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#ghosts jars of dirt
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Soap has a box that sits under his bunk and stays locked at all times. Everyone’s seen it at one point or another but nobody actually knows what’s inside and so they’ve all got their bets on what could be in it.
Gaz said there was a bunch of porn mags in it and got so severely judged for it that he considered changing his bet, but nobody would let him do so.
Price bet that it was family stuff. Pictures, heirlooms maybe some trinkets or what have you from family members (eg. a hair clip from his sister, a cigar from his dad, etc.)
Alejandro said it was different bottles of booze he had picked up from missions, reasoning the man was Scottish so it would make sense.
Rudy had gone the opposite direction and said it was food cause they all knew how much of a foodie Soap was and how severely pissed he got when any of them took his food form the common rooms.
Ghost had shrugged and said it was filled with his old journals since he knew Soap worked through them so fast, and he had never seen what Soap did with old ones anyway.
Soap knows about the bet and he refuses to tell any of them what’s in the box, always deflecting and shrugging whenever he’s asked about it. Because it’s his box of secrets and for once, he doesn’t want to share it with anyone else.
While him not telling is in part due to his own embarrassment it’s also because the box is filled with what the others would consider trash, but they’re special things to him.
It’s filled with trinkets and little bits and bobs from his team members. Different things they picked up during a mission and gave to him or something he had picked up to remember a particular mission for whatever reason.
There’s pretty rocks from Gaz that caught his eye and he just brought with him. They always end up with Soap cause the other man just leaves them in his pockets and forgets about them.
Price gives him snacks and foods from the regions he’s gone on a mission to and Soap keeps the packaging. Cleans it out and keeps them cause he’s a bit of a hoarder like that.
He’s got bullet casings and beer cap lids from missions and nights out with Rudy and Alejandro. No two beer caps are the same cause the two like giving him different alcohols to try and the bullet casings are from the last bullet that ended a mission.
Ghost gives him little vials filled with dirt and he always claims that it’s only because he had picked up too much to fit in his mason jars but Soap knows he does it on purpose. He knows that Ghost picks up his dirt jars and thinks of Soap and getting him some and it’s so heart touching.
It’s also got photos of the team from the ends of missions or night outs and some sketches that he considers too private to leave in his journals. Nothing erotic or anything but things that show the softer moments of their lives or, on occasion, Simon’s face.
So yeah, maybe it is filled with trash and useless crap but it’s his and he doesn’t find any of it to be useless. He loves his little box of trinkets that remind him of times with his team mates, it’s a home away from home for him.
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pinkiepiebones · 2 years
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Discussing my ghoul headcanons with @agentduckorico is to blame for this.
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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months
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for your tf141 imagines and prompts
“would you still love me if i was a worm?”
especially if it would be them asking or their partner.
soap is totally the kind of guy to ask his so this.
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I've been giggling my ass off at this request (in the best way possible). I had so much fun writing quick little drabbles for each of them. Enjoy!
Find the Imagines & What If masterlist HERE
Content Warnings (MDNI): foul language, brief suggestive themes (on one)
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price:
“John?”
John glances up from the morning paper. The two of you sit outside in the garden. The sky is gray and cloudy.
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
John blinks. Frowns. “Would I still love you if you were a worm?”
“That’s right,” you reply.
John places his steaming mug of tea on the table beside him. Then, he folds up the paper, placing it in his lap.
“We have three kids together.”
“I know. But—”
John shakes his head. “Of course I’d still love you. What kind of bloody fucking question is that?”
John "Soap" MacTavish:
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
You sit up and laugh, disbelief in your tone. “What did you just ask me?”
John shrugs and then grins sheepishly. “If I was a worm, would you still love me?”
“Asking the important questions,” you reply, shaking your head.
“Always.” He rolls onto his stomach and rests his cheek on his fist. “Humor me.”
“I’d keep you in a little jar of dirt. Carry you around everywhere. Give you tiny kisses,” you say.
John nods. “Good answer.” He fishes out his phone. “I’m gonna ask Simon the same thing.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley:
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
You turn on your side, wiggling up to Simon’s side in the bed. He sits up with his back against the headboard. The silk sheets are tangled around his thighs, and he holds a pack of smokes in his hand.
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
Simon just stares.
“Would you—”
“I fucking heard you.” You watch him inhale. “A worm? A fucking worm?”
“Yes,” you say slowly.
“You fell apart on my tongue a bloody minute ago.”
“True.” You pause. “Does that mean—”
“Yes. Bloody fucking hell.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:
“You’re having a laugh.”
“Answer the question.”
Kyle smiles behind his mug of English tea. “No.”
“Kyle!”
He shrugs and takes a sip. You place your hands on your hips. “I require an answer.”
Laughing softly, Kyle places his tea down on the counter behind him. He leans back casually, crossing his arms. He’s not wearing a shirt.
“You want an answer?” he asks.
“Yes. I do,” you reply.
Kyle huffs, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “I’d give you to Captain Price as fish bait.”
You point at him, stifling your own rising laughter. “How fucking dare you.”
taglist:
@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82
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breelandwalker · 6 months
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Dead Man's Dust
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Intent: For preventing spirits from following you home.
Ingredients:
1 pt Chili Pepper (any type)
1 pt Salt
1 pt Basil
1 pt Garlic Powder
1⁄2 pt Dill
1⁄2 pt Lemon Peel
Optional: Add a pinch of Curry or Cumin for extra oomph.
Note: Powdered versions of most herbs are available online. I recommend Starwest Botanicals and Penn Herbs for quality products at reasonable prices. Also, if you can get your hands on a good electric spice grinder, you can make your own powder from dried herb products. If you don't have premade powdered herbs, grind each ingredient separately to produce fine powder. Sieve the material through the mesh strainer into the collection dish; this removes the larger unground pieces and gives you cleaner powdered herb. (Pro-Tip: Putting a funnel under the mesh strainer reduces lost material and makes collection much easier.)
Combine the component powders in the collection dish, mix well, and bottle immediately. Label with the name, date, and ingredients for future reference.
This powder performs one of the functions of Banishing Powder, but with special attention to warding off pesky ghosts. After visiting historical or haunted locations, or any time you feel spooked while walking home, sprinkle a palmful of powder on the ground and scrape your feet on it (as if you were wiping off dirt) to keep anything ghostly from following you home. Take three steps backward and spit toward the powder, then continue on your way.
For extra protection, toss a pinch of Banishing Powder, Threshold Powder, or Black Salt over your doorstep when you get home.
Note: For safety's sake, make sure you never cast this powder into the wind and wash your hands after use. Leftover particles on your skin can cause pain and irritation if they come into contact with your eyes or breathing passages.
-adapted from Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils, (c) 2017 by Bree NicGarran
(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)
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hedgehog-moss · 7 months
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I received a couple of asks about aquaponics after yesterday's post so I thought I'd show how I add a new plant to the aquaponics system, to get a better idea of how it works!
Step 1. Grow your plants from seed in seed trays like normal seedlings (pictured here, young green beans)
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2. When it has well-developed roots, extract the seedling using a teaspoon or some kind of other thing
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3. Rinse it a bit (that's just to avoid having too much dirt end up in the fish tank) (if it's a little it's fine, the filter will catch it)
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4. Let your dog carry out a routine inspection
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5. Wet a piece of cloth, which is just here to wick fish tank water and ensure the plants' roots are damp all the time. (5bis. Let your fish carry out a routine inspection)
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6. Place the seedlings on the cloth and the cloth sandwiched in the grow medium that'll go in the tower. It's a piece of foam and it's here so the plants' roots can hold on to it and not fall down as they grow vertically (you can see old dried roots from ghost beans still holding on to the foam)
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7. Insert the foam into the tower like a little train of plants
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8. Hang the tower next to its friends
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You can also grow seeds directly in little bits of growing medium, so then you just pop them in a free spot in a tower when they've sprouted, without having to take down the tower. I do this with plants that have tiny roots that would have trouble holding on to the cloth / foam on their own (here baby onions)
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Some plants that are doing really well in the towers right now include pickles and strawberries! I've already pickled some pickles (2 jars) and am hoping for more. I'm not doing anything special with the strawberries because I just gobble them as soon as I can.
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miniwheat77 · 1 year
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Protective. (Ghost x Reader)
!CW! NSFW, Smut, slight yandere behavior, mentions of blood and violence, death, possessive Ghost, men making reader uncomfortable, (let me know if I missed any.)
(Summary): Ghost discovers his feelings for reader and doesn't know how to deal with them.
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When you joined task force 141, everyone took you under their wing. They looked over you.
You were significantly younger than everyone else, smaller than the massive men too. They didn’t need to look out for you, you could handle yourself obviously but they felt obligated.
Ghost specifically felt the need to watch over you. He was constantly watching you from afar, watching you interact with everyone else on base. Making sure you were happy and not uncomfortable. A couple times men on base have made you uncomfortable it doesn’t take Ghost long to intervene.
Soap had made a couple jokes about it in the past, how his stern eyes watched upon you constantly to make sure you were okay. A small threat had Johnny not making another comment. Mumbling out a small “I’m just joking LT, damn.” Ghost tried to push these feelings he had back. Tried to think about anything besides you. But he just couldn’t. He always felt this slight burn in his chest when he seen you interacting with the other men on base, felt the sting when you were friendly to him. He wanted you to be his. Sometimes he’d daydream about you, a life with you. He imagined you sitting with your feet in his lap, massaging your feet while you were plump with his baby. He imagined running his hands over your pregnant belly. He was obsessed before he knew it. And he didn't know how to control it.
Ghost respected Alejandro and Rudy. He respected Los Vaqueros. But when Alejandro flirted with you, called you pretty. A wave of anger he’d never felt before came over him and it didn’t take long for him to intervene there too, saying you needed to get to the next base for a mission. He liked Alejandro, but couldn't help but hate him for saying such things to you, you were his, didn't he know that?
Ghost is staring off into space. It's lunchtime for him, everyone else is scattered on base. A couple men are off on missions but 141 was still here awaiting their next mission together. He's staring down at his MRE, it's not good at all. A giggle left your lips and Ghosts ears perked up immediately. Who was making you laugh like that? He stood up from his chair, rounding the corner to see where you were and who the hell was making you giggle like that. He relaxes when he sees you down on one knee. “Fawn, what are you doing?” His voice is stern and you jump slightly. “There’s a ladybug.” You smile, picking it up. His heart jumps in his chest. He’s smiling under his mask but you can’t see it. “What, ya gonna keep it as a pet?” His rough voice warms your ears.
“Can I?”
“What?” He says confused. “Can you even keep them as pets?”
“Yeah?”
You perked up. “How?” You ask. “Just.. get a jar and put some grass and sticks it in or something.” He crosses his arms. “Do you know if we have a jar?” You blush. He sees your reddening cheeks, this is his moment. This is it. He nods his head for you to follow him. “I don’t have a jar but I do have a plastic thing that was full of those furniture sliders.” He breathes. It’s a cylindrical shape, 8 or so inches tall by 4 wide. It has a plastic top with tape. “Cmon, I’ll help you.” You follow him out, cupping the ladybug in your hand so it doesn’t fly away. Ghost washes it out with soap and water. He makes sure all of the soap is rinsed out and dries it, stabbing some holes in the top for ventilation, making sure not to make them too wide. He didn't want the ladybug escaping. “Here. Put it in.” He holds it out. You let the ladybug crawl off of your hand and into the side of the container, closing the lid. You follow him outside, cute smile on your face as you look into the jar at the ladybug. He helps you gather everything you need for it. A small layer of dirt and grass in the bottom, leaves, sticks. You had spent some time outside with Ghost before. Usually you picked weeds in your free time to make the front of the base look a little nicer. Ghost would lie and say he needed some sun, which didn’t make much sense with the mask but who’s really keeping count. Sometimes, you’d pick a flower and hand it over to him. Occasionally you’d tuck it under the straps of his helmet, or on his vest somewhere. Sometimes he’d “forget about it.” And would only remove it when someone would point it out or until it died. Soap teased him the couple times he’d seen you doing this. It was probably weird, but he never threw them away. He would flatten the petals out and leave them in a book to flatten them out.
“What do they eat?” You ask, looking at it in the jar. “I think microscopic insects.” He’s watching you. You’re sitting in a chair and he’s standing behind you. “You’ll have to keep adding leaves and dirt and grass so that it has more to eat.” You nod your head. He’s watching you as you looked at it. His heart swells in his chest. “Should we wet it down a little bit?” You ask. “Yeah, Johnny has a spray bottle for his hair.” He disappears down the hallway.
He knocks at Soap’s door. “What’s up LT?” He asks. “Can I borrow your spray bottle?”
“Uh.. yeah? What for?” He asks. “Y/N found a ladybug and made a terrarium for it.” Soap smiles. “Ah. You helped her?” He smirks. “Yeah?” He narrows his eyes. “The spray bottle Johnny.”
“I’m going I’m going.” He raises his hands in surrender. Johnny could see right through Ghost, and Ghost hated it. He knew he liked you. Soap hands him the bottle and he spins around, walking back toward the mess hall where he had left you. He passes you the spray bottle, sitting in a chair next to you as you moved the ladybug out to mist the inside of the container. When you’re finished, you put the ladybug back in and smile. “I’m gonna keep it in my room.” You smile. “Come on.” You grasp Ghosts hand. He feels his heart freeze in his chest, breathing out. Just the slightest touch from you had his heart jumping in his chest. You pull him along. Placing the small container on the small nightstand you had. You scooted it to be near a window. Half of the container was in the sun, the other was in the shade. “There. You got your pet ladybug, fawn.” He let’s out a deep chuckle. You smile real wide at it, and his eyes want to roll back into his head at how sweet you were. A knock at your door has you both perking up. “You both decent?” Soap asks. “Uh… yeah?” You say confused. Soap opens the door and smiles. “Sorry, seen you both come in here alone. Didn’t want to walk in on anything.” Your face heats up, realizing. Ghost wants to ring Johnny’s neck. “No, we’ve already finished.” You send a wink Soaps way, and Ghosts cheeks burn, eyes widened. Soap laughs. “Jesus Christ.” He rolls his eyes. “Was thinking about going to the pub later. You guys wanna come?” Ghost would only agree if you said yes.
“Uh.. sure yeah.” You smile. Ghost crosses his arms. “Yeah I’ll go.”
For the rest of the day, Ghost was glued to your side. Most of your time was spent in the mess hall, talking to each other.
When the time came to go to the bar with them, you got a little dressed up, not your usual uniform. You were squeezed in the back seat of Price’s truck next to Soap and Ghost. You were in the middle between the massive men of course. Gaz in the passenger seat, and Price was driving. “Why you so dolled up little lady? Planning on going home with someone?” Soap smirks. Ghosts eyes tear him to shreds from the other seat. “Got a piece of Ghost and want more already?” He tries to save himself. “No. I just wanted to feel like a person today.” You blush. “I’m just giving you a hard time. We all know Ghost isn’t gonna let you go off anywhere alone. He’s like your protector.” Soap nudges you. Ghost wants to tear Johnny apart right now.
When you arrive, you follow everyone inside. Ghost is behind you. Following you close behind.
The night goes pretty smoothly. Everyone is sitting at the bar until a few of them decide to play pool. Ghost excuses himself to the bathroom. He sits at the sink, he hated this. He hated feeling this way for you, he didn’t feel this way for anyone. He was usually able to swallow down his feelings but he just couldn’t with you. He takes a deep breath, walking back out to the bar. He sees that someone has filled his seat next to you. Price, Gaz and Soap have disappeared to the back to play pool. They didn’t really need to see this anyways. Ghost could see how uncomfortable you were. “I’m sorry- but I have a boyfriend.” He hears you lie. This random man’s hand reaches to touch your hair. Toying with it. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
“He went to the bathroom,” you shrug his hand away. Ghost knew you could handle yourself. But knew you didn’t really like to with your own people. You only wanted to eliminate terrorists. “I was just in there, didn’t see him. Why are you lying sweetheart? You don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Yes. She does.”
The man looks up from you, seeing Ghost standing tall. 6’4 1/2. Mask on his face. Arms crossed. His chest raised with his intake of a sharp breath, he wanted to kill him. His eyes burned a hole into the man. Nobody was supposed to be touching you, period. “I suggest you get away from her, before I make you.” Ghost raises his jacket, showing his sidearm in his waistband. The man’s eyes widen and he raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry man, I didn’t know she was taken.”
“She told you she was, mess with another girl in here again and you will regret it.” He seethes. The man stands up, walking for the door.
