lovely-amora

[lovely-amora]

Chapters: 33/? Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley/Original Female Character(s), John "Soap" MacTavish/Original Female Character(s), John Price (Call of Duty)/Original Female Character(s), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Original Female Character(s), Task Force 141 Ensemble & Original Female Character(s), Task Force 141 Ensemble & Original Character(s) Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance Summary:

She's spent her entire life with a beautiful mask. Never once letting it slip. Not for those whom she considered friend and especially not for those she considered foe. When joining the Task Force with some under the table agreements, it's become apparent that the men she'll be closely working with will be more than just another job.

[lovely-amora]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Task Force 141 Ensemble/Original Female Character(s), John "Soap" MacTavish/Original Female Character(s), Simon "Ghost" Riley/Original Female Character(s), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Original Female Character(s), John Price (Call of Duty)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Additional Tags: Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Romantic Fluff, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Musicians, Idiots in Love, Confusion, Game: Call of Duty, Fate & Destiny, Found Family, Polyamory Summary:

In a world where spirit animals lead people to their soulmates, Amara "Mara" Sinclair has spent her life ignoring hers. Not on purpose, she's just busy. Her cheetah pushes her toward fate, but she refuses to slow down—until it starts pulling her straight toward Task Force 141.

The 141 already have each other, bound by an unbreakable soulmate bond. The idea of adding a fifth? Unheard of. They're open to it, but unsure—having multiple soulmates is strange enough, and Mara is as resistant as they come. She refuses to believe she belongs with them, but they keep trying at every chance.

But fate doesn’t take no for an answer. As their spirits push them closer, Mara must decide—fight against the connection, or surrender to the bond she hadn't expected, but might just need.

[lovely-amora]

I Swear This Isn’t About You (But It Always Is)

Welcome to Task Force 141, Naja.

The flight to the base is long, filled with the kind of silence that lingers in closed spaces. I don’t ask where we’re going. I already know. I read the mission reports, studied the maps, traced satellite images of the compound. If this is a test, I don’t need to waste breath proving I can follow orders.

Price is quiet for most of the trip, occasionally flipping through reports or lighting a cigar. The smell of burning tobacco curls through the cabin, but he doesn’t try to make conversation. He’s observant, though—glancing at me every so often, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll break the silence. I don’t.

We land in the dead of night. The air is crisp, colder than I’d like. The base is sprawling, a fortress of concrete and steel surrounded by barbed wire. Guards stationed at the entrance give me second glances, hands resting on their rifles, trying to decide if I belong. I don’t.

Price leads me through dimly lit corridors, past operators muttering into radios and the low hum of computer monitors. The walls have eyes, and I let them watch.

Then we step into the briefing room.

Task Force 141.

I’ve read their files. Memorized them.

The first one I notice is Soap. Not just because he’s the loudest, but because he moves like he belongs anywhere he plants his boots. He’s lounging back in his chair, legs kicked up on the table, tossing a ball into the air. His file paints him as demolition and CQB specialist, but it’s the details between the lines that stood out—the adaptability, the sheer recklessness that somehow always pays off.

Blue eyes flick toward me, sharp with mischief, and he grins. “So this is our mystery guest?”

I don’t answer. I finish scanning the room.

Gaz is next. He’s the one standing near the far end of the table, arms crossed, gaze steady. He’s more measured than Soap, watching instead of speaking, the way someone does when they want to see if you’ll slip up first. His record is solid—former Special Air Service, skilled in reconnaissance and precision shooting. But it was his leadership under pressure that caught my attention. The kind of man who keeps people alive.

And then there’s Ghost.

Easy to tell who he is based on the mask. Although his file was the only one without a picture.

Seated at the back, arms resting on the table, his presence takes up more space than his silence does. His file was the most redacted—black lines cutting through entire pages—but I found what I needed. A hunter. A specialist in psychological warfare. A ghost in every sense of the word.

Price gestures toward me. “This is Naja. She’s with us now.”

Silence.

Soap finally shifts, sitting up, boots hitting the floor with a thud. His smirk is easy, testing. “You don’t look like much. You're pretty small, lass.”

I tilt my head slightly, mirroring his smirk. “Neither do you. I've seen bigger men.”

Ghost huffs—barely a sound, but it’s there. Gaz lets out something like a chuckle.

Soap grins. “Oh, I like her.”

Price ignores him. “She’s our new covert ops specialist. She’ll be handling intel, infiltration, and making sure we know what our enemies are thinking before they do.”

Gaz raises a brow. “You sure she’s not a double agent?”

Smart question. I meet his gaze head-on, offering a slow, sharp smile. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Soap whistles, shaking his head. “You’re gonna make things interesting, aren’t you?”

“That depends,” I say, crossing my arms. “You lot as good as they say?”

Ghost finally speaks. His voice is low, steady. “Better.”

There’s no bravado in the way he says it—just certainty. The kind that comes from experience, not arrogance.

And I almost want to believe him.

Price claps his hands together, cutting through the tension. “Right. Enough introductions. You’ll be training with them starting tomorrow.” He glances at me. “Don’t kill each other.”

Soap leans toward me, mock-serious. “No promises.”

I smirk, but I don’t say what I’m thinking.

Neither do I.

[lovely-amora]

I Swear This Isn’t About You (But It Always Is)

This is an OC story. Just something I do to pass the time.

Chapters:

IT'S BEEN MOVED TO AO3!!

1.) The Day Everything Changed 2.) The Offer 3.) Welcome to the Task Force 4.) Not Used to it. It's Not My Job.

[lovely-amora]

I Swear This Isn’t About You (But It Always Is)

Price manages to track Naja down for a bit of a talk. Thanks to her previous interactions with the military, her location was found. (The means don’t matter.)

The Offer

The rain comes in sheets, drumming against the rusted tin roof of the safe house. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and cigarette smoke, the kind that lingers in cheap bars and back-alley deals. I sit in the corner, one boot propped against the rickety table, arms folded. Across from me, Captain John Price takes a slow drag of his cigar, watching me through the haze.

He doesn’t look like the men I’m used to dealing with. His eyes aren’t greedy. They aren’t full of fear or false bravado. They’re sharp, calculating—measuring me the same way I’ve been measuring him since he stepped through the door.

“You’ve been making a lot of enemies,” he says finally, tapping ash onto the floor. “Warlords, arms dealers, intelligence agencies—people don’t know whether to hire you or put a bullet in your head.”

I smirk. “And which one are you here to do?”

Price huffs a quiet laugh. “That depends.”

I lean back, stretching my arms over the chair. “On what?”

He studies me for a moment before he speaks. “On whether you want to keep running, or if you want something more.”

I don’t answer. Not yet. I let the silence stretch, watching his posture, his breathing. Most men fill quiet with unnecessary words, try to rush their way to control a conversation. Price doesn’t. He waits, patient as a lion in tall grass.

“What are you offering?” I ask, finally.

“A place on my team.”

I scoff, shifting in my seat. “Task Force 141,” I say, testing the name on my tongue. I’ve heard of them. A ghost story whispered between mercenaries and black-market brokers. A task force built to handle the worst of the worst.

He nods.

I shake my head, exhaling through my nose. “You don’t want me.”

Price tilts his head, curious. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t follow orders. I don’t take sides. And I don’t do loyalty.”

“Bullshit.”

The word cuts through the room like a knife, blunt and sure. My eyes narrow, but he doesn’t flinch. He just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“If you didn’t care about loyalty, you wouldn’t have burned half your bridges avenging the people who took you in,” he says. “If you didn’t take sides, you wouldn’t have spent the last year dismantling an entire trafficking ring on your own. And if you didn’t follow orders—” he pauses, letting the weight of his words settle, “—you wouldn’t have survived this long.”

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. He’s too good at this. Too good at seeing through people. I hate it.

Price sits back. “You don’t trust anyone,” he continues, calmer now. “I get it. But here’s the thing, Naja. Sooner or later, running gets you killed. You’re smart enough to know that.”

