#But surely a wrong concept for intended use

[arianaofimladris]

I tried making a tiny pouch, because we talked about them with my friend and she tried one as her first leather project. Since my mum asked me for a pouch to attach to her dog's line with the intention of keeping there poop bags, I decided to give it a try.

Conclusion - it might look super cute, but I think it's too tiny for a whole roll of bags, and also doesn't look comfortable to close with one hand. I will figure out something different and this one I guess will be just a tiny thingy to store three emergency bags rather than a whole roll. Also that green suede seemed too thick, at least for this small size.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

truly lmao 2024 lambda literary award finalist wynnstannery

[madamedramatics]

A scenario where Shepard jokes with Vega, saying she's practically Garrus' wife now after she promotes him to her XO during the war, resulting in them unintentionally spending a lot more time together.

The joke goes over Vega's head, and he goes to congratulate Garrus personally. Garrus is confused, and Vega promises to keep the "secret marriage" a secret. Garrus now has to figure out how in the hell he accidentally proposed to and married a human and how is he supposed to tell his dad he missed the unplanned wedding and the ceremonial meeting of his fiancé. He was almost 30, but this was going to get him grounded for at least another 30 years or maybe even life.

Was he supposed to get his new wife a gift? Where they supposed to get matching tattoos like Turians? He could've sworn he read somewhere that humans consummated their vows the same way Turians do. Where did he go wrong dammit!?

He adores the idea of Shepard being his wife and loves knowing that she was so excited that she even told Vega about it. He just now has to figure out how he married her in the first place without her knowing he doesn't know. Because then she'll think he never wanted to marry her, and that is NOT the case. Maybe Tali will know? No way. She'd just call him a bosh'tet. Wrex will also call him a professional idiot. Liara won't judge, but he's sure she still hasn't gotten over her crush on the Commander, and he doesn't want to rub his new marriage in her face. Maybe Joker will tell him if he promises him the new fornax issue.

Garrus has had his fair share of giving his dad a pseudo aneurysm, but this one was going to send him into cardiac arrest for sure when he finds out his son married a woman the family didn't even meet. He needs a drink...after he finishes bribing Edi to scrub away everything she just heard him say out loud.

Garrus doesn't know that Vega is the galaxy's worst secret keeper, telling Shepard he's keeping the secret marriage a secret unwilling to let Shepard convince him that she's actually not married yet. She goes to see Garrus to have a good laugh about Vega's idiocy but walks into Garrus telling Edi he will use Shepard's override if she doesn't get rid of something.

Garrus is absolutely mortified and gives the cheesiest greeting to his "wife." She assumes Vega already brought the joke to Garrus but she's not overlooking him trying to be suspicious with Edi. He recovers, mentioning it was for his sesrch history for a gift he wanted to get her. He did intend to get her a gift so the phrase wasn't a complete lie...

She jokes about it and calls him her husband. Garrus, the realist he is, does not take this as a joke. She leaves him to his vices, and Garrus is now in a full-blown panic. He needs to understand what he did, and he needs to know now.

(If my brain gets any more random ideas, I'll at least finish and provide a resolution to this concept, lol. Feel free to offer your own ending)

[somewhereincairparavel]

Alright. I came across someone saying that Rick "put Jason in a pedestal" and "overhyped" him by emphasizing how good looking he is and that Jason shouldn't have been so attractive looking. (Tbf tho that person made it sound like they seemed more mad bc their least favourite character was considered good looking lol) but I'll yap about the significance here anyways. Beware of a very long yapping session below.

I do understand their frustration though, because jason getting told that he looks good all the time makes it seem very shallow and unfair to the others.

And let me tell you, Jason is SUPPOSED to be gorgeous looking in everyone's eyes. He is supposed to be conventionally handsome, Rick didn't intend for his looks to be "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder " or something like Percy's (like how Piper didn't find him as impressive) Percy's is supposed to be more authentic. Percy's character isnt centred in people idolizing him, everyone can acknowledge that he's handsome looking, but it isn't in a "perfect" type of way, he's a carefree spirit and that reflects on his looks. While Jason is hardwired as this ethereal looking hero in people's eyes that not even ONE can deny that he looks good, bc ppl in Rome had set him as the "standard". Jason said this before in the lost hero, that him being a son of Jupiter, makes him feel like the support he gets is only because his dad is a very regal and intimidating figure.

That's kind of the whole point, he's supposed to look like this perfect man who can do no wrong. His "Golden noble boy" arc is literally the whole concept of his character. Why else do you think rick wrote Aphrodite approving of Jason's looks saying that he needed no improvement (which she rarely does) ?

Because Jason is supposed to be put like a statue to admire and idolize, that's ALSO why rick made sure to add that Jason looks like a Roman sculpture, bc that's like a metaphor for his inner conflicts. The guy was put like an artifact for people to ogle at in camp Jupiter ever since he was a kid of 4. That's part of the tragedy.

Annabeth said it perfectly “Annabeth tried to hide it, but she still didn’t completely trust the guy. He acted too perfect - always following the rules, always doing the honorable thing. He even looked too perfect. In the back of her mind, she had a nagging thought. What if this is a trick and he betrayed us?” Mark of Athena, page 6.

His mother, whom he's supposed to look like, is also a literal world wide tv actress. So you can't expect anything less either.

Also, Jason is supposed to mirror Percy. And let's be real. Rick put Percy in a VERY high pedestal looks wise, aswell, Not just Jason. And that's okay.

Rick made Hazel mistake Percy for a literal god because he was just that good looking (tbf, in a way, when I was younger, I found this to be a little bit of an exaggeration, bro was covered in mud and seaweed and was compared to a god, it was rlly funny to a 10 year old me 😭 yeah but don't mind this though, this was just a younger me jealous that I couldn't be as pretty as Percy was in mud lol) If Percy can be "hyped" up so "unrealistically" in that particular situation then so can Jason. They are both literal half gods, so unrealistic praise is very normal) and rick also made sure to emphasize that almost all the teen characters had a crush on Percy. So apparently that isn't called putting a character in a pedestal but Jason's is? They are BOTH put in pedestals, because they're both heroes.

Jason and Percy are supposed to be equals, so both of them being in the top two when it comes to looks makes SENSE. Because people are supposed to argue about who is better looking, since they're written as foils.

You cannot expect rick to make Percy look like a god and Jason look like a rat 😭 then there's no point of having them as parallels if one has the upper hand in something. Rick did a good job by conveying that they are BOTH attractive, but in different ways. That's why the Percy/Jason looks debate always have mixed answers.

Jason getting complimented by Aphrodite, the GODDESS of beauty, for his looks and her saying that he didn't have anything to "fix" in his face BC it already looks gorgeous = Percy getting compared to a gorgeous Roman god by hazel. They are both equal comparisons in slightly different tones.

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

*

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

*

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

Next chapter

[ilguna]

Can I get 6 and 23 from list 2 with Finnick please?

☼ sunburst (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, gun use, blood mention, ehh gore.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 6. "I know, it hurts. I'm so sorry, but we have to get this out." AND 23. "You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer."

--

When you were recruited to be a part of the mission to storm the Capitol, you were under the impression that you’d actually be in some danger. You spent weeks training in District Thirteen, thinking that you were going to be running for your life every waking moment. It was supposed to be more like being inside of an arena, than a walk on the bad side of District Four.

Both of which you can handle, for the record.

