#Stop removing their cultural identities! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gremlingottoosilly · 4 months

Text

The Horror and The Wild (emperor!Konig x fem!Reader)

A day after you and Konig's wedding. Who knew that evil emperors could be so romantic. Tags and TWs: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator Word count: 3256 AO3

— Lift your hips up, princess. You don’t want to waste my seed.

You whimper, trying to get your legs down, so he can’t force you to spread them anymore – but you feel the hot seed getting back in the swell of your well-used maidenhood, and it makes you whimper only more. What a woeful sight indeed – a fake princess crying over having to take the seed of the strongest person in the whole continent. You know a thousand of women who would beg for an opportunity to have the Emperor’s hands on their hips, guiding them down to admire the look. You know that the real princess – your princess – would never agree to this ordeal, no matter the begging and the bribery. So, you don’t agree too. — In m…my culture, a bride should wait at least a month after the marriage before the…conception, Your Majesty.

You lie through gritted teeth like it could change anything. Like it could magically force all the seed from your womb to the ground again, to the silk of the sheets under you. Like the mere tradition that you gave birth to the idea of a minute ago would stop you from being König’s breeding mare. Still, you refuse to lift your hips, a small resistance that puts a small chuckle to his lips. He is amused by you – or your stupidity. Princesses are supposed to be spoiled and bratty, right? Yours certainly was.

— Does your culture also make the bride lie to her husband?

You lick your lips, forcing them closed. No another quick witty word from you – your lies already got you on the edge of…something. After König announced he knew who you were this entire time, he got you on your back, on your belly, with your hips up and down, your head silly from lack of air as he choked you until you begged for your life – only for him to kiss you over and over. Feeding your womb with his seed until there was a bump, not giving any chance that the baby wasn’t there yet. If anything, he conquered your body the same way he did your country – and left your bruised hips as a reminder. The handprinted bruises covering your skin like the finest fabrics of the gown he got you.

— If you wish to order me dead, your majesty.

— Death doesn’t mean anything here, meine Liebe.

— Then banish me. For the lies and the betrayal of a royal…

He laughs – it’s a nice sound, still, something in your deprived mind likes the way you make him laugh and chuckle. Something in your head makes you feel as dizzy as you did when he cut off the air in your throat, every time that cold eyes of his look at you with warmth. heated obsession, whatever that is – you refuse to believe it was genuine, as you were borrowing your princess’s identity, but now, when he laughed and spoke about his true intentions, you weren’t sure if a pathetic and lowly lady-in-waiting is as safe in you as you thought.

— If being as stupid as you are is a punishable crime, then I’d finalyl have a good reason to kill off most of my harem. He laughs again, a hand in your hair – getting out all of the fancy pins and bows and dead flowers that were forced to be held in your crown and on your head. You groan in pleasure as the pins scraping your scalp are finally removed – and try to get back at his hand immediately when he comes to squeeze your breasts again. Not for any reason – simply because you happened to have the aspects of your body that he could touch.

— Would be much safer to get a woman from a harem, sir. Not…not me.

— And if I wanted just you?

König looks at you – trembling, loved out completely. Covered in his marks, as many bites as a princess could take. Even being a servant, you’re almost as gentle and reserved as a real deal – but gods, if you weren’t the cutest thing he ever saw in that damned ugly country of yours. Hating nobility as much as he hated speaking to his troops not as their commander, König never particularly enjoyed the idea of having to marry some bitchy royal daughter…you, however, were the loophole in the god’s contract. A gift, just for him.

— Your council would make me disappear for deceiving you in the first place.

— No one would dare to leave the empire without heirs.

— You could have another one. There are plenty of princesses out there, Your Highness.

— And I don’t have enough patience to entertain you trying to sell me the idea of your freedom. Do you know what relief I felt when you were the one to meet me?

You don’t answer, instead prompting to just listen. You have good ears for listening – for allowing others to talk, so you wouldn’t be made to fill in awkward silences. König loves that and appreciates that. Finally, someone who can just be silent – even if he also has nothing to say, at least you’re scared and angry enough to dismiss him anyway. At least your unwillingness is making him less awkward at participating in the conversation.

— You knew who I was all along?

— Princesses are pampered. Even the poorest kingdom would never have a princess with hands as hard-working as yours, Schatz.

He takes his hands in yours – no matter the healing creams you rubbed in them, no matter the lack of actual physical labor, even the smallest tasks you performed for the princess, the tiniest exposure to cleaning supplies that would make the toughest skin crack, left a small traces in the skin of your palm. Fingers with clean nails – short, practical, indicating the need to have your hands in working order all of the time. Indicating your lack of a servant who would do everything – opening buttons on clothes, embroidery, and washing oneself’s body. indicating that you were said servant.

You look embarrassed that he pointed that out. Scared, almost.

— Are my hands too ugly for you, sir?

He can see the tremble in your fingers. He traces them with his – large, calloused hands keeping you in place. Rough skin and multiple ridges of scars over the darkened skin made you shiver from the contrast of the sensation – those are the hands of a ruler who isn’t afraid of taking a sword in his hands. Who almost got his arms chopped off for this altogether.

Then – he kisses them.

One finger at a time, every ridge and bump in your skin deserves a graze of emperor’s teeth as he tugs on rough skin around your knuckles. Your hands are soft, softer than a normal maid would have – but changed from the work you had to put. Every kiss and lick doesn’t make them gentle, doesn’t remove the experience you had – in braiding hair, in washing clothes, in cleaning up after a royal mess. It doesn’t change who you were, but with every little praise he whispers – crude language, really, but the affection in his words scares you more than any foreign insult could – with every toss of his lips over your palms, he is changing who you are. Who will you become in just a week or two.

He calls your hands beautiful – in North tongue, with a smile on his face. König loves to explore, and your body is a beautiful place for him to be. Your hands are the best place he could have been in the morning.

Some historians are already saying he has done more to this country than any other ruler ever could. But oh, the emperor knows that the most important thing he did here was kiss your fingers. Over and over.

You snap your arms back when he finally breaks down, starting to bite – the softer skin of your palms falling victim to his sharp teeth. Emperors aren’t supposed to have sharp teeth but for all he knows, he was born from a dog and raised by one. A wolf in wolf’s clothing.

— Your hands belong to an empress.

— Thought I was a regent.

— You are, mein Schatz. Can’t trust you with a country, ja?

You laugh, but there are tears in your eyes. Loss of whatever authority you could have as the princess's personal maid – her friend if he knew anything about royals and their habits. Scheisse, he was the emperor for 10 long years and still didn’t get a hang of it. Might be something he had to be born with – such a shame, really. Should have told his mother to never give birth to a rat that would usurp the throne once out of the crib.

He loves to see you weak, trembling like this – like a proper bride should. Like a real princess, the one whose manners should be enough to fool the people and the dumbest of his court. The smartest ones could always agree to put their tongues up their behinds – if they don’t want to get their heads chopped off by his blade, without even bothering an executioner to do it.

— But you can trust me with your children?

— This empire needs an heir. As much as I can rule forever.

— No one is immortal.

— Ach. Did Sebastian forget to visit you before the wedding, little princess?

He is mocking you, again and again – he laughs with death and you hate it, you hate yourself, you loathe him and his laughs and his crooked smile and the scars covering his skin and…he kisses your hands again, then – dips your hands up in that mask of his. Lets you feel the skin, involuntarily trace your fingertips all over everything hidden – you touch his teeth, his fangs, and you gasp in shock. So, the monster has lips. So, the monster has thin lips and wet mouth, and he dips his tongue all over the traces of knuckles and…

König knows you’d never agree to be his in a way that he wants you too – but this is fine. He can work you around. He can break you. He can please you. What a wonderful job would this be.

— Your court would soon find out I’m not the one.

— They know how to keep their mouths shut. You would, however, have to deal with my harem personally.

— Did you intended to add my princess to your harem too?

— If I knew that you wouldn’t take her place? Of course. I never visited the place for the exact reason I didn’t bother to find your patron.

— Are you really satisfied with the scraps?

Oh, his poor, dumb girl – he was feeding off scraps since he was ripped away from his mom’s tit. You were the only fancy meal he ever liked in his life – and gods, if he wouldn’t give up anything to taste you again.

On the other side, however, he can do just that.

König dips his head down, the traces of his hood laying on your labia. You whimper.

— I never ate anything as exquisite as you, little princess.

— I’m n…why do you keep calling me this?

