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dianneking · 1 year

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Dangerous Games - Larissa/GN!Reader

Reader declares that jealousy doesn’t apply to them. Larissa takes it upon herself to prove a point. Will she take it too far?

TW: Explicit sexual situations, explicit language, swearing, angst, jealousy, non-exclusive relationship, mentions of love bites and bruising, emotional manipulation.

Reader has no specified gender.

Crossposted on AO3.

Dangerous Games

Wordcount: 4378

"What do you mean, you don't believe in jealousy?" Larissa scoffed from where she was lounging on her bed gloriously naked, as you kept putting your clothes back on.

You had a sort of arrangement going on. A purely physical, no strings attached kind of arrangement: when the stress of managing and teaching a school full of teenagers with paranormal abilities got too much, either of you would call for a meeting. You would rant to each other about your frustrations, until words left the floor to frantic kissing, hands exploring each other's bodies, items of clothing flying across the room. Sometimes you made it to Larissa’s custom-built canopy bed, sometimes only to her desk. Sometimes she had you pinned to the door, a hand finding its way to the fly of your jeans, as she rutted against your thigh.

It was tawdry, it was dirty, it was highly unprofessional. It was also extremely hot. Even when you were in staff meetings that ran too long you could feel the tension building between you two, measured in stares, in the brush of your fingers against hers as you passed her some papers, in the apparently casual touch of her foot against your calves. Neither you nor she went out of your way to talk about it too much, not wanting to put a label on it that would force you to face the connection that the two of you felt for each other. As if by talking about it you would jinx it somehow.

"I think jealousy is overrated. Either you are in an exclusive relationship with someone, and you should be able to trust them not to cheat on you, or you are non-exclusive, and whomever they sleep with is none of your business. Simple as that."

"You make it sound so cold and calculated. But jealousy is illogical, darling, it’s pure unadulterated fire that burns you from within. You cannot think your way around it when you feel it. You cannot rationalize it." She sounded patronizing, as if you were but a kid who didn’t know the way of the world yet. You shrugged, not showing how that tone bothered you, reminding you of the age gap between you, just another reason why you could never aspire to have something more with this amazing woman. "I guess I've never felt it then. Or maybe it doesn't work on me."

“One day, darling, you’ll feel it too.” She promised, vague and menacing like a soothsayer.

“I guess I might. Sleep well, Larissa, I’ll see you around.” As always, you didn’t turn back when you left her room, too afraid she might be able to read on your face the longing to just stay there with her until morning.

You stopped in front of the teacher’s lounge, your hand already on the handle, dead in your tracks as you heard the raised voices inside. It was unusual for Larissa to be found here unless there was a meeting, she usually preferred to spend time in her study. You tried to listen in, trying to understand what was going on before barging in.

“I told you, Larissa, no.”

“Oh, don’t be so uptight, Vlad. It’s all in good fun.”

“No, it’s not. It’s unprofessional, and borderline immoral too.”

“Aw, come on, Vlad. Just the one time…who knows, maybe you’ll end up enjoying it too.”

Well. That was more than unusual. You knew that lilting, suggestive tone well, but had never heard it outside of your own meetings with Larissa.

“Hello there!”

You saw Marilyn coming up from the other side of the hallway, smiling as always, blissfully oblivious to the exchange going on into the teacher’s lounge, and you couldn’t lurk in front of the door any longer. You opened the door, and strode in, holding it open for the redhead, while your eyes fell on the two whose conversation you were interrupting. Larissa was looming over Vlad, invading his personal space, having backed him up against the bookshelf on the far end of the lounge. His hands were up, as if trying to fend her off, while one of hers was directly beside his head, holding onto one of the shelves and half-blocking him in. Like a deer in the headlights, Vlad’s eyes darted to you and Marilyn, who candidly asked, “Is everything alright?”

The fencing coach unfroze at that, and without bothering to respond, he dashed away from his compromising position and towards the door, followed by Larissa’s voice calling after him: “When you change your mind, you know where my quarters are, Vlad!”

Clearly, he had changed his mind at some point because when you were coming back from your usual morning run the next day, you saw him slinking out of Larissa’s rooms, still in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, his normally tidy hair sticking up in every direction. Bed hair. He looked at you, sending you a sheepish smile in lieu of a greeting, as he shrugged in a ‘What could I do?’ way.

You didn’t blame him. It was hard to say no to Larissa when she wanted something, you had some first-hand experience with that. Did they fuck all through the night, or had he been allowed to sleep there? You had never dared to ask to spend the night. You had assumed she wouldn’t want you to, it would have been part of that putting a label on whatever you had going on. And she for sure had never thought to ask. Or maybe she simply had someone else to fulfil that need.

It couldn’t have been Vlad, you thought as you studied the bite mark on Larissa’s thigh, while she was squirming and panting on her chair, three of your fingers knuckle-deep into her, curling up to stroke her just in the right place. Vlad was a vampire, and the imprints his canines would leave were quite different from the ones you could see from your vantage point, kneeling between Larissa’s long legs, as your tongue ran along the milky expanses, marred with bruises you surely didn’t leave.

She had yet another lover, then. You swallowed around the realization, unsure on how to properly wrap your mind around it. You were spared for the moment, as her hand came to tangle in your hair, guiding your mouth back to her folds, back to pleasuring her. You buried yourself into her, trying to lose any semblance of rational thought in her inebriating taste.

It felt like once you started seeing the hints, they just kept popping out more and more. The librarian’s soft blush as Larissa gave her shoulder a squeeze and left her hand there for a while, as she congratulated her on the success of her book club. The Lycan Studies teacher’s glassy eyes as the principal leaned into his personal space, asking him if he could please go into more detail about his changes to the curriculum about werewolf mating habits, such a fascinating topic. Lingering glances, casual touches that you had never given any relevance to suddenly took on deeper meaning.

Even the school nurse wasn’t allowed medical neutrality, apparently. You had the dubious pleasure of discovering this as you were accompanying a young gorgon who had managed to stone his right arm from the shoulder down in an attempt to avoid a surprise quiz (it hadn’t worked, as he still had his left hand to type with).

“I never knew you had such a passion for red wine, Mx Lin, you’ll have to drop by my office sometime or another, so you can sample the best I have to offer.”

“Oh, well Principal, I hardly think that–”

“I insist. Drinking them all alone by myself would be such a waste…some things are meant to be enjoyed in company.”

You irritatedly cleared your throat. Flirting was all fun and everything, but some things were best kept away from the students. While the nurse had the decency to look sheepish, Larissa looked down at you, unrepentant, a predatory smirk gracing her crimson lips as she let her eyes roam over your stiff body.

It had been the longest week of your life. A week piled up with evidence that pointed all in one direction, towards a flashing neon sign that you were trying your best to still ignore. But all illusions have to break at some point when confronted with reality.

Apparently, your breaking point was the resident normie botanist.

“Marilyn?”

“Oh hi, there! I didn’t know Larissa had another meeting after ours! She really goes hard at it, doesn’t she?”

“I…I’m sorry?”

“I mean, it’s a Friday night and she has one-on-one meetings with the both of us back to back…she sure can be intense, can’t she?”

“I’m sure she can…”

“Well, I’ll be off! Don’t let her tie you up for the whole evening, it is Friday after all!” She waved at you and left, skipping down the hallway, oblivious to your sputtering, or maybe ignoring it willingly, as you tried to ascertain whether she was being suggestive on purpose or if it was your mind that went straight to the gutter. Unable – or maybe unwilling – to solve that specific mystery, you knocked lightly on Larissa’s door to announce your presence, and pushed the door open without waiting for her reply.

The office was partly plunged in the shadows, the main source of light being the flickering flames of the fire, and a couple of small lamps scattered across the room. It wasn’t the sort of ambience you would have at the end of a business meeting. It felt cozy, intimate, more suited to a rendezvous of different nature than discussing lectures and school funds for greenhouses.

Was Marilyn yet another of Larissa’s seemingly endless string of lovers? The bubbly redhead that skipped down the corridors muttering country songs to herself? That Marilyn, who always looked like the epitome of the oblivious virgin? What did she have to offer to someone like Larissa? Was it some sort of sick corruption fantasy?

Your eyes sought the familiar figure of your boss and found her using the glass of her window as a mirror as she fixed her hair. She had probably messed it up running her own hands through it, while going over the paperwork, it didn't have to mean anything. You let your gaze drop to her wrinkled pencil skirt, it could have been due to a long day of sitting at the desk. Even within your own mind you didn’t know why you kept trying to make up excuses, but when she turned towards you, a sultry smile on her face and a greeting on her lips, you couldn’t help but stare transfixed at her mouth as you slowly made her way towards her, as if sleepwalking.

Beside her bottom lip, there was a smudge of lipstick.

In a different color to the one she was wearing.

A color matching Marilyn’s coral pink.

“Are you alright darling?”

You ignored her question as well as the moniker, simply advancing towards her like an unstoppable wave. You walked right into her space and lifted a hand to her face.

“You…” Your voice felt rough, dry. As if you had forgotten how to speak. You cradled her cheek in your hand, an unexpected jolt of pain coursing though you when she leaned into your touch, her long lashes fluttering closed for a second as if unconsciously relishing in the contact with you. She was such a good actress, no wonder so many of you had fallen into her lure.

“You have a smudge here.” You tracked the pad of your thumb against it, removing the proof. You searched her gaze, unsure and possibly afraid of what you’d find there. She held your stare, no trace of guilt and regret in her eyes, but a weird questioning intensity, as if she herself was searching for something in you, and not finding it. Maybe she was looking for whatever she found in all of her other lovers. Or maybe they didn’t have it, either, always coming up short to Larissa Weems’ high standards.

"Jesus, Larissa. I get it that you are the principal and so you’re good at multitasking, but you sure need to worry about crowd control in here." You tried to sound light and teasing about it, but your joke fell flat, weighted down by the vein of bitterness in your voice.

"Whatever could you possibly mean by that?" The intensity in her gaze was suddenly gone, supplanted by a flirty playfulness in her voice that rubbed you the wrong way. You wondered if she used the same tone with them as well. Did she tailor her flirting to whomever was in her clutches at the time, or she was always like this, and all of you simply had a thing for your hot, tall, domineering boss?

Not that you could be one to talk. The minute she had flirted with you the first time around, you had been completely captivated by her, ecstatic at the chance you had been offered. That fumbling first time together had been one of your most treasured memories until this day, but it was somehow turning sour as you thought about it now.

"How many?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How many people have you fucked in Nevermore? The whole staff? Maybe one or two students of age, too? I hope you still have the morals to leave the minors be."

"There's no need to be crass, darling. One might think you are being jealous."

The word hit you like a slap and you took a step back, away from her. Was that the reason for the roiling pit of resentment at the bottom of your stomach? It couldn't be. It was just disappointment. You honestly thought that what you two had was somewhat special, even if purely physical. Instead, you had found out that you were just one of many. Another bed warmer in the principal’s collection.

"Of course I'm not." You answered, mechanically.

"You say it, but somehow I don't believe you."

"I mean it though. I don't have any claim on you, Larissa. You made it pretty evident in the past week."

She looked like she was getting angry with this conversation, her hand gripping the back of her chair until her knuckles were white. "Is that so? Then why should you care how many people I choose to sleep with?"

"I don't! I just…want to know whether it meant at least something to you, or if I'm just another fucking notch on your bedpost."

"You know…" she prowled closer, and this time you couldn’t move away, frozen to the spot as she bent her head and started to kiss the side of your neck. Her perfume enveloped your senses, making you lightheaded, while her hands played with the hem of your shirt, slipping under it, grazing the side of your torso, cold against your almost feverish skin. You were already beginning to give in, throwing your head back to give her better access to your throat, to suck on it, leaving a necklace of bruises as she often did (you always had to wear turtlenecks for a few days after one of your meetings with her, and she seemed to take great pleasure in that).

But this time she ignored your exposed neck, choosing to let her lips ghost across yours, so that when she spoke again, you could feel her breath on you. "You can admit that you were wrong. That you are jealous after all. That seeing me with someone else makes you want to scream from the rooftops that you want me to be yours and yours alone…Your little secret would be safe with me." She closed the distance between your mouths, pressing her lips to yours in a hard, unyielding kiss, her tongue immediately trying to gain entrance to spar with yours.

The same mouth, lips and tongue who had been ravishing Marilyn not five minutes ago, if you could put two and two together. And that sum was suddenly too much for you.

You felt like a vat of burning tar had been poured inside of you. Heavy, and scorching hot. “Jealousy is illogical, darling, it’s pure unadulterated fire that burns you from within.” Her own voice resonated in your brain, mocking, patronizing, like that day when apparently everything had started to go wrong.

“You can admit that you were wrong.” You felt yourself go rigid as your mind caught up to your emotions. You had been had. You were jealous. The mere thought of Larissa being in this same position with countless other people filled you with indescribable rage. And she knew it, and did it on purpose. That was probably the most painful aspect of it all: the realization that it had been nothing but a game to her.

Suddenly you felt just sad, dirty, and used. Whatever connection you had deluded yourself into thinking the two of you had, was obviously just a bit of fun to Larissa. Something that could be thrown to the side to prove her point in a debate you had almost forgotten about.

Expendable. Like a pet that started misbehaving and was unceremoniously dropped in front of a shelter.

You pushed her away, your eyes filling with tears of rage and disappointment. She even had the audacity to look at you with a surprised expression, as if you detaching yourself from her irresistible lips was the last thing she imagined could happen. Like you were there just to do her bidding. Another one of her malleable playthings. One she could manipulate into feeling whatever she wanted to, to appease her ego.

“Fuck you, Larissa.” The sentence came out angry, curt and it didn’t make you feel any better.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fuck you. I’m done here. You can go shag some other fucktoy from your collection when you’re in the mood.”

You turned on your heel, leaving her warmth behind as you crossed the room to the door in short, agitated steps.

She caught up with you as you were fighting against the lock, and held the door closed, leaning against it with one hand, the other roughly grabbing your shoulder to turn you around.

"Let me out."

You took in her face, still beautiful even when hardened by anger. Her voice was low and menacing as she spoke to you: "If you think for one second that you can just insult me and leave, you have vastly misunderstood me, darling."

"Yeah well, I'm starting to realize as well that I misunderstood you."

"Is that it? How so?"

You felt tears coming back to your eyes, and you looked away from her, towards your feet, trying not to show her your hurt. A pointless endeavor, really, because you were sure it filtered into the words you spoke next.

"I thought you were a kind, strong person. Someone who put the good of Nevermore before anything else, even your personal life. And I accepted it, admired it even. That's why I never asked you more than what we had – she already has her hands full with all her duties, I thought, a relationship that goes beyond the purely physical level is clearly not what she wants."

You scoffed, and it came out as more of a sob than anything else.

"Of course, I didn't realize that your hands were full because they were down any pants you could find… more fool me I guess, to think that what we had was something more than another roll in the hay for you."

"You…wanted to make it something more?" the disbelief coming from her voice piled more pain on your poor abused heart.

"Ridiculous, right? To think that I truly and well fell for you, how pitiful. At least I know you won't be left alone to take care of your frustrations if I leave our little arrangement."

"Darling, I…"

"You made it pretty obvious that I don't mean jack shit to you, so if you please let me out, I'd appreciate it."

"It was not real."

"Yeah, I realized it as well. Spare me the pity."

"No, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what on Earth did you mean, Larissa? I'm not following anymore."

"I… I just wanted to prove you wrong. To make you admit that you are jealous. Of me."

"Yeah, I gathered as much. Congratulations, you've won. You've also fucked me up and broke my heart while you were at it, but that's not something you care about, do you?"

"That was never my intention, none of it was real."

"You keep saying that, and I get that you don't think twice about sleeping around, but we're all real people, with real emotions. Someone was bound to get hurt at some point. That someone was me, just my luck."

"I've never slept with anyone else." She murmured this, as if it was a confession, and you couldn't help the strangled laugh that fell from your lips. "Unbelievable. You're just…” You rubbed your hands on your face, your incredulity at the sheer nerve of her making it hard to put into words. “God, Larissa, gaslighting might have worked if you hadn't given me time and time again proof of your activities. Wasn't it the point of this little game of yours? To let me see that you have just as much fun with all the others?"

"I know how it seems, but I never did anything with them. I…used my powers so it would look like I did."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

You looked up at her, disbelief written plainly on your face. Why couldn’t she just let you go? There was nothing you could offer that she couldn’t find in all the others, so what was the point of this whole production?

"It's the truth. I did nothing more than flirt with other people. I shifted the love bites and the lipstick on myself."

"What about Vlad?"

