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sagesolsticewrites · 2 months

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Kiss Me Twice

You and Rosie finally have a “proper reunion” 😏

Warnings: mature content (fingering, protected PinV penetration) SMUT!!! THIS IS JUST SMUT WITH A SPRINKLE OF FLUFF. 18+ MINORS GO AWAY

Word count: 3.4k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist | Read part 1 here!

You fidget impatiently in your room— really the guest room of Mrs. Rosenthal, but she had been kind enough to let you stay with her while your Navy father and brother were off on a boat somewhere in the Pacific— your eyes locked on the clock as it ticks closer and closer to 12:30.

Having a “proper reunion,” as Rosie had put it, was something you’d had looked forward to since he’d left for England, and it’s like your body knows it’s almost here. Butterflies swarm in your belly, and you feel warm in every place he’d touched you that day since he’d arrived home, not to mention the heat blooming between your thighs.

Time somehow moves too fast and not fast enough as you fuss with your hair, debate whether to reapply your lipstick (you do, but blot a good portion of it away in your nervousness), and finally slip on your dressing gown over the thin, filmy nightgown you’d chosen for tonight.

You pluck at the edges of your sleeves as you wait for the last minute to pass and then slip outside into the hall, creeping as quietly as you can across the hall to Robbie’s childhood bedroom, ears pricked for any sign of his mother or sister waking in their rooms down the hall.

With seemingly no danger of anyone catching you, you take a breath and slip into his room.

You find Rosie perched on the edge of his bed in a plain white undershirt and pajama pants, seemingly engrossed in a book. Though judging by the way his head snaps up as you enter, maybe the book wasn’t all that interesting.

Still, you envy his calm and cool collectedness in the face of your sheer borderline uncontrollable want.

“Hi,” you murmur softly after a beat passes, the two of you simply staring at each other in silence.

He breaks into a grin as he stands and approaches you, eyes scanning hungrily over your figure as your eyes flick from the book left on his nightstand back to him.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You clamp down on your bottom lip to hold back the whimper that begs to slip out at those words, your eyes instead fluttering shut as he brushes the lightest of kisses to your cheek.

He catches how your eyes flick back to the book as they open, must catch a flash of something there, because he leans in even closer to you to whisper, “Can I tell you something, sweetheart?”

At your nod, he nods towards the book.

“I’ve been stuck on the same page of that since I walked in here.”

The butterflies swarm harder as you stare up in disbelief at his pretty blue eyes.

“Because all I could think about,” he continues softly, strong hands moving to your waist to pull you flush against him, “was how close you were. And how much closer I wanted you to be.”

A soft “oh” is all you manage before he captures your lips in a tender, searing kiss that has warmth flooding through your body. Your hands wander over his broad chest and shoulders as the kiss deepens, needing to be closer to him.

“Missed you so much, honey,” he breathes against your skin as his mouth leaves yours to plant kisses across your cheek, along your jaw, down your neck, making sure to leave a playful nip at the sweet spot just below your ear.

“Robbie,” you sigh, his name the only word in your mind, and you can feel a grin spread across his face as he kisses and nibbles and sucks along the tender skin of your neck.

“Fuck, I love hearing you say my name,” he says lowly, blue eyes darkening as he pulls away to meet your gaze, an unspoken question in the way he drags his fingers along the tie of your robe.

With a single nod, it comes away with a tug, falling to the floor to reveal the thin nightgown, the filmy fabric nearly translucent in the moonlight streaming through his small window.

His mouth drops into an “o” as he takes you in while you resist the urge to cover yourself. Was it too much?

Your name escapes his lips in a soft groan, one hand coming up to tentatively brush against you as if to make sure you’re real.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says softly, eyes fixed on your silhouette just barely visible through the fabric.

His lips crash back onto yours, the fabric of your nightgown bunching up where he grips your waist. Your hands find their way into his hair, raking through the curls with a moan as Rosie’s tongue slips into your mouth.

You’ve already lost a layer, you reason, so it’s only fair when you drag your hands down his back — grinning at the shiver that runs through him at the feeling of your nails— to toy with the hem of his shirt, slipping your hands just underneath it to wander along his warm skin.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to shuck it off, exposing a strong, muscled torso that must’ve been the result of —on top of his football and baseball skills— how did he say one of his friends put it in his letters? “Piloting a school bus like a fighter jet?”

You drink him in hungrily, fingers lightly dragging over the healed scars and bruises scattered across his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you see something flash in his gaze— sadness? Anxiety? Fear? Whatever it is, you cup his cheek, guiding him to meet your gaze as you rise up to connect your lips briefly.

He opens his mouth to speak as you pull away, but whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as you press a kiss to the scar closest to his heart. Then another to the mostly-healed bruise on his collarbone. And another to the scrape in the middle of his chest.

His eyes flutter shut as you continue down, down, down, pressing kisses to every mark on his body; every mark of how hard he fought to be here, to get back home, to get back to you.

“I love you,” you whisper as you kiss a final scar just above his hip.

And then a mischievous grin crosses your face as you press kisses lower, and lower, until your lips just skim the waistband of his pajamas.

“Oh fuck— honey, hold on—” he hisses, gently pushing you away as your hands drift dangerously close to the bulge at the apex of his thighs. “Wanna— Wanna see you first,” he gasps, thumb stroking along your cheek as he guides you back up to standing, his other hand toying with the hem of your nightgown that hits just at your knees. “Please?”

You nod, heart hammering in your chest.

He takes his time removing you from the gauzy fabric. He drags a hand up your thigh, bringing the hem up to your hips, and lets out a soft gasp at the feeling of something… missing, eyes flicking down to confirm.

“Sweetheart—” he says in a soft, strangled voice at the sight of your uncovered core, underwear nowhere to be found.

“Figured it was only fair,” you say softly, praying that the calm playfulness in your voice keeps him from noticing the flush in your cheeks, “given all your teasing today.”

“Teasing?” He hums, arching an eyebrow, the fingers of his other hand tracing along the inside of your thigh in much the same manner as he had earlier that night on the couch, “I don’t recall doing any teasing, honey, I was just having a nice time coming home to my family and my girl.”

You want to retort that he knew exactly what he was doing, but it’s difficult to find your voice as he drags his hands up along your sides, taking your nightgown with him. Lifting your arms to help him slip it over your head, you’re left bare before him.

You resist the urge to cover yourself once more, your mind going haywire as you think of all the ways you’ve changed in the past two years.

Rosie, however, looks utterly awestruck as he takes you in, his hands skimming lightly up your sides as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“I dreamed about you nearly every night I was over there, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your lips, hands wandering freely over your bare skin, making you shiver, “and clearly, my dreams didn’t do you justice.”

He drags his mouth down along your jaw, down your neck, nibbling and sucking at your collarbone, skimming along the tops of your breasts… tracing his lips over seemingly every inch of skin he can reach, memorizing you with his mouth.

His lips firmly attached to your neck, set on leaving a mark that you’ll no doubt have to cover with your precious makeup supply, you hardly feel his hands creeping downwards until he’s gripping your thighs, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Your yelp of surprise is, thankfully, muffled as his lips crash onto yours once more. Your fingers rake through his already thoroughly mussed hair, tongues battling for dominance as he carries you the short distance to his bed. He lays you down gently, pulling away briefly to scan over your body as he moves to hover over you—

CREEEAK

The bedframe lets out a loud, screeching creak that can surely be heard in the next building over. The two of you freeze and your gazes snap to meet each other, both of you frantically trying to hold back your laughter and praying that the creaking wood of the bed didn’t wake his family.

A moment later, when it seems the coast is clear, he carefully climbs the rest of the way over you. You can feel him grinning as he connects your lips once more, shoulders shaking slightly with barely held-back giggles, and you can’t help but grin into the kiss too, making it rather difficult to continue when your teeth keep clashing together.

So Rosie moves on to continue his work on marking up your neck, putting that sparkling grin to good use by way of grazing his teeth along each sensitive spot on your skin, his smile only growing wider as you arch into him when he hits a particularly tender spot.

His lips work the same path downwards: jawline, neck, collarbone, until he reaches your chest. Pretty blue eyes meet your gaze as he wraps his lips carefully around your nipple and sucks.

The hand that isn’t currently buried in his curls flies to cover your mouth as an utterly obscene noise escapes you, arching into him as his tongue expertly swirls around your peaked bud, his hand moving to toy and pinch and twirl around your other breast, mouth and hand switching roles effortlessly when he feels it’s time.

A soft tug at his hair has him groaning around you but managing to pull away. Another desperate pull— this time receiving a playful nip to the valley between your breasts in response— draws his attention to where your hips are bucking against nothing, the empty air providing none of the relief you seek.

“Please,” you whine, so softly you can barely hear your own voice, “please, Robbie, I need you—”

Rosie smothers your pleas with his mouth, murmuring assurances against your lips.

“I gotcha, sweetheart, I promise, I know what you need,” he breathes, fingers dragging along your thigh towards your core, “Gotta get you ready for me, though, yeah?”

You’re ready to retort softly that you’ve been ready for him for the past two years, thank you very much, when you feel his finger drag slowly through your folds, circling around your entrance, carefully gathering the moisture collected there.

Rosie swears softly under his breath at how wet you are, muffling a slightly louder groan in your neck as his finger slides slowly inside you. You admit, there’s a tiny spark of satisfaction as you feel him twitch in his pajamas when he realizes how tight you are.

“Honey, you’re gonna kill me,” he gasps desperately, pumping one finger slowly in and out until he feels you can take a second. Then a third.

By this point, you have one hand clamped firmly over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the growing moans escaping from where you’ve clamped your bottom lip between your teeth. But talented as his fingers are, his mouth definitely isn’t helping.

Rosie has that dangerously mischievous sparkle in his eyes that you know means trouble when he begins kissing a path down your body from just below your breasts to your core. Staring down at him with pleading eyes— except you’re not quite sure what you’re pleading for, you don’t want him to stop of course, but the noise…— he merely winks at you, his other hand moving to become an additional layer of soundproofing for your mouth as his own clamps over your clit.

Without warning, you’re gushing over his fingers, his mouth on your sensitive bundle of nerves all the push you needed to tumble over the edge.

You attempt to catch your breath as his hands leave your mouth and your core, his mouth brushing a gentle kiss over your hipbone before becoming preoccupied with cleaning the fingers now glistening with your release.

“You taste even better than I remembered, pretty girl,” he murmurs, moving to hover over you once more, his leg nestled between your own. His mouth seals over yours in a heated kiss that has you grinding desperately against him, fingers tracing along the waistband of his pajamas.

Of course, he knows what you want even before his name escapes your lips in a soft whine.

“Alright sweetheart, one second,” he mumbles against your lips before carefully moving off of you to rummage through his bag next to his nightstand.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he produces one of what seems to be quite a few condoms stashed in an inside pocket.

“Douglass insisted I take ‘em when I told him I had a girl waiting for me back home,” he mumbles almost sheepishly in response to your quirked eyebrow.

You almost laugh, but your attention is diverted almost instantly when his pajamas and boxers join the clothes littering his bedroom floor.

Fuck, you’d forgotten how pretty he was.

You don’t remember sitting up as he approaches, but suddenly you are, one hand reaching out tentatively to trail along his hipbone as you take him in.

You brush your lips against his hip, one of his obscenely large hands pushing back a stray strand of hair as you follow a path down to where his pretty pink cock sits ready and waiting.

“Can I?” You breathe, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Another— Another time, honey,” he manages after a moment, looking like it actually pains him to say it. “If you put that pretty mouth of yours to work on me there’s no way I’ll be able to stay quiet,” he jokes softly, dragging his thumb gently along your bottom lip, “and then where would we be?”

You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb with a chuckle, nodding in acknowledgment as you sit back.

“Well what can I do, Major?” You whine softly.

You’d meant for it to purely be a joke, but something flashes in his eyes for the briefest of moments at the use of his rank… interesting.

“Help me with this, sweetheart?” He grins, holding up the condom held between two fingers.

A matching grin crossing your face, you open it and gently roll it onto his length, fingers grazing gently along him as you pull away.

Looking up at him to gauge his expression, you see that his darkened blue eyes have closed at your touch, his teeth clamped over his bottom lip serving as a dam for the litany of curses that long to spill out of his mouth.

Once you’ve pulled away, Rosie bends down, gently leaning over you until you’re fully laying back on the bed. Baby blue eyes scanning over your figure hungrily, he shoots you a playful wink before climbing on top of you in an exaggeratedly careful manner, pointedly avoiding the spot that had let out that ear-piercing creak before.

Now properly face-to-face, he brushes gentle kisses to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks as he lines himself up at your entrance.

“Ready, honey?” He asks softly, warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh against his lips, fingers tracing gently up and down his arms, “please.”

That boyish grin you love spreads across his face as he dips down for a quick kiss, slowly pressing into you.

You clamp down on your lip to hold back a moan at the stretch— delicious, yes, but being two years out of practice is making it feel like it’s your first time all over again.

“Oh, sweetheart—” he groans, his voice muffled from where he’s buried his face in your neck as he pauses to let you adjust, “fuck, ‘m not gonna last long,” he gasps with a soft laugh.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh, mumbling breathlessly between your fingers, “I’m not going to either, darling.”

Once you’ve adjusted to the feeling of him being inside you once more, you give him a frantic nod, and he begins slowly thrusting in and out of you, careful not to make too much noise.

The feeling of him inside you, his soft curls fisted in your hand, his breath on your skin, the way his mouth and mustache graze against your neck with every thrust, the barely-audible whispers of how good you feel, how much he missed you, how often he’d dreamed about this— it’s all too much and, true to your word, you quickly reach your second climax of the night, your moans muffled against your hand.

Rosie pulls back from your neck to watch as ecstasy rolls across your face, muffling a groan by way of crashing his lips to yours as your hand falls away.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your lips, hips stuttering against yours as his determined thrusts fall out of rhythm, “So fucking perfect, gonna make me—”

He dives back into your neck, muffling the loud moan that escapes him as, with several erratic thrusts, he spills into the condom. He slumps against you, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat as the two of you try to catch your breath.

Rosie’s lips meet yours in a tender kiss as he pulls out of you, muffling the soft whine you let out at the sudden emptiness. You feel him chuckle softly against your lips, murmuring “be right back, honey,” as he goes to dispose of the condom and wriggle back into his boxers before climbing back onto his bed next to you.

You roll over to face him, the two of you taking a moment to just hold each other.

“Was it—” Rosie whispers, a flush coming to his cheeks as he asks, “Was it okay? I know it’s been a while—”

You silence him with a gentle kiss.

“It was perfect, Robbie,” you say softly, gazing into his pretty blue eyes, “You’re perfect.”

He smiles at your words and pulls you closer, his strong arms wrapping securely around you, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

The two of you stay like that for a while until he whispers in your ear regretfully, “I should probably get you back to your room.”

You want to protest, to savor the feeling of being in his arms again after so long, but you know he’s right. The last thing you’d need would be for his mother to stumble upon the two of you like this in the morning.

