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villainofmyownstory · 6 months ago

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Day Zero chapter 3

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pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: Meeting another person after 2 years of loneliness was not supposed to be like this.

tags: AFAB reader, plus size reader, dog german shepherd, alcohol, weapon

author's note: I don't know... I'm not satisfied with this chapter. I think I reread it and edited it too many times. From this chapter, what happens after days 730... will be in the present tense because, for example, in the next chapter we will return to day 64, of course it is described in the past tense, so it just seems logical to me. I'm not changing chapters 1 and 2, I hope you don't mind. I think I've been spending too much time on this story and I'm starting to think too much.

Thank you all for your positive feedback. You don't even know how much this means to me <3

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Chapter 3: The one when you met

Day 730

Ghost

There are plenty of things in this damn city that he will never run out of. When Ghost was left almost alone, with Riley by his side of course. Already in the first days, the man noticed that there were things here that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Even when he's gone, many of these items will remain in his warehouses for years to come.

Ironically, what he needed the least, alcohol and clothes.

He was never a demanding person. He didn't expect much from life. He was a rather simple man. A roof over his head, a supply of food, a place to train and peace of mind. So when he realized that this city was only his, he was very happy and satisfied. Not that he hated people. It was just better when they were as far away from him as possible. Somewhere in the background, preferably far from his sight and hearing. For many years he felt irritated by the closeness of another person. Of course, there were a few people who managed to get under the lieutenant's shell and understand his moods, behavior and motivations. However, there were few of them. That's right, they were.

In the army, he worked with several people. For many years he had no one outside of work. No family. No other relatives or friends. So when the captain sent him to a well-deserved rest after another long and hard mission. Ghost couldn't find his place for the first few days. He was simply irritated by mundane, everyday things. Going to the bank, store, clinic or even the gym. Too many people. Everywhere. Constant conversations, gesticulations. Noise.

Too much.

So he was grateful for the development of technology. When he could finally sit in front of his computer in the comfort of his own home and get things done in the office or via an app on his phone. The less contact with other people, the better. That's what he thought.

Now that Riley is missing, the soldier wonders about the meaning of his life. If the world had in some way done him a favor by removing other people from his surroundings, why did he have to take away the one being that made him feel alive. That his life has any meaning.

He wasn't a monster. Of course not. It wasn't like he was hoping for some kind of annihilation of humanity, that he would be the sole survivor on earth and be able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He just wanted some peace, on his terms.

However, he felt no sadness or regret as he patrolled the empty streets or checked another empty building.

He had lost too many loved ones in the past to grieve over nameless strangers now.

He shouldn't drink. He knows it perfectly well. Two years. 730 days of sobriety. He had promised himself that big day, he had promised Riley, that he would never feel that burning liquid in his throat again. So that he won't become such a madman when alcohol starts circulating in his system again.

So that he does not become his own father. He couldn't even think of this person as someone close to him. Disgusting creature. Reflective sadists. Sperm donor and that's it. Which should never have existed. He buried that monster a long time ago. Just like Ghost buried his own self.

Apart from losing Riley, this was the man's greatest fear in his life. That by drinking alcohol and getting closer to people, he would show them who he really was. That he was just like his twisted psychopathic father.

And he didn't want to be like that, he couldn't. He preferred to hide behind the façade of a domineering, boorish lieutenant in a mask. Pushing others away from himself. The further, the better. He didn't want to hurt anyone.

He preferred to be alone.

He wore a mask almost all the time. He hid his face from the world. He never showed his true self. He hid his identity and the man he was behind a piece of cloth.

Now that it was just him and the dog, he didn't have to cover his face.... And although sometimes in the morning he was looking for a black mask on the nightstand out of habit, he got used to the pleasant feeling of air on the skin of his face. If necessary, he placed a few masks here and there. Just in case someone, somehow showed up in his town.

Now, standing in the pantry with his heart pounding, he unhesitatingly reaches to the back of one of the shelves where he hid the alcohol.

He purposely hid the bottles in the back of the cabinets behind other things so that every time he looks here, he won't notice the colorful bottles at all.

So that nothing would tempt him.

Pulling out a bottle of bourbon, he moved the cans of food and didn't hesitate. He feels that if he does not immediately drown his sadness in a glass of amber drink, he will not be able to bear the pain of another loss. Looking at the label, he smiles to himself. Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve 15 years 107 proof*. Searching the homes of these rich people had some benefits. Rich motherfuckers who didn't know what to do with their money bought everything expensive. The more zeros in a line, the better.

When he returns to the office, he doesn't even look at the surveillance system.

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Day 731

Ghost

He lost himself. He drank himself unconscious. It was long after sunrise, it is even after noon.

“Dammit”

Ghost mutters, slowly getting up from the chair he fell asleep in a few hours earlier.

He should have been looking for the dog since dawn. He shouldn't give up. He shouldn't lose hope. However, when he lost sight of the dog, something inside him broke. It reminded him too much of the previous two times he'd lost loved ones. He lost control again. Something thwarted his plan. He lost his stability. Monotony, life according to plan.

Barely walking, tripping over his feet and knocking several things off the dresser, he reaches the bathroom. He doesn't care about anything anymore. Everything is the same to him.

When rinsing her face with water, he does not look at her reflection in the mirror. He can't look into his own eyes. Again, he directs his steps to the pantry. To get another bottle. Ghost has already lost count, another bottle to forget.

It didn't matter. It's just that nothing makes sense anymore.

Wobbling on his feet, he returns to the small room, sits in the chair at the desk and takes a few sips straight from the bottle. Regret - he finally feels it. Another sip. Drown, drown. And he only hopes that alcohol will soothe this feeling, that it will help him fill the void he feels after Riley's disappearance.

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Day 732

Ghost

Another day of drinking. Once he touched his lips and felt a sharp substance with his tongue. And he fell into a trance again. It was hard to break out of it. Constant drinking. Vicious circle. Another bottle and another. Let it burn, sting, hurt. Just to feel something. Physically.

Finally, as if something was calling to him, he struggled to get up from the chair and dragged the body to the kitchen, he decided he had to do something. Anything other than just sitting here. With a lot of thinking, wondering, blaming. He's not a victim, he's not. He has to look for the dog. Keep going. He can't show weakness. Even before himself. He felt a little embarrassed. That he gave up again. Too quick and easy. He looks at the mess he probably left behind the night he drunkenly tried to make himself something to eat.

“I'll deal with it later,” he muttered, heading towards the dressing room. Trying to keep his balance, he stops in the hall, next to the small surveillance room, and freezes.

One screen was active. Detected movement.

"Fuck..." Ghost is angry with himself, pissed off. That he hadn't thought about sitting in front of the screens and looking at the city earlier. But now wasn't the time to blame himself or dwell on the situation. He must finally take action.

Looking at the screen, the soldier can't believe his eyes. He not only sees his beloved dog on the screen. Who slowly walks through one of the streets. In the live footage, he sees a figure walking.

Person.

Alive.

Without thinking, he quickly runs to his room to change and grab his gun. It's definitely an ambush. No one in their right mind would wander in the middle of the street in a strange city in the middle of the day. With a dog by my side.

Bait.

Surely the rest of the group was waiting somewhere outside the city or on the roofs of buildings. He has to do something, he has to get Riley back. Adrenaline stimulates his body, his thoughts flow in one direction. Bring Riley home. Punish those who had the nerve to steal his dog.

He had never driven under the influence of alcohol, but he had no choice. It would take him too long to walk downtown, and he couldn't let the intruders get any closer to his house. Or worse, they'll leave town with his dog.

Besides, the only danger in driving a car in such an environment was himself. And he doesn't care about his own health and life.

Before leaving, he checks the camera again, the figure slowly approaches the City Hall building.

"Easy target" Ghost smiled, plenty of space to capture. He loads his gun and runs out the door as fast as he can, his fingers firmly wrapped around the sniper rifle.

While driving through the city streets, he tries to focus on driving straight, but at the same time he is constantly looking around for a potential threat. It definitely has to be a larger group, Ghost is expecting several people. To his surprise, however, he doesn't notice anything unusual.

Finally he stops and he leaves the car a few blocks from the town hall and starts walking towards it. He hopes he's not late. That the intruder and his dog hadn't moved too far.

There were rather low buildings near the town hall, so a block earlier he turned left and headed to one of the skyscrapers, from where he would have a better view. A better place to attack. However, there is no time to enter it. He freezes in place because he hears Riley barking and then a human voice. A woman's voice.

“Shit…”

He muttered through his teeth. Of course he might have expected a group of travellers to send a woman or a child out to scout. To stir up sympathy only to have someone lose their guard.

He has to play it differently. He looks around the street and decides to enter the restaurant on the corner, remembering that there is a passage inside and he will have a perfect view of the street where the town hall was located. As he walks through the abandoned building, he mentally curses himself for drinking so much. Adrenaline helps him focus and stay upright, but he fears what will happen if he ends up having to aim his gun. When he reaches the storefront overlooking City Hall, he freezes.

Woman pets Riley tenderly and happily says something to him.

Dog seemed to sense his presence because it sits on its hind legs and looks towards the building where the soldier is.

Without thinking, Ghost raises his gun and takes aim.

He must get the dog back and show the strange travelers that they cannot take what is his. That he is in charge.

Fractions of seconds. Ghost pulls the trigger, shoots. The woman falls forward. Without even realizing the threat standing in the dark building in front of her. She falls, but not from the shot. There is not a single drop of blood. No screaming in pain.

It was Riley who pulled her over. He saved her. He protected her from the bullet.

Assessing the situation, Ghost quickly leaves the building and continues to aim his gun at the lying woman.

He didn't expect this development, of all the possible scenarios that went through his head. He did not foresee, despite years spent on the battlefield, reading thousands of training materials.

That the dog would be against him and protect some random stranger.

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Day 732

You

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible to rationally connect the facts: the shot, Riley pulling the leash and the fall. So much, in a split second.

But the only thing that is echoing in your head right now is whether or not Riley is okay.

So you don't notice the massive, tall and masked figure slowly walking towards you... The first thing you should do is check the condition of the dog. Riley. That's all that matters to you. You sit on your lap and look closely at the dog.

“Riley, oh boy, are you okay? Show yourself".

You check the dog, and after making sure that the dog is alright, you find no trace of blood or the slightest injury. Relieved, you slowly get back to your feet. Straightening up, you finally see with horror the figure standing in front of you who wanted to shoot you a moment ago. And now it's starting to dawn on you what just happened. What is really happening and that you are in great danger. You open your mouth and then close it, repeating this action several times, you want to say something. But what can you say at a time like this? No words come out of your throat.

“Stand where you're standing and let go of the leash”

The masked man growls lowly, slowly turning his gaze from you to the dog, slowly stepping closer to the two of you.

“Raise your hands above your head and don't move.”

You shiver with fear, chills running through your body. The sound of a man's low voice, any human voice other than yours after many months. Weird feeling. Irrational.

After a while, you finally recover and slowly raise your hands.

“Let go of damn leash!”

You look at the man with fear. It occurs to you that this must be the same man who left the letter on the tower. Anyone else could be masked and not call themselves Ghost. He was tall, well built. He was dressed in tactical gear, a bulletproof vest and... a mask. This was no ordinary balaclava. A skull was attached to the material. The front part, with a fragment of the upper jaw, eye sockets, and forehead. It must have been a human skull. You involuntarily shiver harder in fear, trying to take a deeper breath. This was not what meeting another human being was supposed to be like. This wasn't what you expected.

Ghost will raise his gun higher, still pointing it at you.

“Riley. Heel.., come here"

He calls to the dog, breaking the terrible, prolonged silence. The confused dog stands up and takes one step towards the soldier. But he doesn't go any further.

“This… this dog is mine”

The words finally fall out of you, you muster up your courage and whisper, keeping your eyes on the man

“Don't take him away from me. Not again.”

“Your dog? I think you've got something wrong"

Ghost growled, clearly annoyed. His arm muscles visibly tense, this entire exchange makes no sense to him. Waste of time.

"Y-yes, he's mine..."

You start to say, trying to control the emotions you're feeling. You slowly lower your hands.

“I can prove it. Just let me”

Regardless of the fact that the gun is constantly pointed at you, you have to prove it to him and keep the dog with you. No matter what, at any cost. You want to reach into your backpack and take out that old worn-out photo that you still carry with you to this day. One of the few souvenirs you have kept from your past life.

“Hands up, damn it, I'm not playing any games. Give the dog back and leave town."

Ghost shouts, you can see that he is becoming more and more irritated by your behavior.

“You can take everything you find and leave my city. Riley stays where he belongs - with me."

You shake your head negatively, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying not to cry

“No, the dog is mine.”

“Oh, damn it, I don't have all day for unnecessary discussions. Tell your people not to come back here again. Or at least have the courage to show up in person and not send a woman. Pathetic".

As he says this, he finally lowers the gun and pats his thigh, trying to get the dog's attention.

“Riley! Heel!”

Thinking little, or probably not thinking at all, you reached into your backpack and opened the zipper, looking for a photo.

“Dammit, kid, you don't understand what I'm telling you. Leave the dog and fuck off."

You don't care anymore, if you were to leave this city without your dog, you'd rather die here. Now, at this moment.

You take out the photo, which you have carefully secured to prevent any further damage. You raise your hand, holding the photo, and try to stop it from shaking. Despite your emotions, you calmly say to masked man

"Look, this is my dog. Mine. Look, Riley's missing a piece of his ear. You see? Dog in this photo doesn't have it either…”

The man hesitates for a moment, but decides to approach and take a closer look at the photo in your hand.

“That doesn't prove anything,” Ghost starts to say, but you interrupt him

"What do you mean? How many dogs of this breed have such a wound? How many have a black collar with an engraving on the back, with the exact name and phone number?"

As you say this, you state what is written on his collar

“You could take this off him and read it.”

"How do I know there's something written inside?"

There was silence. Another long, tiring one. You looked at each other without saying a word.

The man was taller than you and towered over you, his broad frame creating a shadow above you, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked at you. As if he was trying to read what was going on in your head.

You feel a little dizzy. The whole situation was so strange, so surreal. This wasn't what my first conversation with another human being in two years was supposed to look like. This wasn't how the first meeting was supposed to go. At least it wasn't what you imagined.

