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icyblogs · 1 month

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flesh and bone

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

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

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

It is seldom worth the consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understand?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you were definitely lost.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a nice guy.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

And more silence.

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

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

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

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

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

You performed it perfectly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d do anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Silly girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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em-gray · 10 months

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a ghost trick/ace attorney crossover game where sissel saves phoenix's life and then helps him solve murders would be great but faces one fundamental problem: phoenix is unkillable

#ace attorney #ghost trick #ghost trick phantom detective #phoenix wright #this is a joke ofc #there's many very interesting ways a crossover could be done as has been explored in fic and art #but still. phoenix 'fell off a bridge and caught a cold' wright

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steampoweredwerehog · 23 days

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Looking at my old writing and resisting the urge to rip it asunder and rebuild it like Frankenstein

#Fanfic #writing #fanfiction #It’s mostly stuff I haven’t posted but mainly the Ghost Trick fic #I LIKE it it’s GOOD but my style has Changed

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youngerfrankenstein · 9 months

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Come to the Ghost Trick fandom our Gen fics actually outnumber our shipping fics!

#Ghost Trick #In fairness I don’t really read fic for this #(now that I think about it I don’t read fic that much anymore)#But man talk about a nice change of pace!#Delete later maybe

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halberdierminister · 4 months

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I beat Ghost Trick and wrote a poem about it

(do NOT read until you have played Ghost Trick)

#ghost trick #fanfiction #fanfic #poemfic #my writing #my fic #fic #fic rec

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forestshadow-wolf · 6 months

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Trick or Treat!

Ao3 link || 2555 words

A novel concept if you think about it. what once started as a tradition to give a sacrifice in order to ward off ghosts – soap heard it started in France – now only a sacrifice of candy and sweets to children and the like.

Now soap sat in one of the loveseats in the rec-room, currently bugging the hell out of his lieutenant as he was trying to read. to be fair if the man really was annoyed, he'd tell soap to fuck off or he'd leave, so soap kept being a nuisance.

"You dressing up tonight, L.T.?" he had one leg thrown over the plush arm of the chair.

"What for, Johnny?" Ghost shot back with in an unamused tone, still not looking from his book. "Frankenstein" by Molly Wollstonecr- the rest of the author's name was cut off by ghost's fingers, soap idly noted.

"Fer Halloween." soap rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Aint that for kids? ' thought we were grown men in the military, last I checked." the Manc scrutinized, not even giving soap the time of day. speaking of which, it was still pretty light out and soap promised to help Gaz with his costume later.

"Nae! never too old for some free candy. besides even if there is don't you wanna dress up just for the hell of it, like when ye were a wee one?"

"Never done it before, don't see why I should do it now." ghost grumbled.

"Wha-! yu've never gone trick or treatin'? now yer jus pullin my leg." soap sputtered.

"Johnny, why would I lie?"

Soap frowned. well that's not very Halloween-y. he made up his mind then and there, time to make the skeleton man himself into the pinnacle of Halloween. he pulled out his phone and shot gaz a quick text.

~-~-~-~-~

Bubbles 🫧: gonna b l8

Hatman🧢: K

Hatman🧢: Y ?

Bubbles 🫧: 👻 never been🚪2🚪

Hatman🧢: 👍

Hatman🧢: need help?

Bubbles 🫧: set up 🍬? gonna take him out 2nite

Bubbles 🫧: i'll help u after I get him done

Hatman🧢: 👍

Bubbles 🫧: thx

~-~-~-~-~

"c'mon then, we've got some major work to do."

"what are you talkin' about?"

"I mean we've just been assigned a new mission." soap chuckled as he swung his leg off the arm of the chair and stood up.

"and what might this new mission be? and why wasn't I informed first?" said suspiciously, closing his book.

"'cus it's a special mission for me, I just need your help to complete it." he offered a hand to pull ghost up.

"uh-huh..." ghost took the hand, even as suspicion dripped from his voice, and soap could practically feel the narrowed eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

"sit." soap demanded as they entered his room. ghost took a seat on the bed, and soap set his hands on his hips. "so, what do ya wanna be?"

