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seeingteacupsindragons · 4 months

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Aro Week 2024: Let's Talk About the Limits of Representation

A lot of the discussion around writing marginalized identities comes down to one thing: representation. Representation in the books versus the authors, what the representation looks like, the variety of representation, what representation is present and allowed, what diversity is there and what isn’t.

For aro week, I want to talk about how limited that is for aro (and ace) people. Because the thing about representation is that to be exist beyond Word of God, it’s got to be discussed in the text. And that means romance (or sex, for ace people, but while I’m ace, and most of this is going to cross-apply, this post is for aro week so this is just a global note) has to be discussed in the text.

But a lot of time what I want as an aro person is to just not have to think about it. I think in general I’ve seen similar sentiments expressed across marginalized groups: we always have to think about our differences, and it’s a mental load and burden that other people don’t have to deal with. And as an aro writer and reader, a lot of the time what I want, and what most allows me to lay down that burden is to just not have romance in the damn thing. It’s hard to figure out how to write sometimes, it’s something I have to mentally keep in mind while I read.

While I go through life in general, I often just…forget it’s a thing. I forget when Valentine’s Day is often. I forget that people are normally dating. I forget people want to discuss with their romantic partners when making plans with friends. I forget they want to go everywhere as a group. I forget things look like dates. My life is one in which romance is rarely a factor unless imposed on it by outside forces. It’s not relevant.

But if I write that for characters, or for readers, a place where romance is not just imposed on their mind, the characters aren’t actually…aro. A story in which romance, romantic attraction, or interest in such things never comes up is one in which no character is canonically disinterested in or not in possession of such thing. It’s one which has no moments of obvious recognition of the aro experience or joyous bursts.

It’s a story in which, “Eh, they could or couldn’t be attracted. It never came up, so anything is valid because nothing is canon.”

The definition of being aro might lie in not experiencing romantic attraction. And sure, the character might not. But this is fiction. Not reality. And in reality, aro people’s experiences are more than the dictionary. People have relationships to romance and attraction and interactions with the concept are often recognizable and definitional. No real person can live without interacting with romance and attraction, and those relationships to it are as definitional and important to being aro or being gay or being straight or bi or whatever as the dictionary definition is.

Characters don’t have to interact with it. I’ve said romance isn’t relevant to my life as an aro person much of the time. If romance isn’t relevant to a character’s story—well, lots of things aren’t relevant to stories we assume are happening, like…most bathroom trips, or meals, or menstruation. A character isn’t representing an eating disorder because they’re never shown eating: it’s more complicated than that.

Being aro is more complicated than that.

A story in which character relationships wholly rely on and depend on something other than romance, a story where character relationships are undefinable and not attempted to be defined but only described and developed, a story in which characters and societies and people exist outside the omnipresent framework of romance inherently comes from a place of aroness and the aro experience. It speaks most to that place.

Most people who experience romantic attraction are often thinking about it. A story without such things is one which is lacking something they’re looking for and expecting, not a story where everything proceeds as usual without being interrupted by Oh, Yeah, That.

So, then, if alloromantic people will notice something is Different and aro people might seek it out, this way of writing around romance because it’s not relevant to the story the way it is not relevant to my life needs to be framed in the metatext so people, aro and alloro alike, know what to expect and what they’re getting into.

But when all talk about marginalized stories comes down to “What Types of Characters Are Here?” and “What Culture Is This World Based On?” there’s this empty space to explain stories like mine.

There’s so many things to the aro experience that don’t revolve around rejecting romance. But if you ever look for an aro story about something else, how can you even find it? It’s so difficult to talk about an aro story that isn’t Representative and exists in a way you don’t even have to think about it and there are no smooth bumps to remind you of yourself so you can immerse into it that…I think people forget stories like that can even exist.

#writing #aromantic #arotag #actually aromantic #aro #aromanticism #Aro Week #Aromantic Awareness Week #Aromantic Week #Aro week 2024

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eelfuneral · 3 months

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I know that I’ve touched on the harassment that people are getting for posting theories about Tech being alive, but there is another element that I believe we should discuss: the fact that the harassment is being disproportionately lobbed at autistic fans. Now, I’m not trying to imply that all of the people leaving these nasty comments are sitting around thinking about how much they hate autistic people, but whether they realize it or not, the types of posts that they tend to leave nasty comments on tend to be posts made by people displaying what might be autistic traits. In fact, a lot of posts that have these harassing comments are made by people who make it no secret that they are autistic and sometimes even mention it in their bio.

So what do I mean when I say that a lot of these posts may hint at OP being autistic? For starters, autistic brains tend to latch onto things with a great deal of intensity, and sometimes our brains latch onto specific fictional characters. We know logically that these characters are not real and that there are objectively more important things to worry about, but our brains simply do not care. Focused autistic interests are a source of a lot of comfort and stability for us in a world that is often overwhelming, and they are important to us as a result. A lot of the people dogging the Tech posts seem to take issue with how “obsessed” people are with the character and his survival, which in some cases, is due to OP simply being autistic and having a focused interest.

Another trait that can manifest in autistic people is difficulty with emotional regulation, meaning that even “small” things can make us more upset than our peers. The people leaving harassing replies seem to have picked up on the fact that people are “too emotional” over a fictional character and sometimes even make their replies extra graphic (ie. “he’s rotting at the bottom of the chasm”, “he’s flesh paste”) in order to get a rise out of the OP. Obviously, not everyone who makes posts like these or has these challenges is autistic, but I believe that my point still stands that going after people with these traits will cause autistic people to be disproportionately targeted, which is an ableist pattern.

Sometimes, however, the harassment feels more intentionally targeted at autistic fans. A lot of Tech fans really value Tech as autistic representation and feel like killing him off in our current popular culture environment where a fair chunk of autistic portrayals are negative is in poor taste. The “Tech is dead, get over it” harassers blatantly ignore or ridicule these statements, showing zero empathy to the people who feel seen because of this character. I have seen people bulldoze into posts where autistic fans talk about how much they hope he survives because they see themselves in him with comments like “he’s dead, get over it.” In one instance, I saw an allistic fan tell an autistic fan that Tech was “forced diversity” and that if Disney was going to attempt autistic representation, then the character shouldn’t be “boring” like Tech. I don’t think I really need to explain why this is inappropriate.

It’s fine to disagree with a popular fan theory or debate about it in good faith with someone who is up to it, but what I am seeing goes well beyond that. Harassment is never, ever okay, and you should know better than to leave replies like the ones in these screenshots below when you see a fan theory that you don’t agree with.

#the bad batch #fandom ableism #tbb tech

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eris-snow · 5 months

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7. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, swearing, crying

A life behind the curtain is heaven for some, but for others, it’s utter hell.

L/n!” Katsuki hollers, ripping the curtain open. “We need to talk—oh.”

Katsuki knows what he sees. He doesn’t like it.

You’re wearing that big hoodie and you’re hiding your face, shivering in a corner with a pack of tissues next to you.

You’re sniffling and shaking like an earthquake hit, and his thoughts immediately go blank.

Uh-oh.

Katsuki has been through a war, died and came back. His heart stopped beating for the love of nachos, and he still can’t handle it when he sees someone cry.

What’s worse is that your breaths are quickening and you’re tearing your hands through your hair as your eyes are shut so tightly he’s afraid they might never open up again.

A tiny sob wrecks your entire body before Katsuki says fuck it and kicks his instincts to gear.

“L/n?” He kneels down, forcing himself to smoothen his tone of its rough edges.

No go. You’re still quivering as frantically as before and he thinks it’s getting worse.

“Y/n, hey—” He reaches out experimentally, but you don’t even flinch at his touch. Nothing he does helps, hell, he’s the worst person to deal with this kind of—

Sunshine.

His mind spat out.

Almost instinctively, his mouth followed suit. “Sunshine.”

To his utter surprise, your head snaps up for him to see your face riddled with tears and snot. Your face says one word: Help.

“Katsuki?” you croke, eyes desperate and breath caught.

He nods, right in front of you. “I’m here.”

Your breath doesn’t slow, but your eyes are on him and he needs to do something. He lets go of the decade-old foolscap and focuses his gaze on you.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly, “I need you to stay with me.”

He works you through the exercise for god knows how long, rubbing circles on your hands and breathing, but it’s finally worth it when your breaths coincide and you look lucid again. It’s especially rewarding when you stop quaking like you’re in a frenzy.

He eases himself on the floor, letting your hands go.

“Better?”

Your nod is shameful, and you can’t bear to look him straight in the eye. You look so embarrassed, hiding your face away and shaking your head like you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“This is—you shouldn’t have seen this,” you finally mutter. “Forget this happened, please—”

“No.” Katsuki’s voice is firm, and it holds such authority that it makes you flinch. “I’m done pretending that whatever the fuck going on is normal. Shit’s been weird, and we’re finally going to talk about it. No diversions, no more secrets.” He grabs the foolscap paper at his side and tosses it to you, eyeing your reaction. “I found this in the library. Seen it before?”

Your silence speaks louder than any words could.

“Thought so. I’ve had a real, shitty week with no fuckin’ sleep and too much coffee to be healthy.” He grits out, hands steaming. He’s fed up, and he has every reason to be after being strung along like an idiot. You’re so frustrating that it’s driving him insane.

“I don’t have a damn clue as to what is going on, but I’m smart enough to know that I’m involved in it. So for the sake of my sanity, tell me what is going on.”

You don’t say anything for a good second. And then, you take a tissue out of the packet beside you, blow your nose, and crumple it up in your hand. You look at him, and you look wrecked. Eyes frost cold, the usual warmth stripped and shredded like a glass shattering on concrete.

“You’ve had a shitty week?” You repeat, voice sharp, enunciating each syllable like the words are foreign to you. It’s such a stark difference from the you that would listen to him earnestly, or reply to his banters ever so snarkily.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a shitty week, Bakugou, and I’m sorry that you’re scarred emotionally because of the war, your kidnapping, and being literally revived on the battlefield. But news flash, everyone probably had a shitty week too! And you don’t see them complaining about it, do you?”

“You wanna know what’s happening? Fine! Where should I start? What about when I found this stupid report, hm? Or that time you told Izuku to take a swan dive off the roof? Oh! How about the day you forgot about me.” You’re practically snarling now, and, oh look, you’re crying again.

“We attended the same piano lessons; best in our academy's and whatever. We skipped stones and traded likes as I listened to you rant obsessively about heroes like a sick puppy dog. You called me Sunshine, you called me your equal. Your ideas, your dreams, your friends, you shared everything with lil’ old me even as we quit music. Where’d you think I know All Might’s successor from?”

“Izuku’s been high profile for a long while now—”

“You told him to suicide because he was Quirkless.” You spit. “I was in that classroom when that happened, the same classroom you told me to get lost in because you didn’t remember me.” You laugh. It’s a bitter, dark, humourless one. “I was so confused. Everyone kept ignoring me and so were you. I kept calling out to you in class and you got so fed up with me, you snapped.”

—

Past (3 years ago): Middle school 2nd year,

“Katsuki.”

