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nunyabznsbabes · 5 months

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Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes find that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games in the pursuit of vengeance, but later stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games, and he sees the ghost of his own past. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He's up against the version of himself that he once wished to be, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #katniss everdeen #coriolanus snow #president snow #lucy gray baird #peeta mellark #everlark #tbosas meta #the hunger games #thg #snowbaird

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whatbigotspost · 11 months

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Every time I hear someone much older than me talking about how their shame about their bodies and weight have robbed them of all kinds of fun experiences and simple joys and delights in life, it breaks my fucking heart. Older women, in particular, have been shamed into and forced into (and perpetuated themselves) so many stupid narratives about what one "can't do" if you look a certain way. Sometimes they don't even notice it...they'll just casually be saying something like, "I would have loved to play volleyball back in school but this big ass wasn't going to look right in those shorts tee hee" and I'm like that's??? actually??? tragic???????? Especially when it's something they COULD still pursue or try but they've got a fixed mindset about it.

My 84 year old aunt really spent all of her 30s-60s believing that she COULDN'T just put on a swimsuit and enjoy the water in the summer. I have so many memories of this mindset affecting her all summer. Just casually existing by a pool in a swimsuit was something that women who looked like her Could Not Do. This is someone who broke so many gender barriers in her field, who was a pioneer and a bad ass, but who held herself back from something she truly enjoyed for DECADES because she's fat. A couple of years ago she told me how stupid she feels having thought like that now that her age has changed her mobility and safety in going to a pool and it's no longer literally possible for her to do so.

She bought the bullshit and deprived herself of happiness when it was possible, so she lost her chance at hundreds of moments of simple enjoyment she now looks back on sadly.

Really sadly.

I think this is a topic where we can literally see a huge generational change among society right now. The bitchy boomer who says something like, "oh she should NOT be wearing that" when a happy, chunky Gen Zer bops by in a crop top sounds like the death rattles of an ancient relic to most of us in younger generations. After we get over the overt hate that surges when we hear things like that, most of us can see right through that prickly exterior into the deeply damaged, sad, and vulnerable person inside who is the one that's the real problem in the equation.

And yet, while it can be easy to think, "Thank god I'm not like THAT" none of us are truly immune to the messages that are blasted in our faces all the time that still shame fatness and make us feel like we owe society a certain kind of "beauty."

Just keep an eye out for any limiting beliefs you have that are depriving you from joy and delight you want and need. As anyone like my aunt could tell you, you won't someday look back and think, "I sure am glad I didn't do what made me happy all those years!"

#fatphobia #misogyny #body acceptance #body neutrality #advice

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valeskafics · 5 months

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"Tutoring" - Michael Gavey x Bimbo!Reader

a/n: is bimbo!reader my new tm? who knows. second oneshot to celebrate 9k. thank you all for sticking around with me. i adore you, i love you 🩷 also, would michael canonically be into bimbos? who knows. only ewan and emerald fennel (who is a clown for the ending of promising young woman so i take everything she says with a grain of salt). but for our purposes? he is absolutely WEAK for them and that is canon lore!!! from an anon request for perv!michael x bimbo!reader

Summary: You have an unexpected reaction to finding out a secret of Michael's while he tutors you.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, panty smelling heheheheh, cumming in pants (my new tm for michael ig), face sitting, oral f and m receiving, slight overstim m receiving, tiddy succin, slightly dom reader (don't worry you'll get fully dom reader soon)

Word Count: 2,510 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Saltburn characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

If there is a god, Michael Gavey knows He’s real and smiling down on him right now. Your usual seat in your statistics class is taken and so you come walking down the lecture hall, taking the perpetually empty seat beside him. Sure, you’re not his usual type. Scratch that. Michael doesn’t have a type. He’s never been in a fucking relationship or even on a date. His type is his right hand. He glances over at you, dressed in that little pink plaid skirt, cropped pink tee shirt, paired with matching kitten heels. You carry a tiny little Louis Vuitton purse that he is pretty unsure would fit anything beyond your skinny little Razr phone and lipgloss which you’re currently applying. You turn and give him a sweet little smile and a wave before turning back to your compact mirror, puckering your lips at it. Michael glances down at your legs, admiring the shape, the way your skirt hugs your thighs, before his eyes land on your tiny little high heels, the Chanel logo embossed on top of them.

