#distant shores book 2 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

Text

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place.

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional.

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind.

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book.

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you.

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below.

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously.

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out.

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her.

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet.

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him.

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness.

"You're awfully quiet," she tries.

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave.

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right.

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams.

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed.

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?"

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus.

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room?

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug.

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice.

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull.

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders.

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time.

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman.

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met."

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo.

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea.

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist.

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this.

It's her.

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris.

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck.

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv.

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin.

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain."

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust.

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her.

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..."

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are."

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier.

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs.

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine.

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck…

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex.

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…"

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this.

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..."

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering…

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…"

"Yeah? I know."

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength.

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?"

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

865 notes · View notes

sudokuplayer · 7 months

Text

MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

read essays ↓

1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe.

10.BODY My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

#sufjan stevens #javelin

336 notes · View notes

perhaps-in-anotherdream · 12 days

Text

[CN] Li Zeyan’s MQ: Burning Imprints (Eng Translation) - Part 1

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a mind quest, 灼痕, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

✦ Part 1 || Part 2 || ASMR

🔞 Additional Warning 🔞 Same old but more severe warning this time LOL. The steamy parts of the MQ are as explicit as they can get, i.e., some of the most explicit stuff you’ll read in a CN otome game right now, so if you don’t qualify for the game’s 17+ rating (CN server), I’d very highly recommend that you don’t proceed under the cut~ :>

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Subbed Video】

not posting the video right now b/c my YouTube channel is still on probation from Li Zeyan's UR ASMR upload LOL, so this video will go online in about three more weeks, and I'll update the link then~

──────────────

【Chapter 1】

Toot––

The melodious steam whistle sounds from afar. A ferry sails over the shimmering, crystalline waves, its sleek and majestic hull gradually becoming clear in the field of vision.

Accompanied by the heavy thud of the ferry entering the port, the seagulls on the coast are startled, scattering and flying into the azure sky.

I exchange a few words with the staff next to me, and eventually, we fine-tune our respective appearances. As we look on in anticipation, the ferry slowly lowers its gangway.

In no time, people begin to descend in small groups of two or three.

Employee A: Wow! I can’t believe the entire island has been booked for team-building. The company really is committed to this.

Goldman: After all, we’ve managed to seize back several projects from FengZhen Group, and the financial report has some commendable highlights. Anywho, the only one who is capable of making such strides is our LFG. [1]

Executive B: Indeed, let’s have the administration team shoot a few extra videos. We can use them as promotional material when recruiting from universities next year.

Amidst the continuous ebb and flow of conversation, a staff member next to me props up their head ornament and walks up to the crowd.

Staff Member: Welcome, travelers from distant lands, to Nan’Ao Island!

Staff Member: I am an elven emissary of this island. In the time that follows, I will be accompanying you on this journey of exploration along with my companions.

In cooperation, I point the “wand” in my hand toward the direction of the shore. As I watch the expression on the staff members’ faces, either of astonishment or admiration, the weariness accumulated over the past few days of running around dissipates a little.

With the Spring Festival approaching, LFG offered employees the opportunity for company-sponsored travel as a benefit. Nan’Ao Island was among the destinations that were up for choice.

This place has just undergone the transformation into a vacation-themed resort with a “Magic Holiday” theme. In addition to the subsequent promotional campaigns, [MC’s Company Name] was also involved in designing the majority of the activities.

In order to closely follow up on the initial operations, I decided to stay on the island. Concurrently, I made most of the opportunity and assumed the role of an “NPC” to promptly identify and address any potential oversights that might occur during the process.

MC: Now, please make your way to the nearby golden beach. We’ll be guiding each of you to choose your own “abodes.”~

The crowd follows the guidance and walks toward the beach. I maintain a courteous smile, my gaze subconsciously scanning around, but I’m unable to find Li Zeyan’s figure.

...Could it be that he got caught up with some last-minute work? Or could there be some other reason?

As I silently ponder to myself, memories of the conversation during our video call the other day surface in my mind.

–

──── [FLASHBACK STARTS] ────

LZY: …they can only truly relax when the higher-ups are not around.

LZY: There are still many year-end matters to attend to, and not all members of the management, myself included, necessarily need to be directly involved.

I let out a prolonged “Ah” and lean a bit closer to the screen.

MC: Team building is an essential component of corporate culture… how can CEO Li, as a member of LFG, make an exception?

MC: In such opportunities to strengthen team cohesion, if the boss also actively participates, it can provide even better motivation for everyone!

MC: Moreover, “sharpening the axe doesn’t delay the cutting of firewood.” Taking a break before the New Year also means entering work with a better mental state afterward, don’t you agree?~

Li Zeyan, on the screen, locks eyes with me for a brief moment, and his motion of flipping through the documents comes to a halt.

LZY: If [MC’s Company Name] ever incorporates a debate competition into team-building activities, a certain someone here would surely come out on top.

MC: So, to translate your words, does it mean that CEO Li has been persuaded by me?

Li Zeyan leans back against the chair noncommittally, and though he doesn’t confirm or deny, a touch of softness settles in his expression.

LZY: Don’t celebrate just yet; I need to arrange my schedule first.

LZY: If I can carve out time, I’ll try my best to make it there.

