#women of ghost valley

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

random LUO FUMENG gifs from EPISODE 31 that didnt manage to pull me out of my depression hole but are still very pretty uwu

[deepestbluesky]

shl women thought of the day: luo fumeng

(soooo tempted to just stop there and be like That’s The Thought! there was a tweet last year that was like ‘shl watchers, what’s something you think everyone who’s only read tyk should know’ and someone answered ‘wkx’s hot lesbian aunt’ [update: i remembered the way they described her slightly wrong] and honestly, so true bestie. anyway that is not in fact The Only Thought)

luo fumeng in a scifi au. how much more terrifying and outlandish and widely spread the rumors about the department of the unfaithful are when they skip across the galaxy in vids and encrypted messages, when you never know what passenger on the same transport as you might be part of it, they say you can’t even tell one of the ghost women from a normal human, they say the department has eyes and ears and bugs everywhere, they say they’re called ghosts because they can walk through walls to confront men who take advantage of women, and their leader is the biggest rumor of all. is she a being from another galaxy who landed here and was displeased with what she saw? is she an AI, created from the code of one of the founders of modern hyperspeed technology, who had her invention stolen out from under her by a jealous lover? is she a cyborg, having exchanged her humanity for strength and invulnerability?

[lacy-oh-lacy]

Property of Jennifer ･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Jennifer's Body Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Jennifer Check x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Jennifer fingers you under the table while you're on a date... with someone else.

CW: DubCon, Toxic!Jennifer, Jealous!Jennifer, hidden-public, exhibitionism?, fingering, mention of spanking, reader goes on a date with a guy (the scene still makes sense if you're not into guys though)

Adam was the worst kind of jock stereotype. A total idiot. Somewhat charming until anything didn’t go his way. A guy who made it his goal in life to sleep with as many women as possible and then slut-shamed the few he actually got under his belt.

He wasn’t your type in more ways then one, yet on a Friday night you could’ve spent doing anything else… you were sitting across from him at a shitty diner, helping him stumble through small talk.

You blamed Jennifer entirely.

If she hadn’t of fucked and ghosted you AGAIN, you wouldn’t of been so desperate to get her out of your system that you’d say yes to the first loser to ask you out.

Adam wasn’t your main concern at that moment though. Your main concern was the devil herself, striding into the diner you knew she hated in the shortest skirt she owned …and for the first time in a week she was looking right at you.

Your attention had been wavering all night but you must of been obvious that time because Adam checked over his shoulder, following your gaze  and catching sight of Jennifer a second before she arrived at your booth.

“Oh my god, hi!”

That valley-girl voice of hers made your heart flutter but you knew to raise your guard.

“Jennifer, hi… what are you doing here?”

She laughed, a plastic sound. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The thought of deflecting as skilfully as she had done was appealing, but instead you ripped the Band-Aid off. You were done caring about what she thought.

“I’m on a date actually.”

The strain in her smile wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t watching her reaction so carefully.

“Oh, where’s your date?” She looked around, eyes very obviously passing over the man in front of you.

Oof. You didn’t exactly like the guy but you felt a secondhand sting at that. Cringing, you shot Adam an apologetic look as he waved a hand to get her attention.

“Uhh that’d be me.” 

“Oh!” 

Despite her passive-aggressive tone, her big glossed smile softened the blow. It made it hard to be mad at her. At least it did until she turned her head away from him to mouth “yikes.”

Suddenly she sat down cramped against you, hand dropping to your thigh. “Well I’m just waiting on my own date. Mind if I sit with you guys for a few minutes?”

You didn’t know what made you tenser, wondering where the hell she was going with this or the hand caressing your thigh.

“Well, like I said we’re on a date. So actually-“

Said date cut you off as he leered, slack-jawed at Jennifer. “It’s fine. What’s a few minutes?“

You gritted your teeth, mind badgering you with images of all the other places you could’ve been that night. “Why do you even want to sit here?”

She groaned. “He said it’s fine. Take a chill pill.”

Jennifer’s words were accompanied by a squeeze to your thigh and you jumped. It didn’t hurt but you felt your skin buzz under her touch, heat spreading low in your stomach.

Jennifer’s attention seemed to go back to Adam but that didn’t stop her from keeping yours with her hand inching up your skirt.

“So, I didn’t catch your name.”

He frowned, a crack in his horny haze. “Are you serious? Adam… We sat together in chem?”

“Okay, geez, don’t go stalker-boy on me.”

Her tone was just light enough to let the comment slide, but you could almost physically feel the mood slowly sinking.

She turned to you, face too innocent to have her hand so close to your privates. “What about you, how’d you two meet? Was he hanging outside your house with binoculars and a stiffy?”

“We also met in chem.” He answered for you. His tone was dryer, welcome already wearing thin. 

Apparently Adam’s ego was the one thing stronger than his libido. 

Unlike yours. Jennifer’s wandering hand was dangerously close to making you forget that you were even mad at her.

“I’m sorry, was I asking you?” She leant into you, ‘whispering’ at a volume you were sure the next table over could hear. “Does he always talk over you like that?”

The question and the underlying insult went over your head. Feeling Jennifer’s breath on your neck clouded your brain and feeling the tip of her finger begin dragging up your slit through your panties short-circuited it.

Fortunately a waitress came over, putting a pause on the tension at the table. Unfortunately that was when Jennifer’s finger reached your clit.

Your eyelashes fluttered and you bit your lip to keep back a moan. This was way too risky. The waitress would move on from Adam to one of you any second.

“What are you doing?” You hissed against Jennifer’s ear.

Unfazed she whispered back. “You’re lucky I’m not bending you over my knee.”

Then she turned back, looking the picture of innocence when the waitress addressed her.

“Anything for you, Dear?”

The woman looked so demure and unassuming. You had no idea how Jennifer could look her in the eye while drawing circles on your clit.

“Actually she’s only staying a few-“ Adam started.

“I’ll take a coffee.” Jennifer interrupted, smiling brightly.

“It’s a little late. Do you want that decaf?”

“No. I’m not planning on doing much sleeping tonight.” The subtext in that sentence embarrassed you enough but then Jennifer turned to you. “You want anything else? My treat.”

That sent the waitresses gaze your way and your face burned. You really didn’t want a stranger looking at you right now.

“No thanks.”

You cursed your squeaky, cracking voice and averted your eyes as quickly as possible.

Even with your awkward position limiting her, it was like Jennifer’s touch electrified you. An overwhelming pleasure followed her fingertips and you could only swallow your reactions to it for so long.

As the waitress went on her way Jennifer tugged at your panties and mindlessly taking the cue you raised your hips just enough for her to pull them to your knees.

That was when Adam’s focus returned to the two of you and you startled, realising what the fuck you were doing.

He was totally gonna catch you!

But then Jennifer’s fingers pushed inside of you, curving and making you see stars, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You could only spread your legs wider and silently pray you didn’t look as wrecked as you felt.

“Okay, I’m sorry, how long were you planning on staying? Don’t you have a date coming?” Adam huffed.

“Yeah.” She looked slyly at you “any second now.”

You writhed in your seat. Embarrassment, guilt and so much lust created a boiling hot cocktail inside of you.

“Whatever.” He sighed, leaning back in his seat and staring at the ceiling.

Jennifer snuck her other hand under the table and you gasped loudly at sudden, rough friction against your clit. 

Sure enough that caught other patrons attention. As people glanced at you you didn’t know what you wanted more… to cum or for the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

“Hey, you good?” Adam asked.

“Yeah… yeah, just um, water went down the wrong pipe.”

You hadn’t touched your glass since Jennifer showed up but you trusted he wouldn’t of payed enough attention to know that.

“You should be more careful.” Jennifer said, tone loaded in way that made you squirm.

It was really, really hard to be careful with the high she was working you into. It was too much, the way she massaged your g-spot while three flat fingers rubbed quickly over your pussy. 

Hellish heat overtook you as she brought you over the edge. It took everything in your power to keep your mouth shut, face pointing down to hide your shame.

You gripped the table like a lifeline as pulse after pulse of pleasure rocked your body. Her touch became almost overstimulating.

You felt Jennifer’s breath on your ear before you heard her silky, hushed voice “You’re mine. Got it? Don’t forget that again.”

Cool air hit your warm centre as she pulled out and you nodded eagerly. Thrumming with the aftershocks of orgasm you barely registered Adam’s voice.

“Hey what’s up with all the whispering? I swear, you’d think you were on a date with Jennifer.”

[atiny-desire]

Glitter and Gold

Pairing: Yandere Dragon! Seonghwa × Reader Summary: You get sent away as a sacrifice to the dragon, but instead of being met by a fire-breathing dragon, you encounter a handsome man who seems too good to be true. Word count: 2.8k Disclaimer: I'm in no way condoning, justifying, encouraging nor promoting this kind of behavior. This is not supposed to represent Seonghwa in any way. Warning: Some kind of soulmate bond, yandere behavior, mention of murder.

A/N: Didn't post in a long time because I had literally zero inspiration, and on top of that Ghost from Call of Duty kind of had me in a chokehold (I wish). Anyway, here's a small oneshot and I hope some of you like it. :)

◇◇◇

You could feel it. The burning jealous stares that followed you as you walked through your village, they wanted to puncture your skin, burn it off with just their stare. It was mainly young women who looked at you like that, their beautiful faces were adorned by angry frowns. Normally it would have made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out again, but now your chest was swelling with pride your head held high as you felt an odd sensation of satisfaction. You were the chosen one, the one who would be sent to the dragon as an offering. A sacrifice, that's what you are, but it's an honor. Your sacrifice would be the reason why your village would be able to live in peace for another year. It was said that only the most dazzling beauties would be chosen worthy enough to be sent away.

And now the time has come, you were the chosen one. Not those girls who looked down on you throughout all of your life. You're not pretty enough, not smart enough, not charming enough, and most certainly not worthy of anything, not even the same air they breathed. That's what they had always told you. For the longest time, you were their personal punching bag, their outlet for all of their frustration and pressure that was laid upon their shoulders. This was over now.

Your departure was quick and almost anticlimactic, but you didn't mind it. You had no interest in getting emotional with people who had tormented you your entire life, although not everyone did it, everyone knew about it, yet no one did anything to intervene.

The first step outside felt like you had achieved true freedom, even if the sentence of being a sacrifice hung heavy over your head. You had thought about running away, but there was nowhere you could go. Your small village was located in a valley, surrounded by huge snow-capped mountains and vast forests which were the homes of dangerous wildlife. Now, a mountain inhabited by a dragon might not necessarily sound like the safer option, however, you had a reason to go there. It was also the reason why everyone was jealous of you.

It was an old tale, no one really knew if it was true, but everyone believed in it nonetheless. It was said that if you were chosen by the dragon as worthy enough to be kept alive, you'd spend the rest of your life living in wealth. That's why you decided to take your chances with the dragon, rather than just accept your certain death.

