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tiddygame · 5 months ago

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Ghoap god type part 5!

Only took me over a month but we're so back! I took a break to plan the rest of this shit out, hopefully chapters will be a bit more steady after this (fingers crossed)

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

I wasn't sure if I should tag these lovely people again, but please let me know if you don't want to tagged!

@imjustheretofightforlove / @life-as-a-gamergirl / @pieckyghost

Exhausted but too hyper to sleep was the worst feeling in existence, Ghost had officially decided.

Battles always had a special way of tiring him; They ended in him being drained but with too much adrenaline to rest. Sitting against a tree on the edge of a meadow, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep but he still wanted to try.

His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, cold but too proud to huddle in on himself. Fall firmly declared its arrival by the temperature dropping further; What had once been a nightly respite from the oppressive summer heat was now a permanent fixture of the day. Most people would be happy with the change, enjoying the breeze and grabbing their sweaters and coats.

Ghost was much more accustomed to the warmth, growing up near the southern coastline where winter never truly took hold. He tried not to think about the fact that the slight breeze that had him shivering was only to worsen in the following weeks as they marched further north.

The flora that populated the meadow held up to the change in temperature better than he did. Various flowering weeds dominated the grasses, reaching high and trying so hard to be mistaken for wildflowers. Ragwort, fleabane, and dandelions all littered the dull tallgrass with color.

Light yellows, muted greens, soft whites — missing just one color, the dark red blood showered across the meadow completed the color palette pleasantly. The splatters clinging to empty stalks looked like dainty little red flowers, a misnomer of the tragedy that had caused them.

His halberd was responsible for most of that bloodshed. It was innocuously leaning against the tree to his right, sitting there like it hadn’t been used to kill gods alone know how many just a few hours prior. His smallsword had been cast aside as well, scabbard un-clipped from his belt and only barely within reach. Most of his armor had been removed, laying next to him in a heap from where he’d halfheartedly thrown it off.

The battle had ended hours ago, his fellow soldiers resting at camp, congratulating themselves for the easy victory. After the last kerfuffle over Ghost not returning when he’d been told, the general had tightened Ghost’s leash but couldn’t stand to be around them as they cheered their victory. Besides, what the general didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

(Wouldn’t hurt the general, that is. It would hurt Ghost, but that was no different than normal.)

His greatest joy in life was being a minor thorn in the general’s side any and every chance he got. If asked, Ghost would just lie and claim that he never left the battlefield and that the horse he’d taken to get there just so happened to get left behind as well. A lie that would be torn apart immediately, but it didn’t matter.

The ardennes was ornery enough to make it believable, at least. She had been tied up, but the stubborn bastard managed to pull free and was happily roaming the area without a care in the world. She thankfully didn’t seem interested in the weeds, instead content with terrorizing the woodland creatures with her presence.

Unarmed and exposed, he was more worried about falling asleep than he was about any potential attackers. Ghost trusted his instincts enough to relax, knowing he would hear if someone tried to sneak up on him.

“You look cold,” Soap noted.

“Fuck!” Ghost shouted, his soul almost leaving his body. “Stop doing that!” He demanded as he clutched his chest like an heiress who just heard a swear for the first time. Three meetings and he was already tired of the god popping up out of nowhere.

“Sorry,” he said with a smug tone and smile that said he wasn’t very sorry. Ghost just huffed and shook his head, slowly leaning back against the tree. He closed his eyes and tried to convince his adrenaline response that he wasn’t in danger.

He could feel Soap staring at him. He tried to ignore it but neither the feeling nor the god went away.

Ghost reluctantly opened his eyes and stared back, annoyed to find the god had no shame in being caught staring. The longer their contest continued, the bigger Soap’s smile got.

Accepting defeat, Ghost sighed and stood, mood only slightly improving at seeing the god was still significantly shorter than him. It didn’t mean much, but it did mean that Ghost could glare down at Soap.

Of course, Soap wasn’t bothered by this in the least and didn’t falter. Failing the second round of the staring contest, Ghost sighed pointedly again, not that Soap seemed to care.

“Is this what you did back then?” Ghost asked, starting the annoyingly slow task of putting his armor back on as he looked around to see where the hell his horse was, “Appear in front of people and stare at them until they leave?”

“Something like that,” he responded, pretending it was an answer.

