icyblogs

[icyblogs]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your cheek, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

#simple math #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ITS SO GOOD I CANNNOTTTTT #every chapter is chefs kiss #also the cliffhanger has me mindboggled #Hshwjjaan AHH

[icyblogs]

do i have a single clue about fallout? no. will i try googling it? i did briefly and did not get one syllable through my head. will i read the fallout au? yes, yes i will.

Here are my thoughts...

Price: Elder Maxson type, ideologically unbreakable leader of the Brotherhood of steel. Bordering on cult leader behavior for the good of the wasteland and the (human) residents there. @ceilidho mentioned the reader getting lowkey kidnapped for breeding stock and it did something to me... Elder Price finds a fresh vault dweller and coaxes them in with promises of protection from the feral ghouls, supermutants, and deathclaws roaming nearby. He rules through fear, not of him, but of what lurks outside.

Gaz: NCR Ranger!!!! NEED I SAY MORE??? I shall. Upstanding moral code, determined to help people and rebuild the world into something with more law than it has now. He's here to help, but that doesn't mean he'll do it for free. After all NCR money doesn't spend as far as caps do, he's sure you can work something out. He's well trained, and we love a man in uniform. I'm thinking if Gaz saving courier reader from a raider stupid enough to try and mess with the mail, telling you he'll tag along just to make sure you get where you're going(and maybe to collect on the life debt you owe him)

Soap: Mechanic. I can't believe that wouldn't be obvious. He's the most necessary part of any wasteland crew. The man will get your power armor working in an hour flat no matter the problem. You need a mini-nuke? He's got two or three he's been tinkering with. You need a new core? Your water purifier break down? Does your gun keep jamming? Go see Soap. Price has been trying to grab him for years, but the fucker is too slippery to pin down. You meet him doing minuteman work and get caught in a fire fight. He's nice enough to haul you to safety, and then keep hauling you. Are you being kidnapped? No. Can you leave? ...no...

Ghost: Former vault dweller turned ghoul. The man has a bad attitude and a dick ribbed for your pleasure... After crawling his way out of the grave- er, vault, and being forced to carve out a new life for himself he makes a tidy sum as a vault hunter/one man raider/mercenary. He picks up a rat trying to steal from him and decides if you're that desperate for money you can get it from him the same way everyone else does, on your knees. Put that gun down before it goes off and hurts someone. He's scruffing you or tossing you over his shoulder any time you start getting too rowdy(ignore how pleased it makes him to have human contact again)

[icyblogs]

sy ur tags on that military issued spouse post,, im going insane thinking about it omg

insane about what?

+18 only. x gn!reader. a smidgen of ghoap x reader.

cw: some dubcon. possessive and controlling behavior.

about simon 'touch starved and trust issues' riley not letting you see his face for the first six, eight weeks of marriage? he doesn't take off the mask in front of you once. locks the door when he showers. eats separately. just a skull face glaring down at you when he has you on your back. doesn't say much, barely says goodbye when he goes off on his first deployment post-wedding. he's gone for weeks with no word, no updates. then, one night, you wake up to find a sweaty, mountain of a man crawling into your bed, knocking your legs open, face covered in smudged eye black and scars. claps a hand over your mouth when you scream. don't recognize your own husband? you'll recognize something.

about kyle garrick, who was, sure, a little rougher than you expected that first night? he makes up with it with a massage the next day, kneading his skilled hands into all your sore spots. has you gasping while he apologizes, fingers somehow finding their way back to your holes. you quickly find out this man never keeps his hands to himself. out in pubic, it's an obvious problem. a hand slipping from the small of your back to your ass at the store, shoving between your thighs at the movies. he follows you into fitting rooms and lavatories. at home, it's worse. you work remote. it's plush, comfortable - until he starts making space for himself between your knees under your desk. hooking you off screen at the end of video calls for quickies. insatiable. you learn to schedule time off when he comes home from deployment.

about john mactavish? who won't let you call him 'johnny'? it's either 'john' or 'soap', and he doesn't have a preference for either so long as you're screaming something when he's got his head between your thighs. goes down on you for an hour, minimum. wrings orgasms out of you until your legs are useless and his jaw's sore. it works for him, makes it easier to play with you. pesters you for pictures and videos when he's deployed. don't bother with anything vanilla. he doesn't care if your underwear matches or if it's brand new, he needs a pick-me-up. a boost to morale. and don't forget to say his name. when he tells you he's coming home, you prepare as if a storm is making landfall. you learn to wait in the bedroom or else he'll have you against the door. he puts you on your knees, unusual for him, he likes seeing your face. you're two orgasms in when a deep, unfamiliar voice comments you're just as vocal in person as you are in the videos, and tells johnny that it's his turn.

about captain john price, who makes one too many comments about turning you into the perfect house spouse? he encourages you from day one to quit your job. you got the benefits you wanted for the moment you married him, so there's no reason to continue working. he doesn't like that you're out of the house for hours at a time when he's home. he doesn't like it when you go out with your friends, saying you need your own space. doesn't like you going anywhere without him, period. plays the perfect husband when your boss suddenly lets you go, and your friends give you the cold shoulder. you don't understand why or where it's coming from. a string of bad luck. but he'll make it all better. he'll bury himself inside you over and over again until you understand you don't need anyone else. just him. maybe his boys, too, when you're good and ready.

#im so normal about this #haha #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #gnhngnfn #call of duty #tf 141

[icyblogs]

Ok... hear me out... Fallout au, yeah? Former Vault dweller Ghost, probably from a failed vault 75 clone where they were trying to create perfect soldiers, who managed to claw his way to the surface after things broke bad in the vault, only to be hit with a stimpak that wasn't really a stimpak and turned into a ghoul. He takes it in stride, Ghost is a soldier through and through his mission was to escape and now he's out. He can handle some cosmetic changes, especially when they're easily hidden with a mask. He tends to keep to himself, too volatile to interact with the general population and wandering from settlement to settlement looking for anyone else that's escaped the vaults.

Everyone knows better than to bother him, than to even talk to him, the skull wards off anyone stupid enough to think otherwise. He doesn't say much, doesn't have to, but he pays the girls he rents well and they always come back for more. Just make sure you don't try to take more than he's agreed to. You don't need to know how Ghost earns his caps, but the blood soaking his boots while you stare down the barrel of his gun feels like a guarantee. He won't be taken advantage of again, long gone is the hopeful vault dweller eager to see the sky. Ghost is a one man raid, he's the new world's boogey man, and you're quick to take your hand out of his purse.

[icyblogs]

ITS WHAT IM SAYINGGG THEY FIT THE CONCEPT OF FALLOUT SO WELLL also you always capture their like core everything so well holy moly, not just w/ this AU but like everythint😭

I can so easily imagine a vaulter reader w/ Ghost being like the first person you see- so sad and all confused when you get tied up like an animal like- oh is this how everyone is on the surface? sir please you’re just in some need of water and maybe some directions, why are you doing this? )-: or maybe you’ve lived in the wasteland all your life and it’s that sort of thing where like fuck he’s an asshole and disgusting and rude but hey you have access to food and water! you just have to work for it. he’s disgusting (i love him).

then Soap omg- like he reminds me of monty’s character sm and it’s so disappointing that they didn’t have him survive(but that’s another story)- just like immediately stripping and getting ready to do the do ASAP because he’s been so lonely! and you’re just so pretty and you’re wasting away down there in the vaults, but don’t worry he’ll take care of you. They’re called love marks, what do you mean it hurts, it’s okay- all partners do this to eachothers, you can even do some to him too! That wasn’t a suggestion, really please- bite him, he’ll wear it with pride. Awe, you’re worried about the surface- you’ve heard so many bad things? It’s okay, he’ll protect you- nothing will happen to you. Just you and your feral guard dog against the world, till the end of time. Aren’t you just lucky! (-:

I totally see Gaz as a vaulter- vaulting life really does fit him well. And he has that charming smile- that sort of subtle manipulative attitude- you won’t necessarily know what’s hit you until you’re already there. After all he’s a vaulter- of course you know more about the world than him, he wouldn’t be able to trick you. But then he just goes on saying that the door is only able to get fixed from the inside, and well since you’re there you might as well stay awhile, have a hot shower- a change of clothes. Oh and by the way, blue looks great on you!

And urhdhjs Price being like that 100% )-: idk something about him like making sure you’re properly getting bred- watching the act and making sure all the seed takes or something hngrkejjs similar to like a bedding ceremony?? maybe oh no what a coincidence he’s been looking to add new blood to the mix in his vault, and who better than to combine with yours! Maybe?? IDK I don’t have too much to add bc just what you had is enough for my brain to melt jjrheksha

i love it all sm sorry for babbling endlessly on ur post this AU has me physically in a chokehold and its hard to get out of😔💙💙

why is your brain so wrinkly i'm eating up your ideas and thoughts about the cod boys in the fallout universe.

just ghost being unapologetically unbothered in the wastelands, soap being a raider because he's a wild man that needs something to do, price as a CULT LEADER (i eat that up every time) and our poor vault dweller gaz i just UGH

Ghost just lives on his own, eats whatever he can, sells the remains of whatever happened upon his property in town, and then uses that extra income on RadAway. he's either full ghoul or just deformed and deteriorating, but in either case he still wears the mask, and in this 'verse the skull on it is real. a grisly little memento of someone who maybe got too close to killing him. he catches you wandering a bit too close to his property, dehydrated and hallucinating because you've been out on your own for too long and rather than killing you, he hogties you and drags you home. it gets lonely without a pet to call his own.

Soap is a scavenger/raider who's been travelling with the same band of raiders for several months. before that he was on his own for a spell and before that he was in a much larger group that dissolved due to in fighting (dissolved = bloodbath, very few made it out). when his group breaks into your vault and kills most of the people inside, he takes you as his own and guards you jealously, territorially. bites you in order to put his mark on you. he makes you bunk with him and gets vicious mad when you stray too far from him because it's not safe. it gets to a point where he's too paranoid to go on raids anymore because he can't trust you to be on your own and he also doesn't want you coming with them and getting hurt. tells the group he's leaving and goes to take you with him and when they refuse to let him take whats "theirs" (aka anything they took from the vaults), he snaps and kills all of them

Gaz is a vault dweller who volunteered to come to the surface after his community's vault door failed, forced to scour the wastelands and nearby towns for replacement parts. when he comes across you working as a freelance mechanic, extremely taciturn and hard to get to know, he can't help but bring you back with him when you help him acquire the parts that he's been looking for, convincing himself that kidnapping you is for the greater good. he'll be able to give you a proper life free of stress and scarcity back in the vault, and you'll be able to ensure that the door never, ever opens again.

Price is the overseer of a vault that over the years has gradually devolved into what most would consider a cult. it's only too bad that there's no one objective enough to label it as such. his vault is also part of a dual vault system similar to vaults 31/32/33, but the two vaults haven't had any communication in the last two hundred years, so the other vault has no idea what's become of Price's vault. it's only too bad that due to a catastrophic blight in your vault, you're the only survivor of a plague that wiped out your entire community, forcing you to enact the emergency protocol and contact the vault adjacent to yours. Price is quick to welcome you in with open arms, but you only start to feel a bit uncomfortable when the other inhabitants start making comments about how nice it'll be to have a new resident as they've been lacking members of "good breeding stock". you don't like the way Price hums in agreement when someone brings that up at the welcome feast.

#frothing at the mouth #i’d love to like pick at your brain bc your ideas are always so just uhdgshahaba #fantastic as always #rb #ITS ALL SO GOOD #fallout!141 #fallout

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. (chapter 2!) Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 7.2K [AO3] First chapter -> Next Chapter Warnings: dark fic!! dubcon touching, noncon kissing, mentions of death, paranoia, gaslighting, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot, reader is a little silly, johnny being an overall menace, ghost doing ghost things.

Time came and passed, but it was nothing discernable. Consciousness not quite ever being fully up and running the times you did briefly wake up. There were voices- you think- but it was hard to tell. And with the sound came the feeling of phantom hands, fingers trailing over your skin. Limbs being moved, the brief moment of pain being settled with hushed whispers of apologies. It was hard to think, hard to function. Darkness spreads. Sand trickles through the hourglass. The sun rises and falls, the hours turning into days. 

It wasn’t waking up with a gasp, that would be too theatrical. Too novel of an idea, of waking up so sudden and everything being fine and dandy. That you’d be up and raring to go. It was a slow process, one that made every nerve flare up at once- merely the process of peeling your eyelids open enough to have some sort of idea of what had happened to you. Blearily looking around from your limited vantage point, gaze floating around aimlessly, not able to properly focus on anything. The area was dimly lit for one- almost to the point of making it even more difficult to properly take a look at everything. 

An attempt to lift your head from the object below it- soft yet solid- was made before a jolt of lightning seemed to shoot down your spine, curling through your nerve endings and then back again, ending back at the nape of your neck. A choked whimper makes it out through clenched teeth, a grimace painting your features. Your brain feels like mush, surroundings blurring to the point of becoming unrecognizable. Not wanting to move your head, let alone anything above your shoulders in fear of retribution striking down yet again.