“Those look expensive,” he comments with a sly little grin as he scribbles something into his notebook, “Guess you can afford whatever you want with the money your daddy gives you.”

“They are, they’re Chanel,” you inform him, the mockery in his tone completely going over your head, “Daddy got them for me for my birthday. Pink is my favorite color, but you could probably tell that.”

He arches a brow as you lean forward, extending your perfectly manicured hand to him to shake as you introduce yourself. Do you really think he doesn’t know who you are? Everyone on campus knows you. But, he takes your hand, nearly letting out a moan at how fucking soft your palm feels against his.

“Michael. It’s nice to meet you,” he leans back in his seat before questioning dryly, “So are you studying maths? Daddy pushing you to become a rocket scientist so he can brag at the country club about his little girl? Or are you just taking this course for fun?”

“I’m actually a history major, this is just a core requirement,” you give him a sweet smile, flashing those pearly whites at him, “Are you a maths major?”

He nods, “Maths and physics double major. I’m actually the smartest person in our class.”

“Oh, wow, that’s really cool,” you say, quickly turning away when the lecture starts, taking notes with your pink gel pen, complete with a little Hello Kitty figure on top.

You cross your legs as you write, your skirt hiking up and giving Michael a generous view of your thighs. He almost doesn’t hear the professor announce that your quizzes from last class will be distributed at the end of the lecture. He tries to ignore you at first, but continually glances over at you, finding you impossible to look away from. You drop your pen while writing, pouting to yourself slightly as you lean over to grab it. And his jaw fucking drops, absolutely stunned by the view you’re giving him. Your tits are fucking perfect, so round and full. He almost has to remind himself to breathe. You sit back up and continue taking your notes, your tongue poking out slightly as you concentrate. It’s as if every single thing you do is with the sole object of seducing him.

Michael’s mind starts wandering, wondering what it would be like to get you alone somewhere, to run his hands along those thighs of yours, feel those tits. He realizes he’s stared at you for a moment too long and quickly turns back to his notes, his face bright red and his pants uncomfortably tight.

When class ends, the teaching assistant hands back your quizzes and you look quite distressed after receiving yours, lips forming that adorable little pout again. Michael smirks at the “100%” written in red ink across his paper before glancing over at yours.

“Aw, didn’t do so well?” Michael’s voice is the picture of sympathy, with the slightest hint of condescension, not that you pick up on it.

“I got a 75%,” you say in a dejected tone that he can’t help but find adorable.

“Well, I could always tutor you, you know. This is sort of my forte.”

You look up at him with that sweet smile of yours, lashes fluttering as you ask, “Would you really? Oh my gosh, Michael, you’d be a lifesaver!”

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, glancing down at your tits before meeting your eyes again, “You don’t have to act all cute with me you know.”

You tilt your head to the side curiously, oblivious to the implication behind his words, “Pardon?”

Michael shakes his head, “Never mind. Shall we head to my dorm then? Go over this last quiz? My roommates are out, so we can study in private. Unless you have other plans.”

“Now’s fine,” you chirp.

Michael gestures for you to walk out ahead of him, wanting to admire you from behind as you go, telling you which building his dorm is in. He watches the sway of your hips, the subtle bounce of your ass, the hint of which is visible at the hemline of your skirt. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

It’s a long walk but he listens intently as you chatter away about anything and everything until the two of you finally reach his dorm. He motions for you to come sit beside him on one of the two desk chairs, which you do, crossing your legs, your foot brushing against his calf. He has to hold back a gasp at the feeling before quickly telling you that he’ll explain to you why your answers were incorrect. You listen to him, writing notes in the margins of the paper eagerly, letting him guide you through your mistakes.

“Wow, you’re really smart,” you compliment as you continue writing.

He thinks it’s a small miracle that he hasn’t cum in his pants by the time you leave the dorm, though when you lean up, pressing your lips to his cheek, those perfect tits of yours pressed against his chest, making him fully aware that you’re not wearing a bra? He’s a fucking goner. He grabs his sweater, covering the crotch of his pants as he waves goodbye to you, already anticipating your next study session.