There's something wrong with the man across from you. Weird, dark, terrifying. His attitude irritates you and something inside you finally breaks. You explode.

“Ghost, listen…”

You started, raising your voice slightly

“I don't know what your intentions are, why you're so defensive about this town and this dog. But I came here alone! ALONE! I haven't seen a living person in two fucking years. I don't understand what kind of travelers you're talking about and why you don't want to admit that this dog is mine. But... but I don't want to leave, not after finding Riley."

When you say this, you look at the dog that sat between you and the soldier. Riley lay down, as if he was also tired of all the strange interaction between two people he knew, through which he was confused.

Ghost remains silent, never taking his eyes off you, as if wondering what to do. Pros and cons.

Finally, the sound of the watch interrupts his persistent gaze, and the man sighs loudly, as if resigned, and says

“Let's just say… I believe you. Temporarily”

The man secures the gun and hangs it on his shoulder. Seeing this, an involuntary smile appears on your face.

“Come on, kid, it's late. We have to go”

Ghost points to the sun, which is slowly starting to hide behind the buildings

"We'll finish this conversation somewhere else. Come on, both of you."

He waves his hand and points in the direction to go.

“Go ahead, I'll watch your back.”

The walk to the car doesn't take long, and you're glad that you won't have to walk another distance on your still scarred and aching legs.

"No way!"

You scream in shock when you see a large, dark pickup truck parked in the cul-de-sac.

“You have a working car! I couldn't find..."

Standing at the passenger door, a man interrupts you, stands next to the trunk and you open the hatch

“Riley, get in. You sit in the back too”

He points to the trunk of the pickup truck

"What? Are you kidding me?"

This man was behaving absurdly. You guess that years of loneliness made him unable to behave socially. He forgot what it was like to interact with another living person.

“Just. Get. In. And don't whine unless you want to walk to the tower. You know the way.”

The man looked at you without blinking.

“To the tower? Why are we going to the tower?”

You say in disbelief, letting go of another exchange of words, slowly climbing into the trunk and sitting down next to the dog. Ghost closes the trunk, making sure the dog is safe, and gets behind the wheel.

“We need to visit your companions. Since they're not in town, they're probably waiting for you there. You know my name, so you must have read the letter.”

As the car starts moving, you start to wonder if you did the right thing by getting into the trunk. Letting a stranger take you away, God knows where. There was something wrong with this man. He thought Riley was his and that you weren't coming to town on your own. Maybe he too, like you, has been living alone all these months. And he clearly couldn't cope with it. You hug the dog, just hoping that when you reach the tower, the man will finally believe you and let you stay.

Nevertheless, you did not want to be left on your own again. Only now did you feel how much you missed another living person. How much you needed to feel someone's presence. To know that you were not meant to live in isolation. You felt that the burden that had stuck with you through those many sleepless, weeping nights had finally fallen from your shoulders.

Maybe it was destiny. This was your fate.

So, you accept it already.

Even if from now on, you will have to live with this strange, mysterious man in a mask.

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#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod #ghost #call of duty fanfic #cod au #ghost x reader #dayzero💀

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pastshadows · 4 months ago

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 19: I Will Find You

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 4.8K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The constant drip, drip, drip of water raining from the stalactites is unnerving, and your fingers tremble as you set up the tent. Astarion wraps his hand around yours, giving it a small squeeze. He takes the metal stake from your quaking grip and hammers it into the stony earth.

“We should not have brought them.” You catch just a flit of Astarion’s crimson eyes as they flash to the side to leer at you accusingly. “Their hearts beating is like ringing a dinner bell.”

“They promised to stay in camp while you and I do the scouting,” you conclude in a clipped response.

The initial idea was for Astarion and you to go alone into the Underdark and search for the siblings whose scars did not match the parchment that was discovered in the derelict manor. You would have been able to convince Gale to stay behind with Hecat, but Shadowheart was as obstinate as ever, declaring that you would have need of a Cleric should things go south. It’s not common for you to lose arguments, but after hours of back and forth, you eventually conceded.

Gale, Hecat, and Shadowheart are all erecting their tents in a tense silence. A makeshift fire pit has already been situated in the middle of camp, crackling and popping with whatever wood you could scavenge.

“Lovely,” Astarion chirps with feigned cheeriness. “A stationary meal then, like a hobbled goat left out for wolves.”

“I tried,” you say under your breath, trying to keep the agitation out of your voice while unrolling bedrolls and placing furs. “They are not sheep I can shepherd. If you could have done a better job convincing them to stay behind, you were more than welcome to try your hand at it.”

He scoffs. “As if those imbeciles ever listened to me.”

“They just want to help.” You try to assuage his irritation.

“I know,” Astarion sighs, brushing his hands together to clean off the dirt. “I just wanted you all to myself again. I miss home — our home. Gale’s is lavish, but it’s becoming rather crowded as of late.”

You crawl into the tent, and Astarion joins you, holding his arm up for you to curl up next to him.

“I miss home, too,” you acknowledge. It may have started out a little rocky, but those days spent lounging in bed, talking, and making love from sunup to sundown fill your heart with longing to return. It had been nice to leave behind all of this and just be. It makes you rethink your decision not to pursue the deal offered by Aldous. “It was nice, just you and me.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a heavy exhalation. He buries his nose in your hair. “I cannot wait for this to be over, and we can return. We could buy a new residence if the other is too… painful.”

“Maybe,” you muse on the notion. “Where would you want to live?”

He shrugs. “It matters very little to me. Anywhere is home with you.”

“Even this tent?” You twist, crawling further into his lap, and he cradles you in his arms with a grin.

“Yes,” he coos softly. “Even this godsdamned tent.”

You brush your fingers through his hair and narrow your eyes mischievously. “You’re a terrible liar, Astarion.”

The crimson of his eyes burns, and he scoffs with a rumbling, deep laugh. “I said it’s home as long as you’re here. I did not say it was an acceptable accommodation for someone of my import.” He glances around. “There is very little room in here to do all the terribly depraved things I wish to do to you.”

“That never stopped you before,” you taunt back with a giggle.

“And it will not stop me now,” he purrs, dipping his head to mould his lips to yours. "I am a master of improvisation, after all."

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he tightens his grip on you, slipping a hand into your hair to hold you to his insistent mouth. Astarion sucks on your lower lip gently and takes advantage when you gasp, slipping his tongue in to tangle with yours.

“If you two are quite done canoodling in there,” Gale’s says from somewhere outside the tent. “The meal has been served.”

Astarion breaks the kiss abruptly to stare at the tent door with a vexed, furrowed brow. He leans close, keeping his voice low. “Canoodling? Truly? How old is he?”

You giggle at his ire. “What’s the problem? Don’t you want to canoodle with me?”

Astarion groans, rolling his eyes. “Decidedly not. I want to make love to you; commit the carnal sins of depravity, fuck. I do not canoodle.”

Kissing the tip of his nose, you taunt. “I see so much canoodling in the centuries to come, my love.”

“You’re terrible,” he grunts, pushing you away playfully. “Come. We need to get you fed lest your stomach growl and keep me up all night.”

“How bad does it smell?” You whisper.

“Bad,” he smirks. “Atrocious, if I am being totally honest. It’s times like these that I am thankful I do not have to sup on food.”

He was definitely not lying. The food is rather bland, and you would prefer not to eat it, but it’s either this or listening to Astarion complain about your growling stomach all night, so you shove spoonfuls into your mouth and try to focus on the conversation and not the taste.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Hecat share stories, though it’s mostly Shadowheart and Gale reminiscing while Hecat is enraptured and dazzled by every tale of daring they spew. It unsettles you to let her know this much of your past, but you cannot quite see the harm in it. They know well what to keep to themselves and mostly just tell her perfunctory random things.

“Did you really do that, dragon girl?” Hecat inquires, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Do what?”

“Allow a servant of Loviatar to beat you bloody?” Hecat grins widely. “And taunt him the entire time.”

You narrow your eyes at the pair, who are snickering like fools. Astarion chimes in before you can confirm or deny this. “Oh-yes. That was a splendid day,” he says dreamily. “So much blood, although a dreadful waste for it to end up on the filthy floors.”

“I seem to remember you enjoying yourself a little too much, Astarion.” Shadowheart quips blithely.

“Nonsense. There is no such thing as too much when it comes to watching others be beaten and bloodied by an imbecile in a costume,” he taunts deviously.

Gale shakes his head in disbelief. “I must say, I am glad I missed that particular spectacle. It sounds positively hedonistic.”

“Gods. You are truly as vanilla as they come, Gale.” Astarion laments with a smug undertone.

Gale’s brows furrow. “What’s wrong with vanilla?”

Shadowheart bursts out laughing, Hecat snickers, and Astarion cannot hide the jubilant chuckling even though he tries.

“Do you remember that time you got drunk on blood, Astarion? You came out of the forest, stumbling and slurring your words, looking for our fearless leader,” Shadowheart says, bringing her hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. “I do not believe I ever saw you in such a spectacular mood again.”

“My friend!” You mock him, and giggle when he shoots you a pointed look.

“Do you people even realize how much blood there is in a bear?�� Astarion grunts, crossing his arms to feign irritation and jutting his chin out pompously. “It would be comparable to you drinking a barrel of spirits to yourselves.”

“You can get drunk on blood?” Hecat asks, obviously astounded by this new information.

Her eyes sparkle with the firelight when she looks at him, and she swoons. It makes you bristle like an angry cat, but you manage to conceal it before you can scoff.

Astarion nods. “If there is enough of it, but it’s not exactly drunk, it’s more of a euphoria.”

“It’s drunk,” you retort quickly, shoving another spoonful into your mouth. “He couldn’t even stand without tripping over his own feet. I would never have believed he possessed the capability to be so positively ungraceful. Embarrassing, really.”

Astarion bumps you with his shoulder, making you almost spill your soup or stew. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what to call this connection.

“Ungraceful? Let’s not go throwing stones, sorceress. Glass houses, and all that.” His eyes narrow, and he tries to frown at you, but his eyes are glinting with amusement. He gets up and bows shallowly. “As delightful as his conversation has been, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire for the night before we can do any more of,” he waggles his fingers at the group. “This," he cringes.

“Me too,” you add in, taking his offered hand. “We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

Gale smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes. I’m positive you’ll be going straight into your trances. Rest well, you two.”

“Would you mind keeping it down tonight?” Shadowheart gibs with a snooty upturn of her nose. “It was a long night of travelling, and I would like to get some sleep.”

Hecat eyes rake over Astarion, and you flush, but not with embarrassment. You take what you hope looks like a normal step in front of him to shield him from her sultry gaze. In all truth, it’s less for him and more for you, but both things can be true.

“Hmm…” Astarion muses, tapping his chin with his finger. “Unlikely. We will canoodle as nosily as we please,” he chirps boisterously.

Shadowheart groans out loud , letting her head hang, and mumbles, “I’m going to cast Silence over your tent.”

Astarion smirks. “You must concentrate to keep that up, don’t you, flower? I wish you the best of luck. I am positive I can draw it out far longer than you can manage to stay awake.”

Gale nearly chokes on his food, going as red as Karlach. Shadowheart pats him hard on the back with a sly grin. “Hells below. Goodnight,” she finally says, chuckling and making her way to her tent.

When you crawl into your tent, Astarion digs through the pack and tosses you one of his shirts, which you quickly hurry into and slip under the furs.

He joins you quickly, his nimble fingers doing up the laces at the front of the shirt you’re wearing. “We cannot have you catching a chill.”

“I do not get grumpy!” You snort.

He smiles widely, the tips of his fangs peeking out from his perfect lips. “You get downright petulant,” he jeers. “Would you like to read or rest?”

“Read,” you confirm.

Astarion grabs the book, lays back, wraps an arm around you, and pulls you close. “Lights, my dear.”

Tiny, pinpoint spheres float from your palm into the air, like tiny golden stars. You read the pages with your head resting on his chest, and he turns them when you tap him with your finger. Before long, your eyes begin to flutter shut despite your attempts to keep them open.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, pulls the furs up, and tucks you in tenderly. You murmur, moving to push your face into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. The orbs of light ebb, blinking out one by one, and Astarion hums low and lyrical until you slip into your trance.

The Arcane Tower dominates the horizon with its spectral glow from the lit lamps. It’s simultaneously an unsettling and welcome sight. Though the devastation of the spawn on the environment can be seen on account of the skeletal remains of creatures large and small, none have crossed your path. It’s hard to know whether to be glad or alarmed by it. The last time you were overtaken without much warning.

“I would hear them long before they could descend on us,” Astarion assures, sensing the neurotic turbulence that’s making you grip your quarterstaff so hard that your knuckles are white and straining. “If I give the order, run and do not look back.”

Your brows pinch, and you exhale noisily through pursed lips. “You can give the order, but I will not run,” you retort, shaking your head. “If you think I will leave you, you’re out of your godsdamned mind.”

“They are less likely to attack me.” Astarion grunts with a pronounced sigh and a rigid scowl. “I will not smell like food to them, but you smell delectable.”

He doesn’t understand - can’t understand — how wild and raging they are because you’ve run from this conversation despite his repeated attempts to have it.

“Tell that to Sebastian,” you murmur dryly. You don’t pay any mind to what you said until you realize Astarion has stopped dead in his tracks and is staring at you wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Sebastian?” Astarion looks askance. “You saw him?”

The fondness in his voice is unmistakeable, and even though it is beyond silly, your jealousy spikes your blood with flames, and your heart rate soars on the wings of the envious monster you’ve become.

“He saved me last time I was here when I was attacked,” you reply tunelessly in an effort to keep the resentment out of your voice. This is not the time or place to have yet another conversation where Astarion reassures you, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. “He was the only one of the spawn that didn’t seem completely savage.”

Astarion’s head cants slightly, picking up on the revving engine that is your heart. He knows, you think, and you wait for him to react in one of two possible ways. He will either chastise or soothe, depending on his mood.

“That soft heart is what got the idiot killed in the first place,” Astarion remarks frivolously in that devil-may-care breeze he so easily encompasses.

