sy has a way of writing to really not just bring our favorite broken boys to life but really let you walk in their skin, feel what they feel, see what they see, so to speak -

It takes a second. Simon shoots a look at Soap to silently convey incredulity, but he might as well take a blade to the neck. The seat across from him is empty. Before memory strikes, he’s on his feet,

my GOD the whiplash here is so, so familiar - just that raw grief of having those familiar habits built around someone being ripped away

The room reeks of damp earth and pine, a hearth in a lonely, snowed-in cabin. It gathers the force of an avalanche, pummeling into him and stealing his breath. It settles an invisible weight on his chest and limbs. Buried to his neck in memory, he forces himself to move. He’s dug himself out of the ground before. He’ll do it again.

I can smell this sentence and it smells like a masterpiece. I am not as eloquent as sy is here with their words but if that "buried to his neck in memory" line was a snack it would probably be those melt in your mouth non-chew luxury chocolates they sell at the seasonal bryant park holiday market that I buy and stash away so I can savor it slowly and greedily without sharing it

The days pass, surreal yet sharp and excruciating, as if he’s a surgical patient and the anesthesia didn’t take.

yes. this is too real. I described a grief season before as having my eyelids cut off and having to crying constantly to keep seeing - and to keep myself from seeing. I cried reading this sentence, because it made me feel seen. 100/10

I have a soft spot for omegaverse stories but I love this one in particular for all that it typically isn't - what happens if you lose a mate you never bonded with? how do you navigate the reality of what is really a horrific world if you get down to the tacks of what being so driven by instinct could really entail? what could CoD Omegaverse really be like if we just stopped being horny for like two sec- (can you tell I'm a sucker for AUs)

It gnaws and bites like flies to see former friends turn their noses up at you. Cracks and shifts your insides, uncovering anger as old and boiling as a deep-sea vent.

I am feasting on the angst here. how do you do it sy?! make pictures and scents and sounds and sensations of real memories?! an absolute masterchef of wordsmithing

He just lets you wail. In retrospect, it’s clear that he swapped a cudgel for a knife. Dissected your rage with a mind trained to defuse explosives.

once again, CoD writer characterizations are 😘👌 I think often of the roles given to johnny to fill both in the in-game lore/canon and in the myriad of amazing fics out there and the ones I love best are the ones that seem to really embody his spirit - even when the fic will deviate from canon details - and also honestly, seeing how much the writer loves and sees the character by how they're fleshed out through their eyes/writing - if you've ever seen a portrait of someone and noted the differences/touch-ups, only to realize you are seeing the person as the artist is seeing them - quite a similar experience I had reading this

The tide’s out, and you stand on shore, waiting for the crushing grief.

😭😭😭 once again noting reading this felt at turns raw and cathartic. incredible

The portrait of your best friend bears witness from atop the mantle. In uniform with a buzzed head and a serious expression, it’s him, yet nothing like him... As Johnny followed your parents into death, you’re left alone, subject to the whims and mercies of an aunt who sees only your designation. 

It's him, yet nothing like him.... *MW3 flashbacks*

also still entertaining a fanciful urge to write a small dissertation as a/b/o designation as allegory for going through life as female-presenting and/or oppressive societal/gender expectations-

Your nostrils flare at his vinegariness, the feeler he sends to test the waters

i fucking love that line. VINEGARINESS! truly feel this is what creepy would smell like

Familiar, somehow, and powerful... Citrus wrinkles your nose, beckoning you to relax.... Instincts like cicadas, buried to avoid that which would exploit them, dig their way out of the ground.

Cedar and myrrh, stone and soil—a burst potent enough to cow the eldest member of your family, forcing her to retreat a step. This close, your nose finds the word it was looking for. Sepulchral.

I read with baited breath anticipating simon and sister's meeting. unfffh physically shivered at how good these lines were. the angst! the suspense!

You refuse an obligatory invitation-

HAHAAHAHAHAHA i am also obsessed with the sister in this fic

also I learned the word spoor reading this fic and I have the biggest crush on fics that make me learn/look up new words (looking at you, yeyinde-)

Simon cloisters for two days. His scent returns to normal, slowly rolling over the house like a thick fog.

beginning to wonder if the sister has synaesthesia but in a/b/o - I actually had a friend in college who had synaesthesia (you would NEVER peg him as such, he was like a very chill buttoned-up finance/tax bro but once we coaxed this detail out of him he talked about how the word 'and' always felt 'purple' to him and he casually noted things like "you smell pink" or "you look blue/silver" - that last one he said of me which was very puzzling lol)

As if the house needs another ghost. 

