#so like even when i wear masks its purely to just not get anyone else sick because my parents will definitely keep bringing shit home

[tcypionate]

it is really exhausting to try and beg everyone i live with to wear masks to no degree of success. like no matter what angle i go at, from bringing up continued numbers of cases/deaths/strains, to "please you know i have lung issues i cant afford to get covid" they just stop paying attention the moment i say the word mask. and it isn't even just my family, the last time i actually saw someone else wearing a mask was when i got a covid booster in february

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually. 

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body. 

You pretended to be dead. 

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky. 

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly. 

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands. 

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it. 

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.” 

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up. 

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening. 

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest. 

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.  

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort. 

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.” 

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character. 

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it. 

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up. 

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood. 

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?” 

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull. 

Missions were rarely a failure. 

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.” 

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?” 

“None. Just us.” 

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.” 

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway. 

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it. 

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it. 

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation. 

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room. 

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly. 

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off. 

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin. 

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction. 

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.” 

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue. 

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in. 

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight. 

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends. 

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore. 

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him.  “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh. 

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why. 

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden. 

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions. 

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them. 

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too. 

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue. 

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch. 

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined. 

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you. 

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like. 

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse. 

This couldn’t continue. 

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side. 

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.” 

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air. 

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met. 

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires. 

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?” 

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?” 

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up. 

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.” 

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth. 

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas. 

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless. 

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds. 

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up. 

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though. 

On the second week, it got easier. 

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area. 

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over. 

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table. 

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally. 

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails. 

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind. 

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you. 

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces. 

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair. 

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse. 

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up... 

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring. 

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!” 

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp. 

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor. 

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers. 

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated. 

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug. 

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly. 

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air. 

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure. 

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.” 

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly. 

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward. 

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game. 

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching. 

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet. 

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table. 

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?” 

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.” 

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you. 

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss. 

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.” 

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it. 

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking. 

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second. 

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos. 

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat. 

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages. 

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out. 

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.” 

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?” 

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room. 

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out. 

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently. 

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.” 

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation. 

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.” 

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back. 

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat. 

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney. 

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly. 

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful. 

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand. 

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing. 

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.” 

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair. 

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back. 

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine. 

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts. 

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high. 

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river. 

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask. 

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare. 

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it. 

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh. 

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge. 

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already. 

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk. 

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…” 

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be. 

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.” 

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip. 

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able. 

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second. 

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table. 

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion. 

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?” 

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer. 

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix. 

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob. 

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.” 

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality. 

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer. 

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.” 

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own. 

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies. 

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep. 

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.” 

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though. 

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect. 

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt. 

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you. 

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back. 

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw. 

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms. 

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile. 

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.” 

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting. 

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial. 

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action. 

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot. 

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad. 

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you. 

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute. 

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2 thoughts

you know who i just remembered ALSO has long hair? Vlad. Vlad Masters. Danny's worst enemy and biggest pain in the ass ever since he sent those vulture ghosts after his fucking dAD. Danny having long hair would make Vlad so inSUFFERABLE. Like look!! Proof that you are much better off as MY son. We have matching hair lengths! Come be my son! I will make you a halfa like me and we will become powerful allies together!

Danny almost chops it off out of spite. He ends up not doing it because he likes his hair long, actually, very much so and he's not growing it out again just because you're crazy! He's attempted to take a pair of scissors to Vlad's hair though -- THAT was a fight that got ugly. Danny's go-to threat whenever he sees him after that is that he's going to chop off vlad's hair when he's not looking - just you watch, Masters. He'll do it. HE'LL DO IT.

And if Danny wasn't keeping it a tight secret, he'd turn around and taunt Vlad about being a) a clone and b) a clone of BRUCE WAYNE. he'd say stuff like:

"How's it feel knowing my parents cloned a man richer than you"

"you're just mad that bruce wayne is more my dad than you'll ever be!"

"it could've been you that my parents accidentally cloned instead of Wayne, but instead you fucked off for twenty years instead!"

but also its a constant question Danny asks himself how he and no one else ever figured it out sooner that he was a clone. He doesn't understand how Vlad of all people didn't realize it when he went to college with the man with his parents and was also stinking rich, before remembering that he doubts Vlad remembers anyone who wasn't his parents in college, and has been a rich, recluse loser this entire time.

its a good thing though, danny's pretty sure vlad would attempt a hit on the man if he found out out of pure jealousy and indignant rage. And then he'd get his ass beat by Batman and his army of children.

All in all, Dany is a pure menace towards Vlad whenever he gets the chance, as is normal, and then Vlad's suffering gets doubled after he makes Ellie - of which she is even worse than Danny because she's the halfa that Danny Is NOt and thus has the powers to break into his house easy peasy and wreck shit. She steals his obsidian black card and goes on a shopping spree. This is a regular occurrence.

(and for anyone who isn't aware - Ellie is the same age as Danny in clone^2 bc i thought it'd be fun)

And then it gets tripled once Damian joins the family and gets caught up to speed on all of Vlad's tomfoolery and whoops, Damian's got better stealth skills than Danny and looks like Ellie has a partner in crime whenever they need to sneak into vlad's house to cause him grief.

Vlad's walls are the first canvas for Damian to test out his new spray paints on once he gets them :)

next up

Wes weston! i love this guy, he's so funny and he definitely knows danny is the Phantom in the clone^2 au. it's not as easy to figure out as it is in canon since its not just a simple colorswap, but perhaps he sees Danny taking off his mask after a daytime fight. and after that he becomes determined to reveal that quiet, strange fenton is the vigilante phantom.

he's putting some real,,, detectiveness? stalkerish? skills to use because catching photos of phantom is not as easy as it is if he were a halfa. He can't just snap a few dozen photos of fenton and phantom and then color compare the two of them either - Phantom wears a mask, and works primarily at night or in evenings, and typically avoids the living during the day. And he doesn't speak to the living either. Wes has to put in some extra work into his investigations and evidence.

He also makes the dumb mistake of cornering Danny in the bathroom one day early on and telling him he knows he's the Phantom -- now that Danny knows that Wes knows, he's going to be even more careful not to get caught. He puts in a little extra work in both Fenton and Phantom - another layer, perhaps a jacket, as Phantom, and baggier pants and boots he never wears as Fenton. His hood stays up in the daytime.

He was already putting in some extra effort to appear creepy and unsettling as Phantom - things like crouching low, tense movements, fluid movements. If he's perched on something he does a kinda-crawl like movement - think a mix between a bear and a gorilla crawl. It's weird, creepy. And he stares. Danny's mastered the art of not needing to blink for long periods of time, so if he sees you and sticks around he stares. It doesn't help that you can't see his eyes that well through his mask - its just two piercing green.

It helps endear him to ghosts and his enemies though - the annoying little human boy is engaging in ghost culture! That's eliciting some form of begrudging respect from his enemies.

And then compare that creepy, almost cryptid-like behavior to Fenton who, while considered a freak, really isn't anything more than just some dorky weirdo with occasional heart problems. He's kinda unsettling - he has those 'stares into soul' eyes - but its leveled by the fact that he's kinda just... dorky. It reads as normal, awkward kid behavior, and then gets disregarded completely as he gets older and it bleeds into 'very chill teenager'. Fenton being Phantom doesn't compute that much.

Paulina: you think Phantom is Fenton? Wes: I don't think, I know he is! I have proof-- Star: Just because they both have black hair doesn't mean they're the same, Wes. That's like saying Paulina and Manson are sisters because they also have black hair.

Wes's attempts to out him as Phantom means that Danny is a little more wary of him than he is in canon, since his vigilante identity isn't an entirely different ghost form its just him, so he has to be careful about where or when he takes off his mask in case Wes is around. Especially during daytime fights.

But other than that he has a lot of time messing with him. Wes is trying to convince his table group at lunch that Fenton = Phantom (again) and Danny just so happens to be within earshot of him and starts making fun of the idea.

"You think I'm Phantom?" and he's got the most disbelieving grin on his face that's only partially convincing. "That's totally bogus, man. The Phantom famously doesn't get along with my parents, why would I be a ghost hunter and not work with them?"

He has this most shit-eating, delighted look in his eyes that Wes knows is pure manic glee at being able to mess with him and get away with it. Wes is going to strangle him.

"Besides, dude, did you forget I have a heart condition? I can't be chasing around ghosts - my heart would give out from all that running and jumping."

Although Danny can get really serious at the flip of a coin if need be - especially with Wes when he gets too pushy about him being Phantom. A notable instance is when Wes cornered him in an empty bathroom to again talk about him being Phantom.

Except Danny, who had been working on a really difficult cold case about the death of a child, and hadn't gotten much sleep in the last 72 hours, plus a plethora of other stuff (like recently acquiring Damian, fighting ghosts, etc), wasn't in the mood to entertain him. It ended with Weston getting pinned to the wall and lowkey threatened by Danny. He apologizes for it afterwards but it's not forgotten.

Additional note: Wes Weston having a crush on Danny Fenton is a hilarious trope to me so Wes absolutely has a crush on Danny and the only one in denial about it is him. Everyone else - except Danny because he's more focused on the fact that Wes knows his identity, and has other things to worry about - knows about it, and everyone chalks up his obsession with Danny as being part of said crush.

Wes' friend: you know usually when you have a crush on someone you normally confess, maybe ask them out, pine from afar....

Wes: i dont--

Wes's friend: not accuse him of being the local ghost-fighting vigilante. Seriously, wes! His parents are ghost hunters!

Wes: i do not have a crush

Wes's friend: and ghosts aren't real! everyone knows that's a lie!

next up

Dan! Or Dante, but i'll call him Dan for the time being. Even if I dislike the name with a passion. Much like Wrath from my Childhood Friends au, Dan here is pretty different from his canon counterpart. Mostly because I wanted to experiment with Dan and different interpretations of him, and I thought; hey, where no better than an au where Danny has no powers?

so, dan? Dan is not a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost halves -- now, don't get me wrong, danny still ends up under vlad's custody care after the death of his family, but he just doesn't fuse with Vlad's ghost.

So, what happened? What happened is that Vlad convinces a grieving Danny that he should let him make him a halfa (despite the fact that he has no idea how) because the he could go find his family in the ghost zone. Danny is in no mental state for any kind of experiments, but his hope and want to see his family and friends again gets him to agree.

It backfires. Vlad doesn't make Danny a halfa, he just ends up killing him completely. Danny comes back instantly as a ghost however, and enraged over being lied to, betrayed, and murdered, ends up killing Vlad in furious cold blood. He doesn't fuse with his ghost half, there's no ghost half to fuse with.

So a grieving ghost, Danny flees into the ghost zone. And, in this iteration, doesn't end up destroying the world. So how does TUE end up happening? Well, ten years later - with Danny remaining a forever 14 year old ghost - Dan ends up finding out about time travel. He finds out a way to travel back into the past, and he does.

So he can take over his past self's life. Danny just thinks he's fighting a weird doppleganger ghost, but ends up getting overshadowed. It's like being in a weird limbo, and Danny's not really sure what's happening - but his friends figure something out. After all, its been ten years since dan saw his friends, something has to give.

And that episode happens. Danny ends up meeting clockworth, beats Dan. But, well, it's not really happily ever after - somewhat. Ehh.. sorta. Danny's been traumatized by Dan's overshadowing - making him realize that despite everything, there are things ghosts can do that danny simply cannot and he needs to prepare for it. Onset paranoia, anyone?

Dan tells them his whole tragic backstory - there's a chance for redemption here, for him. For forgiveness. Not immediately, not yet, but its there. And he doesn't want to go back to the future - he's alone there. He's tired of being alone.

But he ends up being convinced - he needs to learn to look forward, not cling back. He can build himself up again, find new family. He doesn't have to be alone. So Dan goes back to the future.