It’s hard not to laugh at his flippant comment. Perhaps many would find it cavalier and uncaring, but to you, it’s wholeheartedly something Astarion would say.

“Humans are incredibly slow learners,” you quip back offhandedly with a rascally smirk while continuing down the path toward the village.

Astarion grins deviously. “That, coupled with their supremely short life spans, it’s a wonder they have not gone extinct.”

“There’s still time,” you concur.

“I think we should kill them,” Astarion blurts suddenly with furrowed brows, looking at his feet in contemplation.

“The humans?” You arch a brow at him, not quite following the switch.

“What? Hells. No. I have a casual relationship with murder, not genocide. Gods. What do you think of me?” He chuckles, smirking smugly, when you scoff at him. “The spawn. If we find them and they are beyond any hope of redemption, I think we should put them out of their misery. I likely should have done it when I had the chance. I had hoped they would be able to learn control, but if that’s not possible..." He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s what I would want should I ever find myself robbed of speech and reason again.”

You put your hand on his chest. His hands come to your waist, and his fingers firmly squeeze. “Whatever you want to do, Astarion, I support you. I will follow your lead.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are scarlet mirrors reflecting a canvas of sorrow and regret. “Thank you.”

Your footsteps on the rickety boards that make up the scaffolding in the abandoned village thump, echoing out into the cavernous crepuscule ceiling blanketing the lake. The boats that once carried you towards the old temple of Shar and the forge have scuttled themselves, lying on their sides with their masts reaching out like the arms of drowning men begging to be saved.

The village is as silent as the dead, except for the soft whooshing of waves brushing the banks of the shore. Astarion offers his hand and pulls you up the small cliff, and you both crane your necks to look at the tower dwarfing you.

“Do you hear anything?” You ask as your heart leaps into your chest with memories of watching his siblings deliberate your fate.

And subsequently begging them to let you die, which they obviously decided was not in their best interest.

“Nothing.” Astarion says with a frown. “They could be sleeping.”

The idea of walking through the floors of this place fills you with nothing but dread, and you swallow thickly, your muscles buzzing with something between adrenaline and terror. Astarion’s hand snakes into yours, and he holds your shaking fingers tightly.

“You do not have to go in there,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low in a timbre meant to soothe. “I am capable of searching the place by myself.”

Have you really become so timid that Astarion now offers to leave you behind and retrieve you when he’s finished? There was a time when he never doubted your ability to handle a situation, but it seems those times are long gone. Is it that he cannot trust you to react in time in the face of danger? Does he think you will fold like wet parchment?

The woman you were might be a memory, but you are sick of being afraid — of being the weak link. Most of all, you’re appalled by the pity you see reflected in his eyes as he looks at you like an abused pup.

Maybe you might not be who you were, but you have the chance to become whatever or whoever you want. For better or worse, a new you awaits, lurking just outside of the box you’ve built around yourself, addicted to this lonely kind of love that has done nothing but hurt.

She might be dead.

But you live.

You live.

You squeeze his hand, tugging him a little more harshly than you meant to toward you, grabbing his armour, and pulling his face down to your height. “Where you go, I go. Remember? Stop treating me like a child. You requested I stop being so gentle with you; I’d like the same curtsy.”

Astarion’s surprised expression morphs into a sly grin, and he closes the distance between you, catching your lips. You melt into him, pressing your body into his. He grips your hips, pressing them firmly into his, and grinds against you. It seems like an odd place for this sort of act, but you’re not complaining. It’s been some time since he’s taken you into the dirt.

Unfortunately, he breaks the kiss just as the throb between your legs makes you squeeze your thighs together for relief. “It’s been some time since you bossed me around like that with such delicious authority,” he grins. “I quite like it, you know,” he purrs.

Astarion turns quickly and gives you a gentle shove and a playful swat on the ass. “Come on, bossy thing. After you.”

You roll your eyes at him with a huff, but you cannot hide the yearning smile quirking your lips up and dazzling in your eyes.

You only make it a couple of steps before you hear his taunting voice. “And Kamena? If you want me to make love to you in the dirt, you have but to ask. I would be more than pleased to throw you down, let my hands explore every inch of you, map your goosebumps with my tongue, taste you.”

How would the old you have reacted to such lewd comments? No. How would the new me react? Who do I want to be?

You pivot quickly on your feet and walk backwards while he stalks toward you like a predator. His scarlet gaze is filled with a hungry desire that makes your flesh ache.

It’s time to start reacting without thinking. You were never innocent or soft-hearted, but you were sweet once upon a time. It no longer feels right. There is a new bitterness to you — a fiery bite.

You would rather be whisky neat than sweet tea.

“It makes me wet when you look at me like that, Astarion. If you’re not careful, I might request that you take me right here.” You purr low and seductively, and you relish the way his eyes light up.

Hedonism suits you.

Astarion chuckles, smirking mischievously. He taps his nose. “My love, I know you’re soaked. I hope the others have rested while we are doing all the hard work. I doubt they will be getting much sleep tonight.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darling,” you taunt, turning and hurrying toward the tower. “Gale and Shadowheart will be more than used to our… late-night trysts.”

“You’re a tease, Kamena.” He grumbles, adjusting his trousers. “This is not comfortable.”

“I’m happy to assist you out of that armour at your request,” you quip, and giggle when he groans.

“Good Gods. You’re cruel, sweetheart.” Astarion growls low and silvery, walking up to you and ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear. “Now, get going so we can get back to camp. I’m feeling rather peckish.”

Astarion drags his fangs down your neck — not enough to break skin, but it sends a pleasurable shiver cavorting down your spine with the promise of later. You don’t smother the breathy sigh that shakes out of your throat, and your core clenches involuntarily.

You groan and push forward, determined to scour this damned place as fast as you can so you can retreat to your tent. The massive front doors to the tower are already ajar when you approach, and the first floor holds nothing more than barrels, crates, shelves, and boxes. There are some signs of life with random articles of clothing strewn around, but they are covered in a thick layer of dust and sediment.

The third floor is likewise unoccupied, but there are random packs here. Astarion and you rifle through them but find very little to indicate who they belonged to. They could have been travellers, adventurers, or his siblings.

Or aventurers his siblings ate...

Astarion stands with his arms crossed by a bed when you glance toward him. Walking over, you follow his anchored gaze and see a doublet that he seems particularly interested in.

“Petras’s,” he mumbles.

“Was he always such an asshole?” You ask, remembering the way he wanted to eat you to get back at Astarion.

Astarion snorts out a small laugh. “He was always a snivelling idiot. We did not get along particularly well. Why?”

“I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” you shrug. It’s not exactly a lie. The way he talked to Astarion when you found him in the flophouse had made your blood boil, and you actually rather enjoyed watching Astarion burn him, but you refrain from telling him the whole truth.

He regards you with a highly arched brow, reading you the way he does, so you quickly move off toward the elevator to get out of his scrutiny. There is little point in telling Astarion the specifics. It would only create more animosity, and his siblings are the only family he has. You will not be responsible for the further deterioration of whatever relationship he has left.

In the event you die, from old age or otherwise, they might be the only thing he has left.

“Come on. We should keep moving.”

“In a rush, are we?” He saunters over.

“I have a date with my very charming, handsome lover that I wish to get to.” You wink at him, your foot hitting the button to go up to the fourth floor. “Post haste.”

The elevator ascends to the topmost floor. From what you recall, it’s mostly destroyed, and you doubt there would be any reason for his siblings to be there unless they were trying to watch for attacks. If that were the case, though, you imagine they would have made themselves known by now.

When the elevator clicks into place, your heart stops in your chest when you see the pale, snake-like grin of Aldous staring back at you with several other spawn poised just behind him.

“Sorceress,” he pouts sarcastically. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you would have been smart enough to recognize a good deal when it was offered.”

You scoff, turning your nose up, and your teeth grate together. Astarion growls, sliding in front of you with his daggers already held, poised and ready to kill. You cast Stoneskin on Astarion out of a reflexive habit.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Aldous chimes, his voice braided with choler. “It seems the odds between us have evened out, and I cannot wait to make you watch me drain her dry just as you did to me.”

Astarion laughs cruelly, snarling. “I enjoyed your death the first time, but I will enjoy it all the more the second.”

This is not a good place for a battle. The floor has fallen prey to the ravages of time in too many places, with large blocks and rubble littering the pieces that remain, restricting space and movement in equal measure.

You try to find the button to descend, but Aldous notices your movement and barrels toward you. Astarion leaps into battle, and the clash of blades rings out in the air. The two are almost a moving blur of glinting steel as they grapple. Astarion’s footwork is superior, and he gains ground until the other spawn join in the fight.

Adrenaline anoints your muscles and nerves, and your heart throttles in your chest. You cannot lose him here. You will not allow it. Flames writhe over your body, your skin heating to unfathomable temperatures, driven by a hatred so intense it seems to consume all fear. You Misty Step between Astarion and Aldous to intercept the charging spawn.

Thunderwave throws them back. Your fingers dance in their perfected rhythm, and you lace the Weave into spells with quick and masterful precision. You catch a spawn by the neck to your left, and flames erupt from your palms until their screams subside. With your other hand, you summon Chain Lightning, killing some but causing the remaining ones to seize up with paralysis.

You skate through them with your quarterstaff in hand. With limited space and Astarion and Aldous moving around the battlefield with the speed of a shooting star, there are a limited number of spells you can use for range. You’re forced into close-quarters combat, which hinders your abilities.

Clawed fingers rend your skin, sending a sharp agony radiating through you, making you suck in a sharp breath. The spawn hisses at you through their teeth, fangs bared. Before you can retaliate, Astarion is at your side, his shoulder slamming into the spawn and throwing them to the side. There is no time to catch your breath before Aldous attacks while Astarion is preoccupied protecting you.

“Astarion, down!” You shout.

He remembers the command and leans down, flattening his back so you can roll over him. Scorching Ray blasts from your palms, buffeting Aldous and forcing him to counter and change his path on a whim. It gives Astarion enough time to get into a better position and continue pushing Aldous back while you deal with the other spawn.

You cannot use Sunbeam in such a small area, not with the way Aldous and Astarion are moving, but you’re not merely the embodiment of fire; you’re a wildfire that cannot be thwarted. You pellet the spawn with fire that burns as white-hot as your hatred and rage. A ball of fire to the chest of one sizzles straight through them. Shatter to throw the ones to your right off the edge of the building.

You sink into the battle and luxuriate in the ghostly-coloured death that writhes over your skin and explodes from your fingers.

“Solicallor, switch!” Astarion snarls.

He only ever asks to switch in battle when he’s been injured and needs a moment to recover. You look back in horror at the blade buried in his shoulder and Aldous’ maniacal laughter permeating the air.

You cast Telekinesis, throwing the spawn in your path to him off the building, and try to sprint to his side, but you’re not fast enough before Aldous instructs the spawn remaining to create a barrier.

Every spell in your arsenal jumps off your fingers and rolls off your tongue, but you cannot get to Astarion before Aldous has pushed him near the edge of the tower.

In a fraction of a second, the spawn all sprint toward Astarion, throwing themselves off the edge of the tower to their deaths. The last thing you see are his scared red eyes and him shifting as fast as he can to grab Aldous by his armour. Aldous thrashes, trying to pull free from Astarion’s grip, and another blade sinks into Astarion’s stomach.

“I love you, Kamena,” he smiles as his feet lose their footing. “I would have liked to marry you in this life, but I will find you in the next, thiramin.”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes: - Chapters might be a little smaller for the foreseeable future. Sorry! - Astarion 🥺 - I smash my keyboard angrily whenever I have to write Aldous' name.

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x oc

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ineylesian · 1 year ago

Note

hey!!!

I was wondering, how would Ghost react to the reader scolding him?? like, something happens that disrupts the mission and it's his fault and the reader scolds him, not aggressively, but still I would like to know Ghost's reaction

Also, the idea that he and the reader have a romantic relationship but he's still a bit strict :)

(I used the translator to write all this!! sorry if there are any translation errors, English is not my native language :D)

WALK AWAY FROM THE SUN

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 3k

— WARNINGS | canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of weapons, arguments, mentions of trauma.

— SUMMARY | you often meet ghost at his shortcomings, but nothing serious as this has yet to happen.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | tysm for the request 🫶🫶 i wanted to expand on this just a lil but made sure to keep the original prompt, i hope you enjoy!! hope the scolding isn’t too strict :)

Ghost thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the worry sanctioning in his chest, or the bullet lodged in his ribs. It takes a few seconds, he breathes, and a slightly ragged puff of air crawls its way back up his esophagus. Shallow wounds never hurt him, but ones that fester in the mind nearly paint his vision black.

It was a bad mission, destined to go wrong the moment Price laid out the plan. Too many HVTs to secure in such a dangerous zone, touched down in a land similar to post scorched earth. Calls of concern were dismissed by Shepherd, this mission was too important to let go, and they were to complete it, no matter the cost.

Nevertheless, things went south, fast. Nearly an entire squad of foot soldiers dead in under one hour, and only 2 out of 4 targets eliminated. It wasn’t long before Price called in evac, the mission’s end along with it. There was always time again to try again. Until the screaming started, and Ghost was nowhere to be found.

It was capture or kill, and it was certain no one was getting captured at this rate. You’d seen it all, the look he gave Price as he was getting into contact with Shepherd, and the miniscule shake of his head as he tightened his gear. The screams were yours, are you out of your fucking mind?-- hair whipping against the wind as you watched him disappear into the flames, yelling for the pilot to touch down.

Any sane soldier would have shaken their head and waved to confirm exfil, but this was nothing near normal. The 141’s purpose isn’t sanity, it’s loyalty. Price wasn’t going to allow himself to lose more than one soldier, and it was apparent that you were leaving with or without his permission. He strapped a tracker to your vest before you jumped.

Ghost wasn’t expecting to get shot. Maybe the adrenaline kicked in too early, or maybe the opportunity was just too good. The last two HVTs right in his line of sight, running through the open, unarmed.

Or so he thought.

He sits slouched against a wall, the hand clamped over the bullet’s entryway growing progressively more damp as the minutes pass. He should’ve expected someone with a target on their back to run around with a gun, anything lethal, even, especially after watching his friend’s jugular fly from his neck. Pointed a gun and blindly shot. A rookie mistake that put him and his whole squad at risk because of some halfhearted words Shepherd hammered into his head.

