his voice. “This… dragon’s former apartment must be repaired, and that hole properly shored up and patched, or this whole building will be condemned. Including this coffee shop. Do you all want that?”

“You can give her another apartment, or the roof, if she can’t stay in that one while you fix it,” Rhoda says. “I don’t know what law you’re referring to that requires an eviction. She’s not the one that damaged the building.”

Dave addresses her, “With the kind of racket it’s been making, we can’t have it –”

“Sir,” Nathan snaps, stepping up until he’s pushing against Dave’s arm with his crossed forearms.

“What?”

“You will address the lady properly,” Nathan insists. “Her pronoun is she/her.”

Dave glances at me, and I yawn. There may be seagull meat or feathers between my teeth. My breath probably doesn’t smell great. Then I give him a sarcastic cat smile.

“Well,” Dave says, swallowing. “She… cannot reside in that apartment while it’s being repaired. And we do not have any vacancies. And the roof is not a suitable living area. For one, there is no running water there. And… And we cannot have the noise that she is making. There are people trying to sleep at all hours.”

Both Nathan and Rhoda open their mouths as I raise a knuckle to my new hand-me-down tablet, but Dave raises a finger and clears his throat.

“It’s out of my hands, anyway,” he says firmly. “It’s not my decision. I’m just the messenger.”

My knuckle hits the tablet screen, “No.”

Completely flustered, Dave asks, “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I believe she means that you can’t make her,” Nathan explains.

“Well, normally she’d have thirty days to vacate the premises, but construction must start today,” Dave replies. “She cannot be allowed to return to her apartment. Otherwise, management’s next step is to call animal control.”

Oh, there it is.

I laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh, and it sounds like a WWF wrestler banging a couple of wooden blocks together as hard as possible.

Then I start bobbing my head, punctuating it occasionally with an upward head jerk.

Eyes wide, Dave backs off, leaning forward only to toss the eviction envelope onto the table, and then hurries back down the street toward the apartments’ lobby door. Slows down halfway there and straightens himself out, huffing and stomping his feet as he goes, working his shoulders and trying to take up as much space as possible. But he does not look back.

Oh, I want to chase him down so bad.

But, I am a civilized dragon, and I do not.

I do one more head bob as Nathan and Rhoda watch me, then I turn to my tablet and type something out, while they wait patiently.

“This not work,” I say. “None of it work.”

Dammit, this app doesn’t work on the cloud and I need to rebuild my saved phrases. Not that I had that many.

Rhoda heaves a big sigh and moves around the table to sit opposite me, while Nathan relaxes his arms and steps back out of her way. Then, while she’s sitting down, he goes to get his own chair to come over and sit in it.

I’m already typing out more to say, but Rhoda speaks before I’m done.

“Chapman and I spent a lot of time in the library yesterday, and I think we may have found some good candidate lairs for you, Meg,” she says. “I know you don’t want to move from here. I can tell. But –”

“I am not leaving,” I say. “This building is mine.” Then I look pointedly at her, then knuckle in two more words to remind her. “You say.”

She said it herself to Dave.

She leans back in her chair and exhales through her nose.

Nathan makes a humming noise, as if he’s about to say something, then leans forward a little and looks like he’s chewing on his words while he squints at the eviction envelope. There’s presumably a letter in there.

“I’ve done property management,” he says, after a bit. “Unfortunately, they are legally within their rights to serve this to you. I don’t like it, but it is a fact. I don’t think we can fight it legally.”

“I do wonder if you can hang out on the roof anyway. Are you an animal in the eyes of the law or a person?” Rhoda asks. “But your stuff needs a home.”

“I worry they’ll declare her an unsanitary infestation,” Nathan says. “But, I’ve got a garage we can put her stuff in.” He looks at me, “Animal or person, you’re family.”

I have emotions. They’re all in me. And the two of them wait for me to say my piece.

