#Ashes Caskets

[oncamelliastreet]

i am actually genuinly struggling to come up with a watercolor idea that won’t make my art teacher send me to the counselor because he’s concerned that that’s where my mind is going

[vyborg]

In my head Russia's funeral starts like a normal closed casket funeral but at some point the casket is opened (Belarus) and there’s just a random man of Russia’s height and weight crammed into the casket so the funeral turns into a treasure hunt (the treasure is Russia's corpse) and no one can figure it out. because decades before kicking the bucket he arranged for his corpse to be cremated and had his ashes put in the confetti tubes America was planning to burst at his funeral but no one let him do that because it’s generally improper to burst confetti tubes at funerals.

[ndostairlyrium]

I think this could be a fereldan tomb, but I may be mistaken

[4thegadiesandlentlemen]

I want Ray Cist to box his Grandma. Throw him in the ring, 0 prep time. Cameron Geller, make it happen this instant. I want to see this racist man throw hands with his black Grandma.

[bumpscosity]

when i die there better not be a funeral. if you have to do something do a chuck e cheese pizza party or something. if it had to be all traditional in a church or whatever don't do eulogies make it a roast instead. ppl don't even have to be roasting me roast everyone in the room i want a fight to break out at my funeral

[fuzzkaizer]

apboutiquefx - ASHES to ASHES

cred: instagram.com/p/CKfZuE8HlkT/

[mutxnts]

HUH????

[pizzapasta23045]

Suddenly all the jokes about Signora's ashes get a thousand times funnier.

DUST: WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SOMEONE DIES?

In Teyvat, people and enemies canonically turn to “dust” when they die. 

This is a compilation of evidence supporting the theory!

I - CREPUS

You can see it here, when in the manga, Crepus dies:

See at the bottom right, how his leg is ‘fading’ into specks? I thought it was a perspective shot to show Kaeya at first, but the next two panels-

-Show Diluc grasping at the same black dust, and Crepus’ body is nowhere to be found.

II - ALBEDO’S DETAILS

Albedo’s theming of life and rebirth directly mentions dust.

He refers to dust as being ‘the most basic form of human life’… Possibly referencing how, in Teyvat, it appears to be the bridge between life and death.

III - DEATH ANIMATIONS

When a character dies in-game, they turn to blue ‘dust particles’ which ascend upwards. While it could just be a death mechanic like any other game, it’s interesting to note. It’s also worth mentioning that when an “enemy” dies, they explode into a cloud of red and black particles that definitely resembles dust a lot more heavily:

IV -  GUIZHONG / ARCHAIC PETRA

Guizhong’s death describes her as turning to dust- However, being the Goddess of Dust, I always assumed it was just a case of her element, much like how Havria turned into a pile of salt… But it may not entirely be the case.

-Guizhong, on mortals.

-Archaic Petra, on Zhongli’s age of slaughter.

-Zhongli’s 3rd death line.

V - DUST OF AZOTH

An expensive item, it’s described as being heavily linked to alchemy- And as we’ve seen from Albedo, ‘dust’ has heavy importance in this concept. There’s less evidence here as it just may be tangentially related.

—

All in all, this plays into the concept of “from dust to dust”, in what seems to be an extremely literal sense. I wanted to compile most of the evidence supporting the idea, even though… All you really need is the manga to form a pretty solid theory!

[essentiamortis]

TAG DROP PT. 1.

𑁋 ⸢ FRONT ROW SEATS TO MY FUNERAL. ╱ reflection. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ CLOSE THE CASKET. ╱ closed starter. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ BLACK ROSES DECOMPOSING. ╱ aesthetic. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ SHADOWS THAT DANCE IN MY HEADSPACE. ╱ interactions. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ LEAVING NOTHING BUT PHANTOMS IN MY WAKE. ╱ anonymous. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ A THIN LINE BETWEEN PANIC & EMBRACING THE MADNESS. ╱ mentality. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ BROKEN WINDOWS & A WARNING SCRIBBLED ON THE WALL. ╱ wishlist. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ SHADOWS RISING ALL AROUND. ╱ open starter. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ DOWN TO ASHES. BONES ARE LEFT TO DRY. ╱ images. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ SIX FEET INSIDE MY HEAD. ╱ headcanons. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ BRING ME BACK FROM THE DEAD. ╱ out of character. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ I'LL BE MAKING YOUR BED IN THE GRAVE. ╱ enemies. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ HEAR THE OMENS AND LEGENDS. ╱ demigods. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ FEEL THE GHOST IN YOUR CHEST. ╱ ask memes. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ NIGHTMARES TURNED TO REAL LIFE. ╱ answered asks. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING. ╱ queue. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ THE LEGENDS ARE AGES OLD. ╱ promos. ⸥

𑁋 ⸢ PHANTOM IN YOUR FOYER. ╱ self promo. ⸥

[alliseaisfandom]

this will probably be disproven across episodes but I have the Gwen brainrot so indulge me.

I know a lot of people hope that Elias is out walking around happy and high, but see the Magnus institute burned down in 1999. Jonah took Elias in 1996.

So don't imagine Gwendolyn coming 'home' after a few years studying on daddy's money, daddy's name and daddy's contempt that his youngest daughter seems perfectly fine with ignoring what is expected from a Bouchard.

Don't imagine Gwen running into her brother one night after he himself hasn't been in their family house for weeks. And realising the thing in front of her isn't Elias.

The stone cold sober, easy smiling man with impeccable posture is not the man who taught her how to play their parents to secure a peaceful life and a place in the will at the same time.

The eyes looking back at her never winked at her from across the dinner table, never shed tears of rage at the golden chains around both of them, never looked at her at her lowest and told her everything would be okay one day. Because those eyes do not belong to Elias.

'A promotion' it tells her, with the same pride Elias used to talk about a student strike that would absolutely wreck their name if it were printed on papers, but this thing wouldn't do that because this thing is. Not. Her. Brother. But she's almost as good at acting as it is, so she plays along. 'Head of the Magnus Institute'.

