#its a canon event. but in the back of my mind it would also be the moment they realize how much they love each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochinomnoms · 4 months

Note

Hello I saw your event and got interested! I was wondering if you could do #24 with Idia (romantic, fluff, and suggestive if possible) with fem!reader?

idia shroud x f!reader [tags] – romantic, fluff, suggestive [wc} – 3, 241 prompt 24: “I'm so happy that you confessed first.” “Why?” “If I had to dig out another hydrangea petal from my teeth, I was gonna lose it.” notes - the only way to write idia is kind pathetic like a wet cat. i love pathetic men a floral inconvenience

According to legend, a Japanese emperor gave blue hydrangeas to the girl he loved, to apologize for neglecting her and to show how much he really cared for her. Their petal shape resembles a beating heart.

Idia thinks that he was cursed in a past life for doing something awful. Maybe he kidnapped someone’s kid and tried to kill them. Maybe he tried to overthrow the gods and take over himself, but failed miserably. Or maybe, worst of all: broke someone’s limited-edition, vintage Tokyo Mew Mew Ichigo figurine.

He sure as the underworld that he did something, why else would he be puking up hanahaki flowers like some cringey Canon x Reader fanfic?

“Big Bro! You really should go to the school infirmary, the petals and stems can cause irritation and damage to the trachea and nasopharynx if not treated properly!”

Ortho was currently hovering over him, fretting like a mother hen over her chick. How ironic, Idia thought as he picked at the petals still in his teeth, it was for the little brother to be caring for the elder.

“Why do that when I can just have the school delivery bots bring me medicine. Then I won’t have to interact with anyone, I’d literally DIE if anyone saw me like this…”

Especially if the Prefect saw him. The image of her sweet face, and beaming smile…like a scene from a shoujo manga, flooded his mind. He could practically hear her voice, full of concern, asking, “Are you okay, Idia?”

Idia fell into a sneezing fit, petals flying from his mouth and nose as his sneezes continued, one after the other, until he was also thrown into a hoarse, wet-sounding cough.

“Big Bro! That’s it, you’re going to the nurse!” Ortho, despite being quite small, grabbed Idia by the back of his striped pajama shirt, much like one grabs a wet cat by the scruff of its neck.

“UUuuuuuuuuuughghuguguguhidonwannaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHHh!” Idia cried out in a whiney, high-pitched tone.

His brother, perhaps taking pity on his brother, took the shortcut to the infirmary, cutting directly pass the buildings and fields as Idia’s arms and legs loosely flew like cooked spaghetti noodles. Flying through the window that Nurse Goethel often kept open for fresh air, Ortho plopped Idia into a spare bed, who collapsed like a ragdoll into the thin mattress.

“I’ll go check you in with the Nurse, I’ll be right back, please make yourself comfortable Idia!”

Idia gave a muffled grumble as a response, shoving his face further into the hard surface of the bed with a sense of dread. He could hear Ortho speak with Goethel at her desk.

Well, he thought, at least she won’t see me looking all gross and lovesick like some normie—

“Idia, oh my god, are you sick?”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

A shrill, ear-splitting shriek left his mouth as the flames of his hair blew up into a blazing hot pink. Idia bolted him, a sharp pain hitting the top of his head as he heard you yelp. As he rubbed the pained spot, Idia noticed that you too were rubbing your chin. Oh Sevens, he hit your chin with his big, stupid head.

“Ooowwwww, damn Idia, you hit hard…” you hissed, though you gave him a sweet smile in reassurance.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have scared you…though why are you covered in flowers?”

Idia froze, debating on whether or not he should open his mouth and potentially say something damning, or just stay quiet and hope you’d just get weirded out and leave.

“Because he’s an idiot who didn’t come to immediately see me at the first petal cough!”

The nurse came up to Idia with a disapproving glare, handing you a clipboard and pen before slipping on a clean pair of gloves.

“Prefect, please check the boxes for every symptom I find. I believe I know what it is, but we need to check all our bases.”

Idia peeked at you from the corner of his eye as you smiled at him, waving your fingers as the nurse whispered a spell to turn her magic pen into a makeshift flashlight.

“Now, open up and say ‘ah’ so I can see what those flowers are doing to you.”

Following her instructions, Idia tried his best to be a cooperative and willing patient, if just to get out of here faster. Unfortunately, your presence only seemed to make it harder to do so, as hydrangea flowers bloomed from the pores of his skin, focusing particularly around his hands and neck.

The nurse, he’s sure, could also see the magic sparkles forming as a new bouquet formed through his throat and shot up his mouth. She tsked, leaning back to allow Idia to hack out the now decent sized hydrangea bouquet. They were a vibrant blue, much like his hair.

“Ah, go, go on and let it out.” The nurse waved a hand at Ortho. “Dear, please fetch your brother a cup of the tea I have brewing at my desk. Prefect? Please note that the patient has no evidence of root growth in his throat.”

“Root growth!? Is my brother going to be okay?” Ortho worriedly rushed over, the tea spilling over the rim of the foam cup. “Is it a curse or disease? Is my brother growing a plant in his lungs!?”

“Ortho, you scanned me earlier this week, remember?” Idia hoarsely replied, taking the tea to gingerly sip at it. “Nothing in ‘em, or my stomach ‘cept ramen noods.”

“A WEEK?!” The three of you flinched at the shrill gasp of Goethel, who was glaring daggers at Idia. “Mr. Shroud, you’ve been sick with an unknown flora disease and you didn’t even bother to let the staff know? What if you were contagious!!”

Idia shrank into himself as he whispered, “It’s not like I leave my room…”

“Bateria or the pollen could’ve gotten into the air vents and infected the rest of your dorm, ugh.” The nurse sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before addressing you. “Miss Y/N, if you mark down the lack of root growth, fever, and magical origin of the flowers, what do you get?”

He watched as you flipped through the clipboard, smile slightly faltering as you read one of the papers. You cleared your face briefly, before smiling politely back at the nurse and Idia.

“Based on everything, it seems that Idia most likely has the flower sickness, also known as the love sickness, petal fever, or, most commonly, hanahaki.”

Idia cringed at the cold, monotone sound of your voice. Now he’d done it. You knew, somehow you knew that he had the biggest, fattest, most twitterpated-full crush on you. No, crush was understated. He had dreams of you, the cringiest, domestic fantasy-based shit where he’d imagine you, waking up in bed with him back at the Island of Woe. You had given him a sleepy smile as you curled into side, naked. With a smile and a kiss to his lips, dream you turned over to hover over him, trailing small kisses and love bites down his body, further and further as you whispered to him, over and over, “I love you, Idia—”

A queasy, dizzying feeling fell over Idia as a particularly painful croup caused him to double over and vomit last night's dinner alongside blue, heart-shaped petals.

“Idia!”

“Big Brother!”

“Shroud—Prefect, hold his hair back! Ortho, grab the trashcan, I’ll go get some cleaning supplies and new sheets.”

Nurse Goethel barked orders to the other two, who quickly jumped into action. Idia could feel a shiver as he felt your hands softly grasp his flaming hair, fingers grazing his cheek as you tucked his bangs behind his ears. He could barely make out your coos, no doubt comforting him. You must be disgusted seeing him like this, having to care for a sopping wet cat of a man. Ortho was holding the trash can, right on time for Idia to hurl some more flowers and stomach acid.

“Oh, Idia…you poor thing.” You whispered into his ear, unintentionally causing his body to warm up and a chill go down his spine to settle in his abdomen. He was very aware that if he turned his head to look at you, he’d get a faceful of your chest like some harem isekai protag, the thought making him warm further and his tips pink again.

“I didn’t realize you were feeling this bad, Idia…” Ortho murmured, guilt in his voice. “I should’ve brought you sooner…”

“N-no…” Idia gravelly replied, wiping his mouth clean. “It’s not your fault Ortho, don’t beat yourself over it.”

Ortho still looked guilty, but nodded in affirmation, glancing at briefly at the Prefect. His gaze flitted between the two, and Idia could briefly see Ortho’s eyes go blank, as they did when searching through his knowledge database.

“Miss Prefect!” Ortho chirped, voice now perky much to Idia’s concern. “May I ask for a spare infirmary shirt for my brother? He must be very uncomfortable in his soiled one!”

Idia was now firmly and acutely aware of your hands still on him, thumb rubbing soothingly into his temple.

“Oh, of course Ortho.” You moved away, hands hovering for just a moment, as you replied, “They’re in the storage, I’ll be right back!”

Idia watched as you walked away into the infirmary storage. Ortho did as well, waiting until you were out of earshot to excitedly whisper, “Idia! I know it’ll be an easy fix!”

“Huh?” Idia rose an eyebrow at his brother, confusion setting in.

“It’s a love sickness, and you love the Prefect—Idia stop looking at me like that—so if you confess to them, the flowers will go away!”

Idia was still giving Ortho a horrified look, as he continued.

“Based on the timing of your reactions in correlation with close proximity within the Prefect, along with your increased heart rate at their touch, speech, and glances, and the fact that the Prefect stated on December 15th at 11:18:53 pm that she likes hydrangeas, she is the cause of the sickness. Right?”

“Ortho!’ Idia hissed, grabbing at his brother to shut him up despite Ortho not technically having a mouth.

“Quiet down, this isn’t some otome game where I can cheat and look online for the right responses. Did you see how she reacted earlier when she found out it was hanahaki, how disappointed she looked? There’s no way Y/N—I mean the Prefect, didn’t connect the dots.

“But, Big Brother!” Ortho whined, “Based on her heart rate and increased body temperature—”

“No is no, Ortho! It’s not going to be such an easy fix, I’ll just get rejected!”

“Technically speaking—” Idia and Ortho both jumped at the nurse’s voice, who was coming back from storage with clean linens. The Prefect followed with a new shirt.

“—you don’t need your beloved to accept your feelings, just confess them. Though it’s quite rare that it’s not reciprocated.”

The nurse motioned for Idia to get up as the Prefect handed him the shirt. She began taking the sheets off as the nurse addressed the two brothers.

“Mr. Shroud, if you are insisting on keeping this sickness intact for fear of rejection, then I will have to ask Professor Crewel for some more potent ingredients for your prescription. Little Shroud?”

“Oh, yes Nurse Goethel?”

“I could use your assistance, please come with me, Miss Y/N will tend to your brother,” She had a smug tone and smirk as she said this, motioning for Ortho to follow. “Mr. Shroud, please have no worry, she makes an excellent student nurse!”

Idia let out a defeated, low, whiney groan as he moped over behind one of the privacy screens. You remained quiet as you collected the dirty sheets. He could hear Goethel’s footsteps and Ortho’s fans fade away as they left further and further down the hall. Idia yanked his shirt off, slipping the clean one over his head, noting it was a tad bit too small. He grumbled in annoyance as he pulled the shirt down to cover his stomach.

“Idia?”

“Eeep!” Idia yelped, your voice coming from right behind the screen. “Y-yes?”

“Are you done changing? I can take your shirt to the hamper.”

He hummed in response, peeking his hand from behind the screen with the shirt in hand. As you took the shirt and walked away, Idia slowly moved to look at you. Once he was sure your eyes were firmly ahead (and briefly taking a look at your ass), he launched himself back into bed, the smell of clean linen filling his nose.

Idia sighed, a faux exhaustion settling into his bones as he sunk into the bed. He tensed as he felt you sit on the edge to this right.

“Idia?” you hummed as he closed his eyes to focus on the darkness behind them, instead of you worried expression.

He hummed in response.

“Nurse Goethel said that the remedy is actually quick and easy, right?”

He hummed again.

“You’ll just keep coughing hydrangeas until you do something, right?”

“...Yea.” Idia replied in a monotone voice.

You sighed, a bit in frustration he thinks. “So?”

“...So?”

“Why don’t you?” You stretched out the last vowel with a questioning sound.

“Why don’t I?” Idia mimicked you.

"Why don't you just confess?"

“Wha?” He yelped, looking at you like you’d grown heads like a hydra. “W-what do y-you mean, confess!? Are you crazy?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “It would help, wouldn’t it? And Nurse Goethel said it’s rare for it to not be reciprocated, so what do you have to lose?”

“First of all, what’s left of my dignity. Second, I’m not some ML in a romance manhwa. And, third!” Idia straightened up to look you in the eyes, a burst of confidence filling his veins in pure frustration and annoyance. “There’s no way that anyone would be interested in some loser like me, so what’s the point—”

“But I like you!”

Silence fell between you two as the realization of your words settled into both your minds. You, with a growing blush and look of embarrassment, and Idia gaping at you like a fish out of water.”

“Huh.”

“I said,” You murmured, twiddling with the ends of your hair. “That I like you. A lot. I think you’re really fun to be around, you’re even though you're shy and kinda geeky, you’re really passionate about the stuff you like. Idia.”

Your hand reached for his, hesitantly like you were afraid you’d burn him. As you laced your fingers together, Idia felt a lump form in his throat. He kept silent though, watching as you smiled shyly.

“You’re sweet to your brother, and I notice, to me sometimes too. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you coming out to class more often so we could hang? I missed you this week…it was really lonely without you, even with all my friends.”

Still holding his hand, you leaned in closer to his face, looking at him earnestly. Was this real? Did he unlock a secret route with you without noticing? Why did you keep looking at his lips? OMG WAS THIS REAL—

“Idia,” You snapped him out of his thoughts as the distance between you two kept closing. “If the person you like doesn’t return your feelings, then they didn’t deserve you in the first place. I’ll be there to support you, even if you don’t like me the same way, I’ll always care for you as your friend—”

“But it is you.” Idia blurted out. Whether it was due to a mysterious burst of energy or just a slip of the tongue, he didn’t know.

“W-what! Idia, you don’t have to try and make me feel—” you tried to stutter an excuse, cheeks pink like the fiery tips of his hair.

“It’s you! I got this cause of you, cause I knew—I thought,” Idia started to ramble, getting up to grab you by the shoulders and shake. “I thought that you couldn’t like some weirdo like me. Are you telling me I could’ve snatched an SSR level kiss scene with you at any time??!!”

It was your turn to be shocked, a bewildered look in your eyes and Idia rapidly spoke, taking little breaths between sentences.

“Do you know what you do to me?? The thoughts, the dreams I have about you? I see you and get all hot and bothered and you’re telling me that I didn’t have to be some maidenless normie this entire time? I could’ve been lockin’ lips and getting my dick we—”

A sharp shriek leaving Idia’s mouth was muffled as you shoved your lips into his, effectively shutting up his rant. He whimpered as you swiped your tongue along his lips, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Idia, perhaps in the throes of passion, or not wanting to miss out on this once in a lifetime pull, reciprocated, albeit with a nervous hesitation.

You seemed to approve, pressing your chest against his as your mouth moved against his, tongues dancing and moans being shared between half taken breaths. His hands hovered over you until you let go of his neck to guide his hands and place them over your hips. An arousing moan left your lips as your hands gently pushed his chest.

Idia’s world slightly shifted as he fell back first into the bed, your hair creating a curtain as you separated from him. A line of shiny spit followed you, breaking as he gasped for breath while you leaned back down to press kisses against his neck, flowering the disappearing hydrangeas.

