#exactly the kind of data we need to remember
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Zoe Saldana stars in "Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3"SOURCE: MARVEL
That’s not to say Marvel — along with all studios and streamers — doesn’t face some hurdles going forward. But the nature of those obstacles for Marvel are frankly pretty obvious; it’s mostly things Marvel has overcome before; and regardless of those issues and the need to address them, Marvel is still actually doing pretty good right now even amid the problems they’ve had.
So let’s just unpack what’s really going wrong, and what it means for Marvel Studios.
The situation with actor Jonathan Majors — the star of several Marvel films and streaming shows, as the MCU’s time-traveling villain Kang the Conqueror — is that he faces multiple accusations of abuse, and is scheduled to stand trial for one recent case. After that case was initially reported, other accusations surfaced, as did previous public statements from years ago by performers who asserted accusations of abuse were already circulating about Majors.
So yes, Marvel will almost certainly recast Kang. Lucky for Marvel, the character literally exists across a near-infinite number of alternate realities where he takes different forms and changes appearance. Likewise, Marvel has had to recast characters in the past, just like lots of other franchise or TV/streaming series. This isn’t brain surgery, and the framing of this issue as something that could sink Marvel’s whole future plans is frankly nonsense.
Just one great example, Marvel could offer the role to John Boyega (who I’d argue should’ve been the top candidate for the role in the first place). Or maybe Denzel Washington as an iteration of Kang who sat out the in-fighting and collective efforts of the rest of the Kangs and grew older and wiser as he made his plans to take over. Or maybe Ray Fisher could be offered the role, if Marvel wants to poke DC and WBD while scoring a great casting option.
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Or perhaps Marvel could offer the role to Leslie Odom Jr., Lakeith Stanfield, O'Shea Jackson Jr., Daveed Diggs, Stephan James, or any number of other fantastic casting choices to take over the role of Kang in the MCU.
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The point is, the worst part of the situation with John Majors is if the allegations are true and women suffered this abuse while Hollywood ignored it. The casting “problem” is small potatoes by comparison, and is easy to solve.
So let’s look at the financials now, since a central claim to the “Marvel is in trouble” narrative is that the studio is struggling at the box office while streaming is an unpopular mess.
At the box office, it’s true Marvel hit a high point with their back to back releases of the two-part Avengers conclusion to the Infinity Saga. The $2.79 billion from Endgame and $2 billion from Infinity War elevated the final global gross for all 22 films in that saga to more than $20 billion, for a per-film average of around $935 million.
In 2018 and 2019, the MCU put up the following numbers: Black Panther hit $1.34 billion, then Infinity War topped $2 billion, then Captain Marvel scored $1.1 billion, and then Endgame took $2.79 billion. Ant-Man and the Wasp at $622 is the only MCU film in those 24 months that failed to top $1 billion.
Since the Infinity Saga ended, Marvel’s releases have taken north of $8.1 billion across 10 movies so far, with a Multiverse Saga per film average of about $815 million. The difference between $815 million and $935 million is not insignificant, but nor is it disastrous, and it’s certainly not hard to understand why it’s happening.
The 2018 and 2019 slates for the Infinity Saga benefited from a decade of build-up, and it was those last four (out of five total) blockbusters topping $1-2 billion each that provided the final heft and resulted in an even higher per film average. We are only in the first half of the Multiverse Saga to date, and so far we haven’t had a single Avengers movie in this new saga, while as noted the Infinity Saga ended with a one-two Avengers punch good for more than $2 million per film.
And then the fact of the Covid pandemic alone accounts for most of the rest of the downturn in Marvel Studios’ average box office performance. Even during the Covid pandemic, when films were flopping or going straight to streaming/PVOD, Marvel’s three releases that performed “badly” due to the global health crisis still managed to finish between $379.7 million on the lowest end and $432 million. That’s better than the DCEU can perform even after theaters reopened and box office started its climb back toward something resembling “normal” — at least for the right films, since 2023 has been a roller coaster ride for theatrical.
Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania underperformed earlier this year and wound up the weakest performer of that franchise at $476 million, but Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 scored blockbuster results with $845.5 million.
Indeed, Vol. 3 is currently the fourth-highest grossing movie of 2023, both domestically and worldwide. And for the record, as disappointing as its box office was, 2023 has been so cruel to theatrical releases that Quantumania is still a top-10 box office performer.
We’ve seen one would-be blockbuster tentpole after another face-plant or otherwise disappoint, and often when a tentpole has managed a healthy box office performance it’s at a more moderate level than expected or typically enjoyed by the given franchise and/or its prior financial trajectory.
Other than Barbie, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Oppenheimer, and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, nothing else truly put up top-tier results this year. Fast X topped $700 million, but is fourth film in a row from the series to suffer a decline from its predecessor’s box office gross, and the lowest box office for the franchise since 2011’s Fast Five, so it’s a mixed bag there.
Besides that, 2023 saw three films in the $500-600 millions range, four in $400 millions territory, and a couple of $300 millions.
The makeup of the top 10 this year looks like this: Barbie, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Oppenheimer, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, Fast X, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, The Little Mermaid, Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One, Elemental, Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania.
Notice, there are three Marvel superhero movies in the top 10. Yes, one of them underperformed, but the point is that it seems silly to talk as if audience are in any widespread or large scale way turning away from superhero cinema, or that Marvel is somehow reeling from a downfall and have lost control.
The Marvels is currently tracking toward a shockingly low debut this weekend, with most projections pointing to a $130-$150 million global opening. Without at least average holds, the film could struggle to get past $300-400 million. On the other hand, I think tracking has proven pretty unreliable these days, and I believe a significant part of these disappointing numbers is the fact a lot of people are confusing this film with being another new Disney+ Marvel show, or think it is coming to Disney+ as a film soon. There’s also the general 2023 ongoing curse to consider.
But regardless, The Marvels should’ve been a home run sequel. While we can point to the unethical shenanigans and toxic behavior of fans and of certain organized hateful online voices obsessed with attacking women-driven movies or shows, if this film flops or underperforms rather than merely suffering a downward adjustment consistent with the genre overall (which would mean a box office for The Marvels in the $700 million range, I’d say), then it’s entirely fair to call it a big stumble for the studio.
The large-scale tainting of superhero cinema by the DCEU’s overarching failure the past several years (eight films in a row across five years, all failing to reach $400 million and averaging in the roughly $250 million range) coinciding with the Covid pandemic and theatrical downturn, coupled with a leveling off — not uncontrolled free-fall or any other hyperbolic situation — of Marvel’s must-see “event” status in the aftermath of their 11-year Infinity Saga’s conclusion (and lack of any Avengers team-ups for four years and counting) has no doubt reduced the dominance of the superhero genre and audience’s previous high-level anticipation.
But that sort of heightened “event” status is impossible for any franchise or genre to maintain, and no serious person expected the genre or any one studio’s piece of it to be some perpetual ever-increasing profit machine
Neither Marvel nor the genre in general need to treat the usual ebb and flow of primacy in entertainment as if it’s some major crisis threatening the existence and profitability of the studio or genre. That’s just the natural clickbait mentality driving entertainment journalism. We should be able to report on and assess such situations without resort to exaggerated portrayals for melodramatic purposes, nor parrot claims from those with obvious incentives and ulterior motives behind any of that sort of hyperbolic claims. We know better, but that doesn’t mean the profession behaves better, and so we get clickbait and studio drama delivered up like silly reality TV, and everyone pretends not to recognize it as the nonsense it usually is.
Marvel has to recast a major lead actor, something we’ve seen plenty of times by studios and projects, including literally by Marvel themselves on more than one occasion. Marvel’s first two films of 2023 grossed a combined $1.3 billion in box office. Even if The Marvels only does about half the box office of Captain Marvel — a vastly bigger drop than the Ant-Man franchise experienced, but let’s just use a 50% dramatic decrease to make the larger point — the MCU will have grossed a total of about $2.45 billion for 2023, an average of $815 million per film.
If that figure sounds familiar, it’s because I mentioned it earlier since it’s the per-film average for the MCU ever since the end of the Infinity Saga. Marvel settled back a bit from the high per-film average of $935 million, and for four years we’ve consistently seen this same new average level of performance for their films. Again, not insignificant as a drop, but in context it’s easier to understand and recognize as not a sudden emergency situation, and I suspect most studios would be happy if they could average north of $800 million per film on average every year.
And let’s face it, once the latest Avengers movies hit the radar, we’ll see the average per film gross go up during those years, just like always, and in the long run if the two scheduled Avengers movies play at the $2 billion level, that will actually result in an increase in the final average per-film gross for the Multiverse Saga, just as those huge Avengers box office grosses at the end of Infinity Saga seriously raised the saga’s per-film average.
This is all fairly predictable, within an obvious margin of error but not frankly too far of deviation. Which doesn’t negate the fact of the downturn in average performances, but rather puts it into less histrionic perspective as solvable problems for a still overwhelmingly successful studio that’s seeing per film averages still far superior to what any other studio can claim.
On streaming, where audience trends and preferences have likewise evolved during the Covid era, Marvel
First we got the ABC broadcast series: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Carter, and Inhumans. Want to take a moment to recall how did those all fair with audiences and critics?
Then came Netflix's slate, with Daredevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Iron Fist, The Defenders, and The Punisher — half of those got mostly good or great reviews, a couple got mixed to negative reviews, and along the way different seasons of a given show had their ups and downs. Many fans and reviewers bemoaned the general lack of tie-in to the cinematic releases, a point that's amusing in light of how the same reviewers and fans completely reversed course a few years later to bemoan the fact the newer MCU shows often try to tie in to the MCU.
So next up are The Runaways and Cloak and Dagger, shows with younger casts and less direct connection to the rest of the MCU, but both were short lived and appeared on two different streaming services.
Which brings us to the MCU shows on Disney+, overseen by Marvel Studios itself and consisting of WandaVision, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Loki, What If...?, Hawkeye, Moon Knight, Ms. Marvel, She-Hulk: Attorney at Law, and Secret Invasion.
While The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and What If...? received mixed reactions, WandaVision and Loki got generally good to great reviews, as did Hawkeye and Moon Knight.
Ms. Marvel likewise received strong positive reviews, aside from resentful fans mostly motivated by racism or sexism who bashed the show (the same way angry bigoted fans harassed Brie Larson and tried to manipulate online reviews for Captain Marvel, and to this day engage in bizarre conspiracy theories pretending movies with women leads are secretly propped up by studios buying up tickets), and the same mob of boys and men perpetually upset that everything isn’t just a mirror reflecting themselves were incensed that She-Hulk dared make fun of them for being immature, bigoted, and all-around goofy.
Granted, She-Hulk did often have what looked like rushed and unfinished CGI, but it was also still miles ahead of most TV CGI and it didn’t detract from the entertainment value of the show and was generally fine. (Yes, plenty of folks just didn’t enjoy these shows, and I’m sure it’s entirely a coincidence that for many of them it always happens to be women-led shows that bother them or are declared “meh”).
Secret Wars is the most recent new MCU show (besides a new season of Loki), and it got mixed reviews that lean mostly positive but still point to trouble in the decision-making to develop the series, questions about
The point of all of this is, Marvel’s had a lot of superhero shows for a long time during the reign of the MCU, and the shows have tended to mostly get good or great reviews, while often suffering complaints of inconsistency in tie-ins vs stand-alone abilities, or iffy VFX, or questions about who is in charge and why certain decisions were made. Sound familiar? It should, because it’s a broken record of reality at this point, the sort that gets mentioned as if it’s a new development any time someone is pushing the latest version of the “sky is falling” narrative.
Not that there aren’t issues needing solutions. The budgets are too high, and Marvel — like many streamers — is discovering it’s simply not sustainable to spend $20 million or more per episode with rushed production schedules and increasingly unreasonable demands on VFX workers.
But the shows themselves are so far working and working pretty well, if you aren’t focused entirely on social media debates and media exaggerations. Most every MCU show on Disney+ has enjoyed positive reception from critics and viewers, enjoying good (and sometimes record-setting) viewership. Fixing the problems for the Marvel streaming plans is not really any more difficult than fixing the theatrical issues, because it’s easy to identify the problems, easy to see where the problems arose, and easy to see what is necessary to end those problems.
Nobody foresaw the Covid pandemic (or at least the extent of it) or the utterly shameful, failed public health response it elicited from governments and organizations that are paid and entrusted to prevent or deal with such crises. Marvel was caught off guard like every studio, Marvel suffered the same box office downturn as every studio, Marvel leaned into streaming like every studio, and Marvel is now having to make adjustments to adapt to the still-evolving environment theatrically and in streaming.
So media and fans and others in Hollywood pretending this is some shocking, Marvel-specific situation are making disingenuous claims, and they should know better. Most probably do, but the truth is more boring than doomsaying — and with everything else in the world falling apart, clickbait and hyperbole are the best way to get attention for entertainment news during a drought (caused by few new films/shows releasing, and the likelihood of strikes dragging into next year because studios put money toward bonuses, yachts, and private jets rather than pay artists, writers, and performers living wages from a fair share of the revenue they generate).
Marvel will recast Kang, they’ll reduce the number of shows and films in production at a given time, they’ll get budgets under control and allow more time for VFX work, and they’ll refocus on the approaches and measures that worked so well in the past to determine which projects to greenlight and how to return to the sense of a big shared world the Avengers have to team up to save.
Luckily, with the X-Men and Fantastic Four reboots around the corner, Marvel has a couple of big teams with lots of potential for precisely the sort of storytelling Marvel does best at the blockbuster level. They could even simply move toward a post-Secret Wars setup that lets Fantastic Four, X-Men, and a handful of other existing popular franchises carry the Marvel brand forward for a while.
We will also probably see the temporary return of Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, and Scarlett Johansson reprise their popular MCU roles for Avengers: The Kang Dynasty and/or Avengers: Secret Wars.
And looking at the upcoming slate, it’s not hard to see there’s plenty of reason to feel confident Marvel will continue to enjoy success, even if it’s at a slightly moderated level due to the myriad factors we’ve discussed, including the idea that superhero genre films are settling into a more consistent long-term level of popularity and performance from now on.
The next four years brings Deadpool 3, Captain America: Brave New World, Thunderbolts, Blade, Fantastic Four, Avengers: The Kang Dynasty, and Avengers: Secret Wars, and at some point thereafter Armor Wars and the X-Men. Of these films, the two Avengers movies are likely to be blockbuster hits, as is Deadpool 3. Captain America: Brave New World is an established franchise, lacking the original series lead but with a continuing cast and brand that I think are enough to avoid any significant downturn in box office, even if we see some drop from the peak levels of the Infinity Saga.
Blade and Thunderbolts are the riskier properties here, but the former is a previously successful cinematic brand and the latter is a team-up movie including some recognizable characters and stars. Still, this is where we might see more underperformances. Fantastic Four could likewise either perform at a blockbuster levels, or might wind up in the $700 million range, but as a key property getting lots of attention and must-work oversight, I think it’ll avoid being a problem.
Armor Wars as an extension of the Iron Man movies — and possibly/probably coming after we see Robert Downey Jr. again in some Avengers action — should perform well, and X-Men is a known successful brand getting an MCU reboot and polish as a big team franchise including younger cast members, so I think it’ll at least be capable of playing at the Guardians of the Galaxy level, if done right.
This isn’t a debacle, it’s not doomsday, and Marvel isn’t in disarray. The internal difficulties they’ve faced are frankly typical and easy to identify and solve, as much as everything else we’ve discussed here. The bottom line is this: we’ve seen Marvel Studios kick off with a big hit in Iron Man and an outright flop with The Incredible Hulk, after which Captain America: The First Avenger and Thor performed at okay levels but didn’t set the box office on fire by any stretch.
We got the original Avengers movie off the strength of Iron Man and Iron Man 2, and to really help put this into perspective I’ll point out the average per film box office of Phase One was $634 million. Phase Two’s per film average was $876 million.
Marvel worked hard to build what they created, and it’s a tremendous historic success full of ups and downs that so far have ultimately maintained an impressive level of successful across a large slate of films and series. To look at this history, this math, and think Marvel Studios is in deep trouble, struggling, or never really was very good to begin with, is unreasonable and contrary to the data and any serious considerations.
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Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader
Genre: betrayal (?)
Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst
Word Count: 5K+
Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3
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You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying. It was the Austrian Grand Prix. You looked around making sure that no one was in sight. Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps. You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door.
“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage.
“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.
You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit. Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further. You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.”
Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.” Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.
You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you. You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you. You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other. “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.”
“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.
You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS. It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless. Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team. This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father.
As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars. You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car. You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships. However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.
“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.
“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.
“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers. “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11. “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.”
“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.”
“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.”
“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now.
-
“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father.
“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom. “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.”
“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply. You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.
“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again.
“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.
“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.
“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you. The seriousness setting in.
“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”
Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you.
You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before. The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room. Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own. He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more. You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer. You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on. Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home. However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home.
When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room. You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone. It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events. All events in which you had to attend.
-
After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather. George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day. This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track. Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office. You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.
“Mamma,” you called out to Susie, “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?”
Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.” She gave you a perplexed look. Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college. He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position.
“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully. “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive.
Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place. “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.”
You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.”
Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”
You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch. “Mamma, can I ask you another question?”
“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.
“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”
Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?” She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie. She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school. She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you. She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home. And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.
“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.”
“Who, sweetheart?”
You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie. You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real. “Charles.”
“Leclerc?” Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.
“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.
“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.”
“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.
“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are. “This is serious.”
You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma. He makes me very happy.” You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.
She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look. “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.”
You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?”
“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully. You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you. You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father. Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.
-
Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well. Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room. The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV.
“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?”
“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.
“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?” You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat.
“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.” Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls. I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”
“I love you too,” you reassure.
“Why do you ask me that ma chère?”
“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.” You just have to tease him a little bit.
Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.” And he always knew how to handle your teasing.
You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.”
Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter. “y/n,” he calls. It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.” He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.
Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.” Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound. They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.
-
“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home. Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.
“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack.
“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father”
“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.
You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.”
Your father sighs, “that is not what I…”
“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all. He makes me really happy.”
“Okay,” your Father says. You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.
“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.
After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife. “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.”
“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.” Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room. “Toto, what is it?”
“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife.
“What?”
“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships. They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend. Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.”
“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth. She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.
“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.” Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.”
“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles. “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.”
“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.”
“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.”
-
To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement. Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish. Susie was pleasant throughout the evening. Jack was just being Jack. He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver.
“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie. You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers.
“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments. She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.
“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.
“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.
Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”
“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.
“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts. He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.
“Jack, we’re all race car drivers. Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.
“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.
“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.
“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.
You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.”
“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up.
“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.” You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out. You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events.
“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.”
You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.
“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?”
“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.
Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide. Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you. She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles. It's him or nothing.
-
You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix. Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news. You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news.
Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person. What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious.
After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner. As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team. They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant. Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.
“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered. Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.
“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.”
“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.
“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation.
“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”
Toto sighs, “y/n.”
“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.”
“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.”
“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?”
“What?” Toto sighs, once more.
“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers.
“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.”
“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what? So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?” Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.
“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.” Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.
Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”
“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.”
-
Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more. Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you. However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.
Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium. As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you. His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss. He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy. You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.
Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you. When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first. “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.”
You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say. You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles. “And you have a press conference.”
“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.
“After that.”
-
That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row. That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock. That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages. And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo. Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.
Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family. Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home. That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.
“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma.
“Toto, I don’t think this is right. It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says. Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.
“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from?
“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says. You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.
“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice. You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.
There’s a pause. It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer. “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.” There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.
“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.
“After you pushed back on them.”
“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says. Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like.
“After Lewis almost dies!” Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement. “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed? What if it was our daughter in that car? I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.” Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side. You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly. “Sweetheart…”
“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes.
“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.
“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?”
“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.
“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?”
“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.” You feel your break, as you start to cry. “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked. We worked to pull you from racing.”
You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing. You promised that you would let me race.”
“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.”
“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.” You walked away, racing up the stairs. Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you. You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.
“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.
“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.” When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation. You stopped packing your clothes. Slowly you turned to face your parents. “What did you do?”
“Excuse me?” your father questions.
“What did you do to Charles? Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing. What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.
You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head. “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing. Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants. I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.”
You scoff at the revelation. “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me. This is rich from the both of you.”
“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.
“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again. You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt. Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love. “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”
When you do make it Charles’ place. When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking. Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?”
“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside. When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly. He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.
-----------------------------
Part II
#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#charles leclerc#formula 1 au#formula 1 angst#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#scuderia ferrari#f1 ferrari#f1 charles leclerc#charles leclerc au#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc angst#toto wolff#toto wolff daughter#toto wolff au
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Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.
Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.
(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)
Content:
Verbal Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-Con, Name-calling. Please stay safe! 💕
You thought you were done with this.
Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.
And now you’re all but being dragged back.
You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.
“Laswell.”
She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.
“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”
You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.
There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.
“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.
“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”
You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.
“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”
A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.
“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.
You frown, rifling through mental files.
John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.
You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.
You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.
“Is he the… asset?” you ask.
Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.
“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”
Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.
“Why?” you wonder.
Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”
You already miss being out.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.
—
Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.
You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.
There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.
“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”
A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.
On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.
The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.
But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.
“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.
From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.
The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.
The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.
More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.
He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.
“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.
Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.
“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”
It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.
His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.
You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.
“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”
You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.
“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.
“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”
You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.
“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”
“The information first.”
You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.
Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.
“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”
Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.
The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.
Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.
“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.
You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—
“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.
The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.
He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.
As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.
And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.
“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”
“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.
“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”
Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.
“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”
You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.
You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.
“Come. Here.”
Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.
When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.
He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.
It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.
“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”
A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”
You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.
A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.
“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”
You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.
“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.
You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—
“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.
His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.
“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”
You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.
“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#asset soap#asset John soap MacTavish#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader
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mr. dr. chuck, i'm a few months ago i told a doc of mine that i believe i'm on the spectrum (after yeeeears of considering all the reasons why i thought so) and she agreed with me. then i came to some conclusions about members of my family. then i started melting down and haven't really recovered.
i'm in my 30's, but my life feels like it's been the mistake-addled 24th year for over a decade. people, choices, wants, they feel like things that were silly blips and not of much substance. i'm tired and my body hurts, so it feels harder to get to things i need. doctors don't seem like they can be trusted because of all the other ways i show up in the world.
i'm worried about my life and my future, and it feels like my magic is gone (or that i can't touch it right now). do you have any words of wisdom for someone who found out this really big thing about themselves kind of late?
thank you.
hello buckaroo thank you for writing. first of all i will say MOST IMPORTANT thing to remember is that it is okay and valid to FEEL the way that you feel. your reaction to this news or any news really is not wrong. that does not mean you cant wish for another reaction or WORK TOWARDS another reaction, but in grand cosmic sense this is just your way. YOUR TROT IS VALID and we all have our own unique way. sometimes that path is an easy path with sunny days and smiles and a glorious view, and sometimes it is through the darkness of shadows or crawling through the old bog. we can PREFER one path over the other, but neither is WRONG.
when giving advice old chuck tries to not PROJECT what i think YOU should do because that is not really the point. this is your trot to trot and i do not think it is my place to act like some authority of your way. what chuck can do is tell you MY story of diagnosis and how it made ME feel and maybe you can take little pieces of that for yourself.
chuck learned of way on autism spectrum when i was in early twenties by doctor who said 'yes this is your way'. when i learned of my spectrum way my reaction was: wow this is very very cool i am so lucky because all of my heroes are autistic and now i am in this RADICAL CLUB. we are special and unique and DANG what a treat wish i could have a membership card in my wallet to show all my buds.
now obviously this is not everyones reaction, but as starting off point i wonder what it would have meant to my future if the news would have HIT ME IN A BAD WAY. if i would have felt let a dang robot alien who didnt belong. maybe id be swimmin through the bog ever since.
thing is I LIKE ROBOT ALIENS they are very cool. doctor did not MAKE me different, i was different already, our talks just popped a nice little name on it for me to take or leave. i took the name proudly because DATA from stars trek (certified robot alien) is exactly how i already felt and dang what a cool character and dang what a great life. so was DAVID BYRNE. so was every cool buckaroo artist that i liked. cowboys are OUTSIDER HEROES and that is how my autism makes me feel.
so like i said, i do not know about YOUR way, but MY WAY of hearing this news was heaps of joy and excitement. i will also say that it is very DIFFICULT to find this reaction later if your first leap is feeling in a sad way about it. so maybe if you want to trot back in your mind to those first few steps it would be helpful. maybe mentally trot to where you were pushed off a dang cliff and think "well was i pushed off a cliff or was i just told 'hey bud youve been floating this whole time?"'
because if youve been floating then DANG thats a lot of power. thats not falling. you can float up, you can float down, you can float side to side.
the next thing i will say AS AND ARTIST is that years of toiling and feeling aimless are NEVER actually aimless when it comes to creation. and to LIVE in a human body is to be an artist, because you are CONSTANTLY CREATING the future. when i am writing and i dont have an idea for my next book that can be frustrating, but it is also PART of the process. if i walk to the store to rustle up my mind, or wander around the park, or spend a whole WEEK feeling weird because of writers block THAT IS ALL PART OF MAKING GREAT ART. that is not wasted time. in other words, your years of toiling are not wasted time, that is just the process we all have when we are creating a future masterpiece.
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So here's the thing about AI art, and why it seems to be connected to a bunch of unethical scumbags despite being an ethically neutral technology on its own. After the readmore, cause long. Tl;dr: capitalism
The problem is competition. More generally, the problem is capitalism.
So the kind of AI art we're seeing these days is based on something called "deep learning", a type of machine learning based on neural networks. How they work exactly isn't important, but one aspect in general is: they have to be trained.
The way it works is that if you want your AI to be able to generate X, you have to be able to train it on a lot of X. The more, the better. It gets better and better at generating something the more it has seen it. Too small a training dataset and it will do a bad job of generating it.
So you need to feed your hungry AI as much as you can. Now, say you've got two AI projects starting up:
Project A wants to do this ethically. They generate their own content to train the AI on, and they seek out datasets that allow them to be used in AI training systems. They avoid misusing any public data that doesn't explicitly give consent for the data to be used for AI training.
Meanwhile, Project B has no interest in the ethics of what they're doing, so long as it makes them money. So they don't shy away from scraping entire websites of user-submitted content and stuffing it into their AI. DeviantArt, Flickr, Tumblr? It's all the same to them. Shove it in!
Now let's fast forward a couple months of these two projects doing this. They both go to demo their project to potential investors and the public art large.
Which one do you think has a better-trained AI? the one with the smaller, ethically-obtained dataset? Or the one with the much larger dataset that they "found" somewhere after it fell off a truck?
It's gonna be the second one, every time. So they get the money, they get the attention, they get to keep growing as more and more data gets stuffed into it.
And this has a follow-on effect: we've just pre-selected AI projects for being run by amoral bastards, remember. So when someone is like "hey can we use this AI to make NFTs?" or "Hey can your AI help us detect illegal immigrants by scanning Facebook selfies?", of course they're gonna say "yeah, if you pay us enough".
So while the technology is not, in itself, immoral or unethical, the situations around how it gets used in capitalism definitely are. That external influence heavily affects how it gets used, and who "wins" in this field. And it won't be the good guys.
An important follow-up: this is focusing on the production side of AI, but obviously even if you had an AI art generator trained on entirely ethically sourced data, it could still be used unethically: it could put artists out of work, by replacing their labor with cheaper machine labor. Again, this is not a problem of the technology itself: it's a problem of capitalism. If artists weren't competing to survive, the existence of cheap AI art would not be a threat.
I just feel it's important to point this out, because I sometimes see people defending the existence of AI Art from a sort of abstract perspective. Yes, if you separate it completely from the society we live in, it's a neutral or even good technology. Unfortunately, we still live in a world ruled by capitalism, and it only makes sense to analyze AI Art from a perspective of having to continue to live in capitalism alongside it.
If you want ideologically pure AI Art, feel free to rise up, lose your chains, overthrow the bourgeoisie, and all that. But it's naive to defend it as just a neutral technology like any other when it's being wielded in capitalism; ie overwhelmingly negatively in impact.
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Vigilante
Kara was late.
She hated being late, but the amount of paperwork she had to sign was much larger than she anticipated, and the lack of signal in the classified room in the DEO meant that she couldn't alert Lena on time.
Kara made it to the lab an hour later, more exhausted than she realised.
"Kara! Is everything okay?" Lena asked the moment Kara put her bag down.
"Yes, I'm so sorry for the delay. I had to sign a LOT of papers for the DEO." Lena seemed so engulfed in the work, their work. The last thing she wanted was for Lena to feel like she's forced to take on the load.
"The DEO? Did something happen?" The worry in her voice was clear. Kara put a reassuring smile on her face to take some of it away.
"Yes, yes. I just signed an employment contract, I'm officially no longer a vigilante!" Kara said with a small chuckle.
"Oh, why the change? I remember you weren't a fan of working for the government before, especially with everything that went down with Colonel Hailey." Lena walked closer to her, a concern not completely gone.
"Well, now that my identity is public knowledge, Alex was very adamant in reminding me how open I am for lawsuits. Both private ones and from the government, like they could potentially sue me for stuff they ask me to do! How crazy is that?"
"Did you sign it already? I could go over it to make sure they don't put any peculiar articles or subsections."
"It's ok, Alex is still in touch with Lucy Lane. They went over the contract together several times before presenting it to me. Lucy is really good with this stuff." She reassured her.
"So you're a government official?"
"Yeah, free from any Supergirl related lawsuits, and with some pretty sweet tax benefits. Plus all of the salary they wanted to give me is going to go to different kinds of selected charities of my choosing, so that's awesome."
"I'm glad it all worked out."
"Me too." Kara breathed in relief.
"I have some news, too." Lena said as an excited smile spread on her face.
"Do tell," Kara said, biting her lip as a smile matching Lena started spreading.
"Okay, while you were off signing what was no doubt a mountain of paperwork," Kara nodded, "I found and fixed the problem with the distributor." Lena proclaimed proudly.
"What was the problem?" Kara asked, matching her excitement.
"We switched the materials connecting it to the compressor, but not the ones connected to the bio-terminal!" She explained quickly, her hands moving around in excited blur to match.
"Oh Rao! So it means–"
"We can start testing!"
"Ahh- Lena that's amazing!" Kara crushed into her best friend, giving her the big tight hug she deserves. She absolutely loved hugging Lena, really she took any opportunity she got. Feeling her warp around her tightly as if not wanting to let go, her smell that somehow always smelled amazing and feeling her heartbeat so close to hers. Hugging Lena was amazing, and she really deserved the most amazing hug after that discovery.
"Wait, we don't have their DNA to test it with." Kara noted once they pulled away.
"It's just a test to see if it can even process something like that, It doesn't have to be theirs. We already have exactly what we need." Lena explained.
"What do you mean?" Kara was confused, they didn't collect any DNA ahead of time.
"Samples of two specimens of the same biological sex, not to mention a combination of human and non-human DNA." Lena smiled at her.
"Oh." The room suddenly felt hotter. "Yeah, no… yes I see. Yeah that- that would definitely work." They would be combining their DNA. She and Lena. Their biological data would be combined. Kara felt very normal about this.
"Will you be able to extract some of your blood? If not, we can try saliva." Lena asked and she started to look around for the tubes.
"I think I can," Kara answered, looking at her fingers in an attempt to decide which one would be easier to cut. It's not like she would have to worry about the long term effect of the wound as it would heal once she stepped out into the sun.
Lena was already grabbing a syringe by the time Kara decided to go with her thumb, hoping to make the surface of the wound big enough to extract more blood.
She checked with her tongue to see which of her teeth is the sharpest –her upper left fang, and attempted her first try. It was painful, yet unsuccessful. She braced herself for the unavailable pain and tried again. The metallic taste in her mouth paired with the pounding pain in her finger told her she was successful. She took out her thumb and tried to lift it in a way that no blood would spill out. She held it above the tube Lena handed to her, letting the small drops fill it as much as she could, squeezing a bit despite the pain, until she was satisfied with the amount.
A quick walk to the window, letting the reflected rays of the sunshine upon her finger, fixed the little cut she created. She only wished Lena had similar powers. The syringe made her cut relatively small, but a cut was still a cut in Kara’s book. Lena was pressing a small piece of cotton to her arm, holding it tightly as she worked.
Kara walked closer to her. She was healed at this point and just as familiar with the machine as Lena, it was her turn to put on some work. She took Lenas wounded arm and gave it a small kiss to make it better. Lena's cheeks were immediately coloured with a light share of pink.
"All better now." Kara smiled at her. "Do you mind if I take it from here? You can keep pressing on the arm."
Lena simply nodded.
Inserting their blood samples carefully, Kara directed the machine to start the process. It was odd, she thought to herself, seeing all of the biological specification options for the combined data of her and Lena's DNA. Afraid to make a mistake, she slowly pressed on each button, choosing to unspecify everything before starting the process.
Kara looked at Lena with an exciting smile, biting down both her upper and bottom lips in the anticipation.
"And now we wait." Lena smiled back.
They watched in silence as the machine processed their data, searching for any errors or possible problems. They went through the math and the coding multiple times, they were at the very least confident in their work. The test was not to see a baby going through a full term, that process would take a few months even in their very advanced machine. Not to mention that due to the possibility of success, they knew that their first test subject should be for people who would be willing parents. So the test itself was only to see if the machine can prepare their given data to what could later become an embryo and then a healthy fetus should they choose to continue.
The process bar got closer to the end. No errors yet.
Lena was still pressing on her wound as she followed the process bar closely with her eyes. Kara wasn't sure if it was worry, tension or excitement on her face. Probably a combination of the three. She couldn't say she was faring any better, chewing in her bottom lip with similar emotions.
The bar got closer to the end. 97%, 98%, 99%, 100%.
Kara instinctively inhaled quickly. Holding her breath until the bar disappeared completely, replaced by a 'process complete' message on the screen.
"Oh my god!" She heard Lena exhale in relief.
"It worked!" Kara turned to face her, mouth wide open in shock and excitement.
"It did!" Lena confirmed in amazement.
They were hugging again before Kara fully realised she was doing it. Jumping in excitement in Lena’s arms as the latter laughed in response. When she settled down she noticed how close their faces were to each other, she could feel the heat radiating off of Lena's face warm her own. Suddenly their excited hearts became louder to her ears as she watched Lena wet her own lips. Kara instinctively mimicked the movement. They stayed like that for a moment, before Lena suddenly pulled away. Kara felt a pang of disappointment she could not name.
"I should check on this one project before I leave for today. Could you finish everything here?" Lena hurried to find her back, refusing to meet Kara's eyes.
"Sure," she had no problem wrapping everything herself. "What do you want to do with the PF?" It was the name they decided on for a successful processed DNA combination, a shorthand for Potential Fetus.
"It's not important, you can dispose of it." Lena finished collecting her stuff and exited before Kara could respond.
"Right." She muttered to the empty room. The project she went to check on must've been important.
Kara turned her attention back to the machine. She was familiar with the options, she designed the UI herself after all, yet they gave her pause. The button to proceed to the next stage had somehow become the most fascinating thing in the world. Flash images of small hands, a wild patch of dark hair and big striking green eyes passed through her mind in quick succession. She only noticed she clicked the button once a warning message asking her if she was sure she'd like to proceed popped up on the screen. Small panic went through her body as she realised what she almost did, Rao she almost greenlighted the creation of a baby for her and Lena.