“I fight dragons and win,” I say. “I mark my space. If I leave, other dragons fight here. Things get worse. You are family. I protect you.” Then I huff and try my cool coffee. It’s getting to be a hot day, and coffee that’s not exactly hot seems fine.

I can’t exactly feel the heat of the day, but I see it. I think it needs to get a lot hotter before my body notices in a way I’ll recognize it. But my mouth is more sensitive, despite what it can do, and cooler liquid is desirable right now.

“There’s a… Meg,” Rhoda says. “There’s a… right…”

“I’ve got it,” Nathan says, and leans forward and plucks a small seagull feather out from the corner of my mouth, and then turns it in his fingers to examine it in the sun. “Did you eat a seagull?”

I stop drinking just long enough to hit the numeral, “Two.”

“That must have been some breakfast.”

“I’m glad I didn’t see, or hear, you do that,” Rhoda says.

And then we spend the next half hour or so of the morning just enjoying each other’s presence and maybe thinking about things. Except me. I’m doing my best to not think.

I’m not great at not thinking, but I find that if I focus on the fact that this is my coffee and these are my friends, my mind doesn’t bother wandering over much else.

“So, Meg,” Nathan says, after a bit. “I haven’t seen you since before, you know. Kimmy told me your name and pronouns, even. What’s it like?”

I consider this question. I want to tell everyone all about it, really. There’s so much to say.

“Hard to talk,” I say. “Many thinking. AAC not easy. Slow.”

“Ah, I imagine so,” he says. “Take your time. I’m off shift now.”

I take my time with my next sentence, spelling it out, “No, this is part of it.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“You’re getting pretty good with those knuckles there, though,” Rhoda observes. “I wonder what you could do with an oversized keyboard on a laptop.” She looks at Nathan, “Do they make those?”

“It wouldn’t help much here. Kind of clunky,” he says. “But let me do a search.” And he leans further forward to fish his phone out of his back pocket, so he can do some screen shopping. He gets results pretty quick. “Oh, here’s one! And it’s called a Redragon. Woah, it’s expensive, though. Gaming keyboard. Twenty-eight inches across, though. That’s about this big.” He holds his hands apart, his phone in one of them, displaying an image of the keyboard.

“Let’s get her that,” Rhoda says. “She really does need to write up her experiences. All of them, if possible. The world needs to hear from the dragons, I think. It’s early in all this, but I can tell. It’s going to be critical.”

“Hmm,” Nathan considers it. “I’ll talk to the bosses. I think she could use the backroom as an office when they’re not doing management stuff there. And I’ve got an old desktop that can do LibreOffice and probably run this keyboard.”

“That, I think, would be perfect,” Rhoda says.

I begin typing again, and they wait.

“My brain is home now,” I say. “My body is home now. I have friends now. Seagulls taste like shit.”

Both of them laugh, and Nathan says, “Then don’t eat them!”

I patiently say, “Then eat what? Hungry for seagulls.”

“Well,” Nathan suggests. “If you’re not going to pay rent anymore, what if you use all your money on steaks?”

I tilt my head.

“Here. I’ll do the math,” he says. “You get, what, something like $640 a month, I imagine?”

I lift my head in affirmative. It’s close enough.

“Alright. If you’re eating seagulls, and you just want as many calories as possible, let’s go with the cheapest steak from the most reputable store. Don’t want to get sick,” he says as he types into his phone, looks at the screen for a bit, and then switches apps again. “Well, OK, with ground chuck, you could buy about 95 pounds of meat a month. And that’s…” he scowls at his phone. “3.1 pounds of meat a day.” He looks at me. “A hamburger is a quarter to a third a pound of meat, usually. Though I make half pounders sometimes. I honestly don’t know if that’s enough for you though. Or if you need variety.”

I consider this.

“But it’s gotta be more efficient and easier to eat than hunting down seagulls,” he says.

“I want hunt,” I reply, after another moment of thought.

He quirks an eyebrow and smirks, saying, “I could tie a steak to the back of my truck and drive down the street for you.”

