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ghost-proofbaby · 11 months

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHTEEN

in which eddie shows you deftones, texts are missed and calls are answered, and lines are crossed once more for good measure.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, light dry humping?, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

18:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

Steve-O: rise and shine, campers! time to get back at it with these wellness checks. gonna need some proof you two are still alive.

HOUR EIGHTEEN - 9:00 AM

Eddie’s eyes narrow in concentration at your phone as his thumbs fly across the screen, navigating the Spotify app with ease to find the Deftones song he specifically wants. He doesn’t do as you had and go to their artist page – he searches with purpose, in no mood to scroll through albums to find the song he’s looking for.

“I still don’t understand how you can type so fast,” you mumble, watching with fascination that you try to tamper down with faux boredom, “Even I can’t type that fast, and I own the damn thing.”

He doesn’t even glance up as he scrolls along the screen, finding the song and clicking on it, “I’m just good with my fingers.”

There it goes. The air from your lungs, once again vacating the premises as he freezes beside you.

It isn’t fair. An internal whine that nearly works itself up your throat and out your mouth, making you want to stomp your feet like a child. You hadn’t even recovered from the casual drop of baby yet. And now he’s going to just say that?

“Oh, God, I-” he’s looking up finally, eyes wide and stuttering with embarrassment, “Fuck, I swear to God, I did not mean that as an innuendo.”

You open your mouth. You close it. You repeat the process. You’re fucking speechless and it’s a little bit embarrassing.

“I’m serious!” he persists when you don’t reply, and only stare at him in continued shock, “Seriously! I- Fuck, I was referring to with my job. At the autoshop. I’m- Fuck,” he cuts his explanation off, dragging a hand over his face and falling back into the couch, “Kill me. Kill me now, please – and be sure to make it quick and painless, pretty please.”

You finally laugh. It’s a bit choked, a bit strangled, but it instantly has Eddie lowering his hand.

“I think if we were going to kill each other, Munson, it would have happened hours ago,” you try to tease him, but something about the sentiment comes out far softer than you intended. Like it’s not a joke. Like, in your own odd way, you’re trying to whisper a truth to him – everything has changed for me now.

“Probably,” he sighs, relaxing a bit and leaning back beside you as he looks to the phone once more and clicks on a song, “Proba-fucking-ly.”

For the first two songs, there is a distance to be kept between the two of you. You peek at the screen and catch the titles – Cherry Waves and Sextape – and make a mental categorization of which one you enjoy more. You nearly audibly snort at Sextape, but manage to keep your immature humor to yourself. You prefer Cherry Waves, anyways.

The songs that follow become a bit of a blur. Because for the first two, the distance existed. You can focus on the guitar and the vocals and the bass drum and everything except the man sitting beside you. But then song three comes on.

Fucking song three. You don’t catch the name, but it might be your favorite yet. Or you might be biased.

Because it’s during this third song that something changes. Eddie is no longer content in just leaning back beside you, in letting you consume the new music in a sort of solitude that was impressive to achieve when not actually alone. You first notice his restlessness in the bounce of his knee, shaking beside yours as he finally puts the phone down on the coffee table rather than balanced on his thigh. You don’t comment on it, you let it slide. You faux indifference. But then, the flexing of his hand starts.

It’s odd. Sure, plenty of people mess with their hands in relation to nerves, but you’ve never seen it happen like that before. The slow stretch of him pushing his fingers to their limits before retracting them, bending his knuckles as he tucks the tips in. The veins along the top of his hand popping exceptionally.

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

I fucking bet he is.

You curse yourself for the warmth that burns in the pit of your stomach. Focus. You should be focusing on the music, on taking in what he’s sharing with you.

Not on his hands. Specifically his fingers, and how good they’d feel-

Fucking stop it. Cut it out. No.

It takes an ungodly amount of willpower for you to look away, but you manage it. Unfortunately, what you don’t manage to do is ignore the bouncing of his leg. You don’t manage to extinguish that burning that he’s begun in you — a fire started from his kindle.

Impulsive. Impulsive, and a little stupid, and endlessly daring. That’s what it is when you finally reach out a hand to land on his knee midsong.

The shaking immediately ceases, and you take over the soothing motions as you let your thumb initially rub in arcs against the side of his thigh. With each strum of the guitar that rings out, you let your thumb complete its semicircle motion. With each pounding of drums, you give a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say a word about it, and neither do you. Especially when he drops his hand over yours, wiggling his fingers between yours with the failure of a casual grace. You try not to smile as you flip your hand and let him properly intertwine them.

Flexing, but this time, it’s to squeeze your palm to his. You still think about those goddamn fingers.

“So, what do you think so far?” Eddie asks after he clears his throat.

“They’re good,” you nod, finding yourself shuffling subconsciously closer to him now that he’s gripping onto your hand, “Really good.”

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

You know that he’s more than just good. Just like Deftones, you’d dare say he’s really good.

The song switches, and both of you have scooted close enough to one another that your thighs press together. Shoulder to shoulder, sharing enough space to feel his breath on the side of your bare neck.

His grip on your hand tightens.

You want the opposite. You suddenly want his hand to detach from yours and to find home on your cheeks, hands on either side of your face before he’s pulling you into him, throwing caution and formality to the wind. You two have already crossed that line; why was it so hard to take that leap once more?

The song is still playing. You don’t recognize the tinny guitars that are on the loop of repeating the same notes, an echo effect of sorts layered over them.

It’s just the guitar. And suddenly, the rasps of Eddie’s breaths are something your acutely aware of. Like he’s closer, like he’s letting his head tilt even closer to you. You feel that heat transferring between your biceps that are smashed together, not even thin layers of t-shirt or the sleeve of the crew neck able to stop it.

It all happens suddenly.

The guitar pauses and Eddie’s hand loosens in yours. Your heart races, and you realize you’re preparing yourself for what he’s doing before he’s even sprung into action.

Kiss me, the sigh you let out whispers.

It’s answered by the song, and by Eddie. A combination of the two that you can’t differentiate.

The silence in the song is cut off by whimpers. One from the lead singer on the track, one from Eddie. Both breathy, both shakey, both whispering of the loss of control.

“Fuck it.”

Two words. He says those two words again as his warning before he lets go of your hand and is reaching up, shifting your two bodies impossibly quick as his hands do exactly as you had craved. One on each cheek, and then he does it.

He kisses you.

It is neither kind nor gentle, despite the allusion that it might have been from the way he cradles your cheeks. The callouses on his fingers scrape your cheeks, you can feel every crack in his bottom lip as it slots between your own. It’s easy and quick work, the way your mouths can mold together so effortlessly. Tongues that were once so sharp as they’d spit venomous words at once another now meet and pass over teeth, blurring the lines of where you end and he begins — of where hatred ended and this began.

Whatever it is, whatever it will be for these last few hours, whatever it will be once the clock runs out, you’re grateful. You, your vinery, your civility — they all scream their prayers of thanks as his hands drop from your cheeks and find your hips. You don’t even process that he’s tugging you onto his lap or that you’re letting him until it’s happened. Your thighs bracket his own hips, and he gives you no time before he’s pressing your full weight into him, hands clawing at you, desperate to keep you close.

You can’t even hear the song anymore over the roar of your own heart.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you realize now what the price is.

The price is your sanity. The price is a loss of control, and letting him consume you whole. A small price in the grand scheme of it all.

“I-“ you start a sentence that you have no idea of what the ending would be, but he interrupts with his mouth. The teeth your tongue had once met bite down on your lip and you swear you taste blood, swear you see crimson as he sighs out again into your open mouth.

His hands guide your hips against his. A steady rhythm, and with only a few passes, you can feel him harden against you. Your pace picks up of your own doing, the friction of your panties and his pajama pants nudging your clit and leaving you breathless.

What the fuck are we doing?

You should stop it. You should mind the delicate balance you two have been trying to achieve since you first crossed this line.

You only push down harder on him, only bite down on his lip as he had yours. This time, blood might have honestly been drawn — the hiss that escapes him says it all.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he chastises you between kisses, “You want to know what was fucking wrong earlier? You. You are driving me insane, you are driving me straight into the fucking grave.”

Oh.

The way he had leapt up. His nervous energy. The way he had put as much space between the two of you as possible.

“I affect you that much?”

It is not a confident question — you completely pull away from him, leaning back as you breathe it out, hands finding home on his shoulders as you survey him.

He’s being honest.

His pupils are wide but those brown, doe eyes have softened as they meet your gaze. His chest is heaving, his lips are already bruising pink as they fall apart so casually.

He’s being honest.

You affect him, you’re doing this to him — he’s caught up in flames, no sign of salt water in sight.

“You always do,” he says, “Always have. Probably always will.”

Your grip on his shoulders tighten.

I could never hate you.

How blind you had been. How absolutely, blissfully unaware you had been functioning all these months.

A hand trails from its grip on his shoulders, fingers slipping over his bare collar bone, “What do you mea-“

You don’t get to finish the question or dig any deeper into the revelation. The music both of you had long since abandoned has been replaced by the ringing of your phone.

Eddie’s eyes immediately pinch shut, face twisting with irritation. You can’t tell if he’s more annoyed at the interruption due to whatever breakthrough you two were on the precipice of, or because he’s still painfully hard beneath you. But he quickly wraps one arm around your waist, tugging your torso flush to his as he leans forward quickly and reaches out to grab your phone.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he huffs once his eyes are open again and he’s looking at your phone screen.

Your face has been pressed into the crook of his neck due to the current position and way he’s tightly holding you to him. You have no clue who it is, but you have five decent guesses to throw out.

He answers for you. Sharply and bitterly, he snaps out a, “What do you want, Harrington?”

Steve. One of the five guesses. Go figure.

“Yes, we’re fucking alive,” Eddie holds no patience for your friend, all the softness he’d held for you gone save for the stroke of his thumb against the bare small of your back, “We were-“

A pause. You wonder for a second if he is going to admit it. If right here, right now, he would confess to your friends what has happened. How he could never hate you, how you drive him insane, how by nothing changing that everything has changed.

“Sleeping.”

An answer to your question. You hate your disappointment, and bite it down with vengeance.

You can faintly hear Steve’s voice over the phone, not quite as trilling or pitched as Nancy’s or Robin’s. Eddie’s annoyance still rolls off of him in waves, and you imagine that you’d catch him rolling his eyes along with his little huffs of air if you were to finally lift your head from his neck. But you’re selfish, and his arm is still around you waist as it presses you tight to his chest, so you indulge yourself. You dig your nose deeper against the junction of his neck, you take in his lingering cologne and let the stray curls tickle your cheeks.

You should have known he wouldn’t admit it.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie grumbles into the phone, barely getting out the repetitive word before his breath hitches as you pucker your lips against the skin you’ve been burrowing into. It’s only a chaste kiss, but it has its desired effect, “Okay, Harrington. We’ll send a fucking photo. You done?”

Then it hits you. A fun game, a distraction from your disappoint and a way to crawl under his skin all in one. You fight hard not to let a smile spread at the risk of him feeling it against his neck as you take a deep breath in through your nose, noticing the way his shoulder nearly reflexively lifts slightly as if it tickles, because you’re puckering your lips again.

The second chaste kiss is testing the waters. He doesn’t react. And so you go forth with your plan, mouth falling open, teeth grazing his jugular.

He reacts microscopically. His chest halts movement.

It’s not enough for you.

So you suck. Hard. Puckered lips and a vendetta to prove, you let your teeth bite at the skin that sucks into your mouth.

That does the trick.

“O-Okay!” he yelps out in surprise, his hand bruising as he grips you harder. He tries to pull his neck back from you, but his hand only presses you down onto his lap and you feel his dick twitch beneath his thin pants, “Christ, Harrington. We fucking get it. We’ll send a photo. And we won’t sleep another wink, so bite me,“ he pants out as you move to the spot beneath his ear, finding where his jaw connects to his throat, repeating the process and doing exactly as he had told Steve. His hips buck up into you, “Okay, I’m hanging up now, Harrington. Bye.”

You’re grinning wildly against his ear as he tosses your phone carelessly somewhere on the couch — or maybe the floor, you couldn’t tell at this point — before he’s flipping you down onto your back on the couch and hovering over you.

Your head falls back instinctually, leaving your neck open for him to begin an assault of kisses.

“Are-“ A kiss. “You-“ A bite. “Fucking-“ A soothing lathe of tongue over the bite. “Kidding-“ A harsh suck. “Me.”

You writhe beneath him, but he’s pressing his entire weight down onto you, hips slotted between yours and one hand pinning both your wrists to the cushion above as the other stays glued to your waist.

“Did you think that was funny?” he breathes out against you, letting the tip of his nose barely graze over the base of your throat, “Doing that shit while I was trying to talk Harrington down from that damn ledge?”

“Why was he on the ledge to begin with?” you breathily question, trying to move your hands from his grasp, the urge to run your fingers through his curls growing. He only tightens his hold.

“Apparently,” he pauses and presses a quick kiss at the edge of the sweatshirt collar, looking up at you through his bangs and lashes, “He had texted, and we didn’t respond. Photos are back in demand.”

“We’re quite the commodity,” you try to joke, avoiding his gaze. Trying to avoid the softness buried deep inside there, all soft and melted in shades of brown, “We should start charging them.”

“We are charging them, technically,” he snorts, finally letting go of your wrists and leveling his face above yours.

