#Do it right or face historical consequences

[pawnshopbleus]

On Top

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Plinth!Reader

Warnings - Smut, Penis in vagina sex, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Abortion is mentioned once, Angst with a happy ending. Not beta read :0

Authors Note - I think this is the first time I’ve written p in v sex so please bear with me.

Standing in front of the door to the Snow residence, you made sure you had everything. The basket you brought over for Coriolanus and his family was filled with food, gifts, and roses for Grandma’am. You wanted to celebrate Coriolanus’s historic win in this year's Hunger Games. Well, Lucy Grey won, but she wouldn’t have done without your Coriolanus. 

Your knuckles tapped the door three times and you patently waited until the door opened to reveal Grandma’am’s signature snow-white hair. She smiled at you and embraced you. She stepped aside and let you enter the home you had become so familiar with over the years. 

“Grandma’am, I wanted to bring this little gift for Coriolanus’s big win. The flowers are for you, by the way,” you winked and placed the basket on the table. “Speaking of, where might he be.” 

Grandma’am's eyes softened at your comment. “He’s with the dean,” she said, “He will be here any moment. You can wait for him in his room if you’d like.” Grandma’am rushed over to examine a particularly pretty white rose. 

You sat on Coriolanus’s bed tracing hearts on his pillow for what seemed like hours before his door opened. He looked frantic as if someone found out something they weren’t supposed to find.

“Come on, Coryo, you’re supposed to be smiling. Lucy Grey won. Aren’t you happy?” 

“I cheated,” he sighed. 

Your heart stopped. He what? Never in a million years did you think that he would do such a thing. With strong women like Tigris and Grandma’am raising him, you would have thought that he had the decency to break up with a woman before he did that.

Coriolanus shook his head as soon as he realized that you might have been taking his comment in the wrong way. “I cheated in the games. Not on you. I would never do that.” 

Your body relaxed and then it shot back up again. “Wait, what do you mean you cheated in the games? Is that even possible?”

Coriolanus explained what he did in order to get Lucy Grey to win. The compact mirror that used to belong to his mother had been packed with rat poison, poisonous to anyone who came in contact with it. He also put his father's handkerchief which was covered in Lucy Grey's scent in the snake's cage. If the snakes were familiar with her scent then they wouldn’t kill her. So it wasn’t her singing that saved her, it was Coriolanus. 

“What are they going to do to you?” Your eyebrows scrunched together with worry. You couldn’t lose Coriolanus for his stupid, yet chivalrous actions. 

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to think about the future. Right now, I want to live in the moment with the prettiest girl in all of Panem.” Coriolanus smiled at how your face heated up so quickly, but deep down he was hurting. He knew what his punishment was. Twenty years of service as a peacekeeper in the Districts. He would leave the Capital and everything he’s known since he was a baby. That he could deal with, but losing you would be the hardest thing he would have to deal with. 

He knew that you would run to your father and beg him to get Coriolanus out of serving, but he didn’t want you over-exhausting your father's resources. He was a big boy and he needed to learn how to deal with his consequences. He would be fine. After all, Snow lands on top.  

He wanted to live in this moment with you. He wanted to memorize every inch of your body. He wanted to hold onto that memory and make it last. 

Your smile calmed him. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes focused on your lips.

You nodded your head and smiled into the kiss. It was soft and sensual, vastly different from the kisses that the two of you usually share. Your lips brushed together as your bodies got closer to each other. By the time the two of you broke apart, you were under him, his forearms caging you underneath him. There was no need for him to do that. This is where you wanted to be, with Coriolanus. The toxic and tyrannical world that you lived in was long forgotten as she swooped in for another kiss. 

His lips traveled down to your cheek, then your jaw, and settled on your neck. He spent the majority of his time kissing and nibbling at the skin on your neck. There would be pretty little marks on your skin later, reminding people that you belonged to him. Coriolanus doesn’t remember when he got this territorial, but he sure loved the fact that Strabo Plinth’s beautiful daughter was his girlfriend. His girlfriend to mark and fuck and love whenever he wanted (with your consent of course.) 

You laughed as Coriolanus licked the sensitive patches of skin that he nibbled raw. “My parents are going to kill me when they see what you’ve done.” 

Coriolanus kissed your lips one more time in response to your comment. He then resumed his exploration of your body. His hands traveled down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal the bra that he unclasped in less than five seconds. He threw it on the floor of his bedroom, letting it get hooked onto the pile of books in the corner. 

Coriolanus kissed in between the valley of your breasts. He flicked his tongue over your sensitive nipples. It was cold in the Capital of Panem and unfortunately, the Snow’s didn’t have indoor heating. Maybe it was because they didn’t want to melt. 

You sighed in pleasure as Coriolanus continued to explore your breasts. After five minutes of teasing, he began to travel south to the part where you needed him the most. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, “may I?” 

You nodded, “Ever the gentleman.”

With your permission, he ripped your pants off of you and threw them on the floor. They were lost in the pile of clothing that had gathered on the floor. Coriolanus had shed some of his clothing as well. His ripped body was adorned in nothing but his white underwear. 

Coriolanus spread your legs apart, “Look at how wet my girl is.” He traced a finger down the cotton of your underwear and slowly slid it up your legs. He wanted to drag this on as much as possible. You let out a grumble of frustration, getting tired of his constant teasing. Coriolanus gave in and got rid of your underwear. 

The same finger that was used to skim the fabric of your underwear was now being used to gather your slick and spread it across your sensitive pussy. You took a deep breath of air into your lungs. The feeling was new, but not unwelcomed. Coriolanus flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit. Your clit was pulsing with need. You needed Coriolanus to drop the act and eat you out like he was a starving man.

“Coriol-” Your word was cut off by a moan as his mouth did exactly what you wanted it to do. Coriolanus delved into your pussy, tracing shapes onto your clit with his tongue. Your back arched off of the bed again. Coriolanus’s fingers teased your hole, trying to find the perfect time to ease into your channel. 

Coriolanus’s fingers weren’t thick, but they were long making it easier for him to tease your G-spot. He fucked his fingers in and out of you as he sucked your clit. You had to bite your lip in order to keep quiet. Your lips were sure to be chewed raw after this, but they would serve as a reminder that you had a man who was willing to do this for you. Many high-society women told stories about their husbands not pleasuring them when they had sex. It sounded like a horrible life to lead, but they were rich and beautiful so they needed to sacrifice something. 

Coriolanus curled his fingers up, letting them knock against your G-spot. He continued to kiss and lick at your clit. You were close. By the way you were clenching down on his fingers, he could tell that the waterworks were coming. Your naked chest rose and fell as you played with your nipples, increasing the pleasure that you felt. Your head fell even deeper into the pillow as a chill ran down your body. That chill eventually led to where Coriolanus was currently still working. He ate your pussy like a starved man, just the way you liked it. 

Without warning, your juices painted Coriolanus’s face. He wasn’t surprised that you came so fast. The last time you had sex was two months ago. You were burning for him and he was burning for you. 

Coriolanus wiped his face with the back of his hand and laughed. That was the first time he had actually made you squirt. It had always been a personal goal of his after Tirgis explained to Coriolanus how a woman's body works. At first, he was traumatized. He didn’t want to have the sex talk with his dear cousin, but when he laid eyes on you for the time, he wanted to do everything Tigris said and more. 

His cock was hard. You could see the outline of it through his white underwear. You would tease him about his tighty whities later. Right now, you were laser-focused on the fact that Coriolanus hooked his thumbs under his waistband and lowered them, exposing his cock to the cold air. His hard cock slapped against his lower stomach. He jerked his cock off, spreading his precum all over his length. He wanted to make sure that it went in as smoothly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you. 

He lined himself up at your core. He slid his tip up and down your pussy, gathering your slick with his dick before he pushed into you. Your insides welcomed him with little to no problem. The stretch felt good. You were all slicked up and ready for him.

Contraceptives weren’t a problem for you. Coriolanus was always careful and made sure to come somewhere that wasn’t your vagina. You didn’t want to have a kid just yet. First, you wanted to study at the University and travel back to District Two if you were given the chance. Then you wanted to get married. Pereferabbly to Coriolanus, but you didn’t know if that was possible yet. With his fate still undecided, your plans to marry the love of your life dwindled. Besides, even if you were to get pregnant your father would have enough money to get you an abortion

Coriolanus’s head fell forward as he buried his cock in your tight pussy. Two months and he had forgotten how good you felt. Your insides fluttered around him as he bottomed out. 

Coriolanus began to thrust his cock in and out of you. He was methodical with everything he did. Coriolanus set a rhythm as he fucked into you. He fucked you hard and fast. The side of his bed slapped against the wall and his mattress cracked and groaned as he fucked into you. You prayed to the heavens that Grandma’am and Tigris were in a deep sleep. Or that the walls of the Snow residence were thicker than Coriolanus’s cock. 

Coriolanus peppered your mouth with kisses in order to muffle your moans. He kept his pace as he did this. Your breasts jiggled as he fucked into you. Your hands found their way down to your extra-sensitive clit. You circled it with your fingers and moaned in pleasure at the feeling. 

His balls slapped against your ass as his strokes became more deep and labored. He was going to come soon. He needed to come soon. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Two months with no sex had gotten to him. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as your pussy clenched around him. “Where do you want it?” He asked, his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure. 

“Inside me,” you said. You were close too, the feeling of your finger frantically rubbing your clit and the feeling of Coriolanus's cock buried deep inside of you spurred your orgasm to come out from the woodwork.  

You have come a second time, your pussy fluttering and squeezing Coriolanus cock that was still inside of you. A string of curses fell from Coriolanus’s lips as he came inside of you. His pulsing and throbbing cock pushed his come deep inside of you as he continued to fuck you as he came. His thrusts were slow but intentional. He would have lasted a few more seconds, but with the way that your pussy squeezed his sensitive cock, he came instantly. 

Coriolanus slowly eased his cock out of you. The both of you were breathing heavily as Coriolanus went to grab a towel from his closet. He eased your legs open one more time as he cleaned you up. He was slow and gentle with it. He knew that you were still sensitive after two orgasms.

His come eased out of you and onto the towel. The sight almost caused him to get hard, but he didn’t feel like tiring you out even more. 

Once he was done cleaning you up, he tucked you into his chest and covered the two of you with the blankets on his bed. He kissed your forehead and your cheek. Coriolanus’s love language was kissing. He loved kissing you. He loved doing anything with you, but kissing was his favorite. 

Your eyes closed, but you weren’t falling asleep. Not yet. Sex might have been a clever distraction, but now that you were coming off your high you needed to know what will happen to the future of your relationship. 

“Coryo, what is going to happen to you? I know that you know what your punishment is. I'm not stupid.” 

Coriolanus sighed as he tried to keep his voice from waving. He rarely cried, but in moments like these, he did. Just you and him shielded away from the rest of the Capital were his favorite. “Twenty years as a peacekeeper.” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you tried not to cry. Your body ran cold as you repeated those words in your mind. Twenty years as a peacekeeper. Twenty years without your Coriolanus. Your Coryo. 

“My dad can-” 

“No,” Coriolanus said. “I don’t want your dad to get me out of this one. I need to learn how to do things on my own.”

“What if I had a crazy elaborate plan to get you out of it?”

“Nothing could be crazier than this.” Coriolanus got this crazy idea. It has been sitting in the back of his mind ever since you agreed to be his girlfriend. “Marry me?” 

This isn’t how he wanted to propose to you. He had already gotten your father's approval months ago. You were perfect for him and you deserve a perfect proposal. He wanted to take you to a fancy restaurant, get down on one knee, and ask you that way. Traditional and expected of Capital people, but things never go as planned when you’re a Snow. 

“Seriously?” You were in disbelief. Of course, you wanted to marry him, but this all seemed a bit rushed. “I mean, yes, I’ll marry you, but Coryo. You’re about to leave.” Then, your brilliant mind comes up with the perfect plan. 

You’ll marry Coriolanus, making him one of the heirs to the Plinth fortune. Thus making him more valuable to the Capital. This way you get to marry the love of your life and keep him within arms reach. Were you being possessive? Maybe, but it was better than the dean having to deal with an angry Plinth. 

And your plan worked. You and Coriolanus got married a week after he proposed to you. It was a bit rushed, but the two of you were ready. He was going to be a loving husband, and you, a loving wife. Coriolanus’s punishment would be reduced to two months of training in District Two. He would then return to the Capital as a peacekeeper. He would keep the peace during the day and return to you at night. 

Turns out Snow does land on top.

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

Time to study up on straight people sex!

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games

[writingwithcolor]

Diversity Win: Is "Crazy Rich" POC Representation Necessarily Empowering?

sodapopsculptor asked:

I’m writing a story with two sets of protagonists: A trio with a Black girl, a Latino, and a Vietnamese-American boy who all come from middle-upper class to ridiculously rich families, and a pair of white working-middle class sisters. They’re all heroes of this story. I’ve seen way too many rich white people and poor poc people in fiction, and I’m kinda getting sick of it, but I’m worried that by having the poc kids be rich and the white girls not so much, I’ll be reinforcing the idea that poc somehow rule the world. The only time the rich kids use their status as leverage is when the Asian threatens to sic his cop dad on a bully (race unstated but I imagined him as white) picking on a freshman, and during the Black girl’s birthday party, when she pays the biggest jock there fifty bucks (And later says offhandedly that it was just what she had in her pocket) to chase off a creep hitting on her.

OP, have you ever seen the “diversity win!” meme before?

I understand that your motivation for these narrative choices is to give POC a chance, if you will, to be the rich characters. But it is evident from this ask that you have not asked yourself what this entails. I want to ask you to critically examine the race and class intersections you’re creating here, as well as these kids’ roles in oppressive systems.

You explain that these rich POC are heroes and only have righteous reasons for leveraging their power.

But is your Black girl character aware of the potential disciplinary and/or legal consequences her jock accomplice might face while she has the resources to keep her hands clean? Are you?

Is your Asian character aware of how much of an abuse of power it is to “sic” a cop on someone, and the sheer amount of harm a criminal record or incarceration does to a juvenile with behavior issues? Are you?

So you want to put POC in positions of power for #representation.

Does it resonate with the group you’re representing?

Do you research and portray the unique ways race, ethnicity, class, and majority vs. minority status come together?

Or are you putting these characters in oppressive hegemonic roles for the sake of a power fantasy, on behalf of a group you're not even in?

To your question, you're not reinforcing the idea that "POC rule the world" because such a generalized belief does not exist. Instead, you're reinforcing:

The idea that society has “winners” and “losers.”

The idea that the problem with disproportionately powerful people is the lack of “equal opportunity” as opposed to the power imbalance to begin with.

The idea that those in oppressive positions of power need only have the right intentions to justify their use of it.

To be clear: that is not to say that you can't have jerk aristocrat billionaire millionaire crazy rich POC. Evil or mean rich characters are fun! I have some myself! You can even have rich characters who are gentle-hearted and well-intentioned, but you have to know the ways in which they’re privileged and decide how aware of that your characters are. That’s no problem.

But if you think that wealthy and powerful POC would have the same values and priorities as their poorer counterparts, you’re deluding yourself. There’s a reason why the quote “power corrupts” exists. There’s a reason why no matter where you look on the globe, there are historical dictators and tyrants.

If you want bratty rich POC who lack regard for the consequences of their actions, because you want bratty rich characters, great! If you want them because it would be uplifting or empowering representation? You’re doing it for the wrong reason.

~ Rina

I fully agree with Rina, and truly want to emphasize the last paragraph.

If you want bratty rich POC who lack regard for the consequences of their actions, because you want bratty rich characters, great! If you want them because it would be uplifting or empowering representation? You’re doing it for the wrong reason.

