#ghost x python

[the-whispers-of-death]

Transfer Him (Or Not)

A/N: For context, here is Python's introduction Ghost. And here is Python's basic info post.

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It took Ghost two days of putting up with Python before he stomped towards Price's office. He practically threw open the door, glowering at the captain for what he has had to put up with from the American medic.

"Transfer him." Ghost growled out as he stalked towards Price's desk.

Price looked up from where he writing a report. "'Him" who? Be more specific, there's all men here in this task force," he replied, amused with his own joke. He chuckled for a bit before turning serious, raising a brow at his lieutenant. "Is it Soap? I thought you liked him now."

Ghost scowled beneath his mask, crossing his arms. "I do and I was talking about that bastard American medic," he grumbled.

"Python?" Price couldn't help it, he burst out into laughter, which only made Ghost more irritated. He had his laughing fit for a whole minute before he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, his smile forming on his face. "You want me to transfer Python?"

"Yes," Ghost said gruffly, not understanding why Price found it so funny.

"No."

"What? Why not?"

Price's amusement was gone now, his hands moving around some paperwork on his desk. He waited until he was sure Ghost was seriously asking the question. "Ghost, I can't transfer Python," he explained, his words careful. "For one, I didn't transfer him to us in the first place, Laswell did, and secondly, a medic would be good for us. You and Soap barely made it out alive in Las Alamas. So he's staying, no matter how much you don't like him."

Ghost growled at that, very upset by Price's logic. "I don't trust him. The last American we trusted was Graves, and we all know how that turned out," he said.

"Do you trust me, Ghost?"

"Without question."

Price smiled at that, knowing he could always count on his lieutenant to trust him. "Then trust that I know you'll end up liking Python," he replied. "Besides, you don't even know him well enough to hate him. He's only been here for two days."

Ghost grumbled again. "I know him enough to know he's a mysterious bastard."

"Ah, so you two have that in common," Price said, his smile widening into a grin at the playful glower Ghost threw his way for that comment. He chuckled. "Just... Try to be nice, okay? You wouldn't want to piss off a medic, Ghost. Trust me."

Ghost nodded and then left the office so Price could get back to work. He decided to head to the base hospital, heading out of the building he was in and making his way over to the base hospital.

He walked inside the base hospital and made it to the office that was designated as Python's. As he walked there, Soap came out of the office with Gaz in tow, Soap having his hand bandaged.

"What happened to you?" Ghost asked, frowning at Soap's bandaged hand. He went to grab it to get a closer look but Soap pushed his hand away with his good one.

Soap gave Ghost a cheeky grin. "It's nothing, mate. A simple second-degree burn from a cooking accident," he told Ghost nonchalantly. "I just went in to see the doc to get it bandaged."

Gaz interjected, rolling his eyes. "I brought him to Python," he explained his presence there. "Soap wasn't even going to treat it and I had to drag him to Python's office."

"You're such a tattletale, Gaz," Soap complained, his voice almost a whine. He then turned to Ghost, a curious glint in his eyes. "Why are you on your way to Python? Injured, aye?"

Ghost playfully pushed at Soap's chest. "My business is my business," he said, warning Soap not to push for details.

Soap merely smiled, used to Ghost's evasiveness. "You and Python are similar in that respect. A pair of men who want to remain as mysterious as possible."

Ghost rolled his eyes and bid goodbye to Gaz and Soap, Gaz playfully dragging Soap back to the barracks. He watched them leave before walking up the office door, knocking, and entering.

"You injured?" Python asked as soon as Ghost stepped in, lifting his head up from where he was putting away the bandages and gauze back into the drawer of his desk. "And on a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?"

"You know, most medics are less harsh when it comes to asking how bad an injury is." Ghost couldn't help but have a little bite in his voice, feeling annoyed whenever Python was in his vicinity.

Ever since he met the man, Ghost had this need, this itch, and he could only assume it was because they were so similar that Ghost hated it with a passion. And yet, Ghost found himself wanting to be closer.

He pushed down that sudden urge, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Anyways, I'm not here because I'm injured," he said, eyeing the taller man.

Python finished putting away the bandages and gauze back in the drawer of his desk, closing the drawer before giving Ghost his full attention. He still had on that damned mask and balaclava that made Ghost all that aware of how similar they were. "Okay, why are you here then?" he asked, moving around his desk to sit on the edge of the surface of said desk.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm... I'm going to try to get along with you," Ghost blurted out awkwardly, at a loss for words. He was never a talker anyways.

"Okay," Python said after a minute of waiting for Ghost to say more.

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

And there Ghost was, getting irritated with Python all over again. It was like there was an inferno in his chest, an emotion he couldn't describe but was so intense that it made him so irritable to the way Python was so cagey.

"Bloody hell," Ghost exclaimed, unable to help the rush of emotions. He threw his arms up in the air in a "I give up" gesture and turned away from the infuriating man. "It's like talking to a wall! Fine, keep yourself locked away, see if I care."

With those words, he stomped out of the office, slamming the door shut. Despite his irritation, Ghost's lips couldn't help but twitch into a small smile when he heard Python curse at the door being slammed shut.

So the medic does express some emotion, Ghost thought to himself. Interesting.

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

A/N: This was longer than I thought it would be. But have this, Ghost not understanding what emotion he's feeling. He doesn't like his questions being brushed off by Python, but he doesn't understand that he too does that to others. But also, what was Python supposed to say in response, Ghost, huh? I still love Ghost, it's fine.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[sonnenflamme]

This might be a bit niche, but oh well:

Complaints to @spicy-enshulada for encouraging me >:)

[yonderghostshistories]

Here's my shittyly-made funni meme about shipping my 2 favourite tired, DILFY Army Dads, The Colonel and The Captain! Enjoy!

(can you tell that I'm thirsting very carnally for these pretty Bois yet?)

[caffieneaddictt18]

All the Good Girls go to Hell

"With all due respect sir, I think I'm going to keep with my previous answer: No, but thank you for the opportunity. My team needs me here." Even as I decline, for the third time, Price still looks like he's expecting a yes.

"Let me know if that ever changes to a 'yes', Sergeant." He pats my shoulder and turns around, the team flanking him, walking out the doors of the gym.

"It won't, sir." I firmly stand at rest, my squad gathering around me now. Price looks and sees my face, a face of wrought determination, and the recruits building around me.

"We'll see." The Captain waves goodbye as he leaves. His lieutenant eyes me as he leaves. I return it with just as much ferocity as his distaste.

"Sergeant? What was that about?" Geller speaks up from my right.

"Don't worry about it. Hit the showers, all of you. We'll finish sparring tomorrow." I turn around, addressing the entire group, before heading to the mat to grab my personal training gear.

I gather it up in my duffel and head out to my barracks room.

"Hey, lass!" A Scottish voice booms from behind me.

"Sergeant Mactavish." I nod in greeting. "What can I do for you?"

"Laswell says she needs us in briefing room 203 by 1400 hours." I look at my watch, seeing 1:40.

"That's in twenty minutes. I'll be there." I try to shoo him off so I can enter my barracks room and at least get changed back into my regular clothes.

"Okay. But can I stay with you? I don't want to have to run back." Soap requests. He is either not picking up on the clues that I want to be left alone or he doesn't care. Either way, it's frustrating.

"Are you just going to stand outside my door until I come out if I don't let you in?" I inquire, cause if he is just going to wait outside then what is the point of not letting him in.

"Yes, Ma'am." He smiles, seemingly knowing my answer.

I sigh, "Fine. You can come in." I turn around and unlock the door, letting both Soap and I into the room. I drop my duffel on the floor, and go straight to my closet. I look back to see Soap looking around amazed. "What's that look on your face for?"

He straightens up quickly, snapping our eye contact together. "Oh. Nothing."

"Uh huh... I don't have time for this. Shut the door and sit down somewhere." I walk into the bathroom, regular clothes in hand, and shut the door, locking it behind me. I'm not about to have some man in my room and not lock the door. I rush through the freshening up process: new deodorant, quick brush teeth, and putting on my regular clothes of a 3/4 sleeve dark grey shirt tucked into a pair of black standard issue cargo pants.

I come out with ten minutes till 1400, rushing straight to the door. "Soap! Come on! 10 till!" I rush putting on my boots and open the door, unlocking it. Soap comes barreling out, not realizing the time. I rush out and shut the door behind me, locking it, before following his long strides to the briefing room with 2 minutes to spare.

I open the door breathing harder than normal. "Cherry," Laswell's calm voice breaks the silence, "Didn't know if you'd get here in time given your teams PT just ended 20 minutes ago, but I am pleasantly surprised."

"Thank you, Chief." I nod and sit down in an empty chair, taking in who else is here. Laswell, Ghost, Gaz, and now Soap and you. If I squint into a dark corner, I can see an outline that vaguely looks like Price. And my hunch is confirmed as he comes out of said corner.

"Right. We got a mission."

"A group of terrorists is running an underground fighting ring to hide their arms dealings." Laswell beings up the picture of our target. "Ruzar Alessio. He's the person who runs the arms deals. We need to stop his dealings now, before they get bigger."

"Has he made any indication of moving onto bigger arms dealings? Missiles?" I look through the file we were all given, flicking over his record.