I glance toward the rain-slicked window, at the distant glow of headlights moving through the streets below. He’s right. I’ve known it for a while. The jobs are getting riskier. The list of people who want me dead is getting longer.

But working with them? It’s a different kind of risk.

“Why me?” I ask.

Price shrugs. “Because you’re the best at what you do.” Then, after a beat, “And because I’d rather have you with us than against us.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of my lips. “Smart man.”

He flicks his cigar, watching me expectantly. “So? What’s it gonna be?”

I let my fingers tap against my knee, thinking. Weighing the options. I could tell him no. I could vanish into the night, pick another fight in another part of the world.

.

.

.

.

.

Or…I could take his offer.

See if this task force is worth my time.

See if maybe, just maybe, I’m tired of being alone.

I stand, grabbing my jacket off the chair. Price watches me, waiting.

I exhale sharply and meet his gaze.

“Wars are not a matter of who’s good or evil, Captain. It’s who wins.” I glare at him. “So, are we winning?”

He smirks at me. He seems almost as if he expected that answer.

“Damn right.”

[lovely-amora]

I Swear This Isn’t About You (But It Always Is)

A series where you learn about Naja and her growing love for the Task Force. We in this for the long run. This all takes place in a fictional setting. NONE OF THIS IS REAL! TWS: Violence, Abduction/kidnapping, Child endangerment & trauma, war

The Day Everything Changed

The air was thick with heat, the kind that made the horizon shimmer in waves. The dust clung to my skin, but I didn’t care. My brother and I ran barefoot through the village, kicking up clouds of red earth as we played our favorite game—chase. He was younger than me, smaller, but faster when he really tried. I let him get ahead just to hear him laugh, the high-pitched, breathless sound of pure joy.

I could hear my mother humming from inside our home, the melody soft and familiar. The smell of rice and beans cooking over the fire mixed with the faint citrus scent from the small orange tree beside our door. It was one of the few things that grew well here, and my mother was always so proud of it. She’d pluck an orange from its branches every so often and peel it carefully, handing out pieces like they were gold.

"Slow down, Naja!" my brother called, breathless as he tried to keep ahead of me.

I grinned. "You slow down!"

We tore through the open space, past neighbors who barely paid us any mind, used to our antics. The village wasn’t big, but it was home. The people knew each other, looked out for each other. Even when times were hard—and they often were—there was a sense of unity. A quiet understanding that we survived together.

I heard my father chuckle from his spot beneath the shade of a large tree, where he and a few other men sat, talking in low voices. He leaned back on his elbows, watching me with an amused look. His face was lined, hardened from years of work, but when he smiled at me, it was warm.

"You’ll never catch him if you keep looking back here!" he called out.

I rolled my eyes but picked up my pace, ready to finally grab my brother’s wrist—

Then everything changed.

It was subtle at first. A feeling.

The laughter in the village quieted. The usual chatter died down. Even the wind, once kicking up small swirls of dust, seemed to pause. My father’s posture shifted. His smile faded, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

That’s when I heard them.

Engines. Distant, but getting closer.

The kind of sound that made my stomach twist. The kind of sound you learned to fear.

I turned back toward my father just as he was rising to his feet. His gaze was fixed on the road leading into the village, his expression unreadable. But I knew what it meant.

Danger.

My mother stepped outside, wiping her hands on a cloth, her brow furrowed as she listened.

My father’s voice was steady, but I caught the tension beneath it. “Inside. Now.”

She didn’t argue. Neither did I.

She grabbed my brother first, ushering him toward the house, but I hesitated, watching my father as he stood there, unmoving. His hand rested near the old rifle he kept leaned against the tree. It hadn’t been fired in years.

The rumble of engines grew louder.

I smelled the change in the air before I saw the dust cloud rising over the road.

Trucks.

Not just any trucks—military. Soldiers.

We weren’t at war, not officially, but that never mattered. Sometimes soldiers came through just to take what they wanted. Sometimes they came through looking for recruits. Sometimes they came through looking for trouble.

And sometimes, they didn’t leave anyone behind.

My mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. She was stronger than she looked. She shoved me down near my brother, who was crouched in the corner, his little hands covering his ears like that would somehow keep him safe.

"Stay quiet," she whispered, her voice firm but soft. "No matter what happens."

Then she left.

I grabbed my brother’s hand, squeezing it, willing him to stop shaking. Willed myself to stay still.

The trucks rolled into the village. I could hear the boots hitting the ground. Voices. Shouting. My father’s voice, steady but tense.

Then the first gunshot rang out.

I flinched. My brother whimpered.

Another shot.

Screams.

Shouting.

More gunfire.

Then the smell of smoke.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The world outside was tearing itself apart, and I could do nothing but listen.

My mother’s voice, raised in a plea. My father’s voice, firm but cracking at the edges. A sharp sound, like something heavy striking flesh. Then silence.

Then—

The door was yanked open.

A man stood there, silhouetted against the sun. His face was shadowed, but I could see the rifle in his hands.

I moved before I even thought about it.

I grabbed my brother and ran.

Out the back, through the open doorway, into the dry fields beyond. The gunfire behind me barely registered. My heartbeat pounded louder than anything else.

"Keep running," I gasped, pulling my brother along.

We didn’t get far.

More soldiers were outside the village, waiting.

Hands grabbed me, yanking me back. I lost my grip on my brother. He screamed, reaching for me, but they were already pulling him away.

I kicked, thrashed, bit, fought—

A sharp crack against my skull sent me to the ground.

For a moment, the world was just noise. Blurred voices. Chaos.

I turned my head, searching for my brother.

I saw him.

And then I saw the rifle aimed at him.

I screamed.

The shot rang out.

And everything inside me shattered.

-----

When I woke up, it was dark. My hands were bound. My head ached. My throat was raw from screaming.

The village was gone.

The people were gone.

My family was gone.

I was alone.

That night, I stopped being a child.

That night, I learned that kindness doesn’t keep you alive.

That night, I learned that the world doesn’t care about what it takes from you.

And if the world doesn’t care, then neither would I.

I swore to never be weak again.

I swore to never let anyone get close enough to be taken from me.

And I swore—on the smell of citrus that still clung to my clothes, on the memory of my brother’s laughter—

That one day, the ones who took everything from me would beg for mercy.

And I wouldn’t grant it.

[lovely-amora]

OC introduction Naja [Redacted]

This is to provide context to my oc that just lingers in the world of Call of Duty. While this won't be a direct representation of what goes on with military happenings, this does come from some of the experiences that I have gotten from Veterans I have interviewed in the past. (Family members, friends, etc.)

So ANY STORIES THAT ARE WRITTEN WITH HER CAN BE CONSIDERED BARELY REALISTIC ESPECIALLY WITH THE GAMES AND REALITY! The following picture was found on pintrest and inspired me for this character.

Character Profile: Naja

Full Name: Naja (Last name classified) Occupation: Covert Operative & Intelligence Specialist (Task Force 141) Nicknames: “Viper,” “Whisper,” “The Serpent”

Backstory:

Born into a world of deception and survival, Naja was raised in a war-torn region where trust was a luxury few could afford. From a young age, she learned how to manipulate, blend in, and use her words as weapons just as effectively as her hands. Recruited by intelligence agencies in her late teens, she quickly became known for her ability to extract information without force—whether through charm, intimidation, or psychological warfare.

She was brought to Task Force 141 as their covert ops specialist. While some of the team questioned her methods, her results were undeniable. She’s the one you send in when you need information without leaving a trace—or when you want an enemy to crumble from the inside.

Appearance:

Deep brown skin, sharp golden-brown eyes that seem to see right through people.

Dark, tightly braided hair, often worn up or in two braids to stay out of her face.

Signature citrus-scented perfume, something that lingers wherever she’s been (a psychological tactic—so enemies never forget her).

Wears a mix of tactical gear and sleek, form-fitting outfits for undercover work. Often accessorized with subtle jewelry, including a single orange-shaped earring.