He believes in no matter completely. Maybe that’s where he comes short.

Frankly, Ghost isn’t even worried about the lingering pain in his abdomen, or the fact that the last target escaped. He’s worried about the person coming to find him. Something in the back of his head grows into a throbbing pain in the frontal lobe and he closes his eyes, hoping it’s not you that’s coming.

Who could he be kidding? Of course you were going to come for him. You always did, and always will. It’s a danger that follows when you happen to love someone you run into the frontlines with. Something that was going to get one of you killed one day, purely because he knows he’d do the exact same thing.

Ghost curses under his breath. You’re just like him sometimes, blindsided and hard headed as they come.

Falling debris and the thud of boots join the rasp that serves as his breathing. You’re here, and it looks bad, worse than he expected. Your eyebrows are knit tightly together, and he can see the dribble of blood that rolls down your chin due to how hard you bite your gums. Your skin is laced with sweat, and you’re panting, hard.

He’s only been bleeding out for three minutes. With you here, it feels like an eternity, and the grasps of something much worse than death are holding time still. When he finally shifts his lips to speak, you shove a cloth against his ribcage, hard. All that comes out is a strangled grunt, and he falls silent. No one renders him as speechless as you do.

He hasn’t felt so small since his father. It’s deserving, every last bit of it. He let go of himself and you still came to save him. He should be feeling nothing short of gratitude, yet he only feels as though someone dragged him into the undertow and left him to drown there. The way you refuse to meet his eyes strikes harder than any other bullet, and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do.

All he can feel is the fear that you have instilled in him, and his consciousness slips before he can think of anything else.

—

Forgiveness is a hard thing to earn. In the 141, it seems more rational to die than seek it.

Ghost doesn’t consider death. He’s considered nothing, not since a bullet put him into a coma for a week. In that time, he dreamt of choppy waters and black riptides. The slosh of imaginary waves greeted him more times than your voice did.

He only remembers it once. You asked one of the nurses how he was doing. When she said he’d wake up, you left.

You don’t wait up on people, Ghost knows that. No part of him holds the expectation that you would’ve cared just a little more and stuck around. You knew he’d live, and that was the end of it. You walk away from the sun when it burns you.

When it comes to the battlefield, you’re cold as ice and follow rational orders to a tee. You keep your head on straight until you don’t, because taking care of others feels better than sprinkling soil over an empty grave. The way you think is profound yet humanity never fails to escape you, it’s what dragged you to him, stone-eyed and indifferent on the surface.

People around him always say it’s impossible to get attached in the military. He almost believes them, but he thinks of you and all else fades. Like a moth to a flame, he knows you’d follow his trail into hysteria. He knows it frustrates you, habits such as those are hard to shake. You’ve spent too much time by his side to quit. Couldn’t shake you even if he wanted to.

It reminds him of three years ago, with you curled up beside him in the depths of Syrian mountains. You’d offered him some bourbon for the pain– he’d been stabbed in the leg, covering up with the excuse that it’d help with the cold. You knew how to tempt him, just one drink turning into the whole bottle empty at your feet. Only you could make him succumb to something like that, listening to you ramble on about how careless he was to get stabbed, hours of it, the coziness of you and the blankets drilling static into his head.

Ghost could hold his alcohol better than you. Barely felt a buzz from the drinks in his system. But this.. your head lightly bobbing against his shoulder, haphazardly checking on his bandage before kissing the exposed skin beside it. You were right, his whole body was on fire, so enamored with you, the feeling of home creeping along his skin in short, fatigued breaths.

He vaguely remembers when you turned to your side, hands hot on his pulse and sinking underneath. Everywhere, you were everywhere. You had taken him by storm and the buzz of the bourbon heightened his senses to a point where it was nearly unbearable. It took every fiber of his willpower to listen, straining against the irrevocable hold you had placed on him, fighting to restrain himself.

Amidst the haze, you asked him if he would do something for you. In that state, Ghost thinks he would’ve tried to overthrow the entire planet if you wanted him to. Instead, you uttered something short of ten words, and he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life when he answered.

“Promise me you’ll look out for yourself, Simon.”

Your inquiry seemed small, fragile, and simple to be compliant with in the moment. He shuns himself for failing to remind you of who you were, what you were fighting for, and that looking out for yourself is a restraint only some can hope to afford. It’s a luxury that separates people who want to save the world from those who do.

“Alright, then.”

Drunk or not, he made a promise. Broke it just as easily. He resists the urge to bash his head against the wall as consciousness returns to him, opting to thank the nurse with a few words scribbled on a napkin before disappearing.

As much as he wants to scrub the sickening scent of antiseptic and illness from his skin, Ghost can’t bring himself to visit your room right now. He knows you’ll check the infirmary soon– despite what you say he knows you stop by, even if it’s for a second, yet he opts to leave base regardless if you come to find him or not. He’d rather speak to you when you’re on those terms. Guessing by the freshly washed sweatshirt that sits zipped up to his neck, you probably don’t want him dead.

He’ll cut his losses there.

—

The early hours of the morning creep along the skyline, spilling over the roads below. You walk, dismissing the dull ache in your feet from miles of dug up sidewalk and the scorching ground you had run across some days ago. It’s not long before the breeze picks up the scent of saltwater, light ripples rock calmly against marsh and you sigh.

You knew he’d be here. Always came when tragedy struck and life wasn’t fair. It reminds you of a homage after nights of terror in Urzikstan, peaceful, and nothing else. Somewhere you go when you can’t quite reach the ocean.

Ghost sits with his back to the sun, perched against a dock overlooking the water. Your legs come to a stop, and you stand still, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you should just turn around while you can, run to the safety of a home that only carries a lingering scent of him. Here, the breeze makes you nauseous.

Everything here is riddled with sorrow and buried in tears. The cycle repeats, you think you deserve to cry.

You take a look to the sky and the clouds point you offshore. Saline winds pull you farther and it’s too late to reconsider leaving when your foot creaks against the dock. Ghost catches you in his peripheral, approaching slowly, the distance polarizing. It feels like glass is lodged in your feet. The gap waged feels something like No Man’s Land.

Ghost sits on the edge, one leg hanging over the water while the other sits folded at the knee. You lean against a support beam across from him, one glance and you think you might choke. Flashing rays dawn over the baclava settled over his face, drawing light to the skin bridged above his nose. Eyebags crawl and tear at paint ridden skin, blond eyelashes fluttering against smudged black, over the one part of him that feels normal. Nothing else does.

He stares ahead, umber hues washing over ripples cast by fish in waiting. You feel like you do everytime you come here, except sadness is held back by frustration, boiling underneath your skin and rising to the surface. Moments pass, the breeze dies down and beckons for you to speak.

“You broke your promise.” Pressure settles within your chest. Hurt floods the atmosphere and Ghost’s eyes leave the water. He thinks, you lie in wait, arms crossed defensively over your chest.

“You can’t rely on intoxicated words.”

It’s fair, yet completely unfair at the same time. You know it was an unreasonable thing to ask, came straight from the alcoholic worry that seethed in your mind. Normal people don’t make promises they know they won’t be able to keep. People that care too much ask of them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

Ghost says nothing. You know he wanted to keep that promise. Held it over his heart for three years, let it slip under his sleeve as all other things do. Something that happens when war is all you know. He knew you, too, but warfare is different from anything else. You understand that.

The smell of antiseptic reeks off of him, the sun licks at black paint and chips crumble. He’s nonchalant on the surface like always, but you know him. Underneath blood stains the hole in his abdomen that put him here. He leans toward it as if pain has become him.

He’s always been like this, body hungry for violence, mind begging for reconciliation. It’s how his mind is wired, shutting doors on people makes them want to close it in another’s face. You learned to coincide with it, but there’s still a line. The fact he crossed it so easily sparks the worry within and you fight the tears that push against your sockets.

Anger resides and reels back in, lapping at the shore and bringing you to your knees. You fear you’ll lose him that way.

It’s all you think about.

“What made you think that was a good idea?” You bark, grasping his chin to face you head on. “You think putting yourself in danger is no big deal, don’t you? Worried everyone sick because of a stupid HVT.”

He sees right through you. Worried me sick, he hears it as he would an echo. It’s a profession of worry, he knows you worry because you love him.

“We all have to make sacrifices.” His response is a dull front, you hear the guilt laced within. “You know that.”

You do. Things stay strict on the battlefield and remain that way. Until it’s him. When there’s Ghost, there’s always Simon. You learned to make that exception because you understood that. Ghost is not afraid to die. Simon is.

“What good are you to anyone if you throw yourself in the line of fire?” You spit, pointer finger snapping to hover above his wound.. “There’s no guarantee that someone will always be able to save you when things go wrong. You know that.”

He knows that, and he knows you.

You know there’s a darkness that lingers within him. It’s inevitable. Something that festers, building up until it’s strong enough to lash out. It’s selfish, cares and waits for no one. A walking death sentence that hangs over his head no matter the value he places in his life. It chases him in his dreams, trails a dark shadow over his head that turns him into the person he fears he’d become. Adapted him so the only thing he feels when he pulls the trigger is recoil.

“We win together, and we fail together, Simon. It’s not your responsibility to change that.”

He hates that side of his head that made him think otherwise. Hates himself more when he makes you worry.

Old habits die hard. It’s not easy to take, the way he knows those parts of him linger. You know when it comes, the front he manages with surgical precision shatters and he breaks down into hysteria because it’s too much for one person to handle.

Regardless, he tries. You love him for that. He loves you because you walked into his life and it gained purpose.

All that’s good in his life comes from you. The first nights in his life he felt welcomed to sleep because you were in bed beside him. Days fly by and he changes. You change with him. The small room he occupies at base doesn’t seem so lifeless anymore because you’re always in it.

He damns the way you smile at him, infectious, a snapshot memory he keeps in his thoughts. Thoughts that draw a compass in his mind that routes home to you.

Every part of him feels selfish for making you feel this way. It tears through him as a knife does and his nerves flay from the heat.

“I’m sorry, lovie.” It feels like he’s suffocating, drawing on the tears that slide down your face and drip onto your hands. He takes dampened skin and holds onto it as if he’ll lose you forever if he lets go. “‘M so sorry that I made you worry. Bastardish thing to do.”

His accent is heavy, dripping with resent and pleading for composure. It’s everything and nothing all at once. Your tears stain his hands and he feels like he always does when things go wrong. Except, it’s always you who quells him in the midst of nightmares. His mind races at the stutter of your breath, hands fumbling to push stray hairs out of your eyes.

“I love you, so much. Wouldn’t ever wanna make you worry, yeah?”

Silence passes for a minute. Seagulls chirp and water sloshes against eroded rocks.

Your eyes peek out from his hands, slotting your arm between his, reaching up. You tug and his mask bunches up at the nose, fingers smoothing over the surface of his skin, warm, grasping for affection. You yearn for his touch and he gives it to you without question.

Ghost tastes of gunpowder and the bask of the sun. It reminds you of home, slightly chapped, never wanting more than what he can give. He’s gentle, canines gently poking against your lips, perfectly still. You sigh inwardly at the feeling, reveling in all that he is until you can breathe no longer.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Your chest heaves, breath leveling with a rough scoff. His eyes crinkle like they do when he notices you packed extra eye black for him. Mouth parted, a ghost of a smile curving at his lips.

“I know, can’t seem to get myself sorted.”

There’s an underlying meaning to it. Passes through like the wind that cards through your hair. Guilt rides the waves, but you don’t want to cry anymore.

You just want to heal. Ghost understands that more than anyone else.

#arqhms #🐚 arqhmssummer23 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader

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mayflora-18 · 7 months ago

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Incorrect CoD Quotes #5

Sherlock: *gets stabbed*

Sherlock: Oh, look at that.

Sherlock: I’ve been impaled.

Nikolai: 😱

———

Nikolai, singing: I have loved you since we were 18.

Price: We met when we were, like, 23.

Nikolai: …

Nikolai, singing: I’ve been stalking you since I was 18!

———

Ghost: You have exactly three seconds to explain why you just woke me up.

Price: Because it’s morning and you should be awake.

Ghost: Oh… Interesting… I didn’t know you wanted to die today!

Price: Simon, you can’t kill me.

Ghost: It’s too late, I’ve already decided how.

———

Sherlock: I really like Eminem.

Soap: I prefer Skittles.

Sherlock: No like the rapper-

Soap: WHY WOULD YOU EAT THE WRAPPER?!!?

———

Sherlock: I have never seen two stable best friends. Always one of them has to lose their shit.

*Ghost and Soap look at each other*

Ghost: Wait, you’re telling me one of us is actually supposed to be stable!?

Soap: Ah, shite!

———

Soap: Who did you look up to most as a child and why?

Gaz: Uh, my parents because they were taller than me.

———

Soap: There are 1 million 13 thousand 150 words in the ENTIRE English Dialect and yet there is not a single combination of them that describes my URGE to HIT you WITH A CHAIR!

Graves: *pissed off*

*Soap pulls out a black umbrella from who knows where and opens it in front of Graves, showing him a hand that was giving him the middle finger*

———

Laswell: What was Plan A?

Ghost: Don’t fuck up.

Price: And what was Plan B?

Soap: Don’t fuck up Plan A.

Price: And what did you guys do?

Gaz: Fucked up p-

Sherlock: You fucked up Plan A.

———

Rudy: Ale, get out of the house. Valeria is here!

Alejandro: Well, tell Valeria to hold up because I’m doing some important shit.

*Alejandro starts playing music*

Alejandro’s phone: “You used to call me on my cell phone”~

Valeria: What the fuck?

———

General Shepherd: If you don’t like me at my worst, then you don’t like me at my best.

Price, holding a gun to Shepherd’s head: I don’t like you at all!

———

Sherlock: In every group of friends, there is the dumb one.

*Ghost looks at Soap*

Soap: Really

———

Laswell: When did you get here?

Price: I spent the night.

Laswell: …But I remember you leaving before I went to bed. You said “Good night, I’m going home!” And then you left.

Price: Yeah, but then on my way out I tripped and fell down the stairs.