"... huh?"

"for Halloween."

"I thought you were supposed to be working on a mission, Johnny, not fuckin' 'round with Halloween costumes." ghost asked

"I am. what do you want to dress up as?" soap answered, as he sorted through his closet. "I got a vampire, though it might be a bit small on ya. Zombie but between you and me it's a little cliche. or- OOH! I have just the thing. wait here!"

soap sprinted down out the door and down the hallway, nearly pushing people out of his way in his haste. he flung open the door to the linen closet and grabbed the first set of whites that he saw — which was surprisingly hard to find amongst all the camo green and grey.

ghost was looking at the pile of crafts on his desk when he got back. he reached around ghost for a marker and scissors.

"ok stand up straight." he panted enthusiastically, unable to wipe off the grin plastered to his face. ghost did so, after a moment of staring at soap like he'd gone insane— which granted he might have but that was besides the point, because that had happened long ago.

as soon as the brit complied soap threw the sheet over ghost's massive frame.

"the fuck are you doing, Johnny?" ghost growled,as he fought off the fabric. soap shoved the marker and scissors in his mouth so he could catch ghost's hands in his own. as soon as soap grabbed him, he stopped struggling, and soap spit out the items in his mouth.

"jus hold still, I'm trynna do somethin'."

ghost sighed, but did as he was told. soap fixed the sheet so that is lay more evenly on his head and around his shoulders, it was oriented so that the corners were at the sides and front and back of ghost, and just barely dragged on the floor. he uncapped the marker and marked two little spots where the hard plate of Ghost's mask outlined his eyes. finally he allowed ghost to pull the sheet off. he phone buzzed in his pocket as he was handed the cloth.

~-~-~-~-~

Hatman🧢: recruited 💰

Hatman🧢: progress?

Bubbles 🫧: 👍

Bubbles 🫧: made him a 👻

Hatman🧢: 🤨

Hatman🧢: how original...

Bubbles 🫧: shut it 😡

Bubbles 🫧: it's funny

Hatman🧢: ...yuh huh-...😭

Bubbles 🫧: just do ur job chuckles mcgee

Hatman🧢: 🫡

Bubbles 🫧: 🖕

~-~-~-~-~

he shoved his phone in his pocket again, and got to work on cutting out some eye holes. this was definitely coming out of his paycheck later, or someone's gonna get some awkward linens. ghost went back to browsing his desk. he wanted to get the holes as close to symmetrical as possible without marking it because they really didn't have time to put it in the wash.

"what's this, Johnny?" ghost broke the silence. soap looked up from and saw ghost holding up the red skull from his costume.

"ah it's for my costume. I figured I'd go as you this year, but obviously I couldn't steal your thunder so a took some creative liberties." he said, ignoring the heat flaring in his cheeks — he refused to be embarrassed about it. why should he be, it's just a costume.

ghost hummed and set it back on the desk, before picking up the shirt and pants he'd picked out. soap went back to evening the holes of the sheet, being careful not to make them too big.

"you keep all your costumes?"

"uhh.. only the ones I worked hard on." he said absentmindedly, holding up the sheet to see how it looked. "'k come 'ere."

ghost walked over and soap threw the sheet over his head again, adjusting it so that it was oriented the right way. then he stepped back to see his handiwork. all things considered it looked pretty good.

"you'll have ta go without the mask or it'll make the look bulky, we might reapply the eye black. I'd say it's a sucessful costume." soap rambled, making micro adjustments to the sheet.

"we?"

"er- you. I mean you, don't really need my help with that I suppose." he stumbled over his words, having realized his mistake.

"wouldn't mind the help. if that's cool with you."

"cool. yeah cool. awesome. totally cool."

"Johnny."

"yeah i'd be happy to help."

"why are ghosts always cowards."

that shocked soap out of his idiotic stupor. "huh?"... intelligent, MacTavish...

"'t's 'cus they've got no guts."

"aye 'n' beil yer heild." soap huffed. "terrible."

soap's phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

~-~-~-~-~

Hatman🧢: done. it's getting dark

Hatman🧢: progress?