Personality & Skills:

Silver-tongued & calculating – She can talk her way into (or out of) anything.

Stealth expert – Moves like a shadow, unseen and unheard.

Master manipulator – Knows how to push buttons, plant doubts, and break minds before breaking bodies.

Deadly in close combat – Prefers knives or a suppressed pistol over loud gunfire.

Loyal but enigmatic – She’s with Task Force 141, but her past is full of secrets, and some wonder where her true allegiance lies.

Awkward with real relationships- She's a master at reading people but that comes at a cost. She won't be able to tell if her relationships are genuine due to over analyzing even the smallest interactions.

Tsundere - She's got the personality of a cat. She's mostly a bitch. Never letting anyone get too close but there are cracks in that mirror.

Likes:

✔ Citrus scents and flavors (reminds her of the family she once had) ✔ Mental games—chess, puzzles, reading people ✔ Late-night conversations (where people are most vulnerable) ✔ Silence—she enjoys the absence of chaos after missions ✔ Sweets/sugar - She'll never admit to it.

Dislikes:

✖ Arrogant people who underestimate her ✖ Unnecessary violence—she prefers control over chaos ✖ Being lied to (ironic, considering her own skills) ✖ The cold—she grew up in the heat, and the cold makes her uncomfortable ✖ Being alone - She spent most of her life struggling to survive. She hates the feeling of suffering without anyone to lean on (Ironic since she hates to open up.)

Relationships/Connections:

Captain Price – She respects him but knows he doesn’t fully trust her yet.

Ghost – There’s an unspoken understanding between them. He’s one of the few who can match her in silence. They don’t need words to communicate; a look is enough.

Soap – The only one who sometimes gets a smile out of her. Their banter keeps missions interesting, and she enjoys teasing him just to see how he reacts.

Gaz – He treats her with cautious curiosity. He respects her skills but isn’t sure how much of what she says is the truth. Over time, they’ve developed a quiet but mutual trust.

General Shepherd – She doesn’t trust him. At all. Something about him feels off. She keeps her distance, observing him closely, waiting for the moment her suspicions are confirmed.

Weapons & Gear:

Dual suppressed pistols (SIG P365 or Glock 19)

Throwing knives – Silent, precise, and deadly

Hacking tools – For accessing locked systems and communications

Disguise kit (when needed)– Can blend into any environment when needed

Quotes:

"You don’t need to beat someone into submission. You just need to find the right thread to pull… and watch them unravel."

"Honey, you don't need to know anything about me. But I wanna know all about you.."

[lovely-amora]

The Stray and the Stray

Naja found a cute cat. All bones but all the attitude. Funny enough they body quickly despite having the same personality. If only the guys would stop calling her cat nicknames..

It had been a long mission.

Naja was tired, sore, and more than ready to get back to base when she heard it.

A tiny, pitiful meow.

She halted mid-step, frowning. The others were a few feet ahead, already trudging toward the evac point, but she barely heard them over the sound. It was faint, coming from somewhere beneath a pile of debris.

Curious, she crouched down and shifted a few loose bricks aside. A pair of sharp, golden eyes peered back at her from the shadows.

A cat.

Thin. Dirty. Its dark fur was patchy in some places, likely from hunger or injury. But despite its sorry state, it had an attitude. The little thing stared at her like she was the intruder here.

She exhaled sharply. “You’re a mean little thing, huh?”

The cat meowed again, softer this time.

“Yeah, yeah. C’mere.”

Carefully, she reached out. It didn’t immediately bolt, just watched her, tail flicking warily. After a moment, it took a slow, cautious step forward—then another—until it was close enough for her to scoop up.

It was all ribs. Light as a feather.

The little thing settled against her with a low, grumbly purr, rubbing its face against her glove.

“…Oh, you’re a suck-up now?” she murmured, lips twitching.

“Naja.”

She turned to see Ghost staring at her. The others had noticed her absence.

“What are you doin’?” Gaz asked, walking back toward her. Then his eyes landed on the cat in her arms. “…Seriously?”

Soap grinned. Too wide. “You found a stray? That’s rich, considering—”

“Don’t.” She glared.

Soap didn’t listen. “You’re basically a cat yourself.”

“Oh, here we go,” she muttered, standing up with the cat still nestled in her arms.

Price sighed, eyeing the little creature warily. “You know we can’t keep it, right?”

She stared at him. “I don’t recall asking for permission.”

Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ.”

Gaz chuckled. “She’s already bonded with it.”

“Of course she has.” Ghost tilted his head, observing the way the cat curled against her like it belonged there. “Same temperament. Look at it—doesn’t trust easy, doesn’t like people, but the second it gets comfortable, it’s smug as hell.”

“I’m not smug,” she scoffed.

“Sure, you aren’t.”

Soap was grinning like an idiot. “What’re you namin’ it?”

She shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

They made it back to base without incident, and the cat stayed.

It never left her side.

Always nearby, always watching with sharp, unreadable eyes. It followed her to the gym, sat in her lap during briefings, even perched on her desk when she was working.

The team took notice.

And, of course, they ran with it.

“Oi, Whiskers,” Gaz called one morning, smirking.

She glanced up, confused, until she saw the cat on her shoulder—then narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Soap grinned. “How ‘bout Paws?”

Ghost, passing by, added, “Little Lion.”

Price was the worst. He merely chuckled and said, “Kitten.”

She almost threw something at him.

The cat just yawned and curled closer.

Yeah. Maybe she really was a damn cat.

[lovely-amora]

Mission: Accidental Matrimony

Several Weeks Ago – The Paperwork Incident

Naja was only half-listening when Price slid a stack of papers in front of her.

“Just some standard documentation,” he said, tone too casual. “Nothing complicated. Sign where needed.”

Her mind was already three steps ahead, focused on mission reports, weapon inventories, and the latest recon data.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” She grabbed a pen and started signing without a second glance, flipping pages as fast as her signature hit the paper.

A box was pushed toward her.

“What’s this?” she muttered.

“Ring,” Gaz said smoothly. “You need one. We got matching ones.”

Naja barely registered his words. She picked up the simple band, admired the weight of it, and—without thinking—slipped it onto her finger.

“I like rings,” she murmured absently before moving back to her work.

Soap grinned like a madman.

Ghost’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Price simply chuckled. “Good. That’s settled, then.”

Present Day – Reality Hits Like a Truck

Naja stood in the middle of the training yard, hands on her hips, glaring at a group of rookies who weren’t meeting her standards.

“Again,” she barked. “And this time, try not to look like a pack of lost children—what?”

One of the recruits—a wide-eyed kid who looked barely out of his teens—hesitantly raised a hand.

“Uh, Sergeant?”

She exhaled. “What?”

The recruit motioned toward her hand. “Your ring…?”

Naja blinked. Looked down.

“Oh,” she said absently, turning the band on her finger. “Yeah, the team got matching rings.”

Silence.

A long, awkward silence.

Her brain FINALLY caught up.

Matching rings. Paperwork. Smug looks from the team.

Her stomach dropped.

No.

No.

No fucking way.

Her fingers froze on the ring.

Her breath hitched.

“Everyone! Take a break!”

She turned on her heel and marched out, her movements stiff, mechanical, very much in the middle of an existential crisis.

Straight to the source.

Straight to her so-called teammates.

She stormed into the rec room where the squad lounged, far too comfortable for a group of men who had done something heinous.

“Which one of you absolute degenerates married me?” she demanded.

Soap looked up, grinning ear to ear.

“Ah, love, you wound me. It wasn’t just me.”

Her eye twitched.

Ghost leaned back in his chair. “She finally noticed.”

Gaz smirked. “Took longer than I expected.”

Price chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. “And here I thought you were the observant one.”

Naja felt heat rush to her face—equal parts fury, shock, and sheer, agonizing embarrassment.

She was supposed to be the manipulator. The one always ten steps ahead. The expert at psychological warfare.

And yet—

She rubbed her temples.

“You lot tricked me into marriage,” she muttered, utterly defeated.

