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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 10 months

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hold on ok i belted out a brief laughingstock Scene for possible future use that i Had to write down bc if i didn't, i'd never remember it. and why not share?

“Barnaby? Barnaby, old chap, are you with me?”

Barnaby blinks, registering the green fingers snapping in front of his nose. He huffs a laugh and pushes Howdy’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listenin’. You were saying?”

Howdy gives him an exasperated look, a fond look. “Thinking about running off to a farm again, were you?”

“Nah, just the clouds. They’re a lot less work.”

“Well I’d rather you didn’t. Who would I talk to during the long hours if you went and floated off?” Howdy winks before turning to his shelves, already yammering away about something or other.

Something or other that Barnaby is once again not listening to, because what was that? Barnaby quickly presses his cool paw-pads to his burning cheeks, feeling the bristling fur there.

Has Howdy ever winked at him? Now that he’s noticed it, Barnaby can’t recall. If it’s new, then why? Why a wink of all things? What did that mean? And that look Howdy gave him…

Barnaby adjusts his abruptly too-tight tie. It’s unusually warm in the store, isn’t it? Howdy must have forgotten to turn on the AC.

Gosh, what is Howdy even saying? He’s still talking, but Barnaby hasn’t absorbed a word. He can’t even tell if Howdy is still speaking english. It’s all garbled.

There’s something wrong with Barnaby. He must be coming down with something… or he’s just overthinking it. Overworking the ol’ noggin. A good long nap should set him right.

“Listen,” Barnaby interrupts, patting the counter, “I uh, I don’t know where my head’s at. I better go find it - I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh… alright, then,” Howdy says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Barnaby slaps that thought out of the park. He doesn’t want Howdy to be disappointed, that’s absurd. That’s something a bad friend would think. Barnaby may be many things, but a bad friend isn’t one of them.

“I’ll whip up a joke that’ll knock your socks off next time I see ya,” Barnaby promises. He smiles around the discomfort and the entirely new feeling squirming around each other in his chest.

“Now you’ve gone and brought up my expectations,” Howdy says. He leans on the counter and grins. “Are you sure you can back up such a claim, Mr. Beagle?”

Another hot flush races under Barnaby’s fur, and to his growing mortification, his tail starts wagging at breakneck speed. He lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh and backs away from the counter. To both of their horror, his back hits a shelf, making it rattle and tip.

“Oh, sh-” Barnaby lunges to right it before it can topple. He whips around and laughs again. Howdy’s wide-eyed stare burns. “Sorry ‘bout that! Talk about a bulldog in a bugshop, geez.”

“When you find your head, make sure to screw it on nice and tight,” Howdy says, a strange look on his face to match his tone. “And check your temperature while you’re at it - it’s not like you to be off-balance.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m off-balance,” Barnaby says. He inches towards the door, willing his stupid tail to calm down. “I just have ears instead of rearview mirrors.”

“Uh-huh…” Howdy slides to the side, trying to peer around him.

Barnaby fumbles for the door. The scrape and bang of his search for the handle echoes in the quiet store. One of Howdy’s eyebrows creeps higher the longer Barnaby stands there, making a complete fool of himself.

Finally, the door clicks, and Barnaby nearly tumbles over backwards in his haste to get out. He stumbles down the steps and briskly walks away, adjusting his hat and tie. As soon as he’s out of sight, he slaps his paws to his face and sags against the bodega.

“Idiot,” he hisses to himself. He presses his back flat against the wall and slams the side of his fist against it. Normally, Barnaby would use a situation like this to his advantage. But Howdy wasn’t laughing, and Barnaby wasn’t being funny. “Bulldog in a - gah, idiot!”

Great. Now Howdy thinks he’s not only a clumsy oaf, but that he’s losing his touch too.

Barnaby growls in frustration, pushing off the wall and stomping away from the plaza on all fours. What does he care what Howdy thinks of him? Others’ opinions of Barnaby have never been anywhere near his list of top priorities - barring Wally’s, of course. If they were, he'd never tell another joke again.

Yes, Howdy is a good friend of Barnaby’s. A close friend, even. But since when has he had such a - such an effect? Barnaby shakes his head, growling again.

There was no effect. Barnaby is just going insane. Or he’s getting sick, like Howdy implied. That would explain the sudden hot flash, the loss of typically impeccable coordination, and, oh yeah! Barnaby’s brain leaking out of his ears.