Hatman🧢: gonna need 2 start on mine soon

Bubbles 🫧: done

Bubbles 🫧: ur room meet in 5

~-~-~-~-~

"gotta run, L.T., gaz needs help suitin' up. so... I guess i'll come by your room when I'm done?"

"sure. see you then."

soap nodded, and then he was off, speedwalking through the halls — mentally cursing whoever put his and Gaz's room all the way across base from each other. like what kind of system is it to split up a task force, that just seems idiotic and impractical.

he did eventually make it. and by eventually he means like... 3 minutes of faster than average walking speed. he's impatient, OKAY! whatever.

when he opened the door to Gaz's room the man was attempting to zip up his dress. it was form-fitting, and on the shorter side— ending around the mid-thigh area, if his father saw any of his sisters wearing it, he might have told them to go change —and just looked expensive. soap won't claim to be a fashion expert, but he'd say that it complemented Gaz's skin complexion rather well.

"are you just gonna laugh at me struggling or are you gonna help me zip the damn thing up, Soap." gaz hissed at him. soap snickered but helped him nonetheless.

"makeup or corset next? we can do the accessories after."

"lets do makeup so I can breath while it's done."

logical. soap respected that.

"fair enough. hey, remind me to tell my sisters thanks for making me help them with their makeup."

"so needy, Tav." gaz joked, and gave him a nod.

soap gave him a playful shove as he reached for the pallet of eyeshadow, and eyeliner.

"so i'm thinkin' a smokey eye, then some wings. we should have gotten you some pink lashes to go, but oh well."

"sounds good."

admittedly soap was a little rusty, since it'd been a while since he's had any practice doing makeup, but it turned out okay. the eyeliner was the hardest part since he didn't want to stab out gaz's eye, but all in all, things could have been much worse.

"did you know you stuck out your tongue when you're concentrating?" gaz mused.

"aye, I get it from my dad." soap laughed. "okay, up. lets do the corset now. what time's it?"

"almost 7." gaz said, checking his phone as he stood up.

soap helped him slip it on, then started lacing it up. he made quick work of it, not unfamiliar with lacing up corsets either. he supposed that growing up in a large family of almost all girls would give someone a wide variety of skills. he was careful not to make it so tight that gaz couldn't breathe, but tight enough to hug his body like the dress.

"'k choker, then nails. think you can do the rest yourself? I promised to help ghost as well, and i still need to get my costume as well."

"yeah, yeah. for sure."

soap helped him clasp the pastel pink choker around gaz's neck, then helped him don the red press-on nails, and he was out the door. he made a stop at his room for his costume, hoping that ghost would let him use his bathroom.

he arrived with a knock, and it opened for him easily, with ghost's greeting call.

"if you wanna take off the mask, and put the sheet on I can- " he was cut off when ghost pulled the balaclava off in front of him without much fanfare, just shaking his blond curls out with a gloved hand. soap quickly shook himself out of his stupor and tossed the sheet over ghost, fixing it so it sat correctly over his head.

"how's it look, Johnny?"

"definitely needs the eye black for contrast." he hummed. "can I pull this up?" he asked, tugging the front of the sheet up just a bit. ghost nodded and flipped it over so the front of his face was exposed.

soap grabbed the eye black from the desk and started applying it in thick steady swipes of his fingers. ghost let him do as he pleased, even closing his eyes to let soap get over his eyelids too. it was over just a little too quickly for soap's preference, but he pulled the sheet down and, stepped back anyways.

"ah, can I steal your bathroom for like, 5 minutes, I havenae had a chance to change yet."

"'course. I'll help you do your eye black when you're done." ghost nodded.

soap threw a thanks over his shoulder as he headed to the bathroom. he threw on the jeans and hoodie first, next came the holsters, which he strapped tightly to his thighs to accentuate his ass because that's what ghost does. he's sure of it. last he put the soft balaclava, and opened the bathroom door, with the red skull-plate in hand.

ghost had him sit on his bed, as he shucked off his gloves.