The sound of a chair creaking resounds throughout the room, and it was difficult to remember any sense of self preservation, eyes continuing to roll around in a weak attempt to figure out exactly what was going on. It was hard exactly to remember what had happened- you .. were somewhere. The mountains, right? Where were you–

“Took ye long enough.” Too loud though his voice was barely above a normal volume, and your eyes squeeze close as if that would cause the onslaught of noise to dissipate. “Ah ‘m sorry hen, forgot you’d still be a wee bit sensitive.” Hushed this time, and when you mustered the strength- his blue eyes were staring straight back at you. Distant thoughts drift through your subconsciousness. The.. half-elf, right? The blue was darker than you’d remembered: Iolite, sodalite, lapis lazuli in a swirl of an emotion you couldn’t quite catch before his brow furrows in what seemed to be concern. He looked familiar- though.. Different. More rough- more aged; his hair longer in this style, flowing down to the nape of his neck. Scars covered his face, though it was hard to pick which one exactly to focus on: the one by his chin, over his eye, adorning his temple. Your eyes fall half-lidded, struggling to remain in the present.

A frown graces your lips, one he was quick to lean forwards to do something about. Encroaching in your personal space like he owned it, like you were friends, like you anything but strangers. There wasn’t a moment nor opportunity to move as one of his large hands cups the back of your head, careful of the wound near it- his other hand coming up and wiping the crust from your eyes, his fingers almost trembling. His skin was warm, but rough. You could only stare dumbfounded, letting the man move you like a doll as your tongue darts out to wet your chapped lips. He watches the motion unblinkingly, his own lips parting in response, breath catching in his chest.

“Y-You..” A cough, resulting in swallowing a few times to get your bearings. Voice hoarse, like sand coating your tongue. Your mouth opens and then closes, repeating that a few times as you then sniffle. Feeling the familiar burn rise to your eyes, tears further blurring what was already starting to become disconnected from the world, one of his thumbs brushing away the moisture trickling down your skin. Trying to move, but your limbs weren’t necessarily cooperating. Like a puppet with its strings cut off, privy to his hands which seemed to be holding the strings. Everything felt heavy. Lost. Disconnected. “Where..?”

To his credit, his expression didn’t even once waver that you could tell. Eyes fervently bright, betraying his weak attempt at comforting you. His head cocks, leaning forwards and nudging at your face with his nose, a grimace painting your features as he inhales deeply. An elven custom you didn’t know about maybe? “Shh.. Sh.. Yer safe now.” One hand still cupping the back of your head he leans back for a brief moment, procuring a silver chalice. He starts to lift your head and upon seeing the immediate discomfort at the movement, he only coos, hand leaving your cheek. His eyebrows furrow, scanning your face, and then he takes a swig of the liquid.

There was but a brief moment of still air before his lips came crashing against yours. Any thought you might’ve had immediately leaves as sheer panic makes its way through the foggy seams instead. Wiggling like a mouse scrambling to try and not get caught in a trap it hadn’t fully been aware of. And like adhesive, his hand firmly sticks to and cradles the back of your head, his other pressing against your sternum when another attempt to feebly twist away was made. Lukewarm liquid spills down your skin, as he squeezes a bit harder, your lips parting in a garbled gasp as he bullies his way into your mouth, transferring the fluid into your system.

There was a shift in the room as his body hovered over yours. What you now vaguely recognize was actually water going down your throat, similar to his tongue as it seems to ignore your lack of hygiene, trying to steal your breath away, licking your teeth, your gums, trying to consume your essence like a dog getting a bone as a treat- like he was trying desperately to get your soul intertwined with him; to connect you two together. More water spills as the bed shifts slightly against the wall in a rhythmic pattern for but a brief moment, glassy eyes wide as you stare back at his blissful expression as he groans into your mouth.

It was maybe a minute at most but it felt like ages, dizzy and lightheaded as he finally pulled back from you. “See, ‘s all good, isn’t it?” The blue eyed elf cheeks were flushed, the connected string of saliva between the two of you being taken away as his tongue ran from the corner of your lips up to your nose. He then proceeds to rest his forehead against yours, his even breathing combined with your haggard ones in the small space, as if finally recognizing you weren’t responding to what he just did. “Need mor’ water, hen?” You think you were going to be sick, eyes once more rolling to the side to try and peer away from him, feeling weighed down to the bed by more than just his hands.

Disbelief. Panic. Terror. So many emotions washes over your features in an amalgamation of just a whirlwind of ‘what the fuck’. Your head was pounding, the only sound in the room was a consistent pulse, badump badump badump. Unable to stop the steady trickles of teardrops as they fall, and his head tilts slightly against your skin once more, falling forwards as he rubs his temple against yours, his facial hair tickling your cheek. He inhales deeply once more, unabashedly, before letting out what seemed to be a sigh of content.

He speaks your name softly, a hushed whisper. “Why’re ye so quiet?” The tears start to fall faster and you hiccup, facial expression crumpling. He immediately pulls back, eyes scanning your expression, his own filtering into one of confusion and then adjusting itself to an easy going smile. You were definitely going to be sick. “‘S Johnny, remember? None of them tears, ye hear me? There’s nae need for ‘em. You’re safe now, yeah?” 

Johnny? John. Ah. Right, that was his name. How could you have forgotten?

Johnny adjusts his hands, one coming up to cup your cheek, squeezing ever so slightly as you start to speak. “I don’ feel so good-”

“Need a bucket?” Another wave of confusion hits you as you squint up at him, watching as he continues to smile, thumb brushing away one of the many tears despite how they just seem replaced by more twofold.  It was getting harder and harder to tell what was real and what was not- he.. kissed you, right? Shoved his tongue down your throat so why was he acting like nothing had happened? Was it truly a custom you weren’t aware of? You weren’t friends- hell, you barely remember the guy besides he was the one that gave you that dumb list you’ve spent years of your life on. And along with his stupidly blue eyes. And dumb haircut. 

Stomach twisting and churning, gulping hard as your eyebrows pull together. He must’ve known something you didn’t because his hands left you, and in but a brief moment, you were over the side of the bed, emptying nothing but water and stomach acid into the steel of a bucket. Ignoring the searing pain shooting up your spine as you cough out phlegm, gagging as you spill your guts. Your throat felt tight, constrained and small as one of his hands held back your hair the best he could, the other gently rubbing your back- the heat of his palm prominent even through the thick fabric of what you were wearing. “I ken, I ken, it’s hard the first time. Gets better ye know, the more you come into contact with ‘im.” 

You only hack up more bile, sniffling as snot and tears run down your face, finding it hard to breathe as you rasp into the bucket. As if purging the waste and exiling it from your body. Eventually the fit dies down, as does the pain in your neck falling to a dull throb. Noticeable, but not enough to make you want to never move again. He begins to slowly lead you out of bed, easily handling your weight as you stumble around like a newly born faun, trying not to trip over your own feet as he leads you to an ornate bathroom. A light fixture buzzes on- gold, blinding. 

Nothing was really.. Getting explained. Despite your garbled and weak protests, he helps you use the bathroom, not bothering to look away as he helps you clean up. His broad frame crowding you against the countertop as he brushes your teeth, holding your stare as he does so. Smile widening as he makes you squeak, one hand spread across your jugular, the other making your eyes flutter around as he scrubs at your tongue and teeth, choking on the bristles when he goes back too far. 

And when he brings your befuddled form back to what you can now see is a bedroom of sorts- also grand, embellished. Larger than what anything you’ve seen before- than what you felt you deserved: it was easy to think you’re in Castle Waterdeep or Dragonspear Castle. Tucked away and brought to a place far above where a person of your status should be, somewhere that should’ve been inaccessible. During all this you try to talk to the man as he dragged you to one of the wardrobes; the questions you ask never getting a real answer- always something cryptic that you couldn't digest properly. Honestly it felt like riddles, like he was trying to imitate a sphinx- purposefully being cryptic to mess with your head further. 

“I- I can dress.. myself.” He only shushes you like you were some sort of fussy child, as if you didn’t know any better yet. Maneuvering you as he pleases, dressing you in a long, drapey gown, embroidered with gold, layers upon layers. Unashamedly pawing at skin, hands lingering far too long to be considered ‘gentlemanly’, squeezing as he pleases. You were dressed and adorned like some sort of lady of high nobility, extravagant jewelry hanging from your neck, from your wrists- loud and noisy, like a bell going off saying ‘here I am!’ every time you moved.

“You wan’ breakfast, hen?” His voice was a low murmur, nose rubbing against your neck absentmindedly, hands trailing down the long sleeves to your hands, interlacing the fingers together. “Of course ye do, you’ve been out cold fer a week.” He moves your hands to your stomach, chin hooking into place on your shoulder, body towering over yours. The bracelets chime in response. 

This..must’ve been some sort of fever dream.. Right? What was happening? Why was he here with you- so many ‘whys’, and yet no answer seems to be greeting you. Maybe this was the feywild, and you’ve fallen under a charm; perhaps this is just an odd hallucination. Or maybe.. The afterlife? The fugue plane, somewhere within the City of Judgement, waiting to be taken to the Crystal Spire, my soul to be judged and appraised by Kelemvor. 

There was only one reasonable conclusion- one that made sense considering you’d saw him all those years ago after the incident, like a grim reaper ready to claim its prize or like a devil scoping out its next contract- “Are you a Baatezu?” It was a mere mumble, and he huffs out a laugh, tightening his grip on you for a brief moment, before letting go and spinning you towards him. 

“Do I look like a devil to ye?” He muses, eyes filled with amusement. As if the thought of him being from the Nine Hells was humorous. He continues to smile despite your clear hesitance- so warm as it carves lines into his cheeks, his eyes crinkling. It felt so genuine; hospitable and welcoming that you almost had a hard time imagining him being a bad guy. This all must’ve been some big miscommunication right? Something got lost in translation; he.. He’s helped you. There’s a roof over your head, he has kept you alive for the past supposed- he hasn’t necessarily harmed you right? Kissed you sure- but he was just.. Giving you water. Johnny.. is just a bit too touchy for your liking, but harmless, you think- like an overzealous dog with too much energy to go around. 

“Well, maybe- I..” Your neck throbs as you eye him apprehensively, and then the same gaze drifts down to the bracelets donning your wrists, experimentally flexing your fingers, hearing the metals cling against each-other as your wrists move. “..I just.. I’m not dead?” That sparks a laugh out of him, a full bodied one that makes your ears burn with embarrassment, faltering as you start to backtrack. “I- Well- I only meant-” 

“I ken, I ken- I know what ye meant. It’s scary for ye, isn’t tha’ right? A new place. But yer here now, okay?” He interrupts you off gently, reassuring you through your clear apprehension, as he starts to herd your body towards the door. A shepherd leading a lamb, blindly to whatever fate waits them. 

A grandiose hallway greets you, one side being doors, the other sprawling windows: the views simply breathtaking. The scenery is enough to momentarily distract you from the situation- offering a brief moment of solace. Endless rolling hills stretch as far as the eye could see, adorned with a vibrant tapestry of flowers in every hue of the rainbow. The sunlight shines brightly over the landscape; casting a sort of glow over it that makes it seem like one of those places straight out of a fairytale- like something only seen in a book. It was enough to make your steps falter and Johnny accounts for the movement, or lack thereof, slowing to a halt as he too peers out the scenery beyond the panes.

“Oh it’s.. Beautiful.. But where exactly is ‘here’?” 

“I know it is. What’da see hen?” He asks instead- voice hushed as if afraid he’d break the atmosphere, no longer looking outside but at you instead.

Your mouth opens and then closes, and you gesture outwardly with your arm, one of the bangles glinting in the light. Your eyebrows furrow as a sudden realization hits you, wasn’t it almost Midwinter? “Well..  well there’s flowers I-.. in Midwinter. And the sun.. I- Are we even along the Sword Coast? Or..” You try to pick your brain, thinking, unsure. You were in Faerûn, right? Your stomach twists, swallowing down the bile- forcing a smile on your lips. He saved you, you repeat, unsure if you were just trying to convince yourself at this point or not. Making it easier that way- not wanting to confront the truth. “Maybe up at the Dalelands?”

He makes a sort of noncommittal hum, and as you twist your head to look up at him, he nods. His gaze travels to the window once more, almost melancholic, before his jaw clenches and then he looks back at you with a smile, just a little bit tighter than before. “Yeah. Now how ‘bout a wee bit of breakfast, hm?”

More questions add to the ever expanding stack as you walk alongside him. The marble feels borderline warm beneath your bare feet as he leads you down to a pair of doors, and upon entering it was large, with a sprawling table: fit for a small country it seemed. What must’ve been a hundred chairs lined the grand hall. The ceiling soars high above, reminiscent of a cathedral back in the city, adorned with oversized chandeliers that seem to dwarf any you’ve seen before. The crystals catch the light from the rose window, creating a mesmerizing display of refracted colors that seem to dance along the wooden surfaces. It looked like a place for Gods to dine in- or a king or queen; not you. You used to be of nobility, sure, but that lifestyle had died and the title with it all those years ago. Practically living as a commoner for the past five years rather than someone of high class, and well, you certainly didn’t belong here, despite being dressed in the part to be. Out of touch and way out of your element. 

