how about 8, 11, and 20 from the group questions section of the OC Asklist?
(OC Asks: Put Those Guys in Situations!)
I'm not sure which group you/the prompt had in mind, so we're going with a scenario of all my OCs somehow isekaid into the same situation, because I think it'd be funny. XD
8. Your characters have been invited to a fancy dress ball, and their costumes must fit a group theme. What do they wear?
The group immediately sorts out into three categories:
a) So excited, psyched to come up with a theme: Philip, Riley, Daniel, Dom, Caden, Joan
b) Meh, will do whatever the group deems appropriate: Matty, Jaksa, Randa, Hector.
c) Would rather do literally anything else: Jenna, Adi, Elliot, Hayden.
Group A comes up with a very nice theme of everyone in black and deep jewel tones of each person's favorite colors, super coordinated, gorgeously designed, everyone looking their best. The whole group wears it without complaint, except Joan, who (despite having been super into the planning) decides at the last minute to show up instead in a skimpy spangly number slit all the way up to her hip just to fuck with everyone, and she and Jenna almost get into a fistfight in the entrance hall.
11. Your characters are sharing stories around the fire. What story does each character tell? Whose story is the most popular?
All of them have lots of adventures to share from their respective universes. Some of them are... definitely better storytellers than others. Jenna and Hector in particular flat out refuse to participate, each claiming that they're no good at telling stories. Joan makes up an outrageous tall tale. Most of the others are pretty sincere though not flashy, telling some minor adventure while knowing deep down that there are much worse things they could speak about. Dom tells some hilarious misadventure with incredible detail and has everyone howling.
20. Your characters are trapped in a joint dream or simulation that recreates their greatest fears. They can only escape if each one of them faces their fear. What are these fears? How do they overcome them? Who overcomes theirs first, and who takes the longest?
Oh man. I was gonna avoid writing one out for every char cos I have quite a collection at this point and I knew it'd take forever, but this is pretty juicy and I can't resist indulging myself. Let's see.
a) Jenna> A room full of the burning corpses of her friends. Overcome through major support from the others in the group; oddly enough the only person who is really able to get through to her is Matty, the older marine, who does not try to reassure her that everything is all right, but simply reminds her quietly (hating the words as he says them) that she has pushed through worse.
b) Matty> The blue light of the Reaper hive mind. Faced as he faced it in real life, with pistol shots directly into the source until the way is clear. Everyone is mildly surprised given how cerebral he is in other contexts.
c) Philip> The room is CRAWLING with bugs of all sorts, all sizes. This one is almost a relief after Jenna's corpse room, but everyone quickly realizes that just helping him squash them all isn't the answer. Philip, in the end, sits in the center of the room and makes very unhappy noises while letting them crawl harmlessly around on him, while Hector and Adi sit next to him for moral support.
d) Jaksa> Something very similar to the DAO gauntlet - a reunion with Tamlen, only it's the blighted version of him with darkness pouring out of his face. She tries multiple times to lash out at this vision and the room simply resets, only allowing them passage when she does not strike but instead waits; the bleak vision drifts closer, lays its mutilated hand against her cheek for a moment and then vanishes.
e) Riley> An empty, bleak, blank Hightown mansion, devoid of family, devoid of life. All lost, all gone... The others sit at the table with her, eat a meal, help fill the space with voices again where it has been empty for so long.
f and g) Adi and Dom get roughly the same room, one right after another. Adi's is an enormous Chantry building, full of people all watching her and bathed in glowing light from an indistinct figure in a throne at the far end. Dom's is exactly the same, but no one is there, no one is watching, and the throne is empty. In both cases the place seems to ask of them only that they look steadily at the possibility and then walk forward nevertheless.
h) Daniel's room is bleeding darkspawn taint from the walls, which close in slowly on all sides while a distant young boy's voice screams at him - "You can't die, Father! You can't leave me alone!" Leaving aside his greatsword he smashes the blighted wall open with his own fists, opening a path beyond. Hector, insightful as he is, asks, "The boy screaming. Was that your son? Or you to your own father?" Daniel doesn't answer.
i) Elliot faces down an enormous rage demon, and alone of all the group does not seem surprised, just angry and tired. Without even waiting to consider the matter, he steps forward, slams his staff straight through the creature and then sets off an explosion within it, sending bits of ectoplasm slapping into the walls. "That didn't take you long," Jenna says dryly. "I've had a lot of practice; I fight it every night in my dreams," he answers.
j and k) Hayden and Randa's rooms are also similar - massive, high-ceilinged ornate places full of mocking, laughing voices. Jenna offers to beat the shit out of all the onlookers calling Hayden "knife-ear" and Randa "ox", but neither of them agrees. Randa just points out, in her morose, taciturn way, that it is better not to acknowledge them; the door opens for her as she stalks through the hall looking straight ahead. Hayden, vibrating with rage, says they don't matter, and the way to move on is to prove she is better than any of them ever were. Whether the room agrees or not is unclear, but when she stalks to the dais at the front of the hall and burns a Grey Warden symbol into the wall with magic, the door opens for her.
l) Joan, like Elliot, is greeted by the demon that dogs her - the desire demon that latched onto her when she came to Kirkwall, and that she thought she left behind when she left the city. Astonishing everyone, she - usually so cocky - goes completely blank and almost seems to panic. The demon just laughs. "You don't have it as easy as the others," it purrs. "There is no easy way to face me down, because deep down, I'm not what you fear, I'm what you want." It vanishes, the door opens. Everyone is somehow more rattled by this than anything else.
m) Caden's room is like another of Irenicus's dreams - he faces a blank-faced man that morphs into the Slayer, which scares the shit out of Hector. The only way out is to beat it into submission, just as he always has before within his own mind - but when they kill it, the room resets. The true answer is to hold it down as his friends once held him in a moment of transformation, to wait for the anger to bleed from it until it fades away.
n) Hector's room is, again, something of a relief after some of the past ones. He has many, many things he can think of fearing, but is instead presented with a giant red dragon which opens its mouth to shoot a burst of flame into his face. At first he panics, but, roused by the presence of the others around him, he forces himself forward and leaps onto its back instead. The others follow suit and the dragon leaps into the air and carries them free of the prison.
5 notes
·
View notes
The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader
Let's Have a Baby 2.0
summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes
call sign: Freyja
warning: implied sexual content, MDNI
Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta!
Enjoy and blessed be!
<< Previous | Next >>
Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.
He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.
Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.
When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.
But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.
Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.
Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.
In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.
The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.
Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.
König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.
“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”
Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”
His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”
“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.
“Freyja–!”
She was gone.
König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.
He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–
A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.
They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.
As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.
König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.
Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.
.
.
.
“Uh oh, Dada!”
Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.
“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”
“No!”
“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”
“No!”
“You’re welcome, baby.”
Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.
When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.
Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”
“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”
He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.
She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.
“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit.
The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.
She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”
“Yeah, love?”
“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.
Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”
He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.
“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”
“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”
“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”
He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”
“...Birth control?”
“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”
“I hate you.”
“But I’m right.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.
Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”
“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand.
Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.
Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.
Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.
The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.
Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.
“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”
He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.
Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.
“M’fine, love.”
“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”
That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.
“She doing better in her room?”
“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”
“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”
When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.
“Simon!”
“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.
The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.
“Where’d it go?”
Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”
“The baby scrunch.”
“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”
“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.
“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”
Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.
A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”
“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”
The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.
He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.
“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.
How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?
“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”
“König.”
“Ja?”
“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”
König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”
Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”
“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”
He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”
“Alles klar.”
taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld, @kaghost
Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.
1K notes
·
View notes