"what instrument do skeletons play?" soap smiled. "the trom-bone." he said at ghost's look

"Christ, Johnny, that was worse than my own." ghost chuckled.

ghost knelt between his legs as he applied the stuff to his eyes, and he likewise closed his eyes to let him work. and again it was over far too quickly. but ghost gave him a few extra seconds by attaching the red skull-plate for him as well.

"thanks." soap breathed, and ghost nodded. "wanna go get gaz, the see what Price decided to wear?"

"sure. hey- what happened to your oh-so mysterious mission?"

"this is my mission. we're going trick-or-treating." soap smiled.

"sly dog." ghost laughed, leading the way out of his door.

they got to gaz's door in no time.

"gaz! we're ready! lets go find the captain" he yelled, pounding on the door.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'" gaz laughed as he walked out. "looks good, Ghost."

"thanks. it was Johnny's work." ghost nodded.

"ach, it's nothin'" he waved them off. "any of ye know what Price is? he wouldnae tell me."

he got a resounding no as an answer... up until they got to price's office and knocked on the door. said man proceeded to open the door with a fishing pole in hand.

"how creative, cap."

"look it was short notice." then man defended.

"aye, except that I had time to make ghost a costume- " soap rebutted.

"it's a Linnen with holes in it." price interjected.

"help gaz into his costume— which looks fantastic if i do say so myself. and get changed into my own costume after helping ghost." soap powered on.

"whatever." price waved him off with a smile, and soap let it go with a laugh. " we all ready?"

soap and gaz nodded, and assumably ghost too from the movement of the sheet. then they were all making their way through base, going from door to door with pillowcases in hand. they all fit right in with the younger members of base that were trick or treating, and everyone else was dressed up as vampires and werewolves and whatever else they fancied. the longer they were out the more fun it seemed ghost was having, and there hadn't even been any alcohol involved... yet. that would come after collecting candy, so that they could get piss drunk and eat enough candy to make them throw up.

they did make quiet a posse though. a ghost, a Ghost, a witch, and a fisherman. quite an odd combination, but if that didn't capture the high school experience of trick or treating then what did? once all was said and done, they even did the after trick or treating ritual of candy trades- one of his favorite parts, if he's honest.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #halloween fic #halloween #trick or treating #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #el rambles

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siverwrites · 11 months

Text

Splintering

It's @fyeahghosttrick Ghost Swap time! And I'm here with my gift for @graegrape!

Prompt: A somewhat angsty take on Lynne and Cabanela's relationship, canon-compliant to the in-game timeline (perhaps with a bit of Lynne basically losing her found family and having to deal with it?)! platonic :-)

Lynne always need more attention and I'm a sucker for pre-canon times.

A very happy Ghost Swap to you and enjoy, graegrape!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47793232

Or below

Lynne paced the room, her gaze catching on Kamila at each pass. The poor girl was pressed into the couch arm with knees drawn to her chest in as tight a ball as she could be. At every pass, Lynne knew she should stop and sit with her or say or do something.

She wanted to pull at her hair; what could she do? What could she possibly say to this? No little girl should have to sit through her own mother’s funeral.

A knock at the door caused her to freeze in her tracks and treat the offence to a blank stare. She wasn’t in any mood to deal with anyone, and who could be coming now? Maybe a neighbour needed something, but couldn’t they go to another apartment? If she waited maybe they’d go away.

Another knock then, “Lyyyne baby, are you in?”

Detective Cabanela. She scrambled for the door and flung it open causing it to bounce off the wall in her haste.

“Theeere you are.”

“Ah, sorry, I… um.” She gestured to the apartment. “Do you want to come in?”

She stepped back, he followed, and she rather more carefully closed the door.

“Can I get you anything?”

“That’s my liiine.” A flicker of a smile and then it was gone. She wasn’t used to seeing him look grim—one more thing wrong with this day.

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t…” With a nod to the kitchen she hurried over to it, hoping he had followed. Put a little distance between them and Kamila.

Thankfully he had and she spun around to face him once more.

“Why me?”

“You trust Jowd.”

