#ancient god John price

[elysianightsss]

Ughhhh polll whyyyyyy don’t sleep on the idea of Ancient God!Price, not into GOT for the currently winning fic Squishy how many puppy dog eyes do I need to give you for you to write that after the poll fic is done? I’m not gonna make you change it cuz that’s reaaaaally rude and I don’t wanna be rude but your Price writing is just 😘 and I *neeeeeeed* that Ancient God!Price in my life-

No puppy dog eyes needed love, I was secretly hoping for this one to win too lol.

I think everyone needs a little Ancient God Price in their lives, so here’s a little snippet to tide you over while I write the Aemond fic.

Rejection. Open and hollow, stinging like a cat scratch, it’s monumental and abstract and it’s everything you never knew you wanted. Being rejected put you in this position, you could say it made you vulnerable but with the way his rough calloused hands manoeuvred over your soft skin, you could say it was worth it.

The way his half mast cerulean eyes raked over you, a prize to be earned. Something he’s going to win, not that he knows that yet. You’ll make him work for it, that much he does know though.

You’re deep in the infatuation of it even if you wish that’s not true. You relish in the feeling of his gaze on you, soft but yet somehow cold and distant. It sparks an interest in you, you thought long gone. Dead and buried. The ends of it frayed like the neurons of your brain. Unravelled and worn at the edges.

Something dark and deceitful urges you to step forward, tempting you with the musky aroma of him. Something you’d like to devour whole if you could. The faint redolence of cigar smoke hung on his clothes.

He licked his thin chapped lips imagining the way his tongue would slide over your supple skin and despite the dull gnawing of insecurity that has grown since adolescence, you can imagine it too. His willpower hedging with every moment that slowly passes by, every moment that agonisingly ticks by.

The sweet decadence of your pulsing cunt hangs in the cold air, your nipples pebbling beneath your cotton night gown. He breathes in deep, harsh. A hint of mania colored his grin as he groans at the smell of you, the scent you’re exposing yourself to him with. A poor little bunny trapped in the lions den….

[pfhwrittes]

have a chunk of tradie!141 for your reading pleasure.

it's fuckin' pourin' down, has been for the last 3 days and the forecast ain't getting any better. thick, claggy muck sucks at the soles of simon's boots, threatening to pull 'em straight off his feet as he crosses the quagmire to slip into the portakabin-cum-office where he knows his skipper'll be.

price is fumin' under his hard hat, his ancient brick of a phone glued to his ear as he barks out demands to whichever poor sod is gettin' an earful off the boss today (probably nik, who straight up refused to drive onto site, stating bold as brass that the wagon would get bogged down, fuck the delay, captain. i'm not hurting my girl for your timetable).

with a disgusted snort price throws the offending phone onto the cluttered desk sending a sheaf of papers careening onto the floor.

"fucks sake, riley. what d'ya want?" price growls out in his direction and simon just lifts a battered eyebrow at the tone. no point gettin' his knickers in a twist over weather but price has always thought himself better than acts of nature and god himself.

"told the lads to put the tools down and go 'ome."

if looks could kill, simon would be buried in a shallow grave under the portaloo. price's face is as stormy as the sky rumbling ominously outside.

"well tell 'em to pick them back up, for fucks sake! we've got a fucking job to do here, simon." price snaps, his patience well and truly gone and it isn't even dinner time by simon's watch.

simon's hi-vis jacket creaks forebodingly as he straightens up.

"no."

there's a beat as simon squares off against his skipper, the unstoppable force of john price smashing against simon's immovable iron will. simon's known john a long fuckin' time and he'll play dirty to keep the crew safe if he has to. john's seen him walk off jobs for less.

price sighs noisily, ruffling the ends of his moustache.

"right then. who're we losing?"

"gaz can't work with the humidity, ale and rudy can't paint if gaz ain't finished the plaster, don't trust soap not to fry 'isself, and flash is sat in the van dryin' out." simon counts off on his fingers.

price's eyebrows hike up to his hairline at the mention of the plumber's apprentice.

"'s matter with flash?"

simon chuckles at the memory of flash covered head to toe in mud after an unfortunate tumble.

"debuted 'is mud-wrestlin' career f'r us."

price snorts out an amused sound and shakes his head. poor sod'll be miserable for the rest of the day without any spare kit to change into.

"right, go on then. tell 'em they can fuck off for the day." price reaches for his abandoned phone, probably to tell the client, some jumped up property developer-slash-social media wanker, that the job's been delayed by the shit weather. (simon doesn't envy him in the slightest, last time he met her she looked him up and down like he was scum and he was tempted to "accidentally" score the side of her flash car with the end of a length of 22mm copper pipe.)

simon offers price a nod and turns towards the door of the 'kabin, hooking the flimsy hood of his jacket over his head.

"oi, riley. you better not have stuck flash in my van."

"nah, stuck 'im in with soap and gaz. i ain't gettin' that shit on our seats."

price's barking laugh follows simon out the door into the pissing rain.

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Deity! 141 AU HCs

A/N: Just some ramblings about the 141 as deities in my poly AU

(18+ only)

Please comment and reblog!

Captain John Price

God of the East Woods, who is represented by winter. He is known for his leadership skills, analytical abilities, and good faith in his men.

As he is known for leadership skills, he is known as the god most worshiped by leaders who seek guidance in their ability to command others. He is also known for being the one sought out by outcasts who are looking for community. He’ll help you find your way, don’t you worry. You belong somewhere; we just have to find where.

Contrary to popular belief, John does not participate in assisting those who force their command over others. He believes in leading by example and earning the privilege of leadership.

 He is most closely associated with cold metal, with his altar decorated in winter wreaths, warm spices, and delicate metalwork.

Kyle Garrick

God of the North Woods, represented by Spring and water. He is courageous, knowledgeable in the social and environmental climate, and can foresee the cause and effects of many actions on the battlefield.

He is worshiped by those beginning new endeavors. As the youngest and newest god (which, how new can ancient beings really be?), myths range from his grand displays of courage to self-doubt. His stories paint imagery of humbleness and of an eager learner. To those seeking new starts, he is the perfect divine being to guide you to ask questions and be courageous in the midst of change.

Kyle, while known best for being the god of changes, is also the patron of mystics for his foreseeing abilities (and beauticians. He likes his skincare and pretty things). As the foreseeing one, he knows all the outcomes and can assist divination practitioners in seeking knowledge of the future.

Just because Kyle can help doesn’t mean he will. Many fortune-tellers have reported trickery and confusion trying to get answers from him. He likes his jokes and finds seeing humans guessing about the future amusing. Won’t they find out eventually?

 His altar is decorated with bowls of water representing spring rain and winds. As spring flowers bloom, they are also decorated upon his altar. The seed of each planted crop is represented on the altar as a blessing for a productive sowing season.

Johnny McTavish

The god of summer and of the southlands. McTavish is known for quick, fiery actions mirrored by a thunderstorm's quick turn or a wildfire's spark.

While he might have fiery emotions, the god is methodological in his delivery of quick actions. For this reason, if you need help finding passion, McTavish is the god for you. He is the patron of athletes and artisans who harness passion into practice and dedication to their craft.

The god of summer is precise! If you seek his help, be specific and think about what you need versus what you want. His help will come on his timing, but it’ll be exactly what you asked for. He finds it funny when mortals get upset by this. Usually, if he is going to be helpful to the mortals, it is on his terms and conditions, and you’ll know by a sudden splash of warmth on your skin or by the way events just so happen to align that it could only be the work of a god.

His altar is decorated with an always-lit candle. There are summer fruits in bowls and an icon of a thunderbolt descending from the sky to represent his passions.

The one they call “Ghost”

The god of the south and autumn season, mortals know the least about him. His mythology is sparse, usually featuring him as a supporting character in someone else’s myth (usually Johnny’s) with a dry sense of humor.

He is the god of the ground that is transitioning into hibernation, the god of intelligence, knowing when to take ground and when to give ground. He is the wisdom gained from remembering the bones and dust from whence you came. He is the patron of the elderly and wise, of those who understand the power of listening before speaking to the aged ideals that came before you.

Hidden by shadows of the unknown, protected by the bones of the dying, Ghost is not a death god, but he represents the bridge between mortals and the spiritual, helping those who are dying.

Ghost is not a god you call upon lightly. He will make you search your shadows, forcing you to gaze upon those fearsome things that hide in all mortal souls. If you ask to see the divine, he will show you it when you are ready. But it will not look pretty or neat or holy. It will be sacred in its raw, awesome terror, a power unleashed that mortals cannot grasp.

Ghost’s alter typically has a buck skull on it- the first buck killed of the season. Black and grey altar cloths are laid beneath the walnut bowls holding the nuts and acorns offered to the god.

Once upon a time, there were four gods. Together, they took turns helping the mortals. But what spirit connects them all, centering their efforts? Of what clear mission banner do they unite under? To whom is the focal point of life’s great mysteries? It had always been assumed human mortals as a collective to be that focal point. But the myths do not end with the death of the old. They continue and will grow with the next generations and generations next.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

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✽ Part 2 - Cultivating a curious mind

You know what? I blame @dragonnarrative-writes for all of this. It's all their fault for poking this part of my brain in the first place even though I was originally just trying to poke theirs ><

There were only so many places you'd been allowed to go growing up even with a chaperone at your side. Mother brought you up the way any well respected young lady should be, and to be honest you felt much more at home in your skirts and dresses working on your drawings in the parlor than you did climbing over the fence in your backyard like your cousin convinced you to. But your father worried Kyle was improperly rubbing off on you and wanted to find you something to fill your head with where you could still be kept an eye on.

His solution: the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo.

After all, how much trouble could you get into reading about dead guys? At least they wouldn't be trying to chase your skirts as you got older.