Soon, the tutoring sessions begin to take place in your dorm, something Michael is quite fucking pleased with, considering the opportunity it affords him to rummage through your laundry, nicking a pair of your panties every few visits. He knows what he’s doing is disgusting and wrong, but he can’t fucking bring himself to care. He watches as you answer the door in a pink velour dress, once again clearly not wearing a bra. You’re on the phone with your mother and you cover the receiver to tell him he can come in, that you’re going to step into the hall to finish talking to her. He makes sure you’re out of sight before walking over to your laundry bin. He hesitates, glancing at the door for a moment, before shrugging and grabbing a pretty lacy pink panty from the top of the pile. Fuck, these are so pretty off of you, he can hardly imagine how they’d look on you.

He brings the fabric to his face, inhaling your scent deeply and letting out a ragged moan, his tongue darting out for a brief moment, wanting to taste your essence. Nothing turns him on the way you do and it’s becoming quite a fucking problem. He runs them across his face, eyes fluttering shut, his whole body heating up as he thinks of your thighs, how they’d feel wrapped around him, how your tits are the perfect size for his hands.

When you walk back in the room, Michael quickly shoves your panties into his pocket, watching as you give him a little smile, moving to sit on the bed, “Sorry, my mom talks a lot.”

He looks at you, gulping almost audibly before mumbling, “No problem. Should we study for next week’s quiz now?” Michael realizes you’re giving a very pointed look to his pocket, where the pink lace is sticking out. He stares at you in horror, his face turning red, “I can put them back!”

You bite your lip, moving to grab him by the hand, urging him to face you again, “I don’t mind, really…”

His eyes widen at your words, “I… Um…”

You give him a mischievous little smile, sliding closer to him on the bed, resting your hand on his thigh, “I saw what you were doing with them.”

“You didn’t see anything!” Michael protests, his voice cracking, trying to think of the least sexy thing in the world so his stupid fucking hard-on can die, “Let’s just study.”

You shake your head, pressing yourself up against his arm as you whisper, nipping at his earlobe, “I saw you smelling them, Michael. I thought it was sexy.”

Your soft breasts pressing up against him, the sight of you in that skimpy fucking dress… It’s too much for him and he lets out a low moan, his body trembling with want. You move your hand further up his thigh, palming at his cock over the fabric of his trousers. He shivers as you begin kissing his neck, your teeth grazing against his skin. A million thoughts are racing through his mind, all of which start and end with you. His breath comes out in heavy pants as you continue rubbing at him, applying more and more pressure. He closes his eyes, scrunching them shut, trying hard to think of anything other than your pretty little hand and what it’s doing. But fuck, he can’t even remember Pi past five decimal points right now.

“I’m not wearing anything under my dress right now, Michael,” you whisper, “No bra. No panties. I never wear them when you come over. Did you know that? Could you tell?”

Your words send him over the edge and he spills himself in his pants again, though it doesn’t seem to bother you. Rather, you bring your hand to your lips and give the cutest little giggle before pressing your lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a moment.

Michael bites his lip before blurting out, “Can I… I just want to…”

“Do you wanna taste me, Michael?”

He nods eagerly, breathing heavily as you push him back onto the bed, moving to straddle his face. Michael’s hands move to your thighs, pushing your dress up slightly to reveal your pussy to him, his mouth nearly watering at the sight of how wet you are for him already. You lower yourself down onto his waiting lips, grabbing the headboard of your bed as you begin rolling your hips. Michael’s tongue moves in and out of you as he moans at how fucking sweet you taste, hands moving to squeeze at your ass. You soon pull your dress off over your head and toss it to the side, and he finally gets to see your tits for the first time, watching as they bounce in time with your hips as you ride his face. His glasses start fogging up and he can already feel himself getting hard again at the cute little noises you make, the way your hands move to cup your breasts, fingers pinching at your nipples.

You let out a cry of his name as you feel his nose against your clit, grinding down slightly, wanting to feel that again. Michael is eager to give you exactly what you want, pulling your hips closer, rubbing the cleft of his nose against the swollen bud, loving the way you mewl his name, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at it. He thinks this would be the perfect way to die, his face buried between your legs, his tongue in your cunt. You are fucking perfection. And the wanton moan of his name you let out as you spill yourself on his tongue is going to live in his mind forever.

You move down, helping him out of his shirt and undoing the button of his trousers, pushing them and his boxers down his legs. You lick your lips at the sight of his cock, already hard again for you, the tip a red, angry color, already weeping precum.

