#more like putting emotions aside because if people can learn something from it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkworkcourier · 1 year

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Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Text

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Acceptance

Sometimes, accepting that your past is yours is the hardest thing to do.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, angst, potentially triggering content, mentions of prostitution, this one's a little heavy, Hurt and comfort

Length: uuuuh 3k-ish.

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Considering he knew that you'd figure it out sooner rather than later, he's honestly a little surprised how much this is bothering him. Even years after everything happened, after all the work he's put into becoming more than just his past, it's still haunting him everywhere he goes.

Jungkook wanted to stay alone by pure choice. He doesn't want to give into some primal urges and get lost in it, to the point of morals and worth being thrown out the window. He knows that his kind- or at least, the kind his father cursed upon him with his partial genes- doesn't value emotional connections as much as other beings of the galaxy do. But still.

What that man did was unforgivable.

Jungkook doesn't remember his mother. He's sure he never met her- or maybe only as an infant, making him forget what she looked like. What he does know is that feeling of coldness he always received from his father- someone who should've raised him, or at least let the rest of the crew raise him. But that man would not let anyone care for him- Jungkook had to basically fight for his place, a place that wasn't even existing in the first place.

Nothing he could do would ever prove his worth to that man, because that man saw him as nothing but an accident. Something that should not have happened.

She was a great mother. Still is, even if Jungkook doesn't visit her much. She respects him, and his personal decisions- and that's more than he could ever ask for.

So, at the age of barely fourteen, he left the ship- with a bag of clothes and a bit of money from a crewmember, left alone on a planet near Cryon, where he met Seokjin and his mother. The young hybrid had instantly taken a liking to him, and after his mother learned of Jungkook's situation, she took him in- and willingly took on the role of a parental figure, no matter how much people looked at her oddly for her now two children that looked nothing like her.

But she cared for him.

For a long time, Jungkook had found comfort in his lifestyle. He wouldn't hurt anyone ever like he'd been hurt before, because he never attached himself to anyone or anything past friendliness. Jimin was an exception- but even he doesn't really get past his shell, never able to catch a glimpse of his heart.

And then came you.

You're nothing special. Just like his mother, you're a simple human being, cast aside with nowhere to go. And maybe that's why he wanted to shoot you so badly when he first saw you- because he took so much pity on you, that he felt like he'd be a worse person to let you live instead of giving you an end to your suffering. Humans are seen as nothing but greedy little parasites- they take and take and take and fight for nothing but their own self-worth.

And then you opened up. Every day you spent with him seemed to fuel your soul once more, charging up your will to live as you stopped trying to make him discard you at any given chance. And suddenly, he no longer saw the same victim as his mother once was in you- he saw someone. You're no longer just a being worth pity- you're you.

And he started to actually enjoy your company.

Especially after doing something like you did back with the vendor- you've proven yourself as someone that can and will decide what she wants to do. You didn't have to do this for him, and you know it, he knows that you know it. And he also knows that you didn't do it for him anyways, even if you think you did. Because you're basically defending your place in his life- on his ship.

And that's what scares him. That's what made him react like he did, yesterday.

You're not so easy to push around any longer. You're no longer someone who will just do as he says, and he wants that for you- you deserve your autonomy, you deserve to be able to make these decisions. But those things always come with a price.

And yes- maybe he's scared of you.

Because the longer you stay, the closer you get, the more it'll bug him or even hurt when you decide to move on from him. For years, Jungkook has feared hurting others- when in reality, he just got tired of being the one getting hurt. And now, with you in his life, it's already happening- because just sneaking a small glimpse at the security camera of your room shows you just quietly sitting on your bed, hugging your knees, waiting, thinking. And it hurts. He doesn't want you to be locked up like that. He wants you here, where he can see you, where you can talk, and where he can watch you knit your stupid little ball-shaped animals that you've hung everywhere at this point.

He likes them. Because they prove that you're actually here, that you're alive with him, and that you're not just wishful thinking.

His thumb runs over the little crooked horn of the goat you've knitted, that he's taken for himself now as it's attached to his keychain. He's been unkind and most of all unreasonable- but he doesn't know what to do now. You clearly want to stay, and it's also pretty obvious that you've found somewhat of an interest in him- and that terrifies him.

Because what if he does end up like him? What if he does fall into the same habits and behaviors as he did?

And how can he not, when you're already infesting his mind, without even doing anything at all?

He's forever branded as the 'accidental' son of a slave trader, a mistake that shouldn't have happened to begin with, and cost someone their life. He's no one you should associate with, let alone get involved with. You don't know who he is, what he is, and what kind of stigma he carries around. You've got no idea who you're currently traveling with, and maybe he needs to force you to face it.

Maybe if he shows you who he really is, you'll finally let him go.

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You're not too sure why you're so unable to just wait things out. He's clearly gotten upset yesterday, after you mentioned that you knew that he was partially human- but why?

There's no way he despises the entire human race- because he has been quite kind to you, even though he didn't have to be. Even his proposal of letting you stay with Seokjin instead of having to 'wait out' his whole… situation, was one of kindness. He could've just told you to stay in your room, but instead, he thought of a more comfortable alternative for you, despite the trouble of traveling and time cost.

So why did that rub him so wrongly when you mentioned it?

There's not much time to think about that however, as the door hisses open- causing you to hide under the blanket you previously had over your shoulders in a panic, the reaction almost instinctual. You can only feel the bed dip a little under his weight as he sits down on the edge of it, and when you peek out, you can see that he's not even looking at you. Instead, his hands are holding his keychain with your knitted little goat attached- fingers playing around with it in a nervous manner.

"My mother was a prostitute." He starts, voice low and without much emotion to it. "My father… enjoyed her services so much, that he bought her." He explains, and you slowly sit up, blanket falling from your head to rest on your shoulders instead. "Chances of.. pregnancy were low- considering she was human, and my father was not." Jungkook says, while you just watch him, not moving much.

"But it happened anyways."

You're watching him, staying right where you are- his back still turned towards you, while he continues to occupy himself with the little yarn toy you made. "I don't remember her. I only know that she died, at some point." He shrugs to himself. "Not like it matters. Neither of them thought of me as something other than an accident." He scoffs, and you feel the need to comfort him-

but you don't know how.

"So.. that's why you hate your human side?" You wonder, but he shakes his head.

"I don't hate it." He denies. "I just.. hate being reminded of what I am, I guess." Jungkook tries to explain. "I'm known as the son of a guy who knocked up a human prostitute. I'm a bastard who never lived up to his father's expectations." He growls mostly. "I'm nothing but a joke to most people who know my father. And you'll be nothing but a joke either, if you continue to travel with me." He turns towards you, looking over his shoulder at your knees- unable to quite face you fully.

"You're Jungkook." You say, and he freezes- before he slowly let's his eyes travel upwards to your face, eyes swirling colors, emotions unsure.

"..what?" He breathes out, genuinely unsure. He knows who he is. What the hell do you mean by that?

"You're Jungkook." You repeat, shrugging. "You're a shipcaptain. A vendor. Traveler." You start to count, and his irises start to change- slowly seemingly settling into a soft, warm hazel- timid, but appreciative almost.

Looking up the meanings of colors in your free time is really starting to pay off.

"You're not your father. Or your mother." You shake your head. "Neither will you be like your children, if you ever have some. I'm not like my parents either, and neither is anyone else." You explain. "We're all just in control of ourselves. The only life I have any control over is my own, and the only life you have control over is yours." You tell him, slowly moving a bit closer as he leans his head down to look at the floor again. "You can't change your past. You can't erase it either."

"So I'm just cursed with it." He scoffs at no one.

"Just as long as you don't accept it." You shrug next to him, your legs now dangling off the edge of the bed, bare feet swinging back and forth next to his boots which are firmly planted on the floor. "The moment you accept that that's a part of you, you can move on. Because you maybe can't change your past-" You say, bumping your shoulder into his side to lift the mood a little. "-but you can control your future."

"What's the point if no one cares about anything but that?" He argues, eyes a grim grey color. "It doesn't matter. I don't want you to be stuck with.. a label like that too." He shakes his head.

"I'm not like you though." You huff, crossing your arms, making him look at you. "I don't care."