I don't think you need to aim to subvert or purposely make all the BIPOC rich and powerful and the white people poor and suffering. Add diversity and include upper class rich and class privileged BIPOC, sure thing! And you can avoid your fears of intentional subversion message by including rich and powerful white characters as well, even if they're not the focus of your story. Just their existence helps. You could also include middle-class characters of Color as well.

More reading: Black in upper-class society

~Mod Colette

#class #upper class #capitalism #POC #creator responsibility #asks #representation #wealth #privilege #subverting tropes #intersectionality #crazy rich asians #last edited 1/8/24

[cjrae]

Rank And Responsibility. Or: The Hairpin Scene from Jinshi's POV.

Be warned now about the consequences of choosing to do an English Lit degree - you end up doing lit crit for fun. With that in mind, let's break down the hairpin scene at the end of Covert Operations (Episode 5). Mild spoilers for Jinshi's arc are below.

While this moment does kick off the romantic subplot, with all the implications that giving Maomao the hairpin out of his own hair has, I would argue that this is not the moment Jinshi realizes he's in love with Maomao. Instead, from his point of view, this scene demonstrates how Jinshi handles failure.

Holding Power In An Open Palm

This is still very early in the story. Our first hint to Jinshi's true rank does come in this scene, but for now we know him as the manager of the Rear Palace. For the three thousand people who live and work there, for all intents and purposes, Jinshi is the highest authority they will encounter. He literally has the power of life and death over them, either directly in the case of the servants and eunuchs, or in the case of the consorts, his word to the Emperor directly can serve the same purpose. We also see Jinshi use this power early on - he's not just there to keep order, but also to test the consorts' loyalties and virtue. We never see what happens to the lower-ranked consort who attempted to invite Jinshi back to her room, but at the very least that report ensures that her already small chance of the Emperor choosing her as a potential mother of the nation is utterly cut off - and if she doesn't bear children, she will be discarded.

We also know that Jinshi will not hesitate to order corporal punishment if he views it necessary - for example, when Maomao discovers that the toxic face powder is still being used by Consort Lihua's ladies in waiting, she mentions in the aftermath that the eunuch who failed to recover the powder was flogged, while the lady in waiting who hid the powder is put in solitary confinement. These are brutal punishments - and if we consider the historical inspirations, these are also very restrained consequences. For hiding an item that caused the death of the prince (unfortunately, the more valuable child) and has put the life of one of the Emperor's favored High Consorts in danger, Jinshi would be utterly within his rights to order executions. If ignorance is a sin, ignorance in the face of knowledge is a greater one.

Microcosm of Li

For all that Jinshi holds his power lightly, he also takes the responsibility that power bestows upon him quite seriously. It's worth noting that Jinshi takes over governing the Rear Palace shortly after Maomao's service contract is purchased. (Remember, Xiaolan talks about the "beautiful, new eunuch that's been posted to the central courtyard," which tells us that Jinshi has not been in the Rear Palace long enough to become a fixture - he's an object of speculation and admiration from episode 1).

In context it's clear that, with the birth of two Imperial children, his job is to ensure the survival of the Imperial line and investigate why children of the Emperor are dying consistently in one of the wealthiest and safest places in the entire empire. We're shown him running in between Lady Lihua and Lady Gyokuyou to ensure that their very sick children are being seen to properly, investigating what could be causing it, while also managing tensions as rumors about the Emperor's children being cursed begin to spread and outright accusations of sorcery are being thrown between consorts. While the audience might immediately scoff along with Maomao at the idea of one consort cursing another, if Maomao hadn't found the cause of death, those types of accusations followed by Lady Lihua's and Princess Lingli's inevitable deaths could have ended with Lady Gyokuyou's execution.

The Rear Palace is a reflection of the nation as a whole. No Imperial heirs plus the deaths of two High Consorts with various foreign and domestic political ties had the potential to thrust the entire nation into chaos. Jinshi's choices have very real consequences, so when Maomao discovers what the true cause of death is and sends her warning, Jinshi looks at Maomao and doesn't see a person. He sees a "perfect pawn." A tool, one with talents that have ensured that at least one Imperial child has survived and providing a rational explanation why these children have died so that it can be prevented from happening again - and a skill set that can be turned to preventing any more shenanigans in the Rear Palace that could threaten the empire's foundation.

And, as Gaoshun points out, in the beginning of the hairpin scene, she is a toy. Maomao amuses Jinshi up until this point.

For all that Jinshi is shown wielding power with a light hand and a responsible mindset, it literally doesn't occur to him that the people working in the rear palace have stories - some tragic - about how they came to be there. They are resources to be used as befits the Emperor's (and therefore the nation's) need.

Hidden Beauty

When Maomao turns around and Jinshi doesn't recognize her until she speaks, he's shocked. He thought he knew exactly who and what this girl was - ugly and unremarkable, except for her intellectual brilliance and the challenge in managing her by other means than empty compliments and smiles. He attempts to recover and assumes that she is enhancing her looks - and is shocked again when he realizes that the face Maomao has presented to him so far is a protective mask against attracting attention. In a world where beauty is both a currency and a tool that others covet, Jinshi doesn't understand why Maomao would deliberately devalue herself like that. So she tells him.

This is the moment Maomao becomes a person to Jinshi.

Not a toy, not a pawn. Someone who has been ripped from her home and her life illegally and sold off. It's in this moment that Jinshi is forced to confront the ugly side of the society he lives in, people who would rape Maomao out of pure convenience or just take a "borderline marketable" girl off the street in order to get extra drinking money.

Worse, Jinshi is complicit in Maomao's captivity. The Rear Palace has bought her contract - and as the manager of the Rear Palace, Jinshi is responsible for everything that happens within its' walls. The fact that Jinshi does not personally oversee service contracts is irrelevant. The buck stops with him. If the Matron of the Serving Women or whoever is below her is buying these contracts without checking their sources, that is Jinshi's fault because he has allowed a lax enough system to flourish. He has failed to govern this microcosm of the nation wisely, with thought for the welfare of the least powerful among his people. Worse, he has failed to even notice the problem - Maomao may say she's angry about having been kidnapped and sold, but she doesn't react in a way that indicates anger. Instead, she's resigned. Yes, what happened to her was wrong and she's angry about it, but there's literally nothing she or Jinshi can do.

Or Is There?

Jinshi offers Maomao two apologies, the first of which is our first hint to his true status. "I'm sorry we couldn't police them better." Maomao immediately blows off this apology - she points out that there's no way Jinshi should have known and has a very "all's well that ends well" attitude about her situation - her contract will be up eventually and in the meantime she's managed to land in a fulfilling role. Essentially Maomao is telling Jinshi that this apology is not his to make - he's overstepping his responsibility. And, if Jinshi were simply the manager of the Rear Palace, she would be right. It's his job to ensure that the Rear Palace is properly staffed, not to regulate that all contracts comply with the law.

Jinshi apologizes again. This time, he offers no other context. He doesn't accept Maomao's absolution of responsibility - because he knows (even if we, the audience, don't) otherwise. It can certainly be read as Jinshi refusing to accept easy absolution, and the rest of those witnessing the scene, apart from Gaoshun, certainly take it that way.

Instead, he takes the hair stick from his own hair and places it in Maomao's. Their entire relationship has just been upended; Maomao is a person who has been gravely wronged and it is Jinshi's responsibility to begin to make it right. Aside from the personal implications of giving her the hairpin (and the faint blush on his face makes it clear that he's aware of them), it is a form of restitution. There is an unspoken social contract Jinshi is offering that Maomao does not understand in the slightest. It never occurs to her that Jinshi would do something for her with no thought of what he would receive in return, because of the difference in their social ranks. But, from Jinshi's perspective, that social difference is the point. He has failed her and, as the person of higher rank, it is his responsibility to do what is within his power to begin to remedy the situation in front of him.

And, of course, in that moment he sees Maomao in a new light, the other meaning of gifting her his hairpin has fertile ground to take root in Jinshi's mind.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinshi #maomao #jinmao #long text post #apothecary diaries meta #kusuriya anime #knh #jinshi x maomao #jinshi and maomao #lady gyokuyou #lady lihua #princess lingli #gaoshun #hair pin #episode 5 #covert operations

[tightjeansjavi]

Hi!! Love your writing!! Can you write a cowboy fetish joel miller with boot riding 🥺🥺

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this in! It scratched my brain just ✨right✨ and I hope it does the same for you! I couldn’t just do some boot ridin’ without some plot ;) enjoy 🤠

Dinner & Diatribes

~word count: 3.7k~

Pairing | Cowboy/bounty hunter! Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

Warnings: smut,fluff, angst, cowboy in shining armor vibes, unprotected piv, boot ridin! dick slingin, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, implied age gap, dom/sub vibes, sir/mister kink, implied abuse (not by Joel) Joel is a bounty hunter during the Wild West, reader is a runaway bride wanted for murdering three men, filthy language, pining, protective! Joel, assumed unrequited love, swearing, AU that might not 100% be historically accurate but I tried! reader has no physical descriptions such a skin tone or body type, readers nickname is Chickadee, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

Joel Miller knows that keeping a bounty for himself ain’t the way to go about things..he knows that there’s consequences for his actions, an imminent problem would surely arise if he didn’t bring you back to the town you fled from. Wanted for the murders of three men. A wild untamable thing on the run is how the sheriff described you to Joel. And the most important detail of all; I don’t care if you bring her back alive, or in pieces.

And then Joel found you, tracked your trails for miles and miles through the barren rough terrain of the Wild West. You didn’t even put up a fight when you heard the distinct sound of thundering hooves drawing nearer and nearer. You were exhausted, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapsing to the dusty earth while vultures circled ahead.

This didn’t mean you gave up entirely when Joel Miller had you circled, cornered and lasso at the ready. That’s when he took notice of your state, your attire. A once glittering wedding dress now hanging on by threads of shredded fabric. The bottom tooled fabric was now a dirty sand color, blending in with the dirt. Remnants of your eye makeup cracked and stained beneath your eyes and cheekbones that were once painted in a pretty pigment.

He watched from the saddle of his horse as you sank down to your knees, awaiting your inevitable fate to be delivered. “Have you come to turn me in, Mister?”

His head cocked to the side, eyes studying your vulnerable form intently. You couldn’t see his face as it was obstructed from your view with a tied bandana, but even from where you sat on your knees, you could see that his eyes were a deep shade of brown, dark and mysterious.

He dismounted his horse swiftly, silently, boots tearing up dusty patches of earth with each heavy step he took. The spurs on the back of his boots chimed through the air as he stopped in front of you. His broad frame casted a shadow over your kneeling form. His hands were encased in worn leather, and he smelled of tobacco smoke, saddle soap, and musk.

He crouched down, hat tipping forward while one leather clad hand reached for your jaw, thumb brushing across your skin as he tilted it upwards, forcing you to look into his eyes. He saw your grime and dried blood stained face up close. Your eyes flickered nervously as he turned your head to the side.

“Ain’t you gonna get on with it and turn me in? What’re you draggin’ this out for, huh? You caught me, mister. Go and collect your fuckin’ reward.” You spat defiantly into the dirt, a glob of salvia landing on the toe of his boot.

His grip tightened around your chin, jaw ticking sharp like a knife, eyes narrowing in on your face and the subtle wobble of your severely cracked and dry lower lip.

“What happened to you?” He finally spoke. His voice reminded you of fire crackling, ominous thunder and heavy rain. Thick, gravelly, deeper than the Grand Canyon itself.

“What’s it matter if I tell ya, huh? You gonna take pity on me or somethin’ mister?”

He was silent again, appearing deep in thought as he continued to study your face, searching through the grime and dirt for any clues..then, he saw it; The eyes of someone that suffered abuse. His grip around your chin softened

“Stand up.” He commanded.

You struggled to your feet, confusion etched in your features, the obvious sway in your step before two strong hands grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“We’ll have to move fast.”

“What’re you—” You were still confused, head spinning from his words and malnourishment.

“I don’t turn in folks that killed outta self defense, Chickadee. And certainly not a woman that killed her abusers.” He gave you a curt, tight nod. “Better you than I cause I woulda tied those sons a bitches up and dragged them through the fuckin’ desert.” He rasped.

“You’re..not turnin’ me in?”

“No. Ain’t morally right for me t’do so.” He said softly.

And that’s how you ended up riding through the countryside with Joel Miller to protect you. You’d patch up his shiners, his wounds, keep his belly full with hearty stews that kept him strong and alert. You’d clean his gun, shine his leather till you could see your reflection in the fabric. And in return, he protected you. He never asked for any sexual favors, or for your hand. He viewed you as his equal, his partner.

It hurt sometimes, to flirt with the man you owed your life to and for him to brush your attempts off everytime. As if you were a pesky horsefly, or insignificant gnat. Yet, you couldn’t help it. Joel was handsome, ruggedly so and you’d often find yourself fantasizing about kissing him, feeling his fingers touch you in places you craved to be touched in. To feel his caress on your skin, the bite of his leather, the scrape of his scruffy beard. The stretch of his cock inside of your wet cunt.

You were driving yourself mad with want for a man that didn’t want you back, or so you assumed that was to be the case.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Joel Miller was on the edge to finally just give in when he caught you one night with your skirts hiked above your thighs with your boot clad feet firmly planted in the dirt. Under the pale glow of the moonlight above, and the glittery shining stars, he could see your hand between your thighs, touching yourself and moaning his name.

It felt wrong to watch you, to invade your privacy and your modesty. But he’d be damned if he’d go another night without feeling the hug of your pussy around his aching cock. Or to feel the taste of your kissable lips on his tongue. Damned. Damned. Damned. Fuck, he couldn’t survive another second without knowing what it was like to be loved by you.

For years he had pushed you away despite knowing the pain it caused both you and him. A man could only last so long pretending to not love a woman that he’d throw his life down for in a heartbeat. That’s the kinda love Joel Miller had been dreaming of all his life.

Your head snapped at the sound of a twig snapping behind you as your hand stilled between your thighs. Your heartbeat rattled wildly in your rib cage at the fear and excitement of being caught.

Oh, please. Please let tonight be the night.

“Don’t stop on my account, Chickadee.” He drawled deeply before stepping closer to where you sat.

The heat rushed to your cheeks like a wildfire spreading, your stomach clenched inwards as you began to touch yourself once more, eyes staying locked on his own.

When he was close enough, you used his shins for support as you rubbed your swollen clit in tight, fast circles.

“No.” He shook his head. “Slower. Take your time, darlin.’ There ain’t no rush. Let me see you.” He rasped, before slowly sinking into the dirt behind you. His strong thighs corralled your own almost possessively as his hands gently grasped the hem of your skirts, pulling them up higher. You felt the brush of his beard against your cheek when his chin came to rest along your shoulder. “Nice and slow for me.”

“I’m—sorry, Joel.” You whispered ashamedly through the cool darkness of the desert night. You slowed your fingers, dragging them through the building slick that pooled between the seam of your cunt.

“Sorry for what, Chickadee? Sorry for touchin’ yourself? For moanin’ my name? Why would you be sorry for that?..” His deep tone sent sparks flying through your body as you leaned back into his strong chest.

“Because—you don’t want me, and this is wrong for me to do. To touch myself and moan a man’s name that doesn’t desire me the way I desire him.” A whimper was clawing up your throat, begging to be released, but you wouldn’t allow it.