What you can’t handle is the boredom that comes with being a member of the Star Squad. While you were told you’d be at the front lines with the rest of the rebels, the reality is that you’re stuck days behind them. President Coin is too afraid of putting their precious Mockingjay into danger.

It’s an interesting concept, considering that Katniss has expressed no issue in the past surrounding the idea of putting her life on the line. The first time she did this was when she wanted to get sent to District Eight, an active battlezone, to see the citizens there. The next time was District Two, where a gun was held to her head, and she still proceeded to give a speech, and got shot for it.

You suppose that’s the exact problem, though. She can be a magnet for trouble, whether she intends to be or not. In that case, you’re not sure why they didn’t tell you that you’d be stuck here with a mixed group, beforehand. You might’ve changed your mind and found a different way to help the rebellion.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried to have patience, because you have. It’s been severely run thin by the propo team—a camera crew from the Capitol, their only job being to film videos to slice together to show the districts. Their incessant need to get a shot of absolutely everything that’s going on has got you beyond irritated.

They’re so demanding with it, and all it is is a bunch of bullshit. They want you to walk down the street the right way, looking fierce and in the middle of battle. When in reality, there’s no one for a several mile radius, and all the threats are being given away by the Holo. A device that was made to tell you where the traps, the pods, are. 

If you could, you’d tell them that you’re done participating, but you really have no choice. You’ve been seen in so many of their other videos, that it’ll make the districts and the Capitol question why you’re not in the rest. Either they’ll think that you died, or that you’ve decided the rebellion isn’t worth fighting for.

Which isn’t true in the slightest. You just think that it’s morally wrong to be back here, pretending like you’re fighting, when the faceless rebels at the front lines are the ones almost getting killed everyday. You want to be up there, with them.

The rebels ahead don’t set off all the pods, though. They leave the mild ones behind, marking them as such, assuming that the group behind them will take it out when they pass. That group happens to be you.

Sometimes, Boggs, the squad leader, will see a pod on the Holo, so he’ll ask for volunteers to set it off, naturally. You don’t even know what the point of raising your hand is, anymore. He won’t call on you, or Finnick, or Katniss. He keeps his attention on the District Thirteen trained soldiers to do the important tasks.

Despite the fact that you had, once again, spent weeks training to be able to do something like that. 

What will happen is that Katniss will pretend to set off the pod with an arrow at a distance, to keep her from getting hurt by accident. While a soldier off to the side will trigger it. This makes the rest of you all duck for cover, afraid of whatever the pod has to offer. And when it’s all said and done, and you’re ready to move on, the next step is to reenact your reactions to defending yourself from whatever threat came out of the pod.

It’s been four days of this, and it’s driving you crazy. You’ll spend a few hours pretending to fight, and then return to camp for the rest of the night, safely out of harm's way. It’s taking everything in you not to ask Boggs to leave to go back to the Nut, where the rest of the rebel soldiers are. Maybe there, you can get reassigned.

The problem would be convincing Finnick to go with you, because he doesn’t mind being in the Star Squad. He thinks it’s great, because that means you’re not in any immediate danger. After what they did to Peeta, the last thing he wants is for the Capitol to potentially get their hands on you, or for you to die.

Neither of which you plan on letting happen.

The only way you’ll be able to get him to leave is if you do it without bringing it up to him first. Cut out the whole conversation on how he’d prefer if you went with Coin’s plan, instead of making your own. He has a way with words, and he knows this. That’s why your resolve can crumble in the matter of fifteen minutes, all because he’s the one reasoning with you.

That’s what you’ll do tonight then; you’ll go talk to Boggs.

The Holo begins to beep loudly, warning your squad that you’re coming close to a pod. Boggs slows his pace, opening it up to take a look. When he comes to a full stop, so do you.

A sigh escapes you, Finnick glances over, watching as you turn around to take a few steps away. This is the fourth pod that you’ve come across today, meaning that Boggs will probably call it a day after this. Even though you’ve covered more distance today than you have the past three.

“The Holo says it’s going to be a swarm of muttation gnats.” Boggs says, “Who wants to hit it?”

You turn to face the squad, watching as almost every hand flies up, with the exception of you, Finnick and Katniss. Even Gale, Katniss’s best friend from Twelve, has his hand raised. You think he’s been tasked once, which is the hope he’s probably holding on to.

Regardless, Boggs motions at one of the Leeg twins. “Leeg, I want you. The rest of you, go find someone to stand in the meantime.”

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “Predictable.”

“Come on, (Y/n).” Finnick grabs the underside of your arm, pulling you with him to the other side of the street.

The pod is disguised as an electrical box on the side of an orange shop. If it weren’t for the Holo, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing of it, but that’s the whole point. The pods are hidden in plain sight, meant for your eyes to glance over them, so that they can kill you later on.

The best the Capitol can do is gnats?

“Okay, Katniss, we’ll focus on pulling the arrow back, and holding it.” Cressida begins, she’s the one that has the specific propo visions. If this doesn’t go according to her plan, she’ll rework it and have Katniss do it over again until it’s right.

“Just a regular arrow?” Katniss asks, reaching back to grab one.

“No, we’ll have Leeg set off the pod, and then you’ll use an explosive arrow to kill the gnats.” Cressida says, looking at Boggs. He gives her an approving nod.

“What happens when that shot isn’t good enough and we have to start over?” You mutter, Finnick bumps your shoulder.

“I know you’re unhappy, but can we please not make enemies out of the people that could save our lives?” Finnick asks.

You look at Finnick, “I’m not making promises I won’t keep.”

You watch as Cressida gives Katniss directions on where to stand and how to hold her bow. This gives the cameramen, Castor and Pollux, enough time to find their angles, because realistically, there won’t be an opportunity for reshoots. With one of them on Katniss, and the other on the pod, Cressida gives Boggs the go ahead.

“On the count of three, Leeg.” Boggs tells her. Finnick adjusts his footing, prepared to duck if necessary. You don’t move from where you stand, staring dead at the pod. “One, two, three!”

Leeg shoots at the pod, piercing the metal that encases the gnats, leaving bullet holes. The sound of metal on metal screeches through the quiet street, as the door swings open, releasing what’s inside.

A startled scream comes from you as piercing pains hit you all across your body, throwing you back onto the ground. The back of your head slams against the cement of the sidewalk, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, as the world begins to spin.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s voice wavers.

The punctured points in your body begin to deepen, as the shrapnel from the box begins to burrow in your skin. You grunt, writhing, eyes opening suddenly to see it for yourself.

It’s not shrapnel, they’re metal darts, and they've got claws that are digging into your skin.

“No!” Someone cries.

“We need the medic team!” Jackson barks, her voice is clear. “We’ve got two down, Boggs!”

“Copy.” He says.

From what you can tell, you got a brunt of the hit, a consequence of not taking cover like you were instructed to. There’s over a dozen of these, stuck in your body, going deeper as the seconds tick on.

“Get them out.” Your voice is rough, as you reach to grab one. “Get them out of me!”

“(Y/n), honey—” Finnick seizes your hand, keeping you from doing it. “Stop, leave them.”

“They’re in me!” You cry, “They’re going to kill me.”

“We can’t take them out. We learned this, remember? They’re stinting the blood, we have to wait for—”

“No, she’s right.” Katniss is standing at your feet. “Look at them.”

You don’t want to, not when they all move at once, ripping your skin open further. You can see the brief stream of blood in the air, before it’s gone, covered by the dart. It’s not large enough to block the chunk of skin it’s pulled from your body, though, because the blood begins to pool, quickly.

“Shit.” Finnick says.