The ash blond stopped and looked back, obviously annoyed. “What do you want, extra? Who the fuck are you?”

You looked at him in disbelief, face crumbling as fear, hurt and disbelief seeped into your heart.

“Katsuki, don’t you remember me?”

No. No way. Not you too.

He laughed, low and raspy and god damn mocking that it makes your blood boil. “Who do you think you are, hah? I’ve never seen you in my life. Now get lost—”

“Sunshine, remember? Nuvole Bianche our duet?” You pointed to yourself, getting desperate now. If Katsuki didn’t know you, who would?

“You’re a freak,” He spat, shouldering his bag. “Stay the fuck away from me, creep. Talk to me again, and see what’ll happen.”

You stood there in utter shock, watching as he stalked off with his lackeys who flanked him left, right and back, and in a wave of utter panic you called out to him, just one more time.

But your voice was stolen by the wind, and you didn’t even get a glance as he left you alone in the classroom.

—

Present:

“I couldn’t have known you!” Katsuki’s voice cuts deep, and boy, it stings. ”There’s too many missing holes, someone would have noticed!”

Lashing out is the worst thing you could have done with Katsuki. When you yell, he yells back, and everything escalates until harsh words that can’t be taken back spew from both your lips. You’ve always been good at taking, but it’s a pity that Katsuki finds a way to tear down your mask one way or the other.

You give him a glum smile, the fire in you finally fading as you settle back into your corner.

“If everybody forgets, nobody remembers.”

And because of that, Katsuki’s heart tugs.

Katsuki doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know a thing about your family, have a clue about your past or even how this happened.

So why did he call you Sunshine? Why did he come back and visit you every goddamn day when he has internships, school work, training and so much in between?

Why does he feel like even though he knows nothing about you…

He’s drawn like a moth to a flame to this place just so he can see you again?

You seem to blend a little more into your surroundings as you murmur, no longer shouting but instead coming back to grudging acceptance. “Who am I kidding? You read that catalogue. I’m finished, whether you believe me or not.” You slump down, head tucked in between your knees. “I tried everything.”

“You clearly didn’t.”

You glance up to glare at the blond, opening your mouth to snap back when you catch his eyes.

You’ve forgotten that feeling. That feeling of being really seen, of being heard. That look that you’ve long for the past 3 years…is now the look that is being given by one of the most explosive people on the planet.

Something stirs in your chest but you fight it down. Now isn’t the time for past regrets. Now isn’t the time for feelings.

“You have me now, don’t you?” Katsuki refutes, raising an eyebrow as he swipes the log out of your hands. “For someone who supposedly knew me my entire life, you have balls to underestimate me like that.”

He waves the foolscap in front of your face, a familiar, cocky smirk coiling on his face. “We have alumni, teachers, and I have insane fuckin’ connections. This was written by Invisible Shit and his knight in shining armour? Great.”

“Let’s go find them.”

#juxtaposition (Bakugou)#mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #angst #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst

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mentallyinwalmart · 8 days

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An incomprehensive list of Bridgerton S3’s biggest failures

I’ve had the time to reflect since premier and watch a second time, so these are my thoughts. I’m begging Shonda to change my mind w pt2 but as of rn I hold little hope this won’t be the worst season by an embarrassing margin

1. Failure to flesh out Polin’s preexisting relationship (that leads to a huge bungling of Colin and Eloise’s relationship!!!)

The biggest response I’ve seen to a critique I share is that polin had such a strong preexisting dynamic that is makes sense they were featured less heavily than other couples. Now I see conceptually where that idea comes from, Pen liking Colin and him being oblivious have been cornerstones of the last two seasons, however, all their new scenes were presented to us sterile and without either sexual chemistry or a callback to a prior scene they had shared (or something perhaps we hadn’t seen, such as the time a decade prior Cressida mentions, when “the Featherington’s moved in across the street” instead we see confusing scenes that make little sense ESPECIALLY when we have no prior on screen (nor flashback) foundation for Pen and Colin’s friendship WITHOUT Eloise. Without her to act as middle woman this season, and with no flashbacks or reminiscing, the dynamic of true friendship between Pen and Colin feels forced. (And side note— as a sister, if my brother picked a friend of mine over me after we’ve had a relationship-ending fight that I refuse to even talk about??? That’s crazy— this is why I say it ruined both Colin and Pen AND Colin and Eloise’s dynamics— because I’d hope my brother would never do that to me, and without any more context besides mere letters as to why Colin would still entertain Pen now that Eloise has been betrayed by her? Near nonsensical)

2. Sudden appearance of a plus sized debutante(s) and no comments on Pen’s looks/weight

For the past two seasons there have been no size diversity besides Pen in Bridgerton, and don’t get me wrong, I think all the debutantes are beautiful this season, and I am thrilled that there is more expansion and diversity in the cast and the ton!!! But after making it such a big deal for the past several seasons, to try and make the ton size-blind reads as a cop out to me. Colin needs to face that facts head on that he has counted Pen out because of her size, just as everyone else has.

I could continue for actual pages because I have issues from Benedict‘s confounded character to Eloise’s sudden betrayal of her values (and friends/sisters??) to Cressida’s random??? redemption. But these are the two I am most frustrated by !

#briderton #bridgerton s3 #polin #polin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #Bridgerton s2 #Bridgerton spoilers #Bridgerton rant #Polin disappointment #eloise bridgerton #violet bridgerton #portia featherington

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dumbass-hyperfixations · 1 month

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I started watching 911 recently (and I’m not gonna lie, it’s mostly because of Buck’s coming out because I wasn’t gonna start watching yet a show with a very potential queerbait in the middle of an otherwise very diverse and interesting looking cast) and I’ve been loving it, and even though I’m only on season 3 now, I really want to contribute with an idea on how the show could start up Eddie’s own coming out journey (which is hopefully in the cards)

Now, I don’t know how much closer Michael Grant gets to everyone else on the show (since I’m on season 3, I haven’t really seen him interact much with anyone but Bobby and Hen from the 118, and idk if that changes or if his relationship with other characters deepens over the years), but I would really like him to be present at Chimney and Maddie’s wedding. And maybe Tommy and Buck are being cute on the dancefloor, and then the camera pans to Eddie, who is seated to the side with Marisol, looking at the pair a little wistfully (just enough for us to know that maybe sitting there with Marisol isn’t exactly what he wants to do). And then, the camera would go to Michael, noticing Eddie’s look, and Marisol’s sort of dejected and bored expression. And he sees a couple that not only appears unhappy with each other, but also sees a whole lot of himself in Eddie.

So, as the wedding reception is coming to a close, Michael is at the bar as Eddie comes by, looking for one more round as the bartender announces the last call. And as he waits for the drink, Michael strikes up a conversation with a bit of small talk (again, idk if they’re close enough to have a deep conversation right off the bat), and then goes, “hey, did Bobby or Athena ever tell you why we got divorced?”

And Eddie stumbles over the answer a bit awkwardly, like yeah, it was because, well, um, you know, because you’re …

And Michael chuckles, putting him out of his misery with a “a flaming homosexual? Yeah. No sense in beating around the bush about it. At least not anymore. You know, I was so deep in denial I never even kissed a man until I was in my fifties?”

“Really? So you’ve … only been with women until you came out?” Eddie asks and Michael nods. “And you’re sure you’re not bisexual?”

To which Michael laughs and reassures him that no, not bisexual, just a very very repressed gay man. Then, he drives his not-so-subtle point home by saying:

“And even still, I don’t have many regrets about my life. I got two incredible kids out of it, and I can’t imagine my life without them. My only regret, though, is that I spent fifteen years with a woman I couldn’t love the way she loved me, and I wasn’t even man enough to give her a chance to look for someone better. Fifteen years. That’s a hell of a lot of time to take away from someone.”

And while he speaks, we see Eddie glance across the room, to Marisol fussing over Chris. And, inevitably, to Buck laughing along with something Chimney said on the other side of the room. And when he looks back at Michael, he sees a very knowing expression on his face.

“What are you trying to say?” Eddies asks, still guarded as hell, to which Michael chuckles.

“Nothing, man. I guess I just officially entered my lonely gay drunk at the bar days. But if I can pass a little wisdom. If can already you feel it in your gut that you’re not with the right person, maybe don’t be like me and spend the next fifteen years trying to figure out what you already know.”

And then he leaves, and BOOM, Eddie is forced to realize things he would much rather keep repressed.

#i know im new to the fandom but gosh #michael and eddie’s stories parallel each other in so many ways #ESPECIALLY IF eddie is going to come out as gay at some point #and i would just die to see michael having his paternal guiding hand in his coming out #it doesn’t even have to be the wedding it could just be a family fire house gathering #just let michael tell his story to eddie and maybe wake him up to non-comphet possibilities in life 😭😭#eddie diaz #911 abc #911 show #gay eddie diaz #buddie #911 buddie #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz

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secretwhumplair · 23 days

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Ozriel

1,548 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Their Majesty)

Content | Guilt, aftermath of trauma, mute whumpee, power imbalance, mention of: pregnancy

Notes | 👀 Behind the scenes of the royal family 👀

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations

»Fin.« Ozriel’s courteous mask collapsed as soon as they were alone; they let their tears spill, and enclosed him in the warmest, tightest hug for Orafin to melt into. He was home. He was really home. Ozriel was here, and he was healed, and he would go home. He returned the hug as tight as he could.

»I’m so sorry,« Ozriel sobbed into his ear. »We thought you were dead, or we never would have stopped looking for you. I’m so sorry—«

Orafin shook his head as hard as he could, so close to them—close enough for them to feel it more than see it. It had been his own decision not to reveal his identity to be ransomed to cutthroat conditions he knew his family would be willing to give.

A stupidly heroic decision he had, despite himself, been bitterly regretting for months now, unable to revoke it for want of a tongue to speak with, but certainly not Ozriel’s fault.

He realized he was also crying into their shoulder. It felt good. It felt so good, and they stayed like this for a while, simply holding on to each other and crying out the worst of it.

»I’ll never let go of you again.«

Orafin dug his fingers into their back in response, and they chuckled wetly.

But they did, eventually, let go of one another, though Ozriel kept their arm wrapped around his shoulders, making it easy to lean against them.

»Are you…« They shook their head. »No, of course you’re not okay, are you?«

Orafin picked up his slate. I’m better now. What about you? You look like shit.

Ozriel smirked. »Language, your Highness.« It was a long-standing game between them; it wasn’t Ozriel’s job, at least not expressly, to teach him manners, and indeed Orafin had long since learned to be proper.

When he was with his siblings, though… that was a different matter.

Having attended to their play, Ozriel eyed him, their smile fading, and Orafin knew they had seen through his attempt at diversion.

Was he okay? No, probably not, Ozriel was right.

But he was going to be. He was going to be. And either way, he hadn’t the words to clothe his feelings, or the way they slipped and swirled and mixed.

He couldn’t speak them even if he had them. The thought hit him with force, although this had happened multiple times since his tongue had been cut. His magic was gone with it, but that didn’t bother him so much; he had never been very good at it and he was almost relieved to be freed from the need to live up to his siblings. His words though?

