Ghoap god type Au part 2!
part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3
i didn’t expect so many people to like this so this is a little addition written stream of consciousness style :)
Weeks have passed and the troops have marched on. Ghost is not very liked amongst his fellow soldiers, most viewing him as something less than human. If they notice the drastic uptick in him sneaking away, they say nothing. Whether it is out of respect, fear, or apathy does not matter.
When they stop somewhere, even if for just a night or two, he always searches the area for overgrown shrines belonging to the god. Now that he is actively seeking them out, he realizes that they’re everywhere.
Damn near every notable landscape was a ruin of what was once a commemoration for the god. Clearings in trees with stone circles on the ground, shallow caves with a pedestal holding forgotten gifts, eye-catching rocks that turned into statues when you paid attention — all for a deity that was now on the brink of death.
On the rare occasion he is unable to find one, he creates one. It was never really anything more than a pile of rocks, but the offerings were still accepted so he took it as a sign of approval. Before, he always ate his meals on the edge of camp, as far away from everyone as he could get while still being in camp. But then he remembered that he didn’t give a shit and would wander further into the woods before sitting down to eat.
Now, it was the same routine but a little less alone. To call some old ass god a friend was a stretch, especially since half of the time it felt more like trying to feed a skittish stray dog, but he enjoyed the time spent “together”. He decided not to think about whether that was an exploitable weakness or if he was going soft and instead tried to enjoy his newfound respite.
Of course, nothing stays happy forever.
When the battle they had been marched towards finally came, Ghost was put on the frontlines, as per usual. This time he felt Different but chalked it up to nerves with feeling like he might have something to lose now.
That morning, he hadn’t received breakfast so the only offering he had been able to provide was a few flowers that were in the area. He felt beyond stupid while picking them, but when they were laid down, the god hadn’t even waited for him to turn away to be able to dramatically accept the offering. They were accepted immediately, with a strong breeze rustling the branches and such an intense feeling flooding through him he’d had to take a step back.
The forgotten god of death likes flowers, apparently.
Within a few hours, he went from wondering if he would now be upgrading his food offerings to include a garnish of whatever flowers he found in the area, to wondering if that would be the last offering the god would ever receive.
The arrow had nestled between plates of his armor, striking him in the lower ribs. He was dying far too slowly for it to have hit anything vital, but he was still dying. He was an okay field medic, but it was that very knowledge that meant he knew he was doomed.
Being nothing more than a weapon, he was not allowed to see the healers the same way everyone else was. As the battle finished with their side unfortunately victorious, he wondered if the general even realized he could be fatally wounded.
The smoke cleared, the injured men were hurried to the medical tents, the general began planning their next attack, and Ghost lay there, dying and forgotten in an open field. He had been looking forward to this moment for so long, but now that he was here, he wondered who would give his god offerings tomorrow. Realizing that in dying, he would be taking the god with him made him feel almost remorseful.
But the darkness was creeping in on his vision and his woes seemed to fall away as did the rest of the world. Perhaps he would be seeing the god soon.
————
He did not expect to wake up, and yet he was staring at the canopy of leaves above him and wondering why Hell looked so nice. When the pounding in his head went away, he sat up slowly, first rolling onto his side and reeling from the pain. When he was able to push himself up into a seated position, he realized that Hell not only looked lovely, but incredibly familiar as well.
Once his vision stopped swirling, he saw that he wasn’t in the afterlife at all, but instead had been lying on the offering table he had just left flowers on that morning. Still barely comprehending what was going on, he scrambled off the shrine. Just because he’d challenge a god to a fistfight doesn’t mean he’s entirely stupid. He still remembers stories that the elders would use to scare him and the other kids — about how anything on the offering table was an offering that could be taken.
He wasn’t interested in becoming a human sacrifice just yet so he fell to the grass and tried to remember what happened. The pain made everything muddied, but he knew for certain he was supposed to be dead. The shrine he had woken on gave some indication of what must’ve happened, though the why of it all was still a mystery.
Would the god of death betray his own domain just for the sake of keeping him alive?
Lifting his shirt and finding a golden scar on what should have been a fatal injury, he found out that yes, yes they would. The pain made it take a good few minutes to stand and he distantly wondered how much power the god had. He’d heard of deities saving their favorite (and in this case, only) follower from the brink of death, but never heard mention of the pain.
He deduced that the god must still be too weak to have done such magic fuckery without repercussions and that the full-body agony must be at least one of those repercussions. As he sat pondering the power level of the being, he went to run his hand through his hair but stopped, feeling something that wasn’t there before.
A flower, tucked behind his ear. One he picked that morning.
The god of death saved him and put a dandelion behind his ear.
————
It wasn't until the next night that he was able to visit the shrine. As expected, he was yelled at for disappearing for several hours but he was too out of it to really hear any of what was being said. The pain would come and go at seemingly random and each spike that made his steps stutter was another reminder of just how close he had been to death.
Waylaid by his duties and own requirements of rest, he finally snuck out with the little dinner he had been given. Part of him was a lot more scared than he’d like to admit, having no idea what the god would want in return for the miracle they’d performed. He really did not want to be indebted to yet another person, much less a god.
