#the cycle repeating itself with the little boy at the end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

holycryptid · 2 months

Text

The Death of Peace of Mind

Simon “Ghost” Riley x John “Soap” MacTavish.

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 1.9k

Tags/warnings: masturbation/use of sex toys, explicit language, sexting…?, objectification, possessive/obsessive simon, depictions of sex work, simon’s head is empty yet he has so many thoughts (let me know if anything was missed!)

Summary: Camboy!Soap AU - Simon is Soap’s most dedicated and loyal subscriber.

Notes: i never thought i’d write soapghost tbh. however, do not take this as factual or use it as educational! this world is different for everyone in many ways :) enjoy!

Simon Riley is a calm and collected man until he opens his laptop on Sunday nights.

The days on base are starting to blend together as he quickly approaches his requested leave, desperate for some prolonged peace and quiet to soothe and recharge after months on end of constant impassioned interactions with no time to decompress.

He is drained.

Simon quickly opens a new private tab, typing the desired website into the search bar and pressing the return button a little harder than necessary.

He navigates the explicit site with embarrassing ease, immediately clicking out of the onslaught of clickbait pop-ups he’s started to memorize by now. Various thumbnails of pleasure-filled faces consume his probably too-bright screen until he finds his subscriptions tab to the left under his profile.

A single rational thought isn’t able to find a way to his brain as he lands upon what he’s been waiting for all day. All week.

Too many arduous days on base have made him unsettled and irritable. This is his cure...at least for the next seven days until the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

Subscriptions: Soap_Strokes [live show happening now!]

Simon clicks the username and is redirected to the livestream before he can even think to get his dick out.

He should feel...dirty? Remorseful? Maybe sympathetic for himself, for how much he enjoys something he knows he probably shouldn’t. He hasn’t quite made time yet to think through his ethics regarding this hobby.

He knows he needs to unwind. He knows he needs a good wank. He knows who can give him that.

GhostWithTheMost has joined.

Simon’s alert eyes skitter across the screen as he assesses the violently colourful, and clearly custom, page layout Soap has set-up for his weekly shows. Indistinct music is playing in the background of Soap’s room, but it’s nothing that will be able to hide or cover the erotic sounds of self-pleasure.

Simon finds the small live chat at the bottom of the screen already running rampant with poor excuses for compliments and sexual declarations that hold no real value anywhere besides here.

Then his eyes find Soap—the man who has made his weekends slightly more bearable and his cock painfully hard on too many occasions, now included.

Soap’s pretty. A real, true “pretty boy” if Simon ever saw one. A perfect specimen in his (correct) opinion. Toned muscles, well-groomed body, soft yet defined features with the light shadow of stubble, a wavy and very overgrown mohawk that’s still kept short on the sides, a small septum ring, and barbells through each nipple that glint with every breath he takes.

Simon felt like he had found God when he accidentally browsed his way into one of Soap’s shows. When he joined, Soap was busy sliding a small black prostate massager in and out of his hole at a desperate pace, his other hand firmly squeezing the base of his twitching cock to torture himself. His cheeks and neck had fallen victim to a deep pink blush, either from arousal or effort, but it was the intensity of the scene that caught Simon.

This didn’t look like a man simply performing for others and their money, it looked genuine and passionate. Maybe that was the goal. A professional at the job, then. He had Simon fooled, if so.

Simon was instantly enthralled with his seemingly effortless beauty and physique. So much so, that he forgot to do what he was there to do: get off.

Soap’s own abrupt, and loud, orgasm was the thing that brought Simon back to reality that night, and he didn’t realize what he had just experienced until Soap ended the stream breathless and with a stomach covered in cum.

Soap left Simon in the darkness of his room, staring dumbfounded at the now empty screen of his laptop, blue-balled by no fault but his own, and with immensely scattered thoughts that couldn’t form into something coherent.

He was completely under the spell of whoever this man was when he’s in front of a camera. Soap. Simon later made himself cum to the sounds of whimpers that already housed themselves deep within his memory.

Now, Soap takes up the majority of Simon’s screen, already naked and partially spread with a cheeky smile on his lips, like usual, as he silently pretends to read through some of the “flattering” comments.

thekingcock commented: I’d fuck you so good baby !!!

Gazzy_xo commented: sexy sexy sexyy. I really need a taste of you

MrPriceAlmighty commented: im so hard already. Can’t wait another second

Soap is situated comfortably on his bed with his camera angled straight on, shooting between his parted legs and obnoxiously highlighting the huge Scottish flag pinned above his bed, yet everything is still framed perfectly. His cock rests semi-hard against his defined stomach while he teasingly runs his fingertips along the insides of his thighs to maintain viewership.

Simon takes this “opening lull” as a chance to organize himself. He manages to pull himself out of his trance of devouring Soap with his thoughtless gaze.

Laptop: placed on the small table in front of him.

Pants: off.

Briefs: also off.

Cock: out (and hard).

He sits back on his couch, laptop mere inches away and potentially damaging his retinas if they haven’t been already from times previous, and he confidently clicks the DONATE button flashing in the top left of Soap’s page.

The default amount he set goes through in seconds.

GhostWithTheMost donated £5!

A small ping echoes throughout Simon’s dark room as it goes through to Soap’s side of the screen, the donation popping up in the corner for everyone else watching to see.

He sees Soap’s attention move from the comments to the sound. “Ah, the ghost wants to get started, aye? Alright, let’s fucking go.” Another smile blooms across Soap’s face.

Simon reaches for his cock at the same time Soap reaches for his. But for Soap it was a mindless gesture—maybe instinct—just to keep it in place as he leans closer to the camera to press some buttons on his keyboard.

Simon notes how biteable and lickable his shoulders and neck look from this perspective.

“Prices are going up now. You control me and what you want to see.” Soap flashes a quick wink as four bold lines appear at the top right of the page:

15 SECONDS - £30

45 SECONDS - £80

2 MINUTES - £250

10 MINUTES - £500

“The show ends when I cum, so...don’t make it too quick.” He teasingly glares at the camera with a light chuckle that makes Simon turn his volume up a few notches.

He wonders how fast he could make Soap cum. A shiver crawls up his spine and his cock throbs at the thought.

Simon is willing to lose (and has lost) as much as it takes to see Soap cum, but he squints at the list, noticing that the prices aren’t what they usually average out to.

Has Soap just become that popular? Simon frowns at the idea. It feels like Soap is a secret between him and a handful of people, and he wants it to stay that way. It makes it feel more special, even if it isn’t. He likes the delusion.

Soap repositions his camera, angling it higher and tilting slightly downward so watchers will have a better view of the entirety of him, not just his cock and hole. He ducks to shift something into frame, and Simon very quickly realizes this isn’t going to be like Soap’s other shows.

Simon fixates his glare on the sizeable dildo that has been brought centre-frame in front of Soap’s bed. It’s very pink and very big, probably bigger than him, ribbed with prominent veins near the head. He follows the thin silver rod it’s attached to until it disappears out of frame.

It’s a goddamn fuck machine. A fucking machine. A machine that fucks you.

An excited-anxious feeling fills Simon’s gut, and a light sweat breaks out over his neck at the knowledge of Soap being in possession of one of these realistic and elaborate toys.

This is not how this is supposed to go, Simon thinks.

Well, technically yes, it is.

But to this extent? Technically, also yes. It’s Soap’s job. Two weeks ago, it was a translucent jelly stroker that Simon wished was his hand. Last week, anal beads and a body-wand that Simon wished was his cock and tongue instead.

And now this.

Soap slides back onto his bed with a bottle of lube in hand with that shameless smile on his face again. He sets himself back into the position he took before—leaning back on his elbows with his legs spread for everyone, and even the Holy Spirit, to see.

“In case you all haven’t put it together yet, donations control the amount of time the machine will fuck me for. You donate thirty, it’ll automatically fuck me for fifteen seconds, and so on,” he trails off, popping open the cap of the lube and squeezing a generous amount onto his cock and stomach.

Simon’s mouth has fallen open and gone dry. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he whispers into the darkness like a prayer that will save him from whatever he is about to experience.

His fist starts slow movements over his cock. Not even some spit needed to aid him; the amount of pre-cum leaking from him already should be embarrassing.

Soap tosses the bottle aside, takes that same hand, and rubs it over his now hard cock to spread the lube around and down to his hole. A heavy sigh releases itself from his throat as he presses two fingers in himself immediately, pumping them a few times before going back to carefully stroking his length. The slick sounds of his hand tugging on his cock has Simon adjusting his volume higher again.

Is it bad that Simon can tell he had a plug in before the show to better prepare for the dildo? Definitely bad.

Soap indulges the audience with this light foreplay until more donations begin to roll in. “A-ah, as soon as donations hit one-hundred, it’ll be the machines turn.” A breathy laugh is pulled from him on a particularly good downstroke of his fist, eyes fluttering for a moment as he shudders.

Simon is about to risk it all. He looks at the donation meter total: £75.

With his left hand, he clicks the DONATE button again, this time changing the amount before sending.

GhostWithTheMost donated £25!

The meter flashes as it hits its first milestone. £100!

Soap glances over to his monitor, hand never slowing or leaving his wet cock, and his lips turn up into another mischievous smile. “The ghost saving you all once again, huh?” His accent almost slurs the sentence to something unintelligible.

Soap lets out a soft moan as he pulls his hand away, gathering the excess lube on it and leaning forward to stroke the dildo waiting for him. “Thanks, ghosty. Dinnae know how much longer I could wait.” Another smile for the camera.

No. A smile for Simon.

It’s easy for Simon to forget that he’s not the only one watching this right now, but he forgot that fact as soon as Soap acknowledged his presence earlier.

Simon watches how Soap’s hand works the silicone, making sure to cover its entirety with the leftover lube. “Bastard,” Simon growls, still pumping himself with a lose fist just to ease some of the ache that’s settled deep in his cock.

Simon notices a light pink has already begun to paint Soap’s cheeks as he falls back onto the bed with wild eyes, some of his unruly mohawk flopping onto his forehead in divine strands.

Simon knows better than to screenshot something of this nature, but fuck, if his self-restraint is ever being tested right now.

#simon riley x john mactavish #ghost x soap #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghoap #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #simon riley fanfic #john mactavish fanfic #call of duty imagine #simon riley imagines #john mactavish imagines #ghost cod fanfic #call of duty smut #ghost x soap smut #simon riley x john mactavish smut

33 notes · View notes

last-starry-sky · 6 months

Text

Girl's Night Out - ch. 2 pt. 2

friday|saturday|sunday

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

pairing: Ghost x shy!goth!f!reader

rating: E

summary: Oh boy, it's the morning after. Reader has no clue what to do but Simon seems content to make himself right at home. 🙂

word count: 7.7k

warning: mdni, not beta-read but edited by me until I wanted to claw my eyes out, a truck-load of self doubt and issues from reader, size difference 💀, oral (m receiving), facial, cum eating , fingering, tooth-rotting domestic fluff, the beginning of reader's mask and authority kink. a/n at the end!!!!

Repeating my warning hear for all of the chapters, I have committed the ultimate, unforgivable sin in this: Ghost is maskless. So if that ruins it for you, sit this one out.

saturday

The wind was howling against your window when you woke, shaking the panes in their casings with every fresh clatter of rain. The barest hint of sunlight crept low and blue from under the curtain above your bed. It was enough to see what was in front of you, which was Simon’s chest. It rose and fell with his deep, even breaths. He was rolled back haphazard, half on his back, head falling over the side of the pillow which was squished mostly under his shoulder. It looked terribly uncomfortable. His right arm was on top of the duvet, the left splayed on the bed above and behind you. A remnant of when he held you last night.