I give a light knocking noise and bob my head a couple of times, then tilt my head sideways away from him.

“It’s amazing,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You are at once totally different now, but also really just more you. I recognize you, Meg. I see you. And if you don’t mind me saying, you are beautiful. I don’t know if I understand all of your expressions and gestures, but I feel comfortable and calm around you, more so than ever before.”

“And that is what I think everyone should know,” Rhoda says.

“I agree,” Nathan concurs.

“Let’s get that keyboard.”

“Yeah.”

We spend the rest of the morning talking about lighter things, with me taking time to program my AAC with useful phrases while listening to them share stories about neighbors and tenants, or customers at the coffee shop. And for a little bit, I demonstrate my ability to imitate various sounds, and try to learn a couple new ones. I can do a really good seagull and a crow. And then that gets me on to the subject of my neighboring dragons. And I share the names I’ve made up for them:

Loreena

Waits

Poink

Theremin

Chickadee

Godzilla

Wilhelm the Screamer

Weedle

Turbolaser

Lumberjack

Cricket

and

Caterwaul

All names that describe the sounds that they make, to me. I know they’ve actually got their own names, and maybe if they start updating their own blogs I might learn them. I don’t think we’ll be having face to face conversations, though.

I do wonder what they all call me.

And it’s right about that point, just after noon, that Chapman comes walking down the street on hir lunch break, and Kim gets off her shift and comes outside.

The sight of Chapman reminds me of something I don’t think I’ve told anybody yet. Maybe I told Rhoda, but I don’t remember, and I feel like bragging to Chapman.

When the other two join us, standing briefly in the empty-ish spots around the table, I say, “I can breathe fire.”

“What,” Kim says.

Chapman lights up.

Nathan raises his eyebrows.

And Rhoda says, “I think I’ve gotta check the news again.”

#writeblr #dragon #original fiction #serial fiction #transformation #transgender

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phoenix-before-the-flame · 2 months

Note

hey can you ahswer my ask? i feel like ive been waitinf for an answer FOREVER

You

Fucking look at me

This coming wednesday makes 3 weeks ive been without power

I have no power, no wifi, no running water

I have not eaten a proper meal or even drank a cold drink in 3 weeks

I am being merrcilessly bitten by mosquitoes on the daily and suffering from the heat

My family farm got totalled in the storm and we lost our first major crop

I am jobless bcus i do online works

I cant go anywhere bcus major roads are blocked by people protesting about the lack of power

I am running out of money bcus what little i have left is being spent to buy shitty canned foods to keep me alive, to pay to keep my phone charged at places that are runnin on generators and on data plans so i can keep updated on the news to know what the fuck is happenin in my country

I have more pressing things to worry about than some bumboclaat idiot inna mi fuckin inbox right now ova some inconsequential fandom fuckery

All anonymous asks fuckin deleted, fuck you

#literally what the fuck is wrong with you

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khaleesiofalicante · 2 years

Text

“You’ve been alive for a long time, right?”

Magnus stopped stirring his coffee and turned around. “Is that a stab at my age?”

“Nope,” Alec replied. “I have a history doubt.”

“Oh!” Magnus said and settled down next to the shadowhunter on the couch. “Do tell.”

Alec chuckled.

Magnus frowned. “What?”

“You got a little excited,” Alec pointed out, chuckling again. “It was cute.”

Magnus rolled his eyes fondly. “What do you want to know? I promise to be unbiased. Unless your question is about Napoleon or Paul Newman. I had beef with both of them.”

Alec smiled. “So. We’ve been to hell.”

“Hm-hm,” Magnus sipped on his coffee. “Who hasn’t, Alexander?”

Alec grinned and shook his head. “Is there a heaven?”

Magnus choked on his coffee a little. “We’re directly diving into the deep questions, are we?”

“I’m just curious. We know there is hell. Multiple hells, in fact. So, like, what about heaven?” Alec asked. “Where does Raziel live?”

“Probably in Los Angeles,” Magnus replied. “He looks like the type.”