"You don't care that people will think I'm just doing the same thing he did?" He challenges, looking at you with a fiery gaze. This is not going according to his plan. "You're telling me you don't give a shit about the fact that everyone who knows him, will see you and immediately think of you as nothing but a sex slave?" he argues, standing up to instead stand in front of you, hands pushing into the mattress right next to your thighs, face only inches from yours. "You don't get to lie to me and say that you don't care about that." He growls. "I don't accept you sitting here, trying to convince me that you won't mind being known as the human plaything of the bastard who couldn't even earn his spot in the crew of a slave trader." He growls.

"I don't mind." You answer, summoning all of your confidence not to flinch, even with his angry red gaze on you, noses almost touching.

"Why." He quietly sneers, clearly agitated. "How can you not care?!" He barks at you, and you do lean back a tiny bit at that- heart beating a bit faster from the sheer force of his emotions.

"If a tree falls down in the woods and no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?" you ask, and it's almost comical how his eyes flash a surprised white, entire body flinching back in confusion. "It's a saying on earth." You explain. "If you don't take a picture of a sunset, was it really as pretty as you remember?" You ask, and he seems entirely caught off guard.

"I don't.. understand." He admits. You giggle.

"Me calling you a bird doesn't make you one." You explain with a smile. And that, seems to click with him, as he looks at you with what you can only describe as genuine surprise. As if he's never really.. thought about it like that.

And then, you lean forward- arms pulling him closer, as you rest your head against his shoulder, holding him for a good moment.

Something he simply lets happen, because you're right.

He is in control of his life.

"I'm scared of you." He confesses, and you're a bit surprised, letting go of him as he stands upright again, arms crossed, eyes a pinkish hue.

"huh?" You ask, unsure what he's talking about.

"I.. enjoy your company." He admits. "I want you to stay. But at the same time, I want you to stay away from me." He tells you.

"..why?" You wonder, his words not making any sense.

"Because you can hurt me." He explains. "Maybe not physically- but emotionally."

"…oh." You realize what he's talking about, and now it's you who's looking away. "I mean.. uh.. I mean you're really handsome, don't get me wrong! But-" You stammer, a little bashful now. And the worst thing is that now, he seems oddly confident again- as if that was all he needed to connect the dots that you're not the only one developing deeper interest in the other.

"Handsome, huh?" He comments, arms crossed, gaze playfully pink.

"I uh- yeah? But uhm.. I mean, you know.. we're kind of just starting to really talk, so.." You mumble, looking away now. What the hell? Since when are you this shy? And how have you not noticed him not even wearing his usual uniform jacket? Those tattoos fill up his entire arm-

"That we do." He nods, feeling oddly light now that he's.. talked about this, to anyone. "And I'd.. like to continue to talk to you." He offers, making you look up at him again.

And somehow, you can read the message he's actually trying to tell you, between the lines of those words.

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You're putting a bag on the free spot near his control station, causing him to look at you with a questioning gaze.

You've both agreed on a few rules now that you're staying during his.. well, mating season issue. One of them is to keep physical contact to a minimum, and other general rules are to leave him alone if he asks you to, or to take some time to wake up before walking into the command central- though you're not sure what that one's about. It's all stuff you can follow easily though- especially if it makes him more comfortable being around you. "what's this?" He wonders, opening the bag, finding multiple, small yarn animals inside.

"I'm being productive!" You exclaim proudly. "Maybe we could sell them at our next stop? I'm sure someone has like.. maybe a currency or two left over to pay for one of them." You propose, but much to your surprise, he seems rather conflicted over it, pulling one out to inspect. It's a mouse, black bead eyes staring at him. "You don't think so?" You wonder, and he shrugs.

"No, it's not that.." He mumbles. "But.. you don't have to earn money." He tells you.

"I know. But I want to." You explain yourself. "And, the ship is already full of them. We can sell those too-" You say, reaching for a short snake hanging from a screw slightly poking out the metal casing of the control screen, when he reaches out first, snatching it almost protectively away from you first.

"No-!" He barks, looking around with a sharp, cautiously yellow gaze. "…those can stay." He clears his throat, hanging the little knitted animal back where it was, adjusting it's position so it faces him. "We're not going to land anywhere within the next few weeks anyways. We'll fuel at outposts instead." He tries to justify.

"Jungkook.. we can't hoard all of them here." You giggle, and he looks to the side at that, clearly feeling called out.

"..I'm not hoarding them. I'm just saying you don't have to.. work, or anything like that." He argues back, trying to occupy himself with the control panel.

"I know. But, with the money I get from maybe selling them, I could buy more yarn or something." You shrug, sitting on one of the nearby server boxes.

"..what's wrong with me buying it for you?" He growls a bit offended, jaw clenched. You know this is probably just his hormones making him act like that, but it's still a little funny to tease him.

"Nothing!" You laugh. "I just wanna be independent. Earn my spot." You explain.

"You don't have to earn shit." He denies, tapping away on the touch panel in front of him. "...but I guess if you want to. Don't need my permission anyways." He huffs annoyed, making you laugh as you look at him almost pout to himself, trying to appear all busy when in reality, you know that the course he's flying is a safe route the autopilot has flown numerous times before.

"Hey Jungkook?" You ask, and he looks up at that, showing you his attention has been caught. "I like you." You say, and the look on his face is quite literally the most hilarious and wholesome thing you've ever seen -

Eyes wide open, round and filled with a shy blue, before it melts into pink, seconds until he closes them, and holds a hand in front of them to shield himself.

"Timeout, you demon!" He barks out, opening the main door for you. "Get out!" He yells, though it's clear that he doesn't mean it in an evil or genuinely upset manner.

Because even though you do as he says, laughing on your way to your room, he does later check in to make sure he's not actually mad at you- though it's rather sent as a text message on the control screen in your room, instead of spoken words.

Small steps, you think to yourself. Small steps.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #alien jungkook #alien!jungkook

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neptunes-sol-angel · 5 months

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What's the 2024 canon event in your universe?

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Pile One 🕷

Your Canon event that cannot be interfered with: There's going to be a tremendous amount of movement for you in 2024. This could look like traveling, ascending in your endeavors, plans playing into motion, but the main thing that's standing out to me is that you won't be doing this alone. There's a lot of group activity here with friends, family, or co workers who you have a healthy relationship with. This could also indicate a lot of celebrations or ceremonies regarding success in what you accomplish next year. I keep getting this image of gears moving non-stop, which to me it looks like you're pushing through anything physically and mentally. Some of you could be start working out as a new hobby or something else that requires you to uncover barriers within yourself that you never thought you could exceed. Maybe this is inspiration to pull yourself out of something in the past that has been making you feel like you should just lay in stagnation, or maybe you're tirelessly moving because you have to, but either way, you're making moves that you should see positive results in the year of 2024.

Pile Two

Your Canon event that cannot be interfered with : You are going to learn either from circumstances that corner them or through self-reflection (can even be both) that will make you learn how to take more accountability. This is about making changes in the way that you have been reacting to stuff that boils down to the multiple ways that you have been self-sabotaging. Knowing when to walk away when you've put your all into a person that isn't doing the work to meet you half-way. Withdrawing your energy from situations that seek to get you out of character. Understanding the value in your emotions instead of pushing them aside or allowing other people to invalidate them. 2024 is the year for your voice to be heard. You'll improve in how you communicate with others, especially amongst conflict, discovering your unmet needs that you didn't even know were needs, solitude that will bring you more peace that'll draw away from the loneliness you may feel in working on yourself. You could even be finding out what spirituality actually means to you as well. Overall, I'm getting the feeling that you're walking away from the noise that's discrediting your discernment, you're going to find out that you aren't crazy as some people tried to make you ought to be.

Pile Three

Your Canon event that cannot be interfered with : 2024 for you is going to be about uncovering a lot of secrets and I'm not talking about anxiety inducing kind. This year is going to be exciting for you and about revealing what your self-concept is. Tapping into your sexuality, finding the things that compliment your beauty, or your "recipe" that just makes life work for you, having more freedom financially, romantically, or other areas that you may have felt restricted in. I feel like most of your months are going to be eventful to the point where you may pause temporarily throughout the year because you may feel like you need to chill out, or life just feels "too" good. This could be related to certain indulgences or this could be some fear creeping on you that'll make you doubt the positive things going on with you in life. Other people could find you impulsive, but that's really none of their business, a lot of the blessing that you receive in 2024 comes from taking leaps of faith and being assertive in searching for things that you want to take a chance on.