Johnny escorts you to the table, making a point to sit you down next to the chair at the end of the table. The elf sort of hesitates, eyes glancing at the floor next to the chair before making his place known across from you. He makes some sort of gesture- and mute, placid faces approach- seemingly out of the dark recesses of the room as they start to work around the table efficiently. No words were exchanged, solely focused on the singular task at hand- not even stopping when you’d ask what was being served. 

“Naw bonnie, you’ll like it- made sure they knew to get all yer favorites.” Johnny starts to eat, devouring the meal with such gusto as if he hadn’t had a morsel in days- his words not fully registering in your mind. But as soon as they do it’s all you hear. They play like a broken record, causing you to stiffen, the room spinning as your gaze travels down to your plate. Lo and behold- there it all was all laid out before you. Your gaze travels from item to item- a sense of unease creeping up on you- everything you loved is there, down to the little honeycakes your mother used to make, decorated with powdered sugar and frosting swirled on top.  

Your hands firmly clasp one over the other, biting down on your lip harshly, the wound on the back of your neck beginning to tingle. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Of course ye are.” He remarks dismissively, mouth full of food. “Just open yer bonnie mouth and eat. Unless ye need me tae feed you?” 

It might have been a joke- but his heavy gaze was anything but funny. Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Hunger does gnaw at your stomach, but at this point you think you might be sick again. “Are we in the feywild?” His fork drops, and you hold your gaze on the table before raising it to meet his. His eyes seemed darker- the shadows more prominent, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. 

“Naw why’re you continuing on and on and on. I told ye-” Johnny’s eyebrows furrow as he scowls, like he was reprimanding an unruly pet, looking annoyed in every sense of the word. “-Ye were safe now, and yet you’re tryin’ tae make it seem like ah’m the bad guy here. Dae ye wan’ to make ‘im mad? Cause’ ye won’ like ‘im for a welcoming party. I’ve been so nice to ye. I’m the one here-” His voice was growing louder, starting to look angry more than sad- looking one moment away from going across the table. Blue eyes wide, nails digging into the wood grooves of the table, scratching little crescent shaped indents into them. “Ah’m the one whose gone through all the trouble cause i’d knew ye’d be perfect and now all ‘m seeing is an ungrateful little-”

He recoils slightly, as if suddenly choked and he coughs, face contorting in dismay. His complexion drains of color, betraying his unease and he gulps hard. You shift uncomfortably, a grimace of your own painting your features- too much happening at once to properly digest what was being said. Only the fact that you needed to get out and leave. He tilts his head, muttering something in a language- Elvish, you think, before he picks up his fork, stabbing a piece of meat with more force than necessary. “Naw, ‘m sorry bonnie, didn’t mean to scare ye.” He apologizes, gaze meeting yours with a pitiful attempt at reassurance, though his smile seems strained. Trying to calm you down, if you were to take a guess. But his teeth were just a bit too sharp- eyes too wild, reminding you that at the end of the day he was a stranger, one that was easily set off at the slightest bit of provocation it seemed. Admitting it to yourself was only inevitable despite how you were trying to make excuses: you could banter back and forth endlessly, but he abducted you. ..You think. The logistics aren’t fully there. Saved you from certain death sure- thinking back to the fuzzy memories on the mountain, the ritual that yielded no results. But if feigning cooperation for now meant finding an opportunity to go back home then so be it.

“It’s alright.” You utter, though the sentiment was far from genuine. Yet his face seemed to light up at the words, seemingly oblivious to your lack of sincerity. Accepting it at face value. You reluctantly pick up the fork, his keen gaze fixed upon you as you force yourself to take a bite of the food. “Oh this is delightful.” You lie, a weak attempt to mend the fractured atmosphere. The falsehood tastes as bitter and lifeless as the food in your mouth.

He beams, looking like the incarnate of the sun- seeming to light up the room. “Ah’m glad you think so. Had the chefs making food every day, till’ you woke up. Took yer sweet time though huh? Like our own precious sleeping beauty you were- a bonnie thing.” He winks when he meets your gaze again, and you gulp hard- cheeks hurting from how hard you were trying to keep your smile afloat. And like a ship in a storm, its hull damaged- filling with water, trying to make it to shore. It’s only a matter of time before it sinks.

This time though- you weren’t stupid; you caught the word. The fork mindlessly pushing around food comes to a pause, poking at the bear. “Hey how’d you find me anyway? There was a blizzard.”

“Donnae matter, does it? Yer here now, safe.” He reaches out with another plate of the honeycakes, and you eye the sickly sweet glaze cascading down onto the plate. And vaguely you’re brought back to the present- feeling a bit like a fly caught in a vat of syrup or amber. Stuck. 

“I want a real answer.”

“And I gave ye one- now what’s the problem hen? I haven’t mistreated ye have I?” His tone sharpens, and you unwittingly deepen your own predicament. Digging your grave- shoveling out another foot of dirt every time you open your mouth- maybe he’ll do you the courtesy of taking you to where your family was buried when he kills you. Your throat constricts, watching as his grip around the plate tightens. 

“That’s not the point. I- I want to go home.”

In a sudden, jerky movement he rises out of his chair, and you hastily follow suit, stumbling over the hem of your dress, eyes wide. Your jewelry clanking loudly as he maneuvers around the table, looking like bull with far too much energy- “Naw, what did I jus’ say?” He snarls, advancing with two strides forwards for every one step back you make. His words tumble out almost incoherently, hands gesturing erratically as he closes in on you, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. Spittle flying and landing on your cheek in his fervor. “This whole place was designed with ye in mind- and ye want to go home? To where huh? Where is yer home- tell me hen.” 

Your mouth opens and then closes, words stammering, taking a hesitant step back and he only follows, encroaching in your space. His hands linger near you, but refrains from grabbing you- instead choosing to grip the chair next to him. “I want you tae tell me where’d ye go.” He finally breathes out, chest falling and rising with huff, nostrils flaring as he stares down at you. A long bang resounds through the room as his fist hits the table- and at your startled reaction his lips stretch into a grin at your silence- swallowing thickly as your eyes dart around like a stuck rabbit. “Tha’s right, ye don’ know do yah bonnie? Las’ five years you’ve been following tha’ little list down right to the last T, getting far far awae from that shithole you called home.” 

Your pulse seems to falter, arteries constricting, the flow of blood in your veins slowing to a near standstill, as if coagulating with fear, and ultimately slowing to a halt. Every nerve in your body tingles with dread, every sound feeling amplified. The air feels heavy, suffocating, as if pressing down on your chest, making it hard to draw in a full breath. It only made sense that he knew about it, I mean he was the one that gave the list to you- but the implication of how he’s been watching you– you struggle to steady your trembling limbs and calm the racing thoughts in your mind. The unbridled urge to run arises.

 “I- I don’t-”

“You don’t- You don’t what? Ye don’ know what ahm talkin’ about hen? Tha’ what yer trying tae tell me?” He mocks, head tilting- taking advantage of the way you stumble for something to say. He leans further into your personal bubble, leering down at you. 

“Stay back.” You manage in a shaky gasp stumbling backwards as you hold your hands out in front of you. 

“What’s the problem?” His laugh seems to echo around the room, and he follows you, blue eyes wide and unblinking- “It’s fate. This is where ye were meant to be- Here with us-”

“Stay away from me!” There was another word spoken- one foreign to your lips but not to his- and his eyes widened, unable to do anything in time as embers spark in the air. A rush of something equally foreign and unnerving washes over you as it leaves your tongue, like a sudden wave crashing upon a shore. The feeling was indescribable- the sense of connection thrumming through your very being; as if awakening something long dormant in you- untapped potential. Something hot- embers?- begins to manifest, a sense of otherworldly energy fills the air, crackling with a palpable intensity. A surge of heat wells up inside of you, building up to a crescendo as thin sheets of flame bursts out of your fingertips, and he barely has a second to drop before the torrent of searing heat engulfs everything above him. The heat is intense, blistering hot, and the smell of singed air fills your nostrils. Burnt meat and honey was there- charred, smokey, slightly sweet.

You can only stare dumbfounded- looking down at your hands and then at the aftermath, stumbling back. You throw a hand to your mouth, still warm from the unexpected surge of power- stomach rolling with unease. What? How did you- How was this possible– Johnny looks equally surprised- his face flushed, tilting his head back to look at the burnt wood and then back at your stunned form. His eyes fall half-lidded, making a movement to rise, expression twisting into something you can’t quite put your finger on, lips tugging into a grin. You don’t wait to try and decipher what he was thinking, instinctively turning and fleeing- heart pounding in your chest.

Gathering up your dress to the best of your ability- you turn pivot on your heel and sprint away, the clatter of your jewelry like a warning bell with each frantic step. It felt like the jewelry were more cursed collars and shackles the more you think of it, each jangle announcing your presence to anyone who might be listening. You burst out of the dining room, tearing down the hallway from which you came- desperate for escape, gasping for breath as panic tightens its grip around your throat. Sentences come to mind- each one stirring conflicting feelings.

‘The ritual would give you great power.’

‘It would provide you strength.’

‘Protection for yourself.’

You continue to flee as fast as your unsteady legs can carry you, though your pace hardly qualifies as swift, your wobbly strides barely enough to keep you upright. The hallway seems to warp and narrow before your eyes, blurring with each frantic blink. “Bonnie!” His voice echoes out loudly behind you and you only hobble along faster. Like a faun trying to outrun a predator, each step a scramble for safety. 

The sound of his pursuit fades gradually until it suddenly ceases, leaving you to wonder as you steal a glance backwards, only to see Johnny faltering in his step- expression looking almost reverent. Dare you say almost excited- dazed, and then your attention snaps back to the present as you collide with something unexpectedly soft- a wall that shouldn’t have been there. And you don’t remember there being anything necessarily obstructing in the hallway. 

The impact leaves you stunned- a buzzing in your head becoming known before swiftly dissipating as if it was never there. Your eyes drift up, up, up- and towering above you is the tallest, broadest man you’ve ever encountered. Crossing eyes with death itself- you find yourself entranced. It was fitting, with a skull over his face- skin pale as a ghost- terrifying. They say eyes are the window to the soul. So what kind of soul would it be when the eyes you were staring at were a deep abyss- as tainted as his seemed to be? Dark pools of tiger’s eye, mali garnet, topaz, amber- dravite tourmaline. Clouded and hardened by something you couldn’t quite understand- and you recoil, all but shoving yourself off of the imposing figure. His hands twitch in response, tilting his head down at you.

“I- ‘m sorry.” You almost instinctively skitter back a few feet, jewelry jingling noisily in the tense silence. 

“Johnny causin’ you trouble?” Though sounding much more human compared to before, the gruff familiarity of his voice is not lost on you and you’re brought back to a cold mountain- a warm touch, a promise. Your neck burns, eyes squeezing shut before you hesitantly raise them back to the broad expanse of his chest. You force yourself to give some sort of indication that you heard him, trembling before the being in front of you- shaking your head curtly- hands scrunching up your dress in a tight grip.

His dark eyes look down at you, and not even looking up at him, the weight of his stare was heavy.. you’ve never felt so small in your life, unable to muster the courage nor the willpower to look him in the face again. Not wanting to see death personified glaring back at you. It wasn’t too often you’ve pondered your existence in life but in this monster’s presence you’ve found yourself contemplating it more often than not. And with that, it was painstakingly easy to realize how absolutely inferior you were to him.

Throughout your life, you at least knew of your place in the world you lived. A human, where you wish you could’ve had the chance to be born as a half-orc, at least then you’d be strong. Or an aasimar, maybe then you’d be able to live up properly to others expectations and be worthy of something- take up an oath and be a paladin or a cleric, being able to properly protect those closest to you. No.. you know you are. Though making up a large majority of the population, it was easy to forget that sometimes. You.. were you. Plain. Unordinary. You don’t hear of humans winning in wars or becoming rulers. You don’t hear tales of humans doing all this- no. You hear tales of dragons soaring through the skies. Of a whole life surrounded by beings who were just.. Ascended from bloodlines so much more interesting than yours. Hell, this is why you’ve spent years of your life looking for something to give you that power. To make you special. And now that you had it.. It was weird. 

So it honestly wasn’t too hard to describe how you thought he was looking at you; how you thought he viewed you. What you imagined his expression to look like, had you actually looked back at him: Like an executioner with one hand on the lever to drop the floor beneath you, to have the rope tighten around your neck. Like a butcher as their cleaver comes swinging down towards a cow’s neck, ready to provide a merciful death or prolonging its misery. A falcon ready to swoop down for its next meal. Or a boot as it comes down on an ant whether or not to squash it out of existence. Like a wolf ready to shut its maws around you and shake until you’ve gone limp in its grasp. Compliant. Lifeless. 