There’s a girl crying, when you lift your head to see, you find that it’s the other Leeg sister, on her knees, next to the first one. The one that had shot at the pod, now has a dart sticking out of the side of her head. It’s already found her brain.

She’s dead.

You begin to breathe heavier when you realize that this will be your fate, too, if they don’t start to pull them out. Which must be the same conclusion that Finnick comes to, because he rolls back his sleeves, hands hovering over one of them.

You grab the heel of his shoe, knowing that you’ll need something to hold on to. He gives you a look, and you nod quickly, urging him to do it. The second that his hand is around the dart, it begins to wiggle. To keep it from going further, he yanks.

You scream, throwing your head back, body tense, as the entire world goes white. It clings on, refusing to be pulled off in just one attempt. 

“Stop!” You tell them, “Stop!”

“Katniss, I need help.” Finnick says.

She drops her bow without question to get to her knees to help him. You watch through blurred tears as she holds the dart while he pries the claws apart. It’s like a thousand needles jabbing into your skin repeatedly, refusing to leave the area alone.

And then they get it free, and the first tear slides down your cheek.

The metal clinks on the ground from Katniss dropping it. 

You can’t help the sob that breaks through your lips. This is just the beginning isn’t it?

“Hold on, honey.” He tells you.

“I don’t—”

He begins to pull at this dart, more aggressive than he was the first time. Unprepared, you cry through gritted teeth, squeezing his shoe. He manages to unhook it faster this time, but that means little to you.

Him and Katniss go back and forth, pulling them out of the areas they think will hurt the least. There’s a few times where their hands slip, which causes an indescribable pain. 

The pool of blood beneath you is growing. You can feel the puddle reach your fingers on your free hand, coating your skin in red.

“There’s only two left, (Y/n).” Finnick smooths your hair back. “These will hurt the most.”

“Just wait.” You tell him, grabbing onto the bunched sleeve.

“We can’t stop, or it’ll keep digging in.” He tells you. “Breathe, okay?”

“Finnick.” You warn, bracing yourself when he secures his hand around the metal dart, beginning to pull.

The feeling of your guts being yanked from your body, makes the dark spots at the corners of your vision come around quickly. For a moment, you’re gone, drifting off into the peaceful voice, until Finnick’s lifting your head up with one hand.

“You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer.” Finnick tells you

“I can’t.” You sniff. “I want to be done.”

“One more.” He tells you, lowering your head back to the ground.

“No.” Your lips tremble.

He grabs the dart, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Please! Please, please, please! It hurts!”

“I know, it hurts.” Finnick says, he doesn’t sound very happy that he has to do this to you. “I’m so sorry, baby, but we have to get this out.”

This one has decided to hold on, taking twice as long as it normally does. For a second, it almost slips out of their hands, when Finnick’s able to pry the claws open.

A faint sense of relief floods through you, but it’s gone when your body begins to tingle. “Finnick.” You whisper. With a shaky hand, you dip your fingers into one of the many wounds that will end up being scars. The exposed raw flesh against your fingers makes you nauseous.

It subsides slightly when you pull your hand out, and find an orange substance mixed with the blood.

Poison.

“No.” Finnick says, looking at Boggs, presumably. “How far out are the medics?”

“They’ll be here any minute.” He says, coming over to see better.

“They need to have an antidote ready.” Finnick’s voice echoes, bouncing back and forth in your head, as he splits into two people, then four…

Your eyes flutter shut.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[pruneunfair]

The internalized sexism in remarried empress, (for an ask)

*this is going to be a long one so hold on tight*

It's no question that remarried empress is one of the most popular manhwas on webtoon and being so popular it holds a lot of influence, unfortunately, that influence promoted the internalized misogyny in not just the readers but in other works as well.

In the first chapter, Navier is presented as this baddass perfect woman, during her divorce trial she brings in a hot rebound who also happens to be another Emperor so she wont have to give up her life as empress, sounds pretty feminist right? Unfortunately that's only one of the few times we see anything related to feminism at all.

We are soon sent back a few months before the trial and right away, Naviers ladies in waiting are tearing another woman down and already believe this new woman is a threat to Navier because the Emperor Sovieshu is attracted to this newbie

We are shown the basic concept of how the narrative wants us to view these two characters. Navier is perfect empress who is being wronged by her husband and this unnamed woman who's only crime so far was existing is a wench and a homewreaker, the ladies imply it as some sort of extreme act of disrespect for having to bathe what they believe to be a slave, proceeding with sucking up to the lead by saying they only wash their hands to bathe her as they don't even wash themselves and even when they admit this mystery woman to be beautiful they backtrack to making sure Navier is supported. You might think that this is just friends supporting friends but it goes beyond on that later on.

Later on we are introduced to this mystery woman, Rashta, a former slave found by Sovieshu in the woods who is immediately portrayed as rude, stupid, and a crybaby

The reason she cries is because she was struck and referred to as "the slave" while she wasn't very polite it's clear Rashta isn't doing this on purpose, rather it is sheer ignorance and an unusually large optimism

now, a lot of people like to say that Rashta must've done something on purpose to get Laura imprisoned and that she knew what she was doing, therfore justifying the hatred for her existence. However, Laura hit Rashta for reaching out to Navier and calls her a wench in the process

Some fans use the excuse that she smirked after Laura got sentenced to 3 days imprisonment and yes while that is excessive for Laura, Rashta was a slave only a few days ago and she's been mistreated by nobles her entire life plus I don't think she's smart enough to pull off Hannibal levels of planning like that, I personally think her smirk here is meant to be more of a "that's what she gets for treating me like that." Then a "hee hee my evil plan worked!"

the rest of the comic goes the same way, Rashta is continuously portrayed as a whore who ruined Naviers life by turning her husband against her, and she's written to be hated as a pick me who won't know her place. Rashtas pretty much every part of those "other girls" in those not like other girls templates. She's girly, loves the attention, emotional, dainty, overly sweet but secretly only has ulterior motives, and in the novel, she acts extremely childish even referring to herself in 3rd person, even when she makes good points it's all intended for the reader to laugh and jeer at her.

Shes practically designed to be the pick me archetype for baddass mary sue fans to despise and she sadly only gets worse as time goes on, not just in morals and personality but also in her writting

And how is Navier perceived?

Shes endlessly perfect, everyone loves her including several different powerful men from all different countries. Even her cheating ass husband is given the cheapest redemption arc in the end just for being sorry that he cheated and realizing how much he wants her. All the characters your meant to view as good adore her and anyone who doesn't is written as the meanest bad guy on the planet worthy of death. While she isn't the worst character I've seen, the narrative tries so hard to make her more amazing that Navier looks worse as a result, such as not caring about slavery despite being described as kind and devoted to all her subjects. Ergi even says it straight to us that there will always be that invisible wall between her and the poor.

The characters we're supposed to see as good are:

Heinrey: A king who planned on going to war with Naviers country and only stopped when he fell in love with her at first sight, who also tortures and threatens anyone who even so much as inconveniences or talks shit about her all while he puts up an innocent front to appear non threatening (wonder who that sounds like)

Kaufman: A grand Duke who drugs other people with love potions which are essentially date-rape drugs and gets away with it once another woman takes the blame

Kosair: Naviers brother who violates Rashtas autonomy by slipping abortion drugs in her food and it's never talked about again.

Lebetti: One of Rashtas slave owners who still continues to harass Rashta and views anyone lower than her with contempt including her own nephew and so on

And who are the characters we are supposed to hate?