He felt tears welling up in his eyes and did his best to blink them back, but not good enough to stop Ozriel from noticing.

They squeezed his shoulders, helpless, he knew. They were Crown of the kingdom, and yet they couldn’t do anything to help him.

He whimpered, one of the few sounds left to him.

Ozriel gently shoved the slate at him, but words failed him.

»Okay. It’s okay, it’s… it’s going to be. We’ll figure it out.«

Orafin nodded, trying to pull himself together. He held up the slate, half-hiding behind it, to repeat his question.

They squeezed him again, then looked aside. »It’s… it’s been a rough few months. Not as rough as yours, of course,« they added quickly. »But… we thought you were dead…« Their voice cracked. »And then Mother… and I… I didn’t want it to happen like this.«

Of course not. Orafin didn’t even bother to write the words down, he just squeezed Ozriel’s shoulder in his turn.

Ozriel looked at him and attempted a weak smile. »It’s a lot. But I’ve been trained for this, it’ll be fine.« They didn’t sound like they quite believed it.

Orafin smiled, and nodded. Of course Ozriel’s rule would be fine. It would, in fact, be excellent.

His reaction drew another chuckle from them. »Yeah.«

Orafin wiped the slate clean to ask after his other siblings.

»They’re okay. Orina was with me at Akreh, she wanted to come see you at once, of course, but someone has to keep command, so I abused my authority.« They gave a wry smile. »I’ll send her to accompany you when you travel back. The others… they will be so happy to hear you’re alive. I’ve sent word out.«

And your family? My most favourite nibling? At least he hadn’t missed Zovri’s second birthday.

Ozriel’s expression softened. »Kaara’s at home with her. They’re safe,« they added, as if to themself. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, they added, »Actually—don’t spread it around, we haven’t announced it yet—,« they glanced at Elgar at the words, giving him a gentle smile as if to include him, although he clearly couldn’t follow their Ochurian conversation, »Zovri might soon have competition.«

Orafin’s eyes widened, and the squeal escaping his throat felt so appropriate he had no need for words. He lunged into another hug, shoving down the worry that this pregnancy wouldn't treat Ozriel any kinder than the last.

They laughed, holding him tight. »Can’t be all bad news, now can it?«

It was a relief indeed, finally having something so bright in the middle of all the pain and the ugly feelings lurking under the surface and Elgar’s terror.

Speaking of which…

They reached for the slate again. Tell Elgar you will protect him. On second thought, he wiped out the »you«. We.

* Elgar was still reeling from the black magic he’d just experienced. That, and the hairpin turn the Crown’s behaviour had made once they were alone.

As happy as he was for his companion to find the comfort of a loving family member, even now, it was clear Elgar didn’t matter enough to uphold appearances in front him.

And his blood still seemed to prickle in a way blood decidedly should not. Every fibre of his body had screamed danger at him at the enchantment, and the feeling was waning only slowly.

He barely cared that the royals spoke in Ochurian. He was too preoccupied with his fears to pay much attention to what was said, anyway.

»Elgar, is it?«

Elgar barely stopped himself from flinching when the crown addressed him, as unexpectedly as the first time. In Teeradian, too, again. Their dark eyes were fixed on him, and the prince was looking at him too.

Shit. Maybe he should have been paying attention.

»Yes, your Majesty.« He had whispered his name into the dark, months ago, in an attempt to appear friendlier to a poor wretch who, as they had both just been told, was worth less to their master than he, less deserving of mercy, cut out for more suffering. Free, even, for him to spit at further, as if he would ever want that.

Never had he ever imagined that act would land it in the mouth of the Crown of Ochuria.

»Do not be afraid,« they continued, their voice soft. »I meant what I said—we will all be eternally grateful to you for bringing my brother back. We will protect you.«

They looked him in the eyes with the same earnestness as before, outside. He couldn’t trust a royal—commoners were just tools to them, only fools thought otherwise; let alone slaves, tools to all free people.

»You can stay with us—with his Highness for as long as you like, and we will provide for you, anything you need. Or if you wish, I can have you escorted to the Teeradian border with a full purse and rations enough to travel to whichever town you want. I cannot protect you there, but I will do anything in my power to help. You saved my brother,« they repeated quietly, almost pleadingly. »I can never repay that favour, but I can make it so you’ll never suffer the way you have again.«

Immediately, Elgar wondered how much the prince had just told the crown about the ways he had suffered.

It didn’t matter, of course. They were royal and he was a thief and a slave, there wasn’t any dignity he could lose in their eyes. He knew that, he did.

»Thank you, your Majesty,« he managed. He pondered their offers, as if it was his place to accept any of them, wondering whether they had given any indication of what they really wanted him to do.

The prince softly squeezed his hand, and without thinking, Elgar squeezed back.

He didn’t have much to return to, if he was honest. Not safely, at any rate.

»I… I’ll stay with you, your Highness… if that’s okay.«

The prince beamed at him, and something inside him came loose. He had never seen this man smile in all the months they’d known each other, and now he was smiling at him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like they were still companions who didn’t want to miss the other’s comfort.

He swallowed, feeling the rising tears in his throat. »You’ll protect me?« he whispered, and the prince nodded fiercely. Then he opened his arms in the most unambiguous way, and Elgar leant into the hug, believing, for the first time, that it might be true.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #the black prince is apparently a tag that already exists #ozriel #orafin #elgar #couldn't resist throwing potential pregnancy whump at ozriel 😌 shouldn't have been a character in a whump story if you didn't want whumped #a monarch needs an heir

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antianakin · 5 months

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I’ve always wondered what would happen if a female Jedi and a male Jedi had a kid, like hypothetically, like within the Order. Like what would happen if they were not force-sensitive? Who would the Jedi give the baby to raise? If they were, they would be raised like the other younglings I guess, but interesting questions to ponder.

I know of at least one story that tries to tackle the question of what happens when a Jedi accidentally gets pregnant, though in that case I think the Jedi in question kept it a secret and she ended up dying or something. It's certainly not a Lucas-written story, so take that with a grain of salt, obviously.

So you seem to be asking not about what would happen if a Jedi got pregnant IN GENERAL, but specifically about the scenario of if two Jedi happened to create a non Force sensitive child. While we've never actually SEEN an adoption agency in canon, Bail Organa says in ROTS that he and Breha have already discussed adopting a daughter before this, so there must be an adoption system of some kind in place within the Republic, which leaves the option open for the two Jedi in question to choose to simply give their child up for adoption if the child turns out to not be Force sensitive. There's also theoretically the option of turning to the biological families of either of the two Jedi parents if that connection felt important.

Obviously the alternative option is for the two Jedi to simply choose to leave the Order and raise the kid themselves, an option that's there regardless of whether the child is Force sensitive or not.

I DON'T think that a non Force sensitive child would be raised within the Order, even if both biological parents are Jedi. It seems like Force sensitivity tends to show itself within the first year of a child's life and can be measured really early, and I don't see any real reason it couldn't be measured immediately upon being born or even in utero. If they can measure that while the child is still in the womb, it gives them a lot of time to find an adoptive family before they're even born, too. The reason I think a non Force sensitive child WOULDN'T be raised in the Order is because I think those children deserve to be raised among people who will better understand them, the same way Force sensitive children deserve the opportunity to be raised among people who can understand THEM. The Jedi are a very diverse and accepting community, but they also exist to provide a haven for Force sensitive people and their entire culture and lifestyle is built around that, which could make life kind-of difficult and isolating for a non Force sensitive child.

So honestly I don't think it's that complicated. The Jedi would just find a family (either among their own biological ones or through an adoption system) to raise their child or they leave the Order and raise their child themselves. And that's it, those are the choices.

It's honestly more complicated if the child IS Force sensitive because then the Jedi Order probably is exactly where they SHOULD be raised, and now the two Jedi parents have to deal with their child still being in the Order, but not being able to raise it themselves. Which might not be an issue for some Jedi, but could be more problematic for others. They'd have to make sure to always remember that the child is a child OF THE ORDER and ensure an attachment to the child never develops and creates issues with favoritism or lack of commitment, etc. The choice to just leave the Order to raise their own child is still there, but if they choose not to take it then the child is just kind-of always there as a constant potential temptation.

All that being said, all of these scenarios presume that the Jedi wouldn't just get an abortion when they discovered the pregnancy, which seems like the most likely option if the Jedi in question are committed to being Jedi and this pregnancy is just an accident anyway.

#star wars #jedi #pro jedi #tw abortion

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sitp-recs · 2 months

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hello liv! thank you for your service to the fandom, i spend such an inordinate amount of time sifting through all your reclists! i’ve been seeing drarry authors do their first line/last line posts for patterns and was wondering how that might pan out for reccers, so i had a question for you— what are some of the fics you find yourself reccing most often, across lists? do they speak to your own tastes? does a pattern emerge through them about the kind of asks you get? you always rec a really diverse range of fics but i do see some recurring favourites cropping up and was wondering if you had thoughts on it!

Thank you for your kind words and for the ask, anon! This was a very interesting way to adapt that ask game to my blog and I appreciate you for including me 💜 I had to take a minute and think about this because despite knowing that I’ve recced some fics over and over across lists, I’ve never stopped to analyze it in detail. Taking a quick look, I’ve tried to identify some patterns and I think these examples offer interesting insights:

1) I Am Not Who I Became and A Sword Laid Aside - two long fics I mention a lot (often alongside each other) because they combine some very popular tropes: recluse & powerful Harry, competent Draco, forced proximity, fast smut + slow emotional burn, D/s undertones

2) Clear as Mud and Unfinished Business are two personal faves I don’t see in rec lists often, they’re more like old-ish hidden gems and I love getting the chance to sneakily include them!

3) Take the Moon and Life goes not Backward: two favourites written by my friends! Funnily enough, they’re both kid fics which is a trope I don’t really care for lol. Reccing friends is one of my biggest pleasures in fandom, I’ve seen a lot of criticism/questioning around it which makes absolutely no sense to me - appreciating each other’s work and finding things in common is what brings us together in the first place 🤷🏻‍♀️

The main reason why I include any fic on a list is because I believe it’s a good fit. I always try to get a sense of what the reader is looking for bc it helps me find the right tone, but it can also get challenging if the request is too vague or too specific. Because I publish lists on demand I try to be as trope agnostic as possible, but at the end of the day I can only rec what I’ve read and enjoyed, so this will always be a subjective process (which I love! Imo rec lists are special and unique exactly because they are personal).

Back to the pattern discussion, I think seeing the same works mentioned on a regular basis reflect not only my own preferences but the ways it matches some emerging trends among the readers who follow me. Now the blog’s been around for a while and I don’t rec as much as I used to, it’s fair to assume that those who stick around have found in my blog similar tastes and fandom approach. In the last couple years I’ve noticed more requests around themes such as powerful Harry, competent Draco, bi and gay awakening, or fics where they take care of each other, bond over shared trauma and redeem or heal together. I think those reading trends are largely influenced by writing trends and vice-versa (especially in the Tumblr bubble!) so in a way we’re all collectively setting those trends and de-constructing or giving new meanings to old perspectives. That’s the true transformative power of fandom! Love that for us 🙌

#wow this got a bit too long #sorry for the rambling there #asks #hopefully I was able to answer it?#lovely anons #thank you! 💜

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abbatoirablaze · 16 days

Text

Surrogate Luna, Chapter 26

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of death/murder/corpses, mentions of blood, a/b/o dynamics, using someone as a diversion, manipulation.