Right. You keep forgetting the promise of a cash prize if you make it out of this alive.

Alive, not unscathed.

You’re already picturing that cash as blood money, some pathetic trophy that won’t even begin to cover the irreversible scars that will be left behind. All the hurt, all the fights, all the realizations — no amount of promised money can erase them.

You start to consider what could erase them, but you stop yourself when you realize that that admittance is too heavy.

He’s here. The weight of him is pressing into you, the smell of him is encasing you, and the stare of his big brown eyes is locking you in. You have him. For a few more hours, you have him.

The wounds can wait. The time to heal and scar over will come later.

“I guess they are, huh?” you laugh when you realize you’ve gone too long without replying.

The stare turns curious. Still melted chocolate, still deathly soft for you, but curious all the same. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

You’re about to retreat into your own head and consider what he might do with his share of the cash, but that voice in your mind whispers once more.

He’s here. You have him. Just ask him.

“What are you doing with your money?” you blurt out.

He chuckles and shakes his head, curls falling over his shoulders and creating a curtain as he continues to balance his weight on his forearms settled on each side of your head, still hovering over you.

You should probably comment on that. Make a snide remark about it. Shove him off.

You don’t.

“Is that really want you’d like to talk about right now?”

Right, the weight of his hips as he rolls them gently into you reminds you of what the two of you had been doing before the phone call. The boundaries you’d hopped right over, all the lines you two had been in the process of crossing.

The affect you have on him.

Your stomach twists and suddenly your legs fall open wider to welcome him in, only to wrap them up around his waist. He lets you, lets you pull him right in until your chests are flush to each other. The only thing separating your skin from his is this damn sweatshirt.

“I… Maybe,” you force out just before his lips capture yours. It’s not as urgent as when he’d pulled you in for a kiss to Deftones, but it’s still enough to shatter every bone in your body before melding them all back together into something new, something different.

Something changed.

Eddie smiles, and it’s almost shyly. “Maybe?”

You hum, but it’s cut off, caught in your throat with another roll of Eddie’s hips.

“Okay. Let’s talk about it then, sweetheart.”

Another roll of his hips, and you lift your own to meet the thrust this time, trying to catch him against you in a way for reprieve. You can feel the wet patch gathering on your panties, your thighs clenching onto his hips harder.

“What ever shall I do with my money?” he pretends to ponder, eyes shooting up to look away from you in faux contemplation.

As he does it, one of his hands wander over your sternum, dancing above the fabric of the borrowed clothes.

“Maybe I’ll buy a new bike,” he muses, the hand wandering lower, tracing a steady line down your abdomen, “Maybe I’ll get myself a new guitar.”

His hand has reached the hem of the sweatshirt, slips beneath it and plays with the edge of your panties.

Your mouth will be your damnation as you snipe back, “Or maybe you can buy yourself a whole collection of playboys, filled with plenty of models who definitely don’t look like someone you claim to hate.”

His hand retracts immediately, and you can’t help but begin to giggle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you start to gasp out when he lifts away from you, reaching out to grab onto him.

He’s fast, but your hands are quicker. You wrap them around the back of his neck and tug him into you, only for him to continue to lift himself up and bring you with him as well this time.

You resemble a koala, and can only imagine what the scene looks like to an outsider.

“Eddie!” you practically squeal, and can feel the vibrations of his own laughter as he sits up on his knees, you still clinging to him.

His arms wrap around you and you lean back, catching that mischievous glint in his eyes. It breaks through the softness, burns brightly in your chest as your laughter fades into soft breaths that hit his freckled cheeks.

You stare at each other for a moment, a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. His earlier admission isn’t forgotten, the lines crossed all painted in red now.

He’s here. You have him, for now.

You can only imagine the claw marks you will be leaving behind when the clock strikes twenty four hours, and you’re forced to leave him and this behind.

“You, sweetheart,” he finally breaks the silence with gentle smirk, “are a certified boner killer.”

You don’t miss a beat, reaching down between you two, hand cupping his still prominent erection, “You sure about that?”

He only groans in response, and in your following cackles, your hold on him slips.

He could have let you fall back roughly on the couch, especially given his distraction with fighting his ever growing smirk. He could have let you smack your head back on the cushion and let you deal with the dull ache that would have followed. He could have, he could have, he could have.

He doesn’t.

He guides you back with his arms still tight around you. Makes sure that you land softly against the worn plush. Takes his time removing his grip on you before he’s standing up from the couch.

You lay back, so sincerely content as you let out a final breath of a laugh and watch him shake his head in amusement as he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” if it weren’t for the residual giddiness of the moment, you’d have been embarrassed by the clinginess that had threaded its way into your tone.

“The bathroom,” he answers without hesitation, back facing you as he starts down the short hall.

You call after him, “Okay. Don’t take too long this time!”

Even as his laughter echoes faintly, you know you still have him. For now.

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#twenty four hours #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #i may have hyped this one up a little too much #next chapter has some action though lol

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blckbrrybasket · 11 days

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RAHHH i loved the odd!reader piece you posted!! i would love to see more, only if you want to write more, no pressure!! <33

ahh im so happy that you like it!! i love odd!reader so much <3 so so sorry this took a bit to come out

if you or anybody has any ideas for odd!reader plssss send them my way i would love to write more for them!!

have some headcanons and a lil something 💫

- When in public there are times where they’ll never touch their boyfriend or stand so close next to him that their face is in his side.

- It’s become a bit of a one-sided competition for their boyfriend to try and fuck them dumb (quickly mentioned in the blurb but he does take it as a challenge)

- They’re very clumsy. It’s not very noticeable to them anymore. Elbows knocked on door frames, tripping, miscalculating how far away something is, is all common to them.

- Surprisingly not queasy to most things, sees it as a part of life.

- That being said, the most horrendous thing could happen to them and they’d shrug like “:/ what can you do?” While their boyfriend is staring at them in horror.

- Knows way too many random facts. Makes it interesting to watch shows or movies when they randomly drop facts about the filming process or the lore.

- Bounces their leg like nobody’s business. Has spilled things by hitting their knee on the table.

- Egregious sleeper. Why can they fall asleep to the sound of gunshots outside, but if something interrupts their rain sounds they can’t sleep.

- Knows whats best but doesn’t know how to express it so they’ll just say “yes” or “no” and expect everyone to understand why.

The girl on screen pressed herself against the side of the house, panting as she tried to find a good moment to run. You and your boyfriend were watching a horror movie as you squirmed in your seat. Your legs were laid out over his lap, draping over the armrest of the couch.

“She actually called 911.” You muttered, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “Well yeah-“ He started. “No like the phone was still connected. When filming she accidentally called 911 multiple times.” You finished the thought.

He raised his eyebrows at you, not questioning, only turning his head back to the screen when a blood curdling screen was ripped from the actor. “Yeah?” You smiled contently. “Mhm!” A few moments passed by quietly, aside from the gore on the TV.

Your eyes trained on the screen as the girl ran around the house only to be met with the slasher. The knife stabbed into her, a small grimace finding itself onto his face at the forced angle of the cut. “Do you think it would be cool if the cloak was white instead of black?” The question pulled him out of watching the movie and he glanced at you. “Huh?”

“Well originally the cloak was going to be white and if it stayed that way it would be covered in all the blood stains. It’d look cool.” He slowly nodded, “But the black looks cooler in the night.” You paused before a smile spread across your lips. “Yeah. You’re right.” His hand wrapped around your ankle and his thumb slid back and forth over your skin, both of your attentions falling back to the film.

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communistkenobi · 16 days

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Hi, genuine good faith question if you'd like! How is TOS racist? It was my understanding that the OG Series was like, huge for equality in media?

I’m speaking primarily about the content of TOS itself, not its historical impact - I understand it had various historic firsts in terms of having characters of colour in respectable roles, which I’m not dismissing. My experience with the discourse on here surrounding the show is that people front-load these character representations as emblematic of the show’s progressive politics. Which, if we want to go that route, TOS was contemporary to the US civil rights movement, which provides us with a handy measuring stick to see how TOS actually grapples with race, not just the presence of characters of colour themselves. I'm going to be kind of defensive in this explanation, not towards you specifically, but because I have had this conversation with people online many, many, many times, and so any defensiveness on my part is in anticipation of arguments I know will come up as a result of making the basic claim that a show made in America in the 1960s is racist. I'm also going to be copy + pasting from an older post I've made on the subject since it's been a while now since I've watched TOS so some of the details are fuzzy.

Like okay, the premise of TOS is that the Enterprise, as an ambassador of Starfleet/the Federation, is seeking out new alien life to study. The Prime Directive prohibits the Enterprise crew from interfering with the development of any alien culture or people while they do this, so the research they collect needs to be done in an unobtrusive way. I think this is the first point at which people balk at the argument that TOS is racist or has a colonial conception of the world - the Enterprise’s mission is premised on non-interference, and I think when people hear ‘colonial’ as a descriptor they (understandably, obviously) assume it is describing active conquest, genocide, and dispossession. Even setting aside all the times where Kirk does directly interfere with the “development” of a people or culture (usually because they’ve “stagnated” culturally, because a culture "without conflict" cannot evolve or “develop” beyond its current presumed capacity - he is pretty explicitly imposing his own values onto another culture in order to force them to change in a particular way), or the times when the Enterprise is actually looking to extract resources from a given planet or people, I’m not exactly making this claim, or rather, that’s not the only thing I’m describing when calling TOS racist/colonial.

The show's presentation of scientific discovery and inquiry is anthropological - the “object” of analysis is alien/foreign culture, meaning that when the Enterprise crew comes into contact with a new being or person, this person is always read first and foremost through the level of (the Enterprise’s understanding of) culture. Their behaviour, beliefs, dress, way of speaking, appearance, and so on are always reflective of their culture as a whole, and more importantly, that their racial or phenotypic characteristics define the boundaries of their culture. Put another way, culture is interpreted, navigated, and bound racially - the show presents aliens as a Species, but these species are racially homogeneous, flattening race to a natural, biological difference that is always physically apparent and presented through the lens of scientific objectivity, as "species" is a unit of biological taxonomy. Basically species is a shorthand for race. This is the standard of most sci-fi/fantasy genre work, so this is not a sin unique to Star Trek.

Because of this however, Kirk and Co are never really interacting with individuals, they are interacting with components of a (foreign, exotic, fundamentally different) culture, the same way we understand that a biologist can generalize about a species using the example of an individual 'specimen'. And when the Enterprise interacts with these cultures, they very frequently measure them using a universalized scale of development - they have a teleological (which is to say, evolutionary) view of culture, ie, that all cultures go from savage to rational, primitive to advanced, economically simple to economically complex (ie, to capitalist modes of production). And the metrics they are judging these cultures by are fundamentally Western ones, always emphasising to the audience that the final destination of all cultures (that are worthy of advancing beyond their current limited/“primitive” stages) is a culture identical to the Federation, a culture that can itself engage in this anthropological mission to catalogue all life as fitting within a universal set of practices and racial similarities they call “culture.”

This is a western, colonial understanding of culture - racially and spatially homogeneous people comprise the organs of a social totality, ie, a society, which can then be analysed as an “object,” as a “phenomenon,” by the scientists in order to extract information from them to produce and advance state (ie Federation) knowledge. The Enterprise crew are allowed to be individuals, are allowed to be subjects with a capacity for reason, contradiction, emotion, compassion, and even moments of savagery or violence, without those things being assigned to their “race” or “culture” as a whole, but the people they interact with are only components of a whole which are “discovered” by the Enterprise as opportunities to expand and refine the Federation’s body of knowledge.

Spock is actually a good example of what I'm talking about, because he is an exception to this rule - unlike the others in the crew, his behaviour is always read as a symptom of his innate Vulcan-ness, where his human and Vulcan halves war for dominance in his mind and character. Bones (the doctor, one of the main cast) constantly comments on Spock's inability to feel things, that he is callous and unsympathetic, ruled by Vulcan logic to such an extreme that his rationality is a form of irrationality, as his Vulcan blood prohibits him from tempering logic with human emotion and intuition. Now you can argue that Bones is a stand-in for the racists of the world, that Spock proves Bones wrong in that he is able to feel but merely keeps it under wraps, that Vulcans are not biologically incapable of emotion but merely live in a socially repressive culture, but this still engages in the racial logic of the show - Vulcans are a racially-bound species with a single monolithic culture, and Spock's ability to express and feel 'human emotions' is the metric by which he is granted human subjectivity and sympathy.

And on the flip side you have the Klingons - a “race” that is uniformly savage, backward, violent, and dangerous. In the episode Day of the Dove, where Klingons board the Enterprise along with an alien cloud that makes everyone suddenly aggressive and racist (this show is insane lol), the Enterprise crew begins acting violent and racist, but the Klingons don’t change. They aren’t more violent than before (because they already were fundamentally violent and racist), and they don’t become less violent when the cloud eventually leaves (because they are never able to emerge from their violence and savagery as a social condition or external imposition - they simply are that way). Klingons are racially, behaviourally, psychologically, and culturally homogeneous, universally violent and immune to reason, and their racial characteristics are both physical manifestations of this universal violence as well as the origin of it. The writers and creators of TOS are explicitly invoking the orientalist idea of the “Mongolian horde,” representing both the American fear of Soviet global takeover as well as blatantly racist fears about “Asiatics” (a word used in the show, particularly in The Omega Glory where a fear of racialised communist takeover is made explicit) dominating the world.