He yelped as your teeth scraped a particularly sensitive spot, opening his mouth to blurt out, “I'm so happy that you confessed first.”

You let out a breathless giggle, turning your head and resting your chin on his neck to look up at him with, he swears on the Star Rouge sequel, hearts in your eyes. “Why?”

“If I had to dig out another hydrangea petal from my teeth, I was gonna lose it.” Idia chuckled, “I’m sorry you have to deal with such a coward like me.”

“Idia.” You firmly responded, “Don’t. I like you as you are. We’re both young, we have time to grow. I’ll grow with you, if you’ll have me?

Looking down at you, practically on top of him, Idia opened his mouth to tease your softness, and suddenly froze. The mortifying, though wonderful he had to admit, scene was dawning on him as his entire body heated up and turned red.

“Uuuuuwwwwwahaaahahahahaha—you’reontopofmethere’sagirlontopofmeisthisanewlevelinyourouteIdidn’tprepareforthis—mmmfph!”

You effectively shut him up with another kiss to his lips, smiling as Idia was shocked into silence with a dopy, wobbly smile forming on his lips.

“Relax, Idia, I’ll take the lead on all the romance stuff until you get the hang of it. For now you can be my player two!”

Idia snorted, smirking at you as he teased, “That’s such a cringey thing to say~”

“You say things like that all the time!”

The two of you shared a soft laugh, unaware of the audience of two at the door watching. Ortho recorded the memory for the wedding he was already planning in his head, while the nurse muttered to herself about wasting time gathering ingredients for a prescription potion she no longer needed. Despite this, she smiled, happy that her little words of encouragement to the Prefect earlier worked.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud #twst idia #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst idia x reader #suggestive #a floral inconvenience

735 notes · View notes

darkmuffinstudios · 11 days

Text

[rolls in]

I've always, for the longest time, head-canoned that when Nightmare and Dream ate their respective apples and subsequently fused with them in the process, that they also *became* the apples in a sense?

Basically what I'm saying is that since the tree was cut down/died due to the events of Dreamtale, that they, themselves, became the two sides of the tree. While the tree was in its prime, it regulated all of the emotions and balance in the whole multiverse. However, because of the apple incident, Nightmare and Dream now take on the duty that the tree once had; regulating the emotions of the multiverse individually.

Hence they're constant struggle with one another.

As eternal, long-living beings of their respective roles, I doubt they would stay mad at each other forever- at least to the degree that it was initially after the tragedy in Dreamtale. This would make a truce somewhat inevitable- or at least a mutual understanding and respect for each other's jobs.

(I think this could, of course, vary depending on the way you depict their relationship, backstory, powers, situation, and the story at large)

Anyways, going back to what I was originally getting at before being sidetracked, they are- essentially- the tree itself.

In a weird way, I always thought that it was a little strange that eating the golden apples didn't seem to have any consequences as opposed to the negative ones (example being Nightmare violently being ripped apart and literally dying- but that can be dubious because, from my understanding, that was partially the main antagonist's influence on the apples??).

Again, not addressing canon and what the original had in mind, I think it would be interesting that slowly, over time, the tree starts to grow back through them.

Think of it as a way of aging for these immortals. After all, apples have seeds, so one would assume that they'd eventually sprout after enough time and nourishment (via the abundance of emotions and just generally taking care of themselves). Eventually, they'll have to create their own guardians to carry on their work, and the cycle continues after they die.

What I imagine is a weird mesh of hanahaki disease and the philosophy of cycles, in where when the two twins eventually pass, they will become the new trees in its place. Over time, while doing their jobs and fulfilling their roles, roots may start to sprout from their ribcage, followed by leaves. It would be cute at first, little leaves and branches that are harmless. But then, as time continues, more and more of their body gets overtaken with it.

But again, these changes would happen gradually over the course of their long, LONG lifespans. When it starts getting to the point of detriment to them, then they've probably lived hundreds of lifetimes over already.

I don't know, I just think it's an interesting idea to head-canon about, and a cool excuse to draw the twins with plant-like roots stretching out of them.

(some little examples I have of the idea I've drawn YEARS ago and as of recent. ignore the quality of my old art fosjigjiosjosgijiosg)

(also WIP jumpscare of a Shattered Dream interpretation I have been working on a little oogily boogily osgjiosgs)

#darkzyx #undertale au #undertale fandom #utmv #dreamtale #nightmare sans #dream sans #dark rambling #dark ramble #dark brain thoughts

304 notes · View notes

em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 9 months

Text

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 1: Sunrise

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the very first instalment of this series, featuring baby!Babey and teen-uncle!Daemon! This prologue will be the only Daemon POV of this instalment (or at least that is my current plan), and there will be several time jumps in keeping with canon. Please keep in mind that, as canon diverges around Episode 5/6 in this series, much of what occurs in the show will also occur as-is here, so don’t expect anything particularly innovative in terms of plot, lol. I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to establish Babey as a firm part of the storyline in a manner that is a little less ambiguous, and will also serve to provide more wholesome Babey/Daemon interactions to foreground their later shift. A couple things: there will be NO ROMANCE in this fic, because Babey is a child. Ew. There may be mentions of romance between other characters, but this story will be told firmly through Babey’s eyes and thus events are limited to her own interpretations.

Anyway! Enough from me - on with the show!

TRIGGERS: mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth, mentions of childbirth trauma, blood.

“And so it was that, in the summer of 109 AC, Queen Aemma took once again to her childbed, remaining there for near two days for what would be a difficult and taxing labour. In the early hours of the morning, King Viserys and his lady wife welcomed a living babe—but not the babe they expected. The arrival of a second daughter took both by surprise, for they had come to believe the child in the Queen’s belly had been their longed-for son. It was nonetheless announced that the Queen had been delivered of a healthy girl, and a great relief was struck up across the Realm, the bells of King’s Landing being rung from dawn to dusk and the people gathering on the streets in praise of their new Princess.”

- ‘Fire and Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

It's quiet this time, he thinks. No snivelling midwives, no wailing… A good thing, surely.

Still. The silence, in all of its peculiarity, is unnerving. After the last occasion—the frenetic activity bustling up and down the halls, the yelling, the sound of Aemma’s screams, the stench of blood thickening in his nostrils as he stepped forth to take his first and last view of the purple, unmoving babe in the cradle he would never outgrow—the absence of sound seems almost foreboding. Should he not hear the child cry? Should he not be within by now? He would venture to knock on the door, but he dare not risk disturbing this fragile peace—especially if it is not fated to remain so.

Thus, Daemon Targaryen, eighteen summers of age and the King’s very own brother, waits in his seat opposite the entry to the Queen’s chambers as he has done for hours. And, as he sits, he prays.

Well—not pray, exactly. He’d have to believe in gods to do that. But, should a higher power exist, it cannot hurt to lend his own voice to the masses that even now attempt to muster enough mercy to grant the survival of his cousin and the child she has worked so hard to bring forth these past moons. Let them live, he urges, pressing the thought out into the air around him, into the sky far above the Keep. Let them both live.

“Any news?”

Daemon snaps to attention, head tilting automatically to the intruder. He suppresses a sneer. Now is not the time.

“Nothing,” he says, taking care to keep his tone even.

Otto Hightower sighs. “Well”—the Hand of the King moves closer, towering over Daemon with his hands clasped behind his back—“no news is good news, I hope.”

“Hm.” He’ll not dignify that with a response.

Hightower’s eyes narrow in on him. “There is no need to sound quite so downtrodden, Prince Daemon. I am sure the King will find some use for you… now that you are no longer his heir.”

He knows what the man is after. A display of anger, perhaps—maybe even hot-headed insistence on his part that his position stands as it has since Viserys won the throne, that the child is dead, that the Lord has every reason to fear him still. He won’t give him the satisfaction, though. If his brother ventures out to see Daemon once again railing at his most trusted advisor…

Daemon’s desire to meet his nephew outweighs his need to put this upstart in his place.

“Never fear, Otto.” He smiles, lips stretched wide with too much teeth, threatening more than welcoming. “I’ll always have a place by Viserys’s side. I am his brother. And you…” He looks the man up and down. Even now, the pin of the Hand is attached to the cunt’s lapel like a sycophantic badge of honour, gleaming in the golden torchlight. “What are you, exactly?”

Hightower’s jaw clenches. “I am the Hand of the Ki—”

“For now,” Daemon says, a smug half-smirk playing at the very corners of his mouth. “Don’t forget that. For now.”

What he doesn’t say is plain to read upon his face. One day, he’ll understand. One day, he’ll see you for what you really are. A leech, one who latches onto power and drains those who truly wield it dry.

The reminder makes Otto pale. “I—”

The door creaks open, the flushed face of one Viserys Targaryen appearing in the space between wood and frame. “Daemon.”

Daemon rises. “Is—how is—” He cannot get the fucking words out.

His brother grins. “Aemma is well, and the babe is healthy.”

He lets out a relieved breath, surprised to discover exactly how tense he had been since the messenger had roused him from sleep at the hour of the owl. That tension releases itself with the air he pushes from his lungs, his shoulders sagging from the freedom of it. Suddenly, his eyes no longer feel so wide, so fear-bright, and fatigue sets in. He is tired. But first—

“May I see him?” he asks.

At that, Viserys pauses, whatever he had intended to say to Otto left unfinished. He clears his throat, all joy fleeing his face. “Ah… About that.”

“Is the boy… crippled?” The Hand’s voice is hushed, apprehensive.

“No, no!” Viserys insists, shaking his head. “Only… she is small, quiet. Nothing at all like Rhaenyra was.”

“A girl? But Runciter was so certain!” Otto says, mouth parted in shock.

Runciter’s a fucking fool. Anyone who sets stock by his theories ought to be burned alive, Daemon thinks, rolling his eyes. He’d never liked maesters—any of them, least of all the doddering fuckwits appointed to the vaunted station of Grand Maester. That Runciter had gotten this wrong is hardly surprising. None of them seem to know what they are doing.

He pushes around his brother and leaves him to his latest inanity, moving onward to where his newest niece lay.

The Queen’s chambers are stifling, unbearably hot, the windows closed tight and the fires blazing in spite of the warmth already pervading the early hours of the morn. Another ridiculous notion, he suspects, though whether it be Westerosi custom or Targaryen superstition, he knows not. Perhaps dragonbabes can only be born into the fire they are made from.

Last time he was here, Aemma had been gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and near hysterical from the passing of her first, her only son. She’d laid weeping in her bloodied shift still, bedraggled hair sticking to slick skin as she’d mourned the child, insensate to kind words or reason from any who had approached her. Eventually, Viserys had demanded all who were not the blood of the dragon to remove themselves from the room. Together, he and Daemon had borne Aemma from her childbed, had taken her to the bath still waiting, had disposed of the last markers of gloom and tragedy marring the space.

Only those of Valyrian blood should ever bear witness to weakness from one of their own. Only those of Valyrian blood could ever understand the magnitude of such a loss. Their line had been dying out since the Doom—every death since only ever added salt to the wound.

What Daemon walks into this time is different. So very, very different.

Aemma is gaunt still, overcome by weariness, no doubt sapped greatly by the trials of such long labour. Shadows carve deep hollows beneath her eyes, skeletal, made almost sinister by the flicker of dim light, and her mouth is pale and cracked. Yet, there is naught but a buoyant sort of lightness adorning her face, shining more brilliantly than a crown ever could.

The chamber bears none of that ominous atmosphere that pervaded that night, instead filled with the heady scent of frankincense clogging each breath he draws, earthy smoke settling warm in his gut. The sheets are clean. The midwives calm. The Grand Maester, asleep in the chair by the fire.

And, in the Queen’s arms, the smallest wrapped bundle he has ever seen.

“Is that…” He swallows, dazed and speechless.

His cousin beams. “Come,” she says. “Come and meet her.”

Wordlessly, he approaches, taking care to make his footfalls light so as not to disturb the delicate creature enshrined in a mother’s embrace. As he draws close, he sees that the babe is not asleep as he had thought. Instead, open eyes look upward, deep dark indigo with the merest hint of lilac-violet-amethyst, the promise of Old Valyria in that muzzy, unfocused gaze.

This is the moment he meets you.

Aemma graciously accepts his silent question, relinquishing you to your uncle with naught but a gentle sigh and a stroke to the cheek. So little are you that you settle easily into the line of his arm, head to the crook of his elbow and rump to his cupped hand, light enough that it would be easy to forget you are even there. You let out a soft bleat, feet kicking beneath your swaddling—but that is all. For when that blue-nearly-purple stare shifts, locking with his, you fall silent, still. And so does he.

You are beautiful.

Of course you are. Viserys is hardly the handsomest of men, and Aemma comely enough though of no great noteworthiness, but their firstborn is about as lovely as any girl of nine summers can be. Your sister.

Gods, he thinks. Rhaenyra, an elder sister. The very notion of his spoiled little niece playing such a part seems unwittingly hilarious in this moment. She will not like being made to share her mama and papa—her uncle—with you.

Right now, that is irrelevant. His attention returns to the slope of your nose, the rosebud bloom of your lips, the blush of your rounded cheeks, tracking the near ethereal features of your face with a delicate fingertip. Newborns are dreadful looking things, usually, squished and red and misshapen. You look like a painting, or a doll made by the finest artisans, a sculpture rendered by magic rather than mortal hands. He wonders if it is love for you—and it is love, he has no doubt of that, for his love of family is perhaps the one true redeeming quality he possesses—that blinds him to any imperfection, or if you really are as lovely as you seem.

“What will you name her?” he asks, smoothing the cloths off your fragile little head to take the briefest peek at your scalp. Ah—there it is. Targaryen silver. With an Arryn for a mother, one could never be certain.

“Rhaenyra’s insisted on naming her sister Visenya.”

Daemon glances toward the foot of the bed. Viserys has returned, absent of his loyal hound, drawing near without his notice.

He snorts. “How very like her.” ‘Tis true; Rhaenyra has always been fixated on stories of the Conqueror and his wives, in particular forming a fascination for the elder of Aegon’s Queens. It is a powerful name. A warrior’s name. He frowns. “A fine name—but not for this little thing.”

Visenya is anger and retribution; violence and chaos; death and destruction. Daemon can find nothing of the sort in you. Every part of you—from the tips of your fuzzed palewhite hair to the petite softness of your wiggly little feet—seems fit for a destiny of another kind. One of peace, of calm, of joy and goodness.

Aemma hums an agreement, wholly preoccupied with gazing at her newest child. “If she were a son, her name would be Baelon.”

“Hm.” Viserys steps forward, palm brushing featherlight across your side as he passes to sit by his wife. “Baelon and Visenya. Those are the names we had prepared. But alas, Baelon was not to be. And Visenya is not… right.”

Daemon stands, bringing you a scant few steps toward the window. Dawn is approaching. The sky has relinquished the darkness of night, and there, on the horizon, the faintest of ambers illuminates the locus where the heavens and the earth meet, silhouetting the city below. As he watches the sun rise, he just barely hears the staff behind him make their final exits, awash in a rustle of equipment and a hush of words offered to their mistress and exultant ruler.