Besides Rashta and Sovieshu, the only other characters so far are Krista, the former queen of the west and her father

Ironically Krista is hated for the same reason readers supported Navier for: not wanting to replaced as queen, which isn't helped by Heinrey asserting that Navier is the one and only queen and anyone who objects will face serious consequences but they fix that by dumbing her down and blaming her for Kaufman drugging Heinrey. As for her dad, the old Duke. While he is the only man actively against Navier so far the only ways he has been punished is being told that Krista killed herself. (In the novel the old Duke does face serious consequences which involved him being murdered along with innocent people after his son attempted a hit on Navier)

But overall you get the message, most of the characters you are supposed to love are men and ladies with no personality, men who do atrocious shit yet we're supposed to look past it and conveniently the only man who is punished is an ugly bastard.

The ladies in waiting are the biggest contributors to the internalized misogyny, often they support it by insisting any new woman who shows up must be an evil whore, even Krista's ladies in waiting do this

Not like it matters though anyway since Navier basically wins most of those girls over on her side and they're never seen again

You see what I mean? Every other woman in this story has little to no character, they exist solely to push the FL up and punch down at any woman they don't like which usually consists of women that either dainty "other girls" or ironically women in a situation similar to Naviers and any woman who opposes Navier is affectly an idiot who gets girlbossed back into place. Meanwhile almost all of the men who commit absolutely horrible acts get away with it since they all essentially go awooga for Navier, with the only exception being less than conventionally attractive dudes like Krista's dad.

for fucks sake even Alan, one of Rashtas other masters who 🍇ed her, got her pregnant and participated in keeping her child away from her until she got successful is viewed as this sorrowful wittle baby who got taken advantage of by the evil Rashta and was "wrongfully" told to screw off by her. It took an episode where Alan was so unfathomably stupid to get readers to realize they shouldn't side with a rapist, and yes, while the narrative will try to push the idea that Rashta took advantage of him to raise her status and that she consented. News flash: a slave cannot consent to someone who owns them, it's like a student-teacher relationship.

Now the hypocrisy. Navier can do one thing and it's viewed as such a girlboss power move but when someone else like Rashta does something similar, it's embarrassing and pathetic. For example, Rashta is mocked by nobles mind you, for wearing an expensive and flashy wedding dress. Meanwhile Naviers wedding dress is literally weaved with thousand of gemstones

Hey, it's their words not mine.

Or how Rashta was considered evil for stealing Naviers spot as empress (even though Rashta didn't even want to be empress at first and Sovieshu gave her the offer, it's not like she held a gun to his head) but when Krista shows distress over being replaced as queen, the comments basically tell Krista to suck it up because Navier deserves it more. Everytime a man does something wrong in this story, the characters and even the readers trace it back to somehow being a woman's fault.

Readers are even encouraged to laugh at Rashta for not being able to learn as fast and eventually having a breakdown from the stress (not to mention she's also pregnant here so those hormones must be going wild)

yeah let's just blame a pregnant woman who wasn't educated in reading until a few months ago for not being able to be as smart or stoic as Navier and then crying from the stress.

finally, how this promotion of internalized misogyny affected other works. The Trashta nickname has become so popular that it is used everytime a woman who doesn't support the MC or even just inconveniences her is introduced, constantly the comments never shut up about the "new trashta." Even women who don't mean harm like Helena from kill the villainess was treated horribly because she's the "other woman" it erases any attempt at creativity in these stories and dumbs down any other woman who isn't constantly worshipping the FL as an evil bitch who needs to go.

Conclusion:The Remarried empress isn't the feminist power book with complex characters, maybe in season 1 but not anymore. Women who even think about being rude to Navier are punched down and killed if they don't change their mind while almost all the men are excused for their cruel actions because their hot guys with abs who only wanted to protect the one and only goddess Navier.

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Beginning Relationship Pt. I Edition!)

(It took me fucking forever to find a picture from the movie of Turbo [far too cowardly to use fanart]. Which, as we all know, is fitting.)

- To go into deeper detail on this, your time dating Turbo when he was all high and mighty was… Eventful to say the very least.

- We don’t know much about how Turbo pre-RoadBlasters disaster besides the most obvious points: passionate, sore winner, an even sorer loser, hot-headed, and finally the cherry on this red-white cake; Spite.

- His passion for various things bleeds into the other things in his life, giving a drive that goes beyond the racing track, with the relationship he gains with you being one of those things with a lot of time and patience.

- Victory kisses at the end of the day are a must, even when listening to his frustrated woes from certain players playing game wrong, saying things like “I’M FATTEST RAT IN THE RACE! WHY SHOULD I SUFFER WHEN THESE MOTION DEAF TERMITES DECIDE TO PUT A COUPLE OF COINS IN MY GAME???” ….Yeah <3

- I think in many ways that if you get his trust so much to the point where you guys start dating, he just kinda expects you to listen to his aggravated rants and not do the same for you— Which takes a lot of time to rectify, in his mind he doesn’t think you “have it as bad” as him, as ignorant as that is.

- Yeah he doesn’t exactly get a trophy for “best lover”, that’s for sure.

- And his stubborn behavior doesn’t make that any better, takes him a while to get certain things drilled into his brain when he finally realizes what you’re saying isn’t “nagging”.

- Don’t get him wrong, I genuinely think he has the capability to care for someone else over himself, it just takes a whole lot of work for him to consciously realize that.

- PDA isn’t really much of a thing for Turbo (except for his “well earned” victory kisses) , he has a reputation to uphold as one of the most popular game characters in the arcade, though behind closed doors he basically demands the attention you give him at first.

- If you don’t like being ordered around and tell him as such, it takes a series of fights to realize being bossy in a romantic relationship (or any in general) isn’t exactly the best thing. The obvious in these situations isn’t to him, he has a very one track mind (pun intended) and doesn’t like change when it effects him.

- Which is very understandable, human even, I think that many of us, if we had a choice, would keep things just the way we like it. But— Life itself is all about change, conflict, differing opinions, etc. And while it is aggravating to no end, it’s something a person has to come to terms with.

- Someone like Turbo struggles with that concept, why can’t he act the way he finds more natural?? This stone set mindset drives many way, even the people from his game— Even you at times.

- He loves you to death, with the way he sticks close to you after hours, the way he gets a momentary soft look at you when he thinks you aren’t looking is perceptible to people who pay attention.

- Much like his latter self, King Candy, he has the tendency to hide things from you— Not in a way that maintains a noble or joyous persona, but in a way that tries to hide his softness for you, the desire to clutch you close and never let go.

- The feelings your mere existence gives him scares him, not that he would ever admit that, not even to himself.

- He hates that at times his feelings depend on how you feel, and trying to understand it only stirs the pot, touches of comfort are met with a scoff and some variation of “I’m not some fragile lamb you can comfort.” Though at that point his reactions aren’t nearly as explosive as they used to be.

- Over time I believe that with your help he is able to maintain more composure— Thinking before acting, which is something he is desperate need for.

- Your relationship is very hit and miss at times, but what is love without conflict? BORING, that’s what I say at least.

- Who he is as a whole is both a blessing and a curse, really makes a person think in a “What goes on in that asshole’s head? And how the fuck did he get with someone?”

- The time you have with him before RoadBlasters was installed was special, not perfect in the slightest, but you guy had your moments that one can look at later on with a sense of melancholy.