He was asleep still and you didn’t want to wake him. You just wanted to stay where you were: curled into his chest, tucked away from the cold autumn rain of the outside world, soaking in his warmth, but you really had to pee. You were lucky that you had split apart somehow in the night. You scooched down the bed on your side, just a bit at a time, taking care not to move the sheets too much or make the mattress creak. You only lifted yourself upright once your bare feet hit the cold floor.

You hissed involuntarily before you could stop yourself. Fuck, it was just as cold as last night, and now you were naked. Sitting on the end of the bed, you grabbed the first piece of clothing you saw: a black blob rolled into the blanket that revealed itself to be a t shirt. Without a second thought, you threw it over your head and stood up.

You tiptoed slowly out of your bedroom, not making a sound. You couldn’t hear any of your neighbors yet. Good. You breathed a sigh of relief as you quietly stepped into the bathroom, closing the door gingerly behind you. Your relief flipped upside down when you turned on the light. Looking in the mirror over your sink, you were horrified to see your black lipstick from last night smeared over the bottom of your face. Your hand flew up to your mouth to muffle the small gasp you made. The rest of your makeup had fared no better. Your eyes were ringed by black halos from your eyeliner and mascara, which had also shed a million little black hairs down your cheeks.

You decided that now was not the time to freak out about this. You grabbed a fresh washcloth out of your linen closet and drenched it in makeup remover. You sighed as you scrubbed the cloth over your skin. The itchy, grungy, feeling of old makeup clogging your pores slowly dissolved as you rubbed your face. When you looked back in the mirror you only had a little bit of liner stuck in the deepest of the fine lines around your eyes. You could live with that.

You pitched the cloth onto the top of your dirty clothes bin, which was overflowing. Another haunting reminder of the chores you were supposed to be doing, should have done last night instead of going out. You grabbed your toothbrush, wet it for just a second under the tap, and started to brush your teeth. Zoning out, you couldn’t have convinced yourself in that moment to have preferred sitting in the cold basement of your apartment, waiting for the washing machine to finish its cycle, instead of getting the best dick of your life.

Your eyes shot back to the mirror, minty foam leaking down your chin. Fuck, that reminded you, it was Saturday. You had to take your birth control for the day. You spit in the sink and wiped the side off your face with the back of your hand. Thank GOD you remembered on time.

You turned off the light and crept out of the bathroom. You heard Simon softly snoring in bed. Still good. You made your way across your living room to the weak morning light that fell in from your open windows. You HAD to remember to close those today, it was getting too damn cold. The pitter-patter of the rain had stopped already, leaving cool, silver puddles dotting the street. You kept your pills in your purse, which you remembered hanging up before you left last night. You unzipped the middle pocket, extracted the round container, opened it, and punched out the little white pill. You swallowed it easily.

You put your pills back in and zipped up your purse. You could feel the pill slowly, annoyingly dragging down your throat. Nothing a glass of water couldn’t fix. You walked into the kitchen, a little more bold now that nothing you had done so far had woken up Simon. You turned on the tap to fill your glass. Your pipes made a bit more noise than you were used to, groaning and rattling in the walls, or maybe you were just paranoid.

While you were sipping your water, your stomach gurgled. Oh yeah, you hadn’t eaten since your lunch at work yesterday. You sighed and set your water behind you on the counter. Just something quick, you told yourself as you took your frying pan off the hook above the stove. You cut a pat of butter and threw it in the pan before turning it on. The soft click click click of the gas lighting was a soothing reminder of your usual routine. You let the butter melt while you took out the carton of eggs and loaf of bread. You put the bread in the toaster and clicked it down.

You cracked the egg into the butter. The crackle that erupted was far louder than you expected. You almost pulled the pan off the heat. Instead, you froze. You stood stock still while you listened for any sign you had woken Simon. In the near silence of the apartment, you heard a small creak, like the springs of your mattress shifting, the soft shuffle of sheets, and then a groan.

Fuck. You had woken him up. You sighed at your egg, the fucking bastard. You swirled the pan around. It’s edges were nice and set, almost crispy. You flipped it with a flick of your wrist and set in back down to cook on that side. You might as well start the coffee if he was up. You heard his feet hit the floor hard with a soft fuck before the mattress squeaked as he stood up. You filled the back of your coffee maker with water, no longer needing to cringe at how loud the water came out of the faucet. You heard Simon wander out of your bedroom as you were measuring the coffee. Your heart thumped in your chest.

He didn’t come to the kitchen, though. Instead, he walked right into the bathroom, not shutting the door behind him. Somehow, that made you more nervous than if he had found you in the kitchen. You clicked the button to start your poor little coffee maker. It hissed and grumbled as it started to boil the water. You turned back to your egg. It was almost done. Now you had time to think of what you were going to do or say once he came out. God, what were you going to say? Thanks for the sex? If you want to leave, don’t feel guilty about it?

“Smells good,” he said behind you, voice groggy, making you jump.

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you flew around to face him. How was he so fucking quiet? He was leaning on the threshold to the kitchen, shirtless, with your bottle of mouthwash in his hand. You were staring back at him, wide eyed and stunned speechless. He also had black lipstick, your black lipstick, smeared across the bottom of his face.

He pointed the bottle at you, his eyes tired rather than intense this morning. “There’s where m’ shirt went to.”

You looked down at yourself with a groan, your hands covering your face. How hadn’t you noticed? It fell down to your thighs for god’s sake! You heard him throw back a swig of the mouthwash with a satisfied hum. You could have died right there.

The toast popped. You whipped back around, threw the toast on your plate, slid the egg onto it, picked it up and shoved it in his hand.

“Here!” you squeaked, “Eat!” You could feel the blush burning your cheeks.

He took the plate from you silently, mouth still full. You pushed past him to dash back to your bedroom. You heard him spit into the kitchen sink as you blew though the clothes on your floor, desperately searching for anything else to put on so he could have his shirt back. You shucked off his shirt once you found one of your own shirts and a pair of black sweatpants that were only a little stained.

Simon was standing against the kitchen doorway, eating now off of the plate, when you came out of your room. You tossed his shirt at him, which he caught with his free hand.

“Sorry about that,” you said quickly. He just nodded and stared at you as he chewed his toast. You motioned to the table and chairs right in front of him. “Sit down. If you want. There’s coffee too.” You couldn’t take his stare seriously while he was covered in your lipstick stains. “I’ll be right back,” you said nervously, heading back into the bathroom.

You grabbed the cloth you had used to clean your face and doused it in a fresh round of makeup remover. When you came out of the bathroom Simon had sat down and put his shirt on. You noticed he was a little too large for your chairs. You handed him the cloth which he only stared at. You motioned at the bottom of your face.

“You have . . . my lipstick . . . all over,” you said with a wince. He seemed to understand your stilted explanation, because he took it from you and rubbed it over his mouth and chin. “Coffee?” you asked, backing away from him toward the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking at the black streaks left on the washcloth, still groggy and gravelly.

You threw yourself into the kitchen. You poured two cups of black coffee, put in another piece of bread to toast and cracked another egg into the pan.

“Get it all?” he asked as you came out with the coffee. He turned his head for you to inspect.

“Yeah,” you answered, taking the cloth from him, “All good.” You tossed it in the direction of the bathroom.

You were about to walk past him again to finish your own breakfast when he stopped you.

“Sorry about last night,” he said awkwardly.

You felt your heart drop. What did he mean? Your brows knit together in confusion. Was he about to drop something huge on you? But he wasn’t saying anything more! You just stood there, awash in a mix of emotions. You heard the toaster pop up. Your egg was very definitely overcooked by now.

“What . . . do you mean?” you asked nervously, “I-” you stopped yourself. Don’t say anything to sound clingy. “Last night . . .” you trailed off.

He took mercy on you and answered your stumbling question. “Shoulda taken more time with you. Kinda rushed things,” he said crossing his arms over his chest, silence falling between you, “Egg’s gonna burn,” he said throwing a glance over his shoulder.

You rushed into the kitchen. It wasn’t burned, not yet. You let out a disappointed sigh as you slid the solid chunk of egg on to the toast. You hated an overdone egg.

“‘s good,” he said as you came out of the kitchen, biting into the perfect runny yolk. It made your mouth water. You took a seat at your little table opposite him.

“Thanks,” you said, sipping your coffee, glad at least one of you had an appetizing breakfast, “Just an egg.”

You could have just sat in silence with him and ate your breakfast, but your curiosity was piqued and he had made you a little brave. Besides, he had brought it up first.

“What do you mean?” you asked, swallowing a bite of your egg and dry toast. You had forgotten the butter too, shit. “That you . . . rushed?”

He stared at you, halfway through a very messy, eggy bite.

“Didn’ expect you to be so . . . small,” he says swallowing his bite. You almost choked on your coffee. “Should have slowed down. Made it better for you.”

“No. No no no,” you said clutching your cup, “Everything was great. Last night was . . .” Simon was still staring you down, hunched over your table: a plain, serious expression graven on his face. He clearly didn’t believe a word of your breathless babbling. You sat back and looked down into your cup in your lap. “That was the best night I’ve ever had,” you mumbled, watching the coffee swirl in circles. You wondered how honest you sounded to him.

“Weren’t lying then?” he asked straightening up a little. He slid his coffee toward himself, the ceramic loud against the table. His yolk was oozing out over his plate. You stared wide eyed at him, not sure what he was asking you about. He lifted up the cup to take a sip. “Last night. Said you’d never cum like that before.” Your cheeks were burning. “That true?” he asked setting his cup down. How can he act so fucking nonchalant? How can he stare at you like that? Was this everyday conversation for him?

“Yeah,” you said quietly with a nod. You picked at the edges of your toast, no longer hungry. You let out the breath you were holding. Why hold anything back now? You thought back through your handful of past sexual experiences. “Lucky if I ever cum at all, to be honest,” you added.

“You fuck anyone before?” he asked. Good god, he thought you were a virgin. You wanted to evaporate.

You couldn’t look him in the eye, so you ran your fingers around the rim of your coffee cup. “Yes! I would have told-”

“How many?” he interrupted, leaning his crossed arms on the table, creaking as he did so.

You thought for half a minute. “Five?”

That didn’t satisfy him. His mouth pressed into a scowl. “Don’t seem very sure on that.”

You angrily set your coffee cup on the table with thunk. Fine. If he wanted honesty, he would damn well get it.

“The first time I had sex I was 19. It was in the back of a guy’s car I had went to school with. The second time was with my boyfriend, two years later. There was another boyfriend after him. It wasn’t until I moved. . .” You suddenly froze, biting your bottom lip. You didn’t want to get into that part of your life.

“Don’t need a history,” Simon said breaking the few seconds of silence that had fallen. “Didn’t want you to feel like you had to lie. I don’t care who or how much you fucked before me.” He picked up his toast and took another bite. It left a string of yellow yolk running down the corner of his mouth. “‘s long as you liked it, tha’s wha’ matters.”

You took another sip of coffee, a comfortable silence falling around you as the rain clouds cleared outside and the early morning sun started to really shine through your windows. A worm of a thought, started by that line of egg running down his chin, started to work around your brain. You had enjoyed last night. A lot, but what about him? You leaned your head on your hand and looked at his as he ate. Simon was sopping up his egg on his plate. He had wiped the egg off his face, but there was a hint of yellow still trapped in his stubble.

“Did you . . .” You started to ask. His head popped up to look at you. “. . . like that? Like, really like that?”

“Wha?” He asked around the last bite of his toast in his mouth.

“Last night . . .” you paused blushing, “When you came on me?”

He coughed as he swallowed. A smile bloomed across your face, hidden in your cup.

“Yeah,” he said pulling his dark eyes off his plate to stare back at you.