You hum, nod, and slowly extricate yourself from his embrace. Rosie helps you back into your nightgown and robe, scattering kisses over your exposed skin before it’s covered once more.

“Hey,” he stops you before you open his door, soft eyes gazing down at you, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You lean up onto your tiptoes to press a final kiss to his lips. “Welcome home, my love.”

With that, you slip silently back across the hall, settling into bed with a grin that refuses to fade even as you fall quickly into sleep.

Hope y’all liked it 😇 And for those wondering… don’t worry, they won’t have to keep quiet in the next part 😏

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x reader #robert rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal smut #mota smut #masters of the air #mota #my writing

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nhasablogg · 10 months

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Alex's list

Fandom: Red White and Royal Blue

Characters: Alex/Henry

Summary: Alex has put Henry's ticklishness on a list of things he likes about him. Henry denies being ticklish at all, which is stupid really when it's so easy to prove.

A/N: Partly based on all the headcanons me and an anon threw at each other a couple of days ago! But specifically this.

Words: 1.1k

Alex liked lists, so it was natural for him to make a list of all the things he adored about Henry.

1. He was kind. Like, sometimes Alex wanted to cry from how kindly he treated a world which had never done the same to him.

2. The noise he made when Alex kissed just beneath his ear.

3. He was funny. It nearly made Alex competitive.

4. His smile. God, that smile.

5. He was ticklish. Like ridiculously so.

“I am not.”

Alex paused in his recital of the list, sans his sappy comments of course. “Don’t lie. I’ve seen the way you flinch whenever I touch your sides, thinking I won’t notice and shit.”

Henry’s face was tinted pink - Alex made a mental note to add his blush to the list - and he crossed his arms like he always did when he felt vulnerable, uncomfortable, defensive or embarrassed (Alex had debated putting it on the list, just because of how adorable it could be, but he associated it with truly terrible situations too much to be able to). “That is simply a suspicion and not facts, so it shouldn’t be on the list.”

“Oh, you want me to prove it, do you?”

Henry’s eyes widened, but he remained where he was even as Alex stood. “You do realize I have a sister and therefore don’t find your threats very threatening.”

“And you realize I also have a sister and know exactly how to get someone to admit defeat, right?”

Henry, to his credit, still didn’t move, although Alex noticed how convenient it was that his arms were crossed and shielding most of his torso. His sides were peeking out from beneath his forearms and Alex had his sight set on them, slowly crossing the room and hovering over the Prince like he’d done many times before with entirely different intentions. Henry visibly tensed as Alex planted his feet on either side of his knees, forcing him to lean back against the couch as he leaned closer.

“There’s still time to admit I’m right,” Alex said, hoping he wouldn’t. “I don’t have to destroy you.”

“To think I haven’t noticed the way you recoil whenever I touch your collarbones would be silly.”

Alex’s face flashed hot for a brief moment, but he had the advantage, he had Henry beneath him, his fingers so close to touching flesh, that he refused to be sidetracked. “That’s besides the point.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“You know. You talk a lot of shit for someone within tickle distance.”

Henry’s finger suddenly swiped over Alex’s neck, making him jerk back with a yelp. “So are you, my love,” he said with a smirk and yeah okay Alex was blushing for real now.

“That’s it,” he said, trying to regain some sense of composure. “No more mercy for you.”

Henry had uncrossed his arms to tickle him and Alex wasted no time before latching onto his sides, squeezing them once, twice, and Henry was already giggling (something more for the list), head thrown back as he tried and failed to grab at Alex’s hands. He’d imagined what Henry would be like to tickle, thrashing violently like Alex himself usually was when subjected to the evil hands of June and Nora, or curling up helplessly like June when Alex decided to turn the tables. He was positively delighted to find it was the latter, giggles taking up more and more space as he slowly slid down the couch and providing Alex with a delicious sliver of skin.

“Is your belly ticklish too?”

Henry managed to call out a panicked, “No!” before Alex had switched spots, fingers curling over the area and making Henry howl with laughter, much different than June’s quiet pleading, but nowhere near Alex’s yelling.

“Stop it.” He’d gripped onto Alex’s wrist for merely a second, falling into new laughter when Alex freed himself and spidered the hand up toward his ribs instead. It was rather awkward the way they were positioned, with Henry falling off the couch the more seconds passed and Alex hunching over him.

“I should pin you before you fall off,” he said, and Henry positively whined.

Alex laughed and realized promptly there was no way to do that unless he moved Henry up, and so he paused his tickling to grip onto his hips and shove him upward, causing Henry to let out a spluttered sound which was half a panicked laugh and half something entirely else.

Alex grinned at him. “You liked that?”

“Let go of me, you brute.”

Alex placed a hand on his chest. “You wound me, baby. I’m just trying to prove a point here.”

“Okay, okay, your stupid list was right, now let me go.”

“Do you really want me to do that?”

“Y-yes!”

“You don’t sound very certain.” Alex spun Henry around so that he was lying on the couch, making it much too easy for Alex to plop down on top of his hips, straddling him. “I want to try one more spot, okay?” he said, spidering his fingers up Henry’s chest and pausing just beneath his throat. “Actually, you know what?” Henry made a confused sound when Alex leaned down, making an even more confused sound once Alex blew a raspberry into his neck.

“How does that tickle!” he cried, fingers digging into Alex’s shoulders as he tried to push him away. “What are you doing!”

Alex laughed into his skin before blowing another one, relishing in Henry’s indignant sounds. Somehow he made his laughter sound like question marks, which was truly something only he could do. He curled his fingers over Henry’s sides as he blew a third one, just for good measure, and leaned back so that he could see his ridiculously pretty boyfriend turn red from laughter, eyes squinting, smile so perfect.

“Mm, I think I need to add your reaction to raspberries onto the list.”

“I will kill you.”

“However will you do that when tickles can destroy you?” Alex stilled his hands, although he did give his belly one last poke.

“I have ways,” Henry said, pushing his hand away with a poor attempt at glaring at him.

“What will your motive be? He tickled me for a couple of minutes? Because surely you can’t lie.”

“Oh, I will lie.”

Alex leaned down to press his lips to Henry’s forehead. “At least I got you to admit that you’re ticklish.”

“Shut up,” he said, poking at Alex’s shoulder blade and ah, oh no, Alex had forgotten about that spot that Nora had tortured for a whole weekend once. He tried to make his flinching seem intentional, but Henry’s smirk was terrifying once he sat up.

“Alexander,” he tutted. “You seem to have forgotten to mention you have more tickle spots than your collarbones and neck.”

“Careful, your royal highness. I literally still have you pinned.”

“Mm, I don’t think that will stop me.”

And it didn’t, much to Alex’s dismay.

#tickling #ticklish!henry #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #tickle fic #red white and royal blue fic #rwrb #red white and royal blue #n writes #alex's list #firstprince

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midnight-in-town · 10 months

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Frances Midford : The Mentor, a summary

To follow with my post about fighting against misinformation, here’s a first topic.

Ciel’s remaining aunt is often viewed by the fandom as a mean lady who doesn’t care, because of a) all the mysteries around the family that Ciel doesn’t know about and b) the use of comic relief in Kuroshitsuji often used to hide some relevant clues, as previously demonstrated in this post. This is actually far from what her character really is about and I intend to demonstrate it now with a (long) recap post.

I have talked about Frances a lot in the past, about her caring about our!Ciel and about her possibly knowing, like Tanaka, that he was lying about his identity. While the former is undeniably true, the latter is still up for debate. [X][X][X][X] However, with the upcoming adaptation of the Weston arc (probably) in 2024, I don’t want the old discourse to come back, so without further ado...

What Yana has said about Frances’ character

Besides our!Ciel, Frances is the last remaining Phantomhive (not counting real!Ciel as a BD). She’s Vincent’s younger sister, they both have the same parents (that is to say Claudia P and Cedric K. Ros) and she married out of the family (implying that maybe the Phantomhives have distant relatives still alive), becoming Lady Midford.

According to Yana, Frances takes after their dad while Vincent takes after their mom and the same is true for her kids, meaning Ed takes after her (thus takes after his maternal grandfather) while Liz takes after Alexis.

As far as her relationship with our!Ciel is concerned, here’s what Yana said in the guidebook : “Frances' strength of character is why Sebastian chose her as a role model Ciel should follow”. Since her relationship with Lizzie is sometimes also viewed negatively, I’d like to add that both in the guidebook and on twitter, Yana said that “Liz thinks her mom is kind and strong so she looks up to her mom as a role model she aspires to become”, hence the similar hair style.

TL;DR Yana’s overall description of Frances is that a) she’s kind and strong which is why b) she’s Lizzie’s role model, as well as the role model Sebastian thinks our!Ciel should follow.

Now that this is established, here’s what the canon story gives us, to illustrate Yana’s words. Spoilers for the entire manga series and long read below the cut.

Frances’ introduction

Frances is introduced in ch14 and, boy, what a generally misunderstood chapter by some parts of the fandom. xDD

Contextually, ch14 is Ciel’s birthday, meaning it is also the anniversary of the massacre of the previous household and Madam Red just died, after trying to kill him. For those who might wonder, the guidebook confirmed that our!Ciel was quite saddened by Ann’s death (obviously), so really, what a fun 13th birthday in perspective. Cue Liz and Frances.

The comments on her strength aside, Frances’ introduction is otherwise often misread as her nagging being inappropriate but I beg to differ. As mentioned by @akumadeenglish and @chibimyumi, Yana is Japanese author who likes to explore writing tropes in depth. Though it’s also important to remember that, before the curry arc, Yana didn’t know how long the series would run so everything had less intent, because the story was initially supposed to end quickly.

In other words, Frances’ introduction really is initially to be read as the severe mother-in-law (based on Japanese comical stereotypes) coming to check on how he handles his household, which is why Seb is so stressed out when everything goes bonkers. But that’s only the surface.

Most importantly though, Frances showed up because it is Ciel’s birthday and, as said above, there’s a lot of negative and dreadful memories associated with this day. So...

...let’s change his mind, shall we?

Phantomhives love games and Frances is a Phantomhive too, the last one besides our!Ciel, so she knows her nephew and chooses an activity she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Ch14 also introduces two important facts that are still relevant as plot points, especially as far as the Blue Revenge arc is concerned. The first one is that our!Ciel protected Lizzie from that bear, so Frances said she owes him.

Secondly, as stated by Frances herself, she knows the ropes of the “game” (aka acting as the Watchdog) better than our!Ciel (”you’ve still got a decade to go before you can even think of winning against me”).

In fact, like our!Ciel with real!Ciel, Frances was probably raised as Vincent’s spare [X][X], but compared to our!Ciel who knew next to nothing about his father’s real job until 3 years ago (at the time of ch14), Frances is an experienced veteran...

And that’s why Seb chose her as a role model for our!Ciel.

Therefore it is my opinion that ch14, despite being written back when Sensei didn’t know how long the series would be published, is still relevant as heck when it comes to Frances’ role in the series, aka acting as a mentor for our!Ciel (and for Lizzie, as Yana also stated). Kuroshitsuji is a slow story though, with a lot of build up and it’s why some fans still fail to see how significant Frances is to the plot and to our!Ciel’s development.

Campania arc

Liz is the one who comes to ask our!Ciel to come with her whole family (thus introducing Alexis and Edward) on a cruise, but it’s also very important to note that she conveyed that Frances thought that our!Ciel should take time off of work:

This led some of us fans to theorize that maybe Tanaka used to send updates to Frances about our!Ciel’s wellbeing and how he fared as the Watchdog: the timing of the cruise works well with Frances’ remark, considering that the Queen just sent Charles Grey as a merry punishment for Ciel’s deeds during the Circus arc.

This arc mostly highlights Frances’ bravery and strength : she didn’t hesitate to fight for countless of passengers unrelated to her (something that UT said isn’t very typical of Phantomhives, during Weston)...

More importantly, we finally get into Lizzie’s personal motivations and we indeed have the confirmation that...

...Frances is a big key to Lizzie’s strength, confirming the role model/mentor position that she holds in Lizzie’s eyes. I’d like to also point out that Frances completely trusts in her daughter’s abilities, which highlights a very positive mother/daughter dynamic.

Lizzie’s flashback gives us this very important bit...

...a part that’s unfortunately often overlooked by the fans complaining that Frances is too severe with our!Ciel and Lizzie. This scene however makes way more sense once we find out, after the Weston arc, that Frances lost her mother Claudia (the Watchdog before Vincent) when she was probably about 12 or 13 years old (Vincent being 15 years old then).

To me, this is a big explanation as to why Frances is as serious about training as she is:

Indeed, she lost at least her mom (and later her brother) so, since her daughter is betrothed to the future Watchdog, she wants Liz to be strong enough to survive. All I see in the former panel is a mother saddened by the burden on her child’s shoulder and desperate to imagine that she will be exposed to a lot of danger as an adult.

Side point there, but it’s likely there’s a very relevant reason Frances’ only daughter was betrothed to Vincent’s heir when they were young kids. We’ll dive into it later, but I believe the answer is tied to the Phantomhive lineage introduced in ch103.

Lastly, our!Ciel’s flashback also gave us another important bit to explore...

...which is that our!Ciel directly applies what Frances once told him to his current path for revenge:

Also note the allusion again to Vincent “losing the game”, creating a parallel with Frances telling our!Ciel in ch14 that “he still has a decade to go before he can even think of winning against her”, because he has a lot to learn from her, especially since even he admits that he knows next to nothing about his own family.

The previous spare teaching the spare. How fitting. :D

Weston arc

Even if Frances only appears in this arc during the cricket game, I think there is a lot to be deduced from it. First, I’ve said it long ago and I’ll say it again: I strongly believe Frances played a part into Vincent’s victory during the first blue miracle.

Mind you, Tanaka basically confirmed that Vincent cheated to win (since he knew what Seb and Ciel were up to) and I could totally see Vincent asking his strong little sister to crossdress in order to destroy the Green team. xDD Besides, she certainly seems uneasy whenever the topic is brought up and she also wasn’t fooled by Ciel’s act when he won, haha!

This is silly, but this shows (imo) that Frances and Vincent had a good sibling dynamic, with Frances supporting her brother as the Watchdog as much as she could, which is heartwarming because this means Frances would have no reason not to support her brother’s sons after his death.

Tanaka (who, according to Yana, was already in the household taking care of Vincent and Frances as children) and Frances happily dancing together at the end of the tournament also confirms this. Vincent and Frances having a strong sibling bond would also explain why, despite Claudia’s death, Frances would agree to the betrothal between Lizzie and Vincent’s heir (and would keep it that way, even after Vincent’s death).

All that to say, I’m sure the cricket game confirmed to Frances how similar our!Ciel is to Vincent on some aspects (the second blue miracle attests to that), which probably makes him somewhat predictable (and reassuring?) to her.

One thing that I also believe is important is Ed’s mini flashback during the game. On this topic, Yana has said that she couldn’t draw his backstory in detail, so she’ll probably expand on that in the future, which makes me think that there is some foreshadowing in there.