Your heart flutters with admiration. The way he defends you, it’s so amazing. It makes you feel invincible. A breath leaves your lips. Ghost sits down next to you. “You okay? Did he hurt you?” His hands are on you, making sure you’re okay. “I’m fine Simon, thank you.” You breath. The way his name rolls off of your lips. It throws him for a curveball, closing his eyes tightly. You’ve never called him that before, it puts him in a daze. “I like that.” His voice is deep, raspy. “What?”
“I like when you call me Simon.” You smile. “Well. I like your name, Simon.” You chuckle. Ghost could tell you were a little buzzed.
This is what this was. This is why he’s having such a hard time with you. You see right through him, right through his tough shell. You see Simon. This wasn’t Ghost growing feelings for you. This was Simon. He’d pushed back Simon, as far back as he could. Simon had been hurt one too many times and all that was left was Ghost. Until you came along of course. Simon emerges from the depths of his mind, every time you compliment him, or give him those tiny purple and white flowers, a Daisy occasionally. Sometimes you’d manage to find a wild rose, passing it to him. When you were hurt, his eyes full of worry. That was Simon.
Ghost only ever seemed to emerge when someone was messing with you. When it came to killing people for you, when you’d been shot or stabbed or cut. He was heartless, ruthless. When it came to them. He had no mercy for those who endangered you. But, once the threat was eliminated. When you laid there, laughing off the pain, fading feeling of dying haunting your brain like a plague. It was Simon who aided you. Simon who’s eyes filled with tears, scared to death at the thought of losing you. It was Simon who sat in the infirmary with you, by your side. Jumping at the slightest snap or sound. It was Simon who felt the rush of relief when your eyes opened and you sent him that same lazy smile. His heart swelling in his chest.
Ghost was in danger because of Simon. He’d pushed Simon back all of those years ago. The pain, the hurt. The shredding he felt in his chest from sorrow and despair he’d suffered from other people, from the military. From losing everyone he’d ever loved, losing everyone he’d ever known. He felt sick. He felt nothing but sheer pain.
He was coming to terms with it. Simon would take back over when it came to you.
He was in love with you.
He had nothing else to do but accept it, accept the fact that you were haunting his mind day and night.
“Do you want to go back to base, fawn?” He asks. You nod your head. “I thought that… dressing like this would make me feel normal. Not put me at risk.” The sadness in your eyes makes Ghost want to march outside. Find that man, and beat him until he stops moving. He hated seeing you sad. “Let’s go, we’ll walk back. It’s not far.” He smiles. He passes you his jacket, leaving him in a long sleeve black shirt. “Hey, we’re going to head back to base. She’s not feeling good.” He says to the others. They nod their head, and he walks back to you. Exiting the doors with you. “Thank you, for being so kind to me Ghost.” You smile. He nods his head. The walk back to base isn’t so bad, it’s a little cold, the air nipping at your cheeks. Ghosts jacket keeps you warm for the most part. “You want to check on my ladybug with me?” You smile. “Sure love.” He laughs. You grasp his hand, pulling him along to your room. When you get inside, your ladybug is still crawling around. “I’m not sure what I’m gonna name it.” You look at it closely, resting your head on your hand. He thinks for a second. “I’m not sure.” The both of you think for another few minutes. “I got a couple books in my room. Maybe we can find something there.” He laughs. You nod your head, following behind him.
When you get there, he passes you a book. He doesn’t think. He totally forgets.
You flip a couple pages and a little dried flower wisps it’s way to the floor. Ghosts eyes widen and you furrow your eyebrows, picking it up in confusion. “Is this..” you start, flipping through the book, finding many more. A small smile appears on your lips and his eyes look down, crimson creeping up onto his cheeks. “Are these the ones I’ve given you, Ghost?” You ask. “Uh..” he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah.” You smile. “I didn’t know you kept them. I thought that you just threw them away.” You smile, tucking the fallen flower back between the pages. “Yeah.. I.. My mum always taught me how to make stuff with them. It’s a force of habit.” He rushes his words. “I think it’s sweet.” You smile. He laughs. A genuine laugh. You’re so oblivious to his feelings for you. You’re so sweet, it’s almost too much to bare. It’s hard for him to believe you’ve killed people, that you were so mentally and physically strong when it came to the military. “Listen.. Y/N.” He breathes. Your real name falling from his lips has you looking at him in confusion.
This wasn’t Ghost talking anymore. It was Simon.
“Sit down for me, yeah?” His voice is soft, something you’ve never heard before. It leaves you confused. He grasps the bottom of his mask, pulling it over his head and completely off. Your eyes widen. Having never seen him before. His blue eyes burn into yours and you’re in awe by the fact that he’s just revealed himself to you. Not Ghost. But Simon.
He takes your hands in his, kneeling before you. “I..” he takes a deep breath. “I like you.” He sighs. “And. I always told myself I’d never put myself in this position again. But I can’t take it anymore. I need you to know. That I have feelings for you. It’s okay if you don’t like me back. I just needed you to know, needed to get this off my chest.” He breathes. He looks down. He expects to be rejected by you. You were much younger than him, he imagined you’d never go for someone like him.
You take him completely off guard. Cupping his cheeks with your hands and pulling him in to kiss you. When his lips are on yours, it lights a fire inside of him. He wraps his arms around your lower back, lifting you up with ease and you wrap your legs around his back. He shoves the small wooden chair to the side with his foot, and backs you up into the wall behind you. His lips don’t move from yours until the both of you are panting. Lips swollen and blushing from the rough kiss you’d just shared. “I.. I like you too. I’ve just been too anxious to say anything because I didn’t think you liked me back.” You smile, breathing out. He presses his forehead to yours. This was Simon. All of him. His eyes, his lips. His beautiful smile. “You’re.. so handsome.” You giggle and he pulls you back from the wall. Backing himself up until he falls back into his bed with you. You’re straddling his hips, scooting up onto him. “Thank you sweetheart.” He blushes. You can see the pink appearing onto his pale skin. He definitely needed some sun. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Simon.” You giggle. “Can’t believe you’ve kept such a beautiful face a secret.”
“I wish I could keep your beautiful face a secret. My own secret.” He smiles. This side of him was so different. You lean down, kissing him again. It felt so foreign. So forbidden. His lips were soft on your own and you couldn’t help yourself as you propped yourself up. You deepened the kiss and slid your hips up his front. It takes him off guard. Did you really want him like this? When he pulls away, he looks into your eyes. He doesn’t see even an ounce of hesitation. He slips his fingertips under your shirt, feeling his fingertips on your bare skin. It’s too much. He’s hardening beneath you, you can feel him throbbing against you. His dark jeans were refining him. You rock your hips into his, eyes darkening as you looked down into his eyes. A sigh leaves your lips when he pulls your hips into his, groaning out. “This is a bad idea,” he pants. “Yeah it is.” You lower yourself again. Lips on his. You kiss him harder than before, teeth knocking into his from the force of your kiss. You grasp the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor of his room. His fingers move along your waistband, unbuttoning your jeans and pushing them down your hips. You lift yourself up, sliding them down your legs and throwing them down with your shirt. You’re only in undergarments now, dazed from the effect he had on you. He unclasps your bra with ease, ditching it to the side. You’re only in panties now.
He pushes them down your thighs, exposing you to him completely. Your lips go back to his as he unbuttons his own jeans between the both of you. You have to move so that he can slide them off, pulling his shirt off. He’s fully naked now. Nothing is stopping you, no thin layers can be used as an excuse now. You look him in the eyes, taking a deep breath as you grasp his rock hard cock, lining him up with your sopping entrance. When the tip of his dick brushes against your wet folds, his eyes roll back. This didn’t feel real, he felt like he was dreaming, he’d wake up soon. He was sure of it. His fat cock pushes into your opening, stretching you. Your lips part, eyes widening slightly as he stretched you. “Oh-“ you breath. A gasp leaves your lips when he lifts his hips into yours, bottoming out in one thrust. “Fuck-“ you gasp out, the first time he’s heard you curse. And it’s on his cock.
He fits perfectly into you, brushing right into your spongy spot. He made your thighs shake and weaken. A lazy smile covers your lips and your eyes are screwed shut. “I.. it’s almost too much.” You giggle. Thighs shivering as you lift yourself up onto him, sliding back down. “Shit!” He groans out. “My god you are fucking tight around me.” He gasps. His chest felt heavy from the pleasure baring down onto him. “Fucking hell you feel good-“ he grits his teeth. Muscles showing as his clutches your hips. He wanted you to move against him, was going crazy by the a sense of you lifting your hips into him. You started grinding your hips into him, unable to lift yourself off of him without shaking and collapsing. It was pathetic how he made you like this, had these effects on you. He grasps your thighs, beginning to help you lift your hips into him. “Oh- it’s too much- ah!” You gasp. He lifts you up, flipping around to where you’re underneath him. Legs shivering, body spasming as he slipped into you. He bottoms out, growling out. “You’re going to have to let it be too much.” He groans, sliding his hips back and thrusting into you. Hard. A cry leaves your lips, and he thanks whatever god is out there that everyone else is at the pub. He hammers his hips into yours, bottoming out with each thrust. You could barely take it. “Ah! Simon!” You mewl, clutching onto the bed sheets. He halts his thrusts. “Hold your legs open for me sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He breathes. You wrap your arms under your knees, pulling them apart. He takes a slow deep thrust, sliding perfectly into you. Brushing up against parts of you nobody had ever touched. Parts of you that you never thought were possible. A moan leaves your lips. Skin heating up and covering with a slight sheen of sweat. “Simon-“ you whimper.
This was different from any other person you’d been with. He was gentle with you, yet so rough. It felt different, the way his calloused hands touched you, so soft yet so warm. The way he touched you, it wasn’t desperation. It wasn’t lust, he took his time. He was caring, reassuring. Realization came down onto you. Washing over you like a rainstorm.
He was in love with you. Saving the flowers, watching over you, protecting you. Only you, no one else. He loved you.
Each thrust of his hips has you falling apart beneath him. You were no longer collected, no longer cared about how you looked. You moaned, whimpered, mewled. You could barely keep yourself together. He felt so good inside of you, and you were desperate for that high that he was pushing you closer and closer into. “Simon!” you moan. Bringing your hand down between the both of you to run circles at your nub. He pushed you further to your brink. You tried to keep your legs open for him. He leans down into you, panting into your ear. He was trying to keep himself together as well, but the way you squeezed around him had him struggling. He was moaning more than he wanted to, he didn’t want to feel anymore vulnerable than he already did, but the moans and whimpers slipped from his lips like a song, he couldn’t keep himself together, his lower stomach was clenching up tightly. He was so close. He clenches his teeth, gripping the sheets besides your head tightly. “I- I’m gonna cum Simon!” A pant falls from your lips and you’re right there. He keeps a steady pace, making sure not to move a muscle from where he was. Your eyes started to grow heavy, harder to keep them open. “I- I-“ a cry leaves your lips when he pushes you over the edge and he rides your high out. His hips halt. “Why are you stopping?” You pant out. “I don’t want to push you too far.” He breathes. “I can take it.” You look up at him. “Are you sure?”
You nod your head, so he continues. His thrusts resume their slow deep strokes until he’s hammering his hips into yours again, feeling your wetness dripping down the both of you. He bites his lip hard. Eyes screwed shut. He lifts himself up slightly, face a few inches from yours, the muscles in his arms clenching up tightly. “You can tell me if it’s too much okay?” His voice is deep and unsteady. His dog tags dangle in your face and you can feel another high building. You nod your head. The size of him makes you feel so small beneath him. He was so caring, even during something so sinful. He’s right on the edge within a few more thrusts, his cock twitching slightly. This is where Ghost starts to show through. Those cracks showing darkness. You were going to be his, he was going to knock you up. You were his- only his. He’d prove it to you. You were made for him, he could take care of you. He’d worship the ground you walked on. He would protect you. Thoughts of you, round with his child. It pushes him closer to his high, he was so lovestruck by you, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Forgive me sweetheart. I can’t stop myself.” He groans. “I don’t want you to stop- you can cum inside me.” He growls as you say it. Teeth gritted. So sweet, but letting him do such dirty things to you. When he finally hits his own high, his cock throbs hard with each spurt of his cum filling you up to the hilt. The sound of a door opening has you pulling him into you, kissing him hard to muffle his cries as he came hard into you. Pushing you into another orgasm. You muffled your own moans with his lips. “Fuck.” He grumbles. “Shhh.. S’okay.” You giggle quietly. “You’re soaked around me sweetheart.” He mumbles. Smiling into your lips as he kisses you again. He’s fucking perfect. Beads of sweat forming on his toned chest and arms. Face beat red, hair flattened with sweat. “Shit..” he sighs. Laying next to you. He hears another door close and could tell it was Soap going into his room for the night.
After a few minutes of laying together and cooling off, you clean up. Returning your clothes to each other and putting them back on. He follows you to your room quietly. Saying his good nights to you before returning to his own room. He sighs out. Sitting down on his bed. You were his.
As he lays on his bed, he thinks for a moment. The shadowy side of him beginning to appear. You needed to be his for good. He imagined fucking his cum deeper into you with his fingers, thought about sneaking into your room, you were just down the hall. He breathes out. He has to force himself to sleep so that he doesn’t act out. He wanted your trust, wanted you forever. He’d do anything to get it.
The following morning, he got up before everyone else, sneaking his way into your room. When he steps inside, he feels that it’s more cool than usual. He notices the frost growing in the small plastic container your ladybug was in. “Shit.” He mumbles to himself. You were warm under your blanket, small sighs still leaving your lips. You must’ve forgotten to turn on your heater. He picks up your terrarium, hurrying out the door quietly. He steals your alarm clock on his way out, setting the terrarium where the sunlight would shine so that it could warm up. He waits impatiently as the sun appears. Leg bouncing up and down. “Uh. LT? You okay?” Soap asks. “Yeah.” He sighs. Price appears, a confused look on his own face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He growls out. Price raises his hands in surrender. “Nothing son, you just. Um..” he breathes. “I moved Y/N’s alarm clock. Don’t wake her up.” He says quickly. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Her ladybug froze, I’m going to go look for a new one when it warms up outside.” They nod their heads. “We can help you find one. What color was it?” Price asks. “It was Red, but it was a big one.” They nod their heads. When it’s warm enough, everyone is outside searching for ladybugs. “I’ve found 2, but they’re orange.” Ghost thinks for a minute, “add them in, she’ll love it.” He smiles. Gaz finds another, a big bright red one. Just like the one that was shriveled up on the bottom of your container that he had removed earlier. “thank god.” He sighs. “I got a real light orange one.” Price says, flicking it off of his thumb into the container. “Great. She’ll love them.” He sighs. Soap is smirking at him when they return to the mess hall. “You really like that girl don’t ya?” Price chuckles. “Uh.. yeah.”
Everyone looks upon him. “What?” He asks. “You don’t have a mask on.” He reaches up, touching his bare cheek. “Jesus Christ,” he groans. Walking off to his room. They’d seen him.
They seen Simon. Searching to please his girl, so that he didn’t have to see her heartbroken. Protecting her. Looking out for her. He returns his mask on. He’s sitting at a table in the mess hall across from Soap when you finally emerge from your room. He’d messed with your alarm clock and turned it off. Placing it back down. “My alarm didn’t go off I guess. How come nobody woke me up?” You ask. “You seemed peaceful. Besides, Simon has a surprise for you.” Price smiles. “Hm?”
“We all found some ladybugs when we went out this morning.” He nods to the terrarium. “Oh my gosh really?” He nods his head. You sit down and lower your head, looking into it. Ghost looks at Price, giving him a nod. The smile on your face as you watch them all climb all over the container brings Simon so much joy, it warms his heart. You were his, completely his at last.
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samwisethewitch · 6 months
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Two Banishing Powders from a Southern Folk Witch
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In Southern folk magic, the formula used for a banishing spell varies a little bit based on whether you want to banish an actual person (basically getting them to leave you alone) or a spirit/energy/abstract concept.
Banishing formulas for getting rid of living people tend to focus on causing irritation and discomfort to get someone to leave, which may be less effective if they don't have a physical body. Banishing formulas for spirits/energy are more about deep cleansing and making the space inhospitable for undesirable spirits. The herbs and minerals a practitioner might reach for are different in these two situations.
Below are two all-purpose banishing formulas from my practice: one for living people, and one for spirits.
GTFO Powder
For getting rid of unwanted (living) people.