Father owned his own shipping company that dealt with the transport of goods and wares, ancient artifacts included. He knew the people who were in charge of the facilities and thought this could be a replacement for the adventures your cousin liked to try to drag you on.

The beautifully painted sarcophagi drew in your imagination like a moth to a flame, chiseled sculptures and pillars depicting ancient beings far different than the god you'd been brought up believing in. And weren't you just the most well behaved little girl when your father brought you along on his business trips. All he had to do was put a book in your hand about the Old Kingdom and you'd stay seated right where he left you until it was time to leave. The drawings in your room turned less from pretty landscapes and fresh vases to imitations of the reliefs you'd seen from photographs of burial chamber walls. Your mother was slightly alarmed at first, but once she saw you still happily keeping up with your piano lessons and needlework she quickly gave in.

Once you were old enough to walk around the city by yourself, you stopped by the museum at least once a week just to spend hours wandering the halls - sometimes more if you noticed a new shipment of wares showing up on your father's ledgers that week slated for delivery. Always so eager to witness the unveiling of new items even if they'd never get put on display. One of the perks of growing up around the loading docks and being a sweet well mannered child to the workers.

You didn't work at the museum with Dr. John Price, but you'd frequented there an awful lot to have come to decent terms with the man. Always gruff, a bit rough around the edges, but boy did he have a mind for antiquities.

He wasn't always the easiest man to deal with; someone who didn't have time for the stupidity that came with being around the uneducated masses during business hours. He'd been working there in some capacity or another since you'd first became a patron, though back in those days he'd been a lot less rigid.

At one point you'd been barred from looking at a book that your father deemed had too much suggestive material in it - it was a tome about Tawaret, goddess of childbirth and fertility - and sent over to your favorite reading chair with something about Pepi II instead. Try as you might you couldn't get into it, mind still lingering on the forbidden subject which was just the latest in your stream of mythology research. You'd been half-heartedly flipping through the pages when a shadow passed you by and casually deposited the desired reading material in your lap, not even bothering to glance your way as he kept moving and turned down another aisle. He was clean shaven back then, but he'd made an impression as a kindred spirit willing to look the other way.

Now almost twenty years later you did your best to stay out of his way and disturb him as little as possible, but every so often you'd be fortunate enough to stumble upon him on a good day where he'd indulge you on certain topics of conversation that flowed smoothly, allowing you to see the lingering passionate twinkle of a younger man hiding behind eyes so full of wisdom and tired experience.

(And if you happened by chance to occassionally pass by a tall, large, tank of a dark robed man waiting patiently for his turn to have an audience with Price on your way out of his office - following you with his deep brown eyes and a cloth cover shrouding the lower half of his face from view - you kept your gaze to the floor and gave him a wide respectful berth, only risking a glance back at the individual long enough to see the broad planes of his back disappearing behind Price's door with a click of the lock)

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[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

[starandcloud]

Price x Imagine

Imagine Price being best friends with the reader's dad, and was a huge part of Y/N's life when she was growing up. Price was like the fun uncle that was constantly around, he was amazing with Y/N and was like a second dad.

"What's the matter Princess? The school scare ya?"

So when he came "home" alone, after a mission, and was extremely quiet when he knocked on the door and gave you a sad smile he picked you up. You didn't understand why he was sad so you just hugged him and you didn't understand why your mom was crying when Price gave her your dad's dog tags...

You also didn't understand why Uncle John (price) was staying the night or why your mom was drinking or why daddy never came home and you didn't understand why your mom was so mean now or why you had to go to a funeral for someone you didn't ever see the body of or why the stone had your daddy's name on it or why your mom had to work and why Uncle John was picking you up from school and bringing you to his house or why you were meeting your dad's group or why your dad wasn't there again but... it was okay because you had Uncle John, and that made it okay.

It wasn't until you were almost ten when you realized why your dad wasn't coming home, that he was KIA and you'd never see him again. It was that night you called Price in tears and begged him to come over so that you could see him, that you begged him not to go on deployment again, and you begged him to stay over so that you knew he'd be okay...

He stayed the night, after all how could he tell you no when you held onto him that tightly and the babysitter didn't know what to do.

He still got deployed but... he came back every single time.

You weren't sure when you started to call him "dad" but... he didn't seem to be opposed to it.

He'd drop you off on your first day of middle school and watched you as you walked towards the school before turning around and rushing back to him. You hugged him as tight as you could, your face being squished into his chest. Price just hugged you back, rocking you gently as he laughed softly.

The nod that you gave made him chuckle and pick you up.

Your question made him smile, and nod.

"Why don't I go in with you? Walk you to the front and then pick you up for lunch? We'll go get McDonalds?"

"With a strawberry milkshake..?"

"With a strawberry milkshake with syrup, I'll even buy you a fresh bottle of it."

His promise made you smile and when he put you back down, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the front office.

"My Daddy's gonna pick me up for lunch!"

You yelled, making him laugh and ruffle your hair. Frizzing the strands and making you laugh brightly, Price talked to the women at the front and worked out how to get you out and back before your next class.

The first day of High school was the same, you were so anxious to get out of the truck. You just sat there, slumped in Price's passenger seat with your eyes closed and your head resting against the headrest.

You said, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked over at him. Your tear-filled eyes broke John's heart, he gently wiped them before smirking.

"Dad..?"

"Yes Princess?"

"Do I have to go in..? I don't want to..."

Price asked in sync with you, making you laugh and wipe your tears.

"If you go in, we'll go get McDonalds-"

"With a strawberry milkshake?"

You smiled and laughed slightly as you took a deep breath and slapped your legs, you grabbed your bag off the truck floor before kissing John's cheek.

"My make-ups smeared now dad..."

"But you're still beautiful Princess."

"Bye dad, I love you. Drive safe!"

You said before jumping out of the truck and slamming the door.

"HEY! EASY ON MY DOORS TIGER! THE TRUCKS OLD!"

Price rolled down his window to yell, a laugh following.

"THEN YOU'RE FUCKING ANCIENT DAD!"

You yelled back as he scoffed and chuckled, you were a snarky little shit. But god damn he was proud of you.

You screamed back before disappearing into the school building.

"CALL ME DURING LUNCH PRINCESS! I'LL PICK YOU UP!"

"I WILL! I LOVE YOU DAD!"

He watched you graduate and god damn he was proud. You had never seen him cry before but... that was the day he did. You cried too, and hugged him tight. Smearing make-up on his uniform as he held you tight and pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he rocked you. He had just gotten off the plane, and had practically sped here, to get to your graduation on time. He was so proud of you, when you graduated. Later that night when the two of you sat on his porch, whiskey in his class and heavily diluted whiskey in yours.

"Where're you going to college?"

Price asked, as he raised the glass to his lips.

"Actually... I'm going to enlist"

Whiskey had never tasted so bitter on his tongue before, never so heavy.

"Are you... sure Princess?"

John asked, looking at you. Concern in his eyes, he watched as you fiddled with the blanket that covered your legs as you sat in the rocking chair. You didn't make eye contact with him, but took a deep breathe.

"I told you when I was little dad... I wanna be just like you..."

"Captain."

Watching you graduate boot his eyes watered before he tapped you out, your legs wrapped around his as he picked you up and he hugged him tight.

No matter how old you got, you were still his princess. The little girl who would beg him to stay the night to watch one more Disney movie and to put one more sticker on his face and one more cookie and one more story before bed and one more hug before he left. You were still the little girl who was so scared to go into middle school, and the little girl who he went dress shopping with for the winter dance, and the little girl who was terrified to get his nails done so he got his done with her so she wouldn't be as scared, the little girl who loved her strawberry milkshakes and would never turn down a race to show off to a boy.

He always saw you as a ten-year-old little girl, his daughter, so when the transfer papers for you landed on his desk. He stared at it, confused before laughing a bit.

This couldn't be right, this was a prank from his boys. So he signed it, knowing it'd get his boys a kick but... when you showed up on his base... his stomach tightened and his face paled. He stared at you, as you got out of the helicopter. He watched as you rushed towards him and... didn't hug him..?

You said, before saluting him.

You thought you had done something wrong, when he just stared at you. A bewildered look on his face before he mumbled.

You said, as his arms wrapped around you. He hugged you tight and you returned it, tears welled in your eyes as you held onto him tight.

"Princess..?"

"Hi Daddy..."

"I've missed you so much Dad..."

"I've missed you more Princess..."

Price said as he broke the hug and moved what hair he had knocked out of place from your face.

He just kept looking at you, you were... so different. War-hardened and scarred... but still his little girl.

"FUCK!"

He didn't want you on this mission.

He didn't want you to be involved with the cartel for this mission, but he didn't have a choice.

He didn't have a choice when you had to be split up from him, he didn't have a choice when you had to go a different direction and route, or when you had to defend yourself against the Shadow Company.

The area fell quiet as their Captain swore, it was... something odd. The group had never heard Price swear or seen him act like this. He rested his head against one of the metal shipping containers before slamming his clenched fist against the chilled metal.

Someone reported and Price pinched the bridge of his nose, his worry lines becoming deeper as he started to pace.

"Where was the last place Pri... Firefly was seen."

"Heading towards the headquarters of the Shadow Company."

When he found you, he wasn't sure what he was expecting but... Graves' arm being wrapped around you... wasn't it. He wasn't expecting to see how your eyes bounced over him, he wasn't expecting to hear a sob to come from you as you fumbled over to him. He held you up and hugged you tight, tucking your head under his chin he shielded you from everyone's view as you gripped him tightly.

Firefly was out there.

One of is his men was out there.

Someone he loved was out there.

Someone he cherished was out there.

His daughter was out there.

God damn it, he was a shitty dad.

"Dad! Daddaddaddaddadddad daddy..."

