#I will never do a military route

[daydreamdoodles]

i am never going to recover from this game.

I simply cannot play MLAATE normally. It must consume my day and I must be unable to think normally after playing it

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Masquerade

historical fiction set in 15th century West Africa

follows a young woman from Timbuktu, recently conquered by the the warrior king of Yorùbáland

her guild of blacksmiths were already shunned as witches, and their conditions worsen under Yorùbá rule - so when she’s kidnapped by the king to be his wife, she decides to accept that it’ll be a better life for her, as long as she can get her mother’s blessing

but as months go by without her mother being found, and political tensions rise, she must decide what she wants

[ceilidhtransing]

The discussions around whether or not to vote for Kamala keep being dominated by very loud voices shouting that anyone who advocates for her “just doesn't care about Palestine!” and “is willing to overlook genocide!” and “has no moral backbone at all!” And while some of these voices will be bots, trolls, psyops - we know that this happens; we know that trying to persuade progressives to split the vote or not vote at all is a strategy employed by hostile actors - of course many of them won't be. But what this rhetoric does is continually force the “you should vote for her” crowd onto the back foot of having to go to great lengths writing entire essays justifying their choice, while the “don't vote/vote third party” crowd is basically never asked to justify their choice. It frames voting for Kamala as a deeply morally compromised position that requires extensive justification while framing not voting or voting third party as the neutral and morally clean stance.

So here's another way of looking at it. How much are you willing to accept in order to feel like you're not compromising your morals on one issue?

Are you willing to accept the 24% rise in maternal deaths - and 39% increase for Black women - that is expected under a federal abortion ban, according to the Centre for American Progress? Those percentages represent real people who are alive now who would die if the folks behind Project 2025 get their way with reproductive healthcare.

Are you willing to accept the massive acceleration of climate change that would result from the scrapping of all climate legislation? We don't have time to fuck around with the environment. A gutting of climate policy and a prioritisation of fossil fuel profits, which is explicitly promised by Trump, would set the entire world back years - years that we don't have.

Are you willing to accept the classification of transgender visibility as inherently “pornographic” and thus the removal of trans people from public life? Are you willing to accept the total elimination of legal routes for gender-affirming care? The people behind the Trump campaign want to drive queer and trans people back underground, back into the closet, back into “criminality”. This will kill people. And it's maddening that caring about this gets called “prioritising white gays over brown people abroad” as if it's not BIPOC queer and trans Americans who will suffer the most from legislative queer- and transphobia, as they always do.

Are you willing to accept the domestic deployment of the military to crack down on protests and enforce racist immigration policy? I'm sure it's going to be very easy to convince huge numbers of normal people to turn up to protests and get involved in political organising when doing so may well involve facing down an army deployed by a hardcore authoritarian operating under the precedent that nothing he does as president can ever be illegal.

Are you willing to accept a president who openly talks about wanting to be a dictator, plans on massively expanding presidential powers, dehumanises his political enemies and wants the DOJ to “go after them”, and assures his supporters they won't have to vote again? If you can't see the danger of this staring you right in the face, I don't know what to tell you. Allowing a wannabe dictator to take control of the most powerful country on earth would be absolutely disastrous for the entire world.

Are you willing to accept an enormous uptick in fascism and far-right authoritarianism worldwide? The far right in America has huge influence over an entire international network of “anti-globalists”, hardcore anti-immigrant xenophobes, transphobic extremists, and straight-up fascists. Success in America aids and emboldens these people everywhere.

Are you willing to accept an enormous number of preventable deaths if America faces a crisis in the next four years: a public health emergency, a natural disaster, an ecological catastrophe? We all saw how Trump handled Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. We all saw how Trump handled Covid-19. He fanned the flames of disaster with a constant flow of medical misinformation and an unspeakably dangerous undermining of public health experts. It's estimated that 40% of US pandemic deaths could have been avoided if the death rates had corresponded to those in other high-income countries. That amounts to nearly half a million people. One study from January 2021 estimated between around 4,200 and 12,200 preventable deaths attributable purely to Trump's statements about masks. We're highly unlikely to face another global pandemic in the next few years but who knows what crises are coming down the pipeline?

Are you willing to accept the attempted deportation of millions - millions - of undocumented people? This is “rounding people up and throwing them into camps where no one ever hears from them again” territory. That's a blueprint for genocide right there and it's a core tenet of both Trump's personal policy and Project 2025. And of course they wouldn't be going after white people. They most likely wouldn't even restrict their tyranny to people who are actually undocumented. Anyone racially othered as an “immigrant” would be at risk from this.

Are you willing to accept not just the continuation of the current situation in Palestine, but the absolute annihilation of Gaza and the obliteration of any hope for imminent peace? There is no way that Trump and the people behind him would not be catastrophically worse for Gaza than Kamala or even Biden. Only recently he was telling donors behind closed doors that he wanted to “set the [Palestinian] movement back 25 or 30 years” and that “any student that protests, I throw them out of the country”. This is not a man who can be pushed in a direction more conducive to peace and justice. This is a man who listens to his wealthy donors, his Christian nationalist Republican allies, and himself.

Are you willing to accept a much heightened risk of nuclear war? Obviously this is hardly a Trump policy promise. But I can't think of a single president since the Cold War who is more likely to deploy nuclear weapons, given how casually he talks about wanting to use them and how erratic and unstable he can be in his dealings with foreign leaders. To quote Foreign Policy only this year, “Trump told a crowd in January that one of the reasons he needed immunity was so that he couldn’t be indicted for using nuclear weapons on a city.” That's reassuring. I'm not even in the US and I remember four years of constant background low-level terror that Trump would take offence at something some foreign leader said or think that he needs to personally intervene in some military situation to “sort it out” and decide to launch the entire world into nuclear war. No one sane on earth wants the most powerful person on the planet to be as trigger-happy and careless with human life as he is, especially if he's running the White House like a dictator with no one ever telling him no. But depending on what Americans do in November, he may well be inflicted again on all of us, and I guess we'll all just have to hope that he doesn't do the worst thing imaginable.

“But I don't want those things! Stop accusing me of supporting things I don't support!” Yes, of course you don't want those things. None of us does. No one's saying that you actively support them. No one's accusing you of wanting Black women to die from ectopic pregnancies or of wanting to throw Hispanic people in immigrant detention centres or of wanting trans people to be outlawed (unlike, I must point out, the extremely emotive and personal accusations that get thrown around about “wanting Palestinian children to die” if you encourage people to vote for Kamala).

But if you're advocating against voting for Kamala, you are clearly willing to accept them as possible consequences of your actions. That is the deal you're making. If a terrible thing happening is the clear and easily foreseeable outcome of your action (or in the case of not voting, inaction), in a way that could have been prevented by taking a different and just as easy action, you are partly responsible for that consequence. (And no, it's not “a fear campaign” to warn people about things he's said, things he wants to do, and plans drawn up by his close allies. This is not “oooh the Democrats are trying to bully you into voting for them by making him out to be really bad so you'll feel scared and vote for Kamala!” He is really bad, in obvious and documented and irrefutable ways.)

And if you believe that “both parties are the same on Gaza” (which, you know, they really aren't, but let's just pretend that they are) then presumably you accept that the horrors being committed there will continue, in the immediate term anyway, regardless of who wins the presidency. Because there really isn't some third option that will appear and do everything we want. It's going to be one of those two. And we can talk all day about wanting a better system or how unfair it is that every presidential election only ever has two viable candidates and how small the Overton window is and all that but hell, we are less than eighty days out from the election; none of that is going to get fixed between now and November. Electoral reform is a long-term (but important!) goal, not something that can be effected in the span of a couple of months by telling people online to vote third party. There is no “instant ceasefire and peace negotiation” button that we're callously overlooking by encouraging people to vote for Kamala. (My god, if there was, we would all be pressing it.)

If we're suggesting people vote for her, it's not that we “are willing to overlook genocide” or “don't care about sacrificing brown people abroad” or whatever. Nothing is being “overlooked” here. It's that we're simply not willing to accept everything else in this post and more on top of continued atrocities in Gaza. We're not willing to take Trump and his godawful far-right authoritarian agenda as an acceptable consequence of feeling like we have the moral high ground on Palestine. I cannot stress enough that if Kamala doesn't win, we - we all, in the whole world - get Trump. Are you willing to accept that?

And one more point to address: I've seen too many people act frighteningly flippant and naïve about terrible things Trump or his campaign want to do, with the idea that people will simply be able to prevent all these bad things by “organising” and “protesting” and “collective action”. “I'm not willing to accept these things; that's why I'll fight them tooth and nail every day of their administration” - OK but if you're not even willing to cast a vote then I have doubts about your ability to form “the Resistance”, which by the way would have to involve cooperation with people of lots of progressive political stripes in order to have the manpower to be effective, and if you're so committed to political purity that you view temporarily lending your support to Kamala at the ballot box as an untenable betrayal of everything you stand for then forgive me for also doubting your ability to productively cooperate with allies on the ground with whom you don't 100% agree. Plus, if the Trump campaign gets its way, American progressives would be kept so busy trying to put out about twenty different fires at once that you'd be able to accomplish very little. Maybe you get them to soften their stance on trans healthcare but oh shit, the climate policies are still in place. But more importantly, how many people do you think will protest for abortion rights if doing so means staring down a gun? Or organise to protect their neighbours from deportation if doing so means being thrown in prison yourself? And OK, maybe you're sure that you will, but history has shown us time and time again that most people won't. Most people aren't willing to face that kind of personal risk. And a tiny number of lefties willing to risk incarceration or death to protect undocumented people or trans people or whatever other groups are targeted is sadly not enough to prevent the horrors from happening. That is small fry compared to the full might of a determined state. Of course if the worst happens and Trump wins then you should do what you can to mitigate the harm; I'm not saying you shouldn't. But really the time to act is now. You have an opportunity right here to mitigate the harm and it's called “not letting him get elected”. Act now to prevent that kind of horrific authoritarian situation from developing in the first place; don't sit this one out under the naïve belief that “we'll be able to stop it if it happens”. You won't.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

41 / 3k / soap soulmate au, part 10

...