“Of course I do!”

“Jowd trusts you. It’s a simple equation, baby.”

“But… but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He flashed a grin at her and for just a moment things almost felt normal. “Neither did he at first. You’ll do great, baby! You just keep holdin’ on for now.”

“And it’ll be over soon?”

“You can count on it. We can’t leave him rottin’ in jail foreeever, after all, can we? Nooow then.”

Cabanela spun away to approach Kamila and join her on the couch. Lynne watched as he said something quietly she couldn’t hear. Kamila nodded, something else was said followed by a more vigorous head shake. Then she reached out to hug him. He returned the hug. When they broke apart, Cabanela with a flourish, pulled out a colourful wrapped candy. Kamila took it, her mouth twitching briefly into an-almost smile even as she drew her knees back up to her chest.

Cabanela rose to his feet, gave Kamila’s shoulder a squeeze and started making for the door.

“Are you going already?” Lynne asked.

“Things to dooo, baby. If you need anythin’ you give me a riiing.”

“I will,” Lynne said and then he was gone out the door.

She approached Kamila. “What’s that he gave you?”

Kamila toyed with the wrapper. “Chocolate.”

Sometimes she wondered if he had an endless supply of them. Her gaze caught on something white resting on the couch cushion.

What was this? An envelope rested on the couch cushions where he had sat, and her name was written in flourishing script. In confusion she lifted it and peered inside to find a wad of money. She blinked at it and glanced back toward the door. This wasn’t necessary—no, who was she kidding? Anything was helpful right now, but he could have at least let her thank him.

And now Lynne was back to staring helplessly around the apartment. Her gaze fell on the sink full of dishes she’d been neglecting. Right, that was something she could do here. Responsibility and all that.

She scrubbed furiously at a plate. This wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair! With a puff of breath, she managed to resist throwing a cup into the sink; the last thing she needed was broken dishes as well. She started to reach for the plug before stopping to let the water warm her hands while she stared at the soap foam. It was going to get better. It had to.

He looked tired. It wasn’t something Lynne thought she would ever think about Cabanela, but there the thought was in all its strangeness. She wasn’t sure if she could articulate what made her think so, but facing each other now in front of the station, after she’d nearly slammed into him, lost in her own thoughts, there was just something heavy about him.

It didn’t show in the smile he gave her. “Eeeasy there, baby.”

“Sorry!”

And it seemed their interaction would end right there as he started to dance up the few shallow steps to the main entrance before she blurted out a “Wait!”

He pirouetted and as she watched him stand practically en pointe, she wondered if she’d simply misread him, but were those faint shadows around his eyes?

She didn’t give herself time to think through the question before she asked it. “Would you like to come to dinner later? I’ll just be ordering in, but I’m sure Kamila would love to see you!” When was the last time she’d have seen him? He’d made some brief stops those first months and not since.

“That sounds looovely, but work calls I’m afraid.”

Lynne frowned. She’d seen him from a distance this morning when she’d gotten in and she was certain she’d spotted him last night at his desk as she was leaving too. She’d almost suspect he’d stayed all night, but even he had to sleep sometime, right? Starting to formulate some kind of protest, she was too late. He’d already spun back and was giving her a cheery wave.

“Paaass on my regards.” Then he was gone with a swish of his coat through the doors.

She needs more than that, Lynne thought and tried to not to think the next thought, so do I…

Oh, what was she thinking? He was the precinct’s star detective and she was just a rookie police officer. Of course he’d been too busy and even more so if the gossip was to be believed—his sights set on Inspector.

She shook herself as she set off–that wasn't right either. He was busy, yeah, but this was probably just some bad timing. Never mind him, she’d see to it that she and Kamila had a great evening anyway.

There were three groups Lynne came to notice: those who didn’t seem to care, those who made her wrinkle her nose at how they tried to grease their way into his good books, no doubt hoping to use him as leverage for themselves, well, except the few she was pretty sure were crushing on him, but she wasn't about to touch that one, and finally, those who had her rolling her eyes in entirely different ways for what she saw as nothing more than jealousy.