A tiny noise below draws his interest. Your eyelids have drooped, soft lashes framing lavender lids that sweep across the skin of your cheeks. When he dips his finger into the parting of your mouth, you begin to suckle at him, reflex rather than need.

“What would you call her?” Aemma asks after seconds, minutes, hours. He turns, brow arched in surprise. She seems genuinely curious, though she is admittedly not one for mean-spirited japes as it is. His cousin has always valued his opinion more than his brother ever had, even if was she who had forced his bitch of a wife upon him. “If you could,” she adds, “what name would you give her?”

He looks to Viserys, wordlessly asking for permission. A dip of the chin is his response. Letting loose a soft grunt, he peers down at his small charge.

Visenya is too fierce. Gael too glum. Too many fucking ‘Rhae’ names, so no Rhaenys. Daella too bland, Saera too provocative, Alysanne too common.

And then, he thinks upon it. The perfect name. Your name. When he says it aloud, he is met with a shine in Aemma’s eyes, a gleam in Viserys’s grin.

“That is it,” the King says, nodding decisively. “That is what we shall call her.” Rising, he comes forward to clap Daemon on the shoulder lightly, hand warm even through the layers of his shirt and coat. “Thank you, brother.”

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, tipping his head.

There is a tightening in his chest, the sort of feeling that threatens to stop his heart from the depth of his own enduring emotion. As Viserys makes his way to the door to deliver the announcement—to proclaim your birth, to order the ringing of the bells, to declare your name for the entire world to hear and know—Daemon gazes down at you.

“What do you think, sweetling?” He says your name again.

This time, he swears that you smile back at him.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48798151/chapters/123097897

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

663 notes · View notes

bhaalble · 6 months

Text

Indulgent as the concept of Gortash mourning Durge is I tend to resist it a little in my own canon. Largely on the back of "Orin told me how she humiliated you". Two things can be true at once: Gortash has a lot of history with and affection for Durge. And Gortash plans to WIN. His plans for the moment need the alliance of Bhaal's Chosen. For the time being: that Chosen is Orin. Its why he works with her without much complaint after Durge vanishes, why he has the line "we agreed not to meddle in each other's affairs" ready to go when Durge asks him why he never looked for them. This is also why I believe he makes beating her a requirement for properly reviving the old alliance (the vows are renewed, but you're not getting any active help from him until you work out succession issues with your sister). He would prefer it be Durge! But he can't afford to publicly move against Orin. In the event that Durge loses he'll be in breach of contract enough that she'll have the go ahead to kill him. He'll hedge his bets rather than risk backing the wrong horse, because he knows too well the consequences of getting on the bad side of Bhaal's champion.

What compels me, though, are the little potential moments of self-betrayal. The flickers of wounded ego when he sees them with their companions, and the smugness when he reveals who they are. Did they really think they knew a thing about you? The poor fools have been wandering around with a lion thinking its a house cat. They don't know what it really means to stick their hand in your jaws and emerge unscathed. No one but him ever truly has.

Nostalgia and some kind of unnnameable complexity when he hears from his sources that you've been busy in the hells. A reminder of where this all started....and his old host dead at your hands. Did you remember, he wonders, the little things he'd let slip about his time in the House of Hope? Was it on your mind when you did your bloody work on Raphael? He wonders what it would have been like to see it. If you would have let him come with if he had known to ask. Hardly your first journey to the hells.

Not his only parental figure you encounter. Its when he realizes you're at his parents (seen through the eyes of his Steel Watch, he can't resist checking in from time to time. He assures himself its to make sure the wheels are still in motion) he feels real dread. He never told you the Flymms were alive, much less tadpoled. But is the prickling he feels fear that you'll uncover something? A childish irritation that you might break his least favorite toys? Or shame that he's not there to soften this revelation for you, that his humiliating origin is known while he can't say a thing to paint over it as inconsequential?

The unexpected pride he feels when you return with Orin's blade. Even addled and physically deteriorated by everything that was done to you these last months, you triumphed. No more looking over his shoulder for Orin's blade.....and, he realizes privately. All those pretty words he's said about a future ruled by the two of you may suddenly not just be words anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, there is something like destiny at work here.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #dark urge #dark urge spoilers #durgetash #goretash

363 notes · View notes

korizzybee · 11 months

Text

Imagine: being Hobie Brown’s little sister who’s also a spider

Info: reader is a darkskin!black!fem, reader is age 12-13, Hobie is 17-18, SPIDERMAN ATSV SPOILERS‼️

For as long as you can remember it has just been you and Hobie against the world, I guess you had gotten your spider powers like a year after Hobie but you both joined the spider society at the same time

Hobie takes really good care of you seeing as how you’re his only family member left, he always makes sure you’re well fed and rested before taking care of himself

Since you’re still very young he lets you do a lot of the easy tasks when you’re doing your spider jobs like getting civilians to safety and stopping fallen debris from hitting people, of course you can help with villains but you just have to be on the sidelines so you don’t get hurt

You both def play hide n seek in the dark idc what anyone says YOU BOTH PLAY HIDE N SEEK IN THE DARK CUZ ITS SO FUN TO YOU TWO!!

I can not stress this enough when I say Hobie is always letting you be the first one to judge the song lyrics he writes

He’s the guitarist, Gwen’s the drummer, and you’re the singer

Your extra spider powers are sonic scream and x ray vision (Hobie thinks that’s hella cool)

He has a picture of you, him, Gwen at the park as his Lock Screen, for his Home Screen it’s a picture of Pavitr teaching you how to make tea

SPEAKING OF PAVITR!!!

OMG Pav loves you smmm you’re like his little sister figure

He loves giving you piggy back rides and he lets you do his hair in any style you want

Two definitely have a handshake

You take a lot after Hobie minus the way you dress, he says he’s not a role model but he’s def your role model

You and Hobie had separate canon events, the person who died for you was a cafe worker who would look after you when Hobie was busy with the band and he couldn’t take you

For weeks you wouldn’t talk to anyone even Hobie, but he still made sure you were taken care of

You and Hobie have your own playlist, it’s a mixture between rock, punk, heavy metal, pop, hiphop, RnB, and bedroom pop

Idc what anyone says, you n Hobie share a bunk bed (he said he gets top bunk bc he’s older smh 🤦🏾‍♀️) and y’all have a matching pajama set that y’all wear on movie nights

One time Pav came over and teased Hobie about having matching pjs with you (he never came over again /j)

No one knows this, not even you, but Hobie still wears the colorful bracelet you made for him when you were 6 (it’s under he sleeve though so you never see)

Definitely the type of brother to sleep in your bed with you or let you sleep in his bed with him if you have a nightmare

By civilians, you two are nicknamed the Spider Siblings (he hates it bc he hates labels and you don’t mind it sorta)

YOU BOTH ANNOY MIGUEL TOGETHER HE’S SO SICK OF YALL 😭😭‼️‼️

As you can see my requests are back open ESPECIALLY FOR SPIDERMAN ATSV so send those requests!!

#spiderpunk x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown x reader #atsv x reader #spider man across the spider verse #spider man across the spider verse x reader #x black reader #korizzybee’s work

922 notes · View notes

bonefall · 3 months

Note

(dif anon) So is Ashfur grooming Shadowsight a plotline you would keep/rework in BB? I'm not so keen on the way canon used it to retcon his epilepsy, but I do think a plotline examining how clerics can be vulnerable to abuse from StarClan spirits is kinda compelling

Shadowsight's epilepsy is staying in BB, the Erins can try and take it away again over my dead body

Yes, that's staying and BB!StarClan was reworked with unfairness in mind.

This time around, I'm considering the idea that Ashfur didn't work completely alone. After the events of Squirrelflight’s Horror, Silverpelt's divisons are starting to crackle the stars.

Skystar and the other more traditional spirits are losing patience with the peace that Fire Alone brings, and the ways that the code has been bent.

They feel that honor is being lost in their descendants.

Even angels disrespect the collective; see how Skypelt has its own heaven? With a demon in its midst? There is blasphemy even in the skies.

Firestar and the more modern pantheon are ferociously defensive of the choices of the living. StarClan exists for them; not the other way around.

Meanwhile, Mousefur has gone missing. Others start to blink out, too. This is causing panic... and Ashfur keeps it quiet that he's the only one who knows where they've gone.

The angels that plan action probably were a small group to begin with, radical spirits. Skystar and Ashfur are two of them, and Ash is the "youngest." So when he comes down to the mortal plane and betrays them, very few other angels knew what had happened.

(I might even have a few angels be doing the various supernatural things in that first book, but slowly, Ashfur is wittling down their numbers until it's just him.)

I'm still working out specifics, but the other angels that Ashfur has consumed are giving him a massive power boost. He can use this to jump between planes freely, and he's able to do some whacky things like weave dreams and pull nightmares out of the Dark Forest.

The most important unique power he has, which he can do ALL on his own once he's absorbed enough starpower, is blast Shadowpaw with a bolt of lightning. The electric current runs through Shadowpaw's brand new scar, giving him a connection to StarClan like he's a little radio tower.

Thing is... when StarClan is blocked off, the only signal he receives is Ashfur's.

So, Shadowpaw.

From the time he was very young, Shadowkit has had an unhealthy relationship to life and death

He watched a lot of cats die before he was old enough to really understand it, and the only one who came back was Heartstar.

His epilepsy was so severe it would have been terminal. He was prepared to die as a kit.

Tawnypelt took him to the Tribe to learn more about treatments, bringing back a method of refining chamomile to manage the convulsions.

When people come back from death, it was to serve "a purpose."

He feels like he needs to be special, like he needs to find the great meaning in his life. The reason why he's still here.

In BB, there can be guardian angels. Cats you knew in life who decide to watch out for you in the afterlife. Moleflight is Jayfeather's, Shrewface is Squirrelflight’s. Ashfur poses as Shadowpaw's.

THAT is how I plan to address my criticism. Ashfur DOES build a very personal, trusting relationship with Shadowpaw, pretending to be the one who's here to give him the destiny he craves. Pretending like he's someone looking out for him.

I actually LIKE how desperate the situation was in-canon and I want to stress how none of this was Shadow's fault, so I also plan to keep that they had very little choice. Shadowpaw trusts his angel completely, and Ashfur coaches him on saying all the right things.

The older Clerics are suspicious, but... what else can they do?

Also, instead of framing this all as something Shadowpaw needs to "atone" for, I'm going to make certain cats unfairly scapegoat him for bringing the Impostor into the forest. Shadowpaw himself agrees with them, blaming himself, but he has to learn it wasn't his fault.

He DIDN'T let anyone down by failing to live up to great expectations, and there's no way he could have known that Ashfur was using him. This never happened before, he always made the choice he thought was right and tried to make up for harm done, and he's not responsible for what his abuser made him do.

I actually want to have him figure out some of this by talking to DF demons, towards the end. Cats faaaar more responsible for what they did in life than him.

Ravenwing in particular, who was also mislead by a rogue StarClan spirit, but... ultimately decided that if StarClan was right in their judgement.

He was told (by Birchface, but he still doesn't know who it was in particular) to make three kittens unsafe by revealing their parentage. His choice killed three innocent children, and lead to the Queen’s Rights.

And StarClan was furious that he'd ever believe they'd want something so CRUEL.

And even if they DID want something so cruel... "Then they wouldn't have been ancestors worth following. And that's why I believe it's right that I'm here."

As a Cleric, he had authority on their behalf. And if they would misuse it through him, he wishes he could have just given it right back.

And Shadowsight's lightbulb goes Ding!

The very last thing Ashfur does in TBC, when the jig is up and he's about to be killed by the Lights in the Mist and a bunch of Demons who have come to defend their home, is swallow a Founder-- Skystar.

He takes the level of a true god, and reaches a nearly undefeatable level of power. Instead of black water, he's so large, malicious, and has a gravitational pull so massive it starts destroying the afterlife. It shatters the purgatory (Meadow of Young Stars) into floating cosmic fragments, and Heaven and Hell are set to collide.

Shadowsight confronts Ashfur, politely explaining that he's, well... done a lot of thinking, and, he doesn't really want what he gave him. "You can, uh, have this back!"

And blasts the lightning from his scar right back at him, like a chain, holding the screeching eldrich horror in place. Every ally he's made, here in the DF, come down from StarClan, and as Lights in the Mist, jump to his side. They can't hold down Ashfur, but they can hold SHADOWSIGHT

While they're all supporting him, Bristlefrost sees the one chance to get rid of him, once and for all. A clear shot. She bolts, pounces, and SHOOTS right into Ashfur like a falling star, knocking them both off the edge of the heaven he destroyed, burning up in orbit with a monster a hundred times her size.

And after that, Shadowsight has to go home and live with this.

He gave up the very connection that made him so special, and now he has to go back to being a Cleric without StarClan.

but the other Clerics accept this. They have to. They were all complicit in the choices that allowed the Impostor to rise.

What Shadowsight learns is... everyone was part of this. From those who made the follies with him, to the supporters and rebels against the impostor, to those who helped him realize his worth, to Bristlefrost who ultimately killed Ashfur.

He is valuable because living is valuable.

Everyone, and everything, matters. All cats have a role to play, and he was never alone.

I want to close him out in BB!TBC on a tea scene that parallels the various points in his life. Others used to prepare his chamomile treatments FOR him, in careful doses, because it is a very serious medicine. Now, at the end, he's the one brewing it.

A fully fledged Cleric, who realizes he's never been alone. Cats who love him were around him the whole time, making his medicine, and they'll love him even after he's given up his powerful gift. So now he's at the stage in his life where HE can make that medicine, share his wisdom with others, and find fulfillment in the skills he's acquired over a hard life brightening.