“You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t do it, James…”

He sighed as he looked over at her, knowing that she was right. Between them, in the large bed, were the children, snuggled up and safe. They’d come into their bedroom a few hours previously, complaining that they had bad dreams, and Bucky was the first to funnel the children to their bed so that the pups could snuggle in safety between their parents.

“I know,” he admitted softly, admiring the little nuances of Stevie and Saradia that reminded him of the couple’s missing piece, “but I worry about what happens after we save him, Cinna.”

She leaned up on her elbow, “what do you mean?”

“Our dynamics,” he shrugged, “our dynamics with Steve. The pups…our pup. Will Steve even accept us? He’s spent a lot of time pushing us away, omega. You’ve only seen a small bit of what he can do when he feels cornered by anyone. I’ve seen the full picture before. It’s not pretty.”

Cinna sighed, reaching out to take Bucky’s hand in her own. Slowly, she placed it over her heart, “Do you feel that, James?”

“Your heart?”

She nodded, “yes.”

He nodded in response, “of course I feel it, omega…Even without my hand over it, I feel the echo within my bones. Just like I’ll always remember the same echo that comes from Steve’s heart even though we haven’t completed our ceremony.”

“Replace that echo with the amount of love and trust that I have for both you and Steve, regardless of what’s happened in the past” she offered, “I know that you are afraid. I’m afraid too. But I also know that Steve must be as well. When he saw us at the summit, it was obvious that he didn’t expect it. I don’t think he ever thought that we would find each other. And to see us both there…without him…”

“Why did he stay if he realized how incomplete he was without us?”

“Sharon still has her mark on him,” she sighed, biting her lip, “yes, we could have removed it chemically, but he has grown dependent on her. You know how they say that an alpha becomes weaker if they chose the wrong mate? Well that happened in his case with her. She’s siphoning off his power and strength. But, I would never ask Steve to go through the pain that I went through when Sharon and her mutts forced me to get Steve’s mark removed.”

“Omeg-“

“James,” she whispered softly, looking lovingly at her mate, “do not fault Steve because of his personality…you never doubt yourself. You’re strong…and confident. But Steve…he’s only ever dealt with insecurity and weakness. He was a sickly pup. His father manipulated him into staying away from you. Filled his head with notions of responsibility that he never believed in. Our mate is lost…and it is our duty to find him…bring him home…and love him for everything that he is, and everything that he is not.”

“You’re right omega,” he replied after a moment to pause and think on it, “if Sharon’s planning on taking him down before his next rut is over we don’t have long…”

“Take Yelena, Natasha, and Clint!” she ordered softly, “we don’t need to alert her allies that you are paying her a visit. I trust them to be stealthy in recovering our missing piece.”

“I love you, omega…”

“Yeah yeah,” she giggled softly as she laid on her side, her hand grazing over her baby bump, “be smart…and bring back our mate so that we can finally be complete. And James?”

“Hmm…”

“I love you…”

“It’s too quiet…”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to that of Natasha’s and then to Clints.

They had managed to make the drop onto the outside borders of the Rogers pack without alerting anyone, and had managed to make it all the way up to the packhouse without seeing any patrols.

“Are they really this stupid?” Yelena growled as she turned towards her sister, “are they so sure of themselves that no one would come for them?”

“Focus, kid!” Nat growled at her younger sibling, “you never know what is a trap or not until you’re right in the thick of it!”

“Both of you!” Clint hissed, looking between the sisters, “we’re supposed to be quiet.”

“Doesn’t feel like there’s much of a point,” Bucky frowned as he continued to look for any sign that the packhouse was inhabited. But just as he was about to come out of the shadows two younger men came around the corner, talking about how they didn’t want to be on watch. Bucky pulled Yelena back to himself, while Clint pulled Natasha into the shadows he waited in. When it was clear, they looked to Bucky, “first two we’ve run into, and we’ve been on the Rogers pack land for hours…”

“Something’s off!” Clint agreed, catching the curious tone of his alpha, “want me to raise the alarm? Draw out the guns?”

“Take Natasha,” he nodded, “go around to the Northeast corner, but stay in the shadows. Don’t let them see you. Pull them to the woods and me and Yelena will go for Steve.”

“You really okay going into a packhouse without much backup?”

“What?” Yelena asked her sister, “you don’t think that me and Alpha Barnes can handle it?”

The two sisters shared a look before Bucky urged them forward. He gave Yelena a disappointed look.

“What?”

“If you keep acting like a child, I’ll remove you from future endeavors, Yelena…”

“It’s just some friendly banter.”

“And we’re on task,” he grunted, leaving her behind when he heard the whistles going off just north of them a few minutes later. He found himself at the edge of the tree line as he watched for additional lights and voices, but was surprised when only a few more people funneled from the packhouse and after Nat and Clint, “odd…”

“They must be locked in tight,” Yelena commented, “Sharon might be preparing to kill your mate, alpha.”

“There would be more lights!” he frowned, “some acknowledgement that wolves were there! It looks almost abandoned.”

“You think something is wrong?” she asked, “a trap?”

“Only one way to find out!”

And before she could question him once more, he was stealthily making his way to the house, looking out for any wolves.

But they encountered none.

Not even a single one when they slipped into the back door, which was unlocked.

Nor when they made their way up the stairs and Bucky started following the overwhelming smell of Steve’s rut-induced scent.

It made his hindbrain scream for his mate, a hunger rising up within his own primal nature.

“Alpha!”

Bucky snapped out of his thoughts, looking towards Yelena, “what?”

“I’ve been calling after you, chasing you for minutes!” she hissed, “where are you going?”

Bucky looked around.

He was not on the main floor of the packhouse.

Instead, he’d managed to make his way through the house, and in front of a heavy door, “I-I think that Steve might be here, Yel…”

“Oh, I know that he’s here,” she sneered, her nose twitching as she could smell the pungency in his scent, “he’s ripe…and still alive at that. But it doesn’t smell like a normal alpha that’s gone into a rut, Bucky…there’s something…different.”

Bucky went for the door once more, and Yelena pulled him back.

He growled at her, “what are you doing?”

“It might be a trap!” she said quickly, “you have to let me go first, alpha!”

“Steve is on the other side of that-“

“And Sharon might be too!” she reminded him, “it is the job of Nat, Clint, and myself to protect you under any and all circumstances. Let me do that, alpha! We don’t know that it’s not a trap, and Steve smells so strong…I-I can’t promise that she’s not on the other side of that door with him, waiting for us. Can you?”

“But Stev-“

“Is alive!” she pointed out, “now please. Alpha…I promised your mate that you would be brought home with Steve…both of you in one piece. And I’d like to keep that promise.”

Bucky gave her a firm frown, but moved out of the way, allowing her to take hold of the handle.

“Yel…”

“Yes alpha?”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he frowned, “calling you a kid. You know how to make the right calls even when I’m emotionally clouded.”

“I am a kid, Bucky…it’s good to call me out on it every once in a while!” she smiled, before pushing the door open.

Bucky felt like he was holding his breath as Yelena disappeared into the room. When she opened the door a second later, he felt his heart sinking.

Steve had pushed himself into the far corner with his back to them. He was curled up and facing the wall. From his neck was a heavy looking collar with an even heavier chain that had him bolted to the hardwood floor.

Around the anchor point Bucky saw claw marks that looked so deep that there were parts of his claws embedded in the flooring.

Blood littered the room.

But he wasn’t sure just who all of it belonged to.

Sure, some of it had to be Steve’s, but there was no way that it all belonged to him. And in the corner just on the edge of the bed, Bucky could see corpses, or at least, the parts of them that Steve didn’t eat.

“Oh my god!” Yelena gasped, finally processing the entire scene, “she’s let him go feral…”

Steve’s eyes snapped in their direction as he looked over his shoulder.

Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat as his mate’s eyes were black with thick amber rings, “Steve.”

He snarled, charging towards them, but was immediately pulled back by the chain when he’d reached the end of its length.

Bucky felt his eyes watering as he took a few steps forward. Yelena went to grab her alpha’s arm, but Bucky kept her at bay. Steve snarled, his eyes going to where Yelena was reaching out to.

“Yel…Steve’s feral…he-he knows that we’re mates…if you reach out to me, it’s only going to agitate him. I need you to go and find Clint and Nat…take care of Sharon’s people and find the key for his chains…”

“Where is-“

“YELENA GO!” he commanded, “he won’t hurt me…but he will try to hurt you…and he’ll hurt himself if you get between us by trying to get to us.”

Steve watched through dark eyes as the younger she-wolf evacuated the room, no doubt to follow the commands of her alpha.

“Steve…” Bucky whimpered after a second, “Steve…I know you’re in there…”

Steve’s lip twitched as he looked at the other alpha. Bucky went to step towards him, and Steve growled once more.

“PUNK!”

The word seemed to affect him.

The confusion laced his features as he looked at Bucky. And for a swift moment, it looked like he was battling himself internally before his eyes cleared ever so slightly.

“Buck…”

His voice was raspy, “B-Bucky…what ar-“

“Don’t talk,” he begged, “you need to save your energy. You’re feral, Steve…Sharon must have-“

“Sharon-“ he croaked, cutting his mate off. His eyes snapped to the door behind himself, and he reached to the chains, attempting to pull himself away from the anchor point, “Buck…they-this was a trap. They’re going after her…she’s going after Cinna…and the pups. Sh-“

Bucky felt his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach, “what?”

“Buck…we have to get back!” he begged, eyes wild, “Sharon knew that you would come for me…she’s going to kill Cinna and the pups! Everyone but a select few left with her…they’re going to your pack lands right now. It’s a trap.”

Chapter 27

Tag List: @lohnes16, @prokey16, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @teambarnes72, @mrsevans90, @skulliecadaver-blog

#surrogate luna #a/b/o fic #marvel #marvel au #the avengers #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #a/b/o #chris evans characters #sebastian stan characters #james bucky barnes #alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers #clint barton #yelena belova #natasha romanov #black widow #hawkeye

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infinitysisters · 4 months

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“Like everything based on the writings of Karl Marx—seeing oppressors and colonial struggles everywhere—DEI was doomed to fail. The uniformity of thought known as intersectionality, fostered by DEI, meant all oppressed people must support all others who are oppressed. But that idea burst on Oct. 7 when Hamas raped, murdered and kidnapped Israelis. Many liberals, especially Jewish ones, couldn’t support genocidal “colonized” terrorists. Pop! The long march is in retreat.

By the way, ESG, or investing based on “environmental, social and governance” principles, peaked last June, when BlackRock CEO Larry Fink said he would stop using “the word ESG anymore, because it’s been entirely weaponized.” Never mind that performance of ESG funds has been sketchy and that BlackRock had been adding the label “sustainable” or “ESG” to funds and charging up to five times as much. Then a study published in December by Boston University’s Andrew Kingfound “no reliable evidence for the proposed link between sustainability and financial performance.” Pop!

