#superstitious bastard!Ghost

[cthulhusstepmom]

Evidence that Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is not what he seems-Lt. SR:

Soap smells like rain, it took a while to put it together because it's not Soap himself that emits the odor, it just follows him. It's less potent inside and when it's sunny outdoors but if you concentrate it's always there.

He has never been observed touching a gun or grenades without gloves. Almost every other explosive he handles with no regard for his own safety gloves.

HE EATS WEIRD SHIT. While he doesn't eat much of the food on offer from the cafe, he does eat consistently when outdoors, usually plants or flowers. Things he has eaten: dandelions(edible), garlic(edible), thistle(edible but he ate it with the thorns), foxglove(toxic, showed no adverse reaction), Several unidentified flowers and berries, grass(technically edible?) Etc.

Will sometimes refuse to enter a place before abruptly going in. The data is not consistent between different buildings or locations. Further research is required.

Sharp teeth.

Groups things in nonsensical ways. He will only fill a magazine with bullets that total a multiple of 7 or 3. The same for what weights he uses in the gym. When drawing or eating he sorts by 4s. He traded his room to get #13 (right next door, coincidence?).

Cameras will not focus on him, whether photo or video he is never in focus regardless of distance or conditions.

He has never once been in medical for more than half an hour, usually much less. Even though his hands have light burns on them almost constantly.

Dogs hate him. He seems ambivalent towards them and he's never been bit that Ive seen. Cats adore him as do birds.

John MacTavish does not blush. Not for lack of trying even when genuinely flustered or hot, his skin does not flush.

Ghost sets down the small notebook with a minute sound of frustration. The evidence is all there but looking at it, what does it really say? Other than that he's an obsessive creep. A series of quirks and coincidences compiled by a paranoid son of a bitch into a fucking stalker journal. But still, Simon can't help but feel like he's right and he'd be dead a million times over if he simply disregarded his intuition. Even if it is something batshit insane.

At this point however it seems that it'll drive him mad far before it yields any answers. After scouring what little resources were comprehensible on the internet he'd started growing out his hair, intent on tying it in knots to prevent charms. Leaving him with a problem he'd not encountered since he'd first donned the mask: unruly curls and balaclavas don't mix well at all. He'd also kept a piece of stale bread in his pocket for days as he'd read it was a repellent to- and he can't even believe he's considering it-fairies. It backfired, if anything Johnny had been more attached to him and even more touchy than usual. He'd left a small deli cup full of coffee creamer outside his door overnight and found it neatly placed upside down where he'd left it with not a drop left. Ghost chalked that up to some wise guy playing a joke or an exceptionally dextrous cat and firmly shut the door on any other possibilities in his mind. His next test had been a gift of clothing mixed with complements, he'd read that both were likely to drive away any Other. It hadn't been a very extravagant gift, a new pair of gloves and a gruff "well done Johnny" but at the time it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as Soap had gone white as a sheet(he can do that but he can't blush???) and scurried off. A quiet dread had filled his stomach the whole day until Soap turned up at dinner, a little quieter than usual but wearing his new gloves and eating more than usual(a scoop and a half of mashed potatoes with 4 packets of butter and 2 packets of sour cream as well as a cookie. The main course of spaghetti and meatballs went untouched though Gaz snapped it up before it could truly go to waste). Though when Ghost returned to his room late that night after trudging through hours of paperwork he found a pile of tiny, aromatic, pink flowers on the floor in front of his door and on top of them a shiny metal comb. Simon's tired brain hardly stopped to think of any of the dire warnings he'd found on forum posts and folklore sites alike, crouching and tenderly retrieving the piece from its bed of flora, careful not to crush any of the tiny blooms. Well... With all the knots in his hair-purposeful and otherwise-he's going to need a sturdy comb anyway.

[cthulhusstepmom]

"normal guy and his pet freak" but the more time you spend around them the more you slowly learn that the freak is the normal guy in this scenario and the normal one summons demons in the backyard and makes diy explosives for fun.

“normal guy and his pet freak” relationship BOOOOO no. two guys who seem normal but the longer people spend around them everyone realizes they are absolutely fucked and weird except theyre both very into the other persons particular illness

[tyrantisterror]

You Don't Remember Muncher

Sony, as a film-making company, has reeked of desperation for at least a decade at this point. They have IPs that they know SHOULD be making them more money but they just. Can't. Get them to. And sometimes this results in them taking some big creative swings, to be completely fair - I love the Spider-Verse movies, and you don't get movies that expensive and conceptually heavy with a studio executive who's playing it safe. And I think the fact that they keep taking these big swings even when some of them end up duds like Sausage Party is commendable.

But I do think one of their big problems is this inability to understand that 1. films are a form of art and 2. what art is. They're good enough to understand that artists know what art is, which is more than a lot of studio leadership can say, and those big creative swings they take come from trusting artists to do their art thing. And even their misfires tend to have laudable stuff - Sausage Party may be an SNL gag that someone decided to stuff full of the most dated racism and bigoted jokes imaginable to get up to movie feature runtime, but the animation in it is oddly beautiful, even when depicting things that are repulsive. Like a protestant on the way to Dracula's castle, the heads at Sony seem to treat their artists with respect despite not understanding why they gave them a rosary and other primitive superstitious charms to protect them from vampires.

But when they have to make choices themselves, hoo boy, those poor bastards. They don't know what they're doing.

So Ghostbusters is one of those valuable IPs Sony is desperate to monetize, right? They just know they can have a huge hit on their hands with Ghostbusters. It was popular in the 80's, and things that were popular in the 80's are HUGE now! Look at that Stranger Things, baby!

Now, the heads at Sony may not be able to understand art, but they try. They are at the very least good at picking apart a piece of art and sussing out what ingredients made it, like Claire Saffitz trying to recreate an oreo. For their 2016 reboot, they correctly deduced that the original Ghostbusters was 1. a comedy 2. starring at least two actors from SNL and using their star power for promotion and 3. was liked by nerds because the heroes are out-of-shape nerds rather than chiseled Rambo/Arnie types. Also it has ghosts in it, probably.

Now, the problem is, the SNL actor-led comedy was taken out into a dark alley and slowly beaten to death by Adam Sandler and his cadre of goblin men starting somewhere around the time Little Nicky was made. It gave way to the era of cringe comedies like The Hangover and Judd Apatow bromances, which were led less by SNL stars and more by actors and actresses who'd gotten their start on NBC thursday night sitcoms - a minor difference, perhaps, but notable I think. And, like, even then, by 2016, that era was also pretty much over. The cringe comedy was a dying genre. Comedy itself, at least pure comedies, was kind of losing its place in film, being supplanted by action movies with more quips than they used to have. We were three years deep into THE WHEDONING.

But being three years behind the curve has never been a problem Sony worried about. I mean, historically it should be, but they never do. So Sony tried to assemble the best Ghostbusters they could make from the ingredients they could suss out, using the closest equivalents they could make. Grab some of the actresses from Bridesmaids, and an SNL star or two if you can. Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy have a pretty good banter going on ala Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd, really put them front and center. Oh, and we sussed out another ingredient! The original Ghostbusters had Sigourney Weaver as a love interest, and she was the star of Alien, which our Sony genre determining bot claims is an action movie, so let's get a hot action star as a love interest. Chris Hemsworth! Oh, we can make him be a silly goober like we did with John Hamm in Bridesmaids! People love handsome guys being silly goobers! (in this, Sony is correct)

The result was... fine, I think, if missing a few crucial ingredients. You know the ghosts in Ghostbusters? First syllable of the title? Most of the ones in the 2016 movie are just, you know, transparent humans, maybe a bit bluer than normal, making maniacal faces. Whereas in the original:

Well, they got some fucked up freaks in the original.