Such as the snippets of conversation she was overhearing now from a nearby pair of detectives.

“Give it up,” one said. “The mighty detective doesn’t have time for the little fish. We won’t help him climb the ladder.”

Two groaned. “I was hoping to transfer to the Special Investigations Unit, but if that arrogant ass gets command?”

“Hey, careful now. Such words might stain that precious coat. We can’t have that.”

“The horror. Hey.” Two dropped his voice. “Think it’s all legit? All those solved cases?”

Lynne rose and as she passed them by she said casually over her shoulder, “Don’t worry. With those kind of deductions the SIU is a long way off.”

Nonsense that probably didn’t warrant a response and he hardly needed defending, but she still smiled a little to herself as she left the pair behind. Sometimes you just had to get in there.

She only wished she didn’t keep hearing such things in what felt like an ever-expanding ripple.

Detective Cabanela only cared about power.

Sneaking rumours of falsified evidence. She had to laugh at that. He would never and nothing ever came of those whispered suspicions only proving her right and the idiots wrong.

But power?

No, there had to be more to it than just that. She knew him.

Didn’t she?

“Did you hear? Cabanela made Inspector!”

Jowd sounded amused. “Did he now? He always was ambitious.”

Lynne gripped the phone tighter. “You didn’t know? He still hasn’t come to see you? Or call you?”

“What business does he have with a murderer?” He chuckled. “And I’m hardly the one our new Inspector should be seen with.”

“But you’re not,” Lynne said, an automatic refrain by now that landed on deaf ears as always.

“You should know by now a good detective follows the evidence.”

“Sometimes the evidence is wrong!”

“And sometimes it’s right. Follow his lead.”

“What and abandon you?”

“That’s right!” Jowd said cheerfully.

Lynne resisted hurling the phone at the wall. “That’s not happening,” she said instead. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Detective Jowd.” And hung up before he could protest that as well.

“What did you say about Cabanela?” Kamila asked.

Lynne hesitated.

Kamila picked at her skirt and added, “You said abandon. But, he wouldn’t. He used to always come visit when…when mom was alive. He wouldn’t just leave dad.”

“Yeah…” Lynne said slowly before shaking her head. “No, you’re right. I’m sure he has a good reason.” Being the Inspector couldn’t be more important than his best friend or the people he cared about. There had to be a reason.

Lynne stretched and covered a huge yawn squeezing her eyes shut as she did so. When she opened them she found herself staring at a steaming cup placed on her desk and she followed the offering arm up to Inspector Cabanela.

“Workin’ late, baby?”

Like he was one to talk. She waved at her papers. “Studying actually. I figure any advantage I can take to get my badge, right? Get the right environment and all.”

His eyes sparkled. “Employin’ some tactics, hm?”

“It can’t hurt!”

“If you run into anything stumpin’ you, give me a shouuut.”

“Thanks! Oh, and thanks for the coffee. I could use the boost.”

“That baaadge is as good as yours, baby.”

“That’s the hope,” she said. It had to be. It would be, it would be.

“You can rely on iiit.”

He started to turn away when she abruptly leaned forward.

“Inspector?”

He partially turned back and she found herself frozen staring up at him and realizing she didn’t know what she actually wanted to say. To invite him over again sometime as if this time it might work—Missile as adorable as he was, was unlikely to provide that last needed incentive. To all go out somewhere together instead? To demand why he never came to see her or Kamila? To demand why he never called or visited Jowd? To ask why. Just why? Why the Inspector? Why the distance? Was it really just power and ambition?

“Nothing, sorry.”

His gaze was sharp and she reached for her coffee, suddenly feeling unfamiliarly awkward. However, he didn’t say anything more and turned away with a cheerful wave.

“Good niiight, baby.”

Lynne stared at her strewn papers. His goals were a mystery, but she still had her own to tend to.

Lynne clenched her fists. As tempting as it was to slam his desk, that wasn’t going to help her cause now. “But I can help now! You said it would be soon! That was years ago!”

