#masking up also protects people who aren’t able to mask | 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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gatorbites-imagines · 19 days

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i was wandering if you can write bane x reader [ i'd ascent to god if its trans/ftm reader, it's ok if you can't or dont want to write it :) ] with a big size difference that's all! have a good day/night and take care of yourself <3

Bane x FTM reader

Headcanons

Still have no internet in my apartment, but luckily my sister is letting me visit her place to do assignments, so I can upload stuff from there.

This is based off of comic Bane more than anything, but i cant really find any gifs of that guy, so comic panel it is.

All in all, I don’t think it matters much to Bane that you are trans. It isn’t something he would see as a dealbreaker, or even care too much about. As long as you guys get along and both have feelings for one another.

Bane is extremely smart too, so if you can’t legally find ways to get treatment, then he would probably know at least 10 different ways to get the result you need.

If you want to build muscle, then Bane is also your guy. He knows as much as one can about the process of working the body and getting the result you want, so he would be able to help you get the look you want, even if you aren’t on any testosterone or hormone blockers.

If you want to work out then Bane could also help you out if you aren’t one for top surgery, as you can get a similar look through the right diet and workout routine. But if you want top surgery, you bet he’s taking care of you afterwards, since he would know a thing or two about medical procedures.

Bane being who he is probably also knows different ways to get you to the hormone level you want, but he would most likely avoid doing anything as drastic as his own mix up with chemicals and the likes, unless that’s what you are trying to go for as well. Would make sure you knew all the dangers first though, just in case.

If you want neither and don’t care much for hormone treatment, surgeries or even presenting masc, then it doesn’t pose any issues either, since Bane wouldn’t really care. Hes one of those “wear whatever you want, I can fight” kinda boyfriends. As long as you are happy and comfortable, then he is comfortable and happy.

He seems like a big scary dude, but Bane would be very respectful of you and how you present yourself. Gives very much “big scary dog privilege” when you guys go out, and you do go out sometimes, as I could imagine some of the bats would let you two go on dates, as long as Bane isn’t causing any trouble. You’ll have to live with being shadowed the entire time though.

The huge size difference also strengthens the whole scary shadow thing, so even if people wanna be transphobic too you, they sure as hell don’t dare to do so, since Bane is towering over literally everyone there with muscles that could kill.

Sharing clothes with Bane would also be entertaining, since hes so much bigger than you. Even just his tank tops would hang off you and slide right off you. You would have to tie it with something or tuck it into your pants with a belt, and even then, it would still look super baggy.

You don’t get the chance to borrow his mask, since he needs it himself. But I could see him finding it kinda sweet if you worked the pattern or colors into your own style. It also helps to tell anybody who wants to hurt you that you hand in hand with Bane. So, crossing you is crossing Bane, even when he’s locked away in Arkham.

The extreme size difference also means you can climb him like a tree, like hanging onto his back like a backpack, or hanging around his neck with your arms without your feet being able to touch the ground if he stands up straight.

You being Banes lover also probably becomes some of the “in the know” knowledge around Gotham. The bigger fish know not to mess with you since Bane would be breathing down their necks if they as much as thought about it.

But being Bane’s partner also means you’d know how to protect yourself and even kill if need be. Being much smaller than him and also being trans puts you at risk, so your lover would want you to know how to take care of anybody that tries to harm you when he’s not around. So, you end up knowing how to use a lot of different weapons and fighting styles one way or another.

But in the end, Bane is a respectful guy whose too damn smart to let you being trans get in the way of a relationship. Your big size difference is also cute in his eyes, since he can easily pick you up or just wrap you in his arms. It’s pretty damn great.

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akairokara · 25 days

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for usopps bday i went nuts abt water seven below the cut 👍

also not to go craaazy on the whole ‘relating to characters over our shared personal trauma’ but i don’t know that ive ever related to a character more than usopp… the entirety of water seven made me so gd sad bc it was all him struggling with his own insecurity, and it’s not even untrue bc he genuinely is surrounded by insane fighters, people with powers etc. how can usopp- definition of ‘just some guy’ - handle himself in the same fights as these guys. the usopp that was outmatched by the gag characters in baroque works!!

and even compared to nami, the other straw hat of his power level, she’s shown as much more crucial in the narrative up until that point. she’s a genius at navigating! he’s a genius at sniping, but it never plays as big a role UNTIL water seven.

so when the merry has reached the end of her lifespan, usopp also sees it as a sign that he’s reaching the end of his tenure on the ship! and he fights that notion, he confronts franky n everything, but u can’t do what cant be done, so he flips out on luffy, trying to prove his worth once n for all by beating luffy using usopp’s own tricks. ultimately he loses, and that’s his sign that he and the merry aren’t good enough for the straw hats anymore.

it’s only by becoming sogeking that usopps able to overcome the fear that he isn’t good enough, and hes able to use his true abilities to take down the flag in that one pivotal moment for robin…

n throughout, the crew still love and care for him so much!!! chopper, nami, luffy, even sanji tells franky he shld beat him up for ‘giving our long-nose such a hard time’. zoro’s hardassery i think comes from being the first mate, but also acknowledging usopp as an equal w the right to make his own decisions. That fucking scene where usopp apologises and luffy’s FULL FACE sobbing… who among us insecure people wldnt want a group of friends who love us and want us around so bad!!!

And then the transition from that to thriller bark, where usopp faces down perona and says, ‘I finally found something that I could do and the others couldn’t. I thought i could finally protect them’. He puts on the sogeking mask and it helps him separate from those anxieties and think analytically, which usopp is best at. and he does it again! he beats perona using his brain!! and he doesn’t need that mask again after that. It’s about the growth, the realisation that even if you aren’t as strong, you’re still valued and wanted, and that reassurance giving you the support you need to explore ur own strengths that others might not have. cmon man water seven rules and usopp rules. He’s my guy.