You set down your cup, gently this time, on the table. “What about . . .” You asked, not looking him in the eye. He leaned in toward you, over the table again, on his elbows. He was interested. “. . . if you came on my face. Would it be the same?”

He sat back in his chair with a groan. He ran a hand back though his hair. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsuccessfully willing your smile to dissipate.

“You serious?” he asked.

You nodded. “I wanna know.”

He pushed his chair to face out from the table with a squawk. “Then why don’t y’ come over here and find out,” he said darkly, bidding you over with a wave of his hand.

You were out of your chair in a flash. It felt weird to be standing over him, in between his long legs as they splayed out from the chair and his heels dig into the floor. He held out his hand, the one on his tattooed arm, to steady you as you kneeled down in front of him. Your breath was already shaking. He groaned again when you ran your hands up his thighs. Every twitching movement of his thickening cock was right in front of your face, visible through his briefs. You couldn’t help yourself, you pressed down to nuzzle it. His hand came back down to to palm the back of your head.

“Sure about this?” he said with a groan, leaning farther back, bucking his clothed cock against your face. “Couldn’t take it all before.”

You had no plans to take it all, but he didn’t have to know that. You pulled away to pump your hand up the length of him. You weren’t trying to show off or do any tricks. You just wanted to make him feel even half as good as he had made you last night. It amazed you that he was already fully hard. The man was efficient if nothing else. You squeezed your hand as you came to the tip. You heard his head hit the wall as he stifled another groan.

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod. “I’m sure.”

Your hands curled up around the band of his briefs. He let you pull down his underwear. His cock was flush, tip leaking, against his shirt. You leaned in again to mouth at the tip, tongue flipping up from the bottom of the head to collect the pearl of salty release. You gripped the base of his cock before he could buck up, whining as he grabbed at your hair. He quickly rearranged his hands to rake back your hair from your face. Another bubble of cum pushed deliciously from his slit. He groaned, watching as your tongue lapped it up.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said huskily as your hand started to pump up and down his cock as you sucked at the tip. “That fuckin’ mouth . . .” he trailed off, thumbing at where you were suctioned to him. You took a little more of him in as you sucked down, tongue lapping at the underside of the head, your hand working slowly in tandem. He let out a gasp of a breath. “Hands ‘r fuckin’ soft too.”

You hummed around him. His praise made you grip him that much harder, work his cock a little faster. You had to keep him talking, had to hear what he wouldn’t say normally.

“Y’ like that?” he asked, “Like doggin’ this big cock an’ y’ can’t even take half of it?”

You hummed again. You continued to pump him while sliding all the way to the tip before sucking it hard. The shout and salty taste you got in return was delightful.

“Nah, love,” he said palming at your face with those big hands again. You could tell he was looking at you, had been the whole time. He was enjoying the show just as much as your mouth on his cock. “Not gonna cum like that, remember?” You switched hands, cum and spit squishing between your clean fingers, as you started to suck again. “Don’t get anything besides my own hand most nights. Gotta enjoy this.”

His comments only added fuel to your fire. It was easy to forget he wasn’t just some guy. He was a soldier. How long he was away from home, away from family, it made your heart ache. The way he seemed to bend to your small, simple acts of intimacy, like when you rubbed his chest or made him breakfast, made you question when was the last time he’d had those things. You couldn’t save him from everything, the loneliness, the danger of his job, but you could get him off, so you did what you could.

You knew you weren’t a rockstar at giving head, but you were trying your best. Simon seemed to be enjoying it, at any rate. His head was thrown back again, using his hands on your face to gently rock your mouth back and forth on his cock, with your hand working the rest.

“Tha’s it. That’s it, love,” he gasped.

It was only a few pumps more before he ripped you off his cock. You tottered back on your knees, eyes half-closed and mouth still gaped open, not really ready to help with what was coming next. Simon wrapped his left hand around your neck, keeping you in place, as he jerked himself to completion.

The first stripe of cum lashed artfully across both of your closed eyes, as if he had planned it. From then on, you were blind. You heard him gasp as the rush of euphoria of his orgasm hit him. Them you heard him laugh. It was a small laugh, just a ha under his breath, but it made you flush. Another stripe fell over your cheek to your nose. He pulled you in closer as the third spurted across the corner of your mouth. You licked at it as he let go of you, his rapid breathing filling the room.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the blob of his cum where it ran down your cheek.

You were about to ask if he could help you clean off, when you were hauled up into his lap by his strong hands. You also didn’t expect for your faces to crash together. You tried to pull away, thinking he had made a mistake in his post-nut haze, but his hand pulled you right back. His tongue lapped over your mouth. You gasped in surprise, and then opened your mouth for him. You tasted his cum when your tongues finally met. He pulled away too soon and you groaned at the loss. He wasn’t paying attention though. His tongue laved over your cheek and to your nose. A soft oh escaped your lips. He was collecting his cum from your face. Then he was back at your mouth, tongues pumping mindlessly together, both moaning as his salty cum mixed with your saliva and his.

This man was something fucking else: totally wild underneath that stoic facade. He was pulling you out of your comfort zone and you were loving it.

You still couldn’t see when he pulled your faces apart. Your fingers were twined with his as they held either side of your face. He was breathing hotly into the space between you.

“Les’ get y’ t’ the shower, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him set you down to stand as he stood up from the chair with a groan. Your wooden dining chairs were not comfortable. Then he picked you up, as he had last night. You squealed again, not expecting it. He even pinched your butt again.

“D’n worry, love. Let me take care a y’,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

The few steps to your bathroom passed quickly. He kept you held in his arms as he leaned into the shower to turn on the tap. The sound of water raining down and steam filling the small space was soothing. He set you down in front of him and stripped you of your clothes, first your shirt, then your pants. He guided you to turn around, as if you didn’t know your own apartment, and into the stall.

You let the water pelt over your head for a few seconds, groaning with pleasure at how good it felt. You were long overdue for a shower and you could feel it. You had gone all day at work Friday, trapped in your stuffy office clothes, then the sweat and excitement from going out, plus the sex, it made you feel beyond grungy. You reached up and pumped a handful of body wash into your hand by memory. You lathered it over your cum coated eyes and face. You sighed as it rinsed off and you were able to open them again.

You heard clothes hit the floor, adding to the piles of dirty laundry you had planned to take care of today. You turned to watch Simon shuffle off his briefs and socks through the wavy glass. He gave you a dark look.

“Mind if I join? Save water ‘nd all.”

You nodded, turning to grab your shampoo. So practical. So military, you thought. You lathered your scalp as he stepped in behind you and you pretended that this was completely normal one night stand procedure, or that you even knew that procedure. You allowed him to crowd you under the spray of the water with his massive, muscled frame as he reached over you to grab some of the shampoo you had just used. You tipped your head back to let the bubbles rinse from your hair.

He was staring down at you as he cleaned his own short hair. You broke eye contact immediately to grab your conditioner. How could he be so on, so intense, all the time? You scrunched the conditioner through the ends of your hair.

His soapy hand trailed up your side, caressing your stomach, ribs, and breast. You shivered. His other hand joined, cupping your breasts and pulling you flush to his chest. He lightly squeezed your breasts in his hands, rolling your nipples in his thumb and forefinger. You gasped into the steamy air, hands still caught up in your hair. He released your breasts, smoothing down your chest right to your cunt.

“Ah, Si!” you whined, untangling your hands from your hair to grasp at his forearms as his fingers parted your folds. He leaned down to kiss at your neck, his fingers gently stroking at your slick clit and labia. Fuck. You hadn’t noticed how wet you had gotten.

“You always get wet suckin’ dick?” he asked circling your hole before stroking slowly up to your clit. “Or is this just f’ me?” You wriggled against him, but his hand kept you in place.

“You don’t-” you gasped out, trying to tell him he didn’t have to get you off.

“Said I would clean y’ up, didn’ I?” he rumbled into your ear.

You sighed, leaning your head back into his chest, acquiescing to his plans. You’ve known him for less than two days, but you still stupidly trusted him. He reached into the corner and squirted a pump of soap into his hand with one fluid motion, his other hand not leaving you. He smoothed the fragrant purple gel over your chest, lathering it across your shoulders as it dripped in soapy rivulets between your breasts. He used both hands to swab the soap down your arms. His hands came back up to knead at your shoulders. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

“Smells good,” he said, tickling your neck when he talked.

“Thanks,” you sighed, relaxing into the roll of his thumbs on your shoulder blades. You picked your head up to squint at the bottle through the steam. “Orchid and black currant.”

You fell away as he soaped up your back, kneading in small circles down your spine. You crossed your arms against the shower wall, letting your head rest against them with a groan as he massaged you. He stepped forward, pinning you farther against the wall, soaping your stomach, then your chest, then your breasts. He sighed as he squished your soapy breasts in his hands again. You leaned your head to the side, water slicking your hair to your face, letting a whine fall free.

Before you could say anything, he pulled your boneless form away from the wall flush with his chest. His one hand released from your breast, sliding straight down to your sex again. You bucked and whined as he began to rub circles around your clit, this time in earnest. You were losing yourself in his hands until you felt his cock knocking against your lower back.

“Si,” you moaned as he squeezed your nipple.

You pushed your butt back against him to make sure you were really feeling what you felt. He groaned as his cock slid against your soapy ass. Yep, it was.

“How are you hard again?” you asked looking back at him bewildered.

His eyes were dark and glassy. He shrugged at you. Shrugged!

“Don’t get this very often,” he grunted, rocking forward into your butt again. “Gotta take advantage when I can, y’ know?”

You let out a small laugh, turning your head away. He leaned down to kiss at your neck and work your clit again.

“Don’t mind it. Wanna do this for you,” he said into your ear.

“Then kiss me,” you demanded, looking up at him through the falling water.

He didn’t wait long to satisfy you, locking lips with you as you spun around so fast you almost slipped. His arms were there to catch you, though. He picked you up again, squishing your wet, soapy flesh to his. You squealed as you threw your arms around his neck and tried to hold on. You felt too slippery, even in his arms, you knew you were going to fall.

“Si!” you yelled, pulling away from the kiss, “Can’t do this in here!”

He smiled at you, shuffling you to one hand so he could lean forward to turn off the water with the other.

“Didn’t plan on it.” he said walking you out of the bathroom.

After he had brought you back to bed and pulled two orgasms out of you, you and Simon spent the rest of the day doing what you had actually planned: laundry and cleaning.

It felt comfortably domestic to have someone to help with these menial tasks. Almost disturbingly so. It frightened you how easily you both fell into it. Simon stepping right into his self-assigned role of Strong Man. Many of his tasks revolved around carrying things he deemed too heavy for you. He also took a lot of initiative for being a practical stranger to you and your space. While you sorted another bin of laundry, he washed the dishes. You didn’t even have to ask him, not that you would have. When you peeked your head in to the kitchen see why the water was running he gave you a little nod and continued on with his self-assigned task.

“My dirty dishes too, love,” he’d said with a shrug.

You were beginning to love how he called you that: love. You tried to stop it, but it wormed into your heart. You knew it was just an English thing. You’d gotten used to it long ago. You thought back to the first couple summers you’d spent with your dad here: just two young kids - you and your older brother - with pretty much free-run of the the city to work out the culture shock while your dad was busy everyday, either running his own firm or in the process of finishing his own recent move back to his home country.

You tapped your fingers against the hardwood as you sat cross-legged on the floor of your bedroom. He had never asked for more from your mother while you and your brother were children: more time, more that his assigned holidays. Then, you were both adults, moving around the country, busy with college, relationships, and jobs and never able to take him up on his invitations, despite his offers to pay for plane tickets. Never able to, that was, until it was too late.