“Taxes!” Ghost called out, whistling for her to come back. He bounced between fastening the straps of his arm guards and trying to catch a glimpse of the big bastard through the trees.

“Did you name your horse Taxes?” Soap asked bewildered, finally breaking the creepy/smug facade.

“She’s not my horse, I didn’t name her,” Ghost answered absently, wondering if he was about to have to go stomping through the woods to find her.

Sure, he was the only one she let brush her mane and the only rider she hadn’t bucked, but she was still just one of the horses in the stables. He doesn’t know why she was named Taxes, but it was what she answered to (when she felt like it) so Ghost had to stick with it.

“Why is she—?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t name her,” Ghost repeated himself firmly, not in the mood to play 20 questions over things he didn’t have control over. Ghost whistled again louder, stood perfectly still, and tried to listen out for any sign of her. Nothing.

“I think I heard her over that way,” Soap said after dead silence, pointing further into the woods.

“Really?” he asked sarcastically, wondering what devious scheme the god had cooking up.

“Aye,” Soap responded without the smug inflection from earlier. Ghost took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose and mourn the loss of his sanity. He knew that if he didn’t follow Soap’s directions, the god would make him comply one way or another. He might as well go with the least painful option.

Ghost picked up his neglected helmet and handed it to Soap. He walked a few steps forward before turning around, pointing at the armor piece and clarifying, “That is not an offering.”

Soap’s face went from passive to mischievous. “Aww, Ghost you shouldn’t have!” he said in a saccharine voice, looking at the helm like it was some great gift.

“You’re not special, you’re a coat rack,” he corrected, hoping to nip whatever that was in the bud. It didn’t work.

“I’m honored,” the god replied, ignoring Ghost’s words. Now mourning the potential loss of his helmet as well as his sanity, Ghost headed in the direction Soap had pointed, dreading whatever trap he was strolling into.

It wasn’t much walking, but with every step Ghost felt like he was dooming himself by blindly following Soap’s directions. Not once did he hear the hoofbeats or whinnying that Soap claimed to.

He justified the stupid decision by reminding himself of all the horrendous torture the god could inflict if he defied instruction. Like being forced to talk to him. Ghost shuddered at the thought.

Surprisingly, he soon heard Taxes snorting in frustration… As well as a whispered voice.

“Shh! No, go away! Please shoo!”

Ghost looked back to Soap but he just had that dumb, empty, passive smile. On instinct he drew his halberd and quietened his steps. There were too many dead leaves and crackling sticks on the ground to be silent, but with whoever the voice belonged to being distracted, they would likely dismiss the noise as the footsteps of some other animal.

He had no idea who this stranger was, only knowing that he didn’t recognize their voice and that his horse was interested in bothering them. Approaching with his polearm drawn may have been overkill, but if the person was dangerous, it would give him more distance and possibly discourage them from attacking.

The noise was coming from a small, rocky dell with a few scattered boulders. Ghost could see the tail end of his stupid horse messing with something behind one of the boulders. The voice continued shushing the animal, trying in vain to get her to go away.

Taxes was stomping around in annoyed frustration when she noticed her rider slowly approaching. She shook her head in a way that seemed to say, “Oh, good, you take it from here,” before casually walking towards them.

The voice sighed in relief at the horse leaving, not noticing the extra pair of footsteps. Soap took her reins, unnaturally silent as he walked her to the side. Ghost inched closer and rounded the boulder, coming face to face with the stranger.

A kid. The stranger was a kid.

They were covered in blood, they were scared, and they wore the enemy’s insignia on their tunic.

The kid was frozen like a deer staring down its hunter. Their eyes widened seeing the weapon pointed at them, somehow getting wider when they saw who was wielding it. They scrambled up, having to leverage themselves by pushing with their leg and pulling themselves up the rock with their hands.

It was only when they were “standing” that Ghost found the source of the blood. They had a few small cuts and a gash on their arm that looked like it hurt, but the blood covering them was mostly from the poorly wrapped wound on their leg. They held the leg up and off the ground, barely keeping themselves balanced.

The startled deer was gone and replaced by a feral animal, one ready to claw and maim its way to safety if it had to. They were still scared, but they didn’t care to hide it, brandishing the small dagger they had with shaky, bloodsoaked hands and a readiness to kill. Glancing between him and Soap, it was like they didn’t know who to focus their threat on, eyes lingering on Soap despite Ghost being the one armed.