The euphoric feeling of being free from those damned people that had been tormenting you your whole life, and the determination of wanting to live a better life, kept the fear that wanted to envelop your heart at bay. No matter how much you might fear walking through the dark forest which never seemed to end, or the thought of what lived inside the mountain you were approaching, you would keep walking because you were desperate for a new life.

Your feeling of hope diminished quicker than you would like. After almost four hours of foot walk you stood in front of the beginning of the mountain trail that would lead toward the cave. The muscles in your thighs were burning as well as your feet, you weren't used to walking this long without a break but you had forced your body through this ordeal, you didn't care how much it hurt. Your heart was in your throat and not just from physical activity, but from anxiety too. Understandably, who wouldn't be afraid of the outlook of meeting a fire-breathing dragon?

As soon as you set foot on that trail it felt like an invisible barrier sucked out all of the energy that was left in your body. Your legs suddenly felt like jelly, ready to give up from underneath you at any given second, but once again, you forced yourself through it.

Faster than you'd like you stood in front of the massive cave. Your mouth was opened in awe as you stopped in your tracks. Mountains of gold coins, gems, and glittery jewelry filled the cave as far as you could see. A small path between the huge piles leads deeper into the cave. Carefully you followed the small path, you were tempted to reach for the jewelry, or the gems that glittered in various colors between the gold coins, but you kept your hands to yourself. If there was truly a dragon living in this cave, it certainly wouldn't be very pleased should you touch any of its treasures.

As you walked deeper into the cave, your anxiety rose within you. Every corner was filled with treasures, there was barely any walking space. You started to doubt the dragon's existence, after all, how could it live with such minimal space?

Steps echoed off of the walls from deeper within the cave, steps that weren't your own. You froze in your tracks, straining your ears to pick up on any more sounds that might follow. Your body refused to move, even when you saw the silhouette of a human coming out of the dark. The sunlight from outside provided minimal lighting, but enough to illuminate the man who stepped in front of you.

You held your breath, you knew immediately that he was different from you. Small patches of red scales covered him in some places instead of skin, but eventually, they merged with his normal skin. The man came to a halt shortly in front of you and stared into your eyes. Unnerved by his stare and the serious look on his face you shifted your weight on your legs and inched a little away from him.

His eyes wandered over your face and down your body, his gaze was analyzing and cold until something suddenly shifted in him and his eyes seemingly softened. Even a small smile stretched on his face. "You can breathe, you don't have to hold it just because of me." He almost had a teasing tone as he spoke to you.

You let out the air you were holding in your lungs. It was as if your body was reacting to his smooth voice because your tense muscles relaxed a little as soon as he spoke to you. "You're not a dragon." You blurted out.

You managed to draw a low chuckle and a headshake from him. "Oh trust me, I am." His hand reached out to grab your chin before you could flinch away he had caught your face between his fingers and forced you to properly look at him. "Beautiful." He mumbled while he turned your head from side to side, so he could examine your face from every angle.

"That's a little too much touching for a first meeting, don't you think?" You mumbled quietly and pulled your head back as you became flustered. While you talked you couldn't look away from him, his eyes were mesmerizing. They were golden, almost seemed like they were glowing, and the color in his irises swirled like liquid gold.

He let go of your face, but not without a dissatisfied grumble. "Is it? But you're a sacrifice to me, are you not? You belong to me now."

His brazenness left you speechless for a short moment, but you didn't need to say anything anyway because he took the word again. "Don't worry, I'm just messing with you." He said with a smirk on his lips. However, with how serious he said it, you doubted that he was just messing with you.

"I... what are you?" This question has been burning on your tongue since you first spotted the scales on his body.

"Asking the important questions right from the beginning, hm?" His hand came up to his face to brush away a strand of his black hair that had fallen into his eyes when he leaned closer to inspect your face. "As I said, I'm a dragon. I might not look like one right now, but in my true form I'm indeed a dragon." He motioned down his body and continued, "This human body is just a costume. I learned that it's less intimidating for mortals like you, and honestly, it's way more practical too."

"Do you have a name? How old are you, and how does this whole dragon thing work?" The questions spilled from your mouth like a waterfall once you realized that he wouldn't be a threat, at least for the moment, and your body relaxed.

Another chuckle with his smooth voice reached your ear. "Curious little thing aren't you? You can call me Seonghwa. My age?" He shrugged his shoulders, looked away from you for a second, and fixated his gaze back on you shortly after. "I stopped counting the years, and as for how my nature works, how about we talk about this at a different time? I don't want to overwork your pretty head."

You couldn't help but feel a little offended. He made it seem like you were too stupid to comprehend what he would tell you. "Fine. Where are the other girls that got sent here?"

"Other girls?" He seemed bored just thinking about it, his brows furrowed, he looked like he had to remember what you were talking about. As if there weren't any girls sent to him, every year for multiple centuries. "I killed them." He finally answered.

Your breath got caught in your throat, fear started to claw at your heart once again. So, was this going to be your end? The scaled man in front of you chuckled when he saw the fear in your eyes. "Don't you worry, my precious little gem." Seonghwa's hand reached out again to get a hold of your chin, his thumb brushed over your lips, and his eyes followed his own movement. "You're the one I've been waiting for."

"The one you've been waiting for?" You asked a bit unsure. You didn't know if you had to fear for your life or not.

He nodded. "You're destined to be with me, you, a mere human don't feel it of course." He paused and you almost flinched away when he suddenly put his hand over your chest exactly where your heart was located. "But your heart. It only beats for one purpose, and that is to belong to me. It's beating in a specific rhythm, almost as if it's calling out to me."

You swallowed down your fear, or at least you tried to, and replied to him with a hint of doubt in your voice. "A specific rhythm? Doesn't every heart beat in the same way?"

You could swear that he rolled his eyes a little, but he quickly overplayed it with his charming smile. "You don't get it. As I said, you're just a human." He put his hand under your chin and grabbed you with his thumb and his index finger to tilt your head up. "You're the one I've waited for, everything else is meaningless now. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Stop calling me pretty."

"Why? It's the truth after all." Seonghwa leaned closer, getting into your personal space more than before, to the point you could feel his warm breath fan over your face. You panicked a little when he didn't stop crossing the distance between you two, you were sure he would try to kiss you. You were about to pull away when he did something against your expectations.

Instead of kissing you, he pressed his forehead against yours and his hand came up to cup your cheek, you felt his thumb brush over your skin, gently, almost as gently as a feather, it felt like you were just imagining his touch. "Don't worry," he murmured. His breath smelt like the smoke of a forest fire but somehow it wasn't unpleasant. "I waited so long for you, I can also wait until you're ready to fully be with me." The words he spoke were nothing but a mere whisper. "I can wait," He repeated a bit more firmly to make sure that you heard him properly.

He moved his head away from your face and more to the side so he could whisper in your ear. "I'll wait until I can kiss you until I can explore every inch of your body," Seonghwa took a small break, his eyes glinting with mischievous as he added, "Until you're willing to let me claim you, in every possible way."

Seonghwa gently brushed your hair back before his hand landed on the side of your neck with his thumb caressing your cheek. He brought his face closer to yours again, your eyes widened and you were about to pull back however, he was faster than you again because he stopped shortly before his lips would touch yours. You felt his warm breath on your lips, it distracted you to the point you almost missed the words he whispered to you. "My desire to kiss you is overwhelmingly big."

"Don't-," Seonghwa shushed you before you could protest any further. Another chuckle resonated from deep within his chest. "Don't worry, I won't. I told you, didn't I? I will wait until you want me as much as I want you." He distanced himself a bit from you, a lazy half smile tugged at the right corner of his mouth. "But when that time comes I might make you beg for my touch." It seemed like he wanted to make a joke, but you had a feeling that he was dead serious.

With a sigh, he moved away from you, this time he really left your personal space. Seonghwa held his hand out to you, waiting for you to grab it. "You've asked enough questions for now, don't you think? It's time you see where you will live with me." You were too busy staring at him in awe, so you didn't catch the words he muttered under his breath. "For eternity."

The way he stood, with his posture being flawless, as well as his perfect face and the gentle smile on his lips, you could have thought that he was royalty, if it wasn't for the red scales embedded into his skin. Maybe he was royalty, some kind of dragon royalty if it even exists. You thought to yourself as you took his hand.

Together with you, he started to walk deeper into the darker part of the cave. He seemed to navigate in the darkness just fine, while you were stumbling after him like a newborn foal, with just his hand as your guide. Eventually, a small source of light fell into your eyes, and as you walked closer you realized that the light were torches attached to the cave walls. Seonghwa stopped in front of two ridiculously big oak wood doors. You and to crane your neck to be able to see where they ended.

How would those doors even open? "How-" And again, Seonghwa didn't let you finish your sentence. He let go of your hand walked up to the door, and pushed one of them open with ease. "I might have a human body right now, but I still have the strength of a Dragon. Now come." He nodded toward the inside, silently telling you to go in.

Those huge doors made you a little nervous, inside your head, you were imagining what would happen if the door suddenly closed while you were walking through it. Swiftly you scurried inside and Seonghwa followed with a smile. A loud noise echoed through the room as the door fell closed behind him. You were surprised to see a fully furnished living room. Everything was illuminated by torches attached to the wall, allowing you to see the extravagant furniture.

"You like it?" Seonghwa quietly asked you close to your ear.

You only gave him a small nod as you continued to look around the room. There were more cave tunnels, leading away from the living room probably to more living space, such as a bedroom. "I'm glad. You'll be spending a lot of time here." He was still close to your ear and whispered to you while he stood behind you.

While you looked around your gaze traveled to the, now closed, oak doors. You didn't think about it at the time, but you were trapped now. There was no way you would ever be able to push these doors open on your own. Your breath hitched when Seonghwa suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his body. "A lot of time." He growled into your ear. In this moment you realized that it wasn't just something he said without real meaning. It was a promise and a threat at the same time. However, you realized it too late, you were already in the claws of this dragon and he sure as hell would never be willing to ever let you go again.

[kermit-coded]

O Mother Where Art Thou?

batgirl (2000) // bethany webster, from mother wound healing: why it’s crucial for women // batgirl (2000) // enough, suzanne buffam // batgirl (2000) // h.d., from “envy” // fariha róisín, how to cure a ghost // batgirl (2000) // batgirl (2000) // james baldwin, from jimmy’s blues and other poems // janet fitch, from white oleander // batgirl (2000) // batgirl (2000) // clarice lispector, “excerpt”, collected stories (trans. katrina dodson) // batgirl (2000) // jack gilbert, “the abandoned valley” // batgirl (2000) // tomas tranströmer, tr. by robert bly, from a poem titled “track” // batgirl (2000) // batgirl (2000) // may sarton, journal of a solitude // batgirl (2000) // adonis, from selected poems; “a piece of bahlul’s sun” (tr. khaled mattawa) // batgirl (2000) // batgirl (2000) // neil hilborn, “a place where someone loves you” // batgirl (2000) // laura gibson, from “empire builder” // batgirl (2000) // anne carson, grief lessons

[titleleaf]

side note: if you want to read some killer late 19th century weird fiction by a queer writer: run, do not walk, to Vernon Lee's Hauntings. Lee's queerness falls right in that valley where modern identity categories fail due to the complexity of gendered experience, and it doesn't seem useful to retroactively pronounce One Definitive Label for her life and experience-- she used a male pseudonym and embraced gender-nonconformity by the standards of her era, both in physical presentation and in her career; she had powerful romantic relationships and long term collaborations with women; she had a complex relationship to physical intimacy; she lived a generally offbeat independent life as a scholar and international traveler -- but holy fuck her supernatural fiction is a first-class treat and has a lot of queer valences. Curious phenomena surround a charismatic orphan girl as Italy's pagan Classical past perseveres into its heavily Catholic present; a visiting academic becomes enthralled to a long-dead Renaissance femme fatale; a super-normie-looking married couple manifest troubling echoes of their ancestral forebears in the presence of the artist hired to paint their portrait; an uptight classical musician is tormented by a long-dead CASTRATO SEX GHOST who exerts preternatural force to seduce or to kill through the power of his otherworldly voice. It fucking rules. And you can read that shit for free. Please do.