Simon stuck his head in your room while you were piling another heap of black clothes into a laundry bin, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Timer’s up,” he said leaning down to pick up the heavy bin. “Come on,” he said motioning for you to follow.

After you came back to your apartment, in the middle of setting up your drying rack, he stepped into the bathroom and started looking about. If you knew him better, you would say he was nervous.

“Mind if I clean?” he asked, arms crossed, looking into the dusty corners you’d let go for far too long.

“The bathroom? You sure?” you asked laying your black sweaters and socks over the rods. You never liked cleaning bathrooms which was a large reason why it was in it’s current state.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he said leaning down to search for your cleaning supplies under the vanity, “Like a good mess to get into.”

“Helps you think?” you asked.

“Helps me stop thinking,” he said turning into the bathroom, leaving you with more questions but too uncomfortable to push for answers.

Whatever, you thought. If it helped him and you got a clean toilet and shower out of it, who cares. You heard him start shuffling things around the little room, taking your shower products out of the stall, you guessed from the hollow plastic sounds, and left him to it.

After all of your clothes were hung, you wandered into the kitchen to look over what you had in your refrigerator. You heard Simon walk across the living room behind you and dig into his jacket. He was unzipping various pockets looking for something. You concentrated on using up what you could with this dinner before you put more thought into buying new groceries for the coming week. You were chewing on your thumb, standing in the open door of the refrigerator, when Simon came around the corner.

“You got bleach?” he said in a slightly muffled voice.

“Down with the laundry,” you told him, not looking up.

You pulled out a few ingredients from the drawers before turning around to face him. You almost jumped when you did. He had a black gaiter mask pulled up over his nose and a pair of black gloves on his hands. To block the chemicals, you told yourself. It was such a small change, but it made him look so much more intimidating. Usually, you had his whole face to soften his hard stare, the faded scars, his resting scowl, with most of it covered, though, it was just you and those eyes.

He started at the food in your hands: an onion, a bulb of garlic, two tubs of cheese, a pack of sausage and ground turkey.

“What’s all that for?”

“Dinner?” you squeaked, flushing and feeling very scrutinized under his stare. Fuck. Why did you like it so much?

“Oh,” he said with a nod, looking at your wall clock, “It’s getting late,”

You felt your heart drop. He was going to leave. Or make an excuse to leave. Stop, you told yourself. He’s just a guy. He can leave if he wants, but you don’t want him too, though. He doesn’t-

“You hear me?” he asked forcefully.

You fucking clenched at that. What the fuck was wrong with you, for real.

“No,” you admitted weakly, “Zoned out.”

He sighed and pointed at your hands. Why were those black gloves making his hands that much more attractive? Oh you were so fucked.

“What’re you makin’?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, “Lasagna!”

He leaned silently against the doorway, thinking of something. Your heart was pounding, waiting for him to speak.

“That sounds fuckin’ good,”

You smiled, hugging the ingredients awkwardly to your chest.

“It is! I mean . . .” you said letting your arms fall a little slack. “You’ll have to judge for yourself.”

“I will,” he said, dark eyes sliding over you as he turned back around.

You stood where he had left you for a few moments, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened and why you were acting like this. You let out a long breath, turned around, and decided to just not confront that train of thought. You hummed happily as you shoved the image of Simon in his black mask and gloves to the farthest back corner of your mind, and set about making dinner.

Simon kept a bit of distance at first, only popping back in to tell you it was time to bring up the last load of laundry, which he ran down for. You were able to cook the noodles and chop the vegetables in peace, but by the time you were browning the meat, he was like a six-foot tall dog. Instead of begging, however, he was stuck to your side, melting you with those big sleepy eyes while picking bits out to “sample”.

“If you keep eating it, there won’t be anything left for the top!” you said swatting his fingers from the mozzarella.

“’m helping,” he said, mouth full of cheese and a smirk on his face. He had pulled his gaiter down to his neck and shoved his gloves in his back pocket. “Meat needs more salt.”

“The cheese adds a lot of salt. Don’t tell me how to cook,” you said wagging your spatula at him. “How about you take the dry clothes off the rack and I’ll let you help me finish putting it together?”

“Fair ‘nuff,” he said turning on his heel and heading to the living room, eager either for an order or to get out of range of your hands while you had access to wooden utensils.

You had finished the laundry about an hour ago, all that was left was to fold and put everything away. A job for tomorrow. Simon had finished the bathroom too. It still reeked of bleach, which stung your eyes too much to even walk in, but it was cleaner than you’d ever seen. Even the grout was white again.

You spread the meat sauce on the bottom of the pan and smoothed it out with your spatula. Laying the noodles down reminded you of your mom. She had always given you the job of laying on the noodles. You could still remember sitting on the countertop as a little girl, helping her make Sunday dinner. As you grew up she had let you do more. When you cooked the noodles today, it was exactly as she had told you all those years ago: slowly and constantly stirring them in your largest pot, with plenty of room to cook, so they didn’t stick together or break.

The cheese mixture came next, carefully spooned on and spread out. You were reaching for the meat sauce when Simon came up behind you, wrapping his hands around your hips.

“Smells delicious, love,” he said sending a shiver down your spine, “Can’t wait to eat.”

“Thanks,” you said blushing, ladling the sauce over the cheese, “I like to cook.”

“Damn good at it, too,” he said nuzzling your neck.

“Don’t say that ‘till you’ve tasted it. You’ll jinx me,” you said with a laugh. You pulled the pan of noodles closer. “Do you want to help?” you asked picking one up.

“Sure,” he said letting go of your body, “If you don’t mind me messing it up.”

“It’s lasagna,” you said with a shrug, “Even if it’s messy, it’ll still taste good. Besides, I made this when I was a kid, I think you’ll do fine.”

He leaned in and pecked a quick kiss on your lips. It knocked the breath out of you.

“Thanks,” he said against your mouth, his nose caressing yours as he pulled away.

Oh my god you were falling for this guy.

You cleared your throat, knocking the thought out of your mind. You set the noodle across the sauce and waited for Simon to follow. He carefully picked up a wet, wiggly noodle, holding it like it was an alien creature, before setting it down next to your noodle in the pan. He looked to you for approval.

“Good!” you said with a nod, “Keep going. Only one more for the layer.”

You shuffled away from him, down the line of your counters, to grab a glass and quickly filled it with water. You gulped it down like you were dying. You could feel your heart beating too rapidly in your chest. Fuck, you thought gripping the cool glass tightly, willing yourself to come back to reality. You’ve known this guy for less than two days. This was not happening.

“What next then?” he asked, hunched over the pan, inspecting the layers.

“The ricotta,” you said pointing to the bowl filled with the white and green-flecked mixture.

Simon picked it up and looked at it just as he had the pan, eyeing it almost with suspicion.

“You . . . pour it on?” he asked, looking at you.

“No,” you said setting down your glass. You walked back over to him and gave him the spoon you had been using for just the cheese, because you were anal like that when it came to cooking. “Dollop on about half of what’s left with the spoon, then spread it out,” you said gently, feeling like your mother.

You observed as Simon followed your instructions perfectly, if slowly. He handed you back the bowl when he was done.

“Never would’ve had the patience t’ figure this out,” he mumbled, stepping back to let you do the rest.

“It’s not for everyone,” you said sweetly, stepping over to layer the meat sauce over the cheese. “Besides, it’s almost done.”

He was content to lean against the counter and watch you do the rest. The oven beeped while you were sprinkling the extra cheese over the top. After you had safely deposited it in the oven to bake, Simon still lingered around you in the kitchen. You stared at each other wondering what to fill the next hour with.

“Could do the dishes,” he suggested.

“We’ll just have more later,” you said with a sigh, “Let’s relax.”

You popped off from the counter and walked over to your couch before flopping down. You pulled your blanket around you with a sigh.

“Not gon’ argue with that,” he said rather cheerily following you.

You had taken up most of the couch when you landed on the couch, so you didn’t know what Simon planned to do when he joined you. You hadn’t expected him to scoop you up, blanket and all, settling down across the couch with you wrapped in his arms. You laughed and wriggled as he tried to squish you into a more comfortable position on his lap.

“Quit movin’,” he chided you, palming the back of you head, gently pushing you to his chest, “Relax.”

You sighed and snuggled against him. He was awkward to get comfortable against, but he was warm and made you feel safe. Night had already fallen. It was dim in your apartment, lit only by the light in the kitchen and the streetlights that came in under your curtains. You closed your eyes as Simon ran his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna fall asleep,” you warned him, a yawn sneaking out.

“‘s okay,” he soothed, “I’ll get y’ up when the timer goes off.”

You nodded, falling more and more comfortably into his arms, until you were asleep.

Simon had been true to his word, softly shaking you awake an hour later when the oven timer went off. He also begrudgingly followed your instructions to wait another fifteen minutes to let it cool and set once he had taken the pan out of the oven. He had been easy enough to distract from his hunger, though. You had thrown your blanket around his shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss. That’s how you ended up hauled onto the counter, with Simon standing between your legs absolutely devouring your mouth. You almost forgot about dinner entirely, but when both of your stomachs growled, you knew you had to pull apart.

One piece of lasagna perfectly satisfied you. It was richer and saltier (you knew Simon had added more while you were distracted) than you were used to for your meals, so you ate it with several glasses of water. That had only made you fuller. Simon, on the other hand, devoured half the pan. After you were done, you just sat and watched him eat, absolutely blown away at his pace. You weren’t used to anyone with that level of appetite, even your brother when he was a teenager didn’t compare.

“‘m ready for bed,” he said sitting back in his chair with a groan, throwing his fork on his plate after polishing off his fourth piece.

You had been watching him over your glass of water with wide eyes and an amazed smile. “Go ahead,” you said setting down your glass and collect your dishes, “I’m going to get the leftovers put away. Be right behind you.”

He was still collapsed in the chair when you took the dishes to the kitchen. You dumped them in the sink next to your mess from making dinner. Tomorrow, you reminded yourself. You grabbed a small container, scooping the last piece of lasagna into it. While you were putting the container in the refrigerator you heard Simon finally sit up and head to your bedroom. All you had left was the dirty pan. You placed it on top of the mountain of your other dishes. When nothing came tumbling down, you turned off the kitchen light and made your way to the bedroom, to Simon, through the dark of your apartment.

a/n: happy (late) halloween everyone! thank you all so much for your likes and comments! I see them everytime i log on and they overwhelm me in the best way ❤️ i need to work out some kinks (lol) with the next part, so i'm aiming for posting closer to this weekend instead of friday!

#starry writes #mw2 #ghost/reader #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #you will take soft domestic simon from my cold dead hands #*aggressively gives him love and affection*

49 notes · View notes

dusty-bookelf · 4 months

Text

I just finished the Green Creek series by TJ Klune and the brain rot is unreal. I binged all four books in a week and have been screaming the whole time. I didn’t think my heart could take it so I’m word vomiting here because I may explode otherwise. SPOILERS FOR BROTHERSONG AHEAD!!!!

I thought the end was so good and so perfect for the series. This whole time there’s like this theme of history repeating itself and the consequences of the choices you make; specifically how your actions affect others. We see all the characters make decisions and make mistakes and have to come to terms with what they’ve done.

The culmination of this is obviously the final battle, which I feel really ended the books well. Not all series have satisfactory endings, but imo Greek Creek absolutely does.

For a second I thought Klune was gonna kill Ox and I was going to scream! Because how could history be repeating itself! How could they not escape fate! I was so scared. Because in a series about choices, you know Ox would never chose to leave his pack, leave Joe, but you also know he Would (just like his mother and his alpha) if he thought it would save the rest of his pack. Throughout the series Ox always chooses his pack and always places the pack above himself because he’s just Ox and the people around him are the most precious parts of his life.