TBH I think it’s ironic that Ed would consider himself as “ordinary”, considering the whole lineage thing introduced one arc later. xDD But also, if we consider that the tale of Vincent’s first blue miracle is supposed to hint that Vincent and Frances were close as siblings, it’s nice that Ed, who takes after his mom the most, would also have his own flashback about loving and looking up to his sister a lot, despite his small inferiority complex. Considering that Liz sees their mom as her role model though, I guess that means Ed also sees his mom as a role model (though the Campania arc already made that pretty clear).

During the Weston arc, Frances also managed to surprise Sebastian, both by recognizing him (lol) and by stopping him despite his intent to leave, which is, according to the demon himself, no small feat:

Like the usual nagging she does towards Seb though, it’s played for laugh, but as introduced in this post, I believe overused comic relief is a way to foreshadow some hints and we’ll dive into it with the next arc.

Last but not least, during this arc UT commented that our!Ciel was different from his ancestors when he willingly put himself in danger to save Joanne...

...but as presented during the Campania arc, it seems it’s a trait he shares at least with his aunt, furthering the parallels between them and the fact that she would definitely make a good mentor for our!Ciel, because they’re quite alike and can probably understand each other.

Green Witch arc

The only relevant part of this arc with Frances’ character is the introduction of a special lineage in the Phantomhive family by German Shinigamis...

...something that might explain why our!Ciel was able to notice them, when even Seb didn’t. So this begs the question: who else in his family shares this lineage? And obviously, Frances and her kids might !

My personal opinion is that the lineage thing is old and is probably why the Phantomhive family became the Watchdogs, many generations ago. But also, if our!Ciel can notice Shinigamis thanks to it, could it explain why Frances was able to detect and catch Seb during opening ceremony before the cricket game at Weston? And why she always nags him about his appearance (both hair and face)? That remains to be confirmed, but...

...at the very least Bravat in the recent arc confirmed that some gifted people like himself can “sense” that demons are different. Just like animals [x][x], apparently. Bravat is irrelevant besides being a small scale villain though, so I take it as a hint for a more plot significant character, such as Frances, whose nagging behavior towards Seb is way too overused as comic relief anyway.

The lineage thing is yet one more family topic on which Frances probably has answers to give to our!Ciel (the only other people who might know about it being Tanaka and UT).

Bonus : if what Vincent said below about strong-willed women in the family line (from a side story “With Father”) is a hint towards the lineage thing...

...then it’s probably why Vincent wanted Lizzie to be betrothed to his heir in the first place and why Frances agreed.

Blue sect & blue revenge arcs

I already mentioned that Bravat’s innate ability to recognize Seb as a demon was a hint that other characters, like Frances, might be able to guess that Seb is a demon as well, so moving on to ch151 :

This chapter confirms that UT has known Frances since she was very young (which is a hint to the UT = Cedric theory of course), which also explains why, knowing about her strength, UT went on with the whole BD massacre on the Campania despite the presence of our!Ciel and the Midfords on board.

Also, while this chapter neither confirms nor denies if Frances knew about our!Ciel lying about his identity (like Tanaka and UT did), she didn’t show anger nor disbelief about the situation, just her incomprehension.

More than anything, this chapter strongly hints that our!Ciel will at some point seek his aunt for a talk before the final confrontation with UT and real!Ciel, because both are seeking answers to their different questions (our!Ciel needs to find out about UT & his grandmother and the lineage thing, while Frances will want to know what’s the deal between the twins). Speaking of which, a talk between Lizzie and Frances is probably also in order, before Lizzie can choose our!Ciel’s side again.

Lastly, ch151 hinted that Frances doesn’t fully believe that real!Ciel’s return is “natural”...

...and, i mean, why would she? She faced the Bizarre Dolls on the Campania and, for all we know, Edward told her how the Weston arc ended so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ considering that UT has been involved every time, the Midfords probably aren’t far from connecting the dots about real!Ciel being already dead.

To sum up !

Outside of the narrative, Yana said that Frances was Lizzie’s role model and that Seb also wanted her to be the model our!Ciel should follow. And, in my opinion, the entire series so far (as I tried to present in this post) is slowly building up to that because :

our!Ciel and Frances are very similar: both the spares & both survived their parents’ and brothers’ death

both saved folks unrelated to them despite being Phantomhives, meaning that they are a bit alike and can understand each other

our!Ciel literally built his path of revenge following the advice Frances told him about how to counterattack an opponent

Again, to understand who targeted his family, our!Ciel needs to find out about his grandmother, about the lineage and about why his dad had to be killed amongst other things. The only people who can answer him are UT, Tanaka and Frances.

I believe UT and Tanaka are more connected to Claudia, but also both are by real!Ciel’s side for now, making them less accessible for a talk. This leaves Frances for the time being and, as Vincent’s sister and Claudia’s daughter, it seems appropriate that answers would be coming from her.

Also, in shonen series, usually the hero(es) have a mentor figure who will help them “unlock their potential” through training. Kuroshitsuji is not your usual shonen and I doubt our!Ciel can become better at fighting lmao, but Frances can certainly help him better appreciate the massive scale he’s bound to face when seeking his revenge. Especially if it all goes back to events from 3 generations ago and a worldbuilding full of supernatural elements, as well as a world war he doesn’t entirely comprehend yet.

Frances acting as a mentor/role model for her own kids also foreshadows that they’ll follow our!Ciel on his journey and, like him, they’ll definitely need her wisdom/knowledge to be able to reach the necessary level for survival by his side.

As to when all that is going to happen, well, I’d say Frances will probably take on a more active role in the plot when, to quote Seb in ch14, "[our!Ciel] will overconfidently believe that he cannot lose and that it will be necessary for him to carry himself with humility while striving for his goal". Because by then, "an adult who will be firm with him is what he'll need".

If that doesn’t foreshadow the current conflict between the twins, I don’t know what does. xD

Thanks for reading!! As always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything !

#kuroshitsuji #frances midford #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #tanaka #undertaker #elizabeth midford #edward midford #2CT #vincent phantomhive #phantomhive dynamics #claudia phantomhive #yana toboso #kuroshitsuji theory #my analysis #as of:#kuro202

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isiscelestia · 26 days

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The Ashlesha Nakshatra, the Snake Princess, and Amazon Lily🐍

‼️Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Human Trafficking ‼️

Based on: One Piece, Amazon Lily Arc (episodes 408-421). “Island of Women”

Hello everyone! I just want to say that I am NOT a Vedic astrologer, however I have been researching my own placements. I’m an Ashlesha lagna, so of course I saw the similarities in the Pirate Empress and this arc. This is my analysis on the connection between the Ashlesha Nakshatra, Boa Hancock, the Kuja Pirates, and Amazon Lily.

“Snake Princess”: Snake symbolism on the island and in this arc are very prevalent. You can see this with the Gorgon sisters (Boa’s younger siblings), the use of snakes as weapons, and the use giant of snake monsters to travel. The Jolly Roger of the Kuja pirates pictures a skull with nine snakes. Snakes are connected to Ashlesha because it ruled by the Nagas (divine serpents).

The Kuja tribe also has qualities like a snake. Their island, Amazon Lily, rests on the Calm Belt. This makes them a fairly isolated island that is hard to travel to. Ashlesha is known to be a guarded and private nakshatra.

Boa Hancock: Boa Hancock has two nicknames, the Pirate Empress and the Snake Princess. Her first title comes from being the ruler of Amazon Lily, which also makes her the strongest person on the island. She possesses a “devil fruit” called the mero mero no mi (aka the love-love fruit). This fruit gives her the power to turn people into stone when they become enamored by her beauty, and sometimes lust after her. She is also known as the most beautiful woman in the world, which makes her power even more potent. The snake princess has her own snake weapon named Salome, who is a giant snake. There is currently debate about what nak is connected to Medusa symbolism and I think it is the Ashlesha nak. You can especially see this in Boa’s character arc. She has a hard, intimidating appearance to protect herself and her tribe. However, on the inside she is the complete opposite.

Gorgon Sisters: The Gorgon sisters are Boa Hancock’s younger sisters. They both ate the hebi hebi no mi (snake devil fruit), but they possess different models. The middle sister, Boa Sandersonia, ate the anaconda model. The youngest sister, Boa Marigold, ate the cobra model.

Over-sexualization: Amazon Lily is only inhabited by women, thus it catches the attention of predatory and perverted men. The island is an almost impenetrable fortress and with the help of the Kuja warriors who also protect it, predatory behavior is a reason why. Boa Hancock and her younger sisters were also victims of human trafficking and sexual assault (SA has been speculated but fans believe that this is what the anime was alluding to). Not only is this nak heavily sexualized in real life, this trope is seen many times in film and television with characters played by Ashlesha women. You can see this further explained in Claire Nakti's Youtube video about Ashlesha.

Claire Nakti Ashlesha Youtube Video:

youtube

Since I am on the Claire Nakti video, I would like to also include one very specific thing she talks about here. Claire talks about how Ashlesha women are attracted to people they cannot dominate, people who have more control over themselves. Boa Hancock falls in love with the main protagonist, Monkey D. Luffy, because he didn’t immediately lust after her. They believe that strength is tied to beauty and the more strong you are the more beautiful you are, and Luffy is one of the strongest men in the world. Once she realized he was genuine with a good heart she immediately fell in love.

The Kuja tribe are very skilled and knowledgeable when it comes to poison and medicine. When Luffy first landed on the island, he ate poisonous mushrooms. Some Kuja members rescued him and healed at a river. The Gorgon sisters also fight with poison, which they used to fight Luffy. The Ashlesha nakshatra has a strong connection to alchemy, poison, medicine, and chemistry.

Also, it’s funny how Ashlesha is ninth in the order of the nakshatras. Kuja means “nine snakes” and their Jolly Roger has nine snakes.

#astrology #vedic astrology #ashlesha #ashlesha nakshatra #one piece #anime #anime and manga #boa hancock #amazon lily #pirate empress #snake princess #cancer sign #nagas #Youtube

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thedeafprophet · 10 months

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Finished drawing my character designs/ line up of the Light Fingers Crew to formalize my drawing of them

Overview/ Design talk under the cut if anyone is interested in that sort of thing

For all the designs I used the art given for them in the game as a starting point and then went from there. For all but Hephaesta of course that means using a non character specific art. I also wanted all the colors to sort of fit together so where i would have done more vibrant stuff and i strayed away from that.

Clara and Her Sister

Putting the discussion for these two together, as their designs recieved similar thoughts because they are identical twins. ('She is wearing the Fading Music-Hall Singer's face, which seems rude.')

The basic art of the bohemian faction is used to depict the sisters.

So this was my basic starting point for the visual design. I ended up diving further into research into bohemian fashion, which of course lead to me reading up on the history of the term and the connection to the Romani people. According to wikipedia, the word comes from the french term 'bohémien', which was the word for the Romani people.

This of course put a complex spin when i looked into the clothing used in the time, as theres a question between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation, and one I don't have the full understanding for.

Nevertheless i did take some inspirtation for the clothing here, Clara with having her hair loose and down and looser clothing, the singer with the hair scarf and the necklace among some inspirations.

Inbetween the two I imagine the singers appearance to be more reserved then Clarabelle's. For one, my interpretation of the singer is as someone who uses her singing as a backdrop for sneaking and gathering information (per her role as a 'contact' of the player). The other being that we are told Clara's title is the 'eccentric opera singer' to me implies a grander sense of creatativity and wilder clothing. In less stressful times I imagine her wearing brighter clashing colours and skirts with patterns on them and jewlery (which i intend to draw at a later time when i get better at adding patterns to clothes lol).

We also know the two of them are 'not young' so i attempted to not make them appear so.

Hephaesta

Heph is of course the one character of the group with a personalized art, which i used as the base for my design.

Hephaesta is supposed to be a large figure, as she is a strongwoman, and is described as towering over even jasper and frank. So of course I had to make her tall compared to the others of the group.

And of course i can't go without bringing up Katie Sandwina (again), a real strongwomen of the time who serves as a great inspiration both in body type and height.

What a woman huh.

Dr Vaughan

The Campaigner template art was the one used to depict her when you first speak to her and was a starting point here.

To me i always pictured her as a fairly older women given her experience and amount of time she's been researching. Clearly someone with a lot of exprience. And also i just vibe with it.

I kept her outfit simple, as i dont figure her as someone to put too much into the latest fashion given her focus on her work. I took the green from the art to use as her skirt to tie in that colour. I also looked up some photos of female doctors of the time and that partially influenced my art direction here.

Obliging Silverer

I debated including him or not given that you only have him as part of the team if you use the light fingers exclusive option to access the parabolan basecamp. But given the fact that he literaly dies defending the camp, I think its only fair that he gets included.

i just had a bit of fun with the design as there wasnt too much to restrict off. I dont draw a lot of characters with mustaches depsite them being a thing of the time, so I figured this was a good excuse as any. I kept with some orange colours within his colour scheme for further callbacks to parabola and his work.

Also hey did you know that people of an ashkenazi background can also have red hair? Fun fact heh.

#hello i hope u all have it in ur hearts for some non event art right now because i just finished this drawing #me starting a piece with 5 full bodies: how much work could it really be #ANYWAY this is all liable for change of course but this gives me somethin to ref for future drawings lol #hope y'all like #fallen london #my art #light fingers #light fingers crew #clarabelle #the fading music hall singer #dr vaughan #hephaesta #the obliging silverer

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anohai · 1 year

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A big issue with Seyka’s character arc in Burning Shores...

*clicks tongue* Fuck it.

I debated over writing this out and posting it. Decided I might as well for not only my personal catharsis, but because it's been over 3 weeks since Burning Shores came out, I have had the time to mull things over more, talk with some friendly people who came to the some of the same conclusions I did, and really analyze everything. I’ve seen a sprinkle of other people expressing something similar to what I am about to cover, but I felt this deserved its own topic of conversation.

And forewarn, there be spoilers.

Of course, we're back to Seyka. I promise I'm not trying to pick on her. She actually has loads of potential, and I don't think she's a bad character. It's just she deserved better than what was shown in her overall character arc.

Last time, I wrote about the Seyloy romance, and why it is difficult (for some more than others) to feel good about it. This critique isn't going to be about that again in case you are wondering if I'm simply yelling louder in the echo chamber, but there will be some correlation to it. The more I played the DLC, the more I realized that while I still wasn’t sold on the romance, it wasn’t the root of why something felt off with Seyka’s story to me. So once the adrenaline of having a new shiny DLC to run around in wore off and was able to properly take my time soaking things in, this was the conclusion I came to:

The biggest issue with Seyka's entire character arc is that they tried way too hard to make her near-exile situation comparable to Aloy's when it very, very much is not.

In any capacity whatsoever. As to why?

Seyka tells us at one point that she loves her tribe, her community, and has always felt she's had a place in it until recently. The reason she's in any hot water at all when we meet her is because she ran off and stole a diviner's focus. Seyka is a marine, not a diviner so we know this is considered a huge taboo among the Quen. They are a sovereign tribe with a classicist system where the people are allowed to know only what is deemed necessary based on their role and/or rank. Should rules be broken, we are left to assume based on our conversations with Alva and even interactions with the Ceo & Overseer Bohai in HFW that the royal family and those in charge are imposing & unforgiving enough that normally there are severe consequences.