[cowgurrrl]

Strangers

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (cowgirl!reader???)

Author’s note: goddammit is this gonna be a thing

Summary: Javi struggles to assimilate back into civilian life in Texas until an old friend returns [1.5k]

Warnings: Texas Javi my beloved, language, addictive tendencies, PTSD symptoms, Javi + Steve 4eva, reader has a brother, southernisms, pining, yeah there’s probably gonna be a part two 🙄

Javi really did try his best to leave Colombia and the ghosts that pricked at his memory every time he turned a familiar corner. He wanted to do better. He felt he had to. Too many people died for him to just throw away his chance at life, but the days were long and hot, and he was so fucking tired. The nicotine patches stopped working, and the bottle suddenly wasn't enough to convince himself he was doing what he was sent to do. That he was doing the right thing. That he was a good person. 

He expected the feeling to leave him once he left the imaginary borders of Colombia and returned to the northern valley. He thought working with his dad and getting his feet back under him after years of being pushed and pulled at Reagan's whim would feel better than shaking down teenagers for narco information. Of course, it didn't disappear in the cacti and hazy horizons of Loredo or the arms of his father. It's only been a couple of hours, Peña, he thought. Give it some time. Who knows? Blistering Texas sunsets might be good for burning the blood off his hands. 

Except everybody in his small town knew of his exploits in Latin America. They knew his name was plastered to boxes full of evidence against the cartel and then some. They knew Chucho's boy was some kind of fucked up veteran or hero or whatever they wanted to call him. He avoided going into town more than necessary when he first got home because of how often he got stopped. It didn't matter if he was going to the hardware store, HEB, or the mechanic. Somebody ended up talking to him about Escobar or Cali. He couldn't escape his past even thousands of miles away from it. The only good thing about his newfound fame was the free drinks people pushed his way in the shit hole bar just on the outskirts of town. 

He tells himself to slow down, what with the early mornings and long days he's working, but it'd be a dick move to turn down free drinks, right? Sometimes, Javi loses hours in the bar, betting money on pool, flirting with women passing through town, and telling war stories of the jungle and sicarios and whatever else comes spilling out of his loose lips. He tells himself he's coping the best way he knows how when he comes down for breakfast looking and feeling like shit, his hair practically wet from lingering cigarette smoke, but he knows better. 

His dad deals with Javi's vices the same way they dealt with his mother's death: inefficiently and without making a sound. The most Chucho does is shake his head and sigh when Javi comes stumbling in at some ungodly hour. What more could he do? Javi barely told his dad where he was in the world. How was he supposed to tell him what he'd done? What he saw? What he allowed? No, his dad can never know. It'll kill him. It'll kill Javi to retell. 

Sometimes, Javi will call Steve and ask about Connie and the kids, and they'll act like they're old school buddies and not tethered together through tragedy and white powder. Steve will ask him about his sleep, and Javi will give some bullshit answer which makes Steve laugh. "Yeah, me too," he says one time. "Woke the baby up the other night 'cause I was talkin' again. Don't even know what about. Isn't that fun?" Javi doesn't give much away. He never does, but sometimes, it's just nice to know he's not alone in his struggle to get back to normal. 

Javi is back in town for a full forty days before he finally stumbles across you. At first, he doesn't remember you or your first name. Your last name, however, rattles around his skull until he finally gets the courage to ask if he knows you as he stands in line at the store. "You look familiar." He says, making you laugh. 

"I'd hope so. You were practically livin' in my house in high school." You say, throwing him back to his high school baseball days, spending time either in the field or on the ranch with your older brother. You were a little bit younger than him— the daughter of a weathered cattle rancher— and only caught his attention when you were in the way or being an obnoxious teenager. Man, did you grow up pretty, he thinks. Suddenly, he's hyperaware of his sweaty hair, rumpled shirt, and god-awful farmer's tan. 

"Last I heard, you'd moved out of town," Javi says, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you carefully. The freckles dotting your face from all your time in the sun should be considered lethal, especially when you smile. 

"Last I heard, you were engaged." Just as you did then, you don't hold your punches. The jab doesn't hurt, but it does make him laugh, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck.

"Alright, you got me there," he says. "How's your brother?"

"Good. Married Suzanna a few years ago, and now they've got some babies running around." 

"They live around here?"

"Dallas," you say. "Dillon thinks he's too good for us and decided to be a real estate agent out there instead."

"Sounds riveting," Javi says and you laugh. The line gets shorter and shorter as you talk, but he can't focus on anything but you. "And you? What's a pretty girl like you still doing in this shit hole?" Something behind your eyes flickers at the comment and you take a deep breath, suddenly all too aware of how hot it is today.

"Somebody's gotta get Daddy off the horse every once in a while."

"And what? Your mama can't do that for you?"

"She knows better than to keep tryin'. I'm just as stubborn as he is, so one of us'll win or give up before the other." 

"Well, my money's on you." He says easily. You stare at each other for a little bit longer than necessary before the clerk calls you by name to get your attention. Your items are scanned, bagged, and paid for all in the span of a few seconds. You have no reason to linger in the checkout aisle, but you do, rocking on your boots' heels just a little. 

"Don't be a stranger, Peña." You say, looking him over as if you're seeing him for the first time. 

"I don't think this town's big enough for that." He says, and you chuckle.

"No, I don't think so either," you say. "Tell your dad I said hi." With all your Southern hospitality, you turn and leave. Javi watches you go until the clerk calls his name and breaks him out of it. Well, that and the sound of something crashing to the floor makes him reach for a gun he doesn't carry anymore. His shoulders brace for an explosion, and he can't catch his breath. He stares at the box and the broken jars in it as a pissed-off employee storms off to find a broom. He scoffs. 

Javi has dealt with some of the most dangerous people in the world, and jams are what spike his adrenaline. 

He tries to shrug it off and pay the cashier, but his ears are still ringing, and his heart is still racing when he climbs back into his truck. Fucking jam. He tries to forget about it as he drives home. He wants to forget about it. He wants to think of anything else. 

If that happens to be your smile, the way your laugh fills the air, or the inconspicuous way you looked at him when he complimented you, it's just a coincidence. 

When he gets home, he's craving a drink or a cigarette or something more physical to get his mind off of what happened. His shoulders slump with the weight of memory and Chucho sees. He always sees. He just doesn't know the right way to fix it. 

"Y'know, uh… your friend you used to play baseball with?" He asks, seemingly out of nowhere, as Javi puts away the groceries. He furrows his brows and gives his dad a confused look.

"I had lots of friends I played baseball with."

"He was datin' that girl you went to Homecoming with when you were a freshman?" Of all the things his dad remembers, of course, it's that. Javi resists the urge to roll his eyes and grinds his teeth instead.

"Suzanna?" He asks and Chucho snaps his fingers in a way that tells him that was the right answer. "His name was Dillion. What about him?" 

"Well, his dad heard you're back in town and invited us over for a barbecue," he says nonchalantly and Javi scoffs. "I'm not sure how he didn't know, but you know that old fucker's always out doin' something. Somebody probably told him something or the other. Anyway, you can say no. I told him you were still adjustin'."

"I'll go," Javi agrees too fast. "Might be good to… get outta the house. Wouldn't wanna be a stranger." Chucho is surprised but not displeased with Javi's answer, and they leave it as is. 

It's just reintegrating into civilian life. It's just socializing. It's just a barbecue. It's not an interrogation or a raid. It's coping. 

Apparently, coping could be really fun if he plays his cards right.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling @its-me-mila @mnn11ankamaaka

[child-of-the-danube]

MASSIVE AGATHA ALL ALONG SPOILERS SO SKIP IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE EPISODE

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Time to yap, my sisters in the craft 🔮🧙🏻‍♀️

Positives of the final two episodes:

1. Jen finally being free

2. Agatha showing she actually learned from her coven in her final battle with Rio - she used Alice's protection spell, Jen's moon water spell and listened to Lilia's advice about hitting the deck

3. The parallels of Agatha and her coven:

- She was in the same situation as Lorna. A mother who knew her child was doomed from the start and did everything in her power to protect them and keep them alive for as long as she could, only for it to be fruitless in the end. And despite it being fruitless, the children did feel the love and were aware of the sacrifice, and sometimes that is enough. Alice and Nicky's memory will forever live through the songs their mothers made for and with them. The memory of their love outlived both them and their children and will keep on living on for long after.

- She chose to give her life for someone she just met but clearly felt strongly for the same way Lilia did. A lifetime of running from Death. A lifetime of collecting knowlegde for it to appear useless. A lifetime of seeing Death everywhere, of being persued by her, of being lonely and heartbroken with grief. And then going out by embracing Death by your own will to give another a chance and do at least once what you failed to do for centuries - protect.

- Her and Billy making a story come to life out of love and grief for their family. She set the foundation and he made it come to realisation. Both took away from others but only one gets be exempt from the consequences and able to achieve what they were after from the start.

4. Agatha being the happiest she's ever been when Nicky was with her

5. The acceptance in her voice when she says "Sometimes...boys die"

6. The fact that the dandelion seed in Nicky's hair that she kept for centuries saved her in the final trial oh my god 😭 😭

7. Agatha's love for Nicky being so strong that a silly little song they made together became world known. "You...I made from scratch" AAAAAAAAAAAAA

8. She calls her power "my purple" cause Nicky called it so 💔💔

9. THE KISS

10. Showing that it was Agatha's desire to keep Nicky alive and later on when he died her grief turning her to addiction that caused her to become this famous witch killer. She was never purely evil. What she did was, and it is not an excuse, but still. The parallels between her and Wanda being ready to destroy entire worlds and lives just to get their children back... A mother's love can make whole valleys bloom but it can also make mountains crumble to dust and my heart is not ok

11. Agatha doing for Billy what she couldn't do for her own son. Giving him a chance to live

12. Ghost Agatha's first move being annoying her adoptive son lmao

13. The road's entrance becoming a memorial to Sharon, Alice and Lilia

14. Billy getting the wake up call that he is not so different from Agatha or Wanda. His grief created a literal death trap and consequently killed Sharon, Alice and Lilia, even if Agatha is telling him Alice was her doing and Lilia was by her own choice

15. Agatha finding her purpose as a mentor in death

Negatives:

1. We were cheated out of a proper Agatha and Rio backstory. How did they meet? How did they fall in love? What happened in the centuries between Nicky's death and entering the road? How often did Rio come to Agatha for Agatha to be so clear about the one thing she wants when she passes being not seeing Rio? She is Death's only exception, only love, only scar. WE DESERVED MORE!!! How did Agatha bag a literal god????