"I was trying to convince me to help with this ruse. He refused.”

"Larissa, I saw him coming out of your rooms one morning."

"I know. It was me."

You let yourself slowly slide along the door until you were sitting on the floor, hiding your face in your hands. You really didn’t know what to think now. Was she being serious, or was this another elaborate plot?

"You have a lot of issues woman."

"I know. I said I was sorry."

"Actually no, you didn't."

"I'm saying it now, then. I am truly sorry, darling. I fucked everything up to prove a point."

"You really did."

The conversation, the whole week was spinning before your closed eyes, as you tried to make any sense of it, and of what it all meant. Was it really just an illusion? And even if it was, where did this leave you? You had confessed your feelings for her, there was no way you could now go back to the no-strings-attached dalliance you had before. And you didn’t want to, either.

You felt the warmth from her body seep into yours as she sat beside you, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Your traitorous heart leapt in your chest, beating faster just because of that little touch. Oh, the hold this woman still had on you. It was unfair. You wished that you could instantly turn all of your feelings for her to hatred instead. That would make this all easier to go through. If you hated her, you could leave this room and never come back except in a professional setting.

What would that even look like? To set your eyes on Principal Weems and just feel resentment for her, until it dulled into nothingness, leaving behind only the memory of feelings. To listen to her talk during meetings and not be captivated by her smooth, melodious voice. To hate the way her lips quirked up when something went her way.

You couldn’t even imagine it, so in love you were with her, still.

“Is there…is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Larissa,” it came out tiredly, you were “Are you already trying to get back in my pants?”

“No! I meant… I am sorry, and I do care about you, and what we have.”

“I…I’m not sure I can trust you enough right now. I am afraid I wouldn’t be able to go back to whatever we had before. I…I don’t think I could take it.”

“Can I take you on a date?”

“What?” The question came out strangled, disbelieving. Never in your wildest fantasies you had dared to dream Principal Larissa Weems would be asking you out. It just wasn’t how the real world worked. “Is this another kind of game? Because I told you I’ve fallen for you?”

“I…I didn’t think you’d want to have anything more with me. That was why it made me so angry when you said you weren’t jealous. I thought it meant you didn’t care. I wanted you to care. About me.”

“Larissa, I’ve been head over heels for you for ages. You never hinted that you wanted anything more. I don’t want your pity.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured to agree. I am your boss, I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. It is one thing to release some tension together, I didn’t think you’d want to…be seen with me.”

She dropped her gaze to the ground as she said this, and she suddenly didn’t look like the confident principal you were used to seeing. She looked afraid and lonely and small. You brought your hand to her chin, lifting it so that her eyes could meet your own.

“Larissa, there’s nothing in the world I would love more than to date you. But if we want to make it work, we both need to talk to each other, okay? No more games, no more assumptions. Deal?”

Her incredulous smile lit up her whole face, as her mesmerizing eyes once again searched yours, and sparkled with joy at finally finding there what they were looking for.

“Deal.”

Liked it? Here’s my fanfiction masterlist, where you can find more deliciously angsty fics! (And also some non-angsty ones).

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vinxhwrites · 5 months

Text

I've had this idea in my drafts for a long time and only finished it today because I was procrastinating on the many many assignments I have for this week. I've never written smut before so I don't know what I'm doing, also I'm very sleepy so maybe it sucks, but here it is:

ghost x f!reader x soap

nsfw, +18

word count: 8.2k

cw: nsfw! lots of fluff, tiniest bit of h/c, smut in the end, unprotected sex (don't do it!); alcohol consumption, quite long descriptions of anxieties I guess; also not proofread, sorry

You enjoyed existing in the liminal space between something romantic and something purely friendly. You wanted to get to know every aspect of love, feel it from all directions, in all its forms.

You always wondered what exactly was the tipping point to make one thing turn into another. You wondered if it even existed, if experience could ever be restrained to one set type of relationship, if love could be divided into sections, named and labeled, put into existence and then put to death once things ended, instead of just being the overflowing unconditional force that you hoped it was.

In reality, of course, love can't be limited or restrained by words that aim to define, control or organize it. In practice, you've found it within yourself as something stronger, more nuanced, and freeing than you could've ever hoped it would be.

Ghost first heard Soap refer to you as his "nap buddy" over breakfast one day. He frowned, the first thought to cross his mind being whether the two of you were skipping work to take naps. But Soap went on, telling Gaz about how he'd been creeping into your bed at night when he couldn't sleep. "I feel like a baby, I swear" Ghost overheard him say "she'll just tell me stories until I fall asleep."

It all had started almost two months prior to that conversation, when you bumped into Soap in the corridor one night. You were both sleepy but suffering from insomnia. He shared little tips with you on what usually helped him: walking around, counting sheep, breath exercises; although he admitted this time none of it was working.

You explained your problem was the crippling anxiety that came with the insomnia sessions. You hated being alone with your thoughts during the dark moments of the night, which filled you with unreasonable angst.

You two walked around outside for a while. It was a cold night and you both started to shiver a bit. Soap rubbed his hand on your back in an attempt to warm you, but you concluded it was best to go back to your rooms. Then, as you approached your door, right beside his, you had an idea:

"Hey, I hope this doesn't sound too weird...but would you like to try to sleep with me?"

He smiled at you and accepted the invite.

At that moment, you navigated the perfect moment of sleepiness when rational thoughts can barely form, all that is left are the primary ideas, informed only by your senses and memories. The anxious voices of decent social conduct are far too tired to interject with your thoughts at this point. Anything can seem appropriate, nothing feels real and there is true bliss to be found somewhere.

That's why it felt so natural to curl up in bed with Soap that night, you rested your head on his shoulder and he held your hand. He caressed your hair before saying something nice about the way you smelled and closed his eyes. You surely talked for a bit, in whispers, but neither of you would be able to recall what the conversation was about if someone asked. And just like that, both of you were able to fall asleep in a few minutes of comfort.

It quickly developed into a habit for difficult nights, you now depended on these moments as if they were some kind of medicine. It surely didn't make the issue go away completely for either of you, but it sure was nice to find some comfort in each other's company. Having someone to talk to was a good distraction from your racing thoughts, it was easier to relax when you were with him. Plus, he didn't seem to mind how you jumped effortlessly from one topic to another, talking about anything that came to mind.

Soon, Soap started looking for you even before trying to fall asleep by himself, "preventive care" he explained with a smile when you'd open the door relatively early at night, looking a bit puzzled. You got into the habit of telling him stories, real and made-up, creating nice scenarios for his dreams.

You've let him kiss you a few times, but it never really went much further than that, even though it was no secret that he liked you as a bit more than a friend.

Part of the reason for your contentment with kisses was that both of you were almost always too tired to invest in more than that, but part of it was because of your resistance to changing your relationship dynamic. What you had built with him felt so stable in its tenderness that you were scared to risk losing it.

You've always felt, previously in life, that sex complicated things. Especially with men, especially when you thought they were your friends first, to later be heartbroken by the fact that they really just wanted to fuck you, and had no love to give. You really wished it would be different with him.

But Soap was well-versed in love, he wasn't scared of it. He fully embraced it, actually. Sometimes, while you played with your fingers through his hair, he'd make a point of telling you about his love, the depths of it, how much he could give you of it if you'd let him.

"But it's perfect like this" you cried, anytime he brought up the topic of sex, fearing the inevitable low after the high. Yet, to him sex was irremovable from love, it was the best way he knew how to demonstrate it.

He once told you that you made him feel like a teenager again, saying you were like his prudish high school girlfriend.

The furthest you've gone at this point was letting him finger you one night, just because he begged and whined so much. "I need to feel you" he said, out of breath from kissing you, and you just couldn't resist. It wasn't like you didn't desire him, you were scared doing it would make you want him more. And it did.

He licked his own fingers afterward, which made a moan escape from your mouth. He kissed you again before resting his head on your shoulder. Didn't ask for anything in return. Soap was a lover by definition. And the fact that he respected your boundaries made you treasure him even more.

"You know you can sleep with other people, right?" you assured him, afraid that he'd resent you if you kept him waiting.

"Yeah, but it's not the same thing" he replied.

You were on a first-name basis now, you called him Johnny and, when the two of you were alone, he called you "baby", even letting it slip in front of other people sometimes.

Ghost reprehended you for it one day when he heard it. Not Johnny, you. It was inadequate, he said, and made you apologize to him.

You thought Ghost was scary. It was in a similar manner to which you used to think your linguistics professor at University was scary: in a hot, sexy but very menacing way. You desired his approval and had the impression that you were never going to get it. His mere presence made your legs weak. Maybe it was the authority aspect that messed with your mind, or at least that's what you tried to justify to yourself.

He intimidated you more than anyone, constantly making you feel inadequate just by looking at you. It felt unfair to not even be able to see him properly most of the time, it made you feel naked in every interaction when he could see you so clearly. And on top of that, there was the constant staring: You were always under his watch if he was around as if he was constantly waiting for you to do something wrong. Plus, he seemed to be way more critical of you than he was of others, always questioning you or anything you did, and complaining about your skills or your lack of punctuality (even if you were late by just a minute).

"I think he hates me," you told Johnny one day. "I really do".

He chuckled in response. "He doesn't hate you. He's just really bad at expressing...anything"

"I think he's really good at expressing his hatred for me" you whined back "He doesn't treat you as badly".

"Well, baby, but you can't compete with me!" he smirked proudly "He loves me".

The truth is Ghost loved hearing you say "I'm sorry, sir" in a soft and exhausted voice, it tickled something inside him that he couldn't quite name. It was equally exciting and disturbing to him. But you didn't know that, which is why it caught you by surprise when he showed up at your door one night, as you were about to fall asleep.

Ghost wasn't one to sleep together, not even with the random people he had sex with on occasion. Sleep had always been a solitary activity to him, something he struggled with by himself.

The idea of having someone to sleep with, of it being such a comfort hadn't left his mind ever since he heard John talking about it at the table weeks before. He started to catch himself fantasizing about it, thinking about the warmth of having someone's body so close to him, if it'd be something to shield him from his nightmares. He started to wonder about how soft your skin must feel.

It was a foreign feeling to him, this yearning for something so intimate, but it got to a point where he just had to try it.

"Ghost?" you were confused. He wore sweatpants and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt, and still had a black balaclava on. He closed the door behind him.

"Johnny said you let him sleep with you sometimes" he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Right" you responded, waiting for him to scold you for it. But he just stood there in silence "Would you like to sleep here too...?" you guessed amused after he let the silence hang for a bit too long.

He took a deep breath, "May I?" he asked.

"Sure, come here." you moved closer to the wall to make space for him. You couldn't help but smile as you felt him sit down on your bed, the heat coming from his body already making you want to get closer.

"You know I don't have sex with him, right?"

"I didn't come here for sex" he answered immediately, sounding almost offended, then sighed "I can't sleep''.

"OK" you said, already regretting having opened your mouth in the first place.

He laid down on his back beside you exhausted and took a deep breath. He removed his balaclava and put it on your nightstand. You noticed you were holding your breath, terrified of ruining this moment of intimacy.

"You'd better not snore" he said in a low voice, adjusting himself on your pillow with a hand behind his head and the other on his chest.

You chuckled a bit, letting yourself relax by his side. "I don't snore." you assured him "at least, not that I know of".

Ghost didn't answer you this time, and even in the dark you could see he had closed his eyes.

"Permission to touch you, sir?" you asked in a whisper after a few seconds of collecting your courage, craving to feel his skin.

That first night, he let you hold his hand while you two slept. It felt tiny and fragile on his. When he woke up sweating in the middle of the night, as he often did, his heart rate eased when he felt your presence by his side, it did feel different.

He avoided you like the plague for three days straight after that night, you thought he'd never look at you again. You thought you've done something wrong and scared him away. In reality, he was scared he'd poisoned himself by getting a taste of something so novel to him, and feared he'd become addicted to it.

He tried to go back to his regular routine, but now the emptiness of his bedroom felt even more evident, his bed felt colder. Then, when you were starting to become at peace with the anxiety that had built up in your stomach at this point, he showed up at your door again.

This time he didn't say anything after you agreed to let him in, feeling absolutely defeated. He laid on his side, his back turned to you. You asked if you could touch him once more and when he agreed you threw your arm around his torso, cuddling him. He felt a goosebump as your breath touched his back.

And he wouldn't tell you, but when he woke up he couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a good night of sleep.

You told Johnny about it the next day as casually as possible, fearing to find a trace of jealousy in his eyes. But instead, they seemed to brighten with delight. "See, I told you he didn't hate you" he smiled.

For the next few weeks, your lieutenant started being kinder to you, albeit in his own way. He stopped reprehending you for stupid reasons, gave you a little pat on the back when you did well during training, and even made you a cup of tea once when he heard Gaz comment that you had a cold one day, putting it in front of you at the table and walking away without saying a word.

You discovered him to be someone more playful than you previously imagined, witty even. The affection you had for him grew stronger with each passing day, as your impression of him morphed into something new, and you just couldn't keep it to yourself. But, unlike Johnny, who loved being touched, Ghost had serious boundaries. Most times you could tell you'd overstepped. He'd let you know it immediately: removing your hand from his face if you touched it, clearly stating "don't" if you ever dared to try to touch his hair, he'd move his hand away when you started to mindlessly draw circles on it with your fingers, and - the only aspect that didn't make you feel completely rejected - pushing you away slightly in bed if you ever got close enough to feel the solid volume in his pants.

For him, physical touch tended to be a utilitarian exchange: maybe he'd get a pat on the shoulder for doing a good job, he'd get kisses and caresses when someone used him for sex, he'd get injured during combat, but your touch was something new: it made no practical sense, there was no transaction to be made, no endpoint, it was just affection for the sake of affection. He didn't know what to do with it.

As your intimacy deepened, Ghost revealed to you that suffered from terrible migraines every once in a while and got into the habit of coming to sleep with you on those days, although he did complain every single time that your constant rambling on different topics made his head hurt even more. He'd retract the statement as soon as you stopped talking though.

One day, when he was in a particularly terrible mood, you offered him a massage. "What good will that do, huh?" he grunted "You just want to touch me"

You chuckled "well, that is partially true, sir" and he smiled behind his balaclava. But you insisted, proceeding to explain how the tension on his neck muscles could be causing the headaches, or at least making them worse, and that was enough to convince him to let you do it.

"It doesn't work if you don't try to relax" you said, pressing your fingers to the base of his neck. You were sitting on the bed, back rested on your pillow, with him between your legs, his back turned to you.

"I'm trying" he mumbled.

"Come on, deep breaths," you said, and you knew immediately that he was probably rolling his eyes. "Come on" you insisted patiently, massaging just the right spot on the back of his shoulders as he let out a low moan, letting his head rest forward.

"See, isn't it better?" you said enthusiastically.

"Stop talking" he grunted, which you did, continuing to massage him in silence.

It took you by surprise when you felt his thumb lightly caress your right ankle, it was a timid touch, and you felt afraid he would stop if you moved, even though that leg felt a bit numb already.

You could feel his body melt under your touch bit by bit, letting more of his weight rest on you. He forgot about his headache, only focused on the delicious slumber that took over his body now.

"You're gonna have to do this every day now" he muttered, eyes closed.

"I'll gladly do it" you assured him, treasuring the way he seemed so relaxed now. You had to fight the urge to put a kiss on his neck with all your might.

That night he held you like a pillow, resting his head on your stomach. You slowly pulled his mask up, waiting to see if there'd be any resistance, but there wasn't.

He shivered when you then touched his hair. It felt soft. You scratched his head gently with your nails and he savoured the foreign feeling that it caused.

"You little demon" he whispered, surrendering completely to your touch.

Ghost knew what love was supposed to look like. He just wasn't that sure about how it felt to receive it anymore. The more he thought about it, the more he was under the impression that he lacked the vocabulary to express it.

Once, when working in complete silence next to him, filling and writing reports, you asked:

"Can you take a look at this, sir?" you held the paper in front of him.

"You know you can call me Simon" he said, eyes still fixed on his papers.

"I didn't actually." you said and he looked at you, you could notice a quick smile appear on his eyes.

"Ok, now you know."

You smiled and he moved his gaze back to the papers in front of him.

"Can you take a look at this, Simon?" you repeated, and this time he looked up and happily took the paper from your hand.

Simon had never really tried anything besides actual sleep with you, and you were terrified of initiating it yourself and getting rejected. But sometimes you could feel the imminence of something, nothing clear or distinct, just the way the silence of the room felt different, a change in the pace of his breathing or a slight shift in the atmosphere. On these moments you'd feel like he could turn you over and fuck you at any second. It fed the anticipation in your chest, but it never happened.