Laswell: Oh my god, were you hurt?

Price: Nah, I just didn’t feel like getting up.

———

*at 7am*

Sherlock: Why is Gaz running?

Sherlock, yelling: Are you ok!? Is somebody chasing you!?

Gaz, yelling back: I’m running on purpose!

Sherlock: You’re running on purpose? It’s 7 in the morning!

———

Ghost: ArE yOu ReAdY tO DiE????

Sherlock: No??

Ghost: ThEn I’lL cOmE bAcK lAtEr!

———

Soap, slurring: You do realize that humans were really supposed to be on this earth to eat fruit-

Price: Is he drinking?

Soap: -in the wilderness butt naked-

Nikolai: I love it when he’s like this.

Soap: -and fuck, right?

Sherlock: He’s definitely drunk.

Soap: All this hard work shit is shit we brought ourselves.

———

Price: Where are you, Laswell? This place is fancy, and I don’t know which fork to kill myself with.

———

Soap, talking to Graves: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Graves: …

Soap: No, a summer’s day is not a bitch.

———

*Sherlock walks outside with a coffee in her hand*

*She sees JTF Ghost Team fighting Shadow Company*

Sherlock: god it’s brutal out here *sips coffee*

Rudy: Aren’t you gonna help us?

Sherlock: uhmm no *walks back inside*

Soap, shaking his head: You had to ask.

Rudy: 😰 She is a psychopath!

———

Alejandro: Keep your eyes closed, I have a surprise!

Rudy: Did you do the dishes?

Alejandro: I said surprise, not miracle.

#call of duty #call of duty oc #incorrect call of duty quotes #cod sherlock #cod nikolai #captain john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kate laswell #rudolfo parra #alejandro vargas #valeria garza #kyle gaz garrick #general shepherd #phillip graves #inspired by youtube

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thescarlettbitch · 3 months ago

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Mesopotamian Pantheon Explained

Hello! My name is Red, I am a devotee of the Mesopotamian Goddess Inanna, and it makes me sad to see that not a lot of people know about her, let alone the rest of her pantheon, so I thought I'd make a post about everyone, or at least, everyone I can. I've made a masterpost about her, and I really enjoyed it, as it gave me an "excuse" to learn about her, and this is the same. In this post I will be naming the gods and their domains and their relations with each other. If prompted, I would love to do a deep dive on every deity in this pantheon I can. Unfortunately, there are over a thousand deities across all Mesopotamian cultures, so this is by no means a complete list or anything similar.

So, first, what is Mesopotamia? Mesopotamia means "land between the rivers", the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, and it is the term to define the whole region and the various cultures that lived there. This includes Sumer, Akkadia, and Babylon. Despite culture being different, they shared similarities in written language, religion, and attitude towards women. The gods may have had different names at different points, but they were the same deity to all, often referred to interchangeably. This region gave birth to about 50 firsts of man.

But, on to the Gods!

The first thing to know about the Pantheon and how people worked with them, is that mortals believed them to be coworkers with the deities, and that they worked together to maintain order. Due to differences in cultures, each civilization viewed the deities differently, so Marduk might have been king of the Gods in Babylon, Enlil was king of the Gods in Sumer. The heavenly Gods were referred to as Igigi, and occasionally Anunnaki, though in some sources Anunnaki was the older or "major" Gods, and the Igigi were the lower ranking Gods.

We are going to start with the Seven Divine Powers, the oldest Sumerian deities.

Anu - sky god

Enki - god of wisdom

Enlil - lord of the air, sumerian king of the Gods.

Inanna - goddess of love, fertility, and war, queen of the heavens

Nanna - goddess of the moon

Ninhursag - mother goddess

Utu/Shamash - god of the sun

Other popular deities include

Assur/Ashur - supreme god of the Assyrians

Ereshkigal - goddess of the underworld

Gula - goddess of health and healing

Marduk - babylonian king of the gods

Nabu - god of writing

Nanshe - goddess of social justice

Nergal - god of war

Ninkasi - goddess of beer and brewing

Nisaba - goddess of agriculture, turned to writing and accounts

Dumuzid/Tammuz - god of shepherds

Enkimdu - god of farmers, seen as the personification of the irrigation system

Geshtinanna - goddess of scribal arts and dream interpretation (theorized)

Bau - mother goddess, healing

Ishkur - god of storms and rain

Ištaran - god of divine justice

Nanaya - goddess of love

Nanshe - goddess of divination

Ninazu - associated with the underworld, though his role is disputed

Ninlil - wife of Enlil, thought to be "artificially created" as Enlil's equal

Ninshubur - god(dess) attendant of Inanna (in some sources she is masculine, and others feminine)

Zababa - war god

Alammush - god attendant of Nanna

Sherida - goddess of dawn

Apsu - primeval freshwater

Tiamat - primeval sea

Creation-

The Mesopotamians had many different tellings of the creation of the world, most likely due to the cultural differences. Atra-Hasis, Eridu Genesis, and Enuma Elish are the most common, as we have physical copies of them today. They, among other sources, depict a different family tree, but with key similarities.

Atra-Hasis: Anu, Enlil, and Enki cast lots to determine who rules what. Anu the sky, Enlil the earth, and Enki the sea. Enlil assigned minor gods to farm, but after many years the minor divines refused. Enki suggested to make humans to do the labor. Mother goddess Mami fashions humans out of clay, flesh, and blood of a slain god, and all the gods spit on the clay. After ten months, humans emerged from a specifically made womb. After many years, humans have overpopulated, so Enlil sends famine and drought every 1200 years. Enlil decides to destroy humanity by flood. Enki goes to hero Atra-Hasis and tells him of the plan, instructing him to demolish his house and build a boat. He does, and he brings his family and his animals and seals the door. When the flood comes it stays for seven days and even the gods are afraid. It ends and Enlil is furious with Enki for breaking the vow of silence but eventually the two agree to find other means of controlling the human population.

Eridu Genesis: the beginning of this has been lost to time. The surviving portion starts with Nintur, the goddess who birthed humanity, where she calls for them to he sedentary and civilized. Then more is missing. It resumes with humanity still being nomadic and barbaric. Nintur is stilling planning to provide kingship to the mortals. Then cities emerge, are named, and become distributional economies. Humans begin to annoy the gods, Enlil was unable to sleep, and made the brash decision to destroy humanity with a flood. Enki tells Ziusudra, a human, and tells him to build a boat to save himself and one couple of every animal. Ziusudra does as he is told and the flood comes. Humanity survives, but the rest is lost to time.

Enuma Elish: at the beginning, Apsu and Tiamet existed, co-mingled. From them came Lahmu and Lahamu. Then Anshar and Kishar, and from Anshar came the god Anu and from Anu came Nudimmumd/Ea. These new gods made noise that annoyed Apsu, who called to Mummu to speak with Tiamat, who proposed to destroy them, but Tiamat was reluctant. Mummu advised Apsu to destroy them. The new gods were worried, but Ea crafted a spell to lull Apsu to sleep. Mummu couldn't wake him. Ea took the halo from Apsu and wore it, slew Apsu and chained Mummu, living in Apsu with his wife, Damkina. Together, in Apsu, they created Marduk. Other gods made fun of Tiamat for not doing anything as Apsu was killed. Tiamat made monsters to fight the gods, eleven chimeric monsters with weapons, lead by her new consort Kingu, and gave him the tablets of destinies. Ea heard of the plan and went to his grandfather Anshar, who proposed Marduk as their champion. Marduk said he would win against Tiamat but that he would need to be king of the Gods if he did so. The others were wary but eventually relented. Marduk was given a throne and many supplies to fight Tiamat. He won and split her body in two, fashioning the sky from one half, places for Anu, Enlil, and Ea in it. He made likenesses of the gods in the stars, and from that he made the days of the year. He made night and day and the moon, he made storms and wind and rain, and gave the tablet of destinies to Anu. Marduk told Ea that he was going to use his blood to create man to serve the Gods, but Ea said that another should be chosen as sacrifice. Kingu was chosen, so man was made using his blood.

So... where do these other gods fit into the family tree?

Great question.

An and Ki had Enlil and Enki.

Enlil and Ninlil had Nanna, Nergal, Ninazu, and Enbilulu.

Enlil and Ninhursag had Ninurta.

Nanna and Ningal (in some sources) had Ereshkigal, Inanna, and Utu. In other sources, Enlil, An, or Enki were their parents.

Ereshkigal and Anu had Nungal.

Ereshkigal and Gugalanna had Ninazu. In other sources, Enlil and Ninlil, or Nanna were his parents.

Utu and Aya had Mamu, Kittum, Ishum, and Sisig.

Enki and Duttur had Dumuzid and Geshtinanna.

Either Sin, Urash, or Anu, and Inanna, had Nanaya.

Dumuzid and Inanna were married, but bore no children together.

Thank you for reading this major info-dump and lmk if you guys want any specifics or deep dives on someone! <3

#witchblr #witchcraft #deity work #deity witchcraft #deity devotion #deity worship #mesopotamian mythology #mesopotamia #sumer #sumerian mythology #babylon #babylonian mythology #inanna #ereshkigal #utu shamash

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reds-skull · 11 months ago

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Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

We're getting close to another favorite moment of mine... I can't wait to write it lol

“Rudy, Vargas.” Ghost greets them, sitting down to eat his breakfast.

The two Vaqueros nod, Rudy speaking with a mouthful, “Fantasma, slept well?”

He lifts his mask just enough to take a bite of the eggs, “no.”

“Oh.” Rudy swallows the food, “sorry to hear that?”

Alejandro snorts at his awkwardness, “what got you uneasy, hermano?”

Ghost sighs, scanning the room for stray Shadows. He leans in closer to quietly tell them, “caught a Shadow following me and Johnny last night.”

The men’s gaze darkens, “I’ve had a bad feeling about the Gringo for a while now…” Alejandro stabs a tomato angrily, “I’m starting to think he’s not here to support us.”

“What’s your theory?” Ghost indulges.

“He’s the Americans’ way into whatever this mess will lead us.” Rudy nods, continuing for the Colonel. It seems like this isn’t the first time they discuss this, “Shepherd wants his name on our success, and Graves is his toy soldier.” He frowns, “making his Shadows stalk you and Soap, however…”

Ghost finishes his meal, “Shepherd might want to eat the cake and leave it whole. I’d suggest watching each other’s back. Cheers.”

“Keep yourself safe, hermano. Thank you.” Alejandro gives him a sharp nod, mind undoubtedly swirling with all possible scenarios.

Ghost returns the nod, leaving mess.

If Graves turns his back on them, the fallout will fuck up more than just taskforce 141. The Vaqueros, Commander Karim and Keller, Laswell…

He knows too much. If he betrays them… Ghost will make sure he keeps his mouth shut.

Whether it’s on earth or Limbo, Graves won’t escape him.

Johnny waits for him when he leaves for the training grounds, grinning cheerfully when he spots Ghost.

He falls into step beside him, “goin’ to let Limbo out for a spin?”

His gruff accent sands down the tension he accumulated while talking about Graves, “need to take off the edge, don’t want them too wild on the mission.”

Ghost looks down at Soap, deciding to kick a little at his boots, “you sure you want to follow me to the field? Limbo still wants to take a bite off you.”

Johnny stumbles for a second, pouting up before smirking, “I’ll follow you anywhere, LT”

Ghost gazes at his eyes, the reflection of the sky encompassed within them. He’s only half joking when he murmurs, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”

He makes Soap stand far, perhaps a little over worrying, but Ghost rather having to shout for his Sergeant to hear than risk his life yet again.

As he lets Limbo loose, he thinks back to his Last conversation with his Reaper. How Johnny is supposed to kill him.

Ghost wishes he believed it more wholeheartedly. It could’ve helped with his constant concerns, his nightmares, the visions so real he can almost see Soap in Limbo now, vacant eyes chasing his light.

Ghost shakes the illusion away, Johnny isn’t here. No reason to torture himself with those ‘what-ifs’.

Limbo has returned to its usual state, his victims all screaming and crying, reaching for the protective light surrounding him. Things have been turbulent for the residents in these last couple of months. Ghost almost feels bad, if he ever let himself feel anything towards his eternally trapped victims.

It’s a slippery slope he rather not go down on.

When he steps out of Limbo, streams of blackened dirt point at Johnny, stopping only a few meters from the Scot.

Ghost huffs when Johnny waves over eagerly, calling out that he’s ‘faster than the creepy gits, LT!’ and that Ghost has nothing to worry about. Maybe once that was true, but the way his lips curl into a smile tells him otherwise.

They part ways when Soap has to go to yet another debrief, not before he taps his shoulder and promises to find him afterwards. Ghost’s heart practically sings when he murmurs, “you better, Sergeant.”

Garrick catches him while he’s still gliding on the high of those promises, a horrified face pulling him back to earth, “Gaz? What’s-”

“I need to talk to you.” his eyes flicker around, “privately.”

Ghost nods, instantly snapping back into business mode, “follow me.”

They silently make their way to the roof, the 4-storey building and the single access point, making for the most secluded place in the entire base.

Gaz walks over to watch the fields, avoiding eye contact with him. Ghost impatiently waits for him to spill whatever got him so frightened.

“Do you know someone called Kirill Bogomolov?” the Sergeant mutters, his back still towards Ghost.

He opens his mouth to give the negative, when he stops. Bogomolov… he has heard the name before.

Ghost inhales sharply. Konchar.

“Yes.”

Gaz’s head snaps around to gawk at him, “where? Who is he??”

“You first, Sergeant. How do you know Bogomolov?”

Garrick’s voice is somewhat desperate when he speaks, “my Reaper. It said… fuck, Ghost. Kirill was its, strongest Revenant of the Pull ever created.”

“Konchar was Reaped by the same Reaper that got you?” Ghost exclaims in surprise.

Gaz’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and Ghost exhales, “Konchar is the callsign of Bogomolov. Why did your Reaper bring him up?”

“It said…” Garrick looks down, “it warned me about Soap. Told me I should stay away from him. That it won’t lose another revenant to ‘the Reaper of Destruction’.” Gaz’s eyes look at his, “Soap didn’t kill Konchar, right? Tell me my Reaper’s wrong, Ghost.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, “I heard about Konchar first when Soap lost his memory. He said Konchar killed his squad.”