───── [FLASHBACK ENDS] ─────

–

Seeing the stream of people on the pier gradually thinning out, my gaze falls on Goldman, and subconsciously, I consider asking him about Li Zeyan’s situation.

But considering that there are still numerous unfamiliar LFG employees present here, and given my current role as the “Elven Emissary,”...

After some thought, I decide to play the role of an “NPC” for now and find a moment to give him a call later.

Click.

A soft sound emanates from behind. I reflexively turn around and find myself involuntarily squinting my eyes into a smile.

Li Zeyan is leisurely leaning against the railing of the pier, holding up his phone in my direction. His hair dances in the sea breeze, revealing his deep-set eyes and brows.

Perhaps due to the vacation atmosphere, he is dressed somewhat casually today. The collar of his shirt is loosely open, allowing the sunlight to sketch out subtle contours.

Noticing that I’ve turned around, he then shifts his gaze away from the screen. A barely perceptible hint of a smile lingers on the corners of his lips.

At this moment, only the two of us are on the boardwalk. I finally can’t resist the urge to let a smile tug at the corners of my mouth and briskly walk up to his side.

MC: Hm-hmph, I knew you’d definitely come~

MC: By the way, were you sneakily snapping photos of me just now?

LZY: I’ve been standing here for quite some time already.

LZY: You were the one who didn’t notice me, so you can’t really call it being “sneaky.”

LZY: Besides, I haven’t seen a certain someone for several weeks. Am I not even allowed to take a few pictures now?

MC: Hehe, Sir, you’re allowed to do whatever you please~

MC: After all, this “Elven Emissary ” here is so cute. It’s only normal if you want to treasure this moment~

LZY: [laughs helplessly] …as usual.

His voice carries a subtle undertone of helpless resignation, causing me to involuntarily burst into laughter. Li Zeyan looks at me and slows down his pace.

LZY: Your mood seems exceptionally upbeat today.

MC: Of course~ After all, I had a hand in creating this tourism project, and the first batch of guests to be welcomed here happens to be employees from my boyfriend’s company.

MC: One must acknowledge it’s a wonderful stroke of fate.

The bright and beautiful sunshine beams down, and the warm sea breeze carries with it Li Zeyan’s soft chuckle.

LZY: Turns out this kind of hectic coordination can also be viewed as a “serendipitous coincidence.”

LZY: Obviously, when the administrative department was selecting the team-building destination, in order to advocate for Nan’Ao Island to be included in the list, a certain someone even went out of her way and brought a PowerPoint presentation to explain.

LZY: What was it? Something along the lines of “since there’s a hierarchical relationship, if LFG chooses Nan’Ao Island, they can enjoy discounts and save on budget funds.”

LZY: “After tirelessly working for the entire year, what better place to warm one’s heart than heading to a sun-drenched island during the chilly season?”

LZY: While you did deploy a bunch of rhetoric, you also appealed to emotions and reasoned with logic.

MC: In any case, judging from the results, the strategy did prove effective!

MC: CEO Li, rest assured. Since I’ve strived for this opportunity, I will ensure the quality of your team building is guaranteed.

MC: I pledge that no matter what, both CEO Li and the employees of LFG will enjoy a perfect vacation~

In the midst of our conversation, we’ve already reached the end of the boardwalk and stepped onto the soft, warm beach. Li Zeyan’s voice resonates from beside me.

LZY: And what about you?

MC: I’m gonna fulfill the duties of the “Elven Emissary ” and ensure you all have a great time, of course~

LZY: …a certain someone never forgets her professionalism.

In the distance, the hubbub of indistinct yet clamorous laughter emanates from the meeting point. I clear my throat and speak in a serious demeanor.

MC: I officially welcome you to the island~ Our magical holiday journey is about to begin!

──────────────

[Tidbits]:

[1] It’s a reference to his top-up SSR from this same event.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

As we get closer to the meeting point, the distant voices of conversation become increasingly clear. I loosen my grip on Li Zeyan’s arm, lowering my voice.

MC: I’ll go ahead first; we’ll catch up later, okay~

–

I gesture to another “Elven Emissary” as I speak. The latter, understanding my signal, walks in front of the unfolded map and speaks during the interval before I take the stage.

Staff Member: Up next is the segment for choosing your accommodation. Feel free to pick based on your preferences.

Staff Member: For those seeking a quiet retreat, you can choose locations near the “Healing Hot Springs” and the “Elves’ Home Bar.” The surroundings are picturesque, and it’s convenient to reach us whenever needed.

Staff Member: If you lean towards activities, you might want to choose accommodations near the boardwalk. This not only offers more convenient access to activity spots like “Blue Sea Snorkeling” and “Dragon Wing Gliding” but also…

MC: But also, there’s a higher concentration of hidden items in the nearby area!

Seizing the opportunity, I smoothly take over the conversation and walk to the front. And sure enough, a curious inquiry reaches my ears.

Employee A: What was that you just mentioned about the hidden items?

Beaming ear to ear, I raise a string of coconut shell bracelets.

MC: This is the Easter egg segment we’ve designed~

MC: Scattered around the captivating spots worth exploring on the island, you’ll find 16 sets of these bracelets. If you find them, please pass them over to the Elven Emissaries.

MC: Once you collect them all, you’ll unlock a hidden scenery–– share this delightful surprise with someone you hold dear~

MC: Now, who would like to come up first and choose their accommodation?