“I’m not being taken prisoner.”

He was surprised by the conviction in the kid's voice, especially given the way they were wheezing. Ghost glanced over to Soap but he still had that look on his face, like he was trying to be an impartial third party but was too invested to pull it off.

Ghost was too much of a bloodthirsty monster to have any level of mercy left. At least, that’s what the rumors claimed. That he’d have no problem striking the kid down where they stood or tying their hands and presenting them to the general as a prisoner of war, a potential source of information.

To have someone in his grasp who could spill any and every secret would make the general very happy. So happy in fact, that Ghost might receive praise for the first time in years, might get a better cot, might get a warmer blanket, might get his first taste of freedom that he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for.

Ghost lowered his polearm.

The kid didn’t waiver, or they didn’t drop their guard at least. They were still shaking so much, likely from an awful combination of fear, adrenaline, and blood loss. He looked back to Soap again, who now had a small smile. Bastard.

Ghost clenched his teeth and turned to the kid. “Alright, sit down.”

It wasn’t a request, but the kid still didn’t listen.

“Fuck no!” they shouted with enough vitriol and venom to put a snake to shame, “You stay the hell away from me!”

Ghost stepped to the side to set down his weapon out of reach from the other but they thought it was an attack and tried to respond in kind. They made a wide, defensive slash but Ghost wasn’t close enough for their limited range of motion and they stumbled, falling forward.

He dropped his weapon, grabbing their arms and almost pushing them to one side to keep their injured leg from bearing any weight. They didn’t take kindly to that and fought hard, trying their damndest to give him a new hole in his chest but the exhaustion was catching up to them.

It was child’s play to disarm them and throw the knife to the ground. They fell and Ghost tried to slow their descent as much as he could, but it didn’t change much. Wheezing heavier, they wore an expression Ghost knew very well.

Resignation.

He knew there was nothing he could say to calm them even if his social skills weren’t mediocre at best. They looked up through the trees like this would be their last chance to see the sky and refused to look at Ghost.

“Soap, can you get my canteen and br—” Ghost turned and cut himself off, Soap standing right next to him holding the canteen. He didn’t know what godly fuckery that was and he didn’t care to ask.

“Do you have any clean bandages?” he asked the kid. He was not expecting an answer, but to his surprise, the kid pointed over to his right to something Ghost couldn’t see. Soap took the initiative and grabbed what turned out to be a bag, sorting through it and pulling out the medical supplies.

Ghost went through the motions, setting up bandages and rope, preparing to stop the bleeding if need be. He glanced up and saw Death holding their hand, soothing them, and he once more thought back to the mural.

Gods, please don’t let this kid die.

For all the rumors, Ghost wasn’t completely heartless. He had seen hundreds of kids exactly like this one, had slain a lot of them himself. He wasn’t proud of it, it was horrid, but sometimes the only nicety he could offer was to make sure they didn’t suffer. In the world he lived in, a quick death was the closest thing to mercy a person could get.

The kid could very well be in their twenties, what most would consider a young adult, but they were still too young for this, for warfare, for the resignation of knowing that Death was kind. Soap sent him a jagged look that cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Then do something.

He carefully pulled the dirty bandage away but as he expected, there was too much blood to see anything. With his thumb over the opening to control the flow, Ghost poured some of the water onto the site, just enough to get a visual.

A deep gash lay under all of the dirt and debris, resting at a diagonal across the shin, being deepest towards the knee. He could see where the bone fractured, the white sat starkly prominent amongst the blood.

Ghost was very well acquainted with emergency medicine, but this was the first time in a while that he wasn’t performing it on himself. The kid was staring at the wound, shaking and looking like they were on the verge of tears. Whether it was from fear, pain, or both, Ghost didn’t know.

“What’s your name, kid?” Ghost asked, attempting to be nice and help them calm down.

“Not a fucking kid, asshole,” the kid huffed out. Ghost took a second to grieve that this was how the interaction was going to go.

“Well ‘Not-A-Fucking-Kid-Asshole,’ what’s your position?” Keep them distracted and don’t let them panic. That was all he really remembered about performing first aid on someone else.

He didn’t have anything that would be needed to fix an open fracture out in the woods and even if he did, Ghost wouldn’t trust himself with a more advanced procedure. He needed to get them moved, to find a town that had someone capable of helping them.