This is colonial thinking! Like, fundamentally, at its core, this is colonial white supremacist thinking. Now this is not because TOS invents these tropes or is the origin of them, it is not individually responsible for these racial and colonial logics - these conceptions are endemic to Western thought, and I am not expecting a television show to navigate its way outside of this current colonial paradigm of scientific knowledge. I’m also not expecting an average person watching this to pick out all the intricacies of this and link it to the colonial history of Europe or the colonial history of western philosophy/thought. But this base premise of Star Trek is why the show is fundamentally colonial - even if it was the case that the crew never intervened in any alien conflict, never extracted any material resources from other people, this would still be colonial logic and colonial thinking. The show has a fundamentally colonial imagination when it comes to exploration, discovery, and culture.

I think a good place to end is the opening sequence. The show's first line is always "Space! The final frontier." I do not think the word frontier is meant metaphorically or poetically - I think the show is being honest about its conception of space as an infinitely vast, infinitely exotic frontier from which a globally Western civilisation (which the Enterprise is an emblem of) can extract resources, be they material or epistemic

#tos.txt #< have more posts in there also

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zgvlt · 1 year

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sending your crush a survey form hcs part 2 second years x reader (separate) -> riddle, ruggie, azul

author's note: jade, floyd, kalim, jamil, and silver will be posted separately because of the tumblr image limit, i can't fit them all into one post (also i'm having trouble with massive lag for this post as is huhu)

general tags: gn reader, fluff + attempt at humor, sfw, not beta read, mix of text and images (for images, alt text/image description available)

part 1 w/ first years

character: RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS premise/trope: sending Riddle an "academic survey" to answer

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

You've done too good a job at making the link look legit, at hiding your intentions. Using a link shortener like twst.ly so that no preview would show up, talking about how you needed respondents, all that jazz.

Riddle would help any student in need (academically) if he was capable of doing so, he was just that kind of person, but because he liked you he was very willing to go above and beyond.

He was going to help anyway, but telling him things like "I really appreciate you doing this for me," seals the deal for him.

You had a survey that needed answering and you wanted him to answer it because you needed respondents? Well, what if he sends the link to other people as well?

He asks you about how much respondents you still need, though you don't respondent yet. He decides to delay sending it to the rest of Heartslabyul for now, only sending it to Cater and Trey.

Thank the Sevens for that.

Trey and Cater are immediately poking fun at him, telling him to actually open the survey first because they knew that he wouldn't want to send it to anyone if he saw the contents.

"Aren't you lucky you sent this to us and not the rest of Heartslabyul?"

"How embarrassed would you have been if you sent this to the Dorm Leaders gc?"

"Or worse... to Ace and Deuce."

He's rather angry, not necessarily at you (though he is a little bit annoyed, could you not have done something else less... troublesome?) but mostly at himself for not checking first. He should be more vigilant next time.

RIDDLE: Cater said this was a trend, but... I still don't understand why you would make something like this.

You haven't responded yet, so Riddle decides to answer the form all the way through.

In his head he wonders, whatever happened to regular courtship? Like he's not flustered by the whole situation.

Riddle's answers carry that tone where it feels like he's seriously questioning your intentions/decisions, but also like he's trying to answer genuinely. It's almost like he's trying to let you have your cake and eat it too (that is to say, letting you have your fun) despite not being quite sure of how to go about it.

The point is, the fact that he actually answers it is a miracle in itself, and you don't shy from letting him know you appreciate it.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

Actively seeks you out in person to confront you about the form. He has a feeling you were being serious about it despite the formatting, so he pretty much confirms that you do like him.

Also asks you why you would want to go about it this way, and most answers don't exactly satisfy him, but at the end of the day he's happy about the results.

You like him, he likes you, and that's what's important, really.

(Though he has no real intentions of telling his mother that he's getting into a relationship, he wonders how she would react if she found out not only did he not ask his s/o out first, but that you did it in such a bizarre manner)

"I don't think I would even give this the time of day if someone else sent it," Riddle tells you honestly, "but because it's you... even something this weird is endearing."

character: RUGGIE BUCCHI premise/trope: sending Ruggie the classic crush form, except you send it when he's busy with work and now he can't concentrate because he's too busy blushing and giggling and kicking his legs at the thought of you 👍👍

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

He hadn't planned on viewing any of your messages at first (or anyone's messages, really). He planned on viewing them once he finished up for the day.

But Leona was getting annoyed with the constant beeping, and honestly he was too (like, couldn't they just send it all in one message, whatever it was they wanted to say?) so he moved to view the messages quickly, maybe answer if he felt like it, then mute his phone for an hour.

Except he saw that the messages were from you, and he caught a peep of the link preview... and then he just lost it.

"It" being all sense of focus and comprehension and he knows it's bad because Leona's staring at him weirdly.

"Why are you blushing and giggling like a school girl what the hell..."

Leona just doesn't get it, Ruggie justifies. When the actual love of your life confirms their feelings for you it's enough to make anyone collapse to the floor and weep, and if anything Ruggie is holding up pretty well by, well, still being able to fold a shirt properly in spite of it all.

And then he almost messes up the laundry by mixing the colors with the whites, so maybe he is too distracted after all.

RUGGIE: ya rly hda to go send it now of all times, dontcha?? do ya want me to embarras myself in fornt of leona or smth???? wth have mercy on me

He makes a bunch of typos but he can't be bothered to correct them.

He can't really focus for the rest of the day, and when he's free from his assigned tasks he heads straight for his phone. He should be studying, but he doesn't think he can focus on that at this point without reading the form and just... seeing if you're for real, for real.

Ruggie answers like he's trying to be slick but he also can't help but slip in just how much he likes you and the types of reactions you get out of him.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

He needs to call you (honestly would prefer to meet up in person, but it's pretty damn late and he wants you to get your rest and... yeah, the in person talk can wait for a little bit)

Honestly you've just... lightened up his mood, like a lot. Like he just knows he's going to be full of energy and motivation tomorrow, and maybe the days after because of how much happiness you've given him.

You can tease him all you want for his answers and the spelling/grammar mistakes (in his defense, his hands were shaking the whole time!) but he can't even get himself to be too upset by it. You're laughing and giggling and that's all enough for Ruggie's good mood to skyrocket.

After that dies down, though, the two of you end up planning for your upcoming date.

"Don't think I'm not gonna getcha back for this, shishishi..."

character: AZUL ASHENGROTTO premise/trope: sending an s/o application form to Azul, who's been crushing on you for a while now

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

Makes sure to check the link properly first since bait links are popular these days (he learned his internet safety from Idia). Messages you in a different platform to ask if you've been hacked.

When you tell him you were the one who sent the link, it still doesn't quite sink in that you're being genuine. Before a crush you are a friend and he does trust you, but a part of him wonders if this is some prank or if someone forced you to send him something like that. You must know how badly he likes you, don't you? Please don't make fun of his feelings like this.

He calls you to really make sure, and with some reassurance from you he finally understands that this isn't something mean, that it was a trend you wanted to hop on, and that you won't judge him for his answers

You tell him that he doesn't have to answer if it makes him uncomfortable, that you just thought it seemed fun, but he tells you he does want to answer it.

"If... if you really consider me as someone who could become your partner... When opportunity knocks on my door, who am I to not answer its call?"

He tries to sound more confident, but inevitably hangs up because he doesn't think he can answer properly with you on the phone. He might end up typing a bunch of nonsense!

Azul struggles with having a fun answer and answering completely seriously, almost like it's a job interview or something. Doesn't realize until the last few questions that there are no other candidates to compete with. Maybe he should have skimmed all the questions first before answering.

The good thing, though, is that you do learn about how Azul sees romance, so even if the whole form was meant as something silly at first you do learn more about him.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

The last two questions gave Azul some confidence when it came to pursuing you. There's just something reassuring about actually knowing that his feelings weren't unrequited as opposed to having to make assumptions or having to make the effort to get you to fall for him.

You've already made most of the first moves, from confessing your feelings (albeit not quite in person, maybe he could try doing that...), to being the one to ask him on a date... There must be something he can do. He wants to play on equal ground, make the first move as well.

That's when the idea strikes him. It's not very innovative, but there's no need to fix what's not broken, is there?

Azul sits in front of his laptop for approximately an hour, and when he's satisfied he converts the file into a PDF. It's not a very serious document, even if it's formatted as such, and that's how you know that he's finally eased up.

"Since I've passed the application period, the next step is to sign a partnership contract, is it not?"

masterlist | end notes

[ 1 ] twst.ly is basically bit.ly, the link shortener

[ 2 ] compared to part 1 (the first years) where it was set post-NRC, this time i set it during NRC. the remaining second years will also be set during NRC, though the third years is mixed 👍

[ 3 ] the text versions of the images are in the alt text/image description but do let me know if you would prefer it to be in the post itself!

[ 4 ] i'm thinking about whether i should continue making the forms manually instead of just using the actual google forms app, it's such a hassle my laptop keeps overheating these days huhu

#twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst hcs #riddle rosehearts x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #nathya twst writing #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #riddle rosehearts x you #ruggie bucchi x you #azul ashengrotto x you #twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto

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adamstnheights · 1 year

Text

Stitches - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You’re the newest recruit to 141 and still trying to figure out your intimidating, mysterious lieutenant. Being assigned as his partner on the field for the first time on a sniper mission, you’re unsure exactly how to act around him, especially when he has such an… effect on you. But when you both get caught in the crossfire, you’re forced to take cover with him and mend his wounds, much to his (begrudging) appreciation.

An alternative take on the Recon by Fire mission in MWII. Also based loosely around the Simon Riley ASMR video by Jim ASMR on YouTube because it was just so cute :)

Reader’s callsign is Zero (iykyk)

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Sniper Reader, Reader used to want to be a medic, Military Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies, Gunshot Wounds, Ghost being super soft, You taking care of Ghost, Ghost taking care of you, Gentle touches, Needles, Bandages, Stitches, Developing feelings, Ghost trusting you, Flirting, Fluff, Ghost is a cat person (REAL)

Word Count: 7.4k

“Ghost and Zero, you’ll station up at the top of the hill and see if you can take any of the cartel guards out from a distance,” Price ordered over comms. “When the path is clear, Gaz and I will move into the hatchery and clear them out, looking for any evidence of the missiles. Laswell will be out on the water on overwatch. If we need her, she can get to shore and join us in the hatchery.”

Usually, you would be standing in the debriefing room to hear your instructions for a mission, but because of the short notice and urgency, you were listening to Price’s voice over comms in the back of one of the task force’s vans. While Price continued to speak, you slowly let your gaze move over to where Ghost was sitting across from you in the back of the van, only for your whole body to seize up when you realized that he was already staring at you. And of course, you couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking—basically his whole expression was covered by his mask. It frustrated you to no end. It felt like he always had the upper hand, not allowing the enemy or opposition to get a read on his face, which was understandable, but you wanted to know. You wanted to be able to know what he was thinking. In comparison, it made you feel extremely vulnerable. Maybe you’d look into getting your own mask.

Being the rookie made you feel extremely out of place. It didn’t matter you had five years of being a sniper under your belt; you’ve only been with them for six months, so to the rest of Task Force 141, you were still the newbie. Talk about your skill had been passed around by word of mouth, and soon Captain John Price had approached your former unit and proposed a deal to you that was too good to pass up. So a few months and a location change later, you were the newest addition to 141, thus securing your label as “the rookie.” There wasn’t really anything you could do about it.

Luckily, the guys in the unit welcomed you with open arms, although the kindness did come along with a fair share of humorous and flirtatious remarks. Soap and Gaz basically took you under their wing immediately, taking pride in teaching you new things and showing you the ropes of 141. They urged you to join in on their game nights and when they would go out to the bar after a hard day of training or a rough mission. You felt at ease around the other men, too, for the most part.

Ghost was another story. From the first time you met him, you were intimidated. He had a towering, large figure that could speak for itself, but also his voice was deep and gruff, especially when he was barking out orders. You weren’t scared of him, per se, but you were cautious. From the interactions you’ve had with him and the way you’ve observed him on missions, you definitely wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. He was mysterious—the mask and skull cover showed that the most, but on top of that, you noticed the way he expertly dodged any prying questions that Soap would ask him over comms during a mission. When you and the rest of the crew got drunk and began spewing out stories from your former lives, you noticed how Ghost would simply sit back and listen, observe, but not provide any stories of his own. You were sure he had his reasons for being closed off, but you couldn’t help but wish that he were… more approachable. Especially now that you were on your first mission with just him by your side, you felt like you knew him the least out of the other members of 141.

The van slowly and quietly came to a stop towards the top of the hill. Ghost opened the back doors and jumped out onto the ground and you followed, rifle in hand.

“Zero, on me,” Ghost said, nodding his head his way.

The fog along the coastline was thick—good for the enemies not spotting you, but not as good for you spotting the enemies. You stationed yourself about forty yards away from the edge of the uppermost hill, where the grass was thick and high. The outline of the hatchery could be seen far, far in the distance, right along the edge of the land. From where you and Ghost were crouching, you could see below where a dirt path winded slowly down the hills. It would take some time and patience to fully push forward and make it safe enough for Price and Gaz to breach the buildings down below. But you were ready; more importantly, you were counting on this mission to prove your worthiness to Ghost. It was kind of pathetic. You knew you were a damn good sniper out on the battlefield, and yet, ever since Ghost’s intense, unreadable gaze landed on you, you’d felt determined to do whatever it took to get his approval. It didn’t help that the way he looked at you kind of really made your heart race, in the most confusing way, and the periodic sarcastic jokes he would make over comms made him more endearing.