You coo, almost playfully, “Are you ready, baby?”

He nods eagerly, throwing his head back against the sheets as you sink down on his cock with a whine of his name. You stay like that for a long moment, loving the way he just stares up at you in awe, his cock pulsing inside you. And fuck, when you start moving, he thinks he’s just about lost his mind. The sound of your skin slapping against his, the way your cunt squeezes around him, so fucking perfect. Everything about you is perfect. Your fingers trace his throat as you lean in to kiss him, a sloppy, heated kiss. Michael lets out the softest little whimper, making you giggle at the sound.

“Aww, my poor baby…” He groans, his hips bucking up against yours uncontrollably as he chases his peak, face going red as you whisper, “Can you feel how wet I am? That’s for you, Michael. You’re making me feel so good, baby.”

You continue bouncing yourself up and down on him, his words incoherent as he vacillates between “Oh my God” and your name. He covers his mouth with his hands, embarrassed by the pathetic little noises he’s letting out, but you grab his wrists, pinning them over his head and shake your head.

“I wanna hear you, baby.”

And he lets go of all his inhibitions, watching your tits jiggle in his face as you move your hips against him, leaning up to mouth at one, loving the way you let out a breathy sigh of his name at the action. He can feel himself getting closer to his climax, his stomach tightening as he moves to grab at your tits, squeezing them in his hands. You move faster and faster, squeezing him tighter and tighter until you reach your peak.

He lets out a pathetic whine as you move off of him, wondering why you’re robbing him of his own until you take him into your mouth, pretty pink glossed lips wrapped around the base of his cock as you bob your head up and down on him. His hips buck up against your mouth, feeling how hot and wet it is around him, your hands squeezing his balls gently as he lets out a whimper of your name and spills himself on your tongue. He watches in amazement as you swallow, sticking your tongue out to show him that you did.

“If I get a hundred on the practice quiz, maybe you can eat my pussy again?”

He’s going to make damn sure you get 100.

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey smut #michael gavey fic #michael gavey #ewan mitchell #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fic #michael gavey fanfic #ewan nation #my writing #michael oneshot #bimbo!reader

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gothhabiba · 5 months

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It's striking how frequently you can take a Zionist claim, exactly reverse it, and arrive at something much closer to the truth.

Zionists claim that the majority of Palestinian land was unproductive, that Palestinians were neglecting the agricultural potential of the land, and that the مشاع (musha') system of shared landholding (wherein plots were swapped around within a large family unit rather than belonging to one owner and their descendants in perpetuity) held back the land's potential—because the "Arabs" (of course, naturally selfish) would not want to make long-term improvements or allow standard maintenance (e.g. letting it lie fallow) of land if they could not expect the sole long-term benefit from doing so.

I expect that this system, like all systems, had its disadvantages, but Palestinians were demonstrably making long-term changes to the land which their whole unit would benefit from. Terracing, for example, must be accepted to be a long-term project which does not merely immediately extract the maximum yield from the soil year after year?

Meanwhile, while Israelis have invented and instituted developments in agriculture (drip irrigation and irrigation with wastewater as tools of water management, for example), these developments are ones that they have actively prevented Palestinians from making themselves by depriving them of land, water, electricity, capital, the ability to import or export anything, or anything else you would need to technologically innovate anything, since the late 19th century—

—and Israeli methods of agriculture often fall into the ethos of "immediately extract the maximum yield from the soil year after year," with nitrate pollution from their constant use of fertilizers poisoning well water (mostly to the detriment of Palestinians), pollution of soil with salt buildup, use of pesticides leading to high rates of breast cancer, overpumping aquifiers and causing them to fill with brackish water in pursuit of water-hungry crops that should not be grown in the south of Palestine, &c.

And meanwhile the agricultural methods that many Palestinians are now forced to use frequently approach "only think about this season's yield," because they have no faith that they will be able to reap the benefits of their investments (constantly being bombed and driven from their lands and having their farming equipment banned or destroyed) and because they cannot let their land lie fallow for a moment without Israel using that as a pretext to "legally" expropriate it. Zionism is what creates these habits.

Yet even in these adverse conditions, Palestinians use eggshells and fish excrement as natural fertilizers, grow plants without soil, return to the use of historical crops, &c...