#Ashfur was a scary and terrifying villain worthy of the WC hall of fame #I will make him WORSE #I should change one of the titles to the later books to The Black Hole as a reference to BB!Ashfur swallowing other stars #Maybe the last one since that's where his bossfight happens lmao #I love the vibe of all the morally gray and post-redemption cats of BB seeing Shadow like #''Youve done nothing wrong. Youre literally just baby.''#Lmao Breeze like 'oh honey nooooo'#Lineup of guys like What Are You In For?#'Tyranny of an ancient civilization'#'Political assassination'#'Attempted murder of a child'#'Did what a bad person told me :('#And they all drop their shit to be like 'its ok youre ok youve done nothing wrong'#I kinda want to give him an honor title that means 'Whole Shadow'#In reference to the way that when you stand with a dozen people behind you #You only cast a single shadow #better bones au #BB!TBC #BB!Shadowsight

165 notes · View notes

hydrobarb · 1 year

Text

☆ genshin men pp head canons but i slowly get more unhinged

first post lmfaoo, i’m not the best at writing, keep that in mind

—

gn-ish reader, they have a hole and it is used.

warnings: shower/bath sex, rut (gorou, tighnari, zhongli), face sitting, size kink..? some r inexperienced, cockwarming, sir kink, slight voyeurism? roleplay, knifeplay n blood (childe), shibari, praise, degrading, temperature play?blowjobs, some r also touched starved, some sensitive. spelling & grammatical errors

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

includes: kaveh, itto, thoma, gorou, aether, baizhu, alhaitham, ayato, tartaglia, cyno, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, scaramouche/wanderer, heizou, tighnari, xiao, zhongli, dottore, pantalone, capitano, dainsleif

kaveh

not too large, not too small (14.99 cm/5.9 in) nothing will convince me that he’s not submissive. his tip is probably a pretty brownish pink (#c27c89) pretty sensitive as well, could cum (#faf8ed) from just the slightest touch of your fingers. luvs being overstimmed, sometimes he has you over just to spite al haitham.. he knows al haitham can hear him, so.. let’s consider this revenge.

itto

mans huge. 20 cm (7.8 in) AT LEAST. i mean he’s a fucking oni.. tip is like a beige-pink type color (#ffa899) uhhh he probably has a prety vein going up the side of his cock (#c1b2eb) he also probably has a fucking prince albert piercing, one that vibrates maybe.. def has a size kink, he just loves seeing ur face twinge in pain when he thrusts into you, by the time he’s spilling his cum into you you’re in tears, head thrown back and scratching his back in pain.

idk abt him tho

thoma

either a soft dom or plain submissive, loves pleasing you but also loves being spoiled if he had a long day,,, idk maybe a switch tbh… around 6.8 inches, pink!! he’s pink i love pink and i love him #ff87a1 probably,,, well trimmed, i mean i can see him having an entire skincare routine, my little princess frrrr….. sensitive nipples, probably just touch starved in general. secretly likes being degraded

gorou

bark bark. 14 cm (5.5inches) he def whimpers. i want to say its pink but it’s probably more on the beige side (#e6aea3) i dont rlly have much to say abt him, he likes biting……. begs, whines and more whimpers when he’s ina rut, a cutie indeed

aether

pent up 100%, been in teyvat for god knows how many years and bro has not felt the touch of a woman since beidou’s hangout event. 7 inches exactly, pretty pink #f5a9a9, he probably whines and groans cause he’s a cutie patootie probably likes being praised

baizhu

physically cannot be rough with you he will most likely collapse. likes being beneath you, can sub but prefers being dominant (he’s the doctor, he should be caring for you.) he’s a nice size, 7.2 inches. probably has messy handwriting bc he’s lettin u suck him off under his desk/j.. anyways he’s like a pink but like?? idk #b57f83. slutty moans, he’s super loud i bet. when he’s subbing he loves geting his hair pulled

ALHAITHAMMMMMM

my man fr. i love the idea of him being submissive but i’d heavily doubt he would ever sub… anyway he’s probably into being called sir. trims when he feels like it. i want to say he’s a virgin so badly. 7.4 inches at most, i hc him as more tan than he actually is but anyways tip is brown#947e76 pretty brown tho (brown is one of my fave colors) can be rlly rough or rlly gentle, it depends. would be opposed to the idea of letting u suck him off while he’s reading but eventually lets you (he had to bookmark where he began reading so he could reread it, he was too distracted) IF HE DID SUB HE WOULD WHIE,PR AND DEFINTIELY BE LOUD ENOUGH TO BE HEARD EVEN IF YOU WORE HIS HEADPHONES (poor kaveh) sensitive nipples, whines and furrows his eyebrows when you lick them.

ayato

tease. 17.9 cm (7inches exact) now he’s definitely pink and nothing can convince me otherwise, probably a light pink too like #947e76,, like alhaitham,he can be rlly rough or rlly gentle. he breathes heavily and groans, probably into shibari and degrading…. quickies in his office, maybe cockwarming if he feels up to it

ajax

……. he’s probably into some werid shit (no offense) like knifeplay n blood,, i mean he loves sparring so much, so why not incorporate it into sexy time in some way? yk his skill? yea he holds that thing up to ur throat when hes fuckin u (if ur not into that he wont do it ofc bc he actually cares abt u) rough if he had a long day n is super impatient, but slow if he just wants to break you. he loves blowjobs most of the time he’s near fully clothed and yourcompletely naked but if u beg him enough he’ll undres,, he has scars on his chest, and freckles bc cutie… i forgot to put this but he’s probably 7-7.2 inches, #de97a7.

cyno

he’s pretty. probably into roleplay (predator/prey type thing.. personally i’m not but i feel like he is) he’s a nice size.. (6.9 inches) (funny number on purpose.) browm tip #9c7868, really pretty when he fucks u, eyebrows furrowed n biting his lip hard enough he might draw blood. also loves teasing you when he gets the chance, loves hearing you beg, you’re adorable to him.

diluc

human heater!!! hngh i need him. HE loves being called sir…. won’t admit it. he’s big but doesn’t know, bet he’s inexperienced. his tip is literally almost red, #9c7868. either a rough dom, gentle dom, or whiney sub. if u do top him, tease him whenever you get the chance and he’ll go almost as red as his hair n deny everything despite it being true. adelinde always gets a lil suspicious when u come over… but off the topic of that, he rlly enjoys doing it in the shower/bath. it’s warm (orcold), it’s wet, and he’s with you. what more could he want? you have fucked in the tavern after it closed, and you probably will not do it again. (you got a few splinters.)

kaaaaeeeya!!!

he’s like,, really cold. it’s surprising. feels good tho, for the both of you. he’s really loud as well, and despite him being louder than you he shoves his fingers in your mouth to shut you up,, maybe you’ll have to give him something to gag on. anyways he’s like around 7.1 inches, tip is a nice deep pink #ad6d78. looooves cockwarming, like literally you’re warming hiim up because his body temperature is…… quite freezy! tease, praise, degrading, all of it. dom but will sub if you edge him enough (grinding on his thigh, palming him, or just denying him of his orgasm plenty)

kazuha

he’s gentle, look me in the eyes and tell me this man could be rough with you. 5.9 inches, always making sure you’re okay before continuing. he loves hearing you moan his name, he manages to say yours as well between whimpers. you rarely have anywhere to do it other than the storage room in the crux, so sometimes you just gotta stay at the wangshu inn and pray nobody heard. no edging because he’s not mean but he does prepare you good, overstims you with permission. loves when you praise him, and he knows you love it when he praises you.

ok. scaramouche.

he is definitely a bratty sub. no words you speak can change my mind, he’s a slut. he’s so bratty until he’s in your mouth, whining, whimpering, gripping the sheets and tears forming in the corner of his eyes. he’s crying at how good it feels, how he wants to feel more of you, he’s barely able to form proper sentences after you just sucking him off, so now you wonder what he’d be like with him being deep inside you. he’s 7 inches, prety pink-beige tip as well (#f0b2a3). hairpulling is a yes. he just loves you so much, play with him some more and he bets his little puppet brain will turn into mush.

heizou!

pretty! i love the moles under his eyes aaaa…. he’s a nice size like kazuha, just a tad bit bigger (6.8), deeper pink, #d9626f. he loves teasing you so much, but he also loves being teased by you. when he’s not the dominant one he breathes heavily, some soft moans escape him. but when he is the dominant one, he’ll ensure he’s fucking you good. he’ll ask ‘does this feel nice?’ knowing it does by the way you’re almost crying on him.

tighnari!

submissive. 5.8 inches will probably bite his lip in attempt to shut himself up, but to no avail. loves when you bite his ears, they will twitch and it’s adorable. he’s just so cute. when he’s in a rut he’s so much louder. more whimpering and more of not knowing where the hell to put his hands. on your hips? your chest? your ass? fuck, he’s confused but he wants more, he wants to feel more of you. pretty light pink! #ff919e!

xiaoo

he’s inexperienced but he tries his best to be the dominant one, shaky breaths and moans escape his mouth. he tries to be gentle with you because, well, you’re a mortal and he’s an adeptus, you would be surprised how rough he can get. will make out with you while fucking you, and will happily let you sit on his face. he’s 7 inches, #e09e96. he cums super quick, 100% making sure to pull out (unless instructed to do otherwise)

ZHONGLI.

okay. he’s big. he’s a fucking archon, he’s 8 inches at LEASTT. yknow that pattern on his arm? yeah i like to think that’s on his dick too. tip is #d9b750, cause yk his arms.. he loves you, he wouldn’t want to hurt you but when you’re just begging him to be rough with you, to do whatever the hell he wants to you.. how could he resist? you’re the one asking him.. so.. he’ll let it slip this once. you don’t regret your words when the lower half of your body is hanging off of the bed, him manhandling you while the only thing you can do is bury your head into that pillow and let those pretty tears escape your eyes. he lets out literal feral moans and grunts, you think this is what he’s like when he goes into a rut, but.. ppfft, you underestimate him.

dottore my bbg

he’s probably like,, 7.4 inches? idk he looks big and i want him in me. doesn’t care for trimming himself, but does it anyway. the mask stays on. it only stays on because he doesn’t want you to see that blush on his face, he looks so vulnerable.. has you bent over on his desk to make sure you don’t see him bite his lip, he wants to be so much more vocal with you.. but he’d rather spare himself the embarrassment of letting you see that side of him. he doesn’t wanna give you something to tease him for; he’d rather be the one degrading and teasing you. oh, but trust me, when he’s submissive he can’t do shit. he tries to degrade you but that only leads to you slowing your hand down, moving your face away from his neck to stop kissing him. he chants the words ‘i’m sorry’ like a madman, so you decide to be nice and go a little faster, giving him a quick peck on the lips before he makes a mess of your hand.

pantalone

he’s pretty big as well, and he spoils you. buys you expensive toys just to make you cry. if you help him out in some way, he’ll be sure to reward you. lets you ride him, prefers you be in control. but once you’ve done it enough and he knows what you like, he’ll help you out. who would he be to deny? some sort of monster, that’s for sure. you’re perfect to him, following him around because you don’t know where you’re going. maybe if you tease him a little during a meeting with the other harbingers he’ll get rough with you afterward. that normal smile replaced by a smug look at how easily he can put you in your place.. he’ll never get enough of you.

capitano

he’s giant. like, in height and his cock. you were intimidated the first time you fucked, but with enough lube it ended up working out and you did not regret it. he was rough, your brain was dumbed down to putty, and the only thing running through it was just capitano.. the mask did stay on, yes.. but, he was still hot. maybe the next time you’d make him take it off. and you did. you saw his pretty eyes, his soft looking lips and the whole of his straight, black hair. he was a pretty guy.. he and you were both louder because you could actually see each other. (he could see you but not all that well.)

dainsleif

he’s always so unsure, tense, nervous, stuttering and just hot (temperature wise.) oh, but once you grind against him he immediately cums. he was embarrassed at how he just came in his pants because of you. he tries hiding his face but that didn’t work, you just grabbed his chin and looked him in the eye. his face was red.. he’s just too cute! all flustered, all messy and embarrassed.. all because of you. 6.8 inches, it’s def pink and i give up on hex codes.

412 notes · View notes

ineylesian · 8 months

Note

hey!!!

I was wondering, how would Ghost react to the reader scolding him?? like, something happens that disrupts the mission and it's his fault and the reader scolds him, not aggressively, but still I would like to know Ghost's reaction

Also, the idea that he and the reader have a romantic relationship but he's still a bit strict :)

(I used the translator to write all this!! sorry if there are any translation errors, English is not my native language :D)

WALK AWAY FROM THE SUN

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 3k

— WARNINGS | canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of weapons, arguments, mentions of trauma.

— SUMMARY | you often meet ghost at his shortcomings, but nothing serious as this has yet to happen.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | tysm for the request 🫶🫶 i wanted to expand on this just a lil but made sure to keep the original prompt, i hope you enjoy!! hope the scolding isn’t too strict :)

Ghost thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the worry sanctioning in his chest, or the bullet lodged in his ribs. It takes a few seconds, he breathes, and a slightly ragged puff of air crawls its way back up his esophagus. Shallow wounds never hurt him, but ones that fester in the mind nearly paint his vision black.

It was a bad mission, destined to go wrong the moment Price laid out the plan. Too many HVTs to secure in such a dangerous zone, touched down in a land similar to post scorched earth. Calls of concern were dismissed by Shepherd, this mission was too important to let go, and they were to complete it, no matter the cost.

Nevertheless, things went south, fast. Nearly an entire squad of foot soldiers dead in under one hour, and only 2 out of 4 targets eliminated. It wasn’t long before Price called in evac, the mission’s end along with it. There was always time again to try again. Until the screaming started, and Ghost was nowhere to be found.

It was capture or kill, and it was certain no one was getting captured at this rate. You’d seen it all, the look he gave Price as he was getting into contact with Shepherd, and the miniscule shake of his head as he tightened his gear. The screams were yours, are you out of your fucking mind?-- hair whipping against the wind as you watched him disappear into the flames, yelling for the pilot to touch down.

Any sane soldier would have shaken their head and waved to confirm exfil, but this was nothing near normal. The 141’s purpose isn’t sanity, it’s loyalty. Price wasn’t going to allow himself to lose more than one soldier, and it was apparent that you were leaving with or without his permission. He strapped a tracker to your vest before you jumped.

Ghost wasn’t expecting to get shot. Maybe the adrenaline kicked in too early, or maybe the opportunity was just too good. The last two HVTs right in his line of sight, running through the open, unarmed.

Or so he thought.

He sits slouched against a wall, the hand clamped over the bullet’s entryway growing progressively more damp as the minutes pass. He should’ve expected someone with a target on their back to run around with a gun, anything lethal, even, especially after watching his friend’s jugular fly from his neck. Pointed a gun and blindly shot. A rookie mistake that put him and his whole squad at risk because of some halfhearted words Shepherd hammered into his head.

He believes in no matter completely. Maybe that’s where he comes short.

Frankly, Ghost isn’t even worried about the lingering pain in his abdomen, or the fact that the last target escaped. He’s worried about the person coming to find him. Something in the back of his head grows into a throbbing pain in the frontal lobe and he closes his eyes, hoping it’s not you that’s coming.

Who could he be kidding? Of course you were going to come for him. You always did, and always will. It’s a danger that follows when you happen to love someone you run into the frontlines with. Something that was going to get one of you killed one day, purely because he knows he’d do the exact same thing.

Ghost curses under his breath. You’re just like him sometimes, blindsided and hard headed as they come.

Falling debris and the thud of boots join the rasp that serves as his breathing. You’re here, and it looks bad, worse than he expected. Your eyebrows are knit tightly together, and he can see the dribble of blood that rolls down your chin due to how hard you bite your gums. Your skin is laced with sweat, and you’re panting, hard.

He’s only been bleeding out for three minutes. With you here, it feels like an eternity, and the grasps of something much worse than death are holding time still. When he finally shifts his lips to speak, you shove a cloth against his ribcage, hard. All that comes out is a strangled grunt, and he falls silent. No one renders him as speechless as you do.

He hasn’t felt so small since his father. It’s deserving, every last bit of it. He let go of himself and you still came to save him. He should be feeling nothing short of gratitude, yet he only feels as though someone dragged him into the undertow and left him to drown there. The way you refuse to meet his eyes strikes harder than any other bullet, and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do.

All he can feel is the fear that you have instilled in him, and his consciousness slips before he can think of anything else.

—

Forgiveness is a hard thing to earn. In the 141, it seems more rational to die than seek it.