He dropped the fabric of your skirts briefly only to dip his hand between your thighs and place his massive palm over the top of your hand, guiding your fingers over your clit once more. “This man desires you plenty, Chickadee. I was only tryin’ to protect your modesty..and our hearts.” He whispered against your ear, lips ghosting across your exposed skin. “Been wantin’ to love you all these years we’ve spent together.” He admitted. “I’m a terrible, rotten man for keepin’ you starved this long..” he trailed off, pressing open mouthed kisses at the spot where your jaw met your neck. “M’sorry.”

Those were the last words you ever expected a fucking bounty hunter to whisper..let alone to you?

A shuddered breath slipped past your parted lips, just for him. Your head lolled to the side, granting him easier access as your lashes fluttered shut. “I’ve felt like..such a fool, Joel. A dirty little fool for a bounty hunter.” You took your lower lip between your teeth, biting down harshly and drawing blood to the surface. You let him take full control of your hand, letting him guide and manipulate your fingers to play with yourself just right.

“Shh..I know now, Chickadee. M’sorry, truly. But I’m here now, ain’t I? M’here. Here forever if you’ll have me. I understand if I've bruised and neglected your heart far too many times..I can accept your rejection if it is coming.”

You could detect the edge of sadness in his tone, the acceptance already settling into his bones and heart.

“Joel, please kiss me.” You nearly begged him, dying to finally know what his lips would feel like on your own.

“Why didn’t ya just say that sooner, Chickadee.” He chuckled. “I wish ya woulda just grabbed me by the breeches years ago and knocked some sense into my thick skull. Woulda taken your ache away a long time ago, darlin.’” He said in a hushed whisper. “But I know you were afraid..can’t blame ya for that. Not really. ‘Specially since I ain’t the nicest of men to come by.”

He was taking too long, and you were an impatient woman.

“Joel.” You huffed, fighting the urge to curse him out before you decided to take matters into your own hands, finally. Tomorrow was never promised, not when you and Joel were constantly on the run.

He kept rambling on until he felt the soft touch of your fingertips brushing against the patches in his scruffy beard and the magnetic pull drawing him in closer, closer till he could taste your mingled breath on his lips.

Here in the middle of the desert, with nothing but the moon and stars as a source of light, you finally knew what it was like to kiss Joel Miller. You learned his lips quickly, liking that they were both soft and a bit chapped. As you licked slowly into one another’s mouths you could taste the faint remnants of tobacco on his tongue. It was a bruising kiss, one that both ignited the fire deep within you, and sent a delicious tingle curving down your spine.

So, this is what the girls back home were all talking about. Being kissed by a real man.

And then you found yourself straddling him in the dirt, saying fuck all to your modesty because you had never wanted a man more than you did now. And you wished that your mother could see you now. To see what her perfect little daughter had turned into.

Fuck you, mother. Fuck you for forcing me to marry that monster.

Joel brought you back down to earth with both his lips and his words tattooed on your skin. He caged you with his body, acting as a shield from the chilly night ear that sent goosebumps rising.

He worked your blouse open, growing more frustrated by the minute when the clasps wouldn’t automatically give. He was desperate to feel more of you, all of you because he knew then that you were his, and he was yours. And if you’d end up being the death of him, so be it. At least he could go out being loved rather than unloved.

“You gonna fuck me now, mister? Gonna take what belongs to you, Joel?” You mumbled against his lips in a chasing kiss, growing more desperate as the seconds ticked by.

“Gonna do more than that, Chickadee.” He rasped. This was a promise, and a man such as Joel always kept his promises.

The howl of a Coyote far off in the distant sent uneasy nerves rolling through you, because the realization hit you then that you and Joel were out in the fucking wilderness, and you suddenly felt bare and exposed.

“Jus’ a coyote, doll. He’s singin’ to the moon. We’re safe here, I promise. Ain’t ever gonna let somethin’ happen to you again, Chickadee.” His strong calloused, yet gentle hands came to cup for your face. His deep brown eyes met yours through the pale glow of the moonlight casted over your faces. “I swear on my life, you will always be safe with me.”

and while the lone coyote sang his song to the moon, Joel Miller had you singing your own song, just for his ears too.

After that night spent together, you never had a night where you slept alone. Joel was always there. Holding you, kissing you, fucking you into a blissful state.

He still feared for your safety, and you feared for his. This would never change, but you refused to live in fear for the rest of your life.

It was a boiling hot day under the blazing desert sun. You and Joel were moving west towards California. Hearing about the gold rush there sounded like as good of an opportunity as any. Not even just for the gold, but the prospects of a new life. Joel had dreams of owning a ranch, sheep specifically and living out his days with you by his side.

“Come join me for a swim, cowboy.” You were sitting side by side under the one single tree along the river's edge. Your two horses were drinking their fill after traveling for days in these conditions.

Your cowboy had his arms crossed behind his head, biceps bulging under the thin fabric of his shirt. His hat was tipped down over his head. You only witnessed Joel being fully relaxed on a few occasions where he would let his guard down for just mere minutes.

“Mmm. That’s alright, doll. Y’go on and enjoy yourself.” He said with a lazy sigh.

“Just a quick one together? Please?” You reached over and gently lifted the brim of his hat just enough so you could see his closed eyes.”

“Chickadee..” he said in a low warning tone, peeking one eye open to look up at you before he shut it once more.

“You’re no fun.” You huffed while releasing your gentle grip on his hat.

“M’plenty fun, doll. I gotta keep watch, anyway. Can’t do that if I’m stark naked in the river with ya. What if someone tries to sneak up? Won’t have my gun at arms reach.” He sighed.

“I know, Joel.”

Maybe when we get to California..he won’t have to worry about all of that.

He sat up turning his body to face you before his palm came to rest upon your cheek in a gentle caress. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, tugging it down gently before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. “Now go on and cool off, Chickadee.”

You kissed him back with the same amount of sweetness before you pulled away and gave his nose a light boop. His face scrunched inwards before he reached around and gave your ass a light and playful swat that sent you giggling as you rose to your feet.

You shot him a seductive wink before you raced down to the river's edge, kicking up a cloud of dirt with your boots.

Joel watched from afar with a hooded gaze as you stripped down from your skirts and blouse followed by your unlaced boots. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when your one boot wouldn’t give right away and you nearly tripped before finally getting it off. He kept watch as you dove into the crystal clear waters and reameraged moments later.

He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple and pocket knife while you splashed around like a kid on Christmas. He cut off a small slice before biting it off on the edge of the knife, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned back against the sturdy tree.

When we get to California..I’m going to marry her.

He didn’t want to end your fun so soon..but it was time to get moving again. He brought his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, whistling to let you know that it was time to pack up.

You had been floating peacefully on your back with your eyes closed when you heard his whistle that immediately tore you from your daydream state.

He was just about to stand up from where he was resting against the tree when you emerged from the river. You reminded him of a goddess. Bare, beautiful, skin sprinkled in water droplets that were kissed by the sun. You looked unreal, and he was the luckiest man alive.

“C’mon, Chickadee. We gotta head out.” He called for you when you were within earshot.

“I’m coming!” You bent down to gather up your clothes before the idea struck you. “Can I dry off first, please?”

He let out a grumbled sigh before he ultimately nodded his head in agreement. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt..

“Jus’ till ya dry off, doll.”

With your clothes and boots gathered up in your bare arms, you approached him casually, setting everything down on your nearby saddle while he watched you with piqued curiosity.

“I was thinking about you out there..laying on my back and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin..” you trailed off.

“Is that so? Hmm..what were you thinkin’ about, Chickadee?” His eyes slowly trailed down your bare body. From the swell of your breasts, down your tummy and thighs and what lay between them.

“Want to take a guess, cowboy?” You asked teasingly.

His brow raised as a grin tugged along the corner of his lips. A game is what you were playing, and he was the willing participant.

“Based on your tone, I’m gonna guess it’s got somethin’ to do with..my cock?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner while his hand casually came to rest between his own thighs. Oh, he was playing alright.

“Mmm..perhaps I was thinkin’ of ridin’ your cock right under the shade of this tree..but that would be too obvious, Joel.” Your eyes drifted down to where his hand was before the traveled down the expanse of his strong thighs and ending at the toe of his leather boots.

He caught onto your drift almost immediately and you saw his pupils begin to darken. “Y’wanna ride my boot? Is’that it? Well, ain’t you a filthy thing, Chickadee. You wanna get ‘em all shined up for me? Drag that sweet cunt of yours over them?”

His eyes stayed locked on yours in a challenging stare while he palmed himself through his pants to relieve the growing tension.

“I do, sir. I really, really, really want to ride your boot.” You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks because never in your wildest dreams did you expect to take part in debauchery such as this.

“On your knees then, girl. Kiss ‘em for me.” He fell right into character with a flip of a switch.

You found yourself lowering onto your knees without a care in the world about the dirt while you bent down over his boots, pressing a kiss to the leather, dragging your tongue down the stitched seam.

“That’s it, doll. Get ‘em nice and shined up for me.” He said while popping the button on his pants open and pulling his cock free from the confines.

“You gonna touch yourself while I ride your boot, mister?” You were sitting upright again before you crawled closer, letting your hands rest along his thighs as you positioned yourself right above his left boot. The imprint of your kiss had already begun to dry from the scorching heat.

“Yeah, doll. I’m gonna fist my cock while you ride my boot like the dirty Chickadee that you are.” He spat into his palm before he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock just as you lowered yourself over the expanse of his boot, taking your lip between your teeth when you dragged your clit right across the smooth leather.

“Fuuck me. Ain’t that a sight. Look at you, fuckin’ filthy girl. S’feel good, Chickadee?”

You rolled your hips forward slowly at the rate that he was pumping his fist. A soft whimper slipped past your lips while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Feels so good, mister. So—so good.” You moaned freely with each steady roll of your hips, chasing that high. Nothing would ever compare to Joel’s cock. You knew this, he knew this, and you also were aware that this little game would only last so long.

And then he watched you lose yourself completely on his boot with each roll and grind of your hips against the dampened leather. Crying out his name, nails digging into his covered thighs, head thrown back, tears nearly flooding your eyes.

He had the same sense of urgency and realization that nothing would ever compare to the warm hug of your pussy around his cock. That’s when the game ended as his strong arms came to lift you into his lap by your thighs. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss filled with intermingled moans and teeth clashing together when he finally slipped into your warmth.

California could wait a little longer, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as it lasted because now he had the love that he had been dreaming of all his life. Right here in his arms, cock buried to the hilt under the shade of this very tree. Right here with his Chickadee.

That’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel x reader #joel tlou #au joel miller #cowboy joel #bounty hunter joel #protective joel #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller story #joel x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

[mm-lurking]

Emperor Blade AU brainrot

I'm struggling to finish my Blade wips so have this for today. Inspired by my interest in historical Chinese dramas (forgive me for my limited knowledge), Im writing this as 12am please don't mind me with the grammar mistakes etc thank you WC: 1000 ish Warnings: blade x fem! reader, NOT proofread! --- Emperor Blade who picks you during the wife selection stage. You, a middle-class woman with a clan that is neither too powerful nor weak, just ok. You, who compared to the many beauties with influence and high political power, are just average. But that doesn't matter to him as he calmly picks you from the list of candidates, dumbfounding his advisors and court members. Emperor Blade who only picked a wife because of the pressure his court was putting on him. In his thundering dominant reign of purging corruption and enemies, he had never considered being married even once. Marriage to him was an inconvenience and an unnecessary contract to sign.

Emperor Blade who keeps you at an arm's length, treating you just right so it's not controversial yet keeping you so distant that your only companion is your right handmaid. He doesn't speak much to you, and your conversations are short and out of formality. You barely see much of him as he spends most of his day running the nation and the times he is free he rarely visits you.

Emperor Blade who frankly doesn't care what you do or say, as long as you let him be and don't cause trouble. You're merely a pawn in his eyes, a pawn to get everyone to shut up and let him reign however he wants without interfering, that is -until you're pulled into the games of politics.

Emperor Blade whose eyes are raging with a fire his court members have never seen when a faction decides to take advantage of the awkwardness of your marriage and hurt you. He has never liked innocent people being involved in the deception and web of lies of politics. The anger in his voice followed by the withdrawal of his sword makes everyone present cower with fear as they rush to cease his anger so they can save their own heads.

Emperor Blade who works tirelessly at night to figure out who had dared to poison you so shamelessly without any consequences, his jawline clenched and knuckles white as he looks through all his reports to find the mole within the palace walls. Despite saying he doesn't have time for you before, he finds a way to visit you when you're unconscious in your bed, holding your hand as he looks over your peaceful face. Your touch is comforting yet foreign and despite his initial reservations, he finds himself wanting more.

Emperor Blade who rushes over to your chambers when he's informed that you're awake so he can see you for himself and breathe a sigh of relief. There is a twinkle in his eyes that you have never seen before but in your weak state, you shrug it off as your imagination. He swears to find the ones who have hurt you and promises to keep you safe. The tiny smile he shows you has you flabbergasted for the rest of the day.

Emperor Blade who does not hesitate to execute the perpetrators publicly as a warning for everyone to see, to fear the consequences of what would happen if anyone even thought about hurting his wife, his empress. He makes sure you're not watching so he doesn't subject you to the brutality of his role as the emperor. To him, he does not find the need to scare you with his powers. He does not want you to fear him.

Emperor Blade who is slowly but surely falling in love with you. You find yourself welcoming him into your chambers more and more as he drinks tea and chit chats about his interests with you, something you were confused by at first but now have become accustomed to. He loves how you eagerly listen to him and offer your opinions if asked while making sure he's comfortable in your space.

Emperor Blade, who swore to never fall in love, has his heart beating faster and faster whenever he sees you, his breath hitching in his throat when you pass by him in the halls wearing your beautiful gowns. Your scent is intoxicating and he finds himself addicted to you, unable to get enough of you.

Emperor Blade who asks you to accompany him to the pavilion to admire the moon one day. He asks you to wear your favourite gown and says nothing more, leaving you confused but curious. You comply as you meet him in front of your palace, shyly smiling as he admires you.

Emperor Blade who takes your hand into his own, causing you to gasp as the public display of affection. His grip is firm and unwavering, a sign that he doesn't plan to let go. He dismisses his guards and your maids, leaving only you two alone as you both walk to the pavilion and stare at the night sky. The moon is bright and beautiful today with stars that twinkle in the sky like jewels.

Emperor Blade who pulls you into his arms, lifting ur chin with one hand as he looks into your eyes. "You're beautiful", he murmurs causing you to blush. The faint redness of your cheek makes him chuckle as he draws closer. Your noses are touching and your hearts thumping.

Emperor Blade who before only viewed you as a pawn, an inconvenience and a waste of time, now looks at you endlessly as he flicks his gaze back and forth between your lips and your eyes, asking for silent permission as his grip on your waist tightens and the gap between you two closes.

Emperor Blade who asked you to keep your distance from him now closes the distance between you both with a kiss, a kiss that washes away every painful thing he had said to you before. The winds of the night embrace the both of you at this moment as if it were a sign of acceptance from nature itself, a thumbs up almost.

Emperor Blade, a man of fear, blood and formidable reign had now become a man of affection, love and security. A man who swore to never love and never be married is now a man who is deeply in love with you. As the night continues and the moon illuminates your figures, he promises to cherish you and be your man for the rest of your life. A man whose tenderness, warmth and devotion are reserved for you and only you to see. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

#honkai star rail #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade #blade hsr #blade x you #hsr angst #blade angst #blade x female reader #blade honkai #blade x y/n #yingxing #blade au #Blade simp #blade fluff #blade x fem! reader

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [1].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst if you squint, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, secondhand stress HHAHAHAH. WORD COUNT. 2.9k.