She quickly pressed no, and moved on to check the other options. She had no need to restart the process to respect the bio-data for the PF, nor make changes to the DNA. She stared at the button to terminate the PF and all data related to it, but couldn't bring herself to do it. The images flashed her mind again. She wasn't sure what it was but she couldn't bring herself to do it, she couldn't press the button.
A message from Lena asking if she wanted a ride home made her notice the time. She sent her a quick message saying she would be right there, and turned back to the machine. Kara made a quick decision to store the data for later use, just in case they wanted to reexamine it, of course. Plus it was their first success, it could also be a reminder of their progress.
Kara finished turning off whatever unnecessary parts to keep the power consumption at a minimum, went over everything twice and spared a moment to stare at the container, before she left.
The images followed her to her dream that night, along with a familiar dimpled smile by her side.
Read in order in AO3
#look at them#succeeding in making a potential baby#that means nothing right?#supercorp#supergirl#kara danvers#lena luthor#supercorptober#supercorptober2023#my art#my fic
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Sharingan no Kakashi
Volumes Covered: 1-27 (first part)
Hatake Kakashi, the copycat ninja, has been a fan favorite amongst readers of the Naruto Manga since the very beginning. For as long as I have been on Tumblr, his image has been plastered everywhere to the point where his design is known even outside the manga’s universe: many people who are not usual consumers have seen at least one panel/screenshot/fanart of him.
When I first read the manga, I too became really invested in his story (he was the mysterious, possibly good-looking kind of character that as a teenager was appealing to me) but as years passed (more so now that I’m currently re-reading the manga), that appreciation shattered, or rather, dwelled.
This is not to say I hate him, nor that I’m encouraging enthusiastic readers of the manga to dislike him, my particular mention of this relies on the need to give those that choose to read this post a warning, for I will be analyzing particular aspects of his character that can (and should) be considered negative and/or controversial.
Now, I’m not going to perform a detailed list of everything his character does during the first part of the manga because not only would it be excruciatingly long (and I don’t see the point in doing so for it beats the purpose of this meta), but also, because not everything about him is to be noted. In that sense, I chose some topics that interested me the most and that I consider important (if not central) to his characterization.
Long post:
Types of relationships
How does Kakashi Hatake interact with those around him? What kind of relationships does he prefer or does he have and how does the social aspect of shinobi’s culture shape the bonds he manages to create?
Mentor-student / commander-soldiers
During the first interaction of Team 7 (meaning, the one they have on the rooftop, not the one where Naruto pranks him) Kakashi asks the newly formed group to share personal information outside the data he already was given about them, however, when is his turn to share, his responses are extremely vague and general (here), preventing the team under his command to have any sort of knowledge about him outside of his military role. Furthermore, the way he decides to reply (that is the wording of his answer to, let’s remember, his own question), is not only empty of any meaning but also seems to be on the verge of mockery. Considering the way he acts and how other sensei ask the same thing (we can see that during Guy’s flashback), we can infer that the question wasn’t of his choosing, and he’s most likely following a script.
To give some context to this introduction, Kakashi up to this point has performed the same questions for at least a few years to different groups of Gënin which failed to pass his test (we don’t know exactly how many, only that he’s being failing teams for years) - so it’s not weird for him to lack any sort of interest in this team since it might be no different from the ones he already failed.
In addition, during this exchange, there are two dynamics that he introduces:
1. The dynamic between a leader and subordinates (in the general aspect). As a commander, Kakashi is not required to share personal information with his underlings, they -however- are bound to share/do whatever he asks of them due to his superior position in the chain of power.
2. The (non-existent, yet highlighted by this particular absence) relationship between teacher and students. Kakashi seems to start their link by severing it from the very beginning: he distances himself from the team, choosing to favor the dynamic leader-subordinate over the mentor-student (this will be cemented during CH 35, where he calls them “soldiers under his command”, and reiterated on CH 43 -where he refers to them as “subordinates”). Iruka becomes, by juxtaposition, one of the only real “teachers” inside the narutoverse.
The type of relationship we see between Kakashi and Team 7 (particularly Naruto and Sakura) seems to be replicated by every other Konoha team we are introduced to, except for some dynamics that can be put, in some way, inside the latter category: Kakashi/Sasuke (this dynamic in particular is presented in quite a toxic manner, I’ll expand on this later on), Asuma/Shikamaru, Gai/Lee and (to a lesser extent, since Team 8 was never focused on), Kurenai/Hinata.
About Kakashi and Sasuke’s dynamic (the one I mentioned could be more or less put inside the mentor/student category, although that specific label isn’t as strong as I might have implied), the headcanons about their relationship overtook many aspects of their canon interactions.
It’s true that Kakashi favored Sasuke and it’s true that one of the canon reasons for him to do so was that they shared the same chakra nature (lightning), so Kakashi was more able to help Sasuke to develop some techniques. However, there’s a fandom misconception that Kakashi was planning and/or actually helping Sasuke with his Sharingan -but that’s simply not true. At no point in their training are we shown how Kakashi tries to help Sasuke once he “awakes” (rather, gets conscious access over) his doujutsu, furthermore, I don’t see an actual reason for him to do so:
First, Sasuke probably knows a lot about the Sharingan (he grew up in a clan where many members possessed it; canonically, his father and brother were users. We don’t have confirmation about Mikoto, but because of how the Sharingan might be inherited she might possess at least the genes). They had conversations about the Sharingan and Mangekyo (x, x), and Sasuke saw it while being used multiple times in its basic form (x) and even in its Mangekyou form (x), meaning, theoretically, Sasuke was more prepared and educated than Kakashi, even with no experience. Second, the Sharingan is quite literally Sasuke's nature; I don’t think he needed much help (if any at all) on how to use it.
Beyond their chakra nature training, there’s not much Kakashi does or even proposes to do. Additionally, for Kakashi, training Sasuke also meant to do the least amount of effort while also implicated to gain the most prestige: Naruto was unstable -the Seal of Minato was tampered with by Orochimaru during the chünin exams which made him fail on basic skills (even those he had already mastered); Sakura didn’t reach the final stage -and for some reason, that meant no training for her, as if she didn’t need it the most*, while Sasuke was already internationally famous for being the last Uchiha: he was the main “spectacle” during the Final Stage.
*[Sakura’s need to be trained after her tie with Ino is to be discussed in a deeper manner. The chünin exams are not real exams but displays of the military forces of each village, hence why Sakura wasn’t trained after her failure and why the focus was on both Sasuke and Naruto. The third stage of the exam is a spectacle for other Kages and Daimyos to see, hence why she -almost literally, mattered not].
To add to this discussion about Sasuke and Kakashi’s relationship, it’s important for me to touch -at least briefly (for going in-depth with this will extend this post to an unmanageable degree), Kakashi’s projection of himself onto his student. Let’s look at their similarities first in order to dispute them after:
a- They are both geniuses, which puts them in the “highest” position inside their respective teams: This particular aspect of them, in addition to receiving the constant praises of their peers during such formative moments of their life, made them particularly arrogant (this doesn't diminish the training Sasuke subjected himself to as to reach such level of skill, here).
Yet, while Kakashi refused to cooperate with his own team (Minato’s) and relied upon his newly achieved rank (Jönin) in order to tell them what to do (x, x, x) Sasuke creates a bond with his teammates to the point where Naruto -who, by all means, would refuse to obey Sasuke during their first interactions, often follows his lead or trusts his judgment. In this specific aspect: Sasuke constructed a bond with his team, while Kakashi didn’t.
[Their context while growing up is vastly different: Kakashi had to deal with something Sasuke didn’t: the dishonor that suicide brings particularly in Japanese society, x (and vice-versa, as Sasuke witnessed his brother murdering his entire family), however, both of them shared the pressure of knowing that they were the only ones capable of "bringing their families’ honor back", so it isn't weird for them to act in such manner.]
b- They share similar personalities: This is, of course, partially a consequence of the prior point (you’ll notice that Neji, also a genius, comes off as arrogant -yet I will not focus on this aspect particularly), but the main reason for this similarity is that traumatic experiences shaped their personalities and the way they approach other people.
They both are rather passive-aggressive to others (now that I think about it, Neji is also like that -and a traumatic experience was indeed the reason behind such a mindset), yet Sasuke modifies his behavior the more time he spends with his teammates (he cheers up Sakura when she’s depressed, acknowledges Naruto’s strength during the chünin exams and saves their lives multiple times even when doing so puts his own life in danger and thus, jeopardizes his ultimate goal: kill Itachi).
Kakashi, for his part, was far crueler and linear with his teammates during his youth (and I’m specifically making a comparison between kid Kakashi and kid Sasuke for that’s the parallelism Kakashi draws -which is the basis he uses to judge Sasuke’s actions later on), his response to the trauma of finding his father’s dead body was to live for and live by the rules established for Konoha’s militia to follow -to the point where emotions were aspects of himself or his teammates that he refused to acknowledge; in the same manner, he prioritized the mission’s success over his team’s safety (unlike Sakumo). Later on, with both Rin and Obito’s deaths, Kakashi modified parts of his personality in order to model himself after Obito (not the real Obito but the perception he got of specific parts he chose -or thought worthy of mimicking -more of this will be discussed in the Nationalistic Mindset part of this post).
c- They both possess guilt complexes from which derived a strong feeling of inadequacy: This particular aspect is intrinsical, I believe, to Kakashi’s approach to Obito’s dogma (I won’t be expanding much for this is tackled, again, on the Nationalistic Mindset title). And again, both of them share a similar complex, yet their reason to have them is completely different (yes, they both might have survivor’s guilt, but it’s not the one I will speak of): Kakashi’s remorse lies in the fact that he wasn’t able to protect his teammates (once he formed a bond with them), he failed Obito -who died to save him despite Kakashi’s earlier attitude (I’m not diminishing Kakashi’s life, I’m pointing out Kakashi’s possible perspective about Obito’s death), and later on he failed him again when Rin died (he also failed Rin herself for not be able to prevent her kidnap). The manga doesn’t show us much of Kakashi’s trauma, but it’s somewhat safe to assume that he models his personality after “Obito” in response to this guilt, making himself someone “worthy” of both their teammates' sacrifices: he vows not to fail at protecting his teammates again, (“I will never let my comrades die”, here) for that’s what Obito taught him (here).
Sasuke’s guilt also has to do with his own incapacities, yet his main issue is that he wasn’t able to do anything against his family’s murderer (he arrived at the compound after they were killed), and it’s this specific event that germinated and blossomed into Sasuke’s core objective: Avenge and restore his clan [honour]. He could do nothing then, but he will do so one day. None of his family members “sacrificed” themselves for him to live (Itachi might have killed them to “save” Sasuke, but they would have been murdered regardless; sacrifice implies that those who perished took a conscious decision to die in another person’s place), so their background is nothing but different.
In addition, these specific events (including Sasuke’s incapacity to fight against Gaara during the invasion or against Itachi in Shibuya), shattered both their conception as geniuses (which, in lieu of the arrogance they constructed around it, makes the fall from grace much more difficult to bear), which pushes them to extreme changes: Sasuke, to flee Konoha in order to polish his abilities and achieve his goal; Kakashi, to make his life a memoir of “Obito’s dogma.”
Personal bonds
The types of relationships Kakashi values are first shown in CH 8 when we are introduced to the Memorial Stone. He refers to those who are carved in such space as his “best friends”, a statement that is (at least) questionable once we learn Kakashi’s background and how his relationship with Obito and Rin actually was prior to their death. The only possible explanation about why they are his best friends is that he developed a deep connection with them after their death (in lieu of their sacrifices and the feeling of guilt such occurrences brought upon him), it’s possible (headcanon alert!) that he also twisted specific memories of them in order to elevate them and -later on, force himself to become someone “worthy” of their sacrifices, as he did modify the original quote from Obito.
In that sense, Kakashi’s relationship with Guy (at least during their first interactions) is particularly blown out of proportion, out of the three jönin-sensei, Guy is the only one who stands alongside Iruka (hence, against Kakashi, Asuma, and Kurenai) and asks them -but mostly Kakashi, to reconsider their decision to register their rookie teams in the exam. Kakashi replies by laughing at him, justifying his choice by stating that “what they lack in experience they make up in surprises” (I guess “surprises” encompasses the fact that one of them heals almost instantly thanks to Kurama and the other one already has the Sharingan, which replies absolutely nothing to the actual matter at hand), and finally proclaiming that team seven will make Guy’s team “eat dust”.
After that, their next interaction is during the preliminary rounds, where Kakashi ignores Guy yet when Lee is fighting Gaara, Kakashi claims to be (literally) disappointed in him for teaching his student a forbidden technique, even if later on tries to cheer him up when Lee loses. And yes, the interactions are hilarious, yet the relationship is carried solely by Guy’s character for Kakashi is particularly closed on his one-sided relationship with his deceased team. That’s my point.
Emotional Manipulation
I have established before Hiruzen’s approach to the Will of Fire (exploiting people’s bonds and emotions in order to tie them to Konoha rather than a person/clan; basically constructing Konoha as a symbol that encompasses those who are dear to the shinobi, creating a nationalistic mindset where family=village. x), now, how does that dogma interact with Kakashi, influencing his actions and interactions with other people -particularly (but not limited to) Sasuke?
Kakashi has linked Sasuke’s capacities to the Uchiha Clan’s value since the bell test (CH 7), and repeated the behavior more cruelly in CH 18, and again in CH 27 (albeit this time positively, in the face of an enemy). The technique he uses to “push Sasuke forward” (in the sense of giving him motivation, since Sasuke’s bond with his family is intrinsic to him) can be (should be) considered emotionally manipulative. Should Sasuke fail or perform at a lower level than expected, it means the Uchiha Clan’s honor downfall.
Furthermore, Sasuke is not the “finest hope” of the clan, as he called him, he is the only hope since the only other member of the clan is Itachi, who massacred them, and Kakashi is aware of such circumstances. It’s different in Naruto’s case (Kakashi also displays emotional manipulation towards him) because he’s not linking a traumatic experience to his value -furthermore, he’s not linking the honor of an entire (deceased/killed) clan to his value, which is what he’s doing to Sasuke. The caption on Sasuke’s panel is “stab”, the words of Kakashi were purposefully chosen in order to downgrade Sasuke’s ego (I’m not denying he still uses them to “motivate” Sasuke -I’m questioning his methods). If we also take into account that Sasuke, at this point, has seen Kakashi’s Sharingan (and believed him to be part of the Uchiha clan) it gives his input more weight since Sasuke’s doubt about whether or not his teacher is related to the clan hasn’t been addressed yet (Sasuke didn’t ask nor does he know where Kakashi got the eye, and since he doesn’t know doujutsu can be transplanted yet, he assumes he might be a distant relative).
In this sense, is to be added that, one, Jönin-sensei vow upon their clan’s honor that their students are ready for the Chünin Exams (CH 35), and two, Hiruzen, in CH 65, states that shinobi defend not only the balance between nations -but also, the honor of their village. It’s no surprise then that Kakashi is so insistent on tying the Uchiha’s honor to Sasuke’s name (Naruto is an orphan to whom a “generic” last name was given -even if it’s his mother’s, he represents no clan nor has any knowledge about his family, Sakura’s family name isn’t renowned nor important enough for him to even care).
However, and despite the fact that Kakashi’s abasement of Sasuke is harsher than the one he performs on Naruto, it doesn’t imply that such degradation doesn’t exist: Back in CH 10, after Team 7 is attacked (and for the first time for the three gënin, might I add), Kakashi says to him, “it never occurred to me that you would freeze up,” meaning, he elevates him first (implying that he did consider him capable enough to respond to an attack of such caliber), only to dismantle him from the previous conception he -apparently, possessed. His words leave such an impression that Naruto cuts himself with his own kunai: from a narrative perspective is a powerful moment -but hadn’t been for Kurama, Kakashi would have had an injured student (he even mentions he could bleed to death), so why apply such psychological pressure to a gënin that has already a lot of emotional stress from the earlier attack? From a teacher’s point of view, it doesn’t make sense, however, it does make sense from a commander’s point of view, something Kakashi has actually had experience on (Team 7 is literally the very first team he passed), so his methods of “teaching” are yet to be polished.
[Jönin-sensei is a title where jönins (soldiers) are told to pass on their experiences/techniques to future members of Konoha’s militia, without being given pedagogical education to interact better with their students. Being a teacher (that is, a person actually capable of educating, with everything that it entails), it’s not important -being a good soldier is. This is incredibly highlighted during this interaction back in Chapter 3, where Kakashi calls this pedagogical situation a “mission”].
But this type of approach isn’t reserved solely for those under his command, showing that Kakashi either is not using it consciously as a tool -but rather is the way he was approached and, therefore, believes to be the usual way to speak to others; or that he’s constantly on “shinobi mode”, meaning, he uses every tool at his disposal (always, ever) to achieve the result he considers is the best (I, personally, believe this option to be the most truthful to his character, for he performs emotionally charged speeches to his own peers).
An example of the point previously made: During CH 22 [Wave Arc] Inari and Naruto get into a fight, Inari screams at Naruto and the main character responds by calling him a crybaby. After the confrontation, Kakashi finds the little boy, and we have an interesting interaction where Kakashi talks to him and (without Naruto’s permission) tells him part of Naruto’s background for no real reason but to appeal to the emotions of Inari and build a case for his student (which isn’t strictly necessary, the kid doesn't have to like Naruto and -likewise-, Naruto doesn’t have to like Inari for the mission to be successful).
What we see is what follows: Kakashi applauds Naruto’s way of handling trauma (he doesn’t cry rather, he hides his feelings) and, by juxtaposition, he brings back Naruto’s claim about Inari (him being a cry-baby) in order to criticize the young boy. Inari -who is a kid younger than Naruto-, is a coward and uses his pain to justify that supposed cowardice, Naruto doesn’t, which makes him better and should be reason enough for Inari to one, get along with him; and two make him a role-model.