#usopp #one piece #hes My Guy. If i kinned characters i literally wld only ever kin him #usopp ur the bravest and the best of them all. regular guy stuck in a crazy shonen battle manga i love you #fool speaks #he lives in my heart and i love him so dearly

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acewizardinspace · 2 years

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I really love the idea of there being a bunch of different jedi sects with their own cultures and practices, but it seems like an idea exclusively used to bash the main jedi on Coruscant. I propose instead there are a bunch of jedi sects, because of course any group that has been around for thousands of years is going to have splinter groups, but they are all still jedi and they follow the same principles and get along just fine!

The Corellian Jedi/Green Jedi from legends but expanded to fit better with canon. They allow marriage for their members more often, but because of that they have a lot of other rules. Like maybe the reason they only operate within their small section of space is because long sudden missions to the other side of the galaxy would be unfair to their partners. Or they recognize that their marriages can be a conflict of interest and they understand the importance of a jedi being impartial. Of course, they have strict marriage counseling to help keep relationships from turning into attachment. And they don’t judge the other jedi for choosing not to live like they do.

A jedi sect dedicated to helping animals. They started when a jedi noticed that force sensitive animals often caused problems for civilians who were not able to protect themselves from these wild animals with superpowers. The jedi set up a temple on an unpopulated planet and turned it into a force sensitive animal sanctuary. Now they get calls from all over the galaxy that boil down to, “There is a huge bear levitating fish out of the river and directly into his mouth and it is ruining the ecosystem. Please fix this.” The animals are brought to this planet where they won’t be able to hurt anyone and will be happier with other force sensitive beings around. They started breeding and training the in-universe equivalent of dogs because they realized force sensitive pets make the best service animals imaginable.

Maybe another group that doesn’t use lightsabers, like Fay. Instead, they collect their kyber crystals and wear them in lockets to meditate with. They believe the best way to connect to the force is without any tools besides their body. They concentrate entirely on their mental force abilities rather than their physical ones. But don’t let their lack of lightsaber or other visible weapon fool you! They know how to protect themselves and others. Even if they tend more towards spirituality, they know what it means to be a protector.

A lot of people in the fandom think the jedi should have broken away from the senate, so maybe there is a group like that. They have the benefit of not having to listen to the senate’s demands, but they also don’t have the same government protections either. There are very very few of them and they have absolutely no funding, so they often have to ask for donations or sell things they produce just to keep the lights on, and frankly are barely scraping by. But they can operate without having to worry that their actions could bring war to the republic because they are a completely neutral party.

To go back to legends, there were the Teepo Paladins who made a point of always using sensory-depriving masks/gadgets so they would concentrate only on the force. Or the Gray Paladins who believed in minimal force use. Rather than ask the force to help them, they trust that whatever happens was meant to be.

Why can’t we have jedi sects that aren’t played against each other in some attempt to make one group look bad? The jedi are nothing but respectful to other cultures! We know the jedi do canonly allow you to keep your own cultural practices! They would all respect each other’s unique culture and outlooks! Because all the jedi love each other!

But… maybe these sects all have the vibes of school sports rivalries lol.

#pro jedi #jedi temple #star wars worldbuilding #star wars headcanons #jedi positivity #jedi culture #They are all jedi. They all believe the same things and work towards the same goals #they simply do them in different ways. And that is okay!#Please tell me about your headcanon jedi sect! tell me about their cool cultural practices and what their temple is like!#I like worldbuilding and think we should have more that doesn’t suck in this series #my thoughts

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kydoesthings1 · 24 days

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Translation of two magazine spreads

“Revenge to You” is an illustration with some description while “Love, Hate” is an interview with Sakurai and Matsukaze.

I have been dying to read them for a while now and I finally found ones that are high enough quality to read. Also I was desperate enough. I wasn’t able to find any translations online, so I’m assuming there aren’t any. My Japanese is kind of terrible so any corrections are welcome. Enjoy!

Image source is @/ydotome thank you for the scans!

Revenge to You

Gaelio Bauduin

Taking off his mask, he returns to the battlefield. To vanquish McGillis, he stands up before (McGillis’s) ambition.

McGillis Fareed

With the [unintelligible] Gundam Bael at his hand, he lights the fire that signifies revolution. But destiny has more trials awaiting him.

Text on the right:

Despairing betrayal and farewell to his dearest friend. Even ideals called “revolution” cloud before such hopelessness. The man who fell suddenly into the depths of dejection borrows the name of “Vidar” who continues the bloodline of the god of war and giants, and rises to his feet again. In his chest is not hate, nor justice. Only the anger to completely reject all of McGillis’s actions. The scar carved deep inside the mask is a reminder to himself that he failed to protect those important to him. With thoughts of all that he has lost in his heart, Gaelio returns to the battlefield again.

Love, Hate

With love for a “friend” and hate for a “traitor”, and the unrelenting desire to pursue ambition, what are the two who have become nemeses thinking as they oppose each other?

Finally removing Vidar’s mask, showing his wounded bare face. What sort of determination did Gaelio have then?

McGillis Fareed/Sakurai Takahiro

[Not translating the actor bios because 1) too blurry 2) I don’t care about Sakurai]

With acquiring Gundam Bael, the world should’ve bowed down before him. Although he is driven into a corner by Rustal and Gaelio, he isn’t giving up just yet.

Gaelio Bauduin/Matsukaze Masaya

He concealed himself as Vidar to witness McGillis’s “true intentions”. Now he stands coldly in front of his past “best friend”.

Things heat up as all kinds of viewpoints and emotions mix

[Really could not read the question on this one. Sorry]

Matsukaze: I’ve been so excited ever since then!

Sakurai: Especially Gaelio.

Matsukaze: That’s because I loved the audition, and when I talked about “[unintelligible]” with Mr. Sakurai (and other members), I never thought I’d get a role like this. Of course, I never thought that I would be betrayed and get beaten up by McGillis, or that I would reappear wearing a mask.

Sakurai: It was rather confusing to begin with, I’d always looked up to the Gundam franchise, so at the start I was excited like a child about details like “can I pilot a Gundam?” or “will I wear a mask?” But now that feeling’s almost entirely gone…

Matsukaze: Now things like getting in a Gundam or not for us, is [unintelligible]. Gundams have a lot of screentime, so wouldn’t we worry about dying? Something like that (laughs). Meaning now it feels unbelievable, as an audience and as an actor, and the subjectivity of [unintelligible], lots of different point-of-views are mixed together.