"But come tell me if Vlad's giving you trouble --" and he smiles something wicked, "I'd be happy to handle him again"

and finally

not so much as any concrete thoughts as it is just me being emotional over Danny and Damian's brotherhood in this au and also Danny's hands. Again.

lIKE.. I put it in the tags of my reblog of my "danny's scarred hands' ficlet but im putting it here and its just?? Danny grabbing the blade of Damian's sword. Him grabbing the sword multiple times despite the fact that he knows it will hurt, that he will hurt himself. That he will keep hurting himself until Damian himself stops.

its just like??? whats it mean to spill your own blood just so that this little boy you've just met won’t have to ever again. he doesn't know any english and he is hurting you and yet you take him home and get him new clothes. he runs away and you go looking for him, every single time. you teach yourself arabic first so that you can converse with him.

this boy is a clone and so are you. you're a clone of his father he's a clone of your son - by nature of your existence this is your child. except its not your child, you don't have one, its just a little boy who happens to share the same dna as you. and you take him home and he becomes your little brother.

what's it mean when its you whose been hurt rather than him? whats it mean when you’d hurt yourself again just so that he can start to heal, so that he knows that he’s worth it? you cut your hands on his blade, catch its swing, just so this boy can know, can learn, that there’s someone who will bleed for him. that there's someone who will scar their hands just to make sure that you wont scar yours.

you’re a bleeding heart and its spilling out onto your palms. you take bloody fingers and wrap it around your little brother’s and say "its okay. it’s okay. you’re safe. no one will hurt you here. i promise. i wont let them. no one will hurt you so long as i'm around."

"put the sword down. i can show you how. let me show you how."

and damian in this au just reminds me of the song "eight" by sleeping at last. like?? the lYRICS. he is sO "eight" coded

'show me how to lay my sword down for long enough to let you through.' 'here i am. pry me open. what do you want to know?' 'im just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence' 'but here's a map. here's a shovel. here's my achilles' heel. im all in palms out. im at your mercy now and im ready to begin. i am strong enough to let you in.'

"by nature of our existence we are father and son, but by choice we are brothers. we are brothers we are brothers we are brothers. and i love you"

[theeoriginals]

could you do elijah with a catwoman type of reader? she likes the finer things, she's flirty/loves the chase, and whatever else you think fits! maybe they've been seeing each other secretly (like when katherine/elijah were doing it secretly in tvd lmao) OR they meet for the first time (e.g., she steals something from him and gets caught but gets away and she's hints at seeing him again next time) this is so specific but do whatever you want with it!!

cat and mouse | elijah mikaelson

author's note; this was so fun thank u for requesting <3

warnings: witch!female!reader, tension, abruptish ending bc I didn't know how to drag it out more, brief shapeshifting but I like barely touch on it, because it's sort of inconsequential to the story. reader is close with Klaus, but it's purely platonic! honestly could class this at love at first sight, with how I wrote elijah. fluff, just some heavy make outs, nothing too graphic. reader is flirty and confident!! no use of y/n!

There’s an inherent seductiveness to wearing a mask. It’s almost more vulnerable than just showing your face, because you have to rely on your words, your wit, to get the job done. Of course, there isn’t any specific job she’s needing to get done tonight, but she tries to never attend these sorts of things without a personal mission of some kind.

She gets bored, is the thing. 

Even though she's got everything she could ever want and more, she gets bored and she can't help what happens after that. It's a bad habit, she knows. Her friends always laugh, hiding their smirks and smiles behind her hands when they come over and see the newest shiny thing that wasn't there before. When they hear of a shadow that terrorizes people, seemingly at random. 

It's harmless, though. She's never hurt anyone by doing it. She just laughs a little and maybe she stays the night with some of them, and gets what she wants and more. Cures that boredom in a few different ways. 

It’s started to creep in again, that feeling. It’s why she’s here in the first place. Klaus is a friend, but she tries to keep out of his hijinks for her own safety. Most people here in New Orleans know better than to pledge loyalty to the hybrid, because no one around him is safe for long, even his own family. 

That’s the premise of tonight’s party, according to Klaus. Reuniting his family for what seems like the hundredth time. She feels it’s starting to lose its emotional impact, what with how many times he’s daggered and undaggered them, treating them like they’re pets or something. But she doesn’t voice any of this to Klaus, because she’s smarter than that, and she isn’t equipped to deal with the thousands of years of family drama between the Originals. 

It seems odd to have a masquerade ball as a welcome home party, but she digresses. It’s pointless to question his motives, and it causes her more of a headache than anything. It’s easier to just enjoy herself, and even easier than that to try and find a cure to her boredom. 

It's starting to settle in like a fog of some sort, except it's not hazy or particularly tiring, it's more like steam. Like a hot sauna, soaking the surface of her skin, leaving her panting, thirsty. 

So she leaves the relative safety of the open bar, and lifts her chin up, keeping her shoulders in a stiff line so that people move for her, because she certainly won’t move for them. 

She’s nearly through the dance floor when she’s stopped by a firm hand on her wrist, and her arm is extended with the light tug just before she twists around, braced to deal with whatever idiot has grabbed her. 

She stops short at the sight of the man, only half of his face covered by a mask unlike hers that shields everything real about her except her eyes. 

There’s a smirk on his lips, like he’s amused by something, but she can’t fathom what by. “Excuse me?” She raises a brow, incredulous expression hidden by the mask on her face. It’s rather flimsy, overall, but the rhinestones placed strategically around it juxtapose the sleek black dress draped over her frame, making her appear as nothing more than a shadow. 

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” 

The voice is unfamiliar, and she loathes the thought that a stranger is teaching her with such familiarity. “I wasn’t aware it mattered,” She gestures vaguely with her other hand, reminding herself of the rather loose grip he has on her wrist. “The party will go on without me, I’m sure.” 

The man ducks his head in a conceding nod, but the smirk on his face has done nothing but get bigger the longer she entertains this odd interaction. “You’ve hardly danced all night.” 

She knows he can’t see the twist of curiosity on her face, but her body must portray it anyways, because he’s immediately elaborating. 

“I’ve had my eye on you,” He says, accented voice a lulling drawl. She’s sure it would put anyone under a spell, given the chance. “I couldn’t let you leave without getting at least one dance, and perhaps your name.” 

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” She notes, though she closes a bit of the distance between them, suddenly interested in the proposition. “I’ll give you a dance, but you’ll have to convince me for a name. I don’t give that out to strangers.” 

He nods again, pulling her to him, closing the rest of the distance between them. “Of course,” 

It’s easy to fall into step with him, practically painted against his chest, there’s no real rhythm to what they’re doing, but it’s working. She’s staring into his eyes from behind the shadowy mask, and he’s looking into hers, like he’ll get every answer he wants from them. 

“So,” He starts, blinking slowly like he doesn’t want to spare a split second from them just in case he misses something. “Do you know anyone here, or are you just here by word of mouth?” 

“I’m familiar with the host,” She says carefully, noticing the way his eyes darken with a hint of surprise. “He’s a friend. I do business with him, sometimes.” 

He seems to see the deeper meaning behind her words. “I wasn’t aware he had many friends of your variety these days,” 

“Oh, he doesn’t,” She says, smirking beneath the mask at the short chuckle that leaves him. “But I suppose there’s an exception to everything. It works for us. I’m still alive, after all. Not many can usually say that after dealing with him.” 

The man’s mouth twists wryly. “I can’t disagree with that.” 

“You’ve obviously got something in common with him, too,” She notes plainly, leveling the playing field between them about information they can peel out of each other without really saying anything. “Perhaps he has more friends than either of us are aware of.” 

“He’s got plenty of secrets up his sleeves, I’m sure of that.” 

He turns them suddenly, hand spanning across the open back of her dress, and she can’t stop the quiet gasp that spills from her lips, hopefully muffled by the mask, though the slight twitch of his fingers against the bare skin of her back says he heard it loud and clear. 

“If I give you my name, may I have yours?” She asks suddenly, aware of the song playing for their dance coming to an end sooner, rather than later. “A fair trade.” 

“I am nothing if not fair,” 

She hums, though she partially doubts his words. He’s shown in the past few minutes that he can play any game she plays, just as easily. 

They dip into the shadows for a moment, ducking out of the colorful lights flashing on the makeshift dance floor, and she makes a decision quickly.

She lays her hand flat against his chest, skating her nails along the pieces of his suit as she slides up his neck and to his jaw, moving fast to push the mask off his face as her other hand rips her own off. 

She doesn’t give him time to blink, or get a real look at her face before she’s smashing their lips together, squeezing her eyes shut as he backs her further into the darkness. She twists them just before they hit the wall, relishing in the way his breath is knocked from his lungs. It doesn’t seem to bother him for long, because he’s drawing her back in, sighing against her lips like she’s just breathed life back into him. 

She skirts her hands all around his lithe frame, feeling the muscles that tense under her touch, hidden but not unnoticeable by the lines of his tailored suit. She drags her nails up under his jacket, rustling the neatly tucked fabric, and pulls her lips away from his mouth to drop down to his jaw, flicking a sharp canine against his jaw and delighting in the choked off noise that breaks from his throat. 

She hides her face in the curve of his throat, leaving marks that disappear almost immediately as she makes them. Panting for breath, she clenches her hands where they lay on his waist. “What’s your name?” 

He licks his spit-swollen lips, head thrown back against the wall as he tries to collect what little of himself he’s got left. “Elijah,” 

“Elijah,” She echoes, tongue curling prettily around the syllables of his name. “Elijah.” 

“Yours,” He says, calloused fingers digging into the exposed skin from her dress. “What’s your name?” 

“My name,” She says, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear, smile practically audible. “Is a secret.” 

Before Elijah can even let out his next breath, every point of pleasure she’s got on him disappears, and he’s left feeling abruptly cold. He rips his eyes open, blinking as they adjust to the bleak lighting, and his chest heaves as he looks around for any piece of that mask, or that dress. Strains his ears to hear the breath of her voice, the pulse that drowned out every song playing. 

She’s nowhere to be found. Elijah tries to be annoyed, but a smile grows on his lips and he can’t help but slump against the wall as he attempts to fix his suit where it’s been tugged at and wrinkled amidst their brief burst of passion. 

A smear of lipstick lingers on his skin, and her intoxicating scent drifts in the natural breeze. 

His curiosity is a dangerous thing. 

────── 

She sets out on a familiar path, forgoing her flesh tones and simpering smiles for four legs and a sleek black coat. She covers more ground like this, makes her way to the Quarter and past all of the usual mess happening. No one really looks twice at her in this form– it's how she prefers things, for the most part. 

There's a specific brand of chaos that she's seeking, and she hears the familiar echo of the man's voice as she approaches the compound. If she could smirk like this, she would, but as it is, all she can do is reveal the two sharp fangs that hang down onto the sides of her mouth and pick up her pace ever so slightly. 

The door to his study is open and she sees him pacing back and forth, talking loudly to no one in particular. She isn't sure if there's other people in the house right now, but it certainly wouldn't be the first time she caught Klaus talking to himself. 

He seems to notice her just as she leaps onto his desk, shuffling the stack of stationary sitting atop it. 

"Oh, good, and now you're here to bother me," He stops his pacing, turning to face the black cat sitting primly on the desk. "What is it you want?" 

She stares blankly at him and he rolls his eyes, face set in that familiar glare that's basically tattooed on his features. 

"I don't know why you bother with this," He gestures at her, rolling his eyes again. "The sooner you're in a form I can actually speak to, the sooner I can get you out of my house and back into the Quarter, wreaking havoc on those who have wronged me." 

She can't help the sudden desire she has to irritate him just a bit more, so she bats a leg out and kicks a ceramic figurine off the edge of his desk, watching his fists clench at his sides frustratedly as it shatters. 

Yawning dramatically, she flicks her tail out and perches on the edge of his desk, shaking off the sudden change in appearance as he glares at her, entirely unamused by the whole act. 

"What do you want?" 

