#starting with the shepherds and going out to all the earth

[wonderjanga]

The Wizard

Marvel gets smacked so hard he thinks he’s Shazam. That’s it.

Superman: *helps Marvel up* “Oh my Rao, are you okay??”

Marvel: *confused as to who the man in blue is* “Yes, I am fine.” *brushes himself off and sees a giant space ship in the sky* “What in the world is that?”

Supes: ���It’s the ship?”

Marvel: “What ship?”

Supes: “The ship that’s invading us- you know the drill. Aliens come to earth, and we take them out. Marvel are you okay?

Marvel: “I already said I am fine, and my name isn��t Marvel, I am Sha-”

*they get shot at by the ship*

Marvel: “Never mind. Let me take care of this.”

Supes: “Wait, Cap!”

Marvel: *proceeds to ram himself into the ship leaving a Cap sized hole*

Said ship proceeded to start falling on the city below. The heroes then immediately rushed to try and stop it from landing on the city.

And before anyone says this is out of character, this is young, kinda old, but still young Shazam. This man was a shepherd. From like 9000 years ago. This man prayed to the Gods so hard they were like, “here, take these powers. Go nuts, freaky bro.” To which he then went on to murder all the people who murdered his family. He could’ve been unhinged because I don’t think you understand how much hatred that man must’ve put into his prayers for the gods to notice him.

Back at the Watchtower…

GL: You were a shepherd? Like a dude that herds sheep type of shepherd?”

Marvel: “Yes.”

WW: “How does one go from herding sheep to being a super hero?”

Marvel: “A gang of thieves killed my family. So I prayed, and the gods blessed me, princess.”

WW: “Oh… I apologize-

Marvel: “Then killed off the bandits.”

GL: *chokes on spit and coughs a lot* “What?”

Marvel: “I hunted them down and killed them all.”

WW and GL: *share a concerned look before looking back at Marvel*

WW: “We were all under the impression that you refrained from killing anyone. Regardless of whether or not they were a bad person.”

Marvel: “What made you think that? In this strange future, have I stopped?”

GL: “As far as we know!”

Then there was the inevitable time Shazam had enough of being called Cap, or a Marvel, or even worse Captain Marvel.

Marvel: “Why do you all keep calling me that?”

Supes: “No offense, but you’ve… Never really told us your name.”

Marvel: “I haven’t? Do I not trust you? Aren’t you all my future comrades?”

Supes: “We are! We’ve known you for four, almost five years. It’s just, whenever we ask, you kind of just shut down.”

Marvel: “Really? Then I might as well get it out of the way. My name is Shazam.” *gets lightninged into little billy and sees how little he is* “WHAT IN THE GODS NAMES?”

[aventurineswife]

so how do you think sahsrau would react if they found out that fem reader liked one night stands like she has a body count in the hundreds (her personally is kinda like the girl from that rabbit hole song) would they be horrified to learn that their creator was defiled by such lowly insects or would they also choose to adopt her life style just wondering since as you've said in a previous reply to and ask sagau's and sahsrau's don't really get into the human aspect of the reader

Also love your writing love you!!!!!! (*^*)

Oooooh that is such a juicy and chaotic question—

If we’re talking SAHSRAU and not just a soft romantic AU, then yeah: the reaction would be intense, but not necessarily all the same across the cast.

Initial Reaction: Shock + Intrigue + Conflict

SAHSRAU characters don’t fully grasp the human element of the reader—they worship her, revere her, or treat her as some omnipotent concept. So when they learn something so deeply personal and intimate, it shatters that perception for a moment. It’s not that they’re disgusted—no, no. It’s that they don’t understand how something so sacred could allow herself to be touched by… mortals.

Divided Reactions

1. Those who would be absolutely horrified (but internalize it):

Jing Yuan, Welt, and maybe Himeko — they'd keep their composure, but their entire worldview just cracked. They’d start to overthink like, “Was it pleasure? Was it loneliness? Was it… penance?”

Jing Yuan in particular might start researching Earth’s culture on sexuality like he’s studying scripture.

2. Those who would want to purge the memory from existence:

Cocolia, Yaoshi-coded beings, some Aeons, and definitely Kafka (but secretly). These are the “you’ve been defiled” types. They’d go full “they were insects unworthy of your skin” and might even start tracking these people down to erase them like an obsessive zealot faction.

They might also try to protect the reader from her own urges after this.

3. Those who would adopt the lifestyle out of devotion or mimicry:

Silver Wolf, March 7th, Sampo, and weirdly enough, Blade (in a very unhinged, obsessive, if you let them touch you then I’ll let you break me too way).

Silver Wolf especially would be like: “Okay queen, body count at 100+? Slay. Wanna make it 101?”

They’d start seeing sex as a form of divine expression—“If this is how she conquers the world, then we must become fluent in it.”

4. Those who don’t fully get it but love her anyway:

Dan Heng, Luocha, maybe Ruan Mei. They’d struggle to reconcile the image of the reader with this behavior, but they wouldn’t condemn her. Dan Heng might quietly mourn the emotional side of it, thinking, “Did no one love her?”

Ruan Mei, on the other hand, would be fascinated—she’d want to study the psychology behind it.

But here's the kicker: no matter how they feel about it emotionally or spiritually, they’re still afraid to shame her. She's their god, their shepherd, the source of their universe. If the reader casually mentioned this with zero shame—just vibes and mascara streaks—they’d be forced to either:

Accept that their god is a wild creature of the night

Or snap under the pressure of their idealization cracking

Also, thank you!! <33

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Kirishima gives Todoroki S*x Tips | Todoroki x Reader Fic

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋, Shoto Todoroki x Eijiro Kirishima Friendship

Genre: Fluff, Sex, Friendship, NSFW

CW: MDNI!, discussing sex, foreplay, p*rn, hickies

Shoto Todoroki doesn’t really get sex until he gets it.