Then there’s Joe. Joe, who goes out of his way to save an injured bird and doesn’t believe in leaving anyone behind. Joe, who never really wanted to be an Alpha, let alone alpha of all. Who tore his own heart out, separated himself from his tether and almost became feral because he thought it’s what Ox wanted. Who was told by a beast that his family wouldn’t chose him, that no one would. This little boy with the world on his shoulders and didn’t choose any of it. Probably wouldn’t have chosen it but was tied to it because of his name and what he thought he had to do for his pack to want to choose him. One of Joe Bennett’s only choices that he makes just for himself is being with Ox.

That’s why it’s so perfect that the way to end the cycle of mistakes and death (a lot of them caused by doing what’s expected instead of what they’d choose for themselves) is for Joe to make his own choice about what he wants for his life. He wants Ox and his pack to be whole, not be in charge of everyone else. In contrast to the antagonists, he isn’t concerned with gaining/keeping power, but gives up some of his control to keep the people he loves safe. He gets to let go of some of the pressure and the things he doesn’t want to keep what he does choose: love and family.

#green creek series #tj klune #ox matheson #oxnard matheson #brothersong #wolfsong #joe bennett #carter bennett #kelly bennett #ravensong

24 notes · View notes

obscurecharactershowdown · 10 months

Text

Group F Round 3

[image ID: the first image is of Gaap Goemon. his silver hair covers his entire face and body. he's wearing a long, blue coat with white trim, and a belt around his waist. he's holding a sword. the second image is of Granger, a girl with green eyes and short, wavy or curly black hair. in her hair is a red hat or ribbon. she's wearing a black turtleneck sweater, blue overalls, and a green coat. end ID]

Gaap Goemon

a good boy who wants to make 100 allies. dope swordsman. has a silly little guy of his very own. and also sweet magic wind blades. [additional propaganda 1] [additional propaganda 2]

Granger

so granger is the main character of the indie game "NeverHome" Chapter one, which is only $1 on Steam, is called NeverHome: Hall of Apathy. if ur a fan of young protags being put in RPG maker horror games, then this is the game for you!! so granger is just that… she wakes up to find herself in a strange, hostile world. she, along with the friends she makes, must solve the various puzzles before them while creatures are out to kill them… and along the way they can uncover the secrets of these never ending halls… her dynamics with the cast is also super fun… each character gets their moment or moments with granger. and what's so cute is that there's unique art for each pair that highlights the fact you cant get through these halls alone!! she also has her own theme song!! here!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_vwtmIj5cw it's called cyclical tragedy AND HERE IS AN ANALYSIS OF THE THEME!! MUSIC THEORY!!! written by my good friend @HIEMIOLA "cyclical tragedy" embodies the protagonist, granger, through the music theory behind the track and ties itself back into the main track as well. to begin with an overview of the track, the key is D minor and hte time signature is 3/4. the piece begins with a broken minor third starting from the tonic. that is, it begins on the main note and moves along the main chord, D to F. the next set of notes are C to E, which is shifted down a step. the phrase repeats again, this time D to F, then G to E, which is an inverse movement from the original sequence. even in this first part, we could tell that the protagonist begins from square 1 with a simple pattern, then tries it again when it works. however, the inverse breaks that expectation of repetition, thus showing the diverse variations of solutions she comes up with using just the tools she has (the two notes moving in thirds). just like the game, she is given a handful of objects as well as a knife to defend herself and solve the mysteries of the world she exists in. with her creative uses of the items given to her, she continues on her way through the plot. we will keep moving. the melody begins. true to the title of the track, the melody cycles around the same beginning note, D, that she always returns to at her square 1. this is a nod to the save states she is allowed to keep to make sure that we the players don't lose the game, but it also references the health bar that appears as a circle around her avatar. the melody, mapped out, is also moving in an up-down wave movement across the sheet music. granger is creative with the knife she has and the quest items she obtains throughout the story, but she is not entirely reckless. rather, she knows when it is time to return to the safe rooms to rest. to time her returns requires skill because she must run to cover without being caught by varying her path so the enemies don't corner her as she tries to return to the room. most of the time, she is successful, shown through the consistent return to the beginning note. let's keep going. i would like to turn your attention to the main theme briefly. in the bass notes, you can hear arpeggios and outlined chords. this makes up the bulk of the accompaniment in the main game theme. [mod note: the rest of the essay, and some more propaganda, is continued under a cut because tumblr will not process more text than this in an indent. sorry to split it up, please continue below for the rest of the essay and additional propaganda!]

the third variation of granger's theme also has arpeggiated chords in the accompaniment while the melody features broken chords. at this stage, the pattern switches to eigth notes instead of the quarter notes at first. with greater movement and heightened senses, she runs throughout world and befriends other people, thus interacting further with the environment. while she isn't exactly someone we would call open, she is respectful to the people she first meets and has no problems with asking them for help when she needs it. because of her openness to working together, she speeds up her progress by asking for aid at obstacles that would be too difficult for her to overcome on her own, such as asking a teammate to break things, move things, or reach into smaller holes. fusing the main theme elements with her own theme marks this step as the inciting incident that sets her on the path to escape from this world. we'll continue.

continuing the same part, we hear some secondary fifths. i'm not entirely sure if this is what you call it, but it is a nod to the parallel key, D major. depending on what theory class you take, this could also be considered the other half of the key. i dont know how else to describe it, but i digress. these are glimpses to different dialogue options she could take, glimpses to a different key or a different ending. because this game only has one chapter ending so far, we are unsure of what other paths granger will end up in; we only know that there are certainly other endings she will experience, only to begin the cycle again when the save state is loaded for players to reach another ending. both A major and G major are chords that signify different choices that may lead her elsewhere only for her to return back to the tonic or main note, D. despite this, she keeps going, as will we.

at the midpoint of the track, we see a quick shift in patterns. instead of upward leaps in the notes, the melody falls in stepwise motion. true to the plot, this is another turning point of the game when she is forced to make a choice: continue or stop. after facing the spoiler event, her once determined personality is challenged as she struggles to keep herself and her team together. despite being the headstrong protagonist who spearheaded solutions, even now she finds herself doubting and taking smaller steps, smaller risks.

even after all of this, she rises to the challenge as the melody returns to its beginning sequence. true to a protagonist she gets up again despite the events that transpired and keeps her team moving in their lowest points. the thirds return as she finds more objects to solve more puzzles to open more rooms to save more friends. this repeating part of the track only solidifies her resolve as the piece ends with a broken chord in the main key, her key, of D minor. despite everything that transpired, she stayed true to herself."

the game is also so, so charming with the art, music, and story made by the same person… its so clearly loved and full of passion!! i love listening to the game's ost on occassion!! since it's all on youtube!

ok one last thing thing!! on may 8th, the game hit 100 downloads (on both steam and itch.io). you can see the creator of the game celebrate that with this lovely drawing of granger: https://twitter.com/NeverHome_Game/status/1655761270694633472

so at most, only a bit over 100 people have played the game… id like to say that makes it obscure!!

anyways granger and neverhome!! we love to see our protagonists put in horrific situations and isn't she super cute with a lil bow on her head? she is my daughter…

[additional propaganda 1]

[additional propaganda 2]

#obscurecharactershowdown #obscure poll #group f round 3 #gaap goemon #mairimashita! iruma kun #granger neverhome #neverhome

24 notes · View notes

mywifeleftme · 4 months

Text

274: Nap Eyes // Whine of the Mystic

Whine of the Mystic Nap Eyes 2014, Plastic Factory (Bandcamp)

Can’t speak to the sound on the original 2014 pressing of this guy from Plastic Factory Records, but the 2015 Paradise of Bachelors/You’ve Changed edition sounds pretty revelatory to me—kudos to the folks at the plant, and to Mike Wright and Peter Woodford for the mixing and mastering. Talk about Nap Eyes tends to quickly descend into the Nigel Chapman show—the vocalist’s laconic cadences and ambling lyricism offer plenty of grist for a critic to chew on, but here on the LP the rhythm section is mixed loud and way up front so that the insistent throb of Josh Salter’s bass becomes as difficult to ignore as the pounding of your own pulse in your ears when you’ve run too hard. Whine of the Mystic was recorded at Drones Club in Montreal back in 2013, which is basically just a none-too-large loft apartment in my current neighbourhood where they do raves sometimes, and the record sounds just like listening to the boys play while wearing good custom-fitted ear plugs. That rawness does a band who can flirt with a nutritious beigeness a lot of good—the guitars singe and flare, the amps sizzle, and the feeling of this band as a slack psych live force comes through.

youtube

I’ve been a huge fan of Nap Eyes since I caught them in Ottawa back in 2014, and people generally dig them when I recommend the record (with the exception of my pal Meghan, who despises them with the grumpy exhaustion that comes of seeing a band you don’t like constantly opening for bands you do). As such, Whine of the Mystic has been with me through a lot—the best songs (like “Dark Creedence,” and the last four) make a shimmering soundtrack to existential hangovers; walking toward some workaday Calvary in the rain; handrolling cigarettes badly; pining for girls if only to keep in practice; not getting a master’s; being 27 as hell for many years. It’s full of little touches that still delight me, like when they kinda morph into the Proclaimers for a bridge on “The Night of the First Show,” or the way the raincloud pacing of “Dreaming Solo” finally cracks open into the most amiable outro jam imaginable.

Giving your record a punny name is a risky choice, and as a phrase Whine of the Mystic skirts the edge of dorkiness. But in the end, I come down on it as an apt synopsis of the album’s charms. Chapman’s plaints linger on the humdrum, yet they paint the experience as intoxicating, Halifax as the backdrop for an ancient mystery cycle that repeats itself wherever life’s taking place. It brings to mind an exchange from Louis Malle’s The Fire Within, a superficially dull but emotionally feverish movie I haven’t thought of in ten years. The main character, a suicidal alcoholic who feels drained by what he perceives as the world’s absence of meaning, talks to an old friend, who has settled into a steady life as an academic and a husband. I don’t remember much of what they talk about, besides this:

Alain Leroy: Dubourg, what will you do tonight? Dubourg: Tonight, I'll write a few pages on my Egyptians, then make love to Fanny. I fall into her silence as into a well. At the bottom is a great sun that warms the earth.

All life is quotidian, but the primal and transcendent lies within that quotidian life, if you can truly immerse yourself within your own. Good luck.

youtube

274/365

#nap eyes #monomyth #'10s music #canadian music #indie rock #jangle pop #indie psych #nigel chapman #music review #vinyl record #halifax #halifax music #nova scotia #nova scotia music

3 notes · View notes

angelmichelangelo · 11 months

Note

I don't think I can actually contain my excitement for the new Mutant Mayhem movie!!! What are you most looking forward to/anticipating and hoping for?

anon i’m right there with you pal, hahah.

more under the cut cos i went a little insane lol

and oh boy SO much. it’s funny because i am a no trailer kind of person. i don’t mind teasers but on a general note i tend to avoid trailers only because most of the time they’re very spoilery. but i broke my own rule mostly because i have no impulse control and was very very happy when it decided to not show me the entire plot of the movie in 2 minutes or less.

i really REALLY love that it’s not a krang/shredder movie. don’t get me wrong: love those guys, i think they’re great “main” villains but it gets a little tiresome of seeing them on the big screen most of the time.

it feels really reminiscent of spider man homecoming in the sense that, we didn’t need the entire movie to spell out peter’s origins. we already KNOW he’s been bitten by a spider, we already KNOW about ben and about responsibility and blah blah blah. and having homecoming be a little ways into his new life, having him takedown smaller, street level villains felt super refreshing and so much more down to earth and so much more like spider man, and that’s the feeling i get with this new tmnt movie.

we don’t need them going to space taking down aliens or making mortal enemies right away, we need them saving shitty parts of the city from purple dragons, making home for all the stray mutants. if feels so much more.. homely? in a way? it feels grounded and im really happy to finally see that in a tmnt movie.