Luckily for Seyka, this isn't the case.

The first time we follow her back to Fleet's End, we're met with those who are referred to as Compliance Officers who are wanting a nasty word or two with our new friend. We are brought to Admiral Gerrit, the real person in charge, and he is....actually quite understanding of Seyka's actions. He gives her a quick verbal slap on the wrist but proceeds to give her full permission to continue her search for her sister and their other missing people with the stolen focus on hand. He's humble enough to tell Aloy in a private conversation afterwards if you choose to talk to him that their faction of the expedition has been spread thin enough as it is and Seyka has already proven herself to be a valuable and skilled member. Enough so that he admits he’s become increasingly reliant on her regardless of only being a petty officer in title. This assessment is fair and kind. It’s more than I would have expected out of someone with such a high position among the Quen of all tribes.

Seyka is given a huge safety net thanks to this swell guy. The compliance offers themselves can't do anything, and from what we see in the side quests, they are seemingly nothing more than a few school-yard bullies without any real authority to their position. They are annoying & petty at worst. All bark, no bite. As far as the rest of the Quen go, most individuals we come across seem either pretty cool or neutral with Seyka. It's not until later that we get any indication there are some who are calling for her exile afterall, but we only know this because we hear it from Seyka instead of seeing it happen. People are talking, as they will, and she's furious about it.

But really....the threat still isn't there. It never was. At least not to the extent I think we are supposed to believe it was.

All things considered, Seyka was placed in a very privileged, advantageous position amongst those in her tribe. Along with the lack of visible threat, there is never any real tension shown minus a few grumblings expressed in the background when we first arrive in Fleet’s End. And despite how Aloy perceives her, Seyka isn’t exactly a black sheep here. Especially when you consider she never had any personal turmoil with the rest of her tribe until not long before the events of Burning Shores and happily tells you herself she has always felt like she’s belonged. She's pretty much allowed to do what she wants without much pushback, and I found myself rolling my eyes during the final scene where she says she's unsure of where she stands with her tribe. Seyka is not an outcast, and I, for one, was never convinced or afraid she was at real risk of becoming one.

Which makes this all the more confusing when Aloy says she's an inspiration. An outcast in all but name. I'm willing to chalk some of this up to hormones talking and Aloy's growing infatuation taking a choke hold as most first time crushes will do. Except the problem here is that the writing clearly felt like we were meant to connect Seyka's strife with Aloy's on some level; carry the same sympathy for her that Aloy expresses, and see more of where their similarities hold up.

And yet...

I felt more for Kotallo who was kicked from his initial clan because his leader saw him as a threat and then later, might as well have gotten demoted for losing an arm because his tribe sees him as near useless for it..

And Zo who lives among the most pacifist, peace-loving tribe and was admonished when she not only went to fight back in the Red Raids, but wanted to do something about the blight and their broken Land Gods..

And Talanah who had to fight against blatant sexism that many carry in her tribe and an actual attempt for her murder all because she wanted to move up in the Lodge and make things better..

And Aloy, herself, who was outcast at birth for simply being born without a mother. And spent her entire life with only the man who raised her for company. In one small valley. For 19 years. Because there was no choice for her.

But somehow, we're supposed to see Seyka the same way Aloy does? Like no one she's ever met??

I...Really?

I'm sorry, but I don't buy this rebel fighter, near-outcast ploy here. And saying she's unlike anyone Aloy has ever met feels like a slap in the face to not only Aloy, herself, but to some of her companions we have come to know & love in the first two games. Most of whom I'd argue have been through more hell because of their own tribes long before they even met her. Seyka's plight is trivial, inconsequential in comparison and no where near as crippling as Aloy's was or her friends. It's honestly frustrating that it feels suggested it is.

What's worse is that this plotline is used as one big narrative tool to bring Seyka and Aloy closer on standing grounds outside of ability and personality. This essentially means Seyka and her entire character arc were written for the sole purpose of the romance. A character built for Aloy to quickly fall head over heels for and add progress in her own arc. I wrote last time that I can see this growth as an opportunity to explore romance further for Aloy with a pre-established character or two in H3. If I’m right & that happens to be the heart-wrenching, long-term, master plan Guerilla is going for, they have my applause (and my stress). Great for Aloy. In my opinion though, being created to be a love interest (lasting or not) for the main hero is a bit unfair to Seyka.

She's clever, she's badass, and she isn't afraid to take action without permission and help where she can. Next to Aloy, however, she stands as a self-reflection of her. A spotless mirror as to who Aloy could have been had she grown up under a community as well. I would love to see Seyka break out on her own as an individual character that isn't in the context of romance if ever given the opportunity.

Heck, if Guerilla wanted to in the eventuality they will be finished with Aloy's story, the Quen have easy potential to have an entire spinoff game revolved around them. We have a whole side quest in BS where a small group of Quen want to sneak focuses to non-diviners for the sake of knowing what's usually kept hidden from them. Hello, is that the beginnings of a rebellion, I see? And the world of Horizon has yet to be explored in places outside of the North American continent. Other tribes, different machines, more Old World locations, etc. Loads of potential everywhere. And guess what!? We practically have a budding main character on a silver platter: Seyka! She obviously has big enough main character energy. Might as well utilize it outside of a DLC if you can, and I don't mean for the next game.

It's hard say for sure whether or not Seyka will remain a DLC character. No matter what fans say, the ending was left ambiguous. Not only because of the romance but also where Seyka's future lies. She knows about Nemesis, yet she tells Aloy she's unsure of what she wants to do after her faction reunites with the other half in San Francisco, whether it's going home or something else. I would think if Guerilla had solid plans to include her in H3 while they were developing Burning Shores, they would have written the ending where she either offers to stay behind in Legacy’s Landfall for a time like Alva does or Aloy asks for her aid to help fight against Nemesis. Something to make it more clear she's here to stay. We don't though, so as far as anyone outside of Guerilla is currently aware, Seyka is not guaranteed to play a big part in H3 if any at all. And remember, DLCs are meant to be an extension of the main game and are primarily optional. They are typically not a requirement for playing the next big installment as far as understanding the story goes.

If she does show up in H3, the only thing I dread is the idea of her coming up and saying she's basically denounced her tribe because she still feels out of place and doesn't think she can belong afterall. Not to mention she has her sister, and after what happened with Kina, it would be a really bad look if she just decided to permanently leave her behind when her tribe isn't or never was trying that hard to push her away in the first place. And Seyka said it herself. She’s “not some weak-kneed sailor who abandons ship when the seas get rough,” and I’d like to believe she means it. It'd be one thing if she actually is forced into exile, but after the events of the DLC, she has too good of a repertoire for that to happen now. At least while she's outside of Quen homelands.

(Btw, don't even get me started on Aloy's convo with Kina over "remember Seyka's been through a lot too" as if we didn't just rescue this poor girl from A CULT and nearly groomed into becoming this centuries-old dude's image of his dead wife. Like honey, I know you're in love but have some thought & tact here.)

That’s about it. I will reiterate that as a character, I do actually like Seyka. As a self-imposed outcast? No. As Aloy’s love interest? That…needs some serious work. But as an individual who loves her tribe but will fight for what she believes in even if it means going against the royal, societal grain? Absolutely! And special kudos to Kylie Liya Page for bringing her to life.

Also, if you want to read a review that summarizes everything I just ranted about better than I could manage, along with everything good and not-so-great when it comes to the DLC, I recommend this essay here by ariseis.

If you made it to the end of this long rant, thanks for reading~

#horizon #horizon forbidden west #horizon zero dawn #hfw #burning shores #hfw burning shores #horizon forbidden west burning shores #seyka #burning shores spoilers #burning shores critique #guerilla

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goth-pod · 4 months

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Goth-Pod Ep 7: Metropolis vs Gotham

Welcome back to goth pod! Will Juda Boone see a city rivalry put to rest? Seems unlikely in a 4 minute episode! But join us anyway for the question: Metropolis or Gotham?

[goth-pod is a fictional, in-universe podcast based on the DC comics universe. Juda Boone is an original fictional character, not based on any real person or known comic book character.]

Transcript under the cut

Hello everyone and welcome back to Goth-Pod! Your Gotham based podcast. I am, of course, your favorite unconquered tri-state area and host, Juda Boone

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but this episode is sponsored by Wayne Enterprise. Wayne Enterprise is a multi-faceted company based out of Gotham. The rebranding of their tech line is scheduled for the first of the new month, so keep an eye out for that. They sent over an entire box of Wayne Tech recording equipment and I am more than stoked to try it out.

Whoever got our last joke episode on the desk of Bruce Wayne or Bruce Wayne's Team, I am simultaneously mortified and honored.

Now, onto today's episode.

Metropolis is Gotham’s sister city. Some say they can see the glittering skyscrapers from across the bay on a clear day- but I have never known a clear day in Gotham in my life, so I don't know where they got that.

But, if she’s our sister city, why the ever-so-loud rivalry?

Before we continue, I am noting that I will not be touching on the Superman / Batman debate. That would be a whole different episode.

We posted a poll on our socials with the simple question: Metropolis or Gotham? This poll resulted in 139 votes. 21% voted Metropolis. 79% voted Gotham

But I think that's to be expected from our audience. We're Gotham based. Before I'm a host, I'm a Gothamite. I've had 23 years to develop my bias for my home city, something I think our listeners can relate to.

And it comes down to that key word: Home. The pride and possessiveness that comes with a sense of belonging. I'm sure the results would've been different if we were Metropolis-based.

Really, I get it! I’ve heard just about every verbose rant about “How could anyone live in a city like Gotham?” And there are points I agree with! I understand the deep, deep flaws that my city is trying to find solutions for.

Just like I’m sure Metropolis is dealing with Lexcorp running more than half the city with Lex Luthor’s selfish, greedy charm. While you’re handling your gentrification, we’re celebrating the preservation of our historic district.

Or how Gotham U beat the Metropolis Bulldogs this past sports season! Maybe it’s all the sunshine getting in the players eyes? Good luck next year, everyone.

“Oh but I would be afraid to walk home at night!” Well that's the difference between us! You’re afraid to walk at night. We know how to punch a clown in the face by the time we’re 10!

[Clears throat]

What I meant to say was. Um...

People can feel.. Protective. When something feels like a kindred spirit. Gotham City is a place few people understand. But we, its citizens, it’s children are what makes it. We too stand tall and strange alongside our buildings. We too have our shadows and our secrets that we dare not share with the rest of the world.

Metropolis is a beautiful city. And so is Gotham. To me, Metropolis is beautiful like a sister. Shining with potential, smiling while leaving you behind. Gotham is beautiful like a mother. Old and scolding. Giving a type of tough love that takes time to understand.

I love my city. I hope my words, in this episode and others, can help others love it the same way.

Thank you for joining me. I’m Juda, you’re listening to Goth-Pod. Until next time, stay safe, Gotham.

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militantinremission · 10 months

Text

HipHop's 50th Anniversary: What 'Culture' are We talking about?

I was in Elementary School back on Aug. 11th 1973. My family left the West Bronx, but I spent a lot of time w/ my 'big cousins' in the Harlem River Houses. My cousin Mona babysat my brother & I, taking Us everywhere w/ her; including dates. I remember Mona taking Us to 'The Summer Of Soul Concert' in Harlem, & I remember going to a few of those Park Jams in Bronxdale & in Soundview. I think We saw more of King Mario than Kool Herc & Coke La Rock. My oldest brother formally introduced me to HipHop in the Spring of 1977. I remember coming home from School to find his Crew set up in Our Dining Room.

I got my 1st look from the 'Other Side of The Rope', & I was hooked! I wasn't a Rapper (yet), or a Break Dancer, but I had an ear for music. Like a lot of Old School Deejays (& under My brother's tutelage) I cut My teeth on Component Sets & BSR Turntables; rocking Line In switches b4 getting a [real] Mixer... I bought My own DJ Set in 1984 (B2s), & mastered my Craft as a Street DJ, & later in a few NYC Clubs. Most DJs are disciples of [Grand Master] Flash or [Grand Wizard] Theodore; I was more of a disciple of Jazzy Jay & Cut Master DC. We All have Our Unique Features, but EVERYONE went back to School when Jazzy Jeff introduced the 'Transformer Cut', back in 1986. Like a lot of DJs disenchanted w/ 'Gangsta Rap', I split time w/ HipHop's Twin Sister- House Music.

I say all of this, to qualify myself as a 'bonafide Shorty' of 1st Generation HipHop, & a full fledged Member of The New School Era. My point, is to say that 'In The Beginning', there was just The Culture. It didn't have a formal name- but it was being done ALL OVER NYC. I associate the '1520 Sedgwick Avenue' Story of HipHop w/ Afrika Bambaataa; he's The First Person that I remember telling this Story. Disco King Mario predated Kool Herc by years. Herc copied Mario's Style- down to his equipment! King Mario wasn't alone, Pete 'DJ' Jones & Frankie Crocker were dueling On The Radio (WWRL vs WBLS), while DJ Flowers, DJ Spotlight, DJ Smokey, DJ Hollywood, & a number of Club DJs were also mixing it up.

A major argument is whether Disco is connected to HipHop. The Cats up in The Bronx say HELL NO, while the rest of NYC says HELL YES! People need to understand that when We talk about 'Disco', we don't mean 'The Sound' or Studio 54; We mean 'The Disco Fever', 'Harlem World', 'Sugar Hill', & 'The Factory'. The DJs that spun @ these Clubs molded the format that HipHop DJs still follow Today. Kool Herc is credited w/ The 'Merry Go Round'- his mix of Break Beats, but he wasn't the only DJ mixing Breaks or James Brown songs. The Black Spades that were interviewed, speak on King Mario spinning 'Soul Power' & how they chanted 'Spade Power'- as early as 1971. This creates a schism between Bronxdale & Soundview.

Black Americans say HipHop started in Bronxdale, as late as 1971. West Indians- Jamaican- Americans in particular, say it started on Aug. 11th, 1973. Puerto Ricans [Nuyoricans/ Puerto Rocks] say it started between 1975 & 1977, when Afrika Bambaataa incorporated Latino Breakers into 'his' HipHop scene. While there is debate over When & Where in The Bronx it started, EVERYONE AGREES that HipHop was created to Stop Gang Violence. The Culture involves individual expression through Graffiti, B- Boy Style of Dress, & Dance, Spoken Word, & the ability to keep The Party going non-stop. The Original Gangs splintered into Crews that now 'battled' each other w/ Turntables & Mics, on the Dance floor, & w/ Spray Paint Cans (Bombing).