Most offensive to me was DEI’s devious underlying agenda: societal design. 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧, 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬. That was the “my truth” that Ms. Gay invoked on her exit. Critical theories and Marxist techniques would take power from you and me, using big government as the enforcer.

The new societal design, embedded in DEI and ESG, envisioned idyllic communal progress. 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧��𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐬. Diversity meant ideological conformity. Equity meant discrimination. Inclusion meant blurring the sexes. Men winning women’s athletic events would be considered normal. It was all theatrics, like the tampons I’ve seen in men’s bathrooms on Ivy League campuses. Somewhere George Orwell is rolling on the floor laughing.

One goal of progressive societal design is to shrink—depopulation. Twenty-somethings now question having children. Net zero and degrowth, both World Economic Forum approved, are pushed via energy myths: carbon bad, cows bad. A plant-based chicken in every pot and two electric cars in every garage. They envy the merit-touting rich, shout “inequality” and wear “Tax the Rich” dresses. They tear down statues to erase history. How did we let this happen?

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧, 𝐢𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧. There was very little free speech at Harvard—the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression ranked it last of all colleges last year. Those against the societal-design agenda were shouted down. Dissent was met with accusations of privilege or cancellation. Conform or be cast out. On a larger scale, the Biden administration co-opted social media to censure opposing views.

I, like most Americans, am for diversity, but not when it’s forced or mandated. In a 2017 interview, Mr. Fink admitted BlackRock would use DEI tactics to “force behaviors” of corporations on “gender or race,” including via management compensation. Now that’s power.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐞’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. Does national security adviser Jake Sullivan really care about equity or climate change? It polled well and put him back in power to implement his own societal design via “industrial strategy.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬. 𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬. 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬. Those prices inform production much better than any government bureaucrat or Harvard professor. Societal design—remember Lyndon B. Johnson’s Great Society?—requires government control. I’ll take freedom.

Preferred pronouns are fading. College admissions, and maybe hiring, based on race is illegal. DEI departments are being deconstructed. But while the DEI movement may have peaked, like that Monty Python character, it’s not dead yet. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐄𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫.”

— Andy Kessler//WSJ

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mikhailwrites · 6 months

Text

Waiting for Connection 4 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

Soap seems to be a busy man, only playing for an hour or two in the evening a couple of days a week if he’s lucky. Sometimes, he doesn’t play for a week. Or two. Ghost understands, of course. He knows how it is, which doesn’t mean he’s not feeling a little sorry every time he starts Steam, looks at his very short Friendslist and sees CallMeSoap in the “Offline” section of it.

Truth be told, it took one week for Ghost to get used to Soap; to finetune his own playstyle to Soap’s, to count on him having his six or be wherever Ghost needs him to be. To do a good job. Even though they are still playing with random people, the two of them usually carry the brunt of the mission due to their sheer efficiency, teamwork and skill.

On days Ghost plays without Soap, he notices the skill gap even more than before. And has even less patience for it, too. Until, one evening, he actually argues full-on with his teammates. Ghost is not petty or anything; he just… wants a taste of his old life, not to educate sixteen-year-old airsoft enthusiasts on the importance of clear and concise communication. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a sixteen-year-old airsoft enthusiast. Ghost simply has no patience for it.

After a few very not-fun games, he decides to give it a rest and only plays solo. Unfortunately, there is a reason why he started with multiplayer in the first place. The only advantage of AI teammates is that they’re not as chaotic. However, they are as daft as they come.

Ghost quits the game after the third death that evening. However, he pauses over the Quit the game button. Instead, Ghost shifts his hand, and the cursor selects “Editor”. Despite all the hours spent in the game, he’s never tried to create his own scenario. Who would he play it with, anyway?

Only now, he actually has a mate to play with. He could prepare something interesting for when Soap gets back from whatever hellhole he is currently deployed to. If there’s something Ghost has an abundance of, it’s combat experience, particularly in special operations.

Ghost smiles as the mission editor opens. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

“I’ve created some custom missions for two players; wanna try it out?” Ghost says, trying to sound like he didn’t spend about twenty hours recreating one of his oldest missions. There are enough changes to allow for plausible deniability, but it’s been about twenty years. He can’t imagine anybody giving a shit now.

“What kind of question is that? Bring it on, old man!” Soap exclaims, clearly excited. Ghost doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s been called old. It’s a provocation to get him to admit how old he really is, and Simon is not falling for it.

“Eager, Soap?” Ghost smirks. “Equip some explosives with remotes and an SMG with a silencer.”

“We going dark, Ghost? And in close quarters? Oh, I like it already,” Soap’s voice gains a darker, grittier quality.

“Let’s see how good you really are,” Simon smiles, watching as the game drops their avatars to an unknown terrain in the middle of the night -unknown to Soap, at least. They’re in a small clearing in the middle of a dense tropical forest.

“Five Ks away is a small settlement. A local drug cartel has a heavy presence in the village. Our target is a VIP hostage.”

“So we will need a diversion,” Soap notes, and Ghost can only imagine the devious grin on his face. Face he’s never seen. Soap sounds like someone who is open about their emotions. He has no issue laughing, and when he’s pissed, his voice drops and gains a gravelly quality to it that Ghost admits he rather likes. “What will be your job?”

“I’ll be covering you from a distance,” Ghost says as he equips his favourite sniper rifle. There’s a pistol in his thigh holster, too, just in case.

Soap’s avatar lowers their night vision. “You know, I have yet to meet someone in this game who is a decent sniper. People think it’s so bloody easy, just lay in the grass, scope and shoot,” Soap complains.

“I’d be very careful about what you want to imply. Soap, wouldn’t want any friendly fire happening, would we?” Ghost smirks, clicking the magazine back into the rifle.

“Absolutely not, sir.”

Watching Soap work through the scope of the sniper rifle is something else. Especially since it’s just a game. There are no stakes, so Ghost can simply watch and marvel. He would never admit just how impressed he is when he watches Soap sneak around enemy patrols or wait until they come to them, only to jump them with a knife and dispose of them quickly.

Ghost is doing his part, of course. Whenever anyone could come close to surprising Soap, Ghost takes care of them. In one instance, it’s a very close call. Soap is about to open the door to one of the small, single-story houses in search of their VIP hostage when Ghost notices there’s an armed man standing right behind them. It’s too late to warn Soap. Ghost makes a judgement call and shoots the Tango through the window.

It causes noise, of course, and noise attracts attention.

“Alright, let’s bring in some light, shall we?” Ghost asks as he sees multiple hostiles closing in on Soap’s position.

“And there shall be light,” Soap says as he activates the charges he’s set earlier under the car at the edge of the village.

The explosion is spectacular by military standards. It’s no Hollywood fireworks, but it’s big, bright and loud—more than enough to divert attention from Soap.

Ghost checks the surrounding area. “Clear, let’s finish this up, Soap.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Ghost,” Soap agrees as he sweeps the house for the hostage. This is the last house they haven’t checked, so the VIP must be there. Somewhere.

Ghost is doing his best to check the inside of the house through the windows, but there are still a lot of blind spots.

The moment he catches a glimpse of movement, he knows it’s too late. “Soap!”

He hears a series of silenced shots, then an audible exhale. “That was close, Ghost. I thought you had my six. I did, however, find our package. Heading out now.”

Ghost watches as Soap exits the building, cautiously looking around before he gestures for the hostage to follow. Simon is keeping a close eye on the burning car, the sizeable crowd that gathered around it, and any possible complications. The AI is, however, not that good at improvising and Soap’s retreat is as smooth as it can get.

They venture back into the forest and to the exfil point at a safe distance from the settlement.

“I’d say this is at least worth a first-name basis, Ghost,” Soap says, clearly cheerful. And Ghost? Well, Ghost has to admit he’s actually happy as well. This was his first custom mission, one he actually did in real life, and not only could he revisit it, but he could do it with a friend, a skilled one at that. It’s been the most thrilling thing he’s experienced in a year, maybe even longer. Perhaps he could indulge Soap a little.

“Alright,” Ghost relents. “On one condition. You go first.”

“Obviously,” Soap laughs but quietens fast. “I’m John.”

“Simon.”

There are a few seconds of silence. “Simon? Not what I expected.”

Ghost chuckles. “And what, pray tell, did you expect?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me how old you are,” Soap doesn’t miss a beat.

“Trying to gauge whether I’m old enough to play this game, John?”

“You guessed it!” Soap laughs.

“I’m feeling generous tonight. I’m thirty-eight.”

“Huh,” Soap huffs, and it sounds genuinely surprised. However, he doesn’t say anything about Ghost being an old man, which is good. “Okay, that’s fair. As for the name… I expected something… harder, I guess? Maybe Craig? Or Robert?”

“Fuckin’ hell…, I sound like a Craig to you, do I?” Simon groans. He never felt strongly about his name. It’s okay. It's not horrible, but it's nothing to get too excited about. When he thinks about it, he feels the same about John. It’s… fine. Ordinary in the same way a quaint little house in the countryside is.

“Well, no, I guess you don’t. But… Simon is actually nice. I like Simon. Simon,” Soap repeats the name several times as if to get used to its taste and sound.

Ghost actually sits back, frowning as he realises he’s got goosebumps. What the hell?

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #call of duty fic #I've installed Arma because of this fic #But it's still a side project #I swear

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pentechnics · 1 year

Text

Part 3: Assignment | Series Masterlist

Pairing: boss!Din Djarin x secretary!f reader

Rating: E, 18+ only

Chapter Content: office work environment, power dynamics, dom!Din, sexy phone times, hand kink, praise kink, vaginal fingering, nicknames/pet names, implied orgasm denial Please let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: As always I'm so sorry to make y'all wait, but I hope you feel as though it was worth it! I'm still so excited about this story and can't wait to continue it for us all. Please drop me a line to tell me what you thought -- there is nothing more motivating than hearing from you all! Sending love to you all!

~~~~

“Well, that’s a change of pace. You’ve never taken anyone with you.”

Din waved off the comment and returned his attention to the window beside Boba’s desk, which took up the entire wall and looked out to the bustling city below.

“Have you told her yet?”

“Our check-in is tomorrow. I’ll do it then.”

Boba hummed and wrote a note.

“Make sure you book those arrangements soon. The conference is in only a month.”

Din nodded.

“So what is it about this one? I’ve never seen you this…”

He paused to vaguely gesture at Din, making him turn back.

“... tolerable.”

Din sighed and shook his head.

“Oh, come on,” Boba pressed, a grin breaking out on his face. “She must be some kind of miracle worker.”

Oh, you could work miracles, all right. A memory of you on your knees flashed in Din’s mind: your eyes wide, mouth stuffed to the brim with his cock, curious hands clawing at his thighs.

Perfection. His fisted hand clenched tighter around the air.

“She’s good at her job,” he said through gritted teeth. “Has no problem keeping up, gets along with everyone-”

“So that you don’t have to,” Boba cut him off with a chuckle. Din couldn’t help the small grin creeping onto his face.

“Exactly.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” Boba turned back to his monitor. “She can help you actually network at this thing and get us some more diverse clients. We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time you went.”

“Fett, for the millionth time,” Din sat up in his chair. “That guy punched me first.”

Boba’s thunderous laughter bounced off the office walls.