Gaz's bullet slides neatly into the target's head, folding into his frontal cortex, his hypothalamus, and lodging to a satisfying stop in his brain stem.

Your job is done.

Ignoring the radio chatter between Gaz and Price, you slip away from the dead man. Your boots grind blood and broken glass into the carpet as you go. You should vanish before Soap's team can catch up to you. You head for the opposite corner of the mansion. They don’t have eyes there.

You slide the ground floor window open and pull Soap's radio collar from your neck. You’re about to remove the earpiece when it crackles in your ear. It's Ghost's voice.

"They got Johnny."

You pause. Your teammates are rough, but they won’t kill Johnny. Right? They won’t kill a soldier.

"Where is he?" Price's voice crackles back.

"Basement lounge," Ghost mutters. The radio catches shouting voices in the background.

"Can you get to him?" Price asks.

Gunshots crackle through the earpiece. Ghost curses. "Negative, sir. Too many mercs and he's agitatin' 'em as it is. Might be able to fish him out, but I'd need a better vantage point.”

“Is he in immediate danger?”

“Don’t think so.”

"Then keep yourself hidden, Lieutenant. Kyle and I are en route."

Your stomach twists. Price doesn't sound like he plans to negotiate. You switch the radio's to KorTac's frequency. "Horangi, what's going on?"

There's a long pause before he replies, and several other voices echo underneath his. "Where the hell are you? SAS is fucking up our whole job. The cargo is gone."

You force yourself to get a grip on your own cover story even as you slip through the window and drop silently to the ground. Snow squeaks under your boots. "How did he know about the cargo?" you ask, your voice careful and even.

"I don't know. Shit, maybe someone fed him information. Military dogs love their rats." There's a pause. Horangi's voice sounds more distant as he speaks away from the mic. "Oy, shitbag. Who gave you the intel?”

You let out a breath of relief. Johnny will have no choice but to give them your name in exchange for his freedom. You'll be far, far away before your teammates know you're gone. KorTac won't bother with trying to track you down. It'd be a waste of money. Even if they did, you've disappeared before. You know how not to be found.

It’ll be a clean break for you both.

Then Johnny's voice crackles into your ear through Horangi's mic.

"No rat," he says. You hear him smirking, but a snarl edges the bravado in his voice. "Your security's piss-poor."

What? No. Bad, that's bad. Johnny’s playing at taking the blame. Of course he is. He thinks he's protecting you. Stubborn idiot.

Horangi chuckles. “You want to die here? That can be arranged.”

Something under your sternum clenches. This is your fault. You stare down at the fresh snow in front of you. You can still leave. Your plan never involved seeing him again, and it certainly didn't involve helping him if he got his ass in trouble. But you're the one who told him where the hostages were. He's only in the basement lounge because of you.

With Price and Gaz in the way, and with Ghost seeking a higher vantage point, sniper in hand, your teammates don’t know how much trouble they’re in, either.

Goddamn him. Why can’t he just rat you out? Why can’t he just be as heartless as you are?

You turn and retrace your trek back to the mansion. You don't know what you're going to do to avoid the confrontation at hand and make a clean escape, but maybe you'll come up with something on the way.

...

You slip into the lounge behind your teammates. Soap is on his knees, hands ziptied behind his back with the barrel of Horangi's rifle to his head.

Every last one of your squadmates is here. With you, that's a dozen mercenaries. You check the upper corners, the catwalks—Ghost is nowhere to be found. Of course. There'd be no way for Ghost alone to snipe enough of your teammates in one go to pull Johnny out of this mess. Nor is there any alarm you can pull, no authority you can leverage to get your soulmate out of the position you put him in.

You switch your radio frequency back to 141's secure channel. "Ghost, don't shoot. I can talk them down."

But it's Price's voice that echoes back. "Stay put, love. We'll get it sorted."

"Listen to me--"

"You in position, Ghost?" Price asks calmly.

"Affirmative, sir."

"Good. Gaz and I will be there shortly. When I signal, you take out as many as you can. We'll clean up the rest. Until then, stay hidden. We don't need a body count of our own."

You ease your finger off the comm, hands shaking. A fucking bloodbath? That's Price's plan? You think back to how he stared across the interrogation table at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement at the barbs you threw back at him. He'd have killed anyone else.

No, focus. You pull the earpiece out and rip the radio unit, cords and all, away from you. It clatters to the ground. A few of your squadmates glance over. You push your way through them until Horangi's eyes fall on you. Johnny’s do, too, but you refuse to look at him.

"He's obviously military,” you say, pinning Horangi with as severe a look as you can summon. “You can't just kill him. You know what would happen."

Horangi scoffs and looks back down at Soap. "He could be impersonating a soldier for all I know. Besides, military mutts bark." He presses the muzzle of his rifle harder into Soap's skull. "So bark, or I shoot."

"If you let me up right now," Soap growls, "I won't rip your goddamn hands off. How about that?" 

Horangi tuts. "You're in no position to be making threats, mutt. Answer me or I'll shut you up permanently. Who gave you the intel?”

"He's not the only one," you interrupt again, talking fast. "He's... His team. They're looking for him."

Horangi’s gaze rises to you again, a strange look in his eye. You've said too much. "Where have you been?" he asks you with a hard stare.

"With the protectee."

"And where is he now?"

Silence swells between you and him. You feel your teammates' eyes on you now. This is your last chance to walk away. If you do, the path ahead of you will be free and clear. And whatever blood is spilled here in service of this stupid mission will be on your hands.

Soap sees the look on your face. "No, hen, don't--"

"I'm the rat," you say. "I fed him the information. The protectee is dead."

Soap curses and tries to lunge to his feet. Horangi pushes him down with the heel of his boot between his shoulder blades. Soap grunts in pain.

"How interesting," Horangi says. "And why would you do that?"

"Don't listen to her," Soap growls. "She's lyin'."

He's still fighting the cuffs around his wrists. His shoulders jerk with every tug, trying in vain to break the plastic tie. A horrible feeling clutches at his chest. He knows what you're doing, and everything in him rebels against the idea. He's so close to finally having you, so close to saving you from yourself.

He never wanted you to come here. He wanted you safe, far away. The thought of something happening to you is far worse than any of the pain he might have endured if you hadn’t come back for him.

You risk a glance at Soap. He looks stricken. You almost wish you could explain, but it wouldn't make a difference. He should know better. You do your job. That's who you are. Even if it means there’ll be hell to pay.

You force your eyes back to Horangi's. "The bastard deserved it," you say simply.

Horangi scoffs. "Obviously. And we deserve our paychecks.” He watches Soap struggle under his boot. "You know him?"

You glance down at Soap, taken off guard. "He's..."

Soap meets your gaze, his eyes still burning with fire despite the situation. “Hen,” he says. “You are makin’ a mistake.”

Horangi leans onto Soap’s shoulder, pinning him flatter. Soap grunts.

Horangi smirks. “He seems to know you. You know, if it were me, I'd just keep my mouth shut and let him take the blame. That's what he wants, isn't it?” He jabs the barrel of his rifle against Soap’s spine.

Soap’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t take his eyes off you.

"In fact," Horangi muses, "I might be more inclined to believe him than you. Not to mention our employer would be very disappointed to know someone on payroll sabotaged a very well-paying job. I don’t think you’d do that unless you had a good reason.”

You hear your teammates murmur behind you. Horangi is giving you an out. Your teammates will know what you did, but KorTac won't. Plausible deniability brings back the possibility of escape. You're shocked Horangi would offer at all, knowing now what you did.

But you steel yourself. You know what you have to do. "Check his left arm," you tell him.

Horangi examines you, but there's no skepticism in his eyes—only intrigue. He gestures to a few of the mercs behind you. Two push past you. They hold Soap down, and Horangi grabs Soap's cuffed wrists and pushes his sleeve up his arm. It's there plain as day—the soulmark bearing your name.

Soap grits his teeth. You're giving yourself up for him. You're going to take the fall in exchange for his freedom. Why can't you just do one goddamn thing he wants you to do? It should be him protecting you.

He tries to catch your eye again, but you look away from his furious glare. Deep down, a part of him understands you. That infuriates him even more. You're doing this out of some sick sense of duty. Just like everything else.

Horangi is impassive. "Ah. Guess that explains it."

A hand comes down hard on your shoulder, and you're pulled back hard as two of your teammates take you by the arms and ziptie you. You don't struggle. One of them kicks out the back of your knee and forces you to kneel. 

Soap snarls as he tries to shake the mercenaries pinning him down. "Get your hands off her!"

Horangi smirks down at Soap. "You really do like each other, eh? Cute."

Soap's blood burns through him. All his systems are haywire. He's angry at you, but he's more furious than he's ever been in his life at the men holding him down. He jerks again, taking one of the mercs by surprise. He manages to get to one knee before they're on him again, joined by two more of your comrades who stream in to help.