— You will be my princess. Forever trapped on my lap, on the floor, chained to my throne like a…

With each word, his tongue laps on the glossiness of your lower lips. He gives your maiden a little kiss all over, he digs down like it’s a fancy meal indeed – the scrawny hairs of his stubble make you whimper every time they graze your clit. König has a fleeting thought of eating his cum out of your poor, sore body – that it wouldn’t be wise, that it would make the process of impregnating you slower. Then, he thinks – he can just fill you up with his seed later. And in the evening. And tomorrow.

He pushes his tongue down, deep – you gasp, you get your hands on his hood, not trying to tear it apart, but laying there like a scared maiden. You were one – you are one, after all. Gods, he could just keep you here forever if it weren’t for the country needing its empress.

König kisses you all over – you’re still smelling like rose water, like fragrances that were forcefully rubbed on your skin right before the wedding. A proper lady, you were bathed in salts and oils like a kitchen in poor man’s soup – but weren’t you looking beautiful in that dress of yours. Too bad he had to rip it eventually, stepping on it accidentally quite a few times as he was getting you water. Your little trick with the herb did make you thirsty in all possible ways.

You don’t know a lot about royal weddings, but you’re pretty sure that the emperor shouldn’t be sprawled on his giant bed like this, eating you out like you were the roasted lamb served at yesterday’s feast. You moan when the material of his mask is getting tricky with your gentle parts when the rough fabric is scrapping your thighs in a way that is far from arousal – and then he leans in, a head laying on your tummy. Your princess parts are swollen from his actions – and lack thereof. You almost think you could buck your hips up like a… König takes off his hood.

— Wh…what are y… You don’t master enough words before he is forcing his face against yours before his lips finally lay down on yours properly – and gods isn’t this a beautiful sight. The emperor, the vile conqueror, your biggest enemy, and your husband – smiling like a boy when he got free candy, like a cat who got the cream – like a man so in love, it makes him unable to stop smiling while looking at his wife.

He isn’t pretty in the sense that some of the rulers can be pretty – he isn’t hideous either. A rough face doesn’t look like something that belongs to a royal family – big nose, small lips, chiseled chin and not a sight of inbreeding. You try to see if his ears are wrong, at least, but they are fine – not caring about a bit of chopped-off bits, probably from old battles. He is rugged and handsome and rough and you hate that red stubble on his chin and his gorgeous ginger hair – if you were forced to see this face every day, you might give up and like him. It’s a good thing he wears the mask most of the time, isn’t it?

— You don’t like how your emperor looks, little princess? He laughs again, then – cups your face in his hands and kisses you all over. Again and again, his lips fell on yours making you feel dumb, making you feel dizzy and just a bit charmed – like the potion you drank yesterday hadn’t fully worn off. You can taste your own pleasure on his lips and it makes you embarrassed – a proper lady should never enjoy a process as dirty as making love – your lower parts should only exist for him to take pleasure in ruining it, and for you – to birth little princes.

But König bows down before your lower lips, but König presses his tongue against your special spot again and again, and it makes you wonder if he recites the anthem of the empire on the little swollen bud between your legs – for his actions are filled with devotion that should only be reserved for one’s country, not for just a poor, dumb handmaiden whose only job was to lie and to protect. But…is it really all you want to do now? Just lay here and let him take him, without a chance of enjoying him playing with you if only for just a bit longer? — I…I believe you look fine, Your Majesty.

— Just fine?

He smiles and kisses you down there again – the aftermath of your pleasure makes his lips feel too hard on your swollen parts, the climax had taken everything from you left only feelings, as naked and trembling as you are right now – and, by god, if you aren’t feeling like sold and set in pieces. You are selling your dignity right now, the loyalty to your kingdom is getting grazed by each new stroke of his tongue. You close your eyes and moan – for you can’t hold off your pleasure anymore. For you don’t see a reason in trying to pretend you don’t enjoy being treated like a princess after a life of servitude.

— You are fine for an emperor, my…my husband. You struggle to say it – but you do have to say it eventually, at least in front of the servants. If he isn’t intent on keeping you locked away in a tower, pumping out babies like his little servant – maybe he wouldn’t want to keep you open for the world to take. You were a secluded princess kept in shadows before he discovered you, after all. You served the one, at least.

— Trying to cover the harsh words with honey, ja? I killed for less, mein Schatz.

— I assume you won’t kill me before the first son, at least?

— Wouldn’t kill you even if you’d be barren. I’d rather leave the empire to rot without an heir than choose someone else in your place.

— That is awful news for your empire.

— Our empire can rot without you, Meine Liebe. Never wanted the damned crown in the first place.

— But you’re fine with putting it on the head of a commoner?

— I was a commoner once. Know better than anyone else that a princess would never make a good wife.

You never studied his rise to power – the latest politics were hidden from you and the princess, the king never wanted to taint his daughter with such silly things as rising stars of the political arena – and he failed to mention the empire that was once rotting from its head getting a ruler who would take half of the continent and a daughter of every kingdom in his harem as the spoils of war.

He lays down beside you, taking you in his arms again. his hair flows all around you – he smells like blood, still, even after so many hours spent bathing in your shared musk. You wonder if everything he had done with the forbidden rituals made him like this – face torn and stitched back together again, harsh scars that can only be made from a blade or claws of a giant animal – and he pushes you down to press your face against his chest, taking in the feeling of laying beside your husband.

— Don’t you have something that needs to be done, Your Highness?

— The most important thing I need to do is lay between your legs, little princess. And you’re too swollen to be doing that.

You press your forehead against his chest. Taking it him and the light tan of his skin – you wonder where he could get it, if he almost never took off his armor. His face is as pale as it can be, and it makes him look a little silly when naked – but you refuse to smile and make him angry. — I thought you wanted me to meet your harem.

— They can wait. We need to give them time to prepare the poison for you, right?

He laughs and you don’t find anything better to do than to press your head against his chest and close your eyes. The royal visits really can wait until tomorrow.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #konig mw2 #konig x you #konig cod #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere imagines

1K notes · View notes

probablyasocialecologist · 6 months

Text

How can a person make up for seven decades of misrepresentation and willful distortion in the time allotted to a sound bite? How can you explain that the Israeli occupation doesn’t have to resort to explosions—or even bullets and machine-guns—to kill? That occupation and apartheid structure and saturate the everyday life of every Palestinian? That the results are literally murderous even when no shots are fired? Cancer patients in Gaza are cut off from life-saving treatments. Babies whose mothers are denied passage by Israeli troops are born in the mud by the side of the road at Israeli military checkpoints. Between 2000 and 2004, at the peak of the Israeli roadblock-and-checkpoint regime in the West Bank (which has been reimposed with a vengeance), sixty-one Palestinian women gave birth this way; thirty-six of those babies died as a result.That never constituted news in the Western world. Those weren’t losses to be mourned. They were, at most, statistics. What we are not allowed to say, as Palestinians speaking to the Western media, is that all life is equally valuable. That no event takes place in a vacuum. That history didn’t start on October 7, 2023, and if you place what’s happening in the wider historical context of colonialism and anticolonial resistance, what’s most remarkable is that anyone in 2023 should be still surprised that conditions of absolute violence, domination, suffocation, and control produce appalling violence in turn. During the Haitian revolution in the early 19th century, former slaves massacred white settler men, women, and children. During Nat Turner’s revolt in 1831, insurgent slaves massacred white men, women, and children. During the Indian uprising of 1857, Indian rebels massacred English men, women, and children. During the Mau Mau uprising of the 1950s, Kenyan rebels massacred settler men, women, and children. At Oran in 1962, Algerian revolutionaries massacred French men, women, and children. Why should anyone expect Palestinians—or anyone else—to be different? To point these things out is not to justify them; it is to understand them. Every single one of these massacres was the result of decades or centuries of colonial violence and oppression, a structure of violence Frantz Fanon explained decades ago in The Wretched of the Earth. What we are not allowed to say, in other words, is that if you want the violence to stop, you must stop the conditions that produced it. You must stop the hideous system of racial segregation, dispossession, occupation, and apartheid that has disfigured and tormented Palestine since 1948, consequent upon the violent project to transform a land that has always been home to many cultures, faiths, and languages into a state with a monolithic identity that requires the marginalization or outright removal of anyone who doesn’t fit. And that while what’s happening in Gaza today is a consequence of decades of settler-colonial violence and must be placed in the broader history of that violence to be understood, it has taken us to places to which the entire history of colonialism has never taken us before.