The air buzzes with excitement as conversations erupt. Though no one comes forward to take the stage, everyone simultaneously turns their eyes to the back of the crowd as if in tacit agreement.

My gaze follows the direction of the crowd, and looking up, I see Li Zeyan standing alone under the shade of a tree.

Probably not wanting to draw attention to himself, he has deliberately chosen a spot slightly removed from the crowd. However, he is still unable to escape from the employees’ gazes locking precisely onto him.

The beach at the moment is akin to a natural conference room, with countless eyes of either admiration or curiosity trained on Li Zeyan, all awaiting his directives.

I struggle to contain the urge to hook my lips into a smile, suddenly recalling Li Zeyan’s words from our video call – “They can only truly relax when the higher-ups are not around.”

During the relaxed time of team-building, it’s actually a great opportunity to lessen the sense of distance between superiors and subordinates...!

Suddenly, an idea pops into my mind, and I speak with a beaming smile on my face.

MC: Although no one has spoken yet, their collective gazes have already pointed to the most fitting candidate.

MC: That handsome gentleman back there! Could you come up to the stage, please?

LZY: …

Across the bustling crowd, Li Zeyan and I lock eyes for a brief moment before he finally walks unhurriedly to the front of the stage.

The moment our shoulders brush against each other, his thin lips move almost imperceptibly.

LZY: [GAHH THE “THREATENING” WHISPER] You’re gonna have to settle this account later.

MC: C’mon, enliven the atmosphere a bit. Please cooperate, CEO Li~

I also answer in a voice that only the two of us can hear, briskly leading him to stand in front of the map. Then, with a serious demeanor, I ask.

MC: I wonder which accommodation you’re planning to choose?

As I speak, my fingertips trace over the area near the “Elves’ Home Bar” as if inadvertently, and I stare at Li Zeyan expectantly.

His gaze wanders over the map for a moment, then he raises his hand and points to a vacation cabin nestled within the dense forest at the far end of the bay.

LZY: This one here.

LZY: However, it’s in a rather secluded location. I’m afraid I won’t be able to find my way there alone.

With this sentence, he slips one hand into his pocket and turns sideways, looking at me with an indolent gaze. Although he hasn’t said anything explicitly, I clearly catch his implication and discreetly pout my lips.

MC: ...Then, after everyone has chosen their accommodations, I’ll––

Goldman: Actually, after CEO Li’s demonstration, the process has become much clearer. We can complete the remaining steps under the guidance of others.

Goldman: Going in groups like this will also increase efficiency.

Goldman pushes his glasses up and suddenly speaks from the audience.

Several threads of understanding or confusion are thrown from the crowd, but they all nod in agreement in groups of two or three.

LZY: Could you lead the way now, “Miss Elven Emissary”?

MC: …please follow me. Everyone else, carry on.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, I escort Li Zeyan off the stage and walk out of the crowd. It’s not until we are seated in the equipped car that I turn to look at him.

MC: Sob, sob~ and here I was so sure of our tacit understanding. Did you not catch the hint I gave you just now?

MC: This place is the furthest from our offline work information exchange hub, “Elves’ Home Bar.” I’ll have to take so many detours in the future…

Suddenly, a warm touch lands on my lips. Li Zeyan raises his hand and caresses my lips, sending a wave of tingling sensation through me.

LZY: Well, isn’t that just perfect.

In the faintly intoxicating sea breeze, he leans in toward me, his voice tinged with a touch of indolence.

LZY: Since it’s so troublesome, just reduce the frequency of your visits.

LZY: Invest all the time you would have spent there on me instead.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

The cozy tropical sunshine beams down as I sit on the deck of the small boat, adjusting the fishing net. Suddenly, a few drops of cool seawater land on my cheeks.

Li Zeyan floats up from the sea, lifting the breathing tube with one hand, and squints slightly as he looks in my direction.

LZY: Wasn’t it a certain someone who took the initiative for this and said she wanted to try her hand at fishing?

LZY: Why is she dilly-dallying now?

MC: Let me finish fastening this last buttonhole… don’t rush me!

I lazily scoop up a handful of water and splash it back at him. Looking at the dripping wet hair over Li Zeyan’s forehead out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help bursting into laughter.

MC: Don’t you feel this scene gives a sense of deja vu?

MC: It feels like when we were on White Pearl Island, I was waiting for you to come back from pearl diving just like this. [2]

As I speak, I adjust the equipment and give him an OK gesture. Li Zeyan seems to recall something as well, and a glint of smile glides across his dark-colored irises.

LZY: All I remember is you waiting on the deck for about ten minutes, and then you started feeling bored.

LZY: When I got on the ship, you persistently kept asking about the underwater scenery.

As he says this, he reaches out and clasps my palm, bridging the distance between him and me.

LZY: And this time, you can accompany me to see it together.

With these words, Li Zeyan pulls me along and together, we dive into the warm, cerulean sea.

The scenery undersea is akin to a picture scroll, its novel appearances unfolding before our eyes through the diving mask.

Schools of fish shuttle through the vibrant, swaying coral. Occasionally, one or two would swim alone, leisurely swishing their tails as they cruise along.

The target suddenly appears, capturing my attention instantly. I swiftly dash forward and swing the net. Unexpectedly, the fish rapidly changes direction and escapes from my encirclement.