"I'm here... I'm here Princess... You're safe now... I've got you..."

"He said you were DEAD papa..."

Price promised as he glared down Graves, who had a sickening grin on his lips. Who put his hands up in defeat and backed into the darkness.

You never told John what had happened that day but... he noticed how paranoid you were after. How you'd call him in hysterics when he had left the house with you, how you'd quietly check his bedroom then his office at night. How you'd make excuses to constantly see him, how your eyes would instantly bounce around the room for him, how if he was late for a meeting; you'd be pacing and chewing on your nails, how you'd have night terrors and would scream late at night. How you'd wake yourself up from the hysterical crying and screaming from the terrors, how you wouldn't sleep until morning or until he lured you to the couch and put on that god-forsaken Atlantis movie for at least the ten thousandth time in your life. How, unless you knew he was asleep and in his room, you wouldn't sleep. How you'd be extremely cautious with changing, and how your sleeves would all be long; even in the summer heat, how you always wore pants or leggings, how your hair was down at much as possible.

It wasn't until six months later that you broke down and told him.

"I'm okay, I promise you that Princess. I told you, I'm always going to come home. I promised you I would, I'd never break my promises to you."

You choked out, curled up in John's lap as he wrapped you in blanket and rocked you.

As you cried he slowly stood up, he held you up as he made you cocoa; with the rainbow sprinkles, marshmallows, and whipped cream you loved. He slowly calmed you down as he walked around with you in his arms, rubbing your back as he turned on the Atlantis Soundtrack and walk around gently bouncing you. Just like when you were little.

He said as he gently tucked some hair from your face behind your ear, he hadn't noticed you had fallen asleep until Ghost and Soap came to his home. Having similar issues, and Ghost pointed at you.

John said as he kissed your head and tucked you in, in his bed and shut the light off. He left the door open enough to hear if you woke up, which Soap teased him for but found it sweet.

"Firefly's passed out on your shoulder Price."

"... I know... Let her sleep Simon, she's had a rough night..."

"Dad? Dad!? DAD!?"

You healed enough to have a decent sleep schedule when you had a skewed mission. A bomb went off by your base, which destroyed multiple tents and severely hurt the people inside.

As you were being evacuated, you didn't see John.

You screamed before going back to the tents, you barely saw his body under a tent post in the dark. You ran towards him and did your best to carry him towards the medics.

"MEDIC! MEDIC!"

You screamed as you fumbled into the tent, Price was taken from you and someone tended to you.

Hours passed and you stared blankly at the wall, before you asked your nurse.

"Where's my dad..? John Price..?"

"He was... taken to a different hos-"

"Where."

You demanded to know. As soon as you were told, you (more or less) forced Soap to drive you there.

You looked clinically insane when you burst through the hospital doors and demanded to know where "John Price" was. You found his room and were destroyed to find out that he was in a coma, and you felt like it was your fault.

Your bag hit the floor, with a loud thump, catching John's attention.

You spent months visiting him and just begging for him to wake up, you didn't speak much and just held his hand.

It wasn't until you walked in one day and saw him sitting up, you actually cried.

"Hey Princess..."

He said softly, a gentle smile on his face as he held his arms open for you.

Your feet thumped against the tile of the hospital and you ran to him, you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed.

He said, making you choke out a laugh as he used your callsign.

"Dad... dad dad dad dad dad dad dad dad dad dad dad dad dad papa..."

"That's me, I'm here Little Firefly..."

He said as he kissed the top of your head and held you close.

"That's Princess to you Dad..."

"I know Y/N, I know..."

You had seen John cry twice in your life, once at your graduation and once at your wedding when he saw you step out of the dressing room. The white dress you had picked out, made him tear up and what made him break was when you gently hugged him and asked.

He responded, holding you close as tears rolled down his face. You were absolutely beautiful in white and... he was so happy to see you so happy. As he walked you down the aisle, he could feel your excitement and when he gave you away... he watched as you took a few steps before turning around and hugging him tight and whispering.

"How do I look Dad..?"

"Like an angel..."

"Thank you Uncle John... I love you so much dad..."

John had to bite back a sob as he walked back to his seat, he felt Gaz's hand on his back as John wiped his tears and watched you.

"Grandpa!"

Little voices screamed as they fumbled out of the truck and rushed towards John, he laughed as he picked the girls up and kissed both of their heads.

A little boy said as he hugged Price's leg, making their grandfather roll his eye and chuckle.

"There's my girls! Have you two been behaving?"

"No! They've been so mean to me Grandpa!"

You said as you walked towards him, holding your youngest on your hip. A gentle smile on your face as Price put the girls down and pulled you into a gentle hug.

"Just like your mother."

"I was a saint, thank you very much dad!"

"Hey my Princess..."

"Hey dad..."

"DADDY!"

You said, in a gentle tone as you relaxed into Price.

Later that night when you and your husband were playing with the kids, he watched as you ran from your husband; playfully screaming as he pelted you with nerf bullets.

You screamed and ran to Price, laughing as you hid behind him, which he (bravely) protected you from your husband by firing nerf bullets back at him.

Watching you be so happy yet... still coming to him and calling him dad... really drove it home to him that.

You'll always be a Daddy's Girl.

[specter319]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄? (Ace Combat x CoD 141)

A/N: As a little Christmas present, I decided to work on a little something something, seeing a random anon state in @mockerycrow's Ask about fighter jets and Task Force 141 got my interest real quick, having been someone who got introduced to these two fandoms 1-2 years ago I absolutely adore the storyline in regards to Trigger and Count, but also the storyline as a whole, neatly wrapping up the reason why three strikes is called three strikes, if only a certain other game could have the same sort of stable plot- Complaints about the plot aside for those who stumble upon it have fun with this little short story that's been brewing in my head! Please enjoy the Homoeroticism of Ghost and Soap Trigger Warnings: Mention of Blood Word Count: 2.5k Words Characters: John 'Soap' MacTavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley, mentions of Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and Johnathan Price.

From the moment John MacTavish’s Scottish blue eyes gazed upwards into the beautiful atmosphere above him, he knew he was utterly and completely fucked. It all started with one moment in time, watching the infamous ‘Ghost’ launch one of their newly brought F-35s testing it out for another squadron, making sure all systems were in check. Watching it from the fences as the utter decimation of their ears thanks to the lack of protection were good faith to the man taking it, for what seemed to be a joy ride. And as Kyle and John stood there, seeing it hovering just mere meters above the runway, their joy was all but uncontainable in knowing just who was behind the sticks.

Conversations were the only thing that took over the engines' mighty roar as Kyle and John yelled at the inanimate object in celebration.

“Ooh yeah! Ooh yeah!” Kyle yelled out.

“Ooh, go ‘un, go ‘un” John egged right back.

And then, just as it pulled up, sure it was now at best pulling upwards of 5 gees, the men on the ground cheered.

“Go on you fuckin’ beauty!” Just as it was making its way further into the clouds, graciously curving its own form into the shape of them. 

They were ecstatic, joyful, even, at least one was, to see a man so tall, almost built like a damn statue from ancient history managing to tame a beast so wild, and wicked. And yet, knowing that it was almost second nature in that man's blood to fly it, because that bastard was the only one allowed, thanks to the great charm of the bastards in the west, to have an F-22 Raptor. The only one in the UK, belonged to a man who had no name, never showed his face to the people he didn’t know, including the two men who stood there on the grassy knoll outside of the airbase cheering him on. 

What a weird shitpot of luck that was, almost as if the gods of fate above had been watching the two men above, seeing them be so supportive of a man who never had the cheers of his fellow squad members, but instead, feared him. Tried to rebel against him, just to get a far enough away distance to stay away from a man and his, as some people called it ‘Raptor’s Ghost’.

Those that had seen it, had been lucky enough to tell the tale, at least, on the side he came back to, fellow squadron and captain, but those who had been on the receiving side of those guns as they lifted from their molded seam, only saw a wisp of a dark gray aircraft, before a fiery explosion filled their cabin.

Yes, there was one thing to be known about this ‘Ghosts’ jet — he’d specified that he must have it in a darker gray. Just a couple of shades darker than what the original metal was painted as. And the thing was? Somehow, amongst his captains ranking, the government and even the fuckers down in Lockheed — they’d said yes to the request. Even if a few bureaucrats in the Pentagon were waving the red flag from the start.

So he guessed that’s what the plan was then, to go and catch a sneak in the middle of the night of what it looked like, though Kyle tried with all of his might to persuade him otherwise, John was dead set on seeing the beauty that stood in the dead of the night in Ghost’s hangar, wielded far away from the rest of the base, but close enough to know that the rest of the team always, haunted by a Ghost, he guessed that’s where the name came from then. Given that this was usually seen beside the B-2, a call sign of Ghost would’ve been fitting for someone in a something like this. And it seemed like fate was tempting him all and amongst this, because, as John approached the hangar, as big as it was, there was a crack left open, not closed, like all the other times he’d passed it in his own jet. Only to then realize this was the reason why they had called him Ghost to begin with, no one thought he was around, until it was too late.

Everyone knew this Ghost, was a guy, they’d heard his voice, never heard him laugh, was only ever a man of a few simple commands and went off when requested. What caught John MacTavish off guard however, was not only the hangar open, but the place had reeked of oil and fuel, only to be diverged its acoustics of the tin metal in the sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, a far cry from the throat roar of the hotdogged engines, John could already tell what Ghost had been doing to the poor thing. Either someone had been here recently or there was still someone here, but that never mattered as his Scottish blue eyes once more, got him fucked over, classical music be damned.