(Abyiv-ahzapj! *SVBK MHYA UVPZL*)

[howtofightwrite]

Hello! I know yall have talked about how overusing violence in a story makes it less impactful especially if it doesn’t cause lasting impacts for the characters. In my story this lack of impact slowly clues the mc in that something is Wrong with [them/reality, they’re not sure] because hey, these things *should* be having some effects, healing in this setting may be magic but it’s not *miracles*, but I’m not sure how to differentiate it from the typical outcomes of violence in fiction that the reader will simply be used to seeing, outside just the mc’s thoughts on the matter. What are some things yall would want to see acknowledged and/or explored when treating violent encounters this way intentionally? Would someone become more violent (or more willing to do awful things to others when engaged in violence) over time when it didn’t have lasting consequences? Thanks!

Okay, so there's three separate things going on, and two of these intersect normally, but we usually approach them separately.

The first is the diminishing returns on violence; the simplest explanation would be that the less violence you have in your story, the more impactful (or potent) it will be. For example, looking at a pair of films from Tarantino's career. The violence is Reservoir Dogs hits much harder than the violence in Kill Bill. For example, if you've seen the former and I mention, “the ear scene,” you know exactly what I'm talking about. Yes, it's a somewhat gruesome scene, but it sticks with you, even decades later, potentially even to the point that you can't listen to Stuck in the Middle With You, without thinking of that scene. Now, how many people were decapitated in Kill Bill? It's a bit of an honest question, because I genuinely don't remember. While Tarantino has a well deserved reputation for violence, the violence in Reservoir Dogs is far more memorable, because there's far less of it, and the violence that occurs serves very deliberate story purposes. None of it is gratuitous for the purpose of, “here's a fight.” Where Kill Bill basically posits the question of, “how much can you cut out of an action film, while keeping the fight scenes, without the narrative completely collapsing?” As a result, there's a lot of violence, but none of it sticks with you. None of it has any particular impact. Even the moments that are supposed to be meaningful (such as the wedding) blend together.

Managing consequences of violence is more about preserving narrative tension. If that violence poses a real threat to your characters, then putting them in situations where they could be seriously injured or killed does have tension. But there are multiple points of potential failure with this thought process, and the more violence you engage in, the more risk you'll accidentally vent tension when you didn't intend to.

A major issue that can undermine your tension is when your characters, inexplicably, avoid harm. This is frequently an issue with non-powered superheroes, where throwing mountains of cannon fodder at them doesn't result in any meaningful wear and tear on the character.

Ironically, being too cavalier about violence can have a similar effect. Kill off too many characters, and your audience just won't care anymore about the survivors.

There are ways to manage this. A lot of the time a better option is to tie your characters' “fail state” to something other than your characters being hurt or killed. In fact, a lot of superhero narratives have to find other ways to maintain tension, because the protagonist is functionally immune to harm.

For example: The danger that a superhero will become completely ethically detached from their humanity. I hate to break it to you, but that's not a strictly new concept. The classic example of that is probably Dr. Manhattan from Watchmen, though The Comedian from the same is probably a better affirmative answer to your question. Could someone become completely debased when they're insulated from the consequences of their actions? Yeah. You don't even need fictional examples. Whoever Fights Monsters by Robert Ressler is a pretty decent, introductory, look into serial killer pathology, and the process of escalation they go through. Lack of adverse consequences can lead someone down a path to becoming their worst version of themselves.

Specifically talking about superheroes, Watchman casts a long shadow, and one of the issues that a lot of imitators suffered from was to pawn off a superhero's psychological problems into far more mundane causes, like abusive childhoods. (If you're wondering, this is why I'm not recommending things like The Boys, Irredeemable, or Invincible, it's because the only one of those that's even peripherally applicable is Invincible.) If you really want another example, Planetary comes to mind, though it won't be immediately apparent why that's relevant.

Something that's probably worth saying is, it's not about what I, or anyone else, wants to see from your work. This is about you finding the tools to do the best you can with your idea. So, I'm not really sitting her as an arbiter about what you can, can't, should, or shouldn't do. Rather, I'm mostly sitting here observing that, “this is how these things tend to work,” in a story. So, ultimately the decision is what you want to see in your work.

It's also worth remembering that hyperviolent media does exist. The violence doesn't have the same impact as in a more constrained narrative, but that doesn't make one story better than the other. I'm sure there are people who will argue that out of Tarantino's career, Kill Bill is the better film than Reservoir Dogs, (even if I'm not one to make that specific argument.) The point I don't often draw attention to, within the diminishing returns is, if you're going to use a lot of violence, it becomes difficult to pull out an individual violent moment and say, “no, this one's different; this one means more.” You can write an absolute gore-fest, but the individual moments of violence won't have the same kind of weight, and if you want one of those to carry more emotional weight, it's going to require a lot more care in how you structure your events.

A lot of the times with writing advice, it's not about, “right or wrong,” it's about identifying what works and what will take a bit more finesse to get working.

-Starke

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[hyperfixat]

found this game in my steam wishlist 😭 i remember putting it in there and i forgot abt it for so long but i got around to playing it and !!! Okay!

So naturally, as one does, i decided to write a fic where u fucking kill yourself Obvious CW for suicide and overdosing on painkillers

(okay there’s kinda an open ending) anyway 1.2k words. GO.

You had no intention of winning your bet. Sure you taunt and tease the reaper, even before knowing who (rather what) he is, but you don’t intend on taking his soul. You wouldn’t even know how to take a soul if push came to shove.

It’s been an idle plan in your mind for years now. Suicide, that is. So when someone contacts you asking for your soul, you assume whatever god was overseeing you had a sick sense of humor.

Honestly, you think this “Grim Reaper” guy is planning on making a snuff film out of you. When you make your first call you think, this doesn't look like the type of guy to make snuff films. Hey, maybe he’s some rich pervert, using his fortune to prey on random people by installing spyware and stalking them before getting his rocks off to their death.

This false impression of Grim comes to a harsh end when he literally takes a stroll inside of you. And does stuff. You’re not quite sure what the hell that was about, but, again, this guy is either death incarnate or way richer than you had initially given him credit for.

You wonder if your ideas are graffitied on your soul, mindscape, wherever it was Grim ventured. It, this cosmically far away concept of the depression you have become, has been a shadow over your life. Surely it stained itself into your very being.

If there was any indication of that you’d like to think Grim would have mentioned the blight bleeding into you. But he doesn’t. So you don’t ask.

All too soon your week is coming to a close. You can’t lie to yourself and say you haven’t been falling for Casper (he had indulged you in his real name), but you’ve been looking for an excuse to do this for years and you won’t let someone you’ve known for less than a week hold you back.

Really you’re doing him a favor.

Maybe you should have done this sooner.

You are meant to be dead. Was it supposed to be by your own hands all along? Were you truly too much a coward until this very day to finally do it?

It’s cruel to leave your pet behind, but you hope they have it in them to forgive you. Grim seemed to think they were cute, hopefully he’ll agree to take care of them. You draft up a message to send to him before you trudge to your medicine cabinet. The value pack of 500 painkillers stares back at you, taunting.

No time like the present. You grab the bottle and take it to your kitchen, pouring a big cup of soda. You want to go out drinking your favorite drink and water is for losers. Popping the child safety lock off you pour out a handful of pills. How many would you have to take to get the job done, you wonder.

Well, it’s not like anyone else needs them, so you go handful by handful and down as much of the container as you can, before your stomach starts to ache. It’s likely the ache is from how full you are, but it could be your system beginning to realize something is wrong with your body, so you slide into your desk chair and open up the chatroom.