"When Hasan was alive, Alessio contacted him. We intercepted the communication and found that Alessio was trying to buy missiles. Unfortuantely for Alessio, Hasan died before any business dealing could go through. We kept him on the radar and now we have intercepted a new communication from him, asking a new person for missiles. We believe that the business dealing will happen here," the projected map zooms in, "in Columbia. For now, there have been no communications for the fighting ring to move from the abandoned warehouse in Sri Lanka. But they will move, probably to some place close to Columbia, or even in Columbia." Laswell finishes her info dump as Price takes over.

"Here's the plan. Two of you are going undercover: one as fighter, other as sponsor. The rest of us will do what we can to get to Alessio before he can go through with the dealing, preferably before he even gets to Columbia." He leans on the table, bracing himself with his hands.

"Okay, but if this is an underground ring, they aren't just going to take up two random strangers. We're gonna need- undercover comes with backstories... right." I shake my head as Laswell looks at me like I grew another head.

"Taken care of."

"So who is going undercover?" The men of the table look at each other before looking at me.

"Whoa! When was this decided?"

Laswell speaks up, seeing my quick reactions. "You have the best PT quals for sparring besides Ghost, and he'll need to be on John's team to get to Alessio."

"I may be going up against men two times my size!"

"I don't remember that being an issue for you, Cherry." Laswell raises an eyebrow, leaning on the table. "Or do you not remember Peru?"

"Of course I fucking remember Peru." I hiss out.

"Good. Then this should be easier." Laswell stands at her full height again, letting Price take over again.

"Soap, you'll be with me and Ghost. Gaz. You'll be undercover as Cherry's sponsor. A promising female fighter entering the ring backed by a rich bloke with ties to the underground."

"Sounds good, sir." Gaz agrees, Soap nodding with him.

"Cherry?" Price singles me out. I can feel everyone's stare, boring into the side of my head like a bullet.

"Sure. Why not?" I toss the open file onto the table, where a picture of Alessio, sitting at a table with a man who is obscured by milling people, sits on top of his record.

Chapter two of this little idea. Seems to be chuggin along. If you like it, feel free to leave a comment. I would love to hear your thoughts on this. Bye Bye for now! Heres the (playlist)

[quarterlifekitty]

In honor of Lunar New Year, I decided to get freaky!

Please enjoy this celebration of the each animal zodiac with some Hybrid!AU scenarios. Lots of size kink, breeding kink, feral behavior, and more. I'm really on my nerd shit here. Really playing with my dolls rn. This is so utterly distant from the source material it's unreal. You've been warned. [part 1 of 2]

Barn Cat!Nikto x Rat!Reader

Nikto is a dutiful, prideful creature. A stray who domesticated himself to a farm, hunting their vermin in exchange for a place to call his own when he pleased. He’s caught a thousand little krysy like you, but you give him pause when he bears down on you. Something about the quiver to your tail, the nervous clench of your legs… It’s not how rats ought to act when under the paw of a cat. He’s inclined to keep you– curious about what else fear might make you do.

Chianina!Ghost x Vechur!Reader

You’re in adjacent pens, having travelled a long way– you’re show animals, the most exemplary in your breed. True to form, he’s gigantic and has a brilliant white coloring to his fur, and you’re, well… little. Constantly crowded around for onlookers to take pictures, the ox beside you flaring his nostrils when he sees you being overwhelmed and anxious, stamping to scare off the spectators. You’re almost infuriatingly diminutive to him. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, and if the abundance of ribbons on your gate is anything to go by– you’ll probably be paired up to somehow make an even smaller little calf. Maybe he’ll just have to take some steps to make sure he can see it for himself.

Flemish Giant!König x Netherlands Dwarf!Reader

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the back lawn of the house. Your owner and his are good friends– and have recently become obsessed with the idea of having little baby bunnies to cuddle. Boy meets girl– can I make it any more obvious? You can, because they neglect to take into account your difference in breed. You’re terrified when you encounter him, and he doesn’t help matters when he catches you by the ankle as you try to dive under the porch to hide. But he doesn’t do anything bad when he’s caught you. Just holds you a little too tight, nuzzling, like you’re little more than a toy to him. Unfortunately for you, your owners consider it a successful playdate, keen to set more up regularly until the right season rolls around.

Tiger!Horangi x Housecat!Reader

You live on a plantation bordering forest, climbing in and out of the window by your favorite basking spot to explore. Being raised among humans, your survival instincts are a bit dull– you can’t tell that you’re being watched by a tiger. He’s never seen a little creature like you. You’re like him, but small. But you still very much smell like a female, so he’s more than content to stalk after you. He doesn’t really understand why your back bristles up when he roars. He’s used to females growling and swiping at him when they’re not interested, but you run off back to your window, shaking as you watch him from the walls of your little palace. He’ll try again tomorrow.

Dragon!Price x Fish Scale Gecko!Reader

There aren’t many dragons left in the world. Price, for one, hasn’t seen another since he was very young. He hasn’t seen much of anything in the past hundred years or so– hasn’t come down from on high. No reason to. The forest begins to return to the mountainside– having been leveled by his flame decades ago. With the trees come more creatures, including you. Scales and tail not unlike a dragon– though your size and tree-dwelling habits are decidedly un-dragonlike. With his mating season on the horizon, beggars can’t be choosers, but when he tries to grab you by the tail, he’s left holding a fistful of scales. It gets his blood running hot– he’s forgotten what a thrill it is to hunt. He might just be in love.

Reticulated Python Naga!Nikolai x Brahminy Blind Snake Naga!Reader

You have no idea as to the extent of Nikolai’s tail, as you can’t see it. All you know are the shadows he makes against the sunlight. You know that he eats strange things, things that don’t sound like eggs or larvae (what he’s eating are your predators, hoping to take advantage of a tiny, blind, defenseless thing out in the open). When he ponders about how he’s going to stretch you to fit his cock, to take his eggs– you can’t even begin to imagine what he’s talking about. Your mother made all of her eggs on her own, and so did your sisters– what does he need you for?

[moodyboozewriting]

red flags and long nights (ghost x soap)

pt. 1/?

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence and gore, implied/referenced SA, ghost's past, hurt/comfort, angst

pt. 2 here

Simon wakes to a resounding silence. It ricochets off the walls, and it’s loud. It’s the loudest he’s ever felt. Louder than gunshots, or the explosions of bombs. Louder than the silence that followed the last crash, his mother’s voice snuffed out in the face of unbidden cruelty. He holds his breath, the way he might have once done to listen for his father’s footsteps and gauge their direction. But there are no footsteps now. He lays back down. He can’t go to Johnny’s, not now. Johnny is in medical, and it’s Simon’s fault. Johnny got close. Too close. And Simon, in his infinite wisdom, let it happen. His idiocy would get Johnny killed, he knew it. So he stayed away. He let Johnny wake up alone every day of the week while he remained confined to his quarters, dreaming of gore. Every bit of violence Simon has ever seen is plastered onto Johnny, and those he hadn’t. He tries to save him, he really does. But his hands fail, and he’s pulling Johnny’s liver out roughly. Frantically scooping his brains out of the bowl of his skull even though they’re falling apart in his hands. He’s digging through Johnny’s body, sobbing as he squeezes his heart so hard it pops to coat his hands a mess of warm blood and viscera. Johnny’s ocean blue eyes are always open. Staring up at him. Sometimes Simon does vile things to him. Stuffing his bloody gloves in Johnny’s mouth while he shoves his hands where he’s sure they aren’t wanted. Sometimes, Johnny’s still alive. Dead or alive, Simon always throws up after those ones. 

It makes Simon miss the hallucinations. At least then, he knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his mind coming up with what he saw. But there are no hallucinations now. And Simon knows it’s too personal to be someone else’s sick images planted in his head. No, this was him. Simon’s own mind grew weeds, invasive and vile, as they fed on his heart and began to swallow him whole. Bit by bit, like a python swallowing prey, it consumes him. He barely registers a meeting with Price. He’s approved- no, encouraged- to take a week of leave. He blinks, and he’s in his apartment. His four barren walls, settled between two abandoned parking lots where Manchester teens play hooky and shoot the shit at odd hours. Something in him register’s the time, a comfortable 0300. He drops his bag on the floor, feet like lead carrying him to his bed. He vaguely registers his phone lighting up with a message before he passes out. 

Simon awakes from his restless dreams with a start. The sound of banging rises up above his heavy breaths and thundering heartbeat, and it takes him a moment to realize that it isn’t coming from the volatile couple next door. No, in fact, it’s coming from the door. His door. Fuck. Simon scrambles out of bed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he ambles to the front door. He swings the door open, and a hand poised to bang again nearly hits him in the face. He barely flinches, but the impact doesn’t come. Instead, he gets a rough clap on the shoulder. It startles him out of his daze, and all he can feel is the strong grip of the hand grasping him. 

“Bloody Jesus Ghost, ye look like shit.”

And Simon can’t help his heart stuttering. His eyes drift down to meet Johnny’s. Vibrant, sea-blue stares back pointedly. Vividly. There’s life in his eyes, Simon thinks. He repeats it in his head: Johnny is alive. 

“Are ye gonna let me in or just stare at me forever?”

Johnny snaps Simon out of his daze for the second time in only minutes. He shuffles awkwardly to the side, holding the door open. It’s an invitation. Johnny knows Simon would have slammed the door in his face if he really didn’t want him there. But Simon is weak for Johnny alone, so he lets him in. Johnny stands with his arms crossed as Simon closes the door. Simon wants to recoil under his gaze, feeling exposed despite the surgical mask over his face. That pointed look never left Johnny’s face. It makes Simon want to squirm, or flee. 