And Gwen knows very little of the Magnus institute. But she knows enough about Elias Bouchard. She knows about Allan and the eyeless thing that got to him, tale whispered in a panic on the night she first saw her brother as a child instead of a role model. She knows about the letter that arrived unprompted. She knows the stories of what goes on inside the too old building.

And she knows how easy it is to get her hands on gasoline for the bits of it that aren't already flammable.

When she's called in as his emergency contact, she feigns shock at the fire, throws the bone that 'the idiot couldn't even keep his fucking lighter straight' between tears.

She throws the ashes off a foggy cliff onto the sea and attends the empty casket funeral with the same expression she learns to carry from that day on. And after years of clipped conversation, she does what she promised Elias to never do.

'Get me in.' She tells her father. And his smile of relief at 'still having a worthy heir' on the day of his son's funeral sickens her. But she keeps the same expression.

Because she may have killed the thing that took Elias. But the OIAR is the place that can tell her what she killed exactly.

And she won't make her brother's mistakes.

[urnsukuk]

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[authorsofghosts]

You're Not Him | Horseman!Gambit x Reader | Pt. 1

Author's Note: I do not enjoy the design of black gambit in the comics so i decided to go with another design(that i made the fuck up), my apologies horseman gambit fans.... anyways enjoy the first fic we're posting here !!! thank you @genderqueerbarbie777 for beta reading :3

Summery: Remy was dead. Or so you thought. There was a man that sounded like him, had his powers, but... why did he look like that? Who was this? This wasn't your Remy.

Themes: Angst, Hurt w/ No Comfort, Previous Relationship, Betrayal, Crying, Cursing, Kidnapping, R's a mutant/x-man (no powers written), Violence.

Word Count: 1.6k

next pt

Apocalypse had chosen the perfect moment to strike, the X-Men still mourning Gambit's death. You were still shaken up about it, though it had happened months ago. You loved him, you really loved him. Even if you never let anyone but him know. You stood up from the blast, dusting yourself off till you're frozen, hearing a voice behind you.

"Cher...?" You heard, a raspy of remnant of something from your past. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. You turned to look for Remy, but you were met with something... ghoulish.

"Y-... you're not him." You say, voice strained as you look at the creature that stood there, stolen Remy's voice to fool you. The silvery skinned man smirked. He wore Remy's jacket, his fucking jacket, he had his voice, a dark deck of cards in one hand and a baton in the other. This had to be some kind of trick, an illusion, anything but real.

"Oh, but Gambit is him, petit..." The ash covered man walked towards you, his white hair covering his blackened eyes. Even his walk, his mannerisms, they were Remy's. But he was dead, Remy Lebeau was dead. You watched his casket get put in the ground, there was no way this was your lost love.

You backed away as he stood in front of you, looking down with pink glowing eyes as he put the deck of cards in the inner pocket of his jacket. He went to place his bone-y, gaunt hand on your cheek, being met with a quick swat as you took another step back.

"N-no, you're not! Wh-what are you?!" You yelled out, tears swelling in your eyes as you yelled at the thing in front of you, mocking you, mimicking the man you loved, the man you watched die.

This Remy chuckles, a sound that would normally make your heart swell with love, but this... this was dark, something evil behind it. You know if this was really Remy, he'd never hurt you, but you couldn't help the chills that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close.

"Gambit's 'Death', baby..." He starts, another low chuckle coming from his lips, "But he remembers you, cher. You're mine, remember?" These words, they brought a memory that shook you to your core.

"Cher, what are you doing?" Remy spoke softly, watching you walk into his room at the mansion. He laughed at the sight of you, your face flushed as you took off your jacket. "Ya gonna answer ol' Remy or nah?"

"I'm tired. I want... to be held." You murmur, laying on the bed next to him, quick to get his attention away from whatever he was doing before. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling the covers over you and placing you between his arm, flush against his bare chest.

You both laid there in silence, breathing synced up as he caged you in his arms, head nuzzling your neck, his stubble tickling your skin. "You're okay, mon amour... You're here, you're... mine."

You tried pulling back, the walking corpse in front of you growling lowly. "Don't ya dare fight my hold on you." His voice hissed, strong hand gripping your wrist so hard it made you gasp in pain, the tears finally falling from your eyes.

There's a shocked look on his face, grip loosening ever so slightly as he watches you closely. You notice something slight, something that reminded you of the Remy before. "P-please..." you cry out softly, "Lemme go, Rem."

This upset him, but it also made him smile as you finally acknowledge he's really who he says he is. "I don't think I will, cher..." He turns you around, placing an arm across your middle to hold you against him, other hand still tight on your wrist. "I ain't gonna leave you again. And yer not leavin' me, ya hear?"

The gaunt hand holding your wrist lets go, traveling up your arm, up your neck before finally resting on your chin, holding it softly, thumb caressing your cheek. You can't help but shiver. This causes Remy to laugh again, nuzzling into your skin. "Why are ya afraid of lil ol' me, petit? I ain't gonna hurtcha..."

"Y-you're not?" You ask, voice hoarse and breathy. You smile nervously, leaning your head back against his chest to try and show him you want to trust him. You swallow hard as he sits up, setting his chin on the top of your head.

"Of course not, cher. Why would Gambit do that to ya?" He says softly, eyes looking around at the make shift battlefield that used to be the X Mansion, pointing his baton at your teammates as they fight in the distance. "Looks like they've forgotten you, amour."

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. It wasn't just that they'd forgotten you, you knew this wasn't true, but that they were fighting without you. They hadn't even bothered to look for you. "No, they... they need me-" You go to walk forwards but his arm around your middle brings you back flush against him.

"No they don't. I do." He growls out, his hand on your chin turning your gaze up to him. "I said it already. We ain't leavin' each other again, yer coming with me." His eyes glow, staring down at you as his grip around you tightens even more.