#context from My Brain:#barnaby's chatting with howdy as usual and howdy does Something endearing #or was it like... idk one of his personality quirks pops up #& barnabys like 'aw hes doing The Thing. its one of the things i love about him'#and obviously has a moment of 'whoah wait Love?? haha where the fuck did that come from. whatever *proceeds to panic*'#essentially: the first domino falls #laughingstock #aaaaand not tagging as anything else #if people see it they see it #i havent posted Any of my recent (and rare) writings so this is slightly mortifying!#its been too long since ive posted fic i need to buckle down on my wips #not this one obvs since its not even really a wip #just a tidbit for future me to edit and implement #my dc wips... who i still want to continue & finish so so badly...#the mermay timber one... the timkon cannibalism... cowboy hat rule... and many more...#anyhow i can feel my writing confidence atrophying #i glance at one of my wips and my entire brain recoils like its the worst thing since (insert bad thing here)#shaking myself by the shoulders 'Its Not That Bad You Are A Decent Writer Whose Fics Are More Often Than Not Well Received'#my brain is trying to convince me everything is terrible i need to forcibly shut it the hell up

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lavoixhumaine · 6 months

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ATTENTION:

All fanfiction works by lavoixhumaine are on temporary hiatus due to a family emergency. Please be patient. Will surely be back as soon as Sunny makes sure she doesn’t end up widowed by the end of the week. Thank you.

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cinnamon-roll-whump · 9 months

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thanks again to @melkors-defense-attorney for the cane idea!

Tulkas stands by the door, impatient, arms folded over his chest. Melkor feels very small as he moves about the cottage, gathering his things. He can't help the last time thoughts running through his mind at everything. This is the last time he'll make his bed. The last time he'll see some of these clothes. The last time he'll walk through this doorway, clean these dishes in the sink, run his fingers over the back of this chair.

He finds a bag to put a few things in. A change of clothes, Anna's water and food bowls. He doesn't have much.

The absurdity of it strikes him, and he stifles a dry laugh. Here he is, preparing mundanely for a simple journey, as if he's a craftsman or trader preparing to go to market, when the reality is that he runs the risk of losing everything.

"Anna, sweetie!" He calls her softly, and she runs over from where she was investigating a few books. He ties a long strip of leather to her collar, the leash he spent so long crafting and making sure she was accustomed to. His hand rests for a moment on her head, and she pushes into the touch. "Good kitten."

"Enough delay," Tulkas snaps. "You have your things, let's go."

"Of course." Melkor frowns, standing. Anna follows him over to the door. Carefully, watching Tulkas's face, he reaches behind the other Vala. Tulkas glares daggers at him, but Melkor keeps his movements slow and pulls back holding a tall wooden staff. It's simple, but sturdy, and has served him well.

"What's that for?" Tulkas eyes it warily.

"Walking," Melkor replies. He kneels down to tie Anna's leash over a small ridge on the base that he'd left there for just this purpose. It'll give her a few feet more of length than if he held the leash in his hand.

"Walking?" Tulkas repeats in confusion.

Melkor keeps his tone even, detached. "I spent so long in the Void, my muscles began to atrophy. I had to relearn many things when I was released, and I am still unable to traverse significant distances unaffected. I do not need it in my house, but if I grow tired of being cooped up or I run out of food for Anna and must visit the village, I cannot manage that distance unassisted yet."

He sees Tulkas frown, then his eyes go wide as he realizes just how little the distance from Melkor's home to the village is. A mere mile or so that the once-great Vala cannot manage without support.

"So." Melkor forces a firmness he does not feel into his voice and grips his staff tighter. "Now you see one of the reasons I did not want to return to Valinor. I hope you'll forgive me that we’ll need to stop often, as the other option is you carrying me, and I think neither of us would enjoy that."

Tulkas grunts in reluctant acknowledgement and pushes the door open. Melkor walks through without a word, Anna scampering at his heels.

How was he so lucky as to find this little blessing? His sweet girl, so loyal, and almost as clever as his Mairon. If he were still lord of Angband, he can imagine watching Anna run circles around Mairon's favorite wolfhounds. He'd make sure they played gently with his little kitten, and in the evenings, when a hound slept on either side of their bed, Anna, so much smaller, could share their pillow or sleep cuddled up with a hound.

His chest aches with longing, deep desire for what can never be again, for the Maia he cannot touch or speak to without the risk of having his life ripped away again. It's too much.

"I need to stop." Melkor's voice grates against his own ears, and he's hardly conscious of anything but the hard wood of his staff sliding through his palms as he sinks to the ground.