Gaz’s face scrunches, “fuck…”

“Official reports state Konchar died from the explosion in Verdansk six years ago. Soap, allegedly, was Reaped in the same event.” Ghost’s mind races faster than he could speak, “Reapers don’t lie, Garrick. Soap must’ve…”

The Sergeant rubs his temples, exhaling a shaky breath, “killed Konchar because of that. But you said they couldn’t have met?”

Ghost goes over the timeline again, “if we assume the reports are faked, which they are since your Reaper won’t lie…” things are still so disconnected… “Konchar didn’t die in the explosion. Which means Soap was Reaped before it.”

Gaz floats a few inches of ground, “what do we know on the mission Soap and his squad were on in Verdansk?”

“Nothing. His file is fucking blacked out.”

He drops to the ground again, “couldn’t you ask Soap? You two are close-”

“Johnny won’t say shit.” Ghost almost snarls, frustrations building, “whatever happened there, it made him scream and ask his Reaper why it didn’t fucking kill him.”

“Jesus…” shock spreads on Garrick’s face, and he groans, “what do we do, Ghost? First your Reaper tells you Soap will be ‘your demise’, then mine shows up for the first time in months to warn me it will not lose another revenant.”

“Parra’s Reaper warned him about me as well.” Ghost recounts the memory, “they seem to do that when a strong revenant is around.” he sizes Gaz up, looking for any signs of fear. “We’ll bring it up to the Captain, but if it were up to me… I won’t let that change anything. Although…”

Garrick perks up, “we’ll keep a distance from Johnny when he uses his powers extensively. Don’t underestimate him.” Ghost finishes.

The Sergeant nods, “yes sir. I’ll go inform Price.”

Ghost stays behind on the roof a little longer. If Johnny and Konchar have met after his Reaping…

Is there anything on his file he could truly trust?

The revenant in question finds him while he haunts the halls around the meeting rooms, waiting for him to show up.

Johnny seemed surprised to see him there, and the expression quickly melts into a pleased sort of joy.

“Missed me that much, Ghostie?” he teases.

Ghost can’t stop his eyes from rolling, “in your dreams, MacTavish.”

Soap raises an eyebrow, saying with a lop-sided smile, “oh, you do a lot more in my dreams, LT.”

His face feels on fire under the mask, Ghost stiffens, “that so?”

“Aye” Johnny gives him a shit eating grin, “last night ye took me teh a fancy restaurant, treated me right. If only you were such a gentleman in my waking hours, LT” he puts a hand over his heart, shaking his head in disappointment.

Ghost cuffs him over the head, “don’t see you taking me anywhere nice, Sergeant. You get what you give.”

Soap rubs at the back of his head, frowning up at Ghost, “Oi! You know what, I’ll take ye somewhere real good next time we get leave. You won’t have any excuses after that!”

“I’ll hold you to it, Johnny.”

Soap smiles, the two of them gazing just a little too long at each other’s eyes (not his fault Johnny got pretty ones) when Price’s voice echos in their minds, “I’m truly sorry for interrupting you lovebirds, but we need you two here.”

A comically grief-stricken expression washes over Johnny’s features, “I just got out of debrief…” he whines.

“Won’t be long, Sergeant, just need to verify something.” Price sighs in their head.

Ghost takes hold of Soap’s drooping shoulder, “up and at ‘em, Johnny. The sooner we go, the sooner we finish.”

His Sergeant sighs loudly, “Aye sir…”

“No…” Soap takes a step back, voice shaking, “your Reaper too…? I-I don’t… I would never…”

Ghost takes a hold of his arm, stopping him from running away. He can feel the tension coiling up in Johnny. He knew his Sergeant won’t take the news well, that yet another person is now in danger of him.

Ghost wants to shout at all the Reapers in the world beyond, explain Johnny is the last person to hurt his teammates, that he’s righteous and self sacrificial to a fault.

He knows it won’t matter to them. They don’t care for such small, insignificant details of their human servants.

“We know, son.” Price attempts to calm him, “we’ll change the plan as much as we can, but you’ll have to use your powers to some extent. I’m sorry, but you’re irreplaceable.”

Soap tries to back away again, “no! I can’t- just make me do something else, I’ll be fine with exploding again, I can heal, I-”

“Johnny”, Ghost tightens his hold on him.

Soap stares at him, eyes terrified, “I can’t LT… If I kill any of ye… I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Price looks between them, crossing his arms. Ghost thinks over the plan again, of the most recent iteration. Soap and Gaz were supposed to create a distraction, make the PMC revenant run away, only to be caught by the rest of their forces, and slowly be pushed back from all fronts.

He turns his head to glare at Price, “swap me and Garrick out, sir.”

Soap and Gaz both exclaim as one, “what?!”

“Go on.” Price squints.

“Me and Soap are the strongest revenants in our forces. If anyone could push the target, it’s us.”

“You two are not immune to each other, Lieutenant. It will be risky to send my best soldiers together.” Price comments.

Ghost feels Soap turn to stare at him, “if Soap is far enough, I can use Limbo safely.”

“And if you get caught in an explosion?”

Johnny takes the arm on him with his hand, squeezing and shaking his head lightly. Ghost ignores him.

“Limbo would stop them.”

Price’s eyebrows raise, Soap gapes at him from the corner of his vision.

The Captain's voice asks in his head, “have you done it before?”

He looks down at Johnny, “no” he whispers in his thoughts.

“Simon…”

Blue eyes shine up at him, skies that hold stars in their depth, “I trust him, John. With my life, with my death, with everything left in me.”

Price tilts his head, something sad softening his features, “...don’t make me regret this, Lieutenant.” he says out loud.

“I won’t, sir.” he doesn’t avert his eyes from Johnny’s.

Plot twist! Konchar and Gaz have the same Reaper!

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod soap #cod gaz #cod price #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #revenant au #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #when i say favorite moment #yall should already know its angst... lmao

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lively-potter · 10 months ago

Text

—moon struck ; part three

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers, kinda grumpy x sunshine, fluff, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; LivelyPotter

— word count ; 1.5k

— intro , part one, part two

— taglist ; @ahgasegotarmy116 @jk97bam

***

river's pov ; the next day

I liked having a sense of complete control over my life and the things I did.

It wasn't completely true, but I pretended I did anyway.

Carefully holding the icing bag, I gently squeezed the bag and started moving my wrist in a circular motion to perfectly swirl the rainbow buttercream icing along the outside of the red velvet cupcake, I smiled to myself.

I had complete control when baking and decorating delicious treats – sometimes I messed up the measurements, but that was rare.

Poking my tongue out, a gesture I did to steady myself, I carefully crafted petals along the inside of the rim and soon enough, I had a perfect rainbow-colored flower.

"Oh damn!" a familiar voice exclaimed from behind me, making a squeak leave my lips the moment my brother, Brandon, reached in front of me and snatched the final cupcake from my hand. "These look good, Pixie–Mhm, and taste good too."

Cringing away from the man in front of me, a piece of red cake came out of his mouth and hit my nose. "Ew! Brandon!" I screeched out a laugh and he took my short – pixie-like frame, hence the nickname – and gave me a noogie.

"Dude!" I pushed him away, "Wern't you the one who taught me to chew with my mouth closed?"

Brandon watched me, amusement notching his brow as his cerulean blue eyes – that matched mine and Corey's – glinted in amusement. His big hand, dotted with black oil that he more than likely got from tweaking his motorcycle, ruffled through my hair and grinned wolfishly.

I rolled my eyes and giggled, turning back around to place the baked treats in a glass cake dish.

"Sooo..."

"You going to scold me for running again?" I cut him off, my three-month-old Australian shepherd, Kingston, yipping happily at my feet once I finally leaned down and gave him a pet along with a small dog-friendly baked treat.

"No," Brandon walked to the other side of the counter and braced his hands on the counter, looking down into my eyes. "I'm not going to judge you for it. That's Corey's job." he snickered, a soft smile coming upon his face.

I softened my defensive stance and quirked my lips. "Really?" I laughed along with him before becoming more serious. "It's just...instinct. Plus, he's scary."

"I know right!?" my older brother agrees, taking on his pale hair, "That dude just gives off that 'look at me the wrong way and I'll fuck you up', and I'm not going to lie and say I'm not intimidated by him. The dude's taller than me and that's saying something. A fucking beast, that man is, ya know?"

"Exactly," I snorted – before I met Jungkook, my brothers were the tallest men I'd ever encountered – besides Silas that is. And Jungkook was a good inch maybe even two inches taller than my brothers.

"But he's really nice...and gentle when he speaks." and that face is nice. That body is nice. And oh god, even his voice is like heaven on earth – wait...what was wrong with me? I shouldn't be thinking this.

I avoided Brandon's eyes once shuffling was heard at the front door. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and forced a tiny smile.

"I understand you not wanting to get close to him," Brandon ignored the apartment door opening and clenched his jaw. "The man's got baggage...and you're so young to be tied down to all of that."

I jerked back.

Baggage?

What in the dingleberries did he mean?

Moon?

"Moon is not baggage –" I went to argue but I was cut off as an energetic Atlas hollered happily, entering the kitchen.

"Oh hell yes! CUPCAKES!" he squealed like a child, the longer tufts of his dark hair falling into his eyes once he skirted past me.

I threw back and laughed as Brett followed after him – dressed entirely in black but her Gucci golden belt tied the entire outfit together as she threw her arms around me and smirked.

"So tell me what happened last night when that Jungkook picked up Moon!" she said, pulling me from the kitchen. I fought against her playfully as a blush arose on my face at the mention of Jungkook.

Brett would grill me for hours until Mr. Blackbourne or North ordered her to get her butt back home.

Since her accident a year ago; they'd been hesitant to allow her out of their sight, but since I had their full trust, and respect hopefully, the Blackbourne Team trusted me to keep her safe.

Brett's blonde hair smacked me across the forehead as she twirled around and threw her curvy body across my lavender bedspread.

"ATLAS!" she let out a shout at the same time I jumped a foot in the air and slightly glared at her for scaring me. What was with all of these people and scaring the life out of me?

She sent me a 'sorry' look, "Your bitch ass better save me one of those cupcakes or I'll tell Wil to beat your ass the next time you're looking to get fucked!"

"Oh my god." I whimpered into my hands, falling onto the bed.

Yes, this was my life.

***

third pov ; jeon jungkook

"This looks great, man! Thanks!" a man around Jungkook's age exclaimed happily, observing the large tattoo of a dragon with green highlights along the curve of his calf. "This looks sick!"

Jungkook held in a wince as he stood up from his stool and stretched his back. After hours of sitting down, shoulders drawn down, it was a wonder he hadn't developed a crick in his neck.

"I'm glad you're pleased with it." Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle when he was discarding his gloves and washing his hands once his area was sterile once more and ready for another customer.

Working today was a welcome distraction since he had been in a foul mood when he dropped off his baby at the daycare center – hoping to see the woman that had plagued his mind in the best of ways since he saw her angelic face. He was sorely, and furiously mistaken when he realized she wasn't there.

It was only Sang and Kayli there today. No River.

Jungkook rubbed a tattooed hand across his face and let out a sigh as his client left the room and he plopped down on the sofa across the room and stretched his sore muscles.

He wasn't the only one who was severely upset by River's absence, but his little Moon was too. Crying a river — pun intended.

He had hope, since yesterday evening — since they had spoken ( it wasn't enough, in his opinion ), that she would be there.

He hoped she would smile for him today.

Took him forever to calm his baby enough for her to allow Sang to pluck her from his caring, protecting arms.

A smile rose on Jungkook's lips when he eyed the clock on the wall.

But he did get one piece of usable information from River's best friend.

River had been busy getting three dozen cupcakes and other treats completed for a birthday party tomorrow, and later today – at exactly 2 pm, she would visit the library, as she did every Tuesday.

"Hey, Cherry?" Jungkook suddenly called out, jumping to his feet, "Can you reschedule my 2 o'clock appointment to tomorrow?" he asked his secretary, a middle-aged kind women covered in tattoos of all kinds.

She perched her hot pink glasses on the bridge of her nose and nodded, "Sure thing, JK." she said, her long acrylic nails tapping on the keyboard. "I'll just give Malcolm a call."

"Thanks, Cherry," Jungkook said gratefully, twiddling with the multiple rings on his hands as he searched for his car keys.

"I got somewhere to be," he called out, already stalking out the his tattoo shop, TATTERED, "I'll be back later!"

Cherry watched the young dad with a grin on her face and reached for her phone.

She unlocked her phone and dialed a number.

"Erica, that boy's got it bad – I'm just tellin' you, girl. He was blushing a few minutes ago when he told me he'd be back later. It's been like this for months."

On Sunn Vale Court, Erica Lee grinned at her phone as she spoke with her childhood friend. "Let's hope River gets over her fear of being in a relationship," she said with a sigh, looking across the room.

"Stage an intervention," Cherry suggested after a moment of silence. "I just pity the poor boy whenever he comes in every morning sad as a kicked puppy."

Over the next thirty minutes, Erica and Cherry – along with Brett, Atlas, and Gabriel – and most surprisingly, Corey, came up with a plan to help out both parties involved.

author's note ; ✨

if you want to be apart of my taglist, just let me know! As always, thank you so much for reading, and enjoy! I'm grateful for all of you <3

#bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x oc #wattpad #dilf jungkook #jeon jungguk #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bangtan #jungkook angst #jungkook au #jungkookie

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octopiys · 1 year ago

Note

Can I request Graves x Price with some hurt comfort (the betrayal didn’t happen), Graves betrayed Shepherd and lost a lot of men and goes to Price for comfort. Have a lovely time zone friend!

🪶

I GOTCHU

I've never written pricegraves before this was fun :D hope you're having an awesome time zone!

Pairing: Captain John Price x Commander Philip Graves

Word count: 2.8k+

CW: Blood, violence, implied death, Shepherd

I Know It

Las Almas was cold. Was it the rain? No, he didn't feel that, sliding down his skin, unaffected. It wasn't the wind. He could hear it outside the windows that wouldn't close.