Soap slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aye, but look on the bright side—you’re stuck with us now.”

Naja groaned.

“Someone’s getting stabbed for this. No. All of you are getting stabbed,” she grumbled, even as the team cackled around her.

Naja had made a mistake.

A huge mistake.

A monumental, catastrophic, life-ruining mistake.

She had accidentally SOMEHOW married the entire team.

And now?

Now they were milking it for all it was worth.

The Briefing Room Incident

She should have known something was off the second she sat down. The team was too relaxed.

Price stood at the front, going over mission details in his usual no-nonsense tone. Everything seemed normal.

Until—

“…and for infiltration, we’ll rely on Naja. She’s the best at slipping in unnoticed, isn’t that right, honey?”

The entire room went still.

Naja’s brain stalled.

She snapped her head up, eyes wide with horror.

“Wanna say that again? Captain.”

Price, the traitor, just kept talking like he hadn’t just destroyed her reputation.

She could feel Soap shaking with suppressed laughter.

Gaz looked like he was having the time of his life.

Ghost? Completely silent. But she swore his mask twitched—he was enjoying this.

The other soldiers in the room? Confused. Intrigued. Living for the drama.

Naja sat there, fuming, mentally calculating if a court-martial was worth strangling her own captain.

The Training Incident

She stormed out of the meeting, determined to put this nonsense behind her.

Then Ghost casually laced his fingers with hers.

Like it was nothing.

Like they were on a casual stroll instead of heading to beat some discipline into recruits.

Naja stared at their joined hands.

Then up at him.

“Ghost.”

“Hm?”

“What. Are you. Doing.”

“Holding my wife’s hand,” he said calmly. “Is that so bad, Mrs.Riley?”

She ripped her hand away so fast she nearly dislocated her shoulder.

Ghost just stuffed his hands in his pockets like nothing happened.

The Hug Incident

She made it ten steps toward her barracks before Gaz intercepted her.

With a hug.

A bear hug.

A lift-her-slightly-off-the-ground, inescapable, spine-cracking hug.

“Gaz,” she growled, trapped against his chest. “Let me go.”

“Not until you accept your new reality, Mrs. Garrick.”

“I SWEAR TO GOD.”

She struggled. She flailed.

She even tried to kick him.

Gaz did not budge.

By the time he finally let go, she was ready to throw hands.

Gaz just winked. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

She nearly threw a knife at him.

The Final Straw

She was done.

She slumped onto the couch in the rec room, exhausted. If I ignore them, they’ll stop, she told herself.

Then Soap walked in.

Grinning. Dangerously.

He grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles with dramatic, lingering slowness.

“Good evening, Mrs. MacTavish. I found your ring on the grass.” He put the ring back on her finger.

Naja’s soul left her body.

Her face erupted in flames.

Soap winked.

Gaz cackled.

Ghost leaned over and patted her head. “You’re handling this well.”

Price? That traitor?

Just sipped his tea.

Naja groaned into her hands.

[lovely-amora]

More Mechanic Shit

Ghost finds out that Ash...IS A WOMAN?! Also PINK DILDO?! Poor dude couldn't tell. Not with the masc look and name. Ash’s name is Alessia “Ash” Beaumont. She just a genderfluid weirdo. She prefers she/her but presents as a man typically to make herself feel cool.

-----

I throw down a wrench into the dirt. “FUCK!” I’d been working on a jeep that had its engine messed up from some recruit’s prank. Even though it’s all been said and done, the jeep was still annoying to fix when the foolish recruit had zero idea what they fucked up. 

“Why did they assign me this?” I complain as I pace in front of the jeep. I needed an extra set of eyes but everyone was too busy for me to just pull away. “Well…all the maintenance crew is busy..” I mumble thinking. I look around and find a pair of victi— WILLING PARTICIPANTS! Ghost and Soap. 

“You two! Asses over here!” I call out to them. They seem to stop and look at each other but approach either way. 

“What’s the problem?” Soap asks. 

“I need you two for a favor. Can you— don’t stand in my right side.” I shift so I can see them both. “I need you two to tell me if you see a pink..whatever! The recruit said he left a pink something in the jeep engine as a prank. But it slipped.” I inform them. "I need more eyes so can you just..take a look while I get something?" "Well we were going to-" Soap goes ignored as I run off to get more tools from the maintenance room. When I return, I find Soap laughing his ass off and Ghost covering his eyes with his hand. "The hell happened?" I question as I drop my tools. Soap tries to talk but he wheezes horribly as he keels over. I look to Ghost confused but he only points into the open jeep. I walk over and just into view...was a bright pink. Dildo. "Are you kidding me?! All this trouble for a..what is that 8 inch?!" I laugh in disbelief. "Waste of a perfectly good sex toy if you ask me." I put my gloves on and reach into it to yank out the dildo. "ITS PINK!" Soap gasps as he cackles. "Yes. It's pink." Ghost sighs. "You think you could use it once the oil's washed off?" Soap pats my shoulder as he tries to calm down. "Why would he use it?" Ghost rolls his eyes as he chuckles slightly. Soap sighs as he looks at Ghost oddly. Soap and I look at each other then back at Ghost. Then back at each other. The back at Ghost. Then back at-

"What!?" Ghost grumbles, " You act like I said something wrong." Soap puts a hand on Ghost's shoulder "Ash...is a woman. Like..there's no dick under all that."

I shrug at Soap's words. "Aside from the strap-on." Ghost looks at us as if he's at a loss for words. Like this was brand new information that he SERIOUSLY didn't know. "Oh my god..YOU DIDN'T KNOW!" Soap grins as if he just found a new toy. "OH! I GOTTA tell the others! Ghost thought Ash was a man!" "It's hard to tell! How can I tell with the more masculine clothes and hair?! I mean it's a fucking mullet for christ sake!"

[lovely-amora]

Mechanic Shit

When Ghost and Ash meet for the first time. Oc Nonsense. Ash is a woman but dresses very manly. ----

Beep! Beep! 

“FUCKK..” I groaned loudly as I wake up, smashing the snooze button on my phone as if it didn’t vanish after the first push. Despite the desperate desire for more sleep at such an unholy hour, I couldn’t go back to bed.

“Stupid fuckass alarm. Stupid five am wake up call.” I grumble as I kick off the sheets, standing up and letting a long stretch pop my spine. I somehow drag my ass into the bathroom, grabbing the toothbrush and putting the paste over the bristles. I brush my teeth slowly, the repetition in the movement bringing an odd sense of normalcy. I stare at my face uncomfortably as I brush.

The dim bathroom light flickers, casting uneven shadows across my face. My eyes trace the jagged scar running from my lip to my eye, the pale, raised skin stark against my complexion. My gaze lingers on it longer than I mean to, my hand pausing mid-brush as memories flicker in the back of my mind—

The weight of the pipe. The sharp crack of bone. The metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth. The burning, searing pain. The laughter.

I clench my jaw, my gold tooth catching the light as I pull myself back to the present. It happened. It’s over. It’s just another part of me now. Even if it’s hard for me to genuinely smile. Even if I can’t see out my right eye—

I shake my head and rinse my mouth, spitting into the sink before straightening up. With a sharp exhale, I run a hand through my hair and smirk at my reflection. I tilt my head just enough to let the gold gleam again.

“Still handsome as ever,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders before turning away.

There’s no time for ghosts. The day’s already started, and I’ve got shit to do.

Getting dressed was always a boring process. I had most of the same outfit. My mechanic uniform and the business casual clothes I’d wear on my off days. Today was sad. A work day. 

I pull my shirt over and slip on my pants then boots. It wasn’t cold enough for a jacket so I left that behind. I check myself over in the mirror once again and check myself out one last time. 

“Hello, Beautiful!” I click my tongue before officially leaving the comfort of my small room. Honestly, another mechanic was supposed to stay in my room but she had left before the room could get used. So good for me. 

“Morning, Ash.” A coworker whose name I could barely remember waved at me as I walked past. I wave as he zombies off with a mug in hand. 