“You didn’t come.”

It’s a simple statement, but it packs enough of a punch to make Simon want to double over in pain. But he can’t, not in front of Johnny, so he stares back.

“I don’t remember making any promises, sergeant.” 

His response is clipped. Johnny only gets angrier. It simmers underneath his skin, slowly building. 

“I had to hear from Price that ye’re fine.”

He forces his eyes to roll. Johnny deserves better. Simon will make him see that.

“Don’t see why that warrants a home visit.”

A conflicted look flashes across his face, and Simon doesn’t know what it means.

“Oh come off it, Ghost. Don’t act like we’re not-“ 

Johnny starts, but Simon doesn’t let him finish.

“Not what, Soap? Last I checked you’re a sergeant and I’m your lieutenant.”

Johnny stares at him dumbly.

“Tha’s it? Just a sergeant and his superior officer? Tha’s all ye think of us?”

Simon’s eyes narrow. They tell Johnny that he’s toeing a dangerous line. Johnny stares back defiantly. He knows, and he doesn’t seem to deter him.

“Anything else you came to tell me, Sergeant?” Ghost responds in that same clipped tone.

Johnny stares at him with an unbridled ire, and it tears Simon up inside. He feels the sudden urge to rip open his skin, pry his ribs apart and yank out his heart to present to Johnny. To give it to him unhindered, to tell him it’s you, it’s always been you. But all he does is stare. He remains frozen in his spot, staring down into the crystalline azure sea he’d happily drown in every day for the rest of his pathetic life. 

“Would it kill ye to just… fuckin’ talk to me for once?” 

There’s something else in Johnny’s eyes now. If Simon reached out and moved the layers of anger, he might be able to catch a glimpse of something more. But Johnny is well-guarded, and Simon’s never been good at picking people apart. Not emotionally, anyways. Simon just stares at him. He can hardly bear to do anything else.

That’s when Johnny decides he’s had enough. He just sighs, tearing those perfect blues away from Simon and walking towards the door. Simon’s heart jumps up into his throat as if it means to expel itself, since its owner was too damn cowardly to do it himself. Simon cringes as a choked noise bubbles up from his chest and out of his mouth, sudden and unbidden. Johnny stills, but he doesn’t turn. Simon has barbed wire wrapped tight around his vocal cords. He can’t do anything but follow after Johnny, his hands shaking as they hover over the man’s broad shoulders. He’s grateful when Johnny turns around, so he isn’t held with the monumental task of making contact. His relief is dispelled immediately when he sees those blues swimming with unshed tears. Simon has to swallow to keep his heart from leaping right out of his mouth and into Johnny’s waiting arms. 

“Johnny…” is all that comes out at first. It’s weak and pathetic, just like him. 

“I can’t… I don’t… talking is…” it all comes out in a sorry, nonsensical stream, and Simon finds that his legs are giving out as he sinks to his knees. This isn’t what he wanted to do, or what he wanted to say. He presses the heels of his palms frustratedly into his closed eyes, trying (and failing) to repress a stuttering sob. Simon can’t look up. He doesn’t want to watch as Johnny turns heel and walks out of Simon’s dingy Manchester flat. A beat passes, but then by some miracle he feels strong arms wrapping around his bowed head. Simon wonders if he’s started to hallucinate again. He feels gentle fingers in his hair, soft words in his ear and warm breath by his jaw through the mask. It’s all too much. Simon breaks, falling apart hopelessly in the arms of the only person he’d ever loved like this. He clings to Johnny as he sobs, fists tight around the fabric of the Scot’s t-shirt. He feels a hand rub soothing circles onto his back, and it only serves to break him further. Johnny lets him break, holding the shattered pieces together in his arms. The fabric of his mask is so loaded with tears he thinks he might waterboard himself, so he pulls away slightly to pull the thing off before collapsing into Johnny’s chest again. 

It’s miserable and pathetic in the way that only Simon can be. He’s helpless as Johnny’s fingers dig deep into the recesses of his fractured mind, pulling out the weeds with the strength of armies and the tenderness of him. “M’sorry, Johnny.” 

His words are slurred and incomprehensible as his heart, and they feel like his first words in years. John just hushes him softly with that untamed care of his.

Simon repeats himself, strings of broken and desperate apologies tumbling from his lips as he only clings tighter. His spell is only broken at the sound of an always comforting voice. 

“Simon,” it says softly, sweet hands beckoning him to raise his chin a little. He complies, because of course he does. 

“You don’ have to apologize to me,” Johnny's voice reassures, as if Simon’s whole world isn’t crashing down. 

But that’s just it. He’s Simon. He’s always been Simon, and he’s always hated it. It wasn’t just Simon he hated, but Johnny too. He hated that Johnny saw Simon. Saw him buried beneath the layers of Ghost, dug him out and wiped the dirt from his hands as they walked from the grave. And Simon, as gone as he already was, just followed. He would follow, for as long as Johnny would lead him.

[amphitriteswife]

💛🧡Rejection🧡💛

Tagging: @praisethesuuun @mizz-sea-nymph @nicasdreamer @swallowtail-lotus

I know i made it male reader but feel free to see your oc sunny!😈

Apollo x male! Reader.

Apollo, god of the Sun, one of the 12 olympians and twin brother of the moon goddess herself, Artemis. That’s what he was most known for. Yet many forgot he was so much more than that. For example being the god of medicine, music, boys, knowledge and so much more. He was well loved among the ancient greeks. Often seen as the male beauty. In many of his famous tales Apollo falls in love with a man or woman, yet it always ends badly for them, causing Apollo to have them turned into flowers. Yet despite all the recognition, the glorious tales of him defeating the monster Python… he wasn’t always a saint.

Clutching your bow in one hand, you looked at the boar you just hunted. The boar was usually a symbol or offer to the lady Artemis herself. Once again, failing to have an offer for the god you worship. It was tiring and disappointing. Now it was a waste if you didn’t do anything with the now dead boar. Until the idea hit you that you might offer it to Artemis without entering her temple as only women or her priestesses are allowed to enter in. Walking in the direction of the temple you met one of the priestesses, giving her the boar and turning on your heel to go back to train with your bow, yet you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being followed. It was an uneasy feeling in your gut that told you to keep watching who was behind you. Ignoring the feeling but not the suspicion, you clutched your bow and narrowed your eyes. The sudden sound of leaves rattling made you alert as you quickly raised your bow, pulling out an arrow and aiming at the source of the sound, your hand pulling on the string before firing the arrow without missing a beat.

Steading your breath, you listing closely, hearing the sound of your arrow hitting something followed by a rather loud and dramatic ‘OW’ which made you a bit stunned before you hesitantly walked into the direction of where you shot your arrow. Moving some of the leaves and bushes you could finally see…a naked man in the lake? The sight was honestly a little baffling since most of the warriors were already back at the training camp, and not to mention the light shade of the pink hair which was a unusual color for human hair, walking closer you could see the little red liquid in the pond water, slowly getting thinner the more it stayed in the water. Following the trail of blood you could recognize seeing your own arrow in the right shoulder of the man. The man seemed confused as to why he suddenly got hit by an arrow. Your arrow. Guilt filled your being as you walked closer to the man, wanting to help him stop the bleeding yet when you were about to call him out he pulled out the arrow himself. His hand hovered over the cut before a yellow light surrounded the area where he ws hurt, the wound slowly closing under the dim light.

Suddenly, the man turned behind him. Staring at you wide eyed. He had hazel pupils, something that was rare, yet not unusual. You too stared back at him shocked. Who the hell was this man? Was it a magician? A witch? Should you tell someone? This can’t be real. This cannot be happening. ‘You look like you saw a ghost…well I’m even better.’ The man spoke to you, his hazel eyes focused on you. He had sharp features and a cocky arrogant smirk playing on his thin yet pink lips. He had a nice, lean yet muscular body and his voice was smooth and almost velvety…it made your head a little light and dizzy. ‘Are you feeling alright mortal? Can’t have you passing out on me?’ He told you in a hearty chuckling tone. He was suspicious. He must’ve done something to you. Your vision was a little clouded and your head felt heavy. ‘What have you done to me?’ You asked him placing one hand on your head. Massaging it a little. Your eyes focused on the suspicious man. The man Hmph-ed and scoffed. Closing his eyes, seemingly hurt and offended that he was accused of something like that.

‘I didn’t do anything, you idiot. Who do you take me for? That’s no way to talk your god!’ he said to you, crossing his arms and keeping his head high. How arrogant! And why is he claiming to be a god? That’s disrespectful! Claiming to be a god is highly disrespectful and insulting to your religion. ‘You can’t just claim you’re a god mister. It’s disrespectful.’ You told him carefully which made him scoff at you. ‘I’m no pretender! Seriously who do you take me for! It’s me! Apollo! Your lord! Your sweet, charming, loving, amazing sun god!’ Apollo told you proud fully, his strawberry pink like hair glistening in the waters. But he couldn’t help but chuckle when he looked at your flabbergasted face. His arms reached out to your body and he pulled you in the water with him. His hands on your broad shoulders while he looked you deep into your eyes, his face held a confident smirk and his hands soon began to make its way to your face, cupping it slightly. ‘Keep your god company, won’t you?’ Apollo asked you softly whispering in your ear. The sudden action once again made your head spin.