A lot of fans didn't like the 2016 movie, some for stupid sexism reasons, some for "I don't see why you need to remake Ghostbusters at all really" reasons, and some for, like, just personal taste reasons. It did not provide the big box office hit Sony wanted. Their first attempt to recreate the oreo was a failure.

So they go back to the drawing board, listening to the loudest, angriest criticism and looking to what's working outside of their influence for answers. Fans thought the 2016 movie was too different, not reverent towards the original as the perfect golden calf of Bill Murray comedies that it is. So this new reboot would be oozing with reverence. Fans didn't like the cast of ladies, so, yes, got it, scrap the lady-led ghostbusters.

Star Wars Fans loved that J.J. Abrams Star Wars reboot, The Force Awakens, for being a sequel rather than a full reboot, but also for just telling the same story they already love but slightly different. And nerds in general still fucking love that Stranger Things show - they even had an episode where the Stranger Things kids wore ghostbusters costumes! Hey, there's a million dollar idea, Stranger Things kids... as ghostbusters...

Now, the one thing they can't take from The Force Awakens is copying the tone of their original movie, because they tried copying the irreverent tone of the original Ghostbusters and fans did not like it. They need to be reverent to the original, because that's what The Force Awakens, even if showing reverence at all is antithetical to the tone of the original movie itself (which it is, because Ghostbusters is an irreverent Bill Murray comedy, like that's its whole schtick). But if they can drape this new-found reverence in 80's nostalgia, maybe, just maybe, nostalgic fans will be too dumb to notice.

And hey, they love that Stranger Things, which is a big homage to The Goonies and E.T. and Steven Spielberg-esque stories about pubescent kids going on perilous adventures where they face bad guys and learn life lessons in the process, reverent but dated in the same time period as Ghostbusters. And what an idea... Stranger Things kids... as ghostbusters...

This was admittedly a lot of preamble to get to the actual topic: Muncher. See, in that Force Awakens style, they needed to not only bring old characters from Ghostbusters back, but also make new characters who are really just the old characters but slightly different. For example, The Force Awakens brings us BB-8, who's basically just R2-D2, but visually different enough to feel new, and maybe a little cuter. Instead of moving on treads, he moves on this big ball, which is more complicated from a puppetry aspect and thus looks a lot more impressive and just a bit more "modern" while still basically being R2-D2 again.

Such was the genesis of Muncher.

Slimer (originally called Onionhead by the production staff and John Belushi's Ghost by Bill Murray) wasn't intended to be the franchise mascot, in part because Ghostbusters was never meant to be a franchise. He was a one off ghost who's iconic design and role as the first ghost to be busted made him a fan favorite, and eventually became, like, the ghostbusters' dog in the cartoon series. We love that for him, but the fact remains that Slimer's success was accidental.

Muncher, by contrast, was an attempt to recreate Slimer. But different! He's a gross gluttonous monster, because that's what Slimer is, but there's a lot less focus on wet goo when he eats and more solid chunks. See, it's different? And you know what's popular now thanks to, like, a cracked article or something? Tardigrades! They're these cool little microscopic things that everyone's making into monster designs now, they're even on a Star Trek! Why, if we made Slimer 2 - err, that is, Muncher have some tardigrade elements, he'd look weird and, like, modern - but not too modern! Like Slimer, but different!

Before Ghostbusters: Afterlife came out, there was a LOT of Muncher merchandise. A lot. Which makes sense, Slimer had so much goddamn merch in the heyday of the original Ghostbusters. There was fucking Slimer toothpaste. Toothpaste! From Slimer's teats!

It looked identical to Slimer bubblegum.

But, for whatever reason, Muncher did not connect like Slimer did, and so Sony did a last minute trend-chasing pivot and tried to focus on the new hotness: cute baby versions of characters who were old and not cute in the original movie.

I don't know if this scene was planned to be in the movie before The Mandalorian was a big success, or if it was a hasty addition to it, but it doesn't matter, because what does matter is the late marketing shift to focus on these little fuckers, and giving them lots of toys. They're already in the marketing for the sequel, where Muncher is nowhere to be found.

Because you don't remember Muncher, do you?

Muncher didn't connect. They took a swing with Muncher and they fucking whiffed. They made a shitload of Muncher toys and all those little blue fuckers ended up clearanced to Hell. Muncher is a failure, a loser.

You don't remember Muncher.

And you never will.

[callsign-bunnie]

I dunno if you've done this one before but creepypastas?

You guys have figured out too much about me

--

Rodolfo: Clockwork Annie. Definitely was very pressured as a kid and fantasized about just snapping so people would leave him alone, so he got attached to her

Alejandro: What the actual fuck is a creepypasta

Soap: Slenderman, creepy bastard freaks him out

Ghost: Hear me out, Homocidal Liu. I think he can relate to him a little bit

Roach: Squidward's suicide. I also think he's a huge fan of analogue horror and lost episode stuff

Valeria: Everlasting Jane, do I even need to explain?

Price: The Russian Sleep expirement, especially since he knows the fucked up things the military is willing to do

Laswell: Doesn't know what a creepypasta is, is not interested in learning

Gaz: Candle Cove. I think he had a similar instance of a weird kids show that he swears existed but couldn't find anyone else who watched it.

Alex: Lavender Town syndrome scared the shit out of him as a kid. The idea of that happening to him was a legitimate fear for a while

Farah: I think Abandoned By Disney fascinated her. I don't think she's necessarily too superstitious but I think that whole idea was interesting to her

Malika: Not technically a creepypasta, but she is a total nerd for the Backrooms (Beg my wife to make more backrooms AU pls)

Graves: Jeff the Killer. I have no explanation, he just seems like the type.

Koenig: Eyeless Jack, purely for the mask

Horangi: Ben Drowned, purely because he loved Legend of Zelda

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

I'd like to request a lil scenario of Charles Grey having to escort his s/o into a graveyard at night for whatever reason :3c (maybe there's materials there! maybe a grave has a clue for something! I'll leave the why up to you :3c)

idk why but I find this "scared of ghosts" trait of his very charming XD

“Why… why do we have to be here, again??”

GREY presses into (Name), and they daresay this is the only situation for the foreseeable future that they’ll have this poor man clinging to them in such a way. It’s nice while it lasts, of course.

That said, they hate to indulge his fear by pretending there’s something frightening about a simple cemetery. Surely he’s just being superstitious. They shake their head, though they do circle an arm around his waist. “Reports of someone high in society digging up graves. I’m trying to investigate and see if anyone comes along, and it’s nice to have you here to confirm. Just in case I can’t tell who it is. You rub elbows with pretty much everyone who’s anyone.”

He mutters something under his breath that very well might have been a curse. If they know exactly what he said, they don’t let on. “You could have brought Phipps or Ash along instead. They do the same thing.”

“They don’t do it as handsomely as you,” (Name) teases. “Besides, would you have either of them protect me over you, if there happens to be trouble?”

“Trouble?? You drag me to a graveyard amongst all the spooks and spirits, and now you tell me that you expect me to also confront someone with sinister intentions who may well be someone I see on a daily basis? What am I meant to do, hold my sword at the bastard’s throat and give him time to pull his pistol on me?”

They wave a hand at him. “No, of course not. He wouldn’t bring a weapon if he doesn’t expect trouble. As long as you can dodge a shovel, you’ll be fine. And it’s not like I’d stand here doing nothing.”

“You’re a prize, my dear…” Grey grumbles, before pausing to glance at some of the headstones around them.

Honestly, (Name) almost feels a bit bad for him. It must give him some paranoia going through life afraid of what happens after death. Not even that, afraid that someone who had nothing to do with him in life will persist after death and come after him simply because he happens to be nearby.