Still, you didn’t want to push your luck. The last thing you wanted was for this mission to bring you back to square one in terms of your reputation on the team. In front of you, Ghost crouched even lower to the ground, pointing his rifle outward and looking through the scope. You fell back slightly behind him, also crouching in the grass. After a few moments of silence, you furrowed your brow at him, unsure whether he was going to say something or if he was just trying to act like you weren’t even there. Maybe he was annoyed by you, annoyed that out of everyone else on 141, he was stuck with the rookie.

Finally, he nodded his head forwards, motioning you to follow him. Both of you crawled through the grass until you reached closer to the edge of the hill. You both got down, fully lying on the dirt. Through the fog, you could now make out the wire fences around the hatchery, where cartel were guarding the entrances and walking along the dirt paths surrounding it.

“I can see about ten of ’em, all ’round the entrance fence,” Ghost finally broke the silence.

“We need to take our time,” you said, “They’ll spread out, into groups of two or three. Then we can take them out.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he replied, “Let me know who to take out.” Normally, he would be argumentative to a new recruit taking the initiative, but there was something about you that fascinated him. He didn’t mind hearing your voice walking through the plan and telling him what to do. Price had told him about your skill; he knew that you knew what you were doing.

You readjusted your rifle just so, looking through the scope.

“On top of the building, two snipers,” you announced, “Do you see my laser on your thermal?”

You could hear Ghost repositioning his rifle a couple feet away from you in the grass. “Affirmative.”

“Go.”

You pulled the trigger, hitting the sniper on the right. Mere seconds afterwards, you heard Ghost’s rifle go off and through the scope you could see the second sniper’s body fall over.

“Got ’im,” he said. “On the right side of the fence, near the blue shipping container, there’s two.”

“I’m on him,” you said, lining up your shot next to his.

Ghost shot first this time, you followed him. The two men by the shipping container dropped to the ground. You continued scanning the area.

“Three more, below, closer to us, walking by that white van,” you flexed your hand and regripped the trigger.

“I’ll get the stray,” Ghost said.

“Copy that.”

You lined up your shot to the guy furthest to the right, watching as Ghost’s laser appeared over the man next to him. Again, seconds after you shot, Ghost followed, taking out the other. He quickly readjusted his hold on the rifle to focus in on the third one of the group. As you watched through the scope, the third man immediately went onto high alert, pointing his gun around him. Ghost wasn’t worried though as he lined up his shot. Poor bloke; unlike the first two men, this one would spend his last living seconds in panic mode.

Unfortunately, in the few seconds in between, the third man shouted and seemingly alerted someone else. Immediately after Ghost shot him down, two more men came running into view, shooting upwards towards the two of you. With a few uncoordinated shots, you and Ghost took them down quickly, but the not-so-subtle gunfire from your direction gave away your position. Before you could even think about moving, a bullet sped right past your view and into Ghost’s arm.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ghost grunted, sucking in his breath in pain. “Where the fuck—?”

You were frantically scanning the area for where the shot could have come from when another bullet came speeding towards you, and you felt a sharp pain searing through your own arm. Furrowing your brow, you struggled to look even harder through the scope. “Shit—!” You winced.

“Got ’im,” Ghost announced, pulling the trigger, “To your left, on top of that small shed. There was another one.”

“Fuck.” You noticed two more men emerging from behind the shed. Both of you quickly took them down. “We– We need to push forward, we don’t have the best view from here. I can’t tell if we cleared the whole area.”

“Copy that.”

You began to crawl forward, the pressure of leaning on your right arm not helping the gash there. Before you could crawl even a foot you felt an unfamiliar touch on your forearm. Ghost had placed his gloved hand there, and you turned to look at him.

“You okay?” He asked lowly. You nodded your head, too shocked to speak.

You and Ghost quickly moved forward, onto an area of grass a bit lower down the hill than where you were before. You could see a bit closer now, and from the new angle, you could make out the rest of the area below. There were a handful more men on guard around the building, and you gripped your rifle hard in an attempt to distract your body from the pain. You monitored Ghost’s laser and helped him take out the men accordingly. Barely any more gunfire was exchanged.

“Price, Gaz—we cleared the outside surroundings of the buildings. You should be good to go in now,” he directed over comms.

“Copy. Good work, you two,” Price replied.

You met Ghost’s eyes from between the blades of grass and you could tell that he was intentionally not letting Price know that you two got hit. You could have spoken up yourself but you had successfully eliminated everyone and neither bullet seemed to have hit anything critical. Giving the lieutenant a knowing nod, you scanned the area and noticed a stream of water by a small stone building. It wasn’t really a building, more like a small hut. Ghost saw where you were looking and nodded his head towards it, giving you the go ahead.

Crouching slightly, you both quickly snuck towards the stone shack. Ghost positioned himself to cover the rickety wooden door, which you kicked in, instantly holding your rifle up to clear the inside. He followed you close behind, checking all corners of the worn-over room. Everything inside was covered in moss or other overgrown plants.

“Clear.” Ghost stated, lowering his gun. You were already sliding down against the stone wall towards the corner of the room, grasping the side of your arm. Ghost rushed to your side, sitting next to you. “Here,” he went to look at your arm, but you expertly reached for him first.

“Show me yours first,” you whispered, “Mine’s just a graze. Yours is worse.”

“Are you defying your superior?” He asked. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Yours is worse,” you repeated, shaking your head, “The bullet lodged in there. I need to take a look.” You were staring at his left bicep, where the layers of jacket and shirts were ripped into by the bullet. The hole in Ghost’s skin was large, bleeding profusely.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “I’m more worried about you, Zero.”

Your eyebrow raised and you tilted your head up to look at him. Behind the mask, you could see his eyes clearly. They were hazel, and for probably one of the first times since you’ve known him, they looked soft and genuine. Up close, you could see little spots where the black paint smudged and his skin was peeking through. His eyelashes were blonde, slightly covered by some black face paint, but definitely blonde. Suddenly, you were trying to picture Ghost’s blonde hair under the mask and balaclava. You weren’t as intimidated by him anymore as you were intrigued—deep down, you wished you could see more of him.

From what you’ve observed of him (plus things Soap and Gaz have said), you knew he wasn’t really as big and scary as he seemed to be. He cracked jokes over comms during missions. During downtime on base he’d join the rest of the group playing cards or drinking, still wearing his balaclava obviously, but without the skull cover and only minimal black eye black on, so you could see more of his face clearly. You would never admit it to the rest of the guys, certainly not Soap, but you found Ghost to be quite handsome. (You could just hear Soap teasing you: You don’t even know what he looks like! He could be ugly!) Between his deep voice, towering figure, and the way his hands worked around his rifle (you have stared too many times to admit), he was… hot. What more could you say? It felt like a silly high school crush; he was your superior and you barely knew anything about him. But… you wished you could learn more. You would, if he’d let you. You would.

And now, with his face only inches away from yours, his eyes looking at you intently, you felt determined to take care of him. You wanted to see that softer side of him, and you also wanted an excuse to dote on him. Already, he was acting a bit more flustered than usual with you trying to defy him. You wondered how long you’d be able to keep it up for.

“I’m not taking that for an answer,” you insisted. “Yours is worse, so we’re taking care of you first.”

Ghost raised his eyebrows, his mouth partly open in shock of your defiance, but his lips spread into a smirk, amused by your determined edge. He was intrigued by you, so he’d let you win this argument. He didn’t say anything more as you inched closer to him. He sat with his entire back against the wall, facing forward. You turned your body towards him, sitting cross-legged as you placed a hand on his arm where the bullet wound was.

“I… think you’re going to have to take this off. The jacket, at least. Sorry, Lieutenant,” you said.

“You can call me Ghost, you know,” he said as he leaned forward to unclip his tactical vest and shuck the jacket off.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, “I was just trying to be polite, I guess.”

“Don’t need to be polite with me,” he smirked.

“Okay… Ghost,” you smiled. You took off your own tactical vest and rummaged through the back pockets, pulling out your first aid kit. You opened the kit and took out the tweezers. “Sorry if this hurts.”

“S’alright, not the worst thing I’ve endured. And I haven’t had the privilege of such an… assertive patching up,” Ghost could feel himself blushing behind the mask. He was glad you couldn’t see.

First, you inspected the bullet. It had implanted inside his arm, making it impossible for any kind of extraction, especially under conditions like these. With only minimal shattering, the pieces embedded into the muscle, there were no critical places hit or at risk. Your main goal was to stop the bleeding so you could stitch the wound closed.

“It seems like… most of your muscle absorbed the bullet. No bone damage or critical areas hit, so… all I’m gonna do is stitch you up,” you explained. You held back a giggle, pushing away the urge to squeeze his arm; you weren’t entirely sure if he’d like that very much (you were almost positive he’d kill you). “When we get back to base, the nurses at the infirmary can keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything, and if not, then it’ll just heal over.”

“Aw, no trophy for me to take home?” Ghost asked.

“You still get to take it home,” you replied, taking your two fingers and tapping his arm above the wound, “just in here. Hey, now it’ll always be with you.” He shuddered at your touch.

You began cleaning around and in the wound, earning a sharp hiss from Ghost’s mouth as you wiped the area off with a small rag and some water from your hydration bladder. You poured some water slowly onto the wound, trying to flush out any dirt or debris, before placing some gauze over it and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. While your one hand was pushing against his arm, you reached your other hand back into the first aid kit, fishing around for your stitching tools. You took out a needle with thread, along with a needle driver. You placed the needle driver on your leg for the time being.

You dug into one of your pockets, brandishing a small square alcohol wipe package, which you promptly ripped open with your teeth so you wouldn’t have to set the needle down. Ghost practically had to hold back from choking on his own breath, the way you were so focused and determined was certainly making him feel some unfamiliar type of way. He had barely gotten a chance to hesitate or argue against you patching him up, he was too mesmerized in watching you and you were already grabbing a hold of his arm again, sending a tingle down his spine as you cleaned his wound.

Then, with one hand, you pierced the skin on one side of the open wound with the needle, then the other side. Your other hand held the needle driver, which you used to grip onto the end of the needle, pulling the thread through the newly made holes. With an even amount of thread left on either side of the wound, you wrapped the thread from the left side around the needle driver twice, then grabbed the other end of the thread with the driver. You pulled from both ends gently, making a first throw of the stitch. You did it again, looping the one side of the thread around the driver, grasping the other end, and pulling it tightly to make the knot. Ghost watched, almost in awe, at your expert handiwork. You made it look so easy.

“I... wanted to be a nurse, or a medic, or whatever, you know,” you rambled as you moved up the wound a few centimeters, piercing the skin to start another stitch, “I made it through undergrad and then… shit just didn’t really work out. But hey, I found out I was a pretty good sniper. So I’m good for somethin’, at least.”

Simon felt his whole body heating up from the way both of your hands were making contact with his upper arm. One hand was gently pressing down on his bicep around the wound while your other had the needle held in between your fingers. The gash you were closing up on him was large; it was certainly going to leave Ghost with a jagged scar. But for once, he felt at ease.

In all his years in the military, the marks and scars that have riddled his body only brought him more shame and discomfort. Sure, there were a few scars that were his “go-to” to talk about when the other guys began showing off about past endeavors (This one here, knife fight. I grabbed the bloke from behind and stabbed’im in the neck, but not before he got one in my side). Other than that, most of the bullet holes and jagged lines where his skin couldn’t fully heal only reminded him of the horrors and the pain. Now, though, the thought of having a scar on his arm from a wound that you took care of, he couldn’t be more elated. A mark on his body, stitched together carefully and gracefully by you. A secret moment—a memory—that only the two of you shared, forever imprinted into his arm; a scar that no one else would know the backstory to, unless he decided to tell it (he wouldn’t—he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else).

Okay, so maybe some sort of feelings were blossoming in the cold, cold heart of Simon Riley. You didn’t have much of an idea about it, and honestly, neither did Ghost himself. Soap had teased him multiple times about a supposed “crush” that Ghost didn’t fully realize he had. But the sergeant certainly had. Soap teased him about how he always insisted he didn’t want to play cards with the rest of the team, only to grab a seat next to you and strategize how to beat everyone else. Was it an excuse to sit real close to you and exchange whispers and laughter? Soap would never get an answer because Ghost would tell him to fuck off, but he already knew the answer anyways.

Ghost’s heart was racing, suddenly and somehow nervous in your presence.

“Why do they call you Zero?” He asked abruptly, a random question spilling from his lips. He just wanted to keep hearing you talk to him.

“Isn’t that like, impolite to ask?” You smirked.

He laughed—a genuine, full out laugh. Your eyes brightened. “I’m only curious,” he said softly. “Jus’ tryin’ to make conversation.”

“Well, why do they call you Ghost?” You shot back playfully.

