#the ghost of christmas past. shadows of the things that have been.

[blujaydoodles]

It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge.

“I am!”

[redrose10]

I might post another Christmas themed story before Christmas, but we’ll see if I’m able to get that one done…

Thank you for this request and I hope you like it!

< A Christmas Miracle >

Yoongi X Female Reader, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Swearing, angst, slightly suggestive, very minor hint to cheating, drunkenness, fighting

*******************************************************

“Why is it so cold?”, Yoongi grumbled after a midnight bathroom break as he hurriedly made his way back to his bed to get underneath the warm comfy blankets. As he laid there trying to fall back asleep he saw a soft glow begin to light up his room. He blinked a few times to clear his vision wondering what it could be. Out of his closet where the light was the brightest walked two very familiar faces. Yoongi sat up startled yet a little angry, also concerned. “Jin? Hobi? What the hell were you two doing in my closet?”, he asked.

The two men walked forward coming out of the light which quickly dissipated sending the room back into a familiar darkness. Jin cleared his throat, “Yoongi, we are the Ghosts of Christmas Past.”

Yoongi sat and stared at them in stunned and annoyed silence. He was really wishing he had stuck to tea instead of whiskey during dinner. “You guys…it’s like one o’clock in the morning. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, but for now you can crash in the guest room if you want.”, he finally mumbled after a while.

“We’re here to show you something.”, Hobi smiled reaching for his hand. “No thanks. Uh exactly how much did you guys drink?”, he worriedly asked.

“Ahh we didn’t drink at all. Let’s hurry up. We don’t have all night.”, Jin exclaimed before snapping his fingers. Yoongi didn’t have time to react before he along with his two friends were instantly transported elsewhere.

“Do you recognize this place?”, Hobi asked.

“W-what just happened!? How did you two do that?”, Yoongi asked exasperated and frantically looking around.

“Aish pay attention!”, Jin bounded with a hand firmly placed on Yoongi’s shoulder, “Yoongi take a look around. What do you notice?”

Yoongi took a deep breath before scanning the room, “This is my studio. Why are we here?” Hobi pointed to the other side of the room where a young Yoongi stood talking to his manager and a woman that he instantly recognized.

“Am I dead? Oh my god I died?”, he panicked looking at both Jin and Hobi, “Did you die too? That’s why you’re ghosts? What happened?”

“Yoongi no one died so relax. We’re just here to remind you of your past. We brought you back to a moment of great meaning to you.”, Hobi said trying his best to calm down his friend.

“This is the moment you met Y/N, right?”, Jin asked. Yoongi nodded and Jin continued, “So this must’ve been a real happy point in your life.”

“Well she is my best friend so yeah I guess this moment was pretty special. Can’t she see us?”, he asked waving his hands back and forth.

Hobi and Jin both shook their heads, “Nope no one can see or hear us other than ourselves.”

“Great… now I really know I’m dead.”, he groaned earning quite the eye roll from Jin who replied, “I’m going to ignore your constant complaining… for now. Just watch the show.”

Yoongi shrugged as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

It was many years ago, about eight or so now when you were first introduced to each other. You had just gotten hired as an intern producer. It was Christmas morning and since you were new to the city and had no one to spend it with you offered to work and since he was the only one at the studio working he was assigned to let you shadow him for a while. In all honesty the last thing he wanted was to have to spend time with someone else. There was a reason he was working alone on Christmas morning to begin with. He had just gotten his heart broken. He was hurt and upset and angry. But he was a professional so he pushed all that aside and welcomed you into the studio. You had a lyric book with you which you happily shared with him. The first song he read through was a love song…”of course”, he groaned.

Yoongi slammed the book closed and tossed it aside, “Love doesn’t exist. Love is only a figment of peoples imaginations. They use it to make themselves feel better…like they have a purpose in life.” He knew he was being harsh, but he wanted to save you from experiencing the same heartbreak he was going through. “So you’re saying you won’t ever fall in love?”, you asked with a hint of playfulness to your voice. “Nope. Never. Not gonna happen.”, he said shaking his head, “I don’t believe in love.”

You nodded along with a smirk, “We’ll see about that Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi stood off to the side with his two friends watching this replay happen. At the time he never noticed the twinkle in your eye or the smirk or the way you made it sound like a challenge. If he had noticed any of that then he never would have let the relationship go as far as it did. You never would have become anything but a coworker to him.

He jumped a little when he felt someone grab smack him on the back. Hobi was smiling at him, “Come on. We have one more place to go.”

“I really hope it’s the bar because I’m gonna need a drink or two to get through this.”, he replied earning another big eye roll from his senior member. With a snap of Jin’s fingers they were gone in a flash once again.

“Look familiar?”, Jin asked while everyone looked around the room. “Y-yeah this is Y/N’s living room.”, Yoongi said, “Why are we here?”

Before anyone could answer the door swung open and a past version of himself and you came tumbling in. It took a moment, but he remembered that night instantly.

“H-hold on.”, you mumbled against his skin. Quickly you skipped over to the Christmas tree in the corner and plugged it in. The glow of the multi colored lights softly lit up the room. Yoongi chuckled at your cuteness. “What? It’s Christmas!”, you smiled after noticing him staring at you.

It didn’t take long for you to have him pinned down on the couch with your hips grinding and searching for any kind of release. “Are you sure you want to do this?”, he asked in between kisses. You nodded your head while reaching for his belt, but he stopped you, “Seriously Y/N, before we go any further, I need to know that you understand that this is nothing more than friends having sex. I’m not looking for any more of a relationship than that.”

“So you’re saying you won’t fall madly in love with me Yoongi?”, you playfully questioned with a smile.

“No Y/N, I told you, I don’t believe in love.”, he responded making your smile falter just a little. “If you don’t want to keep going I understand.”, he continued, but you stopped him with a kiss and pulled him in closer than before.

That was a few years after you two had met and the first time you guys had sex and it was the beginning of your friends with benefits relationship. To this day that is all it remained. Yoongi cringed at how cold he sounded in that moment, he’d blame it on having most of his blood flowing to other parts of his body, but he knew the truth. He just didn’t want you to end up getting hurt by him one day.

He stood there and watched you. He took in all of your movements, the sounds you made. The way you said his name in want and desperation. He had always thought you were beautiful but seeing you now, in this position, from an outsiders view you looked ethereal. The way the soft lights iilumited your skin. The way you mumbled praises in between kisses and moans. You were incredible to him.

“Alright that’s enough of that”, Jin exclaimed as soon as clothing started getting removed and tossed around the room. He snapped his fingers and Yoongi was back in his own bedroom.

He flopped back down on his bed taking a long deep breath trying to process the crazy dream he just had and also why the image of your face as he kissed you was suddenly burned into his memory. The way you looked at him with such love and admiration…it made him feel guilty. He had his suspicions from the start that you were looking for more from him than just a friends/friends with benefits relationship and he should have stopped it before it got as far as it did. But he was a weak man when it came to you.

As he was laying there with his eyes squeezed shut trying to force himself to sleep he got the sense that something wasn’t right. It was like he could feel the soft light once again illuminating his room. He took a peak finding two more of his friends, Jimin and Jungkook, standing in his room with big goofy smiles.

“No no NO”, Yoongi shook his head, “I’m not playing this game any more.”

Jimin spoke first, “There’s no game hyung.” Jungook continued, “We are the Ghosts of Christmas Present. We are here to help you see… what could be.”

The two guys snickered between them at the little unintended rhyme.

“Let me guess…you’re going to snap your fingers and transport us somewhere else?”, Yoongi scoffed.

Jimin nodded before joyfully doing the snap sending the three of them through a transport to another location.

Yoongi looked around faintly recognizing the restaurant they were standing in that was now haphazardly decorated for Christmas. He’d been there with you just a few nights ago, but was unsure of why he was here currently.

Then the door chimed and you walked in with your friend, Mia. You two sat at a table off to the side by the large window. Yoongi went to greet you before quickly being reminded that you couldn’t see or hear him.

“Soooo how long until Mr.Dreamy gets here?”, Mia teasingly asked. You rolled your eyes, “His name is Minjun and he should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Ooohhhh even his name sounds hot.”, she quipped before noticing your down demeanor, “Y/N why do you look so sad? You’re about to go on a date with a really nice guy….This better not have something to do with Yoongi.”

You sighed as you looked out the window before turning your attention back to Mia, “I don’t know…I just…I feel bad for lying to him and like maybe I should give him another chance.”

Mia scoffed, “Fuck him. Y/N he doesn’t love you. He’s using you for sex. He has made it perfectly clear about that and it’s time that you move on and try to find someone that will love you back and treat you the way that you deserve to be treated. Maybe this Minjun guy could be that person or maybe not, but either way you need to move on from Yoongi because he’s definitely not going to change.”

You nodded because as much as it hurt, a part of you knew she was right. You had spent years trying to get Yoongi to love you back, but it was becoming clear that he was steadfast in his word and had no intention of ever fully letting you become something more to him. Realizing the time Mia stood up and gave you a quick hug, “I love you. Text me as soon as the date is over. I can’t wait to hear all the details.”

Yoongi watched as Mia walked out the door and the seat across from you was replaced by some guy. Some guy that made Yoongi’s blood boil even though he didn’t even know him. He knew he had told you many many times over the years that he was incapable of love so you trying to move on should be of no surprise to him, but for some reason watching you smile and laugh at something stupid that this guy said made his chest ache just a little bit.

“What’s going on in your brain?”, Jimin questioned wearily as he watched Yoongi staring at you.

“Nothing. She’s an adult. She can go on a date with whoever she wants. It doesn’t bother me. She’s her own person. So what if she wants to go on a date with this guy who’s wearing too much chapstick and who the hell orders garlic shrimp on a first date? That’s just asking for a bad first kiss. He’s a moron.” Jimin and Jungkook knew that it did in fact bother him which is why he was rambling to try and convince himself that his own words were true.

“So you don’t feel even a little sad or maybe a bit of regret knowing that she could be yours, but instead she’s out with someone else right now?”, Jungkook asked.

Yoongi shook his head, but still didn’t take his eyes off of you, “Nope. I made it clear that I would never love her and she’s well within her right to try and find someone who will... Plus it’s only one date. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re getting married or something.”

The two smirked knowing that Yoongi was clearly having some feelings he wasn’t admitting, but their hands were tied and it was now up to him to make a move. With a long sigh Jimin snapped his fingers and Yoongi was once again back in the comfort of his bed. His mind reeling with emotions some of which he never felt before. Jealousy being the biggest one. He wasn’t able to take the time to unpack everything though because the light from his closet once again added a soft unnerving glow to the room.

“Come on Namjoon and Taehyung. Let’s get this over with.”, he groaned knowing that these two were about to make things even more difficult for him.

The two did walk out of the closet both laughing at his acceptance of the situation.

“Hyung.”, Taehyung nodded. “I’m guessing you have already figured it out, but we are the Ghosts of Christmas Future.”, Namjoon spoke.

Yoongi stood up and walked over to the members to stand beside them. They looked at him with questioning eyes.

“Come on. Do the finger snap thing.”, he spoke snapping his own fingers in return., “I haven’t got all night.”

Namjoon laughed, but did as requested and the three were sent to the future.

Yoongi looked around the church he was suddenly standing it. It was beautifully decorated in reds and greens and gold. It looked like Christmas. Poinsettias were spread throughout reminding him of you because they were your favorite. Your friend Mia stood at the alter wearing a beautiful floor length dark green dress. That Minjun guy was standing on the other side in a well fitted tuxedo. Yoongi realized he was at a wedding. And that realization made him feel sick.

“No no no.”, he mumbled, “Don’t tell me.”

“Yep, Y/N’s wedding. She gets married on Christmas Day, just like she always wanted. She looks beautiful doesn’t she?”, Taehyung smiled as he pointed towards the double doors. You were walking down the aisle in a breathtaking white gown, similar to the one he had heard you describe as your dream dress countless times.

The wedding was a blur…to Yoongi at all least. He couldn’t take his focus off of the way you smiled. The way your eyes lit up every time your soon to be husband looked at you. Yoongi had seen that same look from you plenty of times, but he chose to ignore them and instead he chose to selfishly close himself off from you, too afraid to let himself experience love.

Then he took a moment to look around the crowd. He saw your parents. He had often had dinner with them. He bonded with your dad over a mutual love of basketball. He remembered the night your dad pulled him aside and told him he would be proud to have him as a son-in-law. Yoongi felt such a sense of pride in hearing that as no one had really ever said anything like that to him before. And there he was, your dad sitting in the front row proudly smiling as he did his best not to cry. Yoongi felt like a failure. Your friends and family were scattered throughout the rest of the crowd. He was surprised by how many of the people in your life he’d grown to know over the years, even getting close to a few of them himself. The one person he didn’t see was himself.

“Sh-she didn’t invite me to her wedding?”, he whispered.

“Ohhh she did.”, Taehyung chuckled, “But you said you would rather stick your dick in a blender than watch her marry some corporate executive ass kissing asshole who cared more about his hair gel than anything else.”

That sounded like something he knew he would say, but he never would’ve said that to you.

“He’s right hyung.”, Namjoon softly whispered, “You guys had a huge blowout when you found out that she was engaged and your relationship never really recovered. Y/N tried several times to reconcile, but you refused.”