There was no denying that Apollo was attractive and charming….and seductive. But it was still highly Inappropriate to have something with the god you worship. Would you be allowed to go into the temple again? What if you end up like most of his lovers who have met unfortunate fates? Dying isn’t something you wanted…even if being with your god seemed like a dream. Would it really be a good choice to accept? Is that really what you want? So many questions yet so little answers. It made you dizzy and uncomfortable which cause you to take a fews steps back which made the god stunned. ‘I don’t know if that’s what i want...’ You told him slowly and carefully. You didn’t want to make quick and reckless decisions.. there was too much at stake. ‘I decline. I’m sorry my lord’ You told him carefully but firmly. Even if you loved your god, it was still platonic and admiration. Not romantic love like he hoped.

To not make the situation worse you walked out of the waters, apologized for the arrow and took your leave. Leaving Apollo, even if it was still hard to process in your state of disbelief that it was really him, alone in the waters who was confused himself. Apollo was never rejected by anyone, causing him to have a stir of mixed emotions. He was hurt that you didn’t feel for him. Yet also angry you had the audacity to reject him. Yet also admiration that you wanted to put yourself first. He himself felt strange, but he was a powerful and confidant being. And rejected won’t a final answer. After all. In Apollo’s myths he never took no for an answer either…

🌻Thank you for reading! 🌻

[fifilefttheloom]

This is a fic idea I was discussing a while back on discord that haunts my dreams.

Rogue cultivator Shen Jiu. He isn't allowed to join Cang Qiong, but they don't lock him up for the demonic cultivation. Yue Qi sneaks him a cultivation manual and some cash, and off Shen Jiu goes into the world.

His cultivation isn't a contest, it's just whatever gets him out alive on the other end. Without a spiritual sword, he uses his environment (pocket sand). The last thing someone threatening him on the road will see is him bending over to sniff a flower, brush his fingers across a pine branch, or stick his hand in his pocket. He kills a moon python rhino by filling its lungs with grass and leaves, no impressive show of qi or weapons necessary.

It's hard to say what level he's at - others knowing would be a disadvantage so you'll never know.

He does all kinds of gigs: accounting, ghost hunting, disappearing shitty dudes who cause trouble for his jiejies at the brothels, monster hunting, or even your +1 at a fancy party to make your X jealous. He's a chameleon, able to banter with the street kids one second then argue philosophy the next.

What to do with this version of Shen Jiu? No idea.

[jandthecrow]

The Snake

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

SUMMARY: Morning after cracking a few open with the boys you wake up not alone in bed

CW: fluff, in love Simon (unbeknownst to reader), fem!reader, caring!simonriley, gentle!simonriley, smut?, nakedness

Sweet dreams of the library fade as you wake, the soft crinkling of books and the smell of worn leather leaving your senses. Light spills from the curtains, a dark grey heavy cloth. The sheets around you are warm, dark maroon and soft worn down cotton.

It takes you a moment to stir, your head pounding and body aching, you don’t even remember much of last night. Only cracking a few open with the team, laughing at Gaz’s jokes while Soap ticked off Ghost. Price silently watching the encounters while you all drank after a successful mission. After that it’s all a blur of laughter and pure happiness then nothing.

You roll over in your sheets, body heavy and tired. A hangover sitting in the back of your skull, deep throbbing pain but nothing some Ibuprofen and a glass of liquid IV can’t fix. You catch sight of someone’s back as you roll over, wide and muscular, bearing red scratches and light bruises where nails dug into the skin hard. Scars trace down his left shoulder, jagged and unsteady, probably from some sort of combat knife.

Racking your brain of last night, trying to figure out who is in your bed? Who had the pleasure of fucking you and staying the full night? Instead of being kicked out about a hour after, like you usually did with one night stands.

With a sigh you sit up and put your legs over the side of your bed, pain shoots up your core. A sure sign you had a good time last night, hickeys cover your lower stomach and inner thighs. You don’t look for more, not wanting to try and rack your brain for something you couldn’t remember happening.

As you massage your stiff shoulders, you feel the sheets shift and mattress dip slightly. *The mysterious guest must be waking.* you think to yourself. You look back and furrow your eyebrows a little thinking your mind must be playing tricks on you, cause there is no way Simon Riley is in bed with you… naked and looking just as confused as you are as you stare at each other.

A beat of silence passes, two, three, five, a minute. You just stare at each other shocked and confused and speechless. His chest is worse this his back, deep purple hickeys line his collarbones, a bite mark on his shoulder that is red and raised but the skin not broken. Hickeys trail up his neck, smudged lipstick stain his skin from his face to his stomach, as low as you bring yourself to look with his gaze on you.

Simon POV quick switch

He watches you as you watch him, he rubs his mouth and chin, taking note of the hickeys that line your neck and breasts. Light bruises on your hips, your front still turned away as your upper body is turned to look back at him. Simon can’t see any more signs of whatever you guys did last night but it was apparently intense.

He studies you still, taking note of your body. Plush thighs and slight rolls on your stomach, most of your body made of muscle from the intense military training while stubborn fat clings. Your breasts aren’t too small but aren’t too big, average sized you usually think when you see your naked body - perfect in his eyes. Tattoos litter your skin, and unsurprisingly the skeleton snake tattoo he always saw in training when your shirt rode up. The tattoo starts from your right lower thigh and goes up your leg, the head of the python on your stomach only a few inches right from your belly button. He looks back to your neck trying to keep some form of privacy even when you both are as naked as the day you came into this world.

Simon feels a slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that your relationship will no longer be a simple camaraderie anymore. He searches his mind for any memory of last night but only comes up with drinking more than he should’ve at the hangout and little flashes of intense pleasure and moaning from either him or you, he can’t tell.

Simon mentally kicks himself and his eyes wander around your room on base. Deep maroon cotton sheets, and two matching oak side tables next to the bed. Black heavy curtains blocking out the almost blinding morning light. Two dressers against the far wall near the door. The bed on the other side of the room is bare, you have no assigned roommate. Besides that little tells him about you, only a pair of shark slippers and a bathrobe hanging on your open bathroom door. It has a little dinosaur stitched into it over the heart. A dinosaur he doesn’t recognize like you would a t-Rex or stegosaurus. Meaning you probably have a great interest in paleontology.

Clothes are strewn over the floor, his and your own. His clothes are nearest the door while yours are only near the bed, you were more eager than him or he was more passionate. Simon runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “Well good morning.” He mumbles more to himself than you.

POV switches back

As he speaks you feel a wave of calm and slight annoyance, something that isn’t familiar to you. You’re known for your discipline and honesty but not your lack of self control that his body clearly shows. You nod back silently turning your back to him again and continuing to massage your shoulders. You feel his eyes on you.

“You remember last night?” Simon asks slowly and quietly.

“No, you?” You mumble as you work a kink out of your left shoulder

“Nothing, only a lot of drinking.”

It’s silent after that, the sound of fabric and the clink of his belt fill the room as he gets dressed. He sits back down as he slides his socks and boots on, tying them up tightly.

After a few beats of silence he gets up heading to the door and slips out of the room. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. A twinge of annoyance and loneliness bleeds through your heart. You push it away standing up and collecting your clothes. Your clothes are more neat than his, seemingly having fallen off the bed instead of being thrown off. Tossing them in the dirty clothes bin you head to shower.

Turning on the light of the bathroom you barely look at your reflection as you start the shower turning the water to hot. You step in feeling the comforting warmth of the water pelting your skin. Pouring shampoo in your hands, you lather it up until it bubbles and massage it into your scalp.

A few minutes into your shower routine, your bedroom door opens and you startle. Your bathroom door is left wide open, leaving whoever just entered your room the option to enter. Heavy boots sound against your bedroom floor, and the smell of food and coffee fill your senses. The heavy boots walk over to the open bathroom door and you peek out behind the curtain, it’s Simon. He knocks on the door looking at something in your room not noticing you already see him. “Lass, got us some food.”

You pull your head back into the shower, and sigh finishing scrubbing your arms. “Ok” is all you say before he walks away and sits somewhere in your room. You turn the water off and towel dry, you wrap it around yourself and close the bathroom door for privacy.

A few minutes later you leave the bathroom wearing a new set of clothes. A black long sleeved shirt and black sweatpants, a dinosaur stitched in over the heart - a different one than your robe. The sweatpants have a matching dinosaur stitched in over the left hip, you wear black ankle socks and your shark slippers. Glancing around your room you notice he’s changed your bed sheets into black ones. The maroon sheets sit in the dirty bin, Simon has the curtains open as he sits on the ground in clean clothes. He doesn’t glance up as you walk over and sit across from him, he pushes a to-go box in front of you as he eats out of his.

The food is good as you both eat in silence, not looking at each other. Not speaking or moving, the atmosphere is relaxed but a little awkward. You clear your throat “Thanks”.

Simon nods and you feel the need to fill the silence. “Thought you weren’t gonna come back, surprised me when you came back with breakfast” you say as you bite into a pancake.

“Why’d ya think that?” Simon mumbles.

You pause for a moment thinking if he’s really that dense. “Ya left without saying anything, so I figured- ya know.”

He nods and glances up. “Woulda been rude to leave a lady hungry after sleeping with ‘er.”

“Yeah I guess. Speaking of: you can forget about it, a drunken mistake happens every once a while.” You say finishing up your pancakes.

When you say that he just looks at you for a moment, his face twisting slightly in an emotion you don’t recognize on him, due to the lack of never seeing his face before this. “What if I did’n want’a forget this?”

That makes you pause and look back up at him from your food. He just stares back silently waiting for your response.