She huffs, ever so dramatic, and pushes off his desk, walking around him to drape her arms over his shoulders and dig her chin into the muscles there. 

"I'm bored, Klaus. And nobody likes it when I get bored." 

He sighs, entirely put upon at her dramatics. "What do you suggest I do about that?" 

"What's got you so tense? Maybe I can help with that, hm?" She tries, digging her nails into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. 

"My generosity has come back to haunt me," 

His words earn an immediate laugh from her and she peels herself off of his back, walking across the study to throw herself down onto the couch, laying an arm over her eyes. "Oh, yes, your generosity, which you are so well known for. What have you done now?" 

“Must everything be my fault? It could very well be someone else, you know,” 

She lifts her arm from her face, giving him an entirely unamused look that he dutifully ignores. 

“You know,” He starts again, earning a quiet groan from her that he ignores just as easily. “I undaggered my siblings because I thought they would be less upset with me after all this time. I threw them a party! I gave them access to as many humans as I could!” 

“Oh, I know– how could anyone ever hold a grudge for being stuck in a box for hundreds of years because their brother didn’t want to have a moral compass?” 

He glares at her and she pushes up from the couch, stretching her limbs as she goes. “How about you just let them be mad at you, and you give me the name of one of those people who have supposedly wronged you?” 

Klaus sighs, but he gives in easily, just like she knew he would. It’s why they work so well together. He can’t resist her inherent desire to make a mess. 

────── 

The Quarter is as lively as ever, but the energy is always different when the sun goes down. She likes it better this way, when the tourists have returned to their hotel rooms, scared off by enough local legends that they don’t dare wander too far in fear of being sucked into some magical nightmare. 

She likes when the nocturnal things come out to play, because it means there’s so much less attention on her, and what she’s doing. It makes it easier to get things done, this way. 

She’s nursing a drink at the bar in Rousseau’s, unable to resist the draw this place has for witches and vampires alike. It’s mostly seen as a neutral ground, because no one’s willing to risk a place to get good food and drinks over a turf war. 

She’s been making eyes at a boy across the room, quickly looking away when he catches her eye, hiding a bashful smile in her drink. It’s a fun game to play, and it grows easier with every passing minute to lure them in. Even if there’s something off about her, they can’t resist it. Like a mouse walking straight into a trap, just for a bite of the cheese. 

It doesn’t take much longer for the boy, Ethan, to approach her. He’s got a smirk on his face, and he’s obviously under the impression that this is a sure thing. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” He shifts, setting his drink down on the bar next to hers. “I saw you looking at me from over here.” 

She swirls the straw in her drink around a few times, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Is that all it took? Me looking at you?” 

He chuckles, moving to stand more directly in front of her. “Well, you seemed a little lonely, sitting here all by yourself,” 

She sits up in her seat, smirking. “Are you going to fix that for me?” 

“That will be all, thank you, Ethan.” The strikingly familiar voice comes from behind her, and she instantly slumps in her seat, a wry, defeated smile twisting onto her lips despite how much she tries to stop it. 

The boy in front of her straightens up, defensive at the sudden rejection, but as soon as he sees who it is standing behind her, he backs down. His eyes flicker to her, and she flutters her finger in a wave, dismissing him easily as the man quickly takes his place standing before her. 

“That wasn’t very kind of you, Elijah,” She says, taking a sip of her drink. “I was doing business with him. Your brother’s business.”

“You were a very difficult woman to find, do you know that?” 

She raises her glass to him in a mocking toast. “And yet here you are,” 

“Is that what my brother considers business these days? Usually that sort of exchange was reserved for his closest confidants,” 

“A good businessman is always adapting,” She shrugs, watching his eyes roam her face, committing every part of it to memory. “Did you find me for any particular reason, Elijah? Or am I just honored to have the company of an Original,” 

“You stole my watch,” He says, looking anything but upset. “And a button, of all things. Now, the button I’m less worried about, but the watch is an antique.” 

She hums, eyes narrowing at his easy going demeanor. “You spent all this time tracking me down over an antique watch? Forgive me for my assumptions, but I don’t believe that.” 

He nods, still smiling fondly, like she hasn’t been almost entirely antagonistic to him since their first meeting. “I also want your name.” 

“Surely you know my name by now,” She says, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You couldn’t have found me otherwise.” 

“I do,” He nods again. “But I want to hear it from you. A fair trade, and all.” 

She heaves a sigh, pushing to her feet off the chair to stand before him, once again practically glued to the front of him. “A man of your word, I see,” 

He hums an agreeing noise. “Even when we have nothing else, we have our word. I’m also not one to go back on a deal. I don’t like loose ends.” 

“That’s a shame, I love loose ends,” She grins widely, earning a chuckle from him that says he’s nothing but charmed. “Follow me.” 

She gestures towards the door, and Elijah is quick to fall into step behind her, though she isn’t sure if it’s her past disappearing act or something else that has him so keen to do as she says. 

They step outside into the humid, but cooling air, and she glances up at the pale moon above them, feeling every bit of warmth from it that one would get from the sun. 

“I’m curious to know how you found me,” She says, looking at him as he walks beside her down the mostly-empty sidewalks. 

He sighs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, looking every bit as pressed and pretty as he did at the party. “I thought about asking around at first, of course, but I figured if you wouldn’t even share your name with me, the second you caught wind of someone asking about you, you’d become harder to find.” 

“Smart man,” 

He hums, and smiles. “My brother, his girlfriend, is a witch. I asked her for a favor. You left your mask at the party, so,” 

“Foiled by a simple tracking spell,” She says, putting on an air of defeat that has him chuckling, her following suit shortly after. “I appreciate your tenacity, Mr. Mikaelson. Not many want to play my games,” 

“Is that what it was, then? A game?” 

“Of sorts,” She says, coming to a stop at the steps that lead up to her little apartment. “It’d be quite bold of me to play a game of cat and mouse with an Original, don’t you think?” 

He steps closer to her, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head, examining her. “I think that you seem to know quite a bit about me and my family, but I’ve just barely scratched the surface of you.” 

She steps closer to him, the tips of her shoes hitting his. “I do owe you my name, don’t I?” 

“A deal’s a deal,” 

She echoes his words softly, already pressing up on her toes to meet him halfway. “A deal’s a deal.” 

There’s much less fervor in this kiss than the last, but no lack of passion. It seems to strike them both breathless, and she finds herself leaning into him, wrapping a hand around the end of his neatly knotted tie to pull him in impossibly closer. 

A split second later, she forces herself to pull away, sighing shakily as she looks into his lustful, deep gaze. She whispers her name quietly, watching his pupils blow out as it carries between them. He echoes it back, just as quietly, and she nods, hand still wrapped in his tie, where his are still clutching her waist, keeping her from running again. 

“Is that all, then?” She asks, voice still a whisper, like she’s afraid to break whatever has settled between them. “A deal’s a deal.” 

“What’s that you said earlier?” He sighs, chest heaving with the breath. “A businessman is always adapting.” 

He pulls her back into him, catching the corner of her mouth with his lips before he realigns, barely parting for a second to press repeated kisses to her soft lips that taste like the sugary drink she’d had at the bar. “Besides,” He breathes in between kisses. “You still have my watch.” 

She laughs into the next kiss, and it spills out into the night, making him let out his own laugh that sounds just as utterly besotted as hers. 

He forgets about the watch. But by the time he remembers it, he figures there’s no harm in letting her keep it. If only to have an excuse to see her again. 

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

are you ever gonna make Giovanni x Bucky art that doesn’t depict them being very…aggressive towards each other…like them hugging or kissing (passionately) or something or is it just always gonna be toxic yaoi?

tl;dr for this long ass ramble: gios not a romantic guy, bucky probably is, shenanigans and character growth ensues

full rant under the cut ⬇️⬇️

at his core giovanni is not an affectionate character at all. any softness that he would exhibit would be acts he think may be comforting or helpful, usually masked with a dry comment.

for example if bucky got sick, i imagine gio would make some comments about how he needs to take better care of himself, probably make fun of now stuffy his nose is, and then make him homemade soup. i feel like bucky gets a lot of mixed messages.

and if they do end up officially together, a lot of other people would say something about how cold or mean gio seems to be, how he must not be a good partner. bucky would probably whisper that he's really a sweetie at heart (which is. a stretch, but hey love is blind)

gio will say mean things, but at that point in their relationship bucky knows he either doesn't mean it, or says it to mask his affection. in public gio plays up the "cold asshole" thing, but even if hes a naturally brash or unfiltered person, he does eventually get more comfortable with small shows of affection.

gio does not admit hes wrong until he is absolutely, BEYOND A DOUBT proven wrong. him and bucky probably mutually deny ANY feelings for each other until literally everyone else is like "dude for gods sake you're both pining so hard and its getting annoying" and even then they're both like "fuckkk whyd it have to be YOU."

even when they're dating, they dont lose their competitive streak with each other though. gio isnt romantic until bucky does some gesture, then HE needs to do it BETTER. i imagine olive has to settle them down before they fight each other affectionally.

gio would definitely need character development to be more comfortable with himself enough to have a decent relationship with anyone, especially bucky who wears his heart on his sleeve. i think they'd be interesting together purely for their "opposites attract" and "bitter rivals" dynamic, and their relationship is interesting whether or not its romantic

...is this anything?

[aggro-crap]

Every thought I’ve had while watching Glass Onion again

I have a million thoughts about Glass Onion and I need to get it off my chest!

First of all, I really need the people calling Blanc’s accent “bad” to just stop. He is from Louisiana...his name is fucking Benoit Blanc for fucks sake! That’s a Louisiana/Cajun accent. For those who don’t know, “southern” isn’t a singular accent the same way “european” doesn’t describe any specific accent. It’s a generalization. Every southern state has slightly different accents and cadences that define each region. 

SPOILERS PAST THIS POINT

So Miles Bron is obviously a clear depiction of Elon Musk, we see details hinting to other billionaires as well through wardrobe and props. The very first scene shows Claire getting her box from Miles delivered by an Alpha Courier van...Amazon Prime anyone? Even his clothes throughout remind me of billionaires like Musk and Steve Jobs. 

Duke’s mom calling him dookie cause he’s a piece of shit. And then casually solving the “genius” puzzles from across the room, she’s a treasure.

Yo-Yo Ma giving us a little lesson in classical music. This entire movie is a name drop.

Blanc in the bathtub on a zoom with Natasha Lyonne, Stephen Sondheim, Angela Lansbury, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. How the hell do they know each other? Did he solve cases for them? Does he know them through Phillip? And the hesitant denial when Phillip asks if he’s in the bath again is pure domestic excellence, that is his home now. 

As someone who worked retail throughout the pandemic, I had a visceral reaction to Birdie’s sparkly mesh “mask” (and then she has the audacity to say she can finally breathe again when she doesn’t have to wear it at the pool!?). With each mask and the way they’re wearing them (or not wearing them) we know exactly what kind of person each one of them is. Though I can’t quite figure out why Andi isn’t wearing one, either to facilitate the scene with that dramatic reveal or does Helen make the conscious decision to not wear it because Andi wouldn’t have worn it? Also high tech snap bracelets? Sure I guess. 

Approaching the island Lionel asks if the dock is a Bansky, and the captain says “piece of shit” and just lets him believe that’s the name of the island in greek. That shit is so funny. But also, wouldn’t having a glass dock be totally slippery and dangerous? Like I can just imagine his contractors telling him its dangerous and not advisable to have it set at low tide and him just being like I know more than you just do it my way!

The way Duke pimped out Whiskey to try to get Miles to do what he wants just kinda breaks my heart. It shows that he knows she’s smart and capable but the uncontrollable hurt on his face when he sees them hug is gut wrenching. I cannot believe I feel bad for this dude, Rian Johnson you are masterful.

The look on Miles’ face when he sees Andi arrive on the island and then when he sees her again after he shoots her is fucking priceless. It’s very ‘why won’t this bitch die?’ Either she chose not to tell him she had a twin sister or this is just another example of his stupidity. 