MC: …

Li Zeyan casts a sidelong glance at me, his long legs sheathed in a black diving suit swaying leisurely in the sea waves.

Despite the breathing tube and diving mask obscuring his face, I can still vaguely discern a smile.

Unwilling to resign myself, I chase after several lone fish again, but all my attempts to catch them end in failure. I grab his hand and float to the surface, exhaling a sigh of frustration.

MC: These fish are too agile. Can I apply for some assistance from outside?

Upon hearing my words, Li Zeyan glances at me and takes off his breathing tube.

LZY: When you say “assistance from outside,” what exactly are you referring to?

MC: I was referring to CEO Li’s Evol, of course~

MC: As long as you pause time for just a moment, we can catch them all in one fell swoop, can’t we!?~

I lean in with a beaming smile on my face but am stopped by Li Zeyan’s outstretched finger pressing against my forehead.

LZY: Even if we succeed this way, there won’t be much joy in it.

LZY: Instead, we should slow down our movements and allow the fish to relax their vigilance. Once they feel safe, they’ll come closer on their own.

LZY: When the time comes, they naturally won’t have any chance to escape.

Seeing my skeptical gaze, Li Zeyan doesn’t offer further explanation. He simply puts on his breathing tube and motions for me to join him in diving underwater again.

I follow behind him, observing as he pauses with the net in front of a cluster of coral, quietly slowing his movements. Before long, sure enough, a few fish swim over.

Silently, Li Zeyan leans forward, waiting until the fish approaches the net without any alertness, then swiftly pulls the net together.

Eyes wide, I suppress the excitement bubbling within me as we float up. I watch as Li Zeyan lifts the net, several fish floundering vigorously inside.

Glistening droplets of water cascade down his damp forehead, melding into his equally soaked neck and broad shoulders. I can’t help but gasp in awe.

MC: So amazing! You managed to really catch them!

LZY: I learned quite a few techniques from the fishermen back when we were on White Pearl Island. Just putting some of that knowledge to use. [3]

Li Zeyan lifts his hand and swings the net onto the small boat as he speaks, then helps me up onto the deck. Followed by this, he speaks with a hint of amusement in his tone.

LZY: On the other hand, a certain someone has already been on this island for quite a long time for planning and on-site inspection purposes.

LZY: How come it is that no matter if it’s diving or fishing, there’s always a sense of novelty in your reactions?

MC: Hehe, I indeed haven’t had the chance to enjoy myself here. This island is more of a workplace for me, after all.

MC: Every day, I’ve had to stay on top of the situation on-site, adjust program designs and coordinate personnel arrangements…

MC: Sob, sob, I’d just pass out as soon as I went back to my room, so I didn’t even have any time to explore properly.

A warm touch lands on my cheek as Li Zeyan casually wipes away the water streaks from my face, giving me a somewhat helpless glance.

LZY: Aren’t you always on the dot to remind me about “seizing” the chances to relax when I’m on business trips?

LZY: I remember you mentioning before that you’re not the only person responsible for this project inspection.

LZY: So, how come you didn’t sneak off to “touch fish” and relax a little? [4]

MC: I just can’t help but feel a little uneasy without seeing things with my own eyes. After all, this project is going to be recommended to LFG, so it’s only natural that I must ensure every detail is ironed out.

MC: Moreover, haven’t I already “seized” it back? Being by your side is already the best method of “touching fish.”~ [5]

Grinning, I reach out and touch the fish still flopping around in the net, the tail note of my voice carrying a cheerful lilt. Beside me, Li Zeyan chuckles softly in response.

LZY: A certain dummy has always been quite skilled at comforting herself.

LZY: So, what’s the plan for these fish?

MC: The restaurants on the island do offer processing services… but I want to push the envelope a little further.

Beaming from ear to ear, I lift my chin towards the open-air barbecue area on the shore as I speak. Li Zeyan follows my gaze, his voice now tinged with a hint of comprehension.

LZY: When it comes to troublesome tasks such as this, a certain someone really spurs into action.

MC: But I also need someone here to cooperate~ Pretty please, Li Zeyan; it’s been ages since I have experienced your culinary masterpieces!

As I speak, I fold my hands together in a gesture of prayer and gaze at him. Although Li Zeyan remains non-committal, the glimmer of a smile in his eyes grows increasingly pronounced.

—

Sure enough, once the small boat stops by the boardwalk, Li Zeyan picks up the net.

LZY: Go change your clothes.

LZY: Decide on the flavor you want, grab the condiments, and meet me at the barbecue area.

With Li Zeyan’s promise, my mood can’t help but brighten all the more.

After changing into dry clothes, I head toward the “supply point,” filled with joy and expectation, mentally calculating as I walk––

Naturally, we should include the local specialty sauces… but what if Li Zeyan doesn’t have a taste for them? I should also bring some classic condiment pairings like spiced salt and hot pepper…

Staff Member: Excuse me… Miss Elven Emissary!

A hesitant call sounds from behind me. I quickly snap out of my thoughts, and a polite smile forms at the corner of my lips.

MC: May I help you with something?

Staff Member: I just found one of the bracelets you guys mentioned while taking photos by the reef. Could you please guide me to the registration area?

The other party opens their palm towards me as she speaks. My gaze falls on the beaded bracelet, and my eyes can’t help but sparkle a bit at the sight of it.