2. Once again, a story that started out and was marketed as a story of women ends up being just means to help a man's story build up. I mean, I should have expected that but still leaves a bitter taste. Wiccan is an interesting character but I feel cheated out of knowing more about Jen. I wanted her backstory before being bound. I wanted Agatha pre-Salem trial and post Nicky's death for more than a power draining sequence through the ages. I wanted Agatha and Rio developing this bond that held up for 300 years. I wanted the Salem Seven to be more than a 5 second threat. Billy will get his own show anyway, like come on.

3. In connection to that, I know this one is a very subjective sentiment and I understand completely but it still pisses me off to no end. The fact that these witches, these centuries old women, who all had being covenless, lonely and in dire situations with their powers in common, went on this death wish trip with someone they didn't like at all as a last resort and got what they were lacking, learned to care for eachother, got their powers back, and that Agatha had the possibility to finally have a family and people genuinely care for her, turned out to be practically worthless in the end cause they had like 5mins of it is making me go insane. Alice said it best: "This is it? I was finally able to do something with my life and this is all the time I get?". The only one, aside Jen, coming out alive and having time to bask in the glow of his new-found power AND have the chance to do something with it is a fucking teenage boy who already got the privilege of cheating Death and the privilege of his family members still be somewhere out in reach to search for. The finale said "your life, struggles and resolution were just means to get someone else ahead". Call me a misandrist, so be it, but I'm fucking tired. Is one story where women are the focus and have a happy ending so fucking much to ask for????

4. THE KISS cause at what cost??? I repeat, this was the fastest, literal, bury your gays move I've ever seen. We knew it couldn't possibly end well, but damn. However, kudos to Kathryn and Aubrey making it so hungry and desperate, but also soft and real and full of emotion.

5. Billy being a dick and wanting to send Agatha back to "Rio's toxic embrace" like he didn't just watch her give up her life for him and tell her that she's "not that bad". My boy, you are truly strange in your holier than thou attitude sometimes

[romcomeon]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

✒ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋: life and fate are scary; and it takes immense sacrifice for one to be legendary.

✒ ��𝐀𝐒𝐓: reader as calypso, solomon as odysseus, barbatos as athena, luke as telemachus, mammon as hermes, + a few special guests!

✒ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: solomon x gn! reader, epic the musical au, odyssey au, greek myths reimagined, unreciprocated love, signs of manipulation, angst, angst, angst, mentions of grief and death, character death [lightning strike], solomon has a breakdown at the end, "penelope" is gender neutral

✒ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒: wc: 7k+ | read on AO3 .ᐟ

✒ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒: @mammonsrockstargf ﾉ @satangcrush ﾉ @eraofkalki ﾉ @sadpancakeface ﾉ @torchvic

He whose fate was swallowed by the high seas was no less of a love-driven fool.

For years he never returned, yet for centuries, his legacy strives within legends. Epic poems crafted by the most renowned of writers, curated to accurately depict his outstanding feats whilst making them a tad more magical. All these stories were sung in praise by orators as crowds gathered around—eyes, ears, and minds working wonders. 

They themselves create their own interpretation of fantasized play for their greatest hero. The crowd’s silent roars, begging for a glimpse of a life once treasured. 

A valley without its savior. A court without a martyr. An army without a leader. 

Ballads and tragedies dedicate themselves to the fallen. With scholars utilizing this artistic medium as a bloodless graveyard for the ghosts of those who never returned. Their souls rest in peace among the wrathful flames of the underworld, dancing to the chants of the oracles. When the songs are as beautiful as the late Michael’s melodies reeking to the echoes of a meadow suffering drought to the god’s ear, perhaps, the scholars prophesied, Olympus would be merciful.

Of course, that would be if the world were as harmonious as the plays of the great Mephistopheles, with his cult's undying joy of wine and lust. Gaia was born from the depths of Chaos; Chaos had never been one for mercy.

By Satan’s decree and Barbatos’ valor, ruthlessness prevails in war. War was a testament to humanity’s own morals and beliefs. To relieve the growing surge of bloodlust when conflicts arise, bathing Troy in deep, luminous crimson. Screams of the deceased haunt these barren lands, filling the ruins of a grotesque landscape. Resembling the numb trauma soldiers possess murdering women and children, the hubris of the rulers sought to persuade them to do more.

Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

Amidst hamartia, these idols were worshiped by their men. Allowing their flaws to be redeemed, gifting them with celestial grace to guide them away from danger. The scholars call this peripeteia, the reversal of one’s fate. With bad turning good or divine turning corrupt, the choice was given to Chaos’ more prominent writers: the mortals. 

Peripeteia never guaranteed a positive turn, even as most stories seem to suggest. The loud guttural roar bounced off stone walls, spreading across the vast lands. From the skies to beneath the sea, his name repeats itself.

“Praise him, oh great Solomon of Ithaca.” 

Whispers of that name make the masses perk their heads up and gauge the source. The majority shake their heads in a low huff, mourning the disappearance of Greece’s greatest warrior and his crew of men. Tales depict him as one who matches Achilles in glory, Alexander in rule, and the gods in intellect.

Ask a cowardly soul about their view of the king, and they’d bashfully avert their gaze. Sealing their mouths shut lest they’d be able to speak for another day. The braver minority ridiculed the king’s rule, even as to boast about the castle remnants. With no hero, there was no order. Hundreds of suitors flock to the palace, offering sexuality for power. To them, this legend was no less of a dead man.

A kingdom without a king. A queen without a lover. A prince without a father. 

Being the God of Wisdom, Barbatos made sure his greatest warrior survived the most gruesome of trials that rivaled Hercules’ challenges. Molding the king to fit his ideals; triumph basking in newfound glory with every ferocious beast his hands slay. Well trained to become a warrior of the mind; cunning and wit, quick to produce a plan for his own benefit. 

The making of a warrior comes with many pitfalls. Intelligence carries a heavy burden of excessive knowledge, and with owning knowledge comes humanity’s impuissance—kindness. For knowledge is a gift of victors, but why supply ruthless killers with a force opposing their ideals? That was considered torture. A strong, well-respected legend was merciless. Never was it that there’d be justice, that was part of the reason, yes, though being just was clemency.

That marked the beginning of Solomon’s peripeteia. His virtue to spare one of  Leviathan’s cyclops turned the narrative against him.

It’s what turned his own god against him.

Albeit, those were years ago, and the said old god knew that. Barbatos lets out a sigh, trailing his gloved hands along the cold tread of marble stairs. He took off the old rusted helmet, dark and vibrant green locks swaying along to the warm breeze. The headpiece was set aside, carefully gracing the dark turquoise cloth adorned with embroidery of owl feathers and slippery snakes.

He never pictured that in all these years he’d be reminiscing of those fond moments with that lily-livered soul. Each faint ‘tap’ ticks for every second, recalling a memory as if it only happened yesterday. The time before the great fall, watching the familiar tufts of white hair, black robe with an ombre of white and night-sky blue, and stars; stars that marked a better time. 

He stood tall at the forecastle deck of his ship, raising the sword up high in his hand. Gray eyes fall upon the cyclops’ wounded figure, his face ridden with specks of blood. For he was no man nor mythical, his form casting a large shadow looming over the terrain. No man, but the reigning king of Ithaca. Leading with peace, working to save his comrades while the titan feeds. Hundreds of men’s deaths shan’t go in vain.

Remember him for if the beast chooses not to spare another weary soul, so be it. Perish. Solomon raised his chin up, pointing his sword to whoever sees. “I am your darkest moment,” he says.

“I am the infamous Solomon.” 

Stupid. Foolish. Mortals were always foolish. Barbatos shakes his head in disapproval upon the memory. Perhaps, maybe, things would’ve been much different had he himself…

What could he have done? He was a god, a divine force of nature, either a friend or foe to a benevolent protagonist. Yet perhaps if he had done something. Perhaps if he hadn’t simply lashed out at Solomon’s blatant naivety of showing mercy, then he’d be fine. They’d be fine. Barbatos already knew that mortals were susceptible to demons lurking in their minds, waiting to coerce an unintelligent soul’s light to go dark. Maybe, if he had just been a bit wiser, they’d be fine.

"Your friend?”

"Hm?" Barbatos lifts his gaze up, hearing the curious sound of a bright young boy, There he stood balancing on the stone balustrade. The boy, well, man, fixed his balance before walking towards the god. He swept the fabric beneath him before sitting beside the other, slowly inching closer.

"I do not know who your friend is, or the mistakes, and..." he trailed off, averting his golden blue eyes to the side whilst his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his chiton. He cleared his throat, possibly to not be any more awkward. "Well, my time with you has been splendid!"

Barbatos glanced at him, cocking his head. "How come?"

Stars glint within the boy’s eyes. Clenching one of his fists as if to grab an imaginary sword, before eventually exclaiming filled with excitement. "'Cause I got in a fight and I didn't die!"

He catches himself for a moment, blushing bashfully before scratching the back of his neck. "I've never felt strong before,” he admitted. Sure it was surprising, but the young prince wasn’t necessarily like his father. Though it’d made sense, had the young lad last seen the king when he was an infant. 

Barbatos could remember earlier events. Antinous and the other suitors, flocking the palace and picking fights with an unarmed little wolf. Barbatos knew that he can be stronger with the right guidance, so he did what he could; go into the warrior’s mind to quicken his thoughts, and make him effortlessly lunge attacks towards the bullies.

The prince had the motivation, the dream, and the intellect. Much like when Solomon was younger, he too had a good heart.

Then again, Barbatos knew this was different. This was no longer the same man who he grew apart with all those years prior. Rather of a hair as white as the brightest clouds, he was greeted with a soft, gentle blonde. And his eyes, not a harsh, stone cold gray, but a bright blue with golden ombre. That detail made Barbatos perk a smile, as in his thoughts, both of them looked like parts and recombinations of a certain godly messenger.

Those similarities turn to not be as glaring when he sees the fresh sparks of pure adoration on the prince’s face. Barbatos watches as the other composes himself, careful to choose his words but not holding back from ever portraying the swell of giddiness of his demeanor.

What shocked the god was instead was the words that escaped him. He spoke gently, invitingly even, but still nervous. He seems to not be so sure if these were acceptable to say, but he did.  “You're my friend, I couldn't ask for more," he said. “Maybe if life wasn't spent as planned. Though, I think it's time that you lend a hand— and I don't think he'll mind.”

He reaches out, raising his hand. “If not his friend, then mine.”