Ghost doesn’t consider death. He’s considered nothing, not since a bullet put him into a coma for a week. In that time, he dreamt of choppy waters and black riptides. The slosh of imaginary waves greeted him more times than your voice did.

He only remembers it once. You asked one of the nurses how he was doing. When she said he’d wake up, you left.

You don’t wait up on people, Ghost knows that. No part of him holds the expectation that you would’ve cared just a little more and stuck around. You knew he’d live, and that was the end of it. You walk away from the sun when it burns you.

When it comes to the battlefield, you’re cold as ice and follow rational orders to a tee. You keep your head on straight until you don’t, because taking care of others feels better than sprinkling soil over an empty grave. The way you think is profound yet humanity never fails to escape you, it’s what dragged you to him, stone-eyed and indifferent on the surface.

People around him always say it’s impossible to get attached in the military. He almost believes them, but he thinks of you and all else fades. Like a moth to a flame, he knows you’d follow his trail into hysteria. He knows it frustrates you, habits such as those are hard to shake. You’ve spent too much time by his side to quit. Couldn’t shake you even if he wanted to.

It reminds him of three years ago, with you curled up beside him in the depths of Syrian mountains. You’d offered him some bourbon for the pain– he’d been stabbed in the leg, covering up with the excuse that it’d help with the cold. You knew how to tempt him, just one drink turning into the whole bottle empty at your feet. Only you could make him succumb to something like that, listening to you ramble on about how careless he was to get stabbed, hours of it, the coziness of you and the blankets drilling static into his head.

Ghost could hold his alcohol better than you. Barely felt a buzz from the drinks in his system. But this.. your head lightly bobbing against his shoulder, haphazardly checking on his bandage before kissing the exposed skin beside it. You were right, his whole body was on fire, so enamored with you, the feeling of home creeping along his skin in short, fatigued breaths.

He vaguely remembers when you turned to your side, hands hot on his pulse and sinking underneath. Everywhere, you were everywhere. You had taken him by storm and the buzz of the bourbon heightened his senses to a point where it was nearly unbearable. It took every fiber of his willpower to listen, straining against the irrevocable hold you had placed on him, fighting to restrain himself.

Amidst the haze, you asked him if he would do something for you. In that state, Ghost thinks he would’ve tried to overthrow the entire planet if you wanted him to. Instead, you uttered something short of ten words, and he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life when he answered.

“Promise me you’ll look out for yourself, Simon.”

Your inquiry seemed small, fragile, and simple to be compliant with in the moment. He shuns himself for failing to remind you of who you were, what you were fighting for, and that looking out for yourself is a restraint only some can hope to afford. It’s a luxury that separates people who want to save the world from those who do.

“Alright, then.”

Drunk or not, he made a promise. Broke it just as easily. He resists the urge to bash his head against the wall as consciousness returns to him, opting to thank the nurse with a few words scribbled on a napkin before disappearing.

As much as he wants to scrub the sickening scent of antiseptic and illness from his skin, Ghost can’t bring himself to visit your room right now. He knows you’ll check the infirmary soon– despite what you say he knows you stop by, even if it’s for a second, yet he opts to leave base regardless if you come to find him or not. He’d rather speak to you when you’re on those terms. Guessing by the freshly washed sweatshirt that sits zipped up to his neck, you probably don’t want him dead.

He’ll cut his losses there.

—

The early hours of the morning creep along the skyline, spilling over the roads below. You walk, dismissing the dull ache in your feet from miles of dug up sidewalk and the scorching ground you had run across some days ago. It’s not long before the breeze picks up the scent of saltwater, light ripples rock calmly against marsh and you sigh.

You knew he’d be here. Always came when tragedy struck and life wasn’t fair. It reminds you of a homage after nights of terror in Urzikstan, peaceful, and nothing else. Somewhere you go when you can’t quite reach the ocean.

Ghost sits with his back to the sun, perched against a dock overlooking the water. Your legs come to a stop, and you stand still, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you should just turn around while you can, run to the safety of a home that only carries a lingering scent of him. Here, the breeze makes you nauseous.

Everything here is riddled with sorrow and buried in tears. The cycle repeats, you think you deserve to cry.

You take a look to the sky and the clouds point you offshore. Saline winds pull you farther and it’s too late to reconsider leaving when your foot creaks against the dock. Ghost catches you in his peripheral, approaching slowly, the distance polarizing. It feels like glass is lodged in your feet. The gap waged feels something like No Man’s Land.

Ghost sits on the edge, one leg hanging over the water while the other sits folded at the knee. You lean against a support beam across from him, one glance and you think you might choke. Flashing rays dawn over the baclava settled over his face, drawing light to the skin bridged above his nose. Eyebags crawl and tear at paint ridden skin, blond eyelashes fluttering against smudged black, over the one part of him that feels normal. Nothing else does.

He stares ahead, umber hues washing over ripples cast by fish in waiting. You feel like you do everytime you come here, except sadness is held back by frustration, boiling underneath your skin and rising to the surface. Moments pass, the breeze dies down and beckons for you to speak.

“You broke your promise.” Pressure settles within your chest. Hurt floods the atmosphere and Ghost’s eyes leave the water. He thinks, you lie in wait, arms crossed defensively over your chest.

“You can’t rely on intoxicated words.”

It’s fair, yet completely unfair at the same time. You know it was an unreasonable thing to ask, came straight from the alcoholic worry that seethed in your mind. Normal people don’t make promises they know they won’t be able to keep. People that care too much ask of them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

Ghost says nothing. You know he wanted to keep that promise. Held it over his heart for three years, let it slip under his sleeve as all other things do. Something that happens when war is all you know. He knew you, too, but warfare is different from anything else. You understand that.

The smell of antiseptic reeks off of him, the sun licks at black paint and chips crumble. He’s nonchalant on the surface like always, but you know him. Underneath blood stains the hole in his abdomen that put him here. He leans toward it as if pain has become him.

He’s always been like this, body hungry for violence, mind begging for reconciliation. It’s how his mind is wired, shutting doors on people makes them want to close it in another’s face. You learned to coincide with it, but there’s still a line. The fact he crossed it so easily sparks the worry within and you fight the tears that push against your sockets.

Anger resides and reels back in, lapping at the shore and bringing you to your knees. You fear you’ll lose him that way.

It’s all you think about.

“What made you think that was a good idea?” You bark, grasping his chin to face you head on. “You think putting yourself in danger is no big deal, don’t you? Worried everyone sick because of a stupid HVT.”

He sees right through you. Worried me sick, he hears it as he would an echo. It’s a profession of worry, he knows you worry because you love him.

“We all have to make sacrifices.” His response is a dull front, you hear the guilt laced within. “You know that.”

You do. Things stay strict on the battlefield and remain that way. Until it’s him. When there’s Ghost, there’s always Simon. You learned to make that exception because you understood that. Ghost is not afraid to die. Simon is.

“What good are you to anyone if you throw yourself in the line of fire?” You spit, pointer finger snapping to hover above his wound.. “There’s no guarantee that someone will always be able to save you when things go wrong. You know that.”

He knows that, and he knows you.

You know there’s a darkness that lingers within him. It’s inevitable. Something that festers, building up until it’s strong enough to lash out. It’s selfish, cares and waits for no one. A walking death sentence that hangs over his head no matter the value he places in his life. It chases him in his dreams, trails a dark shadow over his head that turns him into the person he fears he’d become. Adapted him so the only thing he feels when he pulls the trigger is recoil.

“We win together, and we fail together, Simon. It’s not your responsibility to change that.”

He hates that side of his head that made him think otherwise. Hates himself more when he makes you worry.

Old habits die hard. It’s not easy to take, the way he knows those parts of him linger. You know when it comes, the front he manages with surgical precision shatters and he breaks down into hysteria because it’s too much for one person to handle.

Regardless, he tries. You love him for that. He loves you because you walked into his life and it gained purpose.

All that’s good in his life comes from you. The first nights in his life he felt welcomed to sleep because you were in bed beside him. Days fly by and he changes. You change with him. The small room he occupies at base doesn’t seem so lifeless anymore because you’re always in it.

He damns the way you smile at him, infectious, a snapshot memory he keeps in his thoughts. Thoughts that draw a compass in his mind that routes home to you.

Every part of him feels selfish for making you feel this way. It tears through him as a knife does and his nerves flay from the heat.

“I’m sorry, lovie.” It feels like he’s suffocating, drawing on the tears that slide down your face and drip onto your hands. He takes dampened skin and holds onto it as if he’ll lose you forever if he lets go. “‘M so sorry that I made you worry. Bastardish thing to do.”

His accent is heavy, dripping with resent and pleading for composure. It’s everything and nothing all at once. Your tears stain his hands and he feels like he always does when things go wrong. Except, it’s always you who quells him in the midst of nightmares. His mind races at the stutter of your breath, hands fumbling to push stray hairs out of your eyes.

“I love you, so much. Wouldn’t ever wanna make you worry, yeah?”

Silence passes for a minute. Seagulls chirp and water sloshes against eroded rocks.

Your eyes peek out from his hands, slotting your arm between his, reaching up. You tug and his mask bunches up at the nose, fingers smoothing over the surface of his skin, warm, grasping for affection. You yearn for his touch and he gives it to you without question.

Ghost tastes of gunpowder and the bask of the sun. It reminds you of home, slightly chapped, never wanting more than what he can give. He’s gentle, canines gently poking against your lips, perfectly still. You sigh inwardly at the feeling, reveling in all that he is until you can breathe no longer.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Your chest heaves, breath leveling with a rough scoff. His eyes crinkle like they do when he notices you packed extra eye black for him. Mouth parted, a ghost of a smile curving at his lips.

“I know, can’t seem to get myself sorted.”

There’s an underlying meaning to it. Passes through like the wind that cards through your hair. Guilt rides the waves, but you don’t want to cry anymore.

You just want to heal. Ghost understands that more than anyone else.

#arqhms #🐚 arqhmssummer23 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader

306 notes · View notes

moralesmilesanhour · 9 months

Text

Every time i think about atsv and its themes, my mind keeps going back to the scene with Miles and his parents in that college counselor’s office, and what its purpose is.

It establishes the strain that being Spider-Man has put on their relationship, yes - it also establishes that Miles feels trapped and limited, yes - but a lot of fandom discussion overlooks the important parallel that that scene sets in motion between racism in academia and Miles' rejection from Spider Society.

By now, everyone has already figured out that the issue with the 'Canon Event' theory is that it assumes that trauma - specifically experiencing the "right" traumatic events - is what makes a Spider-Man, and it is wrong for Miles to be required to accept this. It isn't enough that he had his uncle die, his father must die also because then he will have sacrificed "enough" to keep the canon intact. No one questions why arbitrary sacrifice is required at all.

The concept of the personal statement being required for college applications, I would like to argue, has the exact same issue.

Miles even says so in the beginning of the movie: "Having 'a story' in the first place sounds gross" (notice how Miles vocally critiques elite academia contantly and has been from the get-go. He is not an apolitical character like some might portray him to be).

It is not enough that Miles is an exceptional student with a variety of interests (art and science), he must have the appropriate traumatic "story" for white academic institutions to find him interesting enough as an applicant, even if the story they want him to tell is not actually his story (no, he is not from a "struggling immigrant family". They own an apartment floor and PR is in the United States). Just like the "Canon events" that Miguel describes are not Miles' story, and Miles does not want them to be because it requires the preventable deaths of innocent people.

In a similar way that has been touched upon more in wider fandom, Rio gives Miles a speech telling him not to let the people in these overwhelmingly-white spaces that he will be entering tell him that he doesn't belong. That speech, as we all know, ends up being a direct parallel to the way Spider Society treats him: he is simultaneously a charity case and a threat just by his mere presence. His very existence is disruptive to the canon: The spider wasn't "supposed" to bite him, he just got lucky. There is a reason why the visual of the ball with Miles' lottery number is constantly paired with the number on the spider that bit him; they are one and the same.

(Side note: this is also what makes Hobie's function as a character so interesting - The idea that you can just simply quit. You do not HAVE to be in these privileged spaces if they don't have your best interests in mind. You don't have to prove yourself to these people to be who you are. But that's a post for another day)

The reason I've been thinking about all this is because I feel like no one really touches upon why Miles' character exists. Like, on a thematic level. Yes, he's there to show that "anyone can wear the mask", but there's a lack of specificity in that statement that I wanted to address with this post.

Miles is a love letter to every black kid that's been told that they're only in the spaces they're in because they "got lucky". He's for every black kid that's ever looked at a college app and been told that they have to take their trauma and put it on display for some white admissions officer to shed a tear over. He's there to argue that you don't have to bend towards any of society's attempts to make a spectacle or a serviceable machine out of you, and that you can just be.

TL;DR: it was never just about the mask MWAH 🫶🏾

#miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales #spiderman atsv #blabbering #every week i must be mentally ill about this movie because of the Themes and Narratives

224 notes · View notes

99-kroi · 1 year

Photo

sharing this little thing I did for my oc x canon ship 👀 This is Khro’a Tsrafmi, my oc, and recom Mansk from the movie Avatar The Way Of Water! more info will be posted about them soon maybe idk hehe quick summary of their story so far tho: Mansk survives the events of Avatar 2 and is found and imprisoned by Khro’a and the others. Khro’a and Mansk get closer etc. neytiri jake moment buT mansk still betrays khro’a in the end and gets rescued by the rda cause angst is yummy LMAOO 🤪 🤪 🤪 ❤️ ❤️they also obv like each other but wont admit it ha h a ANYWAY I also wrote a thingy for this illust too 🤪 ❤️ ❤️ ‎ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ ‎

BETRAYAL

Khro’a had expected this. He had told himself that he would prepare for the worst case scenario. Yet when the worst had arrived, he was full of uncontrollable anger and also…something else he dared not to admit- He was heartbroken. As ridiculous as it sounds, he has become fond of the mysterious and silent man. Khro'a thought he saw more in him than simply another dangerous recom warrior but I guess he thought wrong.

Memories of them getting closer and even almost knowing each other to a really personal level, flashed through his mind as he stood there in the middle of the burning forest as everyone’s frantically trying to escape the sky people’s attacks.

Mansk stands next to Lyle Wainfleet across the chaos from where Khro’a is at. They were far from each other but not far enough to see where both of them were standing. “Good work, Mansk!” Lyle shouts, patting Mansk on the shoulder to make sure he heard him over all the loud noises of gunshots firing and crackling wood in the fire. “Lets get you the fuck out of here.”

Before they leave, Mansk and Khro’a make eye contact. Khro’a, doing his best not to get swayed by his emotions, stops himself from running headfirst towards the man to finish him in one go with his blades. All he could do was hiss back angrily at their direction as hot tears streamed down his face. If only he had been carrying his gun, he would have already shot Mansk by this point. You could only see a mixture of disappointment, rage, and despair on Khro'a's face at that moment.

Mansk witnessed everything. But he held a blank expression. At least that's what Khro'a, whose vision was already a little fuzzy, could see. Even though a lot of things happened so quickly, everything still seemed to move slowly.