Derol. Just Derol. I saw someone else on here mention that he’s a personification of covid and it blew my mind. He’s always drinking Corona and saying ignore me I’m not here? Fucking genius. He almost accentuates the absurdity that is Miles Bron when he’s giving his little introduction speech and Derol walks through followed by the robot with everyone’s bags. I cackled!

Also I’ve never heard the term “flat tire” for an untied shoelace before and I will absolutely be using that from now on!

The hourly dong? Assigning rooms by chakra? His little bracelets and shit? Its screaming fake namaste bullshit.

Benoit is such a shady bitch for referring to the box as children’s puzzles having not really seen any of the puzzles because Helen smashed it. Easily one of my favorite moments in the whole movie. 

Jared Leto’s hard kombucha...

I’ve never met a person with a serious allergy, let alone deadly, that does not carry an epipen for emergencies, like wtf Duke? But that fancy lil gun you got there never leaves your side cause you never know what’s gonna happen right?

When Blanc tells Birdie “It’s a dangerous thing to mistake speaking without thought for speaking the truth” and her only takeaway is “Are you calling me dangerous?” Like girl if he is then he’s calling you dangerously stupid! Which is absolutely the truth.

Miles handing Peg a red solo cup is sending me through the roof. That motherfucker had to go out of his way to get that for her! There’s plenty of glassware in that room and he just had to give her a fucking plastic cup like she’s not worthy of anything more. I could’ve killed him right there for that tbh. 

The entire concept of Miles buying the Mona Lisa just because he can, and then installing his own override of the security built to preserve the most famous painting in the world which then becomes the reason it gets destroyed reminds me of Kim Kardashian ruining Marilyn Monroe’s dress for a fucking red carpet. She did it because she wanted to be associated with her, not out of love or respect for the actual piece of art. Don’t get me started about altering Michael Jackson’s clothes so her child can wear them. I’m not sure of the timeline but I think that was also something that happened after the movie was already done so I’m starting to wonder if Rian Johnson has some of that Simpsons prediction mojo.

I love how excited Blanc gets to reveal the mystery. Every time he is downright giddy, at least until he realizes how dumb Miles is which infuriates him because he hates dumb games.

Honestly building a literal glass onion on your own island because you miss you favorite bar where you met your friends and want to relive the glory days is one of the saddest and most pathetic billionaire antics I’ve ever seen. 

Why did Claire’s husband call her and she ignored it? Is that the moment he got the news about Andi’s death? But Duke doesn’t get the notification until after she leaves the room. 

I like how we’re constantly reminded of the Mona Lisa’s presence with the security door shutting in response to what’s happening in the room. It almost feels like an additional character. 

I just love how the second act starts at exactly the halfway point. It really satisfies my brain having so much time to go back and dig through all those glass layers.

Who’s out here thinking that Phillip is a professional baker with all that flour on his face?! That man is just doing his best in a pandemic with a partner that lives in a bathtub.

Janelle Monet is so fucking talented it hurts

I don’t like the way Birdie shouted at Andi on the boat that she shouldn’t be there. Like wtf. But I love when Birdie shows Peg the email and she immediately knows that Birdie didn’t actually mean any harm she is just so dumb she really thought sweatshops are just a place where they make sweatpants. Peg is a real one.

That little notebook stopped a whole bullet wtf?

Omg why can I feel that drop of hot sauce running down my face 

I really hope that after this at least some people start seeing through the lies and misdirection used by these billionaire con artists and politicians but I fear I may be asking too much of the general public. That’s why ben shapiro went on his little twitter tantrum about terrible writing or whatever. Like bro if you’re not smart enough to understand symbolism in cinema, especially when it’s literally spelled out for you step by step in this particular instance, then there’s this little thing called not saying anything at all. He just doesn’t want to be exposed for what he and others like him are actually doing. ~~misdirection~~

I’m sorry but if it were me I would’ve put that napkin in my pocket or something not just held it out for him.

Benoit Blanc really just gave Helen the tools to take that fucker down and just waited at the beach with Derol to watch it all burn. And finally smoke his cigar I’m so happy for him. 

If there’s one thing I respect about Birdie its the respect she has for these pieces of history being destroyed, even when Miles drops Paul Mccartney’s guitar on the beach she’s like so concerned and I feel that.

My take away from this is that I am already so excited for Knives Out 3, I could watch an infinite amount of these movies. 

[pure-ablution]

Products I use for soft hands and feet

Soaps and soaks

The only soap I’ll use on my hands is Savon de Marseille, and I like this soap in particular for its gentle nature and vanilla scent. I don’t soak my hands at all, because it messes with my manicure, and I avoid getting my hands wet for any length of time—I wear gloves to shower and wash the dishes.

I’m harsher on my feet, and I use a mixture of diluted liquid castille soap and Hibiscrub to wash them at the end of each day. Once a week, I soak them for 20 minutes in a solution of 1 part Listerine Original and 1 part white vinegar to 4 parts hot water, and add quite a lot of Dead Sea salt. This softens everything and keeps my feet completely clean and free of any nasty fungi or bacteria.

Scrubs and exfoliants

I’m gentle on my hands, and until recently, I didn’t exfoliate them very often at all. A friend gave me a tub of the stupidly expensive Sucre de Gommage from Dior’s ‘Prestige’ line, and I don’t use scrubs on my face, so it was repurposed for my hands. It’s so gently effective, and exfoliates my hands so well. I use it every night, and it’s so good, that I’m almost tempted to buy another—I’m searching for a good replacement, so please send me a message if anyone knows of something similar. Other than this, once a month I use a very small amount of the Ordinary’s 30% AHA + 2% BHA peel on my knuckles and any other areas of my hands that are prone to dryness.

I exfoliate my feet very rigorously, because I walk and dance a lot, and I don’t want callouses. I use the 7% Glycolic Acid toner from the Ordinary every other night, the stronger 30% peel once a month, the treatment from Mr Pumice once a week, and a peeling mask every 3 months to chemically exfoliate—and I use the St Ives scrub, sefid-ab and kiseh, and a foot planing tool to physically keep hard skin at bay.

Cuticle care

These are just the products I use to keep my cuticles soft and hydrated, not those I use to remove them. I like the Onsen serum for morning and night, because it’s so light and hydrating and it soaks in so well. I use the stick balm from Sally Hansen on my hands’ cuticles throughout the day, since it’s portable and not messy, but I use the oil from Cuccio on my feet and on my hands at night. I seal everything in at night with Dior’s Crème Abricot—it’s expensive, but I haven’t found anything else that works so well, and it’s a small luxury for me.

Oils, masks and creams

Back home, I used to use oil from sheep’s tail on my hands and feet, but it’s difficult to find over here, and I’ve discovered that emu oil works just as well, if not slightly better. I use the oil to massage my hands and feet, and by the end, it’s completely soaked in. Urea is such a powerful ingredient for exfoliation, moisturising, and hydration, and this gel-oil serum contains 40% for strong effects. I apply a small amount to my feet, and then follow it up with my favourite foot cream. For my hands, I use the Vanilla 28 cream from Kayali throughout the day, and Yuskin at night—Yuskin (AKA Yu-Be Skin in America) has a 40% glycerine content for maximum hydration and softness, and it’s the best hand cream I’ve found. Then, every 2 weeks, I use the Norwegian Cica masks for hands and feet from Neutrogena, for additional hydration and moisture.

Occlusive treatments

It’s important to lock everything in after a long routine, and at the end of every night, I like using Flexitol balm with 25% urea on my feet, and pure lanolin on my hands. I cover up with cotton socks and gloves, and let everything soak in whilst I’m sleeping. I love using paraffin wax in a heated bath at the end of a long, cold day—it warms me up from the inside out, and really helps boost my skin’s moisture levels. In the winter, I wear special silicone gel socks around the house and sometimes even beneath my tights when I go out, just to keep my feet soft, warm, and constantly moisturised throughout the day.

[el-is-away]

Breaking into ur askbox like that gif of a cat breaking through a wall

Anyway ask game

Deli: Future, Hate, Midnight, Wound

The Hunter: Fear, Hunt (ha)

Sawyl: Mask, Alone

Wanted to throw in some more but there's already a lot hhhh

thank u!! i scritch you like the cat breaking through a wall you are

Delicon

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

i guess that would be fully succumbing to his want for power. that would mean him continuing to search for people (or monsters) to please, maybe even continuing on his devotion to jormag and not finding something else to do with his life, continuing being a midless zealot. i guess now a normal life, a partner and a job kind of ground him a little bit, so it helps to not think about such stuff. he is complely aware of his violent beginnings and hopes to not go on that path again.

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

nowdays deli mostly hates long shifts and nosy customers djkgjf. but in general, he hates traitors and things, that remind him of his past. he tries to such people and things them at all costs.

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

visions of past. echoes of a long lost spirit that haunted him. his violent outbursts at gwynne, back in gyala. he is afraid of becoming a monster to deal with. he doesn't think of it often, but when he does, he gets really solemn and just freezes for a while, staring into space. dreadful for him, really. so instead he keeps busy :)

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

he takes physical wounds like a champ. it barely bothers him anymore, esp since his skin (bark?) has become a bit tougher with years of being frozen. he has emotional and mental wounds - betrayal in the past, hardships, outbursts at loved ones. but he tries to keep it all shoved deep inside, ignore it. worst wound? he literally got impaled once and lived through it just out of pure spite that was coursing through his posessed body at the time

The Solemn Hunter

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

meeting brother once more and still being not good enough for him. confronted, he will just be angry, maybe even violent, but out of fear of knowing the truth. he is definitely a hider of all kinds, you will never see him being genuine and sharing whats bothering him.

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

a person. still, brother; they were separated because of how much pryman didn't approve of their path of violent beginning. hunter is brittle, unchangable, so he is still riding that violence train to this day, to some extent. even if for a better cause. he is always on alert, cause hes a killeeeeeeerrrrrrr. :)

"Sneaky Oranges" Sawyl

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

no! literally, no. he is as obscene as is. its his nature to be pompous, full of himself, get under people's skin. he loves all of it. the attention, both negative and positive, it fuels him. but he has a softer side; a side, that he shows to his lovers once in a while. a romantic, poetic side, that bards have.

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

he deals with it just fine, but prefers to be in company most of the time. by his nature he is a social butterfly, so being all by himself is just a bummer. but sometimes it's needed: only alone he reaches a truly philosophical mood, where he can write masterpieces.

[offrozenmemoirs]

The crimson sands of Seboko had ever proven to be the perfect location for all manner of celebrations and festivals in Nihiran - with the Throat of the Abyss and the stirring unknown within it as the backdrop, no more theatrical a backdrop could possibly be conceived. The whole scene was made even more radiant without the eyesore of a city floating above that sacred ground - though seeing a thousand fists raised in defiance towards it some years prior certainly painted a different picture of striking beauty.

Today, though, the sands are stirred not with the scatter of revolution or the heated dance of flinging fire poi - which, notably, had been making its own renaissance within the country - but with the cries and footfalls of combat. Fists, chains, staves, blades - and among the combatants seeking to prove their worth, hooves dragging across the sand.

Each combatant she faces is fiercer than the last - and though there comes a time where she at last meets her limit, when a masked contender of smaller stature is simply too fast for her to follow and too strong for her to resist, there comes no shame in Creed's defeat at the tournament. The time that remains is simply lost in the haze of recovering with a bulging waterskin, refreshing cactus fruits, and a nourishing cut of elephant steak.

That is, until the voice of the one who claimed victory over the cloven-hooved contender reaches out to her. And, deprived of her mask, Creed is greeted only with the strangely familiar face of an umber-skinned dwarf, lit by the flickering torchlight within the cavernous dining hall, hair contained in a cap to protect it from the sands - and the biggest, proudest smile on her face.