#🎄: 25 days of neptunes sol angel #day five #divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #pac #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a picture #the tarot community #spiderman #across the spiderverse

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heartofthedragons · 11 months

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Rotten Deal Pt. 2

Modern!Aegon x fem!reader

Summary: When your ex boyfriend cheats on you and spreads a vicious rumor about you, you want to make him suffer. So you make a deal with the man you can’t stand: Aegon, the most infamous fuckboy at KLU.

Chapter Summary: It’s day one of your deal and it starts off with a bang and a mix of emotions.

Warning(s): Cursing, Suggestive Language, Suggestive Situations, Making Out, Mentions of parental neglect

Word Count: 1779 words

It’s been about an hour and a half of sitting in the library teaching Aegon, and it’s already a huge undertaking. He keeps zoning out and goofing off, more interested in goofing off and cracking jokes than actually learning the content.

“You know. You need my help much more than I need yours,” you say in annoyance as you catch a glimpse of Aegon scrolling on his phone hidden beneath the table.

Aegon looks at you with a mild scowl before clicking off his phone and going to put it in his pocket. You grab his phone quickly and pry it from his hands. “Ah ah. I’ll be holding on to this for the remainder of this lesson,” you say before putting the phone aside and out of reach of the silver haired boy.

“C’mon Y/N. It’s really not a big deal. I get what you’re saying. I don’t even know why we need to learn this stuff. They’ve all been dead for thousands of years.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head back to the textbook and notes before you, “It’s important because we can learn from their mistakes. Their society collapsed, it’s important to see what contributed to their rise and subsequent fall.”

“Easy. Something something blood magic bad. Something something slavery also very bad,”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“What else was bad, Aegon?” You ask trying desperately to get him to remember at least one crucial thing from today.

“Experimentation?” He asks, clearly unsure of his answer.

A satisfied smile takes over your face. “That’s right. Unethical animal and human experimentation and torture.”

You look at him for a moment. He’s smiling to himself and you can see there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. “You know,” you begin casually, “I’m surprised you don’t know more about of this stuff. Isn’t your dad, like, obsessed with old Valyria?”

Aegon deflates. “Uh…yeah. He is,” he says insecurely, “But old fucker doesn’t know I exist, let alone talk to me about stuff. He’s too busy obsessing over my older sister to pay attention to any of his other kids.” The bitterness and hurt is evident on his face. You’ve seen that same look on his and his siblings' faces before. Dejected and hurt. You remember seeing that look on Helaena’s face when her father didn’t come to her art show in high school. And Aemond’s face when his father wasn’t there to support his win in debate. And even Aegon, back when you two used to be close, searching through the stands hoping his dad was there to cheer him on in softball.

You feel bad. You should’ve known better. But before you can say anything, Aegon is back to his usual confident self, “It doesn’t matter though. I’ve got myself a sexy little teacher to help me learn.”

He leans in close to you, throwing an arm around the back of your chair, “Speaking of. Let’s talk about your half of our little deal.”

“What about it?”

“Come on, sweetheart. You really think anyone is gonna believe we’re fucking when all they see is you annoyed with me in the library?” You sigh and begin to put away the books, you suppose that’s enough studying for day one.

“What do you propose we do?” You ask. Aegon shoots you his confident smile, “People need to see us out together. Talking, flirting, kissing.” You grunt at the last words. “We also need to spend some time together in my room if we want it to be believable.”

You shoot him a glare and he playfully raises his arms in surrender. “I’m not saying we bang it out in there, though I can’t guarantee you won’t want to,” he says flirtingly. You have him with your elbow getting him to back off. “I’m just saying that any girl that I’d be having sex with more than once will be in my room once in a while. You wanna be believable? You gotta do it right.”

You nod. This is what you signed up for after all. “Ok. So where do we start?”

Aegon grins and stands up from his seat, hand outstretched to you. “Well. Today we can start by being seen around campus together. Talking. Flirting. That’ll get the rumors started.”

You accept his hand and ride from your seat slinging your bag over your shoulder and handing his phone back to him.

Aegon smiles as he slips his phone in his pocket and saddles up beside you. He snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you in close, leaning to whisper in your ear, “And make sure you look like you’re enjoying your time with me, beautiful.”

You roll your eyes before flashing him a flirty smile. He’s taken aback. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you smile at him. He likes how you look when you smile, if only you’d do it more around him.

“Let’s go, pretty lady. We have heads to turn.” You both make your way out of the library, and you’re all too aware of just how close Aegon is to you. His arm is gripping your waist tightly, his side pressed against yours, his face not too far from yours. You feel your chest squeeze, but you ignore the feeling.

As you walk together, you realize just what a presence Aegon really is on KLU’s campus. People are watching the two of you from everywhere. Many of them look on in confusion at the unequal match you and Aegon are.

Aegon feels you tense in discomfort and lightly squeezes you in reassurance. You look up at him with worry, and he smiles at you in return. “Relax. Just ignore them. Besides, you should be proud to be on my arm.”

You want to shove him or groan out at his cockiness, but you remember that this is part of the show, so you smile at him and giggle lightly.

You ease into his touch and try to act like you're comfortable with this. Like you’re not two people who avoid each other. Like you’re not two former friends who stopped being close. Like this isn’t awkward and scary and uncomfortable for you. And definitely not like your heart feels like it’ll thump right through your chest. ‘You hate him,’ you tell yourself, ‘Right?’

Aegon is completely contrary to you. He feels perfectly content in this moment, enjoying all the attention the two of you are getting.

“You know, love. I’ve been meaning to ask-,” he begins to say but he’s cut off when he hears you gasp and you stop in your tracks. He looks at you in worry, but follows your wide eyed gaze to the building ahead. And there he is. The golden haired bastard, Jason Lannister.

Jason looks at the two of you incredulously. His gaze is inspecting you both. Aegon smirks to himself before pulling you away towards the side of the building ahead of you. What better time to show off than now?

He spins you around so your back is against the wall and slides the bag off your shoulder to fall to the ground. Aegon leans over you against the wall, slightly caging you. You look at him with wide eyes and he smirks down at you. He leans down to whisper in your ear briefly. “Stop me if I go to far,” he says.

Before you can say anything, Aegon cups your cheek and leans in to kiss you. It’s gentler than you thought he would be, lips soft and plush against yours. You kiss him back trying to remind yourself that this is part of the deal. It’s all a show, and this means nothing. Nothing.

Things soon change when Aegon feels you kiss him back. His hands slides down from your cheek and begins running against your torso and brushing his hand against your chest. You gasp and Aegon pulls away for a second to let out a breathy laugh and smile. “Sorry,” he murmurs unconvincingly before leaning back in to kiss you.

This time his mouth is open testing to see if you’ll match his motions, and you do opening your mouth for each kiss. It’s inviting and Aegon tries to hold back his smirk and he slides his tongue into your mouth.

His arm settles on your hip and pulls you flush against him, continuing to kiss you and explore your mouth with his tongue. It feels so good. Gods be damned if he doesn’t know how to kiss with all the practice.

You’re putty in his hands. Completely melted into him. He pulls away and admired the way you search for him with closed eyes. He raises his hand again to push your hair back from the left side of your neck beginning to leave open mouthed kisses along it. He nips at the soft flesh and you let out a soft almost inaudible whine.

You can’t help but enjoy the feeling of the passionate kisses littering your neck, even if it’s Aegon doing it. Seven hells, maybe that’s why you like it. Not that you’d like to admit that to yourself.

Aegon is enjoying it too. He like seeing you drop your icy exterior, and even more so, he enjoys watching your blissed out face. And then his eyes drift to the side of you two.

Jason Lannister is watching your show with a grimace. Aegon can see how he’s seething at the display. He smirks at Jason and shoot him a wink before giving you one more passionate kiss. It’s messy and his tongue is brushing against yours and his hands are romancing all over you. And then it’s over.

Aegon pulls back with a satisfied look and you gaze at him in shock. Your heart is beating hard and though you’ve just been kissed, your mouth feels dry. You’re breathing hard as you search through your emotions, not understanding any of the complexities of your feelings.

Aegon seems to be completely at peace though. Smirking at you before grabbing your bag and pulling you off the wall. He leads you away from where Jason is standing.

“Not bad, hot stuff. You’ll be getting Jason jealous in no time,” he says with a laugh before slugging his arm over your shoulders.

He’s acting normally. Like he doesn’t care about what happened. Like he didn’t just kiss you passionately in front of so many people. ‘It’s all an act,’ you remind yourself, ‘This is just part of the deal.’

You try to shake away the thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest. This is what you asked for. This is what you asked him to do. And it doesn’t matter anyways. You don’t like Aegon. You can’t stand him.