The first bracelet has been found so quickly! This collection task seems to be progressing even more smoothly than I imagined…

MC: Of course, please follow me~

I reply in a brisk tone and send a message to Li Zeyan, letting him know that I’d be ten minutes late. Then, I escort the girl to the “Elves’ Home Bar.”

After taking care of everything, I inadvertently glance at my phone. My heart suddenly stutters.

…It’s been twenty minutes past the time I promised Li Zeyan that I’d be there.

—

I rush towards the open-air barbecue area at lightning speed, carrying the bottles and cans in my arms, and spot Li Zeyan leaning against the long table.

Several plates are already arranged on the table. As I draw nearer, the tantalizing aroma of grilled delights wafts into my nostrils, clearly indicating that they’ve been ready for quite some time.

Seemingly hearing my footsteps, Li Zeyan lifts his gaze to look at me. I promptly dash a few steps forward.

MC: I’m sorry for making you wait for so long… haha, the aroma is so delightful!~

MC: As expected of Mr. Li. You can maintain top-notch performance even without any condiments!

LZY: These fish have already been seasoned. You can stop buttering me up now.

LZY: While I was waiting for you earlier, a staff member passed by in the vicinity, so I asked him to help me fetch them.

LZY: Otherwise, if I were to wait for a certain someone to bring them back, the fish would have all burned.

MC: The route to the registration point was a bit circuitous. I didn’t realize it’d take this long.

As I rush to explain at lightning bolt speed, a not-so-firm yet no-so-gentle tap lands on my head.

LZY: [laughs helplessly] Dummy, I’m not mad.

LZY: I just realized that you seem to be particularly invested in this group task.

MC: Because I designed that surprise single-handedly from scratch. Instead of it staying hidden, I rather hope it can be seen by everyone~

MC: And, to be honest, I also have a bit of a selfish motive.

MC: “The harvest reaped from a certain someone’s efforts during this time has indeed been worthwhile.”... I want to hear you say these words personally after seeing the “surprise.”~

LZY: [laughs even more helplessly] You’re already an accomplished producer in your own right, do you still need this kind of affirmation?

MC: Of course~ After all, affirmation from clients and work partners is recognition of my capabilities, which fuels my resolve to keep pushing forward.

MC: However, the affirmation from my boyfriend–– can sweep away all the weariness from this period, filling me with motivation to welcome the next challenge head-on~

LZY: [even more indulgently] Dummy.

As he says this, his baritone voice softens slightly, and he forks a piece of fish and brings it to my lips.

The delicious flavor explodes on the tip of my tongue. I squint my eyes contentedly, listening as Li Zeyan speaks in a low voice.

LZY: It’s okay to give yourself a break without any worries.

LZY: Don’t underestimate the people at LFG.

──────────────

[Tidbits]

[2+3] It’s a reference to LZY’s first UR card story: “Melding Into You.”

[4+5] The term used here is “摸鱼” (lit. meaning touch fish), which is actually used to mean “slacking off.” There are a lot of playful puns here, which I’m too exhausted to explain rn. Anyway, while I could have used the fig. meaning, I went with the lit. one b/c the conversation revolves around the whole fish imagery here, e.g., you see MC touching the fish they’ve caught together (with him guiding her) as she says her best method of slacking off, i.e., relaxing, is simply being with him– which essentially is a core part of this date, which you’ll see unfolding later ahah 🥺

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

Outside the vacation cabin windows, the dense patter of rain mingles with the rustling of branches and leaves.

Standing on the terrace and looking outwards, I can see the buildings near and far being shrouded in a fine veil of rain.

I withdraw my gaze from the eaves outside and glance at the work group chat that has been continuously bombarding me with messages since just now.

The sudden downpour has only now begun to taper off. The patrol staff just reported that the beaded bracelet placed at the seaside has been washed into the sea.

If similar situations occur at the other sites where the bracelets are placed, it will surely impact the experience of the game. With this in mind, I swiftly send a few messages in the group chat.

MC: “Once the rain stops, let’s each go check the placement of props in our designated zones.”

In response, there comes a series of consecutive affirmations in the group chat. Deep in thought, I raise my head and gaze towards the forest outside the vacation cabin.

The nearest hiding spot to me is right here... I’ll have to seize the opportunity when Li Zeyan isn’t paying attention and sneak out for a quick look.

As I’m contemplating, Li Zeyan’s voice suddenly comes from behind.

LZY: It’s so late, and you still haven’t come to bed. What are you zoning out for?

I discreetly tighten my grip on my phone and turn around to look at Li Zeyan.

He is sitting reclined against the headboard, iPad in hand. His dark fringes hang leisurely, partially veiling his eyes.

A pair of glasses rests loosely on the bridge of his nose, reflecting several glimmering points of light from the screen.

I plop back onto the bed, casually leaning closer to him as if nothing has occurred.

MC: The rain outside is quite lovely, so I was just snapping a few photos.

MC: And what about you… it’s only been a few days since the vacation, why have you already started looking at documents?

Catching my curious gaze, Li Zeyan leans back and casually angles the iPad in my direction.

LZY: In order to complete a certain someone’s mission.

I move closer with some confusion, and a chart titled “Technology is the Ultimate Weapon” immediately enters my field of vision.