It took him much longer than usual to make it to the shrine, slowed by pain and exhaustion. It was pitch black by the time he got there but the area around the pedestal had a slight glow.
He set down his offerings and really hoped it was enough to not incur the wrath of an angry god that felt like they were owed more than they received. His dinner — consisting of a bread roll and salted meat, a true feast — along with some jewelry he was able to pilfer and more flowers was far from what any god would expect in return for such a miracle, but it was all he had to offer.
He took a stuttering step back and bowed his head. He may be a prideful bastard but he’d consider the day a victory if he lived long enough to feel embarrassed. His fingers tingled, the leaves rustled, and he opened his eyes to find— Oh. Hmmm.
The flowers and jewelry were gone, but the plate had more food on it.
Well, that’s… something. He looked up at the sky, wondering if the god was watching him. After some hesitation, he verbalized his question, asking if this meant the offering was rejected.
There was no answer. When he looked back down, the plate had been moved closer towards him. Okay, what the fuck? The food looked kind of shitty, honestly, but looking closer he realized that’s because it was his offerings that he had given.
Still not quite grasping the situation, he slowly grabbed the plate, waiting to see if he’d be struck by lightning. However, no murderous rain clouds spontaneously appeared as it left the altar. He examined the plate. The food was stacked rather precariously; there wasn’t much of it but the randomness of the items ensured it was on the brink of falling.
Was this meant to be a gift? For him? Why would a god continue to give more and more while receiving almost nothing in return?
He took a moment to sit down, definitely out of caution and not pain, trying to figure out if this was what the deity wanted him to do. Tentatively, he grabbed a piece of bread and slowly began eating. He was slowed by the shake in his hands and for once was right in saying it wasn’t from nerves. The shakiness had been persisting ever since he woke up but had gotten better over time. Before, he hadn’t been able to even pick up small items without struggle. It all seemed a small price to pay considering he should’ve died in that field.
As he ate, he stared up at the altar and wondered how a god whose favorite offerings were flowers had gotten such an awful reputation. Lost in thought, he was pulled back to the present as the apple almost rolled off the plate. He caught it, moving to set it in his lap instead, but noticed something that made him freeze.
Someone was there.
He felt it, both the eyes watching him and the domineering presence that had taken up the area. He carefully continued his movements while looking around, alarmed to see nothing there. He took stock of his surroundings, trying to discern what he was sensing. It seemed the god was no longer simply watching him from the heavens.
Not expecting an answer, he asked aloud if the god wanted some of the food, resolutely staring at his plate. He was unused to feeling a divine being near him. It was unsettling.
No.
The answer seemed to materialize from nothing. He hadn’t heard it, hadn’t read it, it didn’t even feel like it had been some kind of psychic fuckery. It just was. Man, gods were weird.
Pushing the limit, he asked if they had a favorite flower.
Whichever you give me.
And then the presence was gone. He was back to eating alone in a clearing. What the fuck does that mean? The weird godly way of talking didn’t provide much in the way of tone. Was it happy? Flirty? Apathetic? Annoyed?
He shook his head and resumed eating. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow would be an even longer day as they pack up and march on.
He needs to get his god more flowers.
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*based off this awesome art right here by @chocoarts - the sketch on the left in particular :)
It doesn’t take long for Steve to get used to Eddie’s raised-by-wolves levels of affection. The hair chewing and the shoulder nibbles and the freckle licking. It’s never classified normal stuff - definitely not stuff he ever did with dainty Hawkins High girls, that’s for damn sure.
But still, it takes no time to get used to it. Full on expects it, by now. The most notable time that Steve is expecting it is on their one year anniversary.
Two months prior to the Big Day, Eddie's spontaneity and Steve's boredom led to an impulsive stick-and-poke tattoo on Steve's forearm. Eddie wanted to give Steve a simple crown. Told him it was to reclaim the stupid nickname from high school, make it his own.
'Overthrow all the teenaged bullshit. Kick trauma in the metaphorical ass.' Eddie had said after completing it, smiling up at Steve. 'It's what kings do best.'
After that day, Steve decides to add on to his impulsive tattoo and surprise Eddie with it. He gets one small bat, just like the ones on Eddie's arm. Gets it right next to the crown, side-by-side. The same way they all fought together a while back.
As soon as Eddie sees the addition, he tackles Steve, linebacker style. Steve is ready for it, totally braces for the aggressive affection. Fucking loves it. Expects it.
However, Eddie doesn't just stop there. Oh no. He climbs up Steve's body, tightly wrapping his arms around Steve's neck. Wraps his legs around Steve's upper arms even tighter.
Which... how the hell did Eddie get so flexible? And when the hell did Eddie get so flexible? Like, yeah they do some semi-contortionist stuff in the bedroom, mostly when they're hyped up on sugary soft drinks.
But this? This is... new. Wild.
He clutches on to Steve like he's a goddamn tree trunk. Some rare tree species that's in grave danger of being chopped down from the rainforest or whatever. He’s making lots of pleased sounds, singing maybe. Hard to tell for sure.