Right?

Part 1

Tag List: @fan-goddess @serving-targaryen-realness @gibbsgirl7 @f4ll-for-you @mybeautifuldelirium @introverbatim @mysingularitybts @shroomietrip

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon ii fic #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #modern au #rotten deal fic

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absolutely-esme · 4 months

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Monster!Tim Coraline au part 3

I had more thoughts on the au from here and here.

First off, It's called Hungry Monster Tim au unless and until I come up with a better name.

That's the tag that will help you find related content. I titled the post the way I did so that people who found the au before it had a name could recognize it. I'm hoping this will minimize confusion.

...

Now, I figure I'll talk a bit about how others view Tim.

The most of the earlier additions to the Batfam have mostly interacted with Tim in Emotional Support Tim mode.

Emotional Support Tim is pleasant and comforting. He is not overly exuberant and joyful in a way that would grate on fresh grief. He is also not joyless in a way that might make a hero feel obligated to worry about him. He is gentle and competent. His patience seems nearly endless. He can tolerate both being coddled and being leaned on. He can tolerate both being clung to and pushed away. He can tolerate switching back and forth at unpredictable intervals.

Tim approached Nightwing in his standard state of "tired, low on patience, and possibly about to do something stupid," once before Tim realized he was also grief-stricken and in no fit state to get Batman under control. He might have an inkling that Emotional Support Tim is an act, or he might just think Tim was having a bad day.

Bruce thinks Emotional Support Tim is what Tim is actually like. By the time Bruce was functional enough to not need so much managing, he'd gotten attached enough to the facade for Tim to have concerns about dropping it.

Alfred can tell that Tim is putting on a facade. He can tell that the role Tim has taken on is wearing on him. He doesn't like it. He feels guilty for allowing it to continue. He can't bring himself to put a stop to it when it's keeping his adoptive son alive.

Barbara initially meets Emotional Support Tim, immediately clocks the act, and pulls him aside to make sure there isn't something sinister afoot. Babs has reservations about every aspect of Tim's involvement, but agrees that something had to be done about Bruce. She lets him carry on for now, but she's ready to pull the plug if it seems like it's getting too much for him. She insists that Tim drop the act when it's just the two of them.

Babs doesn't know about the supernatural stuff specifically, but she knows there's more going on with Tim than what she knows about. She may learn that he has some hereditary health stuff that requires him to be extra careful about his food intake. She makes a point to not be weird about it because people being weird about her wheelchair annoys the crap out of her.

I like to imagine that Babs and Tim have a certain amount of solidarity over being the sensible ones who keep all these unhinged, dramatic bitches in line. They also have solidarity over ignoring the fact that they are just as dramatic and unhinged as the rest of the Bats.

Steph meets Tim in Regular Tim mode because Bruce isn't with him. Instead of trying to discourage Spoiler, he introduces her to Babs. Steph knows Tim as a tired smartass who kind of always seems like he's a bit hangry and trying not to take it out on anyone, but apparently he's just like that.

They don't date, but do become friends. Part of this is because grouchy, eternally hungry, constantly done-with-this-shit Tim isn't attractive to Steph but is kind of hilarious. Part of it is because Babs points out that there is no possible timeline where the kind of power imbalance from only one member of a couple knowing the other's secret identity doesn't turn toxic.

When Steph eventually encounters Emotional Support Tim, it creeps her out. She uses the term "pod person" when asking what the heck that was.

Steph's disastrous stint as Robin doesn't happen because she's already got her own thing going. She already has a mentor and appropriate protective gear. Babs and Steph actually get along better because they start their mentorship as Oracle and Spoiler without any of the complicated emotions of taking up a mantle.

I like Steph as Spoiler the best because it always seemed a little messed up to shove someone who already had their own original Identity into two legacy mantles. Let her do her own thing. She doesn't need to be a successor to Babs or Dick when she's already the OG Steph. Instead of giving her the Robin gear or the Batgirl gear, get her some upgraded, Bat-quality Spoiler gear.

Steph doesn't start a gang war or fake her death in this timeline, because the circumstances that caused it do not exist here.

Jason initially encounters Tim in Feral Cryptid mode, then writes that off as a fever dream after waking up to Emotional Support Tim. Once free of the Lazarus parasite, Jason makes it his mission to be a good big brother to Tim. Tim seemed a little stand-offish at first, but warmed up to him. (As soon as Tim realized that food was part of Jason's love language, he rearranged his meal plan to let Jason feed him without triggering supernatural problems with his metabolism.)

Jason eventually manages to earn Tim's trust enough to meet and get to know Regular Tim. Jason is both honored and concerned. Putting on such an extensive facade for the comfort of others has got to be exhausting, and Tim seems so worn down underneath it. Well, he doesn't have to do it for Jason anymore. Jason will happily hang out with and support any version of Tim.

When Damian shows up, he mostly sees Emotional Support Tim. Then he starts trying to kill him. Eventually, Tim's patience with the pint-sized murderer wears thin (possibly due to Damian hitting a PTSD trigger), and Tim goes Feral Cryptid mode. This freaks Damian out. There is no video evidence (which the rest of the Bats assume to be because Damian tampered with the security system in an attempt to get away with murder).

It doesn't happen again.

Tim doesn't bust out his powers or cryptid form against Damian again, but now that he's seen it, Damian sometimes sees traces of Feral Cryptid Tim lurking below the surface. Various little things he'd ignored that hadn't seemed significant on their own now seem to stem from the nature of what lurks inside the human skin.

Damian stops the murder attempts early. It's not because of ethics (which will take time to learn). It’s because he has no idea how to kill whatever sort of unearthly thing Tim is, and he recognizes how unwise it would be to continue attacking something he cannot kill. For now, Tim seems content to leave him be whenever he's not directly under assault. Damian doesn't want to risk becoming enough of a pest to be worth the effort of swatting.

...

I also had thoughts about Tim's post-Robin period.

When Tim goes on his quest to retrieve Bruce from the time stream, he doesn't take the Red Robin suit. He's going to be outside of the Bats' scrutiny, so he gears up with a suit and equipment he'd secretly made with his supernatural nature in mind. It's got Bat-standard armor and padding, but modified to accommodate a bit of form shifting without compromising protection. It's got a patchwork thing going on.

Tim sewed it himself, which allows him to manipulate it. It's also got buttons sewn in strategic locations to eliminate blindspots. (Taking down the beldam gave him the ability to control things he made and see through buttons he sewed).

His utility pouches are full of both Bat-standard equipment and things relevant to Tim's abilities. Also, he makes his pockets bigger on the inside, so he can carry a lot.

Tim isn't around the other Bats, so he's not being Emotional Support Tim. He's not using the minor illusion powers he got from the beldam to make himself look pleasant. He only makes the effort to be comforting when dealing with victims. He's just being the semi-feral scrungly dude he is.

...

Tim keeps in touch with Jason, Babs, and Steph while he's off on his quest to find Bruce. He occasionally pitches in with stuff that can be done from a distance.

Tim didn't say that Bruce was still alive before he had evidence. It's not because this version managed to predict that they wouldn't believe him, but rather because he thought he might have to do some supernatural stuff to get him back and didn't want witnesses. He just told the other Bats he needed to investigate something and would tell them more once he had figured out enough to know what to tell them.

This means that the other heroes don't think he's crazy, and Tim can use hero resources for his investigation.

I haven't decided yet if Tim will interact with the League of Assassins at all. On the one hand, I think this Tim might not need to work with them. On the other hand, Hungry Monster Tim terrorizing the League of Assassins and fighting the Lazarus Pit would be funny. Maybe Ras doesn't try to recruit him. Maybe Tim just shows up, fights the Lazarus Pit, and leaves without explaining anything to anyone.

Either way, I think that Tim is pretty much done with keeping up the Emotional Support Tim facade by the time he comes home after saving Bruce. It's been long enough to justify the change.

Babs, Jason, and Steph are happy for Tim because they can see how much better he's doing without the added strain of keeping up the act. They are also glad that he feels comfortable enough to just be himself.

Bruce and Dick are more in the horrified/concerned neighborhood because, from their perspective, Tim started off gentle-natured and glowing with health, got fired from Robin, disappeared for a while, and came back gaunt and world-weary.

...

I'm thinking about whether or not Tim should tell Babs, Jason, and Steph about the supernatural stuff he's got going on.