#palestine #israel #gaza #zionism #settler colonialism

1K notes · View notes

johannestevans · 25 days

Text

what's really fun about embracing batman's antics as a parallel or representative to BDSM culture is like. the doylist explanation is that the secret identities are such a large part of the plots

but from the watsonian perspective, why does no one pull off each other's mask?

why don't the villains pull off batman's mask? not just during a physical fight, but during the others - when scarecrow knocks him out with poison, when the riddler knocks his head in to put an exploding collar on him, when the joker drugs him so he can do his weird shit to him?

why do none of them pull batman's mask off during regular fights, unless the pulling off his mask is SPECIFICALLY a plot point of the comic? why doesn't batman pull off bane's mask, or catwoman's?

why in gotham do people generally let other people keep their masks on?

unless it's a specific plot point of the story, as i said, in general everyone - both villains and heroes - respects the other side's anonymity to a certain extent. the villain is only unmasked once they are caught and apprehended, the hero almost never

and it's because like. the masks are part of it, right. their identities are part of it. both villains and heroes engage in these personas to represent parts of their identities that are otherwise stunted or repressed

where the likes of wonderwoman and superman appear in their superheroic antics unmasked - implying that THESE are their "true" identities, implying that there is little artifice to them - batman is an alterego of another man

and yet, as many kinksters will tell you, a mask does not necessarily create the repression your real face does. wearing a mask or a disguise or costume can, in fact, strip away layers of artifice - as it does in the soul of batman

batman is cold where bruce wayne often doesn't permit himself to be. batman laughs at joker's or other freaks' jokes sometimes, and makes dry - dark - quips of his own.

batman goes out in the rain and beats people up, and craves to be beaten up in return.

and yet he doesn't tear anyone's mask off - and for the most part, they don't go for his. joker even comments on it in some things, talks about how it would ruin the game if he unmasked him, and that in itself is a sort of metacommentary on what i'm discussing here

as i've said before, all superheroes are kind of gay, and kind of kinky, because what they do - being in the closet and having a secret identity; having a special costume and/or mask and/or powers that you don't usually have when closeted, etc - but here like

there is an implicit boundary here between superheroes and supervillains where they don't cross this line, and it's to do with maintaining the sanctity of the "space" in which they're "playing" (not playing) together. they maintain their respective identities to maintain the vibe

the villain is unmasked when they are apprehended because that marks the end of play, in which their identity is stripped from them as punishment for being apprehended; the hero is unmasked when the villain wishes to graduate the level of pain and/or remove them from the space

this tbh is also why i love so much when like. the joker makeup is literally burned into his face and is just Like That now - it's the idea that this was once or WOULD HAVE once been an alterego, but it is now permanent whether he likes it or not

because the fundamental point of the joker is that he can't stop, won't stop, because he is so devoted and so deep in his villainy - and that while batman and bruce wayne are a few identities deep, he might as well always be wearing the cowl, even though ppl can't see it

#musings #batman #batjokes #batman x joker

149 notes · View notes

blanket-burrito-protocol · 1 year

Text

With the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA), which has kept Native children from being purposefully removed from Native families into non-Native foster families since 1978, being reevaluated in the US Supreme Court, it is at risk of being greatly weakened and undoing decades of work to stop the systematic erasure of Native cultural identity.

(It may also re-designate the term "Indian" in the bill to mean a racial classification rather than political, reversing precedent with regard to tribal sovereignty. Native tribes must remain independent entities in the law rather than just a race to protect their rights to self-governance.)

The Lakota People's Law Project is asking US citizens to ask their state lawmakers to enact similar legislation at the state level which codifies the rights and protections ICWA gives to Native children should it be weakened in the Supreme Court. This is not protection for the ICWA itself, although they do have action you can take for that on their website as well. In the link is a pre-written email which you can personalize and easily send to your state lawmakers.

Thanks for your time. :)

#icwa #protect icwa #lakota people's law project #legal defense #native rights #native sovereignty #native issues #indigenous rights #legal action #state law #supreme court #solidarity #protectICWA

451 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 11 months

Note

Part of what makes identifying racism so difficult is that people from different cultures have different ideas about what constitutes racism.

To take the most simple example, that of a potential racist slur in a person's username, I as a moderator had to do some research. I discovered that this word is:

* an ethnic slur in British English, American English, and Dutch

* an informal neutral term in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Australia

* a reclaimed slur among at least some Japanese people

Moreover, the FULL word that the person used as their username ($possible slur+style) appears to be a neutral to positive term associated with Japanese motorcycles, to distinguish them from other types of motorbike.

Is the person's username racist? It depends on who you ask.

And this is ONE word.

If it isn't even possible to be certain if one word is racist, how can we be certain if the average "racist" fic is racist?

Believe me, I'm mixed-race myself and I would like nothing more than to end racism. But other than the most egregious examples, how can we be certain that a fic is genuinely racist?

If we censor or remove anything that MIGHT BE racist, that's going to cover an awful lot of fics - including my own. I know that I've written lines comparing the light skin tone of one partner to the darker skin tone of another, because it's something that I find fascinating in real life. There's nothing sexier than two bodies lying together and seeing that contrast in their skin tones.

The fact that the darker person is usually myself and that I'm writing about characters with that canon difference won't stop well-meaning "anti-racists" of accusing me of being racist.

Will I have to start supplying a photo of myself along with my fic to "prove" that I'm "allowed" to write it?

Trying to prove identity is always a trap too, of course, because they'll just No True Scotsman you.

318 notes · View notes

vtoriacore · 1 year

Text

✧ truly, he can’t hate you

note: since it was his birthday vv recently, i decided malleus needs to suffer and be sad and feel the thousand winds of torment and misery (this isn’t me wanting to see his OB form early at all or anything don’t look AT ME LIKE THAT GRRRR) ! but man did i miss writing angst and it just works so well with him so like . . . 🤭

tw: yandere, angst [no comfort]

synopsis: in which malleus cannot bring himself to be happy, having bound you both to shackles of anguish that he isn't willing to remove - no matter the cost.

Silence. It had been like this for quite a while now; he counted all the days, turned to weeks, turned to months. And yet, despite the crushing pressure of the unspoken words he knew you'd utter if you were more responsive, he finds that he doesn't mind it all too much anymore.

Or so he tells himself each time the dull ache comes back as his brilliant green eyes take in your form once more. He knows you can feel him gazing at you, and he knows that your policy of ignoring his existence will not be disturbed. He really should hate you for it but he doesn't.

He can't bring himself to, as after all he was the one to take you back with him all the way to Briar Valley. You always used to say that you hated the atmosphere of the place, and how often everything seemed too dim and sombre. He would always recount the way your once shining eyes settled on every grand structure, and how you'd grimace at the way the gargoyles on many of the stone walls would tower over everyone - never knowing if they were scrutinising or safeguarding.

Malleus hated to admit that it hurt. Absolutely loathed to admit that it stung and stabbed at his pallid skin until he'd have to forcibly stop himself relaying your cold disregard of his home, his culture, his identity. It left him feeling cold to the core and each time he'd only be more numb to your cruelty than the last. But it was never easy to bear nonetheless.

He supposed this was the only good thing about the ever present silence, but the knowledge of you despising anything and everything about his very substance still had him faltering and grasping at even the tiniest sliver of perceived reciprocation. He hated how you made him feel so desperate and fragile, but he could never hate you.

Admittedly though, he had begun to hate the circumstances you both found yourself in. First and foremost he didn't want to own up to the fact he had brought you here against your will (and he so wishes you'd understand it's for your own safety!) and that you were very clearly discontent with his actions. However, Malleus had hoped you'd show even the slightest bit of gratitude - he had to fight tooth and nail to get you to where you are now.

He shed blood, but not his own, to have you sitting beside him on this emerald bejewelled throne as a rightful ruler of the Briar Valley, and yet when you used to defiantly reject every concession he had ever made all you uttered with disgust was a curt "I hate this" followed by a prolonged "I hate you."

When you had learned of his slaying of an advisor for even suggesting to remarry someone else, you had stopped talking completely though. There were no more simple, short words to be spoken, but he understood the silence very well. He was after all, used to being alone. Used to the discreet glances of rejection from majority of those he had crossed paths with. But he just couldn't understand why you didn't see things the way he did.