The vernacular of HipHop is based in The Nation Of Islam & The Nation of Gods & Earths, so it's big on Black Power, Black Excellence, & The Traditional Black Family. Both Organizations are Pan Afrikan in their Philosophy, so The Black Diaspora is represented. The same is true w/ The Zulu Nation. Before the rise of The Nation of Latin Kings & Queens, you would find Latino Zulu Kings & Queens- it was All Love! Afrika Bambaataa coined HipHop's 'Mission Statement' of: "Peace, Unity, Love, & Having Fun!", in a song w/ James Brown by the same Name. He also defined the existing '5 Elements' as the fundamentals of HipHop Culture. The Zulu Nation were the unofficial Ambassadors of HipHop; first taking it Downtown, & later taking it Globally... No One questioned Bambaataa's actions.

As We celebrate 50Yrs of HipHop, Afrika Bambaataa's Legacy is tarnished @ best. He has been Radio Silent, since allegations of Child Molestation rose against him 7Yrs ago. Every Move that Bambaataa made is being questioned- Was it a good move for HipHop to go Downtown to SoHo? Did it open the door to the current 'isms' that plague The Culture? It was a Black Specific art form, but it opened itself up to integration w/ Sexual Deviants, Drug Abusers, & White Record Executives. In retrospect, We can see what lured Bam Downtown. I'm curious- is the current manifestation of 'The Culture' Bambaataa's intended goal? It goes against his language, but it's in line w/ his actions.

In the wake of Afrika Bambaataa's 'Fall from Grace', people began questioning his narrative of HipHop. Original B- Boys are still walking The Streets, so it wasn't hard to fact check. DJ Phase has spoke on many Youtube videos under 'The Culture', where he breaks down the Foundation of what became HipHop. According to DJ Phase, HipHop was born on June 7th, 1971- in the Bronxdale Houses. He said that it wasn't organized; Mario simply set up on the grass & spun records. Later that Summer, in July- DJ Phase said that they were more organized w/ more sound & records, so THAT was when Brothers got serious about what they were doing. Disco King Mario did a series of Jams that culminated in the legendary 'Rosedale Park' Jam, that lit up The Bronx & inspired future pioneers.

There is a lot of controversy today concerning the Origins of HipHop. Jason Black, of 'The Black Authority' had the best comment on the subject: "Success has many Fathers, but Failure is an Orphan". As We question the running narrative of HipHop's birth, We also have to question WHO gets Credit for WHAT. No One questions the contributions of Jamaicans, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Haitians, & Panamanians to The Culture, but the claims being made by Busta Rhymes, Pete Rock, Fat Joe, & John Leguizamo are disrespectful. Busta & Pete Rock assert that Jamaican Culture DIRECTLY INFLUENCED HipHop; Busta says 90%. He goes on to say that Kool Herc brought Jamaican 'Toasting' or 'Ranking' to the Bronx Youth. Fat Joe & John Leguizamo say Puerto Rico contributed 50% to The Culture... They ALL sound ridiculous.

In an effort to get ahead of King Mario predating Kool Herc, people have gone as far as saying that Disco King Mario is [half] Puerto Rican. When it was proven that Mario came from North Carolina, a Story came out that his family migrated to (Jim Crow) North Carolina back in 1912. Mario's Sister says they aren't Puerto Rican- They're North Carolinian & 'Country'... His Mother just liked the name Mario. This effort to remove Black Americans from a Black American genre is confusing. Making a contribution 'to', or an innovation 'of' something, doesn't make one 'The Originator' of it. DJ Phase made a point to elaborate on The Energy behind HipHop, & what inspired it. Our Family from The Diaspora mostly arrived after The Civil Rights Movement; They really don't know what AmeriKKKa was like before 1970.

Contrary to what Busta Rhymes, Pete Rock, or Fat Joe may say, HipHop begins w/ The Black Spades. As a boy in Harlem, I remember how revered The Black Spades were. They were respected, but I didn't understand why... Before The Black Spades, Blackfolk in The Bronx were being victimized by Whitefolk; 'Authur Avenue' Italians, in particular. According to The Black Spades, they couldn't go ANYWHERE w/o being attacked, so they organized & struck back. The Black Spades- essentially Black Teens, didn't just beat those Racists back; they opened up The Bronx for EVERY Black Person, giving them The Right of Autonomy. That Energy or Spirit of Revolution was celebrated in Song & Dance, & King Mario was The Conductor.

Kool Herc got to see King Mario & The Black Spades @ 'The Tunnel'. He heard the Breaks & saw how the Black Spades reacted... He heard 'Spade Power!'. Herc himself said that he analyzed what 'they were doing' & came up w/ The Merry Go Round. That, is an innovation. Herc never said that he introduced Toasting to those Baby Spades; in fact, Herc admitted trying to play Jamaican Music, but The Crowd didn't take to it. If Busta & Pete Rock were right, We should have some Reggae among familiar Beat Beats. All of these Cats talk about 'Culture', but they just sound ignorant. A 'Culture' is defined as: 'The sum total of Social Life'. If West Indian (i.e. Jamaican) and/or Latinx (i.e. Puerto Rican) Culture plays such a major role in HipHop, why did ALL of them adopt Black American Social Mores? Kool Herc admitted that he was clowned when he arrived in The Bronx; he thought Cowboy Boots were cool.

If we're going to run w/ the: 'Kool Herc is The Father of HipHop' Story, Coke La Rock should @ least be mentioned. He is credited w/ being The First Emcee. He was Herc's Partner. Busta & a literal Legion of Yardies want to coronate Herc as 'King of HipHop', but it was Coke La Rock that transformed 'Clive' into 'Kool Herc'. Clive DIDN'T KNOW THE CULTURE. Coke La Rock took him down to 125th Street, showed him what to buy, & how to sport it. Somehow, Coke La Rock was written out of the narrative. Again, Bambaataa started this. Another issue w/ Herc being hailed as 'The Father' of HipHop, is how easily he Bowed Down to U- Roy. Herc referred to him as 'his King'. Big Respect to U- Roy, I- Roy & ALL the Pioneers of Ska, Reggae, Lover's Rock, Dub Poetry, & Dancehall! That said, Black Americans BOW TO NO ONE! This is a Problem.

When We talk about Culture, HipHop embodies The Spirit of Revolution. Lay it out on the Black American Timeline, & it's a natural transition; from Work Songs, to Ragtime, to Jazz, to Rhythm & Blues, to Soul & Funk, to HipHop. It's the tireless spirit of Black Liberation in AmeriKKKa. Where does Jamaican or Puerto Rican 'Culture' fit in? They were 'Lovers, not Fighters'. We were Angry! What were they angry about? They were in America- Everything was 'Irie'! When DJ Phase was asked about this [Kool Herc] narrative, he cut to The Chase & said that this narrative gives Whitefolk a 'lane of claim' to Our Culture. It was Too Black, Too Strong, but it's been watered down. When We raise Our Heads, We will see that the people claiming ownership of Our Culture, are the same people representing Us in Government. They are the ones allowing Benign Neglect to continue. They also represent Us 'On Screen', but they rarely depict Us in a dignified manner; We're either Ghetto, or Cowards.

While We're on the subject of 'Culture', let's point out how the level of deviance & violence has risen w/ the number of Jamaican & Puerto Rican Rappers. Boogie Down Productions gets Full Credit for setting off the 9mm talk. Just- Ice's 'The Original Gangster of Hip Hop' was just plain Raw... Also, B- Girls didn't dress like or behave like Dancehall Girls; compare Shante, Lyte, & Latifah to Lil Kim, Nikki Minaj, & Cardi B. White Record Executives, like Lyor Cohen, have rerouted HipHop's 'messaging' to target Suburban Whitefolk eager to hear about 'Ghetto Life'. Today's Artists have been set up lovely by those who came before them, but I wonder if the New Jacks know The History? Do they know what it took for Us to maintain this? Cats had to show restraint, because Authorities were just waiting for Us to mess up. U can literally count the # of times U heard the N- Word b4 NWA... Do they know Themfolks tried to shut Us down in 1882; leading to the 'New School/ Hardcore Era' that started in 1983 w/ T- La Rock & Jazzy Jay, Run-DMC, & LL Cool J?

Truth be told, The Park Jams faded out by 1986- 1987. The Crack Wars began to make large gatherings dangerous. The 1st Crack Dealers (in My Hood) were The Dreads, who sold out of Weed Spots. The 'Rude Boys' weren't concerned w/ 'protocol', so things got Hot pretty quickly.... I understand that there is an effort to make HipHop EVERYONE'S genre, but it isn't; not anymore than Motown or Bebop. The World is welcome to enjoy HipHop, but make No Mistake- it's a Black American genre that just happens to be globally appreciated & adopted by many. That said, notions of people like Kool Herc, or Eminem being the 'Father' or 'King' diminish the effect that those 'Baby Spades' had on The Original Concept. We can appreciate their contributions, but HipHop Culture is bigger than them. It has a purpose, & it's NOT making Non Indigenous Blackfolk wealthy.

It was a youthful expression of Black Power & Creativity, but outside forces have turned it into a Golden Goose that only benefits White Record Execs & their Proxies. We treated Her like a Debutant, but She has been reduced to a Crack Whore that EVERYONE can get a piece of. Young Family has to go back to The Root. A Race War is looming, & i'm not sure that their music is up to task. Most of today's Artists are more concerned w/ their 30 pieces of silver, than The Culture it represents. Cats like Busta & Fat Joe aren't concerned, they're taking the money & running. Fat Joe wasn't even a Rapper back in The Day, he was a Stick up Kid; so he's always been about the 'Vic'. Big Pun on the other hand, was The Real Deal... HipHop has become symbolic of Black American Courtesy- We say: "have some", & Our 'guest' proceeds to help themselves to Everything. NO ONE is allowed to be more than a guest in the genres of Jamaican & Latinx Music, so why do they expect ownership in Black American Music?

When We talk about HipHop Culture, We need to remove All the noise in The Room. ANYONE making a claim to Our Culture should be Checked quickly. This 'Back to School Party' Story doesn't make sense! It's supposed to be inspirational, but it's narrated like just another Party. What's so special about it? What exactly motivated Herc's Sister to have this Party, several weeks before School started? How does this 'Party' spark a Movement? Compare it w/ HipHop being a Celebration of Black Youth in The Bronx [dramatically] winning their fight against White Supremacy & their Right of Autonomy- An UNAPOLOGETIC DISPLAY of Black Power. There was a REASON why NYPD left Mario & the Black Spades Deejays alone. When they were 'Jamming', The Black Spades weren't beating down White Racists... No disrespect, but Immigrant Family weren't Here, so they don't know what sparked this Movement.

The Original Concept of HipHop is rooted in stopping Gang Violence. It was a creative alternative to the death & destruction that We brought on each other. The current version of it is so far removed, it's almost unrecognizable. Today's manifestation is literally a Death Cult that offers little to no benefit to The Artist. White Executives seem convinced that it's only about Beats & Rhymes, but the Crap being presented is vulgar & cookie cutter; which defies HipHop's demand for Originality. After 50+Yrs, it's apparent that HipHop is best represented when it's Culturally connected to the Experience of Black American Life. EVERYONE ELSE is a House Guest & should behave accordingly.

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muffinsin · 5 months

Note

the real miracle is someone still writing for her in 2024 XD i’ve been following you for a looong while for the re8 content(which is absolutely amazing), and accidentally stumbled upon some long gone Faith Seed fanfic from yearss ago, the brainworms came back and I remembered seeing that my favorite dimi sister writer also wrote about her and i went 👀👀👀So I was wondering if you’d be willing to write some relationship hc’s about Faith and a badass gn!s/o(they could be the deputy or a reader insert whichever you feel more comfortable with) who looks as mean and as tough as they come but are like an overgrown puppy around Faith. I know your blog is mainly nsfw buttt ik you make some exceptions for sfw content ;) Also it’s my first time ever requesting something instead of just lurking from the side so im sorry if everything sounds messy af😭

Honestly yeah, the ao3 tag even is bombarded with her brothers instead of her, it’s a struggle ;-;

But, as the famous line goes

“Fine, I’ll do it myself” XD, gladly so!

Let’s get into it! :))

Masterlists

Not relationship HCs yet but overall dep/reader being a soft puppy around her XD

Faith has been called many names in the past; daughter, friend, traitor, manipulator, child, herald

A monster. A liar

The one with the flowers

When you stumble to the henbane river, she wonders

What will your name for her be?

It seems, you haven’t quite made up your mind yet

Truthfully, she is awfully curious about you from the moment you’ve stepped into her region of the land

Word is, you’ve caused her brothers quite a bit of trouble

Especially John

Having burned silos left and right, raided bases and taken those that were meant to be “freed”

She ached to visit her brother, if only to catch a glimpse of you

Of course, this is forbidden. She is to stay within the henbane river region

Joseph will not debate on this, she knows

Oh, but what is she doing at the river when her interest lays in the valley?

This changes, one day, when she receives word of your appearance near one of her outposts

From within the flower field, she can’t help but watch you

Joseph surely doesn’t have to know she just watches idly as you take the gas station over

What’s the harm in losing one outpost, after all? She knows, she’ll get it back

It’s unusual for her to be this disobedient. She knows, the Father’s word is law

And she knows, he would disapprove of her curiosity

She is tasked to convert you, not watch as you advance into her territory

She can’t help herself, though

Your rough appearance, the guns and knives, bats and blades strapped to your body, the self crafted weapons she knows to be in your backpack…

The scars along your body, at the very least the ones she can see and are not covered by clothing

Like her, you have a reputation

Rough, badass, mean, unrelenting, stubborn, wrathful, arrogant, merciless

Like you, she doesn’t cling to these terms. These names

She wants to create her own picture of you. Find out who you are really

In a way, it’s her job, to analyse, to pull in, and to take

She jumps at another gunshot, fired into one of her angels. More and more follow

She pities the lives that are lost that day

Oddly enough, she sees you aiming for her flowerfield

Have you received warning about them? Likely

Faith watches from behind a tree as you step into it. She knows, she shouldn’t be this close

She shouldn’t be outside her bunker at all. She shouldn’t be outside the Bliss. Joseph would disapprove

It’s curiosity, though, that pulled her out

The same curiosity that had her find the cult in the first place, too, only pointed towards you this time

She watches, wide eyed, when you suddenly jump back

An illusion of hers, yes. You must see it

Now, Faith is no stranger to the reactions of those who see such illusions of her

She anticipates the gunshot, or the tight beat of the bat that will cause her form to turn to mist

But, you do neither of these things

You don’t attempt to kill her on sight, even if you’re not yet aware it’s not truly her

You don’t even attempt to make her disappear. Instead, you merely tilt your head to the side, as though trying to figure her out

You seem to attempt to talk to her, but she cannot hear. She’s too far away, too far from her Bliss to reach into it and hear your words

Faith shudders for a moment. She feels the ground below her, too hard for her liking. The air, too cold on her bare arms and legs. Her feet are dirtied

This is not the Bliss. She knows, she must return soon

But, you’re so captivating…

You merely stare at her, until the illusion seems to poof away and you shake your head

As you exit her field of white flowers and step away, she frowns

You aren’t burning them down, like the rest of this resistance you’re a part of

You aren’t quite following their goals, she suspects

As she watches you drive off again, her head turns to the sky, far too blue. It’s never this blue in the bliss

She knows, she must return

Faith is- confused- by you

At first, she believed you to be hostile towards everything

And you are, in a way, to most things

And yet, you’re so tender with the illusions you practically drag from her

Never before has someone stepped into her flower fields as often

Once, you attempted to reach out to her, and drew back in shock when she turned to mist

Faith cursed herself. She couldn’t help but wonder, then, how you felt

At the same time, Jacob’s words ring in her mind often enough

Of manipulation and danger, the danger you pose. The wrath you’re bringing, supposedly

Faith doesn’t understand. There is no wrath in the way you treat her, even if it isn’t quite her

She decides to pull you into the Bliss properly

She fiddles with the flower in her hand nervously as she sees you approach, cautious, but eager

No one is with you, it’s only you

Just the way she likes it

“You’re back”, you whisper

She can’t help but giggle a little

It’s rather: you’re back

Faith has been finding you in her flower fields nearly every hour, as though you’re searching for her

And she always appears to you, in the form of the smoke of the bliss

But yet, not this time. This time she drags you into it. This time it’s her

And it’s making her nervous. Has her wish to drag you into it personally made her foolish?