“Guess I can’t tell a grown man what to do” you say back still looking at him a bit confused at his seemingly sudden interest in you.

But in all reality if you would’ve paid more attention to your surroundings, you would’ve noticed that he’s always been interested in you. Watching out for you on missions and making sure you take care of yourself. Making sure to get you breakfast on mornings you’re too busy to eat. You seem to lack the awareness when someone is interested in you. One of the qualities that make him feel warm and fuzzy when he thinks of you.

He holds his hand out for yours, you place yours in his hesitantly, he brings it to his mouth. Giving each of your knuckles a kiss.

“Guess you’re stuck with me lass.”

[pumpkinbxtch]

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

— I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

[the-whispers-of-death]

New Guy

A/N: Python's introduction to Ghost!! Note that this OC will eventually be with Ghost.

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

Ghost finished up his workout in the base gym, grabbing a towel and wiping off the sweat on his neck. He waved goodbye to the few soldiers he knew, heading out of the base gym and towards the barracks.

As he walked, he heard whispers of an American joining one of the task forces as their medic. Supposedly it was because the task force needed a medic and there weren't any SAS medics who could be spared.

He huffed at the thought, wishing a silent good luck to the task force that was unlucky enough to have an American medic.

Ghost opened the door to the barracks which were assigned to everyone in the 141. As he entered the barracks, he expected it to be empty since he knew the rest of the 141 were away training or doing paperwork. However, as he stepped inside, it wasn't empty.

There stood a tall, shirtless man who had to be no taller than six-foot-six and had light brown skin that seemed to be covered in tattoos. With his back towards Ghost, he was in the process of putting on a shirt, his head covered by a black balaclava, and Ghost could see the full sleeve tattoos of snakes on his arms and a large tattoo of a snake spiraling up the man's back. The man was burly, muscular with a thick layer of fat on top of the muscles.

Ghost snapped out of his stupor, remembering who he was and clearing his throat. "You're in the wrong barracks, mate," he said, annoyance lacing his voice as he stared at the irritatingly mouth-watering man. "These barracks are for the Task Force 141."

The man finished putting on his shirt, somehow managing to do so without disturbing his balaclava and mask, before he turned to face Ghost. He had on a black hard-plated mask which had gold etchings of a snake coiling all around the mask.

"No, I'm in the right barracks," the man said, Ghost noting the American accent and the way the man's voice was deep but harsh. "Captain Price showed me where to go."

At that words, it clicked in Ghost's head that this was the American medic he had heard about on his way to the barracks. The task force that got said medic was the 141. Great.

"So you're the medic that has the whole base alight with gossip," Ghost grumbled, stepping closer and eyeing the man. His eyes settled on the man's mask and it ticked him off how much they looked similar. "Why do you wear a mask?"

The man seemed unperturbed by the way Ghost was eyeing him warily, as if he was bored. "For the same reason you probably wears yours. For anonymity," he replied. "Call me Python."

Ghost raised his eyebrow underneath his mask, not that Python could see it. "Python?" He tested the callsign on his tongue before huffing in annoyance. "That's a mouthful."

"Yes, but it's not like I chose the callsign myself." Python lifted up his duffel bag with ease and set it down on the bunk that wasn't being used. He definitely sounded bored. "Any other burning questions?"

"Why do they call you "Python"?" Ghost asked, ignoring how rude Python was being. It wasn't like Ghost was being nice either.

"You going to tell me why they call you "Ghost"?" Python shot back, turning back around to face Ghost and crossing his arms.

Ghost scowled beneath his mask, crossing his arms as well. "Don't do that, don't be cagey with me." His irritation was rising steadily. "I'm the mysterious one in this task force."

Python surprisingly laughed, his laughter deep and lacking any actual amusement. He stepped closer, making Ghost step back instinctively. "I guess you're not the only mysterious one here anymore, Ghost." He sucked in his teeth. "Deal with it."

Python then turned away from Ghost again, the sharp change of movement making his medical bag clack against his uniform, drawing Ghost's attention to it.

"You have a shitty attitude for a medic," Ghost muttered underneath his breath, glowering at the man in front of him now.

"I didn't think the great and all-powerful Ghost would cower at a little bit of attitude thrown his way." Python taunted, glancing back at Ghost before unzipping his duffel bag to take out something. He then took a big sniff of the air before making a sound of disgust. "You should shower, you stink."

He zipped up the duffel bag again and then moved past Ghost, leaving the barracks to go God knows where. One minute he was there and the next, Ghost was alone, staring at where Python had been.

Ghost blinked once and then twice, his eyebrows furrowing. "I'm going to have Price transfer him," he grumbled to himself before making his way to the communal bathroom.

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

A/N: I didn't know this OC x Canon relationship would be rivals to lovers (I don't think we can classify them as enemies, not even sure if we could classify them as rivals really), but as Python likes to chant in my head, "Stone might be a bigger bitch, but I'm still a bitch!" (I don't know why he likes to chant that in my head.) So um, this is just how Python is, I guess.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 13

THIRTEEN: THE SIMPLE TRUTH

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X FEM READER

Summary: Perspective is everything. Time for Simon's POV.

Tags/Warnings: profanity, angst, gaslighting and manipulation, obsessive/possessive behavior, allusions to stalking

(Notes: consider this my act of contrition for the last two chapters of heartbreaking angst. 🙏🙂‍↕️)

divider & banner: @saradika-graphics

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

-

"It wasn't only wickedness and scheming that made people unhappy, it was confusion and misunderstanding; above all, it was the failure to grasp the simple truth that other people are as real as you.”

― Ian McEwan, Atonement

-

It's rare that Simon Riley is ever caught off guard.

He prides himself on being prepared for any situation. Always thinking three steps ahead, always has a backup plan. Yet he finds himself completely unprepared for the visitor that turns up on his doorstep that morning.

He's already up and moving at the sound of the door chimes, then starts cursing under his breath when he hears you unlock the door. He's told you a thousand times to let him answer it when you weren't expecting company, that it's not safe to open the door to strangers, but you never lis—

"Hey. Simon around?"

Simon freezes in shock when he hears her voice utter his name. Even as he tells himself it can't be her, that primal, animalistic part of his brain has already stirred awake, sensing potential danger.

There's a stunned pause of silence before he hears you reply, "Excuse me?"

You sound wary, confused... Upset? Why would you be upset? You don't know that's his name.

Do you?

Easing closer to the sitting room doorway, Simon peers around the corner, and his worst fear is confirmed. It's Peach, the last person he ever expected or wanted to see again.

Bloody fuckin' hell...

She's standing just outside the front door, towering over you, with an imperious expression on her face. She's trying to intimidate you, but you're standing your ground, blocking her way inside.

Peach smirks, tossing her long, black braid over her shoulder. "Simon Riley. Big, grouchy blond guy, about the size of a tank. Ring any bells?"

Simon grits his teeth, seething. She shouldn't even be here, shouldn't know where he lives. She sure as fuck shouldn't be the one giving you his bloody name, dammit! This is bad, her turning up like this. She's tracked him down for some reason, and it doesn't bode well for him or you.

He sees you tense up at her condescending tone and knows that doesn't bode well, either. "And you are...?" you bite back.

This encounter is about to go south, quick. You're not about to take any guff, but Peach is conniving and, worse, she's dangerous. As much as he wants to avoid her, he has to intervene.

"Peach," he murmurs, drawing her attention away from you. His stomach churns, his breakfast threatening to come back up.

Her smile goes wide as she removes her shades and hangs them on the neckline of her tank top. "Long time, no see, Ghost man."

Simon inwardly cringes. Peach doesn't know Simon Riley. She only knows Ghost, the skull-faced demon of the SAS. She's here looking for that man. She wants to reunite with the hard-nosed lieutenant who took her under his wing and taught her the skills to become a trained killer. She's looking for her mentor, her hero.

Her creator.

"Bloody hell," he breathes, stepping forward.

You shuffle out of the way, looking between them, but startle when Peach suddenly throws herself at him. He doesn't expect it, either, swaying with the impact as she collides with him. His first instinct is to push her off—she makes his skin crawl, but he can feel the desperation in her clutching embrace, can now see the madness teeming in her eyes. He goes very still, not taking his eyes or hands off of her.

Peach laughs, the sound shrill and manic, tightening her limbs around him like a constricting python. "Did ya miss me?"

Yeah, like a fuckin' toothache, his mind snarls, but he holds his tongue. Petty insults won't gain him anything. He needs to find out what she's doing there and how she found him.

Simon feigns amusement at her deranged behavior and sets her down, holding her at arm's length. He pretends he's chuffed to see her to keep her calm, get her talking. "Whad'ya doin' in the UK? Heard ya cycled out an' turned civvie."

She shrugs then nods. "I did. I work in private security now; I get paid to babysit a Hollywood starlet. Had to fly over for some movie premier she's starring in, so decided to give Soap a call. Had to laugh when he told me where you had moved." She wrinkles her nose, points her finger, looking sly and crafty. "But don't get pissed and beat the shit out of him for tellin' me. He knew you'd want to see me."

That's a crock o' bullshit. Johnny knows how Simon feels about her; he's made no secret of it. She's managed to dupe the big eejit, somehow, probably stole his intel straight from Johnny's cell phone.

Simon shakes his head and grunts. "Still shoulda kept his gob shut," he mutters, but he keeps his anger on a tight leash. He can't afford to set Peach off, not with you standing so close.