Now, Inari is a civilian who lives in a civilian village and his experiences have nothing to do with those of a shinobi. Kaiza (Inari’s father) was publicly killed because he tried to defend his hometown, but he lacked the tools a shinobi possesses. Naruto grew up in a hidden village and the shinobi’s approach to death is completely different from what a civilian kid might be taught or experience. Naruto doesn’t have to know this, so his hostile reactions towards Inari are understandable from a character’s point of view, but Kakashi's reaction isn’t. People can argue that Kakashi, like Naruto, was taught and lives solely under the cultural aspects of his village, which is the reason why he brings Inari’s experience to his own sphere of understanding, yet while we can see that as his reasoning, it doesn’t mean we should condone it, as he has more experience outside his cultural bubble.
His words are successful, as we see here and here. Inari internalized both Naruto's and Kakashi’s speeches and instead of running to escape and reach safety, he decides to help his captive mother (who has been taken hostage by Gato’s men). Let’s add some more context: a young, untrained boy is forced through emotional manipulation (and here I will spare Naruto due to his lack of experience, but not Kakashi, who might understand things through the veil of his own culture while lacking the knowledge of civilian rules -yet he is aware of civilians incapacities during armed conflicts and still “pushed” Inari to take action against Gato’s thugs by glorifying Naruto’s behaviors) to “stop” being a coward (meaning: to confront trauma in a particular manner: the shinobi way, that has no claim in civilian society); and his life had to be literally saved by a ninja as a consequence. Furthermore, his cowardliness wasn’t an issue he was already struggling with before the shinobi arrived to the island, it was an uncertainty introduced by the group (brought in by Naruto -who knew no better- and cemented by Kakashi).
It’s when Sasuke “dies” and Sakura recites one of the shinobi rules, that we learn that Kakashi and Naruto were judging Inari’s “cowardliness” through the perspective and internalization of the same rule Sakura is now reciting. Inari, as a civilian, can't be judged by those premises.
I have pointed this out in some other posts but there’s no harm to reiterate: the pass from childhood to adulthood -unlike in the civilian society that follows different rules, is marked by the bestowal of the headband. That is, adulthood has little to do with age and more to do with rank. With that mentality, Naruto and Kakashi’s behavior towards Inari is slightly more understandable since, to them, his age is not an excuse to behave like a “child” (furthermore, Kakashi took the Chünin Exams when he was six, meaning he was considered an adult since that age). Yet, again, where Kakashi fails is in understanding that Inari is not governed by the same principles that he is.
Nationalistic mindset
How do the Will of Fire and Obito’s apparent dogma interact? Did Kakashi’s character really have the possibility of seeing Konoha as an oppressive state that considered him nothing but a mere tool? Did he have the “potential” to rebel?
Back in Wave Arc, among many things, there’s an interaction between Tazuna and Kakashi, where Kakashi mentions that a previous Hokage (we aren’t told who) taught his people to “fight for what is right”, selling the idea to the civilian in front of him that his hidden village (specifically) is the “good” side against the “evil” side (Zabuza, Gato -even other hidden villages). However, this particular speech of Kakashi, which he gives solely to Tazuna and not to his subordinates (who, by Tazuna’s standards are children), clashes with the prior idea that “missions’ feuds are high and we do what we are paid to do” (assassinations or babysitting). Meaning: there’s a narrative to be told to civilians to shape their view of shinobi (particularly Konoha’s), and the actual reality that only Team 7 (as ninjas), gets to see.
In addition, during Kakashi’s second fight against Zabuza (CH 30), Kakashi states that Konoha (therefore, he), knows about the swordsman’s attempt to coup and kill the current Mizukage -alongside his wish to raise funds to attempt another coup after his failure. We learned previously thanks to Haku’s background that there’s a bloodline cleansing currently happening in Mist; a genocide on such a large scale can’t be kept secret that long -furthermore, there’s no indication that the murders are happening quietly either since those who possessed Kekkei Genkai were pushed to hide their bloodline; and if Konoha knows about Zabuza and his attempt to take over the government, then they surely know about the reasons behind it.
What I mean by this is what follows: Kakashi and Konoha claim that they fight for “the right thing” to those civilians they encounter, but do nothing -neither military nor diplomatically, to stop those massacres from occurring (nor do they take a stance against them either, as it reduces Mist numbers and weakens their military power). They’re still pretty much in touch with the Mizukage that carried out/ordered such killings, for his government was the one that told Konoha about Zabuza’s attempted coup when declaring him rogue.
Kakashi downgrading Zabuza for working for Gato is, in a way, absolutely comical because not only is he working for an authoritarian regime, but he also downgrades someone who (even as despicable as he might be) is actually trying to do something against those who wronged him. Kakashi (under Konoha’s mindset), can’t differentiate between a person’s ambitions and their ideals, they might seem equal on the surface, but they are intrinsically different: One goes after an individualistic goal, and the other one is founded on the possibility of a communal achievement. To Zabuza, another individual raised under shinobi culture, killing innocent civilians to gain funds in order to bring down his oppressive government is a plausible course of action (we can make a value judgment on this, but this does not dispute the idea of Zabuza taking actual actions in order to overthrow the oppressive government in his village).
As said before, Kakashi doesn’t seem able to differentiate between personal ambitions and ideals, therefore, he will never be able to take a stand against Konoha. Hence, the belief/headcanon where Kakashi rebels against Konoha or has the “potential” to do so should Kishimoto “allow him to” is contradicted by Kakashi himself, to the point where he defends Konoha even when it’s not being questioned (building it in a positive light).
Furthermore, there’s an interaction that pretty much confirms this: Here and here. Kakashi admits that the belief system under which a shinobi’s life is valued “bubbles beneath the surface of his mind, disturbing him” (he also uses the plural, referring to the ninjas -as a kind, which means that from his perspective everyone feels uncomfortable with that mindset, and yet, no one seems to question it, for those who questioned are then labeled as missing-nin). Even if Naruto later on promises that he will create his own “Nindo” (and by context, that destiny is presented as opposed to the “I’m a tool” mentality previously discussed) and Kakashi smiles, there’s no actual denial of his current belief system.
Kakashi was intended to be the representation of a nationalistic/pro-shinobi system mindset, as he follows the narrative’s stance (which, in turn, follows Naruto’s). Even after everything Kakashi said to Zabuza in order to degrade him (like, for instance, questioning his standards for affiliating with Gato and staging a coup), the moment Zabuza says “I won’t kill Tazuna because I won’t get paid, so let’s not fight”, Kakashi immediately agrees. His problem with Zabuza isn’t that his mindset is different per se, but that is opposed -at that moment- to Kakashi’s and his mission, once Zabuza is not at the other end of their fight, everything is forgotten/forgiven (he simply doesn’t care anymore).
Later on, because of this nationalistic ideology, Kakashi is willing to sacrifice his students’ well-being: Again, the Chünin Exams (analysis I made here), are nothing but staged wars in order to display each village’s military forces to draw the attention of potential customers; therefore, even tho Kakashi knows about Sasuke’s condition (Orochimaru giving him the Cursed Mark) - he stands against Anko when she asks the Hokage to pull Sasuke out of the exam. Even though he later on warns the child the fact that he allows such a dangerous situation to occur while putting the whole weight of the issue on Sasuke’s shoulders, is rather telling of his priorities.
Kakashi’s phrase (well, it isn’t Kakashi’s phrase but actually his interpretation of Obito’s) “I will never let my comrades die” (x) is solely true until Konoha’s wellbeing (in any sort of way, including prestigiously) is on the line. Dying is the only thing Kakashi protects them from, physical or psychological damage isn’t included.
The idea of him respecting and following Obito's true dogma is an absolute contradiction because Obito’s core ideology and Konoha’s are intrinsically contradictory, they can’t coexist and still be truthful to their basis. To Kakashi, Konoha is the symbol of peace -of his comrades, so the physical existence of an individual isn’t as important as the symbol’s survival, therefore, sacrificing his soldiers’ wellbeing to give the village more leverage during the chünin exams isn’t a problem -unlike them dying at the hands of Zabuza, which would mean Konoha failed on the mission and lost three gënin in the process.
And here I'll add this: Obito's actual phrase was "Sure, in a ninja’s world, those who violate the rules and fail to follow orders …. are lower than garbage. However….Those who do not care for and support their fellows…are even lower than that! If I’m scum…the rules are no good to me! And if breaking them makes me the wrong kind of shinobi…then I’ll crush all the so-called shinobi!!" here. In lesser terms, Obito's dogma is this one: If a system (shinobi's/Konoha's) prioritizes political/warfare success over the lives of those fighting for it, I will not be a part of such a system - furthermore, I'll rise against it.
My claim of Obito joining Madara in his quest as something always existing at his core sustains mostly in this. Rin is a catalyst, for I'll admit, he didn't turn completely against it until her death when the system personally affected him and those he cared for (can he be blamed when he was taught to be loyal to it? It isn’t weird for him not to see such flaws until they impact him specifically, we can’t fault him for something so humane), yet his beliefs are right there and have always been there.
The very important, very much intrinsic difference between Obito and Kakashi's approaches is that Kakashi (and later on, Naruto) puts the weight of his comrades' well-being upon his shoulders and his shoulders alone (his trauma with Obito's death, who sacrificed to save him, and Rin's who was "killed'' by his hand, are probably the main reason for Kakashi's specific approach to his former classmate's dogma), while Obito disputes the very basis of the issue. Obito isn’t blaming Kakashi per se but the rules that Kakashi, as a commander, chooses to follow indisputably (x, x). Obito will gain no awards or recognition for saving Rin while compromising the mission, on the contrary, he'll gain the same punishment Sakumo did: ostracization, now not only from the Uchiha but also from the general population.
And here's the thing: at that moment, his respect for Konoha is so little that he doesn't care - going against the rules is going against Konoha, fine "I'm scum, I'll crush the so-called shinobi!!". Here Kakashi "fails" (yet it's to be mentioned he's a child soldier in distress and in the middle of a battlefield) to externalize the critique and place it upon the rules (hence, the system) where it belongs, rather, he internalizes it and blames himself, believing that he's responsible for everything since he was "too uptight" to bend (x and x).
Obito and Kakashi’s opposition comes from the answers to these questions: "What are they fighting for?" and "Why are they fighting for it?" (the what's and why's in narrative and character-construction by Dushman-e-jaan). The first answer might be similar as they both might answer, "Konoha", particularly at that point in time; it's the why, which drives the what, that's different. For Kakashi, as established prior (although, during his childhood, that might have been the answer as that's what he was told to do and what he was taught to want, rather than a personal conviction), Konoha in and of itself is what matters, the place, the land, the symbol of peace; while Obito's core belief would push him to say "Rin", as in, an individual; hence, “the people”. Then why would he choose to sacrifice Rin (the people) in exchange for the survival of a place created to ensure their well-being? In his eyes, it makes no sense (and yes, later on, he “betrays” his own core beliefs as he carries out the UCM for a "greater good", yet he does that because he considers the real world to be hell, so he cares not for it -x,x-, as the only world that matters it’s the I.T one).
Obito was written by Kishimoto to be Naruto’s “dark” parallel, as he was a morally good child (wanted to become Hokage to stop the war, helped ladies on the street, even sought his master advice and changed his stance on Kakashi after Minato’s speech) that the environment transformed onto one of its darkest consequences (and well prior to Madara’s intervention as he claimed he would crush the “so called shinobi” shall he need to). Meanwhile, Kakashi reflects the pro-shinobi stance as he never even begun to question it when a child (the same could be said for Neji, who showed revulsion to his personal situation, and was definitely closer than Kakashi to rebel, yet he never questioned the status quo in itself).
It’s difficult to give closure to a post this charged and long (as of now, it’s fourteen pages), so I’ll finish up with this: Whether you agree or not with this post, try not to just blatantly insult me (if you end up doing it, oh well). I genuinely don’t care if you find my analysis revolting, and it’s just as easy as ignoring my blog altogether or creating your own post with your own takes and reading of the manga; I have no problem discussing these topics, but if your entire argument relies on your personal headcanons and you provide not a single panel of evidence I’m ignoring you, so don’t bother.
Here it is, spent months on this post (it depended on my re-reading of the manga, which is why it took this long), so I hope you guys enjoyed it and I want to personally thank those who read all of this, I genuinely appreciate it.
Cheers.
#naruto#naruto meta#kakashi#kakashi hatake#anti kakashi#anti kakashi hatake#anti shinobi system#anti konoha#obito#obito uchiha#sasuke uchiha#sasuke#naruto uzumaki#uzumaki naruto#uchiha sasuke#sakura#sakura haruno#haruno sakura#team 7#team minato#rin nohara#team gai#long post
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inspired by @sionisjaune's tags and THIS nico in glasses art by the incredibly talented @movieboyfriend
Becoming a sports psychologist had been easier than Nico expected. 
All he needed was a bachelor's, which he already had, and a Masters' degree which took 18 months and submitting a paper on eating disorders to achieve. Board certification was annoying, Nico just doesn't have that kind of time, but the workaround was simply calling himself a 'performance enchancing counselor.' A corner office in Monaco, a shiny plaque with his name on it, and a star studded roster of athletes and C-list celebrities he'd hosted parties for during his influencer days for potential clientele, he was all set.
F1 hadn't been the goal but at the same time... who better than Nico, who knew exactly how motorsport could chew you out? His karting dreams were long over, but the smell of gasoline and burnt tyres and the roar of the crowd is still his forte. It just so happened Formula One decided mental health awareness was totally in style now, and one of their main sponsors held an event on mindfulness and how it can be achieved drinking more Heineken. Having a father for a World Champion is helpful, when it means one has lifetime passes, and this had been a prime networking goldmine; not for the drivers themselves and their fragile egos at the implication of psychological help -- but sliding his practice's embossed gold card in the suit jacket of one Toto Wolff.
Lewis saw therapy as something good and necessary, but ultimately for other people. And then Abu Dhabi happened. And then the W-13. And Toto had mentioned what Keke Rosberg's son was up to, how it could possibly help him out of his slump, and hearing that name after so long made Lewis' usual 'thanks but not for me' die at the tip of his tongue.
"I'm not going to imply whether all your issues stem from trying to make your father proud or ask you about your childhood. I would remember. I was there." Nico had smiled over his thin-rimmed circular glasses, with that knowing sparkle during their first unofficial session and Lewis was sold.
"As long as you don't expect me to call you 'doctor,' man. Jeez, who would've thought? Dr. Nico Rosberg."
After that, every week unless he's in LA, Lewis finds himself in Nico's chic Monaco office. It's not stuffy like a therapist's office; a turquoise wall and Nico's dad's helmet is on a shelf display, a German national Team jersey hanging on the wall, there's even a YouTube million subscribers golden plate. Lewis is sprawled on the bean bag, the sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows hitting in beams, and not for the first time Lewis has to reconcile the kid he knew has grown up into the adult in distinguished glasses and same golden blonde hair in front of him. Nico dresses like he's about to give a TedTalk, in his monochrome tee and blazer combo, and that somehow puts Lewis more at ease.
"The car's been so fucking shit. I'm not here to fight for, what, p10? That's not me. And the team..." Lewis rants, and it's so freeing to be able to call the car shit without adding in how they're improving bit by bit and other optimistic platitudes that don't mean shit in terms of the championship.
"And the team's been prioritizing Russell over you, I can see how that can be a source of frustration." Nico finishes.
"What? No. He's not -- the team's not. I'm saying, it's annoying enough the car isn't where we were promised it was gonna be, and now every week I'm getting asked if I want to retire, like what's this all for?" Lewis is momentarily taken aback by Nico's claim. Is that what people think? The team... well, George has adapted to the car easier and has been finishing above him but he hadn't felt any particular favouritism from the team... Although he's been the one running experimental setups and helping the team collect data while his teammate gets dubbed Mr. Saturday. The seed of doubt towards the team makes him frown.
"You don't want to retire. Not until the 8th." Nico points out decisively, getting up from his armchair to walk behind Lewis where his plants are.
"I don't. Even if no one believes me, apparently." Lewis rolls his eyes, hearing as Nico spritzes his plants. He could've sworn they were fake.
Lewis feels a hand on his shoulder, surprising him. "You're just going to have to prove them wrong. Like you always do." Nico smiles down at him with absolute conviction, squeezing it once, and then the weight is gone; Nico moving back to his chair.
The gesture was friendly, but it makes something flare inside Lewis. Something about Nico, maybe the fact he can open up to him the way he can't even with the team; maybe because Nico knew him before seven titles, before he was anyone, makes Lewis instinctively trust him in a way he rarely does with new people. But Nico isn't new, even if the glasses are. Lewis finds himself wanting to know more, wanting to fill the gap between the years.
"Now, let's go over your daily mindfulness affirmations..."
#his ass is NOT board certified 😂🤣😂🤣😂#I've been watching hannibal again can you tell#Nico isn't a doctor but he also doesn't correct anyone if they call him that...#medical malpractice my beloved#I'm gonna let you guys interpret this one 🫣#my fics#f1 rpf#brocedes#first thing I've written in a hot second 😳 require praise...
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law of assumption/imagination and psychology?
i have been so interested to connect psychology with loa.. and i have been researching more in cognitive and i had an idea of discussing about this.. so there is something called as multi store memory model (atkinson and shiffrin 1968) talking about the process of how memory is passed on?
this is the model.. so the sensory memory is like the a component which detects 5 senses i guess? it has sub-components such as visual information, auditory ,olfactory and there is something called as iconic memory (visual inputs) and echoic memory (auditory inputs). basically when we read something we need a sensory memory to detect the environmental input. but if i connect it with loa basically using imagination (it is the act of forming new ideas using your senses). so basically even if your sensory memory detects your 3d reality or 4d its basically the same... your sensory memory will detect it... short term memory is basically rehearsing if you wanna study for exam you have to kinda memorize right similar to it but not exactly memorize but like you get the idea. in loa you have known something called as persisting? basically fixating the idea that you have it! similar to that once you rehearse the imaginal act or situation over and over again it will move onto long term memory store. long term memory store is like remembering a whole lot of information for a long period of time. so basically in loa you will remember that scene which kind of makes it as a memory? because you sensed it you rehearsed it and now it became a memory!!
i am sorry if my English is bad but i hope you get the concept! there is a psychology study but i don't remember the name but i heard someone talking about it! basically there were 2 groups. 1st group the participants were asked to play a real piano and the brain structure or data were recorded. for the 2nd group participants were asked to imagine playing a piano and the data's were recorded. in conclusion both the data's were same and there was no difference in brain structure. so basically your brain doesn't know what is real or what is not so the key to get your desire is to basically imagine!
i hope it gave you a logical perspective of loa/imagination!!