#Palestine #Israel #Zionism

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shabre-legacy · 5 months

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For the kiss prompts: 46 for Tyrenic/Jemsyn and/or 23 for Leikael/Corso

So I borrowed Jemsyn to write this for the prompt. I'll do a post for the Leikael and Corso one after I finish it. For now, enjoy Tyrenic/Jemsyn. If I wrote him ooc please let me know and I'll fix

Tyrenic leans on the arm of his target, a tall Weequay currently ordering another round in the dark club. It wasn’t a high end place, but the kind of fancy that still allowed the sleazy and criminal customers among their clientele. Various dancers were scattered around the room, in lifted cages, on platforms and scattered across the floor.

Tyrenic himself is a lightly dressed as any of them. A pink fishnet crop top that’s almost too small and a tiny pair of leather minishorts that clung to the curve of his ass and finished off with a pair of pink and black stilleto heels, tall under the toe as well as the heel. It made him just a couple inches shorter than the seven foot tall at least Weequay.

He had his eyes made up with glitter shadow, mascara, and heavy eyeliner giving him a perpetually hooded eye expression and a gloss that made his lips look plumper and more kissable then usual. He looked cheap, blowjobs for a pat on the head and a puff of a deathstick cheap; which was exactly what he’d wanted when he walked into the club. It hadn’t taken long for him to convince everyone that he was a new dancer, and even less time when he located his target to convince the man to ‘buy’ him for the night. He feels exposed like this, like everyone is staring at him and not for the usual reasons. It’s exciting, but also makes him nervous. He’s glad he brought Shelerik in as backup. Knowing the other Jedi is in the crowd, playing at being just another patron, but keeping an eye on him is reliving. Nothing that bad can happen, at least not anything he doesn’t have to go along with to maintain his cover. This was important enough to withstand some uncomfortable moments, or a lot of them, with this guy.

He carefully keeps any trace of discomfort off his face as his ‘date’ downs another shot and yanks him in, one hand dropping down to grope Tyrenic’s ass, the other holding his neck possessively as he kisses him, it’s sloppy, with too much tongue and a bit gross, but he goes along with it. Placing a hand on the Weequay’s chest and arching into him, he’s being paid for this after all. It takes a few minutes before the man decides he’s had enough for now and hands their drinks to Tyrenic and starts to guide him towards the dark back corners by the hips. As they make their way through the crowd, some of the other customers jostle them, the target shoved away a moment as a tall Mirialan is shoved into Tyrenic’s shoulder, almost knocking him off his heels. The man catches him around the waist and pulls him upright again, using the moment to drop his head and whisper “Your soldier’s here. Alcove down the hall past the bathrooms.”

Tyrenic just drops his head back letting a simpering smile fall over his face as the target moves back to him. “I appreciate the catch handsome, but unfortunately, I’m all booked for tonight. I’ll be around tomorrow if you’re still interested. I promise it’s a good time.” He half turns to look at the Weequay with hooded eyes. “So which one’s our table again?” He waits until they get there and he sets the drinks down and his target sits before bending over to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be right back and we can start this private party.” The man glares, but Tyrenic dispels it with a nudge from the Force and a wink. “Fresher.”

He makes sure to swing his hips more than necessary as he struts through the crowd, slipping into the hall and making his way to the alcove. He hadn’t had time to let Jemsyn know he was on planet, or going undercover, let alone what type of undercover work he was doing.

The Mirialan Mandalorian is pacing across the small alcove as Tyrenic quietly steps inside. He turns quickly and steps close, grabbing onto Tyrenic’s forearms and looking in his eyes. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Tyrenic looks down at him, the heels emphasizing the height difference, a flirty grin on his lips. “No baby, I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

Jemsyn relaxes a bit, only for the concern to be replaced with a restrained anger. “Ok good. Tell me what the kriff that was? I come in for a night out and I find my boyfriend, making out with some random guy who’s got his hands all over you!” He steps back, folding his arms and staring Tyrenic down.

Tyrenic takes advantage of the height difference to lean over Jemsyn, resting his arm on the wall. “Don’t worry love.” He drops his head till he can whisper into Jemsyn’s ear. “I’m undercover, that man is part of a network grabbing alien refugees from Coruscant and other core worlds and selling them to the empire. We got the info on our way back and didn’t have time to contact you or anyone else before we had to jump into action. He’s got specific tastes and I fit the bill best.”