He’s such a logical man otherwise… emotional, passionate, but professional as one must be in service to the Queen. What in the world could drive him to be afraid of ghosts, of all things, something that isn’t even a physical threat to him?

They aren’t sure what will happen tonight. They give his waist a squeeze anyway, and press a kiss to his cheek. Thankfully, this actually makes him relax in a visible way. It’s sweet, the way he trusts them. If only he can keep that feeling for the rest of the night.

“Thank you for coming with me, of course. Do you know why I didn’t ask Phipps or Ash?” They nuzzle the tip of their nose against his. “They’re wonderful friends, but you are my lover. I feel safer with you than with anyone else.”

They gesture toward the gravestones with a nod of their head. “I know you would fight a hundred ghosts for me if you had to, even if you were deathly scared.”

Even in the dark, they can see his face go slightly pink. “… Well, what else would I do? Let a spook lay its cold claws on you and drag you to hell or something of the sort? Please.”

“I love you,” they hum, squeezing him again. Their eyes flicker when they see movement across the way, and they pull him behind one of the headstones.

“And if you love me, you’ll tell me who that blighter is, wait for him to do something, and then be my witness when I bring him in for questioning tomorrow.”

[applbottmjeens]

Can You See Me Using Everything To Hold Back?

PHILLIP GRAVES X OC

(title is from Bags by Clairo)

tags?: angst to fluff, lovers to enemies to allies(?), Shadow Company mention, MW2 spoilers, Is Phillip manipulating her again or is he actually sorry who fucking knows, canon to my thing? i dunno man, no beta read we rawdogging this shit g

Yes, Anna believed in Jesus- but the idea of a man coming back from the dead was assumed to be more or less metaphorical… Not literally like the bastard sitting on her goddamn couch.

A year ago, she’d made her peace mourning that man, forgiving herself for her blindness. And after a year of therapy and her own personal downward spiral, things seemed to be okay for her again. 

While the boys pondered the imminent danger of Vladimir Makarov, she’d moved to South Carolina to get away from everything after the incidents in Las Almas in 2022, mostly trying to pretend she was just another girl and not a member of an elite squad of military personnel set on protecting the western hemisphere and its allies- and just… Anna. 

As far as her family in California were concerned, she was still working. She'd started to see them less- For their safety and her sanity. 

She’d changed since that fall. Maybe not as much physically…But the way she carried herself was more cautious. No more clever quips or bubbly banter. 

To be completely honest, this month had been a milestone for her. She was actually responding to her old teammates and co-worker’s texts. She could think of Graves without bursting into tears. She could look at photos of Las Almas’ streets and not feel her hands tremble. She’d gotten new tattoos and started leaving her house again.

She undoes the loose braid on her hair, longer and a bit harder to manage as she carries her duffel bag after spending a few hours at the gym and rescheduling her therapy appointment. She was so sure that she was over it all, 11 months after the fact. Sure she was ready to go back into the field-

Until she saw him in her goddamn apartment. 

You see, Annabelle grew up Catholic. Not just any Catholic, though.

Filipino Catholic.

Vietnamese Catholic.

The type of Catholic to believe in miracles and divine intervention.

Superstitious Catholic- the type to believe in holy oils to heal the sick and to pray when you slept, when you woke up, and that hammered the fear of God into your very being, praying that whatever angel that was keeping track of your thoughts was merciful in their script. 

So yes, Anna believed in Jesus. 

But the idea of a man coming back from the dead was assumed to be more or less metaphorical. Not literally like the bastard sitting on her goddamn couch.

“No.” She was the first thing she said when she set eyes on hm.

He looked just like he did the day he ruined her life, not a burn or anything on his stupidly pretty face but that scar under his eye she used to kiss before they did their separate duties.

“Annie.” Nobody else is allowed to call her that. Nobody but the man she swore burned alive. The audacity for him to just stand in her livingroom in that stupid Old Navy brand blue button down tucked into his fucking jeans and NOT EVEN TAKE HIS SHOES OFF INDOORS-

“Bạn đang đùa tôi à?” Are you kidding me? She whispers. It’s like she’s seen a ghost, and if this was some sort of joke the universe was playing on her… She wasn’t laughing.

“Annabelle, c’mon- I can explain-” The first thing she does is drop her bag. The second thing she does is throw a knife at him from her back pocket, which he barely dodges, landing on the wallpaper behind his head. Okay. She was mad.

"You. Have got to be. Fucking. Kidding me." She growls, feeling her hands tremble as she lunges to attack him only for him to catch her wrists as she goes from angry, to hurt.  

How dare he look at her with remorse in his eyes. How dare he stand in her home nonchalantly like this. How fucking dare he.

“I mourned you.” She says softly, tears trickling down her cheeks, wounds she'd long recovered from re-opening forcefully as she realized she'd been deceived by him yet again. She tears her wrists from his grasp, brown eyes pooling with tears she thought had dried up a long, long time ago. Her trembling hands swipe away her dark hair as they try to stick to her cheeks. 

She sobs, screaming at him as grief re-opens itself and she is forced to remember what he’d done to her. “I fucking MOURNED you! Eleven fucking months, Phillip. ELEVEN!" She looks at him with heartbreak in her eyes and she hates how he has the gall to have a similar expression reflected back at her. 

“I know.” He says, pulling her to his chest as she sobs, the scent of his cologne and the feeling of his arms around her making her stomach turn. How dare he look remorseful. How dare he be alive and well, while she was a manic wreck barely recovering from what he’d done? “I’m sorry.” His voice is low and calm, convincing. But she knows better. She can’t trust a goddamn thing he says. Even his death was a fucking lie.

“Why?” She asks, hating how her emotions fell apart so easily after all this time trying to keep herself together. “Why now?”

"I couldn't risk it." He explains, his usually booming voice soft and regretful. "If it slipped that you knew I was around, if it slipped I was with you before everything got settled…It could've meant something dangerous for you. For both of us." 

She knows he's right, but God does it still hurt. She flinches when his fingers graze the tattoo she’d gotten in memory of him- an ace of spades on fire placed on her right arm. 

“You get this thing for me?” He asks her softly soft blue eyes gazing down at her.

No. He won’t do this to her again.

Annabelle pushes him away. "Don't you dare say 'us' like I meant a goddamn thing to you, Graves." Her lungs feel like matches and every breath is sandpaper.

"You shot my friends. Shot at me." The fire in her words burns brighter than the tank they thought he was in. His loyalty was to Commander Shepard, to himself. Not to her. That was something she accepted a long, long time ago. She doesn’t want to waste her energy.

He follows her as she walks down the hallway, stomping to her bedroom as she grabs the gun from her makeup cabinet on her vanity and angrily points it at him. He raises his hands up in protest.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I really am." There he goes calling her that again.

He used to be the only one allowed to call her that. It was a nickname that grew on her the more constant it was, like Phillip.

If you didn't like Phillip Graves, he'd make you like him. Or at the very least tolerate him. If you were an unlucky bitch like Anna was, you'd fall for him despite telling yourself otherwise.

"If you think I didn't miss you, you'd be wrong." Phillip looks at her, standing at the doorway of her bedroom with a look of remorse she swears isn't true.

"You didn't come here cause you missed me." She says flatly, putting the gun down and crossing her arms. "Talk."

Phillip sighs as he lowers his arms, looking down before approaching her slowly.

"There's a storm comin' Annie." He says grimly, his hand gently holding the arm with the tattoo dedicated to him, brushing his thumb over the inked flames. "And we need you in Al Masrah to help us through it." 

Annabelle pauses, looking at Phillip with curiosity.

"Who's we?"

"The Shadow Company."

[thatsneakymedic]

Tag 10 followers you want to get to know better!

Name: Vani  (not real name.)  Star Sign: Cancer the Crab Height: 5 feet.   Middle name: Not telling!~

Put your itunes/spotify/youtube on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?

