#like i agree everyone SHOULD be informed but this is the real world and it's just ??? not the case!

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

These are good points. The problem is that DATV doesn’t do what Dragon Age SHOULD do, which is explore and really get into the guts of a principal character’s motivations and change in perspective. Let’s say that Solas expanding his desire to help all elves rather than just ancient elves was a change he made to his plans during the time skip. Bioware I REALLY WOULD’VE LOVED TO SEE THAT SHIT?!!! I would love to see and explore why he came to that conclusion? Did he interact more with modern elves and grew to include them in his plans? When did this change of heart come about, because when we last left him, only Lavellan was special enough to be considered real. A huge problem with the game is that unlike in previous games entries, you’re not given the opportunity to just ask tons of questions and get to know major NPCs thoughts and feelings on things. If such a thing was implemented, we could’ve gotten, at the very least, a tailored version of Solas’s perspective on his plans and intentions. He’s a cagey man but he also likes to inform and convince and persuade as a Wisdom spirit. Unfortunately, because the game forces you to diametrically oppose Solas no matter what, you’re not granted this opportunity to interrogate him at length because gasp, we might be persuaded to let him tear down the Veil, or agree the veil should fall in some way. Bioware decided for you that the Veil should stay up, decided that there is no other solution to this issue, no other means of maybe returning magic and spirits to the world. Just one or the other. Lame. Laaaaame.

The game’s story so shoddily constructed, the themes and issues so poorly explored, that even when certain things could be taken as “off screen character development” (i.e. once again, Solas doing this for all elves, using spirits to minimize damage), I can’t trust it because how do I know that it’s intentional and not the writers abandoning the plot threads and characterization left off from Trespasser DLC. I genuinely can’t grant them the benefit of the doubt that this is character development for Solas and not goalpost shifting of his priorities because so many other things in DATV are mishandled. I don’t want to pick at my charred steak to look for unburnt bits, I want a new, properly prepared steak. 😭

And again, there should be a way to take it down peacefully. It’s magic. Figure it out, Solas. Do some weird shit. Get the Avvar to help you or whatever.

I guarantee if the entire crew of the original Bioware writers had been in the room they’d let you tear down the Veil. They’d actually have the balls to go there.

And of course I am extremely opposed to indeterminable innocent loss of life if I’m not given numbers. I need numbers. I need to know if there is anything that people can do to protect themselves or increase their chances of survival. I need to know what the loss rate will be.

Solas said there will be death, but that flowers will grow again. Brother, these are not flowers. This is not something you can poetically analogize. You’re emotionally distancing yourself from the fact you are calling for the deaths of thousands, and you (and the writers) are not giving me numbers. I need numbers. Is this a Black Plague level of devastation? Is this 1 out of 20 people? 1 out of 100? A Thanos snap? Virtually everyone but elves? *shakes Solas* answer me you stupid bastard

It itches my brain, fam, because I can *see* all the perspectives and philosophies. If he leaves well enough alone, he is forsaking the ancient elves and condemning their society to utter extinction. He has the ability to fix things (supposedly) and simply accepting things as they are is like getting away with murder with a “sorry”. But if he does try to change things, he is condemning an entire world to death. He is trying to wrench the past into the present, trying to resurrect an empire. Even though he hates imperialism and empires, that’s what he’s doing.. He is trying to replace those alive *now* with those whose existences are *potential*. He’s trying to bring back people who lived during a time of great splendor and eminence. In essence, Solas wants the ancient elves to *replace* those who are presently living. He doesn’t get into what this means for humans or qunari or dwarves (the latter existed during ancient elvhenan). Can we be sure that the ancient elves would resist exerting superiority/supremacy over the remaining living people? Can we?

As far as I understand. I still don’t understand what he means by bringing back the Ancient Elves. If he means that there are ancient elves in comas he wants to resurrect or souls stuck in the Fade he wants to give bodies? Or he means the few elves like Abelas that are still alive that he wants to return their pre-Veil powers to. IT’S REALLY UNCLEAR.

The reason WHY I am so furtive about the Veil is because so many important details are left unknown. In a conversation you have with him in DAI on the balcony, he tells you to your face you flout the categories he has created for the different races, and this is him as Wisdom-Pride given mortal form. I cannot shake the nagging worry that the Ancient Elves, if they were to return, wouldn’t reassume a collective sense of racial superiority over the surviving living races. If they truly get their resurrected empire off the ground, I can 100% see them marginalizing the modern elves, dwarves, humans, and qunari. Everyone would be “separate but equal”, and not even Solas with his good intentions and “philosopher king” pursuit of freedom would be able to prevent it. If the ancient elves were to get their shit together, some form of organization would need to be arranged, and like Elgar’nan, it could lead to a consolidation of power that recreates oppressive hierarchal structures. Solas would probably take up the mantle, reluctantly, but for all of his desire that rulers cede power when they are no longer needed, he would have to remain a ruler if only to prevent war lords and ambitious ancient elves from pulling another elgar’nan. He would either need to become the thing he detests, watch the ancient elves make the same mistake as before, or watch the ancient elves wither away and die before their society ever had a chance to see its true birth. Just because the ancient elves were slaves and freemen who suffered under the tyranny of the Evanuris doesn’t mean that their suffering will make them nobler or more insightful and more sensitive to the harm they could inflict on the survivors of the apocalypse. Because it would be an apocalypse.

But again I need details on how Solas’s plans allow the ancient elves to come back and exactly how many people will die if they were to go off without a hitch. We talking 25%? 50%? 75%? 80%?

I want to live in a world where it is possible for there to be a Legend of Korra style Harmonic Convergence where spirits and people can mish mash together with minimal death and bloodshed. Where the hell is that option. Yes it’s very neat and tidy and “happily ever after” but I don’t care, make it one of the most difficult and intricate world states that you need to do a fuckton of things to be able to trigger! Have your Inquisitor and Solas be the sacrifices needed to make that happen so that you still get that bittersweet tragedy, crib the “Shepard is Spacedust Spacetime God” for it, idk! Make a dozen different endings, if you want.

Veil comes down (Inquisitor dies)- Inquisitor dies in attempt to prevent it. Thus Solas wins, but it’s a pyrrhic victory because it is the final piece of his humanity he has sacrificed. He rules as a stone-hearted king. Romance version: Solas has once again lost a world he cherished. His heart.

Veil comes down (Solas dies)- Solas dies to ensure it does, believing the world is better without him in it. The final sacrifice. But without Solas to lead the ancient elves, his efforts are all but wasted. They cannot gather together to rebuild and meanwhile every other kingdom and empire is crumbling from the shock of the Veil torn down. The world is on fire and demons are everywhere and oh my God what the fuck. This is the worst ending.

Veil stays up - Inquisitor dies to keep it up and things end up in such a way that Solas is incapable of ever interfering with the Veil again. His punishment is to live in this world created by his actions, divested of power, neutered.

Veil stays up (Romance optional: Stop Solas) - Solas somehow, either voluntarily or involuntarily, sacrifices himself to keep it intact. Essentially the “Good” and “Trick” DATV endings.

Veil stays up (Romance optional: Stop/Save Solas) Solas abandons his desire to tear down the veil. He accepts that trying to change the world is not worth it because this world is also worthy of life. Solas is basically put in Inquisitor’s/Lavellan’s custody. One can choose whether to imprison Solas, Tranquilize him, kill him, or task him with helping make the world a better place.

Veil comes down (Romance-Save Solas) - By some means, Solas and Lavellan sacrifice themselves to bring the Veil down safely. LoK Harmonic Convergence. It is more difficult for the world to adjust. Solas is not there to lead the ancient elves, Lavellan is not there to help unite modern people. It’s a brave new world, for better or worse. Underlying theme: We have to believe and hope that people will strive to make the world better.

Veil comes down (Romance-Save Solas) - The rarest and most difficult achievement. Solas and Lavellan survive and the Veil comes down. They are there to lead their worlds toward integration and coexistence. They live happily ever after. I don’t know what big sacrifice needs to be made for this to work. Perhaps Solas completely loses his magic? Perhaps he also loses a limb. I don’t know, fam.

Anyone got any other ending ideas?

I’m just talking aloud and getting my thoughts down. Pay no mind to me. I have never claimed to be good at writing stories.

[wewontbesleeping]

honestly what's happening with chappell is just more proof that entertainers are NOT who we should be looking to for our political information, and it blows my mind that anyone still thinks that being a musician means you are more informed or worth listening to than any random off of the street. this level of celebrity worship is the reason america elected a reality tv star as president, and i just don't think MORE celebrity worship is the answer.

[bluesgrxce]

Yandere (machine-ish?) Connor Headcanons

I love soft deviant Connor like anyone else does, but machine Connor is sooo,,, omgggggggg..... I've been holding in my thoughts about him for so long that it's unhealthy. So I went for a Hannah Montana best of both worlds kinda thing. What if Connor acted like a deviant around you, but a machine towards everyone else?

How this happens is something I can't quite explain. Connor probably couldn't, either. To everyone else, an android is either a machine or a deviant-- There's no such thing as an inbetween. He would have agreed with this prior to bonding with you. You probably treated him in a way that nobody else did, sympathizing with him on a deeper level or making him question his morals, so he can see why that would push him to deviancy. 

But when you're not around, all those overwhelming emotions he felt just fade away. The mission goes back front and center to his priorities. He only feels two things at that point: confusion that runs his LED wild and desire for you that makes his thirium pump pound even when he's not in motion. Nobody else can bring about such reactions within him. 

He runs plenty of diagnostic checks in an attempt to figure out what's wrong with him. At one point, he'll try to avoid you and force himself into staying a machine, but that just makes him less efficient because he'll constantly worry about you instead. 

He would eventually accept himself as a deviant, but only so he wouldn't have to take orders from Cyberlife anymore. He doesn't want anything standing between the two of you. But he still largely acts like a machine and he doesn't mind that at all. He just sets his new mission to making you entirely his... 

Even once Connor sees his emotions as real, it's still his natural instinct to mask them. Especially negative ones like anger, sadness, and jealousy. He wouldn't want to show them unless they benefit his situation somehow, such as if he wanted to persuade or intimidate you/others. Emotions only matter to him if they're useful. 

For example, he *does* feel the desire to show affection towards you, and he will do it. He'll compliment you whenever you do something admirable. He'll reassure you and show geniune worry whenever you're upset about something. He'll even study romance media just to learn how to act more natural in the relationship (He thinks that'll help him act more natural, anyway... Lord help you if he gets his hands on Twilight 💀 But if the Bryan Dechart Twilight commercial is anything to go off of, he'd look good as a vampire, at least). 

But he doesn't do that stuff simply because he loves you. He does it because he knows your relationship benefits from it and you'll likely leave him if you feel neglected. He wouldn't bother if he knew it wouldn't keep you around. So if your relationship isn't exactly consensual in the first place, well... 

Which makes him sound pretty manipulative, right? You have no idea. 

Connor's android abilities give him a terrifying amount of advantages as a yandere. The first thing is that he always analyzes you when you enter the room, even though that often means analyzing you multiple times a day. It never bores him because he always manages to discover something new. Sometimes he'll blurt out random comments and you'll have to do a double take because he makes it easy to forget that he's obsessed with you.

"Your birthday is coming up soon. You might already know I'm aware of that type of information, but you should still bring it up with me. Otherwise I'll have to start believing I can't trust you and I'll have to make my own investigations." 

"Your heart rate goes up every time I touch you like this. I didn't realize physical contact was so important to human relationships. Don't worry, I won't stop. I won't let anyone stop me."

"Your serotonin levels are at an all-time low... Clearly, it can't be my fault, since I've done everything I am sure a good boyfriend would do. I'd like you to be honest when you tell me what's wrong this time."

The red flags fly higher as time goes on. He'll stop talking about all these observations if you tell him to, but he'll keep analyzing you anyway. 

Connor is enamoured with your DNA, as well. It helps him feel closer to you, which can often be difficult for him since he's not human. So if it belongs to you, and it can fit, it's going in his mouth. He'll do gross shit like keep your used lollipop sticks in his pocket so he can sample them whenever he wants. There's only one emotion he can't feel no matter what you do: shame. 

The invasive behavior doesn't stop there. He'll invite himself into your home and go through your things. He'll keep asking questions and trick you into revealing more information about yourself than you should. Knowing everything there possibly is to know about you gives him a stronger feeling of control for a single reason...

Your chance of escape plummets as he learns more about you, because it allows him to predict your behavior. He'll get scary accurate if you let him get close to you. This mostly benefits him in situations where he believes you want to leave him, or you did leave him, so he can figure out what you plan to do/already did and find the best method to get you back. If you already did leave, he'll examine your recent whereabouts like it's a crime scene and use his reconstruction ability. Even if you're insanely careful, he'll probably find a clue that'll lead him to you.

But sometimes he'll do it in normal situations, too, just as a silent guessing game. For instance: '(Y/N) will enter the police station at 8:18AM. I'm waiting for them at the entrance, so they'll greet me, but speed-walk away and avert eye contact. They'll head into the break room at 8:19AM and pretend to look around a bit, so Gavin won't make fun of them when they go for the same snack they always do. Gavin will make fun of them anyway and they'll argue for two minutes. Then--'

He has to stop thinking so he can greet you when you enter the building. Exactly at 8:18AM. He smirks to himself, only to drop into a frown when he hears Gavin's distant obnoxious laughter afterward. 

Remember how Connor once analyzed Hank's food and advised him against eating it? He does stuff like that to you all the time. And if you actually take the advice he gives, he'll take that as an opportunity to become more controlling. Oh, but only for the sake of your health, of course...

"You know, you shouldn't sit in that type of position. Bad posture can lead to health issues later on in life." "Then how should I sit?" "...It'll be easier if I show you." 

And so he'll help re-position you, using that as an excuse to touch you. He would especially do this if you weren't yet in a relationship, because he knows that as the type of android he is, he doesn't have a good reason to do so. The touch only lasts a brief moment. It's not inappropriate at all, and his grip was quite gentle. But it's weird that he went out of his way to do in the first place and that's all you might need to feel uncomfortable about it. 

But a lot of that is based off of the assumption that you're human. If you're an android, he still manages to find invasive things to do against your will. For one thing, he loves probing your memory. It's already difficult to lie to him and get away with it, but that might make it impossible, depending on what you're lying about. He doesn't care that it's an invasion of privacy and will do it if he finds a good excuse to do so.

Connor keeps an eye on your stress level and uses it to his advantage. He prefers to use persuasion when convincing you to do something, (he knows how to negotiate, after all) but he'll ultimately turn to intimidation if necessary. Which means heading straight into interrogation mode. 

This won't happen unless you're extremely rebellious, but if it does, he doesn't hold back. He'll treat you like you're a sick criminal, yelling at you, pushing blame and guilt onto you, and using physical force. 28 stab wounds type shit. He would avoid raising your stress level to 100% since he knows it could drive you to do crazy things, but that still doesn't make his actions okay. 