The metallic gray was no longer present, much like he had seen on the various photos that had beautifully given the thing a personality of beauty, and yet deadly. But instead, it was given a more, mature grayed look, as if it was a rehashed version of the F-35, the very same one he had been seen in this afternoon in a reskinned jet. Sudden realizations hit the man when thinking in Ghost’s logic, not too shabby for a Ghost when John had realized that much to his enemies disliking, when they suddenly realized that the jet was no longer a most recent US fighter, it was too late to break off anyway.

And much akin to John’s own footsteps, he’d realized that he was pulled in by the absolute sheer squared beauty of the thing and had moved right into the Ghost’s trap.

“What are you doin’ in my hangar?” Ghost lowly spoke, standing to the side, having seen him since he strolled in here. 

“Jesus wept!” John spoke as he suddenly turned around, the closed distance between them was something almost scary at just how close and personal this man had gotten, and all amongst that, he seemingly had the goal to wear a bloody balaclava, all the while wearing a stripped down version of the gear they would have to haul around on their bodies. Was he really that comfortable in wearing the same shit each day? At least the only thing invading his senses was oil and fuel. 

“I said what are ya doing here?” Ghost questioned before his eyes glanced over at the hangar “Squadron leaders gonna know about this,” his voice loomed.

“Sorry,” That’s all the weak bastard had as he tried to pick himself up faster than he could pull back on his own stick. “A’m interested in that piece of art ye’v got there, heard you were the one flying the Lightning around this mornin’”

“So you were the two hanging around the fence”

John stiffened at the sheer mention of that, he’d seen them? He didn’t think he had given the height already gained as he passed the pair of them from the runway.

“Wanted to watch her give her a proper launch, sir” John hesitated as Ghost only snorted and shook his head at the mention of the last word.

“Flight Lieutenant to you” This Ghost guy seemingly didn’t want to have him out of his hangar after all, but there was no doubt that heavy brown eyes were on him, painted darker then the plane before him as his eyes registered on MacTavish’s uniform still barely on given the zip that was seemingly fought with, the sheen of sweat that was just above the ridgeline of his eyebrows gave away just how much he’d been working during the rest of his day, when he seemingly wasn’t cheering this man on, then again. MacTavish did seem like a familiar last name, what could hurt but to take a guess.

“Apologies,” John moved ever so closer to the jet, almost as if he were to go ahead and, to the thought running in the back of Ghost’s mind, steal it. Poor bastard, probably wouldn’t be able to handle the ride as well as he could. “Does that mean I get to call you LT then?”

The cocky chatter over the radio, often with another teammate, only gave Ghost all the more confidence to take that stab in the dark to try and pinpoint just who he was.

“You can, so long as you tell me if you’re the one flying that bloody F-16 around.”

John’s eyes suddenly went wide, and of course, that cocky Brit saw it, and with his own pair too. His soul had actively left his body in the acknowledgement that someone had noticed his maneuverability, everyone else had F/A-18’s. But MacTavish was the one that stood his ground when he said he wanted a former fighter pilots F-16, ready to be given back to the Americans, decommissioned, probably in a scrap heap, and yet, here he was, breathing new life into it and treating it like it had just come off the factory rollers. Though, his only fault that he seemingly had with it, was that of the lack of gun ammunition, paling in comparison to something like the beast that stood before him.

“Uh, and why would tha’ be?” 

Ghost paused, raising a brow in confusion, maybe he was going to have to talk to John’s squad leader, had he really not seen beyond his two feet at just who he had under his wing, the man could maneuver the thing as well as he could like the jet he stood before and maybe, if he ever took the chance (which, in high unlikely doubt he would) he could probably pilot Ghost’s, if not, with just a bigger amount of hesitation.

“Just wanted to give a recommendation to the squadron leader as to who to take under our wing, old talents retiring at the end of the year, figured I’d give whoevers flying that F-16 and the one with the yellow strip along the body of the ‘18 a fighting chance at joining the 141” He brushed it off, like it was a chance to come clean. Ghost knew that MacTavish was the one flying the thing, often put in a good word about it to Price. And Price often agreed, that and ‘Gaz’ who was often his wingmanaccording to Price’s notes were often hotshots, but never in an egotistical, ‘wanting to show who’s boss’ way, it was always one of teamwork, and he quite enjoyed seeing them chant as one of their other teammates took down a target before they did.

“The 141?” MacTavish asked

“Yeah, just need to find out who the pair are in the two jets first” Ghost was toying with him as he finally made a move over to his own, inspecting the various scratches that were seemingly evident in the light, but gave the aircraft a seemingly weathered look, one that, Ghost admired. 

“There a reason why they call you the Ghost?” Quick this one was to change the subject, avoiding it, but copying him all the more in his movements as John did the same, placing a gentle hand along the aircraft as his calloused fingers felt a deep scar along the face of the jet, maybe that’s why he rarely had repairs done to the thing other than ones that were required. Maybe that’s why he wears the mask, he’s damaged, just like the bird before him – but he still flies, still finds meaning in the daylight and blue hues of skies.

“There a reason why you’re dancing around the question?” Their hands moved along the surface of the steel at almost the same time, unknown, but as if they were tracing one another's patterns as the question was left in the air for a bit too long before they finally moved to the nose of the aircraft, having no choice but to look at one another as they did so.

“Could say the same,” He watched as Ghost moved towards him, facing him, how he towered over the man with that stature of power, and yet, the only real dominating power he seemingly had left was his rank, and the jet. Because all the smug bastard did was place his hands behind his back and look down at the Scotsman, as if inspecting him as he did the jet, to see if like him, he too had scars beneath that mohawk and blue eyes that seemingly contrasted ever so beautifully along the dark gray. “What happens if one of us already knows the answers?” 

“Then I guess one of us will have to await the answers of the future, but if they already know the answers, they shouldn’t have to wait too long” They both knew one another were staring, helplessly, but stopping it neither as eyes behind that mask squinted ever so gently. So he did have his scars, one on the chin, must have had a bad accident for it to get that bad, and the blood from it too.

“Then I guess I’ll ‘ave ta’ see me way out of this museum then huh? Wouldn’t want ta make a scene now aye?” John smiled, physically having to retch himself from the spot he stood in, not wanting to move away from the view that was before him.

“Don’t quite appreciate customers making a scene and disturbing the nature of this art” So he wasn’t the only one to quickly move along with what he was suggesting as he followed him, only ever a few steps behind, maybe that’s why he got that name, loud as anything in a jet, then he never exists once the engines shut off.

Ghost eventually stopped following him as John made his way out near the doors of the hangar, lingering around just a bit more before he stopped in his tracks, just maybe, if he really did have the answers, he could see how his future LT would respond. “Don’t think I could handle two pieces of art in a museum, never been able ta handle more than one” He swore up and down he saw the man’s head snap into place about that comment, a slight squint at the body language that John was trying to portray as he moved through the hangar doors. “Have a good night, LT”

“Officer Mactavish.”

Payback time.

“Aye sir?” And they’d fallen into line already, a wingman, of sorts, to a Ghost.

“Call me Simon”

Now MacTavish was standing there, being a complete idiot, baffled by the fact that he, of all people, managed to get into the inner circle of a man named Simon, a Ghost. A snort was then heard through the airy atmosphere as he suddenly turned around and walked back towards the stairs of his office, looking back over his shoulder, leaving him in a scrambled state that was the brain of John MacTavish.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” He paused, “For a F-16 Pilot.”

So that’s his name.

[tamorisana]

a lil sneak peck

“You are not kidnapping me, are you Nik?” only makes Nik laugh as he holds and guides his lover on their well-deserved two-week, a very desired, leave and he has a plan for this one specific day.

“No, I’m not, milyy, but I am taking you somewhere for today.” he stopped as he turned to have a look at Price. His mother is turning in her coffin watching him fall in love with John more and more every day. How could he not? His Captain is charming, charismatic and is absolutely beautiful.

As a child, Nikolay was an energetic reckless boy who was covered in bandages and bandaids like it was his second skin and could not sit for a minute except for times when his father sits down in the old, small kitchen, his mother is making dinner beside him and he himself is set down on the opposite of a table. His father, the one best man he ever knew, always starts with “Kolya, would you like to hear a story? Then sit straight and listen” and he would. It’s always been the myths of Ancient Grece and its Gods. His favourite ones are about Aphrodite and he likes to think he is her favourite too. There are no other explanations for how he got the attention of a such beautiful man other than John is a present from the gods.

“Hope you don’t mind?” Nikolai gives his partner's hand a light squeeze, knowing full well that-“With you? I’m ready to go into the heart of Yakutia with you.”

“Oh fuck no. I’m not going there.”

milyy - cutie (literally); more closer to honey and love

[konigsberg]

would you consider (if you havent already) making a rec list for books/authors/poets/etc? your breadth of classics knowledge and the source material you draw inspiration from always intrigues me.

I'd be happy to, but I think I might (accidentally) give the impression of being more familiar with a lot of these things than I actually am haha.

I'll focus on classics or classics-related recs, but there are some things I'll throw in here because, even though they aren't classics (or classics in the sense I think you probably mean, as in directly related to ancient Greece etc.), they've influenced what I’ve written in some way. I should also be clear, I haven’t read all of these things, sometimes only pieces, or they’re things I’ve been meaning to read and keep putting off but people might be interested in. And I’m definitely not an expert. I’m not properly educated on these topics, so I’m not sure if anything I include might be considered a bad resource by someone with a background in this field.

Also, as I was putting together this list… I was gawking at the prices of so many of these. Like 90% I grabbed at my local secondhand bookstore and I would encourage anyone interested to try to get these used (Thriftbooks is an online store to look at if you don’t have a good local store, though I’m not sure where all it ships to) or from a site like Project Gutenberg etc. Libraries are always good too, of course (some might be on Archive.org, which is a place where you can check out books online). I may be able to help you find ways to get your hands on some of these sources if you’re struggling to find it.