Yoongi chuckled to himself, but shook his head, “No I would never treat Y/N like that.”

“You want to see the proof?”, Namjoon asked and before Yoongi could answer he was whisked away to another location, thankfully just missing the part where you kissed your new husband sealing your fate as his wife.

“Prepare yourself. It’s uh it’s hard to watch.”, Taehyung solemnly said.

He was back in your living room. The familiar Christmas tree lit while Christmas carols played from the music box on the counter. Yoongi watched as you opened the door allowing him to stumble in. He managed to catch himself against the wall before looking up at you with a hateful glare. “You.”, he pointed at you taking a few shaky steps, “You’re engaged?”

“I-I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for the right moment.”, you said taking a few step back to create some space.

“Fucking perfect…where is he?”, he demanded. You stayed silent. “Where the fuck is he?! I want to congratulate him myself. Congratulations on marrying the woman who so easily falls in love. It’s not like he had to work for it.”

Yoongi walked or more so stumbled around the apartment looking for your fiancé while knocking over glasses and a vase before he turned to look at you with a smirk, “He’s not here is he?”

You shook your head,”He had to go into the office.”

“Oh he really loves you Y/N. He loves you so much that he’d rather be at work on Christmas Day than with his fiancé.”, he spat, “I guarantee he’s fucking his secretary right now.”

“Yoongi you’re drunk. Go home. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”, you said as you reached for your phone to call him a cab.

“No, fuck you Y/N. Fuck you for coming into my life. I was perfectly happy before you made it your goal to ruin me. Fuck you for making me feel like love was possible. I was happy being oblivious. Fuck you for ruining everything.”

All it took was a few sniffles from you and the whisper of you calling him the worst thing to ever happen to you for him to sober up enough to realize what he had just said.

“I-I’m sorry Y/N. I have to go.”

He stormed out of your apartment leaving you to cleanup and cry by yourself.

“We told you. It’s hard to watch.”, Namjoon spoke as he snapped his fingers sending them all back to Yoongi’s bedroom.

“I just…I don’t understand. I would never hurt her like that. I…saying those things. That wasn’t me.”

Taehyung placed a hand on his shoulder, “At one time it wasn’t you, but you didn’t make the changes that were necessary and now you’re future is set.” Namjoon and Taehyung left, taking the light with them and leaving Yoongi sitting alone in the dark with his own feelings and thoughts.

He couldn’t take the look of hurt on your face. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being married to anyone else, but him. He hated himself for being the person that he was. He despised himself for being so afraid to love and be loved that he chased away the one person in the world that made him feel things again even when he had the chance to save it, but he threw it all away like a coward.

There were only three times in his life that he did more than cry, that he actually sobbed. Once when his grandmother passed away. The second time was when his group won Artist of the Year. And the third was right now as he sat on the edge of his bed screaming out your name in remorse, in heartbreak with a hand clutched to his chest. He dropped to his knees wishing and hoping for a second chance or a way to change the future that had already been laid out for him.

He buried his face into his hands and cried some more until the exhaustion started giving away to delusion and he heard you saying his name.

“Yoongi”

“Yoongi”

“Yoongs are you okay?”

He shook his head unable to face the fact that you weren’t really there. Then he smelled your vanilla perfume and felt your soft touch gently nudging his shoulder.

“Yoongi wake up.”

Groggily he could barely make out another voice, “Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

“Yoongi get up!! You’re scaring me.”, you said making him jolt awake.

He jumped, out of breath and panting. Frantically he looked around the room. Your Christmas tree was in the corner. The tv was playing your favorite ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ a tradition of the both of yours to watch it on Christmas morning. The lightly burnt Christmas cookies that the two of you made yesterday were sitting on the coffee table in front of him and he was wearing the ridiculous matching Christmas sweater and reindeer antlers you had begged him to put on. But most importantly you were sitting next to him looking him over with a concerned expression.

“Are you okay? You fell asleep and then I think you were dreaming or something. You started crying and shouting my name so I woke you up.”, you said while reaching up to wipe away some of the tears that were still settled on his cheeks.

Feeling irrationally thirsty all of a sudden he took a large gulp of the now cold hot chocolate and continued taking a few more deep breaths. With a shaky hand he ran his fingers through his hair before laughing, “Yeah I just had this crazy nightmare.” You laughed along with him before turning your attention back to the movie. He tried to settle himself down, but couldn’t shake the sense of uneasiness that engulfed him.

Like on cue your phone lit up on the armrest next to you. Yoongi wasn’t one to really pry or care too much about your personal affairs, but in his mind he saw the name Minjun appear and he snapped.

“Let’s make us official. I want you to be my girlfriend.”, he spoke without really thinking.

“W-What?”, you gasped.

“I love you Y/N. I’m sorry…I’m sorry I’ve been fighting it all this time. But I can’t risk…I won’t loose you. I want to be together forever. I want you by my side Y/N. I want to travel the world together. I want to get married. I want to have a family with you so we can spend many Christmas’ together wearing matching pajamas and watching silly movies. I want to grow old together being happy and being in love because you have shown me that love is real. Love is amazing. Love is comforting and special and everything I want because of and with you.” He scooted a little bit closer so he could take your hands in his, “Y/N I’m an idiot. I was so afraid of getting hurt, but I now know that the worst pain I could ever feel would be if I let you get away and I’m not going to let that happen. I love you and I want us to be together.”

Yoongi tightly gripped onto your hands trying to ground himself. When he looked up at you he wasn’t prepared to see you smirking at him.

“Well I’ll be…It’s a Christmas miracle. THE Min Yoongi falling in love. I never thought it would happen.”, you said making him grumble something unintelligible in return but his cheeks turned a bright red so you knew he was flustered.

“But…”, you continued, “I am thankful for miracles because I love you too Yoongi.”

He broke out into a big gummy smile feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders.

He gave you a kiss and tucked you in next to him reveling in the feeling of you being so close and snuggling into his side while the next movie played on.

“Hey Yoongi…”, you said after a while.

“Mmhm?”

“I told you so.”

You squealed as he quickly had you turned around and pinned underneath him in a fit of giggles and laughter before peppering you with kiss after kiss making it the best Christmas either of you have ever had.

[shadesoflsk]

LEON KENNEDY MASTERLIST !!

⸺ ᶻ ���� 𐰁 ! SERIES !!

MILLION DOLLAR BLOODLINE ⎯⎯ vampire/detective Leon x fem/detective reader

In the middle of the glamorous and alluring 80s decade, a new case of crimes has started to alarm Raccoon City’s citizens. Politicians and cold-blooded people are stabbing each other in their backs, forgetting about alliances or even morals.  As a young detective tries to unravel the deep and hidden secrets in the city of freedom, no villain is safe. Meanwhile, a mysterious leaker and traitor is on the loose, working in the shadows to bring down those who drained innocent people of their lives and money.

⸺ ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ! FICS !!

LOVE, OR THE LACK THEREOF ⎯⎯ vendetta leon x gn reader. (angst)

Leon and you have been divorced for a year now. It’s been one hell of a year between his missions and his new lover: alcohol. He thinks he’s doing just fine, after all you’re the one who’s missing out — or so he thinks. It’s until he has fallen ill that he realizes how lonely he is.

WILL YOU BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS? ⎯⎯ vendetta leon x gn reader (full angst)

It's going to be Leon's first Christmas without you. He promised you he would get over your death. But how is he planning to do it if the ghost of you keeps haunting him?

BLANCA NAVIDAD ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x fem reader (fluff)

Leon never liked Christmas. Memories of him being taken away from his parents and countless missions made him a bitter man. However, he wouldn't have guessed that one day, he would be placing Christmas stockings with a wife and a little bundle of joy next to him.

LOVE YOU, SANTA! ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x fem reader (smut, fluff)

You were feeling a little bit depressed since this was your first Christmas away from your family. Thank God your best friend was there to comfort you.

RETROSPECTION & OUTCOME ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x afab reader (angst, smut, fluff)

The journey of healing is not an easy one. Obstacles and doubts filled the path Leon decided to take. However, the agent had planted the seed of self improvement and with your help, a strong and resilent tree will grow.

LULLABY FOR A BROKEN HEART⎯⎯ leon kennedy x gn reader (hurt/comfort, fluff, a bit of angst)

After a mission, Leon musters up the courage to ask for one thing he's always wanted.

YOUR? OUR MARGARET⎯⎯ leon kennedy x single mom reader (fluff)

Life slowed down when Leon first saw those tiny rays of sunlight. But he didn't think he would fall in love with the whole sun. Or: Leon falls in love with a single mother.

MOONTALK ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x gn reader (bit of angst, fluff, smut)

After retiring, Leon often has nightmares about his past. Talking under the moon's gaze seems to help.

THE OLD WAY ⎯⎯ farmer leon kennedy x fem reader (smut)

Living at a farm and being married surely has it perks. However, Leon can't help but think something is missing.

⸺ ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ! HEADCANONS !!

OLDER LEON HEADCANONS ⎯⎯ older leon x gn reader (fluff)

EVERY STEP YOU TAKE ⎯⎯ re4 leon x gn reader

SfW HEADCANONS ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x gn reader

HIS MINI WORLD ⎯⎯ dad leon x fem reader

⸺ ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ! DRABBLES !!

A GLIMPSE IN LEON'S LIFE ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x gn reader (fluff)

DON'T SLIP, LEON ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x gn reader (fluff)

FOR MORE YEARS TO COME ⎯⎯ leon kennedy x gn reader (fluff)

[midnightstargazer]

Fic Recs: Regulus Black

So I've been working on this for a while now, and I think I'm finally ready to share it. These are some of my favorite Regulus fics that I've read.

This is based on my personal preferences, which means you'll find mostly gen and rare pair fics, canon universe (but not necessarily canon compliant), with morally gray characterizations of Regulus

I grouped them by length and topic and included what the main ships are, if any. There may be other background pairings, past relationships, etc. Some do have M/E ratings, archive warnings, etc., so be sure to check the tags!

under the cut because it's pretty long

Long Multi-Chapters & Series

through a glass, blackly by wheresmejumper

Renascentia series by kuchikopi & tonberrys - Regulus/Emmeline

Blackpool by TheDivineComedian

Power the Dark Lord Knows Not by Fantismal & Jormandugr - Wolfstar

The Horcrux Hunt by lostmy_keys - Wolfstar

No Longer Will You Be Forsaken by JulisCaesar

A Means to a Triumph by Naodrith - Moonwater

A Study in Choices and Second Chances by queerofthedagger - Regulus/Harry

Spitfire series by LimeOfMagicLimo

rewrite my heart (let the future in) by secretpersona - Regulus/Pandora

Shorter fics (under 50K words)

Childhood & teenage years (ending before his death if it's canon compliant or while he's still a Hogwarts student if it's canon divergence)

my past has tasted bitter for years now (so I wield an iron fist), by kuchikopi & tonberrys

the silver-forked sky lit you up like a star by tonberrys - Bartylus

Out of the Shadows (Into the Abyss) by missvega - Bartylus

it's cold on the floor by dracure - Bartylus

soft speak, with a mean streak by krystian - Rosewater

A Boy and his Cat, by aCanadianMuggle

How The Dangerous Thing Is To Love by Vivi_ZzZ

Remembrance by Vivi_ZzZ

history forgets the moderates by cleopatroclus

What's So Special About Christmas? by AmethystHeart2421

Caged Bird by GertrudeCC - Moonwater

Ancient Runes series by Soupy_George - Moonwater

The locket & the cave (all dealing with his death in some way - either it's shown on page, or it's not explicitly shown but it's is a major plot point)

Wormwood by acari

The Cruel History and Most Lamentable Tragedy of Regulus, Scion of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black by aCanadianMuggle

I'm going home to see my mother by TheSharkGuy - Bartylus

monster, moongazer by electricnectar - Moonwater

The Three Soulmates of Pandora Lovegood by AmethystHeart2421 - Pandora/Xenophilius

a soul like silver (tarnished) by rachel614

Parting Words by Dear_Theadosia

And He Drank by Grey_Kenaz

Memento Mori by Trex_Patronus

On Royalty by booksandreadingismylife - Rosewater

Ghost Regulus

He Can't Hurt You if You're Already Dead by unspeakable3

A Transient and Embarrassed Phantom by unspeakable3

Haunted by pennygalleon

Unfinished RABusiness by withasideofangst

in our bedroom, after the war by krystian

Hiraeth by The_Seismic

Hogwarts Professor Regulus

Out of the Lake series by BennieLee

this is family by xslytherclawx

Disconnected Connection by dottie_magic

regulus is dumbledore's spy au (the smiths' version) series by pottersxredheads

Ex-Death Eater Regulus (where he's not also a ghost or a Hogwarts professor)

no answers for no questions asked by tonberrys

Hope by Grey_Kenaz

sanctuary by unspeakable3

Beneath the Ocean Waves by aron_kristina

First Footings by wheresmejumper - Jily or Jegulily

living in the red by griddlebones - Regulily

Flowers Sleep in the Winter by daydreamerdisease - Regulus/OC

someday by justwhatialwayswanted - Rosewater

The Wolf at the Door by lusilly - Moonwater

and if it's all over, I'm taking this moment with me by underburningstars - Moonwater

All the Ashes in My Wake by Antologia_Mil - Moonwater

[crsssie]

from one admirer to another : halloween?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as model number two // leon as Leon

Dearest Leon,

Your last letter made me hurl (not in a bad way I just got so embarrassed that smoke started coming out of my head anime style or whatever) I... hate that you can tell I'm a romanticist or whatever the word is because I am and I hate that you're so genuine in your letters that it hurts me to read it because what in gods name did I do in my past life for my ass to end up receiving love letters like this? OKRA'S WRITING IS RUBBING OFF ON YOU ISN'T IT. (I'm coping)

Sorry if I come off as harsher than I mean to. I'm not good with dealing with affection. I'm only good at giving affection. I need a moment to just. Give me a second to collect myself.