They force him to the ground once more. Horangi digs his knee into Soap's back and jabs him with the butt of his rifle. Another merc kicks a boot into his gut. But Soap doesn't stop. He's not going down without a fight. He won't sit there quietly and let anyone walk away with his woman.

Horangi looks down his rifle at Soap and rests his hand on the trigger, his smirk gone. "Careful," he says, voice low. "I still might just shoot you."

"Then you'd better kill me in one shot, because when I get my hands around your fuckin' neck--"

"Johnny, stop," you interject.

"Why?" he growls. "You think I'm just gonna sit here and watch you give yourself up?"

"You don't have a choice."

"The hell I don't."

Horangi pushes his rifle harder against Soap's skull. "Listen to her, mutt."

"Hey," you snap at him. One of your comrades behind you pulls your arms back, and you realize you're unconsciously fighting to get close. "Let him go."

When Soap sees you straining against your binds, trying to reach him, his heart clenches. He lets out a stream of expletives and throws his body weight against the mercs trying to hold him down.

"You care for him that much? Then again, I guess you don't have a choice."

"Horangi—"

“Yes, yes. Relax,” Horangi says to you, keeping his rifle trained on Soap. “I don’t plan to kill him. But we're not uncuffing him. Because we're not fucking idiots," he mutters. He steps off Soap and nods toward the back of the lounge where the bar and kitchen are. "Put him in the walk-in."

The mercs pull him roughly to his feet, jerking his arms behind his back. His gaze flicks to you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you won't meet his eyes. It's like you're trying to shut him out completely, closing yourself into some emotional void. Just like in that interrogation room. He can’t fucking stand it.

Soap growls in frustration as he's hauled backward. He's torn between anger and desperation, wanting to make you understand how much he needs you. But you're so stubbornly set on building your stupid walls and keeping him out.

"This never would've happened if you'd just let me handle it," he snaps at you. "But you had to go runnin' off by yourself instead of listenin’ to me."

You stare at him in disbelief. He's still arguing this? How headstrong is he? "You're the one who refused to rat me out!” you retort, unable to stop yourself. “I was out the fucking window when you went all heroic and forced me to come back and save your ass!"

Soap's temper flares hotter. "Oh, I'm the one who went all heroic?" He yanks his arm against his captors' grip, but it hardly slows them down. “You’re the bloody martyr, aren’t you? Couldn't just let me handle it. Had to go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"You with a fucking gun to your head? That was you handling it?"

"I've been in worse situations," Soap shoots back, bristling. "I didn't need your help. And I damn sure don’t want you throwin’ yourself into danger like you've got a death wish."

You swallow. You were right to step in and take the fall for what you did, you realize. As rough-tempered as your soulmate is, he's just trying to protect you. He deserves better than you.

"This is... it's what I deserve," you say finally.

Soap's eyes widen in disbelief, his expression going from anger to shock to cold fury. "What you deserve?" he hisses, his voice low and enraged. "What you deserve is a good smack upside the head. You think you deserved to throw your life away for my sake? That's how little you think of yourself?"

"I betrayed my teammates and ruined our contract. I have to pay for that."

He's so fucking over it. You’re letting yourself be ripped away from him because of—what, a mistake you made? Loyalty to your team? Some misguided sense of penance and responsibility? Empty excuses. None of that should matter. You’re meant to be his.

"I don't give a damn what you think you deserve,” he says. “You're not the one who gets to decide that."

"And you are?"

You're looking at him like you don't believe him. It makes something in him snap loose.

"You still think you're expendable," he says, his voice hard. "As long as everyone else is safe. As long as you've done your bloody duty." He jerks his shoulders, angry and desperate to have you in his sight for a few more seconds. "Whatever you tell yourself, you’d best remember you made your goddamn choice to take what Iwanted most away from me. I swear to you, darlin’, when I get out of these cuffs, I will find you and make sure you never leave my sight again. That’s what I deserve.”

You say nothing. Your heart is in your feet as they wrestle him away.

You’re not worth this. You can't be. You've shown him—all but told him you were ready to abandon him mere minutes ago. He just doesn't care. Regardless of what you think, he keeps deciding you're worth the fucking trouble.

You're just trying to do one thing right by him. One thing. But he has to go and tear your heart in two about it anyway. Bastard.

"Let go of me!" Soap barks, voice echoing behind you as they drag him out of sight.

The sound of the large, industrial steel walk-in freezer banging open echoes through the basement, followed by clattering and Horangi barking orders. Then it slams closed.

That's it, then. The last time you'll see him.

You believe him when he says he'll never stop looking for you. You might be stubborn and set in your ways—he happens to be worse. But you know your employer, and you know what happens to traitors who kill the charges they're paid to protect. Regardless of what seemed right at the time.

You know there are prisons with which the CIA won’t interfere.

You're going to live the rest of your life in a cell. Because of your own damn sense of responsibility for some twisted form of penance for your past.

The moment you hear the lock on the walk-in click, whatever solemn self-assurance you felt turns to ash in your mouth. Penance bears a strong resemblance to empty self-righteousness and self-hatred. Worse—it feels a hell of a lot like you're condemning your stubborn bull of a soulmate to a lifetime of searching for a woman who refuses out of spite to be found.

Horangi and the others return, and the two mercenaries at your sides haul you away. You stumble along with them, numb. They drag you out of the building and push you toward the back of a bulletproof KorTac panel van.

What have you done?

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / [part 10] / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist

[ara-line]

Stop glorifying the suicide of that US airman.

He grew up in a cult and never really left behind the mindset of that cult, even if his beliefs on the political spectrum shifted. According to a former member of the cult, it was common for members to leave and end up in the military. She described it as "going from one high control group to another" in the WaPo article linked.

In short, he never got help that he clearly needed. And from what I've heard about the military, his time in it may have worsened whatever issues he already had.

His suicide is a bigger reflection of this very strange pattern on the left to glorify self harm since others are suffering. It's one thing to see children in a playground and think about how there are children in refugee camps who don't get to enjoy those freedoms. This is another thing. Bushnell, unlike many other cases of self-immolation (ie the self immolation of Mohamed Bouazizi, the man whose death kickstarted the Arab Spring) was not directly affected by the bombings in Gaza. Yet he chose an extreme route that even those affected by the situation, whether through being related to the Israeli hostages or through having family in Gaza, would not go to. This is a reflection of a larger trend on this website of self punishment and forcing every last gory detail of horrific events on yourself because of a) this feeling of powerlessness over not being able to do much about the situation and b) wanting to show how much of a good leftist you are because you will subject yourself to horrific violence to show how much you care. In reality, it is mental self-destruction. I've seen this behaviour in true crime communities as well.

I think a lot of the leftists on this site grew up in conservative environments where it's all or nothing right wing extremism. Thus, much like Bushnell, their political beliefs have shifted, but not their mindset. That's why so many people on this site are glorifying his suicide.

The reason newspaper headlines aren't mentioning his name is because we already know many school shooters do what they do for infamy. Therefore, by not mentioning their names, the media wants to avoid copycats. It's the same line of thinking here. It's got nothing to do with Zionism, according to some people who probably had no idea what that is before Oct 7 and not now, controlling the media. No, Zionists do not control the news cycle. You're perpetuating antisemitism when you say that.

Inevitably, since people on this site have piss on the poor reading comprehension, I expect this post to go over well. If you're going to tell me to kill myself, just know that you will be blocked and reported. Any dialogue ended the moment you decided that was acceptable.

[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[roosterr]

what if i said price x reader firewatch au. (psst here it is)

you talk to each other over the radio every day, but you've never seen his face and he's never seen yours. he watches you from his tower as you go about your day, admiring the silhouette of your form in the golden light of the afternoon.

people only take this job if they're running from something, he tells you – including him.

he tells you stories from his time in the military, and insists that you tell him stories about your life as a civilian, despite how much you argue that its all boring in comparison to him. he never agrees. it's not boring to him. you could never be boring.

and then, inevitably, there's a forest fire, and you can do nothing but watch with john the smoke grow closer day after day. the wind takes an unexpected turn and suddenly you don't have an escape route anymore. the only option to save yourself is to hike up to john's tower, and evacuate from there.

he waits for you, because of course he does. despite all the times you tell him to think about himself, to get to safety, that the helicopter will come back for you, but he never listens.

when you finally reach the peak, covered in sweat and soot and smelling of smoke, he's there, waiting, just like he said he would. neither of you say a word as he drags you into his arms, dirtying his own clothes in the process but he can't bring himself to care.

he's waited months to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice untainted by the disturbance of the radio. now he has you, he fully intends on keeping it that way.

both of you took this job to run away from something and, by some string of fate, ended up running straight into each other's arms. do you see my vision.

[sharkiethrts]

[𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡'𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙖 𝙥𝙤𝙥𝙨]

𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘗𝘛: 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘶𝘢𝘯

g/n reader

: both jing yuan and reader are young children here, jing yuan is pining (ineffectively) at the reader

: approximately 465 words (chat gpt said so)

Jing Yuan is late again. At this point, it is a familiar routine: he'd run in with sweat beading up at his forehead- Jingliu would throw a faded hankie at his face, urging him to wipe it off with a glance before nagging at him- "what's your reason this time?" "Did you oversleep?" "Did you go to eat your breakfast at Mr Zhang's store again? The queue is too long there. Go eat at the canteen instead- you children are too whiny about soldier rations."