You wondered, at times, if you were somehow able to read his thoughts in cryptic ways and that's how you'd know he was thinking about fucking you.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked in a whisper one of these nights.

"Why do you care?" his response was immediate, defensive. Your fantasies definitely weren't supported by his lack of attention to your romantic attempts.

"Just wondering" you shrugged. "Are you not going to tell me?"

He looked at you, and even in the dark you could tell he was smiling "No".

You prayed that he would kiss you, just a little bit would be enough. But, of course, he didn't.

"I was thinking about you, in case you were wondering," you said casually a few moments later, gazing at his face. You were getting sloppier with hiding your feelings for him, he couldn't possibly not see it.

He chuckled quietly at your response, "Stop flirting with me" he said and you felt your cheeks turn red, "you should get some sleep" he suggested then, shutting off the conversation. And, as if he intended to get you a bit more confused, he lightly caressed your hair.

Sometimes you'd wish he'd just reject you once and for all so you could move on. But the more you thought about your love the more you wanted to cultivate it and share it with him, the same way you felt you could share with Johnny. And if Simon didn't want it, so be it. It felt like, and it was, a big act of bravery on your part. At least you'd be able to comfort yourself on the fact that you loved, it grew and flourished inside you, and it was a beautiful thing.

It got to the point where one of them was occupying your bed almost every day of the week, people were starting to catch on to it. You knew the day would come when they'd both show up and the thought alone made you nauseous, at least until it actually happened.

You held your breath when you heard Johnny's steps approaching your door, even before he knocked on it.

"Come in" Simon said before you could even react.

Johnny tilted his head for a second, looking amused at the scene of his lieutenant cuddling you. He closed the door behind him and took off his slippers, then he approached your bed to lay down beside you.

You held your breath when you saw Johnny rest his neck on Simon's extended arm so nonchalantly. Simon didn't move his arm. You couldn't exactly name what is it that you feared at that moment, the next few moments of silence translated into nervousness within you. Johnny took your arm and casually put your hand on his chest.

"So," he said, looking at Simon playfully "Are you trying to steal her from me?"

Simon chuckled "Didn't know she was yours to steal".

The tension you felt was not shared between them.

"You could've come to sleep with me, lieutenant," Johnny said, he sounded almost offended that Simon would have preferred to sleep with you.

"Back at you, Johnny" he murmured, closing his eyes, making Johnny smile from ear to ear.

You knew your bed surely wasn't made for three, but you managed to make it comfortable. You woke up lying on top of Johnny like a baby, your chest to his, while Simon laid on his side with one arm thrown around you.

That night, Johnny could almost feel his heart flutter and twirl inside his chest. It was perfect. He had so much love to give, he couldn't wait to share it. To him, Love was generous and ever-giving, it was infinite, it overpowered him and he gladly let it.

To Simon, on the other hand, Love was a terrifying force he feared would take over him completely if he let it. He feared it could destroy him, or, even worse, he would destroy it. But, at moments like this one, he couldn't help but let love overflow in his heart, couldn't resist the warmth both of you shared from entering his own body.

Throughout the whole following day, you felt a sweet anticipation for something in your stomach, being only able to think about how nice it had felt to be surrounded by both of them. How you wished you could stay in that state forever, unmoved.

At night, Johnny curled up in bed with you, resting his head on your chest after a tiring day. He seemed almost disappointed to find you alone when he came in, he smiled while he kissed you nonetheless.

He inundated you with questions that gradually turned into whines: did you sleep with him? what do you mean you don't even kiss? what are you doing? don't you find him attractive? why don't you just ask him? do you think we should go after him? why not? let's knock on his door! why not?!

You were able to dissuade him from these impulsive thoughts eventually, stroking your fingers through his hair and recommending that he do the same as you and try to stop thinking about it. It was for the best, you assured him, trying to convince yourself of it, too. He yielded at last, but he wasn't pleased.

"Do you even want me?" he asked with a sigh

"Of course I do." you replied, almost offended at the question "You know I do."

"Doesn't feel like it sometimes" he muttered.

You took a deep breath before taking him through your typical monologue, practically memorized at this point, on your reasons for keeping things as they were - no sex - would be better. The more you talked, the less you found yourself believing in your own words. Still, you tried to make him care for the utter shape of your relationship as it was, in an eternal transient state of a romantic friendship that never lost itself. "That sounds terrible, bonnie" he said, but you insisted he just didn't understand.

"I'm sensitive, Johnny." you tried to explain yourself "I can't stand the thought of ruining what we have."

"Seems like you can't stand the thought of improving them" he sighed.

You knew he had been sleeping with other people, and the thought soothed you more than anything. He never lied to you about it when you asked, and it was comforting to see his heart still belonged to you. You tried to imagine yourself as something separate entirely.

He traced his fingers down to your waist, then hips, and back to your shoulders, letting his hand linger on your breast.

"Don't you want it, baby? Not even a little bit?"

"I do, Johnny" you admitted, not immune to the desire that kept itself alive inside you.

"Haven't you been dreaming about it...?" he continued, his voice lower than before as his fingers played with your hair "Huh? You, me and Simon?"

Your eyes widened at his words, even though you had, in fact, been thinking about it constantly ever since the first night that Simon slept with you.

"That would be a mess" you murmured, telling him what you kept telling yourself.

Johnny chuckled, "a hot, delicious fucking mess?" he suggested.

"Just a regular mess" you lied.

"Just think about it, alright?" he eventually said, resting his head back on your chest.

"Okay." you promised before turning off the light on your nightstand..

"I love you, baby. Truly." he whispered in the dark "There's nothing for you to be afraid of."

"I love you too, Johnny"

Part of you knew it was a silly decision to insist on depriving yourself of pleasure, things were already messy enough. There was no saving any naivety of a friendship that hadn't been merely a friendship from the start, and refusing to admit that you did, in fact, have physical desires toward them was, perhaps, just making things worse. You made a mental note to search for a therapist when you got back home, perhaps dig into whatever religious guilt you seemed to have inherited to drive your decisions.

Nevertheless, you were able to remain firm in your decision. At least until two days later, when everyone went out for drinks at night after a long day.

The sky was dark grey when you left the base to go to the bar. The space was crowded, but comfortable. You knew almost everyone there and quickly settled with some friends.

After one and a half beers Johnny was already getting touchy with you by the counter.

"Have you thought about what I said?"

You nodded and he got closer to you, hands on your waist, "And will you let me make love to you?" he asked softly in your ear.

"Maybe I will" you confessed, already feeling a bit tipsy.

"Come on, bonnie" he insisted, hands on your waist "You know I've been dying to fuck you."

You felt as if your legs would melt right then and there. And, even with your back turned to him, you felt Simon's oppressive stare on you. You turned to find him across the bar.

You both looked at him, sitting at the table next to Price, who seemed to be talking to him, even though his attention laid somewhere else. His hair was covered by a black hoodie, but he didn't cover his face. He grinned at you playfully, taking a sip of the cold beer in his hand.

Johnny followed your gaze and smirked at Simon, then looked back at you with a devilish smile. "I'm gonna get Ghost to come with me" he said and you froze in place.

"I don't think that's a good idea," you plead, already feeling the palms of your hands sweat. What is it exactly that you feared? You didn't really know. It felt childish to be this scared of your own desires.

"I think he's into it" Johnny said, winking at you.

"I don't think so." you grew a bit nervous "I don't think he wants me like that"

Johnny just chuckled in response. "Sure" he said sarcastically. "I can't believe you think that's possible, baby".

You looked around the room nervously, the idea made your stomach turn.

"Tell me you don't want it." he said, suddenly looking at you with a serious expression "Just tell me you don't want it and I won't say anything to him. I'll drop it."

But you couldn't say anything, which made him smile before taking another sip of his beer. Johnny pecked a kiss on your cheek, before leaving you to sit at the table beside Simon.

Although you couldn't pinpoint what exactly caused you so much anxiety, you did notice that it mixed into a twisted excitement.

You watched as they interacted with each other, leaning closer to talk, smiling, and laughing lightly. They looked so pretty you couldn't believe such a dreamy scenario would become a reality to you. Johnny touched Simon's arm and whispered something to him, he grinned and looked at you.

You tried to pretend you hadn't been staring at him the whole time, suddenly feeling a lot of interest in the bottle in your hand and then the conversation that took place between the colleagues beside you.

You tried to distract yourself the rest of the night, interacting with other people and trying your best to focus on different subjects, other people's lives and problems, it was very hard considering that yours seemed to be about to become so much more exciting than anything your friends had been up to.

Johnny didn't seem to want to leave Simon's side anymore, they were engaged in conversation with Price and Gaz at the table on the corner of the bar for what felt like hours to you.

It was pouring rain outside by the time you gave yourself a little tipsy pep talk in the dirty restroom mirror. You told yourself you looked attractive enough, beautiful even. Nothing to worry about.

When you came back, you were so immersed in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice when Simon sat on the barstool beside you.

"What are you thinking about?" you heard his low voice behind you.

You turned around to look at him, feeling blood rush to your cheeks "Didn't see you there"

"Are you not going to tell me?" he repeated your words from the other night with a playful smirk, to which you frowned. He leaned a little closer to you to whisper in a high-pitched voice "I'm thinking about you".

"I don't sound like that"

"Yes, you do" he chuckled.

You took a deep breath before answering, echoing his own words back to him: "Well, you should stop flirting with me"

"I don't think you want me to stop" he grinned, and you wished you knew exactly what Johnny had said to him. "Do you?"

"No," you said frankly "no, I don't."

It was almost 2am when Johnny pointed his head to the door, signaling it was time to leave. Simon was already outside, and you were already soaking wet even before you left the covered environment of the bar.

You thought your heart was trying to jump out of your chest when Simon opened his bedroom door later that night, and felt both of the men you loved follow you inside.

You closed your eyes when you felt both of Simon's hands hold you by the shoulders from behind, as he got closer to you "are you OK, love?" he asked against your neck, the softest you've heard him speak, with the remains of alcohol on his breath. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and you rested your head against his chest.

You nodded, your body burning in anticipation. "Will you guys stop if I don't feel well?" you asked, your voice was almost a whisper.

The anxiety about the implications and consequences of this was already set on your chest. Now there was nothing else to do, no escaping the disturbance this would cause to your life. At this point, stopping would be much worse. Your desires had already manifested, they had been spoken, and transformed, there was nothing left to do but give in to it.

The violent rumbles of lightning bolts shook the sky outside, and sudden flashes of light illuminated the room at an unpredictable frequency. Your eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room, and the darkness felt comforting, providing an atmosphere of otherworldliness to the room, you could almost imagine this scene took place in a different reality and try not to worry about it.

"Of course" Johnny answered and Simon nodded with his face on your neck.

Johnny kissed you first while Simon held you, his familiar lips searching urgently for you in the dark. You had one hand on his neck, while the other held tight to Simon's, afraid to lose his touch. Johnny looked at him with a smile before grabbing you by the waist and turning you around so that you faced Simon.

"What do you want me to do to you?" Simon asked, looking deep into your eyes, his tone was soft, the question genuine.

“Will you please kiss me?” you cried.

He took your hands in his and kissed them, the small sounds of his kisses covering your fingers and wrists. Then, finally, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You felt your heart could explode at any second. You cupped his face with both hands and caressed his skin.

The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant. His tongue was warm and smooth on yours and he tasted like beer and cigarettes.

You heard when Johnny unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants behind you, grabbing and pulling your hips so you could feel the volume in his underwear, you moaned into Simon's mouth.

Johnny left wet kisses on your neck, making you shiver as he pulled up your t-shirt. Simon cupped your breasts in his hands as soon as he saw them, quickly struggling to free them from your bra, peppering kisses on your chest and nipples.

Simon kneeled in front of you and pulled your pants down, helping you remove your shoes along with them, then smiling at you before kissing over your panties.

You rested your head on Johnny's chest and trusted that his strong grip on your waist would be enough to keep you in place because you barely made any effort to stand anymore.

You hummed when Simon's tongue first touched you, drawing small circles around your clit. Johnny groaned in your ear, pressing his hips against yours, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this horny in his life. His hands danced around your body until, feeling very bold from the alcohol, he moved one of his hands down to stroke Simon's hair.

"tastes so good, doesn't she?' he asked, to which Simon nodded, burying his face deeper between your thighs.

Your mind seemed to finally quiet, you wouldn't be able to form a coherent thought if you tried now. You could feel Simon's desire to devour you.

He slipped a finger inside you, moaning back when you did. He moved his lips back to your clit, sucking it with just enough intensity to make your legs tremble. And, as if he knew, just as you were about to come undone on his touch, Simon stopped, standing up again to kiss you, you whined in protest against his lips, but it was useless.

They exchanged glances and Johnny wet his own lips.

"Let me see you ride him, love" Simon whispered in your ear, eyes fixed to his. And you obeyed.

Johnny quickly removed the rest of his own clothes and lead you to Simon's bed by your hand.

He laid down, but you stood there looking at his body for a moment. He looked so beautiful lying naked in front of you, the low light that came from the window was only enough to highlight the contrast of his features. You couldn't believe you had actually been this stupid to deny yourself from him for so long. You bit your own lip at the sight, his eyes brightened with passion. "Go on" Simon encouraged behind you.

You spread kisses to his chest before sitting on him. You tried to do it slowly, making him roll his eyes back, getting used to the size of it little by little. You both gasped with pleasure when you finally took him in completely.

“You’re so tight, baby” he groaned when you started to move.

You could hear Simon ditching his own clothes somewhere behind you. Then you felt him behind you, one of his big hands gently holding your waist. Simon used his other hand to put one finger in your mouth and you sucked on it, making Johnny audibly moan under you.

You froze immediately when you felt his naked body touch yours, his hardened cock poked the skin of your lower back.

"Relax, I won't do anything you don't want" he assured you in a low voice against your neck. You received wet kisses on your back and shoulders.

Johnny moaned, his fingers tracing your thighs "Feels so good like that" he purred, and you nodded in agreement. He grabbed your hips but Simon quickly slapped his hands away.

Johnny blinked, confused, but then smirked when Simon started to guide your movements by the hips, slowly and gradually changing the speed to fit what you seemed to respond better to. He guided your body on Johnny in a way that made his cock touch you precisely in the right places. You barely had to do any work, so you rested your head on Simon's chest, only opening your eyes to watch Johnny's face under you.

Johnny rubbed his thumb softly on your clit, making very small movements around it. You moved accordingly, enjoying the way the pressure created a response deep within your stomach. You panted on top of him, exhausted but eager to continue, your body guiding you toward release.

The obscene sounds you made were thankfully muffled by the heavy rain outside. You felt your orgasm reach you with the growing rumbles in the sky, which eventually resulted in a violent lightning, not that far from the window. You let your body rest on Simon's chest after the wave of pleasure washed over you.

"You did so good, bonnie" Johnny sat up to kiss your face, and laid back down.

Simon pulled your hips back gently, indicating you should stand on your knees. Intuitively, you positioned yourself so that you could put your lips around Johnny's cock. He closed your eyes when you did.

"Look at her, Johnny" Simon ordered.

He held your hips firmly in place, then pressed into you slowly, savoring how the wet heat between your legs welcomed him.

Johnny had his head resting on one of his arms, his free hand lazily stroking your face as he watched you struggle to fit him in your mouth. He tried his best to be obedient and focus only on you, but his eyes kept looking up curiously, dying to watch Simon's face as he fucked you.

"God, you feel so fucking good" he whimpered before he started moving his hips, filling you completely with every thrust. You could feel his length messing up your insides and you were grateful to have Johnny's cock keeping you silent.

Simon traced his fingers down your spine, around your waist, then back to your neck. He gently stroked your head and grabbed your hair. You thought he'd pull it, but Simon just pressed the back of your head deeper on Johnny's cock, pulling you back when you gagged, then repeating the same movement again and again. Johnny closed his eyes in an effort not to come so soon from the view alone.

You gave up on your own body for a moment, forgot it was yours to control in the first place, letting it be taken by all their movements like one gets taken by the current at sea.

"'m gonna cum if you keep this up" Johnny announced in a low voice, and you weren't sure if he was talking to you or Simon, but the latter let go of his grip on your hair, unsure of what you wanted to do with that information. You kept going on your own now, until you felt Johnny pulse inside your mouth.

He let out a soft moan as he watched you swallow it. His body finally relaxed on the bed and you felt his fingers search your head and caress your hair.

Simon's movements became slower, almost nonexistent, and you anxiously moved your hips against him to alleviate the desire in your core.