He loves you and knows you want to do it…so naturally he does research. If there’s one thing Shoto is good at, it’s mastering a subject

When Kirishima loses his virginity, he lets Shoto ask him questions. They sit late into the night at the library, reviewing and analyzing Kirishima’s 30 minutes of action. Shoto takes notes and in that straightforward way of his, asks for Eijro’s opinions on positions, foreplay and hickies.

“Did you perform oral sex on her? Is the female anatomy confusing?” He asks, causing Eijiro to go red in the face. Eijiro nods yes to both. “It took a few minutes, but once I got into it, I figured it out pretty quickly!” He says earnestly. Shoto scribbles down a reminder to Google some detailed diagrams of the female body when he gets home.

 “Foreplay is super important, because girls need to, like, warm up before they’re ready to bone.” Eijiro adds, motioning for Shoto to keep taking notes.

“I didn’t know that.” Shoto blinks, surprised. To be fair, he had never really thought much about sex until you’d brought it up a few months earlier. He knew the rudimentary mechanics from middle school health class, but had never wondered what went into the act beyond the basics of reproduction.

“Shoto. My dude. This is going to be harder than I thought.” Eijiro puts his face in his hands. “How does someone our age have little to no knowledge about sex?”

“I wasn’t interested in it until now.” Shoto says flatly. “But now that Y/N wants to do it, I want to, too.”

Eijiro stares at Shoto thoughtfully through his fingers. “That was a pretty chivalrous response.” He admits, lifting his head from his hands. “You just want to make your girl happy, I can get behind that. But Shoto – if you don’t want to have sex, you don’t have to. Enthusiastic consent is key to solid intimacy.”

“I really want to do this.” Shoto says insistently. “I don’t really understand what all the hype is about, but I want to try it with y/n. I want to feel close to her that way. And maybe once I do it, I’ll understand.”

“Alright, man. Then I’ll help you. Consider me your Sex Expert. Your Sexpert!” Kirishima grins at his witty wordplay.

Shoto looks at him skeptically. “Haven’t you only had sex once, though? How much of an expert can you possibly be?”

Kirishima deflates. “I don’t see anyone else out in the library at 11pm giving you sex advice!”

“True.”

“So let me teach you what I know.” He says sagely. “Just call me your Sex Sensei!”

Shoto snorts out a laugh. “Pass.”

“Fine, be like that. Regardless, you are now my student. I will shepherd you into the next phase of your sex life with chivalry and grace.” Eijiro is really getting into the bit now. One look down at Shoto’s nervous face pulls him back down to Earth. “What’s wrong?”

“This is a lot. What if I’m bad at it? And what if y/n hates it?” Shoto closes his notebook and looks pleadingly at Kirishima with his mismatched eyes. “You’ve got to help me.”

“Calm down, man. It’s really not as big a deal as you think! And I’ve already committed to being your Sex Sensei, so we’re going to see this through together.” He motions for Shoto to open up his notebook again. “Now let’s start with the basics – have you ever watched porn?”

--------------- FIN for now! ------------------------------------------------

I'm working on a longer fic to really dig into this exploration for Shoto! I love the idea of Kirishima being such a bro and trying to help his friends however he can. I also LOVE the idea of Kirishima fucking someone once and believing that makes him the resident expert on sex.

[original-begay-docrime]

It's just a mini adventure story about Odysseus.

The Great Cyclops & Sheep Heist

It started, as all great disasters do, with boredom.

Odysseus, now officially a son of Hermes, had been spending way too much time perfecting his prank game. So, naturally, when he saw Polyphemus (Poseidon’s favorite cyclops) herding his sheep near a sacred spring, he thought, Why not steal them?

So he did.

Getting past a giant, one-eyed shepherd was no easy task. But Odysseus had an idea—a stupid, brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea.

One night, while Polyphemus was sleeping peacefully, Odysseus snuck up and poured salt water straight into his massive eye.

The results were instantaneous.

Polyphemus woke up screaming. Not just any scream—a full-blown, deep, earth-shaking, "I AM IN THE WORST PAIN OF MY LIFE" scream. He clutched his eye, rolling around in agony.

"WHY?!" he bellowed. "WHY DOES EVERYTHING BURN?!"

Then, through his blurry, salty vision, he saw a blurry figure in the distance. "Oh, great one!" the figure (Odysseus in disguise) shouted. "You must cleanse your eye! The gods demand you wash it with more salt water!"

"That... that sounds like it would make things worse," Polyphemus groaned, still writhing in pain.

"Nonsense!" Odysseus said, pushing him toward the ocean. "Trust me, bro. Would I lie to you?"

And Polyphemus, in his infinite, one-eyed wisdom, did exactly that.

He plunged his face into the sea, hoping for relief—only to immediately experience Round Two of searing, eye-melting agony.

Cue more screaming.

Meanwhile, Odysseus was already at work, smuggling every single sheep out of the cave while the cyclops was busy blinding himself even more.

By the time Polyphemus was done dunking his head into Poseidon’s domain like an absolute fool, Odysseus and his new fluffy friends were long gone.

The next morning, Poseidon stormed into Olympus, dragging a half-blind, traumatized Polyphemus behind him.

"YOUR SON," Poseidon roared at Hermes, "has kidnapped my Cyclops and ALL his sheep!"

Hermes, ever the chill dad, just sipped his nectar. "Well, did you lose them, or did he find them?"

"HE TOOK THEM!"

"Sounds like a you problem."

While the gods bickered, Odysseus was already planning revenge. Because if there was one thing he didn’t do, it was let things go. So, after months of careful planning, he got back at Poseidon in the pettiest way possible:

By tying shipwrecks into his seaweed-like hair while he was asleep.

This wasn’t a simple job—no, Odysseus spent months intricately knotting tiny wrecked ships into Poseidon's sacred locks. Every morning, Poseidon would wake up, shake his head, and a dozen tiny boats would fall out like confetti. Sailors started treating his hair like the Bermuda Triangle.