TAGLIST. @seokgyuu @spjhyn @bat-shark-repellant @writingmeraki @lotties-readings @jenodreamer @gyuspeach @lexawoah13 @dvalitaes @agustdiv1ne @enhacatalog @soobs-things @tocupid @wonsays @kgneptun @sarang-ae @peaceout97 @outrologist @prettypei @luv4cheol @captivq @kueey @matcha-binz @loveherrschxr @haechology @bitehee @laylasbunbunny

NOTE. and so it begins!! grabbed seventeen’s “second life” and gave it to beomgyu’s band, by the way. future chapters will be a lot longer bcs this one is sort of just an introduction. please lmk what u think so far!!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 1 — the consequences of working with a choi.

One.

“I told you I won’t do any romance dramas!”

Choi Soobin isn’t usually one to throw tantrums. He’s gentleness itself, says the media. The loveliest, most humble and soft-spoken angel to have ever graced South Korea’s entertainment industry. Interviewees praise him for being so kind and warm. Award-winning actor Lee Minyuk decided to adopt him the day they first met while working on a drama just a year ago.

He’s so nice, so sweet, so lovely— a stark contrast to the roles he usually plays, but that doesn’t take away from the songs of praise that articles and Twitter posts usually string along with Choi Soobin’s name.

All of this is true of course. As long as you’re not contractually obligated to babysit his whiny, picky, six foot tall ass every single day.

“Soobin, why don’t you give it another—”

“This is ridiculous,” he huffs, crossed armed on the sofa with a tattered script sitting on the low coffee table before him. Manager Lee feels a headache kicking in. Why is this bastard acting up when the interns are in the office? Those two simply wanted to deliver the scripts for Soobin to pick from, but they are looking at his actor’s surprising behavior with wide eyes. Now, it’s going to be his job to make sure that they don’t run their mouths about the nation’s alleged first love actually being a spoiled brat.

“Soobin,” Manager Lee exhales for the nth time. This script is from Writer Kang. The Writer Kang! She wrote this script with you in mind as the lead. Can you at least maybe reconsider—”

“I’m not doing it.” Soobin won’t budge. He’s got a visibly troubled and offended look on his face and his manager wants to smack him upside in the head. How could he not understand that this is an opportunity of a lifetime? “Hyung, you know the reason why I even signed to this company in the first place. I’m not doing it. Absolutely not.”

He picks up the script like it’s a dirty rag— disgusted expression to match— only to reveal a page that suddenly prompts him to throw the entire thing across the room. The two interns flinch. Manager Lee feels his hair turning gray by the second.

“There’s a kissing sce— agh! Gosh! What will my soulmate think if she sees me kissing another woman?!”

“Soul...soulmate?” unfortunate intern number one voices out hesitantly.

“Is...Choi Soobin seeing someone right now?” asks number two, and Manager Lee wants to retire early. His actor is still ranting on and on about how there’s no way in hell he’s taking on this role. He doesn’t really wanna deal with that right now.

“No. He’s not seeing anybody. He’s never been in a relationship before.”

Manager Lee knows this because he’s been Soobin’s manager since the young star was still seventeen, when he was still as nice and well-behaved as the tabloids made him out to be. That same kid is now a grown adult and shuddering over a possible kissing scene in a screenplay. “Ahh. I can’t do this, I seriously can’t do this, hyung!” Fame does change people. Manager Lee wants seventeen year-old Soobin back.

“Then...then who is his soulmate…?”

It’s hard to imagine that an A-List star like Choi Soobin is suffering from unrequited love. “A woman from his past life,” answers Manager Lee. “Or so he says.” The interns look at him. Come—come again? their expressions seem to say. Manager Lee lets out an exasperated sigh. This one’s even harder to comprehend.

“Hyung,” Soobin finally calls out for him. Lee returns his attention to his artist, who’s now flipping through the other scripts on the table with an even more disgruntled expression. “Hyung, are these all the offers I have? They’re all romance! Don’t we have other options?!”

“The CEO wants you to expand your roles, Soobin,” Manager Lee flatly replies. “Your fans too. You can’t keep doing action-mystery-thrillers forever. It’s a waste of your visuals. They want to see you in lighter things too.” He walks over to pick up the first rejected script from the floor, dropping it in front of Soobin, who is currently a deflated balloon.

He’s changed. But sometimes it feels as though his artist hasn’t grown up ever since they first met.

“If you take Writer Kang’s drama, you’ll get even bigger, Soobin.”

“I’m not interested in fame,” Soobin mumbles, shoulders slacked and dejected. “I just want—”

“If you gain ever more fame, expand your reach, won’t that mean your soulmate can find you sooner as well?” Soobin takes the bait. He flinches upon hearing the word he’s been chasing after ever since, a glimpse of consideration flashing through his expression as he nips down his bottom lip. Manager Kim lands a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, kid. You shouldn’t waste opportunities like this.”

Soobin lets out a breath. “I’ll...I’ll give it some thought.”

Dear god, finally. Manager Lee ushers out a sulky and troubled Soobin out into the hall with the script hugged against his chest and tells him to relax for the day. “Don’t overthink it. Just do what you want to do,” he says, after gaslighting him into positively considering the role. Still, Soobin needs this. He’s been stagnating since his last project, Study Group. He needs to switch up genres if he wants to improve.

“Wow,” intern number two exhales the moment Soobin leaves the premises. “You really are a veteran, sir. But does Choi Soobin’s soulmate really exist? Who is he looking for?”

Manager Lee shrugs and drops onto the sofa with a grunt. “Beats me. He doesn’t even know her name.”

*

Two.

“Yeonjun! Choi Yeonjun, look over here!”

“Choi Yeonjun, you look good today as well!”

“Please give a heart to the camera!”

“Fuck! Choi Yeonjun, you’re so fucking hot!”

That last one made Yeonjun’s mouth twitch into a smirk, and the screaming instantly became louder. Unintentional, but he relishes in the attention, anyway. He flips down his sunglasses to block the flashing lights from the cameras (causing another unintentional pandemonium), and his manager (Kim Noona, he likes to affectionately call when she’s about to yank out his hair roots for misbehaving) quickly ushers him into van before his rabid fans break through the bodyguards’ defenses and jump him.

“Good work today,” says Manager Kim as they start to drive away from the fansign venue. Yeonjun has his window rolled down and is blowing air kisses to the crowd. Ignorance is bliss, Manager Kim decides. “However, you don’t have time to run a catwalk on the way to the van tomorrow since you have another schedule immediately after the fansign. Try to strut for two minutes max tomorrow, please.”

“‘Kayyy,” Yeonjun hums, rolling the tinted windows back up and leaning back into the car seat with a satisfied groan. They’re on the way back to his apartment now. Time for him to start his routine. “Noona, do you have all the letters I got today?”

“Look to your left.” 

And there it is indeed— a stack of notes and envelopes and perfume-drenched messages of love and adoring affection. He flits through each one, skimming over every note and every letter like he’s looking for something. “Sleep early tonight,” Manager Kim tells him as he knits his brows, nearing the end of the stack. “You have a shoot in the morning, in case you forgot.” 

Yeonjun is back at the first letter he started with. Nothing, he lets out a sigh. Not one that he’s looking for.”

“Noona,” he calls out. “I’m going live right now.”

There’s a bump on the road.

“No, wait—”

[🔴 yawnzzn is live].

“Hehe. Yeonjunnie is here—!”

Manager Kim abruptly stops the car. Thank fucking god the road isn’t too crowded. She watches Yeonjun from the rearview mirror as he smiles at the outstretched camera and makes casual greetings and hello’s to the viewers, heart racing in fear. “Right now? I’m on the way back home. Can’t wait to get a nice shower once I get back.” Okay, she lets in a deep breath, starting the car once more. Yeonjun isn’t doing anything weird yet. Better to drop him off as soon as possible.

“Nooo, I haven’t had dinner yet, I’ll order once I get home. What do you guys recommend?”

He’s being normal. He’s acting fine. This is good.

“Ramen? That sounds good. Kimchi jjigae is also yummy.”

Maybe he just wanted to interact more with his fans, yes. He’s always been like that. Maybe he won’t say anything rash this time.

“Oh! The video with Mark Lee from NCT? Did you see us hugging? Hehe, Mark and I look good together?” They’re almost at his apartment building. They’re almost here. Once they arrive, Yeonjun will turn off the livestream and Manager Kim can finally fucking retire for the day. “That’s cute. But it’s too bad. I’m already interested in someone else.”

Screeeech!

The car stops. “Yeonjun.” But Yeonjun’s live stream is still ongoing. “Turn off the live.”

Yeonjun is smiling at his phone in painful ignorance. Manager Kim doesn’t miss the one second glance he spares at her. One second. One mere second before he starts inciting chaos even more. “Who? That’s a secretttt. I don’t want to tell you.”

Manager Kim’s phone starts buzzing. “Yeonjun, turn it off.” The buzzing won’t stop. Her personal phone starts going off as well

“Ah. Should I give you a hint?”

There’s an incoming call now.

“Choi Yeonjun, turn off the god damned—”

“Okay!” Yeonjun suddenly exclaims. He flashes a knowing smile to the camera, but his dearly stressed and overworked manager knows that it’s directed to her rather than the thousands of people witnessing the artist she’s in charge of stirring his third rumor of the week. Her phone won’t stop buzzing, it can be used as a fucking vibrator at this point. Choi Yeonjun is lucky he rakes in most of the agency’s profits— otherwise his contract would be terminated by now. “I have to go. My manager looks like she’s about to fire me, hehe. See you all tomorrow! Mwah!”

Just like that, the live stream ends, but Manager Kim’s phone is still incessantly ringing and beeping and giving the signal that Choi Yeonjun will once again go trending on Twitter— not in the way the company wants. Again. “Kim Noona?” Yeonjun calls out. “The light is green. The cars behind are honking at us.”

Manager Kim’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeonjun.” And they start moving again. “What are you gonna do once you get home?”

“Post a damage control photo. Got it.”

He knows. He knows yet he keeps pulling the same shit every week.

“Good...good— just,” his manager lets out a sigh, and they arrive at the front of his building. “No matter what I tell you, you won’t stop pulling these stunts, aren’t you?”

“Nope.” Yeonjun flashes her a grin, unbuckling his seatbelt, ready to slide the door open. “Thanks, noona! See you tomorrow!”

With that, Yeonjun leaves with a bounce in his step right after the mess he just made.

The problem is, Manager Kim can’t tell him to stop either after knowing exactly why he’s doing all of these scandal-bait, potentially career damaging things. It’s not something she can believe in, and it’s definitely not within the realm of reality. But after seeing the look on her artist’s eyes when he said— how many more headlines must he make until you can finally find your way back to him?

Well. All Manager Kim can do is work PR to their deaths for damage control.

*

Three.

“Why don’t we kick it off by listening to your latest single?”

Studio lights burn the set. Five seats are settled in place, four against one for an interview with one of the hottest K-Rock groups of the generation. Yeong-Il released a new single just earlier in the week, and it’s topped the charts ever since release. 

If I am given a second life I may live and breathe differently compared to now

Lee Heeseung looks happy to be here. So do Yang Jeongin and Lim Jimin. Choi Beomgyu, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now, complete with the faraway look on his face as he’s clearly not paying attention to the comments the host is making, instead drowning in melody and lyrics hummed by the speakers.

Among the streets we’ll walk past each other without knowing

“It’s quite different from our usual music, no?” Heeseung laughs.

I hope we remember each other

“Right!” Jeongin chimes in. “But I think we should hear from the man who produced and wrote this.”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Beomgyu, are you awake?”

Even if a second life That’s different from now comes to me The one thing I can say is That I’m going to be by your side

“Beomgyu!”

“Ah.” Beomgyu finally wakes up. He catches the concerned and nervous glances of his friends-slash-bandmates. Beomgyu takes the microphone from Jimin, tapping it once, before saying, “What do I do? It’s a little embarrassing to talk about this by myself.” Jeongin fails to hold back a snort at his lack of sincerity. Jimin sends him a nudge with his elbow. 

“Hey, this isn’t the first time you’ve written a song. Quit acting coy,” Heeseung manages to salvage the conversation, invisible sweat dripping down the side of his face. Beomgyu finally decides to stop stalling and answers the question.

“Well, anyhow, I think you can tell from the lyrics. Second Life is about a love that extends beyond lifetimes— promising that even after we’ve lived, died, and reborn as different people, there is still no one I’d love but you.” There’s some coughs from his bandmates. Beomgyu presses his lips into a smile. “That’s it.” And passes the microphone back to whoever reaches out for it first.

This kind of behavior from Yeong-il’s guitarist and vocalist isn’t new. 

The problem is, even though his team and fans are used to it, not everyone is, so the show’s host is taken aback by Beomgyu’s complete lack of care, unaffected and impenetrable. He stifles out a cough, flits through his cue cards. “O—oh, how romantic!” he exclaims. “I’ve noticed that a lot of your other songs that Choi Beomgyu-ssi has written seem to have a similar theme. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, it’s not really a secret, and it’s honestly pretty obvious,” Beomgyu answers, earning another nudge from Jimin. 

“He doesn’t seem like it, but Beomgyu is the biggest romanticist out of all of us,” Heeseung saves the day once more. Choi Beomgyu has been once dubbed as the biggest hurdle in every interviewer’s career. Nobody knows if he’s doing it on purpose, or if he really is just like that.

“We—well, can we ask what your inspiration is for writing this kind of music?”

It’s not a new question. It’s a question asked interview after interview to Choi Beomgyu whenever they release one of his songs riddled with his signatures of reincarnation, second lives, and first loves. But he’s always avoided answering them, sometimes going as far as outright telling the host that he doesn’t want to answer.

Though his bandmates are indeed both dreading and looking forward to the day Beomgyu would finally make a public answer to that million dollar question—

“Myself.”

—they certainly did not expect him to answer with the truth.

“What?”

“The tracks were inspired by myself,” he says, face flat, free from any sign of humor or jest. “I’m still waiting for my first love from my first life. There must be a reason why I still remember her and the life we shared. Doesn’t that mean we’re both destined to meet again?”

Silence washes over. Everyone on set is looking at Beomgyu, waiting for him to laugh or smile or crack a joke or some shit just to give an indication that he wasn’t at all serious with that statement. Their managers are frozen. They’re all looking at Heeseung to finally and neatly wrap things up before the mood gets worse.

Heeseung gets the signal. He quickly snatches the microphone from his friend and starts making bullshit up and praying to god that this part gets edited out. “Aha—ahaha, Beomgyu really likes to remain in character! That’s how much he takes his music seriously! Anyway—”

The rest of the interview turns up normally. No unexpected backstory reveals or trauma-dumps. No mentions of possible supernatural phenomena whatsoever and that’s mostly because Beomgyu decided to keep quiet for the rest of it.

He’s seriously a ticking time bomb, all but him share the same thought upon exiting the studio, until Heeseung finally confronts him about it when they reach the van.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to nag me,” Beomgyu groans. “We can ask them not to air that part, anyway. I’m just getting impatient.”

Impatience.

That’s a mutual feeling shared by all three of them. 

Twenty years. That’s how long they’ve been waiting. Centuries, if you count the period in between their previous lives and now. But when the person they’ve been waiting for finally shows up— patience will be a virtue that they’ll need to learn to strengthen. Patience. They’ll need to be a hell of a lot more patient if they want to take back what they lost.