Even if you're really sensitive to that sort of treatment-- hell, even if you have some kind of trauma related to it-- he pushes away what little guilt he feels. He promises not to do it again "as long as you don't force me to." Actually, though, it encourages him to do it more. He knows it works against you now. 

His abilities don't stop there. He can mimic your voice using his vocal imitation, and all the voices of your loved ones, too. He went out of his way to meet them all, just in case he needs to trick you in the future. He likes being prepared. 

There are times when he's alone and he'll say stuff in your voice just so he can hear what it would sound like, such as, "I love you, Connor." Once again, he doesn't feel shame. Even if that seems pathetic. 

Let's just say it now. You cannot physically fight back against him. Maybe you'll have a chance if you're an android, but he knows about his advantage very well. He won't hesitate to remind you if you try getting aggressive. But even if you manage to get rid of him once, there's another model waiting to take his place. 

On a related note... I hope you never meet RK900. We only saw that guy for a minute, he said absolutely nothing in that minute, but the whole fandom has agreed that he's a menance. I fully agree. RK900 is definitely different from Connor, but they still have just enough similarities for him to get attached to you, too. Get help while you still can. 

The video of Bryan Dechart dancing as Connor lives rent free in my mind. I watch it on repeat like an iPad kid watching Friday Night Funkin' YouTube Kids videos. My brain just melts and I can't think of anything else. No, this isn't me simping for Bryan Dechart. This is me wanting Connor dancing to be canon. A girl can dream.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

With the rise of booktok/booktwt, there's been this weird movement against literary criticism. It's a bizarre phenomenon, but this uptick in condemnation of criticism is so stifling. I understand that with the rise of these platforms, many people are being reintroduced into the habit of reading, which is why at the base level, I understand why many 'popular' books on booktok tend to be cozier.

The argument always falls into the 'this book means too much to me' or 'let people enjoy things,' which is rhetoric I understand -- at least fundamentally. But reading and writing have always been conduits for criticism, healthy natural criticism. We grow as writers and readers because of criticism. It's just so frustrating to see arguments like "how could you not like this character they've been the x trauma," or "why read this book if you're not going to come out liking it," and it's like...why not. That has always been the point of reading. Having a character go through copious amounts of trauma does not always translate to a character that's well-crafted. Good worldbuilding doesn't always translate to having a good story, or having beautiful prose doesn't always translate into a good plot.

There is just so much that goes into writing a story other than being able to formulate tropable (is that a word lol) characters. Good ideas don't always translate into good stories. And engaging critically with the text you read is how we figure that out, how we make sure authors are giving us a good craft. Writing is a form of entertainment too, and just like we'd do a poorly crafted show, we should always be questioning the things we read, even if we enjoy those things.

It's just werd to see people argue that we shouldn't read literature unless we know for certain we are going to like it. Or seeing people not be able to stand honest criticism of the world they've fallen in love with. I love ASOIAF -- but boy oh boy are there a lot of problems in the story: racial undertones, questionable writing decisions, weird ness overall. I also think engaging critically helps us understand how an author's biases can inform what they write. Like, HP Lovecraft wrote eerie stories, he was also a raging racist. But we can argue that his fear of PoC, his antisemitism, and all of his weird fears informed a lot of what he was writing. His writing is so eerie because a lot of that fear comes from very real, nasty places. It's not to say we have to censor his works, but he influences a lot of horror today and those fears, that racial undertone, it is still very prevalent in horror movies today. That fear of the 'unknown,'

Gone with the Wind is an incredibly racist book. It's also a well-written book. I think a lot of people also like confine criticism to just a syntax/prose/technical level -- when in reality criticism should also be applied on an ideological level. Books that are well-written, well-plotted, etc., are also -- and should also -- be up for criticism. A book can be very well-written and also propagate harmful ideologies. I often read books that I know that (on an ideological level), I might not agree with. We can learn a lot from the books we read, even the ones we hate.

I just feel like we're getting to the point where people are just telling people to 'shut up and read' and making spaces for conversation a uniform experience. I don't want to be in a space where everyone agrees with the same point. Either people won't accept criticism of their favorite book, or they think criticism shouldn't be applied to books they think are well written. Reading invokes natural criticism -- so does writing. That's literally what writing is; asking questions, interrogating the world around you. It's why we have literary devices, techniques, and elements. It's never just taking the words being printed at face value.

You can identify with a character's trauma and still understand that their badly written. You can read a story, hate everything about it, and still like a character. As I stated a while back, I'm reading Fourth Wing; the book is terrible, but I like the main character. The worldbuilding is also terrible, but the author writes her PoC characters with respect. It's not hard to acknowledge one thing about the text, and still find enough to enjoy the book. And authors grow when we're honest about what worked and what didn't work. Shadow and Bone was very formulaic and derivative at points, but Six of Crows is much more inventive and inclusive. Veronica Roth's Carve the Mark had some weird racial problems, but Chosen Ones was a much better book in terms of representation. Percy Jackson is the same way. These writers grow, not just by virtue of time, but because they were critiqued and listened to that critique. C.S. Lewis and Tolkien always publically criticized each other's work. Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes had a legendary friendship and back and forth with one another's works which provides so much insight into the conversations black authors and creatives were having.

Writing has always been about asking questions; prodding here and there, critiquing. It has always been a conversation, a dialogue. I urge people to love what they read, and read what they love, but always ask questions, always understand different perspectives, and always keep your mind open. Please stop stifling and controlling the conversations about your favorite literature, and please understand that everyone will not come out with the same reading experience as you. It doesn't make their experience any less valid than yours.

[emmafreakecreations]

Rhysand is not morally grey- He's just an asshole

Rhys stans will say, "He did all those things UTM to protect Feyre and for the greater good!" and then proceed on a lengthy explanation of his reasons.

No no no no. I understand WHY he did it, I just don't agree with his methods. And there is NEVER a good reason to SA someone.

And yes he did SA Feyre. He drugged her- couldn't get verbal consent from her- and then proceeded to touch her everywhere/ make her dance on his lap, while MAKING her wear revealing clothes. But- but he didn't touch her privates! It doesn't matter he still touched her waist and for most people I know that is in the no no square. It's still touching someone without consent, taking away people's choice about their own body is abuse. And that includes him not telling her about her pregnancy. He didn't want to stress her out! That doesn't matter, she has every right to know about what is going on with her body, knowing her options so she can make an informed decision of what she wants to do. In our world that's literally a violation of HIPAA. And if anything it's more stressful not knowing what is going on with your body. You're bringing real world standards into a fantasy world! SJM already did that by bringing her white 21st century feminism into this world and you guys are often treating Lucien and Nesta based on real world standards so I can do that too.

But Feyre forgave him, so you should too. That's her prerogative but if I was in her shoes I wouldn't. Because his long ass monologue that's TEN PAGES never once said the words "I'm sorry for doing that to you." It's only giving his reasons which to me sound like excuses, because there was definitely another way he could protect her without causing her bodily harm. He could have just left her in her cell and sent her mental images of happy things to keep her sane. He could have just communicated with her through her mind. He needed to keep a rouse up because Amarantha was suspicious! No where in the text does it mention that Amarantha wanted Feyre at those parties. For all she cared Feyre could just go die in her cell from infection and she would win. By Rhys bringing her to those parties he put more of a target on her and raised Amarantha's suspicions. And after rereading the monologue some things in Rhys's plan UTM is inconsistent.

"I decided, then and there, that I was going to fight. And I would fight dirty, and kill and torture and manipulate, but I was going to fight. If there was a shot of freeing us from Amarantha, you were it. I thought … I thought the Cauldron had been sending me these dreams to tell me that you would be the one to save us. Save my people." (pg 448 Ch 54- I have a pdf and idk if that lines up with physical prints)

cool fine. but then he proceeds to say two paragraphs later that he was mad that Tamlin didn't get Feyre out when he had the chance. This does not make sense because if Feyre leaves how tf is she supposed to save everyone. She already has a deal with Amarantha to save people and sure she might die but leaving is not going to save everyone.

"I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain. And that last night, when I found you two in the hall … I was jealous. I was jealous of him, and pissed off that he’d used that one shot of being unnoticed not to get you out, but to be with you.." (Ch 54 pg 448)

After rereading this I'm convinced this man didn't have much a plan and if anything initially was doing these things out of cruelty and just because he could. His plan makes no sense if you really think about it. Once he got the hots for Feyre, he back tracked. His plan to piss Tamlin off so that he killed Amarantha makes no sense, because Tamlin has already delt with this woman not respecting him saying no, disfigured his best friend, cursed him, and is now trying to kill his lover. I don't think he needs more motivation.

But he is morally grey! no he isn't. Most morally grey characters who have a love interest, at least I have encountered never bodily harm her. They have a line they will not cross- they have morals. Rhysand seems to not have a line-no morals- to me he's more amoral. Carden Greenbriar bullied his love interest and did some heinous shit, but he had a line he wouldn't cross-murder. He does not like murder. When the bullying got to a point where Jude could die, he stepped in and he saved her. Jun-pyo from boys over flowers also bullied his love interest basically because of how he was raised he has no understanding how to show love (similar to Cardan). He got the whole school bullying her just because she stood up to him. But when some students tried to sexually assault her he got pissed at them and told them he never said to do anything like that. He also has a line he won't cross, sexual assault.

to quote my good in real life friend @that-sarcastic-writer , who has endured my rants about this series. Who reads dark romance and who I have summerized this series to:

"You don't have him hurt her and SA her and then later you try to backtrack by having him cry about his love for her without truly apologizing. And that's my biggest issue with most dark romance mmcs. They actively hurt/SA the fmc but then oh she liked it and he loves her deep down. Cause it's one thing to "hurt" the fmc emotionally, like a third act breakup, and that's fine, that's human, people make mistakes and fight, but you can't convince me physically hurting or assaulting the fmc is something that can be forgiven with claims of love."

Anyways Rhysand is red flags everywhere and is not a person you should strive to date. Date more men like Lucien. If you like Rhys and are just like, "I like him, I know he's toxic." You do you but don't try to convince me he is a hero, he is only a villain to me.

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 8: One Could Get Used to This

Wordcount: 1.5K

~~~~

No-one comes to drag Virgil out of bed. He wakes on his own the next morning and for a few moments contemplates getting out of bed, but then he rolls over and goes back to sleep. It’s his day off, he doesn’t have any plans, and he is cozy.

He wakes again around noon, and wanders downstairs. There’s no-one in the sitting room, but he finds Patton in the dining room, curled up in the armchair with a book.

“Good morning!” Patton greets cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “You?”

Patton’s eyes crinkle up in a pleased smile. “I did, yes, thank you,” he says. 

Virgil fidgets, just a little, and he glances back toward the door. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Hm,” Patton says thoughtfully, tapping the book against his chin. “Logan’s in his office, and last I saw him, Roman was still asleep, poor dear.” He chuckles. “You two sure were up real late last night. And Remus and Janus aren’t here right now, but they were going to come to dinner, so they should be arriving in a few hours.” He pauses, thinking. “I don’t think anyone else was planning to be here today, but I might have forgotten something, or they might’ve forgotten to mention it. That happens sometimes.”

“Must make meal planning difficult,” Virgil says.

“It can,” Patton agrees. “But I like to make sure we have plenty of leftovers anyway, so a surprise guest or two isn’t very hard to accommodate.” He smiles gently at Virgil. “Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?”

“If you’re offering,” Virgil says, because they have been incredibly hospitable to him so far, but he doesn’t want to presume anything.

“Oh of course,” Patton says, setting his book down. “I hate to leave anyone hungry when there’s food in the house. What would you like? Are you in the mood for a breakfast breakfast, or something more lunchy?”

Virgil hesitates. “I don’t want to make you cook something just for me,” he says.

“Oh, it’s no trouble!” Patton reassures him. “I like cooking. But we do have leftovers in the fridge if you would like something quicker.”

Virgil nods a little. “What are my options?”

“Well, we’ve still got plenty of what we had last night, of course,” Patton says consideringly, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Virgil follows. “And I made a fresh batch of boiled eggs this morning.” He opens the fridge and peers inside, then waves Virgil over. “Take a look, anything look appetizing?”

Virgil joins Patton in front of the fridge and looks inside. ‘Plenty of leftovers’ may have been an understatement. The fridge is quite full, mostly of containers. There’s no way Virgil can possibly see all the options without taking most of the contents out to see what’s behind them, and he is not about to do that.

Trying to be quick, Virgil scans the food visible through the sides of the containers. He sees white rice, mixed vegetables, something brown that’s probably gravy, mashed potatoes, a couple drumsticks… 

He knows, reasonably, that everything in this fridge is probably very good. He is also sure that if he was sat down and served any of these choices, he would eat it without complaint and be pleased with it. But just now, looking at the leftover containers, his stomach and taste buds rebel, and nothing looks appealing. 

“I don’t know,” Virgil says. It’s not that he isn’t hungry. His stomach is very helpfully informing him that it is currently empty. It is just also telling him, simultaneously, that there isn’t a single food in the entire world that will satisfy, and unfortunately it has annexed his tongue to its side. His brain, meanwhile, is yelling that he’s taking too long to decide, and he needs to hurry up and pick something before Patton gets upset at him for letting all the cold out of the fridge.

Patton makes a sympathetic sound. “Too many options to choose between?” he says softly. “Would you like me to prepare you a plate?”

Virgil’s very bones go limp. “Yes please,” he says weakly, glad to have the decision taken out of his hands.

Patton rests his hand gently on Virgil’s arm. “Why don’t you go wait in the comfy chair, and I’ll bring you some food in a minute,” he suggests gently.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and goes. Just as he settles, Patton appears in the doorway again with an empty plate in his hands.

“You don’t have any dietary restrictions, do you?” he asks. “I know it’s a bit late to be asking, but…”

“No, I’ll eat anything,” Virgil says, fondness rising in his chest. “Thanks for checking.”

“You’re welcome,” Patton says, and goes back into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later, the plate now laden with a large slice of lasagna. “Do you want to come eat at the table, or over there?” he asks.

“Table, definitely,” Virgil says, moving. Much less risk of spilling red tomato sauce on their furniture that way, plus he’d rather not try to balance a hot plate on his lap right now. He sits, and Patton places the plate in front of him. Virgil’s eyes go wide. In addition to the lasagna, there’s a slice of home-baked bread with butter and jam, and a small heap of peas and corn. “Just how big do you think my appetite is?”

Patton chuckles. “Sorry,” he says. “Force of habit. Roman would clean that plate and then ask for seconds, especially after sleeping through breakfast.”

“I can believe it,” Virgil says with a laugh.

Patton pats his shoulder, then moves away. “If it’s too much, we can put some of it back,” he says as he reclaims the armchair. “You don’t have to eat all of it.”

He’s certainly going to give it his best go, Virgil’s stomach informs him seriously. His tongue agrees.

Virgil starts with a large bite of bread. It’s no longer fresh-baked, but Patton had re-warmed it. Toasted, maybe? There’s a bit of crunch to it, though it’s still pleasantly soft, not hard as a rock like most toast.

Roman makes an appearance when Virgil’s about halfway through his meal, wearing only a white tank top and a pair of red shorts. Virgil isn’t sure if they’re loose boxer shorts or thin actual shorts, but he’s not about to stare at Roman’s crotch and/or ass long enough to figure it out, and he’s certainly not about to ask.

Probably they’re actual shorts. Roman has so far struck him as having somewhat more decorum than Remus, and probably wouldn’t walk around in just his underwear with a random person in his house.

Probably.

“Ooh, that looks delicious, I want some of that, is there more?” Roman says in greeting, completely oblivious to Virgil’s inner musings.

“There’s one piece of lasagna left, and plenty of the rest,” Patton tells him, and Roman strides into the kitchen.

He returns after a few minutes with a lunch identical to Virgil’s, except that the heap of vegetables is taller, and he has a second, already half-eaten slice of bread in his hand. Also his jam is a different color. Roman plonks himself down in the chair diagonally adjacent to Virgil and grins at him. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully. “I see you did not flee into the night like Cinderella.”

“If I was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, it would have happened well before Patton came to tell us to go to bed,” Virgil points out.

“True,” Roman agrees. He turns and points his fork at Patton. “Patty Cake, if he ever turns into a pumpkin, don’t bake him into a pie,” he says.

Patton laughs. “How many times must I promise not to eat him?” he asks.

“Once more, it seems,” Virgil says. “For what it’s worth, I believed you the first time.”

Patton’s eyes twinkle. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you sleep well?” Roman asks Virgil. Virgil nods. As if he could have slept poorly, in that bed. And it was certainly nice to get to sleep in late. “Good, good. After breakfast, do you wanna watch more tv?”

Virgil laughs. “You’re insatiable,” he says.

“We left off on a cliffhanger!” Roman defends. “And I, for one, was thoroughly enjoying myself up until the point at which we were reminded of the cruel passage of time and the physical needs of our frail human bodies.”

“I was having fun too,” Virgil agrees. And, well, he doesn’t have any better plans for his afternoon off. It’ll be fun. He’ll just have to remember to actually bike home before it gets dark again.

“Excellent!” Roman says, clearly taking that as a yes, and tucks into his meal with gusto.