It took Poseidon a decade to get rid of them. Even now, he occasionally finds a rogue mast tangled in his curls.

And what about the sheep?

See, while everyone thought this was some grand, elaborate prank, Odysseus’ reasoning was much simpler: he just wanted a warm winter coat.

When Poseidon finally found the stolen flock, they were all standing there—bald. Completely shaved down to the skin. No wool, no fluff.

Not even eyelashes.

Polyphemus, holding the most pitiful-looking, shivering lamb, turned to his father and whispered, "I can see the shame in their eyes."

Meanwhile, Odysseus was lounging in a full-length, custom-tailored, ultra-soft fleece coat, looking smug as hell.

Worth it.

I love this so much!!!

[howdeepthegrave]

Okay so we all know we're not getting a season 2 of Agatha All Along, and we're probably not getting anything Young Avengers. Our last best hope is that the mainline MCU is going heavily multiversal so maybe we might see an alternate version or two of Agatha at some point.

Still, I think a lot of what a season 2 could be. What I'd like to see. So follow me on down, kids.

Obviously (as I've posted in the past) a season 2 would involve a road trip to find Timantha Tilliam Tommy. I'm fine with that. A road trip means going places, and it means time passed on the road (lol) that can be filled perhaps with Agatha divulging tales of her past, real or fabricated, to Billy. This gives us room for flashbacks that would let the costume and art and set departments shine. This gives us room also for the glory that is AGATHARIO BACKSTORY. The road trip aspect can allow too for meeting up with various side characters the MCU seems ready to jettison, as well as possible Young Avengers (c'mon an' gimme that sweet, sweet return of Kate Bishop!)

I propose that it would become clear to both Billy and Agatha early on that someone is following them. At first Agatha thinks it could be Rio, wanting to hunt down Billy and Tommy as abominations, but things occur and signs are left which point to something other. Something perhaps malevolent in a way Death truly is not. Billy wonders if Wanda could be back, if she could be seeking him and Tommy to reunite the family.

They actually find Tommy relatively early, but it takes quite a bit of doing to get him to understand that he IS Tommy Maximoff in the body of Thomas Shepherd. At some out-of-the-way, no-tell motel, Billy finally manages to break through and truly reunite with his brother... But Agatha vanishes.

Agatha is trapped in some strange limbo space at first, and she is SURE this is Rio's doing. A hooded figure appears, crackling with power. The figure lashes out, and the power does... Something to Agatha. It hurts her, which it should not be able to do, as she's a ghost. It knocks her back, and the figure just keeps jolting her, moving closer and closer, crouching at last beside a now restored, corporeal Agatha.

"Hey, Mom."

His hood falls back, and... It's Nicky. Not our Nicky, but an adult Nicholas Scratch from an Earth where he's comic accurate: evil. Seems he's been trekking the multiverse under the auspices of Mephisto, seeking out and neutralizing every version of Agatha he can find, taking each incarnation's powers, trying to basically get so juiced nothing could stop him from doing whatever he wants. He draws out a lot of power from Agatha, not exactly in the way her siphon works, but still draining her.

"Why? Nicholas, this... This isn't you. What..."

"Oh, this is me. This is the best possible me."

He's about to hit her again, maybe finish her off, and the... Floor? falls out from under them.

Nicholas goes... Somewhere, and Agatha lands in a place we've gotten a bit used to thanks to some of the flashbacks: the cottage. But it's not as we've seen it before. Gone is the magic-filled, candle-lit home. Now it's dark, cold, dusty. It's sort of... Dead. Agatha starts to panic. She needs to get out of here, find the boys, and stop this twisted version of Nicholas who, P.S., has ended up outside the motel just as Billy steps out of the room, seeking Agatha.

Billy sees this stranger, and he can sense power in him, so he figures it's worth a shot to seek his help.

"Hey, uh, sir, excuse me, this might sound crazy, but have you seen a crone? Around 5'5", white hair, purple dress, maybe 60% opacity? Answers to the name Agatha Harkness."

"She a friend of yours?"

Billy shrugs.

"I don't know if I'd go that far. More like a teacher. A mentor. A highly questionable mother figure."

Nicholas smiles.

"I think I know just the person you're referring to."

Tommy, meanwhile, steps out of the room just in time to see Nicholas blast Billy across the motel parking lot. Of course, he tears off at superspeed to get to his brother.

"Billy! Billy, man, c'mon! You gotta wake up. Billy, I can't handle this on my own!"

Tommy looks over his shoulder and sees Nicholas walking toward them.

Back in the cottage, Agatha tries the door, but it won't budge. She tries a window... nada. She can't seem to summon up any power, or she would try to blast her way out.

"Trying to leave in a hurry? Again?"

Turning, Agatha sees another hooded figure, but at the moment, this one actually produces slightly less fear than usual.

"Please, you have to let me go. You have to let me get to the boys. I..."

"Still trying to save those abominations? Agatha, why? Why do you even pretend to care about them?"

"I don't care. I... The proximity to power is all that matters. Tommy and Billy are the last remnants of the mystery that Wanda left behind. I want to understand them and then get whatever I can out of them."

"That so? Because it seems to me like you're using them to assuage the pain of your thwarted maternal drive. Like you've utterly replaced our son..."

"Don't you talk about him! Don't you dare..."

"Why not? Why should I not talk about our son? The son I've been sole parent to since his passing? The son who, every time I go and see him, only wants to know one thing: When is Mama coming home?"

That jolts Agatha almost as strongly as one of the blasts from evil!Nicholas.

"You... Why would you..."

"I don't lie, Agatha. You know that. I misdirect, on occasion. I omit. But I do not lie, especially not to you."

Back in the parking lot, Tommy's lifting Billy up, he's managed to get him conscious again, and Billy grabs at Tommy's shoulder.