(we can save shredder or krang for a sequel lol)

I LOVE that it doesn’t seem to be focused on just one of the brothers. unfortunately over time tmnt seems to boil itself down to “this is the plot and then we have leo/raph conflict, then we have the peak, and then leo/raph conflict resolves and they finally work as a team and save the world”

and again, i do enjoy some brotherly angst from time to time but it really gets tiresome after a while, especially when you’re watching donnie and mikey get shafted into essentially background support cast lol.

brothers fight and argue and i don’t doubt that we’ll see that in the movie, maybe driving somewhat of a wedge between them before their big moment but as long as it isn’t the resounding conflict of the movie i’ll be happy. i want name calling and hair pulling but don’t make the entire movie just leo vs raph match. they’re each others best friends at the end of the day.

i’m hoping for a little more of mikey and donnie. again like i said in my last point, they’re always pretty under-utilised. mikey always falls into the comic relief cycle and donnie is just. there until someone needs him to pick a lock or defuse a bomb lol. notice in the trailer when mikey asked what they would do if they weren’t monsters (coming back to that in a moment) we never actually hear what it is mike and don want. whether it was just for the gag of donnie’s sarcastic response to leo’s answer or whether it was intentional, i have full faith in seth rogan ever since he put out the characters sheets about mikey wanting to be taken more seriously AND the fact that it was mikey looking longingly out of the sewer towards the city. he might make me cry in this movie. he might make me cry.

i want to be HURT. yes mikey is my very first blorbo so naturally i treat him like a personal punching bag. mike sees himself as a monster, no doubt the others do too, but throughout the lifespan of the tmnt franchise, mikey’s always the one that wants to be part of the “normal” world, making human friends, wanting to be accepted. yeah we got that in bayverse 2 but if we get a repeat of the scene where the police officers that were surrounding them with guns calls them monsters to their faces and mikey starts tearing up… i might not make it. look for me on the isle floor underneath the fold up cinema seats cos i’ll be there, weeping like a damn baby. i want this movie to be fun and im okay with it if it isn’t more angst heavy but the tmnt fandom are pretty used to the pain by now, it’s almost expected lmao.

things im hoping for: a casey hint. hand on heart i don’t think he’ll be here for this movie, and unless he’s referred to at the end then im hoping we get a Easter egg at least, a la yoshi at the end of the super mario bros movie. show me a hockey mask and i will go bananas.

woody dirkins. i will honestly do so many unlawful things for a woody cameo AT LEAST. woody is one of my favourite side characters…. i want Woody. i might protest this who is with me.

no multiverse shit. i don’t mind tongue in cheek references, i think that’s cute and it’s fine and hey. if we get a 2003 reference or joke i might just combust because it’ll be nice if SOMEBODY in the Nick studios remembered those guys. but i’m so happy with this being a standalone movie. no crossovers no sky splitting open no big blue beam going to destroy the city. i want this bubble of a world to exist on its own, mostly because the multiverse trope is everywhere at the moment, so it would just be really cool not to have it again lol

OH. ideas for a sequel despite not even having seen the first one ???? here is one:

the rat king. again, we don’t have to go full main mega villain yet but 2012 rat king was UNREAL and genuinely one of my favourite villains of all time. it wouldn’t have to be beat for beat the same as that particular episode but i quite enjoy it when they give Splinter stuff to do.

overall i think i’m gonna be pleased with this movie. i genuinely am not fussed about many things, if it’s gots the turtles, i’m gonna be happy, trust me.

i’m also looking forward to the soundtrack. we’ve only had one song so far but i just know it’s gonna be very fun, 90s hip hop, my kinda thing.

a lot of love seems to have been poured into this project and it doesn’t feel like a cash grab or toy selling front in any shape or form. the tmnt fandom has pretty much been bobbing about in waves of content for years, some good some bad, some left in the mud. we haven’t gotten a real movie since 2016, back when i was in college making essays on the franchise itself, and now here we are seven years later and i’m just as hyped as i knew i would have been if I’d known this movie was coming out back then.

i cant wait for this movie, to feel it’s love through the screen from the writers and the cast, and it’s just so exciting. be prepared because as soon as my little mushroom brain goes and watches that movie, i’m making it my entire personality for perhaps forever. i won’t even be sorry lol

thanks for the ask anon, sorry it got a little rambly there — have a good day :)

#ask #anon #tmnt #tmnt mutant mayhem #teenage mutant ninja turtles #mutant mayhem

14 notes · View notes

arugula2048 · 1 year

Note

need ur shen jiu thoughts

the fact that his character is defined by a single unconditional love to the end fucking kills me. from orphans on the streets to enslaved boys to just one enslaved boy to rogue cultivator to cultivators.

can you imagine shouldering all the pain from the qiu manor with a pipe dream that his naive friend has somehow cracked the wuxia code and become an honored cultivator, rich enough to buy his freedom? SJ was always a smart boy who found the one solace from his cynicism in YQY. when he let YQY go with that lie about his broken leg, i think some part of him accepted his death in that moment - in a dark, dirty hole, aching all over, alone and afraid, with YQY running off into a hopeful wide world with a snowball's chance in hell. that's how they both actually died anyway lmfao

we see that pattern repeat itself throughout their lives, that moment scarred them both to the soul. SJ thinks reaching out to YQY (or YQY reaching out) means dragging him back into the hellish pit he ran away from (and that SJ freed him from, which would make reaching out also spitting on both their efforts and all the pain he went through), and YQY thinks reaching back to SJ thinks it'd always be too little, too late, and risks SJ pushing him away even further. god.

and it just boggles me really, how SJ repressed and repressed and repressed until he became a caricature of a human to everyone who knew him, except maybe the prostitute ladies. SJ took those moments with YQY and decided that if his dear, childhood friend that he gave all his loyalty to, treats him like this, how good will others really treat him? better not try, so he... what, doesn't have to give his loyalty to them too? he can only bear so much weight. if he owes nothing to others, he will never be owned again.

and in deciding to never give anyone else his loyalty ever again, he turned everybody against him and decided to indulge himself with 1) dallying off to the brothels to hang out w the prostitute ladies, and 2) child abuse, repeating the cycle to act out his previous traumas?, both of which are comfortable routines that reinforce his belief that deep inside he's just the filthy slave boy who will never crawl out of his self-made grave. everything he touches will never be anything more than twisted echoes of him.

when LBH dropped the shattered pieces of Xuan Su in front of him, i think SJ finally realized this was his end game. the other shoe that he kept fearing would drop, finally dropped.

i do wonder if in his last years, in the privacy of his mind, if SJ had the time and health to do some heavy introspection and see how this came from his self-fulfilling prophecy. and if he knew that YQY's humiliating death could have been avoided if he just repressed himself even further. stupid number seven, he never learned his lesson.

#it's been a while since i read svsss so hopefully my thoughts weren't too mixed up by the fanfics #but uhhh eheheh! rubs the back of my neck and grins #.docx #svsss #fandom stuff

30 notes · View notes

rivkahwastaken · 2 years

Text

The Peter Pan Oneshot

This has been sitting on my pc for a while so I thought I’d post some of it since some of the writing is decent. Enjoy.

➳

What if I told you that belief was one of the most powerful forces in existence? Growing up, different versions of belief are passed down to us. Religion, willpower, philosophy, silly childhood legends like the Tooth Fairy. No matter how different, they all came from the same place. As we grow and learn, we gradually accept what we see in front us as the honest truth, and lose our capacity for wonder. So did I. For a long time, I’ve known that all these myths are based off of some form of truth. Humans take what is real and given and let their thoughts and emotions run wild. What I never knew, was that more often than not, the truth hides in plain sight, disguised as a silly story. What I never knew, was that fate was real, and mine was interwoven with these tales. What I never knew, was that the very stories I thought I grew out of, were the truth, and that I’d come face to face with it.

➳

The town of Storybrooke looked exactly as the Shadow had expected it to. Despite the fact that it had been touched by powerful magic, it was still like any other place in this realm. After all, this was the realm without magic, and humans from this place were as boring as ever. That’s why he found himself still taking young boys back to the island, where order didn’t matter, and only what you wanted and believed in did.

He’d had many opportunities to explore the place and observe how these unordinary people would deal with this unmagical place. He figured it out too quickly for it to be any fun. Of course, none of them believed in any form of magic, or even anything out there that could defy cold, hard logic. That was what the curse did to them. They lived in a constant cycle of waking up, working, falling asleep, repeat. The blessing of knowing such things like fairies, goblins, magic and the like exist had been stolen from them, and in being so, their happy endings had been stolen too. Perhaps he felt a small bit of sympathy for them. Because they no longer could believe in what was beyond their surroundings.

But the Shadow was not here for Storybrooke. Even with their crazy little curse lifted, they were still a town in this realm of all, and he was not interested in it. What did interest him was the sudden arrival of something. Something strong, something pure, something important. It was almost familiar. Where had they been all this time? He couldn’t say. He had sensed it long before now. It was the main reason why the Shadow willingly went through the trouble of coming to Earth, to find it.

Yeah, the guy he worked for sent him to pick up different children for his own agenda and he complied, but there was always this feeling that drove him to do it, something beyond this other person’s self-interest. The urge to pursue this something else just wouldn’t go away no matter what. So, he went with it, discovering different children with the capabilities to believe over the centuries. Aimlessly searching. Hoping. Every time, they all turned out to be just another child. This time was different. This time, he was sure of it. It was like finding the missing corner of a treasure map, and he wanted it.

Coming upon the secluded little settlement, he could sense that what’d drawn him out here was not in the town itself, but a little to the south, nearing the small town very, very slowly. Luckily, the Shadow was not slow, so he took off in that direction. He had to congratulate Storybrooke. It was useful for once. If not for the location’s prominent magical properties, he’d have never found the missing piece without Storybrooke as a vantage point.

Sweet satisfaction flowed through him as buildings dwindled away into trees, eventually revealing a small highway road cutting through the woods. He felt himself getting close. At the sight of a small speck moving at ground level, the Shadow slowed to a halt, letting himself sink lower in the air until he could get a better look at it. It was right there. He felt it.

It was small from where he was, but a figure was walking along the side of the road towards the town. The Shadow sank down further, stopping just above the tree branches, and crept up towards the road to get a better view. A hooded flannel covered their face and wrapped around a slim build. A backpack hung on their shoulders. Boots padded silently on the asphalt. As the speck strode onward towards Storybrooke, a small bright lock of hair swayed into view from underneath the hood, just for a split second. Whoever they were, they didn’t seem like much, but there was no doubt that this stranger was who the Shadow had been spending a frustrating amount of time for. He inched closer from behind on the other side of the road, brimming with excitement. A little too close, and a little too fast.

Abruptly stopping, their head tilted upward, then whipped around in the Shadow’s direction. Good thing he was fast enough. He peered at her from up above, concealing himself in the pine trees. After doing a thorough 360, they began walking again, faster than they had before. The Shadow drifted along with them in the trees. A couple minutes must have passed before the stranger’s gaze began to move around. Eyes mingling with the road, the sky, the trees. A twig snapped on the ground. Flinching in response, the mysterious traveler pulled a small flashlight out and clicked it on, holding it up tightly in their fist.

A rabbit below the Shadow stared back at the beam of light before hopping away into the brush. It was wise for the Shadow to stay still while in in the line of the target’s vision. Their eyes moved upward into the trees and narrowed, their flashlight shining directly in his face. This was the time to be still and blend in. His target wasn’t reacting rashly yet, but they shakily turned off their flashlight, keeping it in their hands as they broke into a light jog along the road.