It would have come out at some point. If he tries to keep it secret forever, you can bet some kind of dramatic, high-stakes threat would force the reveal. That's just how the Bats' lives are.

What I am debating with myself is whether or not to have Tim choose to share a secret he's been keeping for as long as he can remember for fear of the danger discovery might bring with the people he trusts most without something forcing his hand.

If he does, I think he would tell Jason first. Jason has seen that side of him, and Tim allowed him to think it was a nightmare. Tim wouldn't want to risk Jason hearing about it from someone else. Tim would probably be scared. He doesn't know if Jason will still like him once he knows that Tim really is the Monster from his nightmare. He doesn't know if Jason will forgive him for lying about it.

I think this would happen after Tim comes back to Gotham after saving Bruce.

#Hungry Monster Tim au #dc #batman #batfamily #cryptid tim drake #feral tim drake #Eldritch au

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uptoolateart · 10 months

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The Miraculous Child

So, in 'Representation', Felix talks refers to ‘the miraculous boy’ a couple times. He also calls Adrien’s conception ‘a miracle’, meaning Adrien too is ‘miraculous’.

The second I heard this, it hit me that the title of the show has had this extra meaning from day one. If we look right back to the start of the series, it has been a story about children and adults, especially parents, some a little overbearing (like Tom) and some neglectful or downright abusive.

The message I take away is - life, bringing a child into the world, is a miracle. Science tells us how it works, but the fact that it works is almost like magic. Yet, there are people out there who fail to see this and don't value the gift they've been granted.

There will be people reading this and thinking, ‘Yeah? So what about Chloe?’

I hear you.

Audrey is a terrible person, and Andre is no better. When he hauls her off at the end of ‘Revolution’ and says he needs to correct his mistakes, he just sends her away with her mother. He’s washing his hands of ‘a problem’, just like he’s done with everything else, e.g. when he resigned as mayor. He walked away from responsibilities, after creating a mess for the people who voted him into office. Likewise, he walked away from his responsibilities as a father.

Does that excuse Chloe's behaviour towards others, especially Marinette? No. Does it explain it? Yes.

So, let's talk about choice, which has been mentioned several times in the series. Chloe has a choice to become just like one of her parents...or to become something better.

Because, if you think about it, at some point in time, Audrey and Andre and even Gabriel were all children. And children aren't just born nasty. They learn nastiness as they grow up. To become who they are today, they had to have started out in a similar position to Chloe, for example. They represent the potential future for their children.

If we saw them as kids, we'd probably see them being mistreated by the adults in their lives and we'd all sympathise with them and hope for their redemption. But we're seeing them as adults and our instinct is to say oh well, too late, they're just awful people. In fact, they could redeem themselves at any point, as demonstrated by Nathalie's turnaround in Season 5. It's just that, the more awful things you've done, the more you have to atone for. Gabriel would have to do a lot - maybe even have a brain change - to be redeemed. But you see my point.

So, at the end of 'Revolution', we see Chloe at a crossroads. She's on that plane, annihilated by her mother, and hiding by herself in a corner. She browses her contacts and hovers over Sabrina's entry...and her face crumples like her heart is breaking with regrets. Oh, it’s sad.

But she passes over Sabrina and moves onto Marinette. She makes one last attempt to bring her down. It’s an act of desperation – redirecting her own suffering onto another, trying to keep control over things when she’s completely out of control of her own life.

Marinette finally puts her in her place, and we see Chloe fall apart in a real way - for the first time ever. I don't know about you, but I found that very uncomfortable viewing. It was a relief to see Marinette stand up for herself, and it needed to happen...but Chloe's despair was also painful. I think all of those were emotions were intended.

Let’s set Thomas aside here. I don't want to get into debates about what was said on Twitter. He’s not the only writer for the show, anyway. I am just speaking about my personal perception of that scene. Chloe gained heaps of sympathy, after she’d been appalling all season, which was pretty powerful.

The fact is…Chloe needed to be put in her place. But that doesn’t mean she deserved everything she went through. Even so...sometimes these moments are necessary and revelatory. They can be the catalyst for great change.

What I mean is – if you're in denial about your position, redirecting your pain onto others, sometimes you need that wakeup call. You need to hit rock bottom in order to start climbing back up into the light. So, when Chloe fell apart, it was painful...but I also saw it as her potential turning point. As long as she maintained her delusions to escape into at school, it was impossible for her to transform - because she refused to see that there was any change needed. But when you have nothing left…that’s when you might begin rebuilding yourself.

Every episode in Season 5 has had multiple meanings. Looking at 'Revolution', when Chloe was akumatised, she trapped her victims in a maze, going round in endless circles (revolutions). Notably a lot of them were adults.

I think if this had happened early on in Season 4, Adrien would have been trapped morosely in that loop with the others. We saw this kind of thing in 'Guiltrip'. So, it spoke volumes about his growth as a character when he was the first one to seek a way out of Chloe's maze. He immediately used his cataclysm and broke a hole, escaping and letting everyone else out. Metaphorically, what he did was break the cycle. If we think about cycles of abuse, this is what the next generation always has the chance to do - to revolt against the past.

it's interesting, then, that when we got to 'Representation', we saw Cat Noir completely lose it with his father. He needed to let it all out...but he was in danger of going too far...and deep down, he knew it. His worst nightmare was of losing all control, to the point of letting his rage destroy everything he loved. Unconsciously, he's well aware that he runs the risk of becoming like his father. However, his complete breakdown, begging his father to take his miraculous to make it all stop, tells us he won't become like his father - because his conscience is too strong. He wants to break that cycle.

Felix has also done some bad things - but he's begun the journey of redeeming himself and changing. He too is trying to break out of that cycle so he doesn't become like his father.

Kagami is embracing her passionate side, rejecting the coldness and isolation her mother has attempted to breed into her, no doubt due to her own upbringing once upon a time.

And I think there’s definite potential for Chloe to do the same. There’s no reason for anyone to remain caught in these patterns. The trick is to recognise the pattern is there in the first place - because you can’t break free of something if you don’t know you’re imprisoned. At the end of Revolution, I think Chloe finally saw her prison, saw that she was already trapped in her own maze, going round in circles. Now it’s up to her to pull an Adrien and cataclysm the bars that hold her in.

Because like Felix said, over and over – each child is miraculous simply for existing. And miracles should be cherished.

PLEASE NO POST-REPRESENTATION SPOILERS IN COMMENTS :)

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zhongscara · 1 month

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in MY opinion... i think that aside from being a diversion tactic (to make sure the fatui dont find out about the primordial sea), wrio threatening lyney could have also been him subtly checking on the dynamic between arlecchino and the house of the hearth orphans.

like wrio knows manipulative adults Pretty Well, and the fact that he knows the fatui sent orphaned "children" undercover instead of grown agents already tripped alarms in his head.

Wriothesley: Mr. Lyney, the cards are stacked against you right now. Miss Lynette is in my hands, and Mr. Freminet is still slowly being pickled out there in the brine. You know just as well as I that he cannot last out there forever. Wriothesley: You need do but one thing to guarantee their safety. I would like you to contact your superior, and ideally invite her over for a cup of tea with me. Lyney: You want to see "Father"? Ha, but why should she bother giving you an audience? Wriothesley: Well, if she cares for the well-being of her dearest children, she should have plenty of motivation to join me for a parents' evening. Wriothesley: I've heard that the bonds between the members of the House of the Hearth are like the bonds of family. I don't see why she would refuse.

(emphasis mine)

"call your parental figure or your siblings will be in danger" would be a relatively easy decision to make if your parental figure... yknow... cared about you. but lyney insists that arlecchino shouldn't be involved in this and breaks from the stress of possibly losing his siblings. which makes ME think like... how much value does arlecchino place in the orphans if lyney refuses to "trouble" her with possible imminent torture or DEATH.

Lyney: …Was this the extent of your master plan to get to "Father"? No matter how much pressure you may put on me, I won't allow you to use us to blackmail her. Lyney: I… I shouldn't ask "Father" to do anything because of us…

(emphasis mine)

like... lyney... if she really cared about you she would willingly help you... you know...

and yes later on arlecchino is like Well he shouldve called me :/ but its way easier to say that after the fact.