"Did you miss me?" // Ramona to Creed, post-GTE days

The tiefling had heard of the tournament, and figured that it would be a nice way to pass the time. Plus, the prize pool was pretty good too. If for no other reason, she liked having tests of strength, and it was a good way to keep herself on her hooves so to speak. It had been some time since she'd been back to Seboko, and she never quite gets used to the sight of the throat of the abyss. Seeing her fellow competitors and hearing the sounds of talk and smells of the various foods being made...It filled her with an excitement that she had longed for over the past year or so.

She's practically brimming with energy, as she stares at her fellow competitors. She pounds a fist against a flat palm, bowing in respect as she was taught by Ramona, before she readies herself. It doesn't take long for things to get started in full force. The roar of the crowd filling her ears.

Creed practically goes into a trance, letting the flow of combat guide her. She rushes the person nearest to her, and had it been anyone else or she were just starting as a fighter...She might just be a little intimidated by the man in front of her, scarred and rippling with muscle...Though she towers over him and she can see from his expression he's caught off guard. Enabling her to simply take him down with a quick combo, dropping him on his back and once she mounts him, a few blows to the face knock him out.

[If this wasn't just a straight up brawl, I might've actually taken the time to enjoy the cheers.]

She and a smaller woman are soon back to back with one another, Creed looks down at her, and is met with a nod, and the two work together to take down the group, a combination of redirecting charging opponents into each other to knock them out, or catching them between each other.

Creed is visibly panting with exertion, she can last in fights for a while, but her strategy with fights was overwhelming her opponent with pure force so she didn't have to waste too much energy in a fight. Still, she wears a grin as she stares at the last woman standing.

"Hah. Well, no matter which of us is left standin'...I've had a lotta fun getting to go all out like this."

At the end of it all, though she puts in a valiant effort...Creed's the one who falls at the end, and by the time she's recovering, she's too focused on food and drink, until a voice reaches her ears.

"Ramona?! Aw, I shoulda known it was you! Nobody else fights quite like you do. Plus, the way we worked together like that...At first I figured you were just someone who was trained in the same stuff as me but...You didn't waste a single movement."

[You still have a ways to go to catch up to Ramona. The woman had been much like a mother to you, though she could be a stern teacher, when training was over, she was quick to treat you to food and drink, and give you pointers.]

"Come now Creed, don't be gettin' down on yerself! Yer doin' me proud, th'way ya ran through the crowd. Plus, yer still young, so remember what I always told ya."

Creed lets a smile come to her face as she picks up her mug.

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

The master and student clink their drinks together, before excitedly chattering about their adventures.

[obitoslay]

I know you probably haven't seen anything from boruto but if you had to make an au around it, how would you have it interact with Naruto as a series.

you’re right i haven’t seen boruto. though i do know the basics surrounding it.

if i were to make an au surrounding boruto, then boruto itself would be the biggest dystopia if that makes sense. the shinobi system is not reformed; there is no justice for sasuke’s clan or anyone really. there is just a huge hollowness masked by the technological advancements made and the tentative peace that konoha enforces.

a lot of it becomes really depressing when u put it with the context of naruto’s ending. Naruto’s ending should promise change—naruto sees sasuke for who he is and accepts him, but belief is not enough to change hurt that is systemic. and it would slowly wear sasuke down and everyone else who had hopes for change

i think first of all i wouldn’t make aliens the main antagonists of boruto; there’s actually a lot in boruto that’s unresolved from canon naruto that can be further developed, for example weaker villages living in destitution like ame, or even just missing nin and those that exist outside of the major villages. despite peace, not everyone will want to be a part of it.

i think sarada’s actually a really interesting character! and i know that she’s very curious and interested in her own heritage to the point she goes digging through sasuke’s past. sarada’s character alone bridges naruto and boruto through its previous ideological conflict. sarada wants to become hokage but she doesn’t know the truth behind the massacre. it would be a huge shock to her and make her question everything she knows, as well as force sasuke to confront the fact that he is living a life that goes against what he initially fought for.

i think the trickiest part would be getting team 7’s characterisation. boruto is supposed to be the happy ending they all wanted where they are finally reunited and have achieved all their goals, but it feels wrong. there’s a weariness that comes with being an adult and having seen it all compared to the determination of being younger and wanting to change the entire world.

boruto would still be a story about the future generation, but it would be characters like sarada and her curiosity about the cracks that slip through konoha’s exterior that slowly makes the generation we are familiar with come to terms with the lie they’ve been living. in this way, despite boruto’s depressing beginning, it would be a hopeful story focused more on character development than purely action scenes with aliens. so more worldbuilding on what the shinobi world would look like after decades of fake peace.

sarada as a main character would be really cool, she has so much potential, especially in my mind she would have sakura’s empathy and sasuke’s sense of justice. she might approach things a lot different to canon sasuke who suffered from a lot of trauma and was really lonely, but still in a way that he would ultimately understand and connect to. also i would develop this idea that that it’s not too late to start making changes in your life, that you don’t have to live like this, esp if it makes you unhappy.

[forgetforgotforgotten]

Chapter 1 Left in the Dark

Since he was banned, Jack Ma feels as if a mask is permanently glued to his face. Once a known and recognized individual with his own identity, he now feels trapped behind a mask.

While visiting the Museum in Krakow, where his favorite artist is being showcased, Jack Ma once again becomes lost in the beauty of the paintings of Caravaggio. The skin reflects the light or maybe the light reflects the skin. He felt as though he hadn’t experienced light on his skin for months. He sees himself in the paintings, not as Jack Ma with a mask, but as the person, he used to be before he left China. Oh, what would he do to feel his skin again in the light... (1) He becomes aware of the crowd of people surrounding him, all admiring the painting of Caravaggio and yearning for something more, a sense of identity that has been lost.

After leaving the museum, he steps out onto the bustling streets of Krakow. The streets felt empty even though they were filled with people. After looking at paintings with the rawness of humanity, he felt nothing looking around the city. Despite the crowds of people, the city lacks any real identity, much like Jack Ma himself.

“I can’t life my whole life in the shadows! I got so used to the Mask that I forgot that I was wearing one.”

Again, he recalls the many people admiring Caravaggio's painting.

“All of us feel the same. Our skin turned dark, covered by a mask.(2) We live in a place without identity but the city gets its identity through the people who live in it. The citizens represent the city and when we hide behind a mask the city is dark (3) like our skin. Without the identity of human beings, the city will never be a place that can inspire like the paintings of Caravaggio.”

He decides that he needs to change the city - Not just for himself, but also for all the people looking the same way at Caravaggio's paintings as he is.

“I can’t do this alone, there is only one man who knows better than anyone else how to make the skin lighten up.”

Chapter 2 Lightning the darkness

There was no point in trying to hide his disappointment. (4) He knew that a long time had passed, but nevertheless, the way the world had changed, or not changed, made him sad. There was nothing left to lose, yet urbanism still reflected the old fears, so that’s when Caravaggio awoke, it was to pure darkness. (5)

Once upon a time, he was a famous painter whose works were known for their realistic and often brutal depictions of everyday life. His art celebrated the messiness of human existence and shed light on the darker aspects of human nature that people often tried to hide away. He had always been fascinated by the hidden parts of humanity and with his paintings, he lifted the mask and painted the skin in light.

He received an invitation, but it was not just any invitation – it was an invitation to come up with a painting. As a famous person, he had received numerous invitations before, but never one that aroused his curiosity like this. He knew that, in the state of the world today, something needed to be done. However, he was still surprised that the person who wants to change the city is no other than Jack Ma. It's not that he didn't like Jack Ma, but he personally preferred the "crazy ones who live in the light" like Elon Musk. Maybe a few years ago he would have also seen jack Ma as someone who could change the city but Jack sloughs his skin (6) like a snake and Caravaggio wasn’t sure if Jack’s skin has re-enlightened.

Chapter 3 Stepp out to light

Jack Ma: “Caravaggio, I’m glad you came! I’m a huge fan!”

Caravaggio: nods unimpressed Caravaggio: “Why am I here Jack?”

Jack: “I need your help! I want you to paint me.” Caravaggio: “So you want me to paint you like one of my French girls?” smirks

Jack: “Haha – okay, let me rephrase it; I want you to transform Krakow into one of your paintings.”

Caravaggio: “To make the city into a painting like mine, you need to make the people forget.”

Jack: “I don’t want them to forget who they are!” Caravaggio: “It’s not about forgetting who you are, it’s about forgetting to forget.”

"Jack thinks, 'Maybe it was wrong to ask Caravaggio to come back. Nothing of what he says makes sense. Maybe the stories are true and he turned crazy at the end of his life.'"

Jack: “I don’t understand.”

Caravaggio: “The skin turned dark, with no light to make it appear, as if the skin doesn’t exist anymore. When the skin doesn’t exist, the boundary to your identity is gone. They forget that they put on a mask because they don’t have a skin anymore.”

Jack: “But we all have a skin.”

Caravaggio: “Yes, Jack, but your skin is dark. The mask covers your skin with each of its folds, wrinkles, scars,(7) imprinting with a singular variety for each of us, a universal covering.”(8)

Jack: looks confused “So what you’re saying is that I need them to forget that they don’t have a skin?”

Caravaggio: “No, this is the state that the world is now! When you make them forget that they forget that they’re wearing a mask, then they’re stepping out into the light, and the skin appears.”

Jack: “But how do I do that?” Caravaggio: “Look at my paintings - with light.” (9) Jack looks out to the city

Caravaggio: “It’s not about not knowing who you are, it’s about not showing who you are. (10) You know who you are Jack, (11) but you need to step into the light (12) again to get your skin back - the same applies to the people in this city. When people stopped being, the city stopped existing. When their skin appears again, the city will be one of my paintings.”

Jack thinks, ‘ The guy is crazy, but he is also right. We’re wearing a mask (13) but forget we’re wearing one. So I need to make the play stop,(14) lift the mask, and the skin will appear in the light.’

Chapter 4 Light is the skin of Cityness

The streets were bursting with color and movement, as local and international artists brought their unique styles and perspectives to the city. The installations were like brushstrokes on a canvas, each one telling a story (15) and inviting the audience to share their identity. While stepping out into the light they forget to forget.

People from all walks of life connecting with each other while the mask was fading away. They were like different colors blending together to create a harmonious whole. Some colors matched and some stood for their own but every single one was enlightened. The laughter and chatter of the crowds were like the notes of a symphony, filling the air with joy and excitement but also with the sound of raw wildness.

The city itself was the canvas, and the celebration was the medium through which it came to life. The buildings and streets were transformed into a living, breathing work of art. It was as if the city had shed its mask and stepped into the light, (16) revealing its true beauty to the world.

In that moment, Jack understood what Caravaggio meant when he talked about the skin appearing in the light. It was as if the veil of everyday life was lifted (17) and revealed the vibrant, colorful essence that lays beneath. The citizen stepped out to light and became a skin again.