Your eyes widen "With you? What are you-" You're cut off by his hand on your chin covering you mouth, Remy shushing you softly. Before you can protest, you feel his baton snap to your neck, hitting a pressure point and causing you to pass out.

"Cher? Cher, wake up, please..." You heard, the cold sting of the metal table in the medical bay pressed against your back.

"Remy?" you said weakly, feeling his hands move from your own to your face, pulling you flush against his chest, a tear falling from his eyes. "What's wrong? W-what happened?" You ask, unable to remember the fight from before.

"You got hurt, bad, petit... Gambit though he was gonna lose ya fo' a moment..." He says softly, nuzzling into your skin, his warm touch against your cold skin sending chills up and down your body. It was nice, being in his arms, but in this situation? It felt live a saving grace.

You woke up, your vision blurred and and the sounds around you muffled under a sharp ringing in your ears. You can't move, the small amount you can making your realize you're tied down, laid against the corner of two walls. You try to focus on the voices, eyes closing.

"You brought an X-Man here?! Are you fucking stupid?!" An unfamiliar voice says, angry.

"It's not just any X-Man, it's... my cher..." Remy says, voice breaking slightly. After a second you hear him scream out in pain, causing you to wake up fully, your eyes wide as you look in the direction.

"Weak... he shouldn't even be able to remember his life before becoming Death!" You see the tall, menacing Apocalypse, his arm turning from some kind of taser to his normal hand. He looks over at you, eyes widening as he sees your awake. "What a surprise, though..." He takes a step towards you.

"N-no, don't!" You say, backing yourself against the corner as the towering monster stands a few feet in front of you. You scream out as he grabs you, taking you across the room and throwing you down once again. You hear a click as something snaps around your neck. Your binds are taken off just to be replaced with the same metal that adorns your neck, pressing you flat against whatever surface you're on.

Your eyes look back at Remy as he stands up, face full of defeat as he looks at Apocalypse. "Sir, I'm sorry-" He starts, cutting himself off as the man looks at him. He backs away, lowering his head. You still can't believe it, Remy's alive, but... not himself, working for Apocalypse.

"Well, now that we have an X-Man... why don't we celebrate? This means we won the fight." The tall, broad creature known as Apocalypse says, voice dark with intent. He looks down at you, a grim smile on his face as he speaks again, "Don't try to do anything, mutant. Your powers are useless with the bindings you're in. If you do, however, there will be punishment."

You don't want to test his words, nodding quickly. Your fear and submission causes the man to laugh, clearly entertained that you're so quick to listen. "It seems Gambit has picked the perfect hostage." Apocalypse chuckles, turning his back to you as he addresses the others in the room. "That does not mean I am not disappointed, though, feeble mutant."

He walks up to Remy, who sits up, eyes shaking as he looks up at the taller man. In a swift movement, Apocalypse grabs him by the throat, causing you to yell out. He brings Remy to eye level before speaking, "If you were not needed for the unstoppable force of the Apocalypse, you'd be dead by my hand. Do you understand, mutant?"

Remy nods, closing his eyes as the other man drops him. You stare at him as he lands on his knees, not fighting back. It was strange to see him so... weak, submitting to the orders of terrible force. It was frightening, even. Remy opened his eyes and looked up at Apocalypse, "Yes, sir."

His voice was just as weak as he looked next to Apocalypse. You could tell by the ways his eyes shifted that he was biting back an insult or some smart alack response. That was until they met yours again, all of the pain in them leaving and being replaced with something much more positive. A love that you'd seen many times before, making you sure that this was in fact your Remy.

[ddollys]

“NIGHTS LIKE THIS…”

────୨ৎ────

⋆｡‧˚ʚ💭ɞ˚‧｡⋆

:: IN WHICH :: you’ve been killed during the shibuya incident. and yuji, who had feelings for you—both platonically and romantically, misses you. so, now, he finds himself in a dream with you.

:: angst, fluff, comfort :: — afab reader, bottled up feelings, angst with a happy ending, yuji itadori missing you, reader has dimples, etc. not proofread.

i really hope this is good , reblog if you enjoyed. 🤍

—

yuji itadori loved you—but in fear of rejection, he bottled up his feelings in a space that was somewhere in the back of his mind. he refused to acknowledge the bittersweet love he felt for you, pushing it away. he didn’t want it to get in the way of your tight friendship. he didn’t want you to avoid him because you felt uncomfortable being with a man who liked you.

“hold my hand until we turn to ashes.”

he didn’t get any time to genuinely confess the truth about how he truly felt about you… because, now…

you’re laying right in front of him. dead.

he stared in disbelief—he should’ve… he should’ve protected you! he promised, he made a deal in his mind that he swore to protect you; to reserve your place in life.

he didn’t move. he didn’t breathe. his lungs begged for air yet when they received oxygen, they denied it and closed up. his throat was shutting down, burning and pleading for water.

but, he stood still. same stance, same form, same face. he was splattered with your blood, and he begged god for it to be his instead of yours.

your bodily fluid on him felt like an unforgivable sin. yuji itadori… didn’t know in the afterlife, when his time came… that you would forgive him.

that you would accept his bittersweet love for you, the true love he felt for you.

“love me til’ they put me in my casket.”

weeks later, he was still restless. he kept reliving the same moment in his dream. it kept repeating, each time he thought that he was finally letting go of the memory; the dream would crash down and morphed into that same, horrifying reality.

it felt like his brain was taunting him, letting him experience the haunting guilt that gnawed in his guts. each time he felt an ounce of guilt—he was rushing to the bathroom to puke out all his sorrow.

“i got all these feelings that i’m maskin’.”

his dream tonight was a stark contrast to his prior experiences… it was oddly peaceful. it wasn’t anything special; just a plain white room.

but there was just a gentle presence that soothed his nerves, that helped shake off the feeling that it was going to turn into a nightmare.