“Seriously,” Alec nudged his leg. “Heaven? Does it exist? What’s it like?”

Magnus took a deep breath and put down his mug. “From what I know, no one has really gone there, or at least come back, to tell the tale.”

“Shame,” Alec sighed. “I just thought it might be real. Hell is pretty much like we imagined it to be.”

“Heaven is probably the same,” Magnus shrugged.

“Angels and golden gates and harps?” Alec asked with a grin.

“Hopefully, there is also WiFi,” Magnus noted seriously.

Alec laughed. “You’ve never wondered what it’s like?”

“I used to,” Magnus admitted. “I spend a good portion of the 16th century trying to find it.”

“Did you?” Alec asked.

“No such luck. So, I gave up,” Magnus replied. “I did end up in hell. Twice. I don’t know what that says about me.”

Alec pulled him closer.

He held Magnus between his arms.

Magnus wanted to spend his immortal life there.

“It says that you are incredibly brave and stupidly reckless,” Alec whispered.

“Incredibly brave and stupidly reckless,” Magnus hummed. “Sounds like the nephilim motto.”

Alec pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked over to the bathroom. “You love us.”

“Keep your voice down!” Magnus yelled after him.

The truth is, Magnus had always believed in heaven.

The truth is, Magnus had never really given up on his quest to find it.

And then...And then he had met Alec.

Heaven made little sense after that.

Heaven became the space between Alec Lightwood’s arms.

@malectober

this was supposed to be about hell but it turned into something else lmao. writers y’all know what I'm talking about 😋

#the rainy weather is making me write fluff ew #malec #malectober #dani writes stuff

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cousticks · 10 months

Note

now, regarding dazai during his off the grid time, let me bring up something a bit stupid. Dazai, Dazai Osamu, one of the gayest, twinkiest men alive- (one of) alone in isolation with no one to supervise what the fuck he does. Oh he's definetly getting his nails done or something. (and since he needs a job for money, i can picture him working at mcdonalds, flirting with the annoying customers but yelling at the workers because the workers arent efficient enough) the brackets werent self projecting totally

i always kind of assumed he was broke coasting off old mafia money during his time off the grid, but i can sooooo see him picking up a job under the table to keep him from being bored. somewhere quiet though, like a niche shop or something.

the mental image of dazai working at mcdonalds though is REALLY entertaining. and i can see him, again, bored, trying to figure out how to do his own nails with a youtube video on wifi stolen from a neighboring business & nail supplies stolen from a corner store three blocks away. the first attempt he got too focused on shaping & just couldn't get them even and all his trying shaved his nails down to stumps and he was SO mad waiting for them to grow back until he could try again. hell, maybe the brief nails hobby is what somehow led him into painting.

#asks? answered. hotel? trivago.#white hill road #spiral!