Paws press against his thigh, and then with the soft pricking of claws, Anna climbs into his lap, purring for all she's worth. Still clutching his staff with one hand, he moves the other to her head, thumb brushing lightly over her ears. The tension in his chest begins to ease, the cold hand of dread loosening its grip. Manwë is a fair judge. He won't send Melkor to the Void again for something that wasn't his fault. And he won't punish Anna for Melkor's mistakes.

But what about my Mairon?

Melkor stands slowly, one arm holding Anna close to his chest, and looks towards Valinor. Come what may, this time he will save what matters.

#cinnamon writes #melkor #morgoth #emotional support kitty au #anna #tulkas #silm #silm fic #the silmarillion #disability #muscle atrophy

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royaltrios · 4 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Scaramouche/Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact) Characters: Scaramouche (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe's Siblings (Genshin Impact), Teucer (Genshin Impact), Anthon (Genshin Impact), Tonia (Genshin Impact), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: nahida (mentioned) (because i cant go a fic without bringing her up), Fluff, Post-Chapter 3: Sumeru (Genshin Impact), my favorite tag ever. my bestie., Cooking, Ice Skating, Drinking, Post-Canon, Kissing, Blood Summary:

I hear Morepesok is lovely this time of year.

including but not limited to: russian tidbits to varying degrees of accuracy, intermittent and mostly voluntary (!) thoughts of nahida, a broken nose, and flirting with someone by calling them grandpa/dedushka

#crawls out of gdocs covered in blood #this was not even remotely meant to be 7k.#i dont evenknow if its good. i need it purged from me tho #chiscara #my fic #remember litany against atrophy well heres the really sappy not as good sequel for no real reason #whaever happy chiscaramas #one (1) of the fics i planned to purge from my brain this winter is done so thumbsup

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fellhellion · 8 months

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Guess who wrote three whole sentences today

#I can plot out fics I can analyse but oh godddddd have the writing skills atrophied #like pulling a stuck fishing hook from the muck #tunes titters

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moodandmist · 2 years

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✨✨WIP WEDNESDAY✨✨

*Imagine you're seeing a really fancy header up there 👆 like you all have...totally gonna get around to that someday*

Thank you so much for the tags my beautiful, amazing friends. @fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @kherub @cutestkilla @johnwgrey @confused-bi-queer @takitalks @martsonmars @urban-sith @facewithoutheart @dragoneggo @ivelovedhimthroughworse

(MY LOVES, THIS IS A BOOK of a post and I'm sorry...but I only wrangle my brain well enough to post every 8th posting day it seems so...Anyway, don't feel obligated to engage if this is too long for you!! Seriously.)

Hi, I'm always so late on this stuff...It's midnight, my brain hurts. I just freaking love you all so much, I'm gonna be very honest... I'm beating my head into the ground trying to find a part of this to share...

I've been struggling with being able to get anything out the past month or 2...or ? and then this week I sat down and poured almost 6k into a new WIP very quickly...but looking over it, I mean...it's VERY first draft...it's feelings vomit, you know?

Also...do you make playlists for your fics? I always write to music and I'm *very* sensitive to the specific vibe of a song..so when I find a song for my playlist...it goes to a very specific area of the fic and then I can't listen to anything but that song when I'm writing/reworking that part...so cue me listening to the same sad ass feelings song on REPEAT for hours on end...days on end...um, weeks on end? 😂 I'm sure this is very healthy functioning.

I'm just not gonna overthink this (hahaha, too late) and share this part of this new wip. under the cut for length...and suggestive-ish content??

**here's your sad ass feelings song for this excerpt. Oh, man, I'm IN IT. **

I know normally we try not to give away too much plot, but life is short and I could use support trying to get this done before it all ends. 🙄 This is an AU at the moment, but anything can change. Have you ever heard that to not feel alone after heartbreak you should sleep in the middle of the bed...instead of having an empty side??

I'll tell ya, Baz worked hard to get himself to a place in life where he felt strong and self-sufficient. He'd built up a lot of walls, to keep safe (including sleeping in the middle of the bed, no falling in love), to not be vulnerable again in a way that really decimated him when he was younger. Baz is visiting his family in the countryside...ENTER SIMON...who is slowly obliterating all of Baz's self preservation and Baz freaks the hell out and runs away basically, back to his home in London...memories follow him.

*******

BAZ

When I get in, I put the kettle on, looking out the window over the city.

London is home—this is home—where I belong. I have a life…

I walk through to the bedroom and drop my bags. All is quiet. Empty. Cold.

I stand at the foot of the bed—hands in my pockets—taking in the sight of the taut sheets, the single stack of pillows in the middle…

“This can be my side.”