Barbatos stared at the boy’s palm, confused. For as many long years as he had lived, he had never seen this generous act of… celebration? Nevertheless, understand the traditions and gestures mortals made with other mortals. Although, he understood that the divine weren’t necessarily mingling with these mortals in the first place. 

Nevertheless, it was a new start. And the bridge between gods and mortals have slowly become invisible in the time of war.

So Barbatos also raised his hand, slapping his palm against the boy’s—if that’s how you do it. He thinks he did it correctly, seeing the prince’s smile widen. "You're a good kid, Luke," Barbatos sighs, smiling more in ten minutes than he ever had in ten years.

Luke only nodded his head. "Thanks!" 

A billow of clouds seize themselves over the mortal realm. Hidden within the trenches of the sea of indefinite wonder lies the peak of mount Olympus. At the foot of the temple, a black owl swiftly glides through the air. Once it reaches the foot of the temple, it shapeshifts back into Barbatos’ figure, dusting off any dirt that got on his clothes.

“So… Barbi,” a voice lurks within these halls. It didn’t take long for Barbatos to recognize that diction: zany and all reminds me of tricksters. “Still missing yer mortal?”

“Not now, Mammon.” the god of Wisdom sighed. “I’m busy.”

Mammon, the messenger of the gods, groaned. “This ‘bout the ‘moni guy again?” he complains, crossing his arms as his winged sandals lift him up in the air, allowing him to lie down on almost nothing. “C’mon, it’s been years.”

The god almost circles around Barbatos, with how his gold and silvers clang with his every movement. “Haven’t moved on, hm?” Mammon flipped himself over, resting his face on his palms while kicking his feet in the air. “Say it, Barbatos, you miss the guy as much as the last one.”

Barbatos only walked away. “Keep yourself out of this. This is simply urgent,” he said.

Mammon scowled, standing upright while clearing his throat. “Well I supposed the time he went hookin’ up with Thirteen wasn’t as urgent—”

“Thirteen?”

Barbatos stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the messenger. “What about Thirteen?”

“Ah,” golden boy realized his mistake. He gave a faint whistle, tugging a few strands of dusty beige behind winged ears, averting his gaze so as to not directly anger the literal god of wisdom and war. Thirteen, daughter of Helios. Protector of nymphs, and known for turning men into swine. 

Mammon cleared his throat. “So ya didn’t know.”

Barbatos’ eyes narrowed, the shadows in the temple deepening around him. Suddenly his spear was pointed at Mammon, inches away from scarring the other’s throat. “What happened?” he pressed, his voice a low growl.

Mammon shrieked, hands in the air. “‘was that for!?”

“Say something,” Barbatos smiled, patience growing thinner.

Mammon groaned, shrugging. He leaned casually against a column, twirling a golden coin between his fingers. “It’s best if ya see it for y’self,” he said, sapphire eyes subtly hinting at mischief. “Sol’ gone be damned to do a billion more fuck ups than fraternalizing the old man.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he paced restlessly.

Barbatos raised an eyebrow, retreating back his spear. “I beg your pardon?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of concern in his tone.

“‘s speakin’ the truth ‘ere.” Mammon stopped, casting a piercing gaze back at Barbatos. It was rare to see the troublesome messenger of the gods be so serious. Though moments like this don’t last long, before a smirk breaks itself on his face. “Don’t thank me,” Mammon waves off, fanning his hand. 

“He might as well may die.”  

The sirens’ songs scream through ocean waves—no longer in an alluring tone that stops seafarers in their way, but an eerie melody whom irks many sailors to change their trajectory. “Spare us, oh spare us please.” 

Wailing cries die out with the thunderous waves reaching alarming heights, a yard longer with every second the sea god’s fury boils. The storms guard Sparta from any unwanted pests, for a simple step was met with a bolstering beam of light as the gods’ roar echoes through the mortal’s ears. Although  what tickled his ears, or the contrary, was how quiet it got. Immensely calm;  the sounds of despair long gone with every wave hitting the shore. In a matter of life and death, it was odd that it suddenly got so peaceful.

Specks of sand reach his eyelids. Solomon begrudgingly opens his eyes, greeted by the harsh golden rays of the sun. Lifting himself up off the shore, he lets out a low groan as his hand dusts off the rest of the sand. Long strands of hair fall on his face, his fingers scratching the bit of fuzz on his chin. The last time he recalled, he only had bits of stubble that he planned to shave off with the remaining beeswax they still had on the great ship.

The ship. Curse godblessed cattle.

He stays sitting there, eyes cautiously observing the surroundings. Unlike in the past years of his voyage where it was filled with dull, brooding shades of life and the underworld, this place almost hurts the eyes. Instead it is filled with light, soft yet vibrant hues of lush trees and serene waters: even the sand, finer than Spartan shores, colored in a beautiful light peach brown. Cupping a handful, the sand only smoothly glides through his fingertips; not a particle on his palm.

The sea greets him with little seafoam meeting the outline of his body, but not once wetting the worn out fabrics of his clothes. And at that moment, he realized, this was no ordinary island. 

“Where am I?” Solomon whispers out, feeling the well of dread picking up from the deepest swells of his stomach. This place looked lively; and by his induction, too lively. No land on Gaia would be this swell when there was that god’s ongoing rampage.

As Solomon was about to go and try to scavenge the shore for more clues on this mystery island, a loud, sing-song voice booms in the air. Your voice, waving your dominant hand while the other holds the woven basket filled with sweet fruits. You had a feeling he’d wake up sometime soon, though you underestimated the speed of time. “Good morning sleepyhead!” you cheered, walking towards him in rhythmic skips and hops on the sand.

You slowed down as you got closer, seeing the other flinch and take a step back, with his arm at his front and his brows furrowing. On the contrary, you softly smiled, humming. You extend your hands toward him, though not touching his skin quite yet. “You’ve been resting for a while,” you said, almost with a small bit of laughter. “I swore you were dead.”

Solomon clicked his tongue. “Who are—”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” you asked, your hand now resting on his scarred check. Carefully running your finger to the trace of his jaw while you gush about how adorable it was, hearing his gentle murmurs even when most of his words were incoherent. Pristine snow-colored hair, marvelous earthy gray eyes, delicate and commanding diction. 

Though you do wonder of a word that you could understand. Or well, not a word to, but a name. A name you heard through every gasp while his body twitched on the sand. They seem to grow more desperate with each repetition, a poor soul calling for someone in an endless void. Naturally, this had you curious, questioning him while your hand began to trail down his neck. “You keep mentioning their name quite lot. Who’re they?”

You didn’t expect him to grab your wrist, clenching his fists around it. You winced at the pain, though you observe how his actions may be harsh, yet his eyes, expression, looked happier. He wasn’t looking at you, no, far from it; he looked zoned out, catching imaginary glimpses, a loving smirk ghosts his face.

Solomon spoke gently, fondly even. Similar to his restless whispers of the night. “They’re my spouse.”

Suddenly that smile you had faltered, replaced by a confused expression. Your lips formed a small “oh,” your hand retreating back to the basket’s handle.  

You weren’t exactly terrified. Very much on the relative opposite; disappointed. It’s common in the legends for great to be utterly devoted to their lovers. A waste, your eyes falling back and inspecting his figure head to toe. The man looked ragged. Hurt. Malnourished. Dirty. Your thumb wipes itself on your index finger, remembering the rough, but smooth sensation of his imperfect flesh.

“Well they aren’t here now, no?” you tilt your head.

Solomon looked appalled, his eyes widening in offense. Was it something that you said? You weren’t lying— his spouse wasn’t here. You’re far from his homeland; whisked away to the safest, luxurious cove that you kept hidden away. That’s what there was with you, you’re rather secretive. You keep what’s yours hidden from peering eyes, where no mortal won’t get the privilege of seeing.

It took you a second to note your slip of the tongue. Noting that honesty may come off as rude. “Ah, forgive me,” you said. You bashfully averted your gaze, small hues of pink flushed on your cheeks. Being lonely on this land has made you too excited to see someone who even survived getting here. You worried that once his pulse came to a halt, you had to send his corpse away from the creatures to wholeheartedly devour. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone.”

You were honestly starting to love this change of pace. It’s no fun if he leaves so soon. Perhaps the fates could care less if you allow yourself to adore him—even with his conflicting feelings

So you shake your head, giving him the basket as you take his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Anyways, come my love!” You chime, small stars sparkling in your irises. ”The island awaits us!”

His face grimaces, pulling back his hand yet your grip was just too strong. Solomon spouted bitterly, raising a brow in offense. “Your love?”

You paid no attention to his words, instead touring him of this wonderful landscape. Open arms, twirling around taking in the bright greens and luscious blues of wild flowers and old trees. So giddy, even come to admire this lonesome place even more. “We have everything we could ever ask for!” you jolly along, taking a brief glance at Solomon.

The other still looked to be so perplexed. His hands gripping the basket’s handles, his feet dragging themselves as if they were leashed to your arms. His eyes seem to wander, but not once purposely in your direction.

Still, he must still be processing being in such a wonderful place, isn’t he? You giggle. You stroll around, slowing down as to not yet lose your now forever lover. A small crab scuttles near your feet, pinching at the air with its tiny claws.

It’s a vivid shade of red, almost glowing in the sunlight. You crouched down, opening your hand as you waited for the little one to climb on it. Sadly, it didn’t seem to reciprocate your friendly actions. Instead it waddled away, strutting as quickly as it could with its little crab feet. You pouted as you watched, inching closer to instead grab it by the shell, before placing it on your shoulder. 

“Much better,” you laugh. Now that it’s there you twirled around, eager to prove to Solomon how wonderful heaven feels. How wonderful it’d be if he sees the joy soon. “Oh, we thank Queen Rose,” you giggled again. Ogygia was just as bountiful as the maiden you used to serve’s magical prowess.

You noticed that Solomon had  placed the basket on top of a moss-covered rock, feeling his hand along the bark in a calculated expression, mumbling something.

You spoke aloud in a melodic symphony. “The place is beautiful,” you coaxed, stepping closer with your hands behind your back. Closer and closer, you watch him stiffen up and he faces you, right hand quick to grab the handle of his sword.

“It is.”

There was no denying that he was supporting your sentiment. For the first time. 

You thought about how to get more from him, with each slow footstep you took forward. It couldn’t be helped that you felt cheeky, seeing the brave, powerful warrior back up against the tree; defensive, but oh so helpless. Tattered robes with rusted pieces of armor, worn out sandals and puffed up bruises. Stunning, you thought.

“Perhaps,” you cheekily say, the back of your hand running along his chest. “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time.” 

Solomon swats your wrist away. “I’m not your man.” 

‘Not yet,’ you thought. Again, you ignore all possible signs of rejection, clinging towards him. 

“I’m what you want. What you need, dear,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the outline of his armor. “It’s just you and me, my love in paradise.” You step closer, your breath warm against his skin.

“Now until the end of time, from here and out, you’re mine.” You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his. “All mine.”