But instead your gaze was planted firmly on the pristine marble, bottom lip quivering as you blink slowly, vision blurring and turning the sharp edges fuzzy. Cotton filling your ears, sounds becoming muffled, save for the steady rapidfire pulse resounding through your head. This was the protection that was promised- this was the life that you wanted right? So what was this overwhelming pressure being in his presence? This was who you summoned- you think. Ultimately, it felt like broken promises, shattered ideals- forced to live in what reality you had conjured up for yourself. No- you could tell now that this is what you had called for- what you had asked for was a fiend- no an eldritch being, maybe a God? God might be too pure of a word for him- the devil was more akin to what you’d imagine him being. There was no mistaking it; there was no wolf in sheep’s clothing. No, he knew what he was. He was confident in it even. A predator. 

It felt like the space was closing in, the long hallway forcing the pair of you to be in close proximity- a sort of draw, a leash if you would. Taking another step back was a thought, a good one really- except for the fact that the shadows seemed to slink forwards, grasping at the soles of your feet, rising up your calves and grounding you in place, chaining you down. The mere idea of trying to move away from him was a mistake in itself.

There was a momentary lapse in time as this happened, and then immediately your breath catches in your throat as the back of your neck burns as if ignited. Sending jolts of pure energy into your flesh, dark magic swirling around the air that your untrained eyes couldn’t see, but your body could certainly feel the effects of. The power that exudes off his very being. Knees crumpling to the ground beneath you, not given the right to stand, to even be at some sort of the same level as him. Flesh crawling, skin rippling- that morning’s breakfast threatening to come up, tasting the acidic taste on your tongue- bitter and pungent.

Cold sweat drips down your temple as you rasp for air at his feet, falling to all fours as each breath feels like it might be the last. Tremors run down your spine, shaking as you urge your muscles to move to no avail. Society talks of fight or flight, but always seems to forget the most common one: freeze. “Pl— ease.” Trying to get out the words; trying to beg, trying to get him to understand, not even knowing if he’d even care to give what you had to say a moment of his time. Of his consideration. Asking to be let go, to leave- for mercy- it was difficult to place what you had wanted in that moment. You were just a human and he was something beyond your comprehension.

 You didn’t realize he had dropped to a crouch, cold fingers brushing over the raised skin with a deep rumble: a hum, it was hard to decipher. You flinch anyway. His nail traces over the freshly acquired wound, drawing a low whimper out of your throat as he just kept petting and prodding- as if wanting the pain to be a reminder. 

A pause.

Maybe two.

“Settle, little bird.” Another choked sob rips out of your throat- wet and sticky with phlegm, eyes squeezing shut as his hand- calloused, large- dips down, cupping your jaw and raising you to meet his eyes, though you refuse to open them. He didn’t sound angry, at least not outright. It somehow felt worse to hear a lilt of disappointment brushes along his tone, and it causes more tears to fall. Upon the realization that you weren’t going to open your eyes, his hand moves to your cheeks, squishing them together and making your mouth into a little ‘o’ shape. “Gave you a chance and you’d rather run than stay ‘ere under my protection.” His grip tightens, and this time you don’t dare to open your eyes, afraid to see the beast mere inches from you. His breath fans across your face- surprisingly warm. “Do I have to provide a reminder that you’re mine, hm? Is that it? Have you already forgotten who was providing you a new life?”  

“N-No-” His grip tightens further, cutting you off what you had to say. It’s a familiar sensation, one that’s become far too common lately. 

“Wasn’t a question.” His low voice rumbles, and you whimper- footsteps approaching that you now recognize as Johnny’s. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, prodding at the space he had created- and you grit your teeth, a defiant response that causes him to click his tongue at your actions. Your neck sparks with more pain before you unhinge your jaw and the sensation fades. He hums thoughtfully. “It’s alright though, you didn’t know any better, Johnny wasn’t treating you right huh?”

“That’s naw true sir- she’s just upset cause she wants tae go home-” 

“I wasn’t asking you.” The pad of his thumb rubs along your teeth, and he removes his fingers, grasping your chin and jerking your head upwards. There was a sort of whine behind you, and you gulp hard. “You were just scared weren’t ya? You wanted the devil you summoned to be the first thing you saw when you woke up?” His words, though blunt, strike a nerve that makes you cringe- nose scrunching up as more tears fall. “It’s all right now- pretty little bird is just confused and lost. Isn’t tha’ right?” 

His words cause you to peer open your eyes hesitantly, dark pools staring down at you. Your gaze drops to the hand holding your head, which then trails up to a pale arm, decorated with what seemed to be swirling black ink- symbols and hieroglyphs of things you didn’t quite recognize. You sniffle, shrugging unsurely- and he coos, fingers lifting up one of the many necklaces, looking down at one of the shining jewels with a smile on his scarred lips. He lifts the gem so it is within eyesight; green glittering in the light. Emerald.

He lets it fall back against your skin, a deep sigh leaving his lips- “I should’ve been there when you woke up, ‘s all my fault really.” The warm light from the outside seems to grow even warmer, the colors in the hallway shifting to shades of red- darker and darker. “Wouldn't have let you leave that room if i’d known you be such a fussy girl.” 

“No- That’s- that’s not–” Your facial expression crumples, hands jutting out in front of you- repeating the same word from before. Only this time.. No embers shootout- nothing. Not even a hint of well, anything happens. Johnny takes a step closer, hovering. Waiting.

The man- the devil- chuckles- a low rumble. “You think i’d let you use my own magic against me? Don’t be daft- did being up in the cold make you lose all sense?” He breathes in deeply, guiding you up to your feet- and your eyes catch to the outside, choking back a sob at the vastly different change of scenery. The sky was a crimson, an artificial moon casting an eerie glow over the ground below. What seemed like flowers had morphed into some sort of city- a labyrinthine structure sprawling beneath from how high up you were. In the distance seemed to be volcanoes- billowing smoke, threatening to erupt, and you feel your legs start to give beneath you- as you let out a garbled gasp, eyes wide. He only steadies you, wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you to his chest. “You just need a reminder that you’re gonna be loved now, isn’t that right? That this is where you’re gonna be from now on. It’s okay, Johnny and I will give you one, yes?” One of his fingers tugs at the corner of your lip, coaxing a smile, “Smile. You’re home now.”

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty #dnd!141 #patron!ghost #warlock!soap #flesh and bone #dnd!au #ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader

[icyblogs]

all your life, you'd been convinced that the world would end with a bang, like a world war or a meteor hitting earth. you hadn't expected the sudden geomagnetic storms, shutting down all power and throwing the world into a chaotic, frozen future. those with the financial means to run towards the equator did so, leaving the rest of the world to freeze or starve.

when the world went to icy shit, you'd stayed home as long as you could, duct taping the edges of your windows and doors to keep the cold air from leaking in. it was tolerable for a few days, even with the power out. you did what you could, layering clothes and burning your scented candles, creating a makeshift fireplace in your stove as you burnt trash for warmth and held a rag over your nose to keep from breathing in the smoke. all of that, in hindsight, was extremely short-sighted. temporary measures fit for a temporary problem. when it became clear in a few weeks that this was it, that the constant storms meant that the world would never go back to how it was, you started making real plans.

step one was amassing more supplies. most folks in your small town had tried to run south, loading up toboggans and hoping for mercy at the border. the vast majority of houses, businesses, and apartments emptied. it's strange to see the town you love like this- covered in a thick layer of snow and ice, windows boarded up or broken, your favorite mom and pop businesses with signs in the window reading "save yourselves- take what you need" and "goodbye, good luck, and godspeed". you'd pulled your little makeshift sled down main street, loading up on all the canned goods you could carry and stockpiling for as long as you could. you checked inside if houses, restaurants, and the grocery store, grabbing everything of use and pointedly ignoring the frozen, emaciated bodies you ran across. opting to pick through their belongings with heavy guilt settled into your belly like a lead weight.

you can't help but feel a sort of strange gratitude for your thick, wide build. you're fairly certain that the extra insulation of fat around your internal organs has saved you a dozen times over, and you start to feel a sort of kinship with polar bears as you make your weekly treks around town to scavenge for food, kindling, and blankets. it's sort of liberating, being alone out here and not having to worry about whether fellow survivors watch your food intake like a hawk. you're allowed to be fat and happy, free of any guilt or shame about the shape of your body. your focus is less aesthetic and more utility now, and god is it paying off to be fat.

months have gone by, and pretty soon two things are made abundantly clear: you are the only living person left in town, and the scavenging opportunities are are drying up. if you want to keep living, you're going to have to pack up and move to somewhere new. there's another small town, maybe 25 miles or so south that you think might be your best bet, and you get to work packing your belongings onto the sled. everything's put into plastic bags, strapped together with packing tape and rope, with five days worth of food. you layer up all of your clothes, wearing everything you own, your spare boots tied together by the laces and thrown over your shoulder. as you trudge to the edge of town, you can't help but stop and look back. this place you called home has nothing but ice and death for you now, and as much as you wish you could, you cannot stay. you say your goodbye to the place you loved silently as you approach the sign welcoming visitors to your town. knocking the ice and snow off of it, you pull out a spray can and write the words THERE IS NOTHING LEFT over the words 'welcome to dolly's landing'.

the trudge south is slow, but you manage it within a day. you're sweaty and tired, legs sore from constant use and having to trudge over slick ice patches and through deep snow. nothing seems to have fallen off of your sled, thank fuck, and the first house at the edge of town seems suitably abandoned. it doesn't take much to get inside, nobody ever bothers to lock windows out in the sticks anyways. you gracelessly tumble inside and assess the interior. it's small, which makes heating it easier, and the open, bare cabinets tell you that probably no one is coming back here for a supply run. you close the window and your aching legs make one last push as you stumble your way to an overstuffed couch, collapsing on it's luxurious softness as sleep takes you into her arms immediately.

in the morning, a gentle shake to your shoulder wakes you. there's a man towering above you, snow and ice clinging to his thick beard, wearing a very professional looking white camo snowsuit. you can't help but jump and gasp a little at the realization that you've been caught unawares by a stranger. his grip on your shoulder doesn't relent, hanging onto you as if his life depends on it.

"easy, sweetheart. didn't mean to startle." he says, deep voice practically purring as he looks you up and down with smiling blue eyes. shit, you should've hidden your sled full of supplies, but exhaustion had overridden reason. you could kick yourself for it now. a desperate scan around the room behind him doesn't indicate anyone else is with the two of you.

"i- i didn't mean to intrude, i'll just leave, i don't want any troub-" you stammer, voice creaking from disuse.

"there's no trouble, sweetheart. none at all." the large man cuts you off before swinging a leg over the width of your hips, settling his weight on top of you. oh no. oh no oh fuck oh no. tears spring to your eyes, blurring the face of the man looming above you as you try to wriggle out from under him.

"easy, i said. you're all right, nobody's hurtin' you." the large man coos as he leans down over you, his body weight pinning you down by your hips. "haven't seen a new person in a good long while. where have you been hidin', eh?"

"north. i- there was nothing left up there to eat, i thought i'd try my luck at charlie lake, but i can just go. this is your spot, i won't make trouble, i'll just move on." you croak as he pulls his glove off with his teeth and begins to strokes his fingers along the side of your face.  

"nobody's askin' you to do that. prefer if you stayed, truth be told." a small smile creases the corners of his eyes. "let me take you and that little sled of yours over to mine. get you properly warmed up."

it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's after, not with the way he's talking to you and staring like a hungry predator. frankly, as startled as you are having this strange man sat on top of you, so long as he doesn't get violent or try to steal your supplies, you're not too tremendously upset, just startled. having a hot guy on your hips is more than fine, your only hesitation is the unknown factors about this man. for all you know, he's a cannibal or gets off on stabbing or something. until you get a better feel for who he is, your guard is well and truly up. still, no point in arguing with a man like this, especially when he's got the upper hand. best to placate him for now and think of methods of escape when you're not pinned underneath him.

"ok." you whisper hoarsely through chapped, cracking lips, and the man beams at you. he presses his cold nose against your temple, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your cheek.

"i'm sorry, sweetheart, i know i should be a gentleman and give you some space, but it's been a long bloody time since i've seen a pretty face." he murmurs as he nudges his nose against the shell of your ear. "come with me to mine, yeah? i've got plenty to eat and a proper fireplace, you and me could have a nice time together." he lowers his voice, and his next words make you shiver; "we don't have to be alone anymore, sweetheart."

the offer of food, warmth, and company- especially with the unspoken promise of getting laid- is too good to pass up. after solid months of struggling, rationing, and fighting to stay alive, it's hard to be too averse to the idea of no longer having to fight in exchange for being this large man's plaything. besides, you've been so goddamned lonely with no one to talk to. you hadn't really realized how badly you needed another person's companionship until this guy made you see how desperate you are to have someone, anyone, keep you company.

"should i bring my supplies?" you ask quietly, and it earns you a pleased hum and a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

"the sled out back? i'll pull it, sweetheart. come on," he says with a grunt as he gets up and off of you, holding his hand out for you to take. "let's get a move on, my compass is spinning like a top, so i imagine another storm is on the way."

his name is john, he tells you on the way into town. he's retired british military, moved to canada a few years back to try to find some peace and quiet in the woods. he hasn't seen anyone alive in the five months since the world froze over, not until he came back to town after an unsuccessful hunt and found your tracks in the snow.