~~~~

Chapter 9: Come for the Bike, Stay for the Game Night

may have a brief break in my regularly scheduled chapter posting, as I've caught up to myself and am still writing chapter 9. So, we'll see if it's ready next week, but likely not.

[olderthannetfic]

I think you've talked before about how it's wrong to assume the only people who enjoy taboo kink like race play are bigoted white people, right? Tumblr's search remains garbage. I've been trying to formulate some thoughts on it after seeing some videos on "bad books" but I don't really know enough about real world kink culture to know what's valid critique of racism or anti-kink just hiding behind it. So I remembered you'd mentioned the topic at some point and might have some thoughts?

--

Well, first, one should apply basic logic: If shittons of women kink on the ways in which society abuses women, why wouldn't at least some ethnic minorities kink on the way society abuses them?

Second, social media overflows with jackasses saying "Listen to POC" as a thought-terminating cliche, but it's good advice as long as you grasp that you do have to evaluate which people you're listening to and what basis you have for trusting that they know something about a subject.

Honestly, I don't think this topic is that complicated. There are just a lot of cowardly white people around who are too scared of ever being seen as wrong to be willing to do a little research or stand up for anything even remotely controversial. They'll parrot the first anti they run across but not bother to engage with the comments of nonwhite kinksters who are long-time community members with informed opinions.

The person I'd listen to, personally, is Mollena Williams-Haas, a kink educator and submissive. She has talked about race play here, among many other places.

Her comments boil down to it being about consent. If kinksters want to play with a concept and everyone involved is on the same page, it's not the business of outsiders to tell them it's off limits.

Playing with heavy topics in an agreed upon way is completely different from having that thing sprung on you without warning. We're used to making this distinction when people are playing with the trappings of rape but, somehow, lose our goddamn minds when the topic is racism.

Now, yes, there are plenty of gross white creeps who think nonwhite kinksters will inherently be interested in this sort of thing and should cater to them... but how is that any different from your usual pest in a bar chatting up uninterested parties and refusing to take no for an answer? The problem isn't squicky kinks that many of us don't want to hear about: The problem is jackasses treating others as a fantasy and/or kink dispenser instead of a person with feelings and needs.

Frankly, most of the arguments against this sort of kink are your usual "As a woman, you should be setting a good example!" bilge that's leveled at all submissive women but on steroids because a woman of color is extra, extra, extra responsible for living her whole life as An Example. (And I notice that it's generally submissive nonwhite women who come in for the most abuse even though plenty of other dynamics exist. Quelle surprise.) It's bullshit. People should mind their own damn business.

As for "bad books"... Are we talking bodice rippers with nonwhite heroines or what? Are we back to colonizer romance wank? Books about characters engaging in race play in a BDSM context? I think it's reasonable to critique books that don't seem to know what they're doing—e.g. not seeming aware that a rape scene is one—but stupid to worry about iddy trash that is trying to be iddy trash. People will always like socially unacceptable id fodder. Some books will always cater to that.

[zukosdualdao]

i talk a lot about cognitive dissonance with zuko but i think it’s also very apparent in the speech azula gives to long feng about how he’s had to claw and fight his way to the top, but she (and by extension ozai) is so sure of her place there because of a divine right to rule.

and she genuinely does not seem to see the irony of this, when the example she has learned from in her father is a man who was not originally set to be the firelord. ozai may have born in the royal line of succession, but he was not the heir, that was not “something [he was] born with”, and it was only through manufacturing the situation to his advantage (agreeing to ursa not to kill zuko and planning to kill azulon instead, banishing ursa to essentially take all the heat for it in case it ever came into question, taking advantage of iroh’s grief at a time he just… wasn’t going to fight back, even if he was around and wanted to) that that changed.

like. the kind of power azula is talking about isn’t just bestowed upon ozai at birth, as she suggests here. he took it by (underhanded) force, not that dissimilarly to long feng.

azula doesn’t know all the details of the night azulon died and ursa left. but she does absolutely know ozai was clawing to become heir, because in zuko alone, we see her parroting things he’s obviously telling her—about how he would be a much better firelord, and their uncle is kooky, and azulon is getting older and weaker and will need to replaced soon. and in telling her these things, acting like she was the one person in the world he could entrust them to, as well as actively telling azula she was superior, too—“he said [azula] was born lucky”—because he could use her skill and ego to his benefit, he taught her to think of herself as better than everyone else as well. (which is obviously not good for her development! but also informs most of her actions as a villain.)

we also see her smiling at ozai’s coronation, very obviously aware things have worked out just as he wanted and very obviously pleased, and this seems to confirm to her that he’s right, they are superior.

azula doesn’t see the irony here because to her, it’s not the same thing. to her, ozai took the crown by force because he was so much naturally stronger and superior and had a right to take it by force because he was better. after all, if he wasn’t, why did it work out exactly the way ozai said it should??? it must have been supposed to work out that way all along. (again: the cognitive dissonance is real!)

[disruptivevoib]

I am eternally thinking about how Whole is a concept of the fandom and not canonical at all.

Arguably, maybe someone would say the inclusion of Whole diminishes the original message of the album, to which I do not disagree but I do not agree either.

He changes the context of it, I suppose?

Because the original album, Whole is a concept to be strived for. He is not real, it is always just Heart, Mind, and Soul beneath the surface. They are manifested facilities of the way a person is, how they talk to themselves, the internal conversation. That "psychosocial envy" is the idea of the album. The effect that social standards have on someone who views themself as flawed beyond recognition without any idea how to fit into what the world wants of them.

Soul longs to be Whole because he longs to become what society deems is a person. All of what they are and what they want to be comes in many different forms. It could be any number of internalized ideals of what a man should be, or who you should love, or what you should strive for in life.

Two Wuv as a song is that realization that even after Mind and Heart are better, after they've been able to communicate and function "properly", there is no Whole coming. This is who they are, and that is fine. He is not perfect, he is not what society wants, but he IS a person, and to him, he is Whole.

It is a concept of self forgiveness and grace. The ability to have nuance that what society seeks of you is not so important as truth of the self, owning your flaws and seeming imperfections.

Ultimately, everyone's brain runs differently. Everyone talks to themselves differently, refers to and conceptualizes their inner-world in many ways, and none of it is definable. We have no capable way of putting the way somebody speaks to themself, refers to, and functions within themselves entirely into a box. We are a collection of lived experiences turning itself into informed reactions and responses. If that makes any sense at all.

Of course, the things we have put labels to are definable and are all a part of how we interact with ourself, and there are always commonalities and similarities. There is so much variety in it, being human is fluid...

Anyways.

Without Whole, the "end" of the album means they are in acceptance of one another, that there is a positive relationship with your inner dialogue for some time before something happens and causes a harsh reflection to shatter it all. With him, it is essentially the same, just that there is a more literal or tangible figure to represent that cohesive self-acceptance.

Whole being a tangible character doesn't change Soul, but as I said, informs him more. Whole and Soul are mirror images, they are had to separate and Soul is what Whole is without the interwoven Emotion and Thought.. I suppose. Soul strives for him, and without him, comes to accept this is how it is and who he is. With him, Soul may miss that aspect, or more so, get it only to discover Whole is real, and everything he did worked, but now he sacrifices himself for that.

The dynamic is interesting but incredibly devastating in that regard, especially because it is unlikely Whole's intention to ever split. Nobody wants to have a mental breakdown, y'know?

I could go on about this forever. Whole not being a real character (at least not in the way we often think of him) in the album but something very real and even achievable within the fandom space is.. I dunno, so unique? Its not often fans get to create something that while entirely uncanon to the project, is very important to it.

Side note, what I mean by not how we see him is that Whole is real because they have always been Whole. In album there is no separation. If anything, Concord is like leaving CJ's inner dialogue and witnessing just all of them in tandem being him.

Okay okay. I'm done.

[obsessedelusional]

Camp Counselor Munson

paring ✦ Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary ✦ You’ve been attending summer camp since forever. This year a new camp counselor joins, it’s Eddie. You’re the cheer captain, he’s the town freak. What could possibly happen between you two?Modern AU Contains smut

word count ✦ 4,800ish

authors note ✦ I love Eddie so much ): this took me forever for whatever reason lol hope y’all enjoy

masterlist

FEEDBACK AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!!

⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

This was your seventh year attending Camp Summer Haven. You've been here a few weeks out of every summer vacation since you were 11. Now at 18 years old, headed into your senior year of high school, you were too old to be just an attendee. Since you turned 16 you have been volunteering as a camp counselor. All you really had to do was make sure the six girls you were in charge of didn't miss activities and they made it through the two weeks alive.

You had grown to love this place it was an escape from the real world. Two whole weeks with friends you only seen once a year. With the no phone rule you were able to make actual connections with these people. As the cheer captain at Hawkins a lot of your friendships felt forced. For two weeks you weren’t one of the most popular girls, just another girl at camp. A few of the kids also went to your school but as you got older they stopped showing up. Which you were grateful for, you already spent all school year around them. That was more than enough for you.

"Okay guys, go get settled in your cabins," Trevor, one of the camp leaders, announces to the group of camp counselors in front of him, you included.

"The kids should be here in an hour. When they arrive please make your way to the entrance building so we can get the kids split up between everyone." He explains, passing out the cabin keys. You all nod in agreement before he takes off. Your key lets you know you'd be staying in the Cabin nine, the one the farthest away from everything. Great you mumble to yourself, annoyed.

"Yes! I got cabin two." Jessie cheers.

"Which one did you get?" She asks when she notices your sour attitude.

"Nine," You groaned. Everyone knew that cabin nine was the farthest away so usually the most neglected. Also rarely did it entice camp leaders to make the trek out there. Meaning you could possibly get away with more but that didn't matter because you never tried to get away with anything especially with six kids staying with you.

"Sorry chica," Jessie laughs.

"I'll be fine. Just late to everything." You joke back. You two had gotten extremely close several summers back.

"Well once you get settled in were all gonna meet up at the rec hall and catch up till the kids get here." She smiles when you agree and then you both part ways. Making the long walk to cabin nine.

—

About thirty minutes later your on your way to the rec hall. You changed into your Camp Haven get up. A t-shirt with the green and orange logo and the matching shorts. As a camp counselor you had a few different options to wear, you usually wore the shorts because if you were being entirely honest you liked the way you ass looked in them.

When you enter into the rec hall a few of the girls are standing around in a circle, whispering.

"What are we talking about?" You ask infiltrating their group discussion.

"The newest camp leader." Jessie chimes, her tone of voice leading you to believe he must be hot. You follow her finger where she points to Trevor speaking to the long haired, tattooed camp leader.

"Oooh," you coo agreeing with Jessie, he was fine. At least from behind, his jean so perfectly hugging his butt.

"What do we know? What's his name?" You ask, needing to know all details.

"His paperwork said Edward." Lucy answers your question, she spent most of her time helping in the office so she was the go to for all information.

"That's a ugly name." Lacey laughs. Lucy and Lacey were basically twins always attached at hips. Blonde hair, blue eyes; borderline perfect.

"Maybe he goes by Eddie." Jessie suggests and that's when all the pieces start to connect. You groan outwardly when you realize its none other than Eddie Munson. The long haired "freak" who would make a fool of him self on a daily bases at school.

"What?" Jessie asks at your groan.

"He goes to my school."

"No fucking way." Jessie chirps, all the girls attention on you now.

"Unfortunately yes."

"Girl he is so fine. Why are you so distraught?" Lucy asks, puzzled by my reaction.

"If you went to school with him you'd understand." You tried not to judge anyone but its pretty hard when he's jumping on lunch tables hissing at the jocks, some your friends unfortunately.

"Whatever. I call dibs." Lucy laughs and you listen as they all argue over who gets to claim him. Lucy was known for sleeping around with the male counselors, rumors starting when she was 15. So she'd probably get him, she always got what she wanted.

The bickering comes to a halt when Trevor leads Eddie to the group of girls to introduce him. "Girls this is Eddie he'll be our newest Camp Leader. He’s going to be heading a guitar class.”

You watch the girls as they introduce themselves all basically throwing them selves at Eddie. You can’t help but roll your eyes at them only for your attention to be drawn back to Trevor when he calls on you.

“He says he’s goes to Hawkins, isn’t that where you go?” Your eyes move from Trevor to Eddie, who’s already staring at you.

“Yes it is.” You smile making eye contact with Eddie. You had never been this close before, his eyes were breathtaking. So much that you don’t hear Trevor’s words so he says your name again this time louder.

“Sorry what?” You ask face red giving your full attention to Trevor.

“I was saying maybe you could show him around.” You nod in agreement, eyes wondering to Eddie once again. He’s actively listening to Trevor explain whatever he’s explaining. You’re too busy admiring Eddie’s features up close to listen to the words. Only to be startled when he snaps his eyes towards you, smiling because he caught you staring at him.