“Now that’s classified, love.” His eyes immediately widened as the endearing term slipped from his lips. He hoped you didn’t catch it; meanwhile, you were going to think about it for the rest of the week. You grinned to yourself, and he looked down at his hands and focused on how your needle pierced his skin—a certain amount of discomfort, but something that felt good knowing that you were right there next to him. He didn’t want to get into his callsign; however, he was willing to give you something else. “My name—my real name, I mean… It’s Simon.”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You almost couldn’t believe that he told you, you hadn’t expected him to want you to know something like that. “Simon,” you repeated, watching as he nodded his head. “That’s a nice name. Simon. So… am I allowed to call you Simon now?”

Ghost looked past you at the wall for a brief moment, thinking. “Not on the field,” he stated, “But… when we’re back on base… sure. Yeah. Call me Simon.”

You shivered at his deep voice. Simon, Simon, Simon. You wanted to say it again and again. And he wanted to hear you say it. He would like his name a thousand times better if it was coming from your mouth.

“Simon—”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. Ghost,” you giggled.

Three stitches down. You kept working, quickly and efficiently. Ghost kept watching you, wondering why Price hadn’t brought you onto the team as a medic. Not that your sniping abilities weren’t needed and greatly appreciated, but Ghost selfishly thought about how from now on, if he got so much as a small scrape, he’d go to you for help. Soon enough, you were finishing the last throw on the fourth stitch. You moved onto the next one, lacing the thread through the needle to start again.

“Don’t know how to use half the shit in the first aid kit,” now it was Ghost’s turn to ramble, “Usually just slap a bandage on ’n hope for the best. I mean, I’m not stupid, I don’t leave my shit untouched to get infected or anything. I just… don’t really follow up on any of my doctor’s appointments. But I’ve made it alright so far.”

“You should let yourself be taken care of more often,” you said softly. Your face grew hot when you realized the way that could have sounded and you added, “When you get hurt like this. You don’t have to always put on a brave face and grit through the pain. You need to take care of yourself.”

Ghost scoffed almost instinctively, but his heart swelled at your concern for him. He admired you for being so caring, not just to him, but to everyone on the team. Despite not always showing it, he cared deeply about all of the other guys on 141, he would die for any of them. He didn’t have a family, but 141 was the closest he had to one. The way his team interacted with each other was important to him, and watching how you melded with everyone else over the past couple of months, he felt happy, content. Your kindness only intrigued him more; he wished that he could be the only recipient of your sweet words and attention.

“Well, I– I don’t usually trust anyone to patch me up,” he attempted at some sort of compliment. Your eyebrow raised and you looked up at him.

“Hmm. So… you trust me then?” You asked cautiously. You heard stories about how Ghost hardly trusted anyone, and your heart began to beat faster at the implication that you had somehow made it on the list of those he did.

“You could say that,” he said. He cursed himself in his mind for not knowing how to properly talk to you, how to make you feel cared about the way you made everyone else feel cared about.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” A smirk spread across your face.

“Fuck’s sake, just take the compliment, will ya?” Ghost practically grumbled, sounding like an annoyed child.

You let out a soft laugh. Ghost put the sound of your laugh into the back of his mind, for safekeeping. “That’s your way of giving me a compliment, huh?” You teased.

“M’not very good at it, am I?” He sighed into a small laugh.

“Just a bit rusty,” you tilted your head up at him, your faces somehow closer than you had remembered, “But you can get better with practice.”

“Practice, hm?”

“Uh-huh. You can feel free to practice your compliments and pick up lines on me anytime.” You were too shy to make eye contact with him after that; you began to focus extremely on his wound.

Ghost’s right eyebrow raised slightly, unable to properly register whether you were genuinely insinuating that you would enjoy it if he flirted with you. As if he even knew how to. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed that he had no idea what to say. He thought about Johnny, and how his downright stupid pick up lines he used on people at the bar usually actually worked. There was no way Johnny would let him hear the end of it if he approached him for help with flirting, but Ghost wondered who else he would want to confide in when they returned to base.

“Almost finished,” you announced, finishing another suture. The skin was carefully pulled back together, only needing one or two more stitches. “I am fairly confident that this will heal very quickly and very nicely. Well, granted that you go back to the infirmary and get yourself followed up on.” You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Do I have to go to the infirmary when we get back?” He complained. You laughed at the way he practically whined.

You looped the thread again with the needle driver and began the last suture. In a matter of moments, you’d knotted the thread three times over and secured the suture flat to the skin. You moved your head closer to inspect your work, nodding and looking up at him.

“Well, I’m done stitching you up. And yes, you do, because you need to make sure your wound doesn’t get infected,” you said, half sternly. Soap told you probably hundreds of stories about Ghost refusing to get proper medical help after returning from a mission, and your fleeting former life as an almost-nurse made you feel very strongly on the topic. “Please, after all I did to stitch you together, won’t you make sure that it heals alright?”

His heart swelled. As much as he tried to push down feelings like this, he knew that he’d do anything for you. And you asked so nicely. However, he had a negotiation in mind.

“Well… What if I get checked up on by you? When we get back to base? You know, instead of going to the infirmary?” He raised his eyebrow and watched the gears turn in your mind. He prayed that his message would come across properly: I’d rather see you. I trust you more.

“Don’t go getting too attached to your medic, now,” you fake tsk-ed at him, but you were smiling, too. Ghost laughed. Too late for that.

“You can give me a once over when we get back. Vouch for me so I don’t have to go deal with the other doctors,” he pushed.

“You’re very difficult, Ghost,” you tutted. “But… I’d rather be the one to make sure you’re alright. That way I can ensure you’re following the proper recovery routine.” You reached into your kit again and got out a bandage roll. You reached out for his arm again, beginning to wrap the bandage gauze around his arm.

“And what kind of recovery routine would you want me to follow?”

You clicked your tongue, thinking. “You have to let me eat dinner with you in your room. And then after, I can check your wound,” you decided. Luckily, the words coming out of your mouth were far from Go on a date with me, but it was certainly the closest you’d get. Ghost hardly ever ate dinner in the common area with the rest of the task force, you assumed mostly because eating would involve him having to pull his mask up. Remembering this fact, you quickly added, “I won’t even look at you while you eat. I just… thought maybe you’d like some company.”

He stopped himself from blurting out something inappropriate, a dumb teasing line about you just trying to make up an excuse to get into his bedroom. His usual confidence to say whatever dumb, crass joke he wanted disappeared with you so close to him. He was more nervous than anything to scare you away, to say something that would make you not want to be around him.

“I’d accept that,” he finally said. “And… you wouldn’t need to do that.” He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. “You’re allowed to take a look at me while I’m eating.” He smirked as he saw your cheeks grow red.

“I— I mean, I didn’t mean I wanted to like, stare at you while you’re—” you tripped over your words, stopping to take a breath and collect your thoughts. Slowly, you opened your mouth again, “Well, I mean, I am curious… I guess…”

Ghost was smiling proudly under his mask, finding it incredibly endearing the way you admitted your curiosity. He always stuck to his secrecy behind the mask for the most part; he was sure that the other guys had seen his jawline and mouth from the times he ate or drank around them, but they never made too big of a deal (besides Soap, who would use the mask as a prime source for his teasing). More often than not, on base, he’d retreat to his room to eat simply to avoid any annoyances around lifting the mask up and back down over and over. But now, really thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t mind at all if you saw him eating. Maybe, just maybe, he would enjoy your company for dinner on a daily basis. He wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet, but in the back of his mind, he already knew.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ghost said, “I’d rather be able to look at you and talk to you while we eat.”

“So you’re taking my offer,” you beamed.

“That I am. Now let me look at you.”

The lacerations along your own arm were stinging and bleeding, but somehow the high of the lieutenant caring about you overrode that pain. Still, you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to have Ghost dote on you, although you had a feeling he wouldn’t be as gentle as you were with him. Either way, you let him help you take your jacket off and you shuddered at the few moments his bare hand brushed against you. He placed his hands on either side of you, on your shoulders, turning you more towards him, closer to him. He looked at your arm.

“Look, we have matching wounds,” he said, raising his own arm up next to yours. You let out a small laugh, not expecting him to say something like that. It was sweet.

“We both have something to remember this day by.”

“You want to remember this?” He asked, as if he weren’t going to think about the way you gently stitched him up and took care of him for the rest of his life.

“Of course,” you replied, “We completed our mission, quite well, I might add, and I think we make a good team. Plus, you told me your name. So of course I want to remember this.”

Ghost blinked at you, trying to decipher any evidence of disingenuousness in your face, only to be met with the exact opposite. Your expression was soft and genuine. Your eyes shimmered for him. Ghost wasn’t used to hearing such nice, kind things towards himself, and you could tell he wasn’t used to it by the way he remained silent, not even coming up with a dry joke to change the subject. You wondered how many times you would have to compliment him before you could really get through to him.

“You’re staring, Zero,” Ghost’s deep voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Can’t help that you’re nice to look at.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were flushing again. His hands were slightly shaky as he took your arm, closer to him this time. He shifted his whole body so he was completely facing you, ready to patch you up.

You had only been grazed by the bullet, but it still hurt like hell. Your whole right arm was burning up with a searing pain, not the worst you’ve ever felt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. The skin on your arm wasn’t torn open the same way Ghost’s was, with the bullet embedding inside, but it was like the edge of the bullet tried to scoop into your skin like a shovel into dirt. It didn’t go through or below the skin, but it was deep enough that blood was trickling down your arm. You were so focused on taking care of Ghost that you had barely noticed it.

“Fuckin’ hell, Zero,” Ghost said, his eyes widening in concern from seeing your wound more clearly. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t lodge in ya.”

He reached next to him and grabbed a wad of gauze, dampening it with some water and placing it over you. His large hand placed pressure on you to stop the bleeding. You tried not to think about his hand pushing against you in a different context. His hands were warm on you and you couldn’t help but shiver. You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps along your arm.

After a few minutes of applying pressure to your wound, Ghost lifted up the gauze, inspecting you.

“Looks like the blood mostly stopped,” he told you, putting the wad of gauze next to him on the ground. He took out his own alcohol wipes, holding them up first as if to warn you This might hurt. He held your arm with one hand and wiped the wound with the other. The alcohol stung but it didn’t matter. Ghost was taking care of you. “Hold still.”

As he sanitized your wound, Ghost would wince whenever he heard you suck in a breath or make a small, pained sound from the alcohol. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to be gentle with you like you were with him. Sure, maybe he wasn’t very good at all that, but he’d like to try, for you. His fingers brushed against your skin as he ran the alcohol wipe over the scrapes a few times, sanitizing the area and wiping away the blood.

“Don’t have any antiseptic,” he mumbled.

“Wait, I do,” you speak up, taking out a small tube of antiseptic ointment from your kit. Handing it to him, he put some on his pointer and middle fingers, gently making contact with your skin. He patted the ointment into the wound and the skin around it, his expression deeply focused to make sure he wasn’t hurting you. He wiped the excess on a small square of gauze and looked at you, as if waiting for approval. You blinked at him, smiling sweetly, and he turned away, always nervous when you smile at him, to reach for the bandage roll.

“I, uh, used to have a dog. German Shepherd. He got his back paw caught in a chain fence once and I had to bandage his leg and everythin’... Guess that’s the closest I ever got to bein’ a medic,” Ghost chuckled softly, unraveling the bandage and holding the end of it in place over your arm, using his other hand to begin wrapping it around you.

“A dog, hm?” Now that piqued your interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a dog person.”

He shook his head. “Not really. More of a cat person, actually.”

“You’re joking,” you gasped. You tried to imagine Ghost with a cat cuddled up on his lap or chest.

“Cats get a bad rep,” he said. “I like that they’re independent and do their own thing most of the time. But they’re still sweet, they’ll still rub against you when you pet them and curl up next to you on the couch. They’re more stand-offish and brooding than dogs, I guess. But what’s so bad about that?”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you whispered. Ghost locked eyes with you, and you could tell that his eyebrows were raised. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. You continued, “But don’t worry. I really like cats, too. Misunderstood creatures. And cute.” You smiled at him, hoping to God he understood that you were trying to flirt with him. It was hard to tell, but you assumed by the way he chuckled softly and moved even closer to you to continue patching you up that he got it.

He placed his hand on your arm and ripped the bandage, placing the rest of the roll back into his kit. He repositioned the ending of the bandage so that it stuck on top of itself, keeping the wrapping in place without any need for medical tape. When his hands left your arm, you had to hold yourself back from frowning, already missing the skin-to-skin contact.

“Well, I think tha’ll do ya good, a’least until we get back, yeah?” Ghost said, leaning back from you a bit. Still, you noticed that the way you were sitting, your legs were still touching.

“Thank you,” you placed your hand over the bandage, moving and flexing your arm to see how it felt.

Ghost got up from the ground and began putting his jacket and tactical vest back on. He walked a few steps across the room where he had leaned his rifle up against a dusty table. Rummaging through his vest for some ammo, he began reloading his gun and humming ever so softly to himself. You watched him, your cheeks tingling with warmth. As much as you wanted to get back to base, you also didn’t want to leave this moment. You doubted that anyone else had the privilege to see him like this. In Ghost’s world, watching him reloading his gun was probably the most domestic thing you would ever be able to watch him do. When he finished, he turned and looked at you, completely catching you staring. You saw slight motion under the mask—he had to be smiling. The thought made your heart race. But you cleared your throat and scrambled to your feet, turning around to pick up your jacket and tactical vest off of the ground. You zipped up your jacket, half turned away from Ghost, but feeling his eyes on you.