"got excited, seeing signs of life that wasn't deer or a moose. or mine. couldn't help but follow your sled's tracks to the house, could i?" he chuckles. "and then there you were, like sleeping beauty, all bundled up and laid out on that old sofa, lookin' like a fairy tale."

"what are you still doing here? why didn't you leave when the power went out like everyone else?" you ask, changing the topic in a fit of self-consciousness. you're still a little meek in his presence, especially now that you can see the big gun strapped to his back.

"figured i was prepared enough, didn't need to take the risk of travelling on foot on the open road." he shrugs. "besides, initially i thought we were just having a cold snap. canada, you know? thought it'd blow over."

you can't help but laugh at that, fog leaking through the scarves wrapped around your mouth, and even through his snow goggles and thick gaiter over his nose, you can see john beaming at you. 

"what about you?" he asks.

"i was planning to go with a group, but, uh. they went ahead without me." you say simply, glossing over the pain of abandonment. it had hurt, to realize too late that your so-called friends had skipped town the second they could without bothering to so much as check in on you. mercifully, john doesn't comment on it, and the two of you walk in silence for a while, with him dragging the sled by the rope firmly in one hand and your lower back under the other. he's always looking over at you every few paces, like he keeps needing to double check that you're real. it's funny, there's nothing really to look at. you're covered head to toe, nothing exposed to the bitter cold. you're just a round blob of polyester with a puffball toque on.

suddenly you see it, a dark purple, frostbitten corpse in the snow, naked as the day he was born, lying supine in the snow. you stop dead in your tracks, and john follows your line of sight before snorting out a small laugh.

"don't you worry about that poor sod, been gone months now. when i first saw him he smelled of cheap lager, i think he was trying to make snow angels in negative thirty degree weather. come along, sweetheart, not much further now." john urges gently with a pat on your ass.

"did you know him?" you ask as you continue onward, eyes still glued to the lifeless, frost-blackened body.

"only met him a few times. didn't care for him much if i'm honest. austrian transplant, moved here the year after i did and raised a ruckus by falling head over heels for the sheriff's wife, despite her complete disinterest." john shakes his head. "amazed it was the cold that got him and not kate. if it had been my wife he'd been chasing, it wouldn't be the cold that got him."

you don't respond to that, or the following pat to your backside as you continue to trudge down the road. you've got a decision to make, and soon. you're not a stupid person, you know what john wants from you, what he's expecting of you. under normal circumstances, if you'd woken up to a strange man on top of you who insists you go home with him, you'd try to get out of this somehow, to stammer out your apologies and make a break for it. as it is, you've been completely alone for months. you hadn't heard another human voice since the needle on mrs. man-goughs record player went dull. there's been no one to talk to, touch, or even look at in ages, just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror. john is a little intense, but you can't help but feel the same sort of clawing desperation to not be left alone again. as you continue to plod down the road, you come to a decision: you'll stick with john until he does something that makes you not want to stick with him anymore. simple as that. something inside of you needs his companionship as much as he needs yours, and, frankly, the idea of getting laid again really does appeal. lately you've been too exhausted and cold to try to take care of those particular needs, and the idea of being warm, fed, and well-fucked really isn't a terrible one.

it's obvious upon arrival which house is john's. it's on the far southern edge of town, the only house with covered windows and a bare roof that's clearly had the snow shoveled off of it. shit, you hadn't even thought to do that, there was just so much more on your mind. clearly john is more than competent enough to survive this, it's not a wonder why he (reasonably) thought he could take his chances in this frozen hellscape.

john leads you to the door, the two of you unloading what little possessions you have into his kitchen. he praises you the entire time you unpack, how resourceful you are, how smart you are to put everything in bags, how well prepared you were to make a real go of it in this new town. you tamp down the strange feeling that bubbles up inside of you as he automatically puts your supplies away in his cabinets and drawers. it feels like your independence is being stripped away, like you're already being absorbed into his life completely, losing your individualism as you become his.

"you've got me feeling all sorts of selfish, sweetheart. you would have done well on your own, i think, but i don't want you to be on your own. i want you to be with me, here." he shrugs, not even a little embarrassed by his sudden proclamation as he shelves another tin of peaches.

all you can do is blink at him as a thought strikes you. he must think all this padding is just layers of clothes, huh? you can't help but get a little fidgety at the thought of how mad he's probably going to be once you're able to get down to a comfortable layer and he sees that the width of your hips isn't solely due to layer upon layer of snow pants. will he be afraid that you'll eat more then your share? will he throw you out? will he at least let you gather your things first before he does? he must see your hesitation, the gears turning in your mind, because he cocks his head and gently pulls you into his arms. maybe it's the loneliness, maybe it's how handsome he is, or maybe it's because he looks at you like you're personally responsible for hanging the stars in the sky, but you step into his embrace.

"i know i'm bein' pushy, but i can't help it. it's been a long bloody time since i've seen anyone else, and i'm not keen on being alone again when there's a pretty girl to talk to." john says, gently tugging at the scarves you've wrapped over your face. it's still cold in the house, but probably not negative considering the insulation and the protection from wind, so you allow him to uncover your face, removing your goggles and layered toques.

"there she is. hello." john grins as you shake your greasy hair out. you just huff out a laugh.

"hello, john." you giggle, watching him lick his lips while staring at yours. "you gonna show me around?"

"yes, of course, this way." john tours you through the little two-bedroom, his hand on your lower back the entire time. it's cozy enough, although it doesn't look particularly lived-in. there's no photos anywhere, no art or posters either. a real bachelor pad. when he leads you to the living room, you nearly laugh out loud. there's a king sized mattress on the floor in front of the fireplace, and it's absolutely covered in furs. it looks like the setup of a really cheesy old porno or something.

"wow. that's a lot of pelts." you blurt out, earning you a little squeeze on your hip and a pleased sounding chuckle.

"thank you. hunting's been surprisingly good, but i suppose i'll have to give it a rest for a while and do my best to forage around town for canned goods if i want that to continue." he looks over to you. "that's how you've been getting along, isn't it? scavenging through houses? you'll have to teach me your secrets."

"open every cabinet and drawer. lesson over." you say honestly, and john throws his head back and laughs, fog erupting from his mouth into the cold air of the living room.

"duly noted. now you make yourself comfortable, i'll fetch some firewood so we can make some tea. be right back." john says with another fond pat to your ass, which just makes you roll your eyes and huff out a laugh. john just shrugs and smiles like 'sorry sweetheart, i can't resist' as he strides out into the hallway, the sound of a door opening and closing not far behind.

you settle in on the mattress, running a hand over the furs. shit, he must be a good hunter. he wasn't wrong to try taking his chances out here, he definitely has the skills to do it. between the two of you, you can probably stay here for a good while before you're forced to make another move.

john's back in no time, getting the fire going quickly and and kicking off his boots. his white camouflage snowsuit peels away to expose a broad chest and soft belly in a compression shirt and shorts. you try not to stare at his very obvious erection, but good fucking lord. it almost looks like he's trying to smuggle a white claw in those shorts. when you finally peel your eyes away, john is just smirking at you, his face illuminated by the fire that's coming to life in front of you. he scoots in close, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead that's so abrupt it almost startles you.

"you've been strugglin' for so long, haven't you? stayin' alive all this time must've been hard work." he presses a kiss to your cheek. "stay with me, and i'll look after you. i'll keep you fed and sheltered, just stay with me and keep my bed warm. sound all right to you?"

"just your bed?" you tease, and he chuckles as he leans in to kiss your lips, hand gently resting on the back of your head. his lips are soft somehow, and all you can think as he deepens the kiss is that you hope he'll share whatever chapstick reserves he's got.

clever hands make light work of the buttons and zippers on your various layers as he licks into your mouth and sucks at your lip, peeling you out of them in almost no time at all. the fire continues to blaze behind you, and for the first time in a long time, you're actually warm enough that you don't mind stripping down to a t-shirt and your panties. when john pulls out of the kiss to get a good look at you, you can feel your heart stop, waiting for a wrinkled nose of disgust or the look of disappointment on his face. you watch him sweep his eyes over you, taking in every soft, round bit of you, before he tilts his head back and looks up to the ceiling.

"this is the best day of my life." john mumbles towards heaven, and you can't help but be dumbfounded. there's no way you heard that right.

"what." it's not a question. you have no idea what the fuck he's talking about.

"i thought i'd never get the chance to play with a big soft girl ever again. thought maybe that sweet round face might just be a fluke, that the rest of it was just layers of clothes. fuck, i've never been so happy to be wrong." john says as he slides his hand over your hip, and around to under the back of your shirt, bringing himself in close again as he fiddles with your bra strap until it comes undone.

"a soft girl like you needs lookin' after, and i'm going to be the man who does it. i'll take such good care of you, sweetheart, i swear it. let me show you." his forehead is pressed to yours, he sounds a little breathless, and you can see in the light that his pupils are blown.

"please, john." you whisper against his lips, less than one full second before he pounces. your teeth click together as he suddenly pushes you onto your back , rucking up your shirt and loose bra until you take the hint and help him pull it off entirely. between the heat of the fireplace and the furs under your bare skin, it's the first time in a long time that having exposed skin hasn't been actively uncomfortable, and thank fucking god. the idea of fucking with snowsuits on really, really does not appeal. you bite your lip as you watch him pull his shirt off, showing off thick, dense chest hair that trails all the way down his soft stomach. he's built like a bear, strong muscles under a good layer of fat for protection. you want to put your mouth on every inch of him.

"knickers off, sweetheart. let me see you." john says as he grabs the sides of your panties and yanks them off. all you can do is raise your hips to help him work them down over your ankles as he tosses them into the dark abyss of the rest of the living room where the firelight doesn't reach. you spread your legs, holding your soft, squishy thighs apart and grimacing at how you must look after months of not shaving. at least your pussy will never catch frostbite. john groans as he crawls between your legs.

"promise i'll pet her and kiss her nice later, i will, i swear it, but i need that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock right. bloody. now." he wastes no time at all pulling himself out of his shorts, giving it a few quick strokes, rolling the foreskin back a bit as he lines up and pushes in. fucking hell, it's been a while since anything but a tampon has been up there, the stretch pulls a moan out of the core of you as he pushes in in in, deeper and deeper until you can feel the thick patch of hair around your pussy meet with the dense hair around his cock. john stares down at you, expression awestruck as he takes in the soft hills and valleys of your shape underneath him in the warm firelight.

"please, john, please-" you start to beg, even though you're not sure what you're specifically begging for. it's overwhelming being stared at by someone so broad-shouldered and handsome. he groans a little as he lowers himself to rest on his forearms, getting as close to you as possible as he kisses and sucks at the tender skin of your throat as he starts to move. fuck, he's not being gentle but that's honestly more than fine. his pace is frenzied and animalistic right out the fucking gate. it doesn't take more than a dozen thrusts or so before he wraps his arms across your back, holding you tightly against his chest as he roughly snaps his hips while pinning you in place, your legs limply bouncing around him in the air.

"good girl, good fuckin' girl, takin' my cock so nice. you feel so good under me, sweetheart. been dreamin' of a softie like you, haven't i? never thought i'd get another shot at one. luckiest man in the world, me." he pants against your cheek, his beard bristling against your skin. all you can do is cant your hips, trying to meet his thrusts, grinding your clit against him as your brain slowly leaks out of your ears. you haven't been fucked stupid in a long time, and the way john's putting his back into it like a desperate animal, it's pretty clear to you that neither of you is going to last long.

never in your life have you felt more like the wild creatures that roam around outside and howl in the dark. your brain has been reduced to it's basest levels, chasing pleasure mindlessly, uncaring of what sounds or expressions you make as you claw at john's back. he, similarly, growls and nips at the curve of your shoulder, panting loudly as the sounds of the fireplace and skin slapping against skin fill the room. there's no reason to be quiet, nobody anywhere near who could possibly object to the noise, so when your eyes roll back and your thighs shake, you don't hold back the scream that pours out of your mouth. it's wild, uncouth, and as sexy as the sound of a barn owl's call. you'd worry about the sound of it would put john off if he didn't instantly double his pace, sitting up and digging his fingers into the plushness of your hips as your tits and belly bounce rhythmically. he's so close, you can tell by the frantic desperation in his pace and the snarl on his lips. he just needs a little push, and you're pretty sure you know exactly what to do.

you wrap your legs around him, trying to hook your feet together around his back as you clench down around his cock. he curses, low and sharp, face buried in your neck, as he goes rigid before collapsing on top of you with a grunt. you can feel the pulse of his cock as he floods your pussy, and you wrap your arms around john's neck and kiss his sweaty temple, petting at his hair.

"best bloody day of my life." john sighs against your skin as he reaches blindly behind himself, grabbing a large shaggy fur and pulling it over the both of you. it isn't long until you hear soft snoring start up, and you can't help but chuckle as you watch the fire continue to burn and try not to think too hard about anything in particular. for once in a good long while you are safe, with someone who isn't willing to abandon you, seems elated that you're a big girl, and has promised to help provide for you. god, pooling resources with him alone is going to make life so much better, not to mention the sex on tap. it's so much more than you ever could have hoped for just a day ago. hell, it's more than you could have hoped for before the world went to shit. damn, this might actually work out okay. you might actually be okay now, safe with john for however long he'll keep you.

best bloody day of your life.