The truth is, Jing yuan never oversleeps and he always skips breakfast. It isn't a military regime he put himself on at all, no. If Jingliu knew that the brat in front of him was skipping breakfast, she would order the senior guards to eat breakfast with him. He would have to suffer from indigestion for the next few weeks (the senior guards adores picking on the apple-cheeked boy) until Jingliu is finally convinced that the brat will listen.

.

But he won't ever listen because Jing Yuan has a long route to take that he can't afford to miss. Your route. Well, not your route. It's the route through Cloudford. For context: where Jingliu expects him to be at every dawn is miles away. But this lovesick boy remains stubborn, he travels the route to Cloudford with a boyish grin- a blush would bundle up at his round cheeks when he spots you in your familiar attire, your uniform stained with food crumbs from your rush.

"[Name]! Wait up!" And when you do stop, a pretty sight is granted to you- perhaps a morning call from the Eons? There's no way anyone can remain nonchalant and sleepy at the sight of this messy haired, toothpaste decorated face, "Are you heading to class? I heard that your Master brought over some swords he specifically commissioned from the Artisanship Commission! I saw! Let me spoil you in a bit of the fun- one of them is fully jaded, and another-"

He definitely rushed to see you.

"Shouldn't you be going to yours? Miss Jingliu would kill you if she knew that you're all the way at Cloudford right now, Jing Yuan."

His eyes crinkled from the widening of his smile at the call of his name, "She'll survive! Let me walk you there-"

"Jing Yuan. Your cloud knight training?"

Oh eons, did you not hear his plead this morning? Jing Yuan turned slowly, adjusting his attire- trying not to slouch in fear. Getting scolded in front of the other Cloud knights is not as embarrassing and as tear-jerking as it is in front of you. Not to mention, his master knows all the grimy details under his sleeves.

And there she was, in her glory- her sharp eyes piercing his through one strike. He bends over immediately, face apologetic- catching glimpse of your smiling face, clearly amused by the scene taking place in front of you.

"You have toothpaste on your face, boy," Jing Yuan's face flushed red at the newly learned information. Ah crap, did you see that? He glances at your face briefly- yeah, you definitely did. Curse his heart- he was so excited to talk to you he stumbled at basic cleanliness.

"I think it makes him cute, you shouldn't have told him, Miss Jingliu," You hum. You are one of the few unaffected by the intimidation his master poses- your frequent rendezvous with Jing Yuan hyper-exposed you to Jingliu's more reasonable sides.

"[Name], go to class. Your master is waiting for you," Jingliu turns to him, and he immediately regrets not shifting his gaze down at his feet earlier," As for you," she waits for you to go, "Confess soon. I don't want to keep chastising you on your... inconvenient hobbies."

A smile blooms at his face at that.

"Yes Master! Duly noted!"

[holyschnitzel]

Hi ^^! I just want to ask some questions regarding MC. Is MC personality set? Or partially set? Can we change their personality?You answered that MC can be dom or sub. But can they choose to be top or bottom? Especially in DG's route.

Not related to MC but PETITION FOR SHADOWMAN ROMANCE ROUTE!!

part of the MC's background story is set, but you can shape their personality and how they react in certain situations (but they will never be mean for no reason). some of MC's thoughts and behaviors can be attributed to their upbringing in a culture/society that is different from your own. I think our game is more about roleplaying a character and less about self-inserting ^^

and you can definitely disagree with things that you personally find unacceptable (e.g. hueväri are very pro-military and pro-war), but don't be surprised if the characters think you're the oddball here (if you're in favor of peace :D)

I know that people can also be "gentle doms"/"power bottoms" and whatnot etc., but by dom and sub I definitely meant choosing "top/bottom". I don't wanna overdo it with the sexual options, y'know? ^^

however, DG's route is a big NOPE! remember, you are his victim. he would never let you dominate him. what do you take him for? an idiot? 😂

awww how sweet 😊 you will get enough opportunities to get to know him better at least :)

thank you for your question, anon, have a good day/night! ^o^/)

[ghostybaby000]

After Hours | Part 1

Part 2

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: Working has already made you feel exhausted, not to mention an awful manager making it far worse. You find yourself wanting to quit, that is until a tall masked figure gives you a reason to stay.

Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: 18+, violent theme, guns, yelling, future smut

(Not fully edited, apologies for any inconsistencies!)

It was that time again, 7am. You grab your keys and purse, a coffee and a muffin to go making your way out of your home you head to work. You take the same route as always being sure to say hello to the other workers when you pull into the lot. You gather your items and head inside to the same front desk and chair waiting for you, that had been there the past 2 years without fail. You get yourself situated setting up your notepad for any callers and sip on your coffee relaxing into the chair. 

You sit up to look more professional watching as two larger men walk in the door holding guns.

‘What can I do for you this morning?’ You smile to them, as they had been frequent customers at this smaller gun range for quite some time. They come over to you, pleased as always to see a smiling face, they were still in their uniforms. The gun range was quite close to a military base, making military personal a regular.

‘Good morning Y/N, the regular please.’ You give them a small nod as you check them out and hand them a golfcart key to get around the facility. They gave thanks and make their way outside, being sure to wave goodbye as they rounded the corner. You had worked here for quite some time, as your father had known many people that came to the range- they reached out needing help and you seemed fit. You went into the interview knowing that you didn’t have much knowledge on weapons or guns hoping they would give you a side job. The manager decided that would be best, and let you work up front with your ‘pretty face’ to attract customers. A small part of you took offense but you let it go, because you were excited to be working somewhere close to home and where you knew a few people. 

Working up front you didn’t have to handle any weapons or fix any issues with them either, you simply had to check people out and give them ammunition which you didn’t mind. You began to recognize others and slowly made yourself a good fit in their community, people reaching out with Christmas cards or asking about your wellbeing. One person had never done such a thing, and that was one of the men from the military. He didn’t have a name on his chest and always remained ominously quiet and vigilante, something you noticed quickly. He always came in with 2 or 3 other members in the group but had never showed alone which only making you more curious of him. Today he hadn’t shown, nor had the typical group of other tall strong men. 

You continued to check people out until the day had reached its end, and you were plenty tired ready to get some sleep. You made your way back to your car, packed up your belongings and headed back to your home. You got in the door and settled down making dinner and watching a show before getting to bed. You wake again to the small alarm clock on your bedside table, reaching over to gently turn it off, another day had started. You typically woke at 7 everyday as it made getting up for work easier, you started to make some breakfast and put on coffee, taking in some time to relax. A little later into the afternoon you received a text from a coworker asking if you could cover their shift as she was feeling unwell. You groan out as you fall back against the couch cushions, this was your day off and you just wanted to stay at home and relax. You knew though that they were understaffed and needed help whenever they could get it and that you wouldn’t say no. You gathered your things and headed back to the range, and thought to yourself that at least you got to make a good breakfast. 

On the drive over it dawns on you that you could be doing more from your job, not just working the front desk. You hadn’t ever been offered a promotion by the snobby manager and was quickly shut down the last time you mentioned it to them. You tried to not hold any sort of grudge against people, yet the way the manager spoke to you and the other workers made you feel as if you would quit on the spot after your interactions, although you never had. You stayed because the other workers needed your help, and you needed the income not to mention getting to see people that were close enough to be considered friends. You shook the thoughts from your head as you pulled onto the gravel pathway and parked. Getting inside and settled in a few minutes, you gaze around the shop and found it to be quiet and calm as the mornings tended to be.  

You help customers as the day progresses, making small chit chat being sure to welcome everyone who comes in. The range wasn’t too busy today, only a few people every hour which you enjoyed as it gave you some time to clean the monitors you used and sweep the floor around you. 

You were sweeping up the last pile when you heard your manager begin yelling at someone from the office, with a slam of the door just down the hall. You groaned as you quickly picked up the small dirt pile you had accumulated and put it in the bin, moving to your work station swiftly. The manager now almost screaming at points of his argument, your palms begin to get sweaty and everything in you hopes that a customer doesn’t come in. You stand there nervously as people pass by the front door, you look away in hopes they won’t feel the need to come and say hello.

SLAM the phone had been hung up, making you wince as it did. You tried to act normally and as if you didn’t hear anything when you heard his office door open. You didn’t dare to ask him what it was about knowing that it would only blow up in your face, so you decide to start typing away at the computer. His boots came thudding down the small hallway as you tried to take deep breaths, telling yourself to not look his way. He stops right next to you, still huffing from yelling on the phone.

‘Where’s Catherine?’ He glares at you when you stop typing and start to look over at him, he was sweating from yelling and quite red too. 

‘Well.. she texted me saying-‘

‘I didn’t ask what she texted you- where is she?’ His tone grew more firm as he leaned in closer to you.

‘She said she wasn’t feeling well so I came in to cover for her shift…’ You now had your hands placed on your lap looking between him and down to the floor, afraid of the man that stood in front of you and how he would react.

‘well that’s just GREAT.’ He slams his hands on the counter and begins to pace the small area in front of the desk, then moving them to cover his face. 

‘She should have contacted me. Not you, ME then I could have told her that someone would cover for her- and it wouldn’t of been you.’ He looks at you when he stops pacing. You furrow your brows and look back to the floor.

‘See, you’re going into overtime now- you’re meant to only be part time which means I have to pay more!’ His voice was now booming through the small building while you sat quietly looking down to your hands in your lap or the desk, anything that wasn’t able to yell back at you. 

‘You know what, don’t come in next week. I-I cant afford it now thanks to Catherine.’ You look up now, you couldn’t miss work for a week, you had mortgage due soon and electric bills to pay and you had to buy groceries-

‘I cant miss work that long I have mortgage due this next week…could I come in for just a few hours?’ You regretted saying the words as they left your lips, watching as a smile grew over his face as he walked towards you. Your own eyes began to feel hot and watery but you wouldn’t let yourself cry. 

‘You can’t pay bills? No, I can’t pay bills! Not with people like you going overtime behind my back-you…you can afford to miss work your job isn’t essential around here! I can manage to ring people out for a while and eat a muffin at the same time- You can’t even use a gun properly and you think your fit to work here!?-‘ His tangent quickly cut off making the room feel a whole lot more quiet. The tears welting in your eyes that he couldn’t see had dropped to your pants. The door had opened and the same group of 3 had walked into the building wearing their uniforms, they must have checked in earlier this morning before you’d arrived. He immediately backs away from the counter to simply tapping his thumbs on the desk attempting to act casually. He was even more red now not that the customers could see, as he stared you down.

‘Alright. You lock up, I’m going home.’ He turns to face the customers now. ‘And you gentlemen, we are closing soon but please just ask Y/N for anything you need, have a good night.’ He walks back the office where the door now gently closed as you heard him gathering his things preparing to leave. 

You were sure they had heard the manager through the door, there’s no way they hadn’t. Yet if they had heard, they were acting as if it was the same as any other day- except the one with the mask. He was looking at you for quite some time across the room before the group came up to the desk. 

[bluegalaxygirl]

New Bounties (Law X Reader)

Plot: After Wano you and the heart pirates get their new bounties some are higher than others but your shocked, you've never had a wanted poster before and now suddenly you have one.

Warning: Spoilers for Wano, bad language and Fluff.

Law X reader, established relationship, Reader is Female. Thank you to @being-worthy for the idea.

Even though you've been a member of the heart pirates for years you've never had a wanted poster but it never really bothered you, the jobs you were picked for where always behind the scenes mainly because you were good at it. Sneaking around and blending in was something that you could easily do, you need to pretend to be someone? Just give a photo, their personality and job description. You need to break into a military base? You'll be in and out within an hour depending on the size. So it wasn't hard for you to go unnoticed by the world government but Wano was a different story, you managed to blend it pretty well until the big battle started then you got found out quite quickly. Luckily your main job was over and done with so you helped Law and Kid take down big Mom, it was the hardest battle you have ever fought and you almost lost an arm to the giant woman but with your boyfriends skills your arm was almost back to normal. Parting with the straw hats was hard for everyone well except Law, the crew have grown quite close to the straw hats and now the alliance is over most of you hope you'll never see them again just so your not forced to fight them. Your strong but you know there's no way you would win against the other crew. Kids crew however, most of the crew where more than happy to get away form the hot headed captain but you became quite close with Killer who seemed more down to earth than Kid.

Some of the crew where still kinda mad at their captain after yesterday, instead of taking the route Law chose and sticking to the plan, Kid teased your Captain and Luffy to a breaking point making the three ships go down one of the worse routes and down a waterfall. You weren't the type to yell but after almost getting flung off the ship you gave Law a piece of your mind, the poor man had no idea what to do as you stood in front of him and the crew yelling at him for the first time, your face red with anger and heart pounding in your ears. The crew were kinda scared of you afterwards mainly because of Law's shocked face and head bowed in defeat after you finished yelling at him and walked away with a enraged aura. You stayed in Bepo's room last night deciding to give your boyfriend the cold shoulder for the night but now you were on the sofa drinking some hot tea with Lemon and honey for your now sore throat. All the yelling really hurt your throat but at least you could still talk normally "Y/n" Bepo calls out running into the sitting room while holding a piece of paper in his hands soon followed by most of the crew some cheering with big smiles while others sighed in defeat flopping onto the sofa next to you. The two that really caught your attention was Penguin and Shachi linking arms and dancing around with wanted posters in their hands "Oh! You guys got new bounties" With a smile you place a book mark in your book and set it on the table before standing up and being hugged by the fluffy white bear.

You pull your face out of his fur so you don't suffocate as the bear holds you tight while swaying with joy "My bounty went up" Bepo calls out letting you go, so he can hand you his wanted poster, looking it over your eyes soften at the new picture showing a fighting but very cute Bepo but you gasp slightly at the bounty seeing it went up form 500 to 2,500 berries "Wow Bepo, this is amazing" You jump a little as the bear joins you "If you like that your gonna love this, look how cool i am" Penguin runs over putting an arm around your shoulders shoving his wanted poster in your face. Handing Bepo's wanted poster back to the bear you pull Penguins poster away from your face so you can actually see it "Oh please mine is on fire" Shachi sing songs as he goes to your other side putting his arm over his friends that's still around your shoulder holding his wanted poster out to you "Please man your hat is covering your face" Penguin shoots back earning a glare for Shachi "Yea well at least my bounty is higher than yours, plus i think your picture is blurry" As the two playfully banter you take the two wanted posters and look them over, their bounties went up a lot close to going into the millions "Well done boys, i'm very proud of you" You smile at the two managing to stop their bickering as you hand the papers back to them, the two smile at you while finally letting you go "Which one do you like better?" The two yell at the same time before glaring at each other.

Deciding to tease them you pat Bepo on the head, the bear staying close to you since he doesn't really like the two men arguing with you in the middle. Bepo is very sweet, but he can get aggressive, luckily he only steps in if you try and fail to stop the two, he knows you can handle them though. "I like Bepo's" You giggle rubbing the white soft fur on the bears head making the bear smile wide "What? Not fair" The two yell behind you making some of the crew laugh at their shocked faces "I'm sorry" Bepo bows making the two yells more "What are you sorry for?" They both glare at the bear who jumps slightly but you reassure him and turn to the two boys "That's enough now" you sigh pushing them away from Bepo "I'm proud of all of you so don't fight" Your words make the two sigh and nod "yes ma'ma" Shachi sighs walking off to get a drink soon followed by Penguin. "You ok?" You ask Bepo who still has his head down, he nods though and holds his wanted poster close to his chest as you place a hand on his shoulder "You did an amazing job, go celebrate" You gesture over to some of the crew now in the kitchen having drinks and making popcorn. Bepo nods with a smile and heads off to join the crew while you turn back to the sofa seeing Ikkaku sulking. With a sad smile you place hand on her shoulder and kneel down i front of her "You did a great job even though your bounty didn't go up" You try and reassure her but her eyes don't look up from her lap "I think mine's now the lowest" She sighs, you know its hard for her being the only woman besides you on the crew.

Some times it feels like you have to prove yourself just to stay a part of it even though the crew and your captain have never made you feel that way. "Hopefully it will next time, for now i'm just glad you got a new picture" You say looking down at the dangling paper in her hand, your comment makes the girl crack a smile while bringing the paper up, so she can look it over "They got my good side at least" She laughs and you stand up and place a hand on her shoulder letting out a small laugh a long with her "Every side is your good side" You comment making her jump slightly as she looks up at you, her brows furrow trying to tell if you joking with her or not but when she realizes your being serious Ikkaku jumps up and hugs you tight "Thank you" She whispers as you hug her back with a small smile. You hold her for a while rubbing her back hoping she'll feel better soon but you break the hug when someone clears their throat behind you. Turning your head while holding Ikkaku's arms you look to see Jean Bart who has a surprisingly big smile on his face. You smile at him before turning back to Ikkaku who gives you a small smile before sitting back down now looking much happier "Thanks again Y/N" The girl relaxes into the sofa as you nod at her and walk over to the large pirate seeing him with several papers in his large hands. "Did yours go up too?" You ask stopping in front of the man but having to lift your head up in order to look at his face "Yea but i think you'll like this more" The giant man holds out two pieces of paper.

Taking them you lightly smile seeing Law's new wanted poster. You still can't get over how handsome he is but you were very surprised at the bounty, it now being 3 billion, you knew it would go up but this was insane. You shake your head trying not to get too overwhelmed by the amount of zero's as you pull out the paper form under it and gasp in surprise gripping the paper unable to believe what your seeing. Somehow Jean Bart knew exactly how you would react to this news managing to take the time you gave him while looking over Law's wanted poster to move everyone out of your direct line to the door. Some crew were confused, but they didn't argue with the the man and stayed out of the way. It took you a second but your legs moved before you could tell them to do so, running out of the room with the wanted papers in your grip you sprinted done the hall jumping over the lip of the doors connecting hallways. The crew watched you run off but Bart stopped them form following you some concerned as to why you would react like that, "Is she ok?" Bepo asks walking over to the large man but keeping his eyes on the door you ran out of but Bart smiles wide at the bear "They got their first bounty" Bepo jumped in excrement with a big smile as others laugh and cheer starting to get more drinks out to throw a party for themselves.

Running down the metal hallways of the sub you soon make it to Law's office, you didn't bother knocking just barraged in to see your captain sitting at his desk reading a book "Y/N?" Law asks about to get up when you slam the wanted posters on the desk before turning to him with a big smile. The poor captain had no idea what was going on, you've never walked into his office without knocking first, he thought maybe it was an emergency but your smile and bouncing feet told him different. "Your bounty went up, it's now 3 billion and look" You bounce on your tip toes unable to control your excitement as you grab your first ever wanted poster and show it to him "My first wanted poster" You laugh with slight tears of joy threatening to roll down your checks. You haven't spoken or even looked at Law all day, he hated the silent treatment you gave him but seeing you smile so beautifully at him and rush in to show him something made his heart melt slightly, a small smile appears on his face as he takes his eyes off you to look at your wanted poster. The picture in his opinion didn't do you justice but what really caught his eye was the bounty, his small smile drops and his eyes go wide making your heart sink. You stop bouncing and your smile fades along with your tears of joy, you didn't know what was wrong, maybe he's still upset over you being mad at him or yelling at him. "Law... I'm not mad anymore, i'm sorry" You go to put the wanted poster down but your captain grabs it staring with his breath hitched in his throat.

Law tried to form words but it was hard, he's never seen a first bounty this high before, yes you helped take down big mom but for a first bounty this was insane "I-I know, thats not it" The captain finally managed to say prying his eyes away from your poster to look at your sad face, he didn't mean to upset you but he couldn't help the reaction he had. "Then what? Don't you like it?" You hated the pit in your stomach, you didn't think to look at your bounty, you didn't care how low it was, you were just happy to have your name and face on a wanted poster. Law quickly stands and pulls you into a hug with a slight chuckle finally getting over his shock "I love it sweetheart, i'm sorry, i'm just shocked at such a high bounty" You sigh in relief at his words while hugging back, to be honestly the silent treatment you were giving him was torture for you since you love spending time with him, even if its just sitting in the same room as each other and not talking. "It can't be that high, i mean Bepo's is now at 2,500, mine can't be much higher" You laugh only to for Law's eyes to widen slightly and pull you away to see if your being serious, looking up at him in confusion it suddenly hits you that your bounty must be much higher than Bepo's "You didn't look?" The captain asks grabbing your wanted poster while keeping a hand on your hip as you shake your head. "No i ran straight here... i didn't think it would be much" You blush a little, its funny how your first thought when getting your wanted poster was to show Law.

The captain lets a small smile show while handing you the poster letting you look it over, your eyes scan the page until you get to the price on your head, as you count the amount of zero's your eyes widen in shock as your hand starts to shake. Law's quick to notice taking your hand to hold it still while rubbing your hip "1.5 billion?" you ask looking up at the man who nods getting closer to your face "How? Why?" You could hardly comprehend what was written on the piece of paper but Law snapped you out of your thoughts by placing a light kiss on your lips "You did great" He whispers against your lips making your heart flutter a little as a smile appears back on your face "I'm sorry for yelling" You whisper back placing the paper back on the desk so you can run your hands over his shoulder and to the back of his neck keeping him close to you "I deserved it, shouldn't have let that asshole get to me.... I-I'm proud of you y/n" Leaning in the captain lightly kisses your lips feeling you lean in while running a hand up and through his hair. He goes to pull away but you bring him back in for more placing light kisses on his lips before locking them fully and lightly biting his bottom lip. Law chuckles slightly wrapping his arms around your waist to press you closer to him as his mouth opens letting your tongues meet and lips move together. You can't help but moan slightly into it as the captain lifts you up and makes you sit on the desk pulling your legs, so they wrap around his waist, the two of you pull away for air both panting slightly from the heated make out.

Law looks down at the desk spotting his wanted poster and running his hand over it "Your so handsome" You whisper hugging the man close while kissing his neck, Law leans into you a bit before pulling over your wanted poster to get another look at it "you're beautiful" The captain whispers back making you pull away from his neck, so he can kiss you again, its light a first but soon gets heated again this time Law taking the lead and licking your lower lip getting you to open your mouth for him. The make out was long one or both of you having to pull away for air only to go back in for more, you swear his lips are addictive, he may not always show it but moment like this tell you how much he loves you and you want to give that same love back. "Sweetheart" Law stops the make out placing his hand on your neck to stop you form going back in for more, he knew if you did keep kissing him he would just cave in and let you, as much as he would love to continue the captain not only had work to do, but he also had to talk to the crew. "I'm only going to say it to you ok.... I'm sorry for how i acted yesterday, forgive me?" Law asks seeing you smile and nod with loving eyes "Forgiven, just don't do it again" You pull his hand away form your neck giving him a light kiss before getting off the desk "The others are probably throwing a party, you wanna join?" you ask fixing Law's hat and shirt that you've messed up while the captain runs a hand through your hair to fix the mess he made "Only for a little while."

[yourcousin-vinny]

if we go with the idea that kallus grew up as a latchkey kid in the lower levels of coruscant and had to scrounge and make do until he got into the academy, you bet your ass he loved the military school routine. the routine was exhilarating. making lists and plans and being able to complete them? reliable daily schedules and meals? reliable rewards and consequences? addicting. he didn't have that kind of stability or time horizon growing up, so when he gets a routine he revels in it. he can plan for a future now.

of course, under the empire that means he (and everyone around him) subsumes himself to the routines and wills of the imperial machine. but at least he knows what to expect, even when it's terrible, even when it goes against what he fundamentally believes. and once he knows what to expect, he knows how he can subvert it as fulcrum. (imperial regularity is good for many things, including monitoring guard shift changes and tracking an admiral's meal times.)

as fulcrum though, that time horizon shrinks again. he doesn't expect to live beyond it, so what routine remains is a talisman he clings to. maybe that's how thrawn finally catches him: his irregular actions to throw people off his trail became too regular.

in the rebellion, newly defected, the freedom from such strict routines is overwhelming. some defectors go the ice-cream-for-breakfast route (or, like sabine, a clearly visible break from the empire's enforced conformity), but others don't know what to do with themselves. kallus throws himself into what he knows and what he misses: the work routine. input, output. task, complete.

the rebellion has a routine too, but in the way live theatre has a routine. there isn't always a closing bell; sometimes you hurry up and wait for six hours and then aren't off your feet for the next twelve. there are tasks and protocols, but you gotta be ready to adapt at any moment to what reality throws at you. (the empire rarely-if-ever had to adapt to what the rest of the galaxy threw at it because it was the rest of the galaxy.) there's a level of chaos that kallus is capable of handling, but that chaos is every day now. meals happen when he can get them, same with sleep, because the work routine he tries to set keeps getting broken. he never had to set a work-life balance before because it was either all life (all survival) or all work (and the empire tells you when to eat and sleep). the routines were always set for him.

so yes, kallus is infinitely glad he defected and yes, he is infinitely grateful to the ghost for taking him in, but little gods, how does anything get done?!

I think the first personal boundaries kallus sets that are his alone, not dictated by a higher institution, are about when the spectres are allowed to bother him (see: pester him to drink water and drag him to the tapcafe for a break) and when they need to leave him to his duty. it's nowhere near the routine that shaped him, and that's a good thing, but he does need some things to set his chrono by. he wakes at 0500; returns from a run by 0540; first cup of caf in yavin's pre-dawn light at 0610; draven enters intelligence at 0619. the rest of the day could be anything else, but these 4 are fairly consistent.

at some point he realizes that the time horizon he has now, in this life where very few things are guaranteed, is based less on when the mission is over or when the war is over and more on when he gets his next meal or sparring session with zeb or his next drink with rex or his next meeting with cassian. because all this work he does is for these people, and if they aren't in his future then it isn't worth it.

[grimesgirll]

like your weapons trainings or conditioning, getting to rick’s place for bedtime had become a nightly duty.

and okafor stressed the importance of being on time to you. after all, he needed his best soldier bright eyed and bushy tailed in the mornings.

you had to have your ass in rick’s bed by the time he was ready to hit the hay. it didn’t matter if he was planning on fucking you that night or just enjoying having another warm body around. okafor had clocked that you somehow increased the average hours of sleep rick gained each night and assigned you to a semi-permanent sleepover.

you watch from your elbows as the handsome man in front of you brushes his teeth.

this isn’t the first time okafor’s utilized your “girlish charm” or whatever the fuck he sees in you to get what he wants.

this is the farthest he’s ever asked you to go however. it was always innocent before; distracting important people, taking advantage of certain perversions to finish the mission. you shouldn’t complain. okafor did get you the job of your dreams, all things considered.

where else could you spend hours designing maps, establishing operation routes, and do it all with the help of formerly world renowned military engineers and some of the most advanced technology still left on the planet?

besides, the lieutenant colonel had kept his word; there isn’t a thing you want for at the moment. aside from the occasional homesickness which was gradually dulling into a numb, nearly nonexistent feeling, you didn’t yearn for much - only rick.

so now you spend your days in your new state of the art geospatial mapping studio and on your rare but highly anticipated surveying trips. okafor had reviewed your past surveying maps of the delaware valley with general beale and other senior staff - including rick - and your work proved fruitful enough to allow you a small team to continue surveying operations under the umbrella of logistics.

in all reality, okafor’s rewarding you handsomely.

and so is rick.

his southern drawl breaks you from your staring.

“huh?” utterly oblivious, you fall under his deep blue gaze.

“i asked you if i can turn the lights off." he repeats, fingers hovering over the light switch.

you nod. "yeah, i'm ready for bed."

the bed dips with rick's weight and like routine, you're drawn into his crushing embrace. rick liked to cuddle before bed. you don’t ask but there has to have been some wife or some woman somewhere who used to be in your position.

the soldier is stoic and stands on business, but that sour expression had begun to soften since you’d first seduced him on his sofa. little bits and pieces of a southern, east coast kind of background popped up through the twang of rick’s accent. anyone with a history with law enforcement instantly picked up on his past as a cop. you’d playfully asked if he had to cuff anyone before and just received a dim smile that started to sour until you threw yourself into his lap and cast away whatever storm clouds you’d brought on with kisses.

he’ll never outright tell you why he sleeps better with you or how he slept before he was even a consignee, but you don’t mind. the cozy embrace really gets you conked out every night, without fail. his dick does too.

that’s how you end up backing against him and tempting the hard outline that never seemed to disappear due to his size.

rick chuckles behind you but doesn’t move, just pulls you closer. "good night." he says with a kiss to the back of your head.

"night," you return, like you’re not jutting your ass backwards into him.

you’re shocked that he hasn’t said anything. rick doesn’t always take your touch so lightly. he’d punished you for teasing him in front of some of the air fleet’s officers by fingering you until you were begging to come in the repurposed law library next door just the other day.

the man only speaks up once your tight ass is rounding indisputable, deep circles against his groin. you couldn’t be anymore obvious with the gasp that flies out of you like a kite as soon as rick’s newly throbbing length twitches through his sleep pants.

“honey.”

“please, rick!” you pull out the begging already, having expected you would be fucked silly tonight.

“tonight’s not the night, darlin’.”

needy and craving the man beside you, your knees squirm. it’s only when you’re lightly kicking rick that he pays you any mind; your legs are shut closed by the force of his human hand and the prosthetic digging into your soft flesh.

the look he gives you is lacking patience. “now, what’re you doin’?”

“i need you tonight, rick,” you state plainly.

he scoffs and lets go of your thighs. “c’mon, honey, why don’t you just lay down and get a good night’s rest?” the gears are turning in your head and you’re lifting your legs and shifting between his legs before he can even try to draw you back to your pillow. he croaks your name when you start pawing at the drawstring of his pants. “honey, you need to-,”

“you need this,” you insist.

you’re not giving him enough time to complain with his sensitive head already on your tongue. rick curses his traitorous groans, and himself when he does nothing to fight against the firm hand you're utilizing to usher him onto his back.

"so, you want to relax?" he manages, despite the shudder inducing way in which fully go for it and swallow around him. midway down your throat, a light thrust and a near gag from you is all he needs to know your answer.

rick can only lean back and take what you give him. he's pretty sure that you're going to have him coming in your mouth but before he knows it, you’re face to face again. there’s no reason to be disappointed by the firm hold you still have on him with your hand. a few more sluggish licks and you’re readjusting, straddling him to tease his tip with the slick of your entrance.

"what about you?" rick’s rasping, not yet prepared after you removed him from your sweet mouth.

"what if i told you i came here ready?"

the statement has his cock jumping. you swivel slightly, clit bumping his own sensitive slippery skin. spit strewn, his head falls back at the feeling of his dick dipped into your engulfing heat - even half an inch.

“you sure, honey?”

“mhmm,” you confirm with a kiss and a grind onto him.

“really wanted it, didn’t you, darlin’?”

your confirmation comes out as a whimper. "i just wanna be full before bed. i wanna be full of you rick," and once those words leave your mouth, rick is decided and sending you from your knees to your back. he could never say no to those watery eyes.

a courtesy finger and some intricately placed kisses on your knees, thighs, and clit have you straining upwards. you're not burning for long because rick is ready to indulge you just as you wished tonight. without warning - not that you were wanting it tonight - rick fit himself as far inside your thick muscle as he could on the first thrust.

the stretch is familiar but striking enough for you to nearly double over onto him. you won’t fold in the face of your reward - at least not yet. determined to hold on, you plant two hands on the older man’s chest as you sink onto his thick length. his groans and your steady breaths are enough to lower yourself, and even fuck yourself you and down on him.

"thank you for fucking me tonight, rick." you cry through swollen lips and damp lashes. "i really need you to fall asleep," you confess in a tone no higher than a hushed hiss.

you don't know if you're expecting an answer but the quickened pace is to be expected. without a doubt, the man is sinking deeper inside of you as he forces his hips flush to yours.

"does this satisfy being full enough to fall asleep?"

the jolt he’s sending through your abdomen with each maddening plunge into you, has you fluttering around him.

“rick!”

you wake up with a hand on your ass and a breath behind you in your hair. it doesn’t last though. rick is gone before you know it and you’re left aching, craving him. you get him out of your system with your early morning physical training - pt - and a meal with your favorite fellow soldiers.

you’re not expecting to see rick again soon.

the office facing the arboretum and the airfield is typically a still place, plagued by the constant thrum of the planes and helicopters, yes, but those who worked in the building had grown accustomed to the white noise. you're so grateful everyone in your division is out at lunch when rick slams the thick wooden door open.

stirred from your half drafted map of the midwest, your head surges up. you don't have time to open your mouth before rick is talking at you in his sergeant's voice.

“there are ten minutes until i need to be down at the helicopter hanger. you need to get me off in eight.”

stunned, the command doesn't urge you to your feet just yet. it's the sudden slamming of the door that jostles you from desk to the plaid loveseat where you settle onto your knees on a cushion facing sideways.

rick shakes his head. "no, i want you on your knees on the floor in front of me. now." you sigh and carry yourself down to the polished wooden floors. "i don't have time to sit."

"why?"

"because what i said was an order. don't question it."

with that preamble, you waste no time finding his belt and expertly undoing the buckle in record time. your hands move as fast as they can given all of the work this bulky uniform requires. somehow you breeze through the layers and ignore the ache growing in your knees. your second pt of the day is going to destroy you.

as you strip down rick's thermal boxers, you wonder if he's keen on fucking you now too. perhaps you'd gotten your allotted pounding last night and this would be it for the week. you really can never know with rick.

the issue of time returns to your mind however, so when you grip his length, you only lick up and down enough to get him taking coordinated breaths through his nose and tautening.

“you’ve been demandin’ lately, doll.”

your thighs squeeze together at the nickname.

“maybe i want to be a little demandin’ of you.”

a gloved hand shoves your head down. the incentive to keep your moans quiet doubles when you hear commotion outside your office. right on time; your colleagues are returning to lunch.

“think you can quiet that big mouth enough?”

no words leave your mouth, you just swallow around his length, glancing up into his expanded pupils; almost void of blue. hollowing your cheeks, you remember the time crunch he’s in and put a little more pep into your step. this leads to you rocking a bit on your knees.

rick snorts once he catches sight of the development. “so needy, even just with a cock in your mouth, huh?” his teasing is cut off by the orgasm building up as he throbs against your tongue.

putting in the effort to counter more than a couple of gags, you allow your jaw to slack so rick can enjoy the unobstructed tightness of your throat - perfect for him to come without the mess, leaving it to your mouth.

you weren’t prepared to suck rick off in your office today but you’re determined to leave no trace of this interaction. when he spills down your throat, only a little bit remains on your reddened puffy lips. you wipe your mouth nonchalantly once rick flops out of your mouth, still gazing down at you.

“clean me up.”

an order is an order.

exhaustively, you trace patterns from his base to the spit covered tip that’s still twitching. “fuck,” he utters when you take him into your mouth again. “don’t have time for this,” he’s scolding and palming himself back into his pants, grabbing your hand to stand you up with him for some scattered kisses across your forehead.

he presses a kiss to your temple, traveling lower to embellish purple marks on your collarbone. you’re sure he’s about to do more than just wantonly groping your perky tits but a few more moan inducing punches for your nipple and he’s sealing the interaction with one wolffish kiss. you’re nearly stumbling after him when he pulls away, tugging the last of his belts on.

the door is flung shut and that’s that. rick’s gone.

you’re on rick’s bed before he retires for the night.

“good to see you again today.” you purr, nearly kicking your feet. “i’m feeling spoiled seeing you three times in one day.”

the soldier rolls his eyes. he drops his tactical bag on the ottoman in front of the bed. “you here to sleep? or mess around?”

you shrug. “your choice.”

hints of a sly smile are on the sergeant’s face but he walks away shaking his head before you can call him down to bed just yet.

you could just sleep tonight. rick had been turning you on enough for you to take a night off, preferably drifting off in his arms until you had to wake for your quarterly river survey with the geologists, engineers, and biologists in your neighboring divisions. you had a lot to prepare for come the morning. it wouldn't be terrible to unwind by getting off tonight.

the thought's put on pause once rick's arms wrap around you as he sinks into the soft, bedding. smelling of fresh toothpaste and some kind of beard balm, he’s more than ready to hold onto you like a vice for the night.

“hey.” you coo.

“hey there,” an arm escapes you to turn out the wall light still on over on his side of the bed. only the dim glow of the hallway light touches the darkened room now.

you turn slightly so rick can at least see the outline of your face - your eyes, nose, and lips in the dark. “what was that all about early?”

“hmm?”

"the asshole act earlier?"

“you needed to remember rank.”

an exasperated heave almost sends you to a seated position. “rank?”

“yes.”

the lack of playfulness in your voice has you wondrously thankful that he can’t see your eye rolls in the dark.

“that’s kinda fucked, rick.”

“says the one who just loves getting fucked.”

you shut up.

“getting on her knees, i don’t remember you complainin’ once i got you beneath me earlier today.”

you can’t say that you recall complaining either.

it feels like muscle memory when he gets you onto all fours.

set up on his knees with your cunt under his nose, rick licks a devastating stripe from top to bottom. then he’s coming back up again and squeezing muffled shrieks from you.

“you like that, honey?”

“i do, rick,” you reply breathlessly. you dig a clenched fist into the comforter. “fuck!” tears threaten your waterline already.

“like my tongue?”

“mhmm,” you writhe as he makes it his mission to bury his warm, wriggly appendage as far inside of you as he can. he’ll never be as deep as his cock but the difference in sensation has you nearly folding into the mattress.

the added finger has you squirming in conjunction with the taunting, flickering tongue working back out to your clit. eventually there’s a two pronged attempt to open you up. you’re clenching around his fingers when you hear him ask, “do you think you’re ready?”

“one hundred percent,” you breathe.

“‘kay, i need you to be one hundred percent sure of that, soldier.”

you tease on top of him at the mention, nearly jumping once you feel him at your entrance. lust centered, you nod your head assuredly. “yes, sergeant. i’m ready for your cock. ready to fulfill the mission.”

rick’s smirk and tousled curls are the last thing you see before you’re manhandled like a rag doll into the mattress.

then that rhythm that had you so worked up is paling in comparison to how full you feel with just a few inches of rick. whispering sweet praise and reminding you of the task at hand, you exhale and puff soft cheeks. the biting kisses from rick as he settles inside of you have your eyes already rolling back. his newfound rhythm only fulfills the trance you knew only ne could put you in.

crammed tight full of cock, you’re chanting his name and he’s petting your hair, praising you as you squeeze around him just excellently.

“you gonna come on my cock, soldier?”

“only if you’ll let me, sergeant.”

his balls slap against your clit, wonderfully matching the dull tap he’s testing on your cervix. it doesn’t matter though as he’s repositioning constantly and brushing the forlorn parts, placing his fingers in a painstakingly strategic position on your clit.

“want you so bad, rick.” the words tumble out as rick brings another hand from the fat of your ass to your tit. the touch has you arching, gasping and clawing at the sheets. “rick, rick!”

“love hearin’ you say my name,” he’s grunting into your hair when he lowers himself down to fuck you deeper.

this new angle that rick’s fucking you at has you incoherent. hips pistoning you into the mattress and closer to the mounting heat in your core that was threatening to ruin rick’s sheets. the pressure has tears cascading down your cheeks. if it was lighter you’d see them on the sheets but your bleary eyes only take in pillow, as your cunt takes all of rick.

a palm pushing down on the flat of your back. you sink further into the bed, allowing rick to penetrate you deeper. this newfound depth has you face down with a single trembling clawed hand to the sheets.

“rick,” you’re croaking, crying out for him.

one more thrust of his hips and you swear he’s going to break you.

he mutters a “fuck” and croons deep;

“michonne.”

pt. 1

[soon-palestine]

The Palestine exception at CBC After October 7, I dreaded going into work: every shift, the impact of the biases went into overdrive. Even at this early stage, Israeli officials were making genocidal statements that were ignored in our coverage. On October 9, Defence Minister Yoav Gallant said, “I have ordered a complete siege on the Gaza Strip. There will be no electricity, no food, no fuel; everything is closed. We are fighting human animals and we act accordingly.” Even after this comment, my executive producer was still quibbling over uses in our scripts of the word “besieged” or references to the “plight of Palestinians.”

[..]

On October 20, I suggested having Hammam Farah, a Palestinian-Canadian psychotherapist, back on the network. In an earlier interview he had told us that his family were sheltering in Saint Porphyrius Greek Orthodox church in Gaza City. The following week, I learned from social media that his step-cousin had been killed in an Israeli airstrike on the 12th-century building. My executive producer responded to my pitch via instant message: “Yeah, if he’s willing. We also may have to potentially say we can’t verify these things though—unless we can.” I was stunned. Never in my nearly 6 years at CBC had I ever been expected to verify the death of someone close to a guest, or to put a disclaimer in an interview that we couldn’t fact-check such claims. That’s not a standard that producers had been expected to uphold—except, apparently, for Palestinians. 

[..]

In early November, I was asked to oversee production of an interview with a former US official now working for the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, a pro-Israel think tank. During the interview, he was allowed to repeat a number of verifiably false claims live on air—including that Hamas fighters had decapitated babies on October 7 and that Gazan civilians could avoid being bombed if only they listened to the Israeli military and headed south. This was after civilian convoys fleeing southward via “safe routes” had been bombed by the Israeli military before the eyes of the world. As soon as I heard this second falsehood, I messaged my team suggesting that the host push back—but received no response. Afterwards, the host said she had let the comment slide because time was limited, even though she could have taken the time from a less consequential story later on in the program. The majority of Palestinian guests I spoke to during the first six weeks of Israel’s assault on Gaza all said the same thing: they wanted to do live interviews to avoid the risk of their words being edited or their interview not being aired. These were well-founded concerns. Never before in my career had so many interviews been cancelled due to fear of what guests might say. Nor had there ever been direction from senior colleagues to push a certain group of people to do pre-taped interviews. (CBC told The Breach it “categorically rejects” the claim that interviews were “routinely cancelled”.)

[]

Editing out ‘genocide’    Most shows on the network seemed to avoid airing any mention of “genocide” in the context of Gaza.  On November 10, my senior producer pushed to cancel an interview I had set up with a Palestinian-Canadian entrepreneur, Khaled Al Sabawi. According to his “pre-interview”—a conversation that typically happens before the broadcastable interview—50 of his relatives had been killed by Israeli soldiers. The part of the transcript that concerned the senior producer was Al Sabawi’s claim that Netanyahu’s government had “publicly disclosed its intent to commit genocide.” He also took issue with the guest’s references to a “documented history of racism” and “apartheid” under Israeli occupation, as well as his suggestion that the Canadian government was complicit in the murder of Gazan civilians.

The senior producer raised his concerns via email to the executive producer, who then cc’ed one of the higher-up managers. The executive producer replied that it “sound[ed] like [his statement was] beyond opinion and factually incorrect.” The executive manager’s higher up chimed in, saying she thought the interview would be “too risky as a pre-tape or live [interview].” 

Despite the guest’s position aligning with many UN experts and Western human rights organizations, the interview was cancelled. (CBC told The Breach “the guest turned down our offer of a pre-taped interview,” but Al Sabawi had said to the producers from the start that he would only do a live interview.) Never in my nearly 6 years at CBC had I ever been expected to verify the death of someone close to a guest. That’s not a standard that producers had been expected to uphold—except, apparently, for Palestinians.

In another instance, a Palestinian-Canadian guest named Samah Al Sabbagh, whose elderly father was then trapped in Gaza, had part of her pre-taped interview edited out before it went to air. She had used the word “genocide” and talked about the deliberate starvation of Palestinians in Gaza. The senior producer told me the edit was because of time constraints. But that producer and the host were overheard agreeing that the guest’s unedited words were too controversial. (CBC told The Breach it “has not ‘cancelled’ interviews with Palestinians because they reference genocide and apartheid.”) By November 2023, it was getting harder to ignore the brazen rhetoric coming from senior Israeli officials and the rate of civilian death, which had few precedents in the 21st century. But you wouldn’t have heard about these things on our shows, despite a number of producers’ best efforts. (By early 2024, the International Court of Justice’s hearings—and later its ruling that Israel refrain from actions that could “plausibly constitute” genocide—forcibly changed the discussion, and the word “genocide” finally made some appearances on CBC.)

But back in late October, I booked an interview with Adel Iskandar, Associate Professor of Global Communication at Simon Fraser University, to talk about language and propaganda from Israeli and Hamas officials. The host filling in that day was afraid of complaints, was concerned about the guest wanting to be interviewed live, and judged him to be biased. Yet again an interview was cancelled.

A secret blacklist?  One Saturday in mid-October, I arrived at work shortly after the airing of an interview with the prominent Palestinian-Canadian lawyer and former spokesperson for the Palestine Liberation Organization, Diana Buttu.  There had been a commotion, I was told. A producer from The National—the CBC’s flagship nightly news and current affairs program—had apparently stormed into the newsroom during the interview saying that Buttu was on a list of banned Palestinian guests and that we weren’t supposed to book her.  I heard from multiple colleagues that the alleged list of banned Palestinian guests wasn’t official. Rather, a number of pro-Israel producers were rumoured to have drawn up their own list of guests to avoid. Later, I was told by the producer of the interview that, after the broadcast, Buttu’s details had mysteriously vanished from a shared CBC database. By then, I had also discovered that the name and contact details for the Palestinian Ambassador Mona Abuamara, who had previously been interviewed, had likewise been removed. It didn’t seem coincidental that both guests were articulate defenders of Palestinian rights. While producers distressed by the CBC’s coverage of Gaza were speaking in whispers, pro-Israeli colleagues felt comfortable making dehumanizing comments about Palestinians in the newsroom. In one case, I heard an associate producer speak disparagingly about a guest’s decision to wear a keffiyeh for an interview before commenting that “[the host] knows how to handle these people.” This guest had dozens of family members killed by the Israeli military in Gaza.  It seemed the only Palestinian guest CBC was interested in interviewing was the sad, docile Palestinian who talked about their suffering without offering any analysis or solutions to end it. What they did not want was an angry Palestinian full of righteous indignation towards governments complicit in their family’s displacement and murder.  At this stage, I was starting to feel nauseous at work. And then one Saturday night, that sickness turned into anger.  I had been asked to finish production on a pre-taped interview with a “constructive dialogue” researcher on incidents of campus hostilities over the war and how to bring people together—the sort of interview CBC loves, as it’s a way to be seen covering the story without actually talking about what’s happening in Gaza.  I carried out the task in good faith, writing an introduction leading with an example of antisemitism and then another of anti-Palestinian hate, taking care to be “balanced” in my approach. But my senior producer proceeded to remove the example of anti-Palestinian hate, replacing it with a wishy-washing “both sides” example, while leaving the specific serious incident of antisemitism intact. He also edited my wording to suggest that pro-Palestinian protesters on Canadian campuses were on the “side” of Hamas.  I overheard the host thank the senior producer for the edits, on the basis that incidents of antisemitism were supposedly worse. While the introduction of these biases into my script was relatively minor