Hunt You Down by The Hit House feat. Ruby Friedman.

Lights by Ellie Goulding

Ghost by Au/Ra &Alan Walker (Death Stranding song) 

Believer by Imagine Dragons

Painkiller by Three Days Grace 

Ever had a poem or song written about you: No.  When was the last time you played air guitar: Not physically but in my head yes.  Who is your celebrity crush?: None.  What’s a sound you hate? A sound you love?: I hate very loud noises like things falling down and breaking and babies screaming. (I’m autistic and such noises are sensory triggers.)   But I love the sound of rain falling and hitting the cement in my yard.��

Do you believe in ghosts?: Yes, I’m very superstitious.  How about aliens: Definitely.  I even think that humans CAME from Aliens!  Do you drive?: No If so have you ever crashed: No

What was the last book you read?: If It Bleeds by Stephen King ( Not done reading it tho.)  Do you like the smell of gasoline: Nope! 

What was the last movie you saw?: Sisu in the movie theaters.  (fucking awesome movie!)  What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: I was a pretty wild kid with an array of injuries, but the worst would be a fractured tail bone when some little bastard pushed me on the swings and I got unintentionally kicked by the kid who was on the swing and  was really trying to avoid hitting me.  Fuck that little bastard. >:(  Do you have any obsessions right now?: Final Fantasy 7 Remake and the Final Fantasy 7 fanbase (and ONLY that game as there are too many final fantasy games for me to keep up.) . Mostly oogling over villain characters, especially Sephiroth. >_> 

Tagged by: Nobody tagged me. so I stole it from @tentaiiled​  Tagging: free for all! and say that I tagged you! 

[sabrielmoose]

The reason Makarov didn’t kill him was because he was scared of the Scottish bastard being stubborn enough to turn into a ghost and continue haunting him.

Makarov is neither religious or superstitious but He Cannot Take That Chance. (That and his Ghost bf would hunt him down).

*after Soap has been captured*

Price: Fuck- I’m getting a call-

Price, on the phone: I swear if there’s a single hair out of place-

Makarov: Shut up

Price: EXCUSE ME-?

Makarov: Shut up! I dropped that feral bastard in a dumpster outside of the airport. You can have him back. Forget the ransom just take him

Price:

Makarov: God- *hangs up*

Price: Uh-

Gaz: … Soap scares me

Ghost: He scares me too and I like it

Gaz: Oh my god-

[cthulhusstepmom]

Fae!Soap Superstitious Bastard! Ghost: Gifts

(Just a heads up this got way more intense than I meant it to but that’s kind of the Fae for you.)

TW: mentions of torture, human remains

Soap is a collector, though not of any one thing that Ghost can discern. He’s seen the man pick up anything from an abandoned rolex to a nondescript piece of broken glass. It doesn’t seem to be about size, it’s not shape and definitely not value; Ghost had thought he’d pinned it down as things that caught the light a certain way but was swiftly proven wrong when Soap went on a spree of collecting pebbles and sticks. He’d glared sullenly at the first jagged gray rock when Soap had picked it up before swiftly changing the subject when he was noticed. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to any of it… well not quite. There was one singular pattern that stood out in his mind, a single thread that held firm no matter how much he rearranged or plucked at it.

 Anything that Ghost gave him, Johnny kept. 

The first had been a bit of pretty blue ribbon that was a close enough approximation to Soap’s eyes. It’d snagged on a bramble bordering the clearing where Ghost had set up for overwatch. Without even thinking he’d snagged it on his way to RV down the hill, offering it to Johnny in the armored car taking them back to base. Soap hadn’t said a thing. It was then that Ghost realized maybe giving your subordinate a piece of trash you’d found in a bush perhaps wasn’t the most well adjusted way to express affection. He’d been about to play it off with a quip, beginning to retract his fingers ever so slightly, when Johnny snatched it lightning quick from the palm of his hand, holding it close to his chest for a moment before stuffing it into his chest pocket next to his journal. Soap had given him a small strangled “Thank you” as they sat the rest of the ride in an awkward but warm silence. Johnny disappeared almost immediately after they got back to base but Ghost could see light in the space under his door so he wasn’t too worried that he’d done permanent damage to their relationship.

After that his eyes just seemed to catch on things that he assumed Johnny would like. He couldn’t help it. Little glass marbles, a river stone with an interesting marking, a large brown feather; Somehow it all made its way into the hands of his Sergeant. Usually with a gruff “Here”, barely waiting for Johnny to hold out his hands before he dropped his small offering into his gloved palms. Soap has also gotten over whatever his episode of silence had been, responding with a blinding smile and enthusiastic gratitude and a happy quip. (“Thanks Lt!” a piece of antler, Montana “Y’ shouldn’t have!” an old toy car, Finland “Find this on sale?” a scrap of pink fabric, Brazil “Ghost you’re spoiling me.” green river stone, India etc.(no he didn’t catalog all of them that would be creepy. He only wrote down his favorites.))

The next time Ghost thinks he’s permanently damaged their relationship and scared Soap off for good comes after an operation sweeping out an AQ base in Afghanistan. 

It’s stuffy and dark, the blistering heat of the day beginning to fade into the bitter chill of the night. The compound has long since been abandoned by all but the stubbornest of rats, slowly being reclaimed by the wild desert it carved its blackness into. They roll into the courtyard through the open front gate, the outer walls have seen multiple breacher charges and calling them walls at this point is more out of respect than any dedication to accuracy. The whole place has already been swept by drone and Laswell has had satellite eyes on it for months confirming just how fucking dead it is. They’re here for information, the drone identified documents left behind as well as at least two hard drives. 

The 141 has split off, each clearing their own section and radioing in at even intervals, they’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beyond extra caution, the whole place has an eerie, black aura that drags forth memories of scorpion stings and dull knives biting at his flesh. Assisting in his nightmarish stroll down memory lane, Ghost is assigned the lower levels of the compound. Each room is another scene from a past he tries to forget, filled with rusted over implements of pain and brown stains no one cared to clean. 

Something in the last room makes him pause. 

A small barred window allows light from a waning moon to pool into the room, catching on something on the table. Small, most no bigger than his fingernail, a collection of about five objects sits in a tray on the corner of the table. Brilliant white patches shine in stark opposition to the bed of rust brown they lay on. 

Teeth. Human teeth.

His mind is acting on autopilot when grabs them and stuffs them in a pocket, so similar but so different to his first experience with the ribbon months ago. He finishes his sweep of the room, conveying his findings back on comms (“Seems like we’re late for the party.” “If only you didn’t take so long to get ready.”-Soap “Shut the fuck up the both of you I just saw a rat the size of a terrier.”-Gaz “I’ve got the hard drives if any of you fuckers remember why we’re here.”-Price), and turns back to rendezvous, his mind now firmly on finding his comrades and getting the hell out.

As they start readying themselves to duck into the humvees they arrived in, Ghost’s muscle memory kicks in to complete his self assigned mission objective. He turns to where Soap stands almost expectantly at his side. It’s not every mission that he has something he’s decided is a worthy offering but it has become more often than not. Mind already halfway back to base, a gloved hand chases down each tooth where they’ve burrowed themselves in the pocket of his tac vest, collecting them and dropping them in Soap’s proffered hand with a grunt. His brain turns back on when the bloody bones hit his Sergeant’s glove, panicking because what the fuck did he just do? What kind of fucking sociopath gives his friend(more?) human fucking teeth as a souvenir. Much less human fucking teeth that were pulled forcibly out of some poor bastard’s skull during a bygone torture session. 

His hand is trembling. 

Ghost forces himself to look down and meet Soap’s assuredly outraged and disgusted gaze. 

Only he doesn’t.