~~~~

Dinner consumed and dishes put away, you slipped under the covers of your bed and let out a sigh.

Your muscles ached with exhaustion as they seeped into the plush comfort beneath them, the inevitable stress of the week finally showing itself. It was as though you were a puddle and the bed was a sponge, fully soaking you into its soft embrace. What you wouldn’t give for a back rub.

You turned on your laptop and clicked onto some mindless television, setting it down beside you and letting the dialogue fill your brain with its static. You took a deep breath and sunk down against the headboard, attempting to regain some of the energy the day had drained out of you.

The harsh vibrations of your phone had other plans.

You jumped at the sudden noise, a tingle of surprise emanating from your heart, and reached over to grab it from your nightstand with a grunt.

An unknown number illuminated your screen. Damn telemarketers. Why in the world would they even be making phone calls at this time of night? You plopped it back onto the nightstand with a bit more force than necessary and tried once more to get comfortable.

Moments later another vibration sounded, this time from a text.

You sat up again and looked over at your phone, apprehensive. Telemarketers didn’t typically text, especially when a phone call was ignored. If that wasn’t who called you, who the hell could it have been?

You slowly unlocked your phone and opened the message feed, your eyes bulging out when you saw the singular gray bubble with the short – yet powerful – text:

Pick up, Cupcake.

The number called again. Your phone buzzed away in your hand while your mind flooded with questions. You’d never given anyone at work your personal number, how did Mr. Djarin get it? And why would he call you so late at night?

With a shaky breath, you pressed ‘accept.’

“... Hello?”

“Surprise.”

You let out a little laugh as his deep, modulated voice sent a shiver through you.

“How’d you get my number?”

“Yeah… I may or may not have snuck a peek at your file. Don’t tell HR.”

That got a more genuine laugh out of you. You propped yourself onto your elbows and readjusted the phone against your ear.

“I should get to look at your file, then,” you said. “It’s only fair.”

“Be my guest. Nothing exciting in there, anyway.”

Something about his tone sounded off. It was slightly strained and gruff, as if he were holding something heavy. “So…” you started, unsure of how to proceed. “What made you want to call me?”

“Well… I wanted you to know something.”

“Something that couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Exactly.”

A shaky exhale made its way to your ears. Your confusion only grew.

“What are you doing over there? You sound like you’re working out or something.”

“Ah… Let’s go with ‘or something,’” he chuckled. “Care to take another guess?”

You shook your head. What was going on? What kind of game was he trying to play?

“Um…” you trailed off, your mind going blank.

“Let’s just say I can’t stop thinking about that pretty mouth of yours.”

Your jaw dropped. Your thighs clenched together as more of his breathy sighs caressed your ear.

He… he was touching himself. To the thought of you.

Once the initial shock of it dissipated, a more sinister instinct began to boil within you. You smirked into the receiver while more labored breathing reached your ears.

“Is that so?” you asked, putting extra texture onto your voice.

“Wish you could see the proof.”

“Convince me, then. Let me hear it.”

“Filthy little thing.” he rasped. “Lay down and join me, and I just might.”

Your eyes rolled back, your body immediately flipping over and sinking down into a lying position.

“You’re lucky I was already in bed,” you said with a smile, your hand already grazing down your chest.

He hummed. It was like sweet honey, making you let out a small gasp as your body filled with warmth.

“You ready, sweetheart? You’re gonna do exactly as I say.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathed, slick already beginning to collect between your legs.

“Good. Grab one of those tits for me.”

You did as he said, wrapping your hand as far around it as you could and gently kneading the flesh with your fingers. You sighed and let yourself get lost in the feeling, the vague memory of his hand cupping them flashing through your mind.

“They’re so perfect,” he mumbled, “Need more time with them. Keep going, Cupcake.”

You bit your lip and picked up the pace, humming into the phone.

“Aw, are you wishing you could touch them?”

“Watch it, Princess,” he hissed. “You won’t get more with that attitude.”

Something about the prospect of him denying your pleasure turned you on all the more. A small whimper escaped your lips, making him snicker.

“Rub that nipple.”

You moved your finger up and slowly caressed the little nub, already hard and sensitive. You threw your head back and moaned as each stroke of it sent a jolt straight to your core.

“Just like that,” he groaned. “Bet you’re already soaking for me.”

He was right. You could feel the pooling between your legs, no doubt soiling your panties.

“Put me on speaker, honey. Want both hands on your tits. Now.”

You let out a little hum and did as he said, setting the phone down beside your pillow and gripping yourself with both hands.

“Atta girl,” he cooed. “So good at listening.”

His praise only served to make you wetter. You teased and flicked at your nipples, relishing in each ripple of pleasure that cascaded through you.

“Lower now, touch those thighs for me.”

Your hands snaked down the length of your torso, gently dragging your nails against your skin on their way, until you reached your thighs.

“Claw at them.”

You did. Shivers erupted through your nerves, making your back arch.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

“Yeah? Feeling good?”

“So good,” you smiled. “I need more.”

“Beg for it, then.”

More curses spilled from your lips while your hands continued to massage the skin of your thighs, slowly moving further in and up.

“Please, sir,” you whined, not a single ounce of shame behind it. “Please give me more.”

“That’s my girl,” you could hear the grin in his voice. “Go on. Rub that clit for me.”

The relief and pleasure that threatened to drown you as your fingers finally made contact had you moaning out loud.

“Fuck, you make such pretty sounds, Cupcake-” he cut himself off with deep noises of his own. “Get louder for me. Rub it faster.”

As if his voice was the sole conductor of your actions, your body sang at its demand, crying out as your fingers worked themselves ragged. The wave was beginning to build below your belly, releasing a firm heat that wrapped around you like a snake and squeezed until your limbs began to flail.

“Yes, fuck, just like that. Don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” you shouted, back arching. “Fuck fuck fuck-”

“Aw,” his tone was almost condescending. “Is it already too much for you, baby? You missing my hands? Poor thing.”

His words had you gushing, despite the small bead of annoyance sprouting within you.

“Now you need to fucking watch it,” you said through your heavy breathing. “I could just hang up on you.”

“Hehe, come on,” he cooed, “Don’t you wanna cum?”

Your breath hitched.

“I can tell you’re close, baby. Let me get you there.”

You let out a grunt of frustration. He was right – even if you did hang up, you already had a taste of what it was like for him to be in control. You had never reached such a high on your own; just the once and you were already addicted to him.

“Stop rubbing.”

“What?”

“Now.”

Your fingers paused. You heaved breath after breath, your racing heart threatening to burst from your chest. Like you were forced to hold in a sneeze, your body was teetering on the edge.

“Why?” your voice cracked. “I was so close-”

“I said this already, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. Now stick those fingers inside, nice and slow.”

The combination of your body’s needs with your brain’s annoyance was deadly; you were clawing at the bed with your free hand, your breath coming in heaves as the other followed his command. You were coating the bed with your slick at this point, evident by the cold, damp patch coming into contact with your thigh.

You sighed. Your fingers were so small compared to his, only able to go so deep and stretch so far. But you weren’t about to tell him that.

“That’s it,” he rasped, voice growing less stable. “Faster.”

You increased your speed, moan after moan spilling from your lips. The tension in your belly grew, blooming to life and making your whole body curl in. Sweat began to break out on your forehead.

“Din,” you started, “Please, I can’t-”

You gasped and stopped in your tracks. You hadn’t meant to use his name. The silence that followed was tortuous; part of you was worried he would be angry, maybe even hang up on you. Would he actually do that, you asked yourself. It was hard to say.

You were about to break the painful lull with an apology when you heard a feral moan rip from his throat.

“Say my name again, baby. Say it while you’re rubbing that fucking clit.”

You whimpered as you returned your attention to your clit, now in need of restimulating.

Luckily, his encouragement was even more intense than before and had your high returning in no time. You bit down hard on your lip as each of his shaky gasps and harsh commands sent a shiver down your spine.

“Din,” you breathed.

“Yes.”

“Din.”

“Fuck, just like that-”

“Din, it’s coming,” you all but yelled.

“YES, do it, Cupcake, fucking cum for me.”

His voice was almost animalistic, his growling demand being the final straw that sent you careening into a supernova of an orgasm: loud, explosive, all-encompassing. Your throat felt more hoarse with each shout of pleasure he dragged out of you.

He wasn’t too far behind, labored grunts turning into deep, symphonic moans that you were sure would be the end of you. They ricocheted through your ears, filtered through the phone which made them somehow sound even sexier.

You thought back to that day in the office to picture how he might be looking while he came: the scrunched up eyes with his head thrown back, slacked jaw, and bounce of his chest with heavy panting.

Simply beautiful. You wished you could see him now.

You squirmed as the last remnants of your orgasm petered out, his breathing calming down with yours. He released a throaty chuckle.

“Such a good girl.”

Oh.

Shit.

Oh, shit.

Every inch of you froze, your breath catching in your throat. A fresh wave of slick poured out of you as you slowly turned your head to face the phone. Your ears tingled, your fingers gripping anything they could reach. It was like someone had poured ice down your back then dunked you into a hot tub. Your mind felt fuzzy as it replayed those two words over and over.

You wanted– no, needed to hear them again.

“W-... what was that?”

“Hm? Did you like it?”

You bit down a ‘yes.’ Part of you didn’t want to admit it yet your body began to writhe in protest, the itch now present in your brain begging to be scratched, like a pesky bug bite you were meant to leave alone.

But temptation won you over in the end.

“... Maybe.”

He chortled. You could hear the snarky smirk within it, and scowled in response.

“Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll say it again.”

You humphed and fully turned to lie on your side.

“Meanie.”

“Well, now you’re not being very good, are you?”

“Oh, hush,” you said through a giggle. “I’ve just never… heard that before.”

Talking this much during sex was something only one past partner of yours had been into. He was the first one to actually use dirty talk towards you, though it was leagues milder compared to anything Din had been saying.

“No one’s told you that?”

He sounded surprised, almost upset. You chewed on your lip in lieu of answering, unsure of how to proceed.

“Did you want them to?”

You gave a quiet hum, your nerves still unwilling to let you admit to it out loud. Evidently, that was enough for him.

“Well,” he started, voice deliciously low and cloaked in silk, “I guess we have lost time to make up for…”

Your brows perked upward as you waited for him to go on.

“... Because you’ve been a Very. Good. Girl.”

The way he accentuated the last three words – gravely, dry, blissfully slow – would’ve made your knees buckle if you were standing. You couldn’t help whimpering as your head hit the pillow once more, your body drowning in a rush of adrenaline and cool pleasure.

You were a withering leaf clinging to the branch with all you had, and Mr. Djarin’s husky, slightly staticy voice through the phone was the gust of wind that sent you floating down to the ground.