Why couldn't you comprehend all the sacrifices he had made? Why couldn't you see the way he defied Lilia, his most trusted bodyguard, when he had gone against bringing you here? Why couldn't you realise the painstaking guilt he felt for imprisoning Silver for trying to help you escape? Why couldn't you discern the way he banished Sebek for an attempt on your life and how it made him want to claw at his throat to atone for his actions?

Were you this content to let every relationship of his dissipate into dust, as if they had never carried an ounce of meaning? Did you take pleasure in the way his feelings, very raw and ready to boil over, were being torn to shreds every passing second? Are you satisfied with how his memories spill out into a mirage of a sullied dream as he clutches at his chest until he loses awareness of his surroundings?

He honestly couldn't tell, and maybe -he rationalised with himself- that was for the better. Because for as long as you don't voice these thoughts and split his heart open, he'd be able to keep hanging onto the hope that one day you might just change your mind and be his last meaningful relationship. Ignorance may not be complete bliss, but it's far better than the awareness of his growing misery.

261 notes · View notes

ceasarslegion · 8 months

Text

Ive made my stance on oppenheimer discourse very clear but one detail of it that really bothers me is the "movies about sad white men are always bad" attitude, and i didnt really know why until i was able to sit down and parse it out.

Here's the thing. I have a film degree, I've spent more time in movie theaters than I have sleeping and I've easily seen more films and shows than all of my peers combined. Which isn't a flex btw, I'm a little hermit who prefers the warm embrace of a cinema seat to human connection and is the most annoying mfer imaginable during family movie night; don't be like me.

But I know hollywood, I know cinema history, and I know the legitimate frustration this attitude comes from. Hollywood doesn't like to take risks, they have to historically be dragged kicking and screaming into any territory that isn't a guaranteed profit, which usually means that we get periods of stagnation where every film is the same goddamn formula over and over again until audiences get sick of it and stop buying tickets en masse. Hollywood also tends to reflect the dominant culture and the sociopolitical issues of the time, but not SOOO much that you'd rock the boat. As an exec, you wanna hit that sweet spot where audiences relate to your films without them being so blatant that they'd cause them to question things that weren't acceptable to question. Noir was a picture-perfect example of that.

And in the modern day, that DOES tend to translate into the weird genre of Sad White Man Who Regrets Killing Foreigners movies. Like American Sniper. But I've seen American Sniper, so I can speak on how lowkey disturbing I found it, and the history it's based in and the goals it had as an art piece were to make you sympathize with a system of corruption. And here's my unpopular opinion: if done RIGHT, those films still have a place within the cinematic sphere of influence, like if you made a film exploring the psyche and experiences of what leads a man to willingly participate in a system like that, but that's not really what it was.

Now let's move onto Oppenheimer and other films like it. I don't think these films are at ALL equivalent to films like American Sniper, even if they follow a sad white man who regrets killing foreigners. You are looking at the bare bones surface level of it and assuming its contents both real world and dramatized and judging it based on that instead of the, well, actual film.

One of the biggest differences here is that Oppenheimer WAS an important historical figure just, objectively. Even removing all western racial influence from the equation, you can not look me in the eyes and tell me that the man who invented the atomic bomb in the middle of the largest world war of modern history was not an important historical figure. If you try to make THAT argument just based on the sad white man-ness of him, I'm sorry but your point is already moot, because it's not based in historical fact anymore but your own personal subjective feelings. He IS an important historical figure, he's not soldier number 648 in the middle of a massive battlefield who followed other peoples orders.

And also to be completely honest, you are a huge fucking liar if you try to claim that people like Dr. Oppenheimer are not interesting. Flawed people who make flawed decisions with complicated variables are what make for good fiction, so when one exists in the historical record, of course they are going to interest people. They are going to be studied and interviewed if they're still alive and have their entire lives and every word they said picked apart and analyzed because they are interesting. You are straight up lying if you try to act like these people arent interesting enough on their own to have media made about them, regardless of what identity they had that fits into the opposing side of the 21st centure culture wars. This attitude reminds me a lot of the people who claim that the only reason anybody could find true crime interesting is because they MUST want to fuck jeffrey dahmer or whatever. The argument just doesnt hold up because all it takes is one person going "thats not what i find interesting about them" to collapse that entire absolutist argument.

So yes, hollywood absolutely has a racism and war glorification issue. But I take issue when these accusations are just made blindly against any historical dramatization based on nothing but the poster. If you're going to talk about hollywoods sad white men issue, at least make sure the films youre citing actually fit that bill AND that you actually understand whats WRONG with those sad white men movies, because its not just the presence of a sad white male protagonist, its a conglomerate of various sociopolitical issues that must be present within those characters and what they represent.

#some thoughts #oppenheimer

70 notes · View notes

cameoamalthea · 1 year

Text

So about Sabine Wren

When we see her in the Ashoka Teaser:

(Brilliant casting, wonderful hair, and costume design)

She isn't wearing armor.

And sure, she's not in combat, the war is over, but Sabine isn't a soldier, she's a Mandalorian.

Mandalorians are a people, children of Mandalor. That's why Bo-Katan calls Din 'brother' when she first meets him and refers to the rest of the Mandlorians as her brethren. (This is a basic translation of 'vod' meaning brother, sister or comrade in the way you might call a friend bro or sis.)

Mandalorian is a religious and cultural identity. The Resol'nare is the six core actions that are the heart of her culture/religion:

Wearing armor.

Speaking the language.

Defending yourself and your family.

Raising your children as Mandalorians.

Contributing to the clan's welfare.

When called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to their cause.

Wearing armor is number 1. Some factions interpret number 1 as never remove your helmet in front of others.

Most interpret it as wearing armor and removing your helmet where practical.

(look, it's Sabine's mom)

Even Mandalorians who are not practicing, but are Mandalorian by Leniage will still wear armor. Not just because Beskar Armor is amazing, but because armor connects the wearer to their family who passed it down to them.

"The armor I wear is 500 years old. I reforged it to my liking, but the battles, the history, the blood, all lives within it, and the same goes for every Mandalorian. This armor is part of our identity. It makes us Mandalorians who we are." - Sabine

For those born Mandalorian, their armor is a priceless heirloom. Foundlings who are not adopted into a family that can pass down armor are gifted extra pieces of armor by the entire community. Every scrap is sacred and goes to someone, it either connects you to your family, history, and blood or to everyone's family, history, and blood as part of the greater family of Mandalorians.

We've seen Sabine without her armor before, when going undercover she's worn imperial uniforms, but it is strange to see her forgoing beskar by choice.

I love how the design uses patches where she had emblems on her armor (I did that for my Disney Bound of her). It's very thoughtful costuming. So what is the meaning behind having her wear a leather jacket (Ezra's Jacket?) and forgo armor.

Has she exiled herself for not being there during the purge?

Sabine was estranged from her birth family during Rebels, but her birth family and people remained a core part of her identity and motivation.

youtube

In this scene, her adoptive Jedi father teaches her to wield the Dark Saber and to connect to her emotional truth.

"The truth... is that... I left to save everyone. My mother, my father, my brother! Everything I did was for family, for Mandalore!"

Joining the rebellion was for Mandalor and to atone for the harm she had done to her people while at the Imperial Academy (her system was imperially controlled, it was expected that she join, and she was a prodigy who joined young)

"I built weapons, terrible weapons, but the Empire used them on Mandalore, on friends, on family. People that I knew. They controlled us through fear. ( Scoffs ) Mandalore! Fear of weapons I helped create. I helped enslave my people! I wanted to stop it. I had to stop it. I spoke out! I spoke out to save them. To save everyone!"

In Rebels Sabine clearly identifies as a Mandalorian and that's an important part of her identity.

You can't tell she's a Mandalorian in the top photo, perhaps because she no longer believes she deserves to be one.

As shown above, her family and people are the most important thing to her. She left her found family to reunite with her birth family and found a rebellion on Mandalore which she led. However, after fighting alongside Bo-Katan Sabine felt that Bo-Katan should be leader.

(And so did everybody else, Bo-Katan was heir by blood but she was for all intents and purposes elected leader by popular consent)

Sabine then left to return to the Rebel Alliance and fight alongside her found a family in their rebel squadron and remained with them to safeguard Lothal.

Sabine left the Mandalorian Rebellion. She was not there when the rebellion failed. When the Empire set out to destroy her planet and kill everyone on it. She is a survivor of genocide and was not with her people fighting when it happened. Worse, the genocide was a response to a rebellion she started but was not there to see through.

It's not her fault. It's not any Mandalorian's fault.