#rb #holy shit #john price x reader #call of duty #THIS IS SO GOOD👏 #EVERYTHING ABT IT IS DORNJSNS #gonna reread later #cod mw2 x reader #john price

[icyblogs]

Hello, here's a humble little intro post/dictionary! Updated 04/21/2024.

I'm Icy! She/her. 20 years old. Based in the US. (:

MDNI! 18+ only pls

Here's my AO3, and my fic list is below! Currently only writing for COD as that’s where my silly little brainworms are at.

My writing is uh?? like 50% dark i'd say (I think??), I try to tag thoughtfully but i'm very new at this so if you feel like something is not tagged correctly please reach out and lmk!

Anyways fics below the cut (:

DND AU

Flesh and Bone 1, 2 (DND!AU Ghoap x reader) dark fic! 

Fallout AU

Ghoul!Ghost x Vaulter!Reader

Raiders!141 x Vaulter!Reader thoughts

#pinned post #masterlist #icyblogs

[icyblogs]

Holy moly. Fallout AU! but make it Ghoul!Reader x Simon. So many thoughts- i'm glad you were able to get inspired by my silly little writing. This was such a good read!! (: Some of my favorite lines personally!

"Leaning into that feeling shouldn't be so easily humored, he knows this, but beyond the veil of gravel and radio static there's something so familiar."

See it's like I love this- could easily reference to just like falling to the insanity of it all; letting the loneliness of the wasteland play tricks on the mind.

"Then the man says something, and you're laughing, and yes, it's different and rough and age worn, but he would know it bloody deaf."

My heart omg

"That doesn't stop the mind-numbing guilt that has come back and multiplied twofold. Nor the anger he's feeling that is mixing with that nauseated realization that everything he did, all he had sacrificed, had been for nothing."

Dude. Dude. I just- holy moly the way you describe it all has me feeling some sort of way. ):

"You had begged him to stay with you before, your pleas ignored from his desperation to keep you safe."

THIS LINE GOES SO HARD THATS ALL

"But no one moves, too interested to see what they probably hope to be an entertaining fight after a rather quiet evening."

Says so much about the monotony of the fallout world, people looking forwards to a bloodbath rather than relishing in maybe a few hours of relaxing- like this is the entertainment of the new land; pain and bloodshed, like gladiators in an arena catered towards the surviving backbone of humanity.

"Your voice croaks, the gravel in it emphasized by your scarred and aged vocal cords as you say his name likes he's your god. Bowed before an alter and finally being graced with the presence of a deity you've spent your life worshipping. "Simon?""

my heart can't handle this- i- ITS SO GOOD.

"Like you're trying to fold him into you, make him a permanent part of your worn and weary body so he never leaves."

Literally two parts of a whole finally able to click together again- slotting together like they weren't ever apart in the first place. Hnghgn I love it!!

A/N: so I read @icyblogs fic about Ghoul!Simon and I was so inspired, and suddenly, this idea had me in a chokhold. I was so tired last night I couldn't write it, but literally, the moment I got up, I was writing this out on my phone. I did a quick read through and tried to find any mistakes, so I hope it's smooth, but I did write this in a hour, lol

Synopsis: Simon has spent two years trying to survive after a rude awakening to the new world. Losing everyone close to you is an experience he never wanted to suffer through again. Navigating the world alongside that grief doesn't make it any easier. It seems, however, that the world has finally decided to give him some mercy.

Word count: 1,800+

Warnings: swears, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of a severed hand and violence, please tell me if I missed anything

Simon had been stuck in some facility when the bombs fell. Some test. It's not like he wanted to stay in there, but they were testing out something related to the effects of cryogenic stasis on the human body (especially those who had peak body performance), and the week long study "just happened" to take place a few days before the bombs dropped. He had been told that if he took part in this, that him and his partner would be safe in a vault, but now he's waking up, and it's been over 200 years and everything is destroyed. He is mourning everything. The loss of his friends, his life, and you. Sweet you.

Waking up to this world bring so much grief that he nearly loses him mind, but he pushes through. Everyone that he ever loved and who ever loved him would want that. You would never forgive him for giving up. So, he eventually just falls into a life of survival. Odd jobs here and there, traveling. He often thinks back to who he used to be and his life, but he forces himself to focus on what is in front of him. Keeping himself afloat through the continuation of everything he'd known from before the Great War.

He's at a small town in the middle of nowhere yet again. Nursing a few shit wounds and an ever shittier whiskey as he tries to shake off some of the stress of the day. Raiders had taken up in an abandoned factory near the town, and he'd been hired to clear it out. Simple job for him really, yet even being out in the wasteland for a while now, he still finds himself missing his team. The companionship and the way they all worked together like awell-oiled machine. He tries not to think about how lonely it makes him, but some things just aren't so easily forgotten.

The bar is pretty full, much to his surprise, and the knowledge that he has found himself in yet another town where half the population begins getting drunk by 5 pm is putting him on edge to a certain extent. He's seen how easily people begin to pull out their weapons at the slightest provocation. So he keeps himself in the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his rifle leaning against the table at an immediate grabbing distance as his eyes do idle surveys of the room It's unlikely that anything will turn sour, he knows that, but the past two years out here have only further emphasized all those years in the military; and he isn't keen to just let it all go for moment of lazy relaxation.

Then he hears something. It's drowned out by the other conversations filling up the space, but it rings something in his head, a small little echo of what once was. Leaning into that feeling shouldn't be so easily humored, he knows this, but beyond the veil of gravel and radio static there's something so familiar. A melody he hasn't heard in so long, one he can't help but soak in and embrace. His eyes are trying to find the source, weaving through the crowds, before they land on the weathered, spike shouldered, leather jacket of a Ghoul. He can't see their face, but something about the curves of their body looks so intimately familiar that he finds his hand shaking as it grips the glass. Inklings of recognition fire through his synapses, forcing him to stay on their back. They're talking to a man beside them, nodding along and shrugging before they're speaking again, and Simon feels like he's going fucking insane. The knowledge of that voice, that same intonation, forcefully summoned to the forefront of his mind.

Then the ghoul turns their face.

Everything comes to such an aggressive halt he nearly wheezes. His eyes never leaving their face, scarred and worn and-

You.

You're sitting there two hundred years after the end of the world in some leather jacket and vest, a rifle strapped to your back and two pistols in your waist holster. There's a severed hand on the table between you and the person, marred and glinting with a few rings, and the man you're talking to nods approvingly at it. Giving you a swift pat on the arm before handing over a rather comfortable looking pouch of caps. Then the man says something, and you're laughing, and yes, it's different and rough and age worn, but he would know it bloody deaf.

Simon can't move. He's thinking about all the years you've been out here. The pain, suffering, the ghoulification process that he has heard stories of, the things you must have done to keep yourself from going insane. His eyes are honed in on the pouch of caps, and he knows that you've had to become strong in a way that he wasn't there to help you through. While you fought through two centuries of destroyed civilization and were shown the worst of humanity, he had been safe and tucked away in a vault. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. That doesn't stop the mind-numbing guilt that has come back and multiplied twofold. Nor the anger he's feeling that is mixing with that nauseated realization that everything he did, all he had sacrificed, had been for nothing. He had left you for months on end while the world was falling apart, and you didn't even get the one reason behind all of that.

Every reeling thought has that flight response he hadn't had in so long flaring, but he can't move, can't look away. He keeps looking at you and the way you talk and hold yourself, the similarities shifted through years of experiences. You still gesticulate but it's more toned down, arms staying relaxed where they rest on your thigh and the bar as your fingers dance in the air with whatever you're saying. That little smile you still do is on your face, but he can see how the light in your eyes has changed. Not gone, but as if it has taken on a different filter, colours being more highlighted than the ones that once were.

There's a slightest twitch where your brows once were before your looking around the bar, and he doesn't have time to look away, to hide his face and the shame he believes it will bring before you're looking at him. Eyes snapping to his and your body freezing in place. The man beside you is continuing on, but you aren't paying attention anymore. Your head is tilting. A furrow on your lips as you scan his face while he is unable to leave your eyes. He can see the slow build of shock and pain as recognition kicks in full force. Leather and spike clad shoulders almost shaking as you grip at the room temperature beer you were drinking. He expects horror next. Hatred. You had begged him to stay with you before, your pleas ignored from his desperation to keep you safe. The man stops talking, following your gaze and landing on Simon, but whatever he says next is ignored.

You're almost stumbling out of your chair as you land your feet on the worn bar floorboards, boots planting themselves firmly for a moment like you're hesitating. Eyes scanning and rescanning his face like you don't really believe what's in front of you. Then something clicks in your eyes and you're fucking barreling towards him. For a moment he expects you to try and kill him, and he wouldnt have even tried to stop you. He would have let you press the barrel of your gun into his forehead and paint the wall and tables with his blood and brain matter. But there isn't an ounce of aggression in your eyes as you roughly push past a couple of customers in the way, only such bone deep desperation and begging, suffering hope. Other customers are looking at you with shock at the suddenness of your actons. like you've suddenly gone feral as all conversation comes to a jagged stop. But no one moves, too interested to see what they probably hope to be an entertaining fight after a rather quiet evening.

When you get to him, you are stopping so quickly you collapse to your knees in front of him. Sucking in air like you didn't run twenty feet but miles, eyes pleading and shining with tears as one of your hands rests on the rough wooden floor like it's an anchor. The few nails you have are digging into the rotting spots, most definitely shoving splinters into the thick skin of your fingertips. The other hovers in the space between you two, fingers twitching as you seem to struggle between keeping them open, or pressing them against your fist to avoid giving into the desire physical contact he can see so plainly in your features. It falls back down to your lap for a moment. Neither of you are saying a thing in the dead silent bar as you give him such a begging look, his eyes start to burn.

Such heartbreak and fear and grief should never grace your face. It shatters him, dismantling him to his base atoms and burning away at his skin and organs. You're almost struggling to breath while Simon can't even remember how to when something finally breaks down within you. Your quivering hand reaches up again, cautiously, fearfully almost, to cup his jaw as you look at him like he's some mirage of shade and water after years in the desert.

Your voice croaks, the gravel in it emphasized by your scarred and aged vocal cords as you say his name likes he's your god. Bowed before an alter and finally being graced with the presence of a deity you've spent your life worshipping. "Simon?"

It's like he's been splashed with cold water, jolting him from where he sits as he leans forwards and practically scoops you up onto his lap. The other people are ignored, their stares insignificant as he wraps his arm around your waist and dig that hand into the soft leather there, his other hand coming up to the back of your head. He's pressing your forehead into his as you settle on his lap. Its like he can finally breath, that bone crushing weight leaving his chest as he sink into so many different emotions they become static, unimportant now that he has you in his arms and can feel your body and weight. Ragged breaths match your own as your arms tangled around the other, and he can feel the solid muscle and sinew under your thinning skin as you hold him so tightly. Like you're trying to fold him into you, make him a permanent part of your worn and weary body so he never leaves.

He vows than that he'll never leave you. Never go without that touch that hasn't changed despite the stark difference in your hands. Whatever happens now doesn't matter as long as he's with you, and he'll spend the rest of his days making you know that.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #rb #simon ghost riley #call of duty #fallout

[icyblogs]

never expected you’d bust out a whole fic for my dumb little AU idea but that was incredible and i absolutely adore your writing style 💜💜 you definitely did it justice ghost was so well written omg

Hi anon! I’m so glad you liked it- it was an amazing idea! Fallout brainrot is true and real, only makes sense that it’d be paired with COD imo, lots of things that can be paired together with it and such. I’m happy to hear that you thought i did him justice!! he’s super fun to write, makes the silly little brainworms in my head go brr. Hope you have a good rest of your day!! 💙

#answered

[icyblogs]

god bless u for the 141/fallout post i’ve been going feral thinking about a fallout au where simon is a pre-war ghoul who fought in the great war and still wears his power armor to hide that fact 🙏🙏 better yet even simon/reader fallout au where they were married before the bombs fell, and being a military wife she was lucky enough to get a space in a vault but ended up in cryo-freeze while he became a ghoul and they meet again 200 years later

Fallout!AU Ghoul!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader WC: 1.2K words Note: Hi anon! I had to do a little research about how exactly ghouls and cryo-freeze functioned, sorry for getting back to you so late! (does it still functionally make sense no but shh its fine) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! (:

Ghost who was already in the process of becoming a ghoul before the Great War! Already a renowned soldier; one of which was elected for a new experimental drug. For the sake of humanity he was told, after all, doing this will guarantee a spot in the vaults for him and his precious little wife! Doesn’t he want you to be safe? Though he might not have necessarily agreed with the means, don’t the rewards outweigh the consequences? Doesn’t he want to live out the rest of his days in peace with you? For a good vault- wanting the best for you. 