What if you notice it is her in the flesh and fire?

Jacob has warned her of the dangers of the resistance members

She tries not to let it show. She knows, she is meant to appear confident

Carefree

Her white dress flutters in the wind and she shivers

As she walks around her field, she notices you follow eagerly

You always keep your distance- the exact distance to avoid her illusions poofing away. You’ve been paying attention to them

You’re not farther away, nor closer

Until she stretches out her hand

“Let me show you the Bliss”, she whispers

To her surprise, your eyes and expression does not turn angry, or alarmed

You smile at her, and cautiously reach out

Faith automatically takes a step back when you suddenly step into her personal space

You’re grinning, a full on smile she has never heard anybody describe on you before

She didn’t think you would smile

“You’re real”, you realise. She gasps when you poke her shoulder

“Stop that!”, she giggles. She can’t help the peaceful moment

She’s not in the Bliss yet, this is the real world. Joseph has no way of knowing she’s allowing herself this interaction

You don’t pull your gun, nor your other weapons. In fact, your hands are empty as you reach for her again

“Show me”, you seem to plead

And Faith all too happily does

She laughs gleefully at the feeling of the Bliss around her, her lips pursing as she blows some of the powder to your face

As you awaken, you immediately move back to her side, now too in the world of her creation

She giggles, her fingertips stroking the petals of the flowers below her

She sees you follow her, no matter where she goes. When she steps back, you follow

She knows, her goal is to bring you into the Father’s statue, to test your faith

But she is curious, and is having to much fun

How come you are following her like a lost puppy?

How long will you indulge her?

She giggles happily and carelessly as she grasps your hand and runs through her flowerfield

The world seems so soft, so warm and light. She loves the sensation

Faith gasps when you come to a halt, her hand in yours tugged and keeping her from running again

Even in this world, you’re strong

For a moment, she fears what you will do, standing still with her hand clasped tightly in yours

You’re holding hers even tighter than she holds you, but not uncomfortably so. It doesn’t hurt her

In fact, you seem very careful around her, as though she was as petite as the flowers she is known for

The auburn haired woman watches wide eyed as you pick one, and another

She feels her face heat up even in this Bliss world of hers when they are handed to her

“For you”

Faith likes to think she isn’t one to easily fluster (Yes she is)

And yet, she finds herself with pink cheeks every time her dear deputy crosses her path

And it’s often, really

There are countless times she is summoned to one of her fields by your presence, doing her best to concentrate so she will not simply poof away when you near her

She knows, you won’t hurt her

And she knows, you travel alone, and don’t allow anybody else to do as much as aim at her

And each time she is summoned, she feels your leathery, gloved fingertips press against hers when you push another flower into her hand

It’s almost as though you’re retrieving them for her

She expects no less this time, but is surprised when she receives more

“Stay still?”, you ask

She knows, her brothers would scold her for her delusion and nativity, for she closes her eyes and stands still with her hands clasped together behind her back

She’s vulnerable to attacks, she knows this

But, funnily enough, she has faith in you

And this is not betrayed. No harm comes to her, only the feathery soft sensation of flower petals brushing against her head

First her cheeks, then her forehead

Her unpainted lips part when she feels you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear

Next, something is sat on her head

Faith knows the familiar sensation of a flower crown

“Okay, open!”

She adores your excitement

Faith smiles as she opens her eyes, bright and happy when she raises her hand and petite fingertips brush against the white flower petals

You smile down at her, wide and happy, satisfied with yourself

“Thank you”

She knows, in time you too have put your faith in her

Not Joseph. Her

She never speaks of your soft nature to anyone

She never lets anybody know how you are around her when she hears of the trouble you’re causing her brothers whenever you venture into their regions

She isn’t stressed when you leave the henbane river

You always return

With gifts, usually, such as honey and apples from a farm in the valley

Or perhaps even magazines, and once- Faith remembers, you even retrieved her a red dress found in the mountains region of Hope County

She didn’t have the heart to tell you she was to only wear the white one gifted to her by Joseph

Still, she likes to look at it and hold it in front of her at mirrors in her base, the fabric tucked away in a suitcase under her bed

She also notices in time- you’re quite touchy with her

Whether in the real world or the Bliss, you like to stick close, and ideally hold onto her

She knows, you’re fond of holding her hand

At other times you like to pick flowers and hand them to her. Faith is not stupid, but allows you the action as an excuse to touch her

She often feels your hand on her hip, playing with the fabric of her dress

Never do you tug

Never would you dare attempt to tear it

You’re careful with her, clingy and sweet, and in return, she’s free with you

A secret shared between the two of you

#faith seed #far cry 5

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wibixthecowboy · 1 year

Text

Play the Song: Chapter 13: Sweet like Candy

Task Force 141 needs a new sniper and despite their complaints, they're assigned Flash, a joke-making, ABBA-listening, 20-year-old sharpshooter with better aim than the whole team combined. In other words, Ghost is practically handed the love of his life but he needs time to adjust because she's a firecracker.

Warnings/Tags: !graphic depictions of panic attacks!, references to suicide attempts (no descriptions), references to SA (no descriptions), Age gap (20/30-32), gore, descriptions of injury/blood/wounds, justified angst, tooth rotting fluff, slow burn, protective ghost, family dynamic, big brother soap has an attitude problem, father figure Price, wholesome brother Gaz, touch starved Ghost, eventual smut, praise, choking, thigh riding, unprotected (wrap it up people), size kink, oral f receiving, ghost will do anything to get his dick sucked, idk I’m sure it will get dirtier as I go, shifting POV

A/N: Holy Fuck. Excuse my language but jesus. That last quarter literally gutted me. BUT I PERSIST. Here is what I think is the longest chapter by far? idk I haven't checked. Thank you for sticking around for so long. Smooches for everyone, enjoy! Also! I know the chapter links are broken :( , I'll fix them asap!

Words: 7.8k

Side note: All of these characters are fictional! Please don’t be weird about their real life actors, leave them out of this and be respectful!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

@urfavsunkissedleo@butskii@abbiesxox@itsasecrets-things@thatonewriterthatnooneknows@copiasratscheese @Sheviro-blog @Simonsslvt

★Flash

Dust swirls up into a small cloud, forced into motion by Flash's incessant kicking. It travels a few feet before dissipating into the bitter morning wind. She shivers again in the thin cotton of her pajama shirt and sweats and debates going back in. Debates sliding the small phone back into her pocket, shoving off the single stair in front of the base doors, and throwing herself back into her sheets. They'd be cold by now, it's been nearly an hour since she'd tossed back her blanket, dug the phone out of her duffel bag, and sat herself down outside to call her sister. Well, attempt to call her sister. It's been over five years since they'd last talked, when she'd stuck fifteen-year-old Flash on a transit bus to Arizona with a small backpack of keepsakes and photocopies of her registration papers for the Safford Advanced Military Academy. She’d sent a few letters, from the cramped desk in her first dorm but had never gotten any back. The constant schoolwork was a good distraction but it still stung.

Filling her lungs to a near painful capacity, Flash double checks the faded sticky note her sister had slipped into her pocket so many years ago and then the glowing numbers on her phone before shutting her eyes and jamming her thumb into the call button. Flash's breath is stuck in her throat, stilled in anticipation almost as if its waiting alongside her as the phone rings. Much to her surprise, she picks up by the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

She sticks her head between her knees, absolutely convinced last nights dinner is about to come up but after a few breaths her vision clears and she answers in a rush of air.

"Sarah?"

"Who is this?"

Flash tries to swallow back the disappointment building in her stomach and then,

"Grace? Is that you?"

The dinner does come up now and she barely manages to make it to the sad cluster of shrubs before the sting of bile burns up her throat. The world caves beneath her, sucking her chest through the souls of her feet. It ricochets through her brain, slamming hard at each turn. Grace Grace Grace. She gags again, wiping her mouth on the cold skin of her forearm.

"Hi." She manages, the sound of her voice echoes between her ears. "Yes its me."

"Are you okay- did you just throw up?" Her sister's voice is calm as always, despite not hearing it for several years, the cooling affect is just the same. Sarah was- is the personification of winter. Cold, calm, and biting if you stayed with it for too long. But she's the only person who's ever been there every time Flash really needed her.

"Yeah, I uh," a burning gasp breaks her words and she realizes she hasn't been breathing. "I don't know I think I ate something funny."

"Okay." There's an awkward pause and when Sarah realizes Flash isn't going to say anything she continues. "Did you need something?"

It's at this moment that Flash remembers why she hadn't ever called. Sarah was an expert at talking people off a ledge. Every time Flash got into a fight, Sarah was able to smooth things over with a carefully plated store-bought box of cookies and a sweet smiled promise. But when it came to dealing with Flash and her inferno of a temper, Sarah chose to sit on the sidelines and watch as Flash burnt herself over and over. If it wasn't causing harm to others, Sarah didn't bother. But years of burning herself meant Flash had developed calluses.

"Is Taryn there?" The words are bitter, whether from the bile souring her mouth or the stinging disappointment, she doesn’t know.

Taryn was Sarah's on-and-off girlfriend and the only woman in Flash's life that gave her the softness she so desperately craved. If Sarah was winter, Taryn was Spring. On the days she came over, windows were opened, wildflowers were picked, neatly arranged in vases, and dinner was always something with potatoes. Taryn had made their small two-bedroom crash pad into a home. How Taryn and her sister had made it work was beyond her.

"Um- yeah, she's here. One second."

There's a rustling as Sarah drops the phone from her ear and then a murmuring of voices, even through the lowered phone she can hear the way Sarah's voice softens as she speaks to Taryn. She'd never spoken to Flash that way.

"Gracie?"

"Hello?" Flash's response comes out broken and half-whispered and with all the heavy emotion that she’d secretly hoped she’d feel when speaking with her sister.

"Gracie! Hi!" Taryn's sweet honey voice pours from the speaker, still soft from sleep and the tears building behind Flash's eyes begin to burn. "How are you, sweetheart? It's been forever."

"Good- good. I've been good." She presses her knuckles against her eyes until colors bloom against the backs of her eyelids, unshed tears wetting her fingers. "I just had a question."

"Oh?" There's another round of rustling and Flash can picture her sitting up in bed, blindly grabbing at her side table before fixing the round pair of tortoiseshell glasses she wore over blinking eyes.

"And what's your question?"

"When you met Sarah," Flash rubs a hand roughly down her face before glancing around, "how did you know?"

"How did I know what?" Taryn's interest has clearly been piqued.

"You know." She hesitates before sighing and feeling five years younger, mutters, "That you liked her."

"It took having a crush for you to finally call me?"

"I don't know, maybe?" There’s another silence, but unlike with Sarah, Flash know’s it’s Taryn waiting patiently for her to find the words that sometimes tangled themselves when making the journey from brain to tongue. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize honey. I'm glad you did, it's nice to hear your voice." Then she continues on, like it hasn’t been five years, and when she closes her eyes, Flash can see the pink sundress Taryn had worn the last time she’d seen her. The hem had been stained burgandy the week before by Flash’s impatient blackberry painted fingers. "It was kind of love at first sight.”

Flash, either in a desperate attempt to hear to a story not about the plight of terrorists, or simply because Taryn’s voice made the world brighter, listened to her whole story. How when Taryn had met Sarah, she’d been enthralled, and even more so when Flash had threatened to break her arm if Taryn broke Sarah’s heart. How she’d so quickly decided that Sarah was the one for her despite Sarah’s supposed lack of interest and to both Flash and Taryns dismay, her complete and utter denial of being at least bisexual.

Another kick sends more dirt floating along the breeze and Flash struggles to find a way to ask for advice. ‘I’m actually talking about my lieutenant.’ ‘Oh, you didn’t know? I’m not fifteen anymore, I’ve actually killed several people.’ ‘Anyways, I want to fuck the life out of him but when I touch him he looks like he’s either going to piss his pants or bend me over the counter.’ or maybe just ‘How do I get over the deeply rooted fear of love that my dead father and might-as-well-be-dead sister instilled in me at a young age?’. She’s debating rephrasing the last one when a sharp cry cuts through Taryn’s retelling of her and Sarah’s first date.

“Is that a baby?” Flash’s voice is sharper than she meant it to be. “Do you have-”

She’s cut off by a fake laugh and a breathily muttered ‘no’. Taryn never cut her off.

“No don’t be silly.” Another nervous laugh. “I have to go, Sarah needs me. But do call again! Let me give you my number so you can call my cell next time.”

Flash listens numbly as she prattles off a long list of numbers, more focused on the static noise around her words. Waiting to hear another cry. When it doesn’t come Flash just shakes her head and tunes back in just in time to hear Taryn mutter another ‘goodbye’ and the quiet buzz of a dead line.

She blinks a few times, simultaneously overwhelmed and underwhelmed by the call. And then the last few sentences Taryn had left her with slowly start to trickle to the front of her mind. In a rush, Flash flies through the front doors of the base, nearly dropping her phone in the process, grabs a pen from the table and scribbles the number along her forearm, hoping to god she’d remembered it correctly. Hoping she could survive another icily quipped sentence from her sister if not.

Its then, mouth still gross and breathily reciting Taryn’s number in a desperate attempt to recall the sequence, that the sound of footsteps pulls her attention to the hallway. It’s the team, minus Price who’d left an hour earlier, and only gave Flash a fleeting worried look and a head shake as he passed her on the front steps, to get a headstart in traveling Alejandro’s farmhouse.

Soap leads the group, hands tucked neatly into the front of his cargo pants. Behind him, Gaz is nearly identical in both stature and clothing, but unlike Soap, his hands fall confidently at his sides. Ghost, seemingly the odd one out, trails a few feet behind, dressed sharply as usual, but there are two distinct purple smudges under his eyes. They pass through the poorly crafted living room before each settling in their respective spots at the table, like an aged high school clique. She’s about to make a remark on this when Soap raises a brow at her.