Fiction

Aethiopica by Heliodorus (tr. Moses Hadas) - An ancient Greek novel. “The Aethiopica tells the story of an Ethiopian princess and a Thessalian prince who undergo a series of perils (battles, voyages, piracy, abductions, robbery, and torture) before their eventual happy marriage in the heroine’s homeland.” Summary from here.

An Oresteia (tr. Anne Carson) - Carson’s translations of Aiskhylos' Agamemnon, Sophokles' Elektra, and Euripides' Orestes. Literally anything Carson touches is gold, please just read everything translated or written by her here, even if you’ve read other translations. “After the murder of her daughter Iphigeneia by her husband, Agamemnon, Klytaimestra exacts a mother's revenge, murdering Agamemnon and his mistress, Kassandra. Displeased with Klytaimestra's actions, Apollo calls on her son, Orestes, to avenge his father's death with the help of his sister Elektra. In the end, Orestes is driven mad by the Furies for his bloody betrayal of family. Condemned to death by the people of Argos, he and Elektra must justify their actions ― or flout society, justice and the gods.”

Arete: Greek Sports from Ancient Sources by Stephen G. Miller - All about the concept of arete. Exactly what it says on the tin.

The Constraints of Desire: The Anthropology of Sex and Gender in Ancient Greece by John J. Winkler - Another that’s exactly what it says on the tin. “For centuries, classical scholars have intensely debated the "position of women" in classical Athens. Did women have a vast but informal power, or were they little better than slaves? Using methods developed from feminist anthropology, Winkler steps back from this narrowly framed question and puts it in the larger context of how sex and gender in ancient Greece were culturally constructed. His innovative approach uncovers the very real possibilities for female autonomy that existed in Greek society.” (My friend has another book from this collection (?) called The New Ancient World, which I want to get if I ever actually… finish reading this one. But that one is called One Hundred Years of Sexuality, I think, and there’s another called Games of Venus, which also looks very interesting so I want to mention them.)

The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) by Apuleius (tr. E.J. Kenney) - This is another that feels like it might go without saying, but whatever. This is where the story of Cupid & Psyche is told. If I understand correctly, this is the oldest (surviving, and possibly only?) extended account of Eros & Psyche’s myth, though art of the two appears much earlier so I assume Apuleius was drawing from older sources. “Written towards the end of the second century AD, The Golden Ass tells the story of the many adventures of a young man whose fascination with witchcraft leads him to be transformed into a donkey. The bewitched Lucius passes from owner to owner - encountering a desperate gang of robbers and being forced to perform lewd 'human' tricks on stage - until the Goddess Isis finally breaks the spell and initiates Lucius into her cult.” Actually, this is the physical copy I have and I got it just because I really wanted a physical copy, but I haven’t read it. I read a version for free online years ago when my obsession with Cupid & Psyche first took shape and I… have no clue who translated that one. But, well, here we are. You can definitely find this on Project Gutenberg, probably by a different translator, though.

Greek Fictional Letters (edited by C.D.N. Costa) - “This book explores a relatively unfamiliar and under-appreciated area of Greek literature: imaginary letters written between about 100 BC and 500 AD. Many of them are light-hearted and funny, and describe the lives of ordinary people--fisherman, farmers, courtesans. Others look at more serious and philosophical aspects of life. All the letters are translated, and the notes offer help to both expert and less informed readers.”

Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides (tr. Anne Carson) - Carson’s translations of the plays Herakles, Hekabe, Hippolytos, and Alkestis. “Herakles, in which the hero swaggers home to destroy his own family; Hekabe, set after the Trojan War, in which Hektor’s widow takes vengeance on her Greek captors; Hippolytos, about love and the horror of love; and the strange tragic-comedy fable Alkestis, which tells of a husband who arranges for his wife to die in his place.”

The Iliad by Homer (tr. Robert Fagles) - Do I need to include this? I’m including this, if only to say this is the translation I have.

Medea by Euripides - This is, of course, the play depicting what happens when Jason attempts to remarry, betraying Medea. I can’t find my copy right now to specify which translation, but I didn’t particularly enjoy it anyway (the translation, not the play to be clear). Here’s a copy on Gutenberg.

The Odyssey by Homer (tr. Emily Wilson) - Again, just noting this is the translation I have more than anything.

The Voyage of Argo: The Argonautica by Apollonius of Rhodes (tr. E.V. Rieu) - Covers Jason’s quest. You can find various translations for free on Project Gutenberg.

Nonfiction

The Black Andromeda by Elizabeth McGrath - This is a paper about Princess Andromeda’s race and how it has been depicted throughout art and literature. It’s relevant to the Aethiopica and how it handles or fails to handle race.

Burial customs, the afterlife and the pollution of death in ancient Greece by Francois Pieter and Louise Cilliers - A research paper covering exactly what it says it does. I haven’t read much of this even though I really should and the parts I have read are so, so interesting.

The Encyclopedia of Ancient Greece by Carlos Gómez - General history.

Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay by Anne Carson - All about love as the ancient Greeks conceptualized it. I beg you all to read this. This is the one I’ve posted a bunch of my notes on to twitter. “A book about romantic love, Eros the Bittersweet is Anne Carson's exploration of the concept of "eros" in both classical philosophy and literature. Beginning with, "It was Sappho who first called eros 'bittersweet.' No one who has been in love disputes her," Carson examines her subject from numerous points of view, creating a lyrical meditation in the tradition of William Carlos Williams's Spring and All and William H. Gass's On Being Blue.”

The Gardens of Adonis: Spices in Greek Mythology by Marcel Detienne (tr. Janet Lloyd) - I haven’t read much of this, but I know I need to. “Rich with implications for the history of sexuality, gender issues, and patterns of Hellenic literary imagining, Marcel Detienne's landmark book recasts long-standing ideas about the fertility myth of Adonis.”

Granddaughter of the Sun: A Study of Euripides' Medea by C.A.E. Luschnig - I’ve also been posting screenshots from this as I read it because it makes me super unhinged. All about Her… “By looking at aspects of Medea that are largely overlooked in the criticism, this book aims at an open and multiple reading. It shows that stories presented in the drama of 5th century Athens are not unrelated to human beings who actually exist.”

Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion - “This collection challenges the tendency among scholars of ancient Greece to see magical and religious ritual as mutually exclusive and to ignore ‘magical’ practices in Greek religion.”

Portraits of Grief: Death, Mourning and the Expression of Sorrow on White-Ground Lêkythoi by Molly Evangeline Allen - Someone’s research on funerary vases. I haven’t read much of it, but I came across it while trying to find other info and it looked interesting.

Poetry

Ovid: The Erotic Poems (tr. Peter Green) - Ovid is a Roman poet, but I think his work might be of interest. “This collection of Ovid's poems deals with the whole spectrum of sexual desire, ranging from deeply emotional declarations of eternal devotion to flippant arguments for promiscuity.”

Ovid’s Poetry of Exile (tr. David R. Slavitt) - More of Ovid’s work.

Sappho: A New Translation of the Complete Works (tr. Diane J. Rayor) - Please… Please… any translations of Sappho you can get… read them…

Miscellaneous

Desire, Discord and Death: Approaches to Near Eastern Myth by Neal H. Walls - Obviously not Greek, but I feel like anyone interested in ancient mythology about queerness, love, death, and sex would find this really interesting. “The three essays presented in this volume reveal the symbolic complexity and poetic visions of ancient Near Eastern mythology. The author explores the interrelated themes of erotic desire, divine conflict, and death's realm in selected ancient Mesopotamian and Egyptian mythological narratives using contemporary methods of literary analysis. Topics include the construction of desire in the Gilgamesh epic, a psychoanalytic approach to 'The Contendings of Horus and Seth', and gender and the exercise of power in the stormy romance of Nergal and Ereshkigal.”

Erotism: Death and Sensuality by Georges Bataille (tr. Mary Dalwood) - I haven’t read much of this and I know based on Bataille’s fiction (my man was really on some shit)… this is sure to be really unhinged. But it’s all about life, death, religion, and sex. “Bataille challenges any single discourse on the erotic. The scope of his inquiry ranges from Emily Bronte to Sade,from St. Therese to Claude Levi-Strauss and Dr. Kinsey.  The subjects he covers include prostitution, mythical ecstasy, cruelty, and organized war. Investigating desire prior to and extending beyond the realm of sexuality, he argues that eroticism is ‘a psychological quest not alien to death.’” I feel like… there probably needs to be trigger warnings for this one, but who knows what lol. This is actually the main book I’ve been using to help me learn French too, which is… a choice on my part for real, but that’s getting really off topic.

[gaunt-and-hungry]

OC Introduction: Heinrich (Nemesis) Cornelius Reiss

Nemesis -- Ancient Greek: Νέμεσις, The name is often connected with the Greek verb νέμειν némein which means "distribute, attribute". The name is also related to the Greek word némein, which means "to give what is due". Heinrich -- Name of Birth -- "Heinrich" Ruler of the Home. Home Ruler - composed of the Germanic elements "heim" and "ric". "Heim" means "home" and "ric" means "power, ruler."

Born in Salem, Massachusetts. Upper Class. Murdered his parents at thirteen. Has healthy sleeping habits. Possesses the largest occult library in England.

Occultist looking to study the unusual reaches of the world. Knows everything there is to know about the obscure and anomalytic.

Forty Years Old (Or so he says) -- He/Him -- Gay Might not even be human anymore...

A terrifyingly intelligent man with a charming demeanor. Polite, well spoken and well dressed if he does not charm his way through life then he is leaving behind a trail of blood. His aim is to document occult and ritual manners across the globe from very obscure places for his own personal record keeping. Archives forbidden and dark magics and myths. Best friend of Wilbur whom he gifted the name of "Erebus" to. The one person he could never bring himself to eliminate and is strangely fond of the younger man. The Price of Knowledge is invaluable. Knowledge must be sought no matter what the cost... No matter the blood shed.