These tests, these experiments.. would end up taking a toll eventually. Too late for you to ever see of course. Well, by the time the great war actually starts, it’s far too late to see the effects of it at all. The experiments required him to stay on base- very seldom ever actually seeing you. “Just a few more weeks.” You were constantly told, and of course full heartedly you’d believe him. Why would he have any reason to lie? So when the first bomb drops.. And then the next. It was no surprise when you were forced to go into a vault without your husband, so scared. All alone without him. ):  

The experiments therefore spiraled, the results becoming null, nothing necessarily coming from them- too many variables being added. And with the radiation from all the bombs well.. He was no longer a ghost but a ghoul. 

He’d be similar to ‘The Ghoul’ in the show in my opinion! Fighting his way through the wasteland, killing, maiming- adapting. Becoming the monster that was always sort of lingering beneath the skin, going back to baser instincts. Everything he did was for his vows. For you. See, I'd imagine that he would wear a power-suit at first, especially when his skin starts to sort of stretch and shrivel, like a burn— eye sockets sinking, nose concaving. If he had found you, he didn’t want you to see what he was becoming; his humanity unraveling faster than he could keep the spool pulled taut. 

Though.. the first year passes. Then the first decade. A century. Two. 

Eventually time slows to a lull; without direction nor guidance. Always sort of be bordering on turning feral, one mishap away from just totally snapping. Enough for life itself to become a constant loop of just sort of.. apathy. Life wasn’t kind enough to people like him, never allowing anything good to stay in their lives. So why would it in this hellscape as well? Going through this so-called life like it was nothing more than a hindrance. Traveling through the land, taking on dead man’s jobs; not caring for the consequences at this point. Because what really was the point without you by his side? Never forming attachments, after all, why bother? He’d outlive them anyway.

Throughout the years, settlements pop up left and right- factions forming, most dying out faster than he could blink. These days, vaults come to the surface- trying to rebuild, kind to any poor soul or raider that they come across, like sheep walking right into the maws of a wolf. Then.. a new community sprouts up. 

Groups of thousands coming up to the surface, building a town- starting a new life. It really wasn’t anything new; Ghost had seen it and experienced it before. Would be a year or two at most of having a bed, having a steady access to food and drink- the meals always tasted like ash, if he thinks hard enough he might’ve remembered how your cooking tasted. He could blink and he was back in his home, watching you sway to some music on the radio, donned in a frilly apron, and you’d turn around and he could swear he could smell what you had in your hands. His imagination always ended up the same way; his eyes would eventually lead up to where your face was; blurry and being forgotten- he’d startle back to the reality at hand, mood darkening. 

So this new community. It wasn’t really a question of whether he was to make his way there, if not to stay for a brief moment of peace then to swindle them out of some supplies. Because at the end of the day they were vaulters. Nothing in the grand scheme of things: would probably die to some raiders anyway. They were always so eager to please, to see the good in people, and they were just so welcoming and hospitable. 

And then he saw.. you. 

The dreams, his imagination- the fog seemed to clear the moment he saw you again; even from a distance.. It was just how he had remembered you- his wife. You look like you haven't aged a day, donned in a blue clad jumpsuit. Simon watches with a dry mouth as you provide a kind smile to one of the people next to you, nodding your head as the pair of you attempt to cultivate the soil. He sees the way you jolt when the man’s hand brushes over your own as if he had shocked you- and his own eyes narrow at the sight, staring unblinkingly as if he might miss something. 

A mirage, it was easy to think. A trick of the light even- the radiation boiling his brain enough to fuck with his head, to give him some twisted hope about something that should not be possible. You.. should be dead. Long gone and yet- why were you in front of him? A phantom? Another way to mock him?

The more he looked he knew it was not the case. He could hear your voice- the cadence, all sounding just as how he's remembered it for the last eon. It made him wonder however- why were you smiling? Why.. were you laughing? He wasn’t with you- so why did you seem so happy then? 

There was something about a corpse yearning for someone full of life even still; for someone who was unburdened by centuries of an unforgiving and cruel world. He felt like Icarus, wanting to get closer; to see if he would melt if he got too close to the warmth. He’d be willing to burn if it meant that you were within reach again. His left hand felt heavy as he flexed it to try and release some tension, gold band digging into his skin. And with how sweet you looked, it only made his teeth ache and fingers twitch over the handle of his gun, longing to be with only you. Would your skin be as soft as he remembered? His throat felt dry, taking a step forward, aching to herd you back to where you belonged. Would your body still sing for him, even as your husband has turned into a monster, even as the stench of death and rot seems to follow him everywhere he goes? 

Would you still remember him? ..Did that matter at this point? He’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After all, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. 

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #Fallout!AU #Ghoul!Ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #dark fic #call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #x reader

[icyblogs]

1 am thoughts but just finished the Fallout show! Solid recommendation btw holy cow even if you don’t like the games it’s so good!!

That being said. Got me thinking about 141 and a fallout!au. could always be something short and sweet involving the vaults, i.e. take the show for this example. Reader gets ‘married’ to Gaz when he comes in from another vault! Overseer Price coming for the feast, everyone so charming and well, nice! I mean they are vaulters, of course they’re good people!

So.. why is Johnny scarfing down the food like someone was going to steal the plate away from him at any second? Why is that man- Simon- wearing a mask? Is he sick? Does he not know proper vault procedures- does he want another epidemic to spread? (the winter of 2283 was very bad you know! crops died!! people starved!! why does he not care!!) Kyle on the other hand is all charming smiles, his eyes wandering around to the running water and power in awe, grin just a bit too sharp, just the perfect groom. Why is Overseer Price acting as if he owns the place?? No, this isn’t your vault!! It’s weird and very upsetting! No, it’s our marriage night- what do you mean it’s custom in your vault to for the overseer to make sure marriage is consummated? )-:

Anything for the world’s future right? (:

#141 x reader #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod 141 #141 x you #fallout!141 #dark fic #my braincell is working overtime rn #is this even anything worth sharing future icy will see in the morning #they’d be mean and bullies but i love them anyway

[icyblogs]

Hi wow I have so many thoughts!!

I love how you describe them all, the subtleties of their actions throughout the months that reader has stayed with them! Literally forced along to go with them for survival sake, constantly in that mindset. Sort of forced to form friendships or at least semi-close bonds w/ them, i.e. Soap teaching us how to properly fight, Gaz sharing blankets when the night gets cold- Ghost trading items for things he could easily get himself, as if providing in a way for you?? To me it brings new context to the line of:

"you tend to stay away from Ghost and the leader of the vikings, chief Price, mostly because you're sure that if they look too closely, they might suss out your rouse but occasionally, you do run into them sometimes."

UGG and then don't even get me started with Price, noticing that his top men have been showing interest in you so he decides to as well- making you sit next to him during feasts. Did he know that reader was a woman?? Imo he always knew but that's just me!!

And I love just the insight of the reader knowing that they're terrible people (obviously), but in the context of trying to desperately bide their time before trying to find a way to get away from them. And that time between gets shorter and shorter, more opportunities slipping through their fingers as they get closer to us. Also i'm just gonna say my heart wrenched a little bit when you were describing Gaz as like a decent person, only to pull it out of the chest with:

"that night had reminded you that Gaz might have a pretty face but his teeth are still sharp, even when he smiles and they're stained with blood. it took every ounce of you not to do something, not to step in and keep it stepping for your own survival."

Like !! they're terrible! He's terrible! I hate them (affectionately)!! >:( And the entire last scene where the flip of the switch just went off like a light, these people who've we've 'become friends' with, as much as you could be friends with the murderers of our village just immediately turning into the savages that they are. Ghost praising us for hiding in plain sight, Price complimenting us on our name!! Soap immediately trying to cop a feel, hgnggh

"keeping your mouth shut was your best option for survival. no, mercy, at the very least. the slightest bit they can spare now is all you can hope for."

ITS SO GOOD THATS ALL AHH HOLY MOLY

istg, this just spawned out of nowhere...

idk why but my mind just said f!reader disguised as a frail man, weak enough that when viking!141 pillages the village, they take pity on "him" and spare him a bit of mercy and take him in instead.

you'd shaved your head, binded your breasts, wore your brother's clothes, which were baggy enough to hide your figure and have been silent the entire time, never uttering a word because you know your voice will give you away, so they just assumed that you can't talk.

cut to maybe a week later and they're trying to teach you how to use a blade but you're so bad at it. you land hard on your back with a groan with viking!Soap standing over you and says "come rain or shine, lad, i'll make a man out of ye." and you've never been more afraid of the glint in his eye.

and he keeps you close. tells the other vikings to fuck off when they pick on you for barely being able to pick up Ghost's hammer. puts a cup of ale in your hands, even though you didn't ask for it, but you drink it anyway.

Gaz often let's you sit by the fire when the nights get too cold. he spares you his blanket and tells you stories sometimes. his voice is soothing, makes your stomach twist when you hear him laugh. he doesn't mind your silence. only asking yes or no questions to communicate and you answer with a nod or the shake of your head and sighing in relief when you tell a few white lies.

you tend to stay away from Ghost and the leader of the vikings, chief Price, mostly because you're sure that if they look too closely, they might suss out your rouse but occasionally, you do run into them sometimes.

Ghost saw you fishing one day and silently often traded stuff for fish with you. you don't know why he does it, seeing as you know that he's capable of hunting a whole deer by himself. but you don't question it. you needed things; new clothes, a knife, a book he got from the local traders.

you never look Price in the eye. or try not to. he's not sure what to make of you. the weak little man whom his two Sergeants took pity on to keep around like a little pet. he merely hums as he watches you around his men. watches the way you flinch when Soap smacks your back when he laughs all too loudly. watches the way your brows furrow when you listen to Gaz telling you something silly or something important. watches the way you keep a healthy distance away from Ghost, even when the giant of a man seems just as drawn to you as everyone else.

he watches with an eye that sometimes makes you think he knows.

they don't let you cook, thankfully, something about not trusting you enough not to poison them because they did essentially kill your entire village. smart. and here you were planning to put poisonous mushrooms in their soup. you just stick to fishing and foraging for plants your mother taught you about for food because you can't constantly rely on the vikings to feed you.

you're on your own. trying to find a solid way out of this alive and unharmed. you know your disguise won't hold up forever, sooner or later, you're going to get caught. there's hardly any time to mourn all you've lost because you have to keep up the facade. it takes every ounce of your strength to not bathe every day and to avoid smelling like a woman. it takes everything in you not to let your hair grow back and you hate nicking your skin every time you shave it off. the only time you feel like you can lower your guard is when you're alone in the forest when you're picking wild berries.

you saw Gaz carrying a few maps and you thought of stealing one for when you escape so you at least know where you were going when you do. but for now, you keep your head down and lay low. you've made it this far. a good few months with them being non the wiser.

you've been luckier than most, having the gods give you the strength to keep going and to have been spared the fate of what vikings do to the women they steal from villages. you've seen it. one had been thrown on the mud while Soap tore her clothes off and laughed maniacally when she squealed and tried to shove him off.

the others watched and they revelled in taking turns. that night had reminded you that Gaz might have a pretty face but his teeth are still sharp, even when he smiles and they're stained with blood. it took every ounce of you not to do something, not to step in and keep it stepping for your own survival.

the months were getting colder. winter was coming and you can barely survive on your own. you made it another month before they started hanging around you. Ghost shadowed your morning walks. Gaz kept you company as you went fishing. Soap brought you to see more friendly duels. Price made you sit next to him during feasts. the closer they were, the more you felt like time was running out.

things took a turn when Soap decided to accompany you through the forest for foraging. he didn't have a clue about which plants to pick and which ones not to touch, so you just point to the ones you needed since he insistent upon helping you.

except, you turned around for five minutes to grab a few mushrooms. and when you turned around, Soap was nearing a bush, picking a few dark berries. knowing him, he was going to eat a few.

but you know that bush. you avoid it for a good reason. eat just one berry and you'll be dead in minutes.

so the terror gripped you when Soap slowly brings a handful to his mouth and you. just. panic.

"stop!"

your scream tore through the forest, frightening the birds as they took off from the trees. you stare at him in horror. he stares at you, equally as wide eyed while the berries were mere inches from his mouth.

his death wouldn't bode well for you. the others would blame you for it. they'd hunt you down and make your end slow and painful. you can't have that.

but you've just exposed yourself to the enemy.

"i fucking knew it." he smirks, dropping them to the ground. he takes a step towards you, you take one back. "i knew it— i knew ye were a bonnie lass—"

you turn and run as fast as you can. you forget about all of your stuff and you run as far as your legs can carry you.

you somehow run past Gaz, who'd been carrying a bundle of wood and he wonders for a second why you were in a hurry before he hears, "don't let her get away!"

and him being closer, he drops the wood, breaks into a sprint and manages you tackle you to the ground. he grunts as you struggle under him, pinning you down when you try to escape his grasp. but he hadn't been sure if he heard Soap correctly, his gaze veering to him. "her?"

your hands are tied behind your back and you're made to sit on your knees. Gaz looks at you with confusion, trying to make sense of Soap's words.

"got nothin' tae say now, bonnie lass?" the man grins, leaning closer to your face. you clench your jaw shut. "no?"