Sakurai: Not only that, but isn’t the show too powerful? Even when dubbing it for real, with all the actors together, a lot of things are mixed together and hard to separate, so I feel what it’s like to struggle with acting for once. But then I felt everyone’s determination and focus, and the atmosphere that a lot relied on finishing the project.

Matsukaze: And of course, “death” really grips your heartstrings. Because “death” is “[unintelligible]”, although “acting a character that dies” is hard, it’s the people around that really make you feel the impact of “death”.

Sakurai: Yeah, you’re right.

Matsukaze: For actors that act as a dying character, of course you’d shout and yell at the moment of death, but it’s impossible to do that after death. It’s the people around that have to bear the emotional fallout of that death. I’ve talked about it with Mr. Kawanishi (Kengo) [Mikazuki’s VA] and Mr. Hosoya (Yoshimasa) [Orga’s VA]. For the deaths of other people, whether it be Carta or Ein, the feeling of those who haven’t died…

Sakurai: He’s bearing all that, Gaelio is.

Matsukaze: It’s so painful! (Laughs bitterly) And although the ending of Season 1 was rushed, as the role of a “rival” that can’t win or lose, I thought it was “[unintelligible]”. If I won I’d overact, and I’m bad at acting the loser, so it wouldn’t work either way…Looking back it was really hard, because the rival is too strong, and the story and drama are so powerful, I was really conflicted about what sort of acting would be fitting.

McGillis and Gaelio’s “reunion”

In episode 43 McGillis’s past is revealed, and his objective becomes clear. And then Vidar - Gaelio took off his mask. It was a turning point for the two.

Sakurai: Announcing the ambition he’d never told anyone about all at once, and then piloting Bael, McGillis had revealed all the cards in his hand, so now all he can do is head towards his goal no matter what.

What did it feel like for McGillis to face Gaelio again?

[This whole next paragraph is very blurry. I am as frustrated as you are]

Sakurai: About that, it’s like getting to the other side of a mist [?], and it’s a straightforward impression. McGillis already has the attitude of “getting[?] everything”, but he shows an ambiguous expression unable to say anything, was he surprised? And [unintelligible] feelings, it’s like, not [unintelligible], but it’s a bit of a [unintelligible] reaction. As I thought, when it comes to things about Gaelio, there might be something unlike with anyone else.

And Gaelio also said that he thought that the McGillis of the past “took off his mask in front of him only”.

Matsukaze: Well, I might be biased because I’m acting as Gaelio [?] (laughs). It might have just been an instant, but I think that instant surely existed. Which is why Gaelio probably also read Agnika Kaieru’s works at least once…he probably didn’t read them very closely, though (laughs).

Sakurai: Hahaha (laughs).

Matsukaze: He definitely asked “what are you reading?” Judging from Gaelio’s personality, if McGillis had the same interests with Gaelio or Carta, he wouldn’t have just used them but worked together with them, is what I think. McGillis who crawled up from the depths and Gaelio who was born into and grew up in a privileged family, they see different worlds.

When Mr. Matsukaze acted as Vidar, did you proceed as if it were Gaelio, or did you change it into something a little like a remake?

Matsukaze: When I heard he hadn’t actually died, but was going to reappear wearing a mask, I asked Director Nagai (Tatsuyuki) “to put it simply, did he become a ghost of revenge?” And then, it wasn’t quite like that, but he was still Gaelio as a human. So for myself personally, being betrayed by your best friend and tossed aside by your childhood friend [osananajimi], after experiencing these emotions he can’t control, changes of that level, and people he talks to changes, for example he talks differently with Rustal to some degree, but the baseline is that I still acted as Gaelio.

The moment of conclusion is approaching…?!

In episodes 45 and 46, there were the direct fights between Gundams.

Matsukaze: For me, it was really interesting that Isurugi was also there in between. It was just like how it was with Carta. Even though the source of the conflict is McGillis, he has to persuade Carta and Isurugi first. Because this is the second time…For Gaelio, there is a theme where he instantly becomes furious. Like “See? You’re being deceived by McGillis!!” (laughs)

Sakurai: Like “Again?!” (laughs)

Matsukaze: I acted like I was an Osaka mom, and it passed on the first take.

[Note: apparently Osaka moms are known for being bossy and yelling at their kids or something.]

Sakurai: (Laughs) But because McGillis is McGillis [?], I do think Isurugi’s last words did hurt a lot for him.

Matsukaze: But McGillis is the kind of person to do it by himself in the worst case scenario. He hasn’t changed from when he was a child and hit someone with a chair.

Sakurai: McGillis has no expectations for anyone. I feel that strongly.

Matsukaze: Even Agnika Kaieru, whom he was so infatuated with, seems to have done everything on his own. Something like “Agnika Kaieru’s three musketeers” probably never existed (laughs).

Sakurai: Right (laughs). He just projects himself onto Agnika, and he’s dedicated to his ambition about power. What an unbalanced guy. If he was cleverer he might have been able to find a different way, with more time, there could have been a more cautious way…

Then what sort of drama will the two have from now on?

Sakurai: I think McGillis and Gaelio will arrive at a final outcome soon. If not, there is no meaning for Gaelio to live for. A reconciliation like “Gaelio, I was wrong!” or “I…forgive McGillis!” probably won’t happen…

Matsukaze: Yeah…(laughs bitterly)

Sakurai: It’s certain that there’s going to be some sort of resolution, but what will it be?

Matsukaze: No matter what, McGillis will be McGillis, and Gaelio will be Gaelio, and they’ll both act out their wills. I think it’s important that they do what they want to [?]. Which is to say, that’s where it’s very “Gundam-like”. All sorts of reasons to fight, important things, there’s things you want to protect, and the conflict that arises from these differences. Not just us but Tekkadan as well, everyone with completely different positions are trying to carry it out.