You will need:
The spiciest red pepper flakes/powder you can find (If you like spicy food, use something so hot you can't eat it in large amounts. I like spice and I use Szechuan pepper flakes, but cayenne will work, especially if you know the person you want to banish doesn't like any spice at all in their food. Discomfort is the goal here.)
Black pepper (Used here to cause mild inconvenience/discomfort/bad luck)
Salt (Good, old fashioned banishing)
(Optional) dried, crumbled wasps nest*
(Optional) dirt from the side of a busy road or highway**
*This is actually much easier to find than you'd think, but be careful not to get stung! This is a traditional ingredient in Southern folk magic because wasps are known for how viciously they protect their homes. Fair warning: this is a mean ingredient (since its purpose is to cause pain/discomfort), so I'll leave it up to you whether to include it or not. If you're dealing with a stalking or abuse situation, wasps nest can give you the extra oomph you need to help keep the abuser from returning.
**Only include this if you're trying to make someone physically leave your space or relocate to a different geographical area. And PLEASE be careful collecting this dirt! My advice is to try to collect it during a less busy time of day and to stay several feet away from the actual road.
How to Use It:
When you mix up this powder, speak over it and state your intention. You can enchant this powder for all-purpose banishing, or you could mix up a batch to banish a specific person. Either way, it is important that you tell the powder what it is meant to do. I like to speak directly to the spirits in the powder and ask them for their help.
Traditionally, you would use this powder by sprinkling some in your target's shoes, but that isn't always possible. You can use it in poppet spells by adding it to the feet of the poppet for the same effect. You can also use it to dress candles, add it to jar spells, or incorporate it into other types of banishing spells. Warning: do not burn this powder, as it can cause irritation or injuries to the lungs.
If you need to get rid of a specific person, you'll want to customize the powder to only work on them. The easiest way to do this is with a taglock (an item that has a physical connection to the target). Some of their hair would be ideal, but you can also use a photo of them or even a piece of paper with their name and address written on it, like you were addressing a letter. You'll want to burn the taglock to ash, then mix this ash into the powder. Make sure you burn it outside, because the smoke will be unpleasant.
You can use this powder to keep someone away from your home or another building by sprinkling a line of it across all entrances to the building. If you do this, make sure you've customized the powder for that person with the method above -- otherwise you may accidentally banish ALL visitors.
Ghost-Be-Gone Powder
For getting rid of unwanted spirits or psychic energy. Can also be used to banish non-physical things, like an illness or a bad habit.
You will need:
Asafoetida*
Salt (Again, used here for good, old fashioned banishing)
Garlic (You know how garlic is supposed to repel vampires? That's basically what it's doing here.)
Rosemary (Used for cleansing and banishing)
(Optional) dirt from a church, temple, or other place of worship**
*Honestly, I've used asafoetida by itself for banishing and gotten really good results. This is definitely the Big Daddy of cleansing herbs in Southern folk magic. You can usually find this in international grocery stores or get it online for fairly cheap, and it's one of the few herbs I think are worth going out of your way to get. Warning: a lot of people complain about the smell of asafoetida, but it honestly just smells like a stronger, more pungent garlic to me so your mileage may vary.
**While dirt from a church is traditional, use something tied to a religion YOU believe in. If you aren't Christian, don't use church dirt. For myself, I might use dirt from the Wiccan temple near my home or from another pagan holy site. The point here is to call on your personal spiritual allies for help. If you are an atheist or agnostic, just leave the dirt out entirely.
How to Use It:
When you mix up this powder, speak over it and state your intention. You can enchant this powder for all-purpose banishing, or you could mix up a batch to banish a specific spirit. Either way, it is important that you tell the powder what it is meant to do. I like to speak directly to the spirits in the powder and ask them for their help.
To use this powder to remove a spirit from your home, use it to clean your floors. You can sprinkle it on the floor, let it sit for a few minutes, and then sweep or vacuum it up.
I don't recommend burning this powder as incense, but you can use it in spells. You can place a ring of it around the base of a black candle or add some to a jar spell, for example. You can also use this to cast a circle around your spellwork if you want to protect it from interference in the spiritual realm.
A Note on Cultural Appropriation
Every time I post some of the more folksy parts of my practice online, I get asked whether it's okay for others to use these spells. Specifically, people want to know if these spells come from a closed tradition or if they have to live in the South to use them.
The folk magic tradition I practice is not tied to any closed cultural practice. I will never post anything from a closed practice online. So yes, you can use these powders no matter who you are or where you are from. You don't have to live in the South or be from the South to practice Southern folk magic, but you will get more out of your practice if you have a connection to the region.
On a related note: some of y'all may have noticed that these powders are similar to formulas used in Hoodoo. The GTFO Powder specifically is very similar to Hotfoot Powder, which is used for a similar purpose in Hoodoo. Hoodoo is a semi-closed African-American tradition that is typically passed down in families or communities. When I post about my practice, I do occasionally get comments accusing me of appropriating from Hoodoo.
Here's the thing: my practice does have some overlap with Hoodoo, because I am in the same geographical region and part of the same regional culture that Hoodoo comes from. Over hundreds of years, ideas get exchanged across racial and cultural lines. Just like some elements of Hoodoo come from European traditions, some elements of white folk magic in the South come from African roots. It's not appropriation -- it's a natural result of living in multicultural communities.
All of this is just to say, what I do is not Hoodoo, but I think of my tradition and Hoodoo as cousins. There's some shared DNA, but also a lot of differences. How I do things might look similar to how a Hoodoo practitioner does them, but the theory or exact ritual process may be different.
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pastelbunnelby · 1 year
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Deep Breaths (John Price X Fem!Reader)
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Summary ~ John finds you after you get caught up in the Russian Gas.
Disclaimer ~ I do not own any Modern Warfare Characters.
Word Count ~ 1.1k
Warnings ~ Mentions of war, choking, poison, COD violence (I think that's it)
Modern Warfare Masterlist
Taglist ~ @redpool @nightingale-ghost-writer @simonae27 @dyzlks @iccedays
UNEDITED
••••••
The last thing you remember was running toward Alex before an explosion went off a few yards in front of him and a green smoke began to fill the air around you. By the time you realized what it was, it was already too late, the poison gas was already filling your lungs.
You held your hand over your nose and mouth and stumbled forward into the green fog to try and find Farah and Alex, you had no clue where they were after you had been separated during the fight. Your eyes burned as the gas hit them, your lungs screaming at you to take a breath in and you knew you would need to listen to them.
Once you could no longer hold your breath in anymore you inhaled a deep breath and immediately began coughing, the gas causing your throat to burn and your head started spinning.
“Alex!” Your throat felt like it was shredding itself as you yelled, blindly stumbling into one of the ruined buildings.
It didn't take long for you to fall to your knees, your body finally giving into the gas that had filled your lungs. You rolled over onto your back and tried to sit up only to drop back down into the dirt each time you tried, another round of coughs wreaking havoc on your body. Your hands fumbled as you tried to find the radio on your vest to contact someone, Price was on his way here you just needed to hold out until then.
“Price?” You mumbled once you preceded the button in on the side of the radio.
“Y/n?”
“The gas!” that was all you were able to get out before your eyes began to drift shut, your lungs burning as more and more entered with each breath you took.
You could barely make out Price’s voice yelling at you through the radio before everything went black.
•••
Your eyes shot open and you began to panic, the arms on you holding you down causing you to fight back against them. Your heart was racing as you kicked your legs to try and get free, voices yelling at you but they all sounded muffled as you frantically tried to get them off of you.
“Y/n!” Two hands clamped down on your shoulders and shoved you back down, “Calm down! You're safe!”
You shook your head and continued to fight back your mind still reeling from the gas that you had inhaled, “let go of me!” You screamed, your voice sounding hoarse.
“Hold her down!” The same voice from before yelled again.
Another set of hands held onto your legs stopping your panicked movements which only caused you to struggle more.
“Let me go!” You tried to break your legs free but it was no use.
A face came into view and you recognized it just before a sharp pain filled the side of your neck, “Price?”
Everything started to slow down around you, your mind feeling sluggish before you drifted off into unconsciousness again.
•••
When you finally woke up again it was much less jarring to you than the first time.
Your eyes opened and you blinked them slightly to get used to the lights shining down on you, as soon as you started to sit up two hands pressed down on your shoulders forcing you to lay back down.
“Easy there Y/n,” Price’s voice grabbed your attention from beside you.
You furrowed your brows and started over at him, “What happened?”
“Hadir released the Russian gas, you got caught in it.” He pulled his hands off of you and sat down on the cot beside yours, “Didn't think we’d be able to get you breathing again when we found you.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“What do you mean Hadir released it?” You were practically whispering, your throat felt like you had downed a shot of boiling water.
“Hadir stole the gas.”
You tried to recall the events from before you passed out but your brain was still fuzzy, “Alex and Farah?” You looked back at the man.
“They're fine, Hadir got them into the bunker and gave ‘em gas masks, they're fine.” He reassured you.
Your hand went to your neck and rubbed the small sore spot there, “How did I get back here?”
“Gaz found you, we got you into the chopper and stuck you with an adrenaline stim.”
You blinked, your head still in a dazed state, “I don't remember.” You shook your head as you tried desperately to remember anything about the events before you passed out.
Price leaned over and grabbed a hold of your hand, “You stopped breathing a couple times, medic said you're gonna feel pretty out of it for a while.” He started down at your hand in his own, “You had me worried for a while.”
You noticed his all-black attire and the night vision goggles on his head and frowned, “Where are you going?”
“The Wolf’s safe house, the Russians have Hadir.”
You moved to sit up again only for your head to start spinning again, “Just give me a few minutes here, and I’ll be good to go.”
Price stood up and moved so he could put a hand on your shoulder, “You're staying here.”
“What?”
“Medics won't clear you for field work right now, I won't either.” His hand fell back down to yours and squeezed your finger, “I can't have you out there if all I'm going to be doing is worrying if you're okay.”
“John, you worry about me on every mission I go on.”
He sighed, “Yes, but I can't send you out there like this sweetheart.”
You wrapped your fingers around his wrist and tugged on it, “You’ll be safe?”
“I always am.” He smiled and leaned down to kiss you.
The kiss was quick, but so were most of yours when you two were on base considering you tried to keep your relationship under wraps. You didn't mind though, as long as you got him at the end of the day you were happy.
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gghero003 · 7 months
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ELEMENTBENDERS! task force 141 + horangi & könig. loosely based off of avatar: tla.
* notes for my upcoming fic.
metalbender! ghost who carries ODMB gear (omni-directional metal bending gear) on his back every mission. three to four cylinders fillied with liquid metal that he can utilize and transform the state of matter of whenever there isn’t any around. his own personal stock/supply. metalbender! ghost who can literally hand-make you jewelry (and does), who can use his seismic sense to detect your location, which comes handy when he’s in that particular state of jittery paranoia that’s screaming at him to keep you close.
water & bloodbender! gaz who absolutely hates having to bloodbend because he feels more and more like a monster each time, but won’t hesitate to do it in times of desperation, especially if it’s to save a teammate or anyone he cares about. also works as the team’s medic when there isn’t anyone around to do it. the first time he tried to spiritbend, he went into a coma for three days. get ready for pool/beach days, because you’re going to be totally assaulted with hefty waves and him trying to get your attention with cool water tricks.
airbender! price who spats unnecessary philosophical comments at the worst times to try and seem more like the wise, meaningful old airbenders you see giving out yoga lessons in the park. airbender! price who blows breezes at your face on hot missions, smiling at the way you instantly relax. price, who sometimes intentionally makes you trip and stumble when you’re walking by sending a suddenly powerful gust of wind at you just so he can catch you and pull you into his arms.
firebender! soap who exhales flames from his nose when he gets frustrated/worked up. firebender soap who is constantly decorated in so much soot and ash that he doesn’t even need eyeblack, who always smells like sandalwood and smores and uses his fingertip as a lighter for when he needs one. trains often to try and master lightning bending, leaving you worried sick that one day he’s gonna accidentally char himself into a stick. whose kisses are so warm that you just love it when he peppers them all over your face.
earthbender! könig who likes to make souvenirs of little jars of dirt from everywhere he gets deployed. plays around with them when he’s bored at base, shifting their state from a delicate sand to a hardened rock. könig, who uses his bending abilities to creates walls of protection for his teammates, creating a little hut made of smoothened stone for you on those missions when you’re out in the elements.
firebender! horangi who has a rugged, rough scar on his face (corner of his mouth to his upper cheek), from an agni kai that left the skin around it heavily textured. his body temperature thrums in the high 90’s constantly, and getting paired on a mission with him in cold climates is like having your own personal heater. he likes to pretend he’s a dragon and puffs smoke from his nose whenever he huffs. jokes about having secret scales under his uniform.
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Text
Sinister plot
<<<Prev (A lingering past) (Circus ghosts) Next>>>
Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid reader
Warnings: none
Word count: 2400
Content: Everyone wants the throne but you.
---
The sheets were too soft. You laid still, your conscience waking up as you took in your surroundings with your eyes closed. The room smelled like a flower field instead of leather and wood. The breeze felt watered down by the time it travelled through the town, it lacked the salty punch. You opened your eyes only to find two people posted by your bedframe, the colours too pale and modest. Their dresses detailed with frills and laces while almost all the fabric in this room and on their clothes were in a pale blue.
The window was open and the curtains fluttered, you could only think about the ways to escape from this foreign place. A place you were born in and yet the most alien you had ever felt in.
“Where am I?”, you asked to which the woman who stood to your right turned to answer.
“Your home, your Highness.”, she refrained to look you in the eyes as if she was bound by rules. You didn’t have a dignified retort for that answer and neither did she seem like she deserved it.
You pulled away your blanket, the bed was huge just for one person as you edged to the side. Your feet hit the carpet and with your regained strength, you stood up, feeling the blood rush to the tip of your toes. The room was so large that the whispers spoken near the door couldn’t be heard in the other corner. Another individual rolled in a tray of food that looked too marvellous to eat.
“Your Breakfast, ma’am.”, said the young man before he departed.
You didn’t have an appetite, your attention now turning towards the soft sounds of a chorus of bells beginning to ring. Making your way to the open window, you looked at the view of the city below. It was jarring, all this elegance only existed to what looked like the compound of the castle, beyond it lied tattered buildings that looked as though it had been spit out by the sea.
Seaweed covering the streets, moss and dirt accumulating over the houses. But the bells continued to ring and then you saw it, with every passing second, the sea water had begun to get closer to the castle gates, slowly engulfing the city whole.
“It’s the high tide coming in during mid day.”, you heard someone.
When you turned towards the source, a man you didn’t recognize stood by the door. He looked a bit older, his silver hair gelled back making him look like he had just walked out of the water. His eyes were silver too, his limbs long and slender as he approached you warily.
“I figured.”, you said as you looked back at the city, now submerged as though it had never existed.
He was beside you, his hands resting on the railing you leaned on, his fingers were webbed and his skin shimmered. He was one of your kind.
“You must have questions.”, he turned to face you but you didn’t.
“Plenty.”, you responded with sarcasm as your eyes searched the horizon line for a particular ship.
He seemed to have noticed as he hummed to your response.
“You haven’t had your breakfast yet?”, he changed his question and it got your attention, his attempt at trying to converse with you was miserable.
“No.”, you said folding your arms, the only good thing so far was the dress you wore. It was light and airy, atleast it wasn’t being tied up in corsets and strings.
The edge of his lip tipped up, as if you were a new toy to engage with.
“Do you always speak with such contempt to your rescuers?”, he tilted his head and you were unimpressed.
You looked away, because his question was stupid. Rescuer? You didn’t need to be rescued. But it bothered you, it got under your skin, you knew well who your rescuer was.
“Didn’t know you took pleasure from being a savior.”, you remarked to which he was quick to give you a laugh.
“You are not what I expected.”, he drew out his words as though you were a hindrance.
“Likewise.”, you gave him a retort before moving away to peruse the food tray.
“Do you not care to know my name? Or who I am?”, he followed after you flabbergasted and it frustrated you. Did you have to hold up a sign saying you weren’t interested in his presence?
“Fine, who are you?”, you asked as you picked a few berries you recognized and popped them into your mouth.
He looked at you like you were a barbarian for using your hands but soon cleared his throat to introduce himself.
“I’m Helge Silvester. The soon to be King of Makara.”, he smiled with pride to which you shrugged your shoulders. The information was irrelevant if it was not going to answer why you were brought here.
“Congratulations.”, you grinned. “How does that concern me?”, you asked next as your grin faded away causing Helge to fluster.
“Well you are to be my bride.”, he extended his hands towards you and you froze.