People of Interest: Leftenant John Irving ~ Dr. Harry Goodsir ~ Thomas Blanky ~ Wilbur Flamel (OC is a character of dubious moral standing. Interactions accepted but engage at your own risk)

Atrocious. Abhorrent. Salacious. Felonious. Curious. Charming. "It would be crazy if I died! That would be a capital riot!"

Weakness: Ego. Thirst for knowledge. "Obviously it's a tragedy but boy oh boy is that a laugh riot!" Strengths: Knowledge. Incredibly patient. Nothing seems to phase him. Indominable in ways that are borderline horrific. Cold blooded in the face of any conflict. Unshakable and unfettered no matter the eldritch horror unfurling before him. Impassive to all danger. "You all will, in very likely chance, all perish. I do love that for you all. You deserve to die tragically and remind others why you should not have come."

"Friends murder each other all the time!" - "It doesn't take a killer to murder It only takes a reason to kill We've all got evidence of innocence, it's "everything's coincidence" The difference twixt fate and free will is whether you're singing" "You, could you take a look at me? (Man no more than animal is made of moral chemicals) Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad? (Any form mechanical, thank you, God) We're singing, ooh (from the hordes of cannibals) Whatever you think of me (to psych wards of hospitals) If you were in my shoes (it's a small world, after all) You'd see I wear the same size as you Oh, oh, right!" - (Laplace's Angel - Will Wood)

"Yes I may be evil and yes I may be deranged and yes I may be abhorrent and beyond all rational comprehension. And yes I might practise dark magic and yes I may be guilty of atrocities and yes there might be no turning back from the horrors I have unleashed on the world. What of it?" - "I drank the blood of angels from a bottle Just to see if I could call the lightning down It hasn't struck me yet, and I would wage my soul to bet That there ain't no one throwing lightning anyhow" - (Blood of Angels - Brown Bird)

"Oh, don't get your filthy blood all over my coat now. We can't have that." - "Such a pure devotion to your skin Who'll absolve you from your sin You flee communion paranoid Now your cup is the void" - (It Tore Your Heart Out - Dirt Poor Robins) "Do not acknowledge me as a human being. It disgusts me."

"I do not like how he makes me feel. He makes me... He makes me feel, Wilbur. He makes me feel; and I do. Not. Like. It." - " "Angel" he calls me Does he know that I'm falling From the precipice that I tripped off long ago "You're so pure," he says Does he knows I'm forsaken The original sinner But soon he'll know For if I'm going down I guess I'll take you with me." - (the fruits - Paris Paloma)

"Names are power, love. Why do you think they call me Nemesis?" - "Kiss me you animal I need to take you in real slow Cause dying on your lips is how I wanna go Connect with the sound you're making Connect with my body whoa Kiss me you animal and don't ever let me go Kiss me animal" - (Kiss me you Animal - Burn the Ballroom)

"Brought to my knees. Oh how the mighty falls. Ironic, isn't it? A mortal man and I have crumbled like Babel." - "Let my hands be your chapel Treat my screams like your Bible I'll deny you of salvation I'll be the reason you repent Kiss me like I'm a conviction Beg for divinity in my breath Regret my touch So much that you Curse your baptism" - (salvation - Christabelle Marbun)

If there was such a thing as “evil” in the universe, Heinrich Cornelius Reiss would be the flesh and blood of it. If there was such a thing as “evil” in the world of man, Heinrich Cornelius Reiss would be its judge, jury and executioner. If there were such things, of course. To Heinrich, no such thing exists. No such fallacy and fantasy such as “Evil” were anything more than the pitiful cries of those fallen prey to the turbulent cruelty of the universe. If there was a God, then either he hides in fear of Heinrich Cornelius Reiss or he would have tried to cut this man down before he was born. If there was a God, Heinrich would have killed him long, long ago. Not, of course, out of malice or any particular reason thrust upon him. He simply, as he would put it, would like to see what would happen.

Heinrich Cornelius Reiss, above anything else, is a man of hard work, education, and cruelty. One would think he released moral compasses long ago in his life. This is simply not true at all, and instead he navigates with a device within his body and mind that simply cannot be read in any rational human language. It is simply put, not convenient to allow such paltry things to obscure his efforts of achieving a great collection of obscure and rare knowledge as well as accompanying artefacts. It pays to own land. It also pays to own an impressive private library in Central London where he may secure such knowledge.

The man with the power is the man with the knowledge, after all. Sometimes that knowledge must come with a smattering of blood and matted hair clenched in a tight fist with screams that cannot be heard this far underground. Thankfully, his hard work often paid off and yielded handsome results. If only such results could be acquired in the frozen arctic North. Perhaps, yet, he may walk away with something of value, even if it is the first and only thing in the universe to cripple his resolve. Now, to what lengths he will go to swallow his pride and keep these frozen men alive alongside Wilbur... That remains to be seen.

OC Introduction of Nemesis - AKA Heinrich Cornelius Reiss

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for December 15, 2023

 Proverbs: God's Wisdom for the Day Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 30:20-23 (KJV): 20 Such is the way of an adulterous woman; she eateth, and wipeth her mouth, and saith, I have done no wickedness. 21 For three things the earth is disquieted, and for four which it cannot bear: 22 For a servant when he reigneth; and a fool when he is filled with meat; 23 For an odious woman when she is married; and a handmaid that is heir to her mistress. Proverbs 30:20-23 (AMP): 20 This is the way of an adulterous woman: she eats and wipes her mouth and says, I have done no wickedness. 21 Under three things the earth is disquieted, and under four it cannot bear up: 22 Under a servant when he reigns, a (empty-headed) fool when he is filled with food, 23 An unloved and repugnant woman when she is married, and a maidservant when she supplants her mistress.

Thought for the Day

Verses 20-23 - These verses describe an array of people who are types of rebellious sinners who cause trouble for others.

An Adulterous Woman: This woman simply does what she does, in the same way a person would eat a meal and wipe his mouth after they finish. She is so hardened, that she feels no guilt and claims she has done no wrong. The Bible tells us that we are all sinners in need of a Savior and that we must confess our sins and ask God to forgive us; only then can we be cleansed (1 John 1:8-10).

A Servant When He Reigns: People suffer when a servant who is not trained for the office of a king obtains that position.

A Rebellious Fool When He Is Prosperous: The Hebrew word for "fool" in this verse indicates a vile, ungodly person who rejects God's Word. Only the rich in ancient times had an abundance of food; thus "filled with meat" indicates prosperity. An ungodly person uses position and money selfishly and often for evil purposes. Nabal, (1 Samuel 25:2-38) and modern-day mobsters are examples of this kind of fool.

An Odious Woman Who Marries: A bitter woman with hateful characteristics can cause much trouble and make life unpleasant for her family and others. Marriage tends to give a woman a degree of authority and respectability, increasing the pride of a woman with bad character. The Bible instructs women not to become busybodies. "And withal they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idle but tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not. I will therefore that the younger women marry, bear children, guide the house, and give none occasion to the adversary to speak reproachfully. For some are already turned aside after Satan" (1 Timothy 5:13-15).

A Servant Who Is Heir To Her Mistress: There have been instances throughout history of maids persuading mistresses to make them heirs of their possessions, or servant girls who displace mistresses in the affections of their husbands. When servile, mean-spirited people come into a position of power, however slight, they are prone to become proud and use whatever advantage they can to promote themselves.

Each situation is bad enough in itself, but if all of these were true in the life of one person, it would be unbearable. If the servant who reigned was a bitter, adulterous woman, who was also a prosperous rebel and had gained her position by displacing her mistress, this would be an unbearable combination. God calls us to be holy, whatever our position or status (1 Peter 3:3-5).

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, thank you for liberating women to be what You have called them to be. Lord, may we, as women, please You first, and secondly please our husbands. Lord, may we have a submissive spirit toward our mates and seek to minister and serve them as You would. Lord, purify my heart and create a right spirit in me. May Christian marriages be an example of Your love on this earth. Deliver us from all quarreling, bitterness, and anger, and give us a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in Your sight, of great price. I ask in Jesus' name.  Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Friday, December 15, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., USA.  X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Music For the Soul

by Alexander MacLaren

The Wonderful Invitation

And he that is athirst, let him come: he that will, let him take the water of life freely. - Revelation 22:17  

In these words there are echoes of precious older words, "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that hath no money, come, let him buy . . . yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price (Isaiah 55:1)". And again, " If any man thirst, let him come unto Me, and drink (John 7:37)". On both of these more ancient savings, the saying of the evangelical prophet and the saying of our Lord Himself, these great words seem to be founded.

What is it to come? Christ said, standing in the Temple courts, "If any man thirst, let him come unto Me, and drink." Christ is now absent, but still His bodily presence did not make coming to Him any the easier when He was here. Many of those that touched His garments, and clasped His hands, and looked into His eyes were an infinite distance from Him.

What is it to come? Listen to His own explanation: "He that Cometh unto Me shall never hunger, and he that believeth in Me shall never thirst." Then "coming" and "taking" and " drinking" are all but various forms of representing the one act of believing in Him. We come to Him when we trust Him. We are separated from Him by all the distance between earth and heaven, corporeally. He is near every one of us in spirit, and He is ready to come so much nearer that He will dwell in our hearts and break down all the barriers between us, if we will only draw near to Him. My friend, let no vague metaphor blind you to the simple requirement which is here. To "come to Christ" is nothing more than to trust Him. Lean your weight upon Him, and your soul leaps over the gulfs in which stars and systems move, and touches the Son of man at the right hand of God. Faith has a long arm; it can grasp "the High Priest that has passed through the heavens," and is exalted far above them all. To come to Christ is only as a sinful man laden with infirmities and stooping beneath many a burden of sin and sorrow and sore weakness; to lean my sinful self upon Him, and so to be joined to the Lord. To come to Christ is faith.