Grim is online. He’ll probably rush to your place. Out of excitement? Duty? Fear? Pity? There are too many possible outcomes, but you want to make sure the message gets sent, so you paste it into your chat bar, watching the line flickering at the end, prompting you to either send or type more.

Now your stomach is really starting to roll. You lean over and grab your trash bucket, holding it to your chest. Only when your burps start to taste like stale medicine do you hit the enter bar, sending the message.

Grim

What.

Grim

No

Grim

Don’t do it.

Grim

I’m coming over now.

Grim

KYS

Hm. That last message forces a chuckle out of you. Does he know what that means? An open contradiction; unless he’s gullible enough to believe it means Keep Yourself Safe.

Yeah, he definitely thinks it means keep yourself safe.

A bit late for that, though.

You have enough cognition to stumble forward and lock your window. A mere glass panel won’t stave death away, but hopefully you’ll have passed by the time Casper breaks it or breaks in through other means. You fall back into your spinning chair, and the momentum slides you halfway to your bed. That’s far enough away where you have a clear view of your window.

With glazed over eyes and a heavy slouch you watch as Casper flies up as if propelled by a very steep zipline. His eyes are wide and alert as he attempts to lift your window, a harsh contrast to your own.

He’s saying something but the window and your brain muffles it, probably telling you to let him in. Tough luck is what you’d tell him if your mouth wasn’t salivating so much. Casper bangs on your window at a frantic and fearful pace. Your emotions are swiftly changing.

You want to console him, hold him and tell him it’s alright. You know this is what you deserve, what’s been coming for you. Though it’s not in your best interest, you think your body is past the point of saving, not without some serious medical know how, so you stumble on deer legs to pop the lock open on the window.

Casper wastes no time in flinging it up and open.

“What have you done?” He’s all over you in an instant. Hands in your hair; hands on your face, peering into your dazed eyes, hands over your chest, hands feeling your abdomen. Casper looks distraught.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him, though your words sound oddly gurgle-y. “You win, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to win. I forfeit, please, what have you done, tell me, I can fix this.” Casper speaks fast as if the haste with which he delivers his words will somehow fix you. His hands settle on either side of your face. “Look into my eyes, everything is going to be alright. I’m not upset, I’m not mad, please look into my eyes.” His words are like a mantra, and the desperation in his tone makes you compelled to follow his instructions.

The tears in his red eyes refract the light like rubies. You can’t imagine anything more beautiful.

“Can you imagine a bridge for me?” Casper’s hands are shaking against your face, the tremors get worse when you shake your head ‘no.’

“It’s okay.” You repeat yourself. “I love you, okay?” In another situation, far less serious than this, Casper would make fun of your excessive use of the word, but he barely notices.

“That’s alright, that’s alright, just keep looking into my eyes, got it?” Yes, you want to do that, Casper has the prettiest eyes. You wouldn‘t mind them being the last thing you see. That would be a lovely final view, you think.

They are.

the endings i thought of are:

one; you fucking die

two; casper establishes a soul mind link and gives you part of himself to keep your tethered to your body for long enough that you heal and you don’t die

[benedictscanvas]

bluebells - remus lupin x reader

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 0.8k

a/n: i just keep thinking of teeny tiny remus concepts and i have to write them every time. thought it would be fun to do another in the recent universe (1, 2 & 3) from sirius' perspective. this is quite unedited, but i'll have a check on it tomorrow. enjoy sunflowers <3

---

“Do you have a secret admirer you haven’t told us about?” Sirius asks, as innocently as he can.

The question has Remus sitting up a little straighter on the stool in your kitchen, just as he intended. Remus may never have spoken to him about his feelings for you, by some miracle, but they were plain as day to anyone with a brain cell between their ears. Sirius was fairly sure you were equally enamoured - but you were harder to read than his precious Moony.

“What are you on about now?” you laughed, able to shrug off the question easily. Sirius sidled up to the tiny vase of flowers that sat on the granite countertop, filled with imperfect bluebells that didn’t look shop-bought.

“Only the very pretty bouquet in your kitchen that someone has clearly picked for you,” he practically purrs, “And don’t try to convince me you picked them yourself, doll, because I know for a fact you haven’t been walking in the woods.”

That only makes you laugh harder, and Sirius knows he’s got you. He’s hoping you’re about to praise whoever picked you those flowers and Remus will get sufficiently jealous to snog you senseless or something. Sirius hasn’t figured out his full match-making plan yet, admittedly.

“Obviously, I didn’t pick them,” you agree, glancing with obvious shyness towards Remus, who already has telltale pink cheeks, “Remus is the one doing all the woodland walking in this group. He is sometimes kind enough to fill my teeny tiny vase for me.”

And Sirius just gapes at you. Then at Remus. He can’t help it, because whatever he was trying to achieve, it is utter madness that Remus himself could be the one to pick you flowers and still neither of you could move past a more than friendly friendship. 

Remus is glaring at him now, because he’s clearly been gaping so long that he’s made the whole atmosphere awkward. You turn your attention back to making cups of tea, but Sirius sees the way you fluster. He’s made it weird. He was trying to make it a bit weird, yes, but not like this.

“Sorry, I had to take a second there,” he said, through a half chuckle, “Just struggling with the idea that Moony is bringing you flowers and he’s never once thought to bring some for me?”

Sirius is just charming enough to get away with it. Remus softens, his glare now holding far less scorn and you throw him a smile over your shoulder as you get the milk out of the fridge.

“He likes me better,” you argue playfully, sticking your tongue out at him. Just like that, all awkwardness is gone and replaced by the almost flirting thing the two of you do that drives Sirius mad - he wants to tell you both to give your heads a wobble.

“I can give you the leftovers if you like, Pads,” Remus chimes in, “But I’m afraid the finest flowers are already reserved.”

And Sirius watches Remus smile at you like you’re the sun and moon and all the stars combined, and it melts his heart a little. Who is he to rush you? You grin back at Remus like there’s a secret to be shared.

But of course, Sirius must keep up the facade and so he grunts in annoyance.

“I see how it is. Fifty years of friendship and look where it gets me,” he grumbles, “Pretty sure picking flowers is objectively wrong, too.”

“Drama queen,” you say through a cough, then adopt an instant wide-eyed innocent look when Sirius rounds his glare on you.

“Fifty years? We’re in our twenties Sirius.”

“Friendship like ours defies the laws of nature, honey,” Sirius smirks, and Remus’ nose wrinkles.

“And if you pick flowers in moderation, it can actually benefit their conservation,” you say, placing the three cups of tea on the table and waving Remus over from the island stool to sit with you and Sirius, “So drink your tea and stop whinging, Sirius.”

He gasps in mock offence and then pretends to burn his tongue on the tea, just to see you and Remus roll your eyes at him together. When Remus sits down, he thanks you for the tea under his breath and you smile your brightest at him, squeezing his elbow as you hurry away to get the biscuit tin.

Sirius takes another look at Remus’ lovestruck face even though all you did was touch his elbow. He’s not sure whether it’s cute or slightly sickening, but he glances at the pretty shitty bluebell bouquet on the table again and decides that if the two of you are happy as you are, he won’t try to interfere again.

(it lasts all of thirty seconds, because the two of you gang up on him about biscuit choice as soon as you sit down with the tin, and Sirius immediately decides it’ll be worth it to fluster the two of you, if only for his own amusement)

[snifferish]

When people talk about creating safe spaces online, I think the general focus is on excluding people who are outright nasty or prejudice. While I think this is important and a good step, it can also create some illusion that the people within the space are safe from doing wrong. 