“What?”, your voice cut through the awkward silence.
“Has no one told you yet?”, he clasped his fingers together, his silver eyes catching yours, his cheekbones so high and sharp he looked like a shark.
“I haven’t been fortunate enough, since I’ve only just woken up into this chaos.”, you mumbled flailing your hands around you in anger.
But the man was dense because he brushed past your annoyance as he got closer to you.
“Well now that you know, there are a lot of tasks to attend to. You are to be introduced to the mercourt tonight at the New moon festival. With the sacred day of the Falling stars only a year away, it is vital we use every opportunity to get to know each other before we ascend the throne as a pair.”, he elaborated without pause and it caused your head to stir.
You began to laugh at all the stupidity and he was taken a back.
“No.”, you said finally.
“No?”, he furrowed his brows seemingly unable to take your answer.
“I will not be your bride, Henry. Nor will I be paraded around a court I know nothing about. Now if anyone can find a proper person who might be able to give me the right answers, bring them in.”, you stood up, your blood coursing through your veins at the preposterous information he had shared.
“I paid your ransom, you will do as I say.”, he commanded and it propelled your anger further.
“It might have had been cheaper and more wiser to have gotten a slave than me.”, you said as you held his glare, his lips quivering as though he was about to call the guards. But from what you knew, you were the lost princess, he couldn't do much.
“How dare you speak –
“Helge, you’ve been called upon to meet with the advisors.”, an old woman entered the room, her posture however giving her away to be another aristocrat.
Helge held his gaze with yours before he turned to leave like a child who had been tricked to give up his treats in the playground.
Once he was out of sight, the lady turned to you with a pleasant smile but you couldn’t deal with another royal with boisterous plans.
“Forgive my son, he’s been anxious.”, she held out her hand to take yours, to guide you towards the lounge chairs by the balcony.
“We have been searching for you ever since the day you had been lost, close to twenty five years now.”, she turned to you and it struck you. Weird, grateful even, that you had the luck of spending most of that time on a pirate ship instead of here.
You sat quietly for a second, pondering about all that time that had passed, never once feeling trapped in.
“You poor thing, your life had been so tragic and on top of that, to be snuggled amongst pirates?”, she clicked her tongued as she feigned her sadness, you scoffed. "Unimaginable.", her eyes widened.
You were sure that you had to unravel the secrets on your own because now you were fed with information that was controlled by these predators who had their eyes set on the throne. She continued to ramble but your mind had drowned it out, your eyes flitting back to the open window. It had begun to feel suffocating here, this was a life you weren’t born into although everyone was trying to convince you otherwise.
“Now that you’re here. I guess it would be better to tell you that I will not be marrying your son.”, you cut through her talk to which she grew silent immediately.
“Oh.”, she drew her breath before plastering on another smile.
“No matter, that is only because you have not known him yet. A year is a long time for these issues to subside.”, she explained, you gritted your teeth. Why was no one heeding or acknowledging your responses.
She continued to explain the various other possibilities that could arise from this union, how it would be good for the kingdom while you knew that one week was good enough. To run from this place, to get back to where you belonged.
“Oh it would be lovely to have you at tonight’s festival. The people have been eager to see their princess.”, the woman leaned over to touch your arm but your flinched from her grasp. Since they belonged to the sea, it seemed to be that they knew nothing about boundaries or personal space.
But unlike her son, her mask fell away easily.
“You may be the lost princess but you are as good as the many myths this island holds. If you wish to survive, I suggest to get up to speed with how matters are handled here.”, she hissed quietly as leaned closer.
“And if you so much as think of running away. We can make you disappear just as easily as we found you.”, she got up as though she was parting from a great conversation but only you knew the truth.
She held out her hand as part of her show. “Teodora Sylvester.”, she gave you a polite smile.
You shook her hand to maintain the impression that nothing had occurred but with the way her nails dug into your skin, you were sure of one thing. This was a pit of vipers and you were the target.
She didn’t bother to hear your name and neither did you want to give it. It was only reserved for those you knew you.
At the same instant your mind brought to life a memory, Buggy mumbling your name in his sleep, it felt like a dagger to your heart.
Did he know what had happened?
Or did he believe you had chosen the precise moment to run off?
You stood by the balcony watching the blue expanse surround the castle completely, it called your name and now you were locked away in this tower. There was more to your story, to that memory you couldn’t quite remember fully.
Your mind had always yearned for more, to know more about where you had come from but your heart wanted to find the first way out of this place. It was a battle, one you had to choose rightly, because with the current stakes, fighting the wrong one could cause you your life.
So you walked back towards the bed and fell into it. It’s massive size the only thing resonating with how isolated you felt, so lonely that your skin craved the sea and his touch both of which that was out of your grasp.
You slept the day away, with no interest in the festivities that was to occur. You didn’t want to meet the court, you needed time to yourself. Change was something you were never good at.
As night fell, you dismissed the staff in your room. You would start afresh tomorrow, to find a way out and with what was going on but now in the dark you were free to miss him. The room felt like a gilded cage that you kicked off your shoes and walked into the balcony. The dome above had notches in the roof that you knew was where you wanted to be.
Having done this a hundred times before on different buildings and rooflines, you climbed up to the top and perched yourself there. The wind finally unadulterated that if you closed your eyes, it was as though you be back on the ship you longed for now. The waters stretched endlessly and the low tide had now let the city breathe again. As the lights glimmered below, the full moon sitting right in the middle of the sky, the festival was full of life but you weren’t.
You looked out to the horizon line. That as though if you chanted his name in your heart, he might appear.
He had done it once before, at the cove, when you sang your song that called for an angel of the sea to save you. Buggy had found you then. His red nose a comfort to see, he had nothing to hide unlike the people you had met today.
So was it foolish to hope he would come again?
You held your knees together as you continued to observe the scene when the smallest light caught your eye.
There by the horizon in the dark, that red light. So far off it looked like a solitary star, your heart raced. He was here but you couldn’t yell out his name or wave a torch. He was there, out on the water and you were here, miles high from the sea that the distance now felt real.
But as days went by, his ship never docked the ports of this island of you continued to hope andwait. The light vanished in the morning but would appear by night and at the end of the month, he stopped coming altogether.
You couldn’t wait on the roof anymore, the red light disappearing with all your hopes as life began to grow more constricting here. Helge and his mother insistent while you pieced together the story about your parents, the true rulers of this land who were killed, no, assassinated when the coup happened.
You were the only one to survive from the royal lineage and without you, no one could ascend the throne. So as the story unfolded with more complications, with every day that passed, your love for the pirate began to die because he had so easily forgotten about you.
It was time you did too.
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grandeoatmilklatte · 8 months
Text
All Hallows Eve 👻
Jumping on the Jackdaw smut train here. Ever since @greedyforgarreth wrote her Jackdaw smut I've been thirsting hard for this damn ghost. 😭 But honestly as a certified spooky girl™️ it was only a matter of time before I started thirsting after ghosts. This one is for you darling hope you like it! 😘 @ask-richard-jackdaw
Also yes, I know it's July, but Halloween is the next big commercial holiday so it's basically Halloween season now. Sorry, I don't make the rules.
All Hallow's Eve - Richard Jackdaw x House Neutral F!MC
Summary: MC summons Jackdaw for some Halloween activities - 1.5k words
Warnings: Smut!/NSFW/18+!, MC is aged up and in 7th year!, Spectrophilia, mentions of voyuerism, f!nger!ng, she has sexy time with a ghost lol
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“The veil is always thinnest on All Hallows Eve” MC always heard people say, both in the muggle and wizarding worlds.  On this night, it was said that it was easier for things from the other side to pass over, and it was easier for those things to interact and communicate with living beings. MC was eager to test this theory out tonight. 
Everything was ready. Her candles were lit and arranged around her in a circle, as she sat cross legged in the middle. The room was dark, the candles being the only light, and she was wearing her robe with the hood up. In front of her was a worn out spirit board and a small jar of dirt obtained from his final resting place. It was what she planned to use to summon him. 
She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the planchette before reciting the mantra needed to start this session. “Spirit, I’m opening the door to thee, on this All Hallows Eve, please speak to me.” She repeated this two more times, waiting a moment before she asked her first question. “Are you here?” Her eyes darted around the room. The planchette immediately moved to the “yes” position. A smile formed on her face. 
Just then, Richard Jackdaw floated down from the ceiling. “Darling, you know you don’t have to do all this, right? You can just call out to me, you know I’ll come to you right away.” His voice was sweet and gentle. 
MC ripped off the hood of her robe and sighed. “I know! But this is fun! It’s Halloween! It’s spooky!” She replied excitedly. “I’m sorry, I know it’s silly, I’m just nervous.” She stared up at his ghostly figure. He could see the nervousness in her eyes. It was strange for him to feel this way, but he was feeling nervous too. 
MC blew out the candles and restored the room to its normal state - her bedroom in the Room of Requirement. Once the room was restored, MC sat on the edge of the bed staring at Richard. It wasn’t until that moment that he got a better look at what she was wearing, or rather, what she wasn’t wearing. Under her robe peaked a lacy set of black lingerie. She undid her robe and sat back on her arms, Richard taking in her beauty. 
This wasn’t the first time he had seen her in this level of undress. They actually spent time like this quite frequently since they started this little rendezvous in her 7th year. He always found her fascinating, her confident and adventurous attitude impressing him ever since they met in her 5th year. It was only recently however that they found themselves having romantic feelings towards one another, as confusing as that was for them to admit to each other. Had he been alive, he would have swooped her off her feet by now. But he couldn’t. So they did what they could. 
He’d watch her, encouraging her as she came undone under her own hands. He was unable to really touch her, his only contribution outside of his words being the freezing cold air he provided her whenever any part of his body touched hers. It felt good for a brief period of time, but it was never enough. Tonight was supposed to be different, though. Supposedly, they could both actually feel each other, the whole “veil is thin” theory. He tried to innocently ask the other ghosts in the school if this was actually possible, but none of them cared enough to interact with the living to know for sure. So there was only one way to find out. 
“Oh darling! Look at you! You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Richard eyed her body. No matter how many times he stared, he was always mesmerized by her. “Are you ready, my love?”
MC gave Richard a soft smile before she beckoned him towards her. He floated over to her and placed each hand on her shoulders over the straps of her bra, before he leaned in, his lips meeting hers for the first time. MC gasped. “I…I still feel the cold, but I also feel a bit of pressure. Almost like instead of being touched with cold air I’m being touched with a piece of ice. Still cold, but I do feel something. I can feel your lips and fingers, but the feeling is just very light, even when you apply pressure” She smiled up at him. “I can feel the same, but instead of cold you feel warm. Remember, we can stop at any time if it gets too much” He smiled back at her, and she nodded. With the confirmation that there was at least something they could feel, he removed her bra and panties, shivers running up her spine the whole time, which she ignored. Once she was fully undressed, she moved herself backwards on the bed so that her legs could rest on the bed before she spread them, wetness already present between her folds. He positioned himself hovering over her.
His hands navigated down her body, his one hand coming between her thighs as he began to rub hard and fast circles into her clit. She let out a soft moan, her eyes locked on Richard. She tried not to focus on how cold she was, letting the pleasure she was feeling overtake her, her moans getting more frequent. “You’re doing so well, my dear. I’m sorry it feels so cold, but you’re taking it so well.” He was well aware that his voice had an effect on her, and if he couldn’t do anything else, at least he could bring her to orgasm with his words. “You’re being such a good girl for me. You look so beautiful moaning for me.” 
MC was breathless when she spoke. “I want more! Please!.” Her voice was soft and the look in her eyes was desperate. Her teeth were practically chattering, but he couldn’t deny her, not when he was finally making her fall apart in his cold ghostly hands. “Oh darling, I know this might be hard, but would it be alright if I slid my fingers into that pretty little hole of yours?” He felt naughty asking that of her. He had never spoken to a woman like this before, always preferring to be a gentleman to the women he courted while he was alive. But MC brought this naughty side out of him, and he loved it, and he knew she did too. 
MC nodded as she watched his fingers pass through her entrance, she could still see them, but she was immediately hit with that freezing cold pressure once again. She let out a loud moan. ”Oh Richard! It feels so cold but it feels so good! Please don’t stop!” The combination of the coldness of his fingers in contrast with the heat she was starting to feel from her impending orgasm was strange, but she was enjoying it. Her moans were so loud they could have been mistaken for screams. He pumped his fingers into her hard, knowing she was only feeling a fraction of that pressure. He could feel an ever so slight squeeze around his fingers, and although he had never experienced that before, he could tell from the way she was breathing and the way her body arched that she was close to an orgasm, having watched her have one multiple times before.
“I know you’re almost there, come on, darling!” Their eyes were locked on each other, both of them refusing to break eye contact.
MC let out a long drawn out moan as her orgasm hit her. He waited a moment before pulling his fingers out of her, not wanting to subject her to that cold feeling any longer. He didn’t feel much of anything on his fingers in terms of an orgasm, but he knew she got there, her movements, noises, and her increased wetness being telltale signs of it. 
Once she had come down from her orgasm, she made herself comfortable on the bed, wrapping herself in her thick blanket to warm up and scooting over so that he had a spot to lay, or rather hover over. He joined her on the bed as he always did after an evening together. They lay facing each other, staring at each other. For the first time that night, MC leaned in and kissed Richard, his lips giving her a cold kiss in return. He would never understand how she could love someone like this, someone she could never have a life with, but somehow she did. And he loved her. They both knew this couldn’t last forever, but they were enjoying it while they could. He watched her as her eyes started to droop, tiredness clear on her face. 
“You should get to bed darling. The night is almost over. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow.” He felt heartache saying this, despite not having a beating heart.
“You’re right.” She let out a yawn. “I love you, Richard.” She said sleepily. “I love you too, MC.” He leaned in for one last cold kiss, the two of them savoring each other’s lips before she closed her eyes. He waited until her breathing turned soft before he floated away. “Happy Halloween, my love.”
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112 notes · View notes
whatsnewalycat · 11 months
Text
Psychomanteum / Chapter 12
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)
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Chapter 12: Ghost in the Machine
Chapter Summary: You and Dieter go on a date while grappling with the past, present, and future.
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Word Count: 8.7k+
Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, awkward/nervous speech patterns, cocaine use, past infidelity, suspicion, dissociation, argument, abuse mention
Notes: Chapter title from "Ghost in the Machine" by SZA featuring Phoebe Bridgers. Howdy! If you want the taglist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. If you want a link to the spotify playlist for this chapter, let me know and I'll send it to ya.
[ Series Masterlist ]
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Every window in the house sits ajar, welcoming a warm cross-breeze that tickles your skin. It carries an earthy scent from further up the hill, giving faint whiffs of sage and dirt. 
Dieter moseys around the house in his boxers, voyaging between his kitchen sink and potted plants, watering can in hand. He mumbles sweet little affirmations to his green dependents, checking in with each in a hushed voice, saying shit like, “Now, how are we doing here? Thirsty?” or “Looking great today,” or “Wow, someone needs a haircut.” 
From your place nestled into the couch, you alternate between watching him and studying the white wisps of steam that swirl off the surface of your coffee cup. 
This morning, while peaceful, has you feeling off-kilter. Your mind keeps wandering to the interview with DIRT. To your mom. To Dieter. 
Overnight, the dust began to settle in your mind, providing more clarity. Details started to surface shortly after you woke. Things you heard yesterday, but didn’t understand or deem important in the moment. 
Like David’s statement: “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it.”
Like your mother saying: “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too,“ and, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?”
Like Dieter saying: “No, I definitely deserved that.”
In each still, calm moment, they replay. Every time you look at Dieter and your heart aches with love and adoration, your memory blindsides you with this information. 
Is your mom right? Did he cheat on Anika? 
Or is she just trying to drive a wedge between you?
Wouldn’t he have told you when he had the chance?
You know you could do a web search to look into it, do your own research into the matter. Hell, you could even just fucking ask him. But the prospect makes you itch. 
Because what if she’s wrong and he thinks you don’t trust him? Or, worse, what if she’s right? 
Fuck, what if she’s right? 
Your blood starts to buzz hot and rapid through your veins. You look around for an escape hatch and see a bookshelf, then set your coffee cup down to approach it. 
Among knickknacks and a few small plants housed on the solid oak shelves, you find titles you expect to see, like 1984 by George Orwell, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, and at least a dozen art reference books. You also find a few things you weren’t expecting, like Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, half a dozen Julia Quinn novels, and, most importantly, a first edition of Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book. 