Sakurai: Yes, once I became aware of this structure, it became a whole lot more interesting. For the inner conflict of Gjallarhorn, that survived the history of the universe, Tekkadan is a very small organization, but their rebellion has connected McGillis and Tekkadan deeply. For example, Shino’s death might just be “the death of one soldier”, but he is one of the mental supports of Tekkadan, so he actually changed the battle at least a little bit…it might be a grown-up way of seeing it, but I think knowing that made the drama much more interesting.

#mcgillis fareed #gaelio bauduin #iron blooded orphans #gundam ibo

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daughter-of-melpomene · 1 month

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𝐑𝐄-𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈

❝ Every high school has one. A rich, popular, bitchy girl who seems to have it all. Usually an only child (unless her daddy remarries a blonde bimbo barely over the legal age and finally gets the son he’s always wanted), this girl was born to parents with bank accounts loaded like baked potatoes and will never have to worry about money in her life. Maybe she makes good grades and does extracurriculars, maybe not, but you can bet your ass she’s on the yearbook committee, will be able to get into a good college without even trying, and doesn’t really give a shit about anyone besides herself, not even her so-called “friends”. She’s cold, sarcastic and an absolute bitch, and will never be afraid to destroy anyone who gets in her way.

At Woodsboro High, that bitch was Molly Perbesi.

Aside from her strange obsession with tales of ghosts and murder, Molly was the teenage girl most other teenage girls dreamed of being. Captain of the cheerleading squad, head of Woodsboro’s yearbook committee, a bank account that was loaded like a baked potato, and always clad in the newest fashions, Molly was the type of high school senior all the nerdy freshman girls wanted to be friends with, if only because her very aura would give them a protective shield against bullies.

But if any of those freshman had actually managed to find their way into Molly’s inner circle, they would quickly regret ever wanting to be her friend in the first place. Molly was never sincere, full of backhanded compliments, never hesitated to tear someone down if they said something she didn’t like, and talked about murder way too much. It was a miracle Sidney Prescott and Tatum Riley had managed to stay friends with her for so long, given all the many aspects of her personality that worked so hard to push people away.

(Especially considering the fact that Molly frequently made out with Sidney’s boyfriend, Billy, in various storage closets and empty classrooms all around the school. Not that Sidney knew about that. But still.)

And then Casey Becker, Molly’s childhood best friend until the two girls had a falling-out sophomore year, turns up murdered along with her boyfriend (who, admittedly, was an idiotic douchebag, but Molly doesn’t like to speak ill of the dead), and Molly, whose passion for true crime stories is well-known at Woodsboro High, becomes a suspect for the killings. And then more people get attacked and killed by some freak in a weird mask, and Molly continues to be a suspect, despite the fact that she would never wear anything as unflattering as that long black cape thing.

Her father’s money and expensive heels aren’t going to be enough to get Molly out of this scrape. But her secret inner strength, cheerleading muscles, and Sidney’s utter badassness might be enough to survive this ordeal and finally unmask the Ghostface killer. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag. (Also tagging @manyfandomocs.)

#my ocs #reintroducing my ocs #ch: molly perbesi #oc: molly perbesi #fic: twisted #queerocs #fyeahocsofcolor #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahscreamocs #scream oc

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nestaismommy · 1 year

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Nestas experienced far less than everyone else has and has barely ever done anything, trust me when I say Feyre and other characters have a way more complex storyline 😂 Just because they aren’t mean and lash out at others doesn’t mean they aren’t “VERY” complex

ACOTAR series spoilers.

Y’all say this but I promise you, if you experienced even half of the things Nesta went through, you wouldn’t even be able to handle it. She has experienced trauma ever since she was a CHILD. She was abused & controlled by her mother and grandmother. Then she had to experience her mom’s death. Oh and she was neglected her whole life by her parents. Then poverty. Then her father’s death right in front of her. Oh and she was sexually assaulted. Then dumped into the cauldron (imagine how fucking scary it is to get taken from your home & dumped inside this ancient thing where it’s dark and freezing) and being turned into something she hated which, lead to her hating herself even more. Then, locked up and getting her choices taken away from her AGAIN. Not because she didn’t go through 19282992938 years of trauma, doesn’t mean her trauma is less worse than others. Trauma is still trauma. All of THAT is horrible. And if you have never experienced what she went through, then you have NO right to talk about how bad trauma is. Because trust me, it’s horrible. It’s like you’re comparing someone who went through SA to someone who was abused as a child. They are BOTH horrible. And by the way, everyone has different trauma responses. You can’t control how your trauma makes you feel, especially if you’ve experienced it as a child. Especially when you’ve always been treated with so much cruelty, you tend to become cruel too because that’s the only thing you know. And let’s not forget that POVERTY can change you a lot. And I never said Nesta was more complex than the others because she’s rude. Let’s not make shit up.

Nesta has done A LOT. She has done MORE than enough. She was the only person who went looking for Feyre when Tamlin took her. She then proceeded to tell Feyre to stay with Tamlin and to never come back. She HELPED the inner circle even though all they did was judge her when she did NOTHING to them (except for Feyre. She’s the only one who deserves an apology). In the high lords meeting, she opened up about what happened to her to help them. This woman shielded Cassian’s body, and was ready to die WITH him. She helped kill the king of Hybren (thanks Elain), she went on the suicidal missions the inner circle couldn’t go to etc. and let’s not forget how her WHOLE life she did everything she could to protect Elain. That woman stood in front Elain when the three huge Illyrian showed up KNOWING she doesn’t have a chance against them. And she then, gave up her powers to save Feyre. And Yk what? Feysand should’ve stayed dead. Literally the thing that I hated the most about ACOSF is what Nesta did for them. But either way, she is BRAVE. And even when she’s afraid, she doesn’t show it.