“…yuji.” you called out, behind him. your voice was devoid of ill intentions, just pure. “…i’m glad you’re holding up.” you spoke, a soft smile on your face. yuji whipped his whole body around.

it wasn’t a fake smile—yuji knew that you had small dimples when you actually put a genuine smile. “…i—i missed you.” yuji shakily whispered, his knees bucking down and he was on the floor. tears bubbled up in his eyes as he looked up at you. “…it’s… it’s really you.” he murmured, his pretty light brown eyes still locked on yours.

“hey… no, get up.” you coo, bending down to grab his hands and lift him up. “…yuji,” you say, “…you’re strong. please, don’t give up just because of me.” you console, your hands still clasped with his. you were glowing, just how he first met you.

“…i—i can’t-” yuji whispered, but got cut off by you.

“…oh yes you can.” you replied. “…i love you, yuji.” you smiled, the dimples that he always took notice to appeared.

“…i love you too, love…” yuji replied. you gave yuji a gentle kiss on the lips. “…everything wasn’t your fault, please, don’t stress about it.” you say. you faced your back against him and walked away; your body fading.

for once, he finally found solace in a dream.

“can i lay it on you? that’s what i’m asking.”

nights like this - the kid laroi.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST

Don't Fear The Reaper (Dark!Tommy/ Part One)

Summary: After what was supposed to be a chilled night in with a friend you end up playing a game that unintentionally summons back the dark presence that had haunted you most of your early adulthood. With no way of avoiding the inevitable reunion you are forced to face the otherworldly being and the unfinished business he is set on fulfilling. That unfinished business, you.

Warnings: Language, angst, supernatural themes, dark romance, mentions of blood, stalking, murder, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, dark!tommy (This is a dark series with heavy potentially triggering undertones, please read the warnings before continuing)

Authors note: This series is inspired by the song "Don't Fear The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult, one of my all time favourite tracks.

November 1923...

" Today we gather in sorrow. In remembrance, as we lay Y/N Y/L/N to rest. A beloved granddaughter..." the Reverend said as he glanced up from his sermon to your grandfather, his eyes filled with unspent tears, a man of his time desperately trying to conceal the grief he felt at the vicious loss of his only remaining family member as he clutched his fingers around the single red rose in his weathered hands, scared and calloused from the years of manual labour he had endured. "a friend..." he continued as he looked at the many people gathered around the freshly dug grave, heads cast down, tears staining their reddened cheeks nipped by the cool November air of winter slowly approaching. "...and a blossoming love cruelly snatched away before it's time" he finished as he looked up across the casket to a man dressed all in black, his face concealed by the dark shadow cast by his peak cap, his eyes fixed on the muddied grass below him as a gust of bitter wind blew a scattering of dried leaves past his boots tumbling into the six-foot deep hole before him. His name, Thomas Shelby, the infamous keeper of Birmingham. " Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done..." the priest prayed, raising his hands as all those present began to recite the Lord's prayer in unison whilst Tommy pulled his gold pocket watch out, his brows knitting together at the lengthy time the service had already dragged out. He had things to do...places to be. "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from, evil" the priest finished casting his gaze down in a moment of silence as Tommy's eyes darted up, met with the glaring stare of his Aunt as she held onto the Black Madonna around her neck. Her tear streaked face was visibly shaken from the anger rapidly coursing through her as her nephew dismissively turned his attention above to a hoard of black crows leaving their nest in a nearby tree, the ear-piercing caw of death parting in search of another poor soul of Small Heath to take to the underworld resonating through the gloomy cemetery. " We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." the priest hummed as he walked around the grave to the man whose path had fatefully collided with your own. Presenting him with a small ceramic pot Tommy lifted a handful of dirt from within the jar, tossing it into the grave as he bent down on one knee, rubbing the remaining soil that had scattered on the grass between his gloved fingers.

" Let's give 'em a show eh?" Tommy whispered as he stood up wiping his forefinger across the bottom of his lower lash as he locked eyes with his cousin. His jaw tightening his teeth clenched, Michael was one breath away from doing something he would undoubtedly regret as Tommy, who was amused with the whole situation, sent him a playful wink, his cousin's angry demeanour clearly not enough to stop him from riling him further up.

" Tommy..." Ada sobbed as she clutched onto her brother's arm wiping her tears away at the tragic event that had brought this day about as every attendee proceeded to bid their final farewell whilst the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground.

" What even was the point?" Ada sniffed as she walked beside Tommy down the gravelled path. "An empty casket Tommy..." She said stopping her brother as she looked back to the workmen shovelling heaps of muddied dirt back into the grave. The finest casket made in Birmingham, Tommy made sure of it. But weightless, empty, a disgrace in Ada's eyes that her beloved friends body had not been found, the only thing left in its expected place a small pool of blood and a dishevelled flat.

" To say goodbye Ada" he said as he rubbed a cigarette across his lips squinting into the distance as he watched the numerous mourners part from the cemetery, the same cemetery he seemed to have frequented more than any other place in his lifetime.

" Shit. I'm sorry" she said turning back to face her brother and the solemn expression he had conjured up settling on his face. "How are you?" she sighed, concerned with her brother's wellbeing and the persistent stoic demeanour he refused to let falter, even in times such as these.

"As expected" he said flatly as he blew a cloud of smoke to the greying sky, rubbing his brow with his thumb.

" You can talk to me Tommy. I know you hadn't been together for long, but..." she said crossing her arms as she bit her bottom lip trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. "...you loved her and she loved you, any fool could've seen that" she finished as she looked down at the ground, a tear slipping over her cheek as she dug the end of her shoe into the grass whilst Tommy observed his sisters turmoil in the corner of his eye, something be had yet been able to muster up himself. " Fuck, who invited him?" she spat looking to Michael as he got into one of the many Bentleys lined up at the bottom of the path.

" Polly" Tommy replied taking one last puff of his cigarette before throwing it onto the gravelled path beneath him, stubbing it out with the flat of his boot.