“Laying on the ground,” they answered. He couldn’t tell if they were doing it intentionally or not.

Giving them the benefit of the doubt, he prompted, “Archer, foot soldier, cavalry…?” The bleeding seemed to have slowed a good bit and he began carefully wrapping their leg. It wasn’t sterile, neither the wound nor the bandages, but he didn’t have any other choice. He’d just have to hope that the town had a reliable source of clean water.

“Medic.”

That would explain the bag and the lack of armor. And made everything worse. If it were someone without medical knowledge, he could feed them whatever lies they needed to hear and be done with it. Instead, they both knew that an open fracture in the middle of nowhere could easily prove fatal.

“What happened?” Mechanism of injury wouldn’t help much here, but it might give him another topic to springboard off of.

They took a moment to parse through everything that happened, eventually landing on a simple explanation. “Someone swung at me. Didn’t crawl away fast enough.”

Hoping to keep the string of questions, Ghost asked, “Why were you on the field?”

“I was trying to save people!” they shouted with vigor, the venom that had poisoned their tone earlier coming back in droves.

Ghost internally winced; In hindsight, that definitely was not the innocent, distracting question he was going for. He tied off the bandage and waited until after he was sure it wasn’t too tight to speak again.

“What’s your name?” Ghost asked again, this time with a softer tone.

All of that energy left them with a quickness and they slumped like their fight was gone. No no no, keep them up, keep them talking.

The resigned look was back as they answered, “My friends call me Badger.”

“Why?” He splinted their leg, keeping the supports away from the wound.

The kid sighed like it was a story they were tired of repeating, “I got bit by a badger.” They held up their left arm where there was indeed a bite scar just above their wrist.

“That’ll do it,” he responded sympathetically. Ghost knew the horror of being stuck with a stupid nickname. “Do you know if you’re hurt anywhere else?”

Waiting on an answer, Ghost cleaned up and wrapped the smaller cut on their arm. It wasn’t as threatening as the leg wound, but he had no doubt it stung with a fury.

“I… don’t think so?”

“Good,” he still checked them over himself, making sure nothing major had been missed. “Come on. You still need a proper medic.”

He whistled for Taxes to come closer and helped the kid stand, going to their uninjured side and supporting them. He put their arm around his shoulder and held onto their wrist, hoping to keep them up and steady.

The absurdity of the situation got too much and the kid asked, baffled, “Who the hell are either of you?”

It was a fair question, but one that still made Ghost chuckle as he answered, copying their earlier reply, “My… ‘fellow soldiers’ call me Ghost,” He turned slightly, freeing a hand to point to the god of death, “And that thing there is Soap.”

Soap gave him a look. He wasn’t sure if it was over getting called a thing or giving them his name, but Ghost sure as hell wasn’t introducing him as Death itself. He tried walking forward but the kid had stopped in their tracks and he turned to check on them.

The look of fear was back. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t have told them Soap’s name.

They hesitantly asked, “Ghost?”

“Yes?”

“Like, THE Ghost?”

He just looked at them, confused. He glanced at Soap but, with the god being a bastard, he didn’t offer any help. Ghost prompted them to walk forward and they thankfully did, as distracted as they were.

“Big, scary, murderer-y motherfucker? Shit, you are, aren’t you!”

“…I suppose?” Ghost wasn’t aware that his name lived in infamy amongst the opposing army.

He practically carried them for the few steps it took to get from where they had been sitting to his horse. He made sure Taxes was still calm and began thinking about what would be the least painful way to get them up.

Gods, how the hell did he get here?

“Ah shiiit.”

That was all they had to add. He heard Soap snort behind him. Ghost wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to their savior being identified or them realizing that they’d have to mount a horse with a busted leg.

Deliberating for only a moment more, and seeing the remnants of fear in their eyes, Ghost asked Soap, “Can you ride a horse?”

“Yeah,” Soap replied with too much confidence and bravado to take his word for it.

Instead of outwardly calling his bluff, Ghost just gestured to the horse. Soap walked up and stared for a moment, wearing the face of someone who just realized they would have to face the consequences of their lie but was still unwilling to admit defeat.

To his credit, he mounted with only minor issues and only looked a little awkward. Ghost was ready to chalk it up to not being used to being human or Taxes just being too damn tall, but Soap accidentally called himself on the lie.