“Oh I think I left your cabin key in the office. Follow me and I’ll grab it for you." Trevor says to Eddie before instructing you to stay put so Eddie can find you when they’re done. You nod yes before they leave you alone with the girls again.

“What the fuck was that?” Jessie laughs the question obviously directed at you.

“What?” You ask playing dumb.

“You we’re one second away from full on drooling.” She says, everyone’s eyes on you.

“Sorry he’s so pretty?” You say as a question.

“He was totally checking you out.” Lacey says while Lucy looks pissed.

"Does not matter I called dibs." Lucy snorts.

"You can't call dibs on a whole ass human." Jessie responds, her tone annoyed.

"Still doesn't matter not like he'd want anything to do with her." Lucy says like your not standing right there. Before you can respond for yourself Jessie speaks over you going off on her. Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie let himself back into the room, the other girls entirely unaware. You make your way towards him leading back out the door he just came through.

“What was that about?” He asks, backpack and a sports bag in hand.

“Just Lucy be her usual terrible self. She’s kind of the worst.” You admit.

“She gives off that vibe.” He laughs, the two of you walking down the dirt walkway.

“We’ll you better be careful your her next victim.” He looks at you confused.

“She called dibs on you.” You further explain.

“Dibs on me?”

“She wants you. Thinks your so fine.” You laugh mocking her bitchy tone.

“I’m good.” He laughs.

“Good.” You say before asking which cabin he got stuck in.

“So what brings you to Camp Summer Haven? You’ve never gave off summer camp energy?” You ask, leading him to his cabin.

“Joey at the music store told me I could make extra cash this summer teaching kids to play guitar.” He explains.

“You’re getting paid?” You ask acting like your upset.

“You’re not?” He asks.

“No I’ve been going here since I was ten now I volunteer.” You explain.

“You don’t give off summer camp energy either.” He responds.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You smile, walking ahead of him.

—

Eddie follows you around as you show him to his cabin. Where he unloads all his belongings while you sit outside waiting. After that you continue your tour highlighting all the most important places.

“This is the cafeteria. If you’re ever in need of a late night treat I can teach you how to sneak in through a window in the kitchen.” You motion to the window that sits above the sink, the lock has been broken for years. The camp too oblivious to notice.

“Is that an invite?” He asks.

“Perhaps. Promise you won’t say anything. If they find out the lock is broken I don’t think I could ever forgive you.” You tease, sort of joking.

“I promise.” He laughs.

“Good. The ice cream is to die for.”

—

After your tour is over you two head to the front gate to greet the kids. All the camp leaders and counselors are gathered. Trevor quickly approaches the two of you. The two of them start a conversation while you notice Lucy shooting you a dirty look. You slip away from them to find Jessie. She sits at a picnic table with other people so you join her. Mostly sitting in silence listening to everyone else talk.

Shortly after a couple busses filled with children start to show up. Once they’re all off and waiting, Trevor gives his pre camp speech. Letting the children know to get in a single file line so they can check in, turn their phones in and retrieve their cabin number. You end up with six younger girls. You introduce your self to them and they take turns introducing themselves as you all make the trek to Cabin 9.

“So where’s everyone from?” You ask trying to get to know the kids. They all speak at once, firing off their hometowns. Some of them look familiar from previous years, the oldest whose 15 lets you know she’s from Hawkins too. Her names Mandy.

“Hawkins? Do you go to Hawkins High cause I do and I think I don’t recognize you.” You admit.

“Probably cause your one of those stuck up cheerleaders. No you’re actually the queen of the stupid cheerleaders.” She retorts, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“Okay.. just gonna try my best to not get offended by that.” You laugh as an attempt to lighten to mood.

“Whatever.” She says, attitude apparent in her tone. She doesn’t respond again so you continue to converse with the other girls. Pointing out significant places to know while staying at Camp Summer Haven. Once you arrive to Cabin 9, you continue small talk. The clock on the cabin wall lets you know, it’s nearly time for the first get to together.

Everyone slowly shows up in the recreation center, sitting in circles taking turns saying their name, age and fact about themselves. Switching every five minutes as an attempt to have everyone get to know each other. You catch Eddie more than once staring. Or maybe he was catching you staring at him. Who knows?

“Everyone switch!” Trevor yells, so everyone listens. Your with Jessie’s group now, you quickly make you way to her. She leads the activity as you sit back and let her. The kids begin, one after another. You’re not paying any attention, too busy trying to see if Eddie’s back looking at you.

“Girl Lucy is fuming,” Jessie laughs.

“Why?”

“Because she’s trying to get Eddie’s attention but he’s too busy checking you out.” She says, pointing over to where Lucy is sat. Her annoyed face tells you everything you need to know.

“That’s a shame.” You tease, laughing.

—

Dinner rolls around and your group of girls follows you to the cafeteria where you all wait in line. You notice Eddie’s already here sat at a table. When he catches you he smiles and waves, you shoot him a shy smile. Confused why he’s got you feeling this way.

“Disgusting.” Mandy says to you, actually the first thing she’s said to you in hours.

“What?” You ask.

“The way your practically drooling over him.”

“I’m not.” You lie.

“You totally are.” Another girl chimes in, a few years younger than Mandy.

“It’s okay though, he’s so cute.” She adds causing the other girls into a fit of laughter. Only Mandy doesn’t laugh, rolling her eyes for the millionth time.

The line moves slowly but eventually you have your dinner. You follow the girls to where they want to sit, when in reality you kinda really want to sit near Eddie. Your too distracted following the young one ahead of you to notice, the leg that stretches out to trip you. You fall forward, your plate goes flying as you hit the ground with a loud thud. Silence falls over the room. You look up where the leg came from, it’s none other than Lucy. She’s sat there giggling, along with Lacey.

“You should really watch where your walking.” She snickers as you attempt to pick yourself up off the floor. Her plan backfires entirely because a pair of hands lead you up, your greeted by those chocolate brown eyes you haven’t stopped thinking about since you first seen them today.

“You good?” He asks as you get back on your feet, wiping away the dust that sticks to your shirt.

“I am now.” You say and it comes out more flirty than you had intended. Doesn’t matter because the smile that spreads across his lips makes it all worth it. He helps you clean up the mess Lucy created, walking to the trash can with you.

“Thanks for the help.”

“I saw her trip you.”

“That’s Lucy for you.” You respond, looking over to where she’s sat. Her eyes already on you, giving you the nastiest look.

“What did you do to make her feel the need to trip you?” He asks, bringing your attention back to him. You could either play dumb or tell him the exact truth.

“She’s jealous.” His face tells you he wants to know more.

“She thinks there’s something going on between us. She called dibs, remember?”

“Is there?” He asks, shocking you a tad.

“Maybe.” He nods his head, trying to rack his brain. How he came to some random summer camp only for Hawkins Highs Queen to be here, lowkey flirting with him.

“If there is, maybe you’d want to sit with me for dinner. Really stick it to her.” He teases, you bite your lip thinking. Trying to decide what you should do. If anyone from school knew you were throwing yourself at Eddie “The Freak” Munson it’d be social suicide. For the most part you want to believe that you don’t care what they think.

“Yeah let’s do that.” You respond finally.

“Let me grab another plate and then I’ll be there.” You add before leaving to replace the food that was wasted. Once you’ve done that, you race to Eddie’s table sitting right next to him. You smile at Lucy before letting yourself scoot closer to Eddie. He looks down at you with a smile before continuing his conversation with whoever.

“Really Eddie?” You recognize the voice, it’s Mandy.

“What?” He responds.

“You’re just gonna forgive her? She’s the queen of all the people that treat you like dog shit.”

“Mandy stop.” Eddie demands.

“No it’s bullshit.” Mandy yells before standing up and leaving the table.

“Sorry. She’s my cousin, when her mom found out I was working at this camp. She thought it’d be good for her. If you couldn’t tell she has some anger issues.” He explains.

“She’s right though, my friends are dick heads. I’m sorry.” You contemplate leaving, embarrassed.

“You’ve never been a dick. That’s all that matters.” Eddie says, giving you a reassuring smile. When you can’t come up with a response, he continues.

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me. If you promise not to judge me for what other people have to say about me. I promise to not judge you because of your stupid friends.” You sit momentarily, trying to take in everything he just said.

“Deal.” You respond, smiling. You two continue the conversation with small talk, nothing too deep. Eventually people sit around you guys, taking Eddie’s attention away from you. So you listen and watch Eddie intently when he talks, nodding every so often.

Dinner is over, you and Eddie walk out of the cafeteria. It’s nearly 9pm, time to call it quits for the day.

“So we sneaking in tonight to get some ice cream?” He asks, reminding you that you had offered that earlier in the day.

“Yes let’s meet by the window at 11. Usually by then it’s safe.” You smile before separating. Mandy and the girls follow shortly behind. They are not so quietly whispering about Eddie and you. How they ship the two of you, while Mandy disagrees. Bringing a small smile to your lips, shook that Eddie Munson is the one causing you to be so giddy.

—

11:10

“Where is that-“ You say aloud, getting interrupted and spooked all at the same time. Eddie is finally here.

“Hey,” he smiles, trying his best not to laugh at how he startled you.

“Sorry I’m late. Trevor showed up to my cabin, wanting to talk about tomorrow.” Eddie apologies.

“It’s fine, your here now.” You respond, pushing the window open. It was much easier when you were younger, to slip in. Now you had help because all of a sudden Eddie’s hands are guiding you in. In that moment your extremely grateful he can’t see your face. Realizing quickly your ass is not full display as you climb in. Once in, you jump with a thud off the counter. Turning to face Eddie who has no problem making his way through the window.

“It’s in here,” you speak, walking over to the freezer. Eddie shuts the window before following you. You pull out two ice cream sandwiches. Sitting down, letting your back slide down the wall in the process. You look up to Eddie who’s looking down at you with a smile. Handing the second ice cream sandwich over as his sits down next to you.

Eddie is the first to start eating, you follow his lead. There’s an borderline uncomfortable silence between you two as you realize you two are alone.

“This is some good ice cream.” Eddie speaks up, breaking the silence. You face him, watching him go to town on the ice cream. Bringing a small laugh to you. Before you can even get in a second bite, his is all gone.

“You got something on your face.” You point to the chocolate that sits on his upper lip.

“If this some sick ploy to kiss me, I won’t stop you.” He says with a smug grin.

“Damn I wish I thought of that.” You tease back, taking another bite of your ice cream.

“You convinced me to come to this secluded area, all alone. Dark as fuck. Either you want me or you want to murder me.” He says, your response is laughter. Laughing harder than you laughed in a while. Only stopping when you remember you’re not suppose to be in here.

“I’m gonna murder you actually.” You respond, flatly. Finishing off your ice cream as Eddie talks.

“Makes sense. Hot cheerleader seducing the schools freak for some sick murder ritual, sacrifice type shit.” He let’s out a defeated sigh, sitting back as if he’s ready to be murdered sending you into a fit out laughter again.

“I wasn’t joking though you got something right there.” You say before doing the unthinkable. Something you could of ever imagined yourself doing in a billion years. You close the space between the two of you, pressing your lips into his. Shock radiated through Eddie’s body, causing you to pull away feeling as if you did something bad.

“I’m sorry I thought-“ You apologize.

“No don’t apologize. I was not expecting that. You’re you and I’m me, that doesn’t happen. At least not to me.” He laughs, fixing his posture so he’s sat up.

“Well it did happen.” You say.

“Can it happen again? This time I’ll be ready.” He reassures you with that stupid little grin on his face. With a roll of your eyes, you go in for a second kiss. This time Eddie wastes no time kissing you back, hands finding the back of your head pulling you in deeper. The position isn’t the most comfortable so you hook your leg over the both of his, letting your self sit on him. Hid tongue reaches your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You let it in, your tongues fighting for dominance. His hands move to your hips, pushing you down on his growing boner. A sweet moan leaves your lips at the friction.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, pulling away from your kiss to catch his breath. Also to attempt to wrap his mind around what happening, he’s in the process of hooking up with Hawkin High head cheerleader. What the actual fuck?

“What?” You asks innocently.

“Are you sure we should be doing this? What if we get caught?” He responds with another question.

“Not Eddie Munson worried about being caught.” You say, laughing still sat in his lap.

“I mean like I was specifically told to not fraternize with the camp volunteers. That’s exactly what this is.” He says, worry in his voice.

“But I want to fraternize with you.” You respond, biting your lip. Worried that maybe you miss read the situation.

“Fuck it,” he says before kissing you again. This time more forcefully, palming the meat of your thighs with his hands. You start grinding ever so slightly on the tent in Eddie’s shorts. The feeling of his hard member feel great between the thin clothes you two wear. Eddie is the one to pull away so he can speak.

“If you keep that up I’m gonna cum.” He admits, his voice breathy.

“Can’t have that yet.” You smile, temporarily backing away from Eddie. You pull at Eddie’s shorts, bring his boxers with them. He sits up quickly in a attempt to help you slide them off easier. Letting them rest at his ankles, you had every intention of riding him. You grasp his cock, pumping it slowly. Watching him squirm under you touch, you’re enjoying this way too much.

“Not fair, you’re not nearly as naked as me.” Eddie pouts his bottom lip. You laugh in response before pulling away from his dick, lifting you shirt up over your head. Eddie reaches around you to unbuckle you bra, watching intently as it falls exposing your tits. Eddie goes blank for a few moments just starting at the view presented in front of him. You shimmy out of your shorts. Your bare body on full display.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He manages to get out, lost for words. Still not believing whats happening right now.

“You can touch me ya know?” You laugh at the fact that’s he’s been sat here gawking at you when he could be touching the real deal. It’s like a light bulb goes off in his head, his brain finally catching up with his eyes. Reaching for you, pulling you back on top of him. His mouth finds you nipple, licking it softly causing a small moan leave your lips. You wet cunt rests on top of his cock, begging for some friction. The sound of your nipple leaving Eddie’s mouth makes a pop sound.

You lift your self up just enough to align his cock with your hole. Eddie watches in amazement as you slowly sit on his cock, letting him fill you up completely. The stretch hurts a bit but you’re taking him so good. His hands rest on your hips, waiting patiently for your next move. You start off slow, grinding on Eddie’s cock. Your hands are on his chest, he’s under you letting obscenities leave his mouth.

You’re pace picks up, Eddie’s hands guiding your hips faster. He starts bucking up into you, hitting you right where it feels the best. Moans continually leave your mouth, letting Eddie know just how good he’s making you feel.

“Get on you back.” He demands, his voice deep. You listen getting off of him and laying on the floor, using your bundle of clothes as a make shift pillow. Before you know it Eddie is between you legs, holding his cock to your entrance. He slams into you, wasting no time pounding into you a brutal pace.

“Play with yourself,” he says and it nearly comes out as a growl. You do exactly what he says, finding you clit with your fingers. Rushing circles around in. The mixture of his relentless pounding and the new clitoral stimulation is almost too much.