" Well he has no right" Ada said glaring at her cousin as she took a step closer to her brother. "Y/N was scared of him Tommy. She didn't want to worry you but..." Ada sighed as she watched Polly follow her son into the motor vehicle that could undoubtedly feed the whole of Small Heath for the next five years. "She'd convinced herself it was him following her. And she's not alone, me and the girls from the office think it was him too. You need to do something Tommy" Ada added in a hushed voice, despaired that justice hadn't yet been delivered on behalf of her dear friend.

" And I am, alright?" Tommy replied his brows raised in irritation, his sisters relentless questions regarding your presumed untimely demise starting to get on his last nerve, the beloved boyfriend a far cry from the grieving one he had been trying to portray.

" Wait, where are you going?" Ada asked as her brother turned to leave for his car.

" Away" he replied shortly as his sister stepped in front of him, her brows creasing at the sudden patch of blood staining the collar of his freshly laundered white shirt, snagged by the sharp movement of Tommy's head snapping back to her.

" Jesus Tommy, what the fuck happened to you?" she said as she pulled his collar further down, a large cut that had all but been concealed for the entirety of the service suddenly making itself known.

"Must've nicked myself shaving" Tommy said dismissively as he pulled his shirt back up, hissing at the sharp friction of the cloth grazing against the bloodied wound on his neck.

" Nicked? Was you wrangling a wild animal whilst you was shaving?" She scoffed as she folded her arms eyeing up the crimson stain for a second time, the cut resembling more the grooves of human fingernails scratched into flesh than any injury made by the act of male grooming. " Tommy, what...what about the wake?" Ada called out to her brother as he ignored any further remarks on the suspicious gash to his neck making his way down the path.

" I need time to think, alone Ada. In peace" he called back whilst she watched from afar, an exasperated huff leaving her throat before grief overcame her once more and she headed back up to the grave to say her final goodbye in private.

"Fill her up lads, to the top" he said handing a bundle of King George notes to two more gravediggers in passing on the gritted walkway, his black coat blowing open as a gust of wind cut through the cemetery creaking the leafless branches of a weeping ash tree nearby. Lighting a cigarette Tommy looked up to the top of the graveyard, eyeing up the spot he had chosen for your supposed resting place as a devilish smirk formed on his lips, hidden to those nearby by the cloud of smoke pummelling into the crisp Autumn air. Devilish indeed, manipulative, a wicked lie fabricated for those that would never come to learn the truth of what really happened on that fateful night, all but two of course.

Pulling at your restraints you cried out as your wrists scraped along the ropes, the sharp burn of the twine searing your skin as the all too familiar sound of a car driving along the muddied grass haltered your attempts to call for aid. Cowering yourself into the corner of the small vardo you brought your knees up to your chest as the door opened and the sweet smell of tobacco filled the the room.

" Tut, tut" you heard him say as he grabbed your wrists inspecting your pathetic attempts to escape.

The man you had determined to have been following you, stalking you, now inches from you, his breath hot against your cheek as he leant forward gently untying the cloth from around your eyes, slowly pulling it away. He had fooled you into loving him, convinced you he had kept you from harms way, and he was back again to convince you once more into understanding why he did what he had so selflessly done. Albeit with a wicked grin mischievously playing on the corner of his mouth.

"Tommy..."

" Hello darling"

November 2023...

"Fuck, shit...fuck!" You yelled as you pulled your hand from within the file of papers you had decided to spring-clean, a rather late spring-clean of eight months that was. " Fuck..." You resorted one last time just for the thrills of dramatising the injury you had acquired in your attempts to be an orderly person. Said injury, a bloody paper cut. One that seemed to have amassed it's very own heartbeat in the space of a few seconds. Painful, but not the worst injury you had brought upon yourself. The great stubbing of ones toe in the summer of 2022 when you decided on rearranging your whole flat during a existential crisis had yet to be topped. Avoiding the scattering of crap that now adorned your bedroom floor you headed for the bathroom to wrap your bleeding finger in whatever was available. Toilet paper should do the trick you thought to yourself as you grabbed a roll of Andrex Supreme Quilts from your bathroom cupboard, only the finest for your ass. What on earth made you think this was a good idea? You thought to yourself as you looked around your home that had started to ressemble an episode of hoarders when a small box peaking out under a stack of folders caught your eye, its recognisable pattern embellishing the sides of the cardboard making your heart skip a beat. " What the..." You said aloud as a heavy feeling of dread and confusion settled in the pit of your stomach, your eyes wide at seeing the one item that had all but destroyed any attempts you had made to have a normal life. The same item you thought you had thrown out along with all the memories of the years you had spent trying to understand why they chose you, why it was you their voices never left your thoughts in peace. Is that how it all started? Your ability, or as your referred to it, curse. A stupid board game that had single handedly cast you out from not only your childhood friends but your own family. The same family aside from your beloved granddad that had dragged you to every psychiatrist in the county, every priest, every professional that had prescribed you not with help or sympathy but the label of burden, attention seeker. But a child's imaginary friends were not so imaginary. They would seek you out, knowing you were their connection to the living world for years up until your early adult when another deathly presence appeared, one that stayed in the shadows, always watching from afar. He was not like the others, he stayed back, his gaze always hidden by the shadow his peak cap would cast on his face. And unlike the others he scared you, really fucking scared you. Picking the box up you marched into your kitchen throwing it on the table as you reached into a cupboard for a bin bag. You had been rid of him for years and you would be rid of this game too. After all, it was because of him you shut your eyes from the unliving, ignored their whisperings, determined to live a normal life as normally as you could. That was your plan until the doorbell obnoxiously rang five times in a row and your friends voice reverberated through the corridors of your flat building.

" Open up whore, I brought booze! " she giggled loudly as you heard her stumble forward. Bloody hell, was she already drunk?

" Helena.." you smiled as you opened the door to her standing with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice in her hand, hell-bent on recreating her teen years taking shots from the bottle cap. Oh great, she brought friends, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes at the two smartly dressed men behind her.