But, dammit, he's pissed. He'd warned Johnny about her when he learned the sergeant was still in contact with her. He'll be having a few words with Johnny once this cock-up has been dealt with.

Simon becomes aware of you watching them, and his gut drops. From the corner of his eye, he can see that you're struggling, trying and failing to hide your hurt and confusion. Yet he doesn't even look in your direction. He can't; he won't. It's too dangerous.

It galvanizes him, thinking about what Peach might do to you if she realizes he has feelings for you. He has to protect you, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. He won't risk Peach going into a jealous rage and attacking you. Christ, he needs to get you away from her, somehow.

Then, you present him with a golden opportunity, as if you had just read his mind.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, but I've got to get to work."

Peach turns her attention to you, and Simon can feel his hackles rise. There's a sadistic gleam in her eye, her grin saccharin sweet.

"Is this the live-in housekeeper Soap was tellin' me about?" She grabs your hand, and Simon flinches, his heart racing. "Deedee, right? Don't mind me and Si. We go way back." Her expression turns sly, her grin wicked. "We used to sleep together, didn't we, big guy?"

You blanch at her words, and Simon wants to throttle her. First, she's calling you his bloody housekeeper and next she's insinuating that load of bollocks? But, truly, it shouldn't surprise him. This is classic Peach.

She's loves playing her fucking head games, which is what she's doing now with the both of you. She's fishing for reactions to suss out your relationship, throwing her half-truths out like bait, waiting for a bite.

Yeah, he slept with her—for warmth in freezing safe houses, from exhaustion during long transports, but it was never sexual. The conniving bitch is making her play with a false claim, daring him to deny it, because it will confirm her suspicions, that he cares about you and what you think of him.

"Fuckin' hell, Peach," he growls, pretending to be only mildly annoyed, but he doesn't call her out on her bullshit nor does he look your way to gauge your reaction. He keeps his focus on her and pretends indifference.

"What?" she giggles, staring him dead in the eye, still prodding, still testing him. "We did sleep together. And I still miss my big teddy bear keepin' me warm at night," she coos at him, pushing him, but he doesn't break, doesn't react.

Getting nothing from him, she sets her sights back on you again, and Simon's gut tightens. Peach laughs at your stunned expression, no doubt savoring the moment.

"We actually used to work together," she tells you. "Believe it or not, this big lug here trained me to be a pretty decent sniper." She nudges him and grins, and Simon's hand twitches with the urge to choke her out. "When we weren't cuddling under the blankets, that is."

She's toying with you. He's convinced her there's no feelings for you on his end, so she's rubbing your nose in it now. She's like a mean girl torturing a wallflower with her crush. She's as petty and cruel as she ever was.

"Oh... I see," you murmur softly, and the defeat in your tone makes him want to howl in fury at his own impotence.

He can barely look at you, guilt consuming him. "Gotta go up an' shut down my PC, then I'll take ya t'work."

You glance up at him, and the betrayal burning in your eyes nearly brings Simon to his knees. He waffles for a split second, but he knows Peach is watching, observing every little tic and muscle twitch, looking for the slightest change in nuance of his expression. So, he does the only thing he can do, he gives you back a blank stare and turns away.

Then Peach says something that makes his scalp prickle in warning.

"No worries, big guy. Let me take her. My rental's right out front." The way she looks at you, Simon knows she's not done playing with you yet. She wants to see you squirm. "Your work's not far, is it?"

You look so bloody helpless, caught in her snare as you shake your head. "No. I work at the pub by the green. The White Dog."

"Yeah, saw it on my way in." Peach whacks Simon's arm, and he bites back a growl. "Hell, I'll be there and back before you even get your boots on, stud." She throws her arm around your shoulders, and he fights the urge to rip it off. "C'mon, cutie. Grab your shit and let's go."

Simon tries to act unaffected, that he simply doesn't want to put her out. "No, wait. I'll take—"

"Ah, stow it, big guy. We're already out the door," she calls over her shoulder, hustling you outside, eager to get you alone.

His only solace is knowing that, for now, she won't harm you. She'll pump you for intel, rub more of her verbal salt in your wounded ego, then she'll let you go. You're no threat to her, you see, you're just a plaything, a punching bag.

He sees you glance back at him as he watches from the open doorway. He scowls, frustrated, but doesn't stop Peach when she herds you into her rental. It kills to watch you leave with her.

But it's the look of disappointment on your face that breaks him.

>>>>>>>>>>

Pushing down the urge to follow you, Simon takes advantage of the few free minutes he has before Peach returns and starts making phone calls. He'll need help dealing with her if he wants to avoid bloodshed.

His first call is to Price. The Captain knows Peach and what she's capable of. He knows Simon's history with her, firsthand.

Peach had been assigned to Ghost for stealth and sniper training when the 141 was still working with Shadows. She was excited, eager to work with the mysterious Ghost. She called him a legend, told him she had idolized him since first hearing about his exploits from the other Shadow operatives.

Even then, she knew how to stroke an ego.

While training, Peach was allowed to assist on a few missions with the 141. She got to witness what Ghost could do when things went sideways. She saw what he was capable of when backed into a corner and fighting for his life.

And she'd loved it. Reveled in it. Worshipped him for it.

Her devotion to him turned fanatical. No one spoke ill of Ghost in her presence, otherwise they found themselves pinned against a wall with a knife at their throat or flat on their back with her boot on their neck. Reprimands didn't phase her, since Graves always let her slide. She was too much of an asset to his team.

Peach became infatuated with Ghost, was always looking for ways to please and impress him. That is what ultimately led to her downfall. She became reckless on missions, ignoring directives on the battlefield, taking unnecessary risks. It not only caused disruption during the mission, it also endangered herself and her team.

Laswell was the first to bring it up during evaluations, but it was Price who strongly suggested to Graves that Peach be re-assigned. Ghost was too much of a distraction for her, she became too volitale when they worked together. It was best to separate them, was Price's advice. Laswell backed him up.

Of course, Graves didn't like that idea much, not after all the time, money and effort he'd spent on her training, but even he couldn't deny that Peach had become a loose cannon, a liability. All three of them agreed, she had to go.

Peach soon found herself re-assigned to another team back in the States. Ghost avoided her until she was shipped out, and Price made sure she was never brought in to work with the 141 again.

Ghost cut off all contact. He thought by removing himself from the equation that it would end her obsession with him. He came to realize that they were bad for each other, fed the other's darkness, and Peach had become addicted to that, to him.

He told her as much during their one and only phone conversation that she had instigated, stressing that they would be better off apart—permanently. Then he'd encouraged her to seek out professional help and rang off.

Ghost assumed that would be the end of it, but he should have known better. Peach might have been forced to retreat, but she was never the type to surrender.

>>>>>>>>>>

Peach is ebullient when she returns. Thank God Ollie had already confirmed that you had reached work safely or Simon would have assumed the worst.

Ollie was none too pleased with the state you were in, though. With little time to explain, Simon simply asked that he keep an eye on you and not interfere. Ollie made a disgruntled noise and agreed, but demanded a sitrep ASAP.

For now, Simon has a part to play. He has to keep Peach occupied until Price can come through with more intel and a plan to safely neutralize her without harming her. It's obvious the lass is broken and in need of professional help, and Simon is not so cold-hearted that he can't empathize. He's been there himself, after all.

However, Simon won't hesitate to snap her neck, shared history or not, if Peach makes any sort of threat to physically harm you. His empathy only goes so far, and Peach is already testing his patience.

The woman won't keep her hands off of him. She's constantly in his space, in his face, running her spidery hands all over him while chattering on with her insane nonsense. She told him that she fancies them as soulmates—twin flames or some such bollocks.

She's already tried several times to get in his pants, but that's where Simon has to draw the line. He's not crawling into bed with her, no matter what her delusions have led her to believe. That part of him, she can not have. That belonged to you—or it would belong to you as soon as he could make it happen. He's done mucking about. As soon as this is over, he's staking his claim. Your his, he's yours, and that's all there is to it.

Peach is determined though. She wants to solidify their imagined bond, and he can see she's getting frustrated with his avoidance. If he continues to reject her advances, things could get ugly.

Price advised him to go along with her delusions to keep her calm, but no way in hell is he fucking her. So Simon sets out to distract her with a different form of intimate contact: sparring.

They fight in the back garden under the sweltering August sun until they're both drenched in sweat and panting for breath. Peach is exhausted but grinning, having enjoyed the close contact. She follows him back inside, docile as a lamb, when he calls for a water break.

It's too bloody hot in the house, even with all the fans going. Simon chugs down his water in three big gulps, then goes back for another.

"Dunno how you Brits live without A/C," Peach fusses, leaning into one of the fans. "We should grab a shower then go get something to eat. Preferably in an air conditioned restaurant. Whad'ya say, big guy? My treat," she cajoles.

Simon jumps at the idea. Getting her out in a public setting would keep her in check, at least. Actually, the longer they stay out and about, the better. An idea pops into his head.

"We could go tuh Blackheath. Plenty uh restaurants there. Plenty o' shops, too," he adds, casting his lure. He knows Peach is a shopoholic. The bird could spend an entire day in a shopping mall.

Her eyes lit up with glee. "Ooh, that could be fun." Her smirk turns salacious. "Do ya know if there's a lingerie shop? You could help me pick out something special to wear for you tonight," she purrs.

Simon tries to appear intrigued, but it's a struggle. Thank Christ for his face mask. "Uh... yeah, there's a few shops that sell it. We could check 'em out after we eat."