On the topographic map of the vacation island, at least a dozen annotations are sprawled, detailing analyses ranging from distribution patterns to minimum spacing radii, both internally and externally.

For a moment, I can’t help but be bewildered by the scale of the arrangement. Then I hear Li Zeyan’s voice coming from beside me.

LZY: As you can see, there are already people from LFG who have begun updating the guide in real-time.

LZY: In addition to taking turns searching during the vacation, they also share the locations they’ve already found the bracelets each day to avoid wasting time.

LZY: Goldman even went ahead and prepared charts, saying that it would narrow down the search area through data analysis.

I withdraw my gaze and meet Li Zeyan’s eyes with a moment of incredulity.

MC: Isn’t that taking it a bit too seriously… hang on, you didn’t assign this as a task to them, saying something like, “You must complete it within the designated time frame,” did you?

Li Zeyan shoots me a cryptic glance with a hint of ambiguity in his expression.

LZY: I haven’t become that unreasonable yet. This is something that interested individuals did voluntarily.

LZY: At the end of the day, it was a certain someone’s previous introduction that piqued their curiosity.

With a pensive “Oh,” I suddenly think of something.

MC: So, to derive from what you said, this is a private chat group? Then how are you––

There is a sudden hesitation in Li Zeyan’s demeanor.

LZY: [you can’t see me but I’m actually crying lmao 😭] …I asked Goldman to add me to it.

His voice remains very calm. I hold his gaze for a moment, but can’t help bursting into laughter.

MC: Pfft, haha, so it turns out CEO Li is also participating in this activity, huh! Then doesn’t that mean you have to lead the team and set an example?

MC: But you have the “secret weapon” in your hands! Just “please” me a little, and who knows? You might uncover some clues.

I teasingly poke his cheek. Li Zeyan doesn’t say anything and simply stares at me intently.

A moment later, he suddenly chuckles and casually takes off his glasses, setting them aside. Without the obstruction of the lenses, those deep eyes of his stare at me unabashedly.

LZY: [chuckles teasingly] How do you want me to “please” you?

His voice seems to take on a slightly huskier timbre than usual, as he reaches out and takes hold of my fingertips.

A wet, passionate kiss descends immediately. I quiver, instinctively wanting to pull back my hand, but he restrains my movements.

LZY: Like this?

LZY: …Or would you like me to go further in?

With these muffled words, his lips quietly trail to my neck, lingering there, taking his time and igniting a growing fire.

My heartbeat accelerates uncontrollably, but I still make a conscious effort to keep my willpower intact.

MC: …I already asked you to please me. Naturally, you should be the one to think about how to do it.

LZY: Hmm, I haven’t thought it through yet.

He appears to be genuinely reflective, but the force of his delivery suddenly increases, catching me unawares. The goblet glass at the head of the bed is knocked over, its content spilling silently and soaking the crumpled bedsheet.

I tightly clench the pillow, his voice reverberating in my ears.

LZY: [shaky, breathless voice x1] But since you’ve handed over the control to me…

LZY: [x2] When we should stop won’t be your call anymore.

—------------------------ interlude ------------------------—

The rain outside has stopped at some point. Only the gauze curtains in the distance dance in the breeze, occasionally making a rustling sound.

I stealthily open my eyes. The man next to me has half of his face buried in the pillow, his features traced by the moonlight pouring through the window.

His body rises and falls gently along with his light, rhythmic breathing. It seems that he has already drifted off to sleep.

MC: Li Zeyan? CEO Li? …Zeyan gege?

In order to feel out, I speak in a soft voice. Seeing that he still hasn’t responded, I slowly move his arm aside.

Then, gently and quietly, I rise from the bed, casting one last glance at the sleeping Li Zeyan before feeling at ease and pushing open the door.

—

Creak––

Along with this almost inaudible sound, the crisp air post-rain rushes towards me head-on.

The clear night drapes over the quiet vacation village, with the vaguely audible murmurs of the waves in the distance.

I walk along the cobblestone path into the woods, carefully identifying the location of the placement point by the distant lights.

The bracelet hanging from the branches sways gently in the breeze, almost blending into the dim light of the night.

Feeling relieved, I send a message to the group to confirm that everything was fine. But just as I’m about to leave, I can’t resist muttering to myself.

MC: …Li Zeyan, you really are a dummy.

MC: This hiding spot is clearly so close to where we’re residing, and yet you still haven’t found it.

LZY: After all, considering the vast expanse of the area to search through, it’s surely going to consume a lot of time.

LZY: Instead of running around aimlessly, it’s better to wait patiently for the chance to arrive.

A familiar voice sounds from behind me. Startled, I turn around at lightning pace. There, standing behind me, is the person who I saw seemingly “sound asleep” just a moment ago, now watching me.

MC: You… You were actually pretending to be asleep!

LZY: A little correction. I was simply concerned about your safety when I noticed you were heading out so late, that’s all.

LZY: The discovery I’ve made just now can only be regarded as an unexpected gain.

Li Zeyan’s eyes mirror a contemplative interest as he speaks.

LZY: On the contrary, a certain someone here seems to be getting more and more adept at pulling the wool over people’s eyes.

LZY: While her leading foot earnestly vowed that she was genuinely exhausted and just wanted to sleep quickly, her trailing foot dashed out the door to be busy with this and that…

LZY: [GAH THAT MENACINGLY SEDUCTIVE TONE] It seems like I don’t need to be mindful of such excuses from now on.