You pull the cookbook out and examine it, running your fingertips along the frayed corners of the faded red hardcover, then flip it open, asking, “Why do you have this?”
Dieter looks up from an unruly Monstera, “Have what?”
“This cookbook,” you answer, padding across the living room’s black and white striped rug to show him. 
He frowns as you hold it up, shaking his head, “Must’ve been Annie’s. She left some stuff behind when she moved out.” 
“My grandma had this one,” you murmur, glancing up at him, “Is—is it ok if I look through it?”
He scoffs and shrugs, “Not like she’s coming to get it,” then returns his attention to the Monstera. 
You settle into the couch, thumbing through the yellowed pages, reading recipes, tips, and instructions compiled for housewives of the 1950’s. Dieter finishes grooming his plants and plops down at your side, curling an arm around your shoulders, “Betty giving you any inspiration?”
“Fun fact: Betty Crocker isn’t an actual person,” you smirk, turn the page to the section on custard pies, and inform him, “In the 1920’s, a flour company noticed they got a lot of homemakers requesting baking advice, so they adopted the moniker Betty Crocker as a pen name for the people who answered the questions.”
“Huh,” he blinks, “Interesting.” 
“Listen to this,” you flip to a dog-eared page towards the back of the book and start reading from it, “If you’re tired from overwork, house chores you’re bound to shirk, read these pointers tried and true, and discover what to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Tips for housewives who are fucking miserable,” you tell him, then read another excerpt, “Get outdoors every day. Take a walk, do some gardening, take the children for an outing, or pay your neighbor a short visit,” and another, “Harbor pleasant thoughts while working. It will make every task lighter and pleasanter. Notice humorous and interesting incidents to relate at dinnertime, etc.”
“Jesus,” he mutters.
You want to tell him that the page was bookmarked. Its connection to the spine, well-creased. Referenced often. The comment lingers at the back of your throat. 
When you backtrack your place in the book, trying to resume your study on custard pies, a white index card slides from between two pages.
“Oh,” you pluck it out and furrow your brow at the ingredients, measurements, instructions printed in a precise script, “It’s a recipe for banitsa. You ever had this?” 
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s like a flaky cheese pastry… phyllo, feta, yogurt,” you murmur, then glance up at him, “What do we have going on today?”
“Reservations at 7, and Darlene’s gonna stop by later, but other than that,” he grins and shakes his head, “Nada.”
So, the two of you smoke a joint on the patio while Lincoln picks up the called-for ingredients Dieter doesn’t have on hand. After Lincoln drops them off, you sanitize the sun-drenched quartz of Dieter’s kitchen countertop, all sparkling rainbows in the light. Dieter spreads a paint-splattered drop cloth across the no-man’s land between the dining room and kitchen, sets up an easel, equips it with a canvas, then rolls a little yellow file cabinet out next to it. 
He puts on a mix of music described as roller-rink 1978. As the funky tunes play over the sound system wired throughout his house, you attach a bread hook to his matte black stand mixer and sift bread flour into its 7-qt bowl. 
Then you go to work. 
You concentrate on the task at hand in each given moment, taking it step-by-step. Measuring, mixing, and kneading. Trying not to think too long about the romance novels lining the bookshelf, or the recipe’s delicate handwriting, or the dog-eared page, or Dieter’s baited breath after he recounted why he and Anika split, or your mother saying, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?” Or David Alterman asking, “Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”
Instead of these things, you try your hardest to occupy your hazy, pot-laced brain by separating the dough into equal pieces while humming along to ABBA and Elton John and Electric Light Orchestra. 
When the recipe calls for the dough to rest for an hour, you clean your workspace, throw together the banitsa filling, and wash the dishes. 
Then the timer tells you: seventeen minutes left. 
You turn your attention to Dieter. His bare feet move fluid from side-to-side, paintbrush flitting between the palette and canvas as he lip-syncs along to “Hollywood Swinging” by Kool & The Gang. A grin stretches across your face. 
They cannot be right about him. This is not the kind of man who has affairs. No fucking way. This man is an angel. 
I’ve been fooled before. 
You banish the thought with a quick shake of your head, then try to distract yourself by asking, “Do you still see ghosts?”
He looks up at you, then back at his work-in-progress with a shrug, “I don’t usually see them per se, it’s more like a, uhh… an understanding. Or a knowing, I guess. Like a picture in my head with a feeling attached to it.”
His features twitch animatedly as he talks, accenting his words, dark eyes glancing between the canvas and your face. 
“It’s like… have you ever had intrusive thoughts?” 
“Have I ever,” you snort.
“It’s like that,” he explains, “Like a flash of something. Not like that kid in the Sixth Sense, seeing them fuckin’ uhh… walking around and shit.” 
You hop up onto the kitchen counter and inquire, “Where’s the most haunted place you’ve been?” 
Dieter pauses mid-brushstroke and scrunches his face up as he thinks about this, resuming when he says, “Well, hotels are always the worst. They’re so transitive, you know, all this energy coming and going constantly. And the people stuck there… they usually went intending to have a good time, a vacation or party or whatever, and something happened to them. That, or… they went in with an intention not to come out and succeeded.”
The implication unfolds in your brain, and you nod. 
“Either way they seem to have unfinished business,” he shrugs and squints at the canvas, smudging paint with his thumb, “Usually they’re harmless, so it’s pretty easy to ignore,” he pauses here, clears his throat, then continues, “But in terms of the worst vibes I got, like, uhh… how scared it made me feel, it was definitely Ethan.”
Blood drains from your face and extremities, leaving you cold and dizzy. 
“I—I thought—wait, really?”
He squints up at the ceiling, like he’s re-evaluating his statement, then levels his eyes with yours with a nod, “Yeah. At first, at least. Like the first night I was there, I felt him and it was,” he furrows his brow and drops his gaze to the floor, “Dark. Really fucking dark. And I was already in a bad way, y’know, I went to your place straight from the airport and you were—”
“A fucking disaster?”
“A beautiful trainwreck,” he corrects with a persuasive smile. It falters as soon as he continues, “And I just had this big fight with Annie about the divorce and, uhh, stuff, and hadn’t used blow in a day or two, just… not great,” he swallows, then shakes his head, “I think maybe… he could sense that about me. It was a warning. I remember knowing that’s what it was.”
“Oh,” you breathe. Look down at your hands. Start picking at your cuticles.  
“It was hard to stay. So… I left.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad. I’m sorry. I mean, he told me that he liked you—”
“It got better, really, love. It’s fine,” he assures you, then frowns, “Wait, he told you he likes me? Did you ask him about me or something?”
“Well, yeah,” you drop your gaze to the floor, “I just wanted to—I don’t know, see if he approved, I guess.” 
His head jerks back and he blinks, “Oh.” 
“Yeah—he, um, told me that he always liked you,” you tilt your head at your dangling legs and chuckle, “Told me you were a triangle guy.” 
Dieter lets out a light puff of laughter. 
“He asked if you make me happy,” you tell him, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, then look up to study his reaction. 
He pulls his paintbrush from the canvas and stares at you, his eyes soft and searching, “And?”
A soft scoff flees your lips, and you say, “Of course you do, Dee.”
“Yeah?” 
This crooked smile spreads across his face and makes your heart ache. 
“Obviously,” you chuckle, grinning in return. 
Dieter seems to think about this, pink tongue rolling along his bottom lip as his eyebrow quirks. He sets his palette down on the little yellow file cabinet, drops his paintbrush into a cup of water, then crosses the room towards you. 
The way he looks at you seems to take a physical presence on your skin, making you shiver before he even reaches you. When he does, his hands slide up your bare legs, fingertips dipping under the hem of your jean shorts. His hips nudge your knees apart. 
You hook your arms around his neck as he tugs you closer, brushing his nose against yours, “You make me happy, too.” 
He kisses you, gentle for only a moment before your tongues meet. 
It’s so soft and wet it makes you gasp. A rumble sounds from his throat and his grip tightens. You arch your back, balling his shirt in your fist
He guides your hand to the bulge in his sweatpants, “Do you feel that? How happy you make me?” 
“That’s pretty fucking happy,” you grin, wrapping your fingers around his girth, over the soft fabric. You start to work him and he tosses his head back with a moan. 
Your lips meet his again, finding depth. It’s a slow heat, the way you take your time with his cock in your grip and your tongue in his mouth. Drives him crazy. His breaths carry strained groans that tickle your throat and make your cunt throb. 
When you roll your thumb against the damp spot in his sweatpants, he gasps, “Fuck–”
You hook a finger under his waistband, “I wanna see it.” 
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, pausing to drag his tongue against yours, earning a whimper from you, then says, “Any time, any place, he’s all yours, baby.”
And right when he starts to pull down his pants, the front door swings open. 
You both jump and look towards the noise. 
In walks Darlene, cell phone pinched between her ear and shoulder, talking to someone on the other line, “Yeah, I just got to Dieter’s house, I’m going to tell him—Yeah, I will—Ok. Ok.”
Dieter rearranges himself and meets your eyes, murmuring, “To be continued,” before turning to approach her. 
“Yep, bye,” she tosses her phone in her designer bag and sighs, looking between the two of you, “Did I interrupt something?”
Your mouth gapes open. You shake your head and hop down off the counter, “We, um–we–”
Dieter cuts in, thank fucking god, responding, “No. What's the news?” 
Darlene raises an eyebrow at him, then you. She leans back against the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Well, I raised hell at DIRT. David Alterman is on disciplinary leave. The interview will be published without the phone call tomorrow. So… we will see what happens.” 
“Oh, that’s good!” you grin, glancing at the back of Dieter’s head, then to Darlene, “Thank you so much. And—and I’m sorry, you know, you had to deal with that.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Darlene nods, flashing you a wane smile, then looks to Dieter, “Can I steal you for a sec? I have to talk to you about something.” 
He clears his throat and nods, “Yeah,” then follows her outside. 
You release a little chuckle and smile to yourself. 
The timer goes off. 
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Dieter slides the door closed behind him, following Darlene around the centerpiece of his patio: a sprawling oak tree. He looks up into it as he trails behind, admiring all the twisted innards of the beast. When they step out of its shade and into the hot afternoon sun, he grimaces. 
She plugs a cigarette between her lips and lights it, asking him on the exhale, “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” he takes a step forward and leans against the steel railing, peaking over the edge to look down the cliffside. 
“How’s she doing since yesterday? That was a fucking mess,” Darlene leans on the railing beside him. 
Dieter scrunches his nose up, shrugging, “Kind of hard to read, I guess. She seems fine. But–but I don’t know, she’s just,” he pauses here and frowns, “I think I would be freaking out if I were her, you know? But she’s not? And I don’t know what to do about that.” 
She flicks her cigarette and raises her eyebrows, then sighs, “Actually, Dieter, that’s what I wanted to talk about with you.” 
“About what? Lua? What about her?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you serious about this girl?” 
“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” he groans, dropping his head, “Yes, I’m fucking serious. I wouldn’t be doing all this bullshit for just anyone.” 
“It just seems like there’s a lot you haven’t figured out. Maybe some things you haven’t discussed,” she takes a drag and looks him up and down, “What if I got some intel that says she’s still selling drugs?”
He plays along, inquiring, “What kind of drugs?”
“Edibles. Pot brownies, shit like that.”
“I’d say your intel is bunk. She’s straight.”
“Well, I looked into it,” she blows a plume of blue smoke out into the canyon, “She has no online presence, no license, sells out of her apartment—I mean, it fucking reeks, Dieter. How’s she able to make enough to live in that area with no marketing?”
“She doesn’t make a huge profit. I mean, this month I helped her with rent—”
“You’re fucking kidding me. So she’s using you—”
“No, she’s not. I had to beg her to let me help. It’s not like that,” he maintains, shaking his head, “I mean, who’s your source? Why are you even looking into this?” 
“I don’t trust her, Dieter! Something isn’t right, it’s not adding up.”
He pushes off the railing and pushes non-existent sleeves up his forearms, “Let’s say you’re right, and she’s selling edibles,” he stops for a beat, then scoffs, “Who fucking cares? Fucking pot brownies? Who gives a shit.”
“Movie studios care. The public cares. Doesn’t matter if it’s crack or pot, she’s a fucking drug dealer.”
“She’s not a fucking drug dealer, Darlene,” he snaps.
She stares at him. Takes a drag off her cigarette. 
He kneads his neck, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, before throwing his hands out in exasperation, “I need you to just believe that, for once, someone loves me and is good for me. Please.” 
Darlene’s lips purse, “That’s what you said about Anika.”
“That—that’s different,” Dieter drops his gaze to the ground. 
“Is it, though?” she blinks at him, “You swore that was it, that she wasn’t a gold digger, and yet… now she’s ex-Mrs. Dieter Bravo. Walked away with almost half your estate in return for not selling your secrets. She’s a rich woman now.”
“Yep,” Dieter sighs, skidding his toes against the mahogany deckboards, “I’m just a big fuck up, you got me there.” 
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she asserts, “I just want you to really think about this before doing anything… rash.” 
“I’m not going to run away and fucking marry her the first chance I get, ok?” he sneers, “Just—chill the fuck out.” 
“Dieter, let me be perfectly honest with you,” she drops her cigarette and crushes it with the toe of her beige pump, “I worry it’s more than you just being cunt-struck again.”
His head jerks back and he scoffs. 
She lowers her voice to a pleading tone, “Look, you’re falling headfirst into a serious relationship with this girl, she used to deal drugs, there’s all this shady stuff with her business, and… I just—I worry, are you, you know… are you ok?” 
“Am I ok?” he repeats the question, drenching it with incredulity, “What the fuck do you mean, am I ok?”
She studies his face, crossing her arms. A meaningful tilt of her head tells him everything he needs to know. 
His jaw gnashes from side-to-side and he shakes his head, “I’ve been clean for months, Darlene, because of her.” 
“Alright,” she raises her eyebrows and blinks, “Good.”
“Do you believe me?”
Darlene shrugs, “If you say you’re ok, you’re ok.” 
Bullshit.
“I am,” he confirms, his voice firm and final. 
“Great,” she nods, then pulls out her phone and looks at the screen, “Alright, well, I’ll keep an eye on things after the interview drops and let you know how it goes.” 
She stomps past him, the click-clack of her heels echoing out behind her, and exits out the side gate. 
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, shaking his hands out at his sides, rolling his neck as he starts towards the glass patio door.
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Dieter walks beside you as the hostess leads the way through the busy restaurant. Everything around him is white noise. It doesn’t matter at all. 
All that exists is his palm on the small of your back. His whole universe has boiled down to you, right now, draped in this white, flowing chiffon dress that Kelly picked out for tonight. You, all starry-eyed and dolled up, gawking at your surroundings because you’re just so damn excited to be at another fancy-schmancy restaurant.
Earlier today, while wrapped up in his sheets, you told him all about the menu, and haute cuisine, and French culinary history, and Escoffier. He closed his eyes and held your warm body in place next to his, content to listen to you chatter on as long as you’d allow him.
He loves that about you. How passionate you are in everything you do. How you slow to appreciate beauty in things like snowstorms, and layers in croissants, and even the subtle timbre of a cello woven into his favorite song. 
“Listen close,” you told him when you pointed it out, “It’s fucking incredible.” 
He did. 
He felt the chords vibrate through him, resolute and melodic. It gave the music new meaning, and he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before. He notices every time he hears it now. 
But that’s what you do. 
Everything seemed so fucking boring before you. Meaningless. You opened his eyes to what was right in front of him and gave it new life. Gave him new life. 
The hostess comes to a stop and gestures to a square table, laying a menu on either side of the white linen. You sit across from him and meet his gaze, face all lit up with that gorgeous fucking smile that makes his chest tighten. 
“Do you have a strategy in mind here?” he asks, leaning forward onto the table, rubbing his hands together, “Food, wine, dessert, the whole nine yards?”
“I love that movie,” you comment mildly, “Bruce Willis is hot.” 
He raises his eyebrows. 
“What?” you laugh.
“Bruce Willis, really?”
You study him, clearly very entertained, “Why, are you jealous?”
He scoffs at this, “No—I’m just saying, though, he’s never even been nominated for an Oscar—”
“Oh, well in that case,” you roll your eyes and let out this dramatic sigh. 
Dieter laughs and shakes his head, “Wow.”
“Ok, but really,” you turn your attention back to the menu. As you survey it, you tilt your head back and forth thoughtfully, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. A mischievous smirk plays on your lips and you ask, “Did Darlene say we were allowed one glass or one bottle of wine?”
Dieter taps an index finger to his chin and grins, “I recall her saying bottle, don’t you?”