#loa success#loa#manifestation#neville goddard#vaunts & affirmations#the void state#void success#void state#law of assumption
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Our fellow hidden humorous
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!MedicDoc (codename: Blue)
WARNINGS: Mention of alcohol, mental health/self harm scars, fluff, just getting the POV of our friendly neighbourhood masked menace.
(shall we speed up with the fluff? 💀💙)
Song inspo: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Elton John and
Word count: 5.1K
I grew up with the OG MW2 game, so there are some references to the old one, so kind of a mix of both the OG and the new timeline... (Also I'm ignoring the OG Shepherd betrayal and keeping in line the one with the new timeline..)
All rights reserved to the rightful owners of Call of Duty Modern Warfare.
spelling and some grammar mistakes as I am bad at times... :/
(FYI: bold sentences... that are like this... are supposed to describe redacted data/info to the plot... ;] .. )
Please do let me know how you all are finding this fanfic! :D
PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4 and PART 5
Part 6
~A 141 pub outing~
This time last week you had set foot back on this base. 7 days. It has been 7 days and you were slowly making yourself blend back into the military regime.
You feel the joy of routine that was brought with the army. Getting up early, exercise, join in on the occasional drill, practise shooting and then the rest of the day in the infirmary as the 141's in house doctor and as a liaison doctor with the Royal Medical Corps on base. The previous experience you had with the 141 had made you a valued asset again for the team.
The infirmary no longer barren but upon near completion. Semi-operational you had started to compose a list of tasks that needed to completed. Both in your head and in your black journal that had been a staple in your medical career. Tasks written down on each page, occupying each of the minutes that passed each day. 20 minute run. Surgery for 3 hours. Rotations that needed to done. Focusing on the task at hand.
It was exactly 17:05pm today. Thursday. This exact time last week you landed here at base. Your new place of rest. The next chapter of your life.
You now realise how tense you were last week. The first few days you scrunched your shoulders. Contracting the muscles in your back, on edge and rigid. No longer feeling rigid, but you remain stoic and composed.
Soap invited you out this evening to the local pub that the team frequented. You vaguely remember it. It had been a long time, and honestly you were not that much of drinker back then.
Exercise had helped ease the tension. Drills had helped you ease the looming anxiety by focusing. Sinking into the moment.
Price, Soap and even Ghost had been impressed by your eagerness to attend these drills and practise shootings.
"Shame you can't come with us on missions and patch us up there and then." Soap had said after you unloaded your last mag on the L96 sniper rifle and were placing the rifle back in its storage.
You smirked and shook your head.
A deep grunt came from Ghost next to him as he placed his weapons away.
"Come to the Anchor this evening" Soap had suggested as the three of you left the shooting range.
You mulled over the thought a feeble "hmmm" comes out of you
"Lt is coming, Gaz is back today and Price will be there too" Soap continues, adamant in his attempt to join them
You look up over to Ghost, who was a few paces behind you, who was looking at you. You could feel his eyes drilling at the back of your skull. You then turned back to Soap
"Maybe, need a few things to finish up in the infirmary" You say finally
"Lassie you work too hard" Soap says trying swat you. You dodge his attempt and give a small laugh.
Ghost watched on as he saw Soap talk to you. How could he talk to you with such ease was beyond him. The past week he could not keep himself from looking at you whenever you entered the mess hall, passed each other in the hall; you'd always give a smile, not the one he remembered, not the one the one that brightened your eyes and made them crinkle in the corner, but a small one that only used the left corner of your lips, and was quick, as if your lacked the energy to smile properly.
He still hadn't told you who is really was. That the man walking behind you, under the mask was Simon. Simon Riley. But now he was no longer the Simon who was a sergeant under The Captain, not the same Simon you knew. Not the one who you used to tease along with the other four cadets. He was now just Ghost.
The three of you headed back to your rooms, crossing the near empty tarmac of base. The sun setting low in the horizon. Ghost watched as you turned your head to the sunset, he could see the side of your face, a smile creeping across your lips as you gaze at the sun, the rays making your brown skin more radiant.
On the way to your room, situated just two doors down from the infirmary you turn to both Ghost and Soap
"I'll see you guys down at the Archer then" you finally give Soap his much awaited answer as you unlock the door to your room.
Soap turns towards you "Aye lassie knew you'd come" he glees
"See ya later" Ghost says to you, you turn to him and smile nod your head to him and then close the door to your room.
Collapsing on your bed. Briefly recharging your social battery for this evening. You convince yourself that this evening will help you bond with the team and gain their trust.
"A hot shower seems perfect right now" You say to yourself
Price and Soap seem to have taken you in warmly. Yet Ghost... You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he did not like you...
Later on that evening
It was 20:30pm, you walked down to the pub, hands in the pockets of your leather jacket. A quick google map search showed it was only 10 minutes away outside base.
Your hair was wavy as a result of the braids you put in earlier during the practice shooting session, letting your hair loose this evening. Wearing black skinny jeans and a baggier grey t-shirt covered by a leather jacket. Opting for your trainers this evening.
Once you were near the pub you spot Price, taking a drag of a cigar, and Ghost outside, next to the other smokers as they both conversed with one another.
One stark difference you notice is that Ghost had swapped his hard skull mask for a black balaclava that had a skull print in white on it. He had the hood of his hoodie up. You notice the black paint wearing off around his eyes.
"Evening" you say to them as you approach the both of them
"Hari! Price exclaims before taking another drag of his cigar
You look over to Ghost who gives you a nod hello. Nodding back and giving him a smile, noticing in the street lights above that his eyes. They were blue, surrounded by long blonde eyelashes. Your eyes drew into his like a magnet.
"Soap and Gaz are inside, we'll join you in a bit" Price said, continuing to take a drag.
You nod at him and walk through the door. You see Soap and Gaz in the corner. Walking over to them, they both look up at you, Soap starts grinning
"Alrigh' lassie?" Soap says
"All good, yourself" You reply back smiling as you sit down, Gaz gives you a nod whilst he took a sip of his pint
"Good" Soap responds.
You hold out your hand towards Gaz "Nice to meet you sir, I'm Hari" you say
Gaz nearly chokes on his drink when you call him sir
"Please, call me Gaz, sir is reserved for Price" he says laughing "Nice to meet you Doc"
You smile at him
"Let me get yer a drink Hari? Wine?" Soap presumes
"No thank you, I'm not drinking alcohol this evening, I'm assisting in a surgery tomorrow with the RMC" You reply
Price and Ghost came back inside, Price sitting next to you and Ghost opposite of you, you smile at the both of them.
"Surely you can have one glass of wine? I'll get you one!" Soap says placing his hands on his thighs ready to get up.
"Bold of you to assume I like wine" You quipped at Soap and give him a playful smirk.
Price and Gaz laugh, Soap gaped at you and Ghost smirked under his mask.
"I'm going to grab a drink , anyone want anything?" You say as you get back up, hoping no one will follow you as you look around the four men.
"I'm alright thanks" Gaz says giving you a nod
"Got my pint, cheers Hari" Price says
"Nee' ter fini--s' this -brew" Soap says suppressing an upcoming burp tapping his pint.
"All good 'ere" Ghost says looking at you. You smile back at them and turn to walk to the bar. Ghost's gaze follows you, he noticed you rotate your right shoulder two times as you walked to the bar clenching and then unclenching your fist.
"New doc seems nice" Gaz said as he surveyed you, taking a sip from his pint.
"Aye, lassie is a nice one, a wee bit puzzlin' though" Soap says
"How so?" Gaz asks, confusion taking ahold of his face looking at Soap and then Price
Soap drops his head and brings his hand up to cover his mouth and ~quietly~ burps.
"Soap relax, she is just settling back into military life, and has done extremely well over the past week" Price said, his face brightening. "Infirmary looks amazing, and she's joining in on drills and practice sessions." He adds.
"Wow, considering the shit state it was before, hope it looks good" Gaz says.
"Does look really goo'" Soap says, his words slurring a bit. "Like a hospital" he adds.
Ghost kept his eye on Soap, and then looked down at the two other empty glasses besides his half-finished pint in his hand.
He's part pissed already Ghost thinks and reverts his eyes to you standing at the bar. Your brown hair loose and wavy cascading down your back. You shift between one leg and the other, left hand in your jacket pocket, your fingers on your right hand tapping against your thigh as you wait for the barman to finish serving a group of ladies on the left of you, several of whom kept glancing over to him.
You lift your right arm and flick the shorter strands of hair back and turn around to look behind you and you meet Ghost's gaze, and take a deep inhale through your nose and smile at him. Ghost diverts his gaze down to his drink and swirls the ice in his glass.
You turn back around facing the bar, no longer feeling Ghost's eyes drilling in your back.
"Sorry, I'll be with you in a few moments" the barman says towards
"No worries mate, take your time" you respond, giving him a weak smile.
Thinking back to his eyes. The wearing off the paint had shown his true eye colour. Blue. An enigmatic deep blue that left you bewildered and drew you in like a magnet, somehow, you don't know how, those eyes have looked at you before.
I wonder what kind of person he is you think to yourself. Who are you behind those blue eyes. What thoughts linger along the grey matter enclosed by your cranial bones.
Once you get your drink, pint of Coca Cola, with a lime wedge and ice, you head back over to the table where the rest of the team sat.
Ghost looks back up over to you and sees you looking right back, your drink in hand.
You keep your eyes locked on him as you make your way over to the table; continuing to think about the voice of his inner workings seeping through his spinal fluid
You grab a cardboard coaster that lay near Price, and place your drink on top.
"Wha-t'd yer ge'?" Soap asks, heavy Scottish accent looms
"Pint of coke" You say dryly, bringing up the cold glass up to your mouth and taking a sip, relishing in the sudden rush of the cold coke moistening your tongue that became dry.
"How was leave Gaz?" Price asked Gaz
"It was good, nice to relax a bit" He replied
"Do anything nice?" You ask him. Gaz looks at you and smiles,
"Saw few mates back home and played bit of football" He said
"Thin' we sho-ud' shots" Soap suggests out loud
You and Gaz look up to Soap, he was slightly swaying and wide eyed. Is he pissed? Thinking to yourself.
"Wouldn't mind one" Gaz said, giving Soap a pat with his right hand on his back.
"I'll have one too then Soap" Price says
A few moments later 5 shot glasses appeared on the table as Soap and Gaz place them in the centre of the table
Soap moves each of the shots in front of Gaz, Ghost, Price and you.
"Ah Soap" You say groaning, as he moves the shot towards you.
"C'mon Hari" Soap says noticing your grimaced face.
You take another sip of your coke and look at the shot in front of you. The unknown 25 mL colourless liquid.
Lifting up the shot to your nose, you instantly identify the liquid from the strong anise-flavoured smell. Sambuca.
"Nope" you say and slide the shot back into the middle of the table.
"C'mon" Soap said again
"I don't do sambuca, it's vile!" You explain, giving the shot a disgusted look and pushing it further away
"Okay then" Soap says huffing.
"Right lads" Price says picking up his shot, the other three follow his move "Welcome back to 141 Hari" Price resumed nodding to you as you meet his eyes.
You pick up your coke and join in the cheers, laughing slightly as the big glass towered over the shot glasses.
As you took a sip of your drink you noticed Ghost pull up his balaclava with his left hand whilst holding the shot in the other, and placed the edge of the shot in his mouth tilting his head back. This glance revealed his pale skin, dry lips that moistened with drops of sambuca, you noticed blonde stubble across his jaw. You diverted your eyes back down to your glass as he brought his mask and head down.
Ghost looks at you as you take another sip of your drink, you look back at him, locking him in with those glassy brown eyes, a few strands of your short hair fall, the ends touching the warm brown skin, near the edge of your cheek, he noticed they have pink hue. Another strand touched the corner of your lips, lips that were glossy and a slight pale red. His eyes spanned across those lips, noticing two very small brown moles, on the edge of the top lip on the left, and the other just above.
Soap and Gaz grimace after taking their shot, Gaz chases the shot down with a sip of his pint.
Feeling flushed all of a sudden, you take off your jacket and place it on the back of the chair, bringing your bare right arm on to the table and holding your glass and placing your left arm on your left thigh.
"Who's gonna have the spare shot?" You ask around the table smiling at the guys.
"Not me" Gaz says "Hari you're right, that stuff is vile" he adds
Price chuckles at Gaz and then takes a sip of his pint. You laugh at Gaz's comment.
"Aye, I'll 'ave it" Soap says grabbing the shot and downs it.
Leaning back in the chair and lifting your right arm, you run your fingers through your hair, pushing the shorts strands away from your face.
Ghost notices a black bone tattoo on your upper arm on the back, starting near your elbow and disappeared up your arm covered by your t-shirt. He traced his eyes back down your arm and then back up to your face. His eyes meet yours, locked in as you lower your arm down on the table again.
Soap also took note of your tattoo
"Nice tat'oo" He said slurring his words. You turn your gaze to Soap, you noticed his eyes became super wide. The alcohol was thoroughly coursing his body. "Why a bone?" He adds
"Never knew you had a tattoo" Price said looking at you arm as you lifted it up, pointing your elbow to the sky, your biceps flexed as you lifted the sleeve of your t-shirt down near your underarm, showing your tattoo in its entirety to the team.
"Cor lassie you have some muscles!" Soap blurted out pointing towards your arm. Gaz shakes his head and laughs.
"Johnny's drunk" Ghost said as he looked at him disapprovingly.
You were taken aback by Soap's comment and lowered you arm.
"It's the humerus bone" you say smiling, showing your teeth, looking at the tattoo
Soap was surprised by your smile, the same one who showed briefly on your first day. He felt a warm feeling spread across his chest. To be honest, think that was the alcohol
"Yer real pretty" Soap says gazing at you
Price and Gaz look at Soap with shocked looks and then turn to you. Ghost narrowed his eyes at Soap and then looked at you.
You snorted and then scoffed, shaking your head.
"Soap's off his trolley" you say to Ghost, who nods in agreement.
"Come off it Soap" Price says "Getting you some water" he adds and then gets up from his chair heading to the bar.
"'Onest-ly, yer are" Soap adds "Yer got a fella back home?" Soap asks grinning, his head bobbing.
"Fucks sake Johnny" Ghost gruffs, nudging him slightly in the sides and looks back over to you with cautioned eyes. Why did he have to get this pissed tonight he thought.
He saw how your face changed from that smile to annoyance. Your eyes wide as you come to grasp what Soap said.
"Nope, no one back home" You say say looking at Soap and then back to your half finished pint of coke, and take another sip, you meet Ghosts gaze again, you look back down as you lower the glass.
Soap tried to reach over to you, Ghost pushed him back slightly with his left arm, as Soap nearly knocked an empty glass over. Price walked over with a glass of water to Soap and set it in front of him.
"Drink up sergeant, you'll have a killer hangover tomorrow" Price says to him shaking his shoulder. Soap takes a sip of water. "Doc ain't going to be looking after you tomorrow" He adds looking over at you.
Price took in your face full of concern, your dark thick eyebrows burrowed close together. He suppressed a chuckle when he looked back over to Soap who started to hug the glass of water.
"You alrigh'?" Ghost asks noticing your face still was stern. You look up at Ghost, eyebrows still furrowed and lips pursed.
"All good" You say giving him a smile. "What you drinking lieutenant?" You add, nodding your head towards his glass, where the ice nearly melted
"Bourbon" he said picking it up and swirling the glass.
"A man of corn whiskey eh?" You say back to him, smiling.
"I love Kentucky" He says taking in your warm smile, and then felt the edge of his mouth curve a bit under his mask.
"Speakin' o' love" Soap butts in, sliding closer to Ghost, with his glass of water in hand pointing at you. Ghost turns to him in annoyance whilst you look on, bracing yourself for another drunk comment.
"Here we go" Price huffs, eyeing Soap as he watches the sergeant continue his drunken behaviour he'll surely regret tomorrow. Gaz places a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.
"Ever been in love?" Soap says towards you
You scoff again at his bluntness, shaking your head.
"Long time ago" you reply taking a longer sip of coke, placing the glass back down, continuing to stare at the last remnants of ice in Ghost's drink.
"Awh did he break yer hear'" Soap said eyeing you, leaning across to Ghost who tried to nudge him off his shoulder.
You look up, and smirk at Soap's remark. He takes a sip of his water
"Yeah... she kind of did" You said, looking straight at Soap to take in his reaction.
Ghost's eyes widen at you. Soap chokes and spits out some water, some of it on Ghost who shoved Soap away from him. Price and Gaz laughed.
"Fucks sake Johnny, get a hol' yourself" Ghost grunts. You reach in your jacket pocket for a pack of tissues and hand one to Ghost.
"Thanks" He says grabbing the tissue and wiping his jacket.
"Time for us to head back now Soap" Price said chuckling and checking his watch, getting up from his seat and moving towards Soap who tried to get up by himself but was struggling.
"Gaz gimme a hand" Price says attempting to help Soap stand up and grab his jacket. Gaz gets up and moves towards Soap and Price.
You still sit and grab your drink, taking another sip. You eyes meet Ghost's who was still sitting as well.