The roots of my ears can’t help but flush a bit, and I let out a cough before offering an explanation.

MC: Circumstances change… my current action is entirely driven by my dedication to work.

Li Zeyan lets out an ambiguous “ah.” His figure is outlined by the distant lights, casting a slender silhouette that projects onto me.

Amidst the murky darkness, I discern his voice carrying a slightly deeper chuckle, and it seems a little more muffled than usual.

LZY: Sophistry.

LZY: Whether or not there’s some truth to it… I’ll examine it in my own way.

His voice drops to a whisper, and what follows is a warm and entangled kiss.

I find myself involuntarily clutching onto the corner of his garment, tilting my head back to reciprocate. The next moment, I feel the tip of his tongue gently glide across the roof of my mouth.

Despite the brevity of that touch, it sends a shiver through me, making me tremble uncontrollably. I feel as if my heartbeat is about to melt into the fiery breath of this moment.

??: Has this area not been searched yet?

Indistinct chatter suddenly echoes from a distance. I gasp and turn my head, watching as two blurry figures appear far off at the edge of the woods.

MC: They seem to be looking for clues… We…

Before I can finish my entire sentence, it’s gradually drowned out by stifled whimpers.

Li Zeyan closes in on me from the back, covering me deeply. His one hand presses against my lips, seemingly trying to hush my voice.

His slender fingers teasingly caress the space between my teeth. After playing around for a while, they irresistibly delve further in.

MC: …!

LZY: They should know what’s appropriate.

LZY: But if you can’t control your voice… that might be a problem for us.

His fingertips carry the slight chill of the night, stirring my tongue every now and then. It feels like an appeasement, and yet also a form of punishment.

All the sounds in my ears fade away, leaving only the pounding of my heart, growing more and more violent amidst the whimpers. Unconsciously, I bite down on the fingers he has inserted.

His embrace, imprisoning me, tightens even more. A moist kiss descends onto the nape of my neck, followed by gentle nibbles, trailing down to my chest.

Rumble––

The rain, which came to a halt, has begun pouring down at some point unbeknownst to us, pitter-pattering onto the surface and creating ripples.

In the embrace of the night, everything is steeped in the surging tide.

──────────────────────────────────────────

Continue to Part 2: here!

────────────────

#the first time ever i split a date translation in half haha. it was too big and Tumblr doesn't allow more than 30 pics in a post so 🙇‍♀️#*screams* LI ZEYAAAANNNNNNNN ✧⁠\⁠(⁠>⁠o⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠✧ THE MAN YOU ARE 🧎‍♀️#couldn't carve out time for the two thousand words essay i initially wanted to write so y'all have been spared AHAHAH 🫠#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #恋与制作人 #李泽言 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

86 notes · View notes

nerdalmighty · 5 months

Note

What are your top picks for your favorite Good Omens fanfics? 👀

-AnnTickwittee

Oh my dear AnnTickwittee, THANK YOU for this ask. There are a bunch of great ones out there but here are some I've loved recently! Also, everyone PLEASE feel free to leave more recs in comments or reblogs or tags! I LOVE a good fic!

Weirdly, most of my faves were written before S2 premiered - PLEASE recommend me some good S2 stuff, and ones you'd consider staples in the GO fandom - I've missed out on a LOT of great content - help me find it/catch up! (Note: All fics listed below are COMPLETE and feature happy endings.)

---

Summary: AU, retelling of “Beauty and the Beast”. Quite honestly, sending Aziraphale off into the forest to be held hostage by a giant snake in a cursed castle isn’t even the worst thing Gabriel’s ever done to him, and at least it means a change of scene. But then neither the snake nor the castle turn out to be quite what he’s expecting…

My Review: Fave fave FAVE at the moment! I discovered this one from this tiktok, fully thinking it was going to be a silly little romp and was instead met with beautiful prose, adorable banter, and moments that literally made me go "AWW" out loud (which I NEVER do). I meant to read a few chapters per night before bed and then accidentally read the whole thing in one go. I stayed up until 4am reading and then woke up 4 hours later STILL thinking about it. Aziraphale is the perfect lead in this one, with Crowley as the wily yet lovable snake that lives in a cursed/enchanted castle with some familiar faces. CLASSIC pining ensues. The author does a great job of world building and character development and I find myself wishing I could read it again with fresh eyes. It's beautiful and adorable and I can't recommend it enough. Favorite quote: "'I love him,' he said. 'Let me in.' And the gates swung open before him."

---

Summary: In good weather, one can see the lighthouse at the Rock from the shore: a dot on the horizon, a distant star flashing red and white and red again. It’s been dark for a fortnight, of course—ever since the incident that every newspaper had breathlessly written about, that the paper-boys on the corners had shouted themselves hoarse over. This is where Aziraphale is headed: it is his duty, after all, to find out what happened, to make sure that the beacon can be safely lit once again. He does not expect Crowley to follow him to the windswept isle, to the lonely lighthouse at what could just as well be the edge of the world. Crowley follows him anyway.