“Mmmm, yep, now that you mention it, I’m like… 99% sure she said bottle,” you agree conspiratorially. 
He smiles up at you, but his breath hitches when something behind you catches his eye. 
Or, someone, rather. 
A bright tangerine dress tight around her petite, curvy frame. Loose chestnut curls flowing down her back. Glowing brown eyes locked onto his. A small smirk plays on her plump, shiny lips. 
His spine straightens and he mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 
You frown and follow his gaze to Lilly Stokes just as she pushes her chair back and starts towards the table. 
“Dieter, hiiii,” Lilly croons, squeezing his forearm, “How are you, Pookie? It’s been a minute.” 
Dieter watches your eyes flick between Lilly’s hand on his suit jacket, and her face, and Dieter’s face. He watches the gears turn. The light bulb turns on. Your eyebrows shoot up and you meet his gaze, then immediately drop your eyes to the tablecloth. 
“Fine,” he answers and leans back in his chair, pulling his arm from her grasp.  
Lilly glances back at her table, then to Dieter, “I’m here with Jay—you remember Jay, right?” 
Dieter blinks at her, thinking, “We’ve been inside you at the same time, of fucking course I remember Jay.”
But what he says is, “Yeah.” 
“Oh, duh,” Lilly waves off the obvious, then wets the seam of her mouth, eyes dragging along Dieter’s body, “We should merge tables so we can catch up.” 
“Oh, no—” Dieter shakes his head and gestures to you, “We’re—”
Lilly finally seems to notice your presence and turns towards you, “Oh my god, Dieter, she’s so cute, are you two on a date?”
“Yeah,” he meets your eyes for a moment before telling Lilly, “This is Louella.”
“Lou-el-la,“ Lilly repeats, enunciating each syllable like she’s trying to commit it to memory, “You don’t mind, do you, beautiful?” 
You stare at her for a beat like you’re trying to figure out what she’s asking, then stammer, “Me? Wh—I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s ok if we join you?” Lilly nods, batting her false eyelashes. She asks this in a condescending way, slowing her words down like she’s asking a toddler. 
Your throat croaks as you look from her, to Dieter, who’s mentally pleading, “Please no,” then back to Lilly, “Uhh—I mean, sure?”
He deflates as Lilly calls Jay over and pulls out a chair. You mouth, “Sorry.”
Jay Blackburn, who looks like a poor man’s Alexander Skarsgård but six inches shorter, saunters over, a lopsided grin plastered on his smug face, “Bravo. Long time no see.” 
“Yeah,” Dieter responds, shifting in his seat at the reminder. 
Across the table, you gnaw away at your bottom lip, eyes downcast, your bubbling excitement replaced with this raw, nervous energy. He soaks it up like a sponge. It trickles down his backbone and seeps into his bloodstream as he wrings his hands together. 
“Who do we have here?” Jay asks, dragging his eyes along your body, drinking in your beauty with zero fucking shame. 
Dieter’s jaw clenches and cocks to one side. His leg starts to bounce. 
“I’m Louella.”
A warm smile crosses your face and you extend a hand to him. 
Jay takes it in his like a baby bird and presses a kiss into your knuckles, then releases you, “Jay Blackburn.”
“Oh—um, nice to meet you,” you say, glancing at Dieter, then at Lilly, “And you are?”
Lilly bristles at this, huffing a little before her mask of sweetness goes back up and she responds, “Lilly Stokes.” 
“So nice to meet you,” you look from her to Jay, “Are you guys actors, too?” 
“Um, no,” Lilly lets out this half-chuckle, half-scoff, “That’s so funny. No. Well, maybe someday. But for now I’m just a makeup artist, content creator, brand ambassador for Wowie Zowie Cosmetics, and model,” she counts each role on her fingers, then adds as an afterthought, “Jay is a wellness guru.”
You furrow your brow, “Wellness… guru?”
“Lifestyle coach,” Jay corrects, “Shepherding people to wellness through mindfulness, yoga, and nutrition.”
Dieter rolls his eyes. 
“Ohhh,” you nod, “Wow, you’re both, like, really popular on the internet?” 
“I have over 10 million followers,” Lilly advises, “So, yeah.”
“She didn’t know who I was, either, if that makes you feel better,” Dieter teases, casting a smirk your way. 
You wince and shrug, “Yeah, I, umm… live under a rock, I guess. Sorry.” 
“I like that,” Jay says, still eyeing you up like you’re a piece of fucking meat, “It’s refreshing. We should all be so lucky to be sheltered from the world in such a digital age.”
You raise your eyebrows, “I mean, I read the newspaper every day, so I’m very much aware of what’s going on in the world—“
“Right, but,” Jay starts.
“—Just, you know, stuff that matters.” 
A stunned sort of silence falls over the table for a moment, then laughter erupts from Dieter’s throat. You grin at him, and Jay must think you were kidding, because he joins in on the laughter. 
“You’re funny,” Lilly flashes this smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, then lets out an exasperated sigh and looks around, “Are we going to get some fucking service here or what?” 
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Throughout the meal, you remain quiet. 
You don’t share your thoughts on the cuisine, or the wine, or the world-renowned chef. Your face stays painfully neutral as Lilly and Jay dominate the conversation, going on and on in a masturbatory fashion about their busy lives. 
More than anything, Dieter wants to tell them to fuck off. He wants to tell them that neither of you fucking care about subscribers or algorithms or sponsorships. He wants to comment on the restaurant’s heavy-handed use of bear décor and kiss you and tell you he loves you. 
But Darlene’s warning to be on his best behavior rings in his head. 
Despite this, the one bottle of wine you agreed upon is easily negotiated up to two. 
After the plat principal is cleared from the table, Lilly leans towards Dieter and asks “So, what’s new with you? We haven’t heard from you in, what,” she turns to Jay for confirmation, “Months?”
“Summer, I think?” Jay supplies. 
“Yeah,” Dieter nods and looks up at you, watching the way you wiggle in your chair and look down at your lap. He shrugs, “I’ve been keeping busy.”
“I see how it is,” Lilly pouts, glancing between his eyes and mouth, “Pookie gets a girlfriend and forgets all about us.”
Heat rises to his face. Every muscle in his body clenches. A hundred violent images flash through his head. The words shut the fuck up wrestle their way up his throat. 
“How did you all meet?” you ask, plastering on this polite smile. 
Lilly combs her long fingernails through her hair, “I met Dieter at some fundraising gala last year.”
Dieter’s leg starts bouncing. He leans his elbows into the table and presses his closed fist against his lips, watching you absorb this information. But he can’t get a read on you. 
“She introduced us,” Jay nods to Lilly, “Yeah, we were at this party, it was fucking wild—”
“Lua doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Dieter cuts in, dropping a hand to the table.
“It’s fine, Dee,” you chuckle, then take a big swallow from your wine glass. Unconvincing. 
Jay ignores Dieter’s protest, “It was one of those nights where everyone got very well acquainted with one another, if you know what I mean.” 
Your fake smile twitches. 
“Sounds… hot,” you offer. You empty the remaining pinot grigio in your glass down your throat. Dieter mirrors the action, taking the wine like a shot of hard liquor. 
Lilly sips her martini and lets out this wistful little sigh, “Soooo hot.” 
“I have to go to the bathroom,” you announce as you push your chair back, then hurry away from the table before anyone else can respond. 
His blood boils. 
He glares between Jay and Lilly, well aware of the slew of insults percolating at the tip of his tongue, held back by his awareness of the public eye surrounding them.
“I’ll go talk to her,” Lilly says.
Dieter grits his teeth and warns, “Lillith—”
She waves him off and starts towards the bathroom. 
“Dieter,” Jay smirks, tilting his head, “You seem upset.” 
“What an astute observation,” Dieter mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “Fucking incredible.“ 
“What’s wrong?” 
“Oh, fuck off.”
Jay raises his eyebrows, “So we’re touchy, ok. Is it because I told the story?” 
Dieter says nothing, just grinds his teeth together. 
“She doesn’t know about your more salacious hobbies, I take it?” 
“She sure as fuck does now,” Dieter grumbles, “Thank you for that.” 
Jay scoffs, “What, is this your first date or something?”
“No.”
Jay hums and takes a sip from his cocktail. 
Dieter shakes his head. Scrubs a hand over his face. 
Then he sits up and points at your empty seat, “If she’s going to hear about that shit from anyone, it should be me. Not some fucking ghouls just trying to get a rise out of her.” 
“Then why didn’t she hear it from you?” Jay questions, pausing a beat before he sighs, “You know, you gotta own your demons, man. It’s not my fault you didn’t tell her—”
“Yeah, I fucking know, ok?” Dieter snips. He leans his elbows against the table, looking towards the women’s bathroom, “What’s taking them so goddamn long?”
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Behind the roar of the flushing toilet, you hear the bathroom door open, followed by the sharp click of stilettos against ceramic tile. You open the stall door to find Lilly leaned up against the marble slab countertop, pulling a tiny silver canister from her clutch. 
She looks up at the mirror and makes eye contact with you, “Hey, girl.” 
“Hi,” you smile politely and approach the sink. 
While you wash your hands, you watch Lilly through the mirror as she cuts two thin lines of coke right on the countertop. She fishes a short straw out of her purse and holds it out to you, “Do you want any?”
The ghost of cocaine’s allure sends your heart racing. It’s tempting, but you decline. She shrugs and leans over the counter. You look away and hear the two deep, short breaths through the straw. You swear you can feel the rush vicariously. 
She sits up straight and keeps one nostril plugged closed, taking a few sharp inhales, making sure she got it all to the brain. Her eyes flutter and throat hums with contentment, “Fuck, that’s good. You sure you don’t want any? 
“I’m fine,” you assure her, but don’t go to leave. You lean one hip against the sink and cross your arms, “Did you and Dieter, like… date?” 
Lilly releases a chuckle, a sniffle, then rubs a fingertip against the white marble countertop where her blow was cut, “Oh, no. We fucked, like, a lot. But no, we never dated per se. It was more of a fuck buddy arrangement. No biggie.” 
She scrubs her finger against her gums, then turns to the mirror to assess her appearance. 
“Was that while he was still with Anika?” 
“Well, yeah, that’s how it started. He asked if I could be their third,” she sniffles a few times as she examines her nostrils, “I know Kate Ridley was seeing them for a while, but that must’ve fallen through. Anyway, we all fucked around and it was fun. I brought Jay with a few times. Then Anika got turned off or something, she didn’t wanna get together anymore. Jealous I think, probably. He reached out to me for some one-on-one time.” 
The information hits you like a slap in the face. A kick in the gut. A fist closed around your windpipe, squeezing tighter and tighter.  
You can’t breathe. 
“And of course I said yes. It doesn’t hurt to cozy up to a guy like him, with his connections and all. Good career move. Plus, he’s so good in bed. Fucks like an animal,” Lilly giggles, “Not that I have to tell you, right?”
Your face heats and lips part to respond, but she continues without regard. 
“If you ever wanted a third, I’d be happy to step in. Jay, too, I’m sure of it. He was checking you out. You’re hot, you know, in a non-traditional kind of way. How long have the two of you been going out?”
She stares at you, waiting. Your throat croaks and you hear yourself say, “A few months, officially.”
“Oh, are you two, like, serious?” 
You bring your hand to your throat and nod, “Yeah.”
“Weird,” she murmurs, “After what happened with Anika, I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… monogamous, you know. He told me he’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again, all that. Then he disappears and re-emerges in a supposedly serious relationship, no offense, but it’s just confusing.” 
“Oh,” you breathe, frowning down at the floor, “Well, maybe he changed?” 
“The man is almost 50, I doubt that,” she scoffs, checking herself out in the mirror, then glances over at you, “Or, I mean, maybe? Hopefully?” 
You nod solemnly and swallow the knot in your throat, “Should we go back?” 
“Sure,” she shrugs, then leads the way out of the bathroom, into the dining room. 
When you meet Dieter’s eyes, his annoyed expression goes slack. You lay one hand flat, palm facing the ceiling, balling the other into a thumbs up on top, and raise both hands. The signal he taught you back in your apartment before this clusterfuck started: Help. 
Once seated, you keep your eyes low, trying to keep the steady hum in your chest from amplifying. Everything seems fuzzy and out-of-focus.
It’s too much. Too much noise. Too much information. Too much change at one time. You want off this fucking ride. You want to be home in bed, hidden under the covers where no one can reach you. 
“We should go,” Dieter announces from far away. 
Your body is cement. Limbs frozen. Lilly’s words play on repeat at a deafening volume: 
I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.
He’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again. 
“Oh, come on, Pookie–”
“Stop fucking calling me that,” he growls, then softer, in your direction, “Are you ready, love?”
You nod, then look from Lilly to Jay, your smile wavering, “It was nice to meet you both.”
Dieter leads you past blurry tables of shiny, well-to-do patrons, his hand at the small of your back, burning through your dress. You can feel his gaze glued to your profile, trying to assess the damage. You can hear the words queued up behind his closed lips. 
A restaurant employee holds the door open for you. The cool night air kisses your heated, buzzing skin. 
“Hey, are you ok?” Dieter asks, his thumb working against your spine. 
You look down at the sidewalk and open your mouth to tell him, but it’s all a jumbled mess at the base of your tongue. Fire rises up your throat and tingles behind your eyes. You just shake your head and smother the sob in your chest. 
Tears bloom in your eyes and drop to the cement. You croak out, “I’m fine.”
He scoffs. 
The valet rolls up in Dieter’s cartoonish, pea soup-colored two-seater and tosses him the keys. 
Once inside, you clasp the seatbelt. Grip the leather upholstery. Stare out the side window as the landscape starts to move. 
“Louella” he coos, glancing between you and the road. 
The car clunks a little as he shifts gears. You grip the seat tighter. Watch the city lights fly by. 
He tries every once and a while to talk to you, but you can’t make yourself respond. 
You’ve been here before. 
You know what happens if you make a sound. If you vocalize the protest in your lungs.
What happens next is acceleration. 
Car horns. 
Impact. 
Those vacant black eyes. 
Darkness.
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The second the car pulls into Dieter’s garage, you’re unfastening the seat belt. 
When he shifts to park, you yank on the door handle and scramble from the vehicle. 
The entryway door slams in Dieter’s face as you kick off the stupid high heels you never would have picked out for yourself. 
“What the fuck is your problem?” his voice booms through the house when he opens the door. 
By now, you’re halfway down the hall, making a beeline to his en suite bathroom, leaving a trail of jewelry behind you like breadcrumbs: the left earring, the right earring, bracelets, a necklace. All these brilliant ornaments Kelly loaned you to make you look more refined.
Dieter’s footsteps sound from a few paces behind as you turn into his bedroom. 
“Louella, come on. Why won’t you talk to me?”
The edge his words carry make your heart jump and your feet move faster. You hurry into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.  
He jiggles the handle, “What the fuck is this? Are you fucking kidding me?” 
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask. 
“That I slept with Lilly and Jay?“ he scoffs, “I didn’t think it mattered who I fucked before you—”
“That’s not what I mean. You know that’s not what I mean,” you press your forehead against the door and squeeze your eyes closed, “When I asked you what happened with you and Anika, you said the two of you grew apart. That—that she was resentful—like it was her fault–”
“Open the door so we can talk about this,” he says in a low voice, “Please, baby.”
You shake your head, whimpering, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 
The door handle jiggles again, “Come on, Lua, open the door.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, just unlock it—”
“Answer me.”
“GodDAMNIT–” 
A hard thud shakes the doorframe. 
You jump back and yelp. 
“This is so fucking stupid,” he seethes, “Lock yourself in my fucking bathroom instead of talking to me. You realize how fucking stupid that is, right?” 
He hits the door again. You scramble away from it, watching the doorknob rattle. 
“Stop it, Dieter,” you cry out, backing yourself up to the wall, “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring you?” he scoffs, his words still steeped in red, “Do you really think I would fucking hurt you?”
You slide down the wall and collapse into a pile, covering your head. All you can hear are your own shattered breaths. 
A few quiet moments go by. 
When his voice comes again, it’s a plea. 
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
You look up at the door and sniffle, wiping your eyes. 
“I—I wanted to tell you. I mean, I was going to tell you. I swear to god. It’s just,” there’s a soft thump against the door, and you can picture him on the other side, forehead pressed up against it, “Do you know how hard it is to admit that you’re a piece of shit?”
You don’t say anything, just watch his still shadow beneath the door. 
“Do you know how hard it is for me to willingly show you that? I mean, fuck. How–how are you supposed to trust me now?” 