Mansk still looking at Khro’a’s expressions and taking it all in, Its clear to see that he had completely broken his “friend’s” trust. Khro'a claims he never trusted Mansk, but Mansk didn't buy it because he could generally read Khro'a right away. Mansk was aware that Khro'a had some faith in him and hoped, deep down in his mind and heart, that this wouldn't happen.

The two took a second after khro’a looks away and immediately helps out other na’vis escape as they run deep into the woods, away from the sky people. Mansk turns his back from the forest and finally follows Lyle, who was standing by one of the RDA's gunships for him. “Everything is a part of the mission. It's what I have to do as a recom soldier." Mansk quietly reminds himself the most basic cliche ass shit ever. (SorryLMAO)

These kinds of situations don't allow for feelings. You must be an absolute fool if you fall for any of that nonsense. Khro'a and Mansk knew that very well. They shouldn't get involved, so they never expected anything to happen between them.

So why does it still hurt a little even when you expected THIS to happen? Why hope that things might change at all?

#recom mansk #mansk #khro'a tsrafmi #khro'a #99kroiocs #khro'a x mansk #avatar #avatar oc #avatar ship

691 notes · View notes

nightingale-ghost-writer · 1 year

Text

Your Wildest Dreams [Soap x Fem!Reader]

Summary: In a mission gone wrong, you and Soap have to hole up in a safehouse, trying to stay warm during the cold Russian winter

Author’s Note: Not me thirsting after Soap for 5.1K words instead of finishing the companion piece I started for Maybe… also, my first ever shot at writing reader-insert! Anyway, here’s a really plot-lacking, self-serving piece for anyone interested

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive, borderline smutty? No actual explicit smut, but let’s call it NSFW to be safe

Shrike /SHrīk/ noun

a songbird with a strong sharply hooked bill, often impaling its prey of small birds, lizards, and insects on thorns

a 10-foot (3-meter), 400-pound (180-kilogram) U.S. air-to-ground missile designed to destroy missile batteries by homing in on their radar emissions

Icy water enveloped you. Pinpricks instantly broke out under your skin, dancing through your blood and your bones. For a blessed moment, your mind went blank. Then, survival instinct kicked in. You kicked your already numbing legs as hard as you could, launching yourself back toward the night sky. Just as you thought your lungs might burst, you broke the surface, gulping in the crisp mountain air. It burned the back of your throat as you bobbed in the current, trying to get your bearings.

What should have been an hour-long intel collection mission had gone to shit in less than a minute.

You and Soap had been dispatched to a safehouse of Makarov’s in the Russian countryside to gather intel. You were anxious- excited to be out with Soap, nervous about the actual infiltration. Soap’s signature flirting melted that anxiety quickly. It was one of the reasons you enjoyed missions with him so much… and one of the reasons you got so flustered around him.

Tensions with Russia were high, so rather than sending a full team, the pair of you had been dropped off by helo three clicks from the site. You’d go in, get the intel, get to the safehouse, and wait for evac. Barring any immediate danger, you’d be holed up there overnight, hiking out early the next morning to be picked up. Price was unhappy about sending you in without comms or backup, but Laswell was concerned with radio traffic and her sources had told her it would be empty.

Laswell’s sources had been wrong.

You’d taken a long, cold hike up the frozen mountainside to a deteriorating stone building that might at one time have been a castle, but was now little more than half-crumbled walls and hastily built wooden shacks. There had been no indicators that anything was amiss- no footprints in the snow, no pings on Soap’s heartbeat sensor, no noise. Laswell’s intel had seemed good.

Then you’d opened the door to one of the shacks and been met with a full squad of soldiers. They clearly hadn’t been expecting you, and you had the distinct advantage. Before they could react, you’d grabbed the nearest soldier, using him as a human shield while you put him in a headlock. Soap had sprung past you, shooting two others before ducking behind a desk. An overeager and overconfident soldier had fired several shots at you, nearly grazing your arm, but killing his teammate in the process. Soap had lunged at him, baring him to the ground and stabbing a combat knife deep into his throat.

The three remaining soldiers raised their weapons, shouting to each other. You’d killed one with a well-placed throwing knife as you threw yourself behind a table and watched in horror as another launched himself at Soap. You raised your gun, but there was no clean shot with them grappling as they were. Then, you were blindsided by the last soldier. He leapt at you as you tried to line up a shot on his teammate, knocking your gun to the ground and grabbing one of your wrists.

Instinct took over as you wrestled, and before you knew what was happening, you and your attacker were flying through the nearby window. You both rolled down a steep, snowy hill toward a frothing river, each trying to get the upper hand. Before either of you could, you went straight into the icy river, sinking instantly. Luckily, you recovered first.

After taking a moment to breathe, you dove back underwater, looking around for your attacker. He was close enough to reach out and touch, back to you as he tried to get to the surface for a breath of air. You swam toward him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hoist yourself up, and stabbed him. Once in the neck, once in the ribs, and then once in the chest for good measure. His body had gone limp at the first thrust, but you couldn’t be too safe.

As soon as his body floated out of your arms, you realized the bigger issue- the current, and the cold. You were already being dragged downstream, the tide splashing over your head and threatening to pull you back under. You swam for the bank, but your progress was minimal. Your muscles were already starting to freeze up. You looked around frantically, desperate for something to hold onto. Just as your fingers met with a sharp rock, you heard Soap’s voice calling your name.

You looked up to see him scrambling down the hill, sliding on snow and loose bits of shale. Blood dripped from his temple and he seemed to be cradling his arm to his chest. You tried to pull yourself out of the water to meet him on the banks, but your muscles refused to work. The icy water was doing its work and you could feel your body beginning to shut down.

“Soap,” you called weakly. He had almost reached you. “I can’t move.”

He waded waist deep into the water, reaching out for you with the arm that wasn’t held carefully to his side. “‘S alright, hen, I’ve got you. Take my hand.” You shakily, slowly, tried to reach for him, barely managing to brush the tips of your fingers against his, and he managed to lean just a bit further out to wrap his hand around yours. He tugged you toward him, and after a moment, was pulling you into his side. “You’re freezing, Shrike,” he murmured, rubbing your arm for a moment. You were shivering violently, barely able to move.

“I am,” you said, teeth chattering. “Your head.” Soap waved you off as he looked around, gaze settling in the direction of the town where you were supposed to wait for evac.

“The intel-”

Soap cut you off, shaking his head. “Forget the intel. Price said if anything went wrong, we get to the safehouse.” His eyes scanned your body, looking for any injuries, as his hand rubbed over your arms. “Are you okay? Can you make it back to town?” You nodded, your violent shaking making it nearly impossible to tell. You reached for his wrist, pressing on it gently. You were no medic, but it didn’t feel broken to you.

You held his wrist with one hand as the other reached up to wipe the blood from his temple. “You okay?” you asked. He winced as you wiped at the blood, but nodded. You breathed a sigh of relief when only a shallow cut was visible.

“Just a sprain,” he said. He pulled his wrist carefully from your grip and unzipped his jacket, pulling it off.

“W-what are you-”

“You need it more than me,” he said. He walked around behind you, tucking you into the jacket before zipping you up in it.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested. Soap only shook his head, offering a lopsided smile.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

You were afraid your legs would refuse to move, but were so grateful when they didn’t. The warmth that bloomed in your chest at Soap’s sacrifice warmed you more than the jacket itself, although it did keep out the worst of the biting wind. You both trudged through the snow toward the village, teeth chattering and bone-cold. You walked in relative quiet, broken only by Soap’s soft inquiries.

“How’re you holding up, hen?”

“I can’t feel my toes, Soap.” “Hang in there, Shrike. We’re almost to the safehouse.”

As the town came into view, your vision began to swim. You’d been given the safehouse address. Now you just had to find it so you could lie down and bundle up until Price could send someone to get you.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Soap found the house, prying off one of the address numbers to reveal a key. He opened the door, revealing a tiny studio. It took less than a minute to clear- the only room with a door was the bathroom. While Soap dug out the radio system hidden under the sink, you turned the heater on full blast and looked for blankets. You found a pile in a cupboard, dropped them onto the foot of the bed, and headed toward the kitchen in search of a kettle to heat some water.

You only vaguely heard Soap talking to Price through the fog in your mind, something about getting some rest and pickup in the morning. Then, very suddenly, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling, wondering when you’d stopped shivering.

“Shrike? Shite!” You only realized you’d fallen when Soap pulled you upright. “Shrike?” He raised one hand to your neck, feeling for your pulse. He cursed under his breath, muttering in an unintelligibly thick Scottish accent as he hauled you up against his chest. You were vaguely aware of being carried into the small bathroom and deposited on the countertop there. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to stay awake. You were suddenly so sleepy.

You opened your eyes when you heard a squelching sound, freezing as you watched Soap strip off his clothes. You’d seen him without a shirt, but only in passing in the halls on base. Never this close, and never with no one around to check your gaze. Nevertheless, you’d memorized his scars the last time you saw his bare chest. He had some new ones since then. You stared at his rippling muscles as he unbuttoned his pants, peeling the wet material off his toned legs, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but his dog tags and boxers. You tried not to stare at the outline you could see in the fabric as he took one step toward you to stand between your legs. Then his hands were on his jacket, the one you were wearing, pulling the zipper down and your arms out of it.

“Stay with me, Shrike,” he murmured. His hands shook as he unbuckled your tac vest and pulled it off. You raised your arms as he pulled up your hoodie, then your shirt, leaving you i n just a sports bra. You let your own hands rest on his chest as you lowered them.

You giggled, tracing patterns across his pecs and down his ribs. His muscles jumped under your fingertips. “What are you doing, Johnny?”

His cheeks reddened as he glanced up, dutifully keeping his eyes on the task at hand as he hastily pulled off your boots and pants.

“I’m trying to get you warm,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Checking you out,” you said boldly, arching an eyebrow at him and smiling. You weren’t sure where the confidence had come from, but you’d had a crush on him since day one and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of this opportunity. He had just reached up to grip your hips and he faltered for a moment before pulling you down off the counter. He turned you around, walking you toward the bed with his hands on your waist until pulling back the covers. Soap sat, pulling you down between his legs and back against his chest. He pulled up the extra blankets, wrapping them around both of your shoulders. You giggled again, wiggling back against him as his arms wound around you. You couldn’t tell whether he shuddered or whether it was just his shivering. You’d started to shiver again, yourself.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. His body trembled around you, proof that he probably should have kept his jacket after all. His hands rubbed your shoulders, occasionally tracing the straps of your sports bra, and he curled his legs up, bringing yours with them. His knees held yours together and he shifted one arm down to circle your waist, keeping your back pressed to his chest and your hips connected. One hand brushed your hip and he tilted his head so that his chin rested in the crook of your shoulder. His hold on you was tight, but reassuring. You savored the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

Your bare skin felt numb, even under the pile of blankets.

Everywhere Soap’s skin touched felt scalded.

“You’re so hot,” you murmured.

You felt as much as heard when Soap chuckled low in his chest. “I’m actually freezing.” His voice shook when he spoke.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, turning so that your cheek touched his. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you whispered.

“I know,” he smiled, eyes fixed on some point across the room. “I’m just trying to save you from saying things you don’t mean, so you don’t regret them later.”

When you cocked your head at him, shifting in his arms to better face him, his smile dropped. “C’mon, Shrike, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Hope flared in your chest like a bonfire. Your mind ran through all the possibilities of that statement, and every one of them suggested attraction to your lovesick mind. You stared blankly at him and he tipped his head back against the headboard, heaving a sigh. “I’m sure Gaz would be none too pleased if I made a move on you when you were only flirting because of hypothermia.”

“Gaz..?” You didn’t understand what Gaz had to do with Soap making a move on you, and you were too confused to focus on either the fact that he said that he might, or that he had just admitted he knew you were flirting with him. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You barely dared to breathe.

Soap’s face flamed as he looked away. He had stopped shivering so badly, but his voice still shook a bit when he spoke. “You and Gaz. I know you’re… well, something. I’d never-”

You hadn’t imagined it. Your snort cut him off. “Gaz and I are friends, that’s it.” Now it was Soap’s turn to stare blankly. You fought to speak normally, not with the giddy optimism you felt. “Remember the day Price introduced me to you all? Gaz was the first one to shake my hand, and then he showed me around base? I knew right off the bat that Ghost didn’t trust me and I thought you wouldn’t either, since you two were clearly so close.”

That brought a smile out of Soap. As much as Ghost tried to play it off, the two had definitely become good friends over their time working together. Soap loved to flaunt his position as the resident boogeyman’s right hand, to anyone who would listen. But mostly to the boogeyman himself.

You turned again, snuggling closer into his hold. His arms tightened around you, almost imperceptibly. “Anyway, yeah- Gaz was my first friend. But he’s just my friend. Nothing more than that. You and Ghost are Batman and Robin, Gaz and I are Mario and Luigi.” Soap barked a laugh, and you grinned.

When his cold nose nudged behind your ear, you couldn’t even pretend your shudder was from the cold. You gathered the last of your courage, waning with the arctic chill in your bones, but bolstered by his near-confession. “So tell me, Sergeant.” You’d lowered your voice, turning up all the charm you possessed. “What am I making ‘harder than it needs to be’?” Soap froze, and panic washed over you like water as cold as the river you’d come out of. He hadn’t been confessing anything. It had been nothing more than his usual firefight flirting, harmless and silly and just a little cocky and oh-so-hot and why would you ever think he could actually be interested in you and-

Soap flipped you, one arm around your waist as he lay between your legs, propped up by the elbow next to your shoulder. Before your mind could catch up with what was happening, he leaned down, lips a hairs’ breadth from yours, and hesitated. It was the longest and shortest second of your life. You could feel his warm breath on your parted lips as his eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. You half expected him to lean back up, all mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, and tease you. He knew. He knew how you felt and he was going to mock you for it. Then he leaned down, eyes fluttering shut. His lips brushed yours softly, barely touching, and your mind went blessedly quiet. Your body responded of its own accord; your knees came up, framing his waist and squeezing lightly; one hand went to his bicep, lightly grasping there; the other slid to the back of his neck.

You pulled him closer.

The kiss turned feral in a heartbeat.

The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you half up off the bed, as he let more of his body weight rest against you. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You happily gave it. Your tongues slid together, fighting for dominance as you each tried to deepen the kiss even more. You raised a leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he groaned your name into your mouth. When you pulled on his mohawk, his head fell to your neck as he sucked softly on your collarbone.

“Johnny,” you breathed. He swore, lifting his head to kiss you again. He pulled his arm out from under you, running a warm hand across your bare skin from your hip to the back of your knee where it wrapped around him, before wrenching you up against him. You gasped at what you felt. If you’d had any doubt before, there was none now- Johnny was packing. You could feel the heat of him through both your underwear and his boxers. Time seemed to slow as he rocked gently against you, pressing his forehead to yours as your hands cradled the back of his head. He was panting, pressing light kisses against your face. He dropped his head to your shoulder, tucking his face into your neck. He seemed to be steeling himself, trying desperately not to move.

“Not kissing you,” he whispered. It took you a moment to think through the haze of lust and realize he was answering your earlier question. “What am I making harder than it needs to be?” “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Some of your earlier boldness had returned, shored up by his clear physical response. “Only that?” you whispered back.