Shepherd's call had ended, his laptop sitting discarded on the bed next to him. They were supposed to secure Sin Nombre, get the missiles back, and keep their heads down. Not any of this.

The General's warnings echoed in his mind, seeping any warmth from his soul. He didn't have a choice.

"They're getting too close to the problem, Philip. You need to lock it down." He had said.

"You can't expect them to not ask questions, General!" He snapped. "You know that we'd never be that lucky, someone was bound to catch on. No off-book op ever stays hidden, you know that!"

"I don't think you understand what we're dealing with here. What I'm dealing with. This is the immediate future, Commander, I need you to shut it down and take care of it."

Philip stopped dead in his tracks. Take care of it.

Take care of it.

"You ain't asking me to-"

"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. That's an order." Something in his voice told him everything he needed to do, and that he had no choice. "I'm sending you reinforcements. Make sure you have it managed, Philip." It was them, or it was him.

How could he possibly kill them? All of them? Soap, Gaz, Laswell, the Lieutenant, the Vaqueros.... Even-

No. That was his final straw, he wouldn't. That's against everything he ever fought for, everything he opposed. He thought when he enlisted he knew what war he was fighting in.

He was wrong.

His mind started running a mile a minute. What could he do? He could run, leave it all behind, vanish off the face of the earth, and hope his Shadows could do the same. Hope that the task force made it out alive too. But that was cowardly.

Philip Graves was not cowardly.

The Task Force hadn't even returned from the oil rig yet. That gave him time.

He was speaking into his radio before he had even realized his shaking hands had picked it up.

"All Shadows Stations report to Point Tango, urgently. We've gotta bit of a change in plans."

The radio stations flicked ominous static throughout the emptiness of Price's truck. Vargas' base sat in front of him, but something told him not to enter just yet. He'd watched a transport van enter, but not one big enough to hold his team. Laswell had sent them here immediately following them finishing up in Europe. The sun had fallen, casting dusted shadows across the landscape. Where were his boys?

Gaz groaned into the seat next to him. "Cap, what are you even waiting on? We've been here a few hours, can't we even go on? I gotta piss, and-"

"That's it. There." He lowered his binoculars, following three other vans up the hill and pointed. Gaz perked up in his seat, following the convo with his eyes. He saw Graves standing near the entrance gate, he saw him stop the convo before he entered. The Lieutenant and his Sergeant got out. There was a load pop and he ducked before Graves grabbed Soap by the shoulder and shoved him out of view.

"What's....?"

The static sharpened for only a moment, letting a desperate shout echo across the station.

"RUN!"

Philip tried to be discreet. He really did. But the General had eyes and ears everywhere, and he could only do or say so much before the chain around his throat was pulling him back to his place. They called him Golden Eagle for a reason.

He ran through the halls like a madman, he had no time to lose. They wouldn't give him a choice when the reinforcements arrived, he had to get everyone out without Shepherd finding out.

Could he?

No, he had to.

"Sergeant Parra!" He skidded to a stop outside the office door, trying the handle. Locked. "Sergeant Major! Rodolfo!!"

"Que pasa!?" Rodolfo pulled open the door, a concerned look on his face. "Commander, what's-"

"We need to go! They're- they're-" His chest ached with his heaving breaths. He felt like he was going to throw up. "You need to get your men out of here, Shepherd's sending enforcements to take out the Vaqueros and the 141. We're all done for if we don't leave now."

The Sergeant Major looked like he was going to object before seeing the desperation in his face and believed him, a hard resolve settling over his expression. He handed Graves a slip of paper, and he hurriedly pocketed it. "RV there. Good luck, Graves."

The two turned away, but Rodolfo stopped. "Graves!" The shout turned him around in a panic. "Gracias, hermano!"

He nodded his head, and he was running again.

That's how he had ended up in the courtyard, surrounded by men who he did not recognize.

"Scuse me, soldier-" He tried moving off past them, but one blocked his path to the main hall.

"Are you Philip Graves?" The taller man asked. His voice was gruff, smoky, but distinctly American. What was worse was the beared that he could see that looked almost blood colored in the setting sun.

Graves swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "I am. And I have somethin' I needa attend to-" He tried to push past him again, but a needless hand shoved him back.

"Graves, I see you've met Colonel Tobias Wilkinson. He'll be... assisting you." Said a voice in his ear that nearly froze him to the spot. The General. Of course.

He knew he'd never be lucky enough to set his plan in motion. The other half of the base lay in unknowing wait of a slaughter. Wilkinson put a forceful arm around him, spinning him around, and pushing him towards the doors. Towards the main gate.

This was no suggestion.

"I see you're going the wrong way, Commander. You get lost?" Wilkinson sneered close to his ear.

This was a command.

The new troops not-so-kindly escorted him to the front door. He did not dare glance over his shoulder at whatever Vaquero had dared to ask the men who they were.

He didn't think this was a kidnapping, but a little voice in his mind told him to never get in a vehicle, because they can take you to a secondary location. You'd never be found then.

If Shepherd knew what he was doing, then he hoped someone good would find him.

He got in the car.

Colonel Wilkinson drove down to the entry gate, began barking orders in such jumbled Spanish that even he noticed. The gates slid closed.

A pit formed in his stomach. This was it now.

The men pulled masks over their faces, they looked like his Shadows. His mouth dried as headlights appeared over the hill. He had no way of telling them. He could only pray at this point that something would interfere.

Hatred burned the pit deeper into his stomach as he watched Wilkinson smile before pulling his mask up. Something tasted foul in his mouth, coppery, and with a muted shock he realized he had bitten down hard enough on his cheek that his teeth drew blood.

Three cars rolled to a stop in front of him, the windshields tinted just enough so that he could barely see inside.

"The immediate future." Wilkinson said lowly, twitched towards his weapon warily as two doors opened.

The pretend Shadows filtered through the area as Soap and Ghost spilled out of their cars. Alejandro stepped out, he was closer, and Graves wiped his face of any emotion.

"Graves, que es-"

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilkinson raised his weapon, and Graves acted without a thought.

He wasn't sure when his gun was in his hands, but he aimed for Wilkinson first. Shots rang out between he and the other side, and he turned a split second, shoving Soap out of the way. Part of him felt smug at the shocked expression on Wilkinson's face as he went down.

His radio was on, and he screamed to both the Task Force, his Shadows, the Vaqueros, and anyone else who could hear him. "Run!"

Thankfully, the others had regained their wits, and Soap tried his best to help by firing off a few rounds before Ghost dragged him off into the darkness. Alejandro had taken cover behind one of the armored vehicles and was doing his best to take out the threats as they spilled from his base.

There was a tinny voice from his radio, but that was muffled by blood roaring in his ears.

With Wilkinson went the chain that snapped, the constriction that Shepherd had held him on, and he knew that this was the right decision.

His breathing came choked but he was still going, firing each bullet at his faux masked counterpart.

He wasn't sure when he ended up on the ground, but someone was pulling him up by the back of the vest.

The leash.

The chain.

"No-!" He shouted, trying to fight against the ghosts of a hand, before coming into contact with a tactical vest.

"Graves, we have to go!" Soap shouted at him, searching his eyes in a panic. "We don't have time ta keep at it like this!"

"No! We've- my men are- I have to-" He felt like he couldn't breathe. He wouldn't let this happen again, he couldn't let this happen again, not again, not-

"Graves!" Soap shook him slightly, snapping out of it. He cast a glance back at the base. There were.... too many.

"C'mon! I have a place we can go, esos putos bastardos!" Alejandro cussed angrily, gesturing them. It seemed like he too had an issue with leaving, but knew it was no good cause in staying.

With shaking hands, Graves pulled a bloodied slip of paper from his pocket. "Sergeant Parra- he gave me this.. that's where he said to go." He offered.

Alejandro gave him a grave look, before turning away. "Follow me."

And they did, trying their best to stay unaffected by the shouts and the gunfire from the Vaqueros' fallen base.

At one point, Graves' radio fell silent. He had stopped dead in his tracks when it had, trying to recover his brave face, but nothing could mask the way he paled considerably.

"Shadow Stations, report."

Static.

"I repeat, all Shadow Stations, report."

The silence was unbearable, and they pushed on.

The thoughts pushed inward. He failed. He failed them. He failed to stop them. How many men could he have lost? They were his brothers. He trained them himself. They were better than he was. Why should he-

They arrived at the safehouse, a large, barn looking thing. Alejandro surged inside, quickly followed by Graves, then Ghost and Soap. A few people were already inside. Hope bloomed in his heart as he spotted a few Shadows, and Vargas sped off to find Parra.

"Sergeant!" Graves spoke, his voice almost hoarse, and one of the Shadows perked up hopefully. The younger man was getting his side patched by a Vaquero. Bullet wound, he could tell. This was Shadow 2-3, but his name was Sergeant Connor Saury.

"Yes Commander!" His voice carried across the vast space, and the man turned a few shades of red in embarrassment. "Sorry-"

"How many of you-" Graves did a quick head count of all he could see. Five was his most, but maybe there were others in the other rooms, or still outside. "Made it here?"

Saury's face fell. "Uh- I'm not sure how to tell you, sir, but-"

"Spit it out, Connor."

"Yes- yes sir. Most of them stayed to- well- they weren't gonna let them take us so easily, sir, and a lot stayed behind. They thought the General's men got you, and-"

He raised a hand, and the sergeant stopped, looking down to the floor. "Connor... Where's everyone else?"

He didn't answer.

"Conn-"

"It's just us, sir." He whispered, and Graves felt like he was gonna throw up. There was- no, this couldn't be happening again... "Are... are you bleeding, Graves-?"

"Philip, you with us lad?" He heard Soap say.

His radio was still silent. He doubted it would make sound again. Had anyone else gotten out? What happened to the rest of the Vaqueros?

He was walking. Someone stopped him. He kept walking.

"-just shut down. Hasn't responded to a thing we've said." Someone else, Ghost said, before a light was shined into his eyes. He felt like he was feeling everything underwater. Slow, sluggish, dreamlike.

The only difference between then and now was that there was no missiles gone missing. They... were still gone, though.

A twinge in his shoulder. He felt himself wince. Doctor.

The oily texture told him there was blood on his hands, literally and figuratively.

"The Captain's arrived. Should we tell 'im?" A ghost of a whisper kissed his hearing at some point.

"....Laswell's doing some digging...."

The air morphed and pinpointed around him, the fog around his brain cleared in a split second.

"Where is he?" Philip asked. His tongue felt heavy, his lips dry. How long had they been here?

"Back with us, Graves?" Ghost's gruff voice asked him, somewhere in the dark of the room behind him. He ignored him.

"Where's the captain?" He repeated himself, and Soap pursed his lips.

"Doon th' hall. Second door on th' left."

Less than a minute later, Graves stood outside the given door, hand poised to knock.

But it opened before he had the chance.

Price was running a hand over his face tiredly, having apparently not seen him, but then he looked up, and Graves felt his shoulders fall slack.

"...Phil-?"

"John-" He breathed, and practically threw himself into the man's arms. Price backed up, holding him tightly, and kicked the door shut.

"Hey, hey, what- what's wrong?" He felt the Captain wince at the question, realizing how stupid it sounded. "Take a breath, love, breathe..."

"They're gone, they- they thought- I should've- John, I f-fucked up, it's my fault- John, I failed them, I failed-" His voice broke, and he unwillingly sobbed into the man's shirt.

"No, no, hold on, you didn't fail them, Phil..." He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his forehead, rubbing his hand through Graves' hair. He was shaking horribly as he sobbed, fists balling the hem of Price's shirt. "C'mere, let's sit down now."

Price's voice stayed gentle, a soothing quiet, guiding him to the edge of the bed in the room. He couldn't stop the cries that ripped their way through his chest, clawing like a beast freed from eternal punishment. Soft hands guided their way up and down his figure, comforting, hovering over his shoulder. Graves hissed a breath as a sharp sting shot down to his elbow. "Pip, are you injured...?"

He didn't know how to respond. Had he been injured? That would explain the doctor he thinks he saw before, and the constant stinging ache. Had it been bandaged? Maybe, but he thinks he had left before the Vaquero could finish. So instead, he hummed in defeat, hiding his shameful face in the Captain's shoulder. Like a child who believed that if he could not see his mother, then she could not see him, he believed that if he hid closer, Price would not be able to see the sin written into the very being of him, the total failure that he was.

"Hey, breathe, look at me. You need to breathe, love, you need to, or you'll make this all worse. In and out..." He was rocking him softly, back and forth.

He tried. In- in and out, in- "John, th-they're dead-"

"I know, shh.... You're alright, you are..."

"They're dead because of me, I f-failed-"

Price took his face in his hands suddenly, forceful, but still calm, shocking a part of him from his stupor. "You didn't fail them, Philip, none of that now. We're all alive because of you." Price said, and Graves hesitantly opened his eyes, peering at the man above him. Instead of finding a cold look of betrayal or disgust, John's face was nothing but concern written softly into the lines of his face. He took a breath. "Because of you, everyone in this building is here. The others..." Price hesitated, but wanted the man to have some hope. "They might be on their way. Some of them, at least. Takes a while to get here, if you don't know where you're goin'." The ghost of a laugh whispered its way through the room, lightening the darker part of his thoughts.

A watery look crossed his tear-stained face, but a bit of spark flashed in his eyes. "You- y'think-?"

"Aye, I know it." Price nodded, pressing his nose into Graves' sandy mop of hair. "I know it."