“And what are you doin’ lookin’ like that?” His hand waves up and down her body, at it hunched over the table. “We leave in like-” He glances down at his watch, “An hour?”

Ghost sits down heavily in the chair across from her and his eyes almost immediately fall to the messy set of numbers scrawled on her skin. His dark gaze narrows just the slightest bit and Flash can already see him jumping to conclusions.

“I called my sister.” She blurts out, both to answer Soap and to stop whatever train of thought is starting in Ghost’s head. She’s not sure why she feels the need to defend herself. The three men sitting around her freeze, stopping their respective tasks to listen. “I uh- yeah.”

“How did it go?” Gaz asks smoothly when the silence has stretched just a few seconds too long. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

He slides into the seat next to her, leaning on his arm and giving her just a tad too much concentration. It was times like these when Flash wondered if Gaz operated a black market of gossip, too eager and always asking the right questions.

“We don’t talk.” Flash’s eyes flick up to see Ghost watching her warily. “Not for five years at least.”

Gaz raises his brows but doesn’t say anything, just pitches his mouth down in the corner, enough that Flash know’s he’s no longer fishing for details. Part of her wonders just how much he knows.

She looks across the table at Soap, sitting silent in his chair, picking at his nails, and suddenly becomes aware of the space left between him and Ghost. Now, after hearing Soaps late night confession the day before, the signs are obvious, like Soap has the words ‘I fucked my superior and now we don’t talk about it’ scrawled across his forehead in bright red pen. She clears her throat,

“It was fine, I just called for-” She hesitates, still not quite sure why she’s telling them this. Maybe Taryn’s sweet tongued optimism rubbed off on her too much. “I just needed some sister advice.” Flash finishes with a shrug, hoping the burn on her cheeks isn’t too obvious.

“I get that.” Soap starts, and Flash almost jumps at his voice, deep and raspy from sleep. “I’ve got my own sister. She can be annoyin’ as shit but she’s got some good advice.”

“And what are you getting advice for.” Gaz teases, “You haven’t had game for the last year.” His words falter at the end and Flash doesn’t need any explanation to know he’s talking about Ghost and Soap’s relationship, or whatever the hell Soap had called it. In a quick attempt to smooth things over, she looks expectantly across to Ghost.

“No. No siblings.” He says, and Flash watches the way his eyes fall to the worn table in front of him.

“That's too bad.” Flash says, kicking him lightly under the table, “They’re a pain in the ass anyways.” This time, when he glances back up, she smiles at him with her teeth, remembering the way he’d so carefully parted her lips in the bathroom the night before. Something in his gaze shifts and his mouth moves under his mask, pulling up at the corners. But before she can see the full thing, he’s standing and moving towards the kitchen. Glassware clinks around, he pulls one of the bowls from the cupboard and stands at the sink, waiting awkwardly. She catches on a moment later and sits up.

“I’ll go back to my room while you guys eat.” She says, trying not to let the gesture sting too badly. “I’ve got to pack for the trip anyways.”

As soon as she turns her back, even though she know’s its impossible, the rustling of Ghost pulling off his balaclava echoes through the concrete room. Just incase she has a sudden loss of self control and turns to see him making his breakfast unmasked, Flash speeds up her pace and practically throws herself through her door.

Leaning against the foot of her bed is an empty duffel bag and next to it a small, half-filled laundry sack. In it are the clothes from that night. Just underwear, a tank top, and her favorite pair of cargo pants. All her other layers had either been torn or cut through. They’d been sent through the wash five times now, but every time she’d braved the task of opening the synched bag, a staggering fear grasped her so tightly that she would pull it shut and give it back to Price. He took it wordlessly every time and they would both pretend. Her muttering something about there still being blood and him nodding while sending it along with the rest of the laundry. Both of them knew the clothes were clean, practically washed thin, but she could smell the brine of the sea, the gory mess of the man as he splattered across her shirt without even opening the bag.

So instead of kicking it to the side, or ignoring the sad, knowing look in Price’s eyes as she shoves the unopened sack into his hands again, she picks it up and sets it on the unmade sheets of her bed. Her hands shake violently and it almost makes her laugh, how they vibrate when the canvas whispers open.

On the top of the neatly folded pile is a small scrap of notebook paper. When she leans in closer, she can make out a single line of familiar scratchy handwriting ‘you’ve got this kiddo :)’. Tears burn behind her eyes as she picks the note up and sets it aside, reading it one more time before her eyes are too watery to see, and reaches into the bag to pull out the tank top. Her hands still shake, and the fold is done horribly, one strap sits higher up than the other making the whole thing a bit lopsided, but she finishes. The pants follow suit, folded neater this time. She picks them both up, along with the underwear, and shoves them into their respective drawers before leaning heavily against her dresser.

Taking a shaky breath, Flash turns to slide down the side of the solid wood, wedging herself between the wall and dresser she lets her head fall between her knees. There, away from the view of the laundry bag and clothes, she lets the adrenaline drain down her limbs and through her fingertips that rest on the cold floor. It shakes her body and looses a few broken sobs, but she’s alive and the clothes are folded.

★Ghost

He waits outside of Flash’s door, hand half raised, fingers curled in a fist to knock. Soap had sent him to give her a thirty-minute warning which would now end up being a twenty-five minute warning. Shaking his hand out one more time, he raises his fist, and right as he's about to knock, the door swings open.

Flash stands in front of him, looking down at the duffel bag in her hand. She jerks back when she sees him. Just for a moment, in the few seconds, it takes for her to recover and slide back on her happy-go-lucky smile, he can see the crease at her brow and a small frown tugging the soft shape of her lips down.

“You ready?” She asks, and Ghost nearly forgets that she is the one they’re waiting on.

“Yeah.” He starts, and all the confidence he had built, all the words he’d carefully laid out for hours the night before wash away at the sight of her. “We uh- Gaz took the Jeep.” Flash nods for him to continue, and he does after another deep breath. “You, me, and Soap will be taking the truck with the rest of the equipment.”

Flash watches him carefully, eyes flicking over every inch of skin his mask leaves uncovered. It’s this hungry gaze of hers, the one that scares the shit out of him, that she gives him before responding. Completely ignoring his words.

“You didn’t sleep?” She says but doesn’t wait for him to answer. “Me neither.”

Flash shoves her bag into his hand and jogs towards the front door, already arguing with Soap about her “perfectly valid” license. He carries both their bags in one arm and decides that it's the weight of their bags that is slowing him down. Not the fact that Soap reaching the truck first meant he and Flash would be stuck in the back together, strapped to a single bench. He wanted to thank whatever officer had replaced the passenger seat with a now out-of-date comms system.

_____

An hour in, Flash’s cheek is pressed hard into the knuckles of her fist and a shiny patch of drool starting at the corner of her mouth. He both envies her sleep abilities and fears them.

When his eyes drift back to the landscape outside the windshield, his gaze catches on Soap watching them through the rearview. He struggles to remember if the mirror used to be angled down that far or if Soap had intentionally moved it to watch them.

“So things are getting pretty serious?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the poorly paved road in front of him. Although he says it jokingly, Ghost can see the underlying curiosity, maybe even a twinge of jealousy.

“We’re not doing this right now Johnny.” Ghost grumbles, keeping his arms tight over his chest, as if they could create a barrier against Soap’s prying eyes. He knows better. Years of using little to no communication during deployment meant that learning each other's body language was critical, especially in cramped bunks.

Soap just shakes his head, still not taking his eyes off the road. Ghost can practically watch the countdown until his next snarky remark. A slow scrunch of his brow, followed by a slight downturn of his mouth, before- right on the mark, Soap drags a rough hand down the left side of his face before finally speaking.

“Has she seen you without your mask?”

Ghost’s eyes snap to Soap’s, still waiting for biting words to follow, to snap at a tender spot only he knows how to find. Instead it’s something much, much, worse.

“Just remember what happened last time.”

The words slither through the air between them, squeezing around his ribs before sliding down to stoke the coals of fear burning in his stomach. The cab of the truck is too small and suddenly the heat of Flash’s body pressed so close is so present in his mind that if he doesn’t back away he might just- stop. Stop.

“Pull over.” He mumbles, staring into the dead space between horizon and road.

Soap obliges wordlessly, slowing the truck to a slow roll before stopping in a cloud of dust on the shoulder. Ghost steps out, stumbling over the edge of the pavement as he braces his hands against his knees and heaves great breaths of warm desert air.

The sound of a door opening behind him has his shoulders raising to his ears, a poor imitation of hackles.

“Stop!” He clears his throat before lowering his voice and trying again. “I’m fine. Get back in the truck.”

But the sound of footsteps persists, light and barely audible, despite the thin layer of gravel coating the road and landscape around them. When he turns, Flash is standing behind him. Her face is pink with sleep, an impression of the seatbelt running from her mouth to her ear, and one side of her hair has been rubbed upward, making her braided hair lopsided. When her eyes fall on his hunched shoulders, the freckled bridge of her nose scrunches.

“Whats going on?” She asks suddenly, growing more aware. “Are you getting sick?”

When he doesn’t answer, she steps closer, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. Ghost can't help the low sound that pushes from his chest. She keeps it there, rubbing circles into the expanse between his shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” Flash starts, still soothing his hunched shoulders back down. “I get sick too, just on plane rides. I don’t know what it is.” She laughs once, bright and musical. “Maybe the forty thousand feet in the air bit.”

Ghost’s breaths come easier now, in through his nose and streamlined from his pursed lips, the way his psychiatrist had shown him. The small pouch of his pills sit comfortingly in his breast pocket, but he lets them stay there. Finally, he turns to face Flash, reluctantly letting the warmth of her palm fall from his back.

“Yeah.” The word comes out staticky, like when the comms are just a bit too far apart. “That part is pretty shitty.” He doesn’t know why he’s agreeing with her. He’s never once felt an ounce of fear flying on a plane. There’s no point when everything is already so far out of his control. But when her lips split and reveal an amused smile he understands why.

“C’mon.” Flash grasps his hand, pulling him back towards the truck. He hadn’t realized just how far he’d stumbled. “I’m sure we have something in the truck for nausea.”

Ghost just nods and follows her lead, sliding smoothly onto the bench of the truck and shutting the door behind him. Flash carefully slips her pinky finger around his, squeezing tightly. And that single act sends a rush of heat through his chest both pleasant and burning. She knew. She knew damn well he wasn’t car sick. Soap says nothing.

Instead of folding his hands underneath his arms like usual, Ghost lets them be. One gently grasping the safety handle, and the other tucked neatly under Flash’s tracing fingers. And does his best to ignore the eyes watching them from the mirror.

★Flash

Flash, in a desperate attempt to get out of the truck, barely manages to let it stop before bursting out and jogging a few short laps around the vehicle.

“Jesus kid.” Soap swears, stepping out of the cab and stretching his arms overhead. “Weren’t you just sleeping like-” a disbelieving glance at his wristwatch, “three minutes ago.”

“Four fucking hours.” She bites as Ghost slides from the back. “That’s basically abuse.”

In a desperate attempt to relieve the cramping behind her thighs, Flash bends forward, slipping her hands under her sneakers. A relieved moan splits her lips, muffled into the fabric of her pants. Careful not to go light-headed, she slowly straightens out before reaching her hands above her and pushing her chest out. It feels fucking amazing.

When she finishes and turns to the two guys behind her, she can’t help but laugh. Ghost’s face is turned away, eyes downcast in a way that promises Flash his cheeks are burning hot. Soap glances between the two of them before laughing loudly and stalking off toward the large building that, in Flash’s humble opinion, does not look anything like a farmhouse. If it weren’t for the large yellow barn nestled into the field next to it, the large concrete building would probably look like a prison.

Flash is about to follow after Soap, both eager to get to the briefing, and much to her annoyance, nervous to see Alejandro and Valeria, when a gentle hand grasps her elbow. She turns to find Ghost, still hovering near the car, one hand held behind his back.

“Whats up?” She asks, eyeing his hidden hand and taking a few curious steps towards him.

“I uh-” Ghost stutters in a way that two days before would leave Flash shellshocked, but after seeing him so vulnerable the night before, she just nods for him to continue. “I have something for you.”

“Ooh a gift?” Flash says, trying to peek around his body, but the bulk of his shoulders easily blocks her vision.

“It’s nothing, really. Just something small. I didn’t think you had one and you were looking at it. Then there was that guy.” He rambles, ducking his head slightly.

Flash has to squeeze her hands into fists to keep from grabbing his face and kissing him. Even through the mask would be better than nothing, but the few moments of silence that lapse between his rambles and her watching the way his hand endearingly fidgets at his belt helps her somewhat regain her self control.

“If it’s important to you. It’s important to me.” She says softly and steps closer. “Now let me see.”

He hesitates for one more second before pulling his hand from behind him and showing her a folded blue square in his hand. Flash’s heart stops for a moment and then starts back up so fast that she nearly passes out. It’s the cerulean scarf she’d seen at the market.

“Ghost-” Her voice catches as she reaches up and pulls the silk from his hand, mouth suddenly dry.

“I just thought it would help, the dust is bad and- I think I got the right one, the blue right-”

He’s cut off with a huff as Flash throws herself against him. She wraps her arms around his chest squeezing hard. The rough velco of his vest scrapes her cheek, and something is pushing painfully against her ear, but she doesn’t let go.

“Thank you.” She says quietly.

The words, muffled into his chest, are barely audible. He doesn’t respond, but a few moments later, she feels a hand rest lightly against her shoulderblades. When she doesn’t let go, his other hand slides up, pulling her into him.

“Let's head in,” Flash says, reluctantly pulling away and sliding her hand into his, before tugging him towards the "farmhouse".

They make it just a few paces before he slides his hand from hers and takes two measured steps in front of her. Flash is about to question him, but leaning against the open door of the farmhouse is Alejandro, handsome as ever.

"We've been waiting." He nods to Ghost, shifting out of the doorway to let him pass. Flash watches him go with a confused glare. "Everything okay Rubia."

"Yeah," She breathes, brushing past him without looking at his face. "Everything's fine."

_____

Much to her disappointment. The briefing is not as entertaining as she’d thought it would be. Both Alejandro and Price would be making final decisions tonight. This briefing was only to go over the information they already knew. But she still listened diligently and took her notes at appropriate times. Alejandro didn’t do so much as glance in her direction as he spoke, both he and Valeria remained impassive during the meeting. It made Flash wonder how many of the people sitting around her had shared a bed with them. Her eyes land on Gaz, who seems to be a little too focused on Alejandro's hands as he retraces a path on one of the topograph maps. She glances over to Ghost, hoping to point his attention to Gaz and his drooling mouth, but he stays facing the front of the room. Even when she stares at him, practically burning holes into the back of his masked head, he doesn’t turn around. So when the lights shut off and the projector whirs to life, she grabs the pen resting next to his paper, making a point to doodle little hearts at the corner of her paper when he finally looks her way. Instead of shaking his head and laughing like he usually does in response to her minor thievery, he pulls another pen from his pocket and holds it in his hand.