Who is it that are asked to come? " He that thirsteth" and "he that willeth." The one phrase expresses the universal condition, the other only the limitation necessary in the very nature of things. " He that thirsteth." Who does not? The desires of every soul are deep and ravenous and fierce. Your heart is parched for love; your mind, whether you know it or not, is restless and athirst for truth that you can cleave to in all circumstances. Your will longs for a loving authority that shall subdue and tame it. Your conscience is calling out for cleansing, for pacifying, for purity. Your whole being is one great want and emptiness. " My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God"; it is only He that can slake the thirst, that can satisfy the hunger. You have tried other things, plenty of them; and has not your experience been that all other sources of satisfaction or delight have done for you what the sea-water docs to the half-mad shipwrecked sailor that will drink it? They make men thirstier and drive them madder. Every man may come; for we are all perishing by the side of muddy and waterless springs, from which we have madly sought to slake an immortal thirst.

[yhwhrulz]

Worthy Brief - September 20, 2024

Prepare to be married!

Isaiah 62:5 For as a young man marries a virgin, so your sons will marry you. As a bridegroom rejoices over a bride, so your God will rejoice over you.

Revelation 19:7-8 Let us be glad and rejoice and we will give glory to Him. For the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His wife has prepared herself. And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white. For the fine linen is the righteousness of the saints.

Revelation 22:17 And the Spirit and the bride say, Come.

The last and most intimate metaphor for Messiah's relationship with us is as Bridegroom to Bride. For some, the Lord's intention to marry will be the most significant and wondrous purpose in all of Creation. The preparation for the wedding will be the most meticulous and profound of all historical processes, orchestrated by His Holy Spirit in cooperation with every devoted and expectant saint who ever lived.

Ancient wedding customs provide insight illustrating our preparation for the divine wedding ahead. In ancient times, acquiring a bride involved a transaction; a bride-price and a dowry were set and agreed upon in the betrothal of a young couple. Following this agreement, the bridegroom returned to His Father's house to build a domicile for his expectant bride while she anticipated her husband's return by preparing her wedding garments.

In parallel, our betrothal to our holy Lord, the beginning of our preparation for marriage, required the offering of His cleansing blood on our behalf. And before returning to his Father's house following his death and resurrection, Yeshua told his disciples, "In My Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself." [John 14:2-3]

It is clear that Yeshua expected his followers to understand the parallel to betrothal and marriage customs within their own culture and to apply that understanding to their own relationship with him. This applies to us as well. Anticipating our Bridegroom's return will awaken a deep excitement stimulating an intense desire to be prepared for him.

Your love for your Bridegroom will be expressed in your desire to be like him. That preparation is the work of the Holy Spirit within you, cleansing and transforming you through faith, good works, obedience, and prayer, the "fabric" of your wedding garment. Your joyful anticipation of his soon return will inspire the abiding, which prepares you for the heavenly announcement you've waited for all your life.

Shabbat Shalom and have a great weekend!

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Obadiah and Elianna (Missouri) (Baltimore, Maryland)

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Editor's Note: During this war, we have been live blogging throughout the day -- sometimes minute by minute on our Telegram channel. - https://t.me/worthywatch/ Be sure to check it out!

Editor's Note: Dear friends — we are now booking in the following states. Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida! If you know Rabbis, Pastors or Leaders who might be interested in powerful Israeli style Hebrew/English worship and a refreshing word from Worthy News about what’s going on in the land, please let us know how to connect with them and we will do our best to get you on our schedule! You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.

[nijjhar]

Who are the Builders that own the Temple but the hypocritical Temple Pri... Jewish Messiah would be nominated by the Prime Minister and he would lead his people to Worship at the Western Wall of the Temple. https://youtu.be/Thz3Qhr4qJY Christ Rajinder:- Why the firstborn males were taken to the Temple of Yahweh, the creator of males and females? Copilot In ancient Jewish tradition, the firstborn males were taken to the Temple for specific religious rituals. Let me explain: 1. Redemption of the Firstborn: According to the Law of Moses, every firstborn male (whether human or animal) belonged to the Lord Yahweh, the Potter of male and female. However, instead of offering their firstborn sons directly to the Lord Yahweh, Brahma, Khudah, etc., parents could redeem them by paying a redemption price. For a son, this redemption involved giving five silver shekels to the priest1. When Jesus was 40 days old, Mary and Joseph took Him to the Temple in Jerusalem for this redemption ceremony2. So, the male children form the Builders of Yahweh’s Temple. This way, they built their covenant with Yahweh, the Lord of creation. Thus, the First Primordial Adam was the Son of Yahweh. This is proved in the very name of Jesus:- Why was Jesus given the name "YahShua"? Jesus' Hebrew name "Yahshua" is made up of two words; Yah = Yahweh and Shua = Shiva = Primordial Adam. Thus, Mary was “sired” by Yahweh in Hebrew, Brahma in Hindi and Khudah in Arabic, the lord of the visible creation called Sarishhti in Hindi, and our demiurge Father in Heaven of the tribal sons, whom you can see in his creation with two naked eyes, and Angel John, the Baptist, Prophet Elijah (my god is Yahweh, Brahma, Khudah, etc., the heavenly father of Jesus) Baptized Jesus in the name of his heavenly father “Yahweh,” and the repentant Jewish men of age 25 – 30 in their tribal forefather Abraham. Thus, Mary was a Surrogate Mother and Joseph from the tribe of Judah through the line of King David, his adoptive father. This is the first proof of the Virgin Birth of Jesus. And Jesus being not of the first Adam, he had no territorial or landed property even to rest his head. He was the Anointed “Mustard Seed”, who spread his branches (Fellowships and not these Churches, the Synagogues of Satan led by these hireling Dog-Collared Priests created by the Messianic Jews, the Legacy of the sacked Temple Priests, the Husbandmen of the Winepress that was destroyed forever in 70 A.D.) all over the world for as sensible people as the birds of the air that have very powerful sensory organs or the discerning intellect of mind, Munn, Nafs, etc. to gather the material for the forebrain, Budhi capable of logical reasoning by the grace of our Supernatural Father Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc. to analyze it through logical reasoning to brew “Logo”, which is His Word and His Word is God Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc. This planet Earth belongs to the sons of Adam who represent “Yahweh” through the visible tribal “seed” and not to the daughters as they are the source of the life-giving invisible blood or belong to the invisible Supernatural Father of our supernatural “souls” Elohim with no tribal identity as the Sadhus of the Celestial World, the Wilderness are. Thus, the men were the builders of the Temple of Yahweh and they were paying the Cohen. Therefore, they had the first RIGHT in the Temple and they created a Partition to sit in the front and the stranger pilgrims at the back. The greedy Temple Priests were circumcising the Gentile of the Aryan and the Negro races to increase their source of income – Gen 17. Whereas “circumcision” is the tribal mark of Abraham to his real son Isaac only and it was not given to Ishmael. Thus, only the seed of Isaac, the boys, could be circumcised and this was stressed by Angel Stephen, a Prophet in the line of John, the Baptist who was baptising the Jewish men in the water in the name of Abraham and not the Gentiles, Samaritans, etc. who were already faithful to their tribal fathers. The Chosen People by becoming Jews of appearance called “outwardly” could not build their covenant with Isaac and Abraham and they are called “Tares”, the sons of the most High Satan Al-Djmar Al-Aksa – Matt 13v24-30. Today, these Tares are going to Nominate their own Messiah of TERROR AND KILLING – John 8v44. He will lead them to worship at the Western Wall meant for the sons of Satan, the Jews outwardly and not spiritually inwardly. That is how this Age will End through the Atomic War. 2. Purification Ritual: Mary, Jesus’ mother, was also present at the Temple for her own purification or cleansing ritual. This was a customary practice for Jewish women after childbirth2. 3. Historical Context: The tradition of redeeming the firstborn dates back to the time of Moses. It commemorated the sparing of Jewish firstborns during the Passover, while the firstborns of the Egyptians were slain so that you wouldn’t treat strangers differently (Exodus 13:1-2; Leviticus 12:8)3. In summary, taking firstborn sons to the Temple served both as a redemption and

[wolint]

FRESH MANNA

GLUTTONY

1 Corinthians 6:19-20

Our bodies, not all but believers, those who belong to God, are temples of God, temples of the Holy Spirit within us. The Spirit of the Lord lives within individual Christians. We only have one body, the way we treat and care for our bodies matters a lot.

Our body was bought with a price, the cost was the Blood of Jesus’s life yet we treat it with carelessness and disdain. We sometimes do to our bodies without thought, what the enemy wouldn’t even dream of doing to us.

We feed our bodies the wrong things, expose the body to danger, and unnecessary and often poisonous matters and fail to give the body enough rest, and time to recuperate.

Gluttony is one of the deadly sins that plague society today and most people treat it as normal.

Gluttony is the sin of overindulgence and excessive greed for food. Gluttony is linked with the sins of drunkenness, idolatry, lavishness, rebellion, disobedience, laziness, and wastefulness in Deuteronomy 21:20. The Bible condemns gluttony as a sin and places it squarely in “the lust of the flesh” camp in 1 John 2:15–17.

Gluttons, like fornicators, treat their body as if it were “his own,” to give to a harlot if he pleases, but we have no right to alienate our body which is the Lord‘s. In ancient servitude, the person of the servant was wholly the property of the master, not his own. Purchase was one of the ways of acquiring a slave, just as Christ purchased us.