#call of duty #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #john price #price x graves #pricegraves #phillip graves #commander graves #🪶 anon #🪶

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verdemoun · 6 months ago

Note

Don't know if you've already talked about bill but how is he coping with modern times? I always imagined a modern bill becoming a car mechanic, or something adjacent, maybe even becoming a small influencer where he posts abt trucks and such (and also his dog. I just know that man gets a dog in any type of modern au)

i have not spoken about bill because bill as a character just makes me so sad fam like was he doomed to be the power hungry bastard of toxic masculinity we see in rdr1 or did the events of rdr2 actively make him that way why was everyone so mean to him like you can see the way people treats him chipping away at him it makes me want to scream but back to timewarp au

therapy. my otp is bill and therapy. man needs anger management and to unpack that emotional baggage. it would take a while but once bill made the connection sometimes when he feels angry and acts out he's actually feeling sad/upset he'd start to develop as a person really quickly.

he would be so conflicted about seeing the gang again. why does no one talk about what happened to bill in the gap between rdr1 and 2?? dutch fucking left him behind bill would've followed dutch to the ends of the earth and been the perfect obedient loyal son he always wanted and dutch just threw him away because hunting down arthur and john for betraying him was more important!!

the new main gang would've picked him up because they knew he was going to be timewarped but it would be so uncomfortable.

poor kieran would've been so terrified he had to stay with annabelle and grimshaw until bill left. he usually regresses a little whenever someone timewarps because he has obvious reason to be nervous about the gang but it would've been a full breakdown just knowing bill was coming back. bill would've felt bad about it too because he never made the connection between how the gang's teasing made him feel vs what his bullying was doing to kieran.

the rest of the gang would've gone straight back to teasing bill because that was the dynamic last time they were all together. he would've hated it and lashed out a lot. he became something after they died they better respect it but of course they just don't. bill would've barely understood modern era before he bounced.

happy stuff now i promise. he ended up hitchhiking for a bit and learning about the modern world from truckers. he would love going to bars and truck stops and dodgy mom and pop diners along the highway.

he ends up getting a job on a ranch (ironically the modern day MacFarlane which became a massive multimillion dollar operation) and still gets to ride horses almost every day. he picks up herding super quickly and gets all the validation and care he deserves. the owners love him and are really supportive and patient when it comes to dealing with his temper.

he gets a little power trip out of learning to drive the semi-truck and unlike most of the hands is always super excited and happy to go on cross-country road trips delivering things to processing facilities. his favorite thing though would be the combine harvester he will work 14 hour shifts without complaint harvesting grain.

bill loves dogs almost more than he loves his horses he cannot drive past a sign that says puppies for sale without at least stopping to look. this habit has resulted in him having five dogs and they are his new gang. his first dog was a stray he picked up on the side of the road it's a wire-haired gundog mutt just called Mutt. he also has two cattle dogs (Clem and Roanoke), a long hair shepherd called Mercer and finally a catahoula called Abel. they are all working dogs and he does not go anywhere without all of them. they all sleep on his bed and are just as happy to go on cross country road trips in the semi as he is.

he can control all of them with a whistle or non verbal commands and they are insanely well trained. Micah fucking hates him sure Baymax can bark and growl and look scary on command but the second one of Bill's dogs curls up its lips Baymax is hiding behind Micah terrified and Bill is so fucking smug about it.

through therapy and having his ideals challenged bill starts making an effort to be less racist and sexist and actually confronting some of the gang about the way they treated him in 1899 and mending those relationships because look yeah he went off the deep end after the VDLs but he does still care about them and wants to have good relationships with them he's just got to work through a lot of issues go bill i believe in you

and most importantly he finally got over the internalized homophobia and admitted to himself he's a bit/lot gay. he's not wearing beads at pride levels of comfortable with it yet but he is a classic bear who will protect the gaybies from violence with violence.

it's like a many, many years slow burn but him and alden get together because charlybird's art is one of the only reasons i gave bill a chance as a character and i am a better person for it

#rdr2 timewarp au #bill williamson

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fictionadventurer · 1 year ago

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It's time to start thinking about this year's Inkling's Challenge. There are a few things to address before I make anything official, and I'd like to bounce it off of you guys first.

Interest

Is anyone interested in doing this?

Themes

As in previous years, I'd like to have a list of seven Christian themes for writers to choose from to inspire their stories. This encourages people to think about the Christian element, and provides some guidance without being too rigid. I got the impression that last year's images worked better for people than the previous year's list of Christian concepts. I'm trying to figure out which direction to take with this year's list.

Options include:

Keeping last year's imagery list. Makes it easy for me, but I would like to shake things up to give each year's Challenge a unique feel.

Coming up with a list of new images. My first thought is images that have been applied to God (shepherd, father, king, bridegroom, servant, etc), though that may be too narrow and limit people to stories involving blatant Christ figures. At the moment, I can't think of anything else that goes beyond the major Christian images in last year's list.

Coming up with a new list of more abstract Christian themes. Virtues? Gifts of the Spirit? Books or Sections of the Bible?

I'm open to any ideas that anyone might have because I'm stumped.

Team Chesterton's Technology Category

Each team in the Inklings Challenge gets a fantasy and science fiction genre assigned to it. The split has been pretty even with stories written for Team Lewis and Team Tolkien, but after two years, we've yet to have a single story written for the Technology genre of Team Chesterton. This suggests there's a major problem with the concept, so I should probably switch it up.

The best solution depends on what exactly the problem is. Is the category too broad? Does the title make it seem too technical--like you have to be an expert in technology and write about it realistically? Does it not have a genre attached to it that inspires stories? "Space travel" and "time travel" both suggest going places, which naturally sparks stories. And they evoke certain not-necessarily-hard-sci-fi genres.

There is a possibility that it's chance--maybe Intrusive Fantasy, with its urban fantasy and fairy tale possibilities, is just too appealing to this crowd in comparison to any sci fi genre. But to have no stories in the genre (with Team Chesterton always sparking the fewest stories) suggests a deeper problem.

How to fix it?

Options include:

Choose a category name related to travel like the other two are. There are lots of stories you could tell based on air, land, and sea travel that still involve sci-fi technology (and the concept matches things included in Chesterton's work). But what to call it? "Earth-based travel"?

Choose a certain type of technology to focus on. Say, Biological Technology. Or Robots. This may have some of the same too-technical-sounding problems of the Technology category.

Choose a technology-related subgenre, like Cyberpunk or Steampunk. (Or all the -punks if I could figure out a decent term for it). This still fits Chesterton's work, but may be too limiting or may still not draw writers--after all, these were always options under the original genre category, and no one wrote any.

Any feedback in this area would help.

#adventures in writing #adventures in the inklings challenge

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leilavin0 · 4 months ago

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How were Cain, Abel, and Seth as children. Were they rowdy, tough children, or were they calm, easy kids?

[ they were extremely different from one another, like on completely opposite ends of a scale!

cain was always the quiet and shy child, getting tangled between his mother's legs and in her skirt, which made adam (the very first father in humanity, with zero knowledge on how to kids) quite upset a lot of the times as his boy was kind of scared of him? and he was getting all of eve's attention!

eve would always say that he should have been born back in eden, that he belonged in the lap of luxury and not the harsh reality of the earth.

cain had to grow pretty quickly, both because neither first parents knew how to treat a human that small, and because the fight for survival was essential - he started helping out in the fields as early as six or seven years old and found solace in nature, where he would run to a lot to literally talk with the trees and sing to crops to hurry and grow.

abel was a rowdy kid from conception, kicking in the womb and leaving it quickly, as if he knew his time on earth was going to be rather short.

eve would coddle him even more than she did cain, which was already quite a lot, as if feeling too - that her time with him would be very short.

he got into all kinds of trouble all of the time, which cain would end up either getting punished for or scolded for not making sure abel would behave - something that abel would always find unjust and would start swinging at adam in retaliation, how dare you make my big brother sad! jail! jail for mom and dad!

his rambunctious and rebellious nature had him placed to care for the animals who he enjoyed herding, he would have ended up becoming a traveler with how much ground he would cover and discover while preforming his duties as a shepherd.

seth was a child of hope that adam and eve had years after cain was exiled from their family, and abel's remains had dried.

he was always feeling like a replacement for both of his older brothers all of his life, the unsaid duty of being both cain and abel fell on him pretty heavily and he ended up developing a personality that was two thirds his brothers' and only one third his own.

eve couldn't forgive herself for that, but he grew into his own person in the end, and that was what mattered.

while he wasn't a troublemaker, he wasn't following rules too much either, always finding a way to either avoid doing a chore or finding a way to make it easier or faster - a quite lazy and laid back child that never understood why his parents were so stressed about everything. ]

#[ blah blah blah. ]#cain the first #hazbin abel #hazbin cain #hazbin seth #[ anon q ]

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hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend · 6 months ago

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Mayncient Day 23: Dearest

Get Along Without You

Had the first part in my wips for ages and had sudden inspiration for this day so here it is for you all! no warnings. word count 1.4k

They’re both lucky enough to have a full moon that casts enough light in the darkest parts of the city to allow them to walk in peace. Lucky enough that when they do finally come to a spot in the empty park there’s just enough shadow to allow for their masks to be removed.

Conner sits closer to the path, letting his height add protection to Elidibus’ identity despite it being well into the hours that any sane person would be in bed. Even with the white mask and black robes the Emissary still fears the potential backlash should he be found with Conner, a sentiment that he understands. Yet in this moonlit spot Conner can see the man relax as if they were behind closed doors, a smile playing on his lips as he watches Elidibus look up at the stars. “It’s quiet tonight,” he says, his white hair blowing gently in the small breeze, “something I wouldn’t expect of this place. Always noise. People, kids, and little animals during the day.”

“It's nice.” Conner inhales deeply, smiling and looking up at the sky also, “This has become my favorite time of day now.”

Elidibus frowns, “It used to be dawn.”

Conner shrugs, “It's still the early morning technically. Besides, a person’s favorite time of day can change or also just have multiple favorites.”

“Not with you Conner. You were-.”

“You’re not going to change my mind on being with you Elidibus,” he assures, “I know back then it felt like there were no consequences because it was just sex, but I still could have left when this became a lot more than that. I know what air we must put on when the white robes are on and we are at work keeping a little closer to the shadows, a small price to pay to have the times like this where you are better dressed for the shadows and yet do everything except stay in them.”

“If only we never had to in the first place. Do you not wish to be more open at work? Among friends?”

“I think in all cases there is a certain kind of secrecy when in a working environment out of professionalism so not much would change on that front really. As for friends, well,” Conner chuckles, shaking his head, “we already are, as they know not to ask too many questions. You remember how Hythlodaeus’ partner was when we happened to cross paths as the two were making their way home?”

The memory brings a small smile back to Elidibus’ face, “I do not believe I had ever seen Anthea more authoritative than in that moment.” He sighs, shoulders relaxing as he leans against Conner, fingers becoming entwined with his, “I just wish that I, as Themis, can be enough for you as Elidibus certainly cannot be.”

Conner tilts his head upward, caressing his jawline to let his hand become loosely entangled in the long white hair. He brings his lips down softly to his, the chill of the night air disappearing in an instant even as Conner pulls away just far enough to whisper, “It will never matter to me who you are. You are by my side right now and that is enough.”

It isn’t enough in this time of calamity when Elidibus recalls that moment as the skies darken and people flee below the earth. Things are going to plan as he can feel that starting fusion of worlds, of another piece of Zodiark stitched by his brethren, and of the decimation of a world he never cared to know. He stopped trying to get to know the people of those broken worlds after they were successful in rejoining the first piece to Him. What was the point when they weren’t supposed to exist to begin with? He’d stick to those that would become whole once again.

It was a third attempt to see if there was something more to it all, if The Shepherd on the moon was right to have abandoned them all those years ago like Emet-Selch had said. Three attempts and this would be the last. He can already see how this one ends, can already feel the slow crawl of grief that’s never sat nicely since the world he knew fell apart, can see this version doing what Elidibus can only assume happened the first time.

These people don’t have magic yet that doesn’t stop this incarnation of Conner weaving through destruction getting as many as he can underground. He’s had several close calls with the smoke engulfing him and lightning starting to rain down and still it does not deter the man….and each time it causes a panic to rise in Elidibus briefly. Each time he wonders if this will be the moment he witnesses the death of his dearest and so he intervenes in ways imperceptible to those of this era. His brethren would scoff at the intervention, and he can’t blame them, this is only one man and what was a single man compared to the many they were working on bringing back? The preservation of this one man is not worth the whole of the star.

Yet how would they know that this one man, his soul on its first journey in this new world, was the only reasoning he could find to let them continue with what they were doing. That maybe, just maybe, he could have the power to bring him back, get back that little piece of his heart that was given in exchange for the hopes of many. To see those blue eyes framed by ebony hair once again, to hear his laughter when they tried to dance and Elidibus couldn’t help but try to take the lead which had their legs tangled as they fell to the ground, to feel his own heart race when their eyes would meet in the Convocation building knowing what could come next. To experience the smell of the various herbs and plants he kept just for the joy of it once more, and to taste the cool moonlight on Conner’s lips as the sun rose to remind them of duty that always won. This one man was a reminder of what he sacrificed….

And what a mistake it was to have indulged in this fantasy.

Their time together was bliss. The way they met almost like the first time, but it wasn’t uncertainty about his new appointment that kept him silent, but the instant recognition of his eyes among features that were nothing like Conner. Elidibus didn’t need to check the color of his soul to know it was him, though he did anyway, it was enough to have those soulful eyes look at him once more. Enough to bring him back to this incarnation and strike up conversation after conversation in an openness Elidibus hadn’t known when the world was whole. To create a fleeting life within that freedom and to fall once more for someone that was a close approximation to the man he lost. Yet fleeting is all this ever was, even if he was to live to be old and grey a few decades is nothing in the centuries Elidibus has lived. He knows this and still it hurts. Still it hurts to see them all leave in ways that feel unnatural, after centuries of witnessing and being the cause of millions of deaths he still cannot stop the torturous pain from enveloping him. He wants to be free of this cycle….

So this will be the last time he lives among them. The last time he will go searching for those he once knew. The last time he will let himself be distracted by the doubts that plague his mind. The last time he will let himself recall or create memories to hold onto. After this Calamity he will once again put duty above all else.

But first he will get this incarnation of Conner to the fleeting safety of the ground. Will stay with him for the last two months he has before returning to the sea to begin once again. Will hold him during his last breaths and mourn with the others before disappearing into the shadows, where he will stay dressed in white to perform his duty like he did so long ago. All the while holding onto the fact that he for just a moment had Conner right by his side….

….and it wasn’t enough….

#idk what happened i'm sorry #but took it in the route of a one word prompt so uhm yeah #anyway have fun #x: moonlight serenade #elidibus #elidibus x oc #mayncient #mayncient 2024 #my writing #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv #apologies for any mistakes but we die like men here

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