"Excellent idea," she drawls. A sly look comes over her face before she can mask it with an innocent expression. "You should probably call Deedee, let her know our plans, in case we're late gettin' back. You still pick her up every day after work, right?"

Her words make Simon's insides curdle. Peach wouldn't know that unless she'd been watching them, keeping tabs on their movements, their routines. That means she's been planning this supposed impromptu visit of hers for awhile.

Christ, how long has she been watching us?

"Yeah," he croaks, his gut twisting. "Guess I should call 'er."

Simon's not sure if he can keep this charade up if he has to talk to you. He slumps down on one of bar chairs at the kitchen island and makes the call, his body wound up tighter than a piano wire as he waits for you to answer.

Peach sidles up beside him as he listens to your voicemail recording start. She gives him a wicked grin as she starts pawing at him, fucking with him. Batting her hands away, he hears the beep prompting him to leave his message.

Holding the phone away, he growls, "Get off me, ya muppet. 'M try'na leave Dee a message."

Peach giggles, a mean little twist on her lips. "Tell her I wore ya out this morning, so I'm takin' ya out to feed ya. Gotta rebuild your strength for round two later."

Yeah. Keep dreamin', ya crazy bitch, Simon thinks, huffing a laugh. "Shuddup..." he scoffs, shifting away from her, then presses the phone closer to his ear.

"Oi, Dee. 'Me an' Peach 'r goin' out f'lunch in Blackheath. She's wantin' t'check out some uh the shops, too, so we'll prob'ly be there all bloody afternoon. Should be back in time tuh pick ya up after work, though."

He glances up to see Peach staring at him, looking miffed. 'Play along... Keep her calm...' Price's voice echoes in his mind. Simon grits his teeth, then adds, "Oh, an' Peach is gonna spend the night. Thought I'd warn ya. Later."

He ends the call, a sick feeling souring his stomach.

But Peach? Hell, she's bloody ecstatic.

-

prev. << | >> next

[yonderghostshistories]

*The Button House Gang (minus Fanny and Mary as they're not watching the show due to what the programme's about), with Alison and Mike present of course, are currently watching Monty Python's Flying Circus together.*

Captain: Honestly, Patrick, I really don't get the appeal of this "Montgomery Python". Honestly, it's clearly too crude for my tast-

*sees Graham Chapman being casually dashing*

Captain: *starts internally drooling and has lovesick puppy eyes starting to enlarge on his face due to the shear BEAUTY of the man that is Graham Chapman*

uhhh...oh my....uhhhhhhhhhh.......

Pat:

*still with his eyes fixed on the programme and chuckling at the jokes, as he passively asks the Captain about his question*

Hohohohehe...yeah, now THAT'S a classic! Anyway, uh-what were you gonna say, Cap?

Captain: oh..um, nothing, nothing! Just err-i -um-i-iii-i- I think I'll continue watching "Montgomery Python's Flying...Circus"!

*Cap says quietly under his breath but drools off as he's still fixed on the handsome Graham Chapman on the TV screen*

.....even if...it's..too...crude and..silly..for me...

[caffieneaddictt18]

Chokehold Cherry Python

"Gotta be quicker than that!" I call out to the pair of recruits on the sparring mat, circling them.

"We're moving as fast as we can!"

"Then the enemy will be faster than you! And you will die." I approach the two sparring. "Take a water break and come back."

"Yes, ma'am." They both nod and run to their water bottles, chugging it like it's the one thing keeping them alive.

"Let's practice footwork until they come back." I tell the rest of the squad.

"Ma'am? We've already done that." A man says, standing away from the forming line to start footwork exercises.

"Okay? And you can do it again. If you are anything like those two, you'll need it." I turn to face the recruits running the course.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I am much faster than those two." The same recruit protests. I turn my head to look at him.

"Do you want to put that to the test?" Venom collecting in my mouth as I hold back from completely spewing it.

"Hell yeah." He lines up to run the course.

"Oh no," I grab his arm, "We're sparring."

His eyes get big at that. "But- Ma'am-"

"I thought you said that you were 'much faster than those two'. Prove it. Spar with me," I check his name tag, "Jackson." My eyes hold his, a challenge.

He bristles before straightening up. "Fine. Let's spar."

"Recruits!" I start walking back to the mat, taking off my jacket, "Jackson here has volunteered to do a demonstration on why footwork is important! Especially in hand-to-hand combat, should you ever find yourself in such a situation." I throw my jacket onto a bench, and square myself for sparring. "Jackson? Would you like to start us off?"

He stands on the mat, rolling his shoulders. "Sure. Why not?" He throws an obvious punch, his stance giving him away. I easily sidestep the hit and get under him, hitting his ribs, moving away just as fast as I moved in, circling the man.

"To make this a fair fight, I am allowing you to get punches in. Whether they hit or not is up to you." I tell Jackson, stopping in front of him.

He looks at me with determination in his eyes, swinging his legs out, trying to trip me. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite reach and leaves him open. I put my foot as a stopper against his leg. "Never do that again. It left you wide open. Try again."

His venom starts to gather in his eyes... interesting.

He gets up and gets back into his stance, following my movements. He takes a deep breath, and takes a punch with his non-dominant hand, straight for my face. What? Next thing I know, while I am dodging his non-dominant hand, his dominant follows closely behind it, hitting my cheek.

Well fuck...

I'm on the floor, looking up at him. He looks cocky now. Too soon.

I dart around his feet, throwing him off balance and then launch myself at him, wrapping around him like a python, my legs tight against him. I wrap my arms around his throat in a chokehold and throw us, so he lands on his stomach, taking the brunt of us hitting the bouncy, carpeted flooring. Obviously, I don't want to kill him, so I make sure to move my hands to his back once I notice us going down, so he won't die when we land.

I grab his flapped-out arms and twist them behind his back. "Tap out, Jackson." He quickly starts yapping, "Uncle, uncle, uncle!" tapping me. I get off him, letting go of him.

"And that is why footwork is important! Footwork is not just for being quick but helping develop muscles in your legs you didn't even know were there. That move? The launching move? Dubbed 'The Python' buy your senior squad mates." I stand with Jackson gathering himself a few feet in front of me.

I squat down so I am at eye level with Jackson. "Now, when I say to run the footwork drills, just do it. They do help." I get up, holding his gaze. "Run the drills three times, and Lee, please take Jackson here to the medbay. He's gonna want to get checked out."

"Yes, ma'am." Lee, a male recruit, comes over and supports Jackson, guiding him to the medbay.

I watch the rest of the squad finish filing in line for the drills, and just so happen to see the 141. Fucking assholes...

"Start! Three times!" I bark the directions at my recruits, and head over to the men standing there.

"Hello, gentlemen. Can I help you?" I stand at rest.

"Why do you train your recruits so hard?" The man with the mohawk, callsign Soap, asks, looking concerned for my recruits.

"Recruit Jackson has been arrogant through all of training. Unfortunately, he chose to run his mouth in my court, so to speak." I move my body, so I can see my recruits doing their second round of drills. "Keep it up!"

"In your court, huh?" Skull mask, callsign Ghost, inquires. Clearly looking for more information.

"Yes, sir." I don't give him any.

"Care to elaborate?" Ghost sounds irritated. This is no longer an inquiry but an order.

"A while back, I started doing this launching move. My squad mates dubbed the move 'Python' as I already had my callsign." I explain the bare minimum.

"Ah. So that's what you did to him." Price's voice rumbles from his chest.

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I went overboard, but nothing was broken when he left, sir."

"No worries, Sergeant. I'm not here about that." Price holds a hand up, stopping me from further explaining.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you here for, sir?" I look at him seriously, breaking my field of vision away from my recruits. Him and his team are getting on my nerves...

"What I've been asking for a while now...

Are you ready to join the 141?... Cherry."

Yippee! I have an idea! Just a small one, but it's gotten me to write this so far... leave a comment if you liked it! Bye bye for now!

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 1

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 1: new haven, new me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who...who are you?" the woman asked into the darkness, voice quivering as if she were cold. I encircled her, my sharp claws tapping the stone pavement and tail dragging behind. I was distorting the noises to make it seem like I was everywhere.

"I go by many names," I said sweetly, "Python. Snake Demon. Dragon Demon. All which fit me perfectly." I let the shadows melt away from me, revealing my Demon form to the scared Human.

I wore my usual outside attire: dark grey dress pants, black and silver clasp belt, black turtle neck, and a dark maroon blazer. It was topped off with the necklace of Alastor's crest. It became the crest of the Hazbin Haven guard command.

"What do you want?" she half demanded. Her face was coated in cuts and bruises and her leg was bent at an awkward angle from attempting to jump roofs.

I knelt down, my face inches from hers, and placed a daring claw under her chin. "Where is Blackwater's factory?"

Her scared demeanor faded, replaced by a look of anger and determination. "You'll need to kill me, then. Blackwater's legacy will live on in all of us."

"What a shame," I said as I stood back up, "I was gracing you with the opportunity to live. No matter, I'll take your soul and examine your memories." I gripped her soul half a second after she yelled. Her cries were no longer heard in the physical world, reaching my ears and mine only. The other souls I was holding onto were frantic for a new soul's energy. She could see their pitch black, wide, screaming faces.

Then I let go. Her soul fell back into her body and she stared up at the night sky, face as pale as a ghost. Her chest heaved with each breath while her hands gripped at the stone to ground herself.