My Review: THIS ONE! This one is a good old fashioned mystery! The humans believe this lighthouse is haunted, especially since its last three keepers vanished without a trace, but Aziraphale and Crowley know that can't possibly be the case. As such, they decide to investigate for themselves. It's an adorable slow burn period piece that had me weeping at certain points with twists and turns abound, and I really liked how the author handled the mystery and lore! Deep lore is tough to do convincingly and I found myself believing everything the author said. I can't tell you how thrilled I was when I KIND OF clocked what the author was going for with their mystery. Their explanation for everything was far better than anything my monkey brain could have come up with. Also that S2 ep of OFMD that featured a lighthouse in the beginning came out after I read this fic and I got all giddy thinking about Aziracrow here. I literally don't think I'll ever see a lighthouse again and not think of this gorgeous fic. EDIT: Also, here's a YouTube video that appeared in my recommended shortly after I read this. It's super interesting that disappearances like this have happened in real life 😱

---

Summary: Two months after the failed apocalypse Aziraphale finds the first dark feather growing in his wings. A story about middle grounds, ineffable plans, and what happens when the world doesn't end.

My Review: Another fic I found on Tiktok. The edit itself was so gorgeous I decided to give it a go and was not disappointed. It was written before S2 was even announced so it takes some liberties with fanon (Crowley was Raphael in the canon of this world, etc), but it's a lovely, relatively quick read. Crowley and Aziraphale are on their own side, finally, and soon, others join their ranks. All while God watches from afar. The prose is beautiful and I come back to the tiktok all the time (I saved it onto my phone lol). It was also fun to go back and rewatch the tiktok after reading and realize that the editor stitched together parts from each chapter into something new and amazing. It's not a romantic fic, not in the way the others are; it cares more about the aftermath of an apocalypse and shades of gray and how the universe came to be in the first place. I love the POV of God reminiscing on creation and thought it was very well written. Absolutely loved this one! (@anntickwittee, this was the fic I was referring to in the tags of this post, which is probably what prompted you to leave this ask in the first place! 😊)

---

Summary: When Crowley drops a bomb on a church, Aziraphale falls in love with him. This should be a secret, but unfortunately, Aziraphale's never been much good at keeping them.

My Review: A one-shot expanding on the 1941 minisode (2019) BEFORE the S2 minisode canonically expanded on it. Recap: Aziraphale's just realized he's in love with Crowley (thank you Michael Sheen for that AMAZING acting choice) and this fic is the author's interpretation of what might have happened after the show cut away from the burning church. I was floored by how many parallels made it from this fic into the actual show both directly and indirectly (Aziraphale says "Not as such" at one point and I'm pretty sure I burst into tears and/or yelped loudly). It's got a good bit of angst to it, the same kind from S2 that makes you scream "WHAT ARE YOU DOING! HE'S RIGHT THERE!" with a happy ending that helped heal my shattered heart. I definitely cried reading this one (affectionate). It's extremely fluffy at the end which EYE LOVE, so if that's your thing, I highly recommend! Favorite Quote: "'I’m afraid I’m quite terribly in love with you,' Aziraphale said unceremoniously. Crowley, who had been in the process of sitting up, promptly fell off the sofa."

---

Summary: After Aziraphale goes back to Heaven with the Metatron, Crowley reflects. And 4,400 years ago in 2407 BC, in the city of Uruk in ancient Sumer, he and Aziraphale fall in love with humanity, and each other. - “What are you doing here?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley lifted an eyebrow and felt himself start to smile. “I should ask you the same. What are you thinking, coming here with your wings out and the blessed light of Heaven raining down upon you? You’re scaring the mortals.” Aziraphale blushed. Crowley dutifully looked away. It felt disrespectful not to.

My Review: This one-shot is a love letter to history and humanity. I think I found it on twitter? Unfortunately I don't have a link to the tweet or the author's tumblr. What I really love about this one is that the author adds footnotes like the original Good Omens book does. You can absolutely feel the love and care that went into writing and researching for this particular fic, which I can really appreciate as a fellow writer. (For all my Bildad the Shuhite stans out there, this story takes place after, but the vibes are VERY SIMILAR. If you even care.) Crowley and Aziraphale are in Uruk to keep an eye on the humans as they try to build a structure tall enough to reach God (the Tower of Babel). Theoretically, they can both return to their respective sides, but opt to stay on earth (with each other) for 10 years to watch the construction unfold. Pining ensues, NSFW ensues, and as the author puts it, "now featuring Aziraphale as a little country girl tending her sheep ♥" I highly recommend if you want to be sucked into another time period/biblical story and feel MANY different feelings (with a happy ending!)

---

I have more bookmarked that I could absolutely recommend if anyone is interested, but these 5 are just the ones that have stuck out to me the most recently!! Believe me, I could go ON, but this post is long enough for now.

If you DO read any of these, please chat with me about them, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Happy reading!

#i've been WAITING to make something like this #thank you SO MUCH #my blog isn't OFFICIALLY a good omens account but I've wanted to post fic recs for such a long time #please please PLEASE send me fic recs if you have them!#i've got a fever and the only prescription is more good omens fics #anntickwittee #thanks for the ask!#good omens #fic rec #good omens fic rec #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anonymous #answered #mine #emma blabs #long post #ao3 #archive of our own #great show #love them #:)#you ever wish you were more articulate #you ever wish you could convey to someone else how badly you need them to consume this particular piece of media #and feel the exact same things that you did #and then maybe they could help articulate the wistful longing you're filled with after consuming that particular piece of media #yeah #that

68 notes · View notes