Okay. I think I'm okay now.

I... don't quite think the word like is the right word to describe my feelings for you. It's a little murky, and while I think I wouldn't mind dating you at all, I also think it would be unfair to you to return your feelings so half-heartedly. So, for the time being... it's honestly up to you whether or not you want to continue pursing me.

I've stuck by Ada most my life since she was always the safe option to me, and I was right when she ended up standing on stage. From the beginning to the end, I think I had become her shadow at some point. She's moving away now, so I don't see much of a point in being a model anymore. Raccoon is still relatively affordable to live in, so I could always turn that writing of mine into a full-time job. Also, I could become a full-fledged model as well. I don't enjoy it quite much, though. I hate the idea of working something that I'm not passionate about.

Oh, look! I'm being vulnerable. Nothing much is happening around me other than Luis' halloween party I'm attending today. See you there?

From the messenger, model number two

p.s. and of course. Sunshine was the cutest thing. I'm always open to visit again

Ada helps you dress up for the masquerade ball, telling you to breathe in as she pulls on the corset, your back straightening nearly immediately. You stare at the wax-sealed envelope that suits the theme, and a near identical one you made to match, and you wonder if you'll recognize Leon in the crowd of people that Luis knows. Suspicious background, a new slate in his hand, and the people of his past mingle into bits and pieces of his life — but only ever as ghosts in his masquerade ball.

The white is a visible contrast to the gold that you have been instructed to wear. Your jewelry is replaced with gold that looks as though it's seeped from the sun itself, and you are cloaked with black, the role of messenger placed in your hand this year, letters upon letters told to be given to people with certain masks.

You weave through the crowd with grace, cloak fluttering behind you as you pass letters to people with a gentle bow, lips curled upwards as you disappear back into the crowd when your time ends. You fell like a ghost. While the people in white look sickly and pale, you resemble the messenger of death, a void of nothing visible on your face. Only when you reach the final man, do you recognize the eyes.

"The messenger retires." You nod at Luis, and he takes the letter from you.

"Pray tell, princesa. The final letter?"

"To a secret." You hold the letter to your lips, closed-eye smile offered to him as you slip past him to the private chambers. It's a dramatization, obviously. You slip into the supply closet, ditching the cloak and hanging it up where Luis instructed you to, and you blend back into the crowd.

You lose Ada, but before someone else can get to you, you're grabbed by the waist, out of the way of a waiter.

"Darling." Leon smiles down at you, removing his hands from you once you're out of the way.

"Just the person." You hand him the letter, bowing as you get ready to leave.

"Please don't." He whispers, fingers clasping around your wrist as he does, and you breathe. You stare up at his hair, and then at his matching corset, and you seem to understand why Luis had been so adamant on having you wear a corset this year around despite your role as messenger in the first half. It had been custom-made, so you wonder if Leon had gone out of the way to receive your measurements from one of the workers.

"How did you know?" You mumble, taking a step closer to him anyway.

"I'll tell you on the balcony." He whispers, tugging you along through the crowd.

You wonder if you deserve such brazen affection from someone you do not even wholeheartedly love back.

Yet, the glimmer in his eyes under the gold of the chandeliers while looking at you assures you that it is fine.

prev letter : masterlist : next letter

[dreamerofvalyria]

Omg omg omg omg I just read both of your Deamon AU fics???? They are so good!! And beautifully written!!!

please please if not too much trouble, can I please request for that Au?? Maybe like all of 141 meeting each other and Deamon’s for the first time?? I picture Gaz has some kind of bird like a mourning dove or a humming bird and Price has a stronger dog breed- like a Shepard of a sheep bearding dog — y know something protective?

UGH I LOVE THIS AUUU A

((sorry if you aren’t taking requests on this, I just wanna say it’s the best thing I’ve read💕💕💕))

Requests are always open! (I just might take a while because I'm slow af lol)

I wanted to get this out this weekend just passed, but I got a fresh 'rona shot on Friday and it took me out with more precision than a sniper bolt to the face jfc. I absolutely adore the thought of Gaz with a little birb (a pretty one ofc), but I'd actually already picked something out for him, so I hope you like it almost as much as your idea. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: John Price has hand picked every member of his Task Force carefully to create the perfect team we have today, even if it hasn't always felt like that.

Notes: Written from Price's POV reflecting on the team's past.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Taglist: @heyitsropi

The first time John met Simon, he was only that, Simon Riley. The Ghost was yet to exist, and in his place, was a young man still full of life. He was friendly enough to the men close to him, but with a weariness toward anyone unknown.  

That caution, of course, extended toward John in the early few days. The first few times they interacted, he was strictly professional, his daemon even more so. The panther would stalk along beside her human, remaining in silence throughout all discussions, coming and leaving as quietly as a shadow. 

But over time, the younger man gradually began to settle. Simon certainly wasn’t the only person in the military to suffer from a rather poor childhood riddled with trauma and pain, and his team were kind enough to never push him too far. He would always maintain a slight distance between himself and the rest of the men on his squad, but he was often quick to smile and joke with them, telling what very well could have been the worst “dad jokes” known to man.  

Both Simon and Elanor seemed to revel in the pained groans his terrible jokes could invoke, smiling innocently as if not understanding why everyone was so upset. It wasn’t a surprise to learn that Simon had a younger brother, he certainly had the annoying-older-brother act nailed down perfectly.  

After a few good missions together, Simon was less reluctant to talk about his family with John in the room, discussing what he planned to get his nephew for Christmas, where he wanted to take his mum out for lunch during leave, and how he was going to get Tommy back for getting a stain on his ManU jersey.  

Simon was a good man and a great soldier, and John was disappointed when the time came for him to return to his own unit. John was to travel up north toward Herefordshire and Simon was to meet with some of their American contacts to help root out a cartel down in Mexico.  

Ghost was not the same person as Simon. He had the same daemon, the same brown eyes, but he was not Simon. He lacked the underlying gentleness in his eyes, and he’d grown to be cold and closed off toward everyone around him, friend or foe.  

If Simon’s daemon had been quiet before, she was dead silent now. Liz would trot over to the cat with a slowly wagging tail and try to greet her, but the panther would just look at her, before slinking off to go rejoin her human. It was heartbreaking to see a daemon who had only just started to come out of her shell become so walled off again.  

Sometimes he wouldn’t even see the animal in the same room and couldn’t help wondering where the daemon could have vanished to. Just seeing a daemon so far away from its human sent a shiver down John’s spine whenever he thought about it, his fingers instinctively curling themselves into the soft fur of his own.  

The reports he had seen about what had happened to Simon to create this Ghost, some of them first-hand from Simon’s own therapist, sent his stomach rolling uncomfortably, and the parts about their treatment of Elanor? He had sweat beading his forehead and Liz pulled into his lap. The rough collie did her best to comfort him, but he could feel her own distress at just the thought of such a thing happening.  

It took well over half a year before Ghost and Elanor were comfortable with turning their backs on John and Liz, and several before they were comfortable working alongside them. The Ghost and his daemon worked alone, but John and Liz were gradually, slowly, at the rate of a melting glacier, becoming an exception to the rule.  

This made it particularly difficult when Ghost was introduced to Soap.  

John MacTavish was, and still is, a loud and confident man. He doesn’t tolerate nonsense and will proudly stand behind his own personal morals and beliefs, even if it’s to the detriment of his professional career. He stands for what’s right, regardless of the consequences, and he’s entirely unapologetic of that fact.  

Soap’s daemon, Gwen, is a perfect match for him. A honey badger, just as unconcerned with the thoughts and feelings of others, and entirely fearless, even when up against daemons easily twice her size. They share a fierce aggression that would have most shaking in their boots, and John has seen firsthand even lions fleeing from their warpath.  

To say that Soap was a bit... much... for Ghost would be an understatement. Soap is so openly friendly with every team he works with, both verbally and physically, and his rather emotional responses to things seem to constantly have the masked soldier on edge.  

Since their first meeting, Soap has learned to reign in his emotions and has matured greatly with the help of experience and the guiding hands of more seasoned soldiers. But several years ago, fresh out of SAS selection, he was far too much for a quiet Ghost who could hardly stand having even John working with him at the best of times.  

While their first meeting didn’t exactly go swimmingly, it ended amicably enough since Soap didn’t seem to take Ghost’s reluctance to socialise to heart. Meanwhile, Ghost just appeared glad to have a break from spending time around someone so bright and bubbly, almost immediately vanishing on a solo mission for a week.  

Kyle was a much safer bet for working alongside Ghost. The young man, while inexperienced, was the top of his class and always eager to learn more. He was like a sponge, soaking up every little piece of advice he’s given and doing his best to apply it to his work. He always asks the right questions at the right times, and always thinks on his words before speaking.  

His daemon, a friendly marbled polecat by the name of Milly, was the first daemon Elanor was willing to open up to. She wasn’t insistent like many of the other daemons in the military, providing the panther with plenty of space, but always choosing to sit beside her, greeting her with a happy chirp. These simple greetings were eventually returned with small nods or pleasant rumbles, and over time, and two daemons fell into the rhythm of being at one another’s side.  

Gaz was always seeking out new things to learn and Ghost had plenty to teach. No matter how difficult the lesson, he would always have the determination to see it through to the end, and his mature, competent nature was gradually winning over the stubborn lieutenant. On the rare occasion where Kyle wasn’t with John, he could be confident that Ghost would have the younger man’s back.  

But Gaz brought more than plain professionalism to their team, he also brought the fun, youthful spark that the group had been missing. His sassy remarks during OPs and cheeky behaviour off the field was worming its way under Ghost’s thick skin, and John could see it in the way his lieutenant began to offer banter of his own in return.  

It was like watching a grizzled old dog interacting with a friendly young pup, slowly relearning what it meant to actually enjoy life here and there. Sometimes Ghost still needed that time to be alone with Elanor, but Kyle and Milly were drawing them out of the dark and back into the light again.  

More often than not the two could be found sitting peacefully together, doing nothing but enjoying the company of their fellow brother in arms. Whether it was eating meals together in private where others wouldn’t see Ghost removing part of his mask, running on the track first thing in the morning to wake themselves up, or claiming the bench under the old tree where they could discuss upcoming schedules or laugh at the young recruits just learning to walk, it was all done by each other's side.  

John could see the pride in Ghost’s eyes whenever Gaz managed to get an upper hand on him in training, he could see how Elanor now greeted Milly with a gentle headbutt, how trust was building between them and their team was solidifying into something unbreakable. Gaz was a loyal man, almost to a fault, but he had awarded that loyalty to John and Ghost and, in return, had been given it back tenfold. 

But the team was yet to be complete, and it wouldn’t be, not until John MacTavish joined them.  

John was admittedly still not certain how well Ghost would take to working so closely with Soap after finding the other man a tad overwhelming the first time, but with Liz’s encouragement and seeing how much Ghost was beginning to come out of his shell, he had no choice but to commit to the selection. Soap’s file reported nothing but constant rapid improvement. He was a talented, driven man, and precisely someone John wanted on his new task force.  

The offer was sent out and immediately accepted.  

Soap and Gaz were, understandably, complete menaces. Two young men eager to prove themselves and have a little fun while they’re at it. They’re thick as thieves and both just as determined to inconvenience John as much as possible while dodging reprimands like the plague. “A bunch of children” he’d called them one day, earning a grunt of agreement from Ghost, Liz and Elanor sharing a look of endless suffering. 

As for the relationship between Ghost and Soap, the best John was hoping for was for them to learn to accept one another, even if that was just enough to be able to put their best foot forward during missions. And it worked well enough, until Las Almas happened. Until Sheperd happened. 

Until Simon happened.  

Years of hiding away, and suddenly it wasn’t Ghost standing before him. It was Simon.  

Soap was looking right at him, and Simon was looking right back.  

Something had changed between them. From the report he got from the two soldiers about the events that transpired he couldn’t tell what, but it was clearly something significant. It had changed them from work colleagues to something far more dangerous. A better man would have nipped it in the bud before it had the change to potentially ruin them, but John has never claimed to be a good man, good men don’t last long in their line of work.  

If he and Gaz are a good team, Ghost and Soap are unstoppable.  

When they think he’s not looking, John has caught how Gwen excitedly jumps around Elanor’s body, learning against the dangerous predator and covering her with affectionate licks. More surprising, is how Elanor returns the behaviour, nipping playfully at the badger’s feet and tussling about on the carpet like a pair of kittens.  

It isn’t until he sees Soap’s bare hand brush through Elanor’s fur that he knows the depth of what they are to one another.  