I always say that the people who hate Nesta are valid because she was in fact, shitty. Feyre didn’t deserve to be treated that way. But let’s not act like the others didn’t do worse. Y’all will do anything to defend abusers & assaulters like your life depends on it but when someone is mean, you invalidate their trauma and act like they insulted your mom. It’s ok to hate them but why invalidate their trauma? And it’s so funny how people say the others went through “worse” when actually, Nesta’s trauma & problems are pretty similar to the other characters. Especially Rhysand. Nesta was SA’d, she was willing to use her body when she was like 14, and Rhysand did the same UTM. Rhysand’s sister & mom died, Nesta’s father & mom died. She also watched her sister get thrown into the cauldron. Rhysand watched his mate die & was ready to die with her, and Nesta almost watched Cassian die & she was gonna die with him. Nesta hides behind a mask, Rhysand hides behind a mask. Rhysand hates himself, Nesta hates herself. Cassian’s mom was murdered, Nesta’s father was murdered in front of her. So her problems are actually pretty similar to theirs.

Also let’s not forget that we got multiple books about Feyre but we only got ONE book about Nesta. I don’t think her story ended yet. And I’m hoping it didn’t, because her book was shit.

Overall, this is my opinion. If you disagree then too bad.

#nesta archeron #pro nesta #pro nesta archeron #acotar #acosf

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g4ll0wd4nc3r · 6 months

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school of the viper headcanons

these are not edited and probably not canon compliant but fuck it we ball

they can’t regulate their internal temperature as well as other witchers, so they have to soak up warmth from somewhere else. you’ll often see vipers curled up as close to their campfires as possible when traveling or taking a nap on a nice warm rock.

gorthur gvaed is filled with era-equivalent space heaters

an older viper some centuries back developed hand warmers. it’s a necessity when traveling.

vipers aren’t outwardly affectionate to each other. you’ll know if one trusts you if they offer to make your potions or food (i like you enough to not poison you) or if they turn their back to you

on the rare occasion that they are more affectionate, they will huddle for warmth or wrap around one another. they may also rub their heads/cheeks together, but not often.

on the whole, vipers are loyal and protective of one another, but have difficulty showing it. vipers on the path tend to avoid one another

building immunity to toxins started as soon as you were recruited. trainees (read; children) would be required to drink poison and identify toxic plants, often running the risk of getting severely ill or dying. older witchers were instructed to slip poison onto food or drinks too

you learned pretty quickly to either smell out whatever was on your food or be tough enough to ride it out

vipers will never eat food they haven’t seen prepared. they go hungry more often than not.

vipers who can get away with it conceal their status as a witcher. a lot of people have crossed paths with one and never known

someone made a hc that vipers will wear other schools’ medallions before an assassination and i love that

vipers are smaller than wolves or bears but more built than cats

the cats and vipers are sister schools. they hate each other and need each other. it’s very strange to see. toxic yuri

cats and vipers are known to trade or buy things off one another, with vipers being able to make quality potions and cats being able to procure harder to find ingredients. they also had similar training so on the rare occasion they work together, they mesh really well

however they will most likely attack one another when out in the wild — cats and vipers both take human jobs, and cats especially are known for poaching jobs that vipers may be interested in

a relatively new practice is “getting your teeth”. after a hard hunt, vipers will have a procedure to get retractable fangs in their mouth. they can load poisons and tear through pretty much anything at the cost of being extremely close combat. vipers without fangs are sometimes called “nibbles”.

maybe also split tongues. is that too quirky

best eyesight among all witchers, which makes it even funnier that vipers keep going blind/get eye trauma

like cats but opposite — their mutagens dulled their emotions to an extreme, so young vipers tend to be extremely blunt and rude. older vipers have learned to fake their emotions to “normal” levels, but will drop the mask as soon as they can

expect your viper to be extremely to the point. they expect the same of you. good luck!

cold and mean and weird about affection BUT. but. after ivar and the old guard died people started adopting animals that were left on the base of the mountains / on the path back for winter

gorthur gvaed is filled with animals that are so so loved and spoiled. it’s atonement for the animals that were killed during training and healing for the vipers that are left

vipers can usually whip up their potions and elixirs while on the road, but much prefer the fully outfitted alchemy labs at gorthur gvaed and *will* complain. loudly.

its not winter unless someone explodes something while experimenting

if an experiment goes particularly wrong it’s not unusual to see a viper face down on the floor. floor time. it’s like a reward

all vipers are fucking nerds. they have an extensive library (added on to after ivar’s death) and many of them learn additional skills (languages, math, other sciences, even music) when out on the path.

most horses don’t like vipers

that tweet that’s like i’m probably nonbinary but i have a job so i can’t worry abt that rn. yeah thats the whole school

#the witcher #school of the viper #banshee writes #i’m sooooo normal about the blorbos #sorry to any lorekeepers in the witcher fandom rn #the timeline makes no sense to me but i know i hate ivar!!

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matt-the-radar-techncian · 1 year

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Ship opinion bingo: Elias x Chise, if you've finished AMB. If not, feel free to disregard lol

Where to even start with these two

They are both such interesting characters and after 24 episodes it seems like they’re just starting to realize the potential of their relationship

Elias is a mystery. He’s clearly somewhat upset by his nature as a half-demon and his inability to completely control his darker side. He’s clearly very protective of Chise and cares for her deeply, but this sometimes turns into a desire to control her and go against her wishes. When he’s onscreen you’re usually at ease since you know he’s pretty capable and he really just wants to help, but the alarming part is how when he does take things too far he doesn’t even seem to realize there’s anything wrong. He tries to be conscious of the effect he has on people but sometimes he’s just blind to it

He also just looks so fucking cool. The image of an erudite well-spoken gentleman in a formal distinguished robe with a fucking ram skull for a face is just so pleasing and he looks so good in the anime. He’s basically the sequel to Al from FMA since he has a rigid mask for a face yet the animators are still able to make him so expressive and emotional

And then you have Chise who I just feel so bad for. At the beginning of the series she’s so traumatized that it feels like she’s just numb to everything. Between all of the crazy stuff that happens to her, meeting all these magical creatures, almost dying multiple times it can feel like she’s underreacting to everything, but I guess she’s just overwhelmed by everything in life. She has to really try to let people in and form bonds with them, as well as act on her desires, which might not make for as exciting of a character on the surface, but it’s a really poignant depiction of someone who just doesn’t know how to be more confident. A lot of times while watching my only thought was “god this poor girl…”

And that’s why it’s so satisfying whenever she’s able to stand up to Elias and make her feelings known to him. She’s able to be more assertive and confident, and he’s able to learn more about humans and his relationship with them and with Chise

Even though Chise and Elias are sometimes at odds their relationship does have this warmth and comfort to it, as if they’re family and they’ve known each other forever. The moments when Elias is able to get it right and help Chise or do something nice for her. It really shows both characters at their highest and that’s really what I look for in any ship. I still don’t know exactly what to think of them yet, but I just want to see characters being cute and happy together, and that’s the kind of ship I gravitate towards (like the ones in SU). Chise and Elias aren’t quite there yet but hopefully we’ll get to see more of that from them going forward

#elias x chise #don’t know if they have an actual ship name #elias ainsworth #chise hatori #the ancient magus' bride #the ancient magus’ bride #the ancient magus bride #mahoutsukai no yome #ship bingo

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ferallester · 5 months

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hoo boy good morning everybody!