“Zero.” His gruff voice sent shivers down your spine. You turned around and met his gaze. Those hazel eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Glad you’re safe.”

Your heart raced. Ghost’s heart softened.

———

The flight back to the base landed in the early hours of the morning. The sun had barely started to rise, the sky a deep pinkish red as you and the rest of 141 walked back into the building. Gaz and Price had successfully breached the hatchery, clearing it out and finding evidence of tunnels underneath the lighthouse on the island. Laswell would talk to Shepherd and figure out a game plan, but at least for one night, you would be able to relax.

As soon as everyone reached back to the barracks, everyone scattered into their rooms to clean up, unpack, and get some shut eye. Despite it being early in the morning, everyone on 141 hadn’t slept for at least 24 hours. You took a quick shower and changed into something warm and comfy, falling asleep in your bed without any tossing and turning. You awoke later in the afternoon, around four o’clock, stomach grumbling. Your face lit up, remembering your arrangement with Ghost—Simon.

You put some shoes on and freshened yourself up in the mirror, suddenly feeling nervous and yet you were so excited. Walking into the common area, you opened one of the fridges and took out a pasta dish you had made the other day. You split the leftovers in half, putting it into two bowls and microwaving them. Humming to yourself, you realized that you were actually getting the thing you’d been wanting ever since you met him: true, one-on-one time with the brooding lieutenant. Since yesterday, your feelings towards him had only blossomed further, and from the way he had looked at you and leaned close to you, you had a little bit of hope that maybe he could feel the same. You felt like a giddy highschooler as you took the bowls out of the microwave and quickly grabbed some utensils from one of the drawers. When you spun around, you almost crashed into Price who was entering the kitchen area with Gaz.

“Oh, sorry, Captain! Didn’t see you there,” you apologized but swiftly moved past them, barely paying either of them any mind.

“Where’s she going in such a hurry?” Gaz asked, raising his eyebrow as you continued down the hall. Price gave him the same puzzled look back.

“Hey, Zero!” Price called. You spun around. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I’m just bringing some dinner to Simon’s room!” you lifted up your hands with the two bowls of food to show them. Price and Gaz nodded slowly, and you were clearly in a hurry because you hardly waited for either of them to reply before you turned back around.

You turned the corner at the end of the hall out of their view. Both men were still staring at where you were standing seconds before.

“I didn’t know he let people into his room,” Price said, grinning ear to ear.

Gaz stood frozen in place, “I… Did she just call him Simon?”

Price choked out in laughter.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #simon riley fic #mwii #my stuff

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thearchercore · 4 months

Note

"I could write essays about how charles' relatable silly posts are part of his PR rebrand to create a stronger personal brand outside of ferrari like his PR moves are EXCELLENT"

Are you just going to be a tease and not write the essay? Because I would SIT DOWN for this essay.

he's an insane individual and with each new post on social he blows my mind. i have personal experience in PR and presenting an individual as a brand and let me tell you, the awareness charles has about himself is INSANE.

let's have a look at the subtle changes charles made in 2024 to his instagram:

here's his winter break feed from 2023:

out of all these posts, only one could be considered as "silly" (the pizza eating one, HOWEVER, it was part of a carousel that also featured serious pictures of his training).

now let's look at 2024 winter break feed:

i marked it on the feed itself, but he hasn't posted a single serious pic from his training in the dolomites (and he was on a 24hr skiing trip from italy to austria i may add so that would be a huge flex -- again no post). he chose to post a picture of him falling, a video of being insane and sliding down a mountain, and then eating an icecream in the snow.

now, re: his brand awareness, his lore goes CRAZY. back before christmas he had a Q&A on threads where he said his fave ice cream flavour was vanilla, people judged him. he went on to make a whole photoshoot with a vanilla ice cream. not many people would connect it, but it just shows how aware he is of what he shares with the general public.

he also now features much less ferrari on his IG. also worth noting that to match his feed, he wore exclusively red jacket during his winter training last year to match the other pictures where he wears the ferrari red suit. now, his feed is more neutral, less red for sure. i'm not saying it's him going to a different team. i personally think it's him building his own brand and trying to distance himself from being JUST a ferrari driver.

now, i made a whole post about charles and his relatable posts but just admit, would you be more likely to notice a post where he does something silly, unexpected, authentic, than a perfectly staged professional training photo? exactly.

in fact, his ice cream pics gained 1M likes SO FAST - he posted them around 6pm and reached a million likes before midnight. now it's on 1.6M likes. bear in mind he has "only" 13M followers. that means he manages to activate a huge number of his followers to engage with his posts. to compare, lewis has 35M followers. how many likes do his posts reach? around 700k likes if they aren't racing related. do you see how insane this level of engagement is?

he has a good understanding of the social media environment, and understands that showcasing his personality more rather than a crafted PR image works to his advantage.

he seems then more approachable, stands out in the crowd of other drivers.

also one thing that i noticed is how insanely well his branded posts do. branded posts underperform, that's a fact. but charles' branded reels get millions of views -- 12.8M views for the apm monaco promo, 25M views for his meta promo.

to compare other non-branded content, his piano reel from 22 weeks ago got around 7.7M views. ferrari posts that were co-posted by charles gain around 3-5M views if you look at the usual performance.

the pattern is clear -- charles is outgrowing ferrari and the brand that ferrari offers. the individual brand that he crafted for himself is getting stronger, and him and his team know how to navigate in it and capitalize on it. he no longer is tied to ferrari, or even racing. he can do well enough with a video of him playing a piano than a video of him scoring a pole position.

again, racing is in charles' blood and at his core, he's a racer, but having such a strong individual branding as an internet personality is a huge advantage when it comes to brand deals, sponsors, and the contract negotiations he could be having.

that being said, what you see on social media does not have to be reality. it can be a carefully crafted pr image. HOWEVER, charles also has a great advantage of the thousands of meetings with fans that claim he was incredibly nice. or meetings with partners, that always cannot stop complimenting how approachable and interested he was in person.

that also benefits him, people always want to root for/support people that are genuine in real life, and charles seems to live up to that expectation.

#charles leclerc #lestappen gate 2023 #lestappen #formula 1 #f1 #lestappen gate 2024

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briarmoon1015 · 3 months

Text

I think I’ve already confessed that I’m not a big birdflash fan, but there is something I really gotta point out because it’s bothering me.

I see a lot of people use specific comic panels to try and show how close these two characters are, but completely miss the whole point of the comic itself.

For example, I’ve seen a lot of people use panels from The Flash 1987 210, in which Wally reflects on his relationship with dick.

The problem with this is they are literally cutting out the next part of the page that explains that they have drifted apart

Wally is extremely different from dick, and once he takes up the flash mantle, it becomes clear that these two characters are on different paths. Wally wants to uphold the legacy of the flash, dick desperately wants to escape the legacy of Batman. Wally has a wife, three children, and a stable job. Dicks life changes at a moments notice, one minute he’s broke, one minute he’s rich, sometimes he has a job as a police officer, sometimes he’s dating one of his many red headed girlfriends, he’s the opposite of stable.

And that’s not to say the different characters can’t be friends or be together, but as this same comic shows, these two often struggle to understand one another once adults

Wally, after zoom caused his wife Linda to have a miscarriage, went to Hal as the spectre for help, which no one liked, including Dick. He is somewhat miffed Wally didn’t come to him, be he also sides with Bruce about how reckless and stupid the action was

He definitely empathizes with Wally’s situation, but he’s not really there to give support. Later on, dick does start to get the point, and the two take down gorilla grod. Dick apologies for his actions and both agree to stay in touch more. Obviously every good friendship is going to have some moments of tension and disagreement, but I think this really shows why Wally and Dick fell apart as adults.

And this really is the crux of why I’m personally not a big fan or birdflash. These two characters are inherently different and it’s so rare for me to see any birdflash content that acknowledges this. They can be together in a way that acknowledges and builds off of this, but it really hasn’t been done.

More importantly, I’ve noticed that to make burdflash work, a lot of fans completely erase Wally’s character to ignore these differences. His own goals, his own backstory, his own relationships, are just gone so he can be with dick. There is never any acknowledgment of the canon of Wally’s own motivations, such as living up to the flash mantle, or any mention of his connections to characters outside of Dick.

Even more so, I think erasing the presence of his wife and kids from his life so he can be with dick is really hard on the character. Linda is so essential in Wally’s life. She is the character in which speedsters learn the importance of having a lightning rod. She is the one to often push Wally to keep going. His kids redefined his life. He literally broke the source wall in order to keep them in his life. These are essential relationships that are just erased from Wally’s life.

As someone who truly prefers Wally over Dick, it hurts to see a potentially good pairing erase the good aspects of Wally like this. There is plenty of erasure done to other dc characters because of how popular the Bats are, and this ship, at least to me, is one of the worst examples. These characters are different, and often times it makes it hard for them to understand each other. Ignoring that issue doesn’t make the ship good in my eyes.

Anyways, I really don’t want to poop on birdflash as a whole. It is by no means a bad ship, I personally just don’t really like it. It has a lot of qualities that bother me. Despite all of this though, I do love seeing people’s art of it and I actually do think it can work a bit better when they are young and apart of the teen titans. I also know as a halbarry shipper I’m throwing rocks in a glass house lmao. But please ship what you like, I really don’t care, I just needed to shout into the void about my feelings around it :)

#the flash #wally west #nightwing #Robin #dick grayson #birdflash #dc comics

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rosyjn · 7 months

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Jake making you beg.. MDNI!!

for @pandoraslxna’s kinktober prompt 17!

18+, NSFW content

——————————-

He knows you’re in heat. He knows it’s your first heat since getting mated with him. But of course, he needs to tease you.

He has you on your knees in front of him, with your hands tied behind your back. The tent is dimly lit with candles and torches, and it illuminates his body so fucking well. He forces you to watch. To watch him jerk off, even though you’re dripping wet and clenching around nothing. He stands over you as you kneel in front of him, stroking his cock as it bounces beautifully in the candlelight.

“Please, please let me have it. I’m sorry,” you beg, squirming against your restraints. You want to touch yourself. The sight of Jake’s naked, muscular, aroused body makes you want to touch yourself. If you can’t masturbate, you need to have it in your mouth. Your mind and body are so fogged up with lust.

“Why were you flirting with other boys?” he interrogates.

“I didn’t meant to! I’m sorry!” you reply, your cunt getting wetter and needier by the second.

“Poor girl’s in heat, huh?” he teases.

“Yes..” you hiccup.

“Must be pretty tough. Can’t imagine it,” he tsks. “To be in your first real heat, and stuck like this: needy, helpless, and horny. You poor thing.” he degrades you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for flirting with other boys. I didn’t mean to,” you meekly apologize. “I promise it won’t happen again,”

“You sure?” he says, letting little drops of precum fall just out of your tongue’s reach.

“Yes! I promise!” you say, bucking your hips for friction.

“Alright, I’ll fuck you. On one condition..” he lets go of his cock, letting it stand up by itself.

“Anything,” you say.

“Beg for it. I want you to beg, so you know that you’re mine. You have to beg, because you’re not gonna get this from any of those boys,” he growls. “You’re mine, only mine. None of those little village boys can do what I do. You know that.”

“Yes sir,” you blink away the tears of horniness in your eyes. “Please fuck me..” you mutter.

“More,” he grunts.

“Please… let me have your cock. None of those boys are as good as you. I’m yours, I need you to do me. Not them.” you whisper, too shy to even look up and make eye contact.

“Look at me, talk louder,” he demands, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look him in the eye. His throbbing dick is in your line of sight, making you even more eager.

“Please fuck me. I’m sorry,” you tell him, batting your eyelashes and trying to get him to understand your situation. Jake wants to make you plead even more. He wants you to stay on your knees, tied up for him. He wants to watch you sob with anticipation, because he knows how your heat cycle is filling you with lust. But he also wants to accept your apology, just untie your poor little wrists, and kiss you softly while stuffing your cunt.

“Good girl,” he squats, reaching behind you to untie your restraints.

“Thank you,” you sigh, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek as your hands go loose. As your limbs go free, you quickly escalate the kiss. You softly grab his face in your hands, and smooch down his neck, grinding your clit against the floor.

“Lean back, spread em,” he says, lightly pushing you back. You tip backwards, letting him part your legs with one knee. “So desperate for it, aren’t ya?”

Your body pulses with anticipation. You show your pussy to him. The way he looks at your intimates and licks his lips unlocks something primitive in you. It just makes you want to lean back and let him use you. To let him breed and pound you until you’re crying for him to stop. He kisses down your neck, trying to slowly get you ready for penetration.

“Can’t take it anymore, just fuck me please,” you whisper, your hand slithering down to his cock. He slaps it away.

“Let me do it,” he growls, pinning your hands above your head as he positions his hips in front of your entrance. You arch your back, preparing for him to slide into you. He pushes himself in, relieving the pressure you had been feeling as he stretches you out. “This is what you needed.”

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razzle-dazzle-writes · 8 months

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Going Down on Them feat. Weiss, Winter, Cinder & Pyrrha

Weiss Schnee

Oral is one of the parts of sex that Weiss enjoys the most. There's a deep intimacy to be found in it for her which only adds to the pleasure it brings her on its own.

She doesn't force you to go down on her, but doesn't make it a secret how much she enjoys it. Both in the moment and afterwards you are made well aware of how much she enjoys cunnilingus.