There are so many examples of this for sure, but to give an example that I have experienced is the concept of “Safe spaces for women” Yeah obviously it tends to be a space free of men, but that doesn’t make the women who are in the space completely “safe” either. If we talk about the four I’s of oppression, Ideological, Institutional, Interpersonal, and Internalized, the step of excluding the offending group only addresses a few. Going back to my example, there are plenty of women I’ve met who carry internalized ideas of misogyny who can make other women feel unsafe. I mean, most of, if not all of the misogyny I’ve experienced in the MC community has come from other fem people who use the excuse that they like some women or are a women as a defense.

It’s also important to mention intersectionality. Yeah it’s a space of women, and that might make it seem free of misogyny, but what if those women carry prejudice towards someone's race, or whether or not they are trans?

And again, because it’s been deemed a “safe space” a lot the internal or intersectional offenders see themselves as immune because of their position or other identity. I think if one truly wants to cultivate a safe space online, while excluding the people who are outright nasty and prejudice is a good step, it’s important to encourage the people within the community to look inside themselves and deconstruct their prejudices whether its against other people or yourself (also going back to those four I’s, it’s crucial to understand no one if free from that). It’s important to create a space where criticism is accepted, and not viewed as an attack, and in turn the criticism given is intended to call out and instigate growth. This post itself isn’t an attack on anyone in particular, in fact it’s partially a guideline for myself, as I want to cultivate a safe space in my online community while acknowledging that just because I do that, I’m not free of critique. I also want to add that this happens in a myriad of forms across multiple communities, and I use the example of misogyny because that’s what I’ve experienced, but if others want to weigh in their experiences as well, I think that’s important.  Sorry for the random tumblr post out of the blue, I enjoy a long character count ahaha. I’m not even sure how to tag this and it might just go to the void, but these are my thoughts.

[greenfiend]

So I honestly think I’ve somewhat figured out the build-up to the climax of the show… I’ll write it out here if anyone is interested. I’ll probably be editing it as I find new evidence etcetc but uhh yeah.

- Mike and Will have conflict. Misunderstandings… maybe the painting fight.

- Mike leaves then gets trapped in the UD along with Max (others might too… like possibly half of the cast for high stakes like how Berlin got divided into the East and West and I’m using that comparison because of the song “Heroes”.)

- The military finds a way to nearly close off all the gates (which is BAD)

- Vecna is trapped too and they all find out more about him and possibly all work together (love to see it)

- somehow Mike gets back through watergate (after a long week of being separated). Blue meets yellow in the West (West Berlin aka the right side up) and Will brings him to Reefer Rick’s lakeside house. There’s HEAVY rain. Maybe some arguing too idk.

- emotions escalate and they become lovers which leads to a HIGH ENERGY LIGHTING STRIKE (sexual/orgone energy) right into watergate and opening it right up. (The gate is the Silver Cat as I’ve mentioned before. It is possible that the lighting is the snack that Will and Mike feed it). Now I love this concept for multiple reasons, one of them being that the heart/the lake gets resuscitated! The electric shock restarts the heart!

- Will and Mike help to rescue those who were stuck but then somehow end up in the UD themselves. Their “trip to China”.

- except instead of the dark and depressing UD… it’s beautiful lush and green. Which sure sounds nice. It’s fairyland. Will and Mike are the first ones to ever reach it. They “tread lightly” as you do when you make a “small step for man, big leap for mankind” hehe. And yeah the shame is literally on the other side.

Side note: the nod to historical events are important here! The whole show is full of them. The Berlin Wall and the Space Race are both aspects of the Cold War. (Of course I’m really simplifying things here… no disrespect intended)

I’m making more posts on it I just wanted to lay out my thoughts. I’d love to know your thoughts too. Did you think I got some things wrong? Let me know!

[antianakin]

What are your thoughts on this stupid "Jedi train child soldiers" accusation?

The Jedi aren't soldiers, so I feel like by definition, the kids cannot be child soldiers.

I feel like most of the people who make that accusation are talking about Ahsoka, who gets sent out at 14 when a war is happening and the master chosen for her is actively on the front lines as a general. And my best argument for this is just that it the reason behind having a padawan in the show so clearly wasn't as a condemnation against the Jedi using child soldiers. She's there because it was a show for kids and they wanted a main character who would be the age of most of their viewers (or close to it anyway) and they gave her to Anakin because Anakin is a main character of the show (kind of a requirement in order to give her enough air time to make her presence reasonable) who needed development in a specific direction. That's literally it.

There's never any character who questions Ahsoka's right to be on the battlefield aside from Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Rex at the very beginning and it's primarily just there to let Ahsoka look cooler when she proves them wrong and provides a conflict to overcome by the end of the movie's arc. So while I UNDERSTAND that Ahsoka does, in essence, become a child soldier, this falls into the same category for me as the "droids/clones are slaves" accusation where the narrative never actually acknowledges this as being true, so as a viewer, I generally try to analyze it more from a Doylist standpoint than a Watsonian one. Is it technically true? Yes. Is it something the CHARACTERS seem to believe to be true? Maybe, but it's never really discussed, so you can't really claim the narrative itself is intended to be viewed that way, especially as a condemnation of characters who are incapable of acknowledging something that their creator did not.

What's unfortunate is that, while Ahsoka is indicated very clearly to be YOUNG to be a padawan, every single other padawan character we've met and spent time with was taken just as early as Ahsoka if not early (Obi-Wan canonically was taken at 13, Anakin at 9/10, Cal at like 12/13, Caleb at 12/13, even Ezra at 14/15). This ends up lending a LOT of ammunition to the argument that the Jedi often choose padawans around the age of 13 and those padawans then immediately have to go out into dangerous situations when they follow their masters on missions. If we believe Obi-Wan and Anakin's comments about Ahsoka being young to be a padawan, then the implied common age for padawans to be chosen is probably closer to 16-18 (which makes the whole concept of characters being knighted at 18 or less sort-of ludicrous on so many levels). If we assume that it's a LOT more common for padawans to be chosen at 16-18, then it feels a lot less weird to be taking them out on missions because that is generally when a lot of cultures consider children to now be adults. YOUNG adults, for sure, but adults ready to take their first steps out into the world and experience it more for themselves. They're NOT child soldiers, they're apprentices learning a particular trade.

[elfwreck]

Hello!

I'm not sure if this is a bit odd to ask, but I saw your post about living in rural arkansas as a teen- and the note at the end about gun rights, and how rifles are different than handguns in that legislation and all-

do you have any sources you could link so I can look into that more? I live in rural Kentucky so hunting is very ingrained into just how me and my family and our neighbors live. (also a poor county- I didn't actually know other cities had kids pay for their lunch because I was so used to everyone in my county getting a free lunch- it seems like such a basic thing).

I've never heard anyone mention not banning hunting rifles when they talk about banning guns-

The gun bans being asked for are assault rifles and semi-automatic pistols. Rapid-fire guns intended for military use against multiple human targets - not hunting rifles at all, and not the kinds of pistols that are good for self-defense. (...Not that pistols are good for self-defense in general. Shotguns are good for self-defense. Nobody's trying to ban shotguns.)

The NRA is invested in convincing hunting-rifle owners and pistol owners that the various proposed weapons bans are aimed at them, and not at the tiny number of people who want the ability to shoot up a whole bar or classroom in under a minute.