Your breathy ‘fuck’ was muffled by the pillow, but made him hum nonetheless.

~~~~

Din was typing up an email when your soft knocking reached his ears. Your grinning face made multiple waves of sensation pulse through him: excitement, desire, curiosity.

And something else. Something… gentler. It made him let out a sigh, like he was relaxing for the first time that day.

“Ready for our check-in?” you asked, pad and pen in hand.

Din nodded and waved you in. He finished up his email as you shut the door and took a seat. He let out a breath as he folded his arms before him, taking in your visage.

“How’s your day going?”

“Good,” you said, brows quirking up. “And yours?”

He shrugged.

“Better now.”

Watching your eyes widen and your lips disappear made his throat dry out. He drummed his fingers on his desk, willing his eyes to move up from your cute little mouth to no avail. Damn, he wanted to bite it.

“So,” he cleared his throat and glanced at the paper beside his keyboard. “I only have a few things to discuss with you today.”

In his scribbly writing, he’d written a few small, almost illegible bullet points. He squinted at the paper in an attempt to make out the words.

“First thing, have we heard back about the Sanderson account?”

You nodded and shuffled through your own notes, reciting them to him. Ever impressed at your ability to stay so organized, Din hung onto every word, the soft inflection of your voice like a sweet kiss to his ears.

He couldn’t help the divergence of his thoughts: picturing your delicate words rising in pitch at the beck of his hand, forming pants and words of pleading instead of contractual details and concerns, moans of pleasure in place of last steps before getting a signature. He imagined your active mouth wrapping around his cock once more, which was now twitching in his pants at the very idea.

“... so I scheduled a meeting with them next week to finalize.”

“Perfect, thank you,” he gave you a nod.

You flipped through your notes once more to discuss the other tentative contracts of the month, each move of your lips capturing Din’s full attention. He hardly dared to look away, even as he took his own notes.

You spoke of your work with a fluidity he’d only known himself to have. From the get-go it had thrown him off; you always had exact answers to his questions, knew every aspect of each account, and on occasion even gave some insight into improving a deal. It was magical to see.

This meeting was no exception. When he dove into the nitty gritty details you followed with no hesitation, ready to meet any and all inquiry he might have. He almost didn’t want the work talk to end – he didn’t remember a time where he actually enjoyed discussing such boring things.

But regardless, the final topic was sure to be the best one of the day.

“Last item on the agenda,” he began, learning forward onto his desk. “There’s a little… assignment coming up next month. And I’d like for you to come with me.”

“Assignment?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“A conference, actually. In Croatia.”

“Croatia?!” you sat up so fast, Din worried you’d fall out of the chair.

He chuckled and gave you the details of the trip: five days total, with three of them spent at the conference, during which Din would give a talk and in general try to increase the company’s clientele overseas. Your job would be to manage his calendar and keep track of things, as always, but also to help him make those connections.

“Wait,” you started, brow scrunching up in thought. “If you’ve gone to this conference before, how come you haven’t already secured some foreign clients?”

With a sigh, Din leaned back in his chair. He told the story of what happened last time he went, of overhearing a verbal confrontation and getting hit in an attempt to break it up.

“It really wasn’t as big a scene as it seems. Some people just can’t handle being wrong. And apparently I’m not much of a ‘people person,’ meaning I wasn’t nice about telling him the hard truth.” Din said with a shrug, sass dripping from his tone.

Your giggle set his soul aflame.

“Well, don’t worry, Mr. Djarin,” you started, “I’ll make sure you don’t get yourself banned or injured.”

“So you’re on board?”

“Of course. No reason not to be. Plus, Croatia’s on my travel list.”

“Is it now?”

Din rested his chin into his palm, his other hand drumming on the desk. You nodded, a gentle grin pulling your cheeks up.

“Where else do you want to go?”

Your eyes lit up as you fully leaned into the tangent, mentioning multiple countries, including Greece, Morocco, and South Korea, among others.

“That’s a pretty nice list,” Din said.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “There’s a lot I want to see.”

“Well then, all the more reason to bring you along. Gotta start checking those off.”

Your smile could brighten the night sky. Your expression was so warm, so innocently golden, it had Din’s heart cartwheeling in his chest. It made him want to learn more about you, give you anything you wanted — as long as he’d get to see that again.

He gulped.

These sensations… It was as though he were being forced to breathe concrete instead of oxygen. Thick and heavy, it made his lungs sting.

No one else had ever inspired anything like this from his heart. Yet here you were, doing it with just a smile. His breath quickened the more he dwelled on it; what did it mean? What was he supposed to do about it?

He sat up in his chair and refocused on the topic at hand, trying with all his might to ignore the sudden clamminess of his palms.

~~~~

One month later, you were packing your suitcase in the evening glow of your room’s desk lamp.

You were to be jetting off with Mr. Djarin directly after the following workday, and you couldn’t help the slight jitteriness of your movements.

All month long he had been bringing up this trip, but besides the team-wide meetings about it, business seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.

Yes, every now and then he’d talk you through his presentation or give you information about other companies that would be there, but more than anything, he was a constant tease.

Any chance he got he would wind and unwind your every nerve with a few mere words or touches of his hand, velvet promises of what was to come dripping from his lips at each turn. The past week had been the most brutal; he’d build you up and up at his desk, or in the supply closet, or even in the kitchen when the rest of your coworkers had already left for the night.

He’d do as little as whisper in your ear or as much as rub your clit through your panties – all while his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow because he knew, he knew how much you liked that – but not once did he finish the job. Nor did he grace your ears with your favorite words.

You’d shriek into the empty space and plead for it, clawing at his arms and shoulders, tugging at his tie, staring into his golden brown eyes with desperation as they grinned back at you with satisfaction. He’d shake his head and grab hold of the back of your neck, forcing your squirming form to still at his command.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I know exactly what you want. But the next time you cum will be right before I fuck you, Cupcake. Not. A moment. Sooner. Is that understood?’

The memory alone was enough to make you quiver and nod to no one. The phantom touch of his hands crawled up and down your body, making your muscles fall slack and reduce to liquid. You groaned and flopped over your clothes. What the hell, Mr. Djarin.

But even though you were sexually frustrated beyond belief, to his credit, he was right there with you; he didn’t let you finish him off a single time. He didn’t let you call him Din. He didn’t even let you touch his cock without at least his briefs to separate your skin from his. Ah, to see him in a crumbled state such as your own, how sweet it would be. You stole a glance at the new panties you bought specifically for this trip; he’d get his penance for making you wait this long.

You wondered what he was doing right then as you recovered your composure and shoved a sweater into your suitcase with more force than was necessary. Was he also packing? Or was he pacing around, impatient with his own waiting game? Maybe something else entirely?

Now that you thought about it, you had no idea what that man did for fun. Who he was outside of that office. You’d been working for him for eight months, and even though you’d seen some of the most intimate sides of him, there was so much about him as a person that you just didn’t know.

It seemed like he knew a lot about you. As you thought through the few casual conversations you shared with him, a noticeable pattern of him turning topics towards you began to make itself more apparent. Your travel list. Your favorite sweets. And most recently while making the travel arrangements, your preferred airplane seat. Why didn’t he talk more about himself?

With a breath you stuffed a dress into the suitcase, making a mental promise to use this prime opportunity to peel back a layer or two from the mystery that was Din Djarin.

****

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #boss!au #modern au #corporal

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andrewwtca · 2 months

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when are we reborn? a messy Final Fantasy VII Rebirth essay

FINAL FANTASY VII REBIRTH SPOILERS AHEAD

I just finished Rebirth yesterday. It took me 72 hours. There were some things that I didn’t love—but I loved the majority of it, and god were the things I loved amazing. This is genuinely one of the greatest video games I’ve ever played and one of the most immersive stories I’ve ever witnessed. This is what video games can be. I’ve seen some people call it a must-play and I have to agree. It’s just such an experience.

And, in my typical fashion, my brain already started to literary analyze. The game presents so much in nearly every aspect a theorizer or analyzer would want, leading me to wonder what its forefront means. So behold a very messy impromptu essay about the meaning of Rebirth.

what’s in a name?

Let’s start with Remake. What does its title serve to do? It informs about what the story will give us from three angles: first, a meta angle. It’s letting us know that this is, obviously, a remake of FF7. Secondly, it provides a narrative angle. It’s letting us know that everything we hold true about the world of FF7 will be remade. We learn this through the inclusion of the Whispers, who provide a literal narrative reason for why the story is different this time around. Destiny and fate are now active forces in the narrative. And finally, it provides insight into the characters. It tells us that what we are going to see is the same characters but in a completely new light. This is especially true with Cloud, who we see in the original (hence dubbed ‘OG’ and ‘the OG’) act stoic and standoffish until hours and hours in the game. In Remake, we see the ‘true’ Cloud shine through very early on, through his kindness and headaches.

And Remake is also just a badass name for the series. The Remake trilogy. That’s just good.

What is the meaning of Rebirth then? From a meta angle, we can see that it’s giving birth to a completely new world, one we never got to experience in the OG. With its tens of quests and hours upon hours of side content, we are witnesses to a rebirth of what FF7 is and can be. From a narrative angle, rebirth refers to the establishment of new timelines. The world is reborn time and time again, branches of the original timeline that are usually doomed to end in disaster. (Hence, Sephiroth Reborn.) And finally, when considering the characters? That’s where the word rebirth truly shines.

role call

FF7 is praised for having such a strong cast of characters. While some people may fairly argue how this holds up over the compilation, the OG has a diverse, fun, and just alive cast of characters. From a vengeful man learning how to let go of his anger to fight for justice and his daughter to a teenage ninja wanting to liberate her country, we get such a colorful range of stories that it’s no wonder FF7 attracts such a wide range of fans.

And it’s not just as individuals: as a team, the characters are a delight. They are the essence of found family with a connection to one another that highlights the true theme of the game: that the true way to combat capitalism, threats to the planet, and evil as a whole is through love. It’s hard for me to even pinpoint a single relationship that highlights this the most because they’re all so important to the narrative of each other’s character growth.

We have Cloud who inspires the cast and the cast helps learn him to accept and love himself. We have Aerith who teaches the cast about the world and the cast gives her friendship that she never felt in her life. We have Tifa who teaches the cast about willpower and the cast teaches her self-confidence. We have Barret who teaches the cast about the will to never give up and the cast gives him the steps to giving up his pursuit of revenge and fighting for the ones he loves. We have Nanaki who teaches the cast about their authentic selves and the cast lets him be his. We have Yuffie who teaches the cast about the importance of community and the cast gives her a community that unconditionally cares for her. We have Cid who teaches the cast about finding new dreams and the cast gives him a way to achieve those dreams. We have Vincent who teaches the cast about responsibility and the cast teaches him about self-forgiveness. We have Cait Sith. This is the most bare-bone summary of what they bring each other emotionally, not even touching on individual relationships or their place in combat.

But when talking about this story from a meta perspective, what actually ties these characters together? In the OG, it’s a bit unclear. They all have some reason for fighting Sephiroth and they all have some reason for wanting to save the planet. They have some introduction that gets them on this wild train ride, but what was the reason for putting this cast together? What lets them build this relationship?