"Don't stop" you begged in a small voice, resting your head on Johnny's thigh, but he did stop. Simon gently pulled your hips back and switched your body so that you were facing him.

"Lay down" he instructed, "I wanna see you".

Johnny's arms guided you to lay on top of him, your back to his chest. He kissed and caressed your head lazily while Simon spread your legs, sinking into you with a grunt.

You moaned loudly when you felt him entirely inside you again.

“Shh!” both of them reprehended you, and Johnny quickly covered your mouth with his hand.

"You wanted him to fuck you like this, huh?" he asked close to your ear and you nodded, unable to speak anything other than little moans that were muffled by his palm. Simon looked at you directly in the eyes, his face subtly contorting in pleasure with every little sound you made.

He pushed into you slowly, delighting himself in the warmth of having you wrapped around him. He tried to memorize the feeling of having your skin against his so he could dwell on it later.

Johnny uncovered your mouth to kiss you, moving his hand to hold you at your waist. The familiar feel of his tongue was both comforting and exciting, your lips searched for his with noticeable hunger. You didn't think you could possibly get more aroused at this point.

You rested your head on Johnny's shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling your body relax now that you've gotten more used to Simon's size inside you.

"Eyes open, love" Simon demanded, and you obeyed.

He kept his gaze on your eyes until he couldn't resist moving on to Johnny's anymore. They looked at each other for what felt like too long, Simon's thrusts into you got more intense, and it made you wonder if you were simply the vessel through which they fucked each other at that instant.

Johnny, who had his hands wandering around your body, now moved them from your breasts to caress Simon's chest on top of you, at first in shy quasi-accidental strokes, and then shamelessly grabbing at his waist, scratching nails on his back once he got a positive reaction.

He pressed his hand against the lower part of your stomach, right where you could feel Simon's cock attempting to tear you open with every thrust, you moaned into Simon's mouth as you felt Johnny getting hard under your body again. Your arousal was dripping down his crotch, his chest already wet from your sweat.

"Hm you're taking him so well, baby" Johnny whispered in your ear and you watched as Simon's eyes darkened at the sound of the words.

You’d lost track of time and sense of space completely. It was so unbelievably indulgent it almost felt wrong, as if you couldn't possibly be allowed to experience this much pleasure all at once in life.

You felt you’d reached some new sense of consciousness in which you did not belong to your body anymore, you've transcended into something else, something in complete harmony with them and their own bodies around you. You were certain for a moment that, if you tried or wanted to, you'd be able to read their minds and communicate without words.

The utter feeling of Love just invaded you in the form of radiating happiness, an epiphany planted in your heart, as if you had been stung by Eros himself and you felt yourself capable of reaching an orgasm without your body. All of a sudden the whole universe seemed to become clear and there were no questions you couldn't answer if you wanted, any doubt you had was gone, and any anxiety dissipated. You almost felt like laughing, relishing - for what was probably the first time - in the wonder of cloudless thoughts.

Simon dropped the support of his hands to his forearms, getting impossibly closer and resting his torso on top of you, the cold and metallic touch of his dog tags against your chest sent a shiver down your spine. Johnny’s hands moved from his waist to your hips, grinding you on top of his hardened cock in search of some relief, which was positioned between your ass cheeks.

You drunkenly intercalated kisses between the two of them, feeling absolutely in control until Simon locked your neck in place with his hand, choking you a little before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Open” he demanded and you did.

He spit saliva into your mouth and, before you could swallow it, Johnny urgently pulled your face to kiss you, desperately licking your tongue.

"Fuck, Johnny" Simon grunted, digging even deeper into you, attempting to get even closer, making your toes curl. He leaned over and kissed Johnny, and you felt him instantly melt under you. His hands left your body to cup Simon's face.

They moaned into their kisses. You almost felt inadequate being there, as if you weren't supposed to witness that much intimacy, but the thought quickly died down when Simon's lips found yours again, leaving Johnny breathless, and he sealed you back into their little universe.

Your back arched when Johnny moved his fingers to your clit again, you barely needed any stimulation at this point, your legs were tense locked around Simon's hips.

"Come on, baby" Johnny purred in your ear "Let me see you cum all over his cock".

Almost as if on command, you did. The high building up in your lower stomach finally reached its breaking point and crashed into your body in waves of ecstasy. Simon moaned as he felt your entire body pulse and relax under him, he jerked faster into you and then quickly pulled out.

Johnny moved you away from him so that your back rested on the mattress with both of them towering over you, stroking themselves. Simon's eyes rolled back as he came on top of you, a heavy moan leaving his throat as he covered you with the warm gooey liquid that dripped from him.

The sheer sight of it, along with your little moans, was almost enough to get Johnny off immediately, and it only took a few strokes to make him cum again.

You watched them as Simon gently cleaned a bit of his own semen off of Johnny's abdomen with his thumb. He brought the finger close to his face in an offer, and Johnny obediently opened his mouth and sucked it off, receiving a pat on his head and a satisfied smile from his superior afterward.

You laid there exhausted while they cleaned you with tissues, getting little gentle kisses on your skin every once in a while. Simon turned you around on the bed and wiped a soft tissue on your face, removing the remains of mascara you had under your eyes.

It took you a few minutes to eventually get up and use the bathroom, Simon had one all to himself, which meant you didn't have to put your clothes back on.

When you came back, they were both still naked on the bed. Johnny was already asleep, a permanent smile stamped on his face, being only partially covered by the sheets.

"Come here" Simon whispered to you, and you gently climbed over Johnny's body to rest in the space between them.

Johnny sleepily arranged his arms around you, one over your waist and the other under the crease of your neck, his fingers reaching to caress Simon's hair.

Simon kissed your forehead. "This feels nice" he murmured, almost too quietly for you to hear. You looked up to kiss his lips again and rested your head on the pillow, wishing you wouldn't have to get up the next morning.

(now that this is out of my system I can finally move on with my life).

#ghoap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x soap #soap x reader #cod x reader #cod one shot #ghostsoap

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otomehoneyybearr · 6 months

Text

Gilbert’s Aphrodisiac Story!

Minors please keep away

Pictures provided by @candied-boys

\(^ヮ^)/

This is a translation of an event story on the JP Server, all the content belongs to Cybird, please support them if you can!

Silvio’s Aphrodisiac Event Here

My body ached with a heat that made me even hate the bright sunlight shining through the window.

I was reaching my limit to maintain my rationality.

In front of me sat Gilbert, looking at mathematical formulas as per usual. However, I, on the other hand was trying my best to regulate my breathing.

Gilbert: "Little rabbit, its still daylight yet your wearing such a lewd expression on your face.

Emma: "N-no I'm not."

(.... Its so painful that I can't help it, but I have to endure it.)

(All of this happened because of none other than Gilbert.)

I had been called into the laboratory by Gilbert, when he happily told me about something out of the ordinary.

Gilbert: "I happen to have some ingredients left over so I made something I thought would make you happy, little rabbit."

Gilbert, with a happy smile on his face, approaches me with a small glass bottle in his hand.

I sensed a vague hint of evildoing in that smile of his and suddenly I had a bad feeling about this.

Emma: "What's this?"

Gilbert: "Aphrodisiac."

Emma: "Oh, an aphrod-- wait, an APHRODISIAC?!"

Gilbert: "Correct. An aphrodisiac I made using the leftover ingredients.

Gilbert: "Although I'm not as good as Walter when it comes to formulations, I'm confident that its safe since it been made with natural ingred--

Emma: "W-wait a second. Why would you make an aphrodisiac so suddenl---

Gilbert: "Little rabbit."

Gilbert: "You either accept my gift, or you’re forced to accept it."

In an unobtrusive manner, the small bottle was pressed against my lips in the blink of an eye.

Just as I opened my mouth to argue, the liquid was poured inside.

Emma: "Hmmgh...!"

Its thick and viscous, with a taste so sweet it almost burns my throat, and almost instantly, my consciousness goes into a haze.

(What the--- My body feels like its on fire.)

I felt a cold finger caress my cheek and ears, which were beginning to flush, and I quickly moved away from Gilbert.

Gilbert: "Well, I have some work I need to finish today, so please be a good little rabbit."

Emma: "...Gil!"

I called his name, but the person in question returned to his chair as if nothing had happened and didn't even look up from his documents on the table.

It didn't take long for me to realize the tremendous effects of the aphrodisiac.

A deep hunger for pleasure disturbed my mind and body to the point I wanted to cry.

Gilbert: "Little rabbit, could you please hand me the materials from the shelf over there?"

Emma: "S-sure."

(Since it's Gilbert, I'm sure he's noticed that the aphrodisiac is taking effect.)

(But its still its embarrassing to act like this so blatantly... and it's becoming really hard to focus.)

Somehow I managed to make the rational decision to retrieve the material booklet, located on the top shelf, as instructed.

The feeling of my legs rubbing against each other, and the collar of my blouse barely scratching neck created a numbing sensation that surged through me, and I quietly let out a sigh.

(...This is difficult.)

(I want to hurry up and get it, but I can't move like this.)

Because I kept stopping my movements so as not to pick up even the slighted bit of pleasure, I found myself unable to pick up the documents.

Before I knew it, Gilbert was standing behind me.

Gilbert: "You we're being top slow, little rabbit, so I came to get it myself.

Emma: "Ah...."

Just as I was about to turn around, his lips came surprisingly close to my ear.

Gilbert: "This is at a height you can't reach, right little rabbit?"

Gilbert's breathe slipped into my ear, making my body tremble.

His arm stretched out towards the shelf and slightly rubbed against my shoulder, as if he was caressing me.

I let out a whimper so lewd that even I couldn't believe my ears when I heard it.

(If this continues, there's no way I'll be able to hold back.)

I lost all of the strength I had left in my legs and I crouched down in my spot.

Gilbert: "Huh? Was that small touch enough to make you feel that strongly?

Gilbert: "My, you're quite the shameless little rabbit, aren't you?"

Emma: "..."

My cheeks heat up at Gilbert's words.

I took the hand he offered to me and stood up, but then he bit the fingertips he was holding.

Emma: "A-ahh"

Gilbert: "Hehe, how fun."

Emma: "...Please stop."

Gilbert: "Huhhh, why?"

Emma: "Gil!"

Gilbert: "Alright, alright. If this is what the little rabbit wants, then I'll just get back to work."

Gilbert removed his lips from my fingers and returned to his seat with a relaxed demeanor that was the complete opposite of my own.

(I'm beginning to reach my limit.)

(It's mostly Gilbert's fault that I ended up like this, so I want him to take responsibility for it.)

I decided to to throw all of my shame away and stood in front of the table, looking straight at him.

Emma: "...Gil."

Even though I called his name, he didn't look up from his papers.

(It's shouldn't be anything serious since he was just trying to play with me by giving me an aphrodisiac.)

Emma: "Gil, please listen to me."

Gilbert: "Whaaat? I can't concentrate on my work."

Finally looking at me with his red eyes, my fiancé, puts his elbows on the table, and rests his head in his hands, tilting it.

Emma: "...It hurts."

Gilbert: "Hmm. And what is you want me to do about it?"

Emma: "W-what..."

Gilbert: "I'll grant anything you wish, little rabbit, so won't you tell me?

(Do I really have to say it specifically?!)

Gilbert smile was bright and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying my reaction.

(It's what Gilbert wants...)

(Its frustrating but I can't bear it any longer.)

Emma: "...Please, Gil."

Gilbert: "Hmm, its still not enough. You have to beg for it properly."

Emma: "...Please touch me."

Gilbert: "Hehe. Good girl."

ヾ(´〇`)ﾉ♪♪♪

Gilbert got up from his seat, sat me on the table, and ripped off my blouse.

He licked the petal-like love bites that grew every night, and just when I expected the usual bite to come, he bit down harder this time.

The pleasure was so great that I forgot about all of my embarrassment and let out a moan that I didn't realize was my own.

He played with the tips of my overly sensitive breasts, but it didn't give me the stimulation that I longed for.

Emma: "...Gil, please don't be tease me."

Gilbert: "I'm touching you just like you wanted, aren't I?"

(That's...)

With tears forming at the corner of my eyes, I shook mt head and clung to Gilbert.

Suddenly, the hand that had been wandering around my chest, lifted up my skirt.

It sank down my underwear and into the gap between my hot, wet legs.

Emma: "Ahh...!"

Gilbert: "Then does this satisfy you?"

It would have been fine had he just thrusted it into me, but he stirred his fingers around, making a water-like sound.

A light flashed across my vision, and soon my whole body was attacked by a feeling a weakness.

I'm drowning in greed to the point where I can't breathe, and yet Gilbert keeps his cool face.

He pulls his freshly wet fingers out, and licks them as if to show me.

Gilbert: " Hey, little rabbit. Work will have to be delayed since no progress has been made, right?

Emma: "...Please don't tell me this is what you were really after."

Gilbert: "Well, its boring to just work all day."

(I can't believe he's okay with making me drink aphrodisiac for a reason like that...!)

Suddenly, I noticed the small bottle left on the edge of the desk.

(Half of the contents is still left.)

An idea arises before my thoughts are almost consumed by the pleasure.

Emma: "It's pretty unfair that I'm the only one forced to take the aphrodisiac."

I picked up the small bottle, quickly put the rest of the aphrodisiac into my mouth, and kissed Gilbert.

Without giving him anytime to refuse, I let the aphrodisiac to flow into his mouth and immediately heard the sound of him swallowing it down.

(Finally, we're equal.)

(Well, the reason I did it is more than it just being unfair, it's also because I feel lonely.)

Gilbert: "If anything, I want Gil to beg too."

Gilbert: "Hehe, you've turned into quite the bad girl, haven't you little rabbit?

Gilbert: "Maybe it's due to my influence."

Emma: "Gil..."

The depths of Gilbert's eyes were wet with lust as he smiled, a mysterious sensuality overflowing from him.

Those eyes stared at me spread out on the desk, and after he took off his jacket, his heat penetrated me in one breath.

The bottom of my stomach aches with pleasure at the lust he finally shows me.

There was no way I could manage my sanity as he grabbed me by the waist and shook me violently.

No matter how many times my head goes blank, I feel myself about to lose consciousness from the never ending pleasure.

Emma: "Ahh, I can't.... continue... anymore.."

Gilbert: "You said you wanted me to beg for it, right?"

Emma: "But..!"

Gilbert: "And you still look unsatisfied."

Emma: "...!"

Gilbert: "You'll take responsibility and stay with me until I feel better, won't you, little rabbit?"

Gilbert: "Oh, but of course I'll be accompanying you too."

Just as I let out a sweet whimper from him biting on my earlobe, Gilbert begins to trample my insides once again.

I let out a loud cry from the intense pleasure.

I also notice that the expression on Gilbert's face swaying in front of me was even more sensual than usual.

(...He's absolutely terrible.)

(I can't believe that I'm so happy from my beloved is begging me and drowning in pleasure together.)

Gilbert: "Emma..."

Emma: "...Ahh...."

My whole body relaxes after being forced into a rush once more.

I throw my body back onto the table and Gilbert hugs me so tight that it hurts.

He then rains nonstop kisses on top of where he had left the painfully sweet bite marks.

The fingers that lovingly intertwine with mine are no longer cold.

(Its because Gilbert made me drink that aphrodisiac,)

(That my mind and body are feeling more tired than ever before, and made me do such embarrassing things. I feel terrible.)

(Still, I love Gilbert and I can't ever refuse him. This man's love is troublesome, but so is mine.)

(The bite marks, the heat shared through our fingertips, and the aphrodisiac prank are all proof of Gilbert's love.)

(When I think of Gilbert's love, everything is so lovely.)

I'm reminded once again that I've been completely trampled by Gilbert.

▼・ᴥ・▼

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #ikepri gilbert aphrodisiac

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this-shit-is-zucchini-baby · 1 month

Text

You're Not Supposed to Be Here.

As a matter of fact, you're not.

Art by: An Anonymous Benefactor

DID SOMEONE SAY PEAK-LIFE 2???

Happy birthday to me! i am really bad at expressing gratitude and i appreciate all the gifts people have given to me. this gift of note is by an artist who doesn't have a way to post it, and they are letting me post it for them. this piece was a complete fucking surprise but was something i planned to have someone draw for a couple months now.

so introducing, Half-Drone 2! or, Murder Drones Gaiden: You're Not Supposed to Be Here.

is this a real AU i plan to flesh out and make? possibly even write?

no.