"Run."

"What? No! No, I gotta help you. Whoever this guy is..."

"Tommy, just run. Run like I know you can."

"Billy..."

"It's okay. I found you once. I'll find you again."

So Tommy helps Billy the last little bit to his feet, hugs him, and bolts off with all due speed. Nicholas watches him go and looks almost impressed.

"Wonder if after I'm done with you, little witch, I could drain away whatever makes your brother so quick."

"You won't have the chance."

Billy and Nicholas just rip into each other with bolts of power.

Back in the cottage, Agatha staggers under the weight of the knowledge that Nicky has never hated her.

"How? How could he possibly still want to see me after... After all that I've done?"

Death laughs, face still shrouded by the hood.

"Our son was made from pure love, Agatha. How could he be anything but loving?"

Now Agatha is the one who laughs.

"I don't think things work out so well in every reality, Rio."

Death tilts her head, confused.

Back in the lot, Billy has held his own against Nicholas for a while, but things are getting gnarly. It's clear the battle is turning, and it looks like Nicholas will be the victor. He's doing that typical villain gloating flourish thing, ready to end Billy, when something blurs in from the side and knocks him sprawling to the pavement. Tommy's back.

Tommy rushes to once more help Billy up, and they hurry to the van, thinking maybe they can put some road miles between them and Nicholas. Nicholas himself, meanwhile, rolls up onto his side, arm raised, ready to blast them...

A door appears, opens, and Agatha steps through, right into the path of the blast. Of course, her siphon activates, and she's absolutely in her element, drawing in power that this wicked version of her son has claimed from masses of her multiversal selves. Billy and Tommy freeze, watching it happen, awestruck.

As the last threads of power leave evil!Nicholas, Death Herself emerges from the same door Agatha had left, marching over and slicing the veil, kicking this twisted version of her son, body and soul, into an endless abyss.

Agatha is there in the middle of the lot, or rather levitating slightly above it, absolutely aglow with power, flickering between her restored self, her ghostly self, and a few other iterations. Billy and Death both approach her at the same time. Death, hood fallen back at last so we can see the face of Rio, reaches her first, taking Agatha's hand as she drifts down, stabilizing her into her restored form, but with a streak of white in her dark hair.

"Will you come home now?"

There is the heaviest pause you can imagine. Agatha looks at Billy, and there's a familiar sparkle of mischief in her eyes as she turns back to Rio.

"I'll make you a deal, my love."

Cut to some time later. Billy and Tommy are chilling (WITH THEIR FELLOW YOUNG AVENGERS DO THIS ONE THING FOR ME MARVEL) at whatever place they've come to call home. Billy steps away into the kitchen to grab some drinks, he leans into the fridge, and as he steps back...

"BOO!"

He yelps, drops cans and bottles all over the floor, and Agatha bursts out laughing.

"Agatha! Don't do that any more!"

"Hey, kid, I gotta get my kicks however I can."

Billy looks at her, really looks, because she's in her ghostly form again.

"I thought..."

"Oh, check this out!"

A snap of the fingers, and she's her restored self from the motel parking lot again. Another snap, she's full (classic comic accurate) Richards-Family-Nanny Agatha. Another and she's her young self from the first Salem days.

"I got a million of 'em."

"So, is this... Are you back?"

Agatha shrugs, snapping back to herself as she was just before they departed on the Witches' Road.

"I can be. What happened back there... Well, I can go back and forth now."

"So you can be with Nicky now?"

"Yeah."

"And Rio too?"

"Seems like the divorce never went through, so yeah, Rio too. Of course, she's pretty busy..."

"120 bodies a minute?"

"But she has help, so we almost have a normal home life. Well, for us."

"I miss you, Agatha."

"Oh, don't get sappy on me, kid. Besides, you've outgrown me. You know what you're doing without your old teacher now."

"I don't miss my teacher. I miss my friend."

And Billy lunges at Agatha, hugging her. She, naturally, does not hug him back.

"Ugh, kid, I said don't get sappy."

But then she sort of hugs him back.

"Maybe I'll stop in, from time to time. Just to keep an eye on things."

"You better. Maybe on coven game night."

"Coven game night, huh?"

"Sure. Wouldn't wanna miss a chance to hang out with Jen, right?"

Agatha scoffs, but Billy smiles.

"Sometimes, Alice comes along too."

And then Agatha smiles.

"Well, I might take you up on that. One day. But for now, I gotta get back."

"Yeah. See you around. And... And thank Rio for holding up her end of the deal."

"Oh believe you me, she gets all the thanks I can muster."

"Eww."

Agatha laughs and disappears, and Billy turns to leave the kitchen. Just as he reaches the door...

"Hey kid?"

He turns back.

"Yeah?"

"If you tell anyone I said this, I'll dedicate myself to publicly embarrassing you once a day every day for the rest of your life..."

Billy rolls his eyes, and Agatha smiles at him.

"I'm proud of you, Billy."

"I'm proud of you too."

Agatha vanishes again, and Billy leaves the kitchen.

And somewhere across the veil, there's a cottage, and there's a boy in the yard, chasing a pet rabbit. At a sound, the boy stops, looking up and laughing happily as he sees in the distance that both of his mothers are almost home again.

[kelpietheshifter]

Introducing My 1950s Housewife Life

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

Abt me ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: Alice Lexington <33

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 19 years old <33

˚୨୧⋆𝑯𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔: Childcare, Ballroom dancing, Dancing, Crocheting, Cooking, Cleaning, Baking, Sewing, Fashion Designing, Horseback Riding, Snow Skiing, and Horse Dressage

˚୨୧⋆𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚: American

˚୨୧⋆𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔: English, Spanish, Italian, Patois, German, Chinese, Tagalog, French

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑵𝒆𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉: 3.5 Billion Dollars

Relationships (mostly family) ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑳𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 42

We married 2 months ago, but we dated a year before that. I am this man's PRINCESS. He is the CEO of the biggest oil company in the world (It's generational) and he's an amazing man, whom I love dearly. This man basically created Princess Treatment. When he's not working on business deals and such he's at home being a great husband and father. He loves the piano, collecting vintage cars, and yachting. He's the whole package and I love him.