I saw the video title a few hours ago when I first woke up, and immediately went back to sleep bc I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it at that hour LMAO

I just saw the thumbnail properly too

this is… this is gonna be an absolute trip huh

live reaction under the cut bc I’m Terrified!

first of all: THOSE ARE THE SAME FUCKING SHIRTS

second of all: ‘nostalgia cannon to the face’

correction: that is in fact a different shirt that Phil is wearing, but it is ridiculously similar, what the hell

‘quintessential emo’ ‘I was serving twink Karen’

‘it’s just… us’ ‘it’s just us being stupid’

‘you’re giving us full sphincter on YouTube’

‘ass and foot baiting’

‘quite restrained’ it’s 2012 of course you’re being restrained

HEART EYES HOWELL COMING IN FULL FORCE WHILE PHIL ATTEMPTS TO TOUCH HIS NECK

I think I found their favourite part of pinof 4 (the cursed Justin Bieber and HMS QEII masks) (lmao imagine if they made actual masks of the boat)

wow those are some really ugly glasses phil

why DO you boys have bugspray in here

‘unless they pressed their noses TOGETHER’ *a sound that normal humans make*

why aren’t they reacting to the blooper videos you guys do know you have bloopers available right

official rating: mid

THE CURSED DAN FACE WAS ON THE SUNDAY TIMES—

oh that is so incredibly unfortunate, why did they use that particular video as a photo reference LMAOOOOO

also who scanned this particular copy what the hell happened to that page

thank you Dan for a recreation

either they don’t want to talk about it or they forgot about 2012

ah. ah that explains a lot about why pinof 5 Looks Like That

PHIL— DAN—

THEY HAD TO REFILM PINOF 5–

the wrecking ball

Dan is fucking relentless with his past self

‘tit tackle’

oh that’s mildly horrifying how low they can go, I think I found an ick

YOU MOTHERFUCKERS— NOT THE REAL VOICES—

I hate them

weirdly the vibes of pinof 5, at least with these idiots reacting to themselves, have gotten. so much worse

Dan able to predict what his past self would do next…

‘crack protected’

oh Phil

a gingerphobic goose…

‘I feel like you’ve recovered from that’ ‘:|’ ‘no?’ ‘A—’

I really hope someone makes a gif of them arguing over the old handshake from pinof 6 and this video

‘assigned mother’ y’know that makes sense actually

successful monkfish backwards!

Phil looks at the camera and Dan just looks at Phil at the end, STOP

they literally JUST used fireside.caf for the shoulder thing actually

the sexy end screen dance also like… horrifically iconic

I always forget about their weird noises they make at the end AND THE BOYS ARE AMUSED

Phil… Phil there’s 8 billion people… on earth… XD

this is the pinof that came out just before I got into them :0

Dan’s hair is. Awful

MOTHERFUCKER DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE SHOW US FESTIVE DITL

shoutout to the vyous tho

love that Phil actively remembers that Dan complained about the thickness of the whiskers

‘I AM BECOME YOU’ also cheese umbrella is still awful (affectionate) to this day

THEY BOTH USED THE SUNGLASSES EMOJI MOST RECENTLY

also hello lobster emoji I know exactly why you’re here

pæch

THEY MOSTLY REMEMBERED THE LIZARD SONG—

rip that peace lily

the anaconda scene…

the game does indeed still work

‘TIMMY LIKES IT’

WHAT THE FUCK DID DAN SAY— also I think I found the most iconic moment of this video so far, they’re just DYING—

TATINOF reference

shut the FUCK UP boys we KNOW you’re touching

as someone who once ate a lemon near-whole bc fruit and who regularly eats lemon and lime slices, their flinching is a fail

existential crisis :(

boys isn’t the time for the merch outdated???? anyway moving on

SLUTTY CATBOY

my calendar and sweater are FINALLY shipping btw and I’m so excited!!!!

THEY’RE GONNA DO A TIERLIST :D

PINOF 7!!!! NEXT EPISODE IS PINOF 7, FINALLY I’LL BE ABLE TO RELATE AGAIN

THEY FINISHED RECORDING POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER 2 AT FOUR????

‘danisshowinghole’ ‘amazingtimmy’ thanks!

oh my god I can’t wait for part three actually

#the feral speaketh #dan and phil #phan #mass-reblog time!

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raytm · 24 days

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southernwood : how seriously does your muse take themself ? do they prefer a solemn & intellectual atmosphere or do they delight in jokes & banter ? / @tenshujo salvia : is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ? how do they express that possessiveness , or lack thereof ? / @starspurn amaryllis : what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ? how do they express that pride ? goldenrod : does your muse believe in luck or fortune ? why or why not ? where do they believe these things come from ? sunflower : what brings your muse the most joy in life ? / @dupliciti

sparkle does not take herself seriously, however, a satirical take on the concept of solemnity is very much a farce she would participate in. she revels in a transposing identity, in being able to accurately discern and replicate if not create of her own volition, people, histories, truths. she can find delight in many a place, both in the asinine and in the most severe. inherently, she is not one to tie herself to a true sense of severity, i think one of the biggest parts of what makes me intrigued about sparkle as a character is the fact that she appears untethered to most things and able to delve into a great many without any particular, lasting attachment to them. she could take herself very seriously, or not seriously at all, depending on the circumstance and if it were to her own elation.