The NRA has also fought hard against any kind of gun safety requirements.

Bill from last year to ban/restrict assault rifles:

https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/senate-bill/25/text

The gun safety bill Biden recently signed:

Doesn't ban any weapons. Puts restrictions on who can get weapons - people convicted of most types of domestic partner violence will not be allowed to buy guns. It makes it harder for people under 21 to buy guns. It closes some loopholes about selling guns, so sellers will need to be registered and licensed. Sets up new funding for gun crisis intervention.

Doesn't do anything to restrict hunting, other than possibly adding to the bureaucracy for people under 21 getting new guns.

Most people in urban areas are oblivious to hunting as a Real Thing that People Actually Do For Good Reasons, rather than a kind of cruel sporting event. They are vaguely aware that hunting rifles are not assault rifles, are not semi-automatics, but only as an abstract concept. Might or might not be able to tell a hunting rifle apart from a semi-automatic if they saw them. (I am not sure I could; I am very much not a gun person.) (I have shot one gun, once in my life. It was loud and hurt my hand and I had no interest in doing it again.)

I don't know how much I think we need to ban or restrict certain weapons. I am absolutely certain we need to keep certain weapons out of the hands of certain people, because the current system of "I guess 10-year-olds should all get training on what to do if some teacher's ex-boyfriend decides to shoot up the school" is ridiculous.

Given how hard it is to identify the "certain people" who should damn well NOT have access to automatic weapons, I'm okay with "it gets harder for anyone to get them," because I don't see how heavy assault rifles are a "but I neeeeed it this weekend!" kind of thing. (Not sure I see that hunting rifles are a "need it now" kind of thing, either; seems like those are a hefty enough purchase that the buyer should be doing some planning in advance. So filing for it like you would for car registration - another expensive piece of tech that kills people if you use it wrong - shouldn't be too big a burden.)

The idiots who include hunting rifles in their talk about banning guns - I won't say there aren't any; all sorts of politics gets plenty of idiots - have no idea how those guns actually get used. And the people writing actual policies and trying to get the laws changed are not those idiots.

The "ban guns" movement has two main parts:

Remove general access to guns that can kill a dozen people in under a minute, and

Remove gun access from specific people who have a history of getting angry and violent, especially those who have a history of shooting other people when they're angry and violent.

Side note: Some of us want that second point to include cops. That faction is getting nowhere.

None of it is trying to remove access to hunting rifles or reduce the amount of hunting in places that need it. (Basically, all of the South; I am near San Francisco and nobody anywhere near me "needs" to hunt; I don't care what they do with hunting rights in the greater SF Bay Area).

The focus is on preventing gun violence, not preventing gun use. And that means restricting access to guns that have no purpose other than anti-human violence, and restricting access to all guns from people who are likely to use them as weapons instead of tools.

[pikahlua]

I don’t agree with everything said here but: [link removed]

For context, someone sent me a link to a post about elements of fascism and copaganda they feel are present in MHA. I've removed the link for anonymity purposes.

I have no interest in responding to this essay point-by-point. As a brief, BRIEF, BRIEF summary, the linked post makes claims such as:

MHA is pro-authoritarian

MHA is pro-cop

MHA doesn't have these elements promoting fascism on purpose but the elements are there regardless

MHA's ending endorses philosophies it previously criticized

MHA readers who don't pick up on these things lack critical thinking

MHA's hero system is comparable to the fascistic element described in Umberto Eco's "Ur-Fascism" that "everybody is educated to become a hero"

Nothing in MHA's hero society changes

They say a lot of stuff I really don't see as relevant at all, a lot of nonspecific platitudes and philosophical nothings. They frame the story in MHA as if it says a lot of stuff or does a lot of things that I personally don't see or agree that it does. It also goes on to talk about elements in the story it fails to explore like themes of child soldiers and punishment before crime.

I appreciate that the post acknowledges they see these elements in MHA as unintentional. That makes it easier for me to consider their POV and understand where they're coming from.

That said, my response can only be: it's not that deep.

If I want to, I can read elements of ANYTHING into any story. It's very easy to do. There are whole arms of literature study basically dedicated to reading certain philosophical angles into stories that they know are not intended elements in said stories. But there needs to be some self-awareness here before we take anything that far. Equating heroism in MHA to Humberto Eco's concept of a cult of heroism that equals a cult of death is just another version of the same take I've debunked before. I don't agree with the essay's interpretation of this theme at all. My impression is THEY had a certain reading on MHA in its earlier arcs that conflicts with later arcs, but I have a reading that reads the arcs as harmonious. We are at too many odds here.

But because I acknowledge that the major difference between me and this essayist is that we have VERY different readings of MHA in the first place, I don't really wanna take the time to answer all of their points. They all clearly come from a logical place based on their own interpretation, and I don't see anything wrong with that. If that's their reading, they are welcome to it. It's a little obnoxious to claim the rest of us lack critical thinking just because we don't point out these elements they see as fascistic. To me, the stuff they identify that fuels their branching criticisms is stuff hopefully everyone has to acknowledge before they even start reading the shounen genre. I have to suspend my disbelief in the first place when I'm reading about superheroes as a social system. I have to suspend my disbelief in a shounen action manga where the fate of the world is at stake. These are things we all have to understand going in. Not every story aimed at young teenage boys is going to have the space to explore the nuance in all these social systems. It's just not that deep.

So is MHA copaganda? Setting aside the dissonance of comparing western forms of copaganda to Japanese shounen manga forms, sure, fine--so far as the story depicts an organization, particularly one with law enforcement powers, as not wholly incompetent or corrupt goes. But like, the story itself does pose the question of whether the existence of this organization (the heroes) is necessary, which is posing the fundamental question of anti-copaganda at the narrative too. The question is, what answer to this question do we get from the ending? You can read the ending as, "Everyone needs to be heroes (cops)," or you can read it as, "Everyone needs to be good to each other and then the hero system becomes unnecessary," but no matter what, the ending still says, "The hero institution as it is is not the answer." This is what I mean about gradualism and collectivism easily being co-opted by fascism or by socialism. MHA does basically say, "The current system sucks, so we have to change it," and then changes it. It's just not a satisfying change for anyone who wanted a radical revolution. Gradualism is a position that has MANY critics for this exact reason.

But even on the topic of gradualism, I think it would be a mistake to say that MHA teaches us, "Only incremental change is possible." The way I read its themes are that it's saying "Trying is important; even when all you can achieve turns out to be incremental, it's still worth trying."

As for the themes of collectivism in MHA, collectivism can easily read like paternalism to a western (white) audience, which is a whole other issue. This is why there's so much debate about whether or not people are coming from a place of good faith when their criticisms don't seem to acknowledge the eastern philosophies at play in MHA. In truth, I would be hard-pressed to name an anime that doesn't have an ending that feels weird to me. Every single anime ending I know has an element I find confusing or disquieting or off, and my conclusion has been to acknowledge that anime isn't made with me in mind as its audience. Oftentimes, stuff happens in anime that just doesn't jive with my upbringing, but I recognize it is coming from a different worldview that my upbringing has often caricatured as evil and oppressive and wrong without any nuance. It highlights for me how the media from my general worldview must also look ridiculous at times to others not in the know. So while I think it's perfectly acceptable to point out elements that do seem fascistic in any media and to stay vigilant about them, I do also take care to be open-minded about learning what other things may be going into these stories that could provide a completely different perspective.

As @siflshonen would say, sometimes all I can do is say, "I'm too western for this," and move on.