" You are a klutz babe" she lovingly remarked looking down at your makeshift bandage tightly wrapped around your finger with a kiss to your cheek. " Barneby and Hugh" she introduced you to the two men that had already made themselves at home, currently splayed across your sofa as the nauseating smell of their aftershave they had doused themselves in filled the room. You would never comment on the name anyone had been bestowed upon by their dear parents but, my god...had they just walked off the polo pitch? Londoners no doubt, private upper schooling you thought to yourself, your suspicions only confirmed when the tall blonde Hugh stood up from your sofa with his hand out for you to shake his accent quickly making itself known.

" Hugh. We work for Goldman Sachs in London, took a detour to take in the local..." he cleared his throat as he looked back at his friend with a smirk. Idiot. What an opening line, was he about to present you with his business card? "...sights of Birmingham on our way up north when one of our associates introduced us to the lovely Helena" he said sitting down on the arm of your sofa as he eyes roamed over your body. Detour... What did he think Small Heath was? The local petting zoo to gawk at, the same way he was gawking at you? Yes there was your average oddball here and there and the man that walked around town shoeless, regardless as to whether it was pissing it down or scorching hot outside. But it was your town, and you wouldn't have any jumped up city boy put it down.

" Hmm, how is the big smoke?" you quipped back as the perfectly groomed man with a suspiciously tinted beard grin widened.

" She's feisty Hughey, just how you like them" his friend laughed as his grin settled into a cocky smirk. Hughey...give me strength.

" Helena, I thought we was just gonna watch a movie get some takeou.."

" What the heck! No no, you're not throwing that out!" She screeched as she bolted up from the armchair to the Ouija board you had intended to bin. She was unusually chaotic than her normal bubbly self. The Smirnoff had clearly already been tasted, enjoyed and partly consumed, you thought to yourself as you eyed up the bottle missing a good chunk of it's contents. " I've always wanted to have a go with one of these. Why didn't you say you had this naughty game in your possession?" she asked clutching it to her chest.

" I prefer strip poker but this could be a laugh " the other Londoner remarked with a chuckle as he stood up taking the box from your friend. Could you will your curse to him, you thought to yourself as your eyes narrowed in on the game in his hand. They were getting increasingly annoying. Could they just, fuck off?

" How about it Y/N?" Your friend smiled with joy at the idea of exploring the supernatural side of life.

" I, I don't think it's a good idea" you said as you snatched the box away from the man who had started rootling through it, feeling overly protective over something you intended to discard of, a sudden longing to be comforted by your childhood companions, your only companions. Would they come back if you let them? Or had too much time passed since you had shut your eyes to the spirit world, since you had pushed them out of your life?

" Don't be a spoil sport Y/N" the blonde said prying the board from your bear like grip as you began to feel as if someone was taking a part of what made you uniquely you away from your whole being.

" We can't do it here, it's not the right setting" your friend said looking around your place wanting a full immersion into whatever overly exaggerated scene she wanted to recreate from one of the many movies or shows she had watched " Ooh let's go to that passing by the riverside. You know, the one from all the story's about the dark mysterious figure that resides down there as smoke blows from the old wagons chimney" she said grinning from ear to ear recounting the story every resident of Small Heath had heard since childhood.

" Helena, that's private property" you said as she began to drag you with her to the front door, grabbing your jacket on the way out as she linked arms with you.

" It's just a bit of fun, please? " she pleaded as she waited for a response. A bit of fun, you could list a whole page of other activities that sounded funner. The first being getting take out and drinking yourself to sleep, the original plan for tonight. Could you risk delving back into the otherworldly land you had cut off? Had your ability vanished for good? What if they reappeared, what if he appeared the one you had been painstakingly avoiding for near a decade. It had been so long, surely he was gone, right?

"Fine" your reluctant response slipped out not wanting to be the that person as you headed out the door when just like any generic horror movie your friend was desperately trying to duplicate an uneasy feeling suddenly settled in your stomach. You had become the very character you would scream at your TV screen, violently throwing popcorn in its direction to not be a cliché and go into the creepy woods with a Ouija board, one slightly pissed friend and two idiot tag alongs. But yet here you was, about to ignore every fiber of your being telling your to turn back.

" Hello Mr magpie how's your wife and kids" you whispered quietly to yourself watching the black and white bird perched on a large log that had undoubtedly fallen during the storm that had come through last week as you clutched the thinnest jacket your friend could have possibly picked out for you around your body. Fashion over functionality, that was Helena's Moto you thought to yourself feeling your fingers go numb from the cool air of the bitter Autumn night. One for joy, two for a boy, how many was it for death...no fuck, that wasn't it. You mentally hummed to yourself as you looked around for a second magpie having forgotten the silly superstition your grandad had always recited to you in the presence of the blue tailed bird.

" Can warm you up if you like?" Hugh laughed putting his arm around you which you automatically shrugged off. " You're as frigid as this weather" he joked as you stormed ahead of you with an irritated huff, catching up with your friend who was a few feet ahead of you as your eyes darted around the open area surrounded by numerous large oak trees, the soft sound of the riverbank gently colliding with the muddied ground pricking your ears. As peaceful as it looked in the silver moonlight casting array of shadows onto the dewy grass you didn't want to be here, something felt...off. You was sure you had never once entered this area In your whole existence but yet, something felt eerily similar about it. What you wouldn't do to be in front of the comforting fire of your late granddads home, watching him nod off in front of the TV with a bowl of striped humbugs in his lap, his dentures floating in a glass of water beside him...not the most poetic image you could've conjured up as your anxiety started to make itself presence, but it was home, and it was where your heart was. Your thoughts had become so tangled, since he passed, uncomfortably intrusive. You felt lonely, so lonely in a world surrounded by people that life had become one long draining experience day in day out. You was desperate for relief from the crushing weight of the cards you had been dealt in life.