If they weren’t going to look back, the Shadow was going to take the liberty of moving to the other side of the road again, the opposing side to the mysterious person. He wouldn’t come out though. He’d stay in the trees, lowering to nearly ground level. But he wouldn’t walk. No, he was much better at flying.

As their jog sped up into almost a run, the Shadow’s speed matched theirs. It matched too well. Maybe it was how his white eyes stood out in the darkness. Maybe he was going too fast. Maybe the trees weren’t concealing him well enough. Maybe it was all of them. No matter what it was, the hooded head turned in his direction and looked him dead in the eyes. Trying to hide was futile now.

The figure halted again for a second. After breathing a quick, “What the hell,” they took off into the woods across the road from him. But it wouldn’t matter how fast they sprinted through the wilderness or how many times their panicked, silvery voice called out for help. Storybrooke wasn’t for another couple of miles, and soon they would have nowhere to run.

It wasn’t long before soon became now. Flying at full speed, the Shadow saw his target halt at the edge of the sea, with only sharp boulders below to greet them if they fell. Lucky for them, the Shadow would never let that happen.

Glancing back at him, they started running along the rocky cliffs in a desperate attempt to put on as much distance as possible. Before they could get three steps in, the Shadow lifted them off the ground, silent against their desperate scream filling the air as they were whisked away into the night.

It was quick, like it always was. First, they flew further and further out into the sky, wind picking up to hurricane speeds until there was no more wind to blow. Eventually, they’d gone so far out, they got so close to the stars, you would begin to see them pass by like dots of dust in the air. Then they were enveloped in a misty darkness, swirling around them like a cyclone, eventually beginning to thin and shape out into a dark, flat line. As the dark mist faded away, stars appeared into view again and reflected back on themselves perfectly from the lower side of the fine line of darkness. As they moved along, a mass of land rose up above where the sky met the sea, growing rapidly in size as they neared at a fast pace. Only a few more seconds to get past the water and to the beach, lower to the surface.

The Shadow glanced down at his guest of honor, wide eyes looking back up, filled with bewildered panic. He released his grip on soft hands and disappeared into the jungle.

➳

Muffled voices tugged on my conscious, finally making me crack one eye open. Something was moving around on the ground next to me, but I couldn’t quite make out what through the haze in my vision and my dizzy conscience. While seconds ticked by, my focus moved in and out, drowning out most of the conversation happening above me with the exception of a few words every couple seconds.

“…Slow down…” A throaty voice with a nervous edge to it.

“…We made it…” A higher, sweeter voice, maybe belonging to a woman.

“Are you sure…my mom…”

“…Any clock towers…from Storybrooke…”

“…Can get here again…”

“We’re not in the Enchanted Forest…”

Then came the pain. A small groan escaped from my lips in response. Aching shot from my legs up to my head in waves that varied in severity. My whole body hurt like I’d just taken a beating or fallen off a cliff.

“Hey! Hey are you alright-”

“…Away from…”

“…Need our help!”

“…Greg…Just let him…Might be able to help…” Something grabbed my shoulder and shook violently. Then there was a high-pitched voice that felt much closer in proximity than it was. It was a child’s voice.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Forcing my body to roll over and sit up, propping myself up by the elbows, I finally got a good look at what was going on. Brown eyes looked right back at me, contrasting to very light toned skin. A dark jacket and a red scarf hugged his body. Dark, short, wet hair fell over his head. Why was his hair wet? He spoke again, “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

I took my time sitting up, letting out a pained sigh.

“What do you…” My question started out barely even a whisper, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “What’d you mean?” I asked the young boy groggily. Feeling some kind of tickling sensation down on my forearms, I looked down at them and saw sand caked all along them. “Oh, god what happened to me?” I began to start wiping the sand off my arms.

“That’s what I was wondering.” When I looked back at him, the boy’s face had turned into a look of concern.

“Greg.” The woman’s voice from before cut into our conversation. She was a dark-skinned lady with long, damp hair falling over her back like a black curtain and a fancy beige coat over jeans and designer boots. Around her neck was a rose-colored, skinny scarf. Holding out what looked like a walkie-talkie, her chocolate eyes were darkened with concern. “I’m not getting a status light on this.”

The man, assumingly Greg, walked over and took the radio from her.

“There are actual batteries in this thing, right?” When he popped the battery compartment open, grains of dirt sprinkled out and spilled out onto the beach. Silence and regret filled the moment that followed.

“What the hell is this? A toy?” The lady snatched the radio away and glared at it, then at Greg, then at nothing.

“It’s a good thing the home office can help us, right?” The boy said with a peculiar form of sarcasm in his tone. Greg’s face hardened. He quickly made his way over to me, narrowing his eyes down at me and crossing his arms once he stopped a couple feet away.

He was a tall man with fair skin and a dirty blonde buzz cut on his head, the hairline clearly receding earlier than he hoped. He had tired blue eyes under furrowed eyebrows. He was wearing a navy, button-up dress shirt and a pair of jeans with a black belt around his waist, accompanied by dull-looking sneakers on his feet.

“Can you stand?” I pushed myself onto my feet, wiping any stray grains of sand off my hands. The pain in my body had receded to my back and my head, pulsating in gentle throbs against my skull. Rubbing my temple, I stood up straight, balancing on my two feet once more. He replied with a single nod. “Then let’s get moving.” I raised my eyebrows.

“Where?”

“Inland.” A panicked form of confusion washed over me.

“Wait. Where even are we? Last time I was awake I…” Then it all came rushing back to me. Dark woods. Twigs snapping. Shuffling in the trees. Empty white eyes. But I’d just woken up, it all could’ve been a dream, right?

If it was a dream, what was I doing here?

Greg didn’t give me much time to say anything before he stepped up to me and started to say something with an interesting amount of conviction in his tone. “Look kid, we’re going through a lot of trouble to do our jobs and we don’t want to leave you here, but we will if we have to.”

“This is not a place you want to be alone in,” The woman added on from behind him. The young boy reached out for me, queueing my instincts to make me take a step back. He noticed, his hand frozen. The concern on his face deepened.

“Well?” Greg’s stare didn’t let up for a second. I couldn’t even begin to think of a response. Last time I was awake I was on my way to some town in the middle of nowhere, nothing but money and survival on my mind. Then I get taken in the night by some strange dark figure in the shadows and thrown on a beach like a ragdoll, which I didn’t even know how to process. After that, I don’t know where I am or who these people are and they expected me to just shrug it off and go on their little adventure?

“Fine,” Greg said after a long pause. He turned and pushed the kid towards a jungle behind us. “Walk.” The boy glared back at him.

“Whatever.” Staying behind for only a second to give me one last chance, the woman followed Greg and the boy.

Humidity hung in the surrounding air, thick and heavy, clinging to every inch of me. Where I was, the width of the beach didn’t stretch long at all. So, on the other side of the sand towered a line of trees that marked the border of a jungle. Massive trunks, with leaves I’d never seen before where I was from, overlapped one another in great proportions as the shadows of nighttime blackened them, making it appear more mysterious than it already was.

I gently smacked my lips together several times, finally noticing the dryness in my mouth, stretching all the way down my throat. Growing up in the city, I rarely had to excessively worry about basic human needs such as food or shelter, but in that moment, water was the only thing on my mind. Where would I find some though? The salt water would obviously not be of help.

High pitched noises from bugs emanated from the direction of the forest, and if I hadn’t been in these circumstances, I’d have almost found it calming. It almost felt like the mass of trees were calling to me, daring me to venture in and see if I could make it out.

Still, make no mistake, the forest was dangerous. I didn’t hike much in my life, but that didn’t mean I was stupid enough to think this place was safe. But soon, my justified confusion over the recent current of events turned putty in me as it became a much more primal emotion. Fear.

The dark waters of the ocean stared back at me, layered waves crashing onto the shore, eventually bubbling up into foam as it reached a couple feet away before pulling back for another lap. Stars stretched out over the sky, which eventually traveled down and met a straight line with the darkened waters of the ocean.

Something round bobbed out of the water, a little beyond the waves. I squinted to get a better look at it and stumbled backwards in panic when bright yellow eyes glared at me. Get away from it, my conscience yelled, white empty eyes flashing in my mind again. A howl echoed throughout the area. Then another joined in. And another. Wolves.

Suddenly, dealing with Greg compared to what threats would arise without company sounded much more appealing. I didn’t know much about surviving in the wilderness. Between creepy glowing eyes accompanied by the threat of wolves followed by dying of thirst and a couple people in the forest who made little sense but at least wanted to help me, my mind was made up.

I dashed into the undergrowth after the young boy, Greg, and the woman. Discomfort bloomed in my chest at the forest around me as it swallowed me up, but I kept moving forward until I heard rustling in the brush up ahead. When I glanced over in the direction of the shuffling, I saw damp hair and a beige coat push a mass of vines out of her way to move through the forestation. I hiked up behind her, clearing my throat. Once she glanced back at me, a look of understanding donned her features.

“Good choice,” Her voice held a grim tone. Then she turned her back to me, beginning to move through the dense greenery again. She stopped abruptly, almost having ran into the young boy in front. She shoved him forward gently by the shoulder. “Keep going, kid.”

“Do you know where we are?” I called from the back, pushing a glossy mass of leaves out of my way as I moved along. The lady answered me quickly.

“Neverland.” My eyes widened into a bewildered frown, feeling a mix of confusion and offense swirl in me.

“Uh…is that some kinda code name for something?” The lady sent a look at me.

“No.”

“Uh-huh…” I couldn’t let go of my skeptical tone. What’re you supposed to say to something like that? This was obviously a serious situation. A serious answer would’ve been nice. “Well…I don’t suppose you know a place to get some water?” She halted in response and pulled her backpack over to her side to open it and pulled out a translucent, cylindrical water bottle, proceeding to hand it over to me.

“Here you go.” In the moment I was too thankful for water to worry about her strange answers to my questions. I grabbed the water bottle, unscrewed the lid and downed large gulps of liquid, feeling it run through my body, replenishing me bit by bit. Thank goodness.

When I was done drinking, only about a quarter of the bottle remained. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I screwed the lid close again, holding it out for her. She snatched it back, buried it in her backpack, and started moving again.

“I don’t know how long I was on that beach. Hopefully we can find a place with more water along the way.”

“It’s okay, kid. We can get more. There’re rivers here.” That remark had earned another confused frown from me, though she couldn’t see it with her back to me as we hiked. How screwed were we if we had to resort to rivers for water?

We trekked through the forest for a little while before Greg had us stop in a small clearing. Greg pushed the boy into a sitting position by the crook of his neck over an abandoned fire pit. Only then did I notice that his hands were bound by white rope. They weren’t bound on the beach. I remembered that much. We were lost in the woods and they were tying this kid’s wrists together like he was dangerous to them. It was illogical. Then something struck me. If this was their job like Greg had preached about earlier, I wanted to know more about it.

“Why is he tied up like some kind of prisoner?” Greg answered me with a stern look.

“Keep asking questions and we will leave you behind this time.” My stare deepened into a callous glare at him.

“Why? Do you have something to hide?” I didn’t hide the hint of aggression in my voice. I narrowed my eyes. “Got something to say?” He glared back. After a pause, he replied.

“Yes. You and Tamara are gonna gather any dry leaves around here you can find. Do it if you want to survive this place.” If he had left out that last part, I might have walked right out of there, or worse, but I wanted to survive, so I complied hoping he knew what he was doing.

Regardless of my cooperation, I didn’t have a one-track mind. I was suspicious of them now and I would not let go of it until I was sure they weren’t dangerous. He pulled a box of matches out of his pocket.