He just hopes he hasn’t made a horrible mistake.  

[dramioneasks]

Christmas Fics (2024) (Part 4):

A frosty Encounter by tomfelton4ever69 - T, one-shot - A Christmas Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger story

Beneath the Hogwarts Snow by pizzalsalamino - not rated, 12 chapters - When Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, they never expect their frosty rivalry to melt beneath the castle’s enchanted snow. Seeking refuge from their families and the world’s expectations, the unlikely pair find themselves crossing paths under mistletoe and moonlight, uncovering vulnerabilities they never dared to share. Amid snowy duels, stolen dances, and confessions by the fire, their connection grows—but so do the shadows of their differences. As the holiday magic fades, they must confront the harsh realities of their divided worlds. Will love born under the mistletoe survive beyond Christmas?

Five years later by Frau_weasley - M - A Dramione Advent Calendar Story - Set five years after the war, this Advent calendar-style story delivers 24 chapters of slow-burn romance, sharp wit, and heartfelt moments between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Each day unveils a new chapter filled with evolving emotions, humorous banter, and glimpses of healing and redemption. As they work on a Ministry project during the festive season, sparks fly in unexpected ways.

Once Upon a December by angelicaghoul - M, WIP - Hermione Granger finally accepts to meet the parents of her current boyfriend, Michael Parker over the Christmas holidays. Only to find out that the significant other of her boyfriends sibling is her ex, Draco Malfoy, whom she left over a decade ago. Can they survive the few days under the same roof and be civil with each other?

Merry Christmas On the Line by SaltyOrange - M, one-shot - It’s Christmas Eve and Draco Malfoy dials a number.

Sanctuary by neilistic - E, one-shot - It's Christmas Eve. Darkness has fallen across the land, splintered howls ribbon through the wintry air, and Hermione is being hunted. In a quiet church she looks for sanctuary... just one small moment of peace before the end. What she finds is a dark-eyed priest, and maybe the answer to the bitter, hopeless prayers she's offered to the stars since the day that He left.

Candy Cane by callhermalfoy - M, one-shot - Hermione has a Christmas wish for Santa to fulfill.

Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Owl by induetimemydear - not rated, one-shot - When the holidays taste like a cup of grief ribboned with the nauseating aroma of what could have been One-shot : On opposite ends of life now, Hermione and Draco both reluctantly reminisce over the tragedy that was their relationship and the memories that cling to their souls. Nothing brings up longing more than the holidays

The Curse of the Past by TotalBookNerd99 - M, WIP - Fate hates Hermione. it threw her into a world that hated her for things she could not control, it took away her family, and now her daughter is marrying the son of the man who broke her... The only upside? She will be dead months after the wedding, so it's not like she will have to sit through a lifetime of awkward Christmas dinners. Oh right, another way fate hates her...she's dying of a curse no one can break because the sociopath who gave it to her is long dead. New downside? The man who broke her has crashed back into her life with a refusal to let her die and brought a bunch of past slytherins along with him.

icebreaker by ninepiecesofcrait - E, one-shot - On his way out of the office for Christmas break, Malfoy accidentally grabs the horrible present Ginny gave Hermione instead of his own, unraveling Hermione’s plans for a quiet, relaxing holiday in a single, vibrating moment.

Merry Christmas from Azkaban by Stephydfab - not rated, one-shot - The singular ghost of Azkaban is obsessed with Christmas and the only person that can see him is Lucius Malfoy, who is strikingly devoid of Christmas Spirit. Let's remedy that, shall we?

The Ghost of You by TaintedEmbrace - G, one-shot - Sometimes the ghosts we carry aren't just memories - a Dramione Christmas Eve story set in the aftermath of war. [WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH]

Cat in a (Santa) Hat by AccioPeaches - T, one-shot - After Theodore Nott's Christmas gift sparks chaos in the Granger-Malfoy household, Draco finds himself locked in a battle of wits and wills with a none-too-pleased Crookshanks. With Hermione determined to capture the perfect holiday photo, and the grumpy feline’s demands growing ever more absurd, all Draco wants is a moment of peace and a relaxing bubble bath. But in a house where Theo’s mischievous influence lingers, Christmas was never destined to be easy.

[little-diable]

The Ghost of Christmas Future – Loki

Part 3 of my Christmas series! A big thank you to @writingliv for writing this with me, I love working with you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Loki is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future and he shows the god something that forces him to find his way back to his past lover.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), some angst, mentions death

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (2.2k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

An almost grim expression tugged on the god’s features, fuelled by the annoyance he felt, by the uneasiness radiating off him. Loki paced his quarters, eyes trying to focus on his book, desperate to distract himself from his mother’s Yule preparations. If there was one thing he detested, it was these celebrations, festive days reminding him of people and stories he needed to forget.

The mere thought of being dragged down memory lane by his heavy heart and his aching mind left the god of mischief groaning, he was better than that, he was better than all these pathetic humans that gave into their emotions. With an angry growl rumbling through him, the book Loki had been holding was tossed to his bed, slender fingers combing through his black hair.

This is why he had let her go. This is why he had pushed her away. This is why he needed to get away from her and the pitiful excuse of a life she lived.

Her. The one his heart had been rather fond of, the woman who had managed to lure the god into her trap. It had been easy, too easy, but who was he to deny a challenge. Loki would always win, no matter the game, no matter the rules – at least that’s what he had always believed, till (y/n) had stumbled into his life.

She had managed to bewitch him within seconds, pulling the man into her grasp before either one of them could understand what was happening. It had happened years ago, years where he had snuck away from Asgard with one of his many tricks, finding joy in the simplicity of Midgard. It had been his own fault, he should have stayed away from there, should have listened to the warnings, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and then suddenly it had been too late.

Loki could still feel her pressed against his body, he could still hear her soft voice murmuring his name, calling him back to bed. Memories he needed to get rid of, fast. He was better than that. He was stronger than that. He was smarter than that. He hadn’t been born to live a simple life, he was a god, made for more. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, he found himself giving into these memories, lingering on the thoughts that painted her features, allowing him to pick up on the sound of her loud laughter, allowing him to feel her soft skin beneath his cold fingertips. It was torture, pure torture, and yet the feeling had a bittersweet touch to it. An almost addictive pain.

He plopped down on his bed, eyes focused on the expensive looking ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of getting rid of his memories, a useless try that only pulled him further down the rabbit hole. His teeth grazed his lower lip, about to draw blood, about to sink into the flesh she had kissed many moons ago. 

Before he could try to sleep away his memories, wanting to dream of a better life, of an exciting future, he heard his name being called, eyes snapping open. His heart was pounding, beating against his ribcage as he looked at the unfamiliar being standing near his bed. 

Loki had seen many ominous creatures in his life, but none looked like this. The spirit seemed to levitate above the ground, only its cloak gracing the marble floor. No face was visible as a grey hood loomed a shadow over any possible features, emanating a freezing chill that ran down the god’s back.

Loki shot up, his hand immediately searching the knife he kept by his bed. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” He asked, ignoring the way his breath had suddenly condensed in front of his lips. 

“Silly prince, who am I, you ask?” The voice spoke, letting neither its gender nor species be revealed. 

“How dare y-” Loki sneered at the creature until it approached him, forcing him to hold his breath. 

“I do not have the time for your scandals, prince. I am here to show you something. Follow me,” the creature turned, hitting Loki with its cloak that felt just like a thicker blow of air. It didn’t turn around to check if the god was following; instead, it walked out of the room and sped its pace. Loki had barely the time to react, following the creature as quickly as it could. 

“Where are we going?” The god asked, short of breath as they made their way out of the castle. The halls were empty, it seemed like everyone had disappeared from existence. The ghost did not answer. Instead, it switched directions, almost causing Loki to trip. 

“Where are we going? I demand to know,” Loki doubled down as he regained his balance, jogging to catch up the lost distance. 

The ghost suddenly stopped, turning back to the god for a glance before looking forward again, nothing more than the deep dark forest standing in front of them. “We are late. A funeral.”

“Wh-” Loki tried to ask, confused. Funeral? Whose funeral? He didn’t know anyone that had died recently. His question, however, died in his throat as fog covered the previously dark forest, acting as a canvas where an image started to form. 

Flowers, dozens upon dozens of vases and bouquets filled to the brim with tulips. Midgardian flowers. Loki frowned. His stomach turned. What? He continued to watch the image develop right before his eyes as rows of people filled a snowy cemetery. Cries and moans filled the empty winter air suddenly, far too familiar yet strange for him to point out. 

“Why are you showing me this?” He finally broke the silence, his voice cracking under the pressure in his chest. 

“How long do midgardians tend to live, prince?” The voice replied, still staring at the image upon them.

“A century? I-” Loki’s head felt as if it was spinning, every Midgardian he had ever met running through his mind. A thought tried to form, but he suppressed it. No. She was maybe thirty by now. She couldn’t-

“If they are healthy. If nothing happens,” The voice doubled down in a dreamy tone. His thoughts were seemingly elsewhere. “Weren’t you the one that loved to underscore their fragility?”

“I-” Loki tried to speak, but his lungs burned, his eyes trying their best to focus on the details of the image upon him, ignoring the sobbing cries. 

“Wasn’t she particularly careless?” The ghost finally spoke, and Loki felt his knees buckle. no. 

It couldn’t be. He would have found out. He would have known. They would have told him… but how? How? If he had left without telling anyone, simply kissing her on the forehead like he had done every other morning and walking out, never to be seen again? Why would they tell him even if they could? He had done nothing but hurt her. 

No. 

Loki shook his head. 

„You’re lying to me, why are you doing this? Who are you?” One question after another rolled off Loki’s tongue, filling the silence he found himself engulfed by. But the ghost didn’t reply, he kept watching the scene in front of them play out. 

Loki had to stop himself from vomiting, unable to stop the bile from rising up in his throat. This had been his wrong doing, his selfishness that had lured him away from her, her, the one his head had grown fond of.

There wasn’t a day where he didn’t think of her, of (y/n), the love he hadn’t got to feel in many moons. The dark voice inside his head had promised him that he was destined for more, made for something by far bigger than what she could offer. 

How wrong he had been. How foolish he had been.

“I understand, I do. But please, take me away from here.” The ghost turned back towards Loki, staring him down for a few seconds, watching the tears roll down his cheeks, before the scene finally vanished. Loki’s head was spinning, eyes struggling to focus on something as the ghost kept speaking.

“It’s on you to decide, but remember, the time she has is limited, don’t let any more of it go to waste.” And with one last exhale, the ghost was gone, leaving Loki trapped in nothing but an uncomfortable darkness flooding through his room. 

……

„Loki? What am I doing here? Where am I?“ A relieved sigh left Loki as he stared down at her, taking in the features he had last seen in one of his nightmares. His heart was still aching, racing in his chest at the mere thought of ever losing her to Death’s cold grasp.

“You’re in Asgard, I had to see you.” She had been forcefully awoken from her dream, unable to pierce together what was happening as she was dragged away from her home. And yet she hadn’t protested, not speaking up as a wave of familiar comfortableness had flushed through her.

“You kidnap me, because you have to see me? Is that all?” (Y/n) had always been good at seeing through his lies, eyes not letting go of his as she slowly reached out to cup his cheek. Sparks shot down Loki’s back at the familiar touch, oh how he had secretly longed to feel her close once again. 

“You were dead, I saw it, saw your dead body.” Confusion tugged on her features, not understanding what the god was speaking. He shook his head to try and get rid of the pictures flushing through his mind once again. “It was in the future, far from now, and yet I couldn’t stand myself for letting you go. I needed to see you, prove myself that you’re still alive.”

“Oh, Loki.” He dipped his head down, lips ghosting over hers. No longer did he want to share any meaningless words, no, he wanted to feel her close, wanted to touch the body he had once known like the back of his hand. The kiss was fuelled by their still burning love, tying the two closer together as he pushed her against his best, crawling on top of (y/n). 

He could hear her heart racing, could feel her gasps leaving her. Sounds that left him grinning in mischief. His hands started wandering, long fingers that knew their way down to her heat, the place where she ached for him. The moment had something almost unreal to it, like a dream, a faded memory, Loki couldn’t help but wonder if yet another ghost was playing a trick on him, but her sounds were too strong, too honest. 

“I damned you for a long time, cursed your name. But yet my body has never not been yours, forever connected with you.” Another kiss was pressed against her lips as his fingers disappeared inside her sweats, teasing the thin fabric of her panties. She has soaked through the fabric, dripping for him, him only. 

Within seconds he had her undressed, fabrics finding their way to the ground as he let go of her. Their eyes held contact, allowing her to watch him settle between her thighs, lips kissing their way to her cunt. Soft moans left her, one hand finding his locks as the other tightened its grip on the blanket she was laying on. 

“My pretty flower, I missed your taste, I missed your sweet sounds, oh how I missed you.” His tongue brushed through her folds, moaning at her taste as (y/n) arched her back off the mattress. Loki ate her out like a starving man, feasting from her with groans clawing through the two in unison. 

For months they had dreamt of moments like this, never willingly admitting to it, even though they were caught by them, unable to escape. His arms found their way around her thighs, keeping her close as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, thumb circling her pulsing bundle. 