Entering the Maintenance Room was almost always repulsive. The smell of oils and gas was powerful. The place was neat yet also somehow a messy labyrinth. “I wonder how much the medical bill would be if I drank..the oil..” I mumble to myself as I pick up my tool kit. I go further into the room and look over what needs tune-ups, total overhauls, and just some good old-fashioned elbow grease. 

I let my hand slide down the list till I came upon a surprise. I squint at the paper, double-checking to make sure I’m seeing it right. “Ghost’s gear,” I mutter under my breath. Right there. At the bit in my boss’ handwriting. Of all the things that could need maintenance today, this is the one that throws me off. I’m used to fixing weapons, vehicles, radios, and even body armor. But Ghost’s gear? That’s something else entirely. The man and I never interacted. My co-workers have always reported that they never have to even touch his stuff since he usually does it himself with the utmost care. 

I glance over at the workbench, half-expecting him to be lurking nearby, watching me. The place is quiet though, too quiet. Maybe he’s off on another mission, or he’s just keeping to himself. Either way, I’m not thrilled to be messing with his stuff. I can’t deny that the man is sorta scary.

Still, no way out of it. I roll up my sleeves and get to work. First thing first—check the rifle. I grab the heavy piece and feel the weight of it in my hands, familiar yet slightly off. A few tweaks, and some adjustments, but nothing major. I’ll have this back to peak performance in no time.

But as I’m setting it down, the door to the room creaks open, and I freeze. The air shifts, cold and silent. I don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

Ghost.

I don’t say anything at first. I just keep working, making sure to stay casual, even though I feel the tension in the room rise. There’s something about him—silent, intense, like he’s made of shadows. Is he watching me?

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I finally say, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice. “Figured you’d be too busy haunting someone else’s nightmares.”

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks, low and controlled, the kind of voice that makes you think he’s seen more than most people could handle. “You’re fixing it, then?”

I look at the rifle one last time before setting it aside and turning to face him, still with that smirk playing at the corner of my lips. “You could say that. I’d like to think I’m making it better, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to improve on perfection.” I wink. Well, I try to wink. These days, winking is just the action of a blink now that I can only see out of my left eye. 

He steps closer, the faint click of his boots on the floor echoing in the small room. I notice he’s sizing me up, like he’s evaluating more than just the rifle. His hands are clasped behind his back, but there’s something in the way he holds himself that suggests he’s always ready for whatever comes next.

“Let’s hope you don’t make it worse.” His tone is steady, almost casual, but there’s a hint of warning there.

“Not gonna happen, Ghost. I’ve got a...golden touch.” I flash my gold tooth at him for emphasis, hoping it’ll lighten the mood. But he doesn’t react to the smile, just watches me like he’s waiting for something. It’s worse with that cursed mask on. Any movement in his face is just covered. His eyes a hard glare as I slightly sweat under his gaze. Does he do this to all the people he meets?

I watch as he picks up the rifle. He moves it in his hands as if checking for something to be wrong. He nods slowly as if giving his approval. He silently walks away, leaving the smelly maintenance room. 

“What a fuckin weirdo.”

[lovely-amora]

If I Had Your Eyes

-A Bartender's Plight-

Averna is a bartender and informant. Being what she thinks is cursed, she has eyes that can see through any lie. She makes weird drinks at a tavern in Balder's Gate and watches everyone get drunk on them and her info. That was until the Mind Flayers started to tear through the city, kidnapping people by the dozen. Being part of the people that were taken, Averna must travel with Tav's group to get that damned parasite out of her head. The only weird thing is that the pale elf who joins the group keeps lying for some reason.

I remember the day my supposed blessing was bestowed upon me. My father and my mother were prideful people. My father was an elf and loved the community that we lived in. If only my mother were an elf and not a human. While the community we lived in was very kind and open about how they presented themselves, the reality was much different. This was a community that deemed outsiders as unworthy of their time. It was a matter of time before...well that doesn't matter. Anyway, I was gifted my eyes by the god of justice. To see the truth and lay fair judgment upon those around me. I guess becoming a bartender was not what the god had in mind. But running a secret business does help with the god's intent.

"I got a shaken Dragon's breath and a whiskey on the rocks." I served two drinks to what seemed to be happy wizards. I chuckle and wipe down my station.

"Miss? Can I order a Whispering Winds?" I pause as I think for a moment. Whispering Winds was a request for information about a person's location or movement. The person who ordered handed me a small piece of paper with a name.

"Just a moment." I smile as I drop the paper in a compartment. I make a drink with pineapple juice, mango, coconut cream, and nutmeg. A simple drink avoiding alcohol symbolizes traveling with a clear mind. As soon as I finish, I open the compartment and a paper is left with the needed info. "That's 3 gold." The coins dropped on the table as the client drank up and left. I watched them go, the unease that usually follows me creeping up again. Running The Eyes of the Underworld was never simple, but it allowed me to utilize my gift in ways I hadn't anticipated. My Eyes of Truth is just another reason not to trust people. I sigh annoyed as I clean up my station.

"Hey, Ian! I'm packing up early! Handle all orders till close." I yell to one of my workers who's been lazily relaxing.

"Yes, boss!" I leave the bar and Ian takes my place. I enter the back room and gather my things. I took my pack and left the tavern but the sounds of screaming were loud. Too loud to ignore.

"What in God's name..?" I look down an alley and find that some weird flying ship has broken the bell tower. The ship flies just above the city as its tentacles make people vanish into thin air. I start to run with the crowd in hopes of escaping but I'm simply captured. I groan as I roughly land in a strange pod.

—————

I wake up to a harsh rattle. As I look around, a woman with pale skin and dark hair bangs on the door of her pod. I hit the pod with my hand but nothing. It's stronger than I expected even if I used my dagger, it would do nothing. As I hit the door to my pod, a pair of strangers rush the room as if expecting some attack. One of them touches a sort of control panel. I can't see exactly what's happening, but one of them shoved their hand onto the panel. the door hissed open, causing me to lose my balance and fall over.

"Ugh. This is so gross." I shiver as I stumble onto my feet. The flesh-like floors and the brains that scuttled around made me cringe in disgust.

"Thank you for letting us out." A woman tells the odd stranger before us.

"Yes. I'm glad you—" My head ached with a sudden sharp pain, and my memories slowly revealed themselves to the stranger. My time in the bar but I somehow closed off my mind.

"That was..invasive."  I shiver.

"Yeah. I'm Tav." The stranger gives me their hand and I take it.

"Averna." I follow them to the helm of the ship as we try to get the ship out of its bad situation getting worse. ————

I'm ok. The ship crashed landed and the place around the ship was an absolute mess. Fire and ash were everywhere. I evaluate my body, checking for any injuries. No injuries and I still have my items on me. The simple backpack that I would carry around with all my things. I look around and find my sunglasses on the sandy floor. I use a restorative spell to fix any cracks and put them on.

"Where am I?" I ask as I look around. No familiar signs or even landmarks. I wave my hand at the smoke and walk through the crashed ship. "Hello!? Anyone there!" I yell.

"Averna? Is that you!?" Tav's voice echoes in my ears as I look in the direction of their voice. I sling my bag over my shoulder and watch as Tav walks past the rubble. The woman, ShadowHeart, stood behind Tav, and a pale elf stood behind them.

"I see you have a new companion with you." I nod to the pale elf.

"A pleasure to meet you. A fellow being linked by a parasitic worm." He smiles a smile that I see right through. I look away from him, my eyes drawing to Tav. I join Tav's group as we walk through the rash site. Tav pulls a wizard named Gale from a portal and we all start to make our way to the sounds of yelling.

"Open the gate! Hurry! That pack of goblins will be here any second! Goblins are on our tail! Open the gate, Zevlor! Now!" A man yells from the base of the gate.