But how must she feel?

Now recall the Resol'nare: half of the six core actions are about family, clan, and people.

Defending yourself and your family.

Contributing to the clan's welfare.

When called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to their cause.

Sabine was not there to defend her family or contribute to her clan's welfare. She was not with Bo-Katan, the Mand'alor, she put in power, to help.

Perhaps Sabine no longer wears her armor because she no longer feels worthy of being a Mandalorian.

When Ahsoka sees her on Lothal Ahsoka is in gray robes like she wore in the Mandalorian.

In the Rebels epilogue Ahsoka is in white.

Sabine also looks different in this scene:

Sabine could not have grown her hair to the length in the Ahsoka trailer if that scene took place after the Rebels epilogue. However, she could easily crop her hair short between the trailer scene and the epilogue.

She's also wearing her armor again. Maybe when we first meet Sabine in Ahsoka we will see her in a darker place. She's given up on being a Mandalorian. She's grown her hair out in mourning. Maybe Ahsoka gives her hope, so she puts on her armor again and cuts her hair short, symbolically shedding the weight of grief and guilt.

#sabine wren #the mandalorian #mandalorian #Ahsoka #Youtube

172 notes · View notes

azrielgreen · 9 months

Note

Do you ever worry that writing dead dove fic could negatively impact your writing career in the future? I'm kind of struggling with this, I've seen so many authors careers ruined by doing much less "problematic" things than writing non-con in a fic. I'd be devastated if by some miracle I managed to write a book that actually got popular just to be canceled by someone digging up my fanfic. From what I've seen the book community is even more harsh than fandom, there's no nuance or room for discussion whatsoever, when the hammer falls that's it and no one wants to be seen as being on the wrong side so they won't read your book. I don't want to limit myself creatively or have to be secretive and paranoid, I'm here to make friends, but I also don't want to shoot myself in the foot. I'm just curious if you've thought about how you'd handle a situation like that.

This is a really sad way of looking at things and I'm really sorry that the absolute state of fandom has people feeling so down and so heavily policed.

I don't ever worry about this.

One of the first messages I ever got about 'You're Divine' was someone telling me that it meant so much to them that I was open about who I am and upfront about writing fic because it made them believe one day a fanfic writer might break into the publishing industry.

There are THOUSANDS of professional writers who also write fanfic, many who are very open about it. I will be one of them.

This Dead Dove "Panic" isn't new, it comes and goes. This discourse is old as shit and just about as interesting to anyone except the people who are eagerly learning puritanical ways to bully and harass.

I always write for myself. I write what I want, how i want and I will share that with the people who want to read for it for as long as I can. I will content warn and create as many safe barriers for readers as I can. I will always write with empathy and nuance and authentic curiosity and i will always stay open to the changes i can make to be more open minded, more inclusive, to broaden my horizons and explore with an open heart.

I will not censor myself.

I will not stand on a pedestal and loudly decry others to detract attention from myself and my own works.

I will not stand for bullying and I will NOT quieten my literary voice because there are those who think that depicting rape is endorsing rape. I won't bow to those who seek to remove the context every single time and I will never bow to purity culture.

If I sell 10 books in my life, I'll know that's 10 people who really wanted to read my work and they did. That's amazing to me.

I have nothing but respect for those who choose to shield their identity, who write with pseuds, who protect themselves.

But if I can make one fucking person feel better about themselves and their interests, about writing darker material... if i can make ONE person feel unashamed and confident enough to write what they want to, then that'll be worth everything.

I'm always going to write what I want and publishing will be the same. I have no intention of watering myself down for mainstream approval.

The literary world cannot be made up of only ONE type of story. It cannot be censored. It must not be purified and sanctified. Some stories are ugly. Shocking. Horrifying. Brutal. Provocative. The expanse of human emotion of vast and complex. As humans, we sometimes have a need to experience complex, ugly emotions within a framed narrative of safety. We read and we write for so much MORE than moral virtue signalling. It's tiring to see some of the most important stories being blanket labelled as "problematic" just for existing. To see people ignore warnings and context and thoughtlessly embodying the modern puritan.

I'll never stop being who I am and writing for myself. Everything else is secondary. Once you start writing for other people, bowing to purity culture, diluting yourself... it's already over.

Fuck that.

Love, Az.

💜💜💜

#askaz

83 notes · View notes

sixty-silver-wishes · 14 days

Text

with regards to the iran/israel situation and literally any other humanitarian situation that's going on right now, I just want to re-iterate some of my stances on current events:

I do not believe in wishing death on anyone. no matter anyone's identity or beliefs, I think that everyone should be entitled to basic human rights. I will NEVER advocate for statements calling for the mass death of civilians of any country, and detest seeing such statements made as jokes. I don't want to see "death to (country)," "burn (country) to the ground," "(country) needs to be nuked," etc. if you make those statements, think about what you're saying. we should not believe ourselves to be entitled to who gets to live or die. that is genocidal rhetoric.

WAR IS NOT ENTERTAINMENT. by that I mean I'm tired of people who have never experienced war treating it like fictional media. it's not strictly good vs. evil, it's not a sports game where you pick your favorite team. people die in war. and of course that seems obvious, but ever since the russian invasion of ukraine, I've seen people online, usually westerners with no connection to either country, treating a global conflict with devastating civilian consequences like fandom. express your support for ukraine by raising awareness for humanitarian causes, supporting ukrainian businesses, or learning about ukrainian culture and history, not making volodymyr zelensky thirst traps, goddammit. (and yes, I remember the volodymyr zelensky thirst traps. those were indeed a thing.) war is not meme fodder and entertainment, especially for those who are fortunate enough to be removed from it.

I do not believe in generalizing entire populations based on the actions of their governments. yes, of course there are civilians that support a government's actions, and there are civilians who oppose them. there are israelis who oppose the actions of the israeli government, russians who oppose the actions of the russian government, americans who oppose the actions of the us government, etc. the minute you generalize all civilians under a certain government as holding the same beliefs, you risk promoting rhetoric that is also used to justify ignorance and bigotry in best-case scenarios, and genocide in worst-case scenarios. people are not monoliths, and treating them as such can lead down a dangerous pipeline of attempting to justify the extermination of entire populations.

just because a government is committing atrocities doesn't mean the governments opposed to it are absolved of atrocities. powerful governments are not generally interested in human rights; they're interested in gaining as much influence and power as possible. ukrainians and palestinians are both suffering, but the international governments that claim to support either group of people are only doing so to support their own self-interests, such as global prominence or economic gain. we should not be cheering for the iranian government just because they oppose the israeli government; the mahsa/jina amini protests happened for a reason.

whenever there's a war, civilians always suffer the most. for those of us removed from war, we're removed from the full extent of this suffering. nowadays, with the rise of social media, we are able to witness atrocities in real time, but seeing videos of mutilated bodies and hearing the testimonies of survivors still doesn't equate to witnessing such atrocities firsthand. I don't believe that we should actively seek out graphic or distressing footage in order to alleviate any feelings of guilt, but we should treat these situations with extreme sensitivity, because we're not the ones experiencing them.

this goes with point #1, which is sort of where all of these points ultimately stem from, but I don't believe the killing of civilians is ever justified. even if one believes the ends justify the means, the lives of those people don't stop mattering.

please, going forward, let's be sensitive, compassionate, and kind. we need to be open to learning about different perspectives, as well as history, culture, and current events. there's already been so much suffering in the world in these last few years alone, and for those of us who are privileged enough to be removed from this sort of suffering, it's our responsibility to do our best not to make it worse than it already is.

24 notes · View notes

misspearly1 · 2 years

Text

Day Twenty-Six: Bath/Shower Sex - Din D'jarin.

Kinktober22 List

WC: 3.2k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Mutual Pining. Smut. Unprotected PIV. Blindfolded sex in the bathtub. Fluff. AN: Ahh, this was enjoyable to write, so sweet and fluffy. Hope ya'll enjoy too ❤️.

Walking blindly, you hold your hands out with caution as you giggle a question to Din. “Where are you taking me?”

“I already told you, mesh’la. It’s a surprise.” He replies in a chuckle, the delicate sound of your own laughter drawing it out of him. Though, the moment of joy and amusement was short-lived as he panics and darts his hands out to stop you from tripping over. “Woah. Easy there, sweet girl.”

“Oh.” You make a surprise sound, hands clasping over the top of his laying around your front. A few lingering touches later, you pat his hand and then let go. “Thank you, my warrior.”