The Bible calls for moderation in everything. Unrestrained self-indulgence in any area will lead to deeper entanglement in sin because it represents a rejection of godly self-control and disobedience to the will of God. Even though God gave us food, drink, and other pleasurable things to enjoy as seen in Genesis 1:29; Ecclesiastes 9:7; and 1 Timothy 4:4-5.

Sadly, so many eat themselves in weight, bringing diseases and sickness to themselves and shortening their lifespan from over-indulgence.

Some even became poor from gluttony according to Proverbs 23:21, saying “Too much sleep, clothes them in rags. Sleep that comes from over-eating, over-drinking, and over-whatever else: what my household calls “nigerities”.

Nigerities is what we call the sleep (sweet, lulling sleep) that comes after we’ve eaten that massive meal of whatever takes our fancy that we know we weren’t supposed to eat. Sleep that may sometimes last for hours, into the night or even to the next day. That’s what Proverbs here refers to as “drowsiness”.

You may have experienced and understand what I am saying.

Gluttony is so distasteful to God that He sees it as a stubborn temptation in Psalm 78:18.

That is exactly how gluttony is expressed. We stubbornly consume things that we know are not good for us because we can’t control the temptation to take one more, and one more until even our body revolts in disagreement.

And Proverbs 25:28 says, “A person without self-control is like a city with broken-down walls.” Implying that a person who has no restraint or control over his or her passions and desires ends up with no defence when temptations come. Having lost self-control, he or she is in danger of being carried away into further sin and destruction.

The world has made it so easy and accessible to lay hands on anything we fancy, even when we can't afford it, or if not good for us, which in turn escalates gluttony.

As sweet and good as honey, Proverbs 25:16 says “Don’t eat too much, or it will make you sick! Everything should be done in moderation! Any sort of overindulgence harms our health.

Be determined to live by the counsel of Proverbs 23:1–2: always note what is before you, and put a knife to your throat if you are given to gluttony.

PRAYER: Help me Lord, to be wise in what I eat, and by Your grace show how to put things including gluttony in the right perspective in Jesus' name. Amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT. PRAYER MIN

[iamcalmdammit]

Bravo Six - part 1 || [Steven Grant x reader]

summary: You were visiting the museum with your niece when you met Steven. He wanted to take you out for dinner, but you chose to get a private lecture about ancient Egypt from him. Maybe things were moving a little fast for his liking, but you were just about to go on a business trip and didn't want to leave without knowing if this could be something more serious than a one-night stand.

warning: no warning needed, it's fluff. i'm asexual so i suck at writing smut.

note/hint: "Bravo Six, going dark," aka I stole John Price's call sign. If you know who he is, you might have an idea who the reader really is. Maybe her team is looking into the case of some weird cult. Maybe she'll meet Marc on a mission. Who knows. Also, it's unedited. I was in a hurry as usual. Feedback is always appreciated.

The corners of Steven’s lips curled into a barely visible smile the moment his gaze landed on you. It had been two weeks since you visited the museum with your niece, and now the lovely pair of you were back. And you were on your way to the gift shop. All right, no reason to panic. He may have toyed with the idea of asking you out in the past few days but he didn’t necessarily have to actually do it.

The little girl ran into the shop, heading straight to the posters. She picked out one, thought about her decision, then put it back, already reaching for the next one. Steven couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle at the sight of the undecisive young lady. But when his eyes moved over to you, his heart stopped beating for a brief moment.

You let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose as you watched your niece. “Sweetie, if I take you home with another poster, your mother is going to throw us out with it,” you informed her.

“She loves me, I can stay,” the little know-it-all replied. “What about this?” she asked, pointing at another poster near her.

“Whatever, just pick one.”

Steven didn’t want to interfere, but the poor girl was stuck choosing between two options. So he took a deep breath, bracing himself for a conversation with another human being, then walked over to you with an awkward smile. “If I were you,” he began as he walked past the girl and picked up a poster she hadn’t even looked at yet, “I would choose this one. It would go great with the one you got the last time.”

Oh, shit. He shouldn’t have said that. Now he sounded like some creep and the way you looked at him made him wish he could just crawl into a hole and die. Your eyes narrowed as you watched him cautiously, one hand already reaching out to grab a strap of the kid’s backpack. He wanted to explain himself, pointing out that he was the one who sold you the other poster as well, but his voice failed him.

Then, as if it was some sort of a miracle, the little girl pointed at him, her eyes shining from the sudden rush of excitement. “Look, it’s Steven! Hi, Steven,” she said with a small wave of her hand.

The look on your face slowly shifted into something entirely different. “Oh, right. The goldfish with one fin,” you said as you let go of the backpack’s strap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t put two and two together. You know what, Lily? If he says you should choose that one, I think you should choose that one.”

You smiled at him. Was it a polite smile or was it more than that? Could you be flirting with him? He had no idea and the uncertainty was slowly killing him. But if he wanted to ask you out, he had to be fast, there was no time to waste. “Look,” he spoke up, earning a questioning look from you, “I know it might sound weird and out of the blue, but I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me?” he asked, speaking so fast that he had trouble following himself.

He was terrified of hearing your answer. Your beautiful smile faded and you reached for your phone instead of saying anything. Good God, he made a fool of himself.

But just when he gave up all hope, you suddenly let out a thoughtful hum. “Well, I’m going on a business trip tomorrow and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. So,” you began as you slipped the device into your back pocket, “it’s pretty much today or never.”

“To—today?” he asked hesitantly. When you nodded with that gorgeous smile on your rosy lips, he cleared his throat and said, “Sure, sure, it’s great. Here, if you could give me your number… You know, so I can call you with the details,” he added as he gave you a pen and a piece of paper.

Steven had a huge smile on his face for the rest of the day. Even Donna couldn’t ruin his mood with her usual rude remarks. It was a small victory for him, and he sure felt proud to be able to ask you out for real. And when you said yes—well, that was the cherry on top.

There was a nice restaurant he found for the date, but when he called you to discuss the plan, he was surprised to hear that you didn’t want to go out and eat. Instead, you wanted a private tour in the museum—which was impossible—or at least a nice lecture about ancient Egypt from him. Apparently, you remembered the way he had explained a few things to your niece the first time you met and no wanted something like that.

It was flattering, really. But at the same time, it was also terrifying. He wasn’t a tour guide, he wasn’t used to structured lectured, and in the end, you agreed to meet him at his own apartment. That place was a bloody mess and he didn’t have time to tidy up and also find the books he wanted to show you. Taking a deep breath when he closed the front door, Steven took a quick look around. He had to prioritize so he made a short checklist in his mind and followed it step-by-step.

In an hour or so he managed to get everything ready for your arrival. At eight o’clock sharp his doorbell rang, and there you were, wearing a floral dress with black heels—a sight that took his breath away. Shaking his head, he put on a smile and invited you inside. You handed him a bottle of red wine which he took to the kitchen, using this opportunity to calm himself a bit.

Would it help if he didn’t consider it a date? Maybe if he thought about this as nothing more but a friendly dinner, he wouldn’t be so stressed.

“I ordered some food from this nice Italian restaurant in case you were hungry,” he explained when he walked back to you. “Or would you like some wine?”

Shaking your head with a smile, you walked up to the fish tank. “This must be your friend with the one fin,” you noted with an amused look on your face. “Hello, buddy.”

As he watched you place your fingertip on the glass and moving it up and down then to the sides to get Gus’ attention, Steven couldn’t help but cross his arms and stare at you with a dreamy look in his eyes. It was surreal that you came to his apartment on your first date. He normally chose a neutral location for the first dates, but he just couldn’t say no to you when you suggested this private lecture idea of yours. He wondered why. He was dying to find out why you wanted to come to his place if the museum wasn’t an option, but he was a coward and didn’t know how to ask you.

“Aww, postcards!” you suddenly said, moving a finger above them as you read what was written on them. “I haven’t seen such things in years. Well, only in stores,” you added as you turned to look at him.

“Why don’t we go and see some of the books I chose for you?” he asked with an awkward smile, pointing at the desk.

“Can I be brutally honest, Steven?”

Honest? Oh, God, this wasn’t a date. He was such an idiot. Why would a woman like you ever go out with someone like him? Maybe you were only there to sell his organs or make fun of—

Suddenly your lips crashed into his, hungrily kissing him as if you’d been waiting for this for a really long time. Your hands got lost in his unruly hair while you pressed your body against his, and Steven couldn’t help but react accordingly. He wasn’t the one in control anymore, his instincts were slowly taking over. His hands grabbed your hips and he took a few steps forward so you reached the nearest table. Without hesitation he picked you up and helped on top of it. Every single movement of his was leading to one thing, something he wasn’t really fond of doing on the first date.

If he had ever gotten into this situation, that is.

But just as suddenly as you began, you came to a halt and leaned back to build some distance. “Your eyes,” you said with a wide grin.

“My eyes?” he asked with a confused look, his body already experiencing withdrawal symptoms. “What’s with my eyes?”

“I love them. When you looked at me today… I was lost in them. I—I know it sounds stupid, but I just really, really love your eyes,” you explained as your fingers worked on unbuttoning his shirt.

Now that was more like it. You didn’t want to stop out of the blue, you wanted to keep going. Good. Very good. Without thinking much, he kissed you again, smiling to himself when you continued everything from where you’d left off a minute ago.

Then you stopped again. Why? Why were you doing this to him? He rested his forehead against yours and let out a frustrated sigh.

Gulping, you said, “Hey, I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with. I mean, you don’t seem like the kind of guy who’s into one-night stands.”

“Is it just a one-night stand then?” he asked, feeling a little hurt by the thought. Was this what he deserved? Terrible, failed first dates or being nothing more but a one-night stand? “Be honest with me. Will you disappear from my life after tonight?”

“Not if you don’t want me to disappear,” you admitted. “I want to see where this could go.”

“Me too,” Steven told you with a short laugh before kissing you again.