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#tomorrow x together x reader #choi yeonjun x reader #choi soobin x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #txt scenarios #txt x you #txt x reader #tomorrow x together scenarios #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #choi soobin x you #choi yeonjun x you #choi beomgyu x you

[highpriestessarchives]

The Reluctant Ruler Trope: A Philosophical Inquiry into Unwanted Power, Responsibility, and the Burden of Leadership

WC: 3,489

Index

Introduction The Reluctant Ruler in Literature and Folklore The Existential Dilemma of Unwanted Authority Political Implications and the Burden of Responsibility A Special Case or a Universal Relatability? Closing Words

Introduction

“The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture? You don't know. You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren’t, but, sometimes, it’s hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs.” —“Are You A Soldier, Poet, or A King?” quiz by @atlanticsea

Does anyone here remember the “Soldier, Poet, King” quiz that went around about a year or so ago? When I initially took it, I expected “Poet;” you can imagine my surprise when the “King” result absolutely obliterated my mental health.

As I’ve found, a common theme in my writing is the Reluctant Ruler trope, where either 1) a character is thrust into the role of a savior, hero, or king/queen despite not having any wish to lead people or 2) a character assumes the role of a leader without the full understanding of the morally corrupting demands of the job.

The narrative trope of the Reluctant Ruler has long captivated the human imagination, resonating across cultures and epochs. From mythical tales of kings and queens reluctant to ascend the throne to contemporary narratives of reluctant heroes and leaders, this archetype speaks to fundamental questions about the nature of power, responsibility, and the human condition. But what makes this trope such a tragic and believable character? How do we, as an audience, end up relating to and debating the conflicts and moral dilemmas that these characters face? Today, we embark on a philosophical inquiry into the Reluctant Ruler trope, aiming to uncover its deeper meanings and implications within existential and political philosophical discourse.

The Reluctant Ruler in Literature and Folklore

The archetype of the reluctant ruler is deeply embedded in the narratives of literature and folklore, transcending cultural and historical boundaries. Across diverse traditions, tales abound of individuals thrust into positions of leadership against their will, grappling with the weight of power and the burdens of governance.

Shakespeare’s “Hamlet:” One of the most iconic depictions of the Reluctant Ruler can be found in William Shakespeare's timeless tragedy, “Hamlet.” Prince Hamlet, the melancholic protagonist, is suddenly confronted with the task of avenging his father’s murder and assuming the throne of Denmark. Despite being heir to the throne, Hamlet is plagued by doubt, indecision, and existential angst. His famous soliloquy, “To be, or not to be,” encapsulates the profound existential crisis he faces, torn between the demands of duty and the desire for personal authenticity. Hamlet’s reluctance to embrace his role as king stems not only from fear or cowardice but from a profound skepticism about the legitimacy of authority and the corrupting influence of power.

The Arthurian Legend: In the rich tapestry of Arthurian legend, the motif of the Reluctant Ruler is exemplified in the character of King Arthur himself. According to some versions of the myth, Arthur is initially unaware of his royal lineage and is raised as a commoner by Sir Ector. Upon discovering his true identity and rightful claim to the throne, Arthur reluctantly accepts the mantle of kingship, guided by the wise counsel of Merlin and the moral imperative to uphold justice and chivalry. Despite his noble intentions, Arthur grapples with the burdens of leadership, facing betrayals, challenges to his authority, and the tragic consequences of his own choices. His reluctance to embrace his destiny as king reflects the ambivalence inherent in assuming power and the moral ambiguities of governance.

The Biblical Story of Moses: In the Abrahamic traditions, the narrative of Moses provides another compelling example of the Reluctant Ruler trope. According to the Book of Exodus, Moses is initially an ordinary Israelite that ran from his station as a prince of Egypt, content to live as a shepherd in the wilderness. However, when called upon by God to lead his people out of bondage in Egypt, Moses initially resists, citing his own inadequacies and speech impediment. Despite his reluctance, Moses eventually accepts the divine mandate and becomes the revered leader of the Israelites, guiding them through the trials of the Exodus and delivering the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. Moses’s reluctance to assume leadership underscores the theme of human frailty and the transformative power of faith and divine providence.

The Existential Dilemma of Unwanted Authority

Despite not having instances in our lives where we are unexpectedly crowned king or being spoken to by a deity, there are still profound lessons in identity and responsibility that we can pull from these characters.

The Anguish of Freedom and Responsibility

Existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre asserted that “existence precedes essence,” emphasizing the radical freedom and responsibility of human beings to define their own meaning and purpose in a seemingly indifferent universe. For the Reluctant Ruler, this existential freedom becomes a source of anguish and uncertainty. Suddenly endowed with authority and influence, they are confronted with the weight of responsibility and the moral implications of their actions. The existential angst of the reluctant ruler arises from the tension between the desire for autonomy and the demands of duty, as they struggle with the paradox of being simultaneously free and bound by social expectations.

Furthermore, with freedom comes the moral imperative to act responsibly and ethically. The Reluctant Ruler, however, finds themselves burdened with the weight of moral decision-making, as they navigate complex ethical dilemmas and confront the consequences of their actions. Existentialist philosophy emphasizes the inherent responsibility of individuals to create their own moral framework and to confront the ethical implications of their choices with honesty and integrity. The anguish of responsibility lies in the tension between the desire for moral clarity and the recognition of the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty of ethical decision-making. The reluctant ruler must contemplate on the ethical complexities of their role, striving to uphold their moral principles amidst the exigencies of power and governance.

Authenticity and Self-Deception

Central to the existential dilemma of unwanted authority is the quest for authenticity (we already knew this; I wrote two posts on authenticity already that you can check out here and here)—the authentic expression of one’s true self and values in the face of external pressures and expectations. The Reluctant Ruler may experience profound existential alienation as they navigate the demands of their role, questioning whether they are living in accordance with their own genuine desires and beliefs or merely conforming to societal norms and conventions.

In fact, they may be tempted to resort to self-deception—to deceive themselves and others about the true nature of their actions or motivations. Existentialist philosophy warns against the dangers of inauthenticity and self-delusion, highlighting the existential crisis that arises from living inauthentically and betraying one’s own values. The Reluctant Ruler may succumb to the pressures of their position, rationalizing their actions or compromising their principles in order to maintain power or avoid conflict. Self-deception becomes a means of coping with the existential anguish and moral dilemmas inherent in their role, providing a false sense of security and comfort amidst the uncertainties of leadership.

Self-deception ultimately leads to existential alienation—the estrangement from one’s authentic self and the sense of disconnection from the world. The Reluctant Ruler who succumbs to self-deception finds themselves adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity and existential angst, unable to reconcile their actions with their inner convictions.

The Absurdity of Human Existence

“The Absurdity of Human Existence” is a philosophical concept rooted in existentialist thought, particularly articulated by philosophers such as Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre. It posits that human life is inherently absurd, devoid of inherent meaning or purpose, and characterized by the fundamental tension between the human desire for meaning and the indifferent, chaotic nature of the universe.

In assuming positions of power unwillingly, the Reluctant Ruler confronts the absurdity of their situation, grappling with the arbitrary nature of authority and the futility of their efforts to impose order and control upon a chaotic world. The absurdity of leadership lies in the recognition of its inherent limitations and the inevitability of failure and impermanence. Despite their best intentions, the Reluctant Ruler may find themselves overwhelmed by their predicament, struggling to find meaning and significance in a world devoid of ultimate purpose.

Here is where another familiar element of existence comes into play: the illusion of control. The illusion of control is a psychological concept that refers to the tendency of individuals to overestimate their ability to influence or control events, particularly in situations characterized by uncertainty or randomness.

For the Reluctant Ruler, the illusion of control becomes apparent as they assume positions of power unwillingly and attempt to impose order and control upon a world that defies their efforts. Despite their best intentions, they soon come to realize the inherent unpredictability and uncontrollability of the events and circumstances they face. This recognition challenges their preconceived notions of authority and power, revealing the illusory nature of their perceived control.

The Reluctant Ruler may initially believe that they have the ability to shape the course of events and influence outcomes according to their will. However, as they encounter resistance, opposition, and unforeseen challenges, they begin to understand the limitations of their authority and the unpredictable nature of the world they seek to govern. This realization undermines their confidence and exposes the fragility of their sense of control.

Moreover, the illusion of control can lead the Reluctant Ruler to engage in behaviors and strategies aimed at maintaining the illusion of power, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. They may resort to authoritarian measures, manipulation, or denial of reality in an attempt to assert their authority and preserve their sense of control. However, these efforts ultimately prove futile, further reinforcing the absurdity of their situation.

The existential implications of the illusion of control lie in its confrontation with the fundamental unpredictability and contingency of human existence. The Reluctant Ruler's quest for control becomes a Sisyphean task, as they strive to impose order upon a world characterized by chaos and uncertainty. In confronting the illusion of control, they are forced to confront the absurdity of their condition and wrestle with the inherent limitations of human agency in the face of existential uncertainty.

Political Implications and the Burden of Leadership

Naturally, we cannot talk about the complexity behind the Reluctant Ruler without diving into those whom they govern. In examining the reluctant ruler trope through the lens of political philosophy, we confront the complex interplay between governance, legitimacy, and the ethical responsibilities of leadership.

Legitimacy and Consent

The concepts of legitimacy and consent are central to theories of political authority, shaping the foundation of governance and the relationship between rulers and the ruled. In the context of the Reluctant Ruler trope, the legitimacy of political authority is called into question, as leaders may assume power unwillingly, without the explicit consent or endorsement of those they govern.

Political theorists have long debated the sources of legitimacy in governance, seeking to identify the basis upon which political authority is justified. Traditionally, legitimacy has been derived from various sources such as divine right, tradition, charisma, or popular consent. However, the assumption of power by a Reluctant Ruler complicates these traditional sources, as their authority may not be grounded in the typical mechanisms of legitimacy. Instead, the legitimacy of the reluctant ruler may be contingent upon factors such as adherence to legal norms, effectiveness in governance, or recognition by key power holders.

In democratic societies, where the principle of popular sovereignty reigns supreme, the consent of the governed is considered foundational to the legitimacy of political authority. Democratic legitimacy is typically understood to derive from the consent of the people, expressed through free and fair elections. However, the Reluctant Ruler challenges this notion, as their assumption of power may not be the result of popular choice or electoral mandate. Or, on the other hand, perhaps it was, indeed, the populace that raised them to their position while they continued to protest and fight against it. This raises questions about the compatibility of their leadership with democratic ideals and the accountability of political institutions to the will of the people.

A Special Case or Universal Relatability?

The Reluctant Ruler archetype, emblematic of individuals thrust into positions of power against their will, serves as a focal point for exploring the intricate interplay between existential realization, political pragmatism, and ethical considerations within the realm of political philosophy and ethical theory. Through the lenses of political philosophers and ethical theorists, such as Niccolò Machiavelli, Hannah Arendt, Immanuel Kant, and Aristotle, we can seek to elucidate the moral spectrum of the Reluctant Ruler, shedding light on the ethical and existential dimensions of their predicament and the broader implications for human nature and governance.

Political Philosophers:

Thinkers such as Niccolò Machiavelli and Hannah Arendt might consider the ethical and political dimensions of the Reluctant Ruler trope. They would examine questions of legitimacy, authority, and the responsibilities of leadership, shedding light on how the Reluctant Ruler’s predicament illuminates broader themes in political philosophy.

Niccolò Machiavelli

Niccolò Machiavelli, a seminal figure in political philosophy, is often associated with political realism, a perspective that emphasizes practical considerations over moral ideals in governance.

Machiavelli’s political realism emphasizes the importance of power dynamics, interests, and strategic calculations in politics. He might argue that the Reluctant Ruler cannot afford to be guided solely by moral principles or existential concerns but must instead prioritize the preservation of authority and the maintenance of order.

For him, the reluctant ruler’s primary concern should be establishing and consolidating their authority, regardless of the circumstances of their ascension to power.

He famously suggests in The Prince that rulers should be prepared to act ruthlessly when necessary, even if it means sacrificing ethical principles.

The ends justify the means in politics, and that the reluctant ruler must be willing to employ any means necessary to achieve their goals.

Ultimately, Machiavelli would likely emphasize the importance of maintaining order and stability as the primary goals of the reluctant ruler. He might argue that the ruler's legitimacy and authority depend on their ability to govern effectively and preserve the social order, even if it requires making difficult decisions or compromises.

Machiavelli might caution against allowing existential angst or moral qualms to undermine the reluctant ruler's ability to govern decisively. He would likely stress the need for pragmatism and flexibility in navigating the complexities of political life.

Hannah Arendt

Hannah Arendt was a prominent political theorist known for her contributions to the understanding of totalitarianism, the nature of power, and the concept of political action.

Arendt would delve into the existential angst experienced by the reluctant ruler, examining how their struggle with assuming power unwillingly reflects broader themes of human existence. She might explore the absurdity of the situation, where individuals find themselves thrust into positions of authority without their consent or desire.

Arendt would likely emphasize the importance of individual conscience in guiding the actions of the reluctant ruler. She might suggest that the ruler's moral integrity is central to their ability to exercise legitimate and effective leadership, even in the face of existential uncertainty.

She might also argue that political action is inherently bound up with questions of ethics and morality, and that the reluctant ruler's existential crisis serves as a catalyst for deeper reflection on the ethical dimensions of governance.

Arendt might caution against sacrificing moral integrity for the sake of pragmatic considerations, suggesting that the Ruler’s adherence to their conscience is ultimately what determines the legitimacy of their leadership.

Ethical Thinkers

Thinkers like Immanuel Kant and Aristotle would likely explore the ethical dilemmas faced by the Reluctant Ruler. They would analyze how the tension between personal ethics and pragmatic considerations shapes the Ruler’s decision-making process, offering insights into human moral psychology and the pursuit of virtuous leadership.

Immanuel Kant

Kant’s deontological ethics emphasizes the importance of moral duty and universal principles in guiding ethical behavior. He would likely analyze the Reluctant Ruler’s predicament by focusing on the categorical imperative, which states that individuals must act according to principles that can be universally applied.

Kant might argue that the Reluctant Ruler faces a moral obligation to uphold certain ethical principles, even if it conflicts with pragmatic considerations. He would emphasize the importance of acting out of a sense of duty and moral integrity, rather than being swayed by expediency or self-interest.

Aristotle

Aristotle’s virtue ethics focuses on the development of moral character and the cultivation of virtuous qualities. He would likely analyze the Reluctant Ruler’s ethical dilemmas by considering how their decisions reflect their moral virtues and character traits.

Aristotle might argue that the reluctant ruler should strive to embody virtues such as courage, wisdom, and justice in their governance. He would emphasize the importance of practical wisdom (phronesis) in navigating the complexities of political life, suggesting that the ruler should aim to achieve eudaimonia, or flourishing, through virtuous leadership.

On Our Nature

Needless to say, not only can we reflect on our own ethical “what-ifs” in parallel to the Reluctant Ruler trope; through this character study, we can unearth a multitude of political and existential debates and still never settle on a universal answer.

The perpetual debates and unanswered questions surrounding the Reluctant Ruler trope speak volumes about human nature and the complexity of individual experiences. At its core, the Reluctant Ruler archetype encapsulates the fundamental tensions between existential realization, ethical responsibility, and political pragmatism, reflecting the intricate interplay of human desires, values, and motivations.

Firstly, the inability to settle on a universal answer regarding the Reluctant Ruler trope underscores the inherent complexity and ambiguity of human existence. Human nature is characterized by its multifaceted makeup, encompassing a diverse range of perspectives, beliefs, and experiences. The reluctance of individuals to embrace leadership roles speaks to our innate desire for autonomy, authenticity, and personal fulfillment, as well as our inherent susceptibility to doubt, uncertainty, and existential angst. The analyses surrounding the Reluctant Ruler trope reflect the diversity of human experiences and the myriad ways in which individuals examine with questions of identity, purpose, and morality.