"Damnit! Open the gate!" The man yells as he hits the door. Goblins rush through and slowly surround the three waiting at the gate. The man pulls out his weapon and swears before ordering the two on his side to form a line. A man with dark skin and a scar that traveled across his face dropped down to attack the incoming goblins. "Provoke the blade...and suffer its sting."

Tav grips their sword as they watch them fight against the goblins. I watch as they suddenly stand up in a quick motion.

"Wait...what are you-"

"OVER HERE! YOU GOBLIN BASTARDS!" Tav yelled at the top of their lungs drawing some of the goblins' attention to us. I look forward, sigh then pull out my crossbow. I shoot down some of the goblins from afar but when one gets too close, Gale zaps it with a magic missile. I nod to him as that was the last goblin that had attacked.

"Thanks, I couldn't switch to daggers fast enough." Gale nods and shrugs as if it was no issue for him. Everyone rushes inside the gates. I join them...after a quick check of the goblin's dead bodies. The gold they had was minimal and their weapons were a blacksmith's nightmare with how crudely made they were. Tav spoke with the tiefling known as Zevlor. I pay little mind to the conversation as I keep in mind the gate closing.

"So the gate takes about ten seconds to open. Escape would be hard for large groups if they were trying to escape fast at once...or death for a crowd of enemies." I note as I look at the gate. Astarion stands at my side as I watch the gate.

"Trying to evaluate the exit?" He asks me.

"Better to have an exit than not. That gate is not the best one in truth." I frown. He shrugs as we follow the group.

"Well, I hope you find what you're looking for. May your worries be quelled." Astarion cheers as he walks ahead of me. I pause for a moment. He lied again. At least in part.

[lovely-amora]

To Say Goodbye

Pt1 —— pt2

You reached for Gale. You gently touched his fingers, feeling the spectral hand. You held his hand fully and released the sigh you had been holding.

"Ok..I'll take you to my body. But keep your eyes closed till I say!" He agrees and closes his eyes. You somehow manage to get him to where your body resides without issue. You looked down at your mother who wiped your face with a wet cloth.

"You...You can open your eyes." You were worried as a part of you still doubted your choice. Gale opened his eyes and inhaled deeply. He hadn't expected to see this kind of sight. Tubes of bags were in your skin, and a periodic beep came from a machine unknown to him.

"Oh dear...Is this what you were forced to come back to? No wonder you were worried to go." Gale exhaled and gently touched your sleeping body. He used a spell and pulled a silvery cord from your physical body.

"Come here for a moment?" He once again extended his hand and you took it all the same. He touched the cord to your hand. An odd sensation shivered down your whole being.

"There. The cord is attached. Now we'll have to get back in a different way than what you've been doing. It's really the only way to copy your existence. But is there anything you want before...?"

You stared at your sleeping body. You wanted to say goodbye but you weren't sure about it. Would they try to make you stay?

Gale placed a hand on your shoulder. "You can choose not to.."

"But I must. I need them to know that...it's ok for me to go." Gale nods and holds the silver cord. With that he can pull you out of your own body, killing you in that world as he puts you in the new world. You inhaled any fear away from you and entered your body.

It was dark at first. You felt weary and weak but had enough strength to open your eyes. Your father and mother stood over you, eyes widening in surprise.

"Honey! They're awake!! Quick get the doctors!" Your father jolted in a swiftness you couldn't fathom. You had to stop him.

"No..docs.." Your voice was raspy from lack of use. Your parents stopped everything and focused on you. This was your last chance.

"I wanted...to see you. To say... I love you." Your mother picked up on what you were trying to do. She gently smiled and held your hand.

"Oh, my baby...you wanted to say goodbye before you go." You felt tears leave your eyes but you were too tired. Too weighed down by your body.

"Take care of the pets...let my friends know that they can have any keepsakes of mine." Your voice slowly improved but you were ready to leave. Ready to finally put this to rest.

"Is there anything in particular you want to say? I'll...I'll get it tattooed." Your father gripped your hand. You sigh and smile.

"Live on. There is truly nothing I value more..than my time with everyone in my life." You stare at the ceiling. You could faintly see Gale as he nods to you. You slowly nod, telling him that I'm ready.

"I love both of you. So very much.." Gale pulled you out of your body. Your spectral self joins him as your body dies. Your mother cries but it's not as painful as you thought it was. Your father comforts her but you were glad that you could speak with them one last time.

Gale guided you through a plane you’d never gone through. When the two of you reached a portal Gale looked at you with a concerned face.

“Well go through. Since you don’t exist in this world, you’ll have to really focus on what you look like so you can have a physical body.” You nod at his words. He was the one who had an amazing sense of magic.

You held his hand and focused on the image of your body at its healthiest. When you reopened your eyes, you felt grass.

Grass blades gently poked your skin as you opened your eyes.

“Nice to meet you.”

Gale’s face looked down to you. You went to sit up, but you did so too quickly. You and Gale collided foreheads.

“Gods damnit! It…It hurts.” Suddenly the pain wore off from the realization that you can feel pain.

“I feel pain! I’m…I’m really here!” Your excitement was loud and your tears were heavy. Who cares!? You’re alive!

“Gale! There is one thing I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve never done this so I don’t know the proper way. Forgive me.” You held Gale’s face awkwardly. The feeling of your skin on his was odd but comfortable. With the courage built up, you kissed his forehead by barely being on your toes.

What could be better than this?

Gale held your waist as he lifted you slightly.

“If you’re gonna do that. Do so properly.” He smiled and allowed you to kiss him. It was awkward and embarrassing but you were both satisfied with the gentle feelings that were behind it.

[lovely-amora]

Ezra’s Death.

This is the piece I worked on as the end of my character’s story in my high school’s DnD club. As a graduate, I’ll forever miss those long sessions of chaos with my party members in Curse of Strahd.

If you are reading this, keep in mind this takes place in the campaign Curse of Strahd. I won’t have any spoilers but this will contain how my character dies and passes on. Also Ezra uses She/They pronouns. So that’ll explain any confusion as to who I’m talking about.

Ezra enters a store after separating from the group. The feel in this store was similar to a fortune teller that you’d find at the fair. The walls were lined with oddities that couldn’t have been found within the town. A strange blue eye in a glass case. A part of a bat wing tacked onto the wall. A dagger that glowed a hue of red. And even a hand that seemed to be cursed with a dark aura. Things ranged from worthless to rare, even if the shopkeeper didn’t realize they were rare.

Ezra looked along the wall, a horn caught her eye. The horn was yellow that faded into a reddish pink. Ezra picked it up, her yellow fingertips matched the yellow horn and it even matched her pinkish skin on the palm of her hand. She glanced at the shop owner to confirm if they were distracted. She didn’t say anything since the owner could understand infernal, the only language she knew aside from sign language. If this was truly what Ezra was looking for… the shop owner would be the prime suspect. Once confirming, she raised the plaque and awkwardly fit the horn onto the spot where their right horn was missing. The horn tickled where the break on their head was, but it had fit cleanly on. This was Ezra’s missing horn. A sense of anger bloomed in her heart as they stormed to the counter and slammed the plaque on the counter, startling the owner.

“Where did you get this from?!”

“What are you talking about! I don’t have to disclose anything!”

Usually Ezra was an understanding person. She’d learned how to tolerate her teammate’s madness and withstand any ridiculous situation that happened with them. She helped brave the Murder House they went through and saved them from possible death, she helped with travels and even carried their friend Bo on her back on occasion. But this…this..

“Explain yourself.”

Ezra became on the brink of a rage. Her anger bubbling like a volcano ready to burst causing her to act on this anger by lifting the owner by his shirt. She wasn’t always an angry person but this was what she was looking for. She had no memory of her family or the life she had before the mercenary group, the Bloodaxes. Even though she had gotten used to her life with the Bloodaxes, she had to leave them behind in search for the one with her horn. The only thing she’ll regret is leaving her bloodaxe behind.

“The butcher! It was given to me by his weird apprentice at the time! The old Butcher probably gave his shop to the guy when he died.”