Jemsyn didn’t look convinced. “And that involves making out with him how? Couldn’t you go in as a buyer or potential business contact?”

Tyrenic sighs. “Wish we could love. But he never meets with contacts he doesn’t know without an introduction and we don’t have time to get one. But he pays a dancer almost every time he comes to a club and the drinks make him chatty. I let him kiss and grope a little, keep him talking, as soon as I get what I need, I signal Shelerik, he steps in and makes the arrest and we use the information to shut down the network.”

Jemsyn nods slowly as he absorbs what was said. “I still don’t like it, but I understand. Try to give me some warning next time you have to do something like this.”

Tyrenic nods before dropping his head to kiss and nip at Jemsyn’s neck. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later. How does a private dance in one of those lounges sound?”

Jem looks up at him with a familiar heat in his eyes. “That sounds wonderful cyare.” He deliberately looks Tyrenic up and down slowly. “I have to say, I like this look.”

Renic preens at the praise. “Glad you approve. I haven’t worn some of this since I was like 16.”

“You are very pretty and I love the way these shorts just cling. Stars you are pretty, all dolled up slutty like this.”

Tyrenic drops his head and his voice, husky and sensual, dripping in promises. “Give me another hour or so to finish up and I’ll be your personal slut for the rest of the night.”

Jemsyn seems conflicted, excited by the idea but not happy about Tyrenic going back to that Weequay. “I’ll hold you to that, but first…” He grabs Tyrenic and twists quickly, slamming the taller Jedi against the wall and stepping between his legs. He leans up at the same time he pulls Tyrenic down and kisses him. It’s desperate and devouring and perfect, Jemsyn pours all of his jealously into the kiss, making sure Tyrenic remembers exactly who he belongs to.

Tyrenic moans wantonly into the kiss, dropping his arms around Jemsyn’s neck and kissing back just as fiercely. His tongue tangles with his lovers as time stops around them. Eventually they are forced to break the kiss to breathe, only for Jemsyn to immediately attach himself to Tyrenic’s neck seemingly intent on leaving hickey’s for Tyrenic to walk out with. Tyrenic uses the last bit of his mental fortitude and will to drag himself up and out of reach. “Later love, after I’m done, you can leave all the marks you like.” He leans down and captures Jemsyn’s lips in another deep kiss before he pushes against the wall and slips out of Jemsyn’s arms. He turns and winks as he waltzes away, his hip swaying in his heels. He couldn’t wait to get this done and finally be able to put on a real show for the person who actually mattered.

#swtor #asks #fanfics #tyrenic #tyrenic shabre #Jemsyn

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joeloverture · 1 day

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more clarity on this ask i received -> the coherent version.

reblogs are welcome and encouraged because the racism in this fandom is often overlooked on account of it being subtle. in this case it is glaringly obvious, but not always.

tw racism below

for those who don’t know — although a lesser known slur in the multitude of derogatory words out there, beaner is in fact a slur. commonly used against mexicans or mexican americans like myself because it is one of our “staple foods”. this reduces and dehumanizes us to one very, very minimal aspect of our culture. when the spanish first colonized us and encountered our staple crops (corn, pumpkins, avocados, beans, etc) they considered them all “inferior” foods to live on, much like us being “inferior people” to them. by diminishing us to the foods we eat you are not only participating in active racism, but also forgiving and peddling colonist ideology.

i can’t stop anyone from being racist. but i can condemn it like hell. you are the only subhuman one if you only see someone as an ethnicity or race.

as far as other subtle racism in this fandom, we’ve had the latino fetishization discussion before. what i find interesting about this particular ask is that you’re seeking out fanfiction about a latino character all the while perpetuating hate against us. you fetishize us, yet you continue to hate us. most of the time it isn’t as obvious as this ask has made it. but if you participate in this, if you still see us as stereotypes, yet continue to get off to fanfiction about characters that share our backgrounds, PLEASE self evaluate.

you don’t have to like my fics. in fact, not liking them doesn’t make you a shitty person. everything else that you said here makes up for it.

#🫀 vetty’s musings #anon hate #i hesitate to call this discourse #need y’all to learn that discourse ≠ racism for this one

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carionto · 2 months

Text

Too tough for paradise

One peculiar side effect of Humans hailing from a Deathworld is that their biological well-being is partly dependent on some degree of microscopic hostility from the environment and what they consume.