She was a shuddering mess, made for the God’s eyes, for his hands, and his tongue. She was his, in all her glory. And deep down Loki couldn’t help but promise to her, and to himself, that she’d never leave his side again.

His name rolled off her tongue, like a dark secret spoken in the depth of the night, like a prayer made to save her damned soul. A sound that left Loki groaning in satisfaction, adding more speed to the movements of his tongue and fingers. She was close, he could tell, and all he was focused on was making her cum on his tongue.

(Y/n) tightened her grip on his locks, eyes squeezed shut to give into the quiet call of her name. She came with a loud gasp, head thrown back, teeth buried in her lower lip. Loki watched her unfold, kept fucking her with his tongue through her high, before he slowly let go of her.

The god crawled up her body, lips meeting hers to allow (y/n) to taste herself before he plopped down next to her, pulling her into his chest. And with another kiss pressed to her forehead he tightened his grip on her, promising to hold her close till the end of her time.

[oatmealdaydreams]

Hold Me Before I Drown

Let me know if you wanna be added on or taken off the taglist!

Pairing: Intruality

Warnings: abandonment issues, touch-starvation, insecurity, chronic pain, pining, unreality

Description: Patton, as the Heart, can sense when the Others are hurting. He starts feeling the odd tug of something he’s unsure about, and he belatedly realizes who’s been hurting. Remus hates his traitorous, painful hand as it renders him unable to use it for the time being. High Pain Days, or even Weirdly-In-the-Middle Pain Days, are always the worst when he’s been left alone.

Extra: Day 1 of @intrualityweek! Prompts are Fear & Realization.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[fic under the cut]

Something tugs painfully in Patton’s chest, right where he feels what’s wrong with the Others. 

Remus doesn’t care, he doesn’t , it’s always like this and most of them don’t know, anyway. 

Something tugs painfully in Patton’s chest, right where he feels what’s wrong with the Others. 

Patton can feel when something’s wrong with the Others. He is the Heart , after all. Emotions are his job! It’s a little cavity of swirling emotions and feelings right on the underside of his heart. Every Side feels different. When it’s Logan, there’s an odd poking of wiring or writhing fire that wants nothing more than to burn . With Janus, it’s not always as noticeable as he wishes it were when there’s flakes of plastic masks swimming in salty waters—tears, more like, he’d guess—or there’s the smoothness of scales slithering around in the little cavity. The reason why it’s not as noticeable as it sounds is because, well, he usually feels the ghost of a slithering snake in his chest. 

He needs to talk to Janus about that, but it’ll have to wait until later. 

Another tug in the cavity. Patton frowns as he sets the bowl of batter down on the kitchen counter. 

When it’s Virgil who’s feeling upset, it’s like millions of tiny spiders crawling around. Or, when it gets really bad, there’s nothing but a shadowy emptiness . The emptiness always worries him because he felt those same empty shadows in his chest right before Virgil had...well. Right before he’d, um, ‘disappeared’ before they all got him back. 

They’re past that now, and Patton hasn’t felt the emptiness in a long time. 

With Roman— god , Roman. It’s always so cold when it’s Roman. Like with Janus, he’s always feeling a sense of chilly ice in his chest. It’s...he worries about Roman. He’s so strong and good , but he doesn’t know how to ask for help. Patton knows, with guilt pressing against his tongue, that he’s part of the reason Roman’s afraid of asking for things. He’s working on it now. He’s listening to Roman now. It’s getting better. Slowly, but still getting better . 

Patton sighs, leaning against the counter as he sets the wooden spoon into the bowl of batter. 

He doesn’t know what Remus’ hurt and upset feels like. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Remus, if his Christmas gift to him says anything. Patton smiles at the memory of Remus getting excited over it anyway, though he lightly grimaces at one of the Duke’s...less conventional suggestions of what he could fry in the airfryer. All he hopes is that Remus got as much use out of it as he possibly could. As long as it makes him happy, right?

He doesn’t know who the tug belongs to. It’s painful, yes, and sharp like spikes and blades. If he were to guess , it could be from one of the twins. Roman’s is usually cold, but who says the sharp tug isn’t just a different form of hurt from the Prince? It could be Remus’, but why would he ever feel so…like this? Remus isn’t affected by anything! He's got this uncaring attitude—not that he doesn’t care, he cares so much about everyone in his own way, especially where Roman’s involved—and how he lets every little thing bounce off him like it’s nothing. There’s no way it could be Remus! Remus doesn’t get all mopey and sad or numb or upset. He doesn’t get like this ...right? Well, Patton doesn’t know him that well, but surely Remus wouldn’t be so...hurt. 

His chest tugs again, but this time it’s more like something tugging on him than the sharpness of spikes. It’s like—Patton’s heart clenches for an entirely different reason now. It’s like...like a little kid tugging on their parents’ clothes because they’re scared . Is...is Remus scared ? Can Remus get scared? Well, he’s as humanoid as the rest of them—minus the kraken-like tendencies, he supposes—so it’d make sense that he could get hurt. But Remus? Really? Why would—

A sharper, more urgent tug in his chest nearly sends Patton bumping into the counter. 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no. Oh, kiddo, no.

Something smells like it’s burning, and it’s definitely not the cookie batter. 

Oh, god.

Patton sinks out immediately, leaving the cookie batter on the counter to go search for the Duke of the Mindscape. 

=====

Remus doesn’t care, he doesn’t , it’s always like this and most of them don’t know, anyway.

It’s fine. It’s fucking fine, okay? No one knows. He doesn’t have to be all mopey and sad and shit out there because no one knows, and if they did know, they wouldn’t get it. Roro’s the only one who might get it, but he already does so much for Remus. He and Remus can finally bond after so long of being separated. It’s amazing and good, it is, he loves his brother so much and he wouldn’t trade that little dork for anything . If Roro saw him all mopey, he’d sprawl all over him and squish him wonderfully into the abyss so he can be again. They’ve got some of the same shit. They’re twins. They used to be One. They’ve got the same kind of shitty shit-shit. Shit all around. Shit, shit, shit. 

Remus huffs a small laughter at his brain as it repeats that word over and over. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

It’s a funny word. 

Remus winces, frowning as his hand jolts in sharp pain. It spreads rapidly all throughout the bones and joints in his hand. Remus whines softly, clutching his stupid hand to his chest. 

Roro just left. He was here because he felt Remus hurting and having bad pains in his fucking hand. He helped with getting him situated in soft things and as comfortable as he could be—Remus holds his hurting hand with the okay one—and asked his brother if he needed him to stay. He always asks that, to be fair. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ he’ll say, ‘Want me to take care of you, Re?’ Remus refuses him unless it’s really bad. Sometimes, his bones are trying to break and crack and tear themselves out of his skin. When that happens, Roman won’t leave even if Remus tries to get him to. He knows Remus needs help , and because he’s so good and he’s Roman , he’s gentle and caring and Remus loves him. 

But it’s not that bad this time. Just a little extra than it typically is. Remus can manage on his own. 

Besides, Roman got summoned by Thommy Salami, so there’s very little chance he’d come back for a while. It doesn’t matter that they’re brothers or that he’s in pain or if Roman can still feel how much it hurts . It doesn’t matter because meetings with Thomathy are still important , and it’s not like Remus doesn’t have practice dealing with this by himself. 

It’s fine. 

Remus ignores the faint hiss from the shadowed corners of his room. Jannie’s not here , stupid brain. He’s probably out plotting some fun little scheme, or, more accurately, lounging in soft sweats and binging Scooby Doo movies again. 

It’s fucking fine . 

Pain shots through his hand again as he whimpers quietly, curling up further in his bed. High Pain Days are so fucking dumb . It’s even a high pain level, it’s not like that . It just hurts more than normal. It’s not—it’s not . This is fine. He’ll just curl up into a little kraken cube and stay here, alone, in pain, and it’s so fine that he’s alone right now . 

Remus closes his eyes shut, squeezing, as his hand twitches and sparks another sharp spike of pain in his fingers. He turns his head into his pillow, breathing out shakily. There’s a soft whoosh of someone rising up, but he dismisses it. Ro-bro wouldn’t be finished yet, it takes time for the creative process to go go go. No one else would come to check on him, especially not Virgil or Patton . Patton hardly knows him. He’s...he hardly knows him. And Virgil doesn’t want to spend time with him right now. To be fair, he did pour a bucket of slime when he was hoodie-less, so...pranks do that. It’s not normally a big deal, Virgil just needs some self-time to recover from prank wars and peopling, he gets that. But it still hurts . Why does it hurt? Why’s Remus so fragile? He’s the conduit and vessel for Intrusive Thoughts! He’s a scary gremlin, he can’t be fragile. Besides, not even Janus likes messy Duke-krakens. 

Another sharp prick in the back of his hand that aches , and Remus whimpers again. He doesn’t dare let the tears at the edges of his eyes fall. He’s being messy right now and he needs to stop being messy because then the Others will eventually ask about things and they won’t understand and—and—

A weight sinks next to him on the mattress, and he buries his face deeper into his pillow. He must be imagining someone there. No one would come for him, not right now, not now . He’s just imagining someone because he’s so lonely . His hand aches in all the wrong places, and he gasps painfully. He aches, but it’s not just his traitorous bones that hurt . 

“Um, Remus? Buddy, you okay?” the imaginary voice asks, gentle, soft, so soft , “Come on, let me see you. Show me what’s hurting, buddy.”

Remus curls up tighter. It—it sounds like Patton . It can’t be, he wouldn’t be here , he doesn’t like him, he’s always so uncomfortable around Remus, he wouldn’t be here . 

“I know I don’t know you as well as I’d like to—” Patton wouldn’t want him, this is imaginary, it’s in his head, it is , “—but I care, okay? I do. I know I’m not good at showing you, but I do .” 

Not real, not real, not real—

“C’mon, Remus—oh, oh, hey , it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

Remus flinches away from the warm, warm hand on his shoulder that soon retracts, keening, whimpering, because real things are warm but this isn’t real , it isn’t . Patton’s not here, he’s not, he’s not, he’s not , why’d he be here? He wouldn’t , and it aches so badly . 

“Shh, baby,” and the petname buries itself into a soft part of Remus’ chest, making it flutter in hesitant hope, “It’s okay, you’re safe, baby. It’s just me, it’s Patton, I came to help, buddy, that’s all. I’m here to help you.”

Oh fucking Christ, oh god. Please be real , please don’t be real, please, please, please.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts,” the imaginary Patton whispers close to him as Remus makes a desperate noise. “I can feel it, baby, I know.” 

He can what ?

“I don’t know where, but I can sense it, baby. You’re hurting, and I wanna take care of you. Let me take care of you, please?” 

Remus hurts and aches so much, he wants to be taken care of, he wants Patton , but he knows Patton wouldn’t want him. Not the real Patton, anyway. 

But he hopes.

“You’re not re al ,” Remus’ voice is quiet and small and cracking as he tries .

There’s shuffling on the mattress, and now the imaginary Patton is silent. Fuck , he fucked up. Patton was in his head and not real, and now he’s gone . Remus shudders as he cries into his pillow. He’s gone because he was never really there to begin with and now he’s alone again, truly, so fucking lonely and he deserves to be, doesn’t he? He fucked up, god , what the fuck is wrong with him? What’s so wrong with everything Remus is that he can’t just leave things be instead of fucking everything up ? 

A soft noise and warm hand on his shoulder again. 

His breath hitches from how warm it is. It’s—the hand—

Real? Are you real? Really real?

“Oh, Remus…of course , I’m real,” the voice is back, it’s there, it’s there , “C’mon, baby, open your eyes. Look at me, come see me.” 

And because Remus is a messy, weak bastard, he hopes .

He turns his head slightly out of the pillow, and he opens his eyes. 

“There you go, baby,” Patton says, he sees him, that’s Patton and he’s real , “You see now, yeah? I’m right here, I’m real, sweetheart.” 

Remus stares at him as his breath hitches. The hand— Patton’s hand, he belatedly realizes—rubs smoothing circles on his shoulder. It’s so warm, it’s so warm , oh god, it’s real and there and Patton’s there and he’s real and he’s here .

“P-Patt’n?” Remus is clumsy with words. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me,” Patton’s voice is tender and kind ...oh no, oh no . 

“You’re here?” 

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m right here.”

“You’re here .”

“Yes, Re— oh , baby, it’s okay, it hurts, I know.”

Remus’ stupid, fucking hand shoots up in pain that engulfs the entire thing, and he can’t stop the whine that slips from his lips. Patton spots the way he clutches his hurting hand tighter to his chest. Remus sniffles and sluggishly realizes tears are falling down his face. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid .

“Can I touch you, baby?” Patton is so caring . 

“I—I don—”

“It’s okay if not, baby, I just wanna take care of you.”

Remus hesitates, but a pained noise helps him make a decision, “ Please ?”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course. I have you now, it’s alright, just gonna move you a little, okay?”

Remus can hardly think once he feels Patton scoop him up in his arms and hold him tenderly. He’s so warm , he’s holding him in his lap , and it’s warm , so warm, too warm, not warm enough, warm —

A hand cups the back of his neck as he hides in the crook of Patton, making him gasp and breathe . 

“ That’s it, baby, breathe. Try breathing for me, okay?” 