Moreover, the fact that many individuals can relate to the Reluctant Ruler trope on a personal level speaks to the universality of human struggles and aspirations. Whether it be the fear of assuming responsibility, the desire for authenticity and self-expression, or the ethical dilemmas inherent in leadership, the themes embodied by the Reluctant Ruler resonate with people from all walks of life.

However, the Reluctant Ruler trope also serves as a mirror through which we can reflect on our own ethical convictions, political beliefs, and existential uncertainties. By examining the complexities of this archetype, we are compelled to confront our own values, biases, and assumptions, and to consider how they shape our perceptions of leadership, responsibility, and human nature. The inability to settle on a universal answer regarding the Reluctant Ruler trope challenges us to confront the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty of human existence, prompting us to engage with questions of identity, meaning, and morality in our own lives.

Closing Words

What initially appears as a narrative device in storytelling reveals itself as a mirror reflecting the intricacies of our own ethical frameworks, existential dilemmas, and political realities.

At its essence, the Reluctant Ruler archetype embodies the universal struggle between autonomy and responsibility, authenticity and conformity, freedom and obligation. Yet, beyond the realm of fiction, it prompts us to reflect on our own ethical convictions and existential uncertainties. Are we, too, begrudging in our own lives, navigating the delicate balance between personal desires and societal expectations? Do we confront the existential angst of freedom and responsibility, or do we succumb to the illusion of control and self-deception?

Moreover, the Reluctant Ruler challenges us to examine the legitimacy of political authority and the ethical responsibilities of leadership. In a world where governance is often characterized by power struggles and moral ambiguities, how do we reconcile the demands of pragmatism with the imperatives of justice and integrity? How do we ensure that those in positions of power govern with wisdom, virtue, and compassion?

Ultimately, the Reluctant Ruler trope serves as a catalyst for introspection and dialogue, inviting us to confront the complexity of human nature and the ethical dimensions of governance. As we scrutinize the unresolved questions and perpetual debates surrounding this archetype, we are reminded of the enduring relevance of philosophy in our quest for understanding, meaning, and ethical clarity.

In the end, the Reluctant Ruler challenges us not only to ponder the existential dilemmas of fictional characters but also to confront the ethical complexities of our own lives and societies. It is through this introspective journey that we may gain deeper insights into the nature of leadership, autonomy, and the human condition, and perhaps, find a path towards a more just, compassionate, and authentic world.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers #on writing #creative writing #writer #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #novel writing #writing life #writing community #writing inspiration #writing tips #writer stuff #writers of tumblr #writer community #writer problems #writer things #writer on tumblr #writing trope #tropes #character tropes #trope talk #trope analysis #trope prompts #tropes i love #characterization #writing tropes

[qqueenofhades]

https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2024/02/white-house-israel-gaza-palestinian-state/677554/

i think this is a pretty decent article in general, but this is a passage i particularly want to highlight:

"The U.S. can’t force Israel to do anything it regards as anathema to its interests. All Washington can do is lay down its own markers, including open recognition of a Palestinian state and a clear warning to Israel that its rejectionism will do significant damage to bilateral relations. The bear hug of support that Biden has provided for Israel over Gaza, at times with no international backing, cannot be gratis. The U.S. has a right, indeed a responsibility, to demand Israeli cooperation on this indispensable priority. Failing that, Washington will have to reevaluate the merits of America’s special relationship with Israel.

That is unlikely to happen before the U.S. election. But Biden might be more willing to apply the full weight of American influence on Israel if he wins a second term. Historically, second-term presidents—freed from the domestic political constraints of seeking reelection—tend to take on such issues with more determination. And if Biden really believes that U.S. interests—and ultimately Israel’s future—rest on the creation of a Palestinian state and normalization with Saudi Arabia, he could act decisively."

like i can't see any scenario where Biden's re-election would make the current situation worse! idk why it's so hard for some people to get!

I mean... yeah. I literally said the other day that Biden would be much more likely to go MORE left in a second term, because he's always gone more left when he's been pushed before, he wouldn't have to face the general electorate again, and because he's already in such a precarious position right before the election (which again, NETANYAHU KNOWS and is using to his advantage in attempting to get Trump back in). There's also the fact that literally nothing, no cause whatsoever for anyone anywhere, would be helped by Trump being elected instead. But that's apparently "baseless fearmongering" for Online Leftists who resent it when reality intrudes on their glorious revolution fantasies and/or anyone points out the basic real-world consequences of their rhetoric, so...

We've already seen that Biden can be successfully pressured, in four short months, to make drastic changes to decades of long-standing US/Israeli policy. There's no reason except sheer brainrot and terminally online idiocy to think that re-electing him will make the current situation worse (and on the other hand, as noted, many reasons to think that now he will be able to act more forcefully and without the worries of being sabotaged in an election year). Yet for the Schrodinger's Imperialists who think all Western and American influence is Always Bad, but Acktually Good when it relies on being used as magical thinking to instantly solve major global/geopolitical crises with literal millennia of roots and sources, this is just really hard, I guess. GENOCIDE JOE. There, that's easier.

#wistfulstudys #ask #politics for ts #israel hamas war

[definedvines]

it's honestly pretty complicated but yeah makoto isn't necessarily "the smart one" even though the team plays her up as such, she is the first member to actually come up with plans and tactics and ways to solve puzzles that others can't figure out yes, but she is also one of the most impulsive and reckless members in the group when driven by emotion. girl is like fuck you i'm not useless i'm going to the mafia boss right now no matter the consequences. i'm going to slap my friend in the face for being stupid instead of continuing to patiently try to help her out. look at my motorcycle persona, she's based on a historical figure who was a military leader born a peasant who demanded to see the king anyway, was burned at the stake for standing for personal freedom and doing what she wanted instead of what others told her. she doesn't subscribe to gender or authority. but when she's level-headed she's like oh my god guys you really come in here without an infiltration plan. really.

#persona 5 #makoto nijima

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 16)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut

Words: 2,566

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

Kitty stormed off, her fury seething within her like an erupting volcano. She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed, the ultimate betrayal right before her eyes.

As she made her way home, her footsteps echoed with a mix of anger and hurt. Robert followed in silence, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had made a terrible mistake, and now faced with the consequences, he braced himself for what was to come.

Finally reaching their home, Kitty turned to face Robert, her eyes burning with fury.

"How long, Robert?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. Robert looked into Kitty's eyes, feeling a pang of guilt twisting in his gut.

"A few months, Kitty," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with regret.

And what about the others, Robert? The countless affairs I've discovered over the years?" she asked, her voice quivering.

Robert closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his actions bearing down on him. "Kitty, I-" he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“It doesn’t matter. I've known about your philandering for years, but this one feels different,” Kitty acknowledged before asking her husband whether he loved you.

Robert hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yes," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung heavily in the air, each syllable piercing Kitty's heart like a thousand knives.

She feared this admission, yet hearing it out loud shattered any hope she clung to.

Kitty's voice cracked as she spoke, her pain evident in every word.

"And what about us, Robert? The life we built together? Are you willing to throw it all away for her?" Kitty wanted to know and Robert's gaze dropped to the ground, his anguish palpable.

"I don't know, Kitty," he murmured, his voice filled with confusion as he thought about you. "Y/N shares my beliefs, and she knows what I am doing here. She knows the secrets I cannot share with you and understands the world differently than most. We have a connection that I cannot possibly explain, Kitty” Robert explained, telling Kitty how you are the first woman he met who was that intelligent and shared his passion for physics.

Fury ignited within Kitty's eyes as she clenched her fists. "Oh, so this is about changing the fucking world? This is about your ego and the pursuit of knowledge?" she spat, her words laced with bitterness. Robert reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it on Kitty's arm.

"No, Kitty, it's about more than that," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. Kitty yanked her arm away, her voice seething with contempt.

"Well, Robert, you made me a promise when you took my hand in marriage, and I will keep you to that promise,” Kitty told him sternly as a steely determination washed over her features. "You have a choice to make, Robert. Either you end this affair and commit to our marriage or lose everything, including the project. I know things Robert and I can make life rather unpleasant for you and your little lab rat here at Los Alamos," Kitty told her husband in anger, whose chin dropped.

***

Meanwhile, you stood in the streets of Los Alamos. You were alone, and your heart was pummeled by abandonment. You couldn't comprehend why Robert had left you standing there, like a discarded piece of lab equipment and wondered whether his words meant anything.

“Just you and me” was what he said many times and, with that, confusion and sadness washed over you as you stared at Robert’s house and decided that, come tomorrow, you needed an answer.

As such, the following day, you found yourself standing outside Robert's office, your heart pounding beneath your chest.

You had to confront him to understand why he had left you standing there without a second thought or regret. He did not even send you a note that night or bother to apologise, which, in the end, hurt you the most.

***

Gathering your courage, you pushed open the door to Robert's office and stepped inside.

“Robert! We need to talk," you said with a quivering voice as Robert jumped, dropping the pen he held.

"Y/N, I... wasn't expecting you,” he said.

"Clearly," you replied, your voice laced with irritation, and Robert looked up from his desk with surprise etched across his face. Guilt washed over him as he knew he had to explain himself.

" I didn't mean to leave you like that," he stammered before you even had a chance to speak, and your eyes bore into his, a mix of pain and determination shining within them.

"You know, after all the things you said and wrote to me, Robert, I thought we had something meaningful together”, you pointed out, and Robert took a deep breath, his gaze searching for the right words. "Yen, we do. I love you, Y/N, but I cannot leave Kitty. Not yet,” Robert told you just before your emotions began to spell forth.

"Robert, you have to decide. I can’t take this any longer. It's not fair to either of us," you told him, and Robert's shoulders slumped as he absorbed your words, the weight of his decisions pressing down upon him.

"I know, Y/N”, he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. Silence hung in the air momentarily as you and Robert stared at each other, grappling with your situation's complexities. The unspoken pain and longing swirled around you, begging for resolution.

“I want to leave her, Y/N, but it is complicated,” Robert acknowledged, and your heart ached, torn between wanting to believe him and running away from the pain.

"Complicated doesn't even begin to describe this mess, Robert,” you said, your voice filled with pain and determination. "If you choose to stay with Kitty, then let me go. I am begging you” You began to cry, and Robert's brows furrowed as he listened intently, searching for the elusive answer that would guide him out of this maze of emotions.

“I can’t, Y/N. You know that. I love you and I need you,” Robert told you, and you took a step closer, your eyes locking onto Robert's. The raw vulnerability within your gaze sent shivers down his spine.

“You must, Robert. Don’t put me through this, seeing you with your wife every day,” you begged him as your lips quivered as a tear slid down your cheek.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on Robert's cheek, and, silently, a mix of sadness and hope danced in Robert's eyes as he caressed your hand.

“Give me two weeks, and I will figure it out. I will leave Kitty," he begged before you continued your heartfelt conversation, exploring the depths of your love and the challenges that awaited you if Robert left his wife during the project.

“Will I see you tonight?” Robert then asked just as it was time for you to leave and attend this medical appointment he had instructed you to make, as your superior rather than your lover.

“No, Robert, I will not see you again outside work until you make your choice,” you told him before you left his office with a final kiss.

Twenty minutes later…

You arrived at the Los Alamos clinic twenty minutes later and the doctor's office was filled with an eerie silence. You stared anxiously at your hands, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. This appointment was supposed to provide answers, but it only deepened the mystery.

Radiation poisoning was what Robert was concerned about after your frequent exposure to radioactive plutonium, and whilst you downplayed your symptoms, they had gotten worse in the past week or so.

"Good afternoon, Miss Y/LN," a doctor greeted you. His face was etched with concern as he glanced at your medical chart.

"I understand you've been experiencing some symptoms like nausea and dizziness. You are also exhausted lately, forgetting things in the laboratory that you shouldn’t, and Dr Oppenheimer is concerned about potential radiation poisoning. So, let's run some tests to get to the bottom of it, shall we?" he suggested and you nodded, feeling a knot tightening in your stomach.

"I told Robert…uhm, Dr Oppenheimer that it may just be the heat here at Los Alamos that is making me sick. I am not used to it” you told him as, without words, the doctor fetched his equipment and began examining you, his eyes never wavering from the task at hand.

"I'll thoroughly examine you to determine if there are any physical signs of radiation poisoning, ma’am, starting with a radiation exposure test,” he told you before pulling out a radiation detector, making you chuckle.

“So, you think I may be radioactive, and still, you sit here, wearing no protective gear whatsoever?” you joked, playing down your very own nervousness as the doctor prodded and probed your skin with the device.

“Quite frankly, Miss Y/LN, I don’t believe that you have radiation poisoning, and yet, I am obliged to test for it. It’s protocol”, the doctor told you before continuing the test until, eventually, concluding that his assumption was correct. You had not been exposed to unsafe limits of radiation.

“I have finished my examination, and the good news is that I couldn't find any indications of serious radiation exposure," the doctor said, removing his gloves and setting them aside. "But there might be another reason for your symptoms,” he said with a smile.

A ray of hope washed over you, only to be overshadowed by the doctor's next words.

"Tell me, have you been experiencing any irregularities with your menstrual cycle?" he asked and you froze, your cheeks flushing with colour as you realised the gravity of the doctor's question. Your last period had been eight weeks ago, a fact that had slipped your mind amidst the chaos surrounding your affair and your move to Los Alamos. How could you have been so careless?

"I...uhm...my period...it's been absent," you stammered, your voice barely audible.

“Regular intercourse?” was the doctor’s next question, phrased more as an assumption, to which you silently nodded.

"Well then, given your current symptoms, it is possible that you are pregnant,” the doctor then said and his eyes narrowed with concern. Immediately, panic surged through you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf your senses. Pregnant? The mere thought struck fear into your heart. Children were not a part of the equation. Your ambition burned too brightly to be snuffed out by motherhood.

"Pregnant?" you whispered, your voice tinged with disbelief. "But how? I mean... I..." you stammered, gasping loudly. Of course, this was a rhetorical question.

“You are a smart woman, and I don’t expect to have to answer this question,” the doctor said as he offered you an empathetic smile and leaned back in the cold, sterile chair, your mind racing. This was a dilemma of epic proportions. Should you continue this pregnancy, tying yourself forever to the man you loved but shouldn't? Or should you make a different choice?

“Are you sure doctor?” you asked and the doctor shook his head. Of course, he wasn’t sure and there was no way to positively diagnose a pregnancy until at least the second semester.

“I cannot be sure, but I can order some blood tests to see what is what. Sometimes it indicates whether we are looking in the right direction,” the doctor said, his voice gentle yet firm.

“Yes, I will take the blood test,” you told him as some apprehension washed over you, but, what he said to you next, made you tremble. It was something that you had not expected.

“I will have to write a report to Dr Oppenheimer in respect of my interim findings, ruling it safe for you to return to work in the laboratory, but I feel as though you may wish to discuss this matter with him first, in person,” the doctor then said and, of course, your heart sank. You knew that you had to tell Robert before he received this report and, thus, you nodded in agreeance.

“Please give me 48 hours, doctor” you told him and he nodded reluctantly, giving you a note of absence from the laboratory until then.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #oppenheimer movie #oppenheimer 2023 #kitty oppenheimer #oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer #robert oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer x you #j robert oppenheimer x reader #robert oppenheimer smut #cillian murphy x oc

[n3on-graveston3s-calling]

How do you think crocodile would react with his s/o kissing his scar? Like, i'd love to think it'd be sensitive, but (my own experience) is that scars don't usually work like that ;-; but I reckon it's the action itself that counts

Lucky for you, nonnie, I have experience with facial scarring ( and scarring from other injuries ). It all entirely depends on the individual & how deep the injury was! Some are hypersensitive, others are not!