The groan of your name on his lips was the single most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“What?” you teased. “That’s all you want?”

He tugged at the back of your knee again, pressing you against himself. You both stifled moans. “You know damn well that’s not all I want. I want you. All of you.” He turned his head, ghosting his lips against your cheek. “I’ve wanted all of you from the moment you asked me why a ghost would need soap.”

You started, turning his head with your hands so you could look into his eyes. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you.” He nodded, gaze unflinching. His eyes smoldered, but there was a softness in them you’d only seen a handful of times over the years. When your brother joined the military, following in your footsteps. When your best friend’s husband cheated on her. When your mother died. Any time you’d cried in his arms.

“T-that was the day we first met,” you stuttered out. Again, he nodded solemnly. He turned his head in your hands, kissing your palm.

“I knew right away,” he whispered. Soap had laughed, a fully belly laugh, and clapped you on the back. Ghost had rolled his eyes, and you’d hoped his reservations about you would fade. Not only so you could get closer to the devilishly handsome, charming Sargeant who followed his every step. When you didn’t say anything, he released your leg, mumbling apologies and sitting back on his heels. The loss of his body weight and heat, along with the blankets, made you shiver all over again. Johnny didn’t see it- he was running his hands over his face, head hanging. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I had no right, please forgive me-”

You reached out a hand, grasping his wrist to stop him from retreating any further. “Forgive you for what?” you asked softly. His face was pained as he struggled to hold your stare.

“For taking advantage,” he began. But you shook your head, reaching out your other hand to touch his cheek. You didn’t think he even realized that he leaned into your touch.

“You didn’t take advantage of anything.” You scooted forward on your knees, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You leaned up, kissing along his jaw, before licking a stripe of skin just behind his ear. He trembled under your touch as you ran a hand down his arm and pressed yourself against him. “I want you, too. So you should take me.”

“Steamin’-,” Soap groaned your name. “You can’t just say that to me,” he whined, breathless. His fists were clenched, eyes squeezed shut as your fingertips skimmed his skin.

“And why’s that?” you teased. You were sure that nothing could ever match the rush you were getting from his reactions to you.

“Because,” he ground out. He’d lost the fight to keep his hands off and they now rested on your hips, intermittently squeezing the flesh and hovering. His pupils were blown, nearly eclipsing his irises. You’d never seen hunger like that in your life and it set you on fire. “If I start with you, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was lower, hoarse. Desperate.

You scooted forward until your knees touched his, pressing as much of your body against his as you could. His entire body quivered in his struggle not to devour you whole. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, pausing when they brushed the shell of his ear. “Then I suggest, Sergeant, that you don’t stop.”

Johnny didn’t need to be told twice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You woke up to a soft thudding sound in your ear. You were so comfortable that you didn’t want to move, but then you remembered you were on the field. Your head snapped up, looking around the tiny room. The thudding had stopped, and when you looked down, you realized why.

You’d been sleeping with your head on Johnny’s chest, his heartbeat in your ear. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, face turned toward yours. He looked younger asleep. No worry lines creased his handsome face, and his brows were relaxed instead of their usual serious, lowered state. His lips were just slightly parted, breath softly fanning across your shoulder.

The night came back to you in one big wave. Kissing Johnny, straddling him, holding him close between your legs, his mouth on your neck, your mouth on his shoulder, your name on his tongue, being pressed to the wall, the stretch of him, and both of your hands seemingly everywhere at once. You ached everywhere in the most delicious way. Even your throat was sore from moaning his name over and over and over again as he made good on his promise that his mouth was good for more than just talk.

Your cheeks flushed remembering.

As if sensing your racing heart and thoughts, Johnny stirred. His arms tightened around you, pulling you nearly on top of him as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled when his eyes settled on you, slow and lazy.

“I thought I dreamed all of that,” he said softly. His voice was husky with sleep, accent thicker than normal, eyes soft as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

You quickly weighed whether or not you were prepared to deal with the cockiness that would come with your next statement. “Certainly good enough to be a dream,” you whispered. The grin that split Johnny’s face was instant and radiant.

“Oh, aye?” he asked. “Would you say it’s everything you’d dreamed of?”

“I love you,” he’d gasped, holding the back of your head to his shoulder as you fell apart for what must have been the tenth or hundredth time. “I love you,” he’d repeated as he lost control, trembling violently in you and in your arms. “Oh, God, I love you,” he’d whispered as you cried out his name and carried him in a vice grip right over the edge with you. You’d never dared to confront your feelings for him too deeply, refusing to dig beneath the surface of the crush you’d harbored for him. In all your wildest dreams, you’d never begun to imagine him putting to words what you felt- and never in the most intimate moment of your life.

“Better than my dreams,” you mumbled, turning your head away from his and pressing your cheek to his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a purple bruise you’d sucked into his shoulder. You winced, raising your head to apologize, but before you could even open your mouth, Johnny turned your head and kissed you softly. You kissed him back, and then smirked as a thought crossed your mind. “Dream of me often, then?” you asked.

Johnny’s eyes darkened as he pulled you down for a searing kiss. “Every night,” he whispered. You shuddered. You could already feel his body responding beneath you as you kissed him again, smiling to yourself when he groaned. He reached for the tiny bedside table, muttering about a clock, and found the alarm there.

He turned a wicked grin toward you. “We’ve got time for round two.”

“Round two?” you shrieked. Johnny snickered as he lifted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Round five was no less impressive than the first four, in no small part due to the added feat of Johnny holding you up against the cold shower wall while the hot water beat down on you both.

“I can’t believe,” he’d panted “That we could have been doing this all this time.”

“You should scold Gaz for getting in your way,” you’d panted back. Johnny had practically growled at that, picking up his pace.

“I’m about to scold you for saying another man’s name while I’m inside you.”

He came undone the moment you moaned his name in his ear, pulling you off the ledge with him.

By the time you’d actually managed to get clean, your clothes had miraculously dried despite laying crumpled on the tile floor all night. You were thankful as you both stepped out into the flurry of wind and snow to trudge up the hillside toward the evac point. You hiked in companionable silence, only breaking it once you could see the ridge where you’d be picked up.

“How’s your wrist?” you asked. You’d been worried about it all night, but Johnny either hadn’t been in pain or hadn’t been in enough pain to pay it any mind.

“It’ll be fine,” he answered, smiling at you over his shoulder. “How’s your… you?” You both snickered at that.

“It’ll be fine,” you parroted. Your Scottish accent was horrible, but Johnny beamed at it all the same. You were about to pull yourself up by a rock when he grabbed your wrist, nudging you until your back touched a tree. He tilted your chin up with his knuckles, lowering his head slowly to kiss you tenderly. You sighed into the kiss, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he held you close by your waist. His lips tugged at yours softly, lightly dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to look at you intensely. He seemed to be trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“We can’t tell anyone, can we?” you whispered.

For a long moment, Johnny was silent. When he finally answered, his voice was low. Sorrowful. “I don’t know,” he said.

You nodded, pasting a smile on your face even as your heart throbbed. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, we will.” Your smile felt a little more genuine after that. You trekked the last bit up the hill, and by the time you reached the top, you could hear the whir of the chopper. You shared one last longing look at each other from a respectable distance before the bird touched down. When the door opened, Ghost’s skull plate greeted you.

“You guys injured?” he shouted. You both shook your heads, clambering in and strapping yourselves into harnesses on opposite sides of the chopper. Ghost slammed the door, strapping himself in again on your side.

He stared at Soap, some look you couldn’t quite read. When you glanced to Johnny, his eyebrow was raised at his partner.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Ghost rumbled.

Soap looked to you, then back to his friend. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We didn’t get much rest- too cold,” he said evenly. If you didn’t know it was a lie, you’d have believed him. But something in the way Ghost held his stare told you that he didn’t. He could read everyone like a book, but especially Johnny. You needn’t have worried, though. Soap started right in on recapping the mission for his friend, chattering away as he always did, and you watched as Ghost’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit while he listened. His gaze flicked to you every so often, and you added to the tale where you saw fit. Ghost took your words as truth- he trusted you now, years later, after you’d proven yourself to him and the rest of the team.

You smiled to yourself. It would be good to see the rest of the team, to be back on base, in the comfort of your own bed… and you were sure Soap would find his way there, too.

#john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap #john soap mactavish x reader #cod mwii #nightingale writes

725 notes · View notes

meowzilla93 · 3 months

Text

So I’ve seen so much ragging on Baxter calling himself a rebel or a bad boy, and it hurts me! ( I know most of it is in jest, its okay!) But I wanted to explain how he really IS what he claims to be, even though may just seem like a privileged individual

(I really had to reduce this from an essay to fit tumblrs character limit, I am talking like a 2k word essay, so its condensed but covers my points lol also please keep in mind I have taken canon information and given my interpretation of the information to this)

Lets look at the definition of a Bad Bay archetype – a cultural archetype often defined as a male who behaves badly, especially within societal norms. Qualities associated with this archetype is confidence, independence and/or assertiveness (though there are the negative connotations such as manipulation, dishonesty or a lack of consideration for others, but we are not focusing on those as these do not reflect Baxter)

And what is a rebel? At its core, it is a person who resist any authority, control, or tradition. Rebels like to change up the status quo, refusing to conform to societal pressures and controlling figures.

So lets look at Baxter Alexander Ward’s life:

Brought up in wealth

Was sheltered and raised with certain values

Parents were controlling and dictated a lot of his life

Was never treated like a child, but as an adult his whole life

More than likely taught to think himself above everyone (which he confirms)

Raised with very bigoted, misogynistic, homophobic and just cruel morals and notions

If we look at those specific points, where does the Bad Boy archetype fit first?

By the time he reaches 19 years of age, he wants to be able to make connections outside of the circle of money he was raised in

Though he keeps up appearances for his parents, he tends to thumb his parents way of life, not wanting to become the same type of people they are

Rather than endorse their way of thinking, he becomes more open and accepting

(this boy might have mighty expectations for himself, but for others, he will never expect more than they can provide)

He is the very thing his parents do no approve off; Pansexual, accepting of others, opposite to what they want

By the time he is 19 years old, he is already snubbing his parents and their values, wanting to move outside of their circle of life and live his own life. There is the understanding that he was already sleeping around in high school, and considering his partners would be of all genders, the rumors circulating him would affect the image of the family, which his parents would not approve off. His visual looks, moving heavily into the black/ white monochrome and more alternative fit outside the expectations of what his family would expect of him. He dresses as he pleases, not as someone else would want him to.

These may seem like little actions, little acts of rebelling against his family, but these are MASSIVE in the context of his life. To flip the entire narrative that he learnt from his parents, and continues to do so in every way that he is able to. Sure, he gets a fake ID to just get a car to sight see in and get booze for himself to drink when out for dinner or even at home. But these acts are against what his parents expect or event want of him, what their social circle would expect of him, and as such, he fits the Bad Boy narrative within THAT social circle. And that is what matters in this context.

So, of course, this feeds into the rebel label. Going against everything he was taught, becoming the opposite person his parents expected of him. Resisting the control that his parents try and enforce on him and finding ways to escape the grip of expectation. I repeat myself a lot here but its that constant push back on what his parents expected of him, the morals, the views, the way he should handle himself and what they wanted of him. Baxter's rebellion is deep,y rooted in a sincere desire for authenticity, change and self-discovery, making him a truly compelling character.

Baxter at 19 years old was the Bad Boy Rebel of his families social circle. From the outside he just seems like a typical rich kid that was a bit strange, but from the inside, that’s where the rebelling sat.

Baxter at 24 is the man that continued in that path of rebellion. He further cut himself away from what his parents wanted, stood on his own two feet and tried to become the type of person he could be proud of. He separated himself from their morals, their visions, their actions. His mother who held charities to make connections and get a tax kick back? He does it to actually help people and does it almost pro-bono, no expectation to gain anything further from it. His father who holds a franchise and makes money from others manual labor? He takes the labor from others and takes it on himself to ensure that the day that they have (be it wedding or birthday or another event entirely) goes swimmingly and they have less stress than where they started.

Baxter continues to be a Rebel and Bad Boy as he grows and matures, as he continues to shun the way he grew up and becomes a better person for it.

There are probably other key points I have missed, but these are the ones that stood out to me, cementing the idea that Baxter Alexander Ward is a through and through

Rebellious Bad Boy

Thank you for coming to my (slightly unhinged) TED (tumblr) Talk.

#baxter ward #our life beginnings and always #olba #our life #olba baxter #meow drabbles!

55 notes · View notes

puhpandas · 5 months

Text

i think this one line actually does a lot for showing us how rocky ggy trios group is.

a lot of ppls first impressions while reading GGY are "wow, ellis and gregory are really bad friends. they just shrug off all Tonys interests and make him do everything on his own." and that is true and is a big part of their relationships

but also this line i think shows us blatantly how Tony is in the wrong too. yeah, Ellis and Gregory (though he gets a pass. hes literally being mind controlled) make Tony feel like they dont care about his interests and are fine with him running off and wont care if hes gone, and they'll change his work without caring about how he feels about it,

But to be fair, Tony is always so in his head about everything, and he has never mentioned telling his friends about these issues to fix them. Tony, in always being so focused on his internal monologuing and whatever obsession of the week hes found, never bothers to tell his friends how he feels about the things he doesnt like that they do.

so of course ellis and gregory would have no idea.

this line also applies to what i said. "tony hates that they always assume he'll do the work" but then he does all the work with no complaining. he never says that he doesnt like that, and on top of that he does exactly what ellis thinks he'll do.

Ellis is basically saying that Tony always runs off without them to do something himself. Tony is always so in his own head, he doesnt wait for his friends if they want to put off the story another day, and will go off without them every time.

of course Ellis is in thr wrong too, but i would also be annoyed if my friend ran off first hour for a 'group' project just to get it done faster without them. and it seems from Ellis' experience, he doesnt bother trying to join in later becasue by that time Tony already has a whole thing gotten into his brain that Ellis isnt included in (which is literally true. tony did do that in the book)

i wouldnt be suprised if Ellis (and gregory) changed GGY because its like a way of getting back at Tony. Ellis is frustrated with how he'll run off and start the story without him and then turn around and get mad when he isnt involved with its creation, so he just does this. immature? yeah. but Ellis is 12 and Tony is also 12 but tries so hard to be older.

and that makes him distance himslef from Ellis canonically. he talks about how hes frustrated with how Ellis is content to stay acting his age but Tony is starting to 'grow up', and he wonders how much longer they'll be friends. but with this in mind and how Tony handles conflicts with his friends its kinda clear that wow he is not mature enough to actually work through these issues

Tony gets defensive a lot of the time, and if Ellis challenged him and confronted Tony and talked about how he never tells them these things and gets mad when they arent mind readers like Tony believes himself is, Tony would take that as ellis telling him hes immature (because he would be) and would get pissed

but back to the Mr Rabbit thing, all of this is shown in this one line. Tony also never listens to his friends or takes them seriously, and he distances himself from them (which he then gets mad about them not being involved over) and then doesnt care enough to get Gregorys num de plume right. (even if Mr. Rabbit was something petty to get back at gregory because of tonys frustrations, once again goes towards how tony is more immature than he thinks he is)

i have lots of thoughts about these three and how their relationships could work, but this is an analysis on their strictly book characters with no fanon. of course theres a lot of potential with these three if the events of the book go differently (gregory is never mind controlled and is actually there as himself to resolve these issues, or tony doesnt die in ggy and has a wake up call later on that he acts on and apologizes + changes, or gregory goes missing and tony survives and he changes as a person going through that (and when gregory comes back later on)), so i think resolving their relationship issues within different scenarios is really interesting

#sorry if this isnt said well my thoughts are jumbled #hope i got the point across #ive analyzed the hell out of ggy trio and how rocky their relationsip is #but that just makes them mending it that much more interesting #pandas.txt #pandas talks #thoughts #ggy trio #tony #gregory #ellis

96 notes · View notes

insertyourselfhere · 11 months

Text

Pink (Anomaly Part 6)

Pairing: Gwen Stacy (Ghost Spider) x Reader

A/N: FINAL INSTALLMENT! I promise lots of fluff for you guys who have been reading along. Also I named this one different for reasons you will see down below.