...ignore the file in my notes app, that's not real, shut up.

fine. Half-Drone 2 is a derivative timeline AU after the events of episode 7 where Uzi fails to push N away from the massive flesh pit, resulting in both of them falling into "hell". N wakes up with his weapons disabled besides his left arm being stuck in claw mode, and has to find out where he even is, where Uzi is, and why there's still humans on the planet. ya aint in kans- Copper-9 anymore N. Further concepts for this AU include

N is off of his fucking rocker with hallucinations or memories of Uzi plaguing him. is Uzi even real here?

Death being impossible via the Save and Load file system and N does not know its even happening but something is deeply wrong.

only regaining use of his left hand again after finding some oil, the rest of his weapons are now scavenged and he has no idea how to use them properly (his original MP5 had regenerating ammo, you expect him to know how to reload an MP7?)

N wakes up during the events of HL2 Chapter 10: Anticitizen One, and the story takes place during HL2: Episode 1 and part of Episode 2.

Occasional SOMA vibes with N's processor putting things that aren't real in the environment to try to hold onto his sanity and sense of rationality, because none of what's happening makes any sense.

Will this ever go anywhere? I find it unlikely, i like coming up with concepts like these all the time, but most of the time the seperate media's story holds up by itself good enough, no need for an AU unless you wanna do something drastically different, or make two specific characters fu-

#lps murders #lps life 2 #murder drones #md uzi #md uzi doorman #md n #md serial designation n #half life 2 #murder drones uzi #murder drones n #Spotify #lp speaks

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des8pudels8kern · 7 months

Text

Trope:

Your self-sacrificial idiot much respected General is working himself to the bone and refuses to rest. Something something the Force will sustain him. And you are grateful he cares so much about you and your brothers, so grateful, but you also care about him, so you do what any 2IC (who is both stuck in the madness that is this war and at this point certain there is nothing he could do that would cause his General to have him sent back to Kamino) would do - you confer with your chief medic and get a little something-something to put into your General's tea to help him rest.

It works great.

You even get to tuck your General into bed/the vod cuddle pile. All very professionally, of course.

Angsty twist #1:

Apparently your sheltered, pre-war Temple-raised Jedi General has significant enough trauma about Force suppressors that taking away his access to the mythical power he's been abusing as a stimulant doesn't cause him to fall into normal, baseline-human exhausted sleep, as both you and your medic assumed, but rather a very unrestful, flashback-fuelled panic attack you need to contain without hurting him or letting him hurt anyone, kriff kriff kriff.

Angsty twist #2:

Your General stops drinking the tea you give him. Or the food you set down next to his pad on his desk. The snacks you offer during a drawn-out meeting. Even the ration you try to push on him during a lull in a battle that has been going on for too long already.

You try to apologize, but he won't have it, because "I do not blame you that I made the mistake of letting my guard down. Never fear; it won't happen again."

You didn't realise how rare a gift his trust was, and now that you've lost it you don't know how to get it back. All you wanted was for him to get some rest.

The emerging comfort after the hurt:

"I don't know, vod. Have you tried grovelling?"

"I don't think grovelling is gonna cut it."

"Very helpful. What would you do, then?"

"I would never do this to Aayla in the first place!"

"You know, Bly's got a point here."

"..."

"No, no, don't you see: If this is how your General, who managed to survive a decade with Rex' General--"

"Hey!"

"--without losing his mind or his cool, reacts like this, then clearly this isn't equivalent to a nice little sedative that's safe to use on our Jedi, so why do we even have that stuff in the first place?"

"To subdue a Sith?"

"Have you ever met a Sith? None of them are going to accept any food we offer them, and, if you tried to go near them with a dropper full of Force suppressant, they'd probably rip your entire arm off with their teeth, armour or not. The only way to subdue them is to either overpower them through sheer manpower and wrangle cuffs on them, or catch them while they are knocked out, and then you might as well go with the cuffs, too - those don't need reapplying every couple of hours to stay effective."

"Uhm, guys? I just looked up - Cody, I need you to stay calm now - I just looked up chemical force suppression, and all of that stuff is classified at least as a Class II neurological poison and banned in the Republic--"

"Why are our GAR ships stocked with poison that is illegal in the Republic?"

"---because--"

"How did the financing for that pass the Senate?"

"--because of its detrimental effects on the Force user, since it doesn't just block the user's ability but degrades it. Cody. Cody, you need to. Cody. I know. I know, vod."

"..."

"I want it off my ship."

"Pretty sure we all want it off our ships."

"We need a plan."

"Step one: Swear our medics to secrecy and get them to scour medical for every last drop of that stuff and shoot it into the nearest star. Step two: Figure out who put it there in the first place."

#not!fic #commander cody #codywan #obi wan kenobi #i'm having angsty after-work thoughts about blorbo i must be feeling better

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runninriot · 5 months

Text

written for the @steddiemas 2023 Holiday Challenge | prompt: Angsty Themed Sentence Starters

Day 16

“Can I ever just feel… | words: 3260 | rated: t | cw: brief depiction of bad childhood/neglectful parents, mention of excessive drinking | tags: Eddie Munson is bad at feelings, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, they both need a hug

Holiday Blues

“Talk to me, Eddie. What's going on? You’ve been shutting yourself off for days and- Look, I’m sorry I lied to get you here but you’ve been so irritated and distant lately… we just wanted to surprise you. I don’t understand why you’re so mad at us for trying to cheer you up.”

“Can I ever just feel what I feel without you making it a big deal?”

“What?”

“Why do I always have to explain myself? Why can’t I just be mad without you trying to make it better?”

Eddie needs to get out, doesn’t need Steve’s pity or to be vilified for the way he acted back there. He is pissed and he feels invalidated. Like his own feelings don’t matter. Like his sole purpose is to do stuff they want him to do. Like his own opinion doesn’t count.

“Because we care about you and we want you to be happy.”

“Just- LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” Eddie shouts, doesn’t care who hears.

He’s about to reach for the door handle but makes the mistake of turning back to look over his shoulder once more and his heart drops.

Steve looks at him like he just slapped him across the face - eyes widened in shock, mouth hanging open like he can’t quite process the fact that Eddie yelled at him.

And Eddie still thinks he’s in the right but-

That wasn’t Eddie’s intention at all. It wasn’t his intention to raise his voice and throw a fit but he couldn’t hold it in anymore and now Steve looks hurt and Eddie just wants to take it all back.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I just- We thought it’d be nice to.... nevermind. It’s okay. I won’t- I’m sorry,” Steve stutters.

He looks away, head tilted down, eyes locked on his own hands that fiddle nervously with his sleeves. Steve looks so unsure of himself, nothing like the strong-willed, cocky brat he usually is. Always with a snarky remark on his lips, ready to call anyone out on their bullshit. The Steve standing before him right now looks like he’s lost, a little ashamed maybe, and sad. So fucking sad.

“Steve. Please, don’t- I, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m sorry. You didn’t-“ Eddie’s finger itch to reach out but he forces the urge down, feels overwhelmed by the mix of anger and guilt flooding his insides.

“N-no. It’s- it’s okay, Eds. You’re right. I was being pushy. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” His words are hushed but Eddie thinks he can hear the wobble in his voice.

Steve turns, trying to make his way back to the others but Eddie can’t let him go. His hand moves on its own account when he grabs Steve by his wrist to hold him back.

Sure, Eddie wanted to leave and be left alone but not like this. Not with Steve looking so... defeated. It’d be different if he were mad at Eddie. If he told him to suck it or maybe yelled back at him. He should be mad at him. Because Eddie fucked it all up over something so stupid, something so inane and not at all worth fighting over.

Steve didn’t even do anything wrong. Not really. None of them did. It’s just that Eddie’s head is fucked-up. He is fucked-up because it’s that time of the year. And he shouldn’t be angry at them, isn’t really. He’s angry at himself or letting memories of the past overpower every rational thought once again. Same shit, different year. You’d think he’d grown out of it; that at 20 he should’ve and could’ve learned to cope with these feelings.

With the haunting images of a little boy crying himself to sleep, a mother passed out in the next room. Shattered remains of an empty bottle of Jack, shards and a puddle of dark liquid staining the rug. A silent night turned into a silent morning. No lights, no presents under no tree. No laughter. Just dead eyes and deep frowns. One broken home, two broken hearts.

He's not a kid anymore, he should be fine but every year he can feel it bubbling up inside him. Every year these memories drag him down into a dark hole.

They should've just let him wait it out on his own, like he always does but they didn't listen.

The kids had been begging him to come to their little pre-Christmas get together for days. Told him all about the Christmas traditions they’ve created in the past. They were so excited, didn’t stop bombarding him with ideas and what to do’s, talking over each other like they always do. Any other given time, Eddie would have been infected by their smiles and laughter. Not this time though.

He made up some bullshit excuse about having to help out Wayne with important stuff, said he won’t have much time the week before Christmas. Told them not to bother about him, to have fun and that he’ll see them after the holidays.

He’s pretty sure it was Dustin’s idea to have Steve call him over under false pretences, knowing Eddie could never say No to Steve; that he would always drop everything if he needed him, no matter how small or big the request.

They coaxed him into coming over to Steve's place by the man himself calling and asking him for help with some apparent car problem. Only his car was fine and when Eddie arrived, he was greeted by Dustin’s shit-eating grin, acting like nothing was going on.

Eddie didn't even have time to process it all, just got dragged into the kitchen where Erica and El were busy placing cut-out cookies on a baking tray under Robin’s watchful eyes. Through the open door into the living room he saw Mike and Lucas struggling with the tangled chain of lights for the tree Max and Will were helping Steve to put up.

And then Dustin reached for a bag and pulled out the ugliest Christmas sweater Eddie had ever seen in his life, only then realising they were all wearing one. Dustin looked so proud when he told him to put it on, not even asking if he wanted to.

Eddie couldn’t take it.

He didn’t escape hell to be forced to wear some ugly ass knitwear and sit down and watch stupid Christmas movies or listen to this godawful music. He didn’t even want to be here in the first place.

***

“Yeah, nice try Dustin. I’m gonna pass. I don’t- have time for that.”

“See, I told you he wouldn’t wear it! Eddie’s way too cool for that.”

“Shut up, Mike. That's stupid. Steve wears one, too. He never complains.”

“Yeah, duh! It’s Steve, Dustin. He’s-”

“Hey butthead! If you want your present later, you’ll better be nice to me!”

“Sorry Steve.”

“Riiight. Well, imma head out. You guys have a nice party.”

“Oh come one, Eddie! You’re already here now and it’s gonna be fun. You don’t even have to wear the thing just-“

“I said NO, Dustin! Stop trying to force me to be part of your stupid- whatever childish shit this is.”

“What’s your problem, man? You’ve been stressed all week and we just wanted to-”

“Yeah well, sorry for dampening your jolly fucking good mood. I’ll be out of your hair so you won’t have to listen to me complain.”

***

On his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway to make his escape, Eddie tried his best to forcefully ignore the way El’s face crumpled – her expressions changing from cheerful to sad at his words. He tried not to cower when Erica looked at him like she was ready to fight him, ready to actually kick his ass for bad-mouthing their group’s Christmas celebrations. Tried to ignore Dustin calling after him, begging him to stay.

Eddie needed some space, needed room to breathe but then Steve had to follow him to the front door, had to stop him from leaving only to keep pushing.

“Because we care about you…”

That really hurt. Hit him right where his heart was already cracked and vulnerable, causing emotions to well up inside he wasn’t ready to show.

And now he's here, standing face to face with Steve, both hurt but in so very different ways.

“Don’t! Please don’t go. I really am sorry.” Eddie hates how his own voice cracks; how small he feels when Steve finally turns around to look at him.

Steve’s hand drops to his side when Eddie unfurls his fingers and for a moment, they just look at each other.

Eddie shouldn’t have-

What he said earlier was unfair. But Eddie can’t deal with them right now when all he wants to do is wallow in self-pity and be angry at the world.

It has nothing to do with them using a little white lie to get him here or the goddamn sweater. As if Eddie really had something against hot chocolate and cookies and spending time with his friends. He’s just-

But they don’t know that. It’s their first Christmas together. He never told them about how much this time of the year messes him up, why he’s been in a bad mood for days. Why he just wants to lock himself up at home and wait for the festivities to be over and done with.

They wouldn’t understand why he’d rather be home alone than having to fake a smile and put on a face that isn’t his. They’d just try to cheer him up; above all Steve with his way of constantly fussing over everyone, including Eddie. Always trying to make their lives easier, better. Always there to help, always trying to make everyone happy.

But even he can’t make things better. Eddie hates this fucking time of the year. Fucking Christmas with all its pretentious joy and happiness. It’s just another fucking day like the rest of ‘em. Another reminder of his fucked-up past.

Santa doesn’t come to your home when you’re poor.

Struggling mothers don’t stop struggling just because it’s Christmas.

Shitty dads are still shit regardless of the time of year.

Steve wouldn’t understand because his memories of Christmas must be filled with love and laughter.

Eddie imagines a little boy being all excited at the nicely decorated house, the air filled with the smell of freshly baked goods he probably helped his mom make. He imagines colourful Christmas lights, a delicious family dinner, warm hugs. He imagines big, hazel eyes catching sight of all the presents he wished for, placed neatly under a huge Christmas tree.

He gets why Steve is so into all this stuff. Why he’s inviting everyone over. Why he goes out of his way for the kids to have the best pre-Christmas party ever. Why they’re all so full of joy and excitement.

And who could deny them their happiness? They deserve to have a fun time after everything they’ve been through. They deserve to have the best goddamn Christmas for saving the world more than once. Eddie just doesn’t want to be part of it. Not this time.

He is beyond grateful to call this group of weirdos his friends. He will never be able to repay them for coming to his rescue when everything went to shit and quite literally for saving his life.

They’re the best thing that could’ve happened to him, beside Wayne. He’s never had friends like them, never felt like he truly belonged.

He’s never had this many people worry about him and it’s still hard sometimes to wrap his head around the fact that they actually care.

Eddie isn’t used to talk about the things that bother him. To have someone listen, wanting to know what’s going on inside his head.

It’s silly, he knows it is. But it’s hard to just-

“Steve I...”

Eddie takes a deep breath, tries not to falter under Steve’s gaze.

“I didn’t want to make anyone sad or angry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I am grateful for you guys wanting me here but- Look, man. Christmas isn’t my favourite holiday, never was. I just don’t want to ruin your party with my bad mood.”

Something in Steve’s eyes shifts. Sadness and disappointment making way for something that’s not quite pity, more like... understanding. He looks at him fondly, almost hopeful, and that does something to Eddie’s heart he can’t name.

“I get it, man. I hate Christmas,” Steve says through a wary smile and Eddie thinks he’s misheard.

“What?”

“I hate Christmas. Or I used to. Until those little shits came into my life. We started this little tradition two years ago. Ugly Christmas sweaters and all. They convinced me to have a party at my place because, y’know ‘Your house is always empty and your parents are never home anyway. It’s perfect, Steve.’” He chuckles as he unmistakably recites Dustin, but his voice has a sadness in it that rattles at Eddie’s brain.

How could he have been so blind? He’s heard enough about them to know what kind of people Steve’s parents are. They didn’t even care about their son being in the hospital after everything was finally over. They didn’t once come to visit him. And then they just left. Left him the house and a shitload of money as compensation for leaving him behind without even a proper goodbye.

How could Eddie have thought that they’d ever been any different. That they’d ever cared.

“My parents had barely ever been home for Christmas since i was about 10. They thought it’s enough to shower me in gifts I didn’t ask for to make up for everything. It might sound petty because I know there’s kids that have it way worse but- waking up Christmas morning to find dozens of store-wrapped presents under an oversized, abundantly decorated tree with no one around to share the joy with? Yeah, no. Made me realise Christmas is just like any other day, not special enough to make my parents want to spend time with me. Made me hate that fucking holiday and everything that comes with it.”

Eddie looks down, shoulders dropping in shame. He had it all wrong, assumed things without knowing the truth. Without asking first. He could’ve known had he talked to him. Had he not been too busy pushing it all down only to be eaten up by it from the inside out.

“My dad left on Christmas eve. Without a warning. Said he was going to go to the store and never came back. I was 7. My mom couldn’t deal with it. They were struggling but she loved him. And when she realised, he’d gone for good, she got drunk. Passed out on the living room floor and left me to deal with it all by myself. I never believed in Santa for as long as I can remember. Never believed in God either. But that night I prayed for Santa to be real. For him to give me this one gift. Promised I’ll never ask for anything ever again, that I’ll never misbehave again if he could just make my dad be there in the morning. He wasn’t, of course. Everything went downhill from there on.”

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. That must’ve been hard.”

“When I moved in with Wayne, he- he tried to make it better. Make knew memories. But it’s just something that stuck with me. Makes me fucking angry and sad.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Some things just stay with us. They’re hard to shake off and forget but it can get better, y’now.”