"Ooh perfect" your friend said snapping you out of your thoughts as she walked up to an old wooden picnic table in the middle of the passing, the worn emerald green vardo that had fallen apart like the rest of the upkeep of the area feet from you, silently stuck in times from before. " Right come on then, tell us how it works"

" Guys I don't think this is a good..." You started to say when Brian, Barney, Barneby, whatever his name was rudely interrupted you.

"You know what I think sweetie, I think you're scared" he laughed as he went to sit down, his nose turning up at the rotten wood he was about to place his Tom Ford three-piece suit that's trousers looked two sizes too small. If he was trying to accentuate what he was packing he needn't bother.

" You can sit next to me if you like" Hugh winked as you purposely made a point to sit across from him, covering your exposed cleavage with your jacket from his pervy leering eyes. The quicker you got this over with this the quicker you could distance yourself from these two imbeciles, you thought to yourself as you pulled the box In front of you, your hands tracing over the pieces of your childhood. The game in itself was pretty simple you each placed two fingers on the triangular shaped piece of wood and proceeded to ask questions. That was it, what happened after was open for debate.

"We call upon the spirit world and welcome those into the circle who wish to speak with us" you said aloud, your mouth suddenly going dry at the passage you never thought you'd hear leave your lips as the tall blonde seated in front of you scoffed at the words you could only image he thought were nothing more than absurd ramblings of wishful thinking.

" It's not doing anything" your friend remarked, now fully submerged in the game she wholeheartedly believed was more than something teens would play in abandoned buildings late at night, desperate for her own supernatural experience.

" It can take some tim..." You started to say as the planchette started moving, both idiots opposite you nudging eachother under the table as your friends eyes stayed fixed on the moving piece of wood, your own attention startled by the arrival of a dozen people slowly approaching through the wooded area, their deafening whispers muffling out your friends voice. Your eyes darted between Helena and the two men she had brought along with her, willing them to see what you could see as the small crowd of people closed in surrounding the table as they called out the names of their family. Mother's, sister, brothers, fathers, grandparents, begging you to pass message after message onward to their loved ones. "Stop..please..." you said quietly, closing your eyes as you pressed your hand to your forehead. There was too many of them, it was happening too fast. You wanted it to stop to just stop, just fucking stop...

" Enough!" A loud deep voice boomed through the crisp night air as the dead retreated back and the form of a man leaning against a tree dressed all in black came into your view, a cloud of smoke pummeling above his head, his eyes cast down at the ground as he rolled his cigarette between his fingers. It was him, he was back. " Leave" he commanded to the others as he slowly strode towards you.

They couldn't see him, why couldn't they see him? He was standing right there, right fucking next to you. You thought to yourself as your chest heaved up and down from the sheer panic rapidly coursing through you, your breaths coming in ragged shallow ripples as his black tailored coat grazed along your arm sending a burning shiver down your spine. A dumb game, a stupid dumb game. Why did you agree to this? You had unknowingly invited him back, summoned him after all the years you had painstakingly tried to keep his presence at bay, you panicked as you looked in the corner of your eye to see him rubbing his thumb over his forefinger, enticing you to look up, taunting you to meet the piercing glare you was certain you'd be met with if you dared to look his way. But yet you stayed motionless, frozen as your eyes slowly settled on your hand resting over the intricately detailed planchette as your friend beside you giggled at its erratic movements on the board below it, which either one or both of the idiots she had brought along with her were undoubtedly doing.

" Alright I've had enough, which one of you wankers is moving it?" Your friend Helena demanded to know as you looked across to the prick that had been hounding you since the moment he laid eyes on you, a faint smirk playing on the corner of his mouth when a leather gloved hand crept across the table placing itself over yours, slowly lacing it's fingers between your own. Your whole body trembling, you desperately tried to pull your hand away when the sinister figure standing beside you grip tightened, keeping your from escaping his inevitable presence as the wooden triangle started to move.

" Y/N…" Your friend said looking to you as the planchette stopped, your name having been spelt letter by letter in a gentle dance of toing and froing that swept across the board until all those present eyes widened not only in fear but confusion. If they weren't moving it, who was? Releasing his hand from yours he reached up, brushing away a lone tear resting on the top of your reddened cheek that had settled in the midst of the spine-chilling ordeal. "Babe, what's wrong?" your friend asked, your frightened, shaken demeanor concerning her enough to pull her hand from the game as she placed her arm around your shoulders in attempts to comfort you when you felt the very figure you had been evading for near a decade rest his thumb gently on the end of your chin, the sound of his leather gloves creasing sending a nauseating chill throughout your body as he turned your head to face him. And there he was. The man, the presence you thought you'd never see again, his face masked by the shadow of his peaked cap now visible to your eye, his ghostly pale skin brightened by his piercing blue eyes boring Into you as a smile formed on the edge of his lips…

" Hello darling. I've been waiting for you" he said as your bottom lip began to wobble, a cascade of tears now streaming down your cheeks wetting the leather gloved thumb still resting on your chin as he tenderly gazed into your eyes. " Shhh" he hushed your frightened sobs as his hand moved to your cheek cupping his fingers gently around the side of your neck.

" What's with her?" the man opposite your friend said as your gaze stayed fixed on the presence before you, watching the irritation build on his face at the the tender moment he had played through his mind countless times spoiled by he annoying chattering of the man accompanying you.

" You're shaking gorgeous. Offer's still there hm? Can warm you up in that broken down gypsy thing" Hugh snickered along with his friend as Helena glared at him, an array of insults leaving her lips. " We'd be better off naked though, we'll warm up quicker that way" he laughed obnoxiously when the presence before you head snapped in his direction, the blue hue of eyes quickly replaced by a sinister black as he threw the table over in front of you in one quick deliberate motion. With his hand clenched into a fist he turned to the man who had not only embarrassed you but insulted you shamelessly In front of everyone with the suggestion you were as crude as him, landing a brutally violent single punch to his face.