Anyways ONWARDS to this cute idea.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Word Count: 402

•To allow anyone near him in such a manner speaks volumes to how much he trusts his partner- especially to allow them to touch his face.

•After all, he doesn't let just anyone touch him so freely without consequence…

────────

ㅤ⠀His gaze was trained on the book he held in his hand, roving across the page, drinking in the information. It was a historical text, one he'd been more than excited to finally get his hand on. All thanks to his partner, who had found it for him.

Speaking of, his gaze flickered up to track them as they slipped out of the bathroom, clean and settling down for the night. A smile curled his lips as they climbed atop the bed beside him- before crawling further forward, all but forcing him to set his book aside. A brow raised in silent question as they reached, settling their hands upon his cheeks, thumbs stroking gently at the skin.

“What are you-?”

“Hush, mio caro.” They murmured, watching the way he softened a touch at the pet name. Leaning in, they brushed a kiss along the line of subtly gnarled scar tissue, drawing a soft sound of surprise from Crocodile.

His nose scrunched up at the sensation; they didn't press hard, not at all, but the mere brush of their lips to nerve endings that lingered beneath the skin, still hyper sensitive after twenty years, had him flinching slightly. Not in pain, but surprise. Kiss after kiss was pressed, starting at his left cheekbone, across the bridge of his nose ( which was a touch painful; the bone never healed correctly, ) and onto his right cheek.

Only then did they lean back, pleased with themself. “Your cheeks are red,” they murmured, a slow grin spreading across their lips. “It suits you.”

“What was that about, huh?” He asked, reaching up to cup their cheek. They leaned into the touch, turning to nose at his palm.

“Just wanted to.”

“Just wanted to?”

“Mmh.”

“Tch,” eyes roll despite the fondness that seeped into his tone, “come here.” He pulled them closer, pressing a kiss to their temple, their cheek- their lips. “Sciocco.”

ㅤ⠀

ㅤ⠀*Mio Caro = My Dear

ㅤ⠀Sciocco = Silly

#one piece #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x gn reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #x reader #this was. so soft to write. i could have kept writing on and on and on but i had to stop myself #thank you for this super sweet req #kanon's anons

[whitehotharlots]

Okay, fine, let’s define “wokeness” so you people will shut up about it

Wokeness is amorphous but not nebulous. Like all social phenomena, it exists only to the extent to which it is subject to formal description, and its purveyors are wont to resist any attempts at being pinned down by outsiders (I cannot, for example, think of a single philosopher associated with Postmodernism who did not reject the label--at least not at first). The difficulties with defining human phenomena are compounded greatly while the phenomenon in question is still unfolding, but that does not mean that earnest efforts toward definition cannot be undertaken. Wokeness most certainly exists. It deserves to be delineated, even if its vastness and dominance make it difficult to do so in a manner that everyone (or anyone) finds fully definitive. 

Wokeness should be understood as an immense and rapidly adopted change in the manner through which left-liberals adjudicate morality, righteousness, and even factuality. It applies not just to individual people but to nearly everything: broad social happenings, historical events, places, industries, and matters of scientific fact. It engenders contradictions at an hysterical pace, which actually strengthens the movement, due to the radicalism of its approaches.

Wokeness is best described as a form of Associationist Manicheanism. Whatever falls under its analytical purview is declared either good or bad (never both) not according to the beliefs and ideologies in question, nor to the material consequences thereof, but according to the conceptually recognized identity markers associated with whatever is being analyzed. There are good things and good people. There are bad things and bad people. Good things are good because they are good. Bad things are bad because they are bad. All other forms of adjudication--from direct empiricism, deductive and inductive logic, or even simple cause-and-effect--are subordinated within wokeness, if they are even acknowledged. 

The lack of ideological consistency and dismissal of material analysis naturally leads to a slew of obvious contradictions, which makes wokeness very difficult to pin down even as its presence becomes more and more undeniable. This provides an added bonus to the movement’s purveyors, as their wanton duplicity allows them to claim the lack of existence of something that’s happening right in front of them, an absence of belief in very the causes they champion. (”Why are you freaking out about this? It’s not even happening! And also it is happening and it’s good.”)

The wokes believe that police and prisons should be abolished, but also that we need much stricter gun control and hate speech laws. They believe it a form of severe violence--perhaps even genocide--to not understand the identities of others as they understand themselves, but also that you face a moral obligation to understand yourself as they tell you to. They believe that outsiders should be subjected to brutal criticism regarding their very existence, but also that any disagreement is a form of violence. They think that violent street crime--up to and including rape--should be dealt with via the light hand of “restorative justice,” but also that vague accusations of causing discomfort should be enough to ruin a man’s life and career. They revel in victimhood but deplore fragility, embrace vague “ways of knowing” while demanding absolute clarity and unpassable evidentiary bars of from their ideological enemies, and regard truth as a white supremacist fiction while possessing unshakable certainty in their own worldview. 

There are many, many more examples. These are just ones from the top of my head. 

These contradictions are allowed to stand. They are never acknowledged, let alone addressed. This is because the woke believe there is only one, universal mechanism for (in)validating any belief, action, or assertion: determining its conceptual association with the pre-established Good or the pre-established Bad. They don’t start by asking “is this statement true” or “is this belief harmful.” They can tell everything they need to know by running a quick identity index of the person who made the statement or professed the belief. Sometimes, in the absence of obvious markers of race, gender, or sexuality (or in the case of those markers contradicting the desired (in)validation outcome), they will revert to aesthetic symbols or nominally ideological group affiliations. So, yes, a white Democrat man outweighs a black Republicanman , who outweighs a white Republican man, who is outweighed himself by a black Republican woman, etc, etc, but most issues play out according to partisan lines.

And that’s it. Seriously, that’s it. You can regard it as a bold new era of social progress or as a civilization-destroying scourge. Your opinion does not matter. The point is, this is all a very blunt and very radical sleight of hand in regards to how beliefs, actions, and statements are adjudicated. Its purveyors readily admit to this. Nothing written in this essay is in the least bit deniable. 

Of course, my analysis won’t matter for the reasons outlined above. I am a white (bad) man (bad) who has previously expressed reservations toward left-identitarian activism (very super double bad). Three Bad designations is too much to overcome, no matter how much I profess myself to be on the left or assure my readers I support that broad social goals that wokeness disingenuously claims to be striving toward. But even if I were a black trans woman who was born without legs, this essay would still be dismissed because it would be conceptually associated with the people who criticize wokeness, who are bad. I am bad and this piece is bad. That’s all there is to it. And that means I’m wrong, wokeness isn’t a real thing, but also it is a real thing and it’s so good and perfect that criticizing it makes you bad.  

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Thinking of the most prominent succession struggles in asoiaf and realizing that a good majority of them are not even because of some evil bastard usurping their trueborn relative. Alys Karstark’s dilemma is caused by her uncle wanting to forcibly marry her and steal her birthright. Renly is Stannis’ trueborn brother and yet he declares himself king despite Stannis being older. Euron is Balon’s trueborn brother and Asha’s uncle and yet look at what he did. Littlefinger wants to use a trueborn Harry Harding to take over Sweetrobin’s rights (though not so openly). And the Dance of the Dragons was between a trueborn pair of brother and sister. And if we are to see a repeat of it, it will be between a trueborn daughter of the last Targaryen king (Dany) and a trueborn son (Aegon) of the previous crown prince.

That’s what makes the whole “Jon was a threat to Catelyn’s children” argument so frustrating because people act as if Jon was a ticking time bomb that was going to blow at any minute, purely on account of him being a bastard. When historically, we’re given much more precedent for trueborn relatives to usurp each other.

This frustrating argument arises out of two problems:

ASOIAF stans are not engaging as critically with the text as they should be. Catelyn’s historical evidence lies in the series of Blackfyre Rebellions which happened after a legitimized bastard rose up against his brother. But context is key here. Not only were there several factors that led to this fallout (e.g., Daemon being given the conqueror’s sword Blackfyre, anti-Dornish sentiment not working in Daeron’s favor, Daeron himself being a suspected bastard, Daemon’s overall popularity, etc), but people ignore Bloodraven (a BASTARD!) who supported his trueborn brother’s claim during this series of conflicts. Daemon did not rebel because all bastards are inclined to treachery and all bastards bring evil to those around them. If any bastards raised near trueborns are a threat to the trueborn’s inheritance, then why not Bittersteel? Why not Shiera? Why didn’t other Stark bastards rebel against their trueborn siblings? Several factors led to the conflict specifically between Daemon and Daeron. Instead of taking Catelyn’s filtered history at face value, we should instead recognize that Daemon was given legal basis to push for his claim (after a series of events that symbolically recognized him as the worthy and true heir) as he was now a legitimized son, and succession struggles are, more oft than not, likely to happen between recognized legitimate competing claims. And here’s the thing, Ned Stark at no point indicated that he was going to give Jon legitimacy in the North. And he never indicated that he would give it to Jon over Robb. On the contrary, everyone knew that Robb was the heir. Robb was the one being given lessons, Robb was the one helping Ned attend to visiting lords, Robb was the one who would inherit Ice, etc. By Alys’ account in ADWD, preparations were being made for Robb’s future (NOT for Jon, who was largely ignored). There was no opportunity for Jon to pose any threat to Robb or his children because Ned did not give him legitimacy and he did not allow him to gain backing with the Northern lords. Aegon IV created Daemon and his subsequent rebellion(s), but Ned Stark did not do the same with Jon. Despite Catelyn treating Jon as a walking crisis center, there’s little evidence to the effect. In fact, we might as well say that Bran or Rickon or any of Sansa’s or Arya’s sons would pose an even bigger threat to Robb’s legacy than Jon would, you know given historical precedent and all that.

Treating Jon’s mere existence as one that inherently comes with dire consequences for “le poor trueborns” plays into bastardphobia, which is actually in world bigotry (and grrm considers Jon to be a marginalized individual on account of his bastardy). Saying that Jon is a threat to the Stark kids is saying that all bastards are threats to trueborns but like….so are the trueborns. History, actual hiatory, shows us that trueborns are a bigger threat to each other. But no one is saying “Bran is a threat to Robb’s kids” even though there is precedent. Bran is also getting a lordling’s education just as Robb is, and Bran is allowed to engage with the upper class on important occasions and gain visibility just as Robb is, and Bran is even expected to command his own castle and men (which would even give him ability to stake his claim). So why isn’t he a threat? Instead, Jon is the one who is singled out - because he’s a bastard. He’s being singled out because Catelyn said he should be singled out, despite there being little actual evidence to his supposed incoming usurpation. Which is ironic because the literal purpose of his story is to critique these bigoted views. Jon is just as honorable and good and kind as any other trueborn son, if not more so. And we have seen him sacrificing his own happiness for his siblings (e.g., the direwolf pups and refusing Winterfell because he will not usurp Sansa’s rights). It’s one thing for Catelyn to show ignorance, but we as readers should know better because we have a full picture and not only do we have an understanding of the history being cited by Catelyn (and what is being purposefully ignored), we also know Jon. So we should be saying, “wait no, there’s no indication that Jon is any more a threat than any one of Ned’s sons”.

It is understandable (but not justifiable tbh) that Catelyn is biased against Jon; he is the ever present product of her husband’s affair. But that’s just it, she’s biased. So she has a biased application of history. And she has a biased (and bigoted) view of Jon’s place in it. We as readers have a full picture though. So shouldn’t we be having more nuanced dialogue regarding this instead of taking her biased word for it?

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow

[moonbelowsea]

MDZS: analyzing the Cloud Recesses Lectures Brawl, and Jin Zixuan's uncaring attitude towards Jiang Yanli

I know a lot of people tend to think JZX's insulting JYL, and the subsequent brawl during the Cloud Recesses Lectures arc, isn't really a very big deal, and I sorta get why? his insult seems pretty lukewarm, and boys will be boys, and so on… but honestly, if you start reading more Chinese novels, you'll pretty soon pick up that the brawl had a very good reason to happen.

I was talking with a good friend about it, and we ended up breaking it down. They suggested I might as well post about it.

let's start with Chinese Historical Customs: a married lady would have near total reliance on the backing and favor of her husband to have any power whatsoever within her household, or even be able to live comfortably -- without his backing and support, she'd be cut off from money, essential materials such as winter gear and heating fuel, even good food; the servants wouldn't bother listening to her (she'd have a few of her own brought from her first home, but not many); and being bullied (read: anything from humiliated to actually hurt) by her new family wouldn't be uncommon (and we all know what a pit of vipers the Jin Sect was even then).

doublespeak, face, and reputation, all meant that, intentionally or not, JZX was setting JYL up for a MISERABLE future life: by badmouthing her in public so everybody knows that her future husband thinks she's mediocre and unsatisfactory, he's saying he doesn't respect her (or her family! more on that in the next bullet point). if he doesn't respect her, he won't support her or help her if she needs him, because he doesn't care about her reputation, and therefore neither does he care about her comfort, or, well, about her... anything.

more Chinese Historical Customs, or, the Natal Family's Protection: a married lady's last backup defense is the fact that disrespecting her means disrespecting her family, who the husband has allied himself with by marrying her. the more they care about her, the more the natal family will respond to slights to her. they respond through retaliation -- by making the husband pay for disrespecting their daughter.

thus WWX's and JC's immediate answer of punching JZX for his remarks may have seemed disproportionate, but was actually not incorrect.

(They even gave JZX the chance to retract his words first!)

Stressors and Magnifiers: JZX isn't just being this dismissive in front of the two of them, which is already grounds for STRONG retaliation -- he's disrespecting their family's daughter right to their face!!! -- he's ALSO saying this to every single important peer they have, all of whom will go back home and tell that JZX, whose mother is dear friends with JYL's mother, and who visit each other all the time, and who thus must know her best... thinks she's so worthless, she can even be badmouthed in public. he's not only saying he will allow her to be disrespected by others, he's also drastically lowering her value to every other gentry prospect!!!

punching him was a brute and unrefined response, but it was a tradeoff: it traded away "face" for JYL's sake and protection. which she desperately needed right then. it sent the answer that disrespect towards JYL would be met by the strongest and most immediate retaliation the Jiang could possibly make;

and JFM agrees with the whole thing, because he finishes the move and breaks the engagement: "if you don't value her, then you don't get to have her".

(obligatory note that WWX was not expelled for his actions that day, and chose to return to Lotus Pier with JFM on his own... after finding out that LWJ had gone into seclusion and would no longer be around for him to tease.)

(obligatory note that it's extremely unlikely JZX was a malicious mastermind doing anything on purpose during this scene. we don't get a lot on him, but he was probably, honestly, just being a stupid teenager about a situation he was upset with. unfortunately, the above consequences still apply.)

(final note that neither JZX, nor, apparently, JYL, learned anything from this whole debacle. the Wartime Soup Incident is the exact same damn thing, except about ten times worse, and with much greater damage potential to her prospects and reputation.)

#mdzs #mdzs meta #mdzs reference #cql #cql meta

[thesherrinfordfacility]

LWA: To expand on @robinwithay's point some more, I am thinking again about Crowley's equivalent to Aziraphale's stubbornness when it comes to rejecting Heaven. Crowley just will. not. learn. that actions have consequences, and that the responsibility lies with the agent, not some nebulous figure out there somewhere. What's striking, in fact, is that "actions have. consequences" is the closest thing the GO universe has to divine providence in action: when Crowley does something, it comes back to bite his occult arse, without fail, every single time. Shut down the cell phone network? Great, can't call Aziraphale. Make yourself look good to Hell? By golly, Hell is going to give you all the sweet assignments. (From their POV, anyway.) Turn a freeway into a demonic sigil? Whoops, it's on fire when you need to cross it, and also a lot of people are dead. Moreover, not only does the universe keep pointing this out to Crowley, but so do the other characters. In S1e1 alone, Hastur, Aziraphale, and SATAN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD all call him out on the whiny "why me?!" business, and Hell does it again in "The Resurrectionists." ("Off my head on laudanum. Not responsible for my actions!" HELL: Oh honey, no.) Arguably, "why me?" is the /one/ question to which Crowley gets a definitive answer, and he consistently refuses to listen to or learn anything from it.