The certainty in Steve’s voice sparks a flame in his chest. Just a tiny flicker of hope.

“How?”

Steve’s eyes light up. There’s this sparkle in them Eddie has become so fond of over the past months.

“You just have to accept that you’re not alone anymore. That there are people that care about you and will never let you down like your parents have. You’ve got the kids, Eddie. They love you so much it’s actually annoying sometimes. Robin will always have your back. She’d fight anyone that dared to hurt you. And you have me. We want to be there for you when you’re feeling down, you don’t have to hide away.”

Steve steps closer, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his.

“I know I can be a little too much sometimes. I know I can be pushy but- please believe me I’m only doing this because you’re important to me. I can’t stand to see you sad. I want you to be happy and I’ll do anything to see you smile.”

Eddie feels dizzy, like he’s having trouble getting enough air in his lungs. He feels tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, wants turn away and hide but Steve’s hands are warm and he doesn’t let go, holds him there.

“Thank you, Steve.”

It barely comes out as a whisper because if he dared to speak any louder, Steve would recognize the wetness in his voice.

Two arms wrap around his shoulders and suddenly he finds himself enveloped in Steve, held tight against the other man’s body. Eddie feels himself falter, feels his body slump down within Steve’s tight embrace and it’s then he realises that his tears have already started to fall. A steady stream rolling over his cheeks and down to Steve’s shoulder, soaking his sweater where Eddie’s face is buried in the crook of his neck.

He wants to return the touch, wants to dig his fingers into Steve's sides to keep himself from falling. But his body refuses to function and so he just lets himself be held, listening to Steve’s gentle voice as he quietly tells him ‘It’s okay, Eddie. I’ve got you.’

Minutes pass but Steve doesn’t let go, just keeps rubbing soothing lines along Eddie’s back until the sobbing quiets down. Eddie sniffles, feels the remnants of burning tears on his face when he finally pulls himself up, leaning back just enough to look at Steve.

Steve’s eyes are little red and puffy, like he too has shed some tears. Maybe for Eddie. Maybe for himself. Maybe just because it’s good to let it all out sometimes.

From the living room they can hear the gleeful laughter of their friends and Eddie is grateful for them not to see him like that. Grateful for them letting him have this moment with Steve.

Steve, whose lips curl up into a soft, beautiful smile as he takes Eddie’s face in his hands and wipes his thumbs softly over the wetness on Eddie’s cheeks.

“Feeling better?”

Eddie nods, means it, believes it. Because how could he not, when Steve looks at him with so much kindness in his eyes. When the hands on his face feels so comforting.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“I’ll always be there for you, Eddie. You couldn’t get rid of me if you wanted to.”

“That a promise, Harrington?”

Eddie wants to say so much more but fears he’ll just cause another breakdown if he lets the words spill from his heart to his tongue.

For now, this is enough.

To know that there are people he can count on. To know that he’s wanted. That he’s loved even when he’s at his worst.

Maybe he can allow himself to be happy. And maybe, just maybe he’ll even wear the damn sweater if it makes them happy too.

#steddiemas #day 16 #sentence starter saturday #steve harrington #eddie munson

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i-loveyou013 · 1 year

Text

I love you

Al-Haitham x gn!reader

Summary: You and Alhaitham always go adventuring together. What happens when you're this one time alone?

-> Tw: Swearing, hurt/no comfort, angst, death (a little bit gore)

-> Wordcount: ~1.2k

Masterlist

Request Page

"I love you." You laughed at your boyfriend. Al-Haitham smiled back at you while hugging you from behind, lifting you up.

It was an exhausting day. You, studying the whole day and him, dealing with council meetings.

You two always spent them together. Relaxing on the couch or on the bed, talking or just enjoying the presence of one another.

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that." He buried his head into your hair, hiding the huge smile on his face.

"You're such a dork!" You couldn't stop laughing. Escaping from his cruel claws, you turned around and smacked him. It probably hurt you more than him, but the thought is what counts.

"I don't think that's what you said, try again." He waited for another answer, when none came he put his arms around your waste and yeeted you onto the bed.

"Stop it!" You giggled. How could you not? You had the sweetest boyfriend you could've ever imagined for. It was the small things that made you as happy as you are now.

Making you coffee in the morning.

Bringing you lunch, knowing you forgot it at home.

Repositioning you when you fall asleep on the couch, so you don't wake up with back-pain.

Same goes for him.

Al-Haitham has never been happier in his life. He thought romantic feelings or emotions in general are a massive waste of time, clouding his rational thinking.

But when he met you. Oh boy. He fell in love.

Your smile.

Your eyes, sparkling in interest when he told you different facts.

Your laugh. The sweetest sound he's ever heard in his entire life.

How could he not love you? You. In his eyes the perfect being alive.

He would do anything for you.

You want new books? Consider them already yours.

New clothes? Al-Haitham has already put them in your closet.

Flowers? He now has a new garden. What does he do with it? He doesn't know, as long as you're happy, he is happy.

I think you get it now. For you, he would burn the world- no Teyvat down.

Since you are his world.

That's why this hurt him more than (something emotional)

You were stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Your new study project required different materials that aren't easy to obtain. That's the reason you were here. Underground in what looks like a temple.

Ancient symbols covering the walls, well you thought these were walls. The whole temple looked like it would crumble every passing second. There were more holes in the wall, than, well uh, stone.

It didn't look like anybody was here for the past decades, or even centuries.

You were so occupied with copying each and every strange symbol, you didn't notice the ruin guard walking towards you, its goal? Get rid of the intruder.

Even if you did notice it before, your only option between fight or flight was, well, flight.

During your studies you never had the time to learn martial arts. Hell, you didn't even have a vision. Usually your boyfriend, Al-Haitham would accompany you to dangerous adventures such as these.

But he slept so comfortably. You have to go explore at least once a week and him following you is adding more stress on his side. You didn't want that. In your eyes, Al-Haitham should have the best life, no stress, no worries and no more death.

As soon as you heard a hissing noise behind you, you knew it was already over for you. You dodged the missiles, fired by the ruin guard.

You hid behind the 'walls'. Praying to whatever Archon listening to get out alive.

Please, please, please-

Just please!

You began crying. Will you ever see Al-Haitham again? Can you live a normal life after this?

Will you even get out alive?

These thoughts plagued your mind.

What were you going to do?

When Al-Haitham awoke he was very very confused.

Where were you?

Usually he would wake up before you and make you coffee. Usually you would wake up about 30-45 min after him.

Usually there wasn't a note on your bedside.

Hi love of my life :]

When you read this note that means I've already left the house! The new project requires us to search for different materials! You looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you up! I'll probably be back in a few hours, and if not, well, uh, let's hope I get back!

~sincere [Name] :>

What were you thinking? He thought. Going out alone without him? How do you expect that going to work? You've been in dangerous situations before and if he wasn't with you...

...you would've died.

You have no vision,

no weapon

and no combat training.

Al-Haitham, now worrying and putting on his clothes.

Not even Kaveh could ask what was up, Al-Haitham was already gone.

Fortunately, you told him a day before that you had to go exploring and explained where you had to search.

But sometimes, knowing where your loved ones are is not enough.

You took a deep breath. Blood escaping from your body, floating down onto the earth.

The ruin guard got you. It picked you up with his metal arms and threw you out of the temple.

On a rock.

You were bleeding everywhere. Your head. Your stomach. Your arms. Name it.

You were dying and you knew it.

You struggled to breath, heaving, choking.

You began crying. What was Al-Haitham gonna think? It was all your fault. You were so stupid.

Please just let me see him one more time.

"[Name]?!" You whimpered. Was that Al-Haitham? Or were you hallucinating because you were dying?

"Oh my Archons [Name] you are bleeding everywhere." Your boyfriend fell on his knees right in front of you. "Don't worry darling, I-I'm gonna bring you to the hospital. It's going to be okay." He whispered sweet nothings to calm you, it seems.

But in reality he knew there was nothing he could do. You lost too much blood. Multiple bones were probably broken.

Hell, you couldn't even sit up.

"H-Haitham?" You weekly mumbled. "I-I'm sorry." You let out a shaky breath.

"No, don't apologize now. It's going to be fine." He took your hand in his and cried.

When was the last time he cried? When was the last time he let through such emotions? He didn't know. He didn't care.

He cared about you and you only.

"I love you." Al-Haitham sobbed as the light left your eyes.

Your sparkly eyes,

now only a deep void.

#genshin impact x reader #Al-Haitham #reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact #genshin #angst #character death #death #sad #emotional #gn!reader #gender neutral

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mugentakeda · 5 months

Text

i just loveeeee the idea that there was a big gap of understanding between lu ten and iroh the same way theres a big gap of understanding between zuko and iroh. mistakes that iroh didnt realize he made with his son he then also made with his nephew and still not realizing it. a whole world of things about lu ten that iroh didnt know about, and will never know about. im gonna talk about it though because i am insane so look away from my cringe

lu ten had gone to his father with problems before, and iroh cant help but wonder, now, if his son had ever been trying to imply deeper things in between sugarcoated words because there were things you just didnt say in the palace, and irohs head had been so far up his ass he hadnt seen it. despite it being waved practically right in his face by his son, desperate for sound advice from his father, whos brain was too waterlogged by thoughts of how he was going to pull off his next bloody conquest. like how zuko was always howling for help, hurt and confused like a cornered animal, hidden deep under his fits of rage, and irohs head was Still so far up his ass that he kept meeting zukos silent begging for straightforward guidance with convoluted proverbs. he can sit here and bury his face in his hands in shame over the sheer amount of times hed failed his nephew without realizing, and how much convincing it'll take to get his nephew to understand that yes, iroh did fail him so many times, and he couldve prevented so much suffering simply by holding himself to the same standards he held his nephew to. all those times during those three years before the avatar returned that he couldve done something. sit here and think about how sad it is that he has to even try hard to convince his nephew such a thing, how sad it is that he finally got zuko to stop seeing ozai as some all-wise god that can do no error as a father, just for zuko to start seeing iroh as some all-wise god that has done no error as an uncle. but he can at least go and do something about it. he can never do something about what he did to his son. the things he knows he did, the things he doesnt know he did, and everything in between. he will never find out what lu ten truly thought about him. he will never have that reconciliation, that silent scream of relief and violent shiver in the crook of his neck that zuko gave when iroh yanked him in close after their separation, with his lu ten. he just has to hear about his own son through word of mouth and somehow be content with that. and worst of all, its all his own and his god damned family's fault. no amount of healing and learning by trying to do right by zuko and the world he helped nearly ruin not much more than a half decade ago can act as a balm for the agony that brings him. he knows healing his guilty conscience isnt supposed to even be a reason for why he helped the avatar, but god- it's when the rationality leaves him and he realizes that this is something he cant seem to make himself be the bigger person in. he knows its his own fault, that there are hundreds- thousands, maybe- of earth kingdom sons he personally stole from earth kingdom fathers, and only gave up on his siege when the consequences of his war came into his own backyard, but he cant help it. doesnt want to help it. hes still angry and hateful anyway. his son should still be here. his son should still be here. his son should still be here. and if he tells zuko about how much he still hates himself as both an uncle and a father, zuko will definitely rush to reassure him, all the while he is chained to his desk and meetings day in and day out, fixing this uncles mistakes best he can, losing sleep and forgetting to eat. none of it will mean anything to zuko, if it means he can make his uncle feel better. and if that happens, iroh might actually vomit in front of his nephew.

#i love when characters outright refuse to heal or move on!!!! yayyy!!!!!!!!! three cheers for bitterness and hate forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#making lu ten a personality and then remembering hes lit dead so so cool. Like hes just dead. he will never come back. No plot armor #sometimes... characters having unsatisfying unhappy ends.... is the best.#THIS NIGHT HAS OPENED MY EYES.... AND I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN........................#HE SAID HED CURE YOUR ILLS... BUT HE DIDNT AND HE NEVER WILL....................................#(starts vomiting blood everywhere #i should tie this with my hcs about ursa and lu ten being close cus they were left alone together in the palace a lot #and how lu ten helped shoulder a kind of deranged amount from her by basically co parenting zuko and azula with her #meanwhile ursa was a grown adult and lu ten was like . 15 #oh the curses of being the eldest sibling oh the horrors #atla

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maya--4 · 7 months

Text

Regrets

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Ghost!Gn!Reader

Summary: Ghost finds an actual ghost.

Words: 2053

Warnings: Gore, Reader expresses great distress finding out they died and wants to sleep forever. That's all I can think about but if you run into more tell me. I plan for the other chapters to get much darker so look out for that.

A/N: Part one of my Simon 'Ghost' Riley x actual ghost!reader. I was originally going to write as one big fic but decided chopping it up into pieces would be better. This is not my first fanfic but it is the first one on Tumblr I've ever posted. :)

Also inspired by this fic made by @ceilidho

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

It's your room. The little concrete box you've spent the last 6 months in. An ache creeps in from... somewhere you're not sure. Like your body has been fused, all your nerves tangled and rewired. When your hand rests on the wall you feel the sensation of touch throughout your entire body. The room has changed slightly, the bunks are still there but your bed sheets have changed. You have no memory of how you got here.

It takes a minute for everything to return bit by bit, each memory hits you like a brick, all the years of loneliness trying to make friends and trying to win your parent's approval, all the time spent just for a fraction of affection. Then the army, you joined thinking this... this would be the thing that gets your parent's praise. The hollow feeling in your chest feels almost debilitating, the lump in your throat borderline choking. You made a friend, thinking of his name makes your head throb. Remembering anything about him makes you feel ill. Your body trembles, chest heaving frantically but air doesn't fill your lungs. You're not choking like you think you would... It's a dream. It has to be a dream, it would explain the weird sensations. That's a rational explanation for this.

'Just a dream, only a dream.'

The door opens and a man in uniform walks in, he's of a low rank, you don't recognize him as one of your roommates.

'Must have the wrong room.'

Your mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out but you can see him jolt, his head whips around to look at you.

He's completely silent while looking at you. He looks afraid, not the kind of fear you get when someone hides around the corner and jumps out. It's like he's seen a ghost. You try to speak again but you have no breath to speak. He backs out of the room quickly slamming the door on his way out.

You would have flinched at the sound but your attention is focused on something else. The mirror he was standing in front of... You didn't see it before, and when he walked in his frame blocked it.

The face in the mirror is torn, teeth and muscles exposed on one side. The collar of the uniform drenched in blood. Another false inhale and the figure in the mirror moves its hand to its face. You see your hand in your peripheral vision. It's your face, but that can't be real, you're not dead. You were just in the gym. Confusion and denial cloud your thoughts until everything suddenly clicks.

'I died.'

Your hand drops, suddenly to weak to hold it up. The silent scream that is torn out of your throat does little to help all the sudden emotions. The realization makes you want to vomit bile but there is none. This is what you get, after years of neglect and sadness, all the years being forgotten, and the only thing in return that you get is death? The lightbulb flickers before shattering leaving you in the void.

You feel nothing when you knell to the ground and coil up in a ball, sobs wrecking your body. What did you do to deserve an eternity of solitude?

'Why couldn't I just sleep forever? who's sick fucking idea was it to bring me back!?'

Your begs and sobs fall on deaf ears. You come to find out that time moves differently when your dead, not even sure how long you were dead before becoming a ghost. You try to seem non-threatening at first, but part of you dies with every interaction with the living, their fear only furthering your spiral into madness. You hold on to your humanity as long as you can but the passage of time takes everything eventually. Grief and longing morph into animosity, you find yourself lashing out more and more until they abandon the room completely. Turning it into a storage closet, installing an almost blindingly bright light to make you disappear. They rarely come in leaving you in total darkness, the shelves gather dust and cobwebs. It's almost peaceful if not for your thoughts hanging over you, the what-ifs, the jealousy, the regret.

But curling up on the floor and being alone just feels better. Those moments you can forget reality and slip into daydreams are the only things you look forward to.

You can't do that when people are looking.

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

"You can't be serious Price." Cold seeps into his skin through his jacket where he leans against the wall.

"You're not the only one, they're checking the rooms adjacent to yours too."

'As if that changes anything.'

"Why do I have to pack up and leave? Can't they just do their jobs faster?" His eyes scan the forest just outside the base fencing. The sun has set past the tree line leaving a golden halo over the the tops of them.

"It's only two days Ghost." Price says before taking a drag of his cigar.

"What could they possibly be doing that would take two whole days?" Asking seems futile now, he knows they are checking the walls for structural damage, pipes that run through the walls, and the bathroom making sure everything is still up to code. But does that really take that long?