" What...what the fuck! What was that?" His friend stuttered leaping from the bench as he looked down at his dazed friend, blood dripping from an open gash on his bottom lip as Helena screamed in horror at what had just happened, her brain simultaneously trying to compute how it had happened. " We're getting the hell out of here" he said lifting his friend from the ground that was holding his lip together as the being beside you rested his hand firmly on your shoulder, squeezing his fingers into your flesh in a clear message to not dare move.

" Babe...Y/N we gotta go" your friend cried trying to pull you from the bench as you stayed seated and the dark presences grip on you tightened.

" Leave Helena " you cried not wishing harm to come to anyone else. He wanted you, he had haunted you for all those years. Your friend and the two men accompanying you were a mere inconvenience. And after what had just transpired, you feared what he could and would do next.

" What! No come on..!" She pleaded shaking you from what she thought was a state of shock when the man she had invited let go of his bloodied friend and started pulling her away from you. " Y/N!" she cried, the distant sound of her fighting with him as he dragged her out of the gated area slowly disappearing as you was ultimately left in silence, alone, with him.

" Please...let me go" you wept as you turned your head to face him.

" Let you go? I've only just got you back sweetheart" he said as he released his hand from your shoulder, his fingers now brushing through the locks of hair framing your face. " You invited me back love, and that was one invitation I could not refuse" he said as you stood up taking a step back when he reached out and grabbed your wrist." Now now Y/N, we have unfinished business" he said pulling you back to him, his pale ivory face inches from you, lips drained of blood tauntingly close.

" I came in peace, with no intentions to offend. I say goodbye and bid you farewell" you recited the words you had learnt by heart after any encounter you once had speaking with those from the other realm.

" Oh sweetheart, now who taught you that little rhyme eh? I'm afraid it doesn't work like that love" he chuckled cocking a brow at the idea that your silly little riddle would cause him to simply vanish before you. " My girl" he said as his thumb dragged down to the corner of your mouth, tracing the curve of your trembling lips, staring at you like a lover would gaze at their partner.

"I, I don't know you, I'm not who you're looking for" you sobbed as you looked down at your hands, clutching them together from the drop in temperature his presence demanded.

" Oh but you do know me darling. You know me very well" he said as his lips parted and his eyes drifted down to the soft flesh of your neck, down to the curves your blouse beneath your jacket hugged your body. " I've waited a century for this very moment, for us to finally be reunited. And believe me sweetheart, my patience is starting to wear thin, very thin" Is that what this was...He thought you were his dead lover, a reincarnation of her that he had been waiting a hundred years for, an anomaly where everything that makes something uniquely individual to them, their genes their likes their dislikes repeating itself into a second copy days, years, thousands of decades later, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened at the realisation of what he had been waiting for, what he had been watching you for as you turned to make a swift exit.

" I can't let you leave Y/N" he said as the large metal gate to the opening slammed shut making you abruptly stop in your tracks.

" I want to go home. I'm not her, I don't belong here..." You cried in a panic, turning back to face him as he strode forward to you his with his hand out, calmly waiting for you to take it.

" Then let me show you" he replied intertwining his fingers with yours as he gently cupped your cheek with his other hand, the welcoming chill from his leather gloved hand soothing the heat radiating from your reddened tear stained cheek. "Let me show you who you were, who you were in 1923..."

NEXT PART

Tag list: @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @prettywhenicry4 @smayhem

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

update: just hung around my brother mostly and my ex-neighbors WERE NOT THERE! idk why because they lived next to my grandmother for like 15 years but. i am so glad they werent there! but my moms bf was and he is still the worlds biggest asshole and why my mom stays with him i have no idea!!!!!!!! but. yaknow. sooooo cool that she chose him to stay with her rather then i (the ultimatum i gave her) (which was long overdue because who moves an adult man whos rude into their home when their child (afab because it feels important in this situation specifically) is like 12 years old dawg) (nothing bad happened besides the casual me hating his presence so much that i went without food and water but like did she not realize how easily something worse couldve happened?) (when i told her i was visciously uncomfortable with him around did she just think i was gonna be chill with him being around forever?) (she seemed unhappy around him today. does she not realize that she doesnt have to stay with him?????? surely she realizes that he is awful????)

but my little cousin who went off to the navy said hi to me and gave me a hug and that was nice :-) he always was the least-judgemental of...... literally everyone whos around my age in my family. so it was nice to see him. i also saw my niece and nephew and they are like. actual teenagers now. and that was freaky because i know them as young children in my head. idk. its crazy that everyone ages bro

the pros of going to my grandmothers funeral/celebration of life tomorrow: closure or whatever. i dont really know ive only been to two funerals in my whole life and i dont fully get what im suppsed to feel and do there

the cons: i dont talk to literally anyone on my moms side of the family. i could follow my brother around but he's gonna be mostly around my mom, who i do not talk to for a thousand reasons. and my ex-neighbors who are very openly transphobic to me will be around her. and no one on her side of the family really Gets that im trans either so like it just all sucks. i will surely get emotional because y'know, and that means that i will be emotional in front of my mom, which is bad for me. all my cousins are weird around me because we were close as kids but now no one knows how to approach me because ive only gotten more awkward and more unable to verbally speak

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

ghost masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures. 

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room. 

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction. 

He knows. 

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent. 

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified." 

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid. 

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull. 

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley." 

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt. 

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows. 

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table. 

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it. 

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions. 

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours. 

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence. 

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic. 

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance. 

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power." 

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it." 

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper. 

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.  

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?" 

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up. 

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you. 

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this. 

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine. 

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards. 

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage. 

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him. 

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you. 

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty. 

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7. 

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor. 

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste. 

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face. 

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-" 

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you. 

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare. 

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance. 

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face. 

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you. 

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds. 

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry. 

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on. 

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you. 

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Simon won't let you. 

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims. 

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen. 

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight. 

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.  

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.  

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss. 

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing. 

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place. 

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind. 

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost. 

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image. 

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive. 

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

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