The Knave: [...] It's unfortunate that Lyney's so eager to prove himself that he can't learn to rely on others... including me.

i mean lyney came to rely on the traveler pretty easily..? i think deep down he doesn't trust arlecchino.

so wrio noticed that something wasn't right pretty quickly, and could have also set this up as a sort of test - both for him, and for lyney - in a way - to take a better look at the dynamic between arlecchino and the siblings.

basically i think that specific part of the archon quest shows us that the house of hearth isn't a Found Family Despite All Odds situation and definitely has something much darker (aside from, you know. the orphans basically being FATUI AGENTS). i keep saying this but i think the fact that the previous head of the orphanage was "even worse" means that traumatized children/teens/young adults can easily justify a different kind of abuse as "well at least it isn't (x) which is even worse!" and based on the siblings' profile stories, it seems arlecchino leans more towards emotional manipulation/neglect, which, again, if compared to the physical abuse from the previous head, can be pretty easy to justify in the eyes of already traumatized and vulnerable people.

#mine.txt #genshin meta

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ohnococo · 3 months

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Would LOVE to see your take on Toji pining if that feels like it could be fun to write!

Pining Toji Fushiguro HCs

Toji enters all situations calm and clear-headed. It’s why he’s so good at staying on his toes, he refuses to let his judgement be clouded, refuses to be ruled by emotions he does not need. He’s learned the hard way that things just get too complicated otherwise.

But he’s still a man, and he still has his weaknesses. It just turns out that his weakness this time is you.

How obvious it is depends on how well you know him. He’s careful, even when his mind betrays him and gets to racing. Nothing he says to you, nothing he does with you can’t be backtracked. Can’t be excused away as friendliness. Because he’s never going to seem as smitten as he is until the moment he finally breaks (and god does he break. It just takes a while.)

His sense of humour helps keep it hidden. He’s dry, sarcastic, and he was flirty from the jump, even before it meant anything to him. But hey, that’s just how he is, right?

Except it’s you he’s thinking about when he decides how reckless he wants to be when he’s taking jobs. It’s you his mind wanders to when his apartment is too quiet, too empty. And it’s you he’s thinking about when he’s choosing who’s bed to end up in instead of his own lonely one for the night. It could be your bed, he knows it could, but then he wouldn’t be able to put that wall back up when it’s convenient and he knows it. And Toji tries not to get himself into fights he can’t win.

No, for now he’ll turn his attention to people who look like you, from behind a haze of lust at least, and he’ll fuck them like he wants to fuck you. Mark them like he wants to mark you. Fill them with all the cum that should be for you and you alone.

Yeah, Toji isn’t really in the headspace to handle these things in a healthy way. He doesn’t even feel bad when he calls someone by your name.

That’s enough for him. It has to be. Until it isn’t, until he’s slowly become more touchy with you, slowly opening himself up to actually letting it happen. He tells himself it’s just to get those little things he needs to feed his fantasies in private. Moving you aside by your hips, digging his fingers in a little more than necessary and memorising the feel in an instant. Making you laugh until you're breathless so he can imagine those gasps for air coming from bouncing you relentlessly on his cock. Watching your lashes flutter when his playful flirting really starts to get your blood rushing.

When the dam bursts, his control doesn’t just slip, it disappears entirely. He doesn’t broadcast coy smiles and hungry glances at your lips like he does with people he doesn’t plan on seeing more than once, no, it feels like it’s out of nowhere.

One second you’re telling him about something mundane, the next he’s kissing you, holding you so tight you can’t even take full breaths. He’s bypassing all pretence entirely, hands in your pants, feeling you up like he has to commit every bit of you to memory. He’ll fuck you hard and desperate and absolutely feral right there on the floor, filling you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You don’t hear from him for a week after that.

Thank you for requesting and thank you for the support!! Toji is another big fave of mine 💛

#my writing #thirsty thursday #Toji thirst #toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked

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phantomrose96 · 1 year

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So I'm one of those people who had to take a break reading ABoT. Part way through reading I thought of that writing advice that goes something like "look at the current scenario and figure out how things can get worse" and decided ABoT was applying that advice with both fervor and finesse. It had me hooked through multiple all nighters and it wasn't until, ironically, the ending of chapter 37 where Reigen is standing in the remains of the Mogami house that I stared at the next chapter button and realized I would absolutely not be able to handle more, mentally or emotionally, if this fic kept following the previous advice. So I set it aside for a month to recover, tentatively poked into the next chapter tense and ready for things to continue spiraling, and gradually started to relax and unravel until...well, you know. I remember having to put my phone down and take a walk with the reveal of everything that Ritsu had incidentally caused (even if the blame can be pinned on basically everyone in some measure, but that's a whole other essay in my notes).

When I reached the current cliffhanger, I waited a scant day before starting all over, this time slower, more careful, and with a more analytical eye. Not for critique, but because I was confused. That writing advice from before, I'd seen it implemented both poorly and skillfully, and ABoT used it with a finesse I've yet to see anywhere else, and I had to figure out how. What made what can be boiled down to a high stakes wild goose chase so compelling? Why couldn't I put this story down until my emotional limit couldn't handle any more? How could I learn from this and make my own writing better? What did this have that I clearly lacked?

I don't think it was until after Teru's and Ritsu's first fight that it clicked for me. I stared at that scene, then my own characters, and realized I'd written two of my own meeting in a similar fight and had neglected any form of consequences. My characters became friends because of a mutual friend. Because that was the end goal I wanted. I had that omniscient knowledge; I knew I wanted them to end up as friends, so I wrote the most objectively logical decision to make.

Except. These characters aren't objectively logical. They make the decisions that look the best to them in the moment, even if those decisions are bad, or horrible. A character who's been soundly beaten into the ground by another won't so easily become their friend, even if their opponent is the nicest person ever. There's distrust and fear. They're going to make bad decisions. Things weren't getting worse for the sake of getting worse. They got worse because of the direct (bad) decisions of the characters.

Once I realized that, I was struck with such violent inspiration I wrote something like 11k words worth of scenes and revitalized my own love of writing in a day. I was so stuck on the end goals I forgot about the struggles in between. I had gotten so focused on grand, overarching conflict, I forgot how compelling it can be to just have two characters punch each other in the face. Too much of my writing had stuff happening around the characters instead of happening TO or BECAUSE of them. I had forgotten character conflict, and when I started writing those flaws, I couldn't stop. I was having too much fun!

Sorry for rambling about my own stuff, I just wanted to convey how much impact you and ABoT have had on my own creative endeavors. I've been inundated with too many stories, fics, movies that occur on such big planet-wide scales with dire, multiverse threatening levels of conflict, that when presented with a long form tale of a kid desperate for his missing brother, told from the perspectives of a small, well developed and spectacularly characterized cast, in a single city, told with stakes that made me care more than any threat to the world, it was like a breath of fresh air. So I guess this is a thank you for ABoT as a whole and a thank you for writing Ritsu the way you do.

Unfortunately for him, he's an inspiration.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YES YOU GET IT YOU GET IT YOU GET IT

ABoT, if nothing else, is a story about its characters. Everything that happens with consequence to the plot can be traced back to a character's own decisions. The characters' wants and needs and actions and faults all come first, and the plot follows accordingly.

(And maybe that sounds obvious.) Aren't stories about characters? But there are so many stories where the characters are just kinda... there. They're blank slates to receive the plot happening around them. Many things they try to do have no consequence. They'll try to take action and the plot will carry on exactly the same as though they'd never even tried, because the writer doesn't want to figure out how that character action might matter. Or a character will do something awful and the plot will just brush past and forget, no consequences or continuity, because the writer had their fun in the moments but now they care about getting the plot back on track, and that would be annoying to work around. They create stories where you can't put your excitement and investment in the characters cuz you just... can't trust they'll matter.

The most important thing about ABoT, to me, is that the characters are making it happen. The good, the bad, can all be traced back to decisions characters had the active choice in making.

I have plenty of fun joking that ABoT is one of those "oh my god it keeps getting worse!!!" stories, but I never ever do that by just dropping random terrible things from the sky. It's always the characters. It's them and it's their consequences of everything they've set in motion, or fought against, or allowed to happen. It's always a thread, thoroughly traceable, spawning from character actions which drives everything both good and terrible (and SUPREMELY terrible) that happens. It will always be the characters.

And I really, truly believe this is what I'm doing to make what is ultimately a wild goose chase featuring less than a dozen people worth reading. When Ritsu fucks up, it's worth caring about because you know this will impact the course of the story. When Reigen succeeds, it matters because he does have a grip on the reigns of the plot and has the chance to better this for everyone. When a character does anything, it matters because is about them, and what they're desperately trying to achieve.