The captain breathes out, smoke pouring out, amusement written on his face.

"Maintenance."

It's not that he harbors any attachment to his room at the barracks, or anywhere else for that matter. He likes the convenient placement. It's the perfect distance to most of the base amenities and facilities while also not having too much traffic in the hallway. The room he's given temporarily is a different story. It's a long distance from everything, tucked into an old corner of the base. Roughly the same size as his own room but without the bathroom addition. He takes note of the single bed in the middle of the room, the scratches in the floor from moving bunks around, dusty cobwebs clinging to the ceiling, and stains on the walls and floor leave him wondering what soldiers could be doing in here that stains concrete. The metal frame creaks when he sets his bag on top.

"You've got to be fucking joking." He pinches the bridge of his nose, reminding himself he's slept in worse places.

He falls asleep easily when he needs to, so why can't he? Why does he feel on edge? There's no furniture for someone to hide behind, no windows for someone to look through, even the door is locked, but he can still feel someone watching him.

He can't see you, not with the lights off. It should stay that way, just until he leaves. It's odd, they stopped putting people in here since they turned it into a storage room. This guy must be important for them to clear it out and give it to him. You just hope it's not permanent.

He doesn't remember the exact time he falls asleep but it had to be late because he wakes up strained. His hand paws around on the ground for his phone, unplugging it from the wall. Hitting the power button proves to be useless.

'It's dead.'

He plugged it in last night, saw it charging before he layed down. He groans and goes in the general direction of the door to find the light switch in the dark. The light burns shapes into his vision, his eyes screw shut at the sudden blinding light.

'Who thought it was a good idea to put the brightest lightbulb in such a small room?'

The day doesn't get any easier, seems everything decided to go to hell and blow up in his face. A small fire in the kitchen, although not doing much damage means a mountain of paperwork for him later... on top of the paperwork he still has yet to do. He spends his entire day sitting behind a desk. The feeling of being watched doesn't return until he goes back to the room for the second night. The small light of a lamp illuminates the space, made sure to grab it on his way back so he can see in the morning without essentially flashbanging himself.

But it reveals a different problem, the far left corner of the room is darker than the rest. No matter how he moves the lamp closer does it dissipate. It remains a void. He's heard stories, distortions found on security footage, soldiers walking down the hallway in retired uniforms and disappearing around corners, soldiers bleeding out on the ground calling for help, and when medics arrive they've vanished without a trace. Given his name, he's familiar with the concept of 'Ghosts'. If this is one of those cases this one is not corporeal. It has no form, no mouth, most likely the reason he was on edge the night before. Or he's finally lost his mind.

Sleep envelopes him quicker tonight, knowing what had him on edge.

'Just a little shadow.'

He saw you, no doubt about it he stood in front of you, just staring. You can't tell what the hell he's thinking with that fucking mask on.

'Please just leave me alone, I can't handle it...'

The words echo through your head over and over. You truly can't tell that time passes when you are alone. Days, even weeks can pass by in what only feels like a few hours but when people come you can feel every second that passes only brings you closer to hysteria.

Your peace returns when he leaves in the morning. No other furniture has been brought in, which hopefully means that he's not staying permanently. That fucking mask irritates you beyond reason. It could be that you've been left by yourself for so long.

The groan that leaves his throat holds no amusement as he reads the screen of his phone. Price just delivered the news that a pipe in the wall is corroding and needs to be fixed. This means he's stuck with the shadow and creaky bed for another night at least until a qualified repair crew can come to base.

"Should just throw the mattress on the floor." He mutters, pocketing his phone and changing directions, his original plan being thrown out the window as he carries a bundle of unfinished paperwork with him.

He opens the door and flicks the light on, the overhead light illuminating every nook and cranny of the room like a flood light. It's unnecessary in such a small room but the lamp he grabbed is too dim for him to see what he's reading. Almost forgets about the shadow in the corner of the room as he sits down on the bed. The only reminder is a buzzing of his nerves that won't go away. He can feel the begining of a headache starting to form. His eyes trail to the corner involuntarily, like a moth to a flame. It's not visible, but he can still feel it. He manages to pry his eyes away and focus back on his work. Time passes and his headache has doubled. He gives up, choosing to do the work tomorrow and try to sleep off whatever has come over him so quickly.

'That's enough for today.'

He puts the folder down and does one more check to see that his phone is charging and that the handheld lamp is on before standing to turn the main light off. The lamp gives a small glow to the room.

He's not expecting the eyes in the dark, the lamp on the ground highlights the silhouette of the shadow. No longer just a corner devoid of light, the head, shoulders, arms, and legs can be seen albeit blurry. The malicious intent behind its eyes isn't lost on him though. He can feel the pure hate in its eyes, but realistically what can it do, stare him to death? His lip twitches upward into a grin.

He doesn't spare another second thinking about it, checks the lock on the door, and makes his way to the bed. He takes a glance at the shadow. Their head has turned to look down at him. Still pressed into the corner like it was trying to stay as far away from him as possible.

"You don't seem very happy that I'm here, Are you scared of me little shadow?" He regrets speaking. Whatever it is begins to shake violently, still firmly planted in the corner. A low growl turns to a sharp shrill before the lamp light bulb shatters plunging the room into darkness. His ears ring at the sudden shriek.

'Probably shouldn't provoke the shadow.'

#Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #Maya's fics

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legallybrunettedotcom · 7 months

Note

Do you have a solution for breaking the cycle of self isolation after you've been made to feel inferior for being a "loser" who hasn't had as many life experiences as you should've at your age? I find it very hard to connect to people my age because im in my 20s and I've never dated. Even if I can get past my own insecurities constantly telling me I'm lesser because practically every single person my age (even the biggest outcasts or people who are less conventionally attractive than me) has been in a relationship and I haven't, people still bring it up and make it clear they find me weird because of it, like you said. I don't wanna be like this my whole life but frankly, its difficult not to choose self isolation when people actively and purposefully make you feel uncomfortable over being a "loser".

i put it under the line because i ended up blabbering too much.

sometimes i break that cycle and then get down a bit and decide to get stuck in it again. i'm the same, i never dated anyone, never kissed anyone and i don't know why. it's not like you can leave the house and yell who wants to fuck and everyone will flock to you. no one ever showed any interest. another thing is i have no friends, like genuinely. i try to hang out with people, but none of them are friends. i'm a proper loser in the eyes of everyone. i don't think there is a solution here that won't include constant heartbreak. it's just a process of endless trial and error until finally something works. or it might not work. like ever. we are both only in our 20s, there is so much ahead of you if you wish there to be. i don't think one should be jumping into the den with lions, but if an opportunity is presented to you, even the smallest one, take it. if you feel afraid or weird about it, learn to recognize that kind of thinking and try to be faster than it and go " ok let's do this, i'm counting 3-2-1 and my final decision is this or that. we're doing this or we're not doing this. end of story. " it's about learning to think less, as stupid as that sounds, but you see around yourself that the happiest people are those who don't think that much, they just do shit. through it you'll accumulate new experiences, new knowledge, new interactions etc. i know it's so easy to get stuck inside your head and only focus on yourself but it's important to practice curiosity, not just in the books, but when it comes to people as well, the person opposite you will always know something you don't.

you mention in the brackets the outcasts and people less conventionally attractive than you. it's the typical thinking of someone who has been insecure their whole life like what do these people have that i don't? envy obviously isn't the healthiest of feelings but it's normal and sometimes it just jumps in front of you before you can be your proper rational self. but i point you right there to those brackets, it seems to me that you do see something positive about yourself. i think all these insecurities that we have are often not genuine but a shield and just this sort of thing of oh let me put myself down first before someone else does. i did that my whole life and i still sometimes slip into it, but then one day i was like wait a second, why am i allowing intimidation? write down your qualities. like don't be humble, try to be as objective as you possibly can be, but also be a bit of a bitch a bit of cunt and write down every positive trait you have. i don't really like this modern self help books sentiment that is just constant repetition of know yourself know yourself you're the center of the universe blah blah it's so selfish and annoying and pathetic, but you do need a starting point, have some fundamental understanding of who you are or at least of who you're not and understanding of everything that you can possibly be and accomplish. if you find security in yourself, everything that you are and your potential to learn so much and be so many things you wish to be, maintaining your openness and curiosity and being less serious about yourself, other people's opinions and these notions of this type of person is a loser and this type is not, won't hurt you.

the human experience is so varied, everyone is learning on the go and there is this idea and concept of normalcy that a lot of people have failed to conform to. simultaneously we're all (for the most part. even those who mock you.) aware that there is no such thing as normal, no right way of living and yet we so desperately seek the conformity and approval and mistake it for community when it all reeks of malice and competition.

when it comes to all these people you mention, sort it out with yourself like ok do i genuinely want to do these things? am i seeking validation from people i don't respect? does this or that feel right to me? i know you don't want to be judged and you don't want to constantly be alone but do you really want to engage with people who don't respect you? like in my head, a good friend won't judge and laugh but will give you some encouragement, a bit of a nudge because sometimes that's all it takes. like i said in the beginning, trial and error. but that is every interaction til the end of your life. whether you're a loser or not. you try, you see ok i like these people or you say ok this fucking sucks and you move on. you get down a bit and then you try again. another thing i said in the beginning is that this might never work. some people never find friends, some people never you know find romantic love etc. it's a possibility and it's not the end of the world. is it an incredibly difficult thing to accept? of course. there is nothing i can say here that will make it an easier thing to accept.

i don't like those condescending posts that start with "you need to do this", you don't need to do anything you don't want to do, but toughen up, put some muscle on you, i don't mean literally, physically, but i think you get my sentiment. i don't think there is anything i said here that is going to be helpful, that is going to offer a concrete solution, because i think you know what the solution is and it's that annoying advice that people always give and i have been given it a million times, of like put yourself out there, you'll find someone, it'll all work out etc etc and it's like omgggg thanks for nothing. and i suppose in a way i did offer you the same annoying advice. no matter in what kind of cycle you find yourself in, the only way out of it is doing that very difficult thing that you dread. a person who isn't afraid can't be brave. try to develop a mantra, a story, a channeling of sorts that's gonna make some things a bit more bearable. i literally repeat a line from a book inside my head. this is how i try to sort out shit with myself. not everything works for everyone.

oh and another thing that helps is getting angry. not aggressive, not physical, not violent, just maintaining a healthy dose of anger inside yourself that propels you forward.

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ladymirdan · 1 year

Note

What is your opinion on the "Female Space Marines" thing, Lady Mirdan?

Are you trying to get me cancelled, my good man? 😅

Strap in. This is gonna be an unhinged and unfocused ranty wall of text.

Short answer:

Female space marines are a primaris level of a bad idea, and I really hope it doesn't become canon.

Slightly longer answer:

I feel like people forget that the Imperium are bad guys. Even the Emperor's “dream” for the Imperium is a fascist utopia, with all its horrible connotations going along with that.

There are good/interesting people/characters mixed into this mess, and I find it so interesting to see them interact in a world where the morals are (sometimes not) so radically different from the one we are living in.

The Imperium is a horrible, xenophobic, misogynistic, misanthropic hellhole.

The rotting carcass of the Emperor on a golden throne is a perfect metaphor for this.

The only thing that matters is brute strength or power/resources.

Human lives are very cheap in the Imperium. I have heard the argument “It doesnt make any sense to ignore half of your population when making space marines”, yes it does. Geneseed is rare and valuable, but humans are not. There is always someone willing to give up their son for a chance to get the God Emperors' blessing.

But let's say it is possible. Geneseed is fully compatible with female anatomy. Would someone still do it?

My guess is: probably not.

The Imperium can't even come up with a new pair of shoelaces without the inventors risking being called heretics. None of the bigger, more established chapters would risk it. Entire chapters have been wiped out for less.

I would also expect that the Ecclesiarchy would be rather unhappy with the Astartes dipping their toes into their own military recruitment pool. Terran bureaucracy is not a thing to be taken lightly.

Can’t Roboute Guilliman just go in and make it a thing?

Maybe, but why would he want to? What has given anyone the opinion that Guilliman is a “good guy”?

He often (in my opinion) wrongly gets accredited as the primarch of reason/tactics/politics when he is clearly the master of Propaganda.

He is memed to be this chivalrous boy scout when he absolutely is not. That is his carefully crafted public image.

Look at what types of men he chooses to promote when given the chance. Strong and dumb, every time.

But how about the chaos space marines?

Here we actually have an argument to do it. We have seen in several books (Nightlords, Fabius Bile etc,) that human fertility drops dramatically in the warp.

Here every body counts, and they have to be more economical with their initiates.

Fabius Bile himself is working hard to make this a possibility. Even though he wants to do his own thing and not just more space marines, they are close enough for me to be called female space marines, and I'm fine with them. The EC can have them… but do we really want them to?

What about the other Traitor Legions then?

Most of the traitor Legions leaders grew up in the Imperium and shares a lot of their sensibilities and morals.

I would doubt that the Black Legion would be fine with it even IF (big if) Abaddon himself were ok with it. A lot of his warbands would be pissed. There aren't good and rational people; they are just as brainwashed as the imperials. (I imagine a good re-enactment of this happening would be the Templin institute’s comment field on their video about this, but with (actual) curses and no profanity filter)

But GW has done bigger retcons in the past!

Yes, they have. And most of them have been handled badly.

I fully believe that female space marines CAN be introduced in a good way.

Do I trust GW/BL to do this well? Absolutely the fuck not.

I have read a good number of BL books by now, and I think I have come across well-written female characters… twice?

But my friend has a kitbashed army with female space marines, and he wants to play with them. Hell yeah! Can I see it? I love kitbashes, and I much rather see a female space marine on the table than an “Angry marine”, for example. I’m not bothered in the least by anything fan created. It is GW I don't trust.

You don't want female space marines because you are a sexist!

I'm not gonna bother defending against this because that would make me a hypocrite.

Yes, the primary reason I don’t want female space marines is so I can have a harem of imaginary big, buff boyfriend waifus that will never ever have an unmotivated, badly written love interest written in. Do you have any idea how rare that is to come across in a fandom?

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #wh40k #space marines #female space marines #my take

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vibratingskull · 6 days

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I saw that you posted a new part of the Yandere! Thrawn series (which I absolutely loved btw) and have NOT been able to get my thoughts off of this silly little headcanon I have. Which I’ve decided to share with you.

Once Yandere Thrawn had gotten you pregnant and you had developed a bump you got a pregnancy pillow (As one does), Thrawn HATED that pillow with a passion. In his point of view, it blocked him from actually cuddling you, and he HATED not being able to cuddle you directly. Needless to say you never see that pillow again

PLEASE SHARE my dear, i love receiving your differents headcanons !!!(ngl i had to check up pregnancy pillows XD)

But YES ! Absolutely! Anything that prevents him from hugging you, kissing you, cuddling you, just preventing him from having access to your body is a disgrace and has no place in his suite or home!

Even though he really, really tried at first. He rationalized it was for your comfort and he should be patient. But he has none concerning his burning desire to touch you! So he throws it away!

Why would you need a pillow when he is right here?! Oh you are uncomfortable for sleeping? No problem, he can hold your pretty bump all night long, pressed against your back. He can do such a better job than any stupid big pillow! You should have known he could do it before ordering that bulky thing! Its like everything else, just let him help.

He plays innocent when you ask where it is, "I am sorry ch'acah, i am affraid it shrunk down in the washer. It is of no use to you now..." You cry because of pregnancy hormones and because you are upset and tired and he comes behind you to hug you tight, just like he missed doing. Oh how he missed you! He picks up and hold your bump to relieve you, whispering sweet nothing in your ear, "Do not weep, Ch'acah. I can help you and hold it all night, no need for a cumbersome pillow of any sort."

And he keeps true to his word, and cuddles you and supports your heavy tummy all night long... Never, ever try to cut him off from you in any shape or form again!

#anon being cute #anon ask #yandere au #thrawn #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x reader

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halucygeno · 1 year

Text

[Draft] Why Roadside Picnic is a timeless masterpiece and why everyone missed the point

(DRAFT NOTE: Otherside Picnic and PAFL are tagged because I intended to conclude this essay by explaining why I think those works, ostensibly inspired by R.P., don’t understand and fail to capture what makes the novel so powerful. My writing never got to that point, but it might still be of interest to fans of Otherside Picnic and PAFL, so I’ve kept the tags. If I ever manage to somehow finish this, I’ll take it down and replace it with the full version.)

ESSAY START:

With that needlessly provocative title out of the way, I hope people are still here and willing to listen as I try to explain myself:

[SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE BOOK, GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN’T DONE SO YET]

At its very core, Roadside Picnic is a character study. It acts as philosophical and social commentary too, but a vast majority of that is delivered and explored through Redrick’s character arc.