Johnny is staring down at the teeth in his palm with a look of fucking reverence. His pupils are dilated beyond just the darkness surrounding them and Ghost’s detail oriented eyes catch the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale. Soap slowly tilts his head up to meet Ghost’s eyes and a gasp lives and dies in his throat.

“Oh Simon, you treat me so well.” His voice is gravelly and thrumming with an emotion that Ghost doesn’t know the name of. But, god if this is the look he gets after bringing Johnny desiccated human remains?

He’ll rip the teeth out of some unworthy son of a bitch himself.

[kyra7]

Here I am with my headcanon for Basta's childhood. Honestly there are so many valid options for a Basta backstory but I wanted to conjure up something that I can hopefully turn into a short comic? I've been storyboarding some parts this afternoon but honestly it's a lot of work soo, who knows?

Alright, let's start by his name. Basta. I really like the theory that it comes from the italian exclamation "enough", but you know what Basta also sounds like? Bastard, an illegitimate son ("Bastardo" in italian).

So what about this?

Basta's father and Basta's mother are married, except Basta's mother is far from happy and she's caught cheating by her husband. And what's worse? She gets pregnant, and the child is clearly not her husband's.

Now Basta's father is furious, he treats his wife terribly but decides to keep the child. After all, he doesn't want the rest of the village to know what happened.

I still haven't thought about what could have possibly happened to Basta's mother. Died of child birth? Very common in the middle ages after all. Ran away with her lover?

Either way, he doesn't even get a name, and the child is left with his "father". An aggressive, violent, drunkhard man who keeps rambling on his cruel unfaithful wife and getting the anger out on the child that, in his eyes, is the cause of all his problems. Hence the "enough!" (Basta!) and "Bastard!" thrown at him.

The child grows in a household where violence is the answer to everything, he's a scrawny child, short and not particularly strong, so as the man likes to remind him "he's basically useless". He hates his father, but he inevitably picks up the same scowl on his face, and the other children of his street avoid him like some sort of delinquent.

Now, I like to imagine he must have picked up his love for knives and superstitions somewhere.

This leads us to a morning, the child happens to find a knife, a really shiny and intricate one, left on the road, probably dropped off by accident by the knights of Ombra. He brings it with him back to his father, who unfortunately is in another one of his usual fits of rage.

The child's scared when his father is about to hit him, but this time he has the knife with him. In a desperate attempt to free himself from his grasp he waves the weapon around, leaving a long cut on his father's cheek. For an instant, the shock on the cruel man's eyes makes him feel happy.

But that's the final straw for the father, he picks him up and throws him away at the door of the nearest orphanage he can find.

The child is took in, and when the woman in charge of the orphanage asks him his name, the child says the only thing he was ever called "Basta".

The ladies of the orphanage are strict and very superstitious and are always telling ghost stories to make the kids behave. Basta's a gullible kid, not exactly the brightest, and he's terrified.

The older kids at the orphanage pick up on Basta often, and he gets into fights so easily that he's always the one to end up with some sort of punishment.

Now that's when Capricorn and the Fire Raisers play a role.

I remember back in school we did a project that explained the dangers of mafia and how people end up getting involved in criminal organisations.

The mafia often uses young kids to deliver little messages, or items without getting caught, to do small tasks in exchange for money or some food. These are all seemingly innocent things.

As children grow older the tasks become more and more... Illegal. But at this point you're already in to deep to refuse. This usually ends up with a "courage test" some sort of final test to become part of the organisation, to prove loyalty. And this often ends up with killing someone.

I like to imagine Basta went through a similar thing. He was getting some easy money, and since he started doing these jobs for the Fire Raisers the kids started to respect him, fear him even.

I think he ended up being brought along with some other kids the Fire Raiser recruited in front of Capricorn. And he even praised him for his good job.

At this point we all know how things went.

I like to imagine the incident with the fire that burned his arms was supposed to be his initiation rite among the Fire Raisers. And Capricorn used this opportunity to buy his loyalty with the "kindness" he showed Basta by not leaving him to die from the burns.

Well, this is it! As you can see 90% of it is just my imagination going places but yeah. I think it could fit his character. I would also love to hear your headcanons!

[the-hoarse-bard]

The journey into Utah was shockingly uneventful, giving Masterson plenty of time to fill me in on the details of what exactly we were doing. The expedition was funded in full by the Happy Trails caravan company, to reestablish contact with the settlement of New Canaan. The New Canaanites were... Something like a cult, but they were fair and honest traders, making them good business partners.

Jed also warned me against mentioning the name Joshua Graham to anyone we might run into. A former legate of Caesar's, the very one that had been behind the battle that leveled most of Boulder City. He had been one of the New Canaanites at one point, joining Caesar made him a pariah among them. After losing at Boulder City, Caesar made an example of him. He had him doused in pitch, set on fire and thrown into the Grand Canyon. They say he didn't even scream on the way down.

Some say Joshua survived his ordeal somehow, and now walks the wastes as The Burned Man. The more superstitious types out there consider him some kind of ghost. Jed implied that Joshua might be the reason New Canaan has gone quiet. Maybe Joshua Graham finally found his way home...

It was around noon when we stopped to rest at the end of the trail. I stood at the edge of the canyon, looking out across the valley and downed the last of my cup of coffee, trying in vain to keep the light rain from watering it down, as Jed addressed the rest of the group, "All right, people. Been a long couple of weeks, but here we are. Zion. I know your feet hurt, I know you're tired, but I need everyone's mind on the trail ahead," I held out my empty mug to let the rain rinse it out a bit before I returned it to my bag and shouldered the duffel again. One of the guards responded to Jed, a woman named Stella, "Ain't the trail ahead that worries me, Jed. That descent we made through that slot canyon back there? Ain't no way we're gettin' back out the way we come. And then what?" Jed stopped her, "Goddammit Stella, I heard you the first time, and the fifteenth too. The New Canaanites will know a way. And if they don't, we've got the maps on our friends pip-boy over here," he patted me on the shoulder, and yelled, "Alright, enough lollygagging! Get moving, and keep an eye out for hostiles!"

Everyone picked up their bags and we continued down the trail. I overheard Stella grumble, "Sorry to bother ya with reality, ol' Jed. Who cares if we can't get out the way we come? That ain't a problem," She picked up her laser rifle and joined the walk forward after I passed her by. A pebble fell down a nearby cliff, and one of the guards held up a hand, "Shh... Hold on now! Think I heard something up ahead." I grabbed Lucky from it's holster at my side, and watched the cliffs for movements. Everyone stopped and was silent. You could cut the tension with a knife.

In a boom of thunder, the gunfire started. The distinctive rattle of tommy guns rang out from the cliffs. I dived behind a rock as the leading caravan guard was riddled with holes. Jed ran behind the canyon wall, shouting, "God dammit, White Legs! Take cover!" There was a pause in the gunfire, and I peeked out and hit one of the shooters I had picked out against the grey sky. The fire resumed, and took out another guard as he aimed his grenade launcher, his shot going wild and taking a huge chunk out of a rock up the cliff. A pair of white legs ran up the path, finishing the third guard. Stella hit one square in the eye, and I got the other. Jed came out from his hiding place, and started spraying the cliff tops with his pistol. One body fell from the cliff as he ducked back into cover. Suddenly, a grenade came flying from over one of the rocks. It bounced up next to Stella, and she shouted out, "Shit!" before it blew her to bits and knocked me flat on my ass. Through my ringing ears, I heard Jed yell, "Goddammit! Stella! You bastards!" He came out and started taking pot shots at the cliff again. He got off about half his magazine before he was full of holes. I propped myself up on my elbow and retrieved Lucky from where I'd dropped it. I took aim at the remaining laughing figure up on the cliff through my hazy vision, and fired, taking his head clean off.