“What?”

“This is my side, yeah?”

“That’s not your side, there are no sides….this is a single person's bed. There’s just the middle. My bed. My middle.”

“All right,” he pulled me down to the bed.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” He made me laugh in spite of myself.

“Come on, we can both fit in the middle, look,” his limbs flung over me.

“You’re an absolute nightmare. You’re never invited here again.”

“Gonna feel awfully empty without me here.”

“By empty do you mean comfortable? Do you mean reasonably sized for a grown man who is accustomed to sleeping alone? In his bed. Meant for one.”

“I mean, Baz,” he hovered over me on all fours, “awfully empty,” he kissed my neck—

“As in, awfully,” —my chest,

“bloody” —my ribs,

“boring”—into the crease of my hip. His eyes found mine for a moment.

My hands moved through his hair until my breath fell from parted lips, body arching at his touch. His endless warmth.

So utterly empty.

*****

Jesus, I kind of hope no one actually read all this...I should go to bed.

who can I possibly assault with this nonsense who hasn't posted yet? @aristocratic-otter Pati gets that late-night posting too 😆 @frjsti @creepyspice @whatevertheweather @bookish-bogwitch @gekkoinapeartree @mrskrementz ?? Engage or don't , see ya next time?

I don't know. Let's sleep on it. Maybe it will all make more sense tomorrow.

#my fic #my writing #my nonsense #my brain slowly atrophying #my sad sad ass songs #over and over into infinity #snowbaz #it's ok baz I think #I see you #simon is good #he's meant for you #gonna be ok #Spotify #I Don't Want Love

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non-un-topo · 9 months

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At the crossroads between wondering if it's worth it to basically completely rewrite all my WIPs or just take a break from writing for the rest of the summer

#i noticed every summer i get progressively worse lol #like not in terms of writing but in terms of everything else goin on in my head #i mean if anyone is craving some dark and depressing shit i've got bits and pieces here #it's like i'm writing for an audience even in my own mind. can't finish anything because it's __ __ __ etc and my niche is too niche.#did my last fic really burn me out that much?? i mean it was basically 30 thousand words and there was a LOT packed into it #maybe i should finally respond to comments and i'll feel better.#something's been going on with me for the past couple months (maybe longer) and i'm just annoyed ALL the time #feel like i want to give up everything and stop talking to everyone. ((it could be my out of whack hormones mind))#so if i haven't been as active and haven't drawn or written much that's why. i'm pulling away and curling in like an atrophied limb.#my brain is just permanently in school mode. i can feel it gearing up for the oncoming year that's going to be super intense.#like would it even matter if i post any more work before september? idk why i can never seem to chill or take a break for even a minute.#i still have drawing projects i want to finish at least! taking me literally all summer because of surprise health problems.#partner was consoling me about how i feel for writing '''weird''' stuff with almost no focus on romance #saying that SOMEbody has to write what i write so that should keep me going. i just tell myself that it could be worse -#- i could be primarily a femslash writer. they are the real heroes and they get no respect.#idk why i'm getting so angsty #i think i might be romance/sex repulsed atm. not in real life at all but in fandom. i'm bored of it. and i'm bored of conversations about i #i'm sure i'll change my mind in what two weeks or so.#maybe i'll try to write something original #i have things in my ask box i should respond to. like asks about my writing. i just haven't been feeling well #so i haven't had the right brain to respond :( but i see the asks and i'm grateful <3 #anyway peace and love

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starsarebleeding · 10 months

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if anyone thought i forgot about my 1993 fic vignette series, well i did not, and i can tell you right now July will be the first E-rated fibs i have ever posted so like. it's a good way to celebrate 20 yrs of these assholes

#june is done i could technically post it but im just. sitting on it.#i wrote half of it in 2017 and half last year right when i first got back into them #and my fic muscles were very atrophied lol #so idk i gotta edit it but i will get all of this shit up before my fibonatrip in august #i dream there is one other fibs fangirl somewhere else in the world #jillpost #1 1 2 3 5 8 #1993-verse

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elitadream · 1 year

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Your last post was so romantic! You should write fanfiction about Mario and peach!