me, reading this line:

The floor creaks under his foot, but he stops the second you tense. You hold the makeshift cold compress in place and apply pressure. Another stilted silence passes, and you catch a whiff of citrus. Simon’s eyes snap to you. “She’s cracked the case,” his hand creeps toward yours, giving you time to let go before he steals the compress and pulls away.

if this is not the most simon of simon things to do... obsessed with this grieving meek gentle giant

I love the made-up science of a/b/o and the backbending logic leaps fanfic writers do to create the wonderful word of sex pollen and heats and ruts and etc. but the hyperosmia...a new level of a/b/o horror!!! gah i loved this

All the scent blockers in the world cannot deter the repugnant or unscrupulous.

ah yes, when a/b/o is still rooted in reality in many ways...

It’s difficult to keep a straight face as Johnny scruffs the stranger, bringing him to heel. Your brother compels the miscreant to apologize and then sets him loose, satisfied he’s neutered the man.

it is a fact of life, i will be attracted to all shades of johnny canon and fanon - also the use of 'scruff' and 'neuter' here is just 😘👌

But has it ever occurred to you that I might want someone? That maybe this isn’t just about your life? That being saddled with you isn’t easy?

ugh this was so hard to read because i feel like as an eldest sibling it has stripped a very raw part of that part of me naked when reading this. i hate sometimes how painful it is to unleash inside thoughts in emotional moments, both for the speaker and listener. 100/10 writing once again

The impulse to apologize and flee attempts to puppet you,

unffffff how to word this? this is true for me in all the seasons i've re-read this so far - i find it ultimately incredibly cathartic to see these uncomfortable sensations and feelings put to paper. and yes i am gonna keep rating sy's writing 100/10 throughout this ramble, no one can stop me

Simon pokes through the shirt, face blank and mouth shut. Soap’s chewing on something. Rather, something’s chewing Soap.

hahahahaaha i loved this mental image

“No, you’re shutting me out. Goin’ away.” “‘I’m right here.” Soap frowns tiredly. “Why don’t you want to come? Meet my sister?”

i love how generally speaking soap is universally seen as very adept at reading the room/sensing emotions - we stan a self-aware king✨

“I want to be.” It’s not a whine; it’s hardly a complaint. It’s a statement of fact delivered with resignation.

🥺🥺🥺 yes this also made me cry lol, 10000/10

Simon admires the droop of Soap’s dark eyelashes on his skin and even breathing. Closest thing to heaven he’ll ever see, he thinks. 

i love secret romantic simon

Soap’s arm tightens its hold as he slightly flares his scent, a plume of woodfire as inviting as his words.

hmmmmm that's where simon learned it from

Soap can’t pin him on the sparring mat, but he can with a look. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” To you. Doesn’t have to mean anything to you.

if it were an ao3 tag i would favorite 'mutual unfulfillable pining'

But poking through the thick, funereal brume is juniper and pine. The hours preceding heavy snowfall. It’s an odd combination, grounding and sharp, petrous and serene. A graveyard in the dead of winter.

once again absolutely shivering at all the synaesthesial descriptions. I can see these smells!!!!!!!!! also +2 for having me look up brume and petrous

The mirth bleeds from his eyes. “No, I’m realistic. Something funny in the MacTavish line. Fucking dreamers, the two of you. Wanting things you can’t have.”

screeeaaaming

He wordlessly moves so you can slide the lemon bars into the heat. You inhale deeply, drinking in the tart citrus as a palate cleanser, and shut the door.

i find it interesting the sister is baking treats that are citrusy, the scent associated with relaxation 🍋

Still. It crowbars a smile out of you. Reminds you of Johnny.

crowbars a smile- 🥹🥹🥹 a whole movie scene in a single verb, mwah mwah sy need to re-up my infinite supply of chef's kisses that are running low because of this fic-

also the very subtle song and dance of the second story being told through their scent interactions is once again just 😘👌

“She’s just late.” “Like Soap, then.” Price‘s posture is confident and easy. He’s handling this better than the sergeant. “Better.”

aWWWW SIMON YOU BIG-ASS SOFTIE YOU Even in death, his sergeant’s a solid bridge. The foundation of a fucked up home.  A familiar blend of heather and rain draws his attention to the entrance. In his chest, something settles. “It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

the ending here made me cry MULTIPLE times but all I'll say here is that as someone freshly and unexpectedly grieving, I found this fic supremely confronting, cathartic, and now comforting to see a world where broken promises can still be kept even after death and loss in its own way can still be transformed as a gift, even when you're unused to gifting - and receiving.