Inspector Cabanela leaned back in his seat looking as unfazed as when she’d charged in, her new badge a comforting weight in her coat, and let out some of her plans and expected… expected more than nothing.

“Things chaaange, baby.

“Like you abandoning him?”

“And what buuusiness, pray tell, would I have with a convicted murderer?”

“You can’t really believe it.”

“The evidence and his own word are against him, baby.”

“Maybe the evidence is wrong! And he…” She hunched her shoulders. Over and over, it was the one sticking point in every theory she could craft, in every phone call she made to him. “He has to have a reason…” For lying. To all of them. For leaving Kamila and her.

Cabanela leaned forward to pull in paperwork. The dismissiveness roiled off him, though he still caught her eye as he said, “A closed case is for historians. You’ve got your jooob, Detective Lynne, stick to it.”

She opened her mouth before a rebuttal fully formed then snapped it shut. Spinning on her heel she marched out of his office without another word.

Stick to the job. Is that all he had for her? Unless… but no… did he? Too long ago, standing in her kitchen, she would have believed it. Do her job, find the truth, find His truth. Now though? The Inspector was, well, the Inspector now. As much as she rolled her eyes at the gossip there was no denying that he had changed. Had grown distant, harder even… How often did she even see him anymore?

Then again, was it her fault if she happened to interpret his meaning in a different way than he had intended? And maybe it was his intent after all. Besides, it wasn’t as though he was her direct commander anyway. She glanced back at his office door. She was a detective, and she would do her job.

I’ll prove it to you both. No matter what.

The junkyard was behind her and Lynne finally paused to take a breath. Dying could really take it out of a girl. That and a thickening mystery and a time-limit, and oh gods she really needed to get moving if she didn’t want to keep Kamila waiting.

And the time-limit.

The much-tighter-than-she-expected time-limit. She quickened her pace. How could no one tell her! How could he be so cold about it! She’d defended the Inspector—'he’s not like that’—was that even true anymore? He said he didn’t suspect her, but here she was on the run from both assassins and the police—police who should have been on her side, who should have been on His side. Here she was relying on a stranger—a ghost!—to hopefully help her out further. Add that mystery to her tasks as well. Of course she’d at least keep an ear out for anything that might help; she could do that much for him.

If she didn’t get killed or arrested again. Mind, if she did die, maybe he’d turn up again, which was more than she felt she could say for anyone else right now.

For now, all she could do was plunge into the darkening night. Alone.

If the job of urgency was to override everything else Lynne knew she was giving it one hell of a big job. Fear of what would happen if she didn’t make it. She had to. She couldn’t not make it now. Not after coming so far.

Fury and disgust at the Inspector. Was everything said about him really true? Had she been the fool for ever trusting him? Anger at Detective Jowd for cutting her off when the Inspector deserved every word. Relief and delight at seeing Detective Jowd right there in the flesh and not executed at all. And then there was the unease under everything that her goal was in the very place she’d avoided for the last ten years.

But urgency overcomes all and so she hurried on in a hunt for a music box and answers at last. She kept her trust, she wouldn’t abandon those who needed her unlike some people.

It was cramped and there was a chance they could be caught at any moment yet for the first time in Lynne wasn’t sure how long anymore, a tension started to ease. She was at Detective Jowd’s side; things were still bad, but they were getting better and they would catch up and save Kamila.

She’d been wrong and couldn’t be happier to be so. Inspector Cabanela hadn’t given up at all. She couldn’t shake the disturbing image of him sprawled over that chair in a battered impression of a dirty rag, and the pang of guilt she felt when she overhead him speaking, but the relief was very real.

Then again, he hadn't exactly helped his cause. They would have words when this was all over. She wasn’t about to let him get off free and if she had to use him being stuck in a hospital to get him to really talk for once, so be it. If she had to drag Jowd with her, she'd do that too. The thought Cabanela would leave them for all real this time didn't bear thinking about. They were all going to make it and they would all be together. A family…

She only had to hold on and press forward. Dawn was coming.

#ghost trick #ghost swap #ghost swap 2023 #lynne #cabanela #graegrape #ghost trick fic #spoilers #pre-canon

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