What follows is silence. Broken up by occasional sniffles and wet, labored breaths. Your chest aches.
Slowly, you rise to your feet and pad across the cool tile floor. 
When you reach the door, you don’t say anything, just press your palm against the barrier where you think his heart is. And you swear, if you concentrate hard enough, you can feel its steady rhythm.
“How are you supposed to love me now?” he whispers, “You won’t even look at me, Louella.”
Your eyelids clamp shut and you take a deep breath. Then you step back and turn the doorknob, pulling the door open. 
And there he is. 
Dieter Bravo. The man you love. 
His eyes all puffed-up and red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears. Every handsome feature laced with remorse. 
You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his suit jacket. He envelops you in a warm embrace and squeezes you tight. 
“I’m–I’m sorry for yelling,” he tells you in a hoarse whisper, petting your hair, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I lost it.”
You swallow hard and rub his back, a silent kind of reassurance. 
“I would never hurt you, Lua,” his voice cracks, “I’m not him. I’m not him.”
Instantly, tears flood your eyes. 
“I know, love,” you croak out, pulling him closer, “I know.”
Dieter kisses the crown of your head with reverence. Then your forehead. He tilts your chin to face him dead on, grazing his nose against yours, “Wanna talk about this more in the bath?”
You nod and weave your fingers through the curls at the back of his head. His lips meet yours, lingering for a tender moment before he pulls back and makes his way over to the soaking tub. 
While you wash the makeup off your face, he fiddles with the water temperature and crumbles a magenta bubble bar in the stream. The sweet scent of blackcurrant fills the air. You glance up in the mirror and see him shucking off his suit jacket, eyes trailing down your spine. His breath heats the nape of your neck when he draws close and unzips your dress, his movements gentle and slow as he slides it off your shoulders. 
The dress falls at your feet. You turn to face him, murmuring, “Look up.”
He does, and you set to work on his shirt buttons. When you’re halfway down his chest, he asks, “Will you tell me what she said?”
“She, um,” you pause to bite down on your bottom lip, then sigh, “She told me you and Anika would fuck around with her and sometimes Jay. Then, you know, just her.”
He hums in acknowledgment. 
You reach the end of his button-down, then spread the shirt apart. As he takes over tugging it off, you ask, “Was that something that you wanted, or…?”
“We both wanted to try it,” he shrugs. Your hands move to his belt buckle and you unfasten it. He continues, “Thought it would reignite that passion. It was fucking stupid because it just made us both jealous.”
He pauses to kick off his slacks, then ushers you face the mirror again. You watch him unclasp your bra and toss it aside, glancing up when you recount, “She said you didn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again.“
He nods, diverting his gaze, “Yeah. Well, that’s true. I didn’t,” then his eyes return to yours, “But then you came along. Fucked up all my big plans to be lonely and miserable forever.” 
You can’t help but grin. 
He casts a backwards glance at the tub, “I think it’s ready.” 
Dieter gets in first, groaning as he lowers himself into the bubbles. You sit on the opposite side and tip your face to the ceiling, stretching your legs across him, then sink down to your shoulders. 
The water burns your skin a little, but you like it. It feels real. 
“Hey,” Dieter rumbles. 
You swivel your head down to look at him, but can only see bubbles.
“Holy shit,” you giggle, then sit up and meet his eyes, “What?”
“Come here, doll,” he reaches out to you.
You slide your feet under the water and crawl over to him, closing your eyes as you lay your cheek on his shoulder and relax against his body. He wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling you like you’re his favorite teddy bear. 
One of your hands occupies itself by absentmindedly tracing the edges of his jaw. The shell of his ear. That one silver hoop earring he refuses to part with. Your nails work into his hairline and play with his damp curls. 
“Were there others?” you ask him. 
His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he admits, “Yeah. A few. Just hookups, really. Lilly was the most consistent, and that was still, you know…”
“No strings attached?” you smirk. 
“Yeah.” 
“Why did you do it?” 
Your spine arches as he draws a big breath in, then releases it, “All the reasons I said it didn’t work. That was true, you know. I was gone a lot. Filming, meetings, press stuff. A few days here, a week there. There was one stretch where I was gone for two months. I’m not drowning in work or anything, but it adds up. I don’t think she realized that being with me meant being away from me that often. And. Yeah. 
“At first, it upset me a lot. I thought she would be supportive and loving. Compassionate, you know. But she turned so cold when she was mad. Completely ignored me. Acted like I didn’t exist. Even when I begged for her reassurance, for her to show me she still cared and noticed me, but she wouldn’t react. I felt like a ghost. It-it kind of reminded me—”
He pauses here for a moment, holding his breath, then releases a soft, sad chuckle. His Adam’s apple bobs. When he starts again, his voice is watery. 
“It reminded me of what it was like for me growing up. If I didn’t please my dad, he would ignore me completely. I would act out, be loud, push him until he exploded. Because then… then at least I knew he could see me. It was something, you know?”
You blindly cup his cheek and graze your thumb against his beard to let him know you’re listening. He nuzzles into the touch, a small rumble sounding from his throat. 
“Maybe I was acting out with Annie? Or maybe just trying to… fill that emptiness, loneliness. Or numb out. Forget that my wife didn’t love me anymore. I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter. I started using again. Heroin, oxy, bars, morphine, adderall, booze. Whatever I could get my hands on, really. But blow has always been my favorite. It makes me feel…”
“Powerful?”
“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. Powerful. And with other people I actually felt… desired. Plus, they were both a rush. I felt alive. When I was home I was hollow. I stopped groveling for her affection when I started fucking around. Neither of us wanted to work on the hard things. The whole fucking thing, you know, it metastasized. And—and our relationship died.” 
“Fuck,” you grimace. 
Dieter cranes his neck to look at you, “Too bleak?”
“No, it’s not that,” you tell him, “It’s just… familiar.”
Adrenaline spikes your bloodstream. Your mouth opens to say more, then you close it and hold your breath. 
He rests his cheek on your head. Squeezes you a little tighter. Like he’s prodding you so say more. 
“Do I make you happy?” you ask him. 
“Do you make me happy?” he repeats, disbelief raising his voice an octave. 
You nod.
“I told you earlier,” he kisses your hairline, “You make me so happy, Louella.” 
“But will you feel the same tomorrow?” 
“Obviously,” he lets out a little snort of laughter like he thinks you’re kidding. Silence settles. His body seems to tense and he adds, “Really, love, I mean it.”
Your teeth catch your bottom lip. Brows lace together. Then you ask, “What about a month from now?”
“Don’t do that, come on—”
“A year from now? Or—or longer, even—”
“Lua,” he huffs, then pulls you up to face him. His eyes are soft and pleading. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Look, we won’t be happy every second of every day. You know why?”
A sharp pain radiates across your chest. You wince and shake your head. 
He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes and says, “Because it’s fucking impossible. If we do this thing right, which I fully intend to, sometimes we’re going to be scared, and frustrated, and–and we might want to take an easy way out. But I’m telling you that I will not do that. Because I love you.” 
You search his face and only find sincerity. Your stomach flips in a freefall so violent it makes you gasp, “Fuck, I love you.”
He smirks, gaze flicking between your eyes and lips, “And I’m going to love you tomorrow.” 
Your heart skips. Heat creeps up your neck. 
He cups your cheeks and locks his eyes onto yours, “And the next day, and ten years from now, and all the way until my next fucking life, ok?” 
“Ok,” you nod. Tension liquifies and drains from your body. The corners of your mouth upturn and you ask, “What then?” 
“What then?” he snorts, shaking his head with amusement, “What do you think? Hmm?”
You grin and shrug, pressing the tip of your tongue to your front teeth. 
His eyes drop to your mouth and he pulls you in for a kiss. When you part, he murmurs, “I’ll fucking find you in the next life and fall in love with you all over again.”
The words electrify you. You hook your hands behind his head and press your forehead against his, “Promise?” 
“Cross my heart,” he murmurs, and kisses you again.
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pillowspace · 5 months
Note
A warmth seeps into your bones, mid-autumn air dispelled by a large fireplace. The flames in the hearth crackled, spitting embers into the air, shooting up the chimney to die off. Sat upon a long-backed chair, you lounge, normally quite content to relax after the craziness of the past. This time, however, you can't help a small fidget, a deep-rooted desire to do something, even if you're not sure what.
Getting up, your gaze sweeps your abode, littered with pieces of furniture and trinkets gifted to you by the deities, mostly Eclipse. Your eyes alight upon the kitchen, and an old pull tugs you forward, searching cabinet contents to see what you still have stocked. Flour, eggs, oats, dried meat, cheese, raspberry-
You pause at the last one, a faint memory surfacing in the back of your mind. Reaching into the container which stores the ripe red berries, an idea comes to mind. Gathering what you need, you start the fire in the oven before reaching up on tiptoe to try and obtain a pie tin, which had been tucked out of the way and forgotten. Not intentionally, of course, but you'd been a bit…distracted, for a long time, and hadn't gotten to moving it to your level again.
Your fingers brush the metal, starting to curl and pull, when your ankle decided that would be a great time to fold out from under you. A gasp slips out, tin jerked forward as you start to fall, pan following after, coming directly towards your face-
Large, bright hands catch both you and the tin. Startled, you look up into a gold and flaxen yellow face, framed by marigold rays. "Careful, sunshine," he admonishes, setting the tray aside while still holding you in an awkward dip. Flushing, you scramble to regain your footing, brushing imaginary dirt off your pants. "Thanks, Sunny," you mumble, embarrassed. The deity smiles, hand flapping back to his side now that he no longer holds you.
"Of course, sunshine. Any time," he promises. It brings an odd, not entirely pleasant, tingle to fuzz your mind, ghosts attempting to haunt you. You dismiss them with a mental flick. "What are you doing?" Sun asks, helping you break from your stupor.
Waving at your ingredients, you shrug. "Thought I might cook, for old time's sake," you inform, moving to do just that. You start with the flour, scooping water from a bucket you'd brought in earlier in the day, beginning to shape the dough. It takes a minute for the proper thickness to set in, caught off guard when Sun's hands enter from your periphery, moving to assist, making sure the tin was clean and prepped before hesitantly hovering his hands over yours. The fact he cools preceding entering your home on instinct nowadays is something to be thankful for, recalling the first time you accidentally burned your hand on him.
Everything about this moment drips with nostalgia, really. You, making raspberries pies, while Sun lingers in the room. This time, however, your hands entwine with his as you flatten and roll the dough, a gentle rhythm that chases away your earlier dis-at-ease. Once fully shaped, run over by a rolling pin, you place the dough in the tin, making sure it fits right, removing excess. You both pour in the raspberries, accompanied by a jam for extra sweet stickiness. Studying your work proudly, you glance up at Sun when he hums, contemplating. Reaching onto the shelves in front of you, he check through jars of spices and herbs, before locating his objective with a small, "Aha!"
You stare at the cinnamon, the memories playing out in a pleasant sense of deja vu. He must be feeling quite sentimental as well, not to mention the fact it was still a bit funny to you, thinking back on it now, how he offered to settle the debt he never had by giving you more of the sharp spice. In the end, he had gotten his wish, kinda, a fact that makes you chuckle.
Sprinkling it in, you fold everything in place, allow Sun to slide it into the oven. Lowered closer to your height, you dart forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. Stunned, he nearly drops the pie, barely managing to collect himself, securing it in place before turning to you with twinkling eyes.
"Sunshine," he nearly sings. You play innocent, smiling. "Yes, Sunny?" you playfully answer back. He quirks a brow, unimpressed, but beaming all the same when he moves forward to plant his lips to yours. A warmth far greater than the one provided by the fireplace earlier seeps into your veins, and you tenderly hold his face, enraptured by bright ivory orbs.
It felt so nice to have this again, after everything, and you wouldn't trade it for the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Annnnd part 2!
If you couldn't tell, they're all meant to take place after CSD ends. I know there's no real way for us readers to know how things pan out, but felt it more fun for the open relationship stuff.
Thought about how it might feel for Y/N to go back to the mundane after all the craziness. At least their gods are there for them :)
I LOVE THIS SO DEARLY SOBBINGGGGGGGGand wailing and and and AUGHH THANK YOU SO MUCH <3<3
I hope you'll be satisfied to know that absolutely none of this clashes with the fic canon whatsoever, Y/N would have so many things from Eclipse. And with every hint of something having been a struggle, it's such a delight personally knowing for myself what those struggles were. It's such a lovely glimpse into the future, especially knowing where in the future this would be
I am holding this soooo gently, thank you. KISS KISS KISS KISS ARGRHRGRHRGRGRRGRG
I REALLYYY DO APPRECIATE THIS, IT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY
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neteyamb · 11 months
Text
ashes to ashes: chapter one
pairing: loak x f!omatikaya reader
summary: as a healer, y/n had taken an oath to treat every patient with their best interests in mind. this hadn’t been a problem, until loak’s petty injuries become a routine. she has to swallow her pride and feign concern, feign kindness, and face the ugly hate that has been brewing between them for years. 
tags: enemies to lovers, best friend kiri because i love her, eventual angst
word count: 1.1k
notes: i’m desperate for more loak x reader slowburns on this app. this is my first fic! (i gotta use this english degree for something lmfao) i cant do summaries but i want him so bad you guys
⁺˚*・༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*・
billie bossa nova: love when it makes you lose your bearings / it might be more of an obsession / you better lock your phone / and look at me when you're alone / won't take a lot to get you goin' / i'm sorry if it's torture though / that heavy breathin' on the floor / i’m yours, i'm yours 
nova – a star that suddenly increases its light output tremendously and then fades away to its former obsurity
you had known loak since you were four years old. he would scoff at your small achievements and be quick to retort with one of his own. if you climbed a particularly intimidating tree, he’d climb higher. if you had perfect aim with your bow, he’d rush to shoot at your target first. he antagonized you at every corner, and you quickly grew to hate him in return. his taunting voice was acid in your ears as it ghosted down your spine. when the two of you were twelve, you had gotten into your first physical fight. he yanked at your tail, and you did the same to his queue. by the time jake had found you, you were both covered in dirt and had tumbleweeds for hair, leaves sticking out haphazardly. you had gotten chewed out good for that, all the while sharing scowls with eachother across the room. now, you weren’t an ungracious woman; it didn’t matter who started it, but you’ll be damned if he gets the last blow.
at nineteen, loak’s shoulders had filled out and his scrawny frame became a sinewy, looming presence. you two would orbit around eachother, clashing periodically–inevitably. it wasn’t pretty, it was rather captivating like a car crash; addicting to watch the insults bounce off eachother like sparks. it was jarring to others at first; the way your usually reserved and civil manner morphed rapidly into something unruly, uncontainable. you were sure he got satisfaction from this, sometimes catching the twitch of a mocking, almost-smile at the corner of his lips at the thought of you losing face infront of a crowd. you had attempted to reel yourself in on countless occasions, but his teasing, expectant gaze was all the more infuriating. one day, you swore to yourself, you’d wipe the gratification off his face and hold it hostage as your own. 
✶✶✶✶
you rose from your hammock in the early hours of the morning. healing the injured and unwell, waiting on their every ailment with eager and tender hands, didn’t necessarily strike you as a career path you wanted to go down, but the cards were dealt that way; the RDA was steadily seeping into the edges of omatikayan territory, and there was a pressing need for helping hands on the sidelines. as an apprentice healer, you mainly spent your time preparing various ointments for the warriors on the frontlines. this meant you first had to gather the ingredients, most of which grew deeper in the forest than most bothered to venture to. kiri was an exception, spending her early teenage years finding solace in branches far from hometree. it naturally became a routine for you to head out with her in search of plants with healing properties. she would watch you intently over your shoulder, smiling quietly to herself as you handled the flora with delicate, yet expert hands. as the dawn bled into the clouds above, you headed over to her hut, now knowing the path like the back of your hand. 