Remus gasps and gasps for breath, his lungs trying to hoard it all in big gulps of air. His hand twitches as he shivers from the overwhelming warmth that burns his body, pressed tendering against Patton. It’s real, it’s all real . Patton’s here and taking care of him. He cares , oh fucking god , Patton cares . He buries himself deeper into the fatherly persona desperately, chasing after the warm feeling that makes his stomach squirm. 

“I’ve got you, Remus, it’s alright. I didn’t realize ...baby, you’ve been hurting for a while, haven’t you?”

Remus nods silently, not trusting his voice to speak without breaking. He keeps shivering . He’s so cold, and Patton’s so, so warm. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realize you could hurt. I’m here now, okay? I’ve got you now.” 

“...not leavin’?” Remus asks, stumbling as fear leaks through his voice. 

Patton’s heart clenches, “No, I’m not leaving, I’ll stay, I’m staying, baby.” 

“Pat…”

“Yeah, Remus?”

“P-Pat—”

“ Oh , shh, baby, it’s okay.” 

“ Hurts .”

“I know, baby, c’mon, it’s alright.” 

Remus is crying fully now, red-rimmed eyes and sniffling nose and desperate babbling about his hurting hand. Why is he like this right now? He can usually handle it fine on his own. It’s not even a High Pain Day! 

Then Patton cards a hand through his hair as the grey fog of loneliness stutters in response. 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, fucking god.

Shit .

It takes a while for him to be able to form words that aren’t just ‘hurts’ or ‘warm’ . It takes even longer for him to slump in Patton’s hold, tired, messy, and very much not sure if he could handle separating from him. The moral Side’s hand keeps carding through his hair, steady and grounding. His hand still twitches and aches and hurts , but with all the affection from Patton, it feels more manageable without the threat of grey on the edges of his vision. 

“That was a lot, huh?” Patton mumbles as he holds Remus tightly. 

“Uh-huh,” is all Remus mutters, eyes closed as he embraces the warmth. 

“Does your hand still hurt?”

“Mm.”

“Does it—is it always like that?”

“Mm, yeah. ‘S fine, though. Jus’ gotta deal with it.”

Patton frowns, “What?”

“Gots chronic pain, Pat-Pat. ‘S all the time.”

“Oh, baby...that explains the tugging…”

Remus sobers up a little at that, opening his eyes to glance up at Patton, “The what?” 

“Well—okay, it’s not easy to explain, um…” a sigh, “Y’know how I’m the Heart and stuff?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, a part of being the Heart is sensing—uh, more like feeling others’ emotions. Like, I can feel when everyone’s hurting or upset.” 

Hold on, wait a minute, back up . 

He can fucking what now?

“Sometimes, I feel when Roman’s cold,” he continues, even though Remus.exe has stopped working, no thoughts for him, nope, he’s still wrapping his head around Patton being able to sense when they’re all upset , “Or when Logan isn’t doing so good. I had this tugging thing, all sharp and stuff or, like, pulling for my attention. I thought it might’ve been Roman , but…”

Patton pauses when he sees Remus gaping and staring at him. 

“Remus? Baby, what is it?”

“You…” Remus swallows, ignoring the small blush on his face from the petname, “You know ? You feel the hurt?” 

“Yeah, buddy, I— whoa , okay, I’ve got you!” 

Patton nearly falls backwards as Remus flinches hard . Sharp pain rockets through his hand everywhere, in every bone, in every joint, and he feels as though it may rip away from his body. He doesn’t have the energy to bite back a curse under his breath. 

“Oh, sweetheart ...do you have meds that help? Pain killers, anything?” 

Remus shakes his head, “No, none of ‘em work for me.” 

Patton makes a sympathetic noise, hand scritching lightly against his scalp as it cards through his hair. 

“I’m sorry, that’s gotta be tough, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, it’s—’s...how’re you so warm ?” 

“Warm?” Patton asks, confused. 

“Mhm, you’re all warm.”

Remus’ eyes glaze over when Patton scritches and cards his hand more firmly in his hair. Oh , he’s cold. Remus is cold .

“Oh, you poor baby,” Patton mutters, tightening his hold on the Duke in his arms. “I’ll share my warmth, c’mon.” 

Remus shudders as he’s held so tenderly and kindly by Patton, unable to process anything more than the warmth surrounding his body and his bones and his aching heart. God , it’s worse because it’s Patton, and it’s better because it’s Patton . 

“Warm, warm —”

“Yeah, come take some of my warmth, Remus. It’s alright,” he reassures. 

Remus’ glazed eyes flutter, ready to shut now that he’s all cuddled into the fatherly persona. His hand reminds him of its painful presence, but it only brings out a soft whine this time as the warmth chases away the last remains of the icy grey. 

“You can sleep. If you need to sleep, go ahead. I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere, baby,” a soothing mumble buries itself pleasantly in Remus’ brain. 

Remus, though very tired, blushes a dusty pink at the petname again. 

Patton notices, “You okay, sweetheart?”

Remus nods, “Mhm, jus’, um...name?”

Patton blinks before a fond smile stretches across his face.

“‘Sweetheart’, ‘Baby’? Are those—can I call you that, Remus?”

Remus just buries his face away as his cheeks heat up a little more, humming a ‘yes’ . Patton’s smile widens, somehow, and he plants a light kiss on top of the Duke’s head of tousled hair. It brings out a quiet gasp and the thrumming of a heart. Remus nearly freezes, but Patton presses a firmer kiss to his hair, and he melts . Slumping in his friend’s—friend? Lover? Something else? He doesn’t know anymore—grasp, which causes a chuckle to rumble through the moral Side’s chest. 

“We’ll figure it out later, okay? Just rest now, baby,” Patton whispers into Remus’ hair as the little cephalopod’s eyes flutter shut. 

Patton holds him tightly, firmly, steady. He doesn’t waver. He’s safe there, in his whatever-the-hell’s arms, in the confines of his messy room, where his hand won’t stop hurting but a softer part of his chest does . 

With the grey away and him edging on sleep, a small part of his mind cheers as it goes ‘he cares’ .

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

The finale! Post script will be uploaded right after this, fair warning it's a damn long one lol

Thank you for reading this far, this chapter is called "Where All Permanence Rests". Enjoy!

Edit: I forgot to add the final poem before, it's fixed now!

Page 67 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 18:

The village people, hearing of the hunter’s fall, Find before them, the Blind man and the Beast, Yet they do not look with malice, they do not fear, As the veil has been taken away, their eyes see truth, That this is no Beast, but a man. The Beast, the Cursed Man, He does not rejoice, for the Blind Man has seen him justly, When all saw a monster.

Isla,

I don’t think I’ve ever written an actual letter, like this. Certainly not in circumstances like these. But this is the most secure way to contact you. I shouldn’t talk to you at all, if we’re being honest, but… I couldn’t just leave without a word.

In the following weeks, or days (depending on when this letter will reach you), you will receive news that John MacTavish is dead. And for all intents and purposes, in all ways but physical, I am dead.

I’m writing this to apologize, and to thank you. 

Simon never thought he would return to Mexico by his own volition. Even before Soap, he refused to take jobs anywhere near Central America.

Only Johnny could give him enough strength to be here.

It also doesn’t hurt that they’re not here to fight the cartel.

“déjennos en paz!” a man screams further down the cobbled street. ‘Leave us alone.’ 

From the American-accented shouts that follow, the man’s pleas are ignored, “donte esta el Irani?!”

A woman joins the man, screaming that they don’t know. Simon continues sneaking past dark roofs. They can’t afford to attack just yet - their target has far too many soldiers in their disposal at the moment.

A couple of shots ring out, making his steps falter. The woman screams in anguish. He closes his eyes, attempting to not sink into the familiar embrace of cold indifference, like his instincts tell him to.

Being more than a weapon has its downsides.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny. Solid?” Simon answers on their private comm line, his partner’s voice relieving some of the uncomfortable ache cinching at his guts.

“Aye. Think I can see ye.”

He looks around for a moment, finding the red skull mask across several rooftops, crimson barely visible in the low light, “did you find any sign of the Vaqueros?”

Simon can almost feel Soap’s frustration from here, “negative. Only thing Ah’m seeing are American bastards and fucking corpses.” he grunts, “feels like the Hunter all over again…”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“I am, LT.” he watches Soap’s form disappear between buildings, “gonna get on the ground, search for anyone we could rescue.”

“Copy, I’ll keep an eye on Graves.” Simon clicks off, knowing they both need the silence. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better brother to you. That I couldn’t take my head out of my arse and simply live a normal life, be normal. I think I never learned how to. But you deserved better. Could you tell maw I’m sorry as well? I don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas in the next… However long I have left to live.

Don’t worry about me (I know you always do, and always will), this is why I wanted to thank you.

After you called, on the day I got the notice of the eviction… I realized I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pretend I was fine, couldn’t keep this same, soul-crushing monotony, day in, day out.

Laswell contacted them two days ago, asking them to land in Las Almas and keep an eye on an American PMC called “Shadow Company”. They came to Mexico to collaborate with Mexican Special Forces to capture an Iranian and his stolen missiles. On paper, the citizens of Las Almas shouldn’t have been involved at all.

Graves and his Shadows move to another building, where several men have been rounded and lined up against a wall.

Reality never seems to match what’s on paper, when it comes to wars.

The Shadows lift their rifles, and shoot the civilians.

They don’t know what made Graves turn. But that’s not Simon and Soap’s job to figure out. Their only interest is to minimize civilian life loss and rescue the Vaqueros, the Mexican soldiers the Americans betrayed.

A weak voice on the other side of the block catches his attention. Simon makes the split second decision to take his eyes off Graves and investigate.

“No- let her go!” a woman, a mother, screams at a Shadow ripping a child away from her.

The kid in his arms cries, “Mommy! Mommy!”

“What do you think you’re doing, I’m with the police-!”

Simon catches another soldier moving to shoot, and in a flash, he takes hold of two throwing knives, and buries them deep within the Shadows’ throats.

The policeman and his family look at the soldiers fall with horror and confusion. Simon jumps down, revealing himself.

“Find a vehicle, and get out of the city. The Americans are not going to stop until they find what they want.” he grounds, staring at the cop’s eyes.

The mother asks shakily, “what- why are they doing this-?!” but the cop pushes her and the child, nodding grimly to Simon.

He climbs back up not a moment later. A voice in his mind tells him this maneuver might’ve costed him his cover, but alongside it, Simon doesn’t feel regret. He has learned to appreciate any win, no matter how small. And for those people, it is not small.

So I ran. I can’t tell you to where. I can’t tell you what I found there.

But I can tell you who I met. He’s… fuck, how could I describe him?

He was such a cunt at first, you would’ve ripped him a new one. But I learned he was also running away, in his own way. That he’s been running for a long, long time. And when I met him, when we actually started working with each other…

I felt like I was alive for the first time in a year.

“Ghost” Johnny startles him from thought, “found a Vaquero. Yer…?”

“Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. Who are you?” a farther voice barely comes through the radio.

“Soap. Laswell sent us.”

“Kate Laswell? Are you with Shepherd?!”

Simon grinds his teeth, “we’re not under anyone’s command, Parra. Not military.”

“You’re… you’re mercenaries?” he can hear Parra curse under his breath, “is it just you two?”

“Aye” Soap answers, “Laswell hasn’t burned ye yet - she asked us to help ye.”

The Sergeant Major seems to sigh in relief, hopelessness coloring his next words, “I’m glad. Though… no.”

He sounds more assured when he speaks again, “my soldiers and Colonel have been captured by Graves. I’ll need any help I can get to rescue them.”

“You got it.” Simon rumbles, “any intel on their location?”

“Negative. Alejandro has a safe house outside the city, I might be able to find out if we get there.”

“Alejandro?” Soap asks.

“My Colonel.” Parra says, noticeably sadder than before.

“We’ll get him back, mate.” Soap attempts to comfort, “Ghost, still got eyes on Graves?”

Simon internally grimaces, “...negative. Had to help some civvies.”

He didn’t expect the pride in Johnny’s voice, but in hindsight he should’ve, “understood. Ye see the church tower from here?”

Simon looks at the far distance, a tall building lit by an orange glow towers over the city, “affirm. Lets RV there.”

“Aye. Keep yerself safe.”

“You too Johnny.”

I don’t know how, but I have the feeling me and him were meant to meet. Not in a soulmate kind of way… I’ve been feeling things like that a lot, since I ran. Like this is where I would’ve always ended up being.

You will not meet me again, most likely. Me and him… Just our presence will put you in danger. There’s a reason they had to kill us both on paper. Can’t tell you what we’re doing that required that, but you know I was never one to stick to things like “rules” and “laws”.

We’re not alone in this, we have allies, people that want to do good, but are stuck in a system that refuses to change to do that good. I wish you never experience the amount of evil truly festering this world, and we are fighting so you never will.

He begins combing the streets for Graves’s trail, mostly tuning out the conversation between Soap and the Sergeant Major. From what he does listen to, Graves’ betrayal seemed to come out of nowhere - they had successfully disarmed a missile not a day prior, having interrogated a cartel lord who aided the Iranian.

They were so close to finishing the mission. Which is why, when the Shadow commander turned around and stabbed them in the back, only Parra managed to shake off the shock and escape.