The sound that Din then makes sends a shiver down your spine, choking out a soft grunt, though distorted through the modulator of his helmet, it didn’t dampen how heavy and thick his voice sounded after you called him your warrior. He likes it, there’s no doubt about that, and even though you practically feel the blush in his words when brushing it off like no big deal, know that it is in fact, a big deal for him.

“I um.. I’m going to need your guidance.” Whispering bashfully upon feeling the emotional shift between you and Din, it’s like the air was now charged with electricity, just patiently waiting for its spark to ignite. It was a start when his hand lay on your hip with his deep, textured voice mumbling into your ear for you to keep walking straight ahead. He’s so close, you can feel the large steely presence of his beskar chest plate against your back as your fingertips drag along the walls on either side of you.

You trust Din, have trusted him for a long time now, and you feel safe enough to be vulnerable around him, to completely open up and fear no judgement in return. Though, you can only hope that one day he can feel the same. It’s a slow progress and you’ve come a long way together since the beginning considering that you both tried to kill each other when you first met, but the changes now are drastically better.

Din feels safe with you too, however you can’t say completely. The laws of his culture forbid him from removing his helmet and revealing his identity to you, but he has revealed almost everything else instead. He shared his name, his story and childhood, the most vulnerable parts of his mind in conversation and his love, though he tries to hide his love - just like he did moments ago - you feel it nonetheless and understand why he quite literally uses his armour to shield his emotions.

Fear of rejection isn’t impervious to even the greatest warriors of the universe as it seems, and Din hides behind the armour in some aspects, shielding himself and those emotions that he evidently feels for you. And you, too, have felt those doubts in your mind on many occasions now, have tricked yourself into believing that the man you have fallen for - hard, wouldn’t feel the same way.

However, there is a sense of power that comes with certainty; knowing that Din D’jarin feels the same way as you, gives you a sense of power and responsibility to act on it accordingly, to make the first move and banish those fears that every species feels or has felt at some point in their life, no matter how tough they are.

“Hold on, mesh’la.” Din whispers, snapping your attention back to reality as he leans into you and opens a door. You try your best to maintain the closeness, holding your hand atop his again, you deliberately walk slower and the action causes his chest to press up against your back. “Not long now, then you can remove the blindfold.” He chuckles softly, mistaking your purposeful movements for hesitancy and it makes you giggle at his innocent, oblivious nature for not noticing your true intentions.

Walking a few more steps, then waiting as another door opens, you are immediately struck in the face with steamy heat, your nose quickly filling with the scent of sweet passion fruit and honey. “Oh wow. Din, is this what I think it is?” You ask quickly, hoping that it’s exactly what you think it is.

“Yes, sweet girl. It is.” The man replies and you can feel the pride resonating from him. Joyous pride - all for you and the reaction he was searching for. Removing your blind fold, you nearly squeal at the sight of Din’s surprise. It’s just a bath, a simple hot bubbly bath, candles dotted around the tiled floor or lining the indentations in the wall, but it’s a bath that you have yearned to have for the last five months aboard the razor crest. It’s been too long since you’ve indulged within the comforts of hot soapy water instead of the cold steady spray of water inside the cramped fresher.

“You’re the best, Din D’jarin!” You turn to him with glee and close the gap to wrap your arms around his shoulders in an endearing hug. “This isn’t setting us back is it? We’ve been on a tight schedule lately.” Expressing your worrisome thoughts out loud, you hoped it wasn’t taking too much out of his time or his credits. Just looking at the state of the bathroom suggests that this hotel is on the higher end of the scale. You wouldn’t care if it was some lousy pit stop, it’s the thought that counts most. “Thank you, Din - thank you for doing this for me.”

“Cyar’ika.” Mando sighs, his breath laced with sincerity. Pulling back and holding his leather gloved hands to your sides, he tilts his helmet slightly while looking down into your big, bright doe eyes and feels his heart thrumming in his ears. “It’s quite alright, Y/N. There’s no need to thank me.” Anything for your happiness, sweet girl. He thinks with his inner voice instead.

Smiling behind the helmet although you can’t see it, Din hesitates on letting you go just yet and continues to maintain your gaze, however his body betrays him as he unknowingly begins squeezing your hips, the action making you gasp softly. “Well-” He clears his throat nervously then steps back, feeling like he had crossed a line just now. “Don’t let me get in the way, mesh’la.”

“Din - wait.” You dart your hand out to his shoulder pad before he can turn to leave and when he tilts his helmet towards you again, you look over your shoulder to the bath, then to the blindfold in your hand and finally, back into the T shape of his visor, your eyes pleading as you suggest to him. “Won't you stay with me? I can wear the blindfold and I won’t see anything and… and I - please?” You stutter.

Mando just stares at you, barely moving a muscle, and you can tell without even seeing his face that he is wearing an expression of shock behind the helmet. You can feel the disbelief reverberating from his body, the uncertainty of your request seeping into your skin, which makes you that much more determined to banish those fears and doubts he still clings onto.

“Hey listen, if you don’t want to, forget that I even asked.” You begin, speaking calmly and reassuringly as you give him more confirmation to appease his mind. “But, if you would like to stay, then I am telling you that it’s what I want too - I’d like you to stay and join me Mando.”

Din spent another moment in silence, his helmet tilted to the side as if in thought, and for a split second, you questioned your whole mind on whether or not your hunch was correct, until he then reassured you. Closing the gap and pulling you flush against his chest, he presses his visor against your forehead and releases a sigh of relief. “Yes - Cyar’ika yes, I’d like to stay…” He pauses, audibly gulping. “...And join you.”

Knowing that your reassurances would banish his fears, you didn’t predict that it would set the primal instincts within Din D’jarin free. Your confirmation wasn’t just what he needed to know that you feel the same way, it’s what he needed to hear in order to take control. The man turns you around slowly, then takes the blindfold from your hands to place over your eyes again and ties it at the back. Within seconds, he removes his helmet and instantly indulges what he has yearned to have for so long. A kiss.

“Oh.” You gasp upon feeling his lips placed against your ear. The contact was minimal and unexpected, but deeply satisfying, especially when he moves and you feel the tickle of his beard across your skin. Ducking his head down to reach your neck, you tilt your head to the side and provide more room, inviting him to explore more of your skin.

You couldn’t help but moan when lifting your hand and running your fingers through his hair, the images your mind were producing through sense of touch, painted you a beautiful picture of what he looks like. As Din’s arms wrapped around your stomach and kissed your neck plentiful, your head lolls back to his shoulder with the prettiest whimper. Your senses became overwhelmed in the very best way, overwhelmed and crowded with Din D’jarin.

“You smell really good.” You admit your thoughts aloud after taking in the heavenly scent of his skin. Mando smiles against your neck, nipping a path towards your jawline before cupping your cheek and tilting your face a breath away from his as he whispers in reply. “So do you, mesh’la. So sweet and tasty.” He growls, and the sound ignites that electrified air around you both; a clear understanding between you and Mando was ignited - a need to act out your desires and not just take a bath together.

It was really quite foolish of you to think that nothing sexual would come about from taking a bath together, but just hearing Din growl how sweet and tasty you smell set off all those desires you’ve dreamed about. Truthfully, you didn’t want to rush him in anyway, but as it seems, he is feeling the exact same way you are right now - horny. Soft moans escaped his lips, sounds that you didn’t think you’d ever hear from Din, but he produced them for you.

Carefully helping you to remove your clothes first, he walks you towards the bath then helps you climb inside. “One moment, mesh’la.” Din whispers and kisses your cheek once before pulling away. You hear him removing his armour, hear the metal gently being placed to the tiled floor.

He’s always so gentle, takes pride in his armour. You smile with your thoughts, then feel around the tub carefully to readjust your position. Jolting when you feel the pad of his fingertips touch your shoulder, he apologises for startling you, then you shake your head at him, laughing. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Reaching out for his hand, he sees what you’re trying to do and meets you halfway. Once you hold him, you tug lightly as a gesture for him to get in the tub with you, which he does. Din moves carefully to climb into the water in front of you, sighing heavily from the heat enveloping him. “Good, right?” You ask upon hearing his satisfaction.

Leaning forward, your hands running up the expanse of his arms, your mouth falls open when feeling his muscles beneath your fingers. Din breathes a heavy wanton breath as you explore his skin through touch, dragging your nimble fingers across his chest and shoulders delicately. You lean in a little closer and he, once again, meets you halfway in closing the gap.