And when a scene isn't about "an action with a consequence", it's still a scene with a point. For any scene I write I always make sure I can answer "what's the point of this scene?" Mob and Reigen reopening Spirits and Such isn't about to barrel the plot forward, but it's hearty and important character development for them. It's the "why should I care about this future being snatched from their grip" when everything goes wrong.

When everything went bad bad around chapter 32, and tumbled worse for many chapters to come, it was me finally tipping over the first domino in a chain of dominoes the characters themselves have been setting up since the start. It went bad not because I arbitrarily decided to fuck with them, but because everyone's actions carried consequences.

Even with ABoT's WORST possible outcome, where Mogami comes out the victor with everything he wants, all others crushed beneath him, this will mean the ruination or death of about... 10 people. A blip on the news. An "oh isn't that sad?" when a second kidnapped son never makes it home, when a conman goes missing (not noticed until a month later when the rent comes due), when a police officer kills his wife and himself, when an orphan kid vanishes off the map from Black Vinegar mid. And life would carry on. And the sun would still rise every day. And no part of this would end the world.

But if I'm doing this right, I want that outcome to feel like the end of the world. I want it to feel worse than that, given what a quiet and unsung tragedy it would be for all these personal efforts and struggles and desperate reaches for betterment are snuffed where they stand. Because they tried and it mattered and they failed anyway.

It IS just a wild goose chase centering around a kid who wants to have his kidnapped brother back, and it's 350k+ words to me.

dfjkdfnkjdf so anyway, I am very clearly super thrilled you were able to see this! It all ties back to character weaknesses and strengths, consequences of actions, irrational responses to situations fueled by character, and not by logic, and the audience knowing that what these characters do will matter. I love stories where humans are messy. I love stories where the tragedy happened because of them, where you can trace the thread back and find exactly how it all went wrong. I love clashing personalities. I love character spirals you can see a mile away and yet you know exactly why the character did that. I love yelling at the pages while knowing that realistically, this character wasn't going to do any better than that. I love knowing exactly how things could have been avoided, and knowing exactly why they happened anyway. I love seeing consequences stick. I love seeing characters matter. And I'm goddamn thrilled you feel that way too and that ABoT could make you find the way to do that in your own characters!!!

#abot #a breach of trust #sorry this took so long to answer i kept writing responses that got way off track #and then I'd have to come back like #'no you cannot write a 20000 word explanation of every single pivotal character action and consequence in abot'#'i know you (me) worked hard to plan those out but you (me) cannot write all that'

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 28 days

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Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna

Usual warning. This is not a review. It's just me needing to put what I'm feeling somewhere. I just finished watching so there's absolutely no critical thinking happening here.

TL;DR: WATCH THIS SHOW!!!

Well I finally finished all of Tsukutabe and to say my heart is full feels small somehow. My heart grew. I remember when I finished the second season of Kinou Nani Tabeta, I was so overwhelmed with emotions and honestly I was not expecting to be in that place again. I called it magic and I have to echo those same feelings here. Because this show it's magic. It's a gift that makes me feel thankful that I got to experience it. I really have a hard time writing about this because I'm feeling so many things so I'll try to split it in smaller bits so maybe it sounds a bit more coherent. No promises though.

Kasuga I have to start here because she's my favourite, in case it wasn't obvious by my choice of pfp. She's so cute. I fell in love with her almost immediately. I've talked about this before but to see a character eat the way she does on screen healed something in me. The way she looks at Nomoto made me melt multiple times and her smile completely shatters this cold heart of mine. The episodes around her family had me bawling [normally I would wish for her father to be run over or something, but that would only add misery to Kasuga's mother, so I just hope he dies first] but seeing her put herself first and release herself from those expectations was amazing. Her journey was incredible and it was great that she was able to open up to Nagumo and Nomoto. I have to congratulate Nishino Emi for her portrayal of Kasuga. Considering she's not an actor (she's a musician btw) and this is her only acting credit, I thought the way she embodied Kasuga was really good.

Nomoto I adore her. Her happiness was infectious and she made me smile so wide. Cooking for your loved ones is just such the most beautiful thing to me and she and Shiro are the standard and everyone else can take notes. She's more open than Kasuga so we have more of an insight to her and to watch her awakening was amazing. It reminded me a bit Sakuko [Koisenu Futari] in the beginning. Her facial expressions always gave her away and it was such a contrast to Kasuga's reserved demeanor.

THEM The Yin and Yang. They are so different on the surface but the way they come together and create a space for each other is just so beautiful to see. They are learning from each other through these two seasons and growing together and navigating the realities of their relationship and what it all means and how it makes them feel. I just love the happiness in Nomoto's eyes whenever Saguka is eating her food and the happiness and little smiles in Kasuga's face whenever Nomoto got really excited by a vegetable or a finished dish. They are perfect and will live happily ever after. Period.

Nagumo This girl has my whole heart. I said this before in the notes but every time she was on my screen I just wanted to give her a hug. She's fragile but resilient and although she was a bit shy at first, the way she shared her story with Kasuga and quickly became the person she went to for advice was so good. And to see her getting help, finding relief in a word and hope in the future made me cry so much. And when she took that bite it made my heart grow that very second. And just as a aside, the fact that the show chose to have her eat while the others didn't notice and after they did, they still didn't make it a big deal made me ugly cry. Because that's the magic part. That when I feel that a show knows what it's doing with its characters. And the moment at the end in the job thing when she said she wanted to do something that allowed to talk to people had me clapping like a proud mama.

Chiharu I love her. I love that Nomoto had someone by her side from the beginning that she could confide in and that was supportive. And that when she "messed up", like with the wedding talk, she was given space to reflect and understand and give her friend the space she needed to talk about it. Cause it's okay to not be all woke - god, I hate this word - all the time. As long as people are ready to listen to each other and learn from one another. Also always happy for the screw marriage discourse.

Yako The ace rep had me clapping at first of course. It's so rare anywhere in media so it always adds points no matter what. So obviously... I love her. She's such an amazing supporter. She's so kind and open. Her relationship with Nomoto was wonderful but she and Naguma gave me some of my favourite moments ever. Because being supportive sometimes is just being present, is asking questions, is just listening to understand and not judge. And to want those around you to grow. That moment where she realized what the move meant for Nagumo and asked her to go for a walk was so good.

THESE WOMEN. I love these women. All of them. How they come together for each other, and the kindness and understanding made me ugly cry on more than one occasion.

The Food This show really speaks to me in several ways and I know I spoke of this before but I keep coming back to food.

You eat too much or you don't eat enough. Or you don't eat it the right way. Or eat the right things. Food is just sustenance for some. Food is joy to others. Food is what makes some of us get up in the morning. Food is to eat alone or together. It means a lot of different things to different people. It's food. You eat yours and I eat mine. Can we just not pay so much attention to this? Now that I got that out. Japanese shows are the best at using food in their stories. And more often that not, it's a place of joy and healing. And the fact that this series showed that food can also be a source of trauma and something that makes you different, as well as a place where you can heal is so important to me. Because I can relate to both those things. The dining table has been a place where I felt wrong different but also a place where I found so much joy.

The Magic Much like Kinou Nani Tabeta this show is full of magic. It was made by people that needed to make it, to talk about things that mattered, from a place of empathy and love. I feel like I was meant to watch this show. The universe conspired to put it in front of me. I understand this sounds super corny, and honestly if anyone else said this words to me I would be rolling my eyes way back into my skull, so I get it. But it feels cosmic somehow. Also fun fact that helps the magic of it all. One of the characters and I share a last name. Me, little portuguese me, and a japanese character from this show. Can you imagine the odds? And no, I have no connection to Japan whatsoever, and my last name isn't even a very common one in either country. So really it has to be magic, right? Also, I have a small confession. GL's were never my favourite. I'm enjoying 23.5 a lot for example but I'm never in a rush to watch them. I have a bias against them that I never really examined, except that I find that I'm much more critical of them so I enjoyed them less. But this show, these women, just moved the needle a bit. There are important conversations here, not just from a queer standpoint but from a female perspective that really resonated with me, so I might need to readjust some things. Anyway, I have a lot of feelings but this is already long. I'll be thinking about this show a lot more, and there will be giffing for sure so I won't leave these characters any time soon. Also, did I mention?, I LOVE Kasuga. SHE IS EVERYTHING TO ME and one of my favourite characters of all time.