“y/n!” her face split into a grin when she saw you standing in the entrance. you felt your lips lilt to match the expression of your best friend. you notioned wordlessly to the gathering basket in your arms, taking care not to startle tuk from her sleep. as you walked the forest floor together, you easily slipped into animated conversation about your elders. “i actually think maiya’s got it out for me, she rarely lets me work with the wounded. i’ve gotta be on my best behaviour so she doesn’t rip me a new one.” kiri snorted, bumping your shoulder lightly. “keep your chin up, maybe she’s waiting for your prince charming to waltz in with a missing arm.” once you reached your destination, you crouched to your knees, resting on the balls of your feet to harvest the plants.
satisfied with your diverse collection of leaves and flowers, you return to hometree just before noon, making a beeline towards the healing hut. maiya greets you with her lips pressed into a thin line, humming while you begin to sort your pile on the counter. as you grind the juice from a large alocasia leaf with a wooden mortar and pestle, loak enters the hut with his ears low and hands at his side, clasping them repeatedly like he didn’t know what to do with them. you offer him a brief frown and peer over at your elder, who decidedly doesn’t pause her task for his unceremonious entrance. you place the pestle down and bite your tongue, begrudgingly motioning for him to sit on the mat. his shoulder carries a small gash, and you notice there is a bruise forming on his ribcage. “fell down a hill. fix it up.” he bristles, feeling your heavy gaze roam his body. you wanted to laugh in his face, jeer at his crude appearance, but without this position you’d be lost and unknown to the clan. loak, on the other hand, had his duties made clear from birth–handed to him. you envied the clarity of his future. 
loak watches as you gingerly apply the medicine, stomach knotting at the feeling of your slender hands on his shoulder. your eyes burn his skin, and he restlessly fidgets in his seat. “stop moving, jackass,” you snap quietly. he hates it, hates you. he hates that you hate him. when you first met, his eyes chased after your soft hair and his ears flicked at your melodic voice. all those years ago, he tried to impress you with his skills, and you took it as a competition. it was frustrating, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit to the initial intention behind his actions. had you not seen him as a worthy partner? was it not painfully obvious, you’d wait for him to say it? well, bullet dodged. he didn’t consider you someone to impress anymore. instead, he relished in the igniting glare you’d give him as he casually whispered provocations in your ear. loak wanted you to feel bothered, threatened by his effortless skill.
you feel his eyes crawling on your skin as you uncomfortably shift closer to apply the cream to his ribs. your fingers dance across his torso, and he grits his teeth in irritation. once you’ve finished, you’re quick to put space between yourself and him. his mouth twists as he looks up at you, about to say something, before he seems to change his mind. he abruptly stands with hands in fists, pivoting hard on his heel out of the hut without a word.
⁺˚*・༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*・
notes: first chapter done, hope yall like it!
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youphoriaot7 · 7 months
Text
It's already getting late when Cellbit and Richas set out to finish the tasks. There's only the museum left, but they forgot to catch it on the way back to the house. Richas insists they do it before bed, however, so they decide to take the walk back to the main square, a comfortable silence settling between them as they head out.
There's a flicker of something on the edge of Cellbit's vision. It's been there for a few hours now, constantly hovering just outside of his field of vision. But it's starting to drive him nuts, and he rubs his fingers across his eyes in the hopes that it might get the image to clear.
It clears, alright. Just not the way he expected.
A figure hovers directly in front of him. They're about Richarlyson's height, and they're following along at his side. The white hood covers their hair, coming to a little point at the top, and the blue designs scattered along the hem stick out—if in a bit of a...ghostly fashion.
He blinks. And blinks again.
But the figure is still there.
Acting before thinking, he reaches out, grabbing Richas' shoulder to tug him back a few paces. The boy stumbles, turning to glare back up at his pai before scanning their surroundings for whatever danger he thinks Cellbit sees.
The figure in white turns as well, the image flickering slightly as in faces them. There's a soft smile on their small face, and they raise a hand to wiggle their fingers in a wave.
"...do you see them, Richas?"
The kid glances around, confused, before looking back up at Cellbit with a raised eyebrow and a shake of his head. Cellbit manages to tear his gaze away to look down at his son's reaction for one second.
When he looks back up, the figure is gone.
He tries to put the incident out of his head, pass it off as insomnia and move on, despite Richarlyson's worry. But it keeps happening. When he's talking to Forever in the president's office, the little figure is crouched behind the desk, peering up at him. When he heads upstairs to talk to Mouse, they're there, swinging their legs off the edge of her bed. When he works on the Ordo late at night with Roier, they appear, running around the chairs with child-like glee. And none of them seem to notice, always glancing at him in concerned confusion if he brings it up.
It takes him way longer than it should've to figure out what's going on.
One day, the keychain on his backpack falls off. The hook gives away, and the small egg he'd taken from the adoption center smashes face-first into the dirt near his castle's waystone. And he doesn't realize it right away, proceeding about his day as normal.
When he comes back near sunset, he happens to glance down—and there it is, laying in the mud. Quickly, he crouches down, dusting it off as he clasps a hand around it.
When he stands back up, there they are. Kneeling in the dirt near the waystone with a look of pure grief etched onto their features, the figure in white flickers a few times, the translucency of their outline uncertain.
Immediately, Cellbit pockets the keychain and moves over towards the child. They aren't looking, head in their hands as he kneels down next to them. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand out, trying to touch their arm.
It doesn't work, of course, it goes right through. Ghosts aren't solid. But it must've been jarring enough, because the child looks up at him in surprise.
"You...can see me?"
It's less of a whisper and more of a breath, the words just barely audible in the quiet autumn evening. Cellbit nods, too afraid to speak and break whatever spell it is that's allowing him to interact with this spirit.
The child smiles hesitantly, almost nervous. Then, in a breeze, they vanish.
But they're not gone. Not really. He still sees flashes of white in the corner of his eye, generally whenever he's least expecting it. The keychain stays tied to the backpack—extra sturdy, now. Wherever he goes, the child follows.
Unforgotten.
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captain-mj · 1 year
Note
Little guy au, Gaz’s necklace breaking. Gasp! What happens next? It’s all up to you ~ (besides mcd because i’ll cry) thank you!!!
Of course! Everyone is aware of what Gaz is except Alex.
Gaz had, in the most idiotic, unplanned, zero strategy plan ever, moved his necklace to a pocket under his vest. Recently, the chain had almost snapped while he had moved around and this had been his solution.
What a fucking idiot.
He knew as soon as the IED went off, luckily not too close to any of them that they'd be hurt, but enough to send them all off their feet. His body smashed into the ground and he felt. The necklace was built like a locket, just with more space on the inside and water tight. Basically a very small jar that had been reinforced. Reinforced for wear and tear and being yanked. Not smashed between a gun and Gaz's body.
The water dripped and Gaz immediately felt the air around him get hotter. Pressure against his entire body.
His feet immediately wanted to carry him, but his source was hours away by plane. Fuck walking.
He was going to die like this.
Not by a gun.
Or an enemy knife.
He was going to die because he made a stupid decision. Tears pricked his eyes.
"Gaz, status." His radio crackled with Price's voice.
"Gaz?"
He couldn't get it out. All of the water had soaked into his vest, blending with the dirt and gunpowder soaked into his clothing.
"Kyle?" Price sounded worried. "Status?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Are you hurt? What is your location?"
"My necklace broke."
Silence over the comms before Ghost spoke up. "What do you mean broke?"
"Smashed, sir. Not the chain, the pendant. I'm so sorry."
"How long do we have?" Price was clearly running.
"If I'm lucky, maybe two to four hours. It's hot, that's not going to help." Gaz managed to get the necklace out of his pocket as carefully as he could, cupping his hands but there was nothing else. Stupid. Stupid.
Ghost found him first, dragging him to the heli. Luckily evac had been called earlier. They weren't supposed to be there much longer.
Soap had found some water bottles for him, making him drink as they tried to cool the room down. Already, he could feel his skin starting to dry. Even as he drank, his mouth felt painfully dry.
Prolonging the inevitable.
Price was in the cockpit, doing who knows what. Gaz knew it was rather silly, but he wished he was with him. He wished someone would tell him it was okay, even if it wasn't.
No one said anything though.
Gaz whimpered and leaned back, skin becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
Ghost patted his face. "Let me get you out of your gear."
Gaz nodded and felt Ghost quickly and efficiently strip him of heavy vest and the weapons that were littered on him. Any wounds he had picked up from the past few weeks started to ache. His skin started to unstitch itself at the seams like he was a doll. A particularly nasty scratch on his shoulder that he had gotten four days from a knife fight broke open, starting to bleed again.
Ghost held it tight. "Hey, hang on, okay? We're going to fix this."
"We're hours away from Manchester."
Ghost stared at him. "Gaz. Don't die on me."
"I'll try." Gaz managed, leaning back. "I'll try." He continued to chug the water.
Fuck. He really thought he'd have more time.
"I was supposed to have coffee tomorrow."
Soap stopped what he was doing to glance over. "What?"
"Yeah. I don't drink it very often. I hate the drip stuff. Planned on leaving base and going to a coffeeshop I like."
"You're still going to do that." Soap reassured and bounced around. He paused before dumping some water on to Gaz.
It helped a little.
"Why hadn't I thought of that?" Gaz mumbled, though this wasn't exactly a situation he was in often.
"Probably be best if we could submerge you somehow but we don't exactly have the water for that." Ghost poured water on the open wound. It didn't close it, but it kept it from opening more for now. The water wasn't from his source, but his body made due.
Gaz finished another bottle, dropping it to the ground. "All those times I got thrown out of a helicopter. Can't believe I'm going to die inside of one."
"Shut up."
"Don't talk like that."
Gaz laughed as they tried to keep him up. His eyes kept closing but they would pat his face or otherwise get his attention and he'd reluctantly refocus back on them.
Even without his gear, his skin started to crack where his clothing touched it. Little fissures from his skin rejecting the water in his own cells.
Soap and Ghost kept trying to keep them wet, but it didn't work for these, only reduced the pain a little.
Gaz whimpered as it felt like his own body wanted to eat itself.
Price finally reappeared. He winced slightly and helped them by focusing on just keeping him awake.
"You're going to be just fine, son."
Gaz immediately relaxed and nodded, leaning back.
And then they were landing. That wasn't right. Had that much time passed? His vision blurred, a pounding headache starting.
Something didn't feel right. The air around him felt wrong.
He tried to express his panic. Scream at them. Flail his arms. Try to explain that something was wrong.
Someone grabbed his face and forced him to tilt it back before something pressed to his mouth. He knew as soon as he tasted it what it was. His source.
The panic dissolved immediately. It dripped down his mouth with an agonizing slowness, the person probably trying not to spill any.
That American accent he knew so well.
"Why are you giving him pond water exactly?? Shouldn't we be treating his injuries?? There's blood everywhere?" Alex sounded so panicked.
"Just trust us." Price responded, the hands on his face clearly his then. Gaz panted softly, leaning against him. He still felt shaky. He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but it must've been a while. His body ached and even with that, he knew he'd need to visit his source as soon as possible.
"Is there anymore?" Gaz blinked, vision slowly coming back in focus. His entire arm looked very bloody. It felt like his skin had sloughed off and he was starting to wonder if maybe it did.
"No. Ghost is already getting a car don't worry."
Gaz nodded weakly and leaned into him, panting softly.
"I'll go get medical." Alex went to step away.
"That won't be necessary, Alex. Thank you."
"He's actively bleeding!" Alex snapped. "What the fuck happened out there?"
"Tell Alex."
"You sure, Gaz?" Price lowered his voice.
"Yeah, go ahead. He'll keep asking questions if you don't. Better to just answer it now."
Price didn't seem so sure, but he nodded. He was good about that. He always trusted them to know who to tell.
"You familiar with English folklore?"
Alex stared at both of them, probably expecting a punchline.
"There is a thing called a Nixie. Sometimes called a Nix. They're water creatures." Price stared at him until Alex finally nodded. "They have a source. Most stay within a couple of yards of it, but Gaz doesn't. The necklace."
"Yeah, I've seen it. I thought it was a good luck charm or something."
"No. It's his source. Well, a part of it."
"How I travel around." Gaz supplied, his headache starting to return, along with the aching pain. His bones felt like they were trying to come out of his skin.
Alex stared at them. Specifically, he stared at Gaz. "Right..."
"Just let him tag along. He's like Soap."
"Soap believes this?"
"I hate humans sometimes." Gaz groaned.
Alex frowned but as soon as he heard the car, he was the first to scoop Gaz up in his arms.
Gaz hummed. "Only sometimes. I like you guys other times." He wanted Alex to know that. Although he didn't believe death was quite as inevitable, at least today, he didn't want Alex to think he hated him regardless.
"Kyle. You're not being serious, are you?" Alex whispered to him. "If everyone got hit with some chemical that makes them hallucinate, I'll make a break for it."
Gaz laughed softly. "No. No. Just... trust me, yeah?"
"Alright. I trust you." Alex sat with him in the back of the hummer.
Ghost was driving. Which was good and bad. Good in that they'd arrive in half the time the journey would take. Bad in that they might not arrive at all. Whatever happens.
Alex held Gaz tight. He blamed it on Ghost's bad driving.
Ghost went to take Gaz and Alex just readjusted him in his arms.
"Alright." He backed off, instead leading them. Gaz felt his head growing fuzzier and fuzzier.
"Now throw him in."
"What?"
"Throw him in." Ghost motioned and Alex looked at Gaz.
Humans are so funny.
Gaz nodded and then he was dunked into the water. He yanked away and sank to the bottom, feeling himself start to dissolve. At the bottom of the pond, no one could see him.
He'd stay down here. Hopefully Alex would be gone by the time he left. And Price. Alex had never seen him and Price had only seen him once or twice. He didn't want to deal with either of their reactions right now.
Someone splashed above his head but the pond was deceptively deep. A grown man could be right above him and they wouldn't know.
What a funny thought.
His skin, the fissures that had coated him, started to stitch themselves together. The old wounds started to fix again, fading back to healed over scabs.
That wound on his shoulder might take some more time, but that was fine.
He laid on his back, watching the sun move over the water.
Only when it started to sink, staining the world above his home orange, did he poke his head out, using a lily pad as cover.
Alex was still there. He was the only one still there, which made sense. It had to have been hours.
Alex noticed the water moving and looked right through him. Gaz was very well camouflaged. His skin had faded to a dark green color, completely indistinguishable from the water. There was too much light for the reflection of his eyes to be noticeable.
"Gaz? They said you'd come up eventually." He sounded very unsure, taking a tiny step forward. His clothes were damp. Was he the one that had gotten in earlier? Probably spooked him. Thinking he drowned...
Gaz sighed. Damnit Ghost. Couldn't you have dragged him away with you?
"I'm fine Alex. You really should go home. It's getting late."
"Where are you?"
"It's not smart to come in the water."
"Why?"
Gaz bit his bottom lip, not able to think of a good reason fast enough. Alex took off his shirt and started to get in immediately.
Almost immediately, he slipped off the drop off and Gaz had to catch him, holding him in a similar position to how Alex carried him earlier.
"Hi." Gaz mumbled, trying to sink deeper into the water, while keeping Alex from going under with him.
Alex looked over everything. The antennae, the fins, and the skin. Gaz very much wanted to hide again.
Alex moved out of his grip, though he held on to his shoulders. Like this, Alex was the smaller one. Three inches shorter and much lighter in the water.
"Hi..." Alex was blushing bright red. Why was he blushing?
The water must be cold. Ah. Gaz started to sink back down. "You should get back on the shore. It's cold an-"
"You're really pretty."
"Oh." Gaz blushed a soft green color. It was hard to notice on his face, but his ears which were more clear, became a very noticeable different shade.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, pretty much everything is fine now. Just... need to rest for a bit. We're in Britain in early spring, I don't want you to get sick." Gaz started to push against him. Alex touched his hands, noticing the webs between them. He looked fascinated.
Gaz forced himself to relax, reminding himself that this was Alex. And that if he made a wrong move, Gaz could eat him.
"Promise you're okay?"
"Yes. I'm fine." Gaz said softly, gently rubbing Alex's back. He forgot how... warm humans felt when he was like this. Alex also felt rather soft. His body had a squish to it.
Alex's hands squeezed his shoulders lightly, still using him to stay afloat. He looked him all over, catching on any wounds that were still healing.
"Alex."
"Hmm."
"I'm okay."
Alex nodded. "Just... Just making sure."
Gaz put him back in the water where he could touch the ground. "I'm going to go back under for a bit. Stay warm. That's an order."
"Yes, sir." He saluted before falling back onto the shore. Gaz didn't sink very far, still keeping an eye on Alex.
-
Once he felt better, he told Alex who called Price for him. Price was supposed to come with a new necklace to pick them up. Instead, he showed up with several.
"One for everyone on the team. Alex, Soap, Farah, Ghost and me. That way if yours every breaks again, back ups are close by." Price smiled and dunked them all into the water.
Alex put Gaz's on for him and Gaz returned the favor.
For the first time in a couple of days, Gaz slipped clothing back on. It felt weird against his skin, but he'd readjust.
Alex smiled at him, the necklace right in the middle of his chest.
Gaz smiled back.
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