Description: It’s over, the fight with Miguel, Spot, Miles was safe and everything was back to normal minus the idea of canon events. The Spider-Society was more reformed and acted like one mind instead of listening to that AI Miguel had created. You were currently sitting on the roof in your own dimension, watch firmly placed around your wrist, the fight was over and things were finally starting to slow down.

Characters: Pretty much all of it is Gwen & Y/N with like a tiny mention of Your aunt and Hobie

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

A breeze went pass your face, the smell of the New York city filled your senses. It wasn’t great but it was home. Your mask lay next to you, no one in their right mind would be looking up here so this was the one time you felt like you could be yourself. You tucked your left leg under your chin and your right leg dangled over the edge, you had your phone with you going back through the memories since you were introduced to Gwen and thrown into a multi-dimensional fight that seemed to rip apart the fabric of time and space. Meeting earth 42 Miles was a bit of a shock, especially how he was such a polar opposite to 1610 Miles. But still the pictures you took of you and your Spidey crew, seeing Mayday running around with her knitted mask on was such a joy too, and you can see why Peter kept asking all the angsty people to hold his baby she was just too adorable.

“What are you up too?” A sweet voice came filling your ears, you smiled and looked behind to see the one person who kept flooding your mind.

“Just can’t get over how crazy the last few months have been, I remember before I met you I was the one and only Spider here, now I know at least maybe 20 others and that’s because I cant seem to meet the other Peter’s, there’s too many! Why are their names all Peter Parker” She giggled and shrugged her shoulders sitting down next to you. Her gaze firmly fixed on the horizon in front of you, the sun slowly going down and the air feeling a bit crisper as the air got darker. You heard Gwen shiver next to you and you had a small smirk placed on your lips.

“I’d offer you a jumper but someone’s taken them all and left them at Hobie’s” You said gently nudging her with your shoulder, she pushed you back laughing. You couldn’t help it though. You took off the Jumper you were wearing currently and handed it over to Gwen who looked at you thankful.

“I need that back, I’m not going to lie I’m running low and its started to get a bit too cold to be a Spider” She giggled again but kept her eyes focused forward.

“Can I tell you something? That I feel very bad about but also might need a bit of comfort on” You nodded your head also facing forward watching the last bit of sun die down and the New York lights all start turning on.

“You know already about my past with you from my dimension, I miss them incredibly and I will never forget them, both Y/N and Peter were my absolute best friends. However whenever I look at you, I don’t see that person anymore. I only see you. I only see the amazing Y/N Spider I’ve gotten to know over the last few months, and it’s crazy to say but I don’t associate you 2 anymore” You didn’t look towards Gwen, just kept your eyes trained forward.

“I feel different things with you than I did with them. It was hard to realise just that because every time I looked at you I saw them and that doesn’t happen anymore” She let out a sigh she seemed to be holding onto and tucked both her legs up hiding her face.

“What I’m trying to say is that you make me feel different and I don’t know what that means or how to deal with it. I guess I just have a lot of emotions and I can’t really deal with them” You chuckled slightly and then it turned on to a full belly laugh. You felt awful for laughing at Gwen but it was too hard not too.

“Gwen, our whole job is having a lot of emotions and not being able to deal with them. You literally just described every Spider-Man/Woman/Pig/Trex ever. We are filled with emotional baggage that we can’t deal with and honestly even our Spider Therapist is fed up with all of us at this point.”

“Look its complicated, like I told you before I thought I was the only Spider out there and to find out theres a MULTIVERSE of them literally has blown my mind. But you know what who cares” Gwen was a bit offended that you laughed at her especially during her heartfelt speech but as you slowly explained the reasoning for it she couldn’t help but find the irony in the entire situation and started to laugh along with you.

“Yeah you’re right who cares, we’ve found our family, found other people who know what its like for us to go through this. All I know is that I appreciate you as a person, as a friend and maybe something more” She sent you a sly smile slowly reaching for you hand and grabbing onto it.

You kept your head forward but acknowledged the gesture by squeezing her hand and smiling. On the outside you were calm, cool and collected but on the inside you were about to pop open with butterflies flying out of your stomach, mouth, all your holes. When you got a chance you looked at Gwen out of your peripheral’s and could almost see her dimension colours blending in with yours. You heart almost burst open at the beautiful colour scheme that was behind her, it was filled with bright colours again but there was a very pre-dominant pink displaying behind her. You looked at her face and could see that same pink dusting her cheeks in the slightest.

You grabbed her hand and pulled her into your side, she just melted into it with a content sigh leaving her lips, she didn’t know how long she had been holding onto that for but it just felt right.

Soon the sun left and all that was in front of you was the beautiful city scape filled with street and car lights. You heard some steady breathing coming from your side where Gwen lay and looked over to see she had fallen asleep, your heart jumped at how beautiful she looked and you brushed away one of her locks. Her body was ice cold to touch so you got up gently and carried Gwen in your arms. Trying not to disturb her you leaped between buildings only a couple blocks from your apartment.

As soon as you arrived you opened up your lounge room window only to see your Aunt and Hobie of all people sitting there enjoying what was on TV. You walked in quietly but you shot Hobie in the back of his head who held up his hands and moved back on to his dimension leaving your Aunt in the lounge room looking at you and a very tired Gwen snuggled into your arms. She raised her eyebrow but had a smile on her face. She got up and went to leave the apartment as she had dinner plans to get too anyway but she gestured to you a small wave.

You moved into your bedroom and put Gwen in your bed who immediately snuggled into the bed sheets. You laughed, took off your suit and headed towards the lounge room where you got comfortable on the couch. The clock read 6.30pm which was unusually early for you but just like Gwen you barely had time to rest, slowly you felt your eyelids drop and fell into a deep sleep.

Shortly after you fell into a deep slumber you heard some movement around the apartment. You woke up fully ready to fight the intruder only to see it was Gwen groggily walking through your apartment, you couldn’t get over how it adorable it was to see her walking out with your oversized jumped on rubbing her eyes, she spotted you on the couch and walked towards you.

“Come on Spider” She said grabbing your hand and dragging you into your room. She pushed you onto the bed and before you could utter even a single word she slid in next to you, her face snuggled up on your chest, her breathing evened out almost immediately and she fell straight back to sleep. You on the other hand were having the biggest heart attack, your heart was literally beating out of your chest, you checked at least 7 times if your heart was bothering Gwen in anyway cause she was laying on top of it but she was too sound asleep to even care. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you didn’t know where to put your hand, what to do with your body so you lay as stiff as a board afraid to move.

“Relax Spider, we’re just cuddling theres nothing wrong with that” She said, you could hear the smirk she had on her lips and you knew at this point she was tormenting you. So you decided enough was enough, her words were enough to relax you into the embrace. Before she could fall asleep though you rolled over and were laying with your chest pushed against hers.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were doing this on purpose” You teased looking at the blonde hair girl. She didn’t say anything she barely opened her eyes to look at you, taking into account how close you were it was your turn to smirk.

You wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her so she was flushed against your chest, not a single inch of space was available, even in bed you towered over her a little and by this point she had opened her eyes, the widest you had ever seen them. You leaned down getting closer to her lips only to miss them by mere millimetres and proceeded to fake snore directly in her ear. She let out the loudest giggle and pushed you off her with her face beet red. You took some satisfaction in that interaction and went back to laying on your back and pulling her in to your side again.

“Get some sleep my tired Gwen” you kissed her forehead and proceeded to close your eyes. Before you drifted off all you can hear was he heart beating out of her chest.

Morning had come around and Gwen was still tucked into your side, the sun was poking through and you looked at the time, it was 10am and you were shocked at the amount of sleep you had gotten. While you were checking out the time the girl next to you beginning to stir, you stayed where you were waiting to see if she would wake up and she did, her eyes open and even though she only had short hair it was EVERYWHERE she had a bad case of bed hair and you laughed at her.

“What? Y/N what are you laughing about?” She said checking her face, once she got to her hair she quickly stood up and sprint into the bathroom.

“Good Morning Gwen!” You heard your aunt say laughing. You walked out of your room and she gave you the biggest look, she slowly started sipping her coffee and couldn’t help the cheeky smiled that graced your lips.

“So are you 2…” She trailed off but you knew exactly what she was going to ask. “No A/N we’re just friends” She moved out of the kitchen towards the dining table you sported and placed her cup down, she grabbed her phone and began scrolling.

“Yes I too just sleep with my friends” She smiled again and your face grew flush again, you went to argue back but Gwen came bursting out of the bathroom, your Jumper still placed firmly on her body.

“Good Morning A/N” She made her way into the kitchen she had been in multiple times, poor herself a tea and sat down next to your Aunt. You just stood in the corner watching the scene unfold in front of you with a tiny smile on your lips.

“Soooo what do you 2 have planned today?” Your aunt asked, you finally sat down your face still slightly read from your Aunts comment before. Gwen looked at you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe go for a walk or something” Your Aunt picked up her drink again trying to hide a devious smile she had. “Maybe go for a walk or something hey?” She repeated to Gwen looking at you, you honestly couldn’t take what your Aunt was saying so you told Gwen you were leaving asap. She chucked on a change of clothes she had bought, still with your jumper and you left the apartment while glaring back at your Aunt.

As you were both walking down the footpath the tension was incredible, neither of you could think straight and kept bumping into bystanders. As you were walking someone was a little too close to you and bumped you towards Gwen, your fingers grazed but it was enough to start up those damn butterflies again.

You both pulled away quietly apologising to the other for the awkward interaction, as you walked through the crowd you felt a bit hungry seeing as you skipped out on breakfast you grabbed Gwen’s attention.

“Let’s go out for breakfast!” You said with the biggest grin on your face, she nodded and you dragged her towards your favorite Café. You were seated rather quickly and ordered your food sitting outside once again feeling that cool breeze New York had to offer.

Gwen was lost staring out at the people who were walking pass, you looked at her again seeing those same colours you saw last night on the rooftop, you reached your arm across the table and grabbed her hand. She snapped out of her thoughts and looked at you across the table, you tried to act all nonchalant about the interaction like you guys had done this 100x and it wasn’t new to either of you. But she smiled and squeezed your hand. You looked back at her and could see those colours had now amplified, that pink hue coming through that was also present on her cheeks.

Soon though your bubble burst and your food had come out, so both of you tucked into your food not realising how long it had also been since you had a decent meal. Once you finished off you both thanked the restaurant and headed further down the footpath.

As soon as you started walking though you felt a familiar hand intertwine theirs with yours. You smiled once facing forward trying not to drag attention to what she had done but you appreciated it all the same. You both came up to central park now and took a lovely stroll through there, you came across an Ice Cream stand and bought both you and Gwen some Ice cream, you headed down to the lake and sat near the edge on the grass, both of you quietly eating your ice cream not wanting to disturb the peace.

Once you were both done Gwen huddled over back into your side and you laid down on your back, her head pressed into your chest as she absentmindedly drew circles around your arm giving you small little goosebumps.

“Y/N”

“Gwen”

You both stopped and laughed she sat up so she was still leaning on your chest but looking directly into your eyes. You took that as your queue to keep going.

“Much like you, I don’t know what this is or what we’re doing, but I can only tell you that I have literally enjoyed every single second of it. I want more but I know we need to be very slow for both of us.” Gwen kept looking at you intently, you saw her cheeks heat up a little but she nodded to encourage you to keep talking.

“I think at this point we just keep going, keep enjoying ourselves and not get sucked into the whole awkwardness of it all, hell I have hung out with you so many times’ we’ve stayed over stayed In the same room, we’ve hugged, we’ve touched all of it but everything just feels so different like…”

“Like it means more than it used to” she finished staring once again into your eyes, you nodded and sat up slightly so you could look at her too.

“We’re not very good with our emotions, we tend to hide away, keep them to ourselves or not speak about them because we’re afraid with getting hurt but I can’t do that with you anymore” Gwen held her breath waiting for you to continue.

“I guess what I am trying to say….it’s probably easier to show you if anything” You said, you sat up more but grab Gwen by the waist once again pulling her towards you, she was flush against your body, he hand on your chest and you leant down. Your whole body was screaming at you from the top of its lungs to hurry up and make the final move so you did. You pulled her face closer to yours and your lips touched. Everything in the world felt like it fit perfectly, Your lips were on hers enjoying the soft warmth, while she was still shocked and slightly stiff you felt her relax. Once she did she deepened the kiss and threw her arms around your neck to keep you there afraid you’ll disappear. You had to break the kiss unfortunately gasping for air, your foreheads touching, before anything else could be said Gwen had captured your lips once again, this one more desperate as she crawled further into your body, sitting herself in your lap. Her legs on either side of your body as she threw herself at you desperate for something more. This time she broke the kiss desperate for air.

This kept happening for the next 30 minutes or so, you would kiss, it would become incredibly heated and then you would break the kiss. Both of you afraid of stopping and wanting more from each other, both of you doing nothing but talking with your tongues and showing the other person just how much you cared for them.

After awhile they noticed a few eyes were on them and forgot they were in public. Gwen with her face 50 shades of red slid of your lap and hid her face, your lips bruised from the amount of kissing you both did rolled over to her and tackled her into a hug. She shrieked from being crushed by you but managed to push you off, she got up ready to run away and you got up ready to chase after her.

For the first time in a long time she smiled, no hidden fear, no sadness she looked like she had nothing to lose now and she was the absolute happiest she could ever be. You could see her world again, blending through, there was only one colour now and it was a bright beautiful pink. You knew it was for you and you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that this was your doing and that you could change someone’s entire perception with just yourself.

Gwen managed to get away from you but only briefly as you caught up to her, she laughed as you picked her up and circled her around your body coming to a halt, you pulled her back down to your lips pushing them against hers never getting sick and tired of that feeling.

“Y/N I….”

“I know Gwen you don’t have to tell me I can see it”

And you could, that beautiful pink you would never get sick of seeing would forever be implanted in your brain as one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

191 notes · View notes