Aww, that's really quite sweet of you Anon, but this is unfortunately the full extent of my writing abilities. 😅🙇‍♀️ I can't write anything other than very short drabbles atm, (and even those I sometimes can't finish ><;) but if you guys enjoy the occasional small block of text to accompany a certain image or give it further context, then I'll try to do it more often! 🤗💕

#Mario #Princess Peach #Mareach #Asks #the writing side of my brain has really atrophied over the years 😭#but there are some REALLY good Mareach fanfics out there... as I mentioned in a previous post ;)#So the fandom can very well live without my meagre fic contribution(s) 😆#Still appreciate the thought tho! 🥰#fanfic #fanwork

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kickedshins · 1 year

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as we all know i’m a freak who needs to be ridiculously overbooked in order to avoid going crazy and dropping dead from boredom and nothing proves that point more than the fact that i’m being a fucking freak about agents of shield to a degree that i haven’t in like, a year. i feel insane

#it's like brain muscle atrophy or something #prob bc i know benji and i are gonna watch the last 2 eps together soon #argh. ive been a freak abt this show for like. TWO YEARS. maybe more. and now im FINALLY finishing it #feels weird #im gonna miss it #well. i need to continue fixing the trascripts site so.#will be continuing my rewatch #ive been stuck on 1x09 for way too long #bc i dont care about christians #but. once i push past that. hehehehe #gd TRACKS is soon. fuckkkkk #everyone stream that one timeloop fic #aos #isaac talks

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ilkkawhat · 2 years

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11.03 Blood Moon

#csiedit #csi cbs #nick stokes #george eads #mk.op #mk.gifs #mk.edit #csi 11x03 #i remember i used a cap of that bottom gif for a post atrophy fic #(I re-read atrophy the other day)#(less of a re-read and more of a skim and cringe but i do that to all my old stuff at this point lol)#(i do miss writing in that universe and i know i still got agony but)#(i wish i spent a little more time on atrophy.....maybe i could do a remix of it someday)

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 7 months

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Wait are writing a fic for your au cause im like down to clown with that?

ehhhhhh not really, unless by some miracle genuine writing motivation/inspiration hits, which is about as rare as a lightning strike these days!

sometimes i jot down scenes or conversations & post unedited snippets, but i haven't written a full fic or oneshot in.... since February! but hey! chances are low but never zero

#HAS IT REALLY BEEN AROUND 7 MONTHS??? DAMN TIME FLIES. IT ROCKETS. IT ZOOMS AT LIGHTSPEED #like there's stuff i Want to write #like the decapitation fic & the laughingstock fic & stuff for aus.....#but geez. man. Fuck....#my writing skills have atrophied and so has my Brain!#though i am going to be proceeding to the final stage of my Big Move next month so....#maybe once all this bullshit is over ill be in a space where i Can write #(and also respond to my friends which is killing me inside but this aint about that)#bc i am down to clown as well! but the clown in me is actually a jester. and that jester is jingling miserably across the floor #rambles from the bog #the tension between me & writing/editing a full fic is thick enough to cut with a knife #but yeah i had it good for a couple years there!#i was writing at Least a fic a month! my ao3 has 53 works of batman fanfiction (in varying degrees of quality) wowee!#*loosely batman. mostly his kids. w/ some yj or supers sprinkled in for Flavor...#but Anyway i would looooove to spice things up #And Post Puppet Fic. maybe some moomin....#or even original works! or flight rising! idk! i wanna expand my inventory!#once again guiltily looking at all of my dc wips. sigh

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lavoixhumaine · 9 months

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bathena killed one of my limbs.

yeah, my dudes, my arm died.

it’s happened before when, at some point, i sat for about eight hours straight writing a story. it happened again just last night and fuck my brain if ao3 didn’t just clock my story at 172,149 words after about 2.5 months of writing. it doesn’t feel at all real because i could have sworn i just started writing this last week.

but i am having so. much. fun.

(the arm is fine. i went to the spa and they fixed me up good.)

and this strike probably won’t end anytime soon. i need bathena in my life and if i can’t have them then i’m fic-ing the fuck outta this whole thing just to get through this drought.

i wrote one chapter and a smutty oneshot i’m holding on to because i’m not sure i should post it. it’s cackling like a demon as it sits in my drafts on ao3. i mean, it was dirty and it’s definitely going to send me straight to hell but i’m not sure i should take anyone else with me. also it might be crap so that’s also something to think about. but it was also fun to write, yeah.

no disrespect to the actors but right now, there’s zero chance that bathena fans are not stuck on the idea that bobby and athena are probably just fucking each other’s brains out during the whole hiatus in a cruise ship somewhere in the middle of the ocean because yeah she gonna fuck that poor gorgeous bastard’s brains out every single time he passes by one of those many, many drinky drink bars. she will kill him with sex before she lets him relapse just for trying to make her happy.

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criminalamnesia · 2 months

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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

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