Solomon pushes you away, causing you you tumble back. As you were about to recompose yourself, you see a dull, rusted blade pointed at your neck

“I could kill you where you stand,” Solomon spouted bitterly, lifting your chin with the tip of his sword. “I’m no pet. I’m a married man.” 

Oh. He’s feisty, and can wield a weapon well. You left out a soft chuckle, holding the blade with two fingers as you moved it aside. “Oh handsome, you may try, ” you tease, even as you trace the sharper end of the sword, “pricking” your finger at its tip.

“But last I check, gods can’t die.” You kiss your own fingertip, one eye open to gauge at his reaction.

Solomon furrowed his brows, lowering his sword. “God…?”

You smile, resting on one of the larger rocks. You spoke not a word, but your cheeky smile and prominent glow at the ends of yours hair settled your case. You weren’t just some creepy owner of a secluded island that doesn't seem to appear in any of the olden maps. No. Of course you had to be a god.

This was bad. Very very bad. Solomon wished not to mingle with the gods. 

Solomon wished that you weren't a god. 

“But fear not, I bring no pain!”  you reassure. “We’re stuck in paradise. Where no one can come and go, as my island stays unknown—”

“This is no paradise.”

You raised a brow. Had you heard it correctly? It was a plethora of beautiful flora and fauna. “What are you talking about?”

Solomon only shook his head, giving a coy, but per say partly polite smile. “I won’t be drawn to ‘love in paradise’. Get me out this instant.”

“Oh! You really are such a fool.” You pout. Your eyes scan over him, lifting your hand to your chin. Humming, you spot a small, beautiful hyacinth blooming beneath the rock. You crouched to pick it, examining the wondrous petals.

“We could fix that starting with this bit of hair,” you said. As Solomon was about to interject, you had placed the flower up at his ear, making sure to lightly touch his skin. “Aww, poor you. I’m here now.” 

“Not ‘till the end of time.” Solomon takes a step back. “There is NO way—”

“But you’re mine,” you take a step closer once more. The man felt trapped, as every step he moved away only got you to inch closer. For gods, he expected a bit of decency. As far as he was concerned, mortals were more like puppets, only keen to serve every whim. Gods weren’t particularly opposed to mortal relationships, so why not?

Had he a choice? 

You give him a sudden, tight hug. “All mine.” 

“They’ve kept you out of your control,” Barbatos muttered, watching Solomon all the way from Olympus. 

The god pinches his temples, processing what he just saw.

Not only was Solomon truly making a barrage of avoidable mistakes, but now he's stranded in an island with a homewrecker and no crew.

"Time can take a heavy toll," the god sighed once more. He's quickly to splash along the waters, hopeful to catch small glimpses of progress. What kind? anything that can safely get him back.

'Seven years...'

It was the break of night, calm bright festive colors all reduced to the dark, lonesome blues and grays. You woke up to the cold gust of wind hitting your skin, feeling the warmth retreat back. You flutter your eyes open, only to be met with emptiness; the only indication that he was there was the subtle dent on the white silk.

You sighed, running your hand along your hair as you set up, blanket on your lap, staring at the cold bedside. You loathe the routine of getting up and fetching your lover, muttering silent prayers that he hadn’t whisked himself away and droned in hellscape. The only sign of warmth was only the moonlight peeking through the window of the wooden hut, and even that sent a chilling sensation down your spine. It was a matter of time before his thoughts would begin to unravel, and for his nightly cries to spiral.

You turned to your side, legs on the ground as you stood up from the kline.

“Solomon?” you yawned out, stretching your arms in the air before grabbing another silken sheet to cover yourself. It was during night where there were the harshest of colds, after all. Deafening silence, only exposed to the loud dining of crickets and other critters that lurk in these darkness. 

At day time, you would catch Solomon often sulking along the shoreline. His head hung low as he sat on the sand, arms crossed over his knees, pulling them closer to his body. In rare instances, he’d trace his fingers along the grains of sand, marking it with countless words, names, and symbols. 

One that stood out to you one time was his repeated scribbling of a certain phrase. You swore to have heard of it before, but watching as the perfect bed of sand and seashells instead was carved with constant repetition, seeing him grip whatever his hand got a hold on tightly as he goes to recall memories of a past he once lost.

Of how it was to be kind. “Greet the world with open arms. Relax, my friend.” 

It felt psychotic. You had to lull him out of his wicked trance before he went to hurt himself physically. Wiping off the dirt that stuck to his face, trimming his long hair to a more manageable length, and having to watch so he doesn't starve to death. He was a lot, going for hours without uttering a word or making eye-contact. Every time you nudge his arms and join you, whether it be in an act of passion or whimsy, the sparks in his eyes only continue to fade. Void of any speck of hope. 

“Solomon?” 

You call out once more. Walking out the safe confines of the hut, you went into the now quieter, eerier, more maniacal-driven call of the night. Every night, you’d wake up to sniffling whispers and faint sobs coming from the other side. You’d attempt a soft hum, hopefully soothing him to a calmer state of mind, caressing his sides and watch him twitch his body away from your touch. On more restless nights, he’d swat your wrist away before you’re able to touch him, huddled in a fecal position and shivering with the hour growing colder. 

It’s at night where you feel helpless. Every attempt proven futile, every act of service ignored or unsupported. Every word working to console him only worsens his cries. Long periods of solitude have rendered Solomon uncomfortable in the company of others. Within your shared hut he laments, and there was nothing you could do.

You find yourself at the foot of a steep cliff, all from following smudged footprints on the grass. You squint your eyes, making out a figure on top of the cliff, only illuminated by the bright moonlight as this figure stares down into the mellow waters. Slowly, as to not hopefully startle the figure, you inch closer, carefully tracing your eyes along his form.

Subtle white glow basking in the moonlight, the freshly woven chiton you made for him reflecting the rays through golden crewels of birds, waves and stars. When you made that, the symbols were supposed to represent hope and longing, a fortunate outcome if he gave you more time. Though when he adorns the garment, signs of hope turn into withering longing. Only engraved memories of the past that forever haunts him.

He stood as still as an oakwood tree, mildly resisting the harsh waft of air. As you inch closer you reach out to him once more. So that please, he’d turn around and see you eye-to-eye.

You desperately called out for him, worrying exuding through syllables when you took a momentary pause to utter his name. It was familiar, but foreign. “Solomon?” you pleaded, fingers clenching your palm when you still see him stand there. Still. A man who can’t be moved or accept the present; always stranded in the labyrinth of the past.

“I hear them,” he uttered. Catching his breath with every word, stifling a sob with every annunciation. “All I hear are screams.” 

Solomon takes a step forward. Tiny pebbles drop themselves towards the water. Ripples that marked tiny specks of heaven sunken beneath the surface. You flinch, rushing towards him yet still shy of a few steps. Small comets that guide the sky fall down and crash as a meteor, falling into seas where ripples turn into tides when they reach the shore.

“‘Moni, get away from the ledge.”

“Quiet,” Solomon snarked. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed.” 

The scholars would call this anagnorisis. How a tragic hero discovers the cruel reality of his circumstance. How despite any attempt for kindness—for mercy—all is worthless in his peripeteia. Loss was something you couldn’t understand. Being alien for a majority of your life had you numb to the thought of loss just yet.

Yet.

Perhaps you were instead afraid of experiencing that loss.

“Every comrade I long knew,” you hear Solomon say. Drowning in anagnorisis. Panting. He lifts his hand up to grab tuffs of snow locks, tugging on the strands. “ Every friend. I saw them die, and… all I hear are—”

“It will be fine, dear.”

Solomon turns his to the side, as if catching even a small glimpse. You held your ground, staying firm. Comforting him with gentle melodies, singing a small ballad to soothe his nerves once more.

“ Come back inside, dear,” you said. You hesitate, inching closer but make sure to keep your pace quiet. Your voice cracks, feeling the burning drops of tears trailing down your cheek. “Love of my life, please.”

“Come back to paradise.” “Just let me close my eyes.” 

You hear him resisting the melody, dueting your ballad with hoarse dissonance. Still, you continued, all until you were able to palace your hand on his shoulder. Squeezing it to give a blink of reassurance, pulling yourself closer to coddle him in your embrace. Though you don’t plan to hurt him. Never did, and never shall. You lean near his ears, whispering, “I know your life’s been hard. I’ll stay inside your heart.”

“If you could just see…” “All I hear are screams.” 

“I love our time here,” you pause, gulping. “I love your company, It’s just..” 

“Life would be so much worse if you had died.” “JUST LET ME CLOSE MY EYES!” 

Solomon snaps, pushing your hand away as he strides forwards, turning around and finally facing you. Finally seeing you. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? There you were, gray eyes with bits and the tiniest stars dying out in lonesome nebulae. Tears stream down the corners of his eyes as he takes erratic, shaky breaths. His hand still grabbing tufts of his own hair, running itself along it and pulling at the string begging for an ounce of control.

He noticed you, and you can vividly see the absolute madness swirling in his eyes.

“‘Moni,” you call out, grabbing both his wrists and gently grabbing him off the end of the cliff. He follows you, eyes now trailing downward, brows furrowed. His lips quivering, his lungs gasping, his hands warm from cold sweat; from all the stress of these memories.

“Please stay away from harm,” you lull him further, wrapping his arms around your waist. They’re dead, but you’re here. He wasn’t alone, you had a splendid time together. Flowers, petals, birds and bees—this was all you thought a man could ever want. There he stood, the only time ever acknowledging you since his first arrival was one of terror. One urging you to leave him. You run your thumb gently on his cheek, wiping those streams of regret.

“Stay in my open arms,” you cooed. You carefully caress his hair, your hand gliding through each silken strand. You were here, and you welcomed him to a palace where he’d otherwise may die.

You hear Solomon’s breath hitch, staring at you in shock. Irises turn into pinpricks, flinching as he grows appalled by your words. Suddenly, all in his view twisted off into blurs and blobs of a series of different hues and arrays of various colors. Shades of blue, yellow, browns and pinks littered his vision, and your form melted away into nothing but just a color of shapes.

“Moni?��� Solomon could hear a voice. A voice not like yours: it wasn’t melodic, in a sing-song tone that’s as soft as the flutter of butterflies. This was more kind, more earthy, more human. And lastly, more familiar. Your voices swallowed by the whispers of a distant past, silken velvety words in a calming diction. It wasn’t yours. It was no longer you who clouded his mind.

The image of your gentle smile was gone; turned to instead to be more genuine. One of excitement. Suddenly, Solomon saw  the day at night. Sun kissed skin and curly, dark brown hair, with the figure’s bright cerulean eyes becoming clearer with the second. The hand was no longer on his cheek and the base of his neck, but tightly grabbing both his shoulders while lightly shaking him in glee.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms!” the figure cheered, taking a step back and he did just as he said: he opened his arms wide open. As if welcoming Solomon in a tight embrace.

Solomon gasped, reaching his hands out. A small, hopeful smile ghosts his face. “Simeon?”