The sci-fi stuff which everyone loves referencing, and which every adaptation and “inspired” work can’t help but include: the Zone, the artefacts, bolt tossing, Mosquito Manges - none of that matters. You could replace it with magic, or dragons, or some other arbitrary plot device - it just needs to be beyond human understanding and have no clear explanation or origin, to allow for the ideas discussed by Noonan and Dr. Pillman in Chapter 3. This basic premise is all you need to discuss xenology, human psychology, “what’s a rational being”, how insignificant we are in the universe, etc.

All the other details are either little tid-bits of worldbuilding, window-dressing, or serve a specific narrative purpose. Witches’ Jelly could be any “super dangerous substance”, because what matters is not that it eats your bones, what matters is that Redrick sells it to a shady dealer, betraying the morals he espoused in Chapter 1:

All of these objects aren’t just “cool artefacts”, they’re tools for the Strugatskys to get across their themes.

And those themes are... Well, that’s harder to summarise. The main theme of the story seems to be about how economic circumstances and crises in one’s personal life can rot a person’s moral compass and kill their faith in the possibility of a better world. The events of the story turn someone like Redrick - an honest worker who believes in Kirill’s promises that science has the potential to save humanity - into an evil hypocrite, a murderer who lies to himself to justify his reprehensible actions. The question asked of the audience is “how responsible is Redrick for his own fate”, while the ending asks “will any of it amount to anything”?

To be clear, Redrick is a BAD person. By the end of the book, he has quit his job at the Institute, sold Witches’ Jelly to shady 3rd parties (which ended in a laboratory accident that killed 35), cheated on his wife (with a woman he supposedly despises) and murdered an innocent kid. He even draws sadistic pleasure from the emotional pain he will inflict on Burbridge by killing his son, savouring the irony of Burbridge being the one who kept encouraging him to take some newbie to the Meat Grinder:

But he wasn’t always like this. At the start of the story, he is cynical and rough, but he has principles. Like already mentioned earlier, in the excerpt where Noonan tells him about someone looking to buy Witches’ Jelly, he even goes as far as saying that he’ll work with the police to turn them in. The same police which, earlier in the chapter, stopped him in the street because they profiled him and assumed he was up to something:

Redrick has done his time in prison, gotten an honest job (yes, I know that he says that he still makes "a few bucks on the side”, but he’s actually relieved when he hears they’ll be walling off the Zone because it’ll mean “less temptation”. He wants to make money as a decent citizen), and he’s still being treated like a criminal and stopped by the police on-sight. And despite this, his fear of what the wrong person might do with Witches’ Jelly is so strong, he’s willing to go to them and report the buyer.

And this rejection of his prior Stalker persona is deeper than just getting a job at the institute and being willing to cooperate with police. When Kirill assumes that Redrick suggested getting the Full Empty as a ploy to sell his services, at first, Redrick doesn’t understand what he means. When he does, he feels outright insulted:

When he finds out about Kirill’s death, he is devastated, but notably, this sorrow quickly turns into a hatred of the systems which throw young men to their deaths for money. He curses Ernest for profiting from this exploitation. A key scene is when he hands Creon (a young man who just arrived in Harmont and wants to become a Stalker) a wad of cash and urges him to go back to Malta:

Another pillar of Redrick’s character is the fact that he loves and is loyal to his fiancée, Guta, despite her family being openly antagonistic towards him - not just because of his criminal past, but the fact that he’s been afflicted by the Zone:

He marries her at some point after this.

Most importantly, he actually has a purpose. This is shown when he is pestered by the emigration agent, as he makes a speech about how Harmont is a “hole into the future”, which will change life around the world for the better:

The crucial detail here is that the one who inspired him to think this way is Kirill. Redrick is always portrayed as cynical and bitter, so this high-mindedness is not coming from somewhere within him - it’s external. He’s drawing inspiration from the idealistic, honest people around him. So when Kirill dies, it is not merely the death of a close friend. It is the death of Redrick’s faith, his hope in the future. He even says “How will I get on without you?”:

Basically, Chapter 1 sets-up Redrick AT HIS BEST, so that the story can send him on a downward spiral in every chapter that follows.

Chapter 2 has several important developments, and it marks the start of Redrick’s moral decline. Before getting into that, though, I’d like to draw attention to another part of Redrick’s moral compass which is highlighted - his hatred of Burbridge and, more importantly, his hatred of Burbridge’s daughter, Dina.

Buzzard Burbridge embodies the most reprehensible, slimy aspects of being a Stalker. He is a selfish profiteer, willing to sacrifice his comrades and leave them to die just so he can get away with the loot. Redrick hates Burbridge, and, very importantly, believes himself to be better than Burbridge:

Redrick hates that Burbridge has no regard for human life, and this hatred applies in equal measure to Dina. When Dina tells Redrick that he should have left Buzzard to his death, he slaps her in the face:

This is not done out of sympathy for the man - Redrick hates Burbridge. What insults him is the implication that he should’ve left a comrade to their death - even a piece of sh*t comrade. He hates Dina, because even though what she says about Buzzard is true, it’s not a reason to abandon him to his death. Just like her father, she has no regard for human life.

In this scene, it’s also worth noting that Redrick is very respectful to Hamster. Hamster is the only Stalker to survive entering the Meat Grinder, supposedly saved by Buzzard. He seems to hang around the Burbridge household, possibly acting as some kind of servant, but is deformed and crippled from his injury:

The contrast between how he speaks to Dina and Hamster sends a clear message; Dina’s beauty means nothing. She’s evil, and deserves less respect than ugly, deformed Hamster.

Another key moment is Redrick’s conversation with Noonan in the café near the Métropole hotel. There, we learn why he quit working for the institute; money. He could no longer earn bonuses when expeditions to the Zone began being handled by robots:

Important here is that his salary still isn’t terrible, and the institute did not fire him. He chose to quit, because he wants a sense of freedom, of not being bossed around, and the money to splurge on things (like cigarettes) and have peace of mind. This is aptly summarised in the line “a man needs money so that he doesn't have to always be counting it”.

Obviously, another reason why he quit is Kirill’s death. In his final, rambling monologue, Redrick admits that he hated working for the Institute, so it’s very likely that Kirill and his idealistic visions for the future were the only things keeping him there.

So, to summarise, at this stage, Redrick’s character looks more or less like this: 1) Wants to do honest work and disassociate from his criminal past. 2) Believes the world can be saved by technology from the Zone. 3) Will never sell Witches’ Jelly to dangerous 3rd parties. 4) Needs money for a basic standard of comfort and freedom from authority. 5) Won’t abandon someone to their death, even someone as bad as Buzzard. 6) Beauty doesn’t matter if, morally, you’re an awful person. 7) Loyal to his wife and daughter.

Having lost Kirill, and with him, his hope for a better future, Redrick’s new source of meaning is his wife and daughter. His purpose in life is providing for them, especially Monkey, whose condition makes her the target of bullying.

(Side note: One thing always annoyed me. Why did they call her Monkey?! That’s asking for people to bully your kid! Was it just a coincidence, or did they really name her after her birth defect? And this is an accurate translation of the Russian “Мартышка”, no weird translation problems here.)

But this new purpose - providing for his family - crashes into him hard when he’s set-up, betrayed, caught by the police, and is forced to flee. It’s then revealed that Redrick had a trump-card up his sleeve - a jar of Witches’ Jelly and an interested buyer, willing to pay the money to his wife in instalments while he rots in prison. It’s never stated how long his prison sentence is, but Redrick estimates that evading arrest (which he did to arrange the transaction) will add another year to it.

To be clear, this jar was prepared as a last resort. He clearly doesn’t want to do this. Earlier, in the Métropole, when he's asked if he managed to procure it, he lies, saying that he didn’t:

He promises to get it later, keeping Throaty interested, but not giving it to him. Later, as he’s about to make the call, he admonishes himself:

This the first major step in Redrick’s decline, where his self-interest explicitly endangers the lives of others, and he still picks himself over others.

Before moving into Chapter 3, one part which I’d like to quickly touch on is the circumstances of Redrick’s arrest. I didn’t pick up on this on my first read, but Ernest wasn’t the one who set-up the police ambush in the Borscht. The one who set up Redrick’s arrest was Richard Noonan:

At first, I was confused as to why Redrick never realised that Noonan betrayed him, but after looking at it more closely, and despite how stupid it may sound, I genuinely think Redrick was so sleep-deprived that he forgot Noonan was the one who told him to drive to the Borscht in the first place. After getting into the cab, he falls asleep and wakes up, incorrectly thinking he told the driver to take him to the bank:

Regardless, in Chapter 3, we learn that Richard Noonan is some sort of government agent, working for the Institute or with law enforcement in some capacity. His mission is to shut down the “flow of materials from the Zone through Harmont”, which is why he has been befriending Stalkers and infiltrating their social circles, monitoring them. His activities include buying artefacts from Stalkers and rerouting them to the Institute:

If you’ve been paying attention, the Stalker which Noonan mentions in the above excerpt, the one he is stringing along and exploiting for his swag, is Creon, the Maltese Stalker which Redrick tried to pay to give up on the profession and go back home in Chapter 1. He persevered, became a successful, and what did it get him? He’s not an adventurer - he’s a pawn, drowning his sorrows in booze, getting closer to death, unaware that he’s being exploited by Noonan.

The worst part of this, which is never said explicitly, but heavily implied, is that the Institute is allowing certain Stalkers to operate because real humans are better, more effective gatherers of artefacts then their officially sanctioned robots. They are supposedly cracking down on this illegal activity, but they don’t mind taking advantage of it while they can:

There’s a sickening duality to it. Officially, Stalkers are criminalised, thrown in jail, ostracised. But behind the scenes, the Institute relies on them to deliver them materials, strings them along and keeps them on their payroll.

(Side note: I’ll let you draw whatever real-life parallels you find applicable. The ones that immediately come to my mind are the US prison-industrial complex and the funding of the the Taliban, but I’m sure you can find many, many more.)

Later, we generally get to see Richard Noonan being a horrid person - beating up a subordinate for having overlooked a group of Stalkers who were sneaking into the Zone without the Institute’s awareness.

Following this, Noonan has his conversation with Valentine Pillman, where the analogy of a “roadside picnic” is used and where the book derives its title. The general message is that we’re completely insignificant. The visitation wasn’t an instance of aliens coming to contact us or conquer us - they were just passing by and accidentally dropped a bunch of their trash on us.

Of course, Pillman qualifies this by saying that this is just his personal theory, and that there is no evidence to support this, or any other interpretation. He points out that to speculate about the motives of non-human beings by applying human psychology to them is folly, and calls xenology a pseudoscience.

For how central this conversation seems to be to the book (it’s in the title, after all), I don’t actually think that it’s a particularly interesting concept. It speaks to a general existential dread many people can probably relate to, being insignificant in the face of the infinitely complex, incomprehensible mechanisms of the cosmos. But it seems quite simple and self-contained, especially compared to the layered, interconnected themes of the rest of the book. It’s quaint.

Much more interesting to me are the things we find out about the artefacts recovered from the Zone. Eternal Batteries, seemingly capable of producing infinite energy, are used to power people’s private cars. Black Sprays, little beads which one theory claims are huge swathes of compressed space, are used to decorate jewelry:

To be blunt, Kirill was wrong. The artefacts from the Zone and the research done by the Institute are not “saving the world”. They’re accomplishing almost nothing. At best, they become the playthings of the wealthy and powerful, while the working class is literally killing themselves in the Zone to acquire them. At worst, they’re causing horrible accidents and killing people, like the Currigan labs incident:

The point of this is to show that fancy new technology does not inherently uproot old systems of injustice and exploitation. Without societal change, even something as reality-shattering as an alien invasion will be slotted into the old way of things. There’s even a passing mention of more luxury accommodations being built in Harmont in response to... tourists:

I saw another Tumblr post tagged with #roadside picnic, complaining about how people are trying too hard to make every soviet novel into something political. Well, I’m sorry. IT IS POLITICAL. You’re just not paying attention. If you disagree, I challenge you to read the above passage about “the suburbs being emptied” and tell me that it’s not trying to communicate anything about the economical systems ruling Harmont.

And if I need to spell it out, the force consuming and destroying the lives of Stalkers is not “the Zone”. It’s capitalism. The characters constantly talk about greenbacks, about needing money. The reason Stalkers need to break the law and risk their lives is either because they have rent to pay, or because they want to become financially stable enough to be free from the coercion of bosses and landlords.

The entire reason Redrick betrays his moral convictions in Chapter 2 is because of money. He leaves the Institute because his job is being automated, his pay is being cut, and he doesn’t want to live paycheck to paycheck. He wants to be free. And finally, he sells the Witches’ Jelly because he has to keep his family fed while he’s stuck in jail.

And if you still think I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see, I’d like to take you back to Chapter 2 for a few notable passages. Namely, Redrick’s experiences as he is entering the luxury hotel, Métropole:

This is Redrick, talking to a cop. Yes, the police, so eager to harass him in Chapter 1, are suddenly asking him if he’s alright, offering to help, calling him “mister”. So what changed?

Well, he is wearing a suit, holding a suitcase, standing in front of a fancy hotel. They assumed he’s rich. That he’s a respectable citizen, that he’d never need to steal anything.

There’s a genius reversal here - in Chapter 1, Redrick was an honest lab worker, but was profiled and stopped by the police. In Chapter 2, while the cop is trying to help him, he’s on his way to an illegal deal with a suitcase full of contraband. He’s an actual criminal, but he’s treated with kindness, because he looks upper-class.

And if you still somehow think this is all a coincidence, I ask you - why is this scene here? Why was it written? Seriously, it’s such a random moment, a complete non-sequiteur from everything happening beforehand, and I never hear anyone talk about it. Redrick, out of nowhere, begins having strong hallucinations and has to stop to catch his breath. If the key information being conveyed here is “Redrick suffers from hallucinations”, why not just have him catch his breath and move on? Why add this random cop, trying so hard to be helpful?

The answer is simple. It’s not a “random cop”. It’s social commentary on how cops exist to protect and serve the ruling class.

In the hotel itself, we have this moment where Redrick steps into an elevator full of absurdly, comically obnoxious rich people:

If you’ve been ignoring the attached excerpts so far, I urge you to read this one. I cannot adequately summarise how seeping with contempt and revulsion these descriptions are. Redrick closes his eyes to try to “shut out” these people, to not have to look at them. The young boy is eating chocolate, of course, drooling, while his mother has the Black Sprays we talked about earlier on her necklace. This is the privileged, wealthy elite and Redrick HATES them and what they represent. It’s textbook class antagonism.

And this doesn’t just affect Redrick. Returning to Chapter 3, Noonan visits Redrick’s house and speaks to Guta, who tells him about their struggles with Monkey, whose condition had worsened, destroying most of her cognitive abilities:

Noonan is wealthy. He’s one of the people who uses a car powered by an Eternal Battery. He lives in hotels. But more importantly:

Noonan genuinely sympathises with Redrick and Guta’s plight, and the suffering they’re going through because of Monkey’s condition. He genuinely wants to help them, and is ready to, but then remembers his boss. He remembers that his job is not to help the ones who are struggling and need it the most, but to serve the system. To label these people criminals and “infiltrate” them, monitor them, instead of simply befriending them.

Of course, Richard Noonan is an awful person. But we're almost given the sense that, given his position, he doesn’t even have an opportunity to be a good, honest person. When he genuinely feels sympathy for those he exploits, he forces himself to stop and suppresses his good nature. Because that’s what’s expected of him, what his job requires. He’s there to protect the interests of the Institute - the ruling class.

I really hope these examples adequately demonstrate what I believe to be the main political themes of the story, because I’m going to put those aside for a moment and go back to the personal, moral journey of the main character.

The only thing of note left in Chapter 3 is Redrick’s father and his reaction to news of the lab accident.

[UNIFNISHED DRAFT ENDS HERE]

(TRANSLATION NOTE: All quotations are taken from the Antonina W. Bouis translation, despite there being an arguably more accurate translation by Olena Bormashenko. This is out of habit, not preference - I’m more familiar with the Bouis translation, which made searching for quotes easier.)

(Huge thanks to Antonina W. Bouis and later Olena Bormashenko for bringing this book to an anglophone audience, to Irena Lewandowska and Rafał Dębski for translating it to Polish, and to Siergiej Rajkov and Milan Asadurov for doing the same in Bulgarian.)

#roadside picnic #stalker #otherside picnic #parties are for losers #book analysis #strugatsky brothers #My writing

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