Remake and, in particular, Rebirth makes it simple: loss.

giving and taking

With all that Rebirth gives us, we have lost so much. In going from Midgar to the rest of the world, we’ve lost the familiar steel sky, we lose the familiar streets, and we’re thrust into the unknown journey. All our characters lose their normality: Cloud is no longer a slum merc, Barret is no longer with Marlene, Tifa is no longer a bartender, Aerith is no longer a flower seller, and Nanaki is no longer an experiment. (Note for that last one: loss is not always a negative experience.)

In this unknown journey, we are constantly exposed to these two extremes of gaining and losing. Following the Bandits' journey, they lose their bandit identity, gaining one of a corporate entity before forgoing that one and returning to their roots, but in a new light. Following Kyrie’s journey, she constantly tries to gain a new life as a merc but due to her laziness, loses it before reuniting with her grandmother, the Angel of the Slums, and re-establishing her life in a new light. It might seem like they are gaining, losing, and then returning to their original state, but that original state is gone. Just like how Sector 7 may one day exist again, the plate is gone, those people are gone, and things cannot go back to how they were.

Zack’s entire episode is about this loss of normality. His normal before Nibelheim was Shinra. His normal after Nibelheim was the labs. His normal after the labs was that struggle to survive and take care of Cloud. And finally, when he makes it to Midgar? The world is ending. He’s gained a second chance and he’s about to lose everything for good this time, when he’s already lost so much of his identity. With Aerith unconscious, he has lost any sense of direction and doesn’t know where to go or what to do. He just wanted to start where he left off, but where he left off no longer exists. He has no choice but to forge forward.

All the different timelines show him gaining something: in the timeline where he goes after Cloud’s cure, he gains apathy toward the end of the world. In the timeline where he goes after Biggs, he gains a will to keep going, to reclaim his life. In the timeline where he does nothing, he gains access to an entirely new world; that ending doesn’t quite hit the mark, but it follows the pattern. With all that Zack has lost, at the very end, he gains something, for better and for worse. He has forged forward, through loss gaining something new.

The very game starts with that showcase of loss: Cloud’s retelling of the Nibelheim Incident. Despite his version not being accurate, this tragedy is the epicenter of Cloud’s character and goes on a tidal wave of losing and gaining. It starts with something lost: Nibelheim burning. And then, something gained: Cloud’s status as an experience. Lost: Cloud no longer knows who he is in those experiments. Gained: Zack saves him, and his status is now free. Lost: Zack dies. Gained: Claiming Zack’s memories, Cloud Strife, First Class Soldier is created.

Or, in other words: Cloud is reborn. Again and again, Cloud is reborn. Once as an experiment, again as a free, comatose man, and once again as a SOLDIER (see: a mentally ill, conscious man). Cloud ‘dies’ and is ‘reborn,’ and he is constantly redefining himself, whether by choice (such as in Advent Children) or against his will (such as pretty much every other moment in his life.)

This theme of loss leading to rebirth is shown masterfully in the beautiful Trial of the Ancients sequence. We have Nanaki who loses his freedom, even loses his name, becoming Red XIII. We have Tifa who loses her home, loses her father, and loses everything she’s ever known. We have Yuffie who loses Sonon, leading to an extreme mental breakdown. We have Barret who loses his wife, loses his best friend, and loses his home indirectly due to his actions. And we have Aerith, who loses her mother and loses the only life she’s known.

Not shown in the trials, we know what the others have lost: Cid (whose backstory in OG was his losing the ability to make his dream of going to space come true) who loses so much freedom due to Shinra and loses Elmyra. Vincent who loses Lucrecia and loses his place in life. Cait Sith (see: Reeve) who loses the lives of thousands.

These characters do not know the extent of each other’s losses—they are not even aware of each other’s losses. But they are connected through it. They have all lost so much; and yet, they are reborn.

Nanaki becomes Red XIII who becomes a new, loved Nanaki. Tifa becomes a bartender who becomes a warrior for the planet. Yuffie becomes a part of a new team who becomes her true glowing self. Barret becomes a father who becomes the leader of an AVALANCHE branch. Aerith becomes a new daughter who becomes a florist. Cid becomes a pilot who becomes the team’s pilot. Vincent becomes a non-literal vampire who becomes a leading force against Sephiroth. Cait Sith literally died and was literally reborn.

They are reborn from their memories and through their love. Their loss carries them forward, oftentimes hindering them from connecting with others. And yet, it is that hindrance that connects them. It is the struggle that connects them. What they lose in immediate friendship, they gain in lifelong comradery. For example, Cloud and Barret couldn’t see on the same planet, let alone eye-to-eye when they first met, and they, throughout Remake, became each other’s ride or dies.

Even we, the players, are reborn in the story. We experience the loss of Aerith once again in a new light, in a new tragic twist, and we have gained so much by the reimagining of her character and here we are again, losing.

With every step we take, we are leaving the one behind us. They are footprints that we have made, footprints we cannot erase, but we have left them behind us. And we continue to forge forward a new path. We cannot be born again, for we are already alive. Yet we can reinvent ourselves with the knowledge we have.

who we are

So, who gets to be reborn? All of us.

Every gain is a loss and every loss is a gain. There’s loss, gain, and grief everywhere. Grief is love lingering, and there is love everywhere. Grief is loss and grief is gain. These characters have lost so much, have had so much grief piled onto them that it should surely destroy them, and yet they gain: they become new versions of themselves, for better and for worse.

That is the meaning of Rebirth and that is the message of Rebirth: love, live, lose, and then do it all again. That is what ties us together in life. Love and loss are two sides of the same coin like life and death. There cannot be one without the other. And if you let loss overtake you, you stop living; much like Sephiroth. He let the loss of his normality define him. He lost everything and was reborn one last time as a monster.

We lose every single day. We lose keys and we lose arguments and we lose our minds. And we gain every single day. We gain friends and we gain insight and we gain new ways forward. And so, we are reborn every single day. Every step we take, every word we say, we are redefining who we are, who we want to be, and who we can be. Just like how all of Cloud’s new hobbies (dancing, crossdressing, photography, cards, chocobo racing) in Rebirth give him a new path forward, so too do all our choices. Our fates are up to us, just as it is up to them. We are the ultimate harbingers of our destiny.

So when are we reborn? Every single second we are alive. So make the most of life, and above all, love and lose.

I hope this ‘essay’ was readable. I hope you gained something and hopefully didn’t lose your mind. Thank you for reading!

#ff7 #ff7 rebirth #rebirth spoilers #media analysis #literary analysis is my special interest #andrew's essays #meta essay #ff7 meta #if there's any big issues lmk I wrote this on 5 hours of sleep while fasting #they just make me feel things #grief and love and all that...

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battlekidx2 · 1 year

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The Ghost and Molly McGee Season 2 Thought So Far

I can’t believe I haven’t talked about The Ghost and Molly McGee yet. I have multiple drafts in my docs and on tumblr but I could never really get my thoughts across as well as I would like but I’ve decided to just put my thoughts out here because I really do enjoy this show.

The ghost and molly mcgee is one of those shows that shocked me with just how much I enjoyed it. I think that’s purely because it doesn’t fall into the tone of show I usually lean towards. I usually gravitate towards shows like Arcane, Invincible, Amphibia, and The Owl House to use recent examples. Shows that are very bittersweet (or in Arcane’s case straight-up tragic) and know how to gut punch you with emotional moments. I feel seen in certain aspects of these shows and the hard truths they portray that many people have experienced but that isn’t what I need all the time and the Ghost and Molly McGee perfectly fits what I need outside of those types of shows.

It’s a show that champions joy and connections and it sees the best in people. In a time that seems to be filled with hate and is hard to experience day to day, this is the type of show I need to unwind and feel a bit more hopeful.

The Ghost and Molly McGee had a phenomenal first season. It was an amazing introduction to the characters, world, and themes of the show that ended on a bang with Molly vs the ghost world. I had a lot of excitement heading into the next season, but was unsure of where the show would go from that explosive finale and I can safely say that the second season is off to a great start.

I love the introduction of the Chens and how their profession of being ghost hunters comes into conflict with their friendship with the McGees. It's an interesting dynamic that adds a level of tension to Molly and Scratch’s adventures that wasn’t present in season 1. There wasn’t much of a threat of anyone discovering Molly’s friendship with Scratch or exposing their escapades, especially after Libby was brought into the fold, so I really like the decision to add threats on the human side of things.

The Chens themselves have a lot of potential as characters and are already interesting foils to the McGees. Most of them don’t have much development yet and they are very similar to the McGees in terms of personality, but the show has already set up very interesting plotlines for them.

Ollie in particular has a lot of potential due to his discovery at the end of “I Really Wanna Dance with Some Ollie”. He made the conscious decision to not tell his mother that he discovered that Molly is friends with Scratch which sets up an interesting conflict in his character and it adds depth to his actions and bond with Molly.

Right now he is a copy of Molly in many ways (as are all of the Chens with the McGees) but it’s only a few episodes into season 2 so there are a lot of opportunities for growth.

I also really like June and love that she’s canonically autistic. The Ghost and Molly McGee is great when it comes to representation. It is very racially diverse and I appreciate that it has background/normalized lbgtq+ characters and is now including main characters that are intentionally and explicitly neurodivergent. Representation matters. I’ve written about why I believe representation is important before so I’ll spare the essay but I believe that people being able to see aspects of themselves not depicted as frequently in media in characters on this show, especially this show’s age demographic, is a good thing.

Another development I really liked is what the show has decided to do with the ghost world, specifically the chairman. The idea that Scratch is forced into a role of authority after the events of the finale is really interesting. There are so many directions they can take this idea and it’s a really good way to force Scratch out of his comfort zone and get him to grow. This also expands on the lore in regards to the ghost world which we still know little about. I look forward to the ways in which this can explore Scratch’s character and give us more insight into the show’s lore.

Scratch gets some very poignant character moments even outside of the chairman development in these episodes with the best example being “A Soda to Remember”.

“A Soda to Remember” is my favorite episode of the batch that dropped because of how it juxtaposes Scratch’s character and the glimpse of his past with the wacky antics of the episode. There’s a palpable melancholy to the flashback at the end of the episode that works so well considering the overall tone of the show. It builds a lot of emotion and intrigue around it that makes the episode and Scratch’s arc in it hit a lot harder.

Episodes in The Ghost and Molly McGee almost always end on an optimistic note so that final scene strikes a unique emotional cord within the show. This technique was used sparingly in the first season with it only occurring in the episode “Out of House and Home” when the McGees lose their house and when Scratch is taken back to the ghost world in “The Jig is Up”. The show knows when to slow down and allow these emotional moments to sit which is part of why I enjoy it so much.

This actually might be the plotline I am most interested in seeing explored in the future.

Overall I think the second season of The Ghost and Molly McGee is off to a great start!

#tgamm #the ghost and molly mcgee #molly mcgee #scratch #oliver #june #season 2 #these thoughts are only about #the episodes already released on #disney+

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