Steve holds Eddie firmly, hands underneath his thigh, his back, anywhere that he can get a solid grip. Keeps him safe from whatever corporate bulldozer that dares to take down their weirdly amazing love.
"Shit, I'm crazy about you." Eddie nuzzles into Steve's hair. "Like... totally and completely."
Steve laughs, comes out a bit strangled from the way Eddie is clinging to him. "Guessing you like it, huh?"
"Duh." Eddie slides off, connecting their hands on his way down.
"It represents-"
"I know what it represents." Eddie interrupts, his expression softens from the reminder, the difficult topic they're both skipping around. "You don't have to say it."
He does though, Steve has to say it. Needs to say it the same exact way Eddie had said it to him two months ago.
Because yeah, they act tough about what went down that night. But that doesn't mean they should just be stuck in a cycle of Acting Tough. Pretending to be okay all the damn time.
So Steve takes Eddie's arm, the one that's covered with tiny bat silhouettes. He holds their two arms together and carefully brushes over each tattoo design. Tells Eddie to reclaim the stupid scars that litter his body.
"Fight off all the inter-dimensional bullshit. Kick trauma's metaphorical ass." Steve smiles up at Eddie, who suddenly looks serious, focused. "It's what heroes do best."
"Steve." The seriousness is wiped clean off of Eddie's face. It's quickly replaced with a gentle grin. Relief reaching over his furrowed brow. No more worry lines. No more grimace. He looks at ease. Content, maybe.
And as much as Steve enjoys making Eddie feel content, he wants him happier right now. So he switches up the energy, tries to lighten the mood a little. Steve hooks his fingers into Eddie's front pockets, readying to pull him in.
It's predictable, been his go to make-out move any time they're standing up. This is a special fucking day, however, and that calls for a Special Edition Make-Out Move.
So Steve digs each hand deep into Eddie's pockets, wiggles them around a bit. Watches Eddie's cheeks go pink, blotchy red in some places. Steve moves all of the coins and lint and questionable items out of the way, making room.
He takes deep breath, then yanks the seams at the very bottom of each pocket, flipping the material inside out. Sticking straight up from his jeans.
Eddie is all red now, flushed down to his neck. "What the..."
Steve tugs on the flipped out pocket seams, jolting Eddie closer. He lands on Steve's lips, colliding a bit roughly. For a second, they're too busy smiling to kiss properly. But Steve slides his hands up Eddie's chest, around his neck, scratches the tiny hairs on the back of Eddie's head, and that's it. That's all that it takes for them to get lost in the kiss.
Eddie's mouth opens, biting the center of Steve's bottom lip. Breathes out the warmest air as he lets go, returns to a softer approach. Steve licks over the spot, soothes the pulse that Eddie left behind.
"That was... different. " Eddie laughs. He swipes his tongue over Steve's cupids bow, traces an outline until Steve is laughing too.
"Bad different?" Steve asks.
"Not at all." Eddie shakes Steve by the shoulders like he’s nuts for asking such an outrageous question. "Besides, different is right up my alley, babe."
"I'm highly aware."
"Didn't realize I was such a bad influence on your freakier side."
"What can I say?" Steve shrugs, steals one of Eddie’s rings to twirl around his finger. "I'm very easily persuaded."
They head over to the couch, kissing haphazardly as they flop down. Eddie tugs and twists at the fabric of Steve’s shirt, stretching it out. Wrinkling it. Steve couldn’t care less if it gets ruined because Eddie will be the one ruining it.
Eddie sighs into the kiss. Not a sexy sigh either (which are obviously Steve’s favorite of the sighing variety). It sounds more shocked. Disbelief or something.
Steve angles his head away from the kiss to see that Eddie’s eyes are open, wandering all over Steve’s face. It’s pretty cute, seeing Eddie too busy just staring to even shut his eyes mid-kiss. Like his schedule is too jam-packed up with Gawking, has to multitask during their make out sessions now.
"Kinda can’t believe it." Eddie finally says, still staring.
"What?" Steve stares backs. Makes it a staring contest. Doesn't tell Eddie though cause he wants to win.
Eddie motions toward his pockets that are still turned inside out. "After one whole year, you still keep me on my toes with shit like that."
"I do?"
"Sure do. You're something else, babe.”
"I am?" Steve blinks.
Damnit, he lost the one-sided staring contest.
“Yup.” Eddie nods, transitions to chewing on a chunk of Steve’s hair like he always does. Sometimes, he’ll make mooing sounds. Especially after sex, when he’s at his goofiest. Most comfortable.
It’s fucking unreal how Steve has learned all of these quirks. How he waits for them, anticipates them. Every bit feels familiar to him now.
"You're unexpected in all the best ways, Harrington."
Steve tries not to gush at that compliment. It's not one he gets often.
Eddie stops chewing on Steve’s hair to kiss his cheek instead. The kiss is powdery-sweet, miles away from his usual eagerness. Still perfect somehow. Just like the weird stuff is somehow perfect too.
That's kind of who they are together. Weird and unexpected.
In all the best ways.
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