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aita-blorbos · 1 year

Note

AITA for helping my brother? Me (19M), my friend V (20M), and my other friend D (18M) just got out of a place with no WiFi. While we were there, I got a text from my friend C (22F), asking for help with something. She then sent her location and that she was in the skyscraper my brother owns. He (D, 32M) is the CEO of a very big company that I will not be revealing in case anyone figures out who I am. Anyway, me and V decide to go help C. Our pseudo father, T (35M), came along with us, mostly for moral support. We didn't think it would be too big of an issue. It was around dusk when we got there and there weren't a lot of security guards. I'm not on the best terms with D, so I didn't want to go in and announce myself. In order to get in, I broke the window. The one guard on duty came to investigate the noise, but I subdued him. I won't lie, I did feel pretty cool in that moment, which may have impacted my decisions in the next few hours. Me, V, and T went down to the basement following what the guard's radio had said. When we got down there, it was like a whole different place. Everything was silent, and not in the good way. We asked one of the people there where D was and followed where they told us to go. For context, C has two close friends X (26M) and A (?M) whom we are also close with. When C sent me that text, I was worried. X and A are both strong, and anything that could take them down and lead to C resorting to asking me for help was not good news. When I opened the door, it was like whiplash. C and X were handcuffed to a pipe and unconscious. D was stood over A, also unconscious, except A had his chest opened up. I was pretty sure D was doing surgery on A. I couldn't let that stand, and neither could V or T. We got the guards in the room to leave. Afterwards, we barricaded the door. I yelled at D, asking why he was doing what he was doing. D told me that A had lifesaving chemicals inside of him that would help countless people. He then asked for my help in keeping A alive. T, on the other hand, was not having it. He told me that a "real hero" would stop D from doing this. V stayed quiet through this, though I could tell this situation troubled him. This is the part where I might be the asshole. In this, I sided with D. His justification just made sense to me. So I injected a chemical into T that D said would make him forget the last 24 hours. In hindsight, I'm not really sure why I trusted D, considering some troubling information about it I've learned about, but at the time I really thought it was the answer to this. T almost immediately fell unconscious. V sat with him in the corner while I helped D with the surgery. Lo and behold, all he needed were some samples. I felt absolutely horrible throughout the whole thing, but I figured that I was too deep in to stop. Once the surgery was done, I saw C wake up. She tried to break the handcuffs, causing X to wake as well. D told me that this couldn't get out to the public, and that I needed to inject the two of them with the remaining syringes filled with chemicals. C barely even made it out of the room before I injected her. I needed to chase X through the building, but eventually, I caught up to him. I hate what I did, but it was to help people. So, AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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heyitsjooooanne · 3 months

Text

265

One room.

Two hundred and sixty-five packages.

A young man decides that he's had enough…

Author's Note: Inspired by a Korean musician with questionable behavior concerning his package deliveries.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

My friend Holden liked to collect packages.

Actually wait, no.

I'm sorry.

He liked to hoard packages.

Ah.

See?

That’s much better.

But back to what I was saying.

This dumbass liked to hoard his own packages.

Let me show you what I mean.

It was a cold, January day, the birds were migrating, couples were cuddling, casseroles were baking, and—

Okay, I'll just cut the bullshit and get right to it.

See, Holden and I (my name is irrelevant), were part of a small group of rich online influencers.

Now, don't go throwing that rotten fruit at us just yet.

Yes, we posted videos on social media, but we treated the gig like actual jobs, which they were.

And not to brag, but those videos gave us both a hefty sum of money.

Read: I am currently a millionaire at the time of writing this.

Anyway, Holden and I lived together as platonic roommates while we both did god-knows-what outside of the apartment we lived in. Which was fine by me.

So fast-forward to sometime in early 2017 when we were both 24.

It was damn cold, our heater was broken, and there I was, minding my own business (I was playing a video game in my bedroom) when this stupid son of a bitch walked in and said...

"Here's your birthday gift."

One: My birthday was in November.

Two: He bought that birthday gift for me the previous year for the previous year's birthday!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

And if you're wondering how that could've happened, I'll tell you how.

He hoarded packages and never opened them, so naturally when he ordered something for me online, he tossed it aside and never bothered opening it.

Sigh.

Yes, I needed to actually write that out.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Two years later, I had finally gotten enough money for my own place, so I moved into another room a few floors down from our old room, which was now Holden’s.

But I would occasionally go over to his room to hang out and film videos for our individual channels.

There was a time when I had to watch my two-year-old nephew (read: his cat) for a few days while he was visiting his family.

The problem?

I was bored out of my mind.

Because I had already used up all of my data.

And it wouldn’t be renewed until the next day due to a “system error.”

Also, the WiFi didn’t work.

Now, I love Coco.

He’s like a real-life version of the cat from “Kiki’s Delivery Service.’

But all he does is sleep, cuddle, and look absolutely adorable.

Great for relaxing, but not so great when you’re itching to do something.

So I decided to count all the unopened packages in Holden’s "delivery room."

He called it that, not me.

Ignoring his poor taste in naming rooms, I counted every single package in that room, and it all led to just one number.