"Last opportunity," I said, standing above her with my hands in my pants pockets. "Where is the factory?"

"I don't know." Her voice shook. "I'm not...I'm not allowed...to know."

"Then who does?"

"The trucks. They drop it off."

"When is the next shipment coming?" I then asked.

"Next month."

"Who's in charge now?"

"I don't know." I grabbed her soul and she freaked. "It is! It is! Since Blackwater died everything is need-to-know!"

I was silent. I continued to stare into her wide eyes, waiting. Leaving someone in silence usually elicited them to talk more. 

"I get the shipments and I'm just told to sell them. I swear!" She was telling the truth and my disappointment was overwhelming. I swallowed despite the tightness in my throat. I turned the emotion into anger as I leaned over.

"Tell me something useful if you wish to keep your soul in your body." I stared down, eyes brightening and teeth glinting in fake light. Her eyes widened in response.

"I-I-I don't know. I uh...there's...um..." I gave her a few minutes to think. The fear was clouding her judgement and ability to think so I let her ease up just enough to think. "Shipments don't all arrive at the same time to every location. There's probably some shipments still on their way."

"Where are the other sellers?"

She bit her lip. "I also don't know that, either."

I let out an annoyed sigh and straightened up. I knew who I needed to talk with but I hated interacting with him.

I looked down at the women shaking on the cold ground. She had given me the most she could provide. It didn't seem right to take her soul, but now she was a liability.

I stepped over so my feet were on either side and bent at the hip so I was close to her face. "This conversation didn't happen. If someone even suspects me I will return to harvest your soul. Slowly."

Mouth agape and shivering, she nodded. Alcine covered my whole body and I faded into the dark alley, hiding away in the forest on the outskirts of the busy town. Once I manifested, I teleported back home.

I took the long way around the house to give myself time to shed this version of me. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my arms and tail as if ridding the personality from my very body. I stepped up on the new porch, eyes glancing at the almost finished portion in front of the living room window, and quietly entered the house.

Reagan had made them all dinner and likely left something for me in the fridge. Not feeling very hungry, I used my magic to keep my steps quiet as I went to my room. I changed out of the dark clothes and put on shin-length loose pants and a white short sleeve. I stretched out my sense to see if any of them were still awake. Fortunately, they were not.

I climbed into bed and pulled the heavy covers up to my chin. I kept my dreams away as I slipped into sleep.

The following morning, I was woken to the sound of Nym and Thatcher yelling at each other. Reagan and Lucas must have had an early morning because it was Husker's voice I heard trying to scold them for being loud.

I dressed in my usual 'home' attire, which were simple black dress pants and a light colored top. Today was a thin sweater since we were nearing my favorite season: Fall

My claws tapped on the wood as I walked down the staircase. The rambunctious pair were arguing over the family wristlet. Each member of this family wore a leather wristlet or bracelet that had our crest: a combination of Alastor's crest and my own (the symbol left in the ground when I teleport). Reagan wore a bracelet like I did but the younger pair wanted leather wristlets like Husker. They looked up to the furry uncle. Sometimes too much if someone asked me.

The siblings were sitting at the kitchen counter with Husker on the other side, claws digging into the surface with frustration. Breakfast lay untouched in front of them.

Nym had really short, hazel brown hair and a few freckels on her nose. Her brother, Thatcher, had even shorter hair, typical of boys his age, but his face was coated in the same freckles. His face was usually set in a glare from dealing with his sister while Nym had a wide grin.

"They're the exact same," Husker growled, snatching both items away, mixing them behind his back, then tossing them back into the angry little hands.

"Mine's smaller!" Nym slammed her hands on the counter, half standing on her chair, "he's got buffy wrists."

"Hah! You admit I'm stronger than you!" Thatcher sneered in her face. She shoved his face away, nearly causing him to fall back off his chair.

"Big wrists don't mean you're stronger. Just a bunch of fat."

"Be nice," I spoke softly as I stepped into the kitchen. They went very quiet and settled into their seats.

"I just want my band," Nym looked pointedly to Thatcher.

"And you should have it. However," I took both wristlets from them and held them up to my eye level, "since we cannot decipher the difference, whichever I give will be yours and you need to do something to it that distinguishes it from the other. Understood?"

The two of them nodded silently. It had taken the first full year of parenting them to understand they listened best when spoken to like an adult. Sometimes I could get away with a more adolescent sentence if I put in a few elegant, advanced words for them.

I covered the bracelets in shadows and fizzled them into each of their palms. Nym immediately began to burn her initials into the leather as carefully as she could. The two of them were Slight Humans with a gift of Fire. Their magic was one of the reasons they had been given to me.

"Good morning," Husker sighed, pouring alcohol into his cup.

"Guess you didn't sleep well." We touched foreheads in our usual greeting before I made a plate for myself. Every other day he would come up to eat breakfast with us. It was the only time we had to spend with each other.

"Angel had a bad nightmare last night," was all he gave me.

Nym and Thatcher rattled off about school yesterday since I was gone for the evening. I pretended to listen but my mind was somewhere else. My peripherals could see the calendar hanging off the cabinet behind them. A weight settled in my chest.

Husker was the one to notice the time. He had to be on guard duty and the littles had to be at school. I ushered the two of them out, gently attempting to step on the back of their feet to elicit laughter and urgency. They ran out the door and practically flew down the short hill. I watched them enter the haven and follow the street to the schoolhouse.

"You should come to the dance tomorrow evening," Husker said as he closed the door behind him. Once a month, Charlie hosted a formal dance for the town. It helped people meet each other and gave us a nice event to attend. The first half was for the adults before the later hours were given to the teenagers and their crazy music.

"I don't think so," I said, "I'm hunting for Blackwater still."

"It could do you some good to let loose and dance. I know you love it."

"I do but..." I looked down at my back foot claws. "I still have to do my ritual too."

"It's been seven years now. Maybe you don't need to anymore."

"It's past seven years," I glanced sideways at him, "almost eight by tomorrow. I should be doing my ritual now more than ever."

"You really don't think he's coming back?" Husker asked gently. He had been incredibly understanding and empathetic towards my situation. He was still under Alastor's service and was never treated nearly as kindly as me, but he still offered comfort for my bruised heart.

"You said last time was seven years. It's almost eight. He may not return for another sixty years for all I know. Demons live for centuries."

"I still think you should dance to at least one song. Either before or after your ritual. Think about it." He placed a kind hand on my shoulder before flapping off the porch. I stared after him, watching his figure shrink into a black dot in the sky. I reached inside the front door and opened the drawer of the small decoration table. I withdrew my phone and sent a text message to Vox asking to meet with him.

I sat on the porch chair and closed my eyes. I reached out with my magic and felt the haven. I had read all of Alastor's books in the library and his office since the time of his disappearance. From my readings and sessions with Lucifer, my magic had grown in ways I couldn't imagine.

The souls danced around each other or cluttered together in homes, stores, schoolrooms, and more. I could sense a couple fishermen heading out to sea for the day. The children burned the brightest and a several people found their soulmate here, the thread connecting the pair clearly visible to my eyes. Althea was the only other person in the haven that could see soulmate connections.

My thread came only a few inches off my chest before it faded into nothing.

I stayed in this limbo. I wasn't truly present in my body but not entirely gone into the magic field. It was a comfortable place, a quiet place, that I could lose myself for hours in. There were few things that gave me rest and this was one of them.

The sun had reached its highest point when I finally withdrew back to my physical body. I opened my eyes and saw movement in the corner of my vision. I turned to see Alastor standing with his cane in hand and the other arm tucked neatly behind his back. It wasn't actually him, though. The hurt came back as hard as it had when he first disappeared. 

I drew a deep breath in and let it out, annoyed at how shaky it was when I did. I stood from the porch chair and walked up--walked through--him to the unfinished part of the porch. His figure fizzled into nothing, leaving me feeling cold and alone. I picked up a floorboard and started nailing it into place. 

I had gotten three floorboards down before the tears made it impossible to see the nails. I dropped the hammer and sat back on my heels, shoulders haunched and claws puncturing the new wood. I peeled one off and covered my wet face as I attempted to get control over my erratic breathing.

Where are you?

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Author's Note:

Act Three babyyyyyy

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Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

[destinationtoast]

hi! research question I'd love your input on:

do you know how to generate size-of-fandom stats? I'm researching the Ghost fandom and while I know from the This Week in Tumblr posts about what their size is *now,* I'd like to try to compare it to past years, and be able to make statements like "x% of the fandom is reblogging explicit content."

I'm also looking for deeper info on how tumblr works if someone deactivates - do their notes vanish too?

It sounds like you want to gather Tumblr information only -- is that right? I don't have a lot of expertise with Tumblr data (I think I last gathered some over a decade ago), but it looks like their API still lets you retrieve posts with a certain tag and specify a timestamp, if you're willing to do a bit of programming. So you could, e.g., retrieve the last N posts of each month that use a particular fandom tag. And then you can compare those samples of posts to see how the content has changed over time. If you want to do that, there are libraries in Python and probably other languages that can make it easier to work with the Tumblr API.

I believe the posts retrieved this way don't include reblogs, so you'd also have to look at the post notes to get info about how many reblogs different types of posts are getting. As to your question of deactivated accounts within those notes, I'm not certain of the answer. I frequently see reblog chains where some accounts in the chain have deactivated, so those notes are not entirely gone. But I don't know if the replies/likes from deactivated accounts disappear from post notes. Anyone else know?