𝑴𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑫𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑳𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 15

Deborah and I are 4 years apart, we went to the same high school and we were friends, but not extradionarily close since I was a senior and she was a freshman when we met. We get along well and now that we're family we're the best of friends.

𝑴𝒚 𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅, 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 22

Frances and I are best friends because of our husbands but that doesn't mean we love each other any less. Our husbands (Charles was my boyfriend at the time) introduced us to each other at a Charity Banquet and we hit it off immediately. When we're at our homes in the suburbs we talk shit about the other moms, bake, drink, and dance together. This woman is my other half.

𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅, 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 26

This is John, He's Frances' husband and a very close friend of Charles. Charles considers him as his little brother. He inherited his father's spot in the Lexington Oil Company so he's very wealthy and highly ranked amongst the families. This is man can DANCE. When we all go dancing if I'm not dancing with Frances or Charles I'm dancing with him. He's such a gentleman, he's into pottery and swimming. I actually scripted a scenario where he teaches me pottery. I love him. Frances bagged herself a GREAT man.

𝑴𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑱𝒓.

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 5 months

I LOVE MY GODSON! Me and Charles are the godparents of Frances and John's beautiful baby boy. Whenever me and Frances are hanging out in our houses in the suburbs we watch him while tidying up, baking, or watching movies. He's my pride and joy I love this kid.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑫𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝑺𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒆𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 1 year old and 4 years old

Scruffy is Charles' German shepherd and Pepper is the poodle he surprised me with when we first started dating. They're best friends and you can NOT separate these two I swear. They have such different personalities, Scruffy being a rough-housing hooligan and Peppers being this proper and polite baby. I love them both dearly and they mean the world to me.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒓˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

ᡣ𐭩 Racism is not a problem in this reality

ᡣ𐭩 The Lexingtons are the richest family on earth while the Williamsons are the twenty-first richest

ᡣ𐭩 We own 3 houses the Lexington Villa, Mansion, Beach house, and then a whole bunch of miniature properties that I did not take the time to memorize

ᡣ𐭩 All the wealthy families get together for banquets, fundraisers and balls a few times a year

ᡣ𐭩 The world is always like the 1950s-60s even as time progresses

[elesheva]

i went through the bin of baby clothes yesterday and wept through one small, precious item after another from, sure, nostalgia. or really the unsettling awareness of how quickly the tape runs out on childhood -- all the time i spend shepherding our son out the door to school or up the stairs to bedtime or somewhere else away from me, all to one day look back and beg for one more moment of this exact time of our lives: where i am the person he wants most to be around, and where he can say so, and does. where i am kneeling in the kitchen, tomato sauce spoon in hand, to make eye contact and listen carefully while he tells me that he missed me that day "as deep as the ocean and as high as someone going up into space," and i say jesus christ, me too kid, that's exactly it. it isn't supposed to be like this forever, i know. that's why we do it with a partner, if we are lucky enough, so that lauren can put her hand over mine and say "he'll call" when i ask if i should check in on him, three days after moving him into his college dorm or some shitty little apartment or wherever life takes him next. his birth and infancy are part of our stories, lauren's and mine, but we're approaching the parts that will be his and his alone. i can feel the wave cresting. how wonderful, how frightening. you can roll your eyes at me, but i'm right.

anyway. the clothes. the silly dry clean only cashmere suit that came with the only socks small enough for his brand-new feet, the hat i nervously worked onto his head in the corner of the operating room, the pajamas i put him in after his first bath. more than nostalgia, i was struck by the sense memory of those first weeks. the august heat on the treeless block where we were living. the pooling condensation beneath a plastic cup of iced coffee left on the changing table. the knowledge that unlike everything else i had done in my perfectly controlled life, i was not already good at this. nothing prepares you for parenting other than parenting. my therapist asks what we're doing differently this time, and i tell her -- a can of backup formula, a stable of babysitters, maybe a treadmill. more importantly, this baby will get parents who know how to dispatch motrin to an unwilling patient, how to clean the bottles, how to bump up against their own inadequacies and adjust. i'm not afraid of being tired, or wrong, or foolishly bad at the logistics of my life; these are the problems of the luckiest woman on earth. what i am afraid of is wrenching my heart open again like the creaky handle of a bank vault. when lauren and i started dating, my deepest fear was that i would get used to the feeling of her warm hand on the back of my neck. now i'm preparing to love another person who will learn to kiss my cheek, and in turn stop wanting to kiss my cheek. and like a fool, i can't wait to meet her.

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero chapter 3

masterlist | taglist | AO3

Previous | Next

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

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

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.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

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.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

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.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

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.

taglist:

@leviathanleva @chocolate-noodles @vmaxis @poohkie90 @ghostlythots @nobodys-coffee @famouscattale @youdontneedtoknow1226 @pimpinsins @justguessfan @novasilvae @pausbirudanlumbalumba @ella2497

[pastshadows]

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.

[ineylesian]

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.

[mayflora-18]

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.

[wormwoodandhoney]

quarter one faves

quarter one (jan - march) book favorites under the cut, 15 books i really loved!

Sharks in the Time of Saviors by Kawai Strong Washburn - In 1995, Nainoa falls off of a cruise ship and is brought back safely to his mother in the jaws of a shark, turning him instantly into a legend marked to save all of Hawaii. As adults, Noa and his siblings must navigate what it means to be and to love a savior in a modern world.

Margo Has Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe - Twenty year old Margo is a single mother desperate to make ends meet. When her estranged former wrestler father appears in her life to help out, Margo listens carefully to his stories about creating a character that audiences can root for - or against. Taking his advice on character creation, Margo starts an OnlyFans. Not a perfect book, but pretty fun. Soon to be a show starring Elle Fanning (who narrates the audiobook) and Nick Offerman as her dad.

Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett - You know how Terry Pratchett is great and the witch books are perfect?

Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman - medieval fantasy horror. A disgraced knight saves a young girl who may or may not be a saint, and she convinces him to take them on a journey to confront the literal demons wreaking hell on earth. Angels and demons and monsters and the plague and prophets and body horror. A bit bro-y for my taste, but the monsters are very good.

Blood Water Paint - a YA historical fictional novel in verse exploring the real life of artist Artemisia Gentileschi. Beautiful and sad, discussions of SA.

The Serviceberry - a nonfiction book about nature and reciprocity, and how we might consider this when considering our own personal economics.

Hungerstone - a sapphic retelling of Carmilla, about Lenore, an unhappily married woman who follows her ambitious husband to the moors. A carriage accident brings the sick and injured Carmilla to them, and, well, bloody desire ensues.

Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales - The final book in the Emily Wilde trilogy, a fantasy series about a very studious researcher named Emily whose studies keep getting interrupted by fairy politics and love.

This Is Amiko, Do You Copy? - A sad little novella about Amiko, a neurodivergent young woman struggling to understand and be understood by her family. Translated from Japanese.

The Knight and the Moth - Sybil is a prophetess cloistered away with her fellow sister diviners. When her sisters begin to go missing, Sybil and a handsome but heretical knight begin to search for them, along with a talking gargoyle. The mystery unravels more than just Sybil, and may lead to the unraveling of the gods themselves. edit here.

The Unworthy - ANOTHER story about cloistered nun-like characters, this time a horror novel about sequestered sisters in a post-apocalyptic landscape aspiring to ascend to the enlightened. Our protagonist keeps a secret diary to record her resentments and plots, and her unexpected feelings when a new woman arrives. edit here.

The Buffalo Hunter Hunter - A horror novel about an Indigenous vampire seeking revenge on the white buffalo hunters and those who aid them. Incredibly violent and triggering fyi!! edit here.

Three Bags Full - After their beloved shepherd is murdered, his flock of sheep band together to solve the crime!

Saving Five - A memoir by Amanda Nguyen, who, after her rape in college, chooses to become an activist for sexual assault survivors.

Harriet Tubman: Live in Concert! - Bob the Drag Queen's debut novel- Harriet Tubman comes back to life and wants to make an album. She reaches out to Darnell, a depressed out-of-work producer who has no idea what to expect.

[hiswordsarekisses]

Corrie Ten Boom said “If God sends us on stony paths, He provides strong shoes" He has already thought of everything.

The meaning (in Greek) of "the narrow way" is more like one with obstacles close by and all around you, making it difficult to pass through - and “narrow,” in some translations, is rendered “strait."

A strait is a position of stressful difficulty, perplexity, or need.

I saw a quote on Instagram that said something about how we won't be walking barefoot down the narrow road, and that is so true.

I used to think this “narrow way” was like a luscious soft green meadow, too, that I just needed to become perfect to pass through.

That’s not what it means at all. It means the road is hard.

And it's hard because it is the hard things that God uses to transform and perfect us.

And in the 23rd Psalm, those green pastures our Shepherd leads us through are not plushy green fields we lay down in and nap forever, either.

I looked up the Hebrew definition for them and it was rendered thresh and grass. King David did not choose those words by accident, I mean, we know they were divinely inspired - but check out how specifically:

The Hebrew pictograph looks like a door representing the idea of moving back and forth, with a picture of teeth meaning to press.

Combined these pictures mean "the back and forth movement of pressure".

The grains were placed on the threshing floor where they were trampled on and beaten in order to separate the hulls from the grain……

…as in “tread-on and broken.”

When I read that it reminded me of Hosea. Check out the following passages. 🙌🏻😭❤️‍🩹

“Therefore behold, I will hedge your way with thorns, and wall up her wall, that she shall not find her paths……” (2:6)

Therefore, behold, I will lure her and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably to her. And I will give her vineyards to her from there, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope. And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth, and as in the day when she came up out of the land of Egypt…… (2:14–5)

“Come and let us return to Yah. For He has torn, and He will heal us; He has stricken, and He will bind us up. After two days He will bring us to life; in the third day He will raise us up, and we shall live in His sight. Then we shall know, if we press on to know Him. His going out is prepared as the morning; and He shall come to us as the rain, as the latter and former rain to the earth….” (6:1-3)

These passages are about unfaithful Israel, and not about our journey of transformation, but it’s so similar in His ways with us. He knows exactly what it takes to get through to each of us, to transform us, to teach us, and He knows strategically what witness is needed to be seen through all of it by those who need to see His faithfulness worked out in our lives.

So when we are afraid it might get too hard, we have to remember that He won’t give us anything that He has not already planned every kind of provision for. And He will never allow one unnecessary hard thing - but only exactly what is needed.

And it fills my heart with hallelujahs that He is so patient, faithful, and determined to finish what He started in us in spite of our kicking and screaming a lot of the way. Just like a child being carried away kicking and screaming from a busy road when they just cannot understand why you won’t let them run out there in the middle of traffic to get their ball.

🥹❤️‍🩹🙌🏻 His Words Are Kisses.

[holystates]

♱　　all  eyes  fall  on  EFFIE ZHANG  as  they  enter  OLIVE BRANCH PARK.  unaccustomed  to  newcomers,  the  remnants  can't  help  but  speculate  if  they  are  as  CAUSTIC  as  they  seem.  in  reality,  other  entourage  members  would  disclose  that  the  apparent  26  year  old  can  be  fairly  IMAGINATIVE  since  joining  the  ensemble  in  1985.