Graves is still on the hunt for the Iranian, convinced he’s hiding in Las Almas, while also searching for Rodolfo. It won’t look good for business if he can’t wrap up things cleanly, Simon muses darkly. He had enough encounters with PMCs in the past to know how they operate.

He eyes a group of Shadows standing around a couple of fresh bodies, all seemingly focused on their comms. 

After a few moments, one of them answers to whoever is ordering them, “I’m here with a few others, sir, we can go search the area for the Mexican.” the soldier pauses to hear the response, “yessir! Let’s go, they spotted him at the northern plaza!”.

The group instantly starts sprinting, Simon following while radioing to Soap, “Johnny, Shadows heading to the northern plaza, said someone saw Parra!”

He hears the Sergeant Major through Soap’s comms, “mierda!”

Simon has to jump over an alley when the roof he’s been running on ended, “I’m on my way to you, can you hold them?!”

Soap huffs in a way that tells him he has something up his sleeve, “we’ll smoke up the plaza, they don’t know Ah’m here.”

He can just imagine Johnny’s sharp grin under his mask, “going undercover, hm? A man after my own heart.”

“Always, Simon.” Johnny whispers, just for his ears. Simon ignores the way it makes a shiver go down his spine.

Up ahead, a plume of smoke rises between buildings. Soap leaves his comms on, letting Simon hear how Johnny takes hostiles down one by one, going quiet until his cover is blown.

In the streets below, more and more soldiers funnel towards the plaza. Simon grits his teeth, pushing his legs to run faster. He will not let Johnny enter a losing fight, not if he can help it.

The shooting abruptly stops, making his heart still. A few moments pass before he can hear Soap’s voice growling, “let him go.”

He can hear the Shadows laughing, a churning noise grating on his ears. Simon slows, keeping to the swaths of darkness.

A half circle of Shadows formed in the plaza, Parra and Soap facing them. In the center, a shadow holds a pistol to a young boy’s head.

Simon doesn’t even attempt to swallow down the disgust that rises in his throat.

“No can do, pal. Drop your weapon and give us the cowboy, or the kid gets hit.”

He drops behind the Shadows, knife slipping down his sleeve silently. With careful steps, he closes in on the center soldier, while Parra curses at them.

Over the soldier’s shoulder, he meets Johnny’s eyes. With no words, they communicate. He waits for Soap’s signal, watching his Sergeant lower himself. To the Shadows, it seems like he’s bending down to place his SMG on the ground, but Simon can almost feel the tension coiling within Soap’s muscles, readying himself to fight.

“Alright, Alright!” Soap shouts, “I’m dropping my gun, just let the boy go.”

Johnny nods minutely. Simon strikes.

In a motion he’s done a million times before, the knife swings in an arc before burrowing into the Shadow’s neck. Simon doesn’t waste any time pushing the body aside, grabbing the young boy and pulling him back.

Soap snarls, righting his gun and spraying bullets to his left, clearing a path for him to take the kid and shove him into cover.

He swings around, ducking under a hostile’s incoming knife, unsheathing one of his own and easily stabbing it into the underside of his jaw. He throws it at another attacking soldier, noticing Soap and Parra being pushed back into a corner.

One of them gets the jump on Soap, the two falling to the ground in a struggle. His heart leaps to his throat, where it shouts, ‘Johnny!’

Simon takes a rifle off of a body, inhales to steady his breath.

Focuses his rage on the targets and shoots.

He drops the gun, rushing to Soap. The bodies on the ground don’t move.

A fast-paced chant screams in his mind ‘where is Soap is he broken is he dead have you failed him-’ 

“Ngh… Steamin’ Jesus, this fucker’s heavy.” Johnny grumbles, shoving the body covering his off.

Simon stares at him for a moment, before dropping to his knees and pulling him up. He searches for injuries on Soap’s body before two gentle hands stop him.

“Ah’m good, mo chridhe. Solid.” Johnny’s hands don’t let go, instead caressing his bloody palms.

An unexpected wave of emotion crashes into him, filling his lungs with warmth. He doesn’t know if it was the split second moment where he thought Johnny might be dead, or the gentle way he’s now comforting him, somehow always knowing when he’s panicked.

Maybe it’s all of it, that makes Simon blurt out, “I love you.”

And Johnny, despite having the majority of his face covered, looks up at him with so much care, blue eyes almost glowing behind the red mask.

Those eyes crescent with joy, Johnny pushing his forehead to bump against Simon’s in affection.

“I love ye too, Simon.”

And Simon finds himself thinking, that this is what he was meant to be.

Fighter.

Human.

Loved.

I’ll be trying to write as much as possible, but if this is the only letter you’ll ever get…

Just know that if I died, I went down fighting, and I went down with him. And I couldn’t have been happier with the way I lived.

I love you so, so much.

-J.M.

Page 100 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 20:

Where is your destination, now that the curse has been lifted, The Blind Man asks, with nothing but kindness on his tongue. I have no place to belong to, the once-Beast answers, Nowhere, but the path I walk with you, my fallen knight. Then we shall travel together, until we return to the earth, And perhaps, if God is to be so merciful, The paths we take will always, and forevermore, Be only by the side of the other.

[book--brackets]

Troll Trilogy by Katherine Langrish (2004-2007)

A secret kingdom of trolls, and their legendary gold, lies in the mysterious shadows of Troll Fell. It is to this eerie and dangerous place that Peer must go after his father's sudden death, to live with his greedy uncles, Baldur and Grim, at their mill. When Peer discovers his uncles' plan to sell children to the trolls, he has to bury his fears and set out to stop them somehow. In a world filled with magic and mystery, Peer has only his bravery, his wits, and two new allies -- a daring girl looking for adventure and a mischievous house spirit looking for a good meal. Their story will become part of the legends and lore that fill this extraordinary land by the sea.

The People by Zenna Henderson (1961-1966)

These are the People.

Marooned on this planet by the crash of their interstellar vehicle in the distant past, The People are never free of a sense of strangeness in this world and a yearning for the home they have half-forgotten.

These are the chronicles of their arrival on this world, their estrangement from it, and their ultimate acceptance of their poignant exile.

The Clockwork Crow by Catherine Fisher (2018-2020)

Orphan Seren Rhys is on her way to a new life at the remote country mansion of Plas-y Fran when she is given a package by a stranger late at night in an empty train station. The package contains a crotchety, mechanical talking crow, which Seren reluctantly brings to her new home. But when she gets there, the happy Christmas she had hoped for turns out to be an illusion--the young son of the house, Tomos, has been missing for almost a year, rumored to have been taken by the fairies. With the Crow's reluctant help and a little winter magic, Seren sets off on a perilous journey to bring Tomos home. An enthralling story of family and belonging set in frost-bound Victorian Wales.

Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Allyse Near (2013)

There's a dead girl in a birdcage in the woods. That's not unusual. Isola Wilde sees a lot of things other people don't. But when the girl appears at Isola's window, her every word a threat, Isola needs help.

Her real-life friends – Grape, James and new boy Edgar – make her forget for a while. And her brother-princes – the mermaids, faeries and magical creatures seemingly lifted from the pages of the French fairytales Isola idolises – will protect her with all the fierce love they possess.

It may not be enough.

Isola needs to uncover the truth behind the dead girl's demise and appease her enraged spirit, before the ghost steals Isola's last breath.

The New Moon's Arms by Nalo Hopkinson (2007)

Calamity, born Chastity, has renamed herself in a way she feels is most fitting. She's a 50-something grandmother whose mother disappeared when she was a teenager and whose father has just passed away as she begins menopause. With this physical change of life comes a return of a special power for finding lost things, something she hasn't been able to do since childhood. A little tingling in the hands then a massive hotflash, and suddenly objects, even whole buildings, lost to her since childhood begin showing up around Calamity. One of the lost things Calamity recovers is a small boy who washes up on the shore outside her house after a rainstorm. She takes this bruised but cheerful 3-year-old under her wing and grows attached to him, a process that awakens all the old memories, frustrations and mysteries around her own mother and father. She'll learn that this young boy's family is the most unusual group she's ever encountered--and they want their son back.

Finisterre by C. J. Cherryh (1995-1996)

Stranded on a distant planet that abounds with fertile farmland, human colonists appear to be in paradise. But all the native animals communicate by telepathy, projecting images that drive humans mad. Only Nighthorses stand between civilization and madness. When a flare of human emotion spreads to all the horses, chaos erupts.

Three Kings by Freydis Moon (2022)

Ethan Shaw—lighthouse keeper and local witch—lives a charmed life in his chilly, coastal hometown. Blessed with a flourishing garden and a stable livelihood, Ethan can’t complain. But when his husband, Captain Peter Vásquez, brings home a wounded leopard seal after an impromptu storm, Ethan is faced with a curious situation: caring for a lost selkie named Nico Locke.

As Ethan struggles with the possibility of being infertile, insecurities surrounding his marriage, and a newly formed magical bond with a hostile, handsome selkie, his comfortable life begins to fracture. But could breakage lead to something better?

With autumn at their heels and winter on the horizon, Ethan, Peter, and Nico test the boundaries of a new relationship, shared intimacy, and the chance at a future together.

Silver Sequence by Cliff McNish (2003-2005)

Six children leave home and are drawn to Coldharbour - an eerie wasteland of wind, rats, gulls and rubbish. Each of them has a unique gift, but they must learn to use their skills fast. Drawing ever closer in a maelstrom of fury is the Roar, something vast and dreadful that wants to destroy them.

Lilah's Adventures by Sherwood Smith (2012)

When twelve-year-old Lady Lilah decides to disguise herself and sneak out of the palace one night, she has more of an adventure than she expected--for she learns very quickly that the country is on the edge of revolution. When she sneaks back in, she learns something even more surprising: her older brother Peitar is one of the forces behind it all. The revolution happens before all of his plans are in place, and brings unexpected chaos and violence. Lilah and her friends, leaving their old lives behind, are determined to help however they can. But what can four kids do? Become spies, of course!

The Merlin Spiral by Robert Treskillard (2013-2014)

When a meteorite crashes near a small village in fifth-century Britain, it brings with it a mysterious black stone that bewitches anyone who comes in contact with its glow--a power the druids hope to use to destroy King Uthur's kingdom, as well as the new Christian faith. The only person who seems immune is a young, shy, half-blind swordsmith's son named Merlin.

As his family, village, and even the young Arthur, are placed in danger, Merlin must face his fears and his blindness to take hold of the role God ordained for him. But when he is surrounded by adversaries, armed only by a sword he's named Excalibur, how will he save the girl he cherishes and rid Britain of this deadly evil ... without losing his life?

[skinnyazn]

Masterlists :)

MY ART

INPRINT: Shop Prints of My Art!

(thank you!)

All art is tagged under #my art MASS EFFECT TAROT ART MASTERLIST Working through the Major Arcana cards

MY FICS AO3

All fics tagged under #my fic

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Jaguar's Dossier Contact (PG) Jaguar's first intro to Task Force 141 and a rocky start to her relationship with Ghost In the Bleak Midwinter (E) Simon and Jag's first mission together; he comes to collect on your secret The Masks We Wear (E) Jag has a new mission in Italy during Carnivale; a beautiful phantom makes an appearance Dead of Night (PG) Ghost inhaling Jag's cigarette smoke drabble Something Like That (E) Ghost comes to terms for his feelings for Jag Lick Your Wounds (E) Jag get's injured and Ghost goes feral I Will Not Ask and Neither Should You (M) Jag can't escape her past and neither can Ghost Mirrored (E) Ghost makes you watch as he takes you in front of a mirror Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) x Johnny Soap MacTavish Texas Sun (E) Standalone fic where Ghost, Jag, and Soap have a shower threeway Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader Tennessee Whiskey (PG) Slow-dancing in a dive bar with your lieutenant

Liara T'Soni x Femshep Making Up for Lost Time (E) Liara visits Shepard in her cabin after the Shadow Broker mission; they makeup for lost time Mistletoe (PG) Liara learns about some Earth traditions (Christmas drabble) Just One More Question... (PG) Four hundred years later and Liara still loves Shepard (drabble) Like Tears in the Rain (M) Shepard shares a final, tearful kiss with Liara as she pushes toward the bleak end (narration of the final mission in ME3) Kaidan Alenko x FemShep (Amidala Shepard) The Heat of a Cold Night (E) Shepard runs into Kaidan on a solo mission; things fall apart in the shuttle as the star-crossed lovers make up for lost time Priority Mars (E) AU where Kaidan doesn't get injured after the Mars Mission; hate sex followed by makeup sex Autumn, Then Spring (PG) After the war, Kaidan finally asks the question he's been meaning to all these years Garrus Vakarian x Femshep An All-Consuming Path (E) Garrus kills Sidonis but doesn't feel any better; Shepard comforts him and true feelings come out

[zahri-melitor]

I have to say, however bad it gets looking at a Holiday Special list of titles and characters, DC's almost always got SOMETHING there that makes me say "yeah boi!"

For DC's Very Merry Multiverse #1 (2020), it's the fact there's a PREZ RICKARD story.

I know. All things for all folks, people. Hopefully something else catches me as I go. I'm not actually across a lot of the most recent multiverse shenanigans but let's go.