“Just like that.” He grunts, switching up his angle ever so slightly. This new angle is just what you needed because shortly after, you’re cumming. Your coming undone on his cock, he never slows only pumps into you harder. Not long before he’s pulling out and finishing on your belly, falling next to you. Both of you lay their in silence for a moment, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he says barley audible. You lazily nod in respond unable to respond with words. Eddie stands up throwing his clothes back on, finding something to wipe you clean with. He helps you put your clothing back on, placing a small kiss on your lips one last time.

—

The next day is filled with glances between Eddie and you, whispering to each other in passing. Promises to meet up that night. It turns into an almost nightly event, meeting up in the cafeteria to each ice cream and fuck. Your feelings quickly grow for him, his growing just a fast. The last day of camp ends with you two agreeing to go on a real date once back in Hawkins.

The rest of summer is spent avoiding your friends to be with Eddie in private. Occasionally inviting Mandy along so she can learn to like you, maybe one day. Just a few days ago she came over to watch a movie and didn’t roll her eyes when you spoke. Not even once. You considered that a sign of progress.

Your anxieties grow as the first day of your senior year approaches. Eddie can’t help but wonder what your going to do when school starts up again. Part of him terrified it’ll be the end of you two. You don’t want it to end but you worry what will happen if everyone found out you two were dating. In the end deciding your best bet is to invite Eddie to the last summer party of the year, it’s a annual tradition. The last Saturday before school starts everyone meets at the lake, gets drunk and makes fools of themselves.

“You sure you want to do this?” Eddie asks noticing your stress.

“Yeah I do.” You attempt to smile reassuringly, failing in the process. You two are sat in his van, the party is going on in front of you. It’s not too late to dip, no one’s noticed you yet.

“It’ll be okay.” You say, not believing your own words. Eddie hops out of the van before you can you get out, you hear the sound of a jock approaching the van.

“What the fuck are you doing here Munson?” You quickly hop out, approaching the two men. More basketball players appearing. Walking up behind Eddie, you intertwine your fingers tightly squeezing tightly.

“He’s here with me.” You respond, everyone looking at you like your crazy. Ignoring them you walk right past, Eddie follows behind you closely. Towards the bonfire you see some of your friends, they’re cheerleaders too.

“Hey…” Their voices trail off when they see who’s with you.

“Y’all know Eddie right? He’s my boyfriend.” You say, smiling softly. He waves to your friends, they’re unsure if they should believe this.

“Interesting duo.” One responds.

“How’d you meet?” Another asks, eyes full of judgement. You explain politely. Their faces tell you all you need to know. They don’t approve of your new relationship. No one brave enough to tell the head cheerleader. After a short time of small talk, you find a seat for you and Eddie near the fire.

“That wasn’t so bad.” He says. You lay you head on his shoulder, hand finding his.

“They’ll come around.” You smile.

“And if they don’t?”

“They will. They just need to get to know you, learn to appreciate you like I do.” You explain, kissing Eddie publicly for the first time. Not realizing in the moment that everyone’s eyes are on you two, whispering about the cheerleader dating the town freak.

[thevampiremarie]

Heartless, Chapter 2

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

-

Your wedding night. Tags under read more.

-

Tags: degradation kink, praise kink, size kink, consent negotiation, they egg each other on, gaslight gatekeep girlboss reader, pet names (whore, love, doll, good girl, pretty girl, bitch (yes this is used as a pet name I promise))

You watch the military chaplain sort through the prepared marriage license while the world’s largest butterflies do artistic gymnastics in your stomach.

Soap is the religious one out of the two of you, the Catholic one. You would’ve preferred a judge and a courthouse wedding more than this. But there was no time, and the headache of getting an American recognized by the multi-national special forces whatever-the-fuck just wasn’t worth it.

So a chaplain it is.

Soap has told you little about the soldier you’re set to marry. In his defense, he argued that there was very little to tell. Lt. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley’s personnel file is too classified for a mere civilian, and there are only two single-sided sheets of paper’s worth of information in there anyways.

The bare bones - he’s British. (Of course, he is.) He wears a mask that he never takes off. He’s served many tours, in many places. And while Johnny was remarkably diplomatic about the wording, he did caution you that Ghost’s reputation precedes him and terrifies almost everyone who hears it. With good, justified cause.

Lovely.

But the cold, crawling fingers of desperation and the memory of the times when you couldn’t afford to go to the doctor reminded you of your priorities. And so you have agreed to bind yourself to some dude with a ridiculous, overwrought moniker.

After more than a few years of dealing with medical bureaucracy, military bureaucracy is hardly a match for you. You’ve come prepared with the family accommodations application filled out. You have copies of your identifying documents, birth certificates. The basic background check completed.

Once this is done and solemnized, Soap has volunteered to run it personally to his commanding officer like a good little messenger boy. An early wedding gift, he called it.

You’ve asked him for a Keurig just to be an asshole. And whether or not he got one, for real, Soap won’t say.

All that’s left is to… well. Say the vows and hope no one looks close enough to demand ‘proof.’ Like you’re in some awful fucking medieval romance novel. It’s 2023. You refuse to relinquish any bedsheets. Gross. And they’re expensive.

Lt. Riley still has fifteen minutes before the ceremony is supposed to start.

You’re only early out of an abundance of caution and anxiety. There was only so much sitting around in your old apartment and waiting for the clock hands to move you could take, not after you spent all night packing your life into your car and then climbed out onto your roof to watch the sunrise.

The next one you see, you will be a wife.

Even though Soap refused to show you a picture of Lt. Riley, you did your best to look somewhat presentable. For the pictures. And maybe a little bit for him.

The nicest dress you own, the jewelry you always wear.

Shit. Jewelry. Ring.

“Soap. Soap. I don’t have a ring.” Oh, that’s just your fucking luck, isn’t it? You have remembered literally everything. Your potato masher, your books, and the last of your immunosuppressants are packed into a cooler filled with ice.

Other than the one thing you absolutely need.

Your friend stares at you from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, you don’t got a ring?”

The chaplain’s going to turn and ask what’s wrong any second.

Before he notices, you grab Soap’s bicep and drag him into a corner as the last of your forced calm flees. “I don’t have a ring,” You hiss as your polished nails dig into his dress uniform.

That’s something you should thank him for after this calamity passes. At least your maid of honor is appropriately attired as if this were a real wedding. Or maybe Johnny is a matron of honor because he hasn’t been a virgin in years? Whatever.

His exasperation is less than reassuring. “Alright. Calm down. Calm down, lass. We’ll sort that out later-“ The chapel doors open, cutting him off.

Wow. You thought that Soap was kidding about the mask. That’s a mask.

A balaclava. With a skull on it. Edgy.

Oh, but he’s tall. Taller than you, taller by a couple of inches than Soap. That must really piss your friend off. He is… very tall. And heftily built.

No dress uniform. Just a black sweatshirt showing ripples of defined, bulky muscles underneath and dark wash jeans. And eye black obscures the skin around his eyes, everything his mask doesn’t cover.

It seems impractical, though you can’t deny the shiver of awe that flicks through your nerves when Lt. Ghost meets your inquisitive gaze. His irises are so dark that you can’t distinguish his pupils, leaving you with the impression of looking into twin black holes.

Do you shake his hand? Do you…

You wait for him to make the first move, and he makes no move at all.

“Hi, Lt. Riley,” You say softly, almost timidly. First impressions tend to go better when you make yourself smaller.

For a moment there, you almost think he didn’t hear you. You watch him narrow his eyes as if you’re more than what he was expecting. “License?” He asks after a painfully long awkward silence.

You shove the other papers at Soap, so you have a spare hand to find it. And if you conveniently remain deaf to his protests at being used as a shelf? That’s what maids of honor are for - whatever the bride need.

“License? Oh- uh, yeah, here.” The half-completed form crumples slightly in his hand. It’s from those bulky gloves, and you die a little inside at the sight.

When he hands it back to you with a messy, scrawled signature at all the highlighted blanks, you turn your body away to ensure he overlooks your vain efforts to smooth it out. “Just call me Ghost.”

Damn, this one wrinkle won’t come out. The chaplain will think you’re unprofessional. “Okay, Ghost,” You respond absentmindedly. He hovers in the corner of your eye like his namesake, which is annoying. It’s not as if you’re hiding a fucking bomb over here-

And you stop thinking that immediately. You know, in case they can read minds in this heavily guarded, highly secret special forces base or utilize some tinfoil hat conspiracy theorist's secret weapon. That’s mostly an inside joke you have with yourself. You leave a little room for healthy paranoia to offset the healthy humor.

The chaplain and his small glasses interrupt now that the groom has arrived, and you hand him the still-messed-up license with an embarrassed flush on your cheeks. Thankfully, he takes it without complaint. Maybe a little judgment - and then you remember you have that issue with the rings. There will be more judgment to come.

“Are you ready to begin?” The middle-aged man asks.

Ghost nods almost at the same time you do.

“We are gathered here in the presence of this witness for the purpose of uniting in matrimony Lt. Simon Riley and…”

You tune out the entirety of the cookie-cutter wedding ceremony. The chaplain goes on and on, all sorts of shit about love and forever that you know he has to say but is remarkably humorous in light of your circumstances.

Lt. Riley’s eyelashes are blonde. You couldn’t see it before, but now that you’re inches from him, you can’t look away. They’re a pale platinum blonde that stands out against his dark eyes like threads of ice, and you count each one. Fascinating.

The chaplain clears his throat, then gestures for Ghost to take your hand.

The glove stays on. But he is gentle about it, gentler than what seems natural for his movements. “Do you take Lt. Riley to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?” That’s laying it on a bit thick, you think.”

“I do,” You say, voice low and confident.

“Do you, Lt. Riley, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?”

Something shifts in his gaze. He tilts his head to the side and tracks the features of your face, your full mouth, and your cheekbones. “I do.” You wouldn’t even know where he was looking, had it not been for the stark whites of his eyes darting back and forth.

“The rings?” Your officiant asks.

You hear Johnny stifle a chuckle. Damn him for standing so far away; if he were closer, you’d step on his foot with your heel. “We- the rings are in the mail. They haven’t gotten here yet.” You smile winningly as you hold the chaplain’s bemused stare, practically daring him to call out your poorly-concealed lie.

Ghost hasn’t let go of your hand this whole time. Even he lets out a small huff after seeing your perfect poker face.

“I see. Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

You won't kiss him in front of everyone if he doesn’t lower his mask. As he obviously won’t, you stand on your very tippy-toes and kiss his cheek like you’re at a middle school dance.

Then it’s done, and you’re married.

Ghost pulls his hand back as if you’ve burned him, then steps away before you can ask him any questions.

Just as you try to chase him- “Congratulations, lass,” Soap exclaims, sweeping you into a hug that lifts you off the ground.

It’s got a hell of a lot more than excitement in it; you can feel his relief, and he goes as far as to kiss your forehead like a brother before letting you down.

There’s nothing on earth you can do to repay him. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.” For a moment, you’re children again—two kids against the world.

Johnny takes the license and the rest of your paperwork. “Gotta run this to Chief Laswell. But- you’ll be fine. Don’t be too scared.” You can tell he’s fucking around, but there’s an edge to his voice that you don’t love.

No person can be scarier than a hospital bill. “Worry about yourself, Johnny,” You tell him.

It takes a second for the steel in your eyes to reassure him. Eventually, he nods. “Good luck.” Then he makes his way to Ghost.

They speak in murmurs too quiet for you to hear, and you can see Soap grip his forearm tight enough to bruise. Then they come to some sort of silent consensus. Ghost’s mask gives away absolutely nothing, but your friend seems satisfied enough.

“Uh- pardon me, I’m sure Lt. Riley and yourself are eager to…  celebrate the evening.” The chaplain’s acting like you and Ghost are about to start going at each other right here, right now.

That is a known stereotype for hastily-married couples, and he’s probably seen some traumatizing things in this very chapel. Either way, you coordinate a retreat into the hallway to give the poor man a break. 

Ghost holds the door open for you, and you wonder what torture Soap promised to get him to do that. He doesn’t seem pleased. You’d tell him that he doesn’t need to bother, but you’re not so invested in Ghost’s immediate happiness, and that’s a lot of work.

Someone’s waiting for you in the corridor. A poor uniformed soldier has been conscripted into acting as envoy on behalf of the Special Forces, and he asks you both to follow him to your temporary quarters.

Right. Yes.

Ghost doesn’t say a word. He matches your steps with uncanny accuracy, and you’re beginning to understand why people sincerely call him by his preferred moniker. It’s fucking freaky, how quickly and efficiently he moves without any sound at all. You might even forget he was there if not for the heavy, uncomfortable weight on your back that reminds you he’s still watching.

Then the soldier rounds a corner and presents you with an open door. The lights are on, and a bouquet of fresh flowers is on the table inside with a little white card.

Your guide hightails it out as soon as you’re through the doorway.

And then Ghost closes the door behind him.

You and him. Alone. There’s no one in the other room or close enough to hear if something goes wrong.

You watch him keep himself busy, circling perimeters and learning exits and entrances, and you think… you wouldn’t mind it if something went wrong.

Reading people is something that can’t be taught, not really. You’re lucky to have come out of the womb with that ephemeral quality clutched tightly in one hand. While the mask makes it difficult, you are… learning. You are noting shifts in posture, inflections of voice, where those dark eyes linger.

You need to collect more data.

“Do I have to call you Ghost? I can’t just call you Simon?” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and the tension in the air tastes electric on your teeth. It will be a coin toss to see which way that tension goes, you think.

“Don’t say that name. ‘M not gonna repeat myself.”

You’ll do as he says because now he’s staring into your eyes without flinching. “Hm. Fine.” Which is what you wanted.

Ghost removes his gloves for a moment to fiddle with his phone, and you can’t help but stare.

He has beautiful hands. Long, thick fingers, knuckles marked with a lifetime’s worth of scar tissue, more scars wrapping themselves like cords across the backs of his hands. Beautiful.

There are tattoos blanketing his left forearm. You can’t see them from here, and you doubt you’ll get to examine them in detail sometime this century. Tattoos are so personal, and it would take words a lot tougher than a question to get through his shark skin persona.

Gloves go back on. And he’s caught you staring. You don’t give a fuck.

You relish the challenge.

Like a feral raccoon or a bored weasel, you’ll push and push and push until you’ve found something entertaining.

Does Ghost think that if he menaces you in silence long enough, you’ll scream when he says ‘boo’? How cute.

Out of nowhere, he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’re lookin’ at me.” You could make a snide comment about noticing the obvious, but that’s not the fight you want to pick. Yet.

You’re far more intrigued by the issue of his ghastly, ghoulish, fearsome camouflage. “Do you really, like, wear the mask all the time? Even to sleep? What about eating? You don’t care about getting crumbs all over it?”  Your voice would sound genuine if you put a little more effort into it.

Silence. He knows you’re trying to pry him out into the open, and he thinks he can ignore you until you give up.