“Oh I actually do,” Soap muttered to himself in surprise.

Ghost wanted to put his head through a wall, be it his own or Soap’s, he didn’t care.

Instead of thinking about that, he turned the kid so their back was to the horse. Ghost didn’t sugarcoat his words, keeping it straightforward, “I’m going to pick you up and put you on the horse. It’s going to hurt. A lot. When you’re up, I need you to grab Soap so you don’t fall.”

They nodded. They still looked scared, but at least they seemed to trust him enough to follow his directions.

“Deep breath,” he told them, waiting for the order to be followed. When they did, Ghost hoisted them up on the horse. Their eyes scrunched closed and they only just remembered to grab on, clinging to Soap’s tunic with both hands in a white knuckled grip.

With both of their legs on one side, they were barely able to stay up, somewhat leaning back to counterbalance themselves. Their head was down like they wanted to curl in on themselves but were in too much pain to even do that.

Intentionally choosing not to think about how much pain the kid must have been in, he grabbed the kid’s discarded knife, holstered his halberd and made his way out of the forest. He wasn’t familiar with the area, but he wanted to avoid walking the kid back through the meadow-turned-battleground if he could.

He glanced back occasionally, making sure both riders were still there and that the kid wasn’t getting worse. Soap, thankfully, wasn’t in a vanishing mood and even made sure to hold off obtrusive branches so they wouldn’t hit the kid.

It didn’t take long before the two riders got bored of the silence and began idly chatting. Ghost just carried on, trudging through the bush and making an active effort to appreciate the background noise instead of getting annoyed. After several minutes of walking in one direction, a clearing gave way and an unpaved road appeared before them.

Ghost looked back and forth, hesitant on which direction to take. Unsure of what else to do, Ghost walked them to the road and did a little soul searching before deciding to lead them west. Three steps in, Soap wordlessly reached forward and tugged the reins to the side, silently telling him to go east. Once again, he didn’t bother asking.

Maybe the closest town was east. Maybe he didn’t want the sun in his eyes. Either direction had to lead somewhere eventually, he just hoped Soap wasn’t leading them astray.

When the chattering began to peter off, Ghost checked on the others once more, a bolt of fear going through him when he saw the kid had their eyes closed and was wobbling in place.

“Kid,” he called, stopping the horse. He got no response. He called louder, “Badger!”

His panic fizzled out quickly when they yawned and rubbed one of their eyes, slowly looking at Ghost with a confused expression. He sighed.

Ghost’s guard shot back up with a fury when he heard two horses approaching from behind. Hand drifting to his sword, he knew there was no way they hadn’t been spotted and even if they hadn’t, there was nothing around to use for cover.

He stood casually and waited. Two men on horseback slowed as they approached. They made no move for weapons and preemptively gave the trio a wide berth. When they were close enough for a proper visual, Ghost saw they were simple couriers and nothing more.

The one on the left called out, “Are you alright?”

It seemed more curious than concerned. Ghost didn’t answer the question, instead asking his own when they got closer, “Are you headed into town?”

Lefty looked between Ghost and his partner, eventually answering with a slight scoff, “I don’t know if I’d call it a town, but yeah, we are. ‘You need something?”

Ghost bristled at the way he asked the second part, like he was excited, like he was hoping they could fleece some money out of three weary travelers. They stopped next to them; Their horses looked haggard and antsy, shifting in place and unable to stand still.

Soap didn’t share Ghost’s sudden disdain, or at least chose to converse in spite of it. “Yes, we do. Could ye’ tell whatever medic is in town to expect a patient with a broken leg soon?”

Ghost’s mistrust was justified as the one on the right chose to speak up. Righty looked between the two soldiers, likely noting that they were from warring factions and chuckled, “Sure, but it’ll cost ya.”

Ghost reflected on Soap’s words from what felt like ages ago, about being kind, but not pacifistic. Ghost didn’t want to resort to violence, he wanted to willingly choose it. The obvious neglect of their horses and the way they were excited about possibly getting to scam money out of people who needed help was justification enough to have his sword hand twitching.

There was a sniffle behind him as the kid spoke, “I think I need help.”

Ghost and the two couriers were surprised to see them crying with their bottom lip wobbling and everything. The two looked very uncomfortable, but not quite convinced.