Simeon chuckled, moving his hands around before slowly, blobs and blues start to resurface along the base of his arms. Colors of light, periwinkle blue contrasted with specks of black and wave strands. 

The king’s smile fades, squinting his eyes to focus more on the mysterious figure that his friend was holding. 

These blobs and sharp shapes of diamonds and triangles instead morphed into the innocent figure of a young baby boy peacefully asleep in his blanket. Solomon’s eyes widened, even shaking his head while closing his eyes. To do a double take as to make sure the child he saw wasn’t who he thought he was.

The child from the wooden crib back at Troy. The child whom the gods had ordered him to… to…

Simeon hummed, rocking the baby in his arms. Solomon’s ears perked up from the soft, childish giggles exuding from the blanket. Simeon chuckled, letting the young prince play with his finger. “He’s wonderful,” the lad crooned, chuckling before slowly going back to a playful tune. “To think a man like Hector was able to have a child. Tell me, Moni, why didn’t we get to keep him?”

He raises a brow as he pouts to confront Solomon. Though it doesn’t last long, a simple sneer quickly puts him back in his playful act. Simeon gave Solomon one final look, nodding his head. He said: “Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart.”

After that, Simeon’s figure soon faded away, carrying the down sleeping child. ‘Right,’ Solomon thought. He’s dead. He’s forever damned in the underworld; taking care of that Trojan. Although the man couldn’t help it. The image of a boy who once resembled his son before he left for war was too much for the king to bear.

And Simeon was too kind to be a father that he couldn’t be, unlike someone who would match Solomon’s lack of mercy.

“Captain?” 

There it was another voice. From Simeon’s warmth it shifted to coldness. Bitter. Solomon took a brief glance—not that you were able to perceive any coherent shape—and was only met with blurred circles and squares of gray and muted browns. And unlike Simeon, he didn’t need clarity to focus on who it was, nor was he really willing to face the obscured face. Hair and body perfectly matching a memory, yet face scribbled away as to not recall his mate’s dismay.

Solomon held his stance, tilting his head up whilst staring back at the figure. “Raphael,” he said.

Akin to the lack of facial features, Raphael never focused on his captain. Instead, as a mouth starts to clearly come into view, he seems to be talking to someone far in the distance. He’s quick to grab the handle of his sword, his grip tightening. And Raphael repeats it once more, “Captain?” 

“I have to see them.”

Solomon turned around again, as he heard a more uncanny resemblance. Instead of the ghost of the past haunting him, it was instead a clear image of himself. The only difference would be how ragged and scarred he used to look before being under Ogygia’s care. This wasn’t a blurry spectacle spawning itself to hurt it, this was just torture.

Not bearing to look at himself, he goes back to staring at Raphael. His mate’s eyes came into a clear view, and he wasn't mad. No. Instead he looked to be that he respects Solomon’s decision, but that wasn’t enough to ignore the stifling of his nose watching. “But we’ll die,” Raphael tried to reason out.

Raphael tried even as he knew that what Solomon said was final. Even with the regret lingering on right after, he was a man of his word. Even with his back facing his double, he could imagine himself hesitantly raising his hand, pointing towards his crew. Hearing the phrase he told the thunder bringer. 

“I know.” “I can’t.” 

Solomon watches Raphael’s shoulders relax. He sighs, clicking his tongue before bowing his head, only giving a cold, bitter gaze in dark, lapis irises. “How much longer till your luck runs out?” Raphael shots his gaze to the real Solomon. The flashing lights of lightning reflect at the of his shoulders and hair, illuminating a bright white light from behind. 

The roaring sounds of thunder fill the air, as the flashing grew more erratic. “Wait, no! Raphael!” Solomon exclaimed. He tries to take a step forward, but knees betray him, instead falling down to the ground. “You can’t do this to me!”

The lightning’s flickering worsens, and with ragged deep breaths, he looks up. Raphael looks down at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “How much longer till we all fall down?” he asked one last time, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

“RAPHAEL!” 

The sky rips open. A jagged bolt of lightning arcs down, striking Raphael with a blinding flash. Time seems to stretch as Solomon watches. Horrified. The air crackles with energy, and the sound is deafening, a roar that drowns out everything else. The light envelops his mate’s body, and for a heartbeat, he was only a mere silhouette against the storm. All suspended in the surging flames of chaos. 

And all Solomon can see is the silhouette of Raphael collapsing. “No…” Solomon cries, scrambling to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he races toward the fallen figure. “No. No. No. No..”

Each step feels heavy, every step conspires to hold him back. “Raphael!” he shouts again, desperation clawing at his throat. Once he reached where the lightning struck, it was over. Raphael’s body was no more. 

Solomon falls to his knees, grasping at coarse sand. His other hand reaches out to scramble along finely combed locks, ruffling it up in a tangled mess. “Please don’t make me do this,” Solomon wept. “Don’t make me do this.”

The voices of sirens fill the air, trapping him in an endless echo of screams, terror and revenge. Melodies of “waiting..” bounces through imaginary walls, each note striking his ears to bleed. He covers them lowers, lowering his head down to deafen the silence.

“Waiting…” Make it stop. 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Make it stop. 

“And it’s no longer you.” Make it all stop. 

The loudest of the voices resemble yours. A loud, brash symphony that’s louder than any of his other demons. Your figure walks towards him, pulling his hands away from his and placing them on your cheek, whispering to him to open his eyes.

Your figure meshed with the colors of someone else from a distant past. As if your forms blended into one, where one can no longer be separated from the other. Washed out imagery of the bed made of trees that lies in their shared bedroom could be seen behind you, as leaves carefully drift down in a steady pace.

You smile, making him open his eyes. In a sing-song voice, you cooed. “Let me take the suffering from you.” 

Solomon was quick to hug you back, sobbing into the fabric. You playfully scoffed, caressing your hands along his hair, murmuring sweet nothings. For judgment was blurry in watery eyes. 

You also weren’t real. Not this mashed, stitched together doll that only took to keep half of your figure.

And Solomon realized that too soon, when you come tumbling down as nothing but sand along the shore. Grains clinging on to his clothes, specks reaching his eyes as they grow even more red. He can’t bear to understand. He fought to save lives, but not killing ended up leading all his men to perish. 

Had he avoided it all if he hadn’t shown mercy.

And how foolish he looked begging for it. The gods were right; he was a Greek who reeked of false righteousness. The worst kind of good for he cannot be great.

The cauldron had overflowed, as the voices grew louder once again. Taunting him as their endless comedy, in his peripeteia, suffering in anagnorisis. In a final, desperate moment, Solomon went back to the safe confines of closing his eyes. To shut himself off from the truth. To move on, and hopefully get back on track to returning to Ithaca.

His queen. His child. That was who he fought for.

Hands clenching his chest, Solomon screamed.

“BARBATOS!” 

.

.

.

Call him a fool. He’ll never allow himself to indulge in hubris once more.

a/n: this was honestly too much for the heart. so uhh, i hope you enjoy! also if anyone is able to spot all of the references then you'll be getting a small little bonus

thank you all for your support for this event, and for your patience as this was published a day late. Never fret, we still have more stories to come! and i hope you're there to follow me along through this journey.

and also, don't forget to greet the world with open arms! <3

event materlist | main masterlist | divider by cafekitsune

[k4marina]

simon“ghost”riley x fem!reader

warnings: none, spelling/grammer possibly

—

“you should wear a suit more often, you look nice.”

your freshly manicured hand held the wine glass up to your lips. the expensive red wine had a rich scent. the bartender had something about it being made in the 1920s, but you didn’t pay much attention and focused on how your lieutenant looked tonight.

simon wore a nicely fitted three piece suit. it was black with thin white stripes coming down vertically. he wore a off white, almost light blue dress shirt and a black tie.

he had forgone his signature mask seeing that it didn’t fit the mood for tonight. his clean shaven face and sharp jawline was on display for everyone. a few women had already tried to flirt with him when he had gone up to the bar.

he reminded you of those models in those magazines you got sent in the mail. except, simon looked way better than them.

he eyes mirrored yours, swirling with mischief. “don’t start what you can’t finish, love.” he adjusted his posture, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs open.

fucking prick.

“whatever do you mean?” you feigned ignorance, batting your lashes at him with doe eyes. if he was going to make you squirm then why couldn’t you do the same to him?

he let out something that sounds like a mix of a grunt and a growl. simons eyes raked over you. you wore a black dress with off the shoulder puff sleeves with a sweetheart neckline. the dress reached floor length, hugging your curves in the right places. your hair was styled nicely to show off your neck and the diamond necklace that dipped low into the valley of your breast.

“my eyes are up here.”

his brown eyes flickered to yours, amused at your confidence. “what? is it wrong for me to look at something i like?”

heat creeped up your neck and to your ears. what a fucking flirt. god, he was so smug which didn’t help make him any less attractive.

“i never said it was wrong to look, just..” your eyes trailed along the ballroom filled with wealthy elites and tycoons all enjoying themselves and the luxuries of their lives. “maybe not in the middle of a packed ballroom.”

his lips pulled back to a smirk. he lifts his glass up to his lips, keeping eye contact and took a sip of his bourbon.

“you suggesting somewhere more private?”

you shrugged, “i’m not opposed to the idea of that.” he leaned over, forearms on the table, mirroring your stance. your faces were just a few inches away. you could smell the bourbon and his cologne on him.

“so what do you say?”

“i say you two need to pipe down.”

you rolled your eyes, “is that so gaz?”

“for the love of christ, stop flirtin’ your gonna make me gag.” your earpiece slightly vibrated as he spoke.

“hello to you too, soap.” you and simon sat back down in your original positions.

“don’t “hello” me while you two eye-fuck each other from across the table-“

“that’s enough, mctavish.” simon grunted.

another voice piped up, “you muppets better start paying attention. you’re on a mission — not a date.”

—

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

Liu Qianqiao & Yu Qiufeng in EPISODE 14 of WORD OF HONOR 山河令

When I am dead and over me bright April Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Tho‘ you should lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care. I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful When rain bends down the bough, And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted Than you are now. —Sara Teasdale, I Shall not Care

[ghosty-writes-23]

Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 2

!WARNING!: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

Ghosty's Notes: Some of these might be a little suggestive or contain dark humor, so you have been warned, V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that, also thank you so much for the recent support, I was a little hesitant to post these, but seeing how people have been liking them, I promise to make more in the future :)

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

V: *is watching Ghost workout with König* “They are so big and so dumb, and one day I'm gonna top them.”

Soap: “you and me both Lass.” 

*both V and Soap highfive*

----------

Gaz: “I pull women”

Soap: “I pull men.”

V: “i’m gonna pull the fucking trigger in a second.”

Price: *is looking at V horrified*

----------

*V is in Price’s office after a successful mission*

Price: *pats V on the shoulder* “I'm proud of you kid.”

*Alexia play daddy issues by the neighbourhood*

V: *holds back tears and voices cracks slightly* “T-Thanks sir.”

Price: *processed to give her a papa bear hug gently patting her back*

----------

Task Force 141 men: *sees V covered in blood, laughing with an almost psychotic grin on her face*

Ghost: *looks at V with almost hearts in his eyes* “I'm gonna marry that woman one day.