It's a Horrible Life! - Harley Quinn. It's a Wonderful Life retelling for Harley, hopping between universes.

Christmas by Gaslight - Batman. Batman is chasing Eel O'Brien (who just stole a load of toys) and Mr Freeze (who is TRYING to steal the load of toys) and Eel accidentally blows up Victor, causing it to snow across Gotham (and drop toys in the street for all the children of the city).

To Stop the Star-Conqueress! - Teen Justice. I...don't really care about this genderswapped universe, but the concept of Klarienne the Witch Girl keeps making me giggle. Klarienne. KLARIENNE. Anyway the Teen Justice team defeat Starrla doing the space starfish thing. (Also this is VERY mixed up in terms of timeline. How are 'Donald Troy' and 'Laurel Kent' reasonably on the same team? They're based on characters 3 hero generations apart!)

Bizarro Love Holiday - President Superman. This is about the made up holiday "Day of Giving/Day of Receiving", which Bizarro hates as nobody has ever given him a present before. A cute small child decides his characteristic speech patterns are sarcasm and gives him his first present.

Holidays Beyond - Batman Beyond. Terry gets zapped/hallucinates with the bends and does a *sigh* Christmas Carol three ghosts of past, present and future. Dustin Nguyen's baby Bruce is the most adorable thing ever.

Night of the Magi - The League of Shadows. So the League of Shadows is basically a Justice League Dark/Shadowpact lineup? They're out to defend Saturnalia from the Lord of Misrule. Also there's a Ragman origin story in here.

Have Yourself a Bizarro Little Christmas - The Unjustice League of Unamerica. It's SANTA TIME!

Bizarro is trying out Christmas gift giving in Bizarro World but it's not working too well. Then Zanta of the Intergalactic Santa Corps arrives! Zanta is charged with spreading the joy of Christmas...whether people like it or not.

(BTW these elves really need the Elves Union, time to unionise little buddies)

Only, it being Bizarro World, he fails. Sorry, Zanta.

'Twas the Night - Booster Gold. Booster fights Maxwell Lord at his Planet Krypton restaurant (we find out that this was a staged fight to entertain the diners).

Prez Rickard's Magical Sci-Fi Desolate Souls Club Holiday Special - Prez. I'm quietly devastated Beth Ross doesn't appear in this.

Hmmm. I'm...not thrilled at the way Prez is used here in Earth 47? Now being an aficionado of Prez lore, I am able to say that Prez out there selling things on a TV show via performing acts doesn't gel with the original Prez run (where he was all too earnest about solving problems), what I'm going to call the Vertigo Prez universe (where he left the White House and disappeared and became sort of a totem to people), or to the New 52 Prez run (where after being President he became a senator for years/hung around lobbying Congress).

It feels like it's trying to be 70s zany without engaging with ANY of the existing Prez lore. Disappointing.

A Very Lobo Hanukkah - Lobo. Been a while since we had a Lobo story. Lobo's saving the dolphins!

Having now read several decades of 'DC does a Hanukkah story' in the last week, they've definitely evolved over time from 'look at this very base level explanation where we acknowledge not everyone is Christian' to this, which from my understanding is both engaging with traditional texts AND also running around gleefully with an attitude of 'we are allowed to adapt things and tell more complex narratives'. (However I am unsure of whether anyone stopped to think before using the KJV translation of Maccabees here)

[aneurinallmoods]

Aneurin Barnard Advent Calendar: Day 22

The Ghost of Christmas Past

"Spirit!" said Scrooge in a broken voice, "remove me from this place."

"I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not blame me!"

"Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed. "I cannot bear it!"

He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which, in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.

"Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!"

[ghcstao3]

Apparently I’m in a festive holiday mood (don’t ask but I like Winter Day Snacks & Halloween!!)

It starts w/Ghost plopping himself down w/the guys. “The fuck’s this?” he grumbled, seeing some Claymation kind-of shit—and then, he sees Jack Skellington AKA a Friend-Shaped Guy. (He may or may not have seen the movie before.) Anyway, the winter holidays come around.

To bring good tidings (or whatever), Ghost runs around during the day dressed as Sandy Claws/Jack, complete with boots, skull-face balaclava, and red fur coat (“Blood isn’t mine”). At night, he dresses as Krampus (though he tells König beforehand to avoid getting knocked through a door).

apologies it took so long to respond </33

-

The holiday season, in Ghost’s opinion, is not only entirely overrated, but also miserable, pointless, and his least favourite time of year.

For several reasons, which have all shifted in their significance over time. But now, the reason he believes so, is because he’s just bored.

There are still missions, obviously, but they seem oddly fewer nearing Christmas, so they’re all left with too much downtime. Everyone else is pleased with it, but Ghost has been itching with the need to feel useful for over a week now.

But he can only train so much to get his mind off of things. So eventually he’s forced to concede with everyone’s pestering and join the others in whatever festivities they’ve planned.

Which appears to be watching a film this time, plain and simple.

Ghost could manage that, he supposes.

The others are already midway through something that looks vaguely familiar—and through claymation, songs, and the appearance of the lanky skeleton it all centres around, a chord is finally struck in Ghost's memory as he settles into his spot in the rec room.

Though the title eludes him at the time, he knows where he's seen it before—the film used to be a favourite of Joseph's, when the kid was still alive, even as young as he'd been.

Ghost is enraptured the entire time, picking out everything he recognizes with far more clarity than he'd have previously imagined.

As the credits roll and he's finally able to wander off, he comes away with an idea.

It takes little assembly and planning considering his usual attire, but he still makes an effort. And by the time the actual holidays roll around, he's actually kind of looking forward to it, for once.

It's a minor shock for his team to see him in any sort of spirit for Christmas, but they all embrace the poor-man's Sandy Claws costume anyhow—even the questionable means by which Ghost had taken to obtain some of its pieces.

That hadn't ever been the enjoyable part of his plan, however, not since the beginning of its proper formulation.

The costume he dons after lights out is arguably far more terrifying than Jack Skellington—hell, he wears a skull mask on the regular already. Krampus, as far as Ghost is concerned, had been something more interesting to assemble.

If only because he gets to use his already silent way of moving to scare the absolute shit out of his teammates in the late hours of the evening, a brooding shadow in wait for whoever sneaks out for something well past a time they should all be sleeping.

He honestly doesn't think he's ever heard Price shriek before, like he does that night.

The whole thing is beyond amusing for Ghost—and when he finally retires his hauntings for the night, he decides the effort was worth it enough to do this sort of thing every year, just to make the holiday season tolerable.

When asked the next morning if he'd seen anything, if it'd been him terrorizing the base, Ghost firmly denies everything, and they all have no choice but to believe him.

(And maybe he's just a tad bit cruel for it, but what's a little healthy scaring when no one's getting hurt?)

[brightoakgame]

Author's Marginalia - 4

This year is edging closer and closer to ending, and simultaneously toward the beginning of the new. It feels like there has been something lost in Western culture; back when the winters spanned longer, darker, lit with candles or the shadowed flickering of gaslight, so did our stories trend more to shadowed tales and huddling together for warmth. A Christmas Carol is a ghost story not because it is a seasonal outlier: rather, it was shaped from the coal smoke choked skies of Victorian England, caught between the dreadful and furious progress of industry, and the haunted trappings of ancient tradition.

December is a liminal space, neither here nor there, an end that anticipates a beginning. No wonder, then, how easy it is to feel set adrift.

(content warning: grief and depression)

I, too, have occupied a liminal space these last few months, attempting to push through some of the most severe burnout and depression I've experienced in decades. It has been slinking in the corners of my mind since midsummer, sometimes only glimpsed in the periphery of my vision, sometimes flaring out abruptly and swallowing all thought and reason with its ferocious, ever-hungry maw, so that I too become part of that echoing, dark--nothing. Sometimes it feels like I am inhabiting my own world as a ghost: I go to raise my stylus or address my keyboard, and my hand seems to pass through it entirely. I drift from room to room. I converse without any substance. I am a poltergeist that opens the cupboards and doors and goes through the motions, and yet my efforts at normalcy only seem to disturb the other inhabitants of my life. People turn to speak to me: I am not there. My partner complained recently about the bourbon-soaked phantom that wore my skin the night before, expounding on their very genuine desire to be carted off by the fae and eaten. He was unamused: the tipsy phantom had been in deathly earnest. I reminded him patiently that he knew who I was when he married me, and laughed it off.

The fae did not respond to my summons, which I am grateful and sorry for by turns.

December intrigues me more and more as I grow older, because I see December as a month of both storytelling and death in equal measures. I do not place more weight on tragedies than I do on comedies (if anything, I find comedy much more challenging!), but as desperate as I am for connection in art, death and grief are irresistible as mysteries and great unifiers.

Each breath comes with an inhale, and then exhale; every life will at some point encounter death. And grief, in my experience, loves to tell stories--the things that came Before, the things I maybe did not know, the embellishments given to quite ordinary things, crystalline now as past, exquisite and multi-faceted with loving truths and illuminating falsehoods.

I began writing Bright Oak in 2017: a very different time, feels like, though not so long past in the bigger picture. Between then and now, I've known many deaths and Deaths, rebirths and (quite literal) births, losses and gains. Friendships have washed upon my shores and receded again, as friendships seem wont to do, reshaping my perceptions, sometimes gently, sometimes not, and often leaving treasure in their wake. People are at heart truly, painfully lovely animals, I think.

I write because I want to understand better than I do; I write beloved friends and well-intentioned enemies, and they spirit me away to a world beyond, someplace where the water and air carry our meaning further and with more clarity, but with voices never too loud, never too harsh. I can hear them all. I know them better than I know myself; they know me better than I know myself. And they, too, will eventually fall to ebb tide, and wash back out into the vast sea of a world of things I do not properly understand. But I get to treasure them for that little time, and now I wish to share them with others before they go, like a collection of beautiful shells and pearls wrought from all I fear and all I do not understand.

Death visits us all, and so many, many times. I do not have to dig to know that I start the vast majority of my stories with accidents: I can pinpoint the day I felt my childhood ended, with the loss of a dear friend in a car wreck. The end of one chapter, when things were more heedless, but safe; the beginning of another, when things were dangerous, but a little wiser. There have been many, many chapters since. We are each of us anthologies, to a one; our tree rings show the times of plenty and the times of drought, the fires and the trauma, the slow recovery, the growing-over of scars, the knots and flaws and fine-grained beauty.

My favorite cemetery in town is a public park (and I admit, if this doesn't out me as a former goth kid, I don't know what would). One of my very earliest memories in life is of going to a playground with my mother on a bright weekend morning, trying to bring the sky ever closer while playing on the swing set, and making a new friend in the process. They asked if I knew what ghosts were: I did not, and they explained succinctly that ghosts were dead people that now chased living people, and did I want to play ghosts with them, since there were gravestones right over there-- a clear harbinger of ghosts being present?

I did not enjoy the game; I did not like being chased by ghosts in a rough and tumble round of monster tag. My mother, perhaps to calm me, pulled me aside and proceeded to read to me the poetic epitaphs of the last century headstones that bookended the playground, telling me how much she and my grandmother appreciated these final words set in stone: sometimes rote, sometimes religious, sometimes romantic, sometimes cryptic (pun fully intended).

It often recurred as a setting in dreams during my teens and early twenties. It wasn't until far later, when I moved back to my hometown, that I realized that this was a place that existed in reality, and was not merely a mishmash invention of dreams. After all, what cemetery has monkeybars and a swing set?

It's an old burial ground (at least, by Southern California standards); the graves outlasted the people still around to tend them, and sometime in the last century, it fell into extreme disrepair, and eventually was closed off to the public. Further, it was entirely bulldozed over when miscreants regularly gathered there for the purpose of vandalism and unrecorded mayhem, and after some hullabaloo over the matter, a handful of the old gravestones (belonging, of course, to the more prominent of the permanent denizens) were collected and lined up tidily in the corner of the green space, like a forgotten backstop, craggy granite guardians of the nearby playground.

I love this place, filled as it is with towering old trees, screaming children running amok (and quite possibly playing ghost-tag), people laying out obliviously to sunbathe, or picnicking blithely over the many-hundreds of dead some feet below the surface. It is such a poetic space to me, because try as we may to circumscribe death to a remote and out of the way corner, divorced and isolated from all things Life, it strikes me that death is the very foundation of all life as it proceeds. Death is in the day's end, the unfinished arguments, the words left unsaid, the little losses, the griefs we carry that we are not the person we were, and have not become the person we meant to be. Grief is the bittersweet knowledge that once I was one of those shrieking children, and once I sat on the periphery of the park, oblivious and sipping a coffee, and then I learned its story, and now I am able to tell it--and someday, someday I shall likely forget it, and tell it no more.

We are all the fickle authors of our own stories, and we all know the death that comes with the ending of one chapter, the bittersweet grief of letting it go and beginning anew. I dearly hope December treats every one of you with kindness; that the stories you tell, and those which you tell yourselves, bring warmth and comfort. Even ghost stories are not all bad--particularly when we can all huddle together around the bonfire, peeking at the stars as they show between plumes of smoke.

In this time of intense personal darkness, I am looking through the smoke to those stars. I am grateful for those who huddle at my side, imaginary and otherwise. And I look forward to the beginnings which I know to be just there, over the horizon.

B.