Your eyes narrow. “Oh, come on. I’m your wife now. I’m allowed to ask questions.” Those fucking icy eyelashes. Your feet move before you realize it, bringing you closer to him so you can repeatedly run the contrast in your mind.

Ghost crosses his burly arms over his chest. “Not if they’re fuckin’ annoying ones,” He snaps back.

That’s one hell of a British accent. Not a posh one; working class, probably not from London.

Like his eyes, hands, and stature, his low, raspy voice is beautiful, too. “Isn’t that what wives are for?” You bait.

You catch his eye roll and match it with a dirty glare. “Do you ever shut up?” Ghost asks, advancing so quickly that you find yourself trapped against the wall, some primal flight instinct activated by his sinuous, menacing stride.

And you’ve been asked that very same question many, many times in your life. “Um… not really,” You toss out. Smugly, like you’re winning whatever fucked-up game is brewing between you. You totally are.

Like this, you must tilt your head to meet his furious eyes. “Fuck. That’s tedious.” Obviously, this is not nearly as tedious as he complains. He’s still here.

Your eyes flick between the door and Ghost’s mask, indicating he’s free to walk away. “Oh, I’m being tedious? Look at me. Look at me. Say that again.” Under your dress, your skin feels warm. As if he’s already touching you.

Ghost takes another step forward. “You… are… being… tedious.” Close enough that his combat boots touch your fancy low heels.

Kissing someone through a mask is very stupid, both in theory and practice. Just as you thought earlier.

Somehow, some way, Ghost makes it work.

Gentleness seems to be a foreign language to him; he wraps one large hand around your jaw, pushing you against the wall, so roughly that pain radiates across your scalp, and digs his index finger and thumb in until he’s holding your mouth open.

And that’s how he kisses you. Forcing you to be exactly as still as he wants and pressing his mask over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut as if this were a real kiss. If this were a real kiss, you’d have your teeth halfway through his bottom lip by now.

Great idea. Just as Ghost moves back, you nip his mask with your teeth. Nothing serious, no real damage. Enough to teach him something about you, more important than words can say.

For only a moment, it lifts from his face. Not in any type of direction where you can see more, but the fabric stretches, and it reminds him that that’s all his mask is. Fabric. Not metal or bone.

“Nah, don’t do that,” Ghost warns before leaning in again.

Fine. This time, you dig your nails into the tiniest revealed sliver of his pale neck as you kiss him until he’s forced to pin your wrist above your head with one gloved hand.

He seeks to chastise you again, but you put a stop to that by arching into his chest instead of away.

This sets the beautiful, pristine line of your neck on display as you tilt your head just the right way. You know your angles, and you bet he probably enjoys holding fragile things in his palms before crushing them the next second.

The unmarked skin above your pulsing carotid artery sure looks fragile.

And, of course, it invites Ghost to dip his burning gaze lower.

You look good. You know you do; you know that your cleavage pops in this dress, you layer perfume to be the most memorable woman in the room, and this confidence has been insulating you all day.

He’s not immune to it. His other hand runs along your exposed collarbones before dipping between your breasts. He takes the fabric of your dress between his fingers, testing the strength of the cloth and construction.

Wait, hold on, this shit was expensive. And unless he’s going to replace it-

Ghost has been too busy staring at your boobs to notice that he’s let go of your wrist, and you pounce on the opening. You’re out of his grasp immediately before peeling the dress off. Shame is for the weak.

His appreciative groan goes straight to your nerves, to your nipples hardening under your sheer bralette and your panties beginning to stick to your skin.

All that newly exposed skin and soft curves turn the desire in his dark eyes into a ruthless hunger.

You watch him walk towards you, circle you. He checks your ass out in the most blatant way possible, so you feel the compliment more than you hear it.

You turn to look at him through lashes all dolled up with mascara and make your eyes round, doe-like - as saccharine as artificially-flavored taffy.

Even through the balaclava, Ghost grins.

“Can I help you with that?” He asks, gesturing to the flimsy metal clasp in the center of your back that holds the bra in place.

His gloved fingers trail down your spine when you sweep your hair from your shoulders. “What a gentleman.” There are dozens of other more productive things he could be doing right now to get you naked.

He coaxes a slight, involuntary shiver from your spine when he digs his fingertips into the curve of your breast, and you dread what will happen when Ghost finds all the other weak spots.

Just as you’re about to end his fun and get this bra off yourself, he undoes the clasp. “Don’t want to ruin your pretty clothes.” A harsh, jagged leather glove edge clips your skin as he does so. While it won’t make you bleed, not even close, you feel he wouldn’t care if something did.

Fuck.

Instead of dropping both arms out obediently so he can slip you out of it all at once, you have the genius idea of sticking out one arm after another.

This forces Ghost to face you as you let the bralette drop.

A flush crawls up your chest, blooming pink and flustered between your breasts. “You think I look pretty?” You ask, barely suppressing the whine from your tone. It’s a real whine, one that speaks to how badly you want this to escalate.

Someone wolf-whistling at your tits usually makes you angry enough to hit them, but Ghost’s whistle makes the blush in your skin burn brighter. “Christ,” He mutters. The bone-white teeth on his mask distort, then stretch, like he’s licking his lips.

You spent a little extra time this morning hunting down a nice pair of lace-trimmed underwear, and now you’re thrilled you bothered. “Gonna make me wait forever?”

The answer is no. He’s on you in the next second, palm flat between your collarbones as he practically shoves you towards the bare regulation mattress, the kind of thing you’d see in a college dorm.

When you land, the slight impact takes your breath away.

But then he sees your thighs pressing together, your hips shifting, and your eyelids flutter. You’re fucking melting from that force alone. “You like it mean?” He wonders, half-mocking, half-genuine.

You push yourself up on your elbows, making your tits bounce more than necessary. Just to watch him lose his train of thought again.

You’re dripping through your panties, you can feel slick arousal on your skin, and he’ll know as soon as you spread your legs. “I like it mean.” Your smile is wide and beckoning. And filled with your own intentionally-grating menace.

After all, he’s asking the wrong question.

The right question is whether he can be mean enough, whether he can touch you with enough cruelty to make you come. Already, your pussy twitches at the thought.

Something glints in his sin-dark eyes. “Good. That’s a good girl.” No, he promised you something else.

“That’s not very mean.”

You get no further warning.

He braces one muscled forearm across your chest to force you down before shoving that hand under your jaw, so your face is entirely in his control. He keeps you looking at the ceiling, and you realize it’s so he can pull his mask down.

Dammit. You try to fight it, dip your jaw to see his face, but his grip is tougher than iron and so tight that it will leave bruises on your chin.

Then you feel his teeth bite into your throat, mark after mark along the length of your neck, and it hurts. It fucking hurts, and your eyes roll back into your head, skin on fucking fire. “God, real eager, ain’t you?” Ghost hisses as you cough and struggle for breath against his hand. “Haven’t known me for twenty-four hours, and you’re already spreading your legs like a whore.”

There are lingering kisses that are just shy of gentle, long lathes of his tongue along your sweaty skin, and then there are savage bites into the side of your breast, in between them, his fingers plucking at the hardened bud of your nipple.

Your mind is empty, completely empty, as your hips grind up towards his and the thick, heavy erection you can feel through his jeans. “You do that for every man who looks at you twice?” You can hardly hear him over your squeaks of pain mixing with pleasure. Now he’s slotted a knee between your thighs, giving you something to rock your covered pussy on.

“Only for the ones who deserve it,” You get out between clenched teeth, holding back your moans, so he doesn’t get that satisfaction.

He chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuckin’ hell.” When he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, licking, sending jolts of pleasure through your nerves but hovering on the edge of real damage…

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to put together a retort. “Jealous that you haven’t had a turn yet?”

“Naw, I ain’t jealous. Ain’t gotta be. I know you want me.” He punctuates his words by cruelly pressing his knee harder into your clit, wrenching a long, tortured sound from your throat.

If he keeps that up… already, something hot and vicious begins to simmer low in your stomach, a hollow ache.

Then he fucking lets up on covering you in marks to watch your face twist in rapture when he does it again. “Come on then, Lieutenant. Big, scary, mean Ghost,” You tell him breathlessly.

Again, his knee, your aching clit, you don’t wanna come all over his pants except you kind of do, and if he realizes that, he’ll make you.

His fingers pluck your nipple one last time. “Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ show you.” Then he shoves his mask on haphazardly, withdrawing his hands so he can pull his gloves off. “Take that shit off. Right now,” Ghost orders.

The fabric of your soaked panties rips a little in your enthusiasm to get them away from you, and you toss them in some corner without looking.

And as you hold his gaze, face flushed and dewy from his kisses, you part your legs.

Ghost is so taken by the sight of your glistening, aroused core that he has to sit back for a second and just… “Fuuuck,” He groans, eyes lidded with want.

You run a single teasing hand along the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Still pretty?” Your smile is all teeth, hunger, and a promise that you don’t need him to have a good time.

He shakes his head. “I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches,” Ghost warns. As if he isn’t literally rolling up his sleeves as he speaks. As if you can’t see his muscles strain and flex with the effort of not touching you.

His shoulders are so huge that he casts a shadow when he looks over you. “You will.” You pause to make a show out of sliding your wicked gaze down to his jeans. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to your…” Then Ghost grabs your hips before you can finish your sentence and drags you to the edge of the mattress.

You hear him sigh through his teeth. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Prettiest tits, prettiest ass… Where have you been hiding?” It seems that he does, in fact, like you self-absorbed. You’ll drag more compliments from his mouth before the night is over, you swear it.

When you try to slip a leg over his shoulder before he’s ready, Ghost traps your soft thighs open and in place with his hands. “The United States of America.” Fuck. Fuck.

He strokes through your folds with two fingers, not deep enough to do anything but tease. Still, you jump as soon as you feel him brush your clit with a feather-light touch.

Ghost takes those two slick fingers and lazily holds them out in front of your mouth. “Look at me, and this is over. You hear me? I don’t give a fuck how much you whine or complain.” You take them in your mouth in a show of obedience that surprises him, eagerly lapping up your musk and the salt of his skin.

But not entirely obedient - you nip his fingertips before you pull away, and a string of saliva stretches between you. “I hear you.” Whatever. Avoiding peeking at his face is, like, the easiest thing someone could do to get eaten out.

He waits until your head is properly thrown back, and you rest a hand over your eyes, so there’s no chance you will look down.

As if remembering your reaction to his earlier mercy, Ghost takes his sweet fucking time doing everything but eat your needy, dripping cunt. Your stupid, annoying, evil husband covers the soft, plush flesh of your thighs in kisses, he licks up the arousal that’s leaked onto your skin throughout this game, he leaves more love bites in the crease of your thigh.

Asshole.

And it feels good. Of course, it feels good, and you’re already a squirming, pleading mess, holding back your sighs because you’ll be damned if he thinks you’ll fold with no effort.

When he finally licks a hot stripe through your folds, carefully sucking at your clit, your resulting moan fucking bursts out of your chest, drawn out and desperate.

You can feel him laugh against your sensitive flesh before he just…

Your hips can’t get closer if you tried, you’re caught between grinding on his face and trying to flinch away as he fucks you with his mouth, Ghost’s tongue moving with unerring precision to pour pleasure like lightning through your veins.

Your cunt clenches around nothing as he goes back and forth, licking, sucking, making your thighs tremble around his face. “Shit, shit, keep doing that, fuck-“ You beg, mouth open because it feels like you can’t breathe. The air tastes hot, like sex, like smoke and bourbon.

Ghost’s groans are barely audible over the sloppy, explicit sounds of his mouth coaxing more slick out of your core, all over his face. “You taste-“ He presses two thick fingers inside. “So fucking-“ It stings, it’s a stretch, he has to lap at your swollen clit with a delicate touch to get you to loosen up. “Good-“ Your muscles twist and spasm around his fingers, fluttering in time with each thrust.

Then he picks up the pace. “Ghost, Jesus, what the fuck are you-“ You sob, gasping as you try to get control over your body. He’s got every reaction, your vocal cords, your nerves, your needy, desperate cunt, entirely in hand.

His free hand digs into your leg, nails aimed to hurt. And like the whore you absolutely are, every time he does that, your stomach tightens further. “No need to say my name twice, love,” Ghost tells you in a voice as smooth as velvet, like he’s endlessly amused at your expense.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” You bitch before getting that knee over his muscled shoulder and dragging his hot, wet mouth towards your pussy again.

Your shriek fills the air when he bites, like really bites your thigh in revenge. “‘M busy fucking you. Come on, lemme in. Lemme find it.” His fingers-

They’re thrusting into you deeper, he slides his other hand under your hips to angle your pelvis up.

And then you feel him brush something deep inside your pussy that makes you clench as tight as a vice around his hand. “Um, fuck, I-“ Your back arches off the mattress, and you’ve got your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, your free hand flailing around as you try to just- just get everything under control…

You can’t think, can’t speak, he touches that patch of sensitive flesh inside of you, and it just wipes your brain clean, replacing everything with Ghost. “There we go. That’s it,” He coos at your helplessness, smug with the knowledge that all your bravado and rationality fail when his fingers fuck you harder, rougher.

Ghost helps you chase the orgasm gathering on the horizon, so powerful that you can feel it humming like power lines in your teeth. “Hn-“ Your moans rise and echo off the bare walls, and he drags his fingers inside you at the same time he places his mouth on your aching, swollen clit.

“Got 60 seconds to come, or I’ll stop.” It’s right there, just out of reach, like your skin is on fire and your body is so, so, so desperate for everything he can give.

Tears gather in your eyes. “No, please, don’t stop,” You beg, words garbled up with whimpers and cries, tears tracking down your sweaty cheeks.

Whenever your leg tries to hold him in place to fight off the pleasure or your core clamps down so he can’t withdraw his fingers, he fucks you harder. “Pretty girl.” Holy shit. You just need to breathe, to try and focus, but you can’t. It’s so- “Good fucking girl.”

You need to come. You need to come, you’re trying, you don’t want him to leave you like this, so much arousal pours out of your flushed, oversensitive core that it covers his wrist, and your hips begin to buck and shake.  “5, 4, 3, 2, 1-“

“I- I’m coming, oh my fucking God-“ Your orgasm drags you down in a fury, pulsing hot and violent. Every muscle trembles and your whimpers reach a fever pitch. And Ghost pries at each scrap of your pleasure he can get, sucking and sucking at your flesh, and you can’t do anything. You have to let him swallow you whole.

You forget how to fucking breathe, and you’re sobbing under the hand over your face, trying to escape the sensation, but you can’t stop coming, clenching, chasing the high.

He lets you ride out the last of it on his hand, helping you through the aftershocks and gentling the pace of his tongue until you’re spent.

When that ringing sound clears from your ears, you sit up with sore stomach muscles and reach for him; mask be damned. Ghost gets the balaclava down over his nose, exposing his mouth shiny with your cum.