“We’ve got a fire to build,” then he looked at Tamara, “I’ll watch him. Go.”

It wasn’t long before Greg was kneeling over a small firepit that obviously hadn’t been used in ages. Before any of the firewood that Tamara and I brought back, only a thin pile of burnt, blackened remains had been resting in the small circle of stones that marked the edge of the pit. He struck up a match and tossed it into the leaves.

I’d gone about my task as quietly as I could, trying to sneak glances back at Greg or Tamara when they weren’t looking. Once I brought enough leaves back, I’d chosen to sit down close to the fire, next to the young boy. I hid it, but the longer I stayed, the more defensive I felt. I found my eyes on Tamara or Greg, trying to observe their every move, but the boy started speaking to me, so I had to multitask.

“I’m Henry, by the way.” His face curved up into a kind smile, the precious kind of smile that a kid gave you and made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. He seemed like many kids, the kind that didn’t like to do their homework or eat their vegetables and still got injured doing something stupid in the house that mom yelled at them not to do, but had a smile that could lift your spirits effortlessly. It was hard to hate kids like that, which was most kids. I hoped his smile was genuine.

“Nice to meet you, Henry.”

“What’s your name?”

“Evie.” I whispered. He frowned.

“Why are we whispering?”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I said loudly. I bent my neck slightly, my head tilting in the direction of Tamara adjacent to us, then shook my head. Hopefully he’d get the message. I wasn’t about to give Greg and Tamara my name while I didn’t trust them. Then I let my eyes float back over to Greg and Tamara again as Greg searched for a good stoking stick and Tamara dried her hair. Guard, up.

Then an idea pulled me out of my mission, making me turn my head back to Henry. I hoped he might tell me a different answer from Tamara, because if anything, this kid didn’t seem to be on their side. Maybe he’d give me a truthful answer about where I’d ended up.

“Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

“Neverland.”

I rubbed my hand over my forehead. I should’ve known better than to ask the little kid, “I was hoping for a serious answer.”

“That was a serious answer.” I had nothing to say to that, so I stared out into space, trying to forget any of this was happening and maybe just relax. But he started speaking again, pulling me out of limbo.

“There aren’t very many ways to get here,” The expression on his face was something in between concern and curiosity, “You’re definitely from the same place I am. How did you get here?” I narrowed my eyes and stared into the firepit, contemplating whether I wanted to relive the horror from before.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The weak flames of the campfire began to downgrade into embers.

“Are you from Storybrooke?”

“No. I was on my way there though, and then I ended up here instead.”

“What do you mean my tha…” I interrupted him. Shaking my head at him, I motioned for Henry to pay attention. Any moment could be a moment for him to escape.

Greg leaned down and started blowing on the leaves, feeding the flames. In response to the oxygen supply, they began to jump up higher, finally surpassing the height of the firewood.

“Hopefully we can signal the Home Office that we’re here. We can’t finish this if we can’t find them.” Tamara’s expression turned grim at Greg’s words.

“What if that’s not enough?” She began, “What if that communicator sham wasn’t an accident?” Greg frowned at her, then spoke.

“Hey, don’t listen to the kid. He’s trying to get into your head.”

Rustling leaves and footsteps cut off the commotion. A cloaked boy stepped out from behind the brush. And another one. And another one. It was a swarm of them, all carrying various stone age weapons. I was up on my feet immediately, helping Henry get up.

“Who are you?”

“We’re the Home Office,” The tallest one answered Greg in a mocking tone with a dangerous looking club resting on his shoulder. Blonde locks fell over his face in wild side bangs, blue eyes flashing with danger. A red scar ran over his face, stretching from his mid cheek to the bridge of his nose. If I’d asked, I was sure there’d be quite a story behind that mark. His face spread into a threatening smile. “Welcome to Neverland.”

“The Home Office is a bunch of teenagers?”

“They’re not teenagers. They’re the Lost Boys.”

“Look at that,” the scarred boy’s reply almost sounded like a congratulations to Henry.

Henry frowned. “Why do the Lost Boys want to destroy magic?”

“Who said we wanna destroy magic?”

“That was our mission,” Greg cut in.

“So you were told.” The tall guy’s gaze floated around for a second before it landed directly on Henry. “Now, the boy. Hand him over.” Tamara crossed her arms and came up next to Greg.

“Not until you tell us the plan. For magic, for getting home.” Something felt familiar about the direction this conversation was going. Watch enough action movies and “bad guys” turning on each other becomes predictable. But even more so, Henry seemed to be the catalyst in all of it. Some kind of bargaining chip. A target. He was a prisoner and a child. I wasn’t a hero, but it was instinctual for me to feel protective over a kid who seemed to be nothing but collateral to the eyes of adults.

I poked Henry to get his attention. His eyes looked up at mine and I took a step back from the other bodies in the clearing.

“You’re not getting home.” The blond boy answered Greg without a hint of mischief on his face. An ominous silence passed through the air. He was being honest, like a magician revealing all his tricks. As though he tricked them.

“Then you’re not getting the boy.” Taking another step back, I sent an alarmed look at Henry. When he glanced back at me, he seemed to get the message. It was time to run.

The blond boy let out an arrogant chuckle in response. “Of course we are.” Something in between a gasp and a roar sounded from up above, and white eyes came at Greg, reaching its limb inside him and pulling out something dark and translucent. This was it. I tore my gaze away from Greg, trying to forget what I’d just witnessed and let the animal inside me break loose. The animal that would do anything and everything to survive, just like always.

I took off into the trees, trying to get us the fastest head start possible from this massacre. I heard something slump on the ground back towards the campfire as we went running into the woods. Then I heard footsteps close behind mine. A quick glance behind me told me it was Henry, following me.

“Get the boy.”

Loud, collective footsteps followed Henry and I as we breezed past trees and underbrush. Over the whooping and howling from what I assumed were the feral boys we’d just ran into, a high-pitched scream echoed behind us, and I knew instantly it had to be Tamara.

“Was that…?”

“Yep! Keep running!” I answered Henry, pulling him along by the ropes on his hands. I stopped and pushed him in front of me. They wanted him, not me. Better if I’m in back. I could handle it. I started running again, this time right behind Henry. A snapping sound echoed through the air, and then an arrow whistled past my head, right through my hair, making it woosh over my back.

My eyes followed the line of fire back to a cloaked figure, a mask covering the bottom half of his face, a bow in his hand aimed right at me. He reached over his shoulder for another arrow, and I pushed Henry forward again. Thankfully, the thickening forest must have disturbed the archer’s view of us because there weren’t more arrows.

“Go!” We got a little further into the forest before Henry tripped over a bulge in the ground. I was lucky not to have run into him. When I held my hand out for Henry, before he could take it, another hand reached out and grabbed it, pulling him up and over behind a dirt mound to the left. I immediately followed hastily, ready for a fight before I saw him kneeling next to Henry, listening.

Footsteps loudened and then softened. A shriek sounded nearby. “Where’d he go?”

The boy who pulled Henry aside pulled his hood down. He looked to be about the same age as me, though he wasn’t much taller than I was. Maybe a couple inches height difference. Angelic facial features looked down at Henry, eyes matching the green of the forest with a silvery hue from the moonlight. Short, thick, tawny locks curled over his forehead into wild bangs, giving him a look of innocence.

“Pan’s forces are in tune with every grain of sand on the island,” A smoky voice with an elegant British accent rolled off from his lips in a serious tone. “We must be careful.” He bent down, picked up a jagged-looking stone, and moved his hands down to Henry’s rope bindings.

“A-are you a lost boy?” Henry asked.

“I was,” he exhaled sharply as he sawed the ropes off of Henry’s wrists, letting the stone drop to the ground, “But I escaped. Now they’re after me too.”

“How? What happened?”

“No time for questions.” At first that response made me suspicious. But I suppose it made sense with armed boys scouring all over the island for us now with some crazy white-eyed demon on their side, which I still didn’t fully understand.

Then he looked my way, as if finally noticing me. Something sparked to life in his eyes and then died as quickly as it came. Could I tell if it was something malevolent or evil? No. I could not. It was only there for a second, but a second was long enough for me to see it. It was something, and it was ambiguous as far as I was concerned. That was reason enough to put my guard up.

And here out of reach from public authority, if someone kills, they kill. If someone dies, they die. There’s no one to punish anybody for committing something unethical out here. There was no right and wrong, and I would be an idiot to expect that from anybody I met here, even if they appeared friendly to me at first. Like with Henry, this guy might have been nice now, but he lived a life as complex as my own. He didn’t have to look evil to be evil.

“She’s stuck here too. We all need to get out of here.” Henry cut in, referring to me. The boy nodded hesitantly in my direction, then looked back at Henry.

“Alright. We must keep moving. Come on.” He stood up, pulled Henry onto his feet and pushed him through the trees, following behind closely. Getting out of here was the best thing I’d heard someone suggest since I got here, wherever we were, so I hurried along after them.

The running just wouldn’t end. Every time we slowed down a little, footsteps would grow louder or we’d hear voices nearby, clearly belonging to young boys. So here we were, Henry, mystery boy, and me bringing up the rear as we ran through the jungle from a bunch of teenagers. Eventually it got to a point where we hadn’t heard any voices for a long while and the only footsteps we were hearing were our own.

We slowed to a halt in a small clearing of boulders towering over us. Henry and I panted loudly, mystery boy letting out a small huff. He must have been out here for a while to have stamina like that. Or then again maybe Henry and I were just out of shape. I couldn’t tell what was under the boy’s cloak. He had simple brown, tattered pants tucked into tall boots, but under his violet-hued cloak, I couldn’t see the upper half of his body.

“I think we lost them.” He whispered.

“Okay, can we rest for a minute?” Henry requested. Mystery boy nodded hesitantly. I rested my hands on my knees, letting my breaths slow down while Henry rested on a smaller rock.

“You’re new. Did the Shadow take you too?” My eyes went wide, as if he’d said a familiar name in a crowd of strangers. A Shadow? White eyes stared me down from my memories.

“No, I was kidnapped by some people who work for Pan.” The boy exhaled sharply in response to Henry, apology in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, but I had questions of my own and I was itching to get them out. “If he sent for you, he wants you, and if he wants you, he will get y-“

“Excuse me?” His irises flickered over to me, darkened by the shade of the trees. “What’s this about a shadow?” He stared at me for a couple seconds instead of answering me immediately like he’d answered Henry.

Thunder boomed in the distance, white flashes concentrating in the sky a long way away over the water.

Then his eyes moved to look behind me, alarm growing in his eyes. My heartbeat quickened again when Henry started to get up very slowly.

“What?” I whispered. But I felt I already knew what they were going to tell me. The boys backed away from me slowly, their hands up in the air like they’d been caught at a crime scene.

“Behind you!” Henry gasped.

When I spun around, eight very large eyes stared back down at me. Then it lunged at me with its giant fangs.

No time for questions. This was life or death. I was lucky to have dodged it, even if I had to throw myself to the ground at my left side to get out of the way. It knocked the wind out of me, and that hurts, but it was either that or something much worse.

Because I’d been able to dodge it, the giant spider ended up chomping down on the boulder behind me, severing most of it off in big chunks, which fell in between me and the boys. The bug quickly crawled onto the rubble and roared at me, back turned to Henry and mystery dude. They were definitely panicking over on the other side, though I couldn’t see them. But their hysterical shouts made it through the spider’s angry noises even if I couldn’t decipher them into words. I could only make out one word from Henry.

Run.

And that’s exactly what I did.

#peter pan ouat #peter pan #ouat #henry mills #peter pan x oc #ouat fanfiction #ouat fandom #malcolm ouat

10 notes · View notes