She keeps herself completely bare. She finds that shaving is the simplest and cleanest option that the both of you can be happy with for going down on her.

A small bit of teasing doesn't go amiss in the moment. Kisses on her thighs, taking your time to reach her cunt. Building the anticipation only makes things more sweet for her when she finally is given what she wants.

As soon as your tongue begins work she has her hand at her lips, trying to contain the loud expressions of pleasure that emanate from deep within her. She can't help it, she just loves being eaten out.

She'll lay on her back at the edge of the mattress and let you do as you please. She usually gives up trying to dampen her moans pretty quickly, the sounds dripping from her lips to encourage you further.

Her body trembles every time your tongue passes over her clit, the small bump sending waves through her. Her slick walls quiver at your touch, the juices brought forward from arousal leaking from her entrance.

Weiss doesn't have a whole lot of stamina, it doesn't take more for a couple of minutes of oral service for her to come onto your tongue and lips. Deep breaths bringing her chest up and down as she comes down from the intensity of her orgasm.

She likes to kiss you afterwards to show her affection and appreciation, even if her come is still covering your lips, she doesn't mind enough to stop her.

Winter Schnee

Winter has a stressful job that puts a lot of weight on her shoulders day in and day out. A lot of nights when she finally has the chance to retreat to your quarters she's stressed or tired. Sometimes, being able to take a moment to stop and maybe get eaten out is just what she needs.

She'll never say anything, but it isn't difficult to tell when she wants you to go down on her. She'll greet you before collapsing onto the bed, too exhausted to do anything else for the moment. Read into what she wants in the moment how you will, but going down on her is usually a pretty good answer.

She doesn't stop you when your fingers hook around the waistband of her underwear and pull them down her legs so that you can spread her thighs to get closer to her cunt.

Her let down hair spreads out beneath her as her tired body lets itself relax for the first time in what seems like an eternity. She groans unashamedly in relief, the tension in her body slowly releasing while your tongue spreads her open.

She keeps her pubic hair neatly trimmed and controlled, she isn't completely bare but you'll almost forget that there's any while you're tongue fucking her cunt.

Winter has a deep-seeded sense of pride even during intimate moments between the two of you, her vocal expressions are restrained and controlled. She doesn't speak while you eat her out, keeping herself to quiet sighs and breaths of pleasure.

Her typical exhaustion will in most cases have her leaving the work to you, she knows that you understand what she wants and she doesn't need to intervene to control you to reach a satisfying orgasm.

Winter's stamina is slightly above that of the average person but is by no means remarkable. One orgasm after a few minutes of attention from your tongue and fingers is enough to leave her content and far less stressed than she was beforehand whether she feels the desire for further physical intimacy or not.

Any thanks she gives you afterwards is short and simple, Winter isn't one to waste words. Still, the understanding between the two of you that she greatly appreciates the small effort to help her out after a long day remains ever present.

Pyrrha Nikos

Pyrrha, even some time into your relationship, feels awkward asking you to do something solely for her pleasure and therefore a lot of the times you go down on her will be reading in the moment what she wants.

She never stops you however, any time you sink to your knees to eat her out she happily accepts your affections with an a appreciative smile on her lips.

Whether she's sweaty and showering after a training session, already naked and anticipating in the throes of passion or just taking the rare chance to stay in bed for the morning with no responsibilities for the day, she'll always eagerly accept the chance to receive cunnilingus.

Pyrrha is quite laid back in shaving her pubic hair. She keeps it in control for the most part, but she is certainly not shaved bare either. Something about the sight of your lips pressed to her hairy cunt lights a fire inside of her. Whether the carpet matches the drapes is something I'll leave to your imagination.

No matter the position, she will have a hand on your head, fingers tangled through your hair as you eat her out. She doesn't want to control you, but the waves of heat coursing through her wave any inhibitions she may have about restraint.

She mewls and whines loudly through the entirety of your servicing. It brings a bright blush to her cheeks thinking about how shameless she must sound, but she wants to show you how much she enjoys your work and doesn't see the need to hide how she feels between the two of you.

Pyrrha's body is no less subtle in showing how she feels than her voice. Her hips buck whenever your tongue flicks over her clit, her liquid affection drips onto your tongue as it delves into her core and her body shakes as she draws ever closer to her orgasm.

Pyrrha often comes quite quickly. Despite her honed endurance as a fighter she doesn't have that much stamina for sex, the orgasm is enough to satisfy her if it stands alone, though she still has the energy to reach another during penetrative sex if it follows.

She will always thank you afterwards despite your insistence that she doesn't need to, she just feels bad if she doesn't. Please go down on her whenever you have the chance, she really quite enjoys and deserves it :).

Cinder Fall

In all parts of her life Cinder takes what she wants and that has always extended into your sex life. If she wants you to go down on her you will be going down on her, there is no question about it. You're her boyfriend/girlfriend after all, its your job to eat her out whenever she desires it.

Whether the two of you are already in the middle of a moment of intimacy or whether its completely unprompted apart from her deciding she wants it, her way of telling you what you are required to do for her is to push you onto your back.

Cinder more often that not sits on your face, the control it gives her over you gives her a power rush which only feeds her desires farther than they've already grown. In her more vulnerable hours, such as when she was debilitated after Beacon, there's more of an ability to let you be in control of the flow of things however.

Cinder does not shave her pubic hair. Maybe she'll give it some attention every now and then when it gets too out of hand but never is she bare. She does not take suggestions on this topic either, in her own words "get used to it".

She is very vocal while you eat her out. Not so much in sounds but in the river of expletives that come out of her lips. She talks the entire time she's atop you, muttering her praises of your efforts amidst all the "fuck"s coming forth.

Cinder doesn't tell you want she wants, she knows at this point that you understand her desires, additionally her sitting on your face gives her more agency in controlling the pleasure being given to her. She grinds her cunt over your mouth as she pleases, pulling herself up to let you take a moment is a rare luxury.

There is no impulse of self control inside of Cinder and she will work in conjunction with your tongue with her hip movements to orgasm as soon as she is able to. Her stamina is also quite impressive, often she will immediately keep the cunnilingus in motion for a second time if not switching the two of you into something else.

When she does come it is very noticeable, both in the trembling that runs through her body, the further streaming expletives flowing from her mouth and the aggressive, sudden rush of liquid that she releases atop your lips.

Cinder isn't really one to say thank you, firstly because her stamina usually means that your physical intimacy isn't over for the time being and because her ego holds her back from expressing genuine appreciation. Still, she tells you how beautiful you look beneath her with your tongue buried in her cunt and in her more vulnerable moments that she loves you.

#rwby x reader #rwby #fanfiction #cinder x reader #cinder fall x reader #weiss schnee x reader #weiss x reader #winter schnee x reader #winter x reader #pyrrha x reader #pyrrha nikos x reader #smut #headcannons #x reader #x male reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #male reader

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Note

Hi, Jo💜 for #mmvalentinesevent can i request back hugs with Ghost and Helen? Preferably something as simple when they're on their rarer days off and just doing their thing spending quality time with one another? If you're up for it, I'll leave the rest of the details up to you. 🫶

gimme your hand. your heart.

simon ghost riley x f!reader (helen!reader)

part of the #mmvalentinesevent || wc: 1k an: helen is her callsign. not her name.

Ghost likes her being next to him.

He's thought it for a while. Letting it thicken at the back of his throat, almost dripping from his tongue when she suggests going to her own room. He never says it, just tugs her close, a silent declaration.

Now, whenever time allows, she is here. Her room becoming a place she only goes when he isn't here and when the hours are ‘inconvenient’.

Sometimes, she goes there when it's been a really shit day. When she says she can’t people—her eyes glassy and her skin drained. If he's around, he always pulls her to his, let’s her lie in her usual place, in one of his t-shirts.

Ghost doesn’t see the point in her not sleeping in his room. The space she takes up is never used anyway. Even if heavy sleep pulls him under, he unconsciously doesn't move into it. Lets reality kiss the tips of his fingers when he wakes up and she’s not there—feeling cold when it should be warm, allowing himself a moment to miss her, before he stuffs the longing deep down.

He's thankful those days are few and far better. Just like he's grateful more of his days off duty line up with hers.

"You know," she says, taking his hand in hers. Her body pressed against his, mask forgotten, draped over the inside door handle. "You didn't have to injure yourself to have a day off with me."

"Didn't."

She squeezes his hand, watching his eyes as he grimaces. Bitch.

"It would hurt less if you moisturised the area. It stings because it's scabbing and your hands are as dry as sandpaper."

"Y'weren't complaining earlier."

She gives him a look before her body twists, turning her face from his—sliding from his hold as she grabs the bottle she always leaves.

"Wouldn't have hurt if you didn't fuckin' squeeze it, either," he adds.

She shoots him another look. He's getting good at understanding each one, each slight infliction of a brow or curl of her lip. Her hand holds the obnoxiously large bottle, the one that looks normally-sized in his own. The one which has found itself a permanent residence in his room, and not hers. Ghost is sure she'll never reach the bottom, even if she's always squeezing from it, covering her hands, arms and legs in it.

He doesn't hate it: the smell or the way it makes her skin feel. Liked how it felt when he pulled her close when he kissed his way from her fingers to her wrist to her elbows.

The noise of the contents spilling into her hand fill the space. It almost tugs a childish smirk from him—almost. He could always watch her do mundane things.

Watching her swirl a white pattern into her palm before gesturing for his hand. One he gives, all with a half-roll of his eyes.

"I think you're a masochist. Enjoy feeling the injuries from your latest adventure."

He says nothing, which only makes her smirk, all light and knowing—and more than enough to make his heart skip.

He lets her run the cream over his skin, over his fingers, bones and knuckles. But then, he lets her do so much that he'd never allow others to do.

It soaks in quickly, but her thumbs continue. Lightly applying pressure to his joints, to his muscles and ligaments. It's nice, different. Her eyes fixed on his skin, and his fixed on her.

She could stop his heart if she tried.

If she compelled him to, he'd stop it for her. Rip it out his goddamn chest and hand it to her. He'd show her all the places inside of him she's taken up—that he's willingly allowed her to carve as her own. Places he's longed thought would never be filled.

"Could do this more often..." Her eyes flick up to him, washing him in shades he'll never be able to name. "Massage you. Do something other than have you moaning my name."

Fuck, he wants to kiss her.

Smother his mouth over her fucking smirk and taste the words she's just said.

"Think you'd miss how good I make you feel, Helen."

She slows her touch, digging it deeper into the space between his index and thumb. "Your ego astounds me. It should be studied."

"I don't have an ego." He places his other hand over hers, feeling the leftover cream soak into his palm, "Just know what I'm good at."

She bites back a smirk. He can tell. Knows from the slight narrowing of her eyes and the way she dips her chin for a moment before she pretends she's defiant. If he touches her cheeks, he knows they'd be searing, likely soaked her underwear too, if he were to check.

"What? Getting scars..."

His tongue darts into his cheek as her hand lets go of him, kneeling up before stepping from her place on his bed.

It's fleeting, the urge to pull her back to him, crash his lips against her mouth, but he doesn't. Letting her go, hating the emptiness he feels sitting on the bed when she heads into his bathroom.

He stands because of it. Stands because he has to.

His eyes peer through the gap in the door, settling himself at the sight of her. Fingers twitching, ever so slightly until she turns, and smiles.

"What?"

"C'mere."

Her lips curl up, smiling, running her hand briefly over a towel before crossing to him. He turns her when she's in reach, her back to his chest, her little oof lost to the room as she melts into him. Just like he knew she would.

Slowly, he rests his chin on her head, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her wrists close to her body. Taking in the scent of her hair, the way she hasn't moved—allowing him this.

"You're getting good at this. Hugging."

He digs his chin a little into her hair. "Shut up, Helen."

Her fingers brush over his, looping themselves in between his as she sighs. Not in annoyance, but more in content. Something he does himself a few minutes later.

"Thank you."

"What was that?" her head twisting, eyes looking up at him.

Sparkling, shining—like the stars do when the sky is dark and empty of everything else but them.

"Thank. You."

"For..."

Everything, he thinks. Instead, he turns his hand slightly in hers, and she smiles—softer, sweeter. "Y-you're welcome, Simon."

She motions to move, but he simply holds her tighter. His eyes looking at her, pleading almost—Don't make me fuckin' ask you to stay, Helen.

So she doesn't.

She just remains, back to his chest, head under his chin, fingers in between his.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #cod ghost x you #ghost x helen #simon x helen #simon 'ghost' riley #cod x reader

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lu-is-not-ok · 10 months

Text

Lu's Guide to Sin Analysis

Welp, since my brain is too focused on having K Corp Hong Lu go full unga bunga in Mirror Dungeons to write full analyses, I decided I might as well give something else to all the people starving for Limbus Theory content.

So, here we are. A basic guide on how I approach the Sin Analysis portion of my analyses, covering my personal interpretations for each Sin, as well as how to use those when analysing both E.G.Os and Identities.

That way, ya'll can dabble in doing some of this on your own when I'm too busy grinding my way to 400 hours of play time on Limbus to write up full analyses.

Sounds good? Awesome. Under the cut we go, wheeeee!

Sin Interpretations

Let's start with the most important part - the Sins themselves.