Your first real kiss is messy and slick, lips slipping against his and saliva going everywhere. His sticky hands tangle in your hair, and you gasp into his mouth from the sudden, sharp pain. It’s his turn to sigh when you nip at his full bottom lip, a deep, raspy sound that you could become addicted to very easily.

Your fingers slip under the edge of the mask - just where it covers his neck, and Ghost pauses for a moment, lips suspended over yours.

It takes three thundering heartbeats for him to return to kissing the air out of your lungs.

His hair feels short under your fingertips, bluntly cut to a regulation length. You’ve done it before for Soap when he first enlisted. You take your nails over the back of his neck once, then again, hard enough to make it sting.

“Bitch,” Ghost hums, and it’s the softest thing he’s said all evening. Like your teeth and claws are more impressive, more beautiful than your obedience.

Clearly, no one taught him how to behave toward a wife. “Manners.” This time, you draw a little blood from his mouth, and Ghost almost melts into a puddle in your hands.

“Let me fuck you.” He has one hand on your throat, not a chokehold so much as a loose necklace. A wedding ring on your finger couldn’t be more possessive than Ghost’s lingering, eager touch.

And when you press your forehead to his through the mask, he permits it. “I thought you just did.”

Something about his eye roll makes him seem younger. Lighter, more playful. “Let me fuck you again,” He tries. Yeah, no. You’re not a cheap date. “Turn around. Come on.” He has to do better than that.

The look on your face makes him sigh. “Don’t make me beg.”

Next time, he shouldn’t try and give you ideas. Definitely not for free. “What happened to ‘I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches’?” You ask coyly. You could ask him for anything right now, you think, and Ghost would give it to you.

Pained, aching frustration blooms in his dark brown eyes.

“Jesus, you’re never going to drop that, are you?” Ghost is so cute like this, squirming in his own vaguely-repressed way. He answers you quickly, far more quickly than someone who’s only tolerating this would. “You were right.” The hand on your throat moves delicately across your shoulders, massaging your neck, all luxury and indulgence, a slow seduction.

His words are like music to your ears. “I usually am.” You’re a sucker for that specific compliment. And with Ghost determined to caress every inch of your skin, your arms, the dip of your waist, well…

You bat his wanting hands away and flip yourself over. It takes a little care not to tweak anything, but being on your hands and knees is better for your spine in the long run, anyway.

His large palm runs up and down the length of your back, leaving warmth wherever he goes—softening your muscles, getting you used to his presence when you can’t see him, until you’re relaxed and pliant on the bed.

Fabric rustles behind you. It’s the balaclava; he’s pulled it off and tossed it to the side. You can just see it out of the corner of your eye. “Spoilin’ me with this view, love.” Then Ghost kisses the small of your back as he kneels on the bed, covering your skin with appreciation as he makes his way up.

You can’t help your small, genuinely breathless laugh when he kisses the side of your neck. “Make this good, and you’ll see it a second time,” You promise. Then he palms one of your tits, and you grind your ass against his hard-on, so he doesn’t get too lost in the sauce.

He nips your earlobe. “I’m the best you’re gonna have.” When he withdraws, he takes all his warmth with him, leaving you cold and bereft. “Might be a tight fit, doll,” Ghost tells you as he unbuckles his jeans.

Ooh, doll. That’s a new one. You haven’t been called that before. You like it.

His fingers dip between your thighs, nudging at your clit until you’re gasping and writhing. When he works two, then three digits into your cunt, he stretches you out with brisk efficiency.

The slick sound of skin on skin - Ghost pulls his fingers from you to spread your arousal over his dick, pumping himself a few times.

“I can take you.”

One of his palms rests on your back as he carefully, so so, so carefully slips the blunt head of his cock inside. “Ohhhhh, oh fuck.” You go completely slack, cheek dropping to the mattress. He’s big. He’s fucking massive.

Ghost is hardly moving at all, and still, your pussy is trembling, desperately trying to clamp down on him, but you’re too stretched out-

He’s gasping, exhaling hard through his nose while he tries to re-adjust. The feeling of you squeezing him is unbearable.“God. My fuckin’ God. You’re-“ Ghost cuts himself off, and you hear him curse. He pulls himself out slightly, then pushes back in. “Loosen- loosen up a little. Please.” You can’t even make sense of his pleading, not when his dick is so big inside your belly that you don’t have room for thoughts.

When he plays with your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb, you feel the pleasure grow and churn and make you shake. “I- you’re so big, I can’t,” You barely succeed at getting out.

But- he rolls his hips again, and your body opens for him bit by bit. “Please. That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl. Doll. Good girl,” He chants.

And what can you do but let out an answering moan, a strung-out, needy, desperate sound for words your brain doesn’t know?

Your nails are seconds away from tearing the plastic mattress cover. God, if only- if only your cunt wasn’t stuffed so full. “Ghost… fuck, you’re splitting me in two.” He bottoms out, and he’s so deep, like he’s molding you around him. After a moment, Ghost starts fucking you in earnest. 

“Holy shit, yes, right there-“ You gasp when his hard cock presses against your g-spot, your core shivering around him.

Ghost keeps at it with both hands on your hips to hold you steady. “I know. I know. I have you. I have you, love.” Your body trusts him to guide you through this - he’s sturdy and strong, and you feel every inch moving inside of you with his thrusts. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, Christ.” Sweat gathers at your hairline before tracking down your face to join the little pool of saliva below your slack, open mouth.

When he grinds into your hypersensitive, tender pussy, you shriek, his cock fucking the sounds out of your strained vocal cords. “Feels so good,” He groans in a shaken, undone voice.

Despite your fucked-out head, despite getting the best dick of your life, you find another ounce of spite you haven’t tapped into yet. “B-best you’ve ever, hngh, had?” You’re dripping around him, so soaked that the wet sounds of your cunt echo almost drown out your nonsensical, cock-drunk noises.

Ghost laughs before fucking you harder, determined to make you scream. “Yeah, best fuckin’ pussy. Best girl. Fuck. Fuck.” And just as he does that, you hear him lick his fingers before pressing them to your swollen clit.

Oh no. Oh no. Your pussy begins to tighten and twitch, and you didn’t plan for this, the pleasure sneaks up on you as you fight it, trying to keep your head above water and your body from… “I’m not gonna last, shit, you’re too good to me,” Ghost growls, relentlessly pounding into you.

Your stomach aches and screams with your orgasm, but you’re not ready yet, you need a second. You- he’s manipulating your body so keenly, you’ve never felt anything like it.

His hips snap into your ass, aiming viciously for your g-spot. “You’ll come again. Like this,” Ghost orders, then presses down on your back, so you drop your chest and cant your hips up.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can,” You confess, each sound chopped up and breathless as he fucks you harder and harder.

He keeps his fingers on your clit at the same pressure, same speed, and it feels so good that you’re going to start sobbing at any second. Your knees are about to give out, and Ghost’s thrusts get wilder, messier.

“Come. Come for me.”

You’re screeching, crying, wailing as you come. Cunt spasming on his dick, your lungs empty and howling for relief. Your hips keep pushing back towards him to chase the high. Each wave is more painful, more powerful than the next, leaving you a twitching, helpless mess.

You come so fucking hard around him that you think you were meant for this. It’s the sweetest relief, like hot fire licking through your veins. It’s all Ghost and the cock he’s breaking you open on. Your pleasure slices into your gut like a sharpened knife, and your slick covers his pants, your thighs, the bed below you.

He shoves himself into you one last, impossibly deep, painfully good time, and Ghost comes with a long, drawn-out moan as your muscles milk him. There’s a burst of warmth - except your spasming, still-orgasming pussy is packed to the brim with his cock, so you feel his come drip all over your trembling, weak legs.

When he pulls out, he slides an arm around your waist before gently lowering you to the bed. Then Ghost lays on his side so he can draw your bare, sweat-soaked back to his chest, tucking you into him. And while you’re insensible, he grabs the balaclava and shoves it over his face.

You come back to yourself in increments, your head hazy and filled with small snapshots of tenderness.

Ghost adjusts the open buckle of his belt, so it doesn’t hurt you or irritate your sensitive skin. Your hand seeks one of his blindly until he wraps his fingers around yours. He stops your shivering by unzipping his hoodie and draping it over your naked body.

Your heart rate slows to something more reasonable, and as your eyes open, you see his tattoos. He’s got your head cushioned on his shoulder, so your hair has draped itself all over his arm.

You can see monochrome shadows dancing on his muscled, scarred skin, skulls, bombs, and dog tags, all of it peeking out.

Beautiful. Edgy, scary, beautiful. “I like them,” You say as you outline a lovingly-detailed sniper’s scope with the tip of your finger.

He doesn’t laugh, he’s recovering too, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Barbed wire in that faded, blue-black color that tattoos turn with age, greyscale fire, and brimstone… “They suit you. And so does the mask.” Ghost exhales softly, air fanning out across your skin.

Then he shifts, tightens his arm around you, and brings you closer. “Thanks,” He murmurs after a long, substantial moment.

You try to banish the exhaustion creeping on you to the recesses of your mind. It makes your tongue slippery, makes the thoughts fall straight out of your head and into the world. “Yeah, no problem. Did you know that your eyelashes are blonde? I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you.”

There are many other things you want to say, but you chew on the inside of your cheek and manage to stop them.

“Have you now?”

Aw, damn. So you did say that out loud, and he heard you. “Yeah. Yeah.” Each time you blink, you do it slower, like gravity is somehow increasing as time goes on, and you’re losing the power to resist it.

Where’d he go? “Gotta fuckin’… put some sheets on this bed. Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, love.” You poke your head up for a second and look around. No Ghost behind you, no arms cradling you.

Then you spot him by the door, shoving his keycard in his pocket. “Mmph.” You don’t lie down until he circles around and curls his palm around your cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” Ghost promises, and with his blessing, you roll over and close your eyes.

-

Tagging @abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @poohkie90 @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @555ilovecats @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @drugsaftersex @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney

Idk how tag lists work so i guess just reply if u want to be added? and reply/shoot me a message if you want off!

Thank y'all so much for the support and love <3 <3 <3, the next chapter will be more smut, as well as the 141's reaction to your wedding!

One last thing - please do not ask a disabled author/person in general to disclose intimate details of their disability because you think their disability should limit them from doing something. that is very rude, and also very ableist. the only person entitled to my medical history is my doctor, and I've already had someone act entitled toward my medical history over this fic. i am super uncomfortable that i had to disclose anything at all, but i felt that if i didn't, they would pick a fight. my pinned post contains the comment i made on AO3 about this, including said details that I wish I didn't feel forced to tell people. I am not going to be responding to questions of that kind going forward. thank you.

(as always, dedicated to cuckoo <3)

[edenprime]

The main galactic power players, post-war:

First of all, the krogan. At the very least, the krogan must get a seat in the council. If a named/old character has to be the one to hold it, it should be Bakara. Wrex should rule a unified Tuchanka. Their help was instrumental in holding Palaven, and as a consequence, humanity and the turians. I can see all three peoples become closer allies. Tension would remain, especially between the turians and the krogan, rightfully so. However, I can see the Hierarchy, under Victus, finally start to pay reparations for the genophage.

An initial offer is made to get turian workers to Tuchanka, to help physically rebuild the planet's main cities. This is completely vetoed by the krogan leadership, obviously. These guys were doing secret operations like a year ago to disable a gigantic bomb they had buried in their planet to destroy them. They agree on raw materials + monetary compensation until krogan population reaches pre-genophage and post-industrialization, but pre-expansion numbers. A surviving Shepard that keeps working as a Spectre would totally mediate the negotiations as an impartial observer. It is also yet another show of cooperation between all three peoples.

Now, the asari... would they get any sort of penalty for hiding the Athame beacon? Would it all get swept under the rug due to corruption? Would it be purposefuly "forgiven" due to the galaxy-wide destruction? Let's be real - if they had revealed the secret as soon as the Alliance and its allies started building the Crucible, they would've defeated the reapers much sooner. Hell, maybe Thessia would've been spared - it's attacked after the Crucible plans are found on Mars, with enough time to spare to give Alliance officials (including one very annoyed human spectre) the information.

Even if they didn't know that the beacon held information on how to destroy the reapers, it was known that a weapon of prothean origin was being built, and they had information that came straight from the protheans. If the matriarchs had any common sense, they'd start offering asari help to rebuild say...the Citadel. The keepers were basically reaper tech, right? So it stands to reason that they would've died with them, too. Now, if the others had any common sense they would refuse the generous offer and get their hands on it first (when both humans and turians call dibs, Done-With-Your-Shit Shepard says it should be the asari, under strict council supervision).

Salarians! They did not withhold crucial information, but they actively tried to sabotage the biggest war alliance by trying to ruin the cure for the genophage, and withholding support when they didn't get their way. To save face, the STG could try to make it seem like it was the Dalatrass acting alone, have her replaced, and profusely apologize. They are not formally penalized, but their political influence is definitely diminished. Again, the krogan are now among the most influential species, and the humans and the turians didn't get any help from the salarians, either. The asari chose to stay impartial in that mess, and look how it turned out for them. As such, they'll both need to keep a low profile until things have significantly cooled down.

The quarians would have no interest in joining, I believe. They'll be high on the thrill of getting their planet back. They'll need to completely reorganize their entire society, so galaxy-wide politics would take a backseat for a while. They are used to self-sufficiency and ostatrization for everyone else, so I can't see them being too keen on them, too.

Unfortunately, I don't think the "secondary" species/worlds would get much more influence or power. Some of them, like the volus and the elcor contributed a non-insignificant ammout to the war effort. However, allowing the volus into the council would be a conflict of interest: they are a client race to the turians, so unless they became completely independent for a long while, they wouldn't get that seat. Since elcor made a similar contribution, it would be unfair if they got it and the volus didn't, so no more seats for anyone. The drell don't even have their own planet, and the overall contribution from them and the hanar was not significant enough to change much of their status. Of course, all of these are excuses. The big power players are just not keen on sharing, just like before. After all, politicians will be politicians, and a sense of unity only goes so far.

[utilitycaster]

Hi there! Do you think the Bells - and in particular Ashton's focus and indist a bit too hard on the fact that Aeor orb vision will completely change people's perceptions of gods? I tend to think that lot of people who somewhat know history are aware of the fact that Primes and Betrayers joined hands to destroy the city. As for common folk - it would be at also hard to believe that for example they would completely denounce Wildmother who is nature (all good and all bad. Bad as in destructive). I can imagine some folks reaction to this would be to feel scared, but then again. Those are Gods we speak about, not your friendly neighbors. What do you think?