Annoyed at Ghost's sudden coldness and bored out of her mind, Flash turns to Gaz to whisper in his ear,

“Do you think if you stare at his crotch enough, you’ll see through his pants?”

His face goes bright red and a stuttered cough cuts off the briefing.

“You okay Gaz?” Alejandro asks, raising a dark brow as Gaz hits his chest with a fist, still coughing.

“Yes, sir. Fine.” Gaz mutters.

Alejandro continues on, using a meter stick to draw an invisible line down a projected image of a warehouse.

Flash leans back to Gaz’s ear again, feeling malicious. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom? Sir?”

This time Gaz chokes, coughing wildly as Flash bites back a smile and forces her brows to pinch in concern as she pats his back.

She does get Ghost's attention this time, but much to her disappointment, yet again, it's just a small shake of his head. Flash glares pointedly back.

“What is going on. Are you sure you’re okay?” Alejandro asks again.

“I’m going to go grab some water and air, I’ll be right back.” Gaz bites out between coughs.

Flash lasts another two and a half minutes after he leaves before muttering something about checking on Gaz and wandering out of the room and down the hall.

It’s here, with fists shoved deep into her pockets that she passes a set of double doors propped open to reveal a small training room. It's modest compared to the one back at their base. The back wall is decorated with an assortment of real and fake weapons and a thick green mat covers the stained cement. A bright red sign nailed to one of the doors threatens suspension to anyone who brings the weapons out of the confinements of the training room. She's about to walk by, wanting to slip out of the building and explore the barn. But her curiosity wins over and she hovers in the dim hallway.

Once Flash is there, watching the fighting pairs, she's surprised it took her so long to hear the grunting and unmistakable thud of bodies bouncing off worn foam. One of the men leaning against the back wall, who'd been intently watching a rather unfair match play out, starts towards her in a slow prowl. The challenge is clear, confidence leaks from him like a poison, and his eyes scan her body, lingering for a few seconds on her chest. She recognizes him from the meeting, but can't quite remember his name. Liam? Larson?

"Get er' Lucas!" One of the guys calls, following with a series of whooping howls. She sends him a withering glare and is about to stalk away to find Gaz when her drifting eyes catch on a brightly colored package peaking from Lucas' pocket. Maybe just one match and then she'd find him.

"What do you say Rubia? Just you and me?" He stops just a few feet from her, close enough that she can smell the sweat that sticks the front of his shirt to his muscled chest.

She has to bite back a laugh at the stuttered way Alejandro's pet name falls from his lips. A far cry from the other man's smoothness. It's not that Lucas isn't attractive, his body is well-shaped and thick dark hair falls into a pair of bright hazel eyes. If she wasn't so busy at the academy she might have even gone for a guy like him. But all she can think of is Ghost's kind eyes and if she's being honest, the shape of his ass in one of the heli harnesses. She doesn't have to see Lucas's backside to know it'll pale in comparison.

"I don't know." Flash looks him up and down, letting the boredom in her eyes shine. "You look a little," she waves one hand around as if it will pull the word from thin air "small."

Lucas flinches back, obviously not used to being rejected.

"Then it should be quick, no?" His smile is back now, and just as flirty as before.

She relents, “Rules?” She prompts, stretching her shoulders and removing the belt from her waist, doing her best to ignore the pinch as her stitched skin pulls taught.

“Clean fight. First one to tap loses.”

Flash nods and smiles widely, more than eager to move after sitting for the past five hours. Lucas smiles wide, almost looking feral with a pair of pointed canines.

She follows him to the mat and they square up, him guarding high over his jaw and her standing still, hands at her side. Someone behind them shouts a command and Lucas is lunging, striking hard and fast towards her exposed midsection. She easily sidesteps him, having seen the flex in his exposed calf muscle just a moment before. Childs play.

Flash lets him lunge, easily dancing around his brutally thrown fists and elbows as he tires himself out. She can already tell he’s used to using his weight as an advantage rather than a tool. Much like every other man she’s fought.

After a particularly poorly timed left hook, Lucas lets out a frustrated growl. Taking pity on him, Flash sighs before darting towards him. In just under two seconds, she’s slipped her leg behind his knees and with one shove of her elbow has him sprawled on the mat, blinking widely. In another second, she’s locked her bicep over his neck and tightened her legs around his chest in a breath-squeezing grip.

When he doesn’t stop squirming, her bicep tightens around his throat, "Tap." She orders, calm and unwavering. "You've already lost."

Nails scrape at her grip leaving angry red scratches against the back of her hand and wrist. She winces but doesn't relent. His gasping lips have turned pale and the veins at his forehead bulge against sweating skin. If he doesn't tap he'll pass out, she's sure of it. His fingers scratch at her hand again, but this time they’re fumbling and slow. The men surrounding her are shouting at him to fight back and Flash wonders if they're too ignorant to see that the lack of oxygen has left his limbs useless, or if they're just that dumb.

Just as his eyes start to roll back, there's a weak tap against her outer thigh. She immediately releases and Lucas scrambles back against the mat, shoving her to the side in the process, and hunches over, violently coughing between gags.

"What the fuck." He spits out, still curled into himself, red face inches above the dirty mat. "What the fuck is wrong with you."

Pushing herself to her feet, Flash stalks towards him and jabs a finger at his sweating glare. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She wasn't about to let him make her feel guilty, he'd started it, she just saw it through.

Lucas just stares at her with bloodshot eyes and the room around them stays silent. Nosy Bastards.

"I'll tell you what's wrong with you." She continues, stepping forward to rub the dirty tread of her shoe against the white of his shirt before leaning down, their faces just inches apart. "You're too slow."

He says nothing, even as she reaches over and snatches the cellophane bag of sweets from his pocket.

_____

Happily picking through the bag of candy she’d so fairly won, Flash wanders the property kicking rocks and half-assedly looking for Gaz. Just before she's about to turn and head back, she stumbles upon a smell that she can only describe as animal.

When Flash stops in front of the open barn doors, her jaw drops. One of the biggest horses she’d ever seen stands before her, lazily chewing on a mouthful of hay. She has to crane her head upward to see the ginger mane falling in neat tendrils over a huge, muscled neck. It's as beautiful as it is terrifying.

The horse's nose is soft like plush velvet when she runs a single finger across it, and surprisingly warm. The deep chestnut of its eyes stays relaxed and half-lidded so she strokes it again, this time with her palm. When she does, warm puffs of air blow against her hand and she jumps back, heart racing. The horse seems to sense this and with its long, nimble legs, lowers itself to the ground, nestling into the dry hay bed at her feet. Following it down, Flash drops to her knees and sits back against her heels, feeling braver now that they’re nearly face to face. Well, face to muzzle.

“You aren’t so mean. Huh?” She speaks softly, pressing her palm between the dark, watchful eyes and feeling the warmth of its skin. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

“She’s a girl.”

Flash falls backward, feet slipping from under her in the slick hay when a deep voice calls out from behind her. But large hands are under her arms in seconds, pulling her up and to her feet.

Ghost stands in front of her now, mouth quirked into a small smile under the cotton of his mask. “That’s the second time I’ve had to keep you from knockin’ yourself out.” His hands linger, squeezing her biceps reassuringly before dropping to his sides. “How often does this happen when I’m not around?”

“I- what?” Flash’s heart still beats wildly in her chest, partially from nearly cracking her head off the paved ground, but mostly from the looming presence in front of her. “What?”

“She’s a girl.” Ghost continues, choosing not to repeat his question. “Maple I think. One of Alejandro’s first girls. She’s a sweetheart.” He steps closer to Flash and for a moment she thinks he’s about to grab her, but then he’s reaching past her to rest a hand on the patch of cream-colored fur her own had been resting against just minutes before. Maple's eyes close and she pushes against his hand, moving to nose his palm. Ghost responds by loosening each finger of his glove before pulling it off and tucking it in his waistband. Flash watches intently as he returns his hand to the spot and smooths it upwards, following the patch of cream between her eyes.

“Do you still have that candy?”

Ghost's voice snaps her back and with burning cheeks, she pulls the small plastic bag from her pocket, feeling a pinch of shame at being caught but called out. “How did you know?”

“One of the guys was complaining.” He starts before turning to look at her, his brow furrows slightly at the scratches covering the back of her hand and forearm, but it eases when he glances up at her face. “And your mouth is bright red.”

Handing the bag to him, Flash uses the back of her other hand to wipe at her lips but it’s no use. “Horses can have candy?” She asks, now scrubbing her mouth with the sleeve of her fleece.

Ghost responds by pulling one of the round, brightly colored candies and placing it on the flat of his bare palm before extending it to Maple.

“Some.” He speaks lowly and in a calming tone that Flash knows is for the horse's sake, but she can't help but melt all the same. Maple picks the candy up with the soft skin of her lips before crunching it between a powerful set of teeth. “This stuff is just dyed sugar. They sell it everywhere.”

Then he’s grabbing her hand, flattening her fingers with a gentle swipe before setting a purple one on her palm. It's only when he starts to move her arm towards Maple's giant mouth that she jerks back, closing the candy tight in her palm. It’s sticky and in just a few seconds starts to melt against the heat of her skin.

“Keep your hand flat.” His hand curls around her forearm to grasp her wrist. “I promise she won’t bite. Open.”

At his command, Flash opens her palm and with shaking fingers, lets him guide her arm outwards with his hand wrapped reassuringly around her wrist. At the last moment, Flash shuts her eyes tight, not wanting to see the grisly sight of her fingers being ground to a pulp. But she’s only met with Maple’s warm breath and the tickle of whiskers as her soft lips take the sticky candy from her hand. A nervous laugh bubbles up from her own mouth, a mix of relief and joy at the strange feeling.

“See,” Ghost's voice vibrates from a warm chest, nearly pressed against her back. His hand still grips her wrist, “I told you she wouldn’t bite.”

“I trust you.” Flash says to their hands, “I just don’t trust the horse.”

“Give her another. This time with your eyes open.” She doesn’t ask how he knew her eyes were closed.

With open eyes, Flash lets Ghost set another candy, a bright orange one, onto her palm. Her wrist, still encompassed by his gentle hand, moves on its own accord towards Maple’s brown muzzle. She takes it just as sweetly as before, in a soft kiss of whiskers.

Flash does laugh this time, a sweet laugh that has her falling back a step with the effort, right into Ghost.

When she turns to apologize, still laughing, the words die on her tongue. He stares down at her, eyes wide and burning with so much emotion her breath catches in her throat. His own breath comes shakily through his nose as he brings a hand up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear before dropping it back to his side.

“Do you want to ride her?” He whispers, still staring intently at her face.

“Fuck no.” Flash breathes. But she doesn’t stop him as he pulls a saddle off a post and begins to strap it to a now-standing Maple. She doesn’t stop him when he lifts her like a rag doll and places her in the saddle, or when he gracefully swings himself up to sit behind her. And she doesn’t stop him when he reaches around her to hold the brown leather reins and guide them out and onto a dirt trail. She could have, but she doesn’t.

She’d severely underestimated the proximity that riding a horse with someone requires. Every inch of their bodies molded together, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. It’s glorious. She can’t help but settle back a bit, reveling in the way his arms wrap around her shoulders.

The setting sun shines orange and yellow across the tan field, turning it into an ocean of waving ochre honey, and the rest of the green flowing forest into a golden meadow. It seeps into her very bones, dragging her heartbeat to a dull thump that sounds in time with the gentle rocking of Maple's steps. She shifts further back, now laying entirely across Ghost's chest and nestling into the warm spot between his neck and shoulder. It smells delightfully of sweat, oranges, and dirt. He stiffens at first, she doesn’t know if it’s surprise or discomfort, but he relaxes just a moment later, resting his chin gently atop her head. And there, nestled in the warmth of his embrace and lulled by the swaying steps of sweet Maple. Flash closes her eyes and wills her mind to remember every detail, begs her body not to forget the gentle shift of muscle against her back as Ghost directs them down a rough path he seems to know so well.

“You’ve done this before?” Her question is quiet, spoken through a drowsy fog.

Ghost moves the reins to one hand and uses the other to gently knit their fingers together, the way she’d done in his truck. Here in her sleep-drunk state, the effort it takes for him to fit his fingers between her own smaller ones is too comical. “Yes,” His thumb rubs up and down the ridges of her knuckles, no doubt soothing his own nerves, “I’ve spent a lot of time here. Alejandro has done a lot for me.”

“With the horses?”

“Well,” he starts, hesitatingly, “A few years ago, I was having a rough time. Things were not going my way.” A large breath presses his chest tightly against her back “Alejandro let me stay with him for as long as I needed.”

“So you became a cowboy?” She teases, squeezing his hand tight.

“Not right away,” he laughs lightly and Flash involuntarily presses back into the sound, “I was scared shitless. Alejandro had to practically force me into the barn. But then I learned more about them. How compassionate and loving they are. Did you know they can have a whole conversation with just their ears?”

Flash hums encouragingly, hoping he’ll keep talking, if only to feel his voice against her back.

“They can love too. They’ll bond to someone, and love them the same way a human would. Real love.” An eager note shifts his voice, something Flash had never heard before.

“And did you bond with Maple?” Flash speaks into the soft cotton of his jacket.

“No,” a sigh tickles the soft hair at her nape “though we did get close. I have another horse. Her name is Rose.”

“Pretty name.” Flash hums “Where is she?”

Ghost stiffens again, and this time it takes him a few more beats to settle back and even longer to respond.

“She’s being cared for by my neighbor.”

“What’s she look like?” Flash’s voice is drifting, and the lids of her eyes seem impossibly heavy. She starts to imagine his home. A cupboard filled with chipped mugs and a wooden drying rack next to a deep basin sink. She’s decided that he’s not one to use a dishwasher.

“Golden hair,” his hand reaches up to tug at a strand of her own and she bats a hand at him, completely missing through her half-lidded gaze. “Blue eyes.” He’s brushing his hand along her cheekbone now and the feeling is like a magnet, tugging her eyes closed with a final drag down the bridge of her nose. “And a fiery temperament.”

“Are you calling me a horse?” Flash mumbles, half incoherent. But Ghost manages to decipher it and laughs breathily.

“No, I’m just noticing some similarities.” His hand reaches up to smooth the hair at her temple. Its awfully delightful.

“You keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep.” She threatens, even though they both know she’s far past salvation.

“That’s okay.” His hand drops to wrap around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Okay.”

And for the first time since the incident, Flash falls asleep without the anxiety of what she’ll miss, what will pull her from her sheets, screaming and clawing. For the first time in weeks, she falls asleep in the sweet embrace of safety.

A/N: You cannot tell me that Flash isn't an ass woman. She's going to be grabbing handfuls soon.

Also the idea of Ghost hyper fixating on horses AUGGHH HES TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD

Anywaysss, thank you for sticking with me through all of this. I love all of you and will talk to you again very soon!

#Ghost x reader #Ghost x female oc #SImon riley #Cod fic #Simon Ghost Riley #Alejandro Vargas #Valeria #Modern Warfare 2 #Ghost stories #Headcannons #John soap mactavish #John Price #MW2 #Gaz Garrick

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