Jack walked around the city and was proud to see what he has created

“Krakow turned out to be one of Caravaggio's most beautiful paintings. “

Carrington, The Oval Lady Surreal Stories

Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary

Mitchell, Daoist Nei Gong

Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

Calasso, Ardor

Plant, Zeros and Ones

Serres, The Five Senses

Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

Erasmus, Paraphrases on the Epistles to the Corinthians Ephesians PhilippansColossians and Thessalonians

Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

Eco, On Beauty A History of a Western Idea

Roman, Play Among Books

Plato, Sophist

Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

Le Corbusier, When the Cathedrals Were White

[the-smiling-grinner]

hey uh dont read this 👍 TW vent

okay so basically everything has gone to shit. lets get a lil back story here

so ill be 17 soon (terrifying) and it will be almost 4 years sober of everything and i could not be more miserable. when i was 12 i abused perscription medication during the 2020 lockdown and in the process got into other things (cigs and alchol).

i dont really think that anyone understands how deep it goes. i mean think about it, a 12 yearold already suffering from halucinations, delusions and other things. on two kinds of anti psychotics, drinking, smoking and taking way to many pills. its pretty messed up.

my parents had never been the best but a brain tumour caused my mother to become abusive. i dont remember much of 2020-2021 bc i was either high, drunk, in a psychotic episode or sometimes all three. but i remember some things and the things i do remember are bad. it got so bad that i barely knew what was going on half the time.

safe to say my appearence was less than ideal. i wore a covid face mask constantly. even when you stopped having to at school. and i still wear it. simply bc i know people will make fun of me for it more than they already do if i take it off. as much as i want to stop wearing it, i know i cant.

my hair was dyed black and greasy, my achne was bad and my teeth were messed up. i was over weight, then under weight, then over weight again. i was hidious. evey photo taken of me, i looked through the camera. i had nothing left behind my eyes. i was so close to giving up entirely.

my mother had her brain tumour removed and my life was starting to take shape again. thats when she came in. she was beautiful in every way. i hated her but i loved her all the same. she caused me so much pain but it felt great.

it seemed like a good idea at the time. to date her. but i soon deacovered that she was not like she seemed. in many ways ill not describe. she ripped me appart, absolutly gutted me from the inside. i developed FND (look it up i cant be bothered explaining). my life was starting to go down hill again. i felt sick constantly. my halucinations were terrible and my mental state was even worse. i had sezures and headaches every day.

then we broke up. it was drawn out and long but to leave it all behind was freeing. i felt free for the first time in months. then she back stabbed me. i wont say what happend but this is the reason i can not trust people. my paranoia is through the roof. i constantly think about how everyone is conspiring against me and that they arent really my friends.

anyway. enough about her.

i am lonely and i fear that i will always feel this way. i have friends and a boyfriend yes but they also have friends. my halucinations icolate me. i behave agressively and erratically. nothing as bad as 2021 and 2020 but still bad.

i dont know what to do so i throw myself into school. its all i really do anymore. that and pretend i have friends. i sit at the kitchen bench and speak to no one. i have many friends there. i can act how i want and they like it. i have no one to talk to about this.

i try to talk to God but i feel bad burdening him with it like i am with everyone else. i dont feel good enough for God or any one for that matter.

im nothing like the pretty Christian girls on tiktok who look so pure and sweet. the look so kind. true women of God. i am not. i try to be but it never works out. i look scruffy, my hair is always messed up, i wear weird clothes, im rude, i cuss way too much and im just not a very nice person to be around.

i want to be tho. more than anything i want to be kind. i want to be good enough. and it doesnt even seem like im trying.

i really want cigs and alchaol. to medicate like i did all those years ago but i cant. sinning every day with small things is bad enough but those are worse.

i do my best in school and thats enough. it makes me feel like enough. im good at school. im good at it. im not good at many things but im good in school. i got dux in two subjects last year and finished top 10% of my grade. thats enough right?

every day i feel my sanity slowly slipping away. being replaced by paranoia and horrible halcinatoins. i tell myself that ill never get as bad as i was back then but deep down, i want it. bc this time, people would see it. they would know how bad it is and how my jokes are just a cry for help.

i have been put on more medication as of recently and im scaired. i dont know what it will do to me. will it kill me? will it make me put on weight? who knows. ive already had bulimia i dont need it again.

on top of this, im loosing my best friend. i can see how much they suffer. i can see how bad it is for them. they have made heaps of new friends recently and i am so happy for them but we so rarely talk now. when we do, its great. we used to see eachother every weekend, now we dont. i ask first to hang out and i feel bad, like im forcing them. i dont want to force them.

there was more i could have done for them that night. if it wasnt for those drugs. those fucking drugs. the dugs that i took to take me away from everything. to make me happy. but i wasnt happy. i was insane. i was deranged. surely anyone who looked at me could see it. that night i ripped out 4 teeth. one of them was an adult tooth. a mf adult tooth. i tore out a tooth. i was 13 by then.

i have to make my parents happy and when i dont i feel bad. i want to make my dad happy and go to his house but i hate that house. i want to make my mum happy but it always ends in an argument. i want to make my friends happy but i cant and if they can find friends to make them happy. then thats okay.

i just dont know anymore. everything is so blury. the paranoia is imence. i hate it. anyway. hope no one actually reads this.

there is SO much more but this is all for now

[moongumi]

⁀➷ ∵  ❝ nice warm bed you've got there, ghost¹ ❞

⟶ simon 'ghost' riley x reader

⟶ cw. sleepy!ghost, fem!reader, flirting, established flirtationship, kissing, lots of kissing, grinding, ghost calls you kid + more (nothing too sexy yet only a tiny bit of smut but more like descriptions nothing that isn't listed)

⟶ note. not edited, written out of pure thirst

drained and sore from the mission you had jumped in the shower quickly before anyone could take the chance. the other guys rested in the rv waiting for their turn. they pretty much start to stink up the entire place with the smell of masculine musk and spoiled mud.

right when you're done, vargas decides it was his turn before anyone else could utter a word. he nudges your shoulder in the small space as you tried to dry your wet hair with towel, its freakin' dark so you assume he was just being clumsy. he mutters a quick, "sorry", before slipping away in the tiny cubicle.

your arms raised in your tank top and shorts you rub the towel into your head as you walk towards the front of the rv.

soap clears his throat, sitting on the dining table set. across him is ghost, they take up the entire space with their large width so you'd have to get past them towers the bench-like couch to have a place to sit.

soap notices you right away and kicks his feet ahead. ghost snaps his head but notices soap's head nudging behind him. "do yourself a favour, try not to look."

ghost's eyes dart to the right behind his textured mask, seeing your shadow before yourself. "yea, i'm tryin', mate."

you make your way past a very stiff-necked ghost and soap who gives you a sheepish grin. you notice their files of documents and photographs littered all over the worktop. even after hours they can't seem to stop working. soap gives ghost a smack on the shoulder and leaves.

ghost relaxes slightly when his head down form notices you've left as there were no lingering shadows covering up the reflection of the moonlight from that side.

that is until he feels hands on his shoulder and a heavy weight pushes them downwards. "you still trying?" your soft voice pierces his ears and he jumps.

he rolls his eyes, throwing his head into his palm. "shut up kid."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"alright, pick bunks." soap sees you already on a top bunk over the top of a queen bed that sits at the end of the rv. "i see you've already chosen."

"yep." you pop your lips and continue to click on your nintendo switch, cooling off. completely ignoring the rest as they pick bunks.

soap and ghost end up under you whilst the others have opted to either stay awake, drive or sleep on those bench-couches that turned into beds.

you decide to sleep for a while. comfortably until.

ghost feels a weight on his bed, it definitely wasn't soap. his eyes open to see you climbing down off your bunk and dropping into his, your tank rolling up as you did. your entire weight drops on his bed and crinkle the duvet, his eyes half open looking at you. "what you doin'?"

"what do you think?"

ghost groans groggily, waving you off, "you can't do that. not right now."

"soaps not here." ghost looks to his side, you're right. "the others are out, we stopped at a station. they're getting food and water." your straddle the lower part of his leg slightly, dropping your weight slowly on him–he feels the heat off your bare legs on his sweats.

ghosts eyes barely open and he sits up to look at the window seeing the shop and station as you say. somehow he didn't even wake up whilst the others made their move. he rubs his eyes through his balaclava. you wondered if he even showered as the black paint kind of still lingered around his eyelids, the only part you really get to see of his face.

"you still wear your mask when you sleep, hm?"

ghost groans, pointing at you with a jut of his chin. "you do too."

you click your tongue pointing at yours, "mines different." you did wear a mask on duty like him just not as artistic. but you wear a medical mask otherwise, it was easier to breathe and covered you up, hiding your identity well enough.

ghost leans his weight on his hands. he sat up slightly. you make your way onto his lap, he didn't even resist only cocking his head at your every move. he sees the way you're looking at him. eyes half open, lashes heavy, maybe because you also just woke up but hell, you were giving him some sort of intentional look.

"let me kiss you," you whispered, words slathered with lust. it was one of the last things he expected, but who was he kidding the others are out and the tension between you two was strong enough at other times–alone, was different.

he shakes his head, trying to be the better person. "no, come on. they'll be back before you know it."

"they just left." you're fingers are tickling at the base of his neck, peeling his mask slightly. he only eyes you back, half-lidded too–his pretty eyes make the core of your ache warm up. "ghost, please."

your fingers are slip under his mask, feeling his warm skin, lifting it up more. it reaches his chin, and you feel the roughness of his recently shaven beard. he swallows hard, breathing heavily at your touch.

his head straightens and his fingers reach yours to stop you. "hey."

"what?" you groan, "don't pretend you don't want it."

he doesn't pretend. he can't. you're sat on his lap with your tiny shorts rolled up your ass, your shirt exposing your waist and everything. it's rare to see you so exposed, just your fucking arms and legs made him horny, fucks sake. he'd been so deprived.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and where your lips would be behind that mask. his fingers left yours alone and he reaches for the loops around your ears, his rough fingers yet soft touch pulls them off. even in the dark, it's hard to see your face, maybe that was a good thing, neither of you really knew what each other looked like. it seemed a lot more exciting this way.

you take that as a green light. dragging his mask over his nose and pressing your lips against his quickly, so he couldn't stop you anymore–he can't just draw it out longer, the chase. you angled your head, molding into his bottom lip. his lips part and he deepens the kiss, a low grovel ringing from his throat. his tongue slips past your swollen lips with ease, with no resistance. he explores it, pressing his tongue and curling it to the roof of your mouth, tasting all of you.

you moan, whimpering into his mouth. rolling your hips naturally into his lap that allows you to feel his growing bulge. he thrusts his hips as well. who knows the last time the man got action and fuck, he wanted it now.

his eyes are shut under his halfed-mask, you keep switching angles as if it could get you any closer to the extremely attractive older man. you felt like you saw something in the corner of your eyes for a split second, and when you open your eyes fully you can see the other men through the sheer curtained window returning with bags of snacks, drinks, and food and you pull away with a gasp. "fuck."

ghost returns to his senses and looks in that direction. "fuck." he watches as you jumbled as you jumped off him. only watching in amusement. "good night." pressing your bare feet against the covers by him and getting back into your bunk above him.

ghost's deep chuckle makes the pits of your belly warm, "good night, kid."

end note: i miss ghost daddy ok? im thirsting and FROTHING FOR THIS MAN. i really wanna write a full fic like oc and all but i literally dunno shit about military n america LOL. but i will be writing more, but THE MASK STAYS ON. hopefully no fanboys run into this n get all pissy &lt;3 idk how people feel about being called kid by a guy you're tryna fuck but : ) soz

[hollandsmushroom]

sharing another thought i had about peter painting your nails and then kissing your palm when he’s done 🥺

Dote on You || P.P

Ashanti!(i desperately need to come up with a nickname for you babes) I always get carried away with your requests so here is like...

Word Count: 1246 words of soft Peter Parker fluff

Warnings: Suggestiveness and mentions of a boner and insane amounts of fluff!

Read more here and request/give feedback here

Peter was so much different out of the suit than he was in it, the weaponized spandex making him have a confidence that was unknown to him and you always found it so interesting to watch. You always revelled in the way that he would be fighting a criminal, someone holding the power to destroy a city and when he won, he always won, he would return to you, peel the mask from his soft features and melt into your arms, cuddling his often scraped up face into the crook of your neck, and you loved it, you loved how you made him soft and weak in the knees.

You always spent time together after missions, taking time to recover while in each others arms, because when you were like that, nothing else mattered, it was the two of you doing stupid things and laughing, compartmentalizing, being there for each other through tears and stitches if the mission was rough. In this case, it wasn't anything special, the mission that is, the time afterwards was heavenly. You came back from the mission exhausted, stumbling off the jet and up the stairs to your bedroom, collapsing on your soft sheets still dressed in your suit. Peter had stayed home from this mission in particular, there really wasn't any reason other than Tony's fear of Aunt May, who had said that if he kept Peter away from family dinner that she would have his head on a plate, and nothing scared Tony more than that.

There was a knock on your door, but you were too lazy to sit up, let anyone in, or really even form words.