The kid choked out while shaking their head, “Please, I jus’ wanna go home— I want to see my mom.” They looked ashamed of the way their voice broke, ducking to hide behind Soap’s back.

That did it.

Lefty grumbled, “Fine.” And that was that.

They first picked up a trot, but then a canter, wanting to get away from the scared, crying child as fast as they could. He watched the dirt they kicked up in their wake, confused, before he turned back to check on the kid.

The kid, who with tear tracks smearing the dirt on their face, quietly smirked, “Ha, fucking suckers!”

Ghost had to take a moment to process what just happened. Soap processed it faster than he did, covering his mouth to quiet his surprised snickers.

The kid, scared and bleeding with an open fracture — and half-asleep — heard two scammers trying to weasel money out of the trio and decided to scam them back harder.

Once he got over his own shock, Ghost was genuinely impressed, telling the kid as much. He’d never seen a guilt trip be so successful before.

With none of the prior sadness, the kid enthused with only slight traces of sleepiness in their voice, “Thanks, I don’t even have a mom!”

Ghost was disappointed in himself for almost laughing at the grim joke and shook his head. He stared off into space, the kid making him take yet another moment to process the new bit of information.

His processing of the last few minutes complete, he tugged the reins, urging Taxes further down the dirt road. Hopefully the guilt trip was not just a success at scaring the two con-artists away but also procuring them an appointment.

…

It was only an hour and a half of walking before they arrived.

As much of an asshole as he may have been, Lefty was right about it not being a town; It was more a village that took a few too many years to remember that it needed proper buildings.

It wasn’t long before they found the “medical center.” It looked like it had once been a home, but repurposed as the area and demand for treatment grew. There were a few people standing outside, apparently awaiting their arrival with a cot at the ready.

Ghost hitched Taxes and walked to her side. The kid had been in and out of sleep the entire journey and Ghost told himself they were just tired from everything that had happened and nothing more, to just not think about it.

“Kid, Badger, wake up,” he said, patting their uninjured leg. They didn’t, still wobbling in place, their forehead resting on Soap’s shoulder. Soap said nothing when Ghost looked to him for an answer, like the god would have told him if the kid was going to make it.

Ghost was thinking about it.

He shook his head like he could shake off the cynical thoughts and carefully grabbed the kid. He made sure to move them as gently as possible, not wanting to wake them up with a spike of pain.

They did not wake.

Ghost set them on the cot and the people nodded.

He watched as they moved the kid inside, not turning away until the door closed. Soap had dismounted at some point and was feeding Taxes an apple he likely took from Ghost’s bag, his helmet still under Soap’s arm.

Wordlessly, Ghost grabbed her reins and got on, holding out his hand for Soap to pass over his helm. Soap did not move, staring at him.

“I think you did the right thing.” Soap said it like it was a statement of fact, not trying to reassure either of them, but just pointing out the obvious.

Ghost stayed silent, still holding out his hand and waiting for the last piece of his armor to be handed over. After far too long (less than 15 seconds), Soap relented, having to reach up to give it back. Ghost did not leave.

“You knew the kid was there,” Ghost stated, not asking, because he already knew the answer.

“Aye,” Soap confirmed, for once being completely candid.

“And you wanted me to save him.”

Soap gave a non-committal hum, “Something like that.”

“Why?” Ghost asked, knowing he wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer.

“You tell me,” the god replied, like he was a teacher asking if he learned his lesson in morality for the day.

“No,” Ghost responded, refusing to join the verbal dance the other tried to initiate, “I’m done, you got your entertainment. Good day, Soap.”

Before he could direct Taxes out of town, he saw Soap smile, some aggravating mix between victorious, smug, and genuine. He ignored the rude and abrupt exit, answering to Ghost’s back, “Yes, good day, Ghost.”

Ghost rode out of town, only barely resisting the urge to curse out the god for having the audacity to be better at being a thorn in someone’s side than he was.

Fuck, he needed a nap.

#check ao3 for more tags n shit; idk what all needs a tw so please keep yourself safe!#but (i think) this ch is pretty tame save for my insistence on pretending i know proper medical procedure #tbh i feel bad tagging ships cause this is more plot than ship unfortunately :(#ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #forgotten death au #my writing #hello person reading the tags i hope sleep comes easily to you when you need it

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