I want you to take a moment and think about your own associations with those Sins. Perhaps your immediate thought is to take the words used literally. Maybe you immediately think back to the Biblical ideas of the Seven Deadly Sins. Mayhaps there's some other media you know that also uses Sins in some way, which you subconsciously default to when thinking about them.

Whatever those associations are, I want you to throw them away.

That's right. Whatever is telling you that Lust = Horny, Wrath = Angry, Envy = Jealous, etc, etc? Throw all of those preconcieved notions away.

This is the biggest mistake I see people make when trying to analyse Identities and E.G.O based on their Sins - they assume that those Sins have the same meanings in the context of Limbus as the popular, more common interpretations of them.

And while, sure, some of them can definitely overlap with what one would expect them to be, I think relying on those during analysis instead of trying to understand what the game itself is trying to tell us by using those Sins as symbols is doing its storytelling a massive disservice.

Do I think my personal interpretations of the Sins are a 100% accurate reading? No, of course not. I can't see into the mind of Kim Ji-Hoon or whoever else at Project Moon might have been the mastermind behind deciding what Sins connect to what. I have no way of knowing what exactly they intended here.

However, I do wish to believe that my interpretations not only strive to meet the game's storytelling on its own terms, but also hopefully make further analysis based on those interpretations a bit easier to wrap one's head around.

...God I really need to stop writing massive preambles and just get to the fucking point.

So let's actually get to The Fucking Point. Sin Interpretations, one by one. Let's fucking do it.

Wrath

The flames of revolution burn bright in the face of cold winds.

Wrath is the Sin of self-righteousness and defiance. To act with Wrath is to decide that one deserves better, that things around then should bend to their will, and then take matters into their own hands. It's the Sin of deciding one has the right to change something simply because they don't like the current state of things.

There are many ways one can act because of Wrath. It can show through trying to rebel against authority, to subvert one's fate, to escape one's unfavorable circumstances, or to even reject one's own true nature. To act with Wrath is to stand up for oneself and tell reality "No, I refuse!" loud and clear.

A common misconception of Wrath is the idea that anger is an inherent part of it. While it's true that those feelings often coincide with defiance, they're not required for one's acts to be fueled by Wrath. Some can be Wrathful while being completely calm and collected, as their acts of defiance could be more on the quiet and simmering side.

Likewise, being quick to anger isn't always a sign of Wrath. It's very possible for someone to have a short temper, while also being fully accepting of the reality they live in (Ryoshu, I am looking directly at you), thus lacking Wrath.

Lust

One's base insticts go all the way back to that genetic code.

Lust is the Sin of self-indulgence. It's the Sin of letting one's own desires and whims dictate one's actions. It's also the Sin of seeking personal fulfillment above all else. To act with Lust is to give up one's self-control and let one's instincts and wants guide them.

Unlike what the name and symbol might initially imply, Lust can include many different types of desires, not just the carnal.

Likewise, acts of Lust can be just as varied as one's desires. Satisfying one's most basic of needs, searching for a form of spiritual enlightenment, or even just saying the first thing that comes to mind because one feels like it are just a few examples.

Sloth

A stone will not care for what happens to it, nor the world around it.

Sloth is the Sin of apathy and resignation. Unlike other Sins, which mostly show through one's direct actions, Sloth can also show through inaction.

To act with Sloth is to ignore reality, to let oneself go along with whatever is happening with barely any complaints. As such, Sloth is commonly associated with blind obedience or unwillingness to act out.

Due to its nature as a Sin of resignation, Sloth can be seen as the direct opposite of Wrath, the Sin of defiance. This creates a unique situation where the inclusion of one can drastically shift the context of the other if both are a part of the same Identity or E.G.O.

Gluttony

Plants never stop waging wars, always wanting just a little bit more.

Gluttony is the Sin of hunger, and it's unique from the other Sins in that it equally represents two different ideas of that hunger, which can appear together just as often as they can be completely seperated.

The first type of Gluttony is one of the starving hunger of survival. In this context, to act with Gluttony is to do anything for the sake of scraping by and living to see another day.

The second type of Gluttony is the hunger for more, or in other words: greed. In this context, to act with Gluttony is to do everything for the sake of this idea of "more". To gain more wealth, to find more recognition, to make more progress.

Both of these types of Gluttony are unified in one main point - they are, by definition, endless. The struggle for survival never ends, unless one fails to survive. Likewise, there is no finite "more" that greed is reaching towards, it's a neverending process of one-upmanship.

Gloom

When a wave of emotion rises, many will be swept away in its wake.

Gloom is the Sin of dwelling on feelings. To act with Gloom is to be guided by one's negative emotions, to buckle under stress and let it control one's mind and actions.

While sadness, grief, and depression are the states of mind most commonly associated with Gloom, and are often a part of it, they're not inherent to it. The only "requirement" here is the experience of severe emotional duress, and acting out in direct response to it.

In a way, Gloom is the Sin of losing control over oneself, not dissimilar to Lust. However, the main difference here is the cause of losing that control. Gloom is the loss of self-control due to being overwhelmed by negative experiences, while Lust is the loss of self-control due to seeking out positive experiences.

Pride

Be careful, for that double-edged sword may cut you as well.

Pride is the Sin of ignoring consequences. Acts of Pride are all actions taken because of the belief that their benefits outweigh the cost in some way. While the most common way this can present is through actions that benefit oneself at the cost of others, it's not the only way Pride can manifest.

One can be Prideful when believing the benefit to many outweighs the consequences. Likewise, refusing to acknowledge the harm one brings to themself because their actions benefit them in some other way also counts as Pride.

The idea that Pride is inherently tied to selfishness or self-confidence is another common misconception. In fact, Prideful acts can manifest just as often from a lack of self-confidence or a misguided selflessness. Rather, one could interpret Pride as a form of willful ignorance, in a way.

Envy

Thorns don't go out of their way to harm, they merely react to your touch.

Envy is the Sin of reaction and retribution. It's the idea of doing something because of what someone else has done. By definition, one cannot act with Envy without some form of provocation.

Like is the case with many other Sins, acts of Envy can take many forms, from taking revenge to following orders. The main connecting idea here is letting oneself be influenced by another person, whether it's being coerced, provoked, ordered, or otherwise manipulated.

Out of all of the Sin misconceptions, seeing Envy as inherently tied to jealousy might be the worst one of all. While acts done out of jealousy would likely count as acts of Envy, they are but a miniscule part of the sheer scope that Envy represents.

...

Alright, so you know what each of those Sins means. Now it's time to figure out how to Actually Apply Them.

Sin Affinities in the context of Identities

The main way Sins play a role in a given Sinner's Identity is through their Sin Affinities. Mechanically, these are the Sins attributed to each of their skills, signifying both their type of Sin damage and what Sin resource they generate upon being used.

However, this is Project Moon we're talking about, and these fuckers can't keep their gameplay mechanics seperate from the story to save their lives.

So, this begs the question: what can we learn about a Sinner's given Identity through their Sin Affinities?

Here is the method that I believe works best in my experience:

The Sin affinities of each of an Identity's skills represent a different layer of their psyche and motivations. I'm going to try to show what I mean by using base Identities of the four Sinners who already had their own Canto.

Skill 1's Sin Affinity is the surface level motivation of the Sinner's actions. This is the most obvious and "shallow" reading of them and their actions, and also likely the one the Sinners themselves are most aware of.

Gregor's Skill 1 is Gloom due to him being constatly haunted by his trauma, with much of his cynicism and dark-ish sense of humor being shaped by his war experiences. Rodya's Skill 1 is Gluttony due to her tendency to value material goods and love for food, which are signs of her greed and will to survive respectively. Sinclair's Skill 1 is Pride due to him taking many actions (such as sharing his father's secrets or giving Kromer his basement key) for their immediate benefits, without considering the consequences. Yi Sang's Skill 1 is Gloom due to him falling into deep depression and letting the trauma of the past shape his current actions.

Skill 2's Sin Affinity is a deeper motivation of the Sinner's actions. It's delving deeper into their psyche to see what guides them in less obvious ways. This Sin Affinity can also have noticeably closer ties to the Sinner's background in one way or another.

Gregor's Skill 2 is Gluttony due to him being driven by the will to survive, most notably expressed by him leaving the rest of the veterans to escape the war and try to live after it ended. Rodya's Skill 2 is Pride due to her fully believing in what she does working out in her favor, completely ignoring consequences on the way. Her killing the pawnbroker is the biggest example of an act of Pride, as she fully believed that it would help her neighbourhood despite the consequences that murder would bring. Sinclair's Skill 2 is Wrath due to him not accepting his circumstances. His want to defy his future prosthetics procedure is what eventually led him to agreeing with Kromer, and his will to defy her is what drove him through the events of his chapter. Yi Sang's Skill 2 is Envy due to his passive nature and how easily he lets other people dictate his actions. It's especially notable in how after the League fell apart, he would have been willing to do anything Gubo told him at that moment.

Skill 3's Sin Affinity is what I would like to call a Sinner's Core Sin. It's the true main reason behind their actions, and has a much closer and direct tie into their past than the other Sin Affinities. In a way, this is the deepest layer of their psyche.

Gregor's Skill 3 is Sloth as his resignation to his circumstances is what colors much of his past. He learned that resistance is futile early in life, and it shows. Though he didn't want to fight in the war, he felt like he had no choice but to. All of his life, he simply listened to orders without complaint, unable to see a way to change his situation. Rodya's Skill 3 is Wrath as her self-righteousness and defiance is what drove her actions at the deepest level. She first joined the Yurodiviye because she wanted to bring change the state of her neighbourhood, and likewise left them when she no longer agreed with how they did things. Her murder of the pawnbroker was her biggest act of defiance, of taking matters into her own hands and trying to bring change to her reality at all cost. Sinclair's Skill 3 is Envy as much of his actions were dictated by other people. Social pressure was what led to him first breaching the trust of his family, and Kromer's coercion and manipulation is what then led to his family's death. In a way, you could also interpret Sinclair's arc in Canto III as one big act of Envy, as he finally tries to take revenge on Kromer for what she has done. Yi Sang's Skill 3 is Sloth as his apathy to the reality around him is what led to him ignoring the warnings signs of the League falling apart, and the resignation that followed could have resulted in him helping Gubo and the New League out with their horrible plans had there not been an intervention. It's only by the end of Canto IV that he finally manages to break out of this state for long enough to stand up for himself and decide to keep on living.

So, that's the basics of Sin Affinities when it comes to Identities! Now, some of you might be asking, "Hey Lu, what about Sin resources needed for Passives?", and my answer to that is...

Honestly, I don't entirely know! I do think there probably is some reason beyond pure gameplay mechanics... Buuuuut I don't think their importance is as major as the main Sin Affinities of a given Identity, especially since there isn't a single Passive that is activated by a Sin that the given Identity doesn't have any Affinity to.

Sin Affinities in the context of E.G.Os

Alright, so, when it comes to E.G.O, we run into some additional complexities. Unlike Identities, which can usually have their Sins Analysed with minimal additional context, E.G.O Sin Analysis has to be done under a specific angle.

This is because while Identities represent the Sinner as a whole person, E.G.Os represent a specific singular part of that Sinner.

Base E.G.Os usually seem to tie back to a specific event or action or some other thing in that Sinner's past. Likewise, E.G.Os derived from Abnormalities represent the ways that Sinner connects to that Abnormality's own themes.

In a way, the game's worldbuilding even acknowledges the fact that a Sinner can only use the E.G.O of an Abnormality they relate to in some way, as Dante's Notes describe the process of the Sinners using E.G.O as trying to make the Abnormality's emotions and identity their own.

That little tangent aside, there are two main things to analyze sin-wise when it comes to E.G.O - the Sin Affinity, and the Sin Resources necessary to use that E.G.O.

An E.G.O Sin Affinity works similarly to an Identity's Sin Affinities - for a Base E.G.O, it's the main Sin that action manifests as. For an Abno-derived E.G.O, it's the Sin that contextulizes the way the Abno's themes connect to the Sinner in question.

The Sin Resources an E.G.O needs is where things get fun. These are what a Sinner needs to be able to use the E.G.O, both mechanically AND story-wise. The Sins here represent what a Sinner has as their motivation and drive to fully reflect what that E.G.O represents. For Base E.G.Os, it's why they took the actions they did. For Abno E.G.Os, it's why they connect to that Abno's themes and why they're able to relate to it.

Now... There is one more thing about E.G.Os that I don't really talk about.

Sin Resistances.

The reason why I don't talk about them... Is because I have No Fucking Clue how to interpret them. There has to be some importance to them (Hong Lu being weak to Wrath in all of his E.G.O thus far, I am looking at you), I just don't know what it is. In fact, I doubt we even have enough information available to us right now to be able to say for sure.

I don't know how to end these posts dear fucking lord-

So uh. Yeah. That's. Everything that I think is important to mention on the topic of Sin Analysis and how I do it. If I ever change my mind on something or have an epiphany regarding one of the things I currently have no idea about, I'll probably reblog this post with an addendum or something, but until then...

Uh. Yeah. Hope this helps the people who wanna get into analyzing Limbus stuff but don't know where to begin. Or just people who wanna understand the method to my madness a little bit better.

I'm gonna go to sleep now, cause it's 4 AM already and I spent like the whole fucking night writing this post.

#limbus company #limbus company project moon #lcb analysis #lcb canto iv #lcb spoilers #lu speaketh #god help me

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