"have you lost your mind?" Gaz shoves at him. "that's not a woman."

"wanna check just tae be sure?"

Soap's grin is directed at Gaz, and the latter catches the horror seeping into your eyes. Gaz drops on his knees beside you and you try to worm out of his grasp as he tries to reach under the layers of your fur coat and shirt.

your face burning hotly as you move away from him, but he brings you back. you couldn't take it anymore when he reaches your binded chest. "no, no, alright! stop!"

his cold hand had been splayed on your belly as he stopped. he's shocked. you can see it on his face before you look down. he peels his hand out from under your clothes.

it's a brief moment before he yelled, "hang on, you can talk?!"

you can't tell if his teeth are chattering if he's seething as you all make your way back to the chief's tent. Soap had thrown you over his shoulder whilst Gaz walked behind, glaring at you the whole way there.

Price raised his eyebrow when Soap bounded in with a boisterous voice and explained everything that had happened.

"can't believe she went on for months and we didn't even realize it." Gaz muttered, sat in a corner and crossed his arms.

"hiding in plain sight." Ghost replies beside him, his eyes have been fixed on you ever since you were carried all the way back to Price's tent. "smart girl."

Price tells Soap to untie you. it's not like you'd get away from them. so you stay put when the rope is cut loose and the room falls into a quiet hush as they watch you rub your sore wrists. you flinch when the chief reaches for your hands to get a closer look at them.

he studies your palms in a long silence. there's not a hint of his thoughts, not bad or good. you're unsure of what to say when his eyes find yours. it's the first time you've held his gaze for this long. the first time you've truly taken the time to see the hardened wall in his blue eyes.

"what's your name?" he asks, letting your hands fall back on your knees.

you don't want to accept defeat yet. but hopelessness seeps in your veins as you look down and offer a quiet utter of your name.

he hummed, leaning back. "pretty name."

Soap leaned closer to you, his hand jerking at the collar of your shirt. "mind if i take a peek—"

you reacted violently, swinging your elbow as hard as you could. you heard a sickening crunch and a yelp when you took off but you were yanked by the back of your coat and held down. Ghost looks down at you in slight amusement as he pinned your wrist down.

"fuck." Soap groaned, holding his bleeding nose. still, he laughed, blood dripping into his mouth, surprised by your sheer act of defiance. "good one, lass. we taught ye well."

"smart girl." Ghost added, his head tilting. "very smart girl, having us all fooled."

you say nothing. keeping your mouth shut was your best option for survival. no, mercy, at the very least. the slightest bit they can spare now is all you can hope for.

"quiet as a mouse, eh?"

Price, Gaz and Soap stand over you. you feel the tears welling like a dam of boiling hot water in your eyes.

"that's alright." he smiles darkly. "we have all night to make you scream."

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offer a note in the picklejar

#viking!141 #cod au #141 x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader

[icyblogs]

HANG ON SILENT HILL????

Oh did you miss the snippet last week? Hold on, I got a little chunk for ya…

By the time you make it into the town your feet are tired and sore, and there are dark spots swimming across your vision from the constant white glare of the fog. You’ve never seen anything like it, the fog makes you feel as though you are walking around in a bubble, with no idea what is beyond its wall. Buildings suddenly begin to appear either side of you, no lights on behind the doors and windows, and not another living thing in sight. A terrible unease slithers across your skin. There are no people around despite the obvious signs of habitation; cars sit in driveways, children’s bicycles lean against fences… Then you realise there are no barking dogs, no cats, no birds… The whole place feels as though it is holding an inhaled breath, waiting to release it and suddenly return to life.

Reader is trapped in Silent Hill for reasons and meets up with the 141 boys or are also trapped for reasons and then stuff happens.

#silent hill is so good #combining the two is honestly such a good idea when you think abt it #and like the world building already!! just the description of the initial view of silent hill is insane #like holy HONK #words cannot describe it i can go all day talking abt it #super excited to see where it goes!! :D

[icyblogs]

WIP Wednesday! 1.1k words of next(?) part of Flesh and Bone! This part specifically is an interaction with Patron!Ghost pspsp, some stuff subject to change! CW: dark fic, talks of death, power dynamic?, still struggling to figure out how to tag properly!

His dark eyes look down at you, and .. you’ve never felt so small in your life, unable to muster the courage nor the willpower to look him in the face again. Not wanting to see death personified glaring back at you. It wasn’t too often you’ve pondered your existence in life but in this monster’s presence you’ve found yourself contemplating it more often than not. And with that, it was painstakingly easy to realize how absolutely inferior you were to him.

 Throughout your life, you at least knew of your place in the world you lived. A human, where you could’ve had the chance to be born as a half-orc, at least then you’d be strong. Or an aasimar, maybe then you’d be able to live up properly to others expectations and be worthy of something- take up an oath and be a paladin or a cleric, being able to properly protect those closest to you. No.. you know you are. Though making up a large majority of the population, it was easy to forget that sometimes. You.. were you. Plain. Unordinary. You just simply don’t hear of humans winning in wars or becoming rulers. You don’t hear tales of humans doing all this- no. You hear tales of dragons soaring through the skies. Of a whole life surrounded by beings who were just.. Ascended from bloodlines so much more interesting than yours. Hell, this is why you’ve spent years of your life looking for something to give you that power. To make you special. 

So it honestly wasn’t too hard to describe how you thought he was looking at you; how you thought he viewed you. What you imagined his expression to look like, had you actually looked back at him: Like a falcon ready to swoop down for its next meal. Like a boot as it comes down on an ant whether or not to squash it out of existence. Like a butcher as their cleaver comes swinging down towards a cow’s neck, ready to provide a merciful death or prolonging its misery. Like an executioner with one hand on the lever to drop the floor beneath you, to have the rope tighten around your neck. Like a wolf ready to shut its maws around you and shake until you’ve gone limp in its grasp. Compliant. Lifeless. 

But instead your gaze was planted firmly on the pristine marble, bottom lip quivering as you blink slowly, vision blurring and turning the sharp edges fuzzy. Cotton filling your ears, sounds becoming muffled, save for the steady rapidfire pulse resounding through your head. This was the protection that was promised- this was the life that you wanted right? So what was this overwhelming pressure being in his presence? It truly felt like broken promises, shattered ideals- forced to live in what reality you had conjured up for yourself. You could tell now what you had summoned- what you had asked for was a fiend- no an eldritch being, maybe a God? God might be too pure of a word for him- the devil was more akin to what he would be. There was no mistaking it; there was no wolf in sheep’s clothing. No, he knew what he was. He was confident in it even. A predator. 

It felt like the space was closing in, the long hallway forming a small box, forcing the pair of you to be in close proximity- a sort of draw, a short leash if you would. Taking a step back to get some space was a thought, a good one really- except for the fact that the shadows seemed to slink forwards, grasping at the soles of your feet, rising up your calves and grounding you in place. The mere idea of trying to move away from him was a mistake in itself.

There was a momentary lapse in time as this happened, and then immediately your breath catches in your throat as the back of your neck burns as if ignited. Sending jolts of pure energy into your flesh, dark magic swirling around the air that your untrained eyes couldn’t see, but your body could certainly feel the effects of. The power that exudes off his very being. Knees crumpling to the ground beneath you, not given the right to stand, to even be at some sort of the same level as him. Flesh crawling, skin rippling- that morning’s breakfast threatening to come up, tasting the acidic taste on your tongue- bitter and pungent.

Cold sweat drips down your temple as you rasp for air at his feet, falling to all fours as each breath feels like it might be the last. Tremors run down your spine, shaking as you urge your muscles to move to no avail. Society talks of fight or flight, but always seems to forget the most common one: freeze.

“Pl— Please.” Trying to get out the words; trying to beg, trying to get him to understand, not even knowing if he’d even care to give what you had to say a moment of his time. Of his consideration. Asking to be let go, to leave- for mercy- it was difficult to place what you had wanted in that moment. You were just a human and he was something beyond your comprehension.

 You didn’t realize he had dropped to a crouch, cold fingers brushing over the raised skin with a deep rumble: a hum, it was hard to decipher. You flinch anyway. His nail traces over the freshly acquired wound, drawing a low whimper out of your throat as he just kept petting and prodding- as if wanting the pain to be a reminder.

A pause.

Maybe two.

“Settle, little bird.” Another choked sob rips out of your throat- wet and sticky with phlegm, eyes squeezing shut as his hand- calloused, large- dips down, cupping your jaw and raising you to meet his eyes, though you refuse to open them. He didn’t sound angry, at least not outright. It somehow felt worse to hear a lilt of disappointment brushes along his tone, and it causes more tears to fall. Upon the realization that you weren’t going to open your eyes, his hand moves to your cheeks, squishing them together and making your mouth into a little ‘o’ shape.  “Gave you a chance and you’d rather run than stay ‘ere under my protection.” His grip tightens, and this time you don’t dare to open your eyes, afraid to see the beast mere inches from you. His breath fans across your face- surprisingly warm. “Do I have to provide a reminder that you’re mine, hm? Is that it? Have you already forgotten who breathed life back into you?”  

#Flesh and Bone #dark fic #ghost x reader #patron!ghost #simon ghost riley #writing this was a fever dream idk how i did it but #pretty happy with how this came out!! :D #dnd!141 #simon riley x reader

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough. 

It is seldom worth the consequences. 

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind. 

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect. 

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle. 

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you. 

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth. 

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure. 

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

 A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?” 

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.  

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No. 

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you. 

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power. 

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain. 

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was  impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking. 

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home. 

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity. 

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation. 

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.  

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

— 

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks.  Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace. 

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species. 

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice. 

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?” 

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer. 

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you. 

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink. 

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it. 

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead. 

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape. 

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones. 

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into? 

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

 You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself. 

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life. 

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

 “No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations. 

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly. 

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and..  Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm. 

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment. 

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work? 

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.  

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting. 

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door. 

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation? 

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron. 

“Silly girl.” 

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires. 

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with. 

#dark fic #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x reader #soap x reader #patron!ghost #trying to out how to properly build up mindset and trying to encapsulate the feeling of hopeless that typical pacts convey- #because a lot of times warlocks stumble into the pacts or are tricked or like on their deathbed #Wanted Ghost to be this sort of looming presence #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod x reader #dnd!AU #Warlock!Soap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #how the heck do you write for soap LMAO #maybe 2 more parts? or just one not sure yet! (: #DND!141 #Flesh and Bone

[icyblogs]

wc: 471

Is this a niche? Probably but you know what it’s all good. Anyway-- Thinking about COD and DND. I’m imagining this specific scenario with a patron!Ghost x warlock!Soap x reader.

Reader is just some plain ol’ human in a world of, well, fantasy with things beyond the wildest imagination- dealt the wrong cards in the hands of fate. Maybe for plot sake let’s say someone close to you died: a family or a lover, or maybe you’re running from something in your past. Something that causes you to look for ways to gain more power- or to protect yourself, something, right? Years of reading in the depths and restricted areas of libraries, of tracking down people- of searching before you find what you’re looking for. Going to what you would consider far away from civilization- let’s say the mountains- in case you unleash some sort of unholy evil on the land, looking to summon a fiend in order to get whatever it was in your heart that you desired. 

Long story short, the reader would attempt to summon said fiend or ancient being- and maybe fail instead of succeeding? Maybe they misspoke the incantation, or had the wrong offerings or simply misunderstood the situation- not realizing that just because you try to do a summoning doesn’t necessarily mean it would work. And of course, such beings that lock in a pact with people.. In more cases than not it’s typically at the lowest point in their lives, giving the poor unfortunate souls an offer they usually can’t refuse. So I'm thinking the reader ends up failing in the summoning quite miserably but of course being out far from civilization for the ritual causes well.. Something has gone wrong. You end up nearly dead, just adding to the series of unfortunate events surrounding your existence as a whole; and guess whose attention you capture? Patron!Ghost- offering you a chance at life- at a chance to survive. All you have to do is take the leap. Oh forming a contract? Silly thing, you already offered yourself as a whole with that little ritual you did earlier! Aren’t you happy- isn’t this what you wanted? 

Look- he’s even so generous to have one of his oldest worshippers warlocks to help show you the ropes. Isn’t that so nice of him? After all you’re just a little human with nothing else going for you. Everything else you've known is gone! What do you mean you don’t want to be locked away- this is what you wanted! You wanted the power to protect yourself- and well you got it in the physical form of a new guard dog! (: And better yet you’re getting all the safety you could ever need, tucked away from everything else! You don’t want this anymore? You’d really try to leave a pact? How cute. 

EDIT: If you liked this, you're in luck!! Started writing a story about this here! (:

#shh ik this isn't how pacts typically work #dark fic #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghoap x reader #patron!ghost #cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #i fear i dont know how to write this properly but i am attempting it- will i ever man up and post part one who knows! #its just like a blurb stuck in my head and i find it so difficult to get it out- i feel like it would also obvious be ghost x soap as well #but toxic relationship- seeing ghost through rose tinted glasses UGG IDK #ghost would be this like looming presence imo #cod x reader #cod mw2