The shop owner was quick to change his tune, terrified of what may happen with the unknown terror that was Ezra. He pointed and said that the butcher wasn’t far off as there was a large sign.

Ezra dropped the owner and snarled as she pocketed the horn. Ezra bolted out of the shop, racing down the road until she found the sign for the Butcher. The door was closed, a simple sign saying that the butcher was on vacation and was unavailable. Ezra didn’t care. This could be someone related to their past. Hells! The person who almost took their life.

Ezra pulled out her great axe and smashed the door to splinters. She walked in, stepping on the splintered wood. The shop looked like any butcher’s shop you’d find. Nothing looked out of place but there was this back door that felt..wrong. Like she could smell the evil stink on the other side. Ezra smashed the wooden door and revealed what seemed to be a cultist room on the other side.

Candles lined the floors and rafters. Random objects seemed to be on a shrine and a singular painting. Strahd.

“Who are you?” A man spoke behind Ezra. They turned around, hand on axe. A man in a cloak. The cloak barely covered his face as Ezra could make out the large ugly scar that traveled up the side of his face. Ezra felt as if the man was scanning them.

“You look just like your mother. A shame you’ll never remember her. Right Ezra?” The man revealed himself. The cloak dropped to the floor as a tall man with a scar that went from his lip to his temple. He was bald and his hand rested on his weapon.

“You know. My master likes to allow me to have the keepsakes of my victims. What wonderful things that they leave behind. Your mother actually holds a lot of memories for me. A shame really..” The man traced his scar as he stepped past Ezra. He picked up an old locket and threw it at her. Ezra caught it with ease, but her eyes lingered on the man. She felt something evil. She could tell that he was somewhat crazy but something bothered her.

“Go on.” His voice deepened as he crossed his arms with a twisted smile. Ezra looked at the locket. The dried blood causing them to grimace in worry. She looked on the back of the locket.

Property of Fatari Romanzi. 

This was her mother’s name. Ezra pulled the locket open to find on one side a small painting of a child that looked similar to Ezra and a loc of hair on the other side.

The man practically laughs at her misery, saying something along the lines of her parents dying painfully for causing the scar on his face. Ezra paid no mind, the pain in her heart growing.

“It’s a shame my master didn’t let me keep her diary. I would’ve loved to read her thoughts before her final moments..”

This sent Ezra into a frenzy to attack him.

------

(AFTER THE BATTLE)

Ezra used a hand axe to pin down one of the man’s legs.

“You. Brutalized my father.”

She used the other hand axe to pin down the other leg. The man shrieked in pain. Any attempt to pull the axes out failed due to how deep they were in his legs. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his legs, as Ezra used her heel to push one of the axes further up.

“Cut my horn off as a prize and then cut my mother’s head off because your master was scared of some stupid fate told to him?”

Ezra raised her axe and stared down at the pathetic man.

“I shall take you out of this life the same way you did my mother.” Down came her ax and every emotion had came out of her. She felt no sense of peace or happiness now that he was dead. Strahd had ordered this for some reason. Ezra wanted to continue her revenge but…

She grit her teeth as blood seeped out of her side. The well-placed dagger was hard to remove, and yet so much blood had already left her body. With trembling hands, she reached for the hilt, each movement sending a jolt of agony through her. She knew she had failed, her mission slipping through her grasp like the fading light of dusk. The weight of her unfulfilled duty pressed down on her chest, suffocating her with regret.

“Strahd!!” Ezra screamed in anger. That man had ordered the death of her family, and she’ll never find out why.

Tears welled in her eyes, not for the pain of her wounds, but for the life she was leaving behind, the promises she couldn't keep. As she started to feel her strength give up, her party members arrived. Taking in the ruined store and the dead, decapitated body, they went to help her. They lifted Ezra up, leaning her against one of them.

“Don’t waste it on me…you’ll need your spells.”

Ezra weakly smiled at her group.

“You may take anything of importance off me. Money, the orb, or even my weapons. Just please…take care of my dead body. And live well so you can destroy that man.”

With a weak chuckle, Ezra hugged her horn and her mother’s locket with the last of her strength as she took her last breath.

Ezra passed with a smile on her face.

[lovely-amora]

Why Love a Ghost?

pt1 —— pt3

You float above your comatose body. You'd been asleep like this for months now. The doctors said that there’s little chance of you waking up. And the worst part of it all?

You’re awake. Trapped in your own body, forced to hear the dismay and depression of your family. So you ran. You had a previous interest in astral projection, a way to remove the soul and body without hurting either. With this ghostly body, you have somehow learned to push yourself through space and time to travel whenever and wherever you want.

It’s a beautiful ability but it’s incredibly lonely. No one will ever see or hear you. There have been occasions where you witnessed crimes but no one was able to hear your cries for help. Times where you saw people at be their lowest point but were unable to help them cope.

You avoided the darkness in your heart, the knowledge that you’ll be alone so long as you were in this state. So you forced your soul to travel to more fantastical realms. It was harder than simply traveling your own world but you were happy. Hells! You fell in love with a wizard who you knew for a few months.

But he offered a way out. A way to escape the cycle of depression and sadness. A way out of the impending loneliness. So why…why were you so offended?

You looked down to your father as you floated above them. Your body looked as weak as he did tired. The hospital had you shoved with IVs to get your body’s fluids and nutrients. It was a hard sight. They’d taken off the breathing support a while ago as you were breathing just fine on your own.

You curled into yourself. You missed Gale. The way he’d smile at you telling him the silly mishaps of his campmates. You missed how his eyes looked at you with such joy. You missed how he made you feel less alone. But you hated how you left him.

Replays of the moment made you regret how you left him. He looked so betrayed, so upset at you for what you did.

“Why..did I do such a thing?” I swallowed whatever it was in your mouth (Ectoplasm probably) and sat next to your father. With a new resolve, you pressed your transparent forehead on your father’s.

“I have somewhere to be. I love you.” Whenever you came back, someone was always at your hospital room. This was ritual for you since it was all you can do.

You closed your eyes and forced your soul through time and space to get to Gale. As soon as your ghastly body popped into where you wanted, you were somewhere new. You had make your main focus to be where Gale was but as far as you knew, you were near a village. This…This was the underdark. It seemed like a mushroom filled area. The fungi walked among the mushroom covered corpses.

“Avira?” Gale’s voice shivered through you. Guilt struck you quickly, you turned to face him with a small smile.

“Gale! Hey…”

His face looked conflicted. He then gestured to his tent and disappeared inside. You gulped down any fear and chose to stand tall.

“You did this to yourself! Just face it like the strong person you are.” You phased through the tent flap and Gale sat on his bed roll, glaring at you with an intense look.

“I’m sorry I fought with you. It was clearly a two way problem and we didn’t handle it well. However..” Gale seemed to recall your parting words, his eyebrows furrowed with worry and confusion.

“Are you comfortable explaining why you blew up at me?” His arms were crossed as he frowned deeply.

“I’m…not dead. Well I should be. I’m in a dead like state? Wait-! Let me try again!” Word vomit quickly left you as you panicked in your explanation. You had nothing prepared. How can you possibly expect to explain anything?

“Avira. Calm down. Explain it as best you can. I’ll try to dissect it all.” Gale relaxed his body which helped you relax.

“Ok. For a few months I’ve been in a comatose state. My mind is awake but my body is asleep. I can’t move, can’t talk. I can’t even let my family know that I’m awake and alive aside from the sound of my heart beating.” You looked away from him. Your emotions made you hurt. A sting of pain hit where your heart should be.

“I had researched astral projection when I was alive and able-bodied.” You awkwardly gesture as you spoke the word. It felt like the wrong word but it satisfied the explanation to him.

“Go on?” Gale listened intently.

“Well..I somehow found a way to separate soul and body. Astral projection. I wandered my world for weeks before my loneliness kicked in. So I tried to figure out a way to travel to different realms as a wandering soul. Only downside is that, I’ll never be seen or heard. I can’t help those who need it and I’ll never be able to be heard by anyone.”