"HNANGGG" You groaned loudly, rolling onto your side and turning away from the door, expecting for the person to go away but that wasn’t the case, the sound of your door swinging open made you roll back towards it. “What do you wa-Petey!” you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your cheeks at the sight of you soft looking boyfriend, he was wearing an oversized white shirt and his favorite worn down, nappy sweatpants, the ones that practically every teenage boy had, but he wore them best, at least in your opinion. You sat up excitedly, opening your arms to welcome your boyfriend into your hold but the movement pulled a groan from your lips as you strained your bruised ribs. Peter’s face soured at the sound, dropping to sit at your side, looking at you with worried eyes.

“Baby? Are you alright?” he asked, fingertips threatening to undo the zipper of your suit and expose your wound to him, even though nothing would be showing externally quite yet.

“Yeah, yeah, I am alright, baby” you chuckle, curling further into your side as your eyes dip down to where his fingers were about to tug down the toggle of your zipper, you look back at him incredulously “You trying to get me naked, buddy?” you tease, shouldering him slightly, your words made Peter flush, face going red as he retracted his hand.

“Wha-no, I-I um just, I know your suit isn’t very comfortable and I was thinking we could relax and cuddle and I um have a surprise for what we could do” tucking your chin back into your neck you look at him with furrowed brows.

“A surprise?” there was a sparkle in your eyes that Peter caught, loving how excited you were.

“Mhmm, but let's get you into your pajamas first, your suit smells terrible” You open your mouth in feigned offence, pushing him back at the shoulders and giggling childishly, an action that Peter joined in on as his fingers found your zipper, pulling it down and assisting you in peeling it off of your body, leaving you naked from a mere moment.

“You’re so pretty” Peter hummed softly, tracing fingers gently over you bare shoulders making you shiver, looking down to avoid his gaze, eyes catching on a bulge in his pants.

“Is that a rock in your pocket or are you just excited to get me naked?” you chuckle, jabbing a finger towards the bulge as he hands you one of his shirts that he kept in your room because he knows how much you like to wear his clothing.

“Oh, um, that's the surprise” Peter mumbles, looking down bashfully as you slip the shirt over your head, looking at him with a sly smirk once cotton was no longer obstructing your view.

“Petey, I know what your dick looks like, that is no surprise to me baby” you laugh only making him groan.

“It's not my dick, Y/n!” Peter voices as he falls back on your bed, pulling a bottle of nail polish from his pocket, and though you were intrigued by the item you still weren’t ready to move on, especially now that there was still a bulge in his sweatpants, even though he had removed the supposed culprit.

“Hmm, you have another bottle of nail polish in there or are you really just happy to see me?” you chuckle, reaching out and poking him in the thigh.

“Oh fuck off, Y/n! You were naked, it happens, can I paint your nails now?” Peter sounded exasperated, collapsing down onto the bed, cuddling into your side.

Turning to face him you let a chuckle escape your smiling mouth, poking him in the cheek and sighing as the skin squished beneath your touch, no matter what he was such a boy, he was your boy, even if he was grown, he was your boy. “Of course you can, Petey” the smile that took over his soft face was so pure, so kind it made you want to scream.

“Okay, sit up” Peter orders, snaking an arm underneath your waist and helping you up into a sitting position.

The scent of acetone filled your nose as you watched Peter carefully unscrew the bottle of polish. His hand was warm as it grasped yours, spreading your fingers across his palm and precisely flicking the bristles over your nail, leaving streaks of color perfectly in its wake.

“How did you learn to paint nails so well, Petey Baby”

“First off, you know how much that nickname effects me, it makes me feel all glowy and like I am butter and just melting and I am trying to keep a steady hand so if you could not, please” you can’t help but laugh at his antics, making sure your giggle doesn’t make your hands move and effect his painting abilities. “And secondly, May and I used to have spa nights and I would paint her nails and then whenever she would have a date I would paint her nails, so I guess May taught me” he explains, scraping off some of the excess paint that had seeped into your nail bed. “Ta dah! All done” Peter exclaims, tightening the top on the bottle and throwing it aside, flipping over your palms and placing soft kisses to your skin, looking up to find you with your eyes fluttering shut and mouth slightly parted in a soft sigh.

“Let's get you to bed, baby” Peter sighs, moving to exit your bed.

“Only if you stay with me” you growl, pressing your palm to his chest and pushing him down so you wouldn’t smear your newly painted nails.

“Of course baby, I will always stay with you.”

I love feedback! Give Me Some Please

♡Taglist♡

@harmqnia @marvelhasmyheart235 @iluvdeja @capital-koreasofia @hollandsour @thehumanistsdiary @quaksonhehe @thollandneedy @parkerpeter24 @evermoreholland @prancerrparkerr @lovehollandy12 @spidey-sophie @spidernerdsblog

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.6/finale

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five 

Summary: Inside the fold, Y/N and the Darkling face off.

Warnings: angst, fluff sprinkled on top, indicating smut

========================

When she was a child, Y/N feared the darkness. Every night she would lay awake with a candle by her side, too scared to close her eyes. She feared the unspoken horrors that occurred under the cloak of darkness, of one day finding herself in peril as well. The fold fueled such fears, especially when the boys in the orphanage would speak of the Volcra. She had heard the descriptions, the vile appearances and inhuman deeds they’re capable of. They haunted her when she closed her eyes, wondering if that’s what killed her parents.

Y/N still fears the dark, just of a different kind.

She fears the darkness that resides in humans, the kind that’s lurking under the surface yet remains invisible to the naked eye. At any point, the darkness could surface and once it does, it would swallow anyone who stands in its way. Perhaps that’s where her trust issues stem from, the corruption of human hearts. People are wicked, using everything, even love, for their selfish desires.

In truth, she should have seen it before.

Aleksander Morozova should have been a clear danger for her heart right from the moment they met in that dark tent where she wondered how anyone could be comfortable in such an environment. A powerful, handsome man with a silver tongue and a weakness for her had seduced her by simply paying attention. He looked at her like no man ever before – like she was the only one for him, a source of eternal sunshine.

She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be deceived.

A woman with trust issues and a fear of darkness fell in love with a man who was darkness incarnated. He embodied all she dreaded and yet she couldn’t see beyond the mask of perfection he always kept in place. A part of her wondered if he ever showed who he truly is in those intimate moments they shared.

Throwing his head back, Aleksander laughed. His chest rose with a sharp intake of breath before it quaked with a new laugh erupting from deep inside.

“It’s not funny!” She pouted, trying to glare at him as if the sound of his laughter didn’t make her feel like she’s in a dream.

“You know I adore that pout”, Aleksander smirks, pinning her against the wall.

Breathless, her lips part just in time for Aleksander’s to take advantage. He gave a low, throaty chuckle once her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed against the strength of his arm behind her back. He bent, put his other arm beneath her knees. His mouth never leaves hers as he carries her to the bed. He abandoned her lips only to press them on her neck and she couldn’t believe how easily he swayed her.

Before long she could bear no more kissing. She ached all over and she pulled his hair to better meet his mouth. She fastened on his lips hungrily, greedily, ready to feel him inside her, around her, to completely numb her senses.

“Aren’t we eager today”, he teased her as he slowed down, determined to drawl out every moment he had with her.

“I can either be angry with you for laughing at me”, she trails off, her eyes flickering to his lips. “Or you can make me forget about the poor Grisha I flashed in your map room.”

Growling, he inhales sharply, “As amusing as it was to see you both scream, I prefer when you scream for me when we are alone.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffs, “I wanted to be spontaneous! How was I supposed to know someone else would be in the room?”

He picked up a lock of her hair from across her neck and held it up, letting the dim light of the fireplace play though the strands. He held it to his nose, then to his lips.

For the first time he could ever remember, he was completely content.

“What do you want us to do?” Ivan asks, finding the change in his general terrifying. He could see the Darkling is enraged, losing control and a Grisha powerful as he is could be lethal in such circumstances.

“You’ll do nothing”, Aleksander snapped as he mounted his horse. “I will go after her.”

He looks to his loyal Grisha with narrow eyes, aware he’ll return undoubtedly changed by whatever transpires inside the fold. Whether he returns with his Sun Summoner in hand or with her body in his arms, the Darkling would be different.

During his time with Y/N, Aleksander relied on her for happiness he long forgot about. He held onto her for as if she was all he had and she still abandoned him. They all do so once they see how far he’s ready to go in order to protect those he loves – his people….and her. He would have done anything for her.

This is his kingdom, but she’s not his queen anymore.

“We shall await for further instructions at the camp.”

Nodding, Aleksander turns away from them with a dark look on his face. For the first time since he created the fold, he will step inside and he didn’t know who would emerge victorious. If he dies, he won’t be around to care, but if she does? He was sure he will never be whole again.

He kissed the corner of her mouth boldly, waiting for a sign of resistance. Her hands pushed weakly against his shoulders but even at his slight touch, her eyes closed in surrender. 

Seeing her so, Aleksander smirked before he kissed her cheek, her ear lobe. Then, as she gasped for breath, his mouth came down on hers. His tongue sweetly touched the tip of hers and she drew back, startled. He smiled at her as if he understood how strange such affection is to her.

“Someone will see us”, she whines.

Shrugging, Aleksander’s smile grows wider, “Let them see.”

“Don’t you have a reputation of a hardass to preserve?” Her lips press into a thin line as her eyebrows rise, tantalizing him.

His eyes are nearly black as he pulls her to him again. He ran his tongue along her lips, touching the inner corners especially. She parted her teeth for him, desperate for a taste of him. He was better than the richest honey; hot and cold, soft and firm. She explored his mouth as he had explored hers, no longer shy or reserved with him.

Parting in desperate need of a proper breath, he looks at her rosy, swollen lips with complete resignation.

“My reputation means nothing to me when you’re with me. You are what I want my reputation to be.”

Panting, Y/N felt like her lungs would explode. She had been running from the edge of the fold, deep into the darkness she once feared. She ran because she wasn’t sure if Aleksander was furious enough to disregard his own safety by following her inside.

Lips quivering, she pulls out the flask Mal packed for her. Taking a sip, she frowns at the watered down taste of alcohol. She made it clear she wanted nothing but water, yet Mal disregarded her wish. Shaking her head, she smiles anyway. If Mal was with her, she’d thank him for the liquid courage. She’d have agreed to a bottle of whiskey now, lost in the dark.

Swept away in her thoughts, she gasps at the growling in the distance. Her heart nearly stops as a dark, looming shadow passes above her. She whips around as the growls come from behind her as well.

She passed sixteen markers, but she hoped to get to the eighteenth. She planned to get as close to the middle as humanly possible, but wasn’t this just it? If she kept going, nothing could guarantee her safety and she was deep enough inside the fold to at least try. 

Every night she laid awake in the past year was spent with her strengthening her light, her control. 

This was it – she could do it. 

She had to do it.

Releasing a shaky breath, Y/N folds her hands before her. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath as she parts her hands at the palms.

“I wouldn’t do that”, a painfully familiar voice sounds and her eyes open wide.

“Or you’ll kill me?” She laughs, unable to stop herself. It’s a laugh made from pure anxiety and hurt, one that made her feel like she’s mad. Her habit of laughing when she feels like she’s got nothing left to lose came rarely; the first time it happened was when she learned her parents have succumbed to the very fold she’s in now. She reckoned this would be the last time.

“I don’t want to but, if you do not submit to me –“, Aleksander starts, coming closer slowly as if she was a doe and he the hunter. Every sudden move could frighten her and he didn’t want to face what happens in that case.

“Kill me if you must but I will not submit to you, or any man who wears his crimes like crown jewels!”

Raising her voice had drawn the Volcra, the growling growing louder.

"Is it so wrong for me to want to save you?" Sniffling, Y/N swallows thickly. She couldn’t cry anymore, there were no tears left to cry. She’s dry, inside out. “Things could have been different, you know? You didn't have to fall so far.”