“Oh.” He moans, really moans, when your lips connect. Just a few hesitant pecks at first, until you tilt your head to the side and part your lips. Then Din deepens the kiss. Slipping his tongue inside first, you moan now and respond while tangling your tongue with his, though you couldn’t help but want more.

Moving closer and closer towards him until your chest was flush against his, you whimper from the sensation of your pert nipples grazing across his chest. Your sounds and reactions work effectively in giving Din more confidence to take the lead. His hands wrap around your back first, then lower your ass before pulling your lower half into him, which is where you both make a delighted sound from the contact.

“Din.” You whisper, a plea evident in your tone as you not-so-gently grab onto his shoulders. The man picks up on your need instantly, he needs it too and wastes no more time providing. “I got you, sweet girl.” He reassures and warns before hooking your leg over his arm. Holding a flat palm over your lower back to keep you balanced, you feel that both his hands are preoccupied and lower your hands to help line him up.

“Oh wow.” You gasp when feeling the sheer length and girth of him. Din gasps too, enjoying the way you explored the size of his cock with your hands. Wrapping your fingers around him, you stroke him a couple times and audibly sigh upon feeling his cock grow. He wasn’t even fully hard?! You panic slightly inside, underestimating just how big he really is.

Groaning your name, Din rests his forehead to your shoulder as you continue to pump him, the sound of him so broken and desperate stops your actions before you notch the tip at your entrance. “Take your time.” You ask, though you don’t really have to, you know that he will no matter what. It’s just that it’s been a long while since you last had sex and you didn’t think Mando was as big as he is.

“Of course, mesh’la - always.” Din nods, then kisses your lips as he carefully pushes forward. You couldn’t stop the mewls even if you tried, the stretch was impressive and pleasurable. Unintentionally digging your nails into the scruff of his neck, you cling onto the man and groan pathetically for him to keep going after relaxing around him. “Oh fuck.” He grunts when bottoming out inside, feeling your heat already pulsing around him.

“Mando.” You plead again, resting your forehead to his. “Please move.”

“Hold onto me.” He requests before dropping his hand from your back. Doing as he says, you gasp when feeling him hook his arm under your other leg and lift you from the water. You felt weightless, like a feather held in his mighty strong arms. “Tell me to slow down.” He grunts before finally moving. You appreciate him telling you that, but you seriously doubt that you will ask him to slow down, especially when he starts off so slow and gentle like.

“That feels so good.” You moan, brows pulling together with the blissful sensation of his cock rubbing against your walls. You savour the feeling of every vein and ridge. Leaning in and blindly finding his lips again, you kiss him fervently, a wordless gesture that signals him to pick up the pace if he wants to, which he does.

“Stars!” Mando chokes, feeling his balls press against your cheeks each time he thrusts forward. “You’re so warm, cyar’ika. I’ve dreamt of this… dreamt of this every night when I fuck my fist.” He admits and it makes you clench around him. Just picturing Din with his hand wrapped around his cock within the privacy of his own bunk made you mewl, but hearing him admit it in such a foul mouthed way made your whole body quiver.

As his pace gradually picks up, you hear the water sloshing around the tub vigorously, feel his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust and cry from the added stimulation to your clit from the hairs on his mound. You didn’t have to see in order to know that Mando was grunting hard through gritted teeth, you could just hear it in his voice, picturing a beautiful image in your mind of the blissed-out expression on his face. Someday, you tell yourself with hope, someday I will see that blissed-out expression with my own eyes.

Burying your face into his neck, you place lazy kisses to his skin and groan loud enough to warn him that you’re close. “It’s okay, mesh’la. I got you, it’s okay.” He heaves a heavy praise, pushing you over the edge within seconds.

“Mando!” You gasp suddenly upon feeling the peak of your orgasm washing over your body and mind. Curling your toes and tensing your muscles, you feel the heated pleasure ripple across your abdomen and chest, even making your ears ring as you become lightheaded. You could feel it from Din too. He was burning hot to the touch, breathing raggedly and his thighs shook moments before he yelled in a panic. “Where? Cyar’ika where?”

“I-Inside.” You blurt in the heat of the moment. It’s reckless, but you want it so fucking badly, have day-dreamed of carrying his babies and considering he is even asking, you know that he wants it too. Crying out with each last few pounding thrusts into your cunt, Din buries himself deep and releases ropes upon ropes of his creamy seed inside.

He, too, buries his face into your neck, muffling the sounds of his raspy broken moans as he rides out his high. You can feel him spilling inside of you, can feel his warmth coating your walls and spreading everywhere, as if pumping you full. The sensation was worthy of another orgasm. Grinding against him and stimulating your clit, you shudder in his arms and squeeze around him, drawing out every last drop he could give.

“Fuck! Y/N.” Mando grunts sharply. Shaking his head into your neck and holding you still, you feel him smiling against your skin as he mumbles ‘sensitive’. Oddly, a part of you wanted to disobey him and continue grinding, to hear him gasp and whine from too much pleasure, however you held back on that for now and nodded into his neck. “Ok, my handsome warrior.”

“And how would you know that?” He pulls his head away from your neck, chuckling softly as you giggle. Shrugging, you shake your head and whisper. “I don’t have to see you to know you’re handsome, Din. Men like you are beautiful inside and out, I just know it.” Cupping his cheeks with both hands, you rub your thumbs under his eyes then trace the shape of his nose with a smile. “See? Beautiful, what did I tell you.”

Though you couldn’t see his smile, you could feel his growing against your hands and it was infectious too, making you smile with him. Carefully shifting his position, Mando sits down properly in the tub and leans back, still buried inside of you as you sit on his lap. “Keep doing that.” He asks, and when you tilt your head, confused, he elaborates. “Exploring with your hands. I like it, cyar’ika.”

“Oh, my pleasure.” You laugh bashfully, then continue touching him, detailing how beautiful he feels and why. You learned even more about Mando in this little moment, learned that he loved the way you caressed his earlobes so delicately, making him sigh with peace. He then later returned the gesture, pointing out all of your beauties - even things you didn’t think he’d find beautiful - that made your cheeks bloom a pretty pink in colour from his compliments.

You admired Mando behind the blindfold, and he admired you with his eyes - the woman he plans to marry.

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89 @anismaria

All Mandalorian Content: @pale-gingerale @mandalorian-dindjarin @michele131 @chxpsi @burninggracesandbridges @wordsfromshona @lavenderbxnny

All Pedro Pascal Character Content: @joelsflannel @mswarriorbabe80 @readsalot73 @allthe-ships @avengersftspn @hb8301 @scorpio-marionette @squidwell @sunnshineeexoxo @trickstersp8 @graciexmarvel @tanzthompson @bbyanarchist @oogaboogasphincter

367 notes · View notes

itsagrimm · 1 year

Text

Leida Mothma and the struggle for identity

Mon Mothma says about her daughter Leida practicing traditions: "It's weird. It's stronger here than it is at home." And I can't stop thinking about Leida Mothma and her portrayal as a very privileged yet uprooted kid with a migrant background being unusually traditional.

Growing up away from the culture and the people she is supposed to be part of, is challenging and confusing. It is hard to find identity as a teenage migrant, culture and personal access to her people's traditions when removed from it. And it is not surprising that Leida seeks out the most overt and uncomplicated access she can find to her culture and heritage, even if those are conservative and regressive. Those practices are a lifeline for her, simply because she has or knows of no other options.

As someone with a fairly similar background IRL I sympathise deeply with her character. It is a failure of the society she lives in to include her as she is in a way, that would not drive her into dogmatic traditionalism for identity. And it is worryingly normal for kids to feel like they have to hyper-conform in one way or another to have access to their migrant families background or the societal expectations of the place they live in now. It's as if we still haven't figured out how to be inclusive of those we don't understand. And the most vulnerable are the collateral of that.