to a degree, yes, but aren’t all people. is what i feel she would tell you but, she gives off a certain degree of not being restrained by concepts such as possessions or people. however, perhaps this is interchangeable also, considering her mask, the girl who preceded sparkle, who gave sparkle her identity ( or perhaps she didn’t, again it’s impossible to tell with her because she has such a penchant for lying or making things more interesting than they are ) was maybe someone / something that she is possessive of. reading her lore makes me inclined to believe that the person sparkle is now emerged from that initial spark, so it would be that spark which birthed her elation, thus she may be protective / possessive of it. It’s her’s after all. But she also gives off the vibes that she would be pettily possessive over things just to see the way it makes others feel / riles them up.

she takes pride in her performance, in her capacity to deceive others with her immaculate impressions. she spent a great deal of time studying others in order to be able to personify them, to wear their face and play their role. she expresses this in her splendid acting, be it small scale, or large scale, where eyes can fall upon her is where she’s drawn to being. I do not think there is much she takes in pride for apart from this, it seems to be where she draws her elation from and where her identity emanates from. I think it would be rather amusing if sparkle had say, small rituals she did before certain performances / acts that she believes, perhaps with a sort of ingenuous flair, enhance if not guide the course the act will take. perhaps innately linked backed to aha and knowing that which satiates the laughter also satiates herself. luck is bestowed upon her because she plays the part designated for her, if that is guileless belief then perhaps, she is indeed so. elation, steeping herself in the delirium that arises from anarchy. sparkle revels in the uninhibited essence of her own elation at any given time, causing other’s strife, witnessing the marionette perform in the way she has devised for it, seeing plans come to a splendid, anarchic fruition. she also enjoys saccharine snacks, effervescent beverages. she is someone who can enjoy both life's intricacies and its simplicities. another thing she truly enjoys is being able to deceive others with her imitations, with the time she dedicates to studying, comprehending and purloining others mannerisms there’s something quite satisfying about the look of credence on their faces when their friend has been replaced and they are none the wiser.

#ooc.#GOODNESS.#sparkle is sort of an enigma because she doesn't outright tell you a great deal of anything.#its almost impossible to tell how much of her story is true and how much is false.#so alot of this is just conjecture on my behalf.#long post /#but god is it fun to write and i love her insanity alot.

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elletromil · 1 year

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19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. for the A Conversation verse?

Am I answering this a year and a half later?

Maybe so. BUT! Better late than never :D

The title is entirely because i did promise to write this and then proceeded to fight with it for months because somehow it didn't want to get written :( But I did it :D

Hope you enjoy it darling <3

A prequel to this

The promised kiss

“Why does everyone always assume I’m in love with him?”

At the question, Eun-sup nearly chokes on the huge bite of crispy chicken he’s just taken. Weirdly enough however, he’s actually grateful for the forced delay since it gives him time to think about it instead of just carelessly replying with the first thing that crosses his mind.

To Yeong, this is obviously a very serious question. The fact that he’s even asking is proof that he genuinely doesn’t understand.

And if he’s asking Eun-sup, it means he trusts him to not only have an answer for him, but to also not make fun of him while doing so.

Sure, his doppelganger is confident and seems to generally be above the teasing done by anyone other than his King. But no matter how different they are in ways, Yeong and him are still very similar to their core. It doesn’t matter how well it is constructed, Eun-sup is able to recognize a mask of impassability when it’s being worn over his own face.

No matter how hard he tries not letting it show, this is important to Yeong.

And because it is, Eun-sup finishes chewing thoughtfully before shooting a question back. “Aren’t you?”

Yeong glares from his side of the couch, but there’s no true heat to it.

“No.” There’s a beat, but Yeong continues before Eun-sup can say anything. “I mean… I love him. I don’t think I remember how not loving him feels like. But, I’m not- I’m not in love.”

Eun-sup nods in understanding as he ponders how to best answer the initial question. But as he does so and Yeong visibly relaxes, he realises suddenly just how tense he had been in the first place. It makes him wonder just how many times Yeong has tried telling the exact same thing to someone, only to not be believed. How many times before he just gave up altogether on explaining himself.

It makes Eun-sup want to find all those people who refused to simply listen and hurt them.

But Eun-sup has already learned the hard way that this is very rarely helpful and the best you can do is to simply let go of these kinds of people.

“See, I think that’s exactly why. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you protect him out of love for him first and out of duty second.” Eun-sup has no doubt that King or not, Yeong would go to the exact same lengths to keep the man safe. He just wouldn’t need to. Possibly. The King does seem to attract all kinds of trouble but not all of it is because of his status. “People often forget that loving someone deeply doesn’t automatically make that love romantic. And once they’ve made an opinion, it’s hard to make them change their minds.”

Judging from his defeated sigh, even if it’s not exactly unexpected, Yeong had been hoping for a different answer. Eun-sup bumps against him in silent solidarity. Even if no one has ever wrongfully thought him in love with someone he wasn’t in love with, he’s had to deal with his fair share of people who thought they know him better than he did himself.

It sucks.

Unlike in the beginnings of their acquaintance where Yeong would have pushed him away with irritation, his doppelganger actually leans into the contact, going so far as to lie his head on his shoulder. Eun-sup can’t quite suppress his smile at the tacit show of trust and vulnerability. He’s glad that Yeong knows he can openly rely on him.

“I don't even want to sleep with him.”

The whiny tone, so unlike Yeong, takes him by surprise and he can't quite stifle a laugh in time.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes quickly, because even with Yeong's face still pressed against his neck, Eun-sup can feel the glare. “It’s just, you've really picked the worst person possible to use that as an argument. Not that I don’t know what you mean, but just, I’ve been in love with lot of people and I haven’t slept with any of them.”

Yeong pushes himself away at that, confusion written all over his face. “I’ve seen you and Na-ri kiss.”

Eun-sup can’t help but grin at the reminder that he can actually kiss her now. He loves Na-ri so much.

“Mmhmm, yeah, but you’ll never see us do more than that.”