♱　　OVERVIEW.

full  name.　euphemia  xinyi  shepherd-zhang　　/　　aliases.　effie　　/　　birthdate.　november  15th  (  26  )　　/　　hometown.　los  angeles,  california　　/　　gender  + pronouns.　genderqueer  +  she/they　　/　　orientation.　bisexual　　/　　zodiac.　scorpio　　/　　occupation.　musician n/a　　/　　face  claim.　chase  sui  wonders

♱　　HEADCANONS.

( TW FOR MENTIONS OF DRUGS & ALCOHOL, IMPLICATIONS OF ASSAULT, AND SUICIDE IDEATION. )

effie  zhang  was  a  public  figure.  no,  she  was  famous.  an  80s  icon.  but  they  weren't  without  controversy  —  dubbed  the  wild  card  for  their  unpredictability,  effie  was  always  caught  up  in  something,  always  because  of  what  they  said  or  did.  she  was  a  revolving  door  of  drama.  you  couldn't  hear  the  name  effie  zhang  without  thinking  of  something  bad.  so  when  she  mysteriously  disappeared  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  it  was  a  big  deal.

here's  the  violent  truth  —  effie  wasn't  supposed  to  be  there.  it's  a  party  that  they  weren't  invited  to,  but  who  was  effie  to  turn  down  a  party?  she's  too  drunk  and  too  high,  and  she  spends  all  night  with  a  man  whose  name  she  can't  remember.  it  all  happens  so  fast.  she  thinks  they're  hooking  up,  she  thinks  that's  a  hickey  on  her  neck,  but  it  starts  to  sting  a  bit  too  much.  she  tries  to  resist,  but  his  strength  is  inhuman  as  he  brings  his  palm  to  her  mouth  and  forces  her  to  drink.  they  wake  up  the  next  day  with  an  unquenchable  bloodlust,  ravages  the  first  person  they  see.  she  can't  believe  what  she's  done.  she  flees.

eventually,  everyone  forgets  about  effie.  she  becomes  a  cautionary  tale  —  a  myth.  they  end  up  alone,  forced  into  hiding  in  places  no  one  would  ever  find  them.  she  doesn't  understand  what  she  is,  just  that  she  has  an  unsatiated  hunger  and  the  uncontrollable  urge  to  kill.  effie  was  scared,  of  herself  and  what  she'd  done.  they're  on  the  brink,  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  cliffside,  when  father  romero  finds  her.

despite  her  intense  and  borderline  violent  personality,  effie  hates  feeding.  they  only  do  so  out  of  necessity.  still,  there's  a  part  of  her  that  enjoys  it,  enjoys  being  satiated  after  abstaining  for  as  long  as  possible.  to  them,  it's  like  being  intoxicated  —  they'll  relish  in  the  feeling  now,  and  wallow  in  regret  when  the  high  wears  off.

effie  worships  father  romero  like  a  god.  he  found  them  at  their  most  vulnerable  and  offered  them  security,  knowledge,  and  a  life  worth  living.  she's  eternally  grateful  and  because  of  that,  her  loyalty  to  him  and  the  entourage  is  unwavering  …  until  recently.  her  faith  is  being  tested  now  that  they're  in  marrow.  she  doesn't  like  father  romero's  plans  for  them,  especially  after  what  she  had  to  go  through  when  she  turned,  but  feels  she  owes  him  too  much  not  to  help  him.

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

WIP Acrostic Tag Game

I was tagged by @sheps-shepherd and of course took a week to do it and then went completely overboard and completed it for two of my wips. Sorry not sorry!

The first is OG fantasy and it's what I was working on this morning. Of Woolen Hollow:

W - When we arrive back at our little campsite, Ham's tail thumps the earth but he doesn't look away from the herd as they wander nearby, searching the pine-needle strewn dirt for grass and weeds to mow down into nothing.

A - A creak outside his door is his only warning before the doorknob turns.

N - No apologies necessary because they have a cause greater than personal pleasure and it takes precedence over everything else.

D - "Did you think you were different just because you go around in that silly costume?”

E - "Everyone thought I was losing my touch, but I got you in the end you little puke."

R - Run, run, run. Pros: If he screws this up, he’ll finally find out where the city’s missing population is. Cons: If he screws this up, he’ll be one of them.

And this is from Iron Impostor/Hometown Hero, my Harley-centric fic where parkner doesn't happen. I realized after finishing this for oWH that it was only fair to repay parkner with... the closest I've got right now which is Harley lol Also the rough draft for this is DONE I just need to edit it up and start posting but I've been hella burnt out so it just hasn't happened. Soon? Hopefully?

W - “We’re scavengers livin’ on crumbs! You think you’re all hot shit because you get to steal and think it makes you heroes. Well I just think you’re shit!” And with that he hawks a wad of spit onto Harley’s boot.

A - Abbie swallows thickly. "He was holding them off so we could get away."

N - "No, I just…" [Peter] takes in Harley like he's something new. Or unexpected. "I didn't think you'd come back once you had them."

It stings even though it shouldn't. He's given Peter no reason to think anything different. He had to have his arm twisted into every moment of heroism before, so why would this one be any different? "The plan hasn't changed," Harley says eventually. "Two idiots in, four idiots out. I was short an idiot."

D - "Don't stop fighting, but please, let me go."

He holds his wrists out to the nearest agent. "My name is Harley Keener. I think you're lookin' for me."

E - "Enough," [Mama] says. There's no heat in it this time. No bite. She sounds sad. She sits up but doesn't look him in the eye as she takes his hand in both of hers. "Please, baby, you're not hearing me."

R - Rag over his finger, [Harley] traces the ring around the extinguished light in the center of the chest plate. Then he flicks his rag clean. "[Tony] didn't say much—I think he knew how jealous I was—but he mentioned you a few times when he remembered to call. High schooler, like me. Projects you were working on. How fucking fast you picked things up. How frustrating it was that you didn't see your potential as clearly as he did." Harley's upper lip peels into a bitter smile. "I hated you for being there while I was stuck here."