265.

He ordered two hundred and sixty-five damn things, and he didn't open a single one of them, other than him randomly finding a package and going "oh! I forgot I ordered this for you ‘X’ number of years ago."

In case, you’re wondering, yes, Coco is still alive to this day.

I know.

It’s a shock to me that someone like him could keep a living creature alive for that long too.

But don't worry.

This ended up biting him in the ass later on.

Because remember when I said he and I were part of a group of rich online influencers?

Well...

Actually, it hasn't been that long, so this is still a sore spot for me to think about.

But I'll push through it.

Jesus, how many "birthing" references can I make in a single post?

Meh.

I'll just get on with it.

So this group was made up of ten people, myself and Holden included.

Seven guys and three girls.

And we were all super close with each other.

I'd even go so far as to say we were all friends.

In 2020, one person from our group got sick.

Her name was Emily.

We had dated a few years before then, but we eventually broke up because we each wanted different things.

She wanted kids.

I didn’t.

But we ended up being pretty good friends after our breakup.

Anyway, I probably don't have to tell you what she got.

The point is, she got it.

My last image of Emily was her laughing at a stupid joke that her boyfriend made as they both got into an Uber to go back to their hotel.

We had all been partying at a club that night.

#richpeoplethingsssss

And then six weeks later, I received a call from her boyfriend telling me that she had died.

Shot down like a fly.

Just like that.

After that, they all started falling down like dominoes.

One after another.

Trust me when I say that a virtual funeral is not any better than a real one.

And when you're forced to "attend" nine of them (a relative of mine also died) in the span of a year, it really does something to you.

"Forced" might not be the right word to use here since I attended them all voluntarily, but...

Now, you can believe in whatever conspiracy you want, but the point is that people we knew died.

And if you're wondering why Holden and I didn't get sick...

Honestly, this is a little embarrassing to write down, but...

Holden and I got a great opportunity to try out this new game before things got crazy, and...

We spent two weeks in our own rooms playing it.

Then we had to stay in quarantine.

Then we had to wear masks everywhere.

Combine that with the fear mongering news anchors, my hypochondria, and you've got two dudes ready to wear hazmat suits outside.

Or at least, I was.

I didn't though.

(I couldn't find a legit one online.)

It's easy for me to laugh at the ridiculousness of this now, but at the time, it was a Hellscape.

Finally, in 2022, I just snapped.

I don't know what it was.

Could it have been that it was May 14th and that was the day that Emily had died two years earlier?

Maybe.

All I remember is going into Holden's “delivery room” because a damn fly had flown in there and I was trying to kill it.

I swatted with the fly swatter and missed, which caused a package on top of a pile (yes, he had piles) to drop down to my feet.

I picked it up and shook it, and it sounded like a bag of chips.

I was already angry with the fly for getting in through the vent, so I was already pissed off by this point.

So, not caring that I was committing a literal crime, I opened the package in frustration.

It was a bag of cookies made exclusively in Japan.

A favorite of one of the friends who had passed away in 2020.

His name was Kareem.

After that, I just saw red.

I'd realized then that I'd had enough of Holden and his complacent bullshit.

I barged into his bedroom without knocking and threw the bag of cookies in his face.

I think he was live streaming.

Maybe a game or something.

After that, it was a blur of us yelling at each other and Holden getting upset at me for interrupting his stream and opening up one of his packages.

No, shit, dude. Someone had to.

After it was over, I rushed back to my own room, fuming.

The next day, I invited my boyfriend (#birepresent!) to stay at my place for a while.

Holden would eventually knock on my door a week later.

I was still angry, so I told my boyfriend to ignore him.

The next morning, my boyfriend told me he had to go out and do something, so I stayed in my room alone.

But the fight between Holden and I kept nagging at me.

I knew I couldn’t let that be our last interaction with each other.

So I went over to his room.

I knocked, but there was no answer.

Feeling a sense of urgency, I put in the pin number for his door lock and in an unsurprising twist, it worked.