I sighed, and my arm gave out, leaving me face down in the mud. I rolled over and lay there a moment to catch my breath and wait for my head to stop pounding. I heard voices from up the trail. Unfamiliar ones. I stuffed Lucky back in it's holster and stood up shakily. I had to get out of here. I pulled my shotgun from my duffel, and did a quick ammo check... Five in the tube... And eight in reserve... I swallowed hard. Thirteen shells. I shook my head, returned the shells to my belt, and cocked the lever. No time for that now. I did a quick check of the bodies for extra ammo. No extra shotgun shells, but I wouldn't let their deaths go to waste.

I limped down the trail and saw a rickety rope bridge ahead. As I got close to it, I caught a pair of White Legs out of the corner of my eye waiting in ambush. The voices I heard earlier. I dove backwards, landing in the mud on my back as they opened fire. Before they could adjust their aim, I fired two shells at each of them, killing one outright, and causing the other to stumble off the cliff to his demise on the shore of the river below. I sighed, and stood up out of the mud for the second time in as many minutes. At least I had that number off me. I loaded four more shells into the tube. It was going to be a long day. And it was barely half over.

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels: chapter two

A/n took me longer to get around to writing part 2 than i thought!! i didn’t know there was an audience for this idea but im glad you guys liked it!!

Im adding a country to the grishaverse to make my story work,, def not a big deal i just needed a country in which i could control the history of without worrying about conflicting with cannon lol 

Link to part one: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yesimwriting/652318577650696192 (lmk if this works ive never linked something to a tumblr post lol)

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairng: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! Psychic! Reader 

--

My father seemed to love me more after two glasses of something amber. It was after these two glasses that he would tell me realities his inebriated self believed I needed to internalize. He’d pat my head affectionately and smiled at me as he told me that the world was a bad place. Most of his lessons are lost in my mind, but the one I remember most clearly is that there’s no such thing as a kept secret. There’s always a leak or a flaw or a factor you could not account for. He told me that if I wanted to keep a secret, I would have to decide what I was willing to risk for it. 

I know from Seria’s reaction to his presence that listening to Kaz is a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take for my secret. “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re mistaken.” It doesn’t really matter that he believes me. I have the paperwork I need to disprove him. “I have to get to my tent.” 

“The princess gets her own tent?” His words are saturated by mock casualness but I can feel his pride on how he delivered that line. 

My body is still tense from balancing over flames and his confidence only adds to my desire to unravel. I can’t get angry here. Not at him. Not with the way he grips that cane of his. “I don’t understand what--” 

“You may be able to play pretend here where no one wants to look twice at you, but I know what you are.” His stiffness leaves my skin prickling. “I know who you are.” 

I swallow back my panic. “Then who am I?” 

“You’re that king’s bastard--the one with a high bounty on her head.” Don’t back down. Even the smallest crack will confirm his story. “As long as she’s returned alive.” 

Thoughts of what my father would do to me if ever given the chance strike me with more anxiety than his presence does. “I’ve heard of the girl you’re talking about,” I admit, the lie leaving me as easily as the air leaves my lungs when I exhale. “But I’m not her.” 

“You’re not from Ketterdam, if you were you would have known who I was after you friend referred to me as Dirtyhands.” I have no defense, but I never claimed to be from Ketterdam. “You make your business claiming to be a psychic.” I am a psychic, but now is not the time to make that argument. “Elkosa is a relatively small and self efficient port kingdom, the island is nothing more than a jagged coastline barely larger than Ketterdam, but I have connections in all places.” He knows someone from Elkosa? I have to fight the instinct to move all of my weight on the balls of my feet, prepared to run. “A captain of the royal fleet told me the story of the night the King’s bastard ran into the meeting room the night before ten ships were meant to sail to Ravka.” 

He studies my reaction as I struggle to keep my expression blank. “None of that seems connected.” 

“Patience is a virtue most Saints are familiar with.” I roll my eyes. “The bastard couldn’t have been more than nine at the time, but the guards did not want to let her in. The King told them to let her interrupt. The sailor noted this because he had never made an exception to his meeting before. The girl described a nightmare to her father, a nightmare of a storm and ten dead birds. The king did not comfort her, she finished her story by saying that he asked to know about all of her dreams. She went back upstairs and the King continued the meeting as normal but the next day the King cancelled the trip.”

I remember that night as the night I realized that if I’m not careful, I’ll feel what I see in my visions. It felt like I was drowning. I felt the death of each of those men and instead of comforting me, my father nodded once like I had offered him advice and sent me back to my room. “And?” My defense is weak, my mind too lost in the memories of drowning. “Many smaller countries are superstitious.” 

“The next day the worst storm to have impacted that ocean occurred. For four nights and three days the storm continued.” 

I press my nails into my palms. “You don’t believe that I am precognitive, so that sailor’s unverified story has nothing to do with me.” 

“A princess that can see the future disappears at the same time a failing circus hires a girl who has no business in this city who claims to be able to see the future.” He adjusts his stance, taking pressure off the cane as if he’s preparing to need to use it for something else. “I am not fool enough to believe in coincidence.” 

“And I am not fool enough to crack beneath the vague threats of a man. In my experience, men always threaten with a blade when really all they’re in possession of is a butter knife. Try to drag me from here kicking and screaming, find a way to incapacitate me and put me on a ship to Elkosa, but when the King sees that you brought him a stranger he will have your head.” 

He blinks, expression hard as stone. I tense, preparing for a physical blow. “I didn’t expect you to be a half-decent liar, but I should have.” I bite my tongue to avoid resorting to something I can’t take back. Like begging. “Even if it’s in only half your blood.” 

“I am not her.” My stubbornness burns more than the need to survive. I inhale, hoping to shake the grasp of the sensation but it only worsens. The pinch of dread in my chest is heavy and familiar. A vision. 

No. Not now--not in front of him. I push against it even though I know that only makes it worse. Not now. Not now. I should be grounding myself but all I can think about is how stupid I am and how bad this situation is.

--

“I’m not an idiot, I know to be quiet. I see myself crouched somewhere dark. 

“Being defensive doesn’t make you any more intelligent.” It takes me a minute to recognize Kaz in the darkness. 

We’re somewhere small, our backs against the same wall but our shoulders do not touch. This vision is enshrouded by the feel of panic. 

This other me grimaces, but her eyes lack anger, “Remind me why I agreed to help you again?” 

“You never told me why,” he admits, “you can change your mind on participating and I can change my mind on whether or not you're more useful than your father’s money.”

Something loud crashes from behind the door we’re both staring at. “You’ll have no use for me or my father’s money if we die here.” I squeeze my hands together. 

He hesitates, “My ghost will.” 

The future-me almost smiles. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see ghost futures.” I hesitate, something strange behind my eyes. “I wonder if that can exist, if there’s a future beyond endings.” 

Future-Kaz is silent for a long second. “There should be,” he says, “for someone like you, at least.” 

I watch the way I take in his words. “You’d be there, too,” my voice is low, “your ghost at least.” I turn my head, staring at the door instead of him, “If you weren’t, I’d miss the brooding.” 

--

The vision leaves me with sweaty palms and swirling thoughts. All of my visions do that. Not all of them make me feel so confused. Apparently, he needs help and I agree to do so. At one point we’ll be pushed into a life or death situation and I won’t loathe him. 

I blink twice, forcing myself to hold onto the reality in front of me. I don’t have to agree--the future isn’t set in stone. For all I know tomorrow morning I’ll have a vision in which he kills me. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

Shaking my head, I turn to face him. “You need help.” I don’t wait for his reaction. “You’re not here to return someone to the King of Elkosa, you’re here because you need someone that can see the future.” 

“I--” 

“It’s not that you won’t take me to Elkosa, it’s that you’d rather use my abilities for something.”