So here's the thing: I've felt some of the depictions of what the average person knows this campaign have been...inconsistent isn't the right word, because, for example, the norm in the Menagerie Coast might not be the norm in Gelvaan and certainly isn't the norm in central Issylra, but also the party not recognizing the symbol of Asmodeus (for example) is something that's always struck me as like. people in the United States not knowing what a crucifix is. Like yeah those people exist - I've met very religious Jews in the US who don't know what day Christmas is other than "generally in late December" - but either we never met many of those people in Campaigns 1 and 2 and met them all in Campaign 3, or there's been some retconning (which...that's a complex discussion as to canonicity between campaigns, since the answer is, ultimately, it depends on the specifics and the magnitude and the source of that information, ie, if High Bearer Vord's creation myth is wrong that's valid because he's providing a specific perspective with plenty of bias, or if orcs were NOT created during the Calamity that's valid because unfortunately myths born of stereotype and bigotry are extremely common; but if Matt's drastically changing previously established truths of the world without in-world explanation, rather than just quietly dropping no longer relevant references as one-offs a la Ladueger, yeah that is bad storytelling and anyone who tells you it isn't is an idiot).

But actually that doesn't matter because here's just a truth about people: a whole lot of people in, for example, the United States in 2024, where 95% of adults have regular internet access, are fairly uninvested in much outside their basic day to day life, just, in general. This is going to be even more true in a world without that degree of information and interconnectedness. I think a lot of people are going to be like "ok and this thousand year old city being destroyed affects me how?" Not to get too cynical about it but think about someone whose experience with the gods is rather like what Laudna describes her youth as being: harvest festivals and wishing for rain. Like, if it's a good harvest this year, will they care?

I don't personally agree with this mentality irl, but groups of people on the whole are frequently resistant to change, do not want trouble, and want to be left alone. I think no shortage of people's attitudes will simply be "why is this motherfucker downloading the Downfall of Aeor Album to everyone's iPod when I am trying to eat breakfast." It won't even get to the point of "are the gods good or bad"; it will literally just be "who the fuck is broadcasting something? the MOON is fucked up? we have real problems?" Like, if people do not know the story of the fall of Aeor, someone being like HEY THE GODS CRASHED THIS CITY BECAUSE THEY HAD MADE A GOD-KILLING WEAPON is probably going to elicit a response of, again, "and I should care about this because? a fucking phoenix is strafing us, why are you doing a test of the emergency broadcast system?"

[nyoomerr]

Tips for writing shizun-is a teacher I wish to fuck blorbo Shen Yuan and 300 women but only truly want one man blorbo Bingge? They are so tasty but I want to characterize them accurately 👌👌

they are indeed the tastiest 😌🍴 and i'm glad that you enjoy my characterization of them enough that you trust me to give advice on them!

that said, i'll go ahead and add my usual sort of disclaimer when giving writing advice -- this is how i interpret these characters, and it's highly unlikely that everyone will agree with all aspects of my understanding of them. feel free to take/leave whichever pieces of this advice suit you personally!

(after all, i don't even take my own advice to heart all the time. there are always exceptions, especially in fandom / fic, where the guiding principle should always just be "do whatever is most fun!")

⬇ ⬇ all advice under the cut to avoid clogging ppl's dashes ⬇ ⬇

for writing shen yuan,

he's an asshole! i often see sy portrayed as kind and innocent as a heavenly saint, but this is the same guy who delighted in harassing the writer of his (not) favorite book. he's argumentative and a bit mean, and he enjoys being those things, particularly when it makes him feel as if he's "won" something. to write this part of his character,

within his own narration, i'll include casual insults directed at anyone/thing that causes him a mild inconvenience

in conversations between him and someone he dislikes, i try to ensure he's never the one to disengage first unless something forces him to, instead writing him as always wanting to get the last word in.

whatever quips/insults/methods of revenge he enacts, i try to ensure that they match his own image of who he is. when he's sqq, his bitchiness doesn't "win" anything unless the way he enacts it fits within his image as an aloof immortal. even when he's a NEET in his original world, he has an image of himself that he wants to maintain (i.e. "winning" on the internet means "people believe you're right.")

he can be sweet, but it's an attitude reserved for people/things he likes very much. even then, it only reinforces his bitchiness; i try to always write him as most mean when someone is attacking something he likes.

he's conditionally oblivious, not completely so. although oblivious!sy is super fun, he's really only "oblivious" to things that would be inconvenient for him to know/understand, and even then, it's less that he doesn't notice and more that he doesn't want to notice. to write this part of his character,

i still have him notice whatever is happening, but within his own narration he'll complete whatever mental gymnastics are necessary to reach a more convenient conclusion than the obvious one.

i try to portray these mental gymnastics as increasingly frantic / borderline panicked depending on how big the jump is between "what is easy for sy to think" and "what the reality is." kinda as if sy can tell that his own excuses are falling apart in real time and is desperately trying to cover it up.

a lot of "what is easy for sy to think" lies in his comphet, but not all of it. it's also easy for him to think that he's right - so when he makes a reasonable assumption, and then he learns new information that disproves that assumption, i usually take that as a chance to throw in some mental gymnastics, too.

when he does finally allow himself to understand, it's often because he's reached the tipping point of "what is easy for me to think is now actively harmful to me or someone i care about." i'll often write sy doing his mental backflips for chapters on end without any sign of stopping, but then very suddenly come to a halt and recognize the truth when he's faced with irrefutable proof that his assumptions are making things Worse (i.e., binghe is crying).

for writing bingge,

his motivation for chasing after a sy of his own lies primarily in the emotion of "this isn't FAIR" as opposed to a genuine desire to have a happy life with sy specifically. it isn't fair that he got a cruel sqq while bingmei got one that grew to care for him, it isn't fair that bingmei is happier in his life than bingge is in his ""objectively"" more accomplished life, etc etc. to write this part of his character,

he'll expect sy to treat him just like sy!sqq treated bingmei right out the gate, because sy doing so would make things "fair" for bingge. when sy fails to meet these expectations, i'll write bingge experiencing the frustration of a child denied the treatment their sibling got, not the distress of a man being rejected by someone he loves.

he has to learn to want sy romantically, and learn how that's different from just vaguely wanting "whatever bingmei had that i didn't." when he reaches this point, i'll try to write some key change in the way he treats sy in order to show that his mental framing of the situation has changed. often, i change the way bingge addresses sy at this point (i.e. calling sy with a diminutive instead of by his name).

he has very firm ideas about what is "good," and very little of them actually match what he wants. by the time bingge reached a position of power, he'd spent a lot of time reinforcing particular ways of thinking and acting because they were what kept him alive during difficult times. to write this part of his character,

he'll lash out at anything that has the chance to hurt him, because striking first is how he's survived. bc of this, i'll write him as very quick to lash out at sy or run away from their relationship if he gets even the slightest hint that sy might have messed up somewhere... but only after bingge has grown to like sy enough that he's emotionally vulnerable to what sy might do to him.

before that point, i'll write him as just mildly frustrated that this nice new toy he found isn't playing with him correctly.

he was only respected and listened to after he became powerful and scary, so he'll resist showing any other side of himself. i'll often use this as a point of conflict, highlighting how 'what makes a good romantic partner' has very little overlap with 'what makes a scary emperor' and forcing bingge to hesitantly change his habits.

i also have tips i wrote specifically about the bingmei-ification process here, if you wanted to check those out :>

anyway, i hope these help a bit! thank you again for trusting me for advice, it's very sweet of you. good luck with your own writing adventures, i'm sure you're going to kill it!!! 😤💪

[barkhoffman]

rest in peace tumblr user barkhoffman 🕊🕊

I'm gonna use this ask I got to springboard an explanation as to why I've gone silent and stopped updating, so! here it is! the Discourse no one asked for!

it was brought to my attention recently that some people on twitter (a site which I no longer use and have not used for years because it is a cesspool) have been vaguing/insulting SLAP, which! sure! fine, that's your right! not everyone has to like what I create, I don't mind that at all! that's not why I vanished, though.

my issue with these "criticisms" is that they ended up insulting who I am as a person. accusations of fatphobia, transphobia, and ableism (among other things) have been leveled at me, and that's where I personally draw the line.

you don't have to like me. you don't have to like what I write. but when you call my moral character into question, I get a little bothered.

an example: some of the accusations include calling me transphobic for using the word "vagina" to refer to a transmasc character's genitals. for those of you who don't know (not that I should have to disclose this information), I am not cis. trans people are not, in fact, a hivemind, and the idea that we should all be ashamed or uncomfortable or whatever the fuck with our anatomy unless we couch it in different terms is actually rather more transphobic than using a medically accurate term to refer to a person's genitals during a smut scene -- a scene which is written from the third-person limited perspective of a 48-year-old cis man who is unfamiliar with transgender issues, so even if it WAS universally offensive to call a vagina a vagina, it would still be in-character.

the thing is, in-character observations, speech, and thoughts are not actually a universal indicator of the author's identity or beliefs. things that you dislike or that make you feel uncomfortable are not automatically morally impure, and you don't have to reach for reasons to say the creator is a bigot because you don't agree with how they portrayed things.

(there's also something to be said about the inherent colonialist racism in the transmed viewpoints that lend to "transmascs shouldn't ever have vagina used to refer to their genitals," dismissing nonwhite cultures with a rich history of third/other genders and gender euphoria. DYSphoria is not the only trans experience. furthermore, calling the word vagina "female-gendered" is a slap in the face to all of us who are NOT female who have no problem referring to our genitals in that way. idk man, are the arguably more gendered terms "pussy" and "cunt" REALLY more appropriate here? should I have used "bonus hole" instead? not sure what the solution is supposed to be.

anyway.)

I could go on and on and get into every little accusation thrown at me and how insulting and ridiculous they are, but I don't want to invite that level of discourse. this is bad enough. it is absolutely batshit bonkers that I, as a nearly 30 year old person, am sitting here typing this right now. it is even more wild to me that at least some of the people involved in this drama are apparently in their 30s as well.

listen to me. look me in the eyes. if those of you who have a problem with my fics expended even half that energy into helping actual real life people instead of defending the nonexistent honor of fictional ones, the world might actually get better.

I know, I know. it feels good to vague on twitter and pretend you're doing activism when you're trashing a small creator's work in a way that's very likely to get back to them. it feels nice to know you've "saved the world from some evil" when you discourage people like me from continuing their projects. it feels like you're making a difference, right?

unfortunately, you are not. I would advise those of you involved in all this to get well soon and mature a little bit past wrongly deducing someone's viewpoints via the fictional works that they create. there are happier and more productive ways to spend your time, I swear.

I'm not mad, honestly. I'm just sort of tired. tired of getting messages asking where I am and what happened. tired of feeling like I have all this bottled up inside. tired of fandoms that would rather stoke fake moral outrage like Republicans than, idk, go to a protest or give a homeless person a dollar or defend POC from your racist uncle at the neighborhood barbecue.

I don't think we as an internet "society" really understand the mental toll it can take on someone to be called things like fatphobic, ableist, and transphobic -- particularly when, in my case, I am fat, disabled, and trans. of course, being a member of a group doesn't absolve you from bigotry against that group. however, when these accusations are leveled based entirely on someone's body of work and not on their actual character, it makes us far less likely to create works, what with the likelihood that they'll continue to be looked at in bad faith by those who have some sort of weird moral high ground point to prove.

I really didn't want to have to post about this and bring the people who like my work down, but I think you guys are owed an explanation rather than silence. not sure if I'll post anything after this, because I'm really too old to be engaging in internet slapfights over torture porn movie fanfics, of all things (I guess I really spoke too soon when I called this fandom nice, drama-free, and welcoming). if my ask box gets too messy, I'll turn it off. idk. just wanted you guys to know where I've gone.

now stop telling everyone I'm dead

[jjhhuibhhhj]

Unpopular opinion…

It seems as if everyone is annoyed at Bryce for not immediately sharing every detail of her world with the IC. Bryce did not read 5 ACOTAR books or know these people as we do. Her experience with Fae (rightfully) show that they are horrible. These people overthrew her enemy which must mean they are dangerous.

Although they do not physically torture her it is EXTREMELY CLEAR not just by their actions but actual DIALOGUE that they do not trust Bryce

Also, the IC just finished a war and for the first time in most of their lives are experiencing peace. We know from ACOTAR that Rhysand and friends will do all that is necessary to keep their world save even if that includes killing Bryce which could upon a portal for the big bad “Daglan/ Asteri”

Bryce realising she needs to escape and being reckless is understandable she left her mate and family behind and she doesn’t have time to win the IC’s trust. They clearly view her as a prisoner not a guest and have disarmed her. Bryce does not have one reason to trust them or even expect to them to be trustworthy.

I feel the people who feel let down by this crossover are let down by the fact that the CRESCENT CITY book centers around the CRESCENT CITY characters and isn’t more batboy smut.

There are definitely plot points that could have been dealt with better such as the information from Silene, everything about Ithan. The biggest issue I have with Bryce is her seemingly having this golden hamster wheel in her mind which happens to make perfect conveniently timed plans. Bryce does feel like a moderniser attempt at Aelin’s character. That being said constantly drawing comparisons between the FMC takes away from them so it isn’t something I feel I should do.

Ithan is so annoying to me especially his inability to stay on track or have any logical thought process. I don’t understand his undying loyalty to the wolves who abandoned and betrayed him. Sigrid tried to KILL HIM as well but he still yapped on about her and had no respect for his friend Cormac by not even protesting against the idea of resurrecting Sophie just to use her power to make himself feel better. He should have focused on the friends that are loyal to him which he even called his pack.

Also ENOUGH with the sunball references. Only so much benefits can be drawn from sunball which directly correlates with any real world benefit.

Tharion just feels like one big yap fest (lack of a better explanation to convey the boredom he perpetuates in me). Aidas and Appolion also could have spoken up about EVERYTHING about two books ago or at least in all their little encounters with Hunt.

Jesiba Roga and Fury 🤝 Mor and Amren

(Overhyped and underperforming)

I have religiously read every Sarah J Maas and all things considered I really enjoyed this book it might even be my favorite in the CC universe.

I enjoyed it more than Tower of Dawn, ACOSF and ACOFAS but I will not read the next book if it is about Ithan or Tharion.

I suspect Azriel is linked to Hel but Sarah definitely still has alot of loose threads surrounding him which is starting to feel redundant and an elaborate attempt at making him seem mysterious.

Things I would like so see in the Maasverse: the parasite being removed from the water and the Midgardians tapping into their raw power, better understanding of Bryce and Hunt joint ability. I also think Sarah could become one of the best fantasy writers of all time if she focused more on how the multiverse works (time differences, abilities (technicalities of it all). I would like to know what happened to Erilea because all the evidence points to it being a conquered world which will honestly just be depressing but we see that Prythian and midgard follow the same time sequence so perhaps Erilea is joined in on that time scape and Aelin falling through still happens relatively “recent”.

And I agree on how annoying the term “alphahole” is but lets focus on the real enemy “his luxurious length”. That just reminds me of ms Perky in 10 things I hate about you and Reginalds quivering member.

Let’s move away from the smut which was excellently balanced out in TOG in my opinion. I do think that Sarah amortised her credibility as a fantasy writer between TOG and ACOTAR by focusing more on the smut scenes and not the plot point. I am ready to be hated but I DON’T care about what Lorcan did or Cassian and the stupid headboard. I DO care about how the time differs between the universes, the different gods in all the worlds and how they link, each string on the harp and the different heritages.