Gaiman's very deliberate decision to prolong and inflate this aspect of Crowley's character is fascinating, because the Nuremberg Defense moment in the novel is there to put an /end/ to it. I keep harping on the Nuremberg Defense issue because in 1990, that was /topical/, not historical: at the time of publication, the most recent high-profile example of someone Nuremberg Defensing himself out of Nazi-era war crimes was Kurt Waldheim /in 1986/. Pratchett's and Gaiman's point in the novel is that Crowley's--and, more so than in the series, Aziraphale's--refusal to take responsibility for what they've done as Hell's and Heaven's agents leads inexorably to them thinking like, you guessed it, Nazi-era war criminals. But as of the end of S2, Crowley has still not come around to the moral epiphany about this that in the novel, Aziraphale has /first./ Instead, Gaiman's substitute for the Nuremberg Defense, the child murder subplot in S1, is averted in such a way that Crowley doesn't learn anything from it.

Further to the point that @robinwithay and others who responded made, you know who did learn something from the child murder subplot? Aziraphale. I said in an earlier ask that in S1, Aziraphale's own failure in the subplot is that he winds up deferring to Crowley's judgment, despite his own clear discomfort, because he cannot turn to Heaven for moral authority. "You can't kill kids" is not represented as a divine or infernal universal mandate--it's a /human/ mandate that transcends both. (That's entirely in keeping with the point, made in both the book and the series, that humans are capable of both far greater good than angels and far greater evil than demons.) In S2, Aziraphale does what he /should have done/ in S1, and says "no" to Crowley's proposal that Gabriel just be abandoned somewhere. I think people sometimes forget that Crowley, for all that he asks questions and nudges Aziraphale along out of his allegiance to the Heavenly party line, is not the series' moral arbiter. Aziraphale knows that Gabriel is facing "something terrible" and is not sure whether or not he's still "awful," but he does what S2 itself shows by the end to be the right thing. Doing the right thing sometimes means telling Crowley "no" and sticking to that no, just as, in S1, the moment Aziraphale hits on the right question to ask at the airfield, he moves /away/ from Crowley to stand with Adam.

good afternoon LWA!!!💕

okay so i feel some frank warning is due for anyone else reading my reply, especially if you're new around these here parts: what follows beneath the cut is going to be crowley-critical. it's not meant in bad faith, but recognising character shortcomings is important for all characters involved. there is (quite rightly) a lot of critique in relation to aziraphale in the fandom, and this is not in ignorance or denial of that - there are certainly points where aziraphale's actions throughout both seasons are called out, and i agree with a number of them - but a) that's not what im talking about here, that's a different post, and b) similar analysis of crowley is (as far as ive seen personally in the months ive been active) not as common - hence the post. if that's not your bag, fair enough, but take heed!!!✨

can't believe a fandom-specific cw for this is necessary but. here we are

(because i get asked this a fair amount - AWCW: Angel Who Crowley Was) (and just now recognising the grammatical error in this, ah well we move)

the part of crowley's character that does not accept consequences, and seemingly refuses to learn from them, is one of the most intriguing for me. as well as all of the instances that you've listed, this is something that we see as being so inherent to him that it even predates the fall; it's not a trait that is specific to crowley-as-a-demon, but to crowley-as-crowley. for all of the understandable reasons that AWCW felt he should ask questions, should challenge why his hard work and creativity was going to be put to waste as if it were nothing, he outright dismissed aziraphale's frankly prophetic advice that directly delivering criticism to the almighty, even if meant with the best of intentions, might spell for trouble... might even spell for AWCW's own personal ruin.

slightly unrelated, but another note: the mindset of, "if i were in charge", however much it might have been meant offhandedly or innocently, even connotes an incredible amount of hubris that, whilst not wholly condemnable in itself, gives an interesting insight into how crowley views himself from before the fall and going into present day.

AWCW's questions may come from a place of innocence and collaboration, and may speak to how much trust he placed in god/heaven to hear his questions with patience and understanding, but it still remains highly likely that he dismisses aziraphale's warning. and the reason he ignores it, most likely, is because it is not what he wants to hear, nor does it (in his eyes) benefit him to exercise caution. one could go a step further and suggest that this indicates a fatal "crowley knows best" mentality, which the rest of the two seasons doesn't exactly negate. and look - that's fine, ignoring advice is hardly an indictable offence, but if what you're doing goes to shit? that is on you.

shifting into speculation-mode in the absence of any confirmed account of the fall itself, we can presume that AWCW's questions fall on deaf/reticent/dismissive ears, and that will just as likely have left AWCW with a sense of frustration and resentment. i continue to be a really hopeful advocate of AWCW having had a lucifer-parallel narrative; that after what was essentially a dismissal, he may have precipitated (at least) the inception of the fall by way of knowingly or unknowingly planting the seeds of rebellion amongst the eventual-fallen... e.g. "they're not treating us fairly, all of our effort will be for nothing, all in service and deference to 'human beings', i tried to speak to god about it but they won't even hear me out."

i don't think he will have led the rebellion, that doesn't quite seem appropriate to his character, but certainly that he may have sparked the initial machinations, and then - by furfur's account - participated in the war. this, again, would fall in line with crowley's ongoing tumultuous relationship with consequences-borne-from-his-actions.

crowley's unreliable narratorship of his own fall is, by definition, untrustworthy, and as such it's not a given that he was unimpeachable in any participation of it. "i didn't mean to fall" would definitely suggest that it was not his intention, but if we return to the Dead Whale Theory, this is a dead whale that crowley has failed to fully accept, or learn from. he seems - when we consider how he inhabits the role of god (as he sees that role to be, anyway) in how he treats his plants in s1 and the goats in s2 - to be very much of the opinion that he is entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.

and in some respect, he's not wrong - asking questions is not a bad thing, it's a very good thing, and his willingness to do so is one of crowley's greatest assets - but his refusal to heed advice in favour of his own agenda, refusal to accept the answers given even (especially?) when he doesn't like them, to have potentially sparked dissent that led to a war (which he fought in), and his lack of accountability for the results, is where he falls down. im not going to go so far as to call it narcissistic behaviour, that feels a bit extreme, but there are... similarities. he doesn't learn from the whole fiasco in any manner that would indicate self-reflection, and instead seems to have walked away from the fall with his clear-cut conclusion that heaven was wrong, and are in fact The Bad Guys.

certainly, GO proposes that heaven isn't the traditional definition of truth, light, and good that aziraphale hopes that it is intrinsically... but crowley still hasn't reached the point of understanding the rest of what the narrative is saying.

heaven and hell are not always good and bad respectively, but they are not always bad and good respectively either. it's not a simple, 'we're turning this on its head' concept. it is altogether a veeeery grey system that simply exists, and it exists in the way that it always has done since the fall (possibly even before, in heaven's case). it is instead your choice whether or not to be part of that system, if you do not think it is right. if you continue be a part of that system, even if there are stakes involved that would make it difficult or compelling for you to remain and act within that system, you should at least recognise the consequences of your actions, accepting your part in it. this goes for all angels and demons, not just aziraphale and crowley. 'just following orders' may be understandable in some circumstances (e.g. threat to life of yourself or others), but does that mean that you are absolved of all responsibility?

we are, collectively, quick to point out that aziraphale has not fully learnt this, but it's clear that crowley has not either. it also suggests by extension that aziraphale is not always wrong, just as crowley is not always right. where actions-and-consequences are concerned, i'd tentatively wager that aziraphale at least demonstrates a bit more understanding of this than crowley does. aziraphale has been shown to recognise when he is wrong, accept it, and make efforts to correct himself or remedy his erroneous actions moving forward. aziraphale hides the antichrist's location from crowley and holds out hope for a higher power to see reason/do the right thing, but when aziraphale gets the confirmation that heaven isn't going to do the right thing by stopping the apocalypse, the first thing he does is call crowley to tell him about adam. you also then have, as you said, aziraphale physically and figuratively moving to stand with humanity; good and bad are just names for sides, and 'human incarnate' equally embraces both concepts (in their truest meaning) and yet similarly rises above both. this is the side to back; 'our side', to aziraphale, doesn't mean just him and crowley, but humanity too.

alternatively (really grinding at the fall thing here, sorry), even if AWCW did not willfully participate in any goings-on of the rebellion, and the fact that he fell was an incident in which he was blamelessly implicated/scapegoated... well, even then, that does not give him a free-pass for him to continuously believe that he is innocent in all matters that follow. sure, he may have been blameless in the fall, but does that mean he's therefore beyond reproach or above accountability for... everything he does/says that occurs afterwards?

setting up the perfect environment for armageddon? tempting aziraphale to kill the antichrist? giving a group of humans live firearms in order to make a point? abandoning aziraphale and retracting 'our side' when aziraphale asked him for help with hiding gabriel? withholding information from aziraphale that directly concerns him and his safety? i said it in a separate post (mainly because it would have made this one a really ungodly length), but my point remains the same; regardless of his part or not-part in the fall, crowley's character does not develop in this arena, despite incredibly formative experiences that might in fact impart an important lesson upon him*.

*and that lesson - again! - is not that he shouldn't ask questions, but instead that his actions may prove to have consequences that he does not like or want, but must accept anyway, taking accountability for his part in them.

not changing does not mean that he is perfect from (before) the beginning, but instead suggests that he is very comfortable being the same person that he's always been... and in some ways, it's commendable to remain true to oneself, but it's equally not conducive to growth... and crowley still has a lot of growing to do (he has grown since s1: his kindness for one thing absolutely has!).

crowley does not seem to recognise where his lack/refusal of development may have contributed to the breakdown in his and aziraphale's relationship by the end of s2, even if that lack/refusal is not directly referenced in the final fifteen. by this i mean: crowley appears to have a very clear expectation of how he believes aziraphale does - and perhaps should - think and behave. crowley, to crowley's mind, he has the right of it ("crowley knows best"), and that includes him thinking that aziraphale will act in the way he has come to expect as a result of his influence on him. crowley has poked and prodded aziraphale away from heaven's rhetoric and dogma* about what good and right is, which aziraphale desperately needed... but does that mean that aziraphale should replace that belief system with Morality According To Crowley? instead of developing his own ...exactly as aziraphale demonstrates in the final fifteen?

when aziraphale doesn't do what crowley thinks he ought to, instead of crowley considering that his perspective of aziraphale may not actually be reality, he takes it as a betrayal and a rejection of crowley himself. though we won't really know until s3 (and possibly not even then) what crowley was really thinking during the final fifteen, it isn't too impossible a notion that crowley now thinks that aziraphale has chosen heaven over him, and loves heaven more than him. which... after everything that he has seen aziraphale go through, battle, and come to terms with, does he truly think that little of him? that aziraphale would think that little of crowley? if he does, that's an incredibly sad and disappointing prospect. perhaps bold of me to say, but sometimes it seems that there are some specific similarities between crowley and heaven in how they individually view and treat aziraphale.

*whilst crowley encouraging aziraphale to think outside of heaven is a good thing, and aziraphale definitely needs it, it does elicit out a couple of concerning traits from them both that, whilst may be borne from respective senses of powerlessness, they manifest onto each other.

crowley has a hero/saviour complex, which aziraphale encourages. aziraphale encourages it - by his own admission - because he thinks it makes crowley happy. however, what is not clear is whether aziraphale recognises that in allowing this, not only does it potentially suggest that crowley benefits from perceiving aziraphale as incapable of protecting himself, and any ability to protect himself (or indeed crowley! 1941!) threatens what crowley thinks is his place in aziraphale's existence, but also that aziraphale himself is projecting what he doesn't get from heaven/god onto crowley.

it similarly isn't clear whether crowley realises that not only he has been - in part - substituted for god/heaven in aziraphale's eyes because he provides the love, acceptance and confirmation of worth that aziraphale has craved since time immemorial, but also that in keeping information from aziraphale that directly concerns him, crowley is nurturing an environment where aziraphale will make decisions according to the limited information he has. we even have a suggestion of this in the final fifteen: to aziraphale's mind, it won't be crowley that protected him from heaven's threat of erasure from the BOL (ie. crowley didn't tell him), it was the metatron. (and if aziraphale finds out about/puts together, in s3, the sheer amount and scale of information that crowley kept from him, there is going to be the hard conversation of whether trust between them can exist as it has before, built over thousands of years).

just as crowley has an arguably skewed perception of aziraphale, aziraphale has a skewed perception of him in return (the levels of codependency are off the charts, lads). it's not a unique observation to say that they both need this break in order to renegotiate within themselves how they view each other, but it's no less true for being repeated.

#bracing myself for impact #dont say i didnt warn you though #im gonna go make an amv now k thx bye #good omens #ask #aziraphale meta #feral domestic/final fifteen meta

[sweetestbaby]

ok so here's the thing. if you're feeling helpless and you're thinking something along the lines of "oh well i'm just a girlblogger, i can't help anybody in palestine so why even bother talking about it, there's nothing i can do", lemme tell you what you can do: talk about it. even if it's just a small gesture of posting the flag, saying you stand with palestinians, if that's all you can do, then please do it. because it is important that people understand and see that the world is watching what is happening and that, despite what western propaganda would have you believe, not everyone is on board with this genocide

all my life i felt like i was the wrong one for not being able to accept the state of israel and its atrocities. i thought i was the one who was too dumb to comprehend the historical context that justified the evil, somehow. i thought i was anti-semitic for even thinking about it, and that i was, again, too stupid to comprehend what exactly about it was anti-semitic. it took me eighteen years of life to see another person in real life speak up against israel, a history professor in college, and even he was stepping in eggshells, aware that if he spoke too radically against israel, he would face criticism at best and retaliation at worst. still, relief washed over me completely when i heard him, a person i admired and knew, say out loud that what israel does in the palestinian territory with palestinian people is plain wrong. it made me realize that i was not stupid, even if i didn't know the intricacies of the history of the conflict

so what i mean to say is that even if you're just a girlblogger, if you speak up against the state of israel and against the genocide of palestinians, you too will make other people realize that they're not crazy for seeing evil where there is evil and that they're not stupid for seeing through the western propaganda that tries to make all of us condone genocide and colonization. you don't have to be an expert to stand against aggressors, you just need common sense and a conscience

and if you're in a place far away from the conflict, so far away that it seems like it doesn't matter at all, remember that right now the people of palestine have had their internet and all forms of communication shut down by the state of israel. they have been silenced, literally, and cannot report on the atrocities being committed right at this exact moment. israel wants people to stop looking, stop paying attention and stop talking about palestine so they can continue their plans of ethnic cleansing. if you're far away from the conflict, then your life is not in danger if you speak up, you won't suffer any consequence for it other than, perhaps, lose a few followers

if all you can do is talk about it, then please, please, for everything you hold holy, TALK ABOUT IT 🇵🇸

#palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #it girl #girlblogging #girlblogger #coquette #wonyoungism #lana del rey #pink pilates princess #toxic female #hyper feminine #female rage #female hysteria #divine feminine #this is what makes us girls #girl interrupted #manic pixie dream girl #black swan #diet coke #lizzy grant #cinnamon girl #dollette #dark coquette #free palestine