I’m confusing him again, but that’s okay. I’d rather deal with him confused than angry. “I need to know how a certain business deal of mine is going to be worth what it costs.”

He’s spent the entire time claiming he doesn’t believe in my power. Was that some kind of tactic? In the vision I saw, despite the panic surrounding the situation I didn’t feel panicked around him. The probability of that future occurring is probably low. I’ve been wrong before, the future changes too much for me to know everything. 

“That’s not how readings work,” I admit, “I don’t have that much control on them. Most of them come to me randomly. The events I see always involve me or someone I care about to a certain capacity. I can give someone a general glimpse into their future but I can’t promise I’ll see what they want. Sometimes I can see the general vision by just focusing on their energy but usually I need some physical contact for it to work.” That seems like a fair explanation. “Oh--and not all of my predictions come true, most are blurry, few are solid--the future is always moving.” 

Wait...the vision I saw where I was with Kaz wasn’t blurry. Those can be wrong, but it’s much rarer. Do I really agree to this? 

“Then maybe I should make it involve you.” His aggression has me forcing myself to stand my ground. He can threaten me all he wants but that won’t change things. “Or take the money your father would give me and cut my losses.” 

Every time I’ve purposefully destroyed a solid vision, something bad has happened. I’m genuinely considering it. “What do you need a psychic for, anyways?” 

“To get through the Fold.” 

Despite everything, I laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone get through the Fold, literally or in my visions.” 

He’s unphased by my doubt. “It’s happened.” 

I really don’t want to help him. “Well then good luck, I’m happy to part ways here.” 

I manage one step forward before he moves his cane in front of my path. I’m getting tired of this. “You’re assisting me one way or the other, whether that aid will be financial or through your services is up to you.” 

Anger pinches in my stomach the way it often does when I’m told what to do. The one thing centering me is the vision still reflecting in my thoughts. There’s no denying it--I had felt comfortable with him. There is a future in which I feel comfortable with him and I’m not sure I’ll be able to avoid it. 

“I won’t get in trouble for you,” I tell him, “The Ringmaster holds onto those indentured to him, especially the commodities that bring him profit.” 

There’s something stiff about his silence. I wonder if he’s always like this, pushing the weight of his presence onto those around him without saying a word. “When I have a goal, it is achieved. I’ll speak to him.” 

I cannot imagine a conversation I want to be involved in less. The Ringmaster and this man that Seria had labeled ‘Dirtyhands’. “I just had a vision--I saw your entire conversation and it ends with you missing an arm.” His stoic expression does not shift. “Okay, I’m aware that it wasn’t the funniest joke, but throw me a bone--you threatened to kidnap me and sell me to my father in order to extort me and I’ve been nothing but polite to you.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, something in his expression changing in a way I can’t read. “All you’ve done is lie since the moment you started to speak to me.” 

The optimist in me would like to think that his annoyance counts for banter. I shrug, feeling a little lighter than I did a second ago. I’m certainly not comfortable but I’m starting to see how to put up with the tension without letting it strain me. “Well, polite for my standards.” 

I let him brood. “You must have done well as a royal.” 

My past cuts through the peace I managed to grab onto. It’s not his fault, he has no way of knowing what the castle was like for me. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. “I had my moments,” I finally settle on, hoping the echo of pain isn’t visible behind my eyes. 

I guess it doesn’t matter if he sees me bleed. He’s heartless, and I hate sympathy. 

“Y/n,” Seria’s voice is genuine anger, “You’ve turned into an idiot--first the tightrope walk and now entertaining whatever deal he’s trying to coax from you.” I love Seria, she’s the reason I didn’t die in the street when I first arrived in Ketterdam, but she sees me as a mindless child. “Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you--it’s a lie.” 

“He hasn’t promised me anything.” I need to calm her down. Once she’s calm, everything will be normal again. “And he knows.” I don’t have to turn to feel the way Seria gapes at me. “He knows who I am, so I have to do what he wants.” 

“You never have to do anything a man is forcing onto you, y/n. We’ll find a way--” 

“Seria, it’s fine,” I reach to touch her arm, “I’ll be fine, you can’t protect me from everything and you don’t have to.” 

Kaz throws a pointed glare at the man who was with him earlier. When did the stranger get here? “Boss, she’s faster than she looked, but I have what we need to get the girl--” 

“You’re late,” Kaz sighs, bored, “she’s agreed.” 

Wait--what was he going to do if I didn’t agree? “Out of curiosity, what are you talking about?” The man blinks twice, squeezing a rag between his ring-clad fingers. “You were going to use chloroform to kidnap me, weren’t you?” 

For some reason I don’t understand, the stranger gives me a look that’s a cross between sheepish and charming. “Nothing personal.” 

“Or original.” 

Seria pinches my arm. “Y/n,” she scolds, “your sense of humor is going to kill me one of these days.” 

I cringe, pulling my arm away. “When I met you, you were pickpocketing in the pleasure district, please remember that.” 

She rolls her eyes. “An attitude like that is going to leave you without a place to sleep at night.” 

I take her comment for the empty threat it is. Every other day she’s threatening to kick me out of her private trailer so that I’m forced to fight for cots or speak to the Ringmaster about my lodging arrangements. He’d give me what I want, but speaking to him feels so slimy I’d sleep in the woods before trying it. 

“Kaz.” I turn my head in time to see the girl that gave me the advice about the tightrope walker. “We need to go, he’s coming soon--you’ll do better to speak to him in the morning after she’s gone, that way he has nothing to hold over your head.” 

“Once I’m gone?” The girl had called me a Saint. I can appeal to her. “I’m not--I’m not going anywhere, I said I’d help.” 

Her eyes widen, sympathy reflected clearly in her dark irises. “There was never a version of this in which you ended up staying here.” I hear a hint of apology in her voice. “You won’t believe me, but I promise this will be better for you.” All of her pity is gone with those, replaced by something hard.

Seria responds for me, “I think you should go.” 

“What?” 

She almost smiles, but her eyes are painfully sad. “I never wanted you to be here forever. I don’t trust these people, but I trust their ability to get you out of here, even if only for a little while. Bad things are coming, and I think you’ll miss the worst of it if you go now.” 

What she alludes to is a blade in my heart. “You want me to leave you here to deal with it?” 

“Y/n, I’ve been hurt here more times than I can count--”

“No, I won’t leave y--” 

Seria squeezes my shoulder, “It’s not forever.” When she wants something, it’s almost impossible to get around it. “Besides, if I need you, you’ll see it.” 

My world feels to have lost the vibrance of color. I’ve left so much, but I let myself believe I wouldn’t leave her. I pull her into the hug. “The moment I see a vision of you in any type of danger, I’m coming back.” I hug her even tighter when she tries to pull away so that I can whisper something in her ear, “I’ll use this opportunity to leave the Ringmaster and then I’ll get you out, and together we’ll leave Ketterdam. We’ll find your child, like you always wanted to and they’ll know that they're lucky because they’re the only kid in the world to have you as a mother.” 

She squeezes me so tightly I find it hard to take full breaths. “Two,” Seria whispers, “I have two children.”

My eyes burn as her words find their way into my heart. “I love you, Seria.” 

“I love you too, my star,” she pulls away enough so that I can look her in the eye, “you don’t like being called a Saint, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the title.” 

Tears prick my eyes as she releases me. “I’ll find you.” 

“He’ll be coming soon,” the girl warns, “He spoke to an advisor about wanting to find you after the show.” 

No doubt to praise the fire stunt he forced onto me. Bastard. I nod once but I don’t move. I can’t bring myself to leave Seria until the girl places a hand on my elbow. 