Yeong’s confusion morphes into something highly unimpressed and slightly disapproving. “I would hope so.”

Eun-sup rolls his eyes and gives him a half-playful shove. “Not how I meant that.”

The confusion is back on Yeong’s face and even if Eun-sup hadn’t planned on explaining asexuality to him tonight -- or at all, really -- he’s not about to leave it just at that. It would feel somewhat unfair to Yeong when he’s just opened up on something that is obviously deeply personal to him.

Still, no matter how much he trusts Yeong, he’s had enough previous past experiences that the word aren’t easy to let out.

“Eun-sup?” Judging by how carefully Yeong says his name, he’s clearly stayed silent a bit too long.

“Sorry, I’m okay.” It’s only when he has to force what he hopes is a reassuring smile that he realises he’s been frowning. No wonder Yeong was starting to get worried. “What I’m saying is just that being in love with someone and being with them doesn’t have to lead to, to sex. I love Na-ri more than anything but we’ll never have sex because… well, I’m just… you know, not into that.”

The silence that follow is nerve-wracking.

He tries to brace himself for the questions he’s sure will follow, but mostly, he’s slowly entering panic mode. He should have known that this was not a conversation he’d be able to have without having at least a month to mentally prepare himself for and-

Thankfully, Yeong breaks him out of his spiralling into insanity before he can go in too deep.

“You mean, you don’t-” He waves a hand and he looks uncomfortable, but Eun-sup knows this face. Knows his face. (The whole doppelganger thing continues to be so confusion at times, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get more headaches about it all.) If he had to bet, he’d say Yeong is uncomfortable talking about sex itself, more than he is about Eun-sup’s revelation. Which, fair enough. It’s not Eun-sup’s favourite’s subject either.

“Nope. I don’t and never will.”

“But you kiss Na-ri.”

“Yeah,” and just like that, he’s back to smiling like an idiot again because, well, kissing Na-ri is the best thing ever. Yeong, however goes back to looking confused.

“How does that work?”

“Kissing Na-ri?” As soon as he says it, he knows it’s a stupid question, but well, by now, Yeong should be used to him getting a bit stupid whenever he has Na-ri on his mind. “You mean the, the not sleeping together?”

He gets a nod.

“Well it just… Doesn’t happen? I mean we’ve slept together to actually sleep before, but we don’t have sex. Because I’m not into that and Na-ri knows and doesn’t care and just because we don’t, doesn’t mean the rest isn’t good. And we kiss because we both enjoy that.”

They both enjoy it a lot, but he doesn’t think he needs to go into that much details about it.

“Oh.”

Even if he still looks confused, it sounds like Yeong has just understood something and Eun-sup knows better than to make any assumption, but he’s hit with the sudden realisation, that maybe, possibly, if he had been in Yeong’s shoes and fallen in love with his King at a young age and not been looking at anyone else since then, he probably wouldn’t have such an intimate understanding of himself as he does now.

And maybe, just maybe, Yeong has just made a similar realisation.

“Yeong?” He hesitates here, because he doesn’t want to push. But Yeong’s body language is still open, is still trusting. “Do you want to kiss him?”

There’s a long silence and Eun-sup can see a bit of panic starting to appear in Yeong’s eyes and he feels so bad about it all and he’s about to tell his doppelganger to just forget it when Yeong shakes his head.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Eun-sup gasps in surprise at the revelation that probably shouldn’t be one. Yeong is handsome (Eun-sup has long made his peace with the fact that thinking so makes him a narcissist) and surely has had many offers over the years. But if they’re even more alike than they thought before, is it really any wonders that he didn’t accept any of them? If Eun-sup had been entrusted with Na-ri’s safety at a young age, if he had been her only true friend, would he ever have looked at anyone else long enough to fall in love with them?

He doesn’t think so.

“Wanna try?”

The words are out before he can stop himself, but he can’t bring himself to regret them when Yeong surge forward to press their lips together.

As kisses go, he can’t even say it’s one. It would be like comparing a high-five to a handshake or handholding. As in it definitely involve the same body parts, but it’s definitely not the same.

Yeong isn’t moving away though. And it should be awkward to just be sitting there, breathing the same air with their lips together in a not-kiss, but the thing is, the closeness isn’t bad at all and it would take very little to turn this into an actual kiss.

Instead of doing so however, Eun-sup leans back, just enough so they can look each other in the eyes. There’s no panic or confusion in Yeong’s eyes anymore, just something that’s close to guilt and Eun-sup knows what words are coming even without hearing them. And maybe if it was anyone else, they would need to be actually said out loud, but between them, he doesn’t think there’s actually a need for an apology. Not for this.

What he gets isn’t an apology however. Which shouldn’t surprise him, but sometimes he forgets that as much as he knows Yeong, the opposite is also true. Yeong knows him just as much. And nights like tonight just serve to deepen their understanding of each other.

“Do you want to do this?”

Eun-sup rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother answering with words. But instead of simply mashing their lips together, he takes his time arranging their limbs into a more comfortable position. He ends up straddling Yeong, with Yeong’s hands holding him at the hips, his own arms around his shoulders, fingers of one hand splayed into short hair.

He would turn the question back on Yeong, but judging by how he’s been staring at his lips since Eun-sup pushed back, it’s pretty clear that he does want this.

So this time, when Eun-sup bring their lips together, it is definitely a kiss.

And if the way Yeong moan into his mouth and doesn’t let him go until they’re both completely breathless is any indication, Yeong is just as much into kissing as Eun-sup is.

Not that it answers the question about whether or not Yeong wants to kiss his King, but Yeong doesn’t seem in a hurry to return to that topic.

Which is entirely fine by Eun-sup.

He’s never been one to pass up on kisses.

#i hope it doesn't read weird considering i wrote many parts of this many months apart #did you even remember i was supposed to be writing this? XD #me #fanfic #the king: eternal monarch #jo eun-sup/jo yeong #implied jo eun-sup/myeong na-ri #asexuality #selfcest #kinda #doppelgangercest???#is that a thing?#anyway i haven't gone into details here but please assume that eun-sup knows na-ri would be a-okay with him smooching yeong

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