#where are my fellow migrant kids #my complicated identity people #my -‟bilingual or more since childhood while knowing so little about 'home'‟ kiddos #my ‟i wish i wouldn't forget the language or learn how to read and write in it‟ pals #my ‟i miss a place i barely remember‟ folk #shout out also to religious converts #and everyone else feeling the struggle #and this is not an attack on mon mothma this family dynamic is clearly fucked and contributes to this mess #also leida mothma is a child #judging her like she is an adult is just sinnister #she clearly needs support and not more bullshit #andor #andor spoilers #mon mothma #andor star wars #migrant #leida mothma #sw andor

275 notes · View notes

darlin-djarin · 1 year

Note

I wanna hear your helmet thoughts when you have time

helmets to din’s version of the creed are literally so amazing because of the connections and similarities of other religious/cultural head coverings. ofc, i’m not implying that the helmet is the SAME as a hijab or a turban or a niqab, they obviously have different rules and implications, but there ARE similarities, ones that a lot of people (such as hijabi’s) find comfort in seeing that sort of representation on screen.

helmets to din’s version of the creed are sacred and are to never be removed. not all mandalorians think, believe, or practice that way of course, and din’s covert specifically are the ‘warrior’ type of mandalorians, different from the pacifist type of mandalorians that were shown during saltine kryze’s rule of mandalore during the clone wars.

the pacifist type of people were not shown to be wearing helmets, and even some of the royal guards who DID wear helmets (shown under satine’s rule) did not wear the same type of helmet as the warrior mandalorians that lived on concordia, one of mandalores moons.

^^ the pacifist mandalorians during the clone wars (why are they all white and blond lol space racism)

^^ satine's royal guard helmets (they have similar armor but the helmet design is ofc drastically different)

most of death watch wore helmets, but they removed them casually. pre vizsla, the leader of death watch (until maul beheaded that bitch) removed his helmet openly and so did many others in the group. though they held on to the ‘warrior’ ideals of the mandalorian culture, they weren’t clearly as religious as the children of the watch.

^^ pre vizsla and other members of death watch. most wear helmets while doing their goofy little terrorism but they're seen having their helmets removed often.

after the children of the watch formed from the warrior ideals of death watch, the religious aspect of the helmet and the creed formed out of necessity. the children of the watch refuse to remove the helmet for probably many reasons, as it has protected their identity and preserves their culture and creed. one thing i LOVE about the warrior culture is how because of the helmet and armor, the mandalorians have created ways of expression that are SO interesting. they’ve adapted to create the keldabe kiss, which is a tap of the foreheads of the helmets. they also have cheers such as tapping their vambraces and pounding their chest armor. they have other forms of expression that i DESPERATELY hope to see more as the mandalorian progresses.

the rules of the helmet are simple. don’t remove it. if you remove it, you become an apostate and are deemed “mandalorian no longer”. ofc because of chapter 21, the armorer has clearly shown that the adaptation of accepting helmetless mandalorians is necessary as they progress with reviving mandalore. so more recently, they’ve begun accepting other mandalorians who do not follow the Way the same as they do. that does not necessarily mean that THEY will stop following their version of the creed, it just means that they will start accepting other versions of the creed regardless of their own personal beliefs.

anyway the helmet is clearly a religious head covering that DESERVES to be respected, as it is often a window and mirror towards the audience who relate to and who learn about religious head coverings. for me, personally as a hijabi, i see the helmet as a mirror. not that the helmet IS a hijab or niqab or anything, but because it’s the head covering is a CHOICE and it PROTECTS. i know a hijabi (my lovely mutual @hinderr) who personally views the helmet as a mirror because it is an identifier. when you see the helmet, you identify the person as a mandalorian, same way as if you see a hijabi, you (usually) identify the person as a muslim.

the helmet plays a good window as well, to show the audience more religious head covering representation. not that the audience has an excuse to complain about how they don’t agree with the religion, but just to understand a new viewpoint.

moving on, i really like the idea of warrior mandalorians not being able to sneeze. you sneeze when something foreign enters your nose that your body rejects, but since the helmet filters everything, nothing foreign is entering and therefore your body has nothing to sneeze out. kinda funny honestly but it’s cool to think about the technicalities of the helmet.

one thing i HATE about this whole thing is the designs of the helmet. specifically the stupid t-visors being for men and y-visors for women. like great job favroni, way to destroy gender roles. anyway, i think the most effective style (for any gender) is the y-visor (like bo-katan’s) because it gives you a greater vantage point for the eye position. t-visor (like din’s) is fine, i just think it’d be more comfortable to have a y-visor.

^^ bo-katan's y-visor helmet

^^ din's t-visor helmet

you can probably get why i think y-visor has a better vantage point for vision. din's t-visor does have a ton of resources and functions that help him though. i'm not gonna assume all helmets have seals, but some of the warrior mandalorians (such as din and bo) do have seals that make it impossible to remove the helmet without force (proven bc y'all can hear the pressurized hiss when they remove the helmet)

thank you SO MUCH for asking about this, i just LOVEEE talking about din’s covert and creed and ofc the helmet is my favorite thing about it. feel free to ask or follow up with anything else you wonder about.

#SO SORRY IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO RESPOND I JUST HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS #also i passed out once i got home and then had work to do sigh #BUT THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH FOR ASKING I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THIS #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #bo katan kryze #the armorer #oil.#pre vizsla #satine kryze #just realized i spelled satine as saltine lmfao it fits

144 notes · View notes

zeddimusprime · 10 months

Text

Trans Man Noah Diaz

The first time I saw Rise of the Beasts, I read Noah as a Trans Man, and that headcanon just solidified after my second viewing.

I’ll get the heavy reasons out of the way first, and work down to the most silly ones.

The section that was here before has been removed, because I was overstepping and someone rightly called me out on it. However. I’m not going to lie and pretend I didn’t do what I did. I deleted the comment that called me out because it made me feel bad, I panicked, and deleted it to save my own ego. It was wrong, it was cowardly, it was fucked up, and I shouldn’t have done it.

I truly am sorry, and have spent the last day sitting with myself until I stopped trying to excuse my behavior and just acknowledged what I did. I am not asking for forgiveness, I can only try going forward to be the kind of person deserving of it.

For now, I’m taking a break from this blog, leaving it on a queue, and I won’t be posting here for a while. Even though that isn’t the kind of person I want to be, I need to reckon with the fact that that is the kind of person I am. I’m sorry, once again.

1994 was also the year Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was put into place, which, for those too young to remember, was basically a policy allowing queer and trans people to serve in the military so long as they remained closeted, and prohibited superiors from forcibly outing them. Given that we’re never actually told in the film why Noah was discharged, it’s not unreasonable to think that it may have been because he got found out as trans.

The part that’s particularly personal for me is his relationship with Kris. I’ve also got a little brother that’s quite a bit younger than me, and I acted as an extra parent to him, practically raised him since we were both latchkey kids, and yeah, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d face the apocalypse head on if it meant keeping him safe. All that to say, it’s comforting to think that Noah’s identity as a man is inseparable from his identity as a Big Brother, the way it is for me.

Most of my other reasons are less serious:

Noah wears a lot of layers and baggy clothes on his upper half, which yes, was part of 90s fashion, but it’s also how I dressed for most of my life, even before I realized I was trans.

Noah is also non-toxically masculine in a way that’s not unheard of but also not as common for men, especially service members, of that time period. Again, there may very well be a cultural component I’m missing here, let me know if there is, but this is just something I related to as a Guy Who Wasn’t Raised As One.

This last one’s kinda silly, but I’m a Car Guy, and one of the most gender euphoria inducing things I can do is work on my car. There’s few things that make me feel like Man quite like sweat on my brow and grease on my hands and a purring engine from a job well done. So for Noah to not only be a tech wiz but specifically a Mechanic? That was the thing that really sold me on this headcanon. (And that’s not even getting into the very fun implications of Noah being the one to repair Mirage, to get to know him so intimately, literally inside and out. Very nice.)

(I also love the idea that rather than being weirded out or taken aback at first like he is in some fics, Noah would be kinda weirdly affirmed to find out that not only does Mirage have some of roughly the same *equipment* while still being treated as and being a Mech, but his setup is the norm for Cybertronians. I can so picture Noah anxiously telling Mirage about his situation when they finally get together only for Mirage to be like “you mean other human mechs don’t have a 🐈??? Like, most humans only have one or the other?????”)

#Transformers #Noah Diaz #Trans Man Noah Diaz #Noah/Mirage #Rise of the Beasts #Miroah #TF: RotB #Transformers Rise of the Beasts #Mirage #trans headcanon #also in researching this i was reminded of the existence of Pedro & Me #it's a really good graphic novel by Judd Winick about his friend Pedro Zamora #they appeared on the 1994 season of MTV's The Real World #Pedro was the first positive depiction a lot of Americans got of an HIV+ gay man #he unfortunately died late that same year #sorry for rambling comic books are one of my special interests #anyway it's a good book you should read it if you can

97 notes · View notes