Tagging: @shipskicksandgiggles @writer-or-whatever @wildswrites and anyone else who wants to play! Your word is HEIST. Good luck!

[roarndoodles]

Vampiric

Chapter 1: Interrupted Dinner

Long ago, three races ruled over Earth: HUMANS, MONSTERS, and VAMPIRES

Frightened by the bloodlust of their counterpart, humans and monsters united to rid the world of its evil.

The third race fled, but the opposing forces were too strong.

Wiped from existence, humans and monsters settled back into peaceful life.

One day, a war broke out between the remaining races.

After a long battle, the humans were victorious.

They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell.

Many years later a human child freed the monsters from their prison...

Bright moonlight peaked through the trees. Despite being near the end of fall, plenty of the forest was lush with life and greenery. The gentle autumn breeze wafted the dead leaves into the air, and as they slowly drifted downward, a couple caught on a disgruntled skeleton.

“so tell me again why yer draggin’ me into the woods at night?” Red asked, peeling the dead leaves from the fur of his coat.

Sans casted a glance to his alternate. “cuz you're my backup”

“for what exactly? and did it have to be at 1 in the fuckin mornin?”

“well” Sans started “ya know those trail cams i set up to keep an eye-socket on the perimeter of the property? i've been getting pings on one of them around this time every other night. the photos have all been pretty unclear, so who knows what could be out here to jump our bones. i brought you along for an intimidation factor. as much as it pains me to say, no one is gonna be scared out of their skin by just lil ol’ me.”

Red stopped walking as his hands trembled in barely concealed anger. “yer fuckin’ with me. you got me up at bum fuck o'clock to go to this shitty ass woods to check out what. an animal? I GOT A 7AM SHIFT TOMORROW CLASSIC!” Just as Red was about to go on another tirade Sans interrupted him.

“you hear that?”

In the newly quiet forest, a soft sound could be heard: humming. It wasn't a distinct song, there was no rhyme or rhythm, but it was soothing. Slowly, the boys moved closer into the dense forest where the song was most prominent. There, shrouded in darkness, was a figure petting an animal on a rock.

“what the- hey kiddo, what are you doing out here so late?” Sans said, eyeing the figure as the humming continued. “don't you know it's rude to be on someone's property at odd hours?”

“uhh…classic i don’t like the feeling of this”

The humming stopped. “Someone's property?” the figure said, their voice light and airy. “No no, you must be mistaken, this place hasn’t been owned by anyone in a long while. You must be thinking of that sweet farm a few miles North of here.”

“sorry to break it to you kid, but my family and I bought this place recently. now would you mind enlightening us on why you're out here so late”

The figure slowly stood up and the animal they were petting jumped off their lap and towards the two monsters. Red jerked back and grabbed Sans ready to teleport as a little lamb stepped into the moonlight. It looked at them with its yellow eyes, it's rectangular pupils boring into their sockets before it skipped away into the forest. “You see” Red and Sans’ eye lights snap back to the still obscured figure “I am a shepherd and the grass in this forest and surrounding fields is much more luscious than other areas. I've been coming here regularly to feed my herd before the winter frost comes.”

Sans thought back to why he bought the property in the first place. As soon as he stepped foot here, he could tell that the amount of magic concentrated here was incredibly higher than the surrounding areas. Perhaps the plethora of magic is helping the surface plants grow better?

“that doesn't explain why yer out here so late”

“The weather is much nicer at night. I'm sensitive to the sun, and despite the forest's shade, I still seem to get sun burns.”

“yeah likely story–” Red was cut off by a gasp as he stepped into the moonlight.

The air in the forest shifted and it seemed even quieter than before. In a lower voice the figure muttered “A monster.”

“yeah kid what about it?” asked Sans. Monsters had been above ground for nearly 3 years, and it certainly wasn't a surprise to see them around Ebbot.

“Is it true?” The figure stated. “Are you really made out of pure magic?”

“classic that feeling is back”

“Oh I’m just soooo lucky! A real life monster. This is quite the opportunity. Now… seeing as you did interrupt my dinner earlier, I think it's only fair that I get a bite.”

Suddenly, the figure was right in front of Sans. They swiped their claws, only catching a bit of his cheekbone before Red grabbed Sans and shortcuted 4 feet away. In the moonlight, the two skeletons got a better look at their attacker. They were tall and lanky with wild mid-length hair covering most of their face and ears. They were dressed in a dark, ratty cloak that covered most of their clothes. A tightly drawn smile was etched across their face and their eyes were partially closed, only showing a sliver of yellow. Slowly, the figure brought the hand that sliced Sans up to their mouth. A tongue darted out from their smile and licked the dust off of their hand. The glow of yellow in their eyes sparked before they were shut again.

“Mannnn, I'm just so lucky! You have no idea how hard it is to find pure magic. I've got to thank you, this will last me weeks.”

Red bared his teeth, licking his gold, false tooth, as he prepared to attack. “i don't know what the HELL yer on human, but you got some nerve–”

“Human? It's been forever since I've been mistaken for a measly human. Tell me monster, do you not know what I am? Do they no longer tell stories about us under your bed? I must laugh…”

“Surely you remember the Vampiric?”

As the figure asked the question in a low, threatening tone, they turned to fully face the skeletons. Two small horns peaked from the wild mess of hair along with two ears matching the lamb from before. A long, wool covered tail was partially obscured by the cloak. When the skeletons failed to answer, the figure sighed.

“Of course. Well, this dinner has been great, but I've got to leave. I'll see you two monsters around.”

“hey wait–” but before Sans could finish, the figure disappeared.

“the hell was that classic? the fuck's a vampiric? why did they lick yer dust? What the ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YER SURFACE.”

“let's go home. i think we need to do some research.”

-------------

Cross posted on Ao3

Prev - Next - Masterlist