Lifting his chin, Aleksander took a step further in her direction. Catching the slightest shake of her head, he pauses, arms raised in mock surrender.

“You made me love you”, he speaks through gritted teeth, “To depend on you.” He clenches his jaw, his patience wearing thin. “Now you’re trying to take the last piece of my sanity with you.”

“You don’t have to do this”, she tries meekly, “We can still be magnificent. Be the man I fell in love with, please.”

“And then what? We’re supposed to play house while they’re killing our people?!” Aleksander spat, barely holding himself back. “They wouldn’t stop until they kill you right before me and any children we might have!”

Eyebrows knitted together, Y/N’s mouth opens at the words spoken. There was a moment when Y/N realized she’d misinterpreted her darling Darkling’s actions, his words, his expressions from the moment they met… as if he’d been speaking a language she couldn’t understand… that moment was the moment her heart broke…She could hardly speak in her shock when she learned he had lied to her, but this shockingly defining moment was much different than that first moment.

“Children”, she breathes out as a smile forms on her lips, one he found confusing.

All this time, Aleksander had been using the fold as a way to protect his people and yet, he failed to realize it is exactly what they need to destroy.

“We don’t need the fold”, her smile widens, “You are the fold, my darling Darkling and I am your Sun.” Her lips quiver, her entire body trembles and she still comes closer to him without fear. “With the two of us, we can create and destroy this fold anywhere in the world and today is our chance to demonstrate our power to all those who’d dare to defy us!”

Lips parting, he shakes his head. “What are you saying”, he sneers, still angry at her for defying him.

“I’m saying it doesn’t have to be one way or the other”, she chuckles in disbelief, “We can both destroy the fold and win this war. Every war.”

The growling is near, close enough for the hair to stand on the back of Y/N’s neck.

“Don’t”, he orders as her hands touch, “Don’t you dare!”

Shakily lifting her head, Y/N smiles, "I love you".

Before he has time to comprehend the weight of her words, his world was set aflame by a blinding light exploding all around him.

She screamed out as a bright light emerged from her entire being, enveloping her like a lover’s embrace. It is the kind of brightness that enchants the eyes to open all the wider as it warms the skin.

She never felt the warmth like this, not even when Aleksander’s lips gave her breath or when his arms gave her a reason to believe in him. This warmth is different, like the sun had incorporated itself into her soul and is finally shining through.

She looks to her hands, opening the fists that glow an ethereal light force she never experienced. Her light is like sunlight, it comes as woven strands, free and united, and flowing as it reveals and solidifies, making the world of nightmares around them into something so beautiful. 

Her eyes meet Aleksander’s dazed gaze, her smile wide but his lips are set in a firm line. 

She could feel her soul ripping as she pushed the light further from them, toward the edges. The pressure in her head grew, erasing the smile from her lips. Her legs barely kept her standing as she stumbles. She could feel a wet liquid running from her nose to her lips, the metallic taste making her eyes widen.

“You’ll kill yourself if you keep this up!” Aleksander shouts, trying to make her see sense but she shakes her head.

“I have to do this! For us!”

He could see a vein pulsating across her forehead, the blood gushing from her nose and it slowly became clear to him – he might not have been able to kill her, but seeing her like this convinced him he doesn’t have to. She’ll do it all on her own.

Reaching for her, his hands wrap around her wrists firmly. “I love you too”, he rests his forehead on hers, amplifying her power. He could feel her smile for a split second before she closed her eyes.

Gasping for air, she felt her insides burning and before she could stop herself, Y/N’s bloodcurdling scream echoed in the fold, effectively stopping his heart in fright.

As her scream dies down, Y/N goes limp in Aleksander’s arms.

Her light disappears, another one taking its place as he lowers to his knees, holding her close to him. Looking up, he almost cries as the blue skies above shine a light on his face. 

“You did it”, he croaks, shaking her slightly. “Solntse? Solnechnyy svet?!”

Unmoving, Y/N laid in his embrace as if she had simply fallen asleep, but Aleksander knew she was hanging by a thread.

“Lyubov’?” His voice breaks the self-imposed sternness, his fingers clutching the fabric of her kefta…He didn’t even realize she kept it. 

She must have put it on inside the fold, he realized.

Now, in the light of day, he finally saw the black kefta he ordered to be made for her – black with golden traces of the light she brought in his life. It was fitting she’d be given powers of light for she was the embodiment of lightning, illuminating stormy skies he couldn’t navigate through. Not on his own.

“Wake up”, he whispers. “I need you”, the raspiness of his voice and the cracks are enough testimony for the break inside his chest.

“I can’t survive without you”, he bowed his head down, a choked sob escaping him.

“I love you.” Aleksander whispered into her chest, breaking down when she didn’t say it back. Y/N always chose to say ‘I love you’ instead of goodbye, explaining goodbye was the last thing she ever wanted to tell him and he understood now. He never wanted to tell her goodbye, but maybe that’s necessary too. Maybe life is about learning a better way to say goodbye, learn to let go of the ones you love with nothing but love.

“Aleks”, she tries but the words are stuck in the back of her throat as her need to breathe becomes direr.

“Saints!” He presses his lips as he looks up at her, just as breathless as he was the day when he first saw her. “What can I do? Tell me how can I help you?!”

“All this time I’ve blamed you”, her hand rests upon his cheek, “For pulling me into the dark”, she pauses, “But I was wrong.” Wetting her lips, she manages a small smile, “It was me who brought out your dark side.”

She averts her gaze, hating the vulnerability in her voice as he takes her hand in his, inspecting the ring he gifted her with a crooked smile.

“None of it matters now”, he rests his forehead on hers, “I love you with all I am and I never want to feel like this again.”

“Look at me.” He’s not asking, rather demanding and she can feel the subtle difference just as she can feel his warm hand wrap around hers.

“Gladly”, she chuckles as he helps her sit. None of her hate for him remained. Love…hate, it was always a fine line to walk on and she finally settled on a side – his side.

Saying I love you is the bravest thing he has ever done in his life, for it took every ounce of strength and courage to openly expose his feelings to the love of his life, to put his heart on the line time and time again after all the times she walked away. He knew he didn’t deserve her as she’s always been too good for him, but he swore he’d spend the rest of his life building himself up to be the kind of man she’d be proud of.

“I love you”, he kisses the palm of her hand, giving her enough time to say it back.

“And I love you. I promise you, we will be unstoppable. Together, hand in hand, nothing will dare stand in our way.”

As soul meets soul in a lover’s kiss, the two embrace in the midst of a desert made of ruin they would find a way to rebuild. Their story is far from over, but this time around, they’ll write it together – as equal parts of a whole.

 Tags: @blackbirddaredevil23 @subjecta13-thefangirl @aquamariene-me​ @savannah-elliott @auggie2000 @daybleedsintonightfa11 

[necros-writing-stuff]

Can you do like being the Lis +1 at a wedding hcs

+wren and bailey+ leighton?

Yeeting Black Wolf and Great Hawk from this cause those two aren't going to weddings lmao.

Also this is my welcome back post after being flagged, pog.

Alex

Most likely a sibling's wedding.

Alex's parents will be happy to see you, pulling you over at the party to talk and ask about how things are while Alex says hi to the rest of the family.

You'll be hounded by their siblings. Who are you? Are you their partner? Are you getting married?

Will very much want to dance with you. Picks you up and twirls you around, even if they're clumsy.

You'll hear a lot of embarrassing childhood stories.

Avery

A business associate's wedding.

It is sophisticated and expensive, and Avery ensures you're dressed right for it.

You may have to deal with snide comments about how Avery should settle down and get married instead of playing with pretty young things.

Smile and be polite about it and Avery may just pay you extra.

Another chance to dance better than everyone else, to wow guests with your intelligence, or to stand and make the bride jealous by being prettier.

Bailey

You have no idea who this person is, all you're aware of is that this may be a mafia wedding.

There's an older man with rings watching everyone's move, and Bailey even disappears to talk with him for a while.

You're told to be polite, don't tell them anything personal, don't tell them anything about the orphanage.

There's free food and an open bar, knock yourself out. It's more than Bailey feeds you at home, so it's best to make the most of it. Bailey touches non of it.

You learn Bailey can actually dance pretty well when they get back from the meeting. They don't try to catch the garter/bouquet though.

All in all, a very strange, slightly stressful evening.

Eden

You were baffled when Eden held up the invitation. They know people? Apparently so.

You'll have to convince them to actually go.

On edge the entire time. Its so obvious they don't want to be there.

Will stick to you like glue and not let you out of their line of sight, unless you use the bathroom.

Happy to eat all of the food, though.

Will not dance. That's something you two do alone, at the cabin. An audience makes it scary, but they won't admit that.

Will pull you off into a closet for some... alone time. This is Eden, afterall.

Eden being taller than most of the other people there, having an unfair advantage in catching the bouquet/garter. You're already married, so there's no point in it, though.

Kylar

You know that John Mulaney bit where he talks about his ex-wife glaring at him during weddings because she wanted to get married? Kylar.

"Wouldn't this be nice for us, love? I bet we could have just as much fun as they're having."

Will ask questions to you about decor, flowers, dresses/suits, all to gauge what you like.

"The cake is chocolate. Do you like that or would you prefer another flavour?"

Eager to dance and let people know you're taken. Gushes over you to anyone that will listen.

Will of course try to catch the bouquet/garter thing. If they do, you'll never hear the end of it

Leighton

If anyone asks, you're not a student. You're a student teacher.

A risky move on their part, bringing a younger plus one. Will be asked many questions that they'll expertly deflect.

You'll see them put a mask on and be very different from when you're alone together. This is the Leighton school boards see, that officials see, not the sleeze-ball you've gotten used to.

Might have you wear some racy underwear beneath your outfit so they have something scandalous going on no one else is aware of.

Will get their phone out, take you to the bathroom, and ask you to lift your shirt/skirt so they can get pictures of the underwear before going back to the venue.

Robin

It's a distant relative, one unable to take Robin in after they were orphaned.

Of course they invite you to go with, who else would they take?

Saves up for a new outfit to wear to the event. Has a lot of fun going shopping with you, trying on things.

Takes the chance to go and unwind for the night. No orphans, no Bailey. Just having fun with you.

Making song requests all night, dancing really clumsily, stuffing your faces.

Gets withdrawn and shy when people start asking personal questions. You may have to jump in and save them a few times.

Sydney

One of Sirris' cousins is getting married, and on one drive home, the teacher asks if you'd like to come with them for the day.

Sydney will want to take you out shopping, just like Robin, and get ready for it together.

Both of you popping into the temple and letting them know that you won't be able to come in on that day.

If its out of town, being curious as to what other churches are like.

Sydney falling asleep during the ceremony and having to be woken up.

Syndey might sneak off for a nap, actually. They rarely get days off, and the band is very loud.

Save them some cake. They'll be back later, much more refreshed and eager to have some fun.

Whitney

Oh boy.

Whitney invited you because they want to have some fun. And with Whitney, that means trouble.

They don't tell you that they invited you because they hate how their family prods, asks invasive questions, looks down on them. You're their support system for the night.

Whitney might urge you to sneak under the tables and get them off.

Going outside and setting off fireworks.

Hiding shrimp in the hair-dos of the women that are around. There's so much hairspray they rarely notice.

Encouraging the younger kids there to go be chaotic and scream so no one notices Whitney taking a peak at the wedding gifts left unattended on the table.

You having to stop Whitney stealing gifts.

Wren

You're a bit shocked Wren would let you close enough like this.

It means a lot that Wren is inviting you places.

Similarly to Whitney, Wren is here to have some fun.

Will dance all night with you, if you let them. Can pull of some moves.

Of course ends up placing bets with people, and joining in on games of poker, blackjack, scabby Queen.

If its set at a casino? Keep an eye on Wren before they lose all of the money.

With no Remy around, they're even more daring. Might try to steak the veil or one of the rings. They'll give it back, of course...

Is going to try and catch the garter/bouquet, purely so they can tease you about it later.