It was his birthday.

>_<

After I was in, I immediately went over to the "delivery room” and found Holden sitting cross-legged on the floor gliding a sharp kitchen knife across the taped end of a package that was actually a box.

I looked to my left and saw several packages opened up with their contents discarded in a pile next to them.

It was so surreal, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Was my friend Holden actually opening these packages????

I bit my tongue to avoid saying something snarky and settled on...

"Need some help?"

We spent the rest of the day opening the packages.

We even shed a few tears because it seemed like every package was an old gift that Holden had forgotten to give to one of our dearly departed friends.

Finally, at around 11:45 PM (I had my phone with me), we finished opening up every single package that he had neglected over the years.

It was like a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders.

And even though he didn't say it, I could tell that Holden was relieved too.

The next morning, while we were both enjoying a bowl of oatmeal at his dining table, I asked him why he had taken so long to open the packages.

"Don't tell me you really forgot."

"Well it's just that..."

He sighed.

Then he ate another spoonful of oatmeal.

"You're gonna give me shit for saying it."

"We've been friends for over ten years. I've already seen your shit. Literally."

A tiny laugh from him.

"Come on, man. Now's not the time to be a passive shithead."

"Alright. Fine."

He put his spoon back in his bowl.

"I was thinking about it last night, and I realized that the reason I never gave our friends their gifts was because... I never appreciated the time I had with them. I mean, getting opportunities to travel to other countries. Speaking at Cons all the time. I don't know..."

He looked down at his bowl.

"I guess I always assumed that since we were rich that there would always be enough time. Like we could buy more time if we needed to."

"That's stupid."

"I know. But it's what I thought."

I leaned back in my chair.

"So what do you want to do now?"

Holden leaned forward.

"Maybe I should send all the packages for our friends who have passed on to their families?"

"That could work."

Holden and I spent the next couple of days calling everyone, but no one wanted the gifts. They were all items that could be ordered in the exact same way online, so there was nothing really special about them.

Nothing personalized or unique.

Three days later, by sheer luck, I overheard these college students talking about a donation drive on their campus.

I immediately ran home (well, I ran to the subway) and told Holden all about it.

He agreed to it.

I really should've recorded the looks on the students' faces when they saw Holden dropping a big-ass box of miscellaneous shit into their donation box.

And that wasn't even half of it!

The school didn't want anyone else to miss out on an opportunity to donate something, so they cut him off at about twenty items.

But that was just the beginning.

A professor told us the phone numbers of places where Holden and I could donate his box of thingsTM, and we spent the rest of the day going to every single one of them until finally we were down to a box of thirteen items.

Unfortunately, we had already gone to all the donation centers in the city.

Not knowing what to do next, we decided to call Uber again and head back home.

The next morning (take a shot of water every time I say this), I was scrolling through social media when I saw a clip of someone announcing a giveaway that they were hosting.

And it hit me.

Like, literally hit me because Holden accidentally bumped into me while trying to get to the kitchen to make breakfast for himself.

"Sorry, dude."

"You should host a giveaway on your channel!" I blurted without thinking.

Holden turned around quickly.

"Huh?"

I got up from my seat at the dining room table.

"A giveaway! That's how we're gonna get rid of those thirteen items."

Holden crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Got any ideas?"

"Hmm..."

Two weeks later, I went with Holden to the post office and watched him hand a box that contained a really fancy black jacket worth eight hundred dollars that was going to a very lucky winner in Oregon, to an employee behind the desk.

And that was that.

Two hundred and sixty five packages, finally gone.

I glanced over at Holden and noticed that his eyes were getting shiny.

But I didn't say anything.

Instead, I put an arm around his shoulder reassuringly.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Author's Note: I actually think this would make a very good short film. Maybe something for the holiday season or whatever. Also, 265 is supposed to be Seventeen’s debut date scrambled up (May 26th, 526 = 265).

#original writing #short story #friendship #loss #kpop inspired #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen #svt

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