--

Falling Angels Taglist: @glowstick-lesbian @cashlum @whatiswrongwithpeople @pass-me-jeez-it @thecraziestcrayon

[ascnsion]

▋ 𝑴𝑨𝒀𝑯𝑬𝑴 𝑩𝑬𝒀𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑫𝑶𝑶𝑴 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑹 .  .  .  .  .   ❛ i’m not superstitious… but i am a little stitious. ❜   𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈  @secondhandmckie​​​​ .  .  .  .  .   ┖ the office rp prompts ┒

       ▕▎    What did the robotic man order at a bar? There was probably a shitty joke out there that could summarize the overall pile of shit that was Cliff’s current life, presence of bar or otherwise. Although he could not smell the cigarette smoke and body sweat which inevitably filled the bar like a storm cloud, the former racecar driver had visited enough bars-for-bastards to remember what it felt like to be fully immersed within one. He was once a degenerate; a man who loved his daughter so much that he spent the twilight hours of a long day getting drunk and high instead of being at home. 

Bars like those were the only ones he knew of growing up, but after achieving mid-west fame and fortune, he still stepped back through half broken doors into dark, dark road. Cliff could no longer taste anything either, but the memory of all the poisons he used to snort and drink made him ill . . mentally anyway. It was weird how the brain worked even without the presence of every other organ. Despite the horrid memories and his mistakes, tasting one drop of vodka, gin, rum, anything was better than going through the rest of his tin-coffin life without tasting anything else again. 

Steele was better off; he knew he’d end up driving on the degenerate road again if provided the chance. While he wasn’t entirely opposed to the strange stares he received when visiting highly public areas, it was nice to step inside an environment where the darkness and drunkeness made him look human in the eyes of others. Even the bartender didn’t offer him a second glance as Cliff posed questions . . he must have seen worse. Questions lead him nowhere, and Cliff opened the loosely hanging door of the front entrance as though he was flicking an insect away. 

A bystander, startled by the sudden movement, cursed loudly, scowled, and skipped away from the metallic hulk that was Cliff. Two seconds later, and the next person would have had her face full of wooden door. Cliff awkwardly raised his metallic hands in the air; he was incapable of stepping aside with any sort of swiftness.

        ❝   Sorry.   ❞   With no expression to his robotic face, robotic vocal chords attempted to convey the honesty behind the small apology. Boy, did he miss facial expressions though. Glowing, robotic hues whirled mechanically as he focused on the face of the woman . . all he could do instead of furrowing brow or raising eyebrows quizzically. His large torso moved awkwardly, looking to and fro for the source of her concern.

      ❝   Stitious? You mean that crack on the ground, or me?   ❞   Stitious wasn’t even a word, but it should have been, really.

     ❝   I’m not a ghost or a some sort of monster. I don’t know if believing in that is actually superstition or just . . being gullible.  ❞  

[burnxngslash]

━━   ❝   𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.   ❞  He was stuck on those words, remembering that his client mentioned that people have been disappearing and whilst he thought nothing of it at first but once his own son became a victim of the disappearing act he grew worried. Nero held the long equipment bag over his shoulder. What looked like a bag that probably hid a few stage or musical equipment had actually carried his sword, wouldn’t be too good for him if he was simply taking a stroll with his weapons in plain sight (unless he was investigating a convention).

“I’m not one for superstitious bastards either but I still like t’ think I keep an open mind. But ya said you believe in monsters..that’s a bigger stretch from the ghosts don’t ya think? I mean what kind of monster could ya have seen?”

@scarlxtleaves said: "Hey, ya heard anything about thing's goin' bump in the night around town?" (From Nero)

Bump in the night, huh?

A snarky comment died at the tip of her tongue. While the streets were safe from hoodlums, she had to stop at some point. By 10 PM, she was at home, gang activity should be rampant but it slowed down so much, it built intrigue. Whispers of unscrupulous types vanishing in the night after congregating at abandoned buildings.

"I mean..." Asuka began... Did she believe the recent disappearances to be otherworldly? Not really, things were normal in Osaka. ( as normal as she's experienceed, anyway ).

"'s been quiet recently... Real quiet, actually. I ain't seen any o' the usual idiots 'round makin' a fuss... Some people 've been sayin' they got spirited away."

"Bu' tha's only if y' believe in spirits an' stuff." Oh, but monsters exist.

↳ unprompted :: accepting !

[ophiuchus-interactive]

What’s the folklore like in The Wastes? & do any of the crew believe in any of it ?

Under the cut- long post! (This will have a "Halloween" bend to them as it is, of course, Halloween!)

Folklore in The Wastes is unique, and come from a culture unlike any other in The Clover Clouds.

Despite the fact that the space known as "The Wastes" are controlled and owned by the human-run Council, transplants from the Kal'Morra, Harpii, and Anderrans create an environment of a cultural blending and exchange- something not really seen in most of the homogeneous societies in the Clover Clouds.

For example:

- The Kal'Morra believe in ancestor veneration, and consider the desecration of their final resting places to be an insult of the highest degree. Grave-robbing is a very common crime in The Wastes, and sightings of ghosts at desecrated burial sites have become something of a legend, then a myth.

- A very popular story in The Wastes has to deal with this; legend has it that upon the destruction or desecration of a grave site with Kal'Morran bodies, the angry and vengeful demon called a Ji-rakya will come from the ground and swallow the offender whole, leaving no trace or evidence behind.

- The Harpii are all trained warriors, and will come to The Wastes most often times as mercenaries. Harpii aren't exactly spiritual, but are superstitious. Harpii become very superstitious about fighting.

"Ic nuipese ilunevabr" or, "Money guides the hand of battle". In Lower Commons (the most common human language throughout the system) it is bastardized into "money will aim the weapon".

- Humans- that is, the majority of the population within The Wastes- have many stories and tall tales from the war veterans and pioneers dotted throughout the systems. They range from mythical alien creatures capable of turning people inside-out, to whole planets full of ancient gold ripe for the taking. The most famous of the stories are ones passed down from prospectors, claiming to have found the lost capital city of the Vidarri. Many of these claims are obviously unverified, but it hasn't stopped in leading many to explore and try to find it.

[immortal-green-snom]

currently wondering if there’s anyone at all on Remnant who worships the GoL or GoD, or at least Gods based off of them. wondering if they’ve got a whole ass religion surrounding them. I mean, probably not, because Humanity 1.0 was wiped out and so too their stories about the Brothers. If anything, they’re more intertwined in fairytales than mythology thanks to Ozpin, who would probably be the only one to pass on/pen their existence down [I doubt Salem would have done it since I’m pretty certain she hates their guts]

But the idea of churches for the GoL & GoD is really cool to me but mostly for, like, aesthetic purposes. like, I’m as atheist as u can get but gothic cathedral vibes fucking Rock, end of story. Gold and dark purple and stain glass windows and ppl who sing either their praises or fears of the Brothers. They can even have the same cross symbolism if they want it, just cause it is a cool symbol. Mainly because some ppl in RWBY do wear crosses, such as Qrow and Ozpin, and I think it would be really cool if they had some kind of meaning in-universe 

Anyway, can u imagine Ozpin bowing his head before a giant statue of the God of Light, in dim lighting under the scattered light of stain glass windows, dutifully going about the task that has been thrust upon him by the GoL while also silently cursing him for casting such a terrible fate upon him? Just hoping that one of the bastards is listening to him, hundreds of years later?

Or perhaps he avoids churches and cathedrals altogether, superstitious, cautious. Afraid to step into one, as if some terrible, sinful monster who might be struck down upon setting one foot on those holy grounds. Living with the fear of  those buildings, of seeing the ghost of a disappointed, featureless face, and feel the countless souls he’s comprised of boil with both his righteous purpose and frustration of it.

But he can’t do anything about it. He can only clasp his hands together and kneel and ask for guidance he will never receive because the Gods are Assholes