Soap: *chuckles* “Not if I do it first.”

----------

V: *is being help captive by Valeria*

Valeria: *is standing inches away from her face* "tell me everything you know."

V: *giggles like a school girl and would be twirling her fingers in her hair, if her hands weren't tied to the chair* "your eyes are really pretty."

----------

*Task force 141 + V are at their local pub after a mission well done*

Soap + V: *are sitting at the bar slightly intoxicated* 

Ghost + Price: *are playing a game of pool, but are keeping an eye on the two at the bar*

Soap: *finishes his drink* “I bet you can’t do a wheelie on your motorbike right now.”

V: *gasps and looked at him offended* “I will have you know sergeant, I bet I can, watch me.”

Gaz: *who is the most sober out of the three* “Guys, I don’t think that is a good idea.”

V: *is already pulling out her keys and is slightly stumbling to the door* “Oh please Kyle, what could go wrong.”

Gaz: *is slightly worried she is going to try and actually do it* “maybe you killing yourself for one.”

*Before she makes it out the front door V’s keys are suddenly pulled out of her hand*

Price: “I'm taking these until you are sober.”

V: *pouts but nods*

----------

*Both V and König are in his room, V has her legs resting comfortably on his broad shoulders as she brushes her fingers through his hair and König is cleaning his knife from his previous mission*

V: “How is your hair so soft?” *keeps running her fingers through it, pouting slightly*

König: *is thankful she can’t see his face at the moment as it would be the same colour as a tomato* “I don’t know.”

V: *smirks slightly to herself, deciding to tease him slightly and gives his hair a soft tug*

König: *lets out a groan like moan before looking up at her his eyes wide*

V: *is smirking widely before placing a kiss on his forehead* “Cute.”

König:

----------

Price: *takes the task force 141 men + V out on a camping trip*

Gaz: “how much further.” *is close behind Price*

Price: “not that far.” *steps over a fallen log*

V: *rests her head on Ghost shoulder as she is getting a piggyback, because she sprained her ankle standing in a rabbit hole, not even 20 minutes into the camping trip*

Soap: *decides to tease Ghost* “Do you want to switch there L.T, your looking a little tired.”

Ghost: *scoffs quietly under his mask before tightening his grip on V’s thighs slightly* “I’m fine.”

V: *starting humming a tune* “Toss a coin to your witcher, oh valley of plenty”

Ghost: “You watched that TV show with Johnny didn’t you.”

V: *smiles wide and nods* “The song is catchy.”

*By the time they got to the campsite, the whole group was sing toss a coin to your witcher*

----------

©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. Do NOT translate or repost my work, or make AI Bots without my permission.

[keep-ur-head-low]

Gatsby: An American Myth's creative team being largely female driven is especially felt in its big climactic number, The Dream Fought On. Taking place right at the peak of the Plaza Hotel fight, the song initially focuses on Gatsby's rising panic before it's taken over by two women lashing out against a society that has locked them in place: Daisy's realization that Gatsby's need to have her is no different from the objectification she's endured her entire life ("I'm not a light you can reach to, but someone to love" - sung from her to Gatsby), and Myrtle's declaration that she's wasted on the Valley of Ashes and deserves to be surrounded by people who live instead of haunt ("You're not a man, you're a ghost I could walk right through" - sung from her to Wilson).

That said, the song ultimately ends with a reminder that these two women are not sinking in the same boat as Myrtle's attempt to break out of her poverty is brutally torn apart by Daisy taking the wheel of her own story, the latter's wealth and race allowing for an escape from all consequence ("Salvation's coming" - the ensemble ironically sings as Daisy races towards Myrtle). While it should be noted that the original book's ambiguity on these characters' thoughts serves as its own commentary on the role women were expected to play, this team's desire to earnestly capture their voices and the nuances behind them is what is makes this such a thrilling adaptation in my eyes.

[kit-foley]

Nancy Drew Games are 50% off on Steam right now so here are some shitty descriptions of the games for newbies or partners (not in order, also spoilers)

Secrets can kill: dickface high schooler was pushed down a flight of stairs, find out who did it

The Silent Spy: Nancy has mommy issues and cosplays as a spy in Scotland

Sea of Darkness: all of the characters have trauma around a ship. featuring the only canonically queer character.

Deadly Device: tech bro gets electrocuted, who did it oh noooo. Feat: women in stem

Midnight in Salem: Glitch-wise, this is the fandom-equivalent of the first release of FNAF Security Breach but doesn’t nearly slay as hard and they didn’t patch any of the bugs. Haven’t played it but the fandom is 50/50 on it, maybe 80/20 against

Shattered Medallion: off brand amazing race goes wrong, feat. A recurring character who you’re supposed to know

Alibi in Ashes: Nancy didn’t commit arson (this time) so who the fuck did? See also, “I can commit major theft and prod you about your dead mom, but I draw the line at arson.”

The Captive Curse: monster and intergenerational trauma, beautifully told story. Plus lederhosen.

Shadow at the Waters Edge: ghosts and intergenerational trauma, beautifully told story. Plus kawaii

Ghost of Thornton hall; ghosts and intergenerational trauma, beautifully told story. Plus southern people.

The Final Scene: nancys friend who we’ve never met gets kidnapped. Plus magic tricks/Houdini. Plus old man.

The Haunted Carousel: Dead mom plus the most annoying daughter you’ll ever encounter and her emotional support robot. Also you’re supposed to fix a theme park

Danger by Design: Parisian fashion designer with anger issues and also might deny that nazis happened during wwii

Curse of blackmoor manor: British girl says oh no my stepmom is turning into a werewolf

Warnings at Waverly Academy; the trailer for this one said something like “I hang out with teenage girls in this one, it could be my scariest case yet”, basically be prepared to do other students homework. Also immaculate dark academia/fall vibes tho

Phantom of Venice: white boy of the month shows you his seven hour tesserae slideshow and you single-handedly bring down a crime ring while wearing stupid outfits

Trail of the Twister: someone is sabotaging a storm chasing team but Nancy cares more about asking the local general store owner about his dead wife

Secret of the Old Clock: It’s magically 1930 again, this game feels so far off brand from pretty much all of the other ones imo but the music goes HARD and there’s def some homoerotic tensions between a dead old man and his live-in psychic

Legend of the Crystal Skull: make a curio shop owner sneeze, collect glass eyeballs, watch a Gerard Way look-alike cry, and maybe get buried alive

Haunting of Castle Malloy: banshees and letterpress and a pub that conveniently only serves juice. Terrible Irish accents. Try to find a missing groom for a wedding but also enjoy a walking sim that walked so Stardew Valley could run

Creature of Kapu Cave: get stuck in a tourist trap resort by a guy who calls himself Big Island Mike, then get stuck in a forest with an entomologist who makes you do her work for her, then get stuck in a research facility with an angry white guy who makes you do his work and then falls asleep. Music slaps but no idea what the plot of the game is supposed to be. Also do a “freaky friday” style switch with the Hardy Boys every time you call them on your cell phone.

Last train to Blue Moon canyon: picture Paris Hilton inviting you on a train and then she goes missing. Also on the train with you: the worst police detective, Zak Bagans impersonator, and Colleen Hoover-vibes.

White Wolf of Icicle Creek: “I fired. And I missed. I missed again. I got sad. I had a popsicle.”

[coffin-flop]

(alt text: in the background is the Disability Pride Flag, in front of that is the book covers of: Out on a Limb; The Luis Ortega Survival Club, True Biz, Blackwater, The Spirit Bares Its Teeth, and The Heart Principal)

It's Disability Pride Month! Here are just a few books I really liked that would be fitting to read this month :)

Out on a Limb by Hannah Bonam-Young - a contemporary romance where a one night stand leads to a pregnancy they decide to navigate together (and both love interests have limb differences)

The Luis Ortega Survival Club by Sonora Reyes - a ya novel about a largely non-speaking autistic teen who's raped by a boy she thought was her friend, who grows a community of people who help one another along a path of revenge and healing

True Biz by Sara Nović - a book about several students and an administrator at River Valley School for the Deaf navigating changes in their lives and their sense of community, and fighting for their autonomy.

Blackwater by Jeannette Arroyo and Ren Graham a YA graphic novel about a badboy teen jock, a quiet boy with an autoimmune disorder, and the spooky things that live in their town. Werewolves and cute romance included.

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White - a YA historical fiction horror which takes place in an alternate 1883 London where violet-eyed mediums (men) commune with spirits under the watchful eye of the Royal Speaker Society. When a trans autistic boy is diagnosed with Veil sickness, a mysterious disease sending violet-eyed women into madness, he's shipped away to Braxton’s Sanitorium and Finishing School, where the ghosts of missing students beg for his help. even tho it's ya, it is horror and the themes are very heavy- check out trigger warnings.

The Heart Principle by Helen Hoang is about Anna, who is facing career burnout in a flakey relationship, embracing an open relationship at her longtime boyfriend's suggestion. Instead of the string of one night stands she planned on, she finds someone who accepts her and helps her understand herself. Their relationship is derailed when a family emergency puts even more weight on Anna's shoulders until she finally has to care for herself. This is a contemporary romance, but the subject matter is pretty heavy and the protagonist experiences a prolonged period of autistic burnout

[sowrennie]

wahooo introducing my most adored twst oc…. lirio couffaine the man you are.

Twisted from the Enchanted Coffin from Snow White, Lirio is a character entirely shrouded in mystery. He carries a solemn air about him, noted frequently by his peers.

Lirio is a fae, hailing from Briar Valley. He is the son of two women who own a funeral parlour— which was established in a location that consisted of both human and fae clientele. From a young age, Lirio became aware of death and the ephmerality in life; particularly human life. It hit him deeply, however, that loss will even strike those closest to him, those he ignorantly thought would live forever, when his mom passed away. Alongside his mother. he partook in the farewell ceremony, and while he completely isolated himself after her death, his mother continued to encourage him; claiming that life is too short— even for him— to completely withdraw. As painful as it seemed, he’d have to continue making connections in order to make it worthwhile; and he still struggles with this. He, despite all the encouragement, frequently turned to art as an outlet, knowing that it would be left behind forever, even as time passed. It was hard making long-lasting connections, knowing how your friends became your next clients.

Initially, due to being a fae and boasting strong magical abilities, Lirio was sorted into Diasomnia. His placement, however, never seemed right. While the solitude the dorm provided him was a gift, he promised his mother he would go all out and make long-lasting connections. He found that pomefiore would allow and encourage him to explore his artistic side, inspired by its respectable housewarden, and felt a transfer was necessary, hence his placement.

- He is 175~ years in age (17/18 in Fae Years)

- He is 178 cm tall

- due to his intense insomnia and his artistic drive, and due to his incessant, disincentive humming, he became somewhat of an urban legend in pomefiore; their wailing ghost.

- he tries to avoid group of 4s, believing it to be an unlucky number for him.

- he is the leader and sole member of the NRC gardening club!