I already talked about the kindness in this show but I need to say it again. It's all about the kindness. These women. They are all so open and kind and because of that they are all better people and happier people. Maybe we can learn from them. If only we could be a little more kind to each other.

If you've made it to the end, thanks for reading💜. [A huge thanks to @furritsubs for giving us the opportunity to enjoy this masterpiece.]

#Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna #she loves to cook and she loves to eat #japanese gl #rose rambles

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mmurkoff · 16 days

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Op i desperately need to know about your bolton oc(s) for they are beginning to haunt my waking dreams 🙏 i humbly ask for your intel 🙏

FIRST OFF … thank you so much for the interest ive been really rotating them in my brain lately so it means a lot to hear you like them (ʃƪ˘ﻬ˘)

i originally made them for funsies last year for a fic i didnt end up writing but i've gotten back into the swing of it so when i figure out how to put a story together i'll put it out there . for now... > here's a proper doodle of their fits i put together .

their names are ysabel and cayn bolton - their parents are maisie manderly and alaric bolton ( x ) . cayn is ~20 and ysabel is a few years younger but don't ask me about specifics because i ...... <3 haven't figured the timeline out yet .

ysabel is a severe case of troubled youth as a result of being raised in a household that centers its identity around the concept of flaying people . their dad is kind of balls off the wall nutso and insists very early on that both his kids have to uphold their family history and identity which leads to both of them being exposed to excessive violence before they really should have been and it definitely gets to her the most . at the core she's kind of squishy and more delicate than you'd imagine from the horrendous dead stare she has > growing up she definitely struggled more than cayn to deal with growing up in the environment she did > she has frequent delusions of what is basically a reanimated skin of a man that follows her around and gets in the way when she's especially stressed out . physical representation of the terror of her father's ambition and actions etc

she's kind of quiet and weird and doesn't have many friends aside from her brother but she IS very polite and well-mannered as is expected of a noble lady . very influenced by having a manderly mother in that she leans a little more into expectations of women as framed by the faith of the seven . likes poetry and embroidery and whatever else she's been told to like and is determined not to step outside her box of expectation . eventually spirals into further delusion of the religious kind when she gets to king's landing and things start to devolve politically > the spiral and downfall of what being a proper lady in medieval society means . her first encounter with aemond targaryen is in the king's landing gardens where she thinks he's about to attack her so she bites a chunk out of his neck so do with that as you will

cayn on the other hand is by all accounts outwardly pretty Normal . he's charming and an open book and very easy to get along with if you can disregard the ever lingering Blue Eyed Stare . being the oldest son just like ysabel he has a very specific set of expectations put on him but in a very different way . should uphold a clear image of being like his dad and learns to fight and hunt and rule but it all ends up being very fake . you look him in the eye while you chat about northern alliances and how to make sure this and that lord is satisfied and hes smiling but there is nothing behind those damn eyes .

definitely does not help that ... he IS a homosexual <3 both of them are meant to be people who put up very firm appearances of being well-adjusted, matching expectations essentially perfectly - only to have those expectations torn down entirely when they're strained enough . going to sound like a fucking insane thing to say but cayn to me is very medieval patrick bateman - in the sense that he's obsessed with appearances and what others think of him, but it's all just a means of covering up the fact that he is 2 seconds away from snapping and killing someone or himself at all times . i have all the characteristics of a human being: flesh, blood, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. something horrible is happening inside of me and i don't know why. my nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. i feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip etc, if you will .

the plot here is a little lost on me because i havent written it all out yet and i cant keep information in my mind for longer than a second but it's essentially dance of the dragons but if i took all the events and scrambled them around and made it completely different . ´･ᴗ･` more book-focused than show-focused at least in terms of the characterization of people like aemond and alicent (i like when they're a little meaner and more crude . my bad ...)

before the war begins - the greens plot away, realizing viserys is not going to name aegon heir even as his health worsens and tensions become more apparent at court. more political action is taken here with the starks declaring for rhaenyra in any matters of succession much earlier - working counter to this is a little already-formed cluster of northern houses that kind of band together under the boltons with the help of some marriage ties and general disagreements with the starks (ie ysabel + cayn's dad is married to a manderly, cayn eventually gets betrothed to a karstark before the starks can snap them up a generation later as they do in canon). with the north kind of silently divided the greens reach out with the intent to form an alliance there with the promise that the boltons will be given the spot as wardens of the north when the war eventually ends knowing full well when viserys kicks the bucket things are going to spiral without question . they accept and head down south - which obviously makes for even more tensions considering they're still stark bannermen . everyone is a little bit or more than a little bit mad at each other and viserys dies and things spiral as usual .

ysabel marries aemond to secure that northern alliance , goes to storms end and promises daeron + lands and wealth to make up for the fact he can't marry one of borros daughters himself, lucerys dies etc and well ........... i need to iron out some wrinkles . <3

as for their relationships obviously as mentioned ysabel marries aemond and its Weird . she really likes him but in a weird almost obsessive way . watches him from afar before they even get introduced officially and sits awake at night and stares at him and i think part of it is because she doesn't know how to approach . wants to be affectionate and loving but also wants things to be on her own terms while also knowing that the circumstances (WAR) doesn't allow for that to the extent she wants so she's at a loss at what to do . which manifests in Being strange . with both these relationships there's a touch of strange hunter prey dynamics and here its definitely more laid back than with cayn and aegon . you watch from afar but never strike . you learn someone's patterns and habits and the threat of having that used against you is always present but te tension only ever builds and never comes to a peak .

because ysabel is very tall and slender and kind of gangly she struggles a lot with pregnancy and when they eventually do have a child it's a girl . which she's intensely conflicted about . you have a child put in your arms and theres a moment of complete joy that turns just as quickly into horror because she believes so firmly that a son would have been what makes her husband and her family happier . sort of anne boelyn esque . she ends up with health issues and a line of lost pregnancies after that before having a son who is incredibly weak and sickly and doesn't make it into adulthood . horrorshow in the capital here

cayn and aegon ........... scratches my chin. on account of being gay in westeros it's obviously very different . aegon is married and cayn is betrothed and still i think cayn meets him and it's a case of well i will die before i give up being able to be with you . they're kind of similar on the surface in that they bond over sort of skipping out on court duties and prefer to spend time out in king's landing . a lot of watching aegon give out his attention to others freely and getting nothing in return (because shockingly you have to initiate sometimes instead of staring at someone you like longingly and looking like a creep) . again that sense of not knowing how to approach just like ysabel . a slow buildup of shared glances and mutual want that you both know will never be okay to anyone but the two of you . cayn wants to hunt and kill him and tear him apart and make out sloppy with him because it's all he can do to show that affection . violence in place of love in a society that would never accept your happiness .

when that hurdle of Figuring out they're both a little homo for each other is crossed they're definitely more direct than ysabel and aemond . very heavy handed physical affection moreso than verbal or emotional signs. rip at each others flesh but never express all the things you'd do for each other . share desperate fumbling kisses in some back alley but don't begin to think about what it might be like to run off and never be seen again or how differently youd be able to see each other if one of you happened to be a woman . i <3 medieval homosexuality !

THAT'S ABOUT ALL. sorry this was a whole load of nothing but i loved getting to ramble about them . final notes are some design pointers

the little eyes on the necklace ysabel wears + the eye on the armour design i did for cayn is meant to be similar to 18th century lover's eye jewelry! : -) essentially a form of affection in literally carrying a lover's gaze with you . i think it's very bolton esque

cayn has a little gold ring to tie back to aegon . and the earring is meant to look like a drop of blood

the armour is his dad's . he dies like halfway through the war and i think it's very telling to have the deeply imperfect son don his dad's fit after he dies . bad fathers who haunt their children etc

he does go off to fight in the war as well hence the scars and the hair . loses parts of his arm as well as parts of his face (lip + his eye is injured so he doesn't see very well) . unfortunately the rat tail had to go but it pains me as well

the white gown instead of black for mourning i think was mostly just for aesthetics (tough to fit with the dark background) but also has SOME intent behind it . atp ysabel ends up barely existing as a person properly as per what war does to someone especially when they're already struggling - it's meant to be a nightgown because she rarely gets dressed beyond that . white was also historically a mourning colour in specific countries in specific eras of history and i do really like that . gives sort of sad miserable ghost in the castle vibes idk

#aghh much longer than i meant it to be but this is the only place i have anything summarized for them so i guess its ok #thank u again for the interest <3 #oc tag #txt #asks #asoiaf #asoiaf oc

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