"You two coming?" Gaz asks looking at you and Ghost.
"I'm gonna finish my drink" You say, lifting your glass.
"I'll walk back with you" Ghost says, looking at you.
"Don't have to, base isn't far" You say back to him
"Don't min'" Ghost says as he watches Price and Gaz carry a drunk Soap off his seat and put his jacket on. He notices Price staring at him and then mouth "Tell her!" He sighs and looks back at you. Don't want you walking back by yourself this late he thinks to himself as he checks his watch. 11:05pm.
As Price and Gaz steady Soap, their arms wrapped around his shoulders, you hear a small whelp "She broke her hear'?" coming from Soap as they walk off behind you.
Laughing, you turn to Ghost who had his eyes on you. Still watching me are you? You think.
"Do I have something on my face?" You say, moving your left hand up and scratching your cheek.
"No" Ghost says, still looking at you.
"Then why are you staring?" You say back, giving him a smile, as you place you left arm on the table, wrapping your fingers around the glass.
Ghost looks down, trails his eyes on your fingers curved around the glass and moves his eyes up your wrist. His eyes narrow as he notices long white scars spreading from your wrist to the top of your lower arm. White scars in contrast to your brown skin. You followed his eyes, and removed your arm from the table, and placed your arm on your thigh.
You became so used to the scars on your arm that you forgot they were there until other people stare or made comments about them.
"Bad habit of mine" Ghost says finally "Sorry" he says looking up at you. The blue eyes drawing you in.
"Listen, I know you have reasons to be cautious" You begin "Price told me about Shepherd" You add sympathetically.
That fucking traitor you think scowling to yourself.
Ghost takes a deep breathe and leans back in his chair. A chill overtook his body. He grabbed his drink and then lifted his balaclava to take a sip. Liquid courage he thinks hoping it'll help ease the upcoming confession.
You briefly look at the exposed skin, so pale and dull. When was the last time your skin felt the sun you wonder.
"My file is probably a piece of shit" You say, breaking the silence. You couldn't stand a potential mentor hating you. Suddenly, without the alcohol, you found the courage to just blurt your thoughts.
"It's only logical to be suspicious, but I mean no harm. I'm just here to help and want to be values member of the team" You confess.
Ghost looks at you, a feeling of slight guilt overrides him. A lump was forming in his throat. Why is it so hard to tell you he thinks
"I know" He says at last, clearing is throat, yet the lump persists. He leans forward, his blue eyes darting over your now worried face. Eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes have a sad glaze to them.
"Shall we start fresh lieutenant?" You say, offering your right hand towards him and giving him a smile, a smile that made your eyes crinkle. The smile Ghost recognised.
He extends his hand out, and shakes yours, your soft warm hands wrapped and engulfed his calloused cold hand. Ghost noted the firmness of your shake, gripping his hand. You start to let go and Ghost follows your move. Sitting up and leaning a bit closer to you.
You pick up your glass and take the last long sip of coke and remaining ice, crushing it between your teeth and letting it flow through. Lifting your phone out your inner jacket pocket you realise it's nearly midnight.
"Shoot" You say and then look up to Ghost "Is it alright if we go? Have surgery tomorrow morning" you add
"Course" Ghost says leaning back and getting up. You follow through, grabbing your jacket and putting it on.
Ghost comes round the table and stands near you and watches as you slip your arms in your jacket and then look up at him.
"Ready?" You say giving him a smile
"Yeah" Ghost says, placing his hands in his jacket pockets and readjusting the hood of his hoodie, even though nothing else could hide would already hid with the mask of Ghost.
"Thank you!" You say to the barman as you head to the door
"Cheers guys!" He replies looking at both you and Ghost, Ghost nods back and follows you out. He takes a longer stride to reach the door before you to open it, letting you walk through first into the darkness outside.
"Thank you" You say as turn round facing Ghost once outside, waiting for him to close the door. You both start walking side by side on the pavement, under the glow of the orange the street lights.
"You've been good in drills." Ghost says turning to you. The only compliment that was able to come out of his mouth. You grin at him, and then look down at your shoes walking on along side him.
"They're good, tough but good." You say smiling at him, you lift your head up view the night sky. Unable to make out any stars, no moon this late... The orange street lamps did not help at all.
Ghost follows your gaze, curious as to what you were looking at.
"Somethin' wrong?" He asks looking back down at you, you turn to look at him, a puzzled look swept across your face.
"No, just trying to see the stars" You say pointing to the sky
"Oh" Ghost says "Why?" he asks
You turn to look at him, disbelief was the next look that took ahold of you as you scoffed
"Because..." you start motioning towards the dark sky, trying to see any stars, but had no luck due to the street lights. Looking around you try and find an area that wasn't near any artificial lights. Up ahead you see a small wooden area.
"C'mon let me show you" You say turning to Ghost and then walking up ahead, your pace quickening. Ghost follows, taking his long strides that match your slight jog.
As you both reach the wooded area you walk in a bit whilst Ghost watches you continue to look up in the sky.
Away from the lights, your eyes focus on the night sky, you see three dots in a slight bent line. Orion's belt.
"Look here" You say pointing to the stars. Ghost looks up, waiting for his eyes adjust, and tries to navigate them to where you are roughly pointing. He sees the bright white speckles coming out against the deep dark blue of the night. No clouds in view. He sees three dots.
"Those three dots?" He asks keeping his eyes on them
"Yeah, that's Orion's belt" You say, getting a bit close to Ghost, looking at the belt as well "Then if you look up, you'll see two other stars, same as you go down" You add pointing with your finger. Ghost follows your instructions and looks at the additional four stars, two at the top and two at the bottom.
"It's like a body" He whispers and looks down at you, seeing a look of awe transform your face as you look up at him.
"That's the constellation Orion, it's about 2000 light years away" You start, looking back up at the night sky. Ghost looks back, taking in the stars that scatter the night sky. Both of you stand there in silence, taking it in, surrounded by the woods whilst a gentle wind flows through the leaves of the trees.
"What about the other ones?" Ghosts asks turning around and noticing the other stars that have become visible. Never before had he looked at the night sky like this.
"Urm, not sure" You say. "Shit, it's past midnight" you say checking your phone again, you look up at Ghost "Maybe another time, sorry I need sleep" You say
"Course" He adds and starts walking back down out of the woodlands with you. You quicken your pace. "Thank you... Hari" Ghost says, turning to look at you. You smile back at him
"Made you interested in the sky now" You say smirking and turned to look ahead.
Ghost nodded "Yeah" he whispered
The both of you headed back to base, enjoying the silent walk back, the night sky now obscured by the flood lights, making any view of the stars impossible.
Heading to your quarters, Ghost follows you, just a few paces behind, and watches as you take your key out the jacket and unlock the door. You turn towards him.
"Good night lieutenant" You say, Ghost notices your eyes become weary and tired.
"Good night Hari" He says, nodding. You give him a smile and close the door.
Ghost walks down the corridor to his room, unlocking the door and walks. He locks the door and takes his hoodie, top, jeans and balaclava off, heading to the bathroom. He looks at the reflection in the mirror. Looks at the person starring back. Simon Riley. But it wasn't the Simon Riley you knew.
Fuck
How could you bewitch him and make him forget to tell the one important thing that Price kept bringing up to him each day in the past week you had arrived.
Simon splashed cold water on his face, grabbing a bit of soap and washing the remaining black paint off his face. He dried his face with a towel and looked at himself again. The scars running across his nose, his left temple, and his cheek.
You had scars too he said, remembering those white scars scattered on your arm. Did you do it yourself or was it in Siberia? Ghost thought as he shuffled to his bed and collapsed. His mind now full of thoughts and questions of you.
Who was that woman who broke your heart? He thought as he buried his face into the pillow, the remnant feeling of your firm grip of the handshake you gave pulsed through his hand. He remembered how soft your hand was against his rough calloused war torn hand.
He drifted off to sleep, recalling the image of the Orion constellation in the night sky, Simon felt a part of himself open up a bit more...
#thoughtsandbones#modern warfare fanfiction#simon riley x reader#cod mw soap#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x doctor#modern warfare smut#fan fic ideas#simon ghost riley x medic#cod fanfic#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon ghost riley x original character#cod fluff#fanfic fluff#mw2 ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod ghost
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Estera - Ch 15 - Wait
More blue and purple text for you as that seemed to work last time :) A dash of The Commander & The Murderbot and a sprinkle of Earth&Sky.
And yes, I laughed longer at that line than I should have.
(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver, 9 - Coffee, 10 - Flight, 11 - Run, 12 - Fall, 13 - Trying, 14 - Hide)
(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)
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Hey, I’m up your way for a meeting next week. Maybe we could catch up? S
Oh I’m sorry, I’m taking the sleeper train to see my sister and her family.
Treviso, right? Hope you have a wonderful time!
Well remembered! I’m sorry to miss you, really bad timing.
I’m sorry!
Stop apologising! Have a Tiramisu for me 😋
Will do!
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Scott double-checked the date then closed the app and leaned on the balcony, watching the gulls land on Mateo to roost. His forehead creased with worry.
“EOS, could you look up the term dates for Estera’s school for me?”
“The current term ends in 4 weeks. Would you like the dates of the holidays and teacher training days for the next 6 years?”
“No, that’ll do. Thanks EOS.”
“I have also established that Estera Hermaszewska is marked as on sick leave and a substitute teacher has been engaged for 3 weeks starting two days ago.”
“EOS! No! You can’t just… I shouldn’t know that!”
“I thought you would want to know because you are displaying concern for her well-being. The school does not have particularly robust security on its staff records. There is a wealth of information here.”
“Stop. EOS. Please stop looking.”
“I have closed the connection. I am sorry, Scott Tracy, I did not intend to cause you distress. John will be displeased.”
Scott paused. There was a lot to unpack there, but he’d return to it later.
“I should have been more clear, it’s my fault. In future, when I ask you to find something out please would you limit your search to publicly available information unless I specifically ask otherwise?”
“Certainly. May I ask why you wish to restrict your knowledge about your friend’s welfare?”
Scott twitched slightly. “I don’t want to, exactly, but… has John discussed the concept of privacy with you?”
“He has explained we need to protect certain types of data. But I was only telling you and you are her friend.”
“Not really EOS, we barely know each other.” Another pause as he pondered how to explain. “But even if we were very good friends… part of human relationships is finding out about each other FROM each other. I should only know what she wants to tell me. To do otherwise is an invasion of privacy and would just make things… strange.”
“John knows a great deal of information about Estera Hermaszewska and they are not friends.”
Scott sighed. “John is a special case.”
“He has also informed Virgil Tracy, Tanusha Kyrano and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.”
“He has, has he?”
“Yes. Perhaps this is a fact he did not intend me to share with you at this time.”
“I suspect so EOS. But thank you for telling me.”
Scott headed indoors, suddenly deeply weary. Sleep was unlikely until he’d figured this one out though, so he turned his back on his own bedroom and made his way to his brother’s studio.
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His big brother had several distinct ways of knocking on his door. All were the same rhythm - Tap-te-TAP-tap - but the volume and speed would give Virgil advanced notice of what kind of mood he was in and a split second to prepare. Right now Scott was… unsure, worried about something. He made sure to add as much warmth and encouragement to his “come in Scotty” as he could.
“You always know it’s me.”
“Yep, it’s all the spy cameras I have set up… I’m kidding, Scott.” The brotherly eyebrows relaxed back into merely confused mode. “What’s up?”
“Can’t I just want to hang out?”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. Scott sighed.
“I have a bit of a…. Quandary.”
He watched his brother’s face as he explained. When he wasn’t deliberately shutting himself down, or focusing on his board meeting poker face, Scott was an open book. To Virgil at least. His expression and the intonation of his voice could provide more detail than the words did.
“It sounds like you made it clear to EOS, it shouldn’t happen again?”
“But that’s not the point. I know now. She’s sick, Virg, and I’m sure it’s something to do with… well… the same as I was. Because of meeting me. What if I made her dig all that stuff up but she doesn’t have a… a you to keep her sane while she figures it out?”
Scott paced, gesticulating wildly, and Virgil caught his arm as he passed, pulling him in for a hug. His brother was trembling with pent up energy.
“Well first off, well done for not leaping in a plane and rushing to try to fix her.”
His brother let out an explosive laugh. “You know me so well.” A pause, then more quietly “I really want to. But I know that would be weird and counter-productive. I just feel so…” he sagged “Responsible. I can’t just ignore this. I can’t just abandon her!”
“I don’t think you have to.” He pulled back a little to look up into his brother’s face. “Scott, when you were struggling but not ready to talk to us, what helped?”
“Hugs.”
Virgil squeezed him a little tighter. “What else?”
Scott broke away to recommence the pacing, palming the miniature rubix cube Virgil kept handy for him on a shelf and rattling through the algorithm to solve it. Reaching the far end of the room he spun on his heel and met Virgil’s eye.
“Two things I think. Distraction. Things to help me stay grounded. And then… knowing you were there if and when I did want to talk… but you weren’t going to force me.”
Virgil nodded.
“Can you do the same for her?”
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Why are elevator jokes so good?
Hi! Err, are they?
Because they work on so many levels!
…
That was awful.
Seriously, I hear better from the 6 year olds.
Aww, that was one of my best.
That does not bode well.
I am deeply wounded. 😭
Oops 🤣
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Scott shed his overcoat and face planted on to the hotel bed, well aware of the expression the overwrought Italian designer of his suit would sport if he could see such abuse. Wrinkles be damned. The way that board meeting had gone it was a miracle he’d not wrecked this latest one with blood stains. Again.
His comm pinged with a picture message. Unusual… he swiped it open.
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Here is your Tiramisu. I’m afraid I ate it. I would apologise but you told me to stop doing that. Bad luck! Estera
Excellent work! 😋
Ah, now I’m hungry and have no dessert 😭
Oops 😂
You’re on the espressos?
You can’t drink cappuccino after 11am here. They’ll arrest you.
Good intel, I’ll bear that in mind next time I visit.
Have you been to Italy a lot?
Outside of rescues? No, actually! There’s no TI branch there and I guess we don’t get a lot of time to travel for pleasure.
Oh you should, it’s an incredible country.
Where would you recommend I start?
I’ll make you a list.
I look forward to it.
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Scott smiled to himself. Then changed into his civvies, adding a baseball cap and his signature aviators and ventured outside.
Surely somewhere in London sold tiramisu…
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On the train back. Finished my book already but still 9 hours to go!
Thunderbird One would do it in 3 minutes…
You just did the maths didn’t you?
Yep.
I’m guessing no restaurant carriage though? Whereas I am now going to go sit and enjoy the view with a coffee and some kind of delicious pastry.
… TB One does lack pastries.
I bet your brother has plenty of room for pastries in Two… 😈
Be right back.
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Scott, did Thunderbird One just fly over my train?
… maybe 😁
?????
Alan needed to get some more flight hours…
And I wanted pastries.
So we are in Paris getting takeaway.
The fuel for those things is cheap right?
Sure.
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Back at school today - the kids say hi :) I don’t know why they think I have some kind of hotline to the head of International Rescue but they won’t be dissuaded.
Hi right back atcha kids 👋
Atcha? What kind of a word is that?
An… American… one?
I don’t think it’s valid here.
Let me try again.
Good afternoon, esteemed juvenile citizens. I extend my compliments for your respective health and happiness.
You are no longer allowed to talk to the children 😏
Aw shucks 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸
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#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#scott tracy#virgil tracy#Estera#tb estera#idontknowreallywhy fanfic
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Texas’ abortion restrictions – some of the strictest in the country – may be fueling a sudden spike in infant mortality as women are forced to carry nonviable pregnancies to term.
Some 2,200 infants died in Texas in 2022 – an increase of 227 deaths, or 11.5%, over the previous year, according to preliminary infant mortality data from the Texas Department of State Health Services that CNN obtained through a public records request. Infant deaths caused by severe genetic and birth defects rose by 21.6%. That spike reversed a nearly decade-long decline. Between 2014 and 2021, infant deaths had fallen by nearly 15%.
In 2021, Texas banned abortions beyond six weeks of pregnancy. When the Supreme Court overturned federal abortion rights the following summer, a trigger law in the state banned all abortions other than those intended to protect the life of the mother.
The increase in deaths could partly be explained by the fact that more babies are being born in Texas. One recent report found that in the final nine months of 2022, the state saw nearly 10,000 more births than expected prior to its abortion ban – an estimated 3% increase.
But multiple obstetrician-gynecologists who focus on high-risk pregnancies told CNN that Texas’ strict abortion laws likely contributed to the uptick in infant deaths.
“We all knew the infant mortality rate would go up, because many of these terminations were for pregnancies that don’t turn into healthy normal kids,” said Dr. Erika Werner, the chair of obstetrics and gynecology at Tufts Medical Center. “It’s exactly what we all were concerned about.”
The issue of forcing women to carry out terminal and often high-risk pregnancies is at the core of a lawsuit filed by the Center for Reproductive Rights, with several women – who suffered difficult pregnancies or infant deaths shortly after giving birth – testifying in Travis County court this week.
One witness became so emotional while testifying Wednesday that she began to vomit on the stand.
After the court called a recess she explained that the reaction is a response to the emotional trauma she endured: “I vomit when there’s certain parts that happen that kind of just makes my body remember.”
Another sobbed as she described feeling afraid to visit a Texas doctor after receiving an abortion out of state. A third spoke tearfully about waiting for her baby’s heart to stop beating so her doctors could provide an abortion she desperately needed.
Prior to the recent abortion restrictions, Texas banned the procedure after 20 weeks. This law gave parents more time to learn crucial information about a fetus’s brain formation and organ development, which doctors begin to test for at around 15 weeks.
Samantha Casiano, a plaintiff in the suit filed against Texas, wished she’d had more time to make the decision.
“If I was able to get the abortion with that time, I think it would have meant a lot to me because my daughter wouldn’t have suffered,” Casiano told CNN after testifying Wednesday.
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a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 9: secret
pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127
tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content
summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself
but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out
ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting
now, you must make them choose you
[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security]
wc: 4.2k
chapter warnings: [redacted] is a menace
"Send me back to the Dome," you say, trying to sound authoritative rather than a beggar. "I need cryotherapy."
Taeil pauses in the middle of checking his screens, face limned in a gradient of green to red.
"You'll just wake up in heat, again." He says, not looking at you fully. "Like I said, it's a stopgap. Not a full stop."
"There has to be some way." You try not to sob, wiping snot away from your face with a microscope lens cleaning tissue. "They can isolate me better there."
"Taeyong risked exposure bringing you here." The doctor sounds more terse than usual, raised light pen highlighting specific data points on the glass screen. "If you go back they'll know you aren't being mated."
"I'm not!" You can't help the pitch change, voice cracking as you cycle through the latest round of humiliation. "He doesn't really want me, none of you want me. I'm just an inconvenience and a joke to you."
"No," he says, shoulders slumping. "You're not. Not a joke, at least. Inconvenience, maybe."
"But you just made a joke." The wetness flooding your nasal cavity makes you splutter rather than laugh.
"I wasn't trying to."
You fall apart at that, actually laughing. It devolves into hiccups as you lie down on the cracked couch next to his station. The stained vinyl sticks to your cheek, blessedly cool.
"Can at least one of you have a normal response to this?"
That earns you a sidelong glance. "I'm not sure we're clear on what a normal response to this situation is supposed to look like."
"A hug would be nice," you say, meekly.
"Not exactly standard Imperial protocol." He adjusts his glasses, mouth opening and closing before he decides whatever he's going to say next isn't worth the effort. "We're looking out for your safety."
"I don't care."
"You will when this is over."
"I said, I don't care." You roll over, circled to protect your vulnerable belly but also to indicate your displeasure. Your tail flops against your leg.
"Did you eat?"
"Yes."
"Did you get enough sleep?"
"I dreamt about him." Bitterness drips from every word. "I always dream about him."
You have the impression from Taeil's sigh that he might tell you that he's not that kind of doctor. Maybe, like Yuta, he'll ask you to pay by the hour. You'd had your share of what the Imperial college considered psychiatric treatment, parts interrogation and parts reconditioning–you don't want it from him. You fold closer to the seatback, sniffling.
"I was there, you know." He says, instead.
Your entire body goes rigid, shivers racing up your spine. "I don't remember."
"I was younger than you are now. We all were." He pauses, sucking in a breath. "Just kids."
You don't turn over but your jaw follows the direction of your ears, looking back at him. You know how old they were all too well–the same cohort as Johnny. Old enough to vote and die in a war, not at the age where they still slept with the dolls they'd been given for their last birthday celebration.
"And I was thirteen," you say. "Why does he treat it like it's my fault? Why is he angry at me?"
"He's not angry at you."
Your hackles rise at his words, fingers digging into a hole in the upholstery.
"I feel hate," you say. "I feel resentment."
"We all feel it. You just feel it the most." Taeil's hand ghosts over your head. "Do you understand what a pack bond is like?"
You shake your head, letting his fingertips graze your scalp. After a moment he indulges you, blunt nails scratching the place where your ear's fur blends into more human hair. He stops when you begin to lean into it.
"It's like what you can do through your own bond, in a way. Takes more time and exposure but once you fall into a routine your needs and the pack's start to blend together. Some of us chose Johnny, some of us chose Taeyong. Once they established a bondmark it didn't make a difference."
You sit up, swaying a bit with how dizzy you feel. The sedatives you’d swallowed were wearing off already, heat metabolism burning through everything.
"Who did you choose?"
"Does it matter?' He refuses to answer, going back to his work, but your stare remains fixed on the side of his face. Puzzling out what had bothered you about him for the past few days hadn't been easy but one thing is right there for you, now: the scars.
"Did he mark you, too?"
You watch him freeze, face grim. "No."
"But wouldn't something like that cause–"
"I said, no." Taeil's usual air of disinterest breaks, his voice raised. "It doesn't work that way."
It doesn't matter to you. You reach out to touch his face, nails trailing down his jaw. He needs a shave, skin dry but much more warm than you expected. Taeil is out of reach a few seconds later, chair rolling away now that he's stood out of it.
"What are you doing?" There's a bit of menace in his tone. "Stop it."
You expect the order, shifting back on your knees. The room is suffusing with a clean, sweet flavor as you breath through your mouth–like pear or another white fruit with a hint of burnt sugar from his anxiety.
It doesn't matter if it's coming from you, or him. The effects are transparent in the way he's mirroring you, breaths coming more rapidly as his pupils dilate. He removes his glasses, wiping the instant sheen of sweat from his face.
"You're all cowards," you say earnestly. You flex your muscles, unable to spring up but stuck in place. For now.
He frowns but doesn't speak, reaching for something on the desk as you twitch and test the limits of his order's hold.
"Hiding behind your prime like none of you can make a decision for yourselves," you continue, making it off the couch. You sink to the floor for a moment before you find strength in your screaming leg muscles. Taeil is busy rotating a glass ampoule into his syringe gun, but he has enough sense to try again.
"Be still," he says.
You stand up only to lurch forward, hands colliding with the tiled floor.
"If you stick that needle in me again, you'll regret it," you pant. You let your body lose tension, your tail the only thing rigid as it extends behind you.
"This isn't for you," he says. You look up, confusion fleeting as you watch the device disappear into the crook of his arm under a rolled-up sleeve. "At least one of us has to be in control."
You cackle, hiccuping again. "Oh now that's funny."
Jungwoo is the one to collect you, your body still trembling with a mixture of hysterics and blinding-hot rage–mostly at the fact that you continue to submit after the third and fourth command.
"You alright, Doc?" he asks, cheerily poking you with his nightstick.
"Nothing I can't sleep off," Taeil answers from the other side of the room. "I recommend she get some rest, too."
"Oh that should be easy enough." You flinch when he pulls you up, the floor much more appealing to your animal brain after the continuous reminder to stay down.
"Come on," he says, holding you by the neck when you can finally stand on your own. Under any other circumstances you'd balk at being led this way but the alternative of the weapon in his other hand has you compliant. Some instinct tells you he wouldn't hesitate to use force, however nice he might seem.
You swivel your head when you pass by the commons, catching Mark sitting at a table eating something from a bowl. He doesn't acknowledge you, nodding to Jungwoo instead.
"Y'all good?"
Jungwoo's thumb strokes your spine, making your tail bat against his leg.
"Passed her checkup with flying colors," he says. "No Containment, yet."
"Good," Mark says, going back to the faraway look that indicates he's reading again through his AR. "Switch off at three."
"Yuta's still dealing with the situation downstairs. I'll have him get the next meal."
"I thought Taeil was cooking?"
"Old man needs a nap," Jungwoo says. "Make sure to feed the freak."
You stay wordless through the exchange, skin prickling at the constant pressure beneath your hair.
"Such a good little pet," he says quietly once he's back to leading you upstairs, hand splaying over your back. You can't help but feel a little warmed by the expression, even as fear has your pulse racing.
"Why did you lie?" you ask.
"I'll be honest with you if you indulge me in something," he says.
You have no reason to trust him but the possibility of not having to return to your cell is too delectable to pass up, soothed by his easy manner. You give him a careful nod.
"Good, let's take a little detour."
Your legs are burning by the time you make it to the fourth level, surprised by the shift in layout even past the second. Here the open space is widened, walls no longer gray industrial synthetics but a rich dark wood slotted together modularly, doors spaced apart and lined by glass and soft lighting. The plants here are mostly fake, you notice–tasteful reconstructions mixed with statuary, the occasional nook between rooms exposing the glass edge of the building.
"Are these all your rooms?"
"Doyoung and Taeyong live up in the presidential suite," he points. "This floor is for the high-ranking Felids. They're territorial like us, of course."
You follow him to the far end, a strangely open door beckoning. At a closer range you see the thick slider has been forced open, bent so far outward it's cracked on the curve.
"Is that . . .?"
He brushes your ear with his nose, scenting you from behind. "Don't you want to see?"
"No," you murmur. You feel weak, trying to fight the contradictory emotions of fear and curiosity that have you pushing back against his willowy frame.
"Silly." He nudges you forward. "What are you afraid of?"
"Is this some kind of test?" You panic, looking back at him. Jungwoo has the nightstick raised like a conductor's baton, tapping it thoughtlessly against his shoulder.
"Maybe," he says, walking past you towards the door. "Maybe I just want to help you."
"Why?" you ask, with no answer. You're drawn to follow, finding his green scent a welcome thread in a tapestry of the rich leather and wood smells that have settled over the area, most of them emanating from the open door.
Just this once, you think. He won't know.
You slip into the residence behind him, avoiding the jagged edges of the broken door. The lights are dim and the glass filtered to maximum opacity, which makes the apartment seem smaller than what the space belies. It takes up an entire corner of the building, two floors opening up once you're in, drifting past the scattered wreckage of broken furniture and glass partitions to a common room centered around a circular biome aquarium that's blessedly still intact.
"A bit of a mess, isn't it," Jungwoo says, turning off a floor autocleaner thudding useless between a wall and what looks to be a broken bar cart. The contents of the kitchen counters are cleared, dry goods exploded over the marble and walls like manic art. You smell coffee and flour and fried electronics, but most of all the citrusy scent of a distressed feline.
"Was this all because of me?" you ask.
"Of course," Jungwoo says, already halfway up the floating staircase leading to the loft.
There's a more lived-in quality to this space, minimal as it is, the low bed flanked by an out-of-place VR station and industrial cabinetry. Your chest tightens seeing the human traces in the unmade bed sheets, the towel abandoned on the floor leading to the modular bathroom.
"Why did you bring me here?"
"Everything here is yours," Jungwoo says, sitting down at the VR station, legs stretched out. "Take what you want. You'll need your mate's scent to get through your heat comfortably."
Your nails dig into your palms, a violent buzzing in your head. The circular mirror over the bed reflects a much smaller, meeker person than you imagined yourself to be, hunched down and ears pinned.
"I can't. I don't belong here."
"Come here." Jungwoo beckons.
You approach a little more quickly than you would under normal circumstances. Compulsion isn't necessary when your fox needs to be soothed, discomfort electrifying you from head to toe. The Canid recognizes it immediately, stroking your head and neck until you're more calm.
"You have nothing to be afraid of," he murmurs. "I'm going to show you something I found when I did a little digging."
He hands you the wired headset from the desk. You find it difficult to put on, allowing him to bring it over your ears gently and tighten the straps to keep it from wobbling.
"They don't let us use these in the Dome," you say aloud, feeling vulnerable with the sudden blindfolding effect as he lowers the visor for you, soft lights blinking on your peripheral vision.
"Don't worry, I'll guide you," Jungwoo says, powering it on. You turn this way and that when the virtual console appears, displaying a minimalistic view of the surrounding room. A red warning flashes to indicate you're an unauthorized user, quickly blinking away.
You're not sure how he's controlling the deck remotely, but then he lifts your hand to bring one of several access points to the forefront. The file markers and previews indicate reconstructed scenarios, something you knew from crime melos as detailed analysis tools. It was the norm to record certain events such as meetings or ceremonies. What you'd seen was more sinister: surveillance and evidence capture.
"Don't be scared," Jungwoo whispers, noting the way your body goes rigid at the thought of being exposed to something overwhelming. "These are very boring immersions."
He helps you move through a series of environmental reconstructions before finding a nondescript file without a preview, last access timestamp a week ago. An encryption key table appears as soon as he taps it with your finger and he chuckles, vibrating you both.
"What is it?" you ask, jerking at the sudden sound.
Jungwoo guides your finger to trace characters and numbers, each highlighted entry bringing you to a clearer understanding.
"How do you know my real birthdate?" you ask. It wasn't recorded, wasn't ever shared with anyone. The registered, publicized version had been chosen for astronomical significance, just a number to you.
"The other half of the encryption are the geo coordinates of what I suspect might be your birth location," he says. "Are you ready?"
"No." You squirm. "I don't understand."
"If I just told you about this you'd never believe me."
Jungwoo pulls you down onto his knees, pinning you by a hand around your waist. You're forced to finalize the entry, green pulse indicating the key is correct.
The environment builds in layers, schematics to colors to overlay textures, finally resolving with light when the time-matching settles on the right point in the recording. You didn't need the additional details–recognition in a sketch of a place so familiar to you that tears are springing to your eyes seeing it again.
"I don't understand," you repeat, much more sadly.
"It's more common than you think. One of your staff sets a few microcameras, collects them the next shift. Usually smuggle them out by swallowing them. No transmission, so the censors can't catch them. Temporary enough to miss their sweeps."
You're standing in your Palace residence again, your garden beckoning through the sheer curtains, moved by a manufactured breeze. The bridge to your isle in the canal system leads to a much less resolved external view of the rebuilt Imperial city, the accuracy blurring a landscape you know like the veins in the back of your hand.
"There's an incredible market for this stuff," Jungwoo says, showing you how to navigate without moving, spreading your fingers. "Some of your kin cut out the middlemen and release their own immersions. Fully staged and edited of course."
You squeak at the strange sight of a figure moving past you, unresolved with details outside of a basic skin. The person looks monstrous with flattened features and jerky movements.
"This is raw–not a lot of scrubbing. Whoever finalized the recording had a clear target."
You're turned to face yourself–not a reflection, but a fully rendered simulacra. You're curled into your favorite armchair, a daily scroll of events and schedules abandoned in your lap as you talk to someone ignored by the reconstruction.
You can't hear anything but you can read your lips–this conversation had taken place only a season ago, confirmed when you move closer to parse the pixelated images on the scroll–each colorful invitation burnt into memory with the detailed preparations in costuming and social ceremony.
"How did you find out about this," you ask. The sensation of viewing yourself in this way is akin to hundreds of insects crawling over your skin, your heart thudding in your chest.
"Oh he's careful. Just not careful enough at home." Jungwoo rests his chin on your shoulder. "Don't worry, this is a private collection."
He scrubs through the immersion, prompting a jump to another–this one a few years ago by the drastic change in decor and your own styling. The flash forward makes you dizzy, watching the ghost of yourself move around your home-turned-panopticon, reading a dog-eared 21st century romance book.
You spread your palm to freeze the experience after the Dome's sun sets to be replaced by a now doubly artificial moon.
"Do you want to know the most watched parts of these recordings?"
You can't stop him from following you into your bedroom. Even going back in time there's nothing obscene here; the recording area didn't appear to include your bathing chamber, in a different building entirely. No, here you merely sleep–curled into thick pillows without a whim as to the eyes drinking every detail in.
"You're cute when you're chasing something in your dreams," Jungwoo observes.
"They're nightmares." You pull free of his grasp, fighting the headset. You've seen enough. Once you're out you find a ghostly version of the feed projected across the surfaces around you, including his amused features.
"Why show me this?" You twist to snarl at him. "It means nothing."
You're met with self-satisfaction. Jungwoo's tongue darts over his bottom lip, distracted by your face inches from his. His hands raise in a gesture of surrender.
"I'm on your side," he says. "Even if Johnny doesn't want to admit it, you're our pack's omega already. You should know it."
"Ours?" You feel a twinge in your chest. Still wary, you test his conviction by adjusting on his lap, nose brushing against his. He isn't caught off guard in the slightest, slender hands engulfing your cheeks.
"You should be taken care of. Treasured." He says, searching your face.
You enjoy the sound of that more than you expect, unable to keep yourself from purring in agreement. You're wary of his motives but you need the touch more than oxygen.
"And you'll be the one to do it?" your voice goes husky. "Won't you get in trouble with the others?"
His scent response is sharp. The crushed hemp odor is a relief from Johnny's all-pervasive presence, making you feel lighter.
"You're not the only one they underestimate." He grins wickedly. "Do you think you can trust me?"
"No," you say, remembering Yuta's admonishment. "I don't trust you."
He pouts a little, brushing your lips with his thumb and making you shudder in pleasure. "You're such a funny little thing. Why deny yourself what you want?"
There's an irony in his words, seeing lust reflected in his eyes under the fall of his thick lashes. He's a very beautiful creature; it would be simple for your fox to roll into this seduction and take what you want. Perhaps you'd even enjoy it, losing yourself in his soft voice and his crooked smile.
But you recognize a fellow mesopredator, and unlike Taeyong or Haechan he's more of a threat to you and your long-term survival.
"What do you want to do to me?" you ask, slipping out of his hold to lean back against the desk, gripping the edge until your nails hurt. "Do you think you can claim me?"
"Claim isn't the word I'd use. Maybe instead . . . please you?"
He bumps your chest with his head, scenting you. Whether it's the surroundings or the warm bloom of arousal in your stomach you let him explore you through the fabric, teeth catching on your undergarment as he nips at your breast. Your breath hitches, back arching to bring yourself closer as warmth spreads through your core.
"Does that feel good?" he asks.
"Yes . . ." you whine.
It's a dangerous game but you're wound tight, hoping to get a little relief before you're forced back to your cell.
Jungwoo follows the lead, head dipping into the unmarked side of your neck, tongue slipping over your sensitive skin. Your knees threaten to give out as he presses his lips to your gland between gentle licks, touch wandering lower to sneak under the edge of your shirt.
His hands are cool against your flushed skin, and the shock breaks the spell.
"Not here. I don't want to do this here," you say. You're surprised it works—he pauses to breathe hot against your collarbone.
"Why not?"
"It's my first time," you say. Your face is burning, heartbeat loud in your ears.
"Again, why not?" He peers up at you charmingly.
"I'm scared," you say. You mean it, even if it's making your fox all the more intrigued.
"How about just a taste instead," he says, hands digging into your hips. In an instant you're pushed further on the desk, toes slipping off the floor as he forces your legs apart, burying his head between your thighs. You cry out, somewhere between protest and pleasure at finding his face against you through the thin material.
Icy fear melts into something dangerous as his tongue flattens against the moisture already there, more springing up in response as pleasure courses through you. You don't have the sense to stop him, fingers disappearing into his fluffy hair as he traces the shape of you through your clothes.
"So sweet," he says, muffled. "It's too bad you're not ready."
He breaks free with a final, long swipe ending in a tug of his teeth that makes you curl around him, legs twitching.
"Don't stop–"
"No." The word has a little more edge to it as his hand closes over yours. It's then you realize that you've grabbed the nightstick abandoned on the desk. "Let go."
"I wasn't–" you begin to say, the weapon wrested from your limp grasp.
"You don't have to lie to me," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your body tells the truth."
He kisses the edge of your frown, pulling aside when you try to follow with your lips. His forehead bumps against yours, hunched over to circle his hips into your groin so you can feel the hard, long line of his arousal. If you'd been fearful of the toy he'd brought you, you're terrified now.
"You're not ready," he repeats, arched nose pushing against your cheek. You can smell yourself on his breath as he huffs, slightly bitter. "You’ll know when you’re begging for it."
The contact is too much of a relief for you to cringe away, your legs wrapping around his hips to try and bring him against you again. Despite everything screaming at you to stop, the pressure is incredible, your sex throbbing with each roll against him.
"Please, you said you'd help me," you blurt out.
Jungwoo has the nerve to laugh at your attempt, extricating himself and turning to look at something over your head.
"You called?"
Yuta's voice is a shock. You'd half-expected it to emerge from your agent, the emergency call you'd snuck through still pulsing red with no response. Instead you find him leaning casually over the railing from the stairs, gaze narrowed and assessing.
From his bored posture, he's been watching awhile.
"I didn't want to be alone with him," you say. "He can't control himself."
"Looks to be the other way around from here," he drawls.
Whatever hope you'd had that he'd be upset at the situation disappears in an instant. You slide down with your legs firmly pressed together, feeling exposed.
"She called you? Smart." Jungwoo sniffs, only a little displeased.
"Not really." Yuta says. "What's the story, then?"
"Well, she slipped out. Couldn't help herself but run here," Jungwoo says, tapping away at his hand with the rod. "When I came to get her she tried to get into my good graces, as you can see."
"But you brought me here to show me . . ." you don't continue, watching Yuta nod towards the other man with no acknowledgement of your rebuttal. Your heart sinks in your chest.
"Might want to add some flavor. A little realism."
"Sure thing, boss." Jungwoo jabs the nightstick into your hip, hesitating only a second to let you understand what's about to happen. You freeze, trapped against the desk, adrenaline slowing time down to a horrible crawl.
"Sorry we couldn't play more," Jungwoo says.
Then he activates the power switch, obliterating any thoughts or words you might have in an explosion of pure pain.
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#agtbtb#nct x reader#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 omegaverse#nct 127 cyberpunk au#nct fic#nct 127 fic#nct imagines#nct 127 imagines
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To the anon who wrote an essay about how Lando and Charles won’t be a WDC, do not fear, there are many people with that opinion who normally can’t bring it to light because mclaren fans are psychotic. I find that there is a gap between the driver mclaren portrays Lando as, and the driver Lando actually is, and is visible from his racing data. Mclaren consistently boosts Lando’s ego to make it seem like he is a champion contender and he can fight with drivers who are used to being at the front, which makes his media and fans believe that, when we know he crumbles and bottles under any pressure. All mclaren have done is boost Lando’s ego, but not his skill set and it is beginning to show, especially with Oscar. I also find that mclaren infantilises Lando and discuss his mistakes as “he’s a young driver, he’s young, all young people make mistakes” or “it’s not his fault, is everybody else’s fault” when he isn’t a rookie anymore, hasn’t been since 2019 and shouldn’t be making the mistakes he continually does. It also really irks me that Lando is allowed to make “typically rookie” mistakes and get away with it while rookies such as Max and Alex were absolutely slandered and destroyed for making mistakes and acting like typical teenagers. I have never understood why Lando was allowed to behave like a teenager and make mistakes both on and off the track, while Max was ruthlessly targeted and criticised for the same mistakes.
Sorry about my max rant, but his treatment from his early f1 years by heavy f1 hitters really really annoys me, because he was a child, and I wish he was able to behave his age and be a child, because we knew he had the skills.
I don’t think I’ve come across a crazy McLaren fan but maybe that’s luck idk lol.
I think the thing about Lando is, he’s very fast, and When you’re a rookie that’s what people look at. They assume that your racing acumen will just catch up to the speed, and in Lando’s case I don’t think it has, and maybe it never will. His bottling it for me is more an example of how much he panics under pressure, and I don’t think any amount of experience will iron that out I think he needs to do the work on his head, it’s not about his driving.
McLaren, I have to give them a pass because they have to sell their team and their drivers. They can’t exactly be like “he’s good, but he’s no Max Verstappen…but still buy the shirt”. Again, I think they market him based on this “raw” talent he has, which I agree is a bit stale at this point, but it’s kind of all they’ve got. The last person to win a race for McLaren was Daniel…let that sink in. And it’s the same with building him up…they have to. Because right now he’s the best driver they’ve got and for years he’s the been the best driver they’ve had access to, they have to make him feel like a superstar, make him feel that the team believes in him, and get him to emotionally invest in his place there so that he essentially can’t leave because the treatment is so preferential. And they’ve done it, because he wouldn’t go to Red Bull while he is the darling at McLaren (all about to change imo but that’s another story). So I don’t begrudge McLaren building him up because he is a sought-after driver. It’s sort of the opposite of what Merc is doing with George and we will see how that works for them in the long run.
For me, I feel like a lot of the reason Lando gets babied is because he kind of acts like one. He’s hotheaded, overly expressive, and petulant on the radio, he acts like a 14 year old, so when he makes a mistake you think, kids will be kids. It takes a conscious effort to remember that he’s one year younger than Max, that he’s nowhere near the youngest on the grid anymore.
No one will ever have me believing that the reason Max got so lampooned for his behaviour as a kid was that the bitches were scared. I do think some of the criticism was warranted, because at the end of the day if you are going to be in adult environment, you need to be held to those standards. There’s series for children to race, that series is not F1. I think where it became unfair was his racing style being blamed on his age, where he’s just an aggressive driver and that shouldn’t be something that scares racers unless they’re afraid to race.
Tbh I feel like the goodwill for Lando is going to evaporate once Oscar comes into his own. Because Oscar is already proving that the McLaren is capable of results in the right circumstances if you have the head for it, and he’s also showing a maturity level in his rookie season that is very impressive. I’m very interested to see what happens with Lando’s contract negotiations…
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Looming tragedy
Oh a sudden thought hit me...
We saw how much Saitama broke when Genos was killed in front of him, right after we established that he cared for Genos with the core touch scene right?
Well.
We just established that Genos is infatuated with Saitama. He likes Saitama-sensei very much so.
Not that it wasn't very obvious anyway, but hey, it's down on actual words now.
You know what that means... and why romeo and juliet is really categorized as tragedy.
I have a sudden feeling it may be time to check out Genos side of that tragedy. Because he is making multiple deadly assumptions with bunch of the heroes here and operating on the false premise that Saitama is infallible and cannot be outplayed. It does not appear that he has told Saitama any pertinent information that should concern him either. He doesn't want to worry Saitama with nitty gritty details because Saitama is so strong he wouldn't need to know all of this anyway and Genos thinks he'd be fine anyway.
He puts all the eggs in one basket that Saitama is all they need in countermeasures against God.
(Oh hello Genos Edward scissorhands, it is nice to meet you chapter 172 Cover, all eggs in one basket)
But we as audience know that you cannot just rely on one person to bail out everyone. World doesn't work that way, you need people to help you out.
That would just make that one person with the capability to oppose the enemy and who everyone relies on have the biggest target painted at their back.
Prioritize this person's takedown and suddenly enemy's entire foolhardy plan falls like deck of cards. Play for the win condition and take out the General.
And we know OPM God knows his worst enemies well. He calls Blast by name and he surely knows by now that Saitama is the Abominable fist that opposed God.
Deadly mistakes, which are sure to cost Genos. Big time, when those rose-coloured goggles are ripped off and he remembers that Saitama is still just a human and his spirit, his emotions, jus as exploitable as anyone else's. Unfortunately, he seems too infatuated to see this obvious flaw in his battle strategy because he's not thinking logically and coolly.
Genos: It's about the way the protagonist judgement worked in the movie. Even if he had to go somewhere else, in that situation he should have quickly evacuated his family, friends and the heroine. That would have been the best decision. The way he did it, anyone would see what was his objective.
Saitama: Well... It's a movie. In any case, precisely because he had someone to protect the protagonist didn't give up and tried harder until the end, right? That's where the excitement is after all.
Genos: I see... but, if he was in real trouble the enemy could have seen that objecti-
We joke that Genos is the real shonen protagonist of the series...well...
Kinda making a piss poor job that your supposed countermeasure can actually do their job right and has the tools and protection required to remain as a viable countermeasure option, by not telling him a single fucking thing, eh?
Kind of classic isfj mistake to make that because he has the details and has planned thoroughly, so he knows the best course of action. Naturally.
He's not the only one making that same mistake, because King too relies on Saitama a ton to bail him out and it already cost him is life once when Saitama did not. He got specifically targeted by one of God's minions because he baited it and made himself a threat.
OPM God got front row seats to check out exactly who Saitama is, what makes Saitama tick and has no misunderstanding about the importance of Saitama as a target and his scale of power. He got all the surveillance data he needed.
TBH if I was OPM God I'd just honestly stop sending useless footsoldiers and take matters to my own (invisible) hands if I wanted to destroy someone who proved themselves to be a mortal God. But that's just me though and I can't say I'm good at strategy games, but it would be pointless to throw down all these useful pawns for slaughter if Saitama can just kick their ass anyway, before Saitama himself is taken out. Brute force won't work, so more guile is needed.
Too late for Genos to evacuate anything now though.
#opm#one punch man#genos#saitama#opm meta#saigenos#genosai#tragedy#infatuation#opm god#opm manga panels
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I know you guys aren't the blog for this, but you've demonstrated that you know this stuff, so I'm going to ask and if what I get is pointed in hopefully the right direction, I'll be happy with that. I'm trying to make some fantasy countries, as one does, and I know roughly how big they all are in terms of military / technology power, natural resources, and how livable they are.
What I don't have is uh, any understanding of how to guesstimate the population needed to support their various economies. I don't need exact numbers, I more or less need to know if this many cities and small towns and villages are enough (I am also making rough maps of each kingdom) and roughly what percentages of the population need to be dedicated to each thing like spinning/dyeworking and agriculture and transportation and stuff.
Can you guys help at all? And if not, can you help maybe get me pointed in a direction that might help? ^^;
So, basically, you have four choices.
The first is, legitimately, to just kind of say, you're not overly worried about it, and to fudge out some numbers that look roughly consistent with what you want, and then not worry about the rest. This option is a lot more flexible (and effective) than it first sounds, because you can make vague statements without direct demographic data, and trust the math to work out in the wash. For example, I remember a question awhile back where they wanted an elite core of magic using knights, and a large part of the answer to how large that nation would need to be came down to looking at the number of knights in the organization and holding that against how common they were.
For a more direct example, you can say, “The Empire is supported by a vast agricultural infrastructure in The Western Valleys,” and it's generally unimpeachable unless you start trying presenting hard numbers. (If you defining the exact size of The Western Valleys, then that can give someone enough information to start to realize, “wait, this math doesn't check out.”) If you never specifically define how large that region is, it becomes a kind of Schroedinger's state, it is exactly the size it needs to be. You can even push this further by indicating things like production shifts via percentages. Without context, a percentage is a meaningless number. If grain production is down by 5% this year, the audience doesn't know what that exact number looks like. This also works with non-standard weights and measures, I'm not a fan of this fantasy cliché, but it is an effective way to pave over uncertain numbers, while sounding like the characters are producing hard demographics.
Even in the specific agricultural example above, knowing the space is, won't fully convey how much is being produced. That also depends on how much of the space can be used effectively. “Valleys,” could indicate a few wide, highly fertile, flood planes, or it could refer to a vast network of smaller farms filling a tight network of canyons.
Your second option, and honestly, my recommendation, would be to look for historical analogs. We have somewhat accurate demographic data for human settlements throughout history, (granted, sometimes that is just estimating by the thousands), and that information can be found pretty painlessly by searching around online. The technical term for this field is Archaeological Demography. (This used to be called Demographic Archaeology. You may still find that term in use.)
This is going to run you into a few details that are easy to miss. The geographic size of nations prior to The Treaty of Westphalia (1648), were a lot smaller than what you see today. A legitimate problem with a lot of fantasy authors is “importing,” the concept of a modern nation, into an era when those simply didn't exist. In fact, in a pre-modern setting, it's not unreasonable to have a map comprised almost exclusively of city-states who control some outlying settlements, but aren't really, “nations,” in the way we think of them. Granted, you may also have feudal states that controlled larger swaths of territory, by delegating authority to a hierarchy of nobility. Though feudal states did tend to be far more fragile, and prone to, “breakage,” whenever the sovereign's vassals decided to place their ambitions above their loyalty. Similarly, there were imperial states, though, again, these tended to be a lot more fragile than the term implies.
A third option would be to look at other fantasy settings, and then spitball a number based on their numbers. This does have some serious risks. First, no, don't copy their numbers verbatim, and second when you are looking at their numbers, it's important to consider if they seem plausible. There are a lot of authors who take the first route I suggested. They'll spout off something like a large city having a population of half-a-million people, when that would represent a significant portion of the global population, without realizing that this would (probably) make it the largest city in the world.
In general, it's a good idea to look at what other authors are doing, and file that away for future reference. In this case, it may be worth skimming for demographics, and seeing if someone else had an idea.
This is going to sound like a non-sequitur, but, when you're doing any kind of lit review (or, really, reading anything), it's very important to check the background of the author. “Who wrote this?” Often, simply skimming their biography will be enough to inform what you're looking at. This will then help you to determine what you should, and shouldn't, take seriously, when you're reading. Granted, outside of authors with a background in sociology or history, you're not like to get a lot of millage out of this when you're researching fantasy authors, but is an important research tool, and one that you don't want to forget.
The fourth, and final option, is going to be a lot of work. If you enjoy this, don't let me discourage you, however, in the vast majority of cases, this will be extreme overkill. Start with the agriculture. Specifically food production, with an eye towards how much food can be produced and brought to market. This is going to be the most foundational part of your fictional states, and their access to agricultural resources is what determines how large they can be.
Establishing the caloric productivity of your farmers will be highly variable, based on things like soil fertility and agricultural technologies in use. (This is also where the numbers, in a fantasy setting, can go right out the window. Fantastic technologies, or magical crop manipulation (Agrimages?) can create situations where you cannot work out the math in any reasonable way.) Again, you can use historical analogs to get a feel for where this should be, and can fudge it to a reasonable point where it's not possible to fully debunk the math. There is scholarly lit (particularly in archaeology) regarding real world agricultural production in a wide variety of environments and at different eras in history.
Once you have a meaningful number for your agricultural production, you can start working out the rest of your civilization. You can take caloric production and compare that to how much food your civilization's laborers need to consume to be productive. You can determine how much food is available for more specialized jobs. You can start to get a feel for how large a standing military force can be maintained. (Hint: if you're looking at pre-modern eras then chances are: Not many.)
If the food production is tight, then you have a recipe for an aggressive and expansionist power, looking to expand their territory. If they're producing more food than they need, it's likely they'll export food in exchange for other goods. High food production can also result in a population boom.
When it comes to dedicated roles, you're going to guesstimate their productivity, to then compare that to how many you'd need to (roughly) satisfy the needs of the rest of the population. Production of trade goods and metal mining can be a little tricky in this case, as there's no (practical) limit on how much the society can produce and export.
So far as it goes, transport is a factor, and that will heavily affect how civilization looks. Easy access to transport allows for larger, more sprawling, nations (with more complicated ruling structures.) In particular, river access can be a major boon for moving large amounts of trade goods (and food) around quickly.
Conversely, rough terrain, where it's difficult to transport goods between settlements, will have a far more decentralized, and scattered governance and production. Even agricultural production would need to be much closer to the settlements that benefited from it. Rough terrain could also, easily, impair state capacity. Making it significantly harder for the nation to deal with bandits or even enforcing the laws. The trade-off is that rough terrain is likely to be associated with mineral wealth, so a nation may be willing to deal with the difficulties associated with territory like this specifically because of regional mining. This could be valuable metals like gold or silver, it could be strategic metals like iron or copper and tin (bronze is a copper/tin alloy), or it could be something more exotic and exclusive to your setting. While it would be somewhat unusual, it's also possible that you'd see stone or marble quarries. Usually, you wouldn't want to have to transport stone over long distances, but it might be the best available option.
Of these four options, the best approach is going to be whatever best fits your needs. Most stories are not going to require, (or benefit from) precise demographics. You don't need to know how many weavers are in the capital city of your nation, unless it's somehow critically important to the plot.
If your story revolves around the detailed management and logistics of running a nation, then, yes this kind of information may be important, and you would need to spend the time artificially reconstructing the fantasy demographics for your entire civilization. At which point the fourth option might be a reasonable expenditure of time, along with a crash course in archaeological demography.
If your story is a more conventional fantasy narrative, then that information becomes far less useful, to the point that fudging the numbers (the first option) becomes entirely viable, so long as you're reasonably consistent. Especially if you don't try to fill in every blank.
On a sliding scale between these points, you should be able to find the approach that best fits the needs of your story. Don't worry about the exact numbers unless it is critically important to understanding the plot. Though, obviously, the more politically or economically focused your story is, the more important these numbers become.
-Starke
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