Gale didn’t respond. How could he? It was one thing to admit to not being dead but astral projection from another realm? A realm where you are in a state where you can’t even lift a finger? He sighed and looked at you conflicted.

“Do you want to wake up? Or do you wish to stay here?” He asked.

“I want..” the words got caught in your throat. Did you want to wake up? You’d spent so long living like this that waking up didn’t seem like an option.

“What if…what if I’m too scared of leaving my family? What if they’re so hurt and distraught?” A fear that you’d never felt before settled in your heart. The fear of dying for yourself. The fear of giving up your life in your world and allowing your family to give up on you.

“Don’t think about that.” His words were quick. Fast to avoid letting the thought settle and alter your choice.

“Live for yourself. I’ve met people who are glad to have choice in how they die. This is different. You can choose how you want to live. You don’t have to accept death. It’s ok to be selfish.”

His words made you feel more confident. You felt as if you could have a choice in what to do. You held your hands together as if in prayer.

“I..I wanna be here but..I wanna see my family one last time.” Gale hummed in agreement and informed you to stay where you were. You watched as he left the tent. You poked your head through the tent flaps and watch him talk with Tav.

He came back quickly, passing through your body and laid down. He cast a spell and suddenly..

“You astral projected!?” Your surprise was evident. He literally dropped everything just to do you a favor.

“You see how I have this silvery cord on me? This will take me back to my body. I need to connect your body with one so we can basically copy your body into my realm but before all of that.” He extended a hand.

“Take me to your world?”

[lovely-amora]

hey i can get to the tingling stage but how do i sepeeate my astral body from my physical body?

Unsure-

I mainly write about astral projection in the DnD sense of things. I’m mildly aware of how it works in reality but am not the person to speak to about such a thing. Astral projection is a plot point in my recent story with Gale from Balder’s Gate 3.

Sorry that I can’t be of any help! 😖

[lovely-amora]

I’m fucking DEAD,you idiot!

Pt2 —— Pt3

A specter of a sort had been following Tav's group for a while. Gale was first to notice but didn’t realize that acknowledging the ghost would bring so many surprises.

Your specter form wandered around. You’d never left Balder’s Gate since there’s a lot to see and never enough time to do it. Besides the attack from that weird tentacle thing was kinda simulating. You floated beyond the city limits and wandered. You didn’t know exactly where you were going but you felt a particular pull to a grove with Druids that had been bombarded with Teiflings. They were well meaning, trying their best to pull their weight and to avoid conflict but it never made any sense how hostile the druids were to them. Even the kids.

You couldn't help them in the state you were in. You were simply a being that could only watch and never be seen, no better than the many onlookers that watched the problems fester. It was until you saw them. It was a strange group that you could sense something weird from them. The leader Tav was a strong willed person. A being that felt stronger than what met the eye. Tav was followed by several people. They seemed to be joined in a shared pain or experience.

But there was one who stood out to you. Who seemed to shine in your eyes more so than anyone else in this group of oddballs.

His presence was like a gust of wind, stirring the leaves and quickening the pulse. With every word he spoke, wisdom dripped from his lips like honey, sweet and irresistible.

But it wasn't just his intellect that caught your attention; it was the fire in his eyes, the passion that burned bright within him. He spoke of his magic like a lover recounting tales of forbidden romance, and you found yourself drawn to the flame of his fervor.

It was impossible for you not to follow him. The transparent you that clearly didn't belong anywhere. A part of you wished to be real for even a moment. To be able to hold his hand or to even give him a smile that he could actually see.

You watched as Gale taught Tav how to channel the weave. Something inside you felt jealous. You wanted to be the one who he taught. While Tav and Gale had interactions that seemed friendly at best, you still wish to stand with him. You clicked your tongue and watched as he explained how to channel the weave. You did your best to follow but you had minimal success. It was pretty good for a dead person. However, when you did succeed...you phased through the floor from your own excitement.

You wanted Gale to praise you. To tell you that you did a good job but those were words reserved for Tav. Words that you will never hear from him or anyone else.

You felt a sense of sadness, you knew that it was never going to happen. That you were a weird case and would never interact with someone else in such ways again.

You floated over the nearby lake. The moon reflected on the water. It was beautiful. Too beautiful for your sad mood. You stretched out your hands and started to use your weaker version of the weave to try and recreate the few memories you had.

Being in a bed.

Loved ones surrounding you.

A doctor saying you were in a coma. That he was unsure you'd ever wake up.

You shook the weave off you. The lonely feeling eating away at your ghastly body as you stood on top of the water.

"I knew it. I'm not crazy." Gale's voice rung in your ears. He seemed to sound like he saw you. You laughed upset as you sigh.

"Why do I always expect something to change?" You mutter. You turn to get from the center of the lake but Gale was there. He didn't say anything. He only stared at you. His gaze was soft, as if he saw something that only he may admire. The kind of gaze you wish was directed to you.

As you looked at him, a thought came to mind.

Who was he looking at?

You turned around to look at the other side of the lake but there was no one. You paused as you stopped floating to where land met water.

"Is he looking at- GAH!" He had gotten so close so quickly. If you had been with beating heart, you'd die on the spot from the scare. The only thing that his jump scare caused was you flying up into the trees, losing control of your body.

"Sorry! I didn't realize that I could hear you as well!" Gale promptly apologized. You stare at him strangely but then laughed wholeheartedly. This situation was crazy. A ghost and a wizard talking on the same plane.

"You can see me? You hear me to? Oh this is crazy." Excitement in you was high but also worry. How long could he see you?

"It's been quite some time since I've been able to see you. You're quite the curious one."

The two talked. You told him what you knew about him and his group. The silly things his group mates would do when they thought no one was watching. He explained the weave to you as you did your best to follow.

"Oh! And then Your friend Wyll? He got his horns stuck in a tree!" You laughed as you recount the moment. Gale enjoyed how you got along. He found it weird that he wished to be friends with a ghost but it was fun for him.

"Have you ever wanted to live again? I mean, I think there are ways to get you a body you may control." Gale offered halfheartedly. He knew of some ways but they weren't ways he was confident in.

"Of course. Who wouldn't want to live? I just...I can't exist in such a form." You jolt as your mouth had went faster than your thoughts. You promptly said goodnight to him and left him with confusion as to what you meant.

As time has gotten away from the two of you, Gale got closer to you. It didn't matter where but he'd always find a way to speak with you. Even in the under dark, he carefully whispered with you where he rested. If there was anything he looked forward to, it was the little conversations that you shared. The only thing that he was sad about is that you never spoke of yourself. Not your past, not your fears, gods he doesn't even know your name.

"Hey. Why haven't you told me your name yet?" He carefully pondered. You shrug as you cross your legs in the air, hanging upside down.

"Don't remember it too well. I remember other things just not that." Gale clicked his tongue sad. He then grinned.

"I'll name you then! Avira! It means specter." You nod thinking to yourself. As much as you cared for him, you couldn't allow yourself to get too close. No matter how much you wish for it. It's not really something that can happen with your situation.

"Gale. We should stop. Whatever this is." Your gestures were loud. Your hands moving with each word as you tried to distract yourself from his response.

"What."

"I mean. What good is being around a specter?" You argued.

"You're my friend! The hells you mean what good?!" Gale grit his teeth as he tried to understand.

"I'm just saying-"

"That I'm not worth sticking your neck out for?" Gale accused. He could only see his past lover. The goddess who wouldn't allow him what he craved and how useless he felt before her. You weren't her but gods...did he feel as if you were.

"You want yer fucking answer?!" A sudden angry accent came from you.

"Yeah! Give me your pathetic reason for leaving me!"

"I'M AS GOOD AS FUCKING DEAD YOU IDIOT!"

Your form disappeared as soon as you shouted this. When his mind calmed however, you were long gone. No evidence of your existence and as the others didn't know of you, he had no one to reach out to about this. The only thing that nagged at him were your final words to him.

What did you mean by as good as dead?

Were you not dead already?