It is normal among most species that, should their surroundings change to more hospitable conditions, their minds and bodies would feel relief and be under less stress. However, as with any changes, if they deviate too far too quickly from their normal, you risk damage from a sudden shock to the system.

___________________________

Abigail "Abby" Hostaz had been legally grounded by the Gyin-Trov due to her, ahem, "expansion of business" without the right permits. Not that she bothered to learn that nobody outside Human controlled space in the Galactic Coalition would allow the creation of a deadly asteroid race track AND let sentient beings directly pilot ships through it.

Hell, finding an Alien crazy enough to partake in an activity even most Humans consider insane is one in a trillion. She still did find seven non-Humans, so that math actually is within a reasonable margin. Everything else is not reasonable.

The local Gyin-Trov government learned of the true nature of her activities when a rogue asteroid suddenly appeared on their threat detection systems. The unnatural change of course quickly pointed to where she had set up her latest "thrill track", which the authorities rapidly dismantled, impounded her vessel, named "Victor", and put her under house arrest in the Human embassy awaiting the conclusion of the investigation and subsequent trial.

While station based embassies are effectively fully contained perfect habitats for the respective species, planet based ones tend to adopt a lot of the local elements and integrate what they can simply due to proximity and availability.

Humans, the resourceful buggers that they are, used everything the planet had to offer (that wasn't outright lethal to Humans, which in the case of the Gyin-Trov homeworld were only a few pollen producing crops found in the poles of the planet).

A combination of a almost perfect temperature range (near constant lows of 14C at night, highs of 21C mid-day), slightly higher moisture levels, and bio-engineered local flora that made the water into this somewhat thicker soup containing virtually every nutrient, vitamin and mineral a carbon-based lifeform could ever want, leaving little for the digestive system to tackle. Heck, just being within a field of such plants lets the body absorb everything for healthy survival.

In short, the Gyin-Trov homeworld, also named Gyin-Trov, is as close to Utopia as you can get.

Aaaaaaand Abby is not having a fun time there.

It's not like she was imprisoned - she was allowed to wander around the city and surrounding area under light supervision, she even had her cat, Hector, with her. But there just wasn't enough excitement to be found anywhere.

They had arcades and various physical activities, but she never felt her body grow tired after hours of competitive gaming and contests. No feeling of hunger or exhaustion ever disturbed her focus. The only thing that kept Abby from becoming, essentially, a zombie perpetually engaged in whatever activity was most fun at the moment was the inherent nature of the Human brain - it gets... wobbly after a while and needs sleep.

Not even a week had passed and people noticed Abby had become... different. No strong reactions to anything, no outbursts of some crazy ideas, just a general positive but not quite cheerful apathy. The Human ambassadors had experienced a much milder version of this, and it is theorized that they did not deem it as concerning due to the simple fact the ambassadors always had something to do, and more importantly - something that put their minds, if not bodies, to the test. Regular challenges, worries, and stress from work in general kept them on edge in some ways.

Abby was just waiting around, "put on vacation" as one of the ambassadors had put it. After a couple of more days of this peace, she seemed more like a automaton than anything else. Mindlessly going from place to place, trying out whatever activities were available, but clearly none offered anything close to the level of excitement and danger she had grown so used to. Not even the flawed thirty year old Human body she was in offered any surprises or discomforts.

Everything was just perfectly fine.

When the paperwork finally cleared and she was issued a fine and formally banned from engaging in any construction efforts in Gyin-Trov controlled space, she was reunited with Victor, and the personality changes she had undergone during her short time were seemingly instantly reversed.

Once she was in her ship and the self-diagnostics showed a few blinking lights, Abby immediately became energized and took action. Breathing in the recycled air with a hint of dry rust made that old bruise on her right side make itself known again. She pulled an all-nighter making repairs and "adjustments" to Victor and collapsed from exhaustion on the hard floor.

The next day, she was already near the border to neutral space when she noticed a dwarf planet with a rock formation in the shape of a trebuchet (very vaguely, if you squint really, really hard, and imagine half of the parts), and that gave her an idea.

All the while, Hector the cat did not exhibit any noticeable changes during his stay with Abby on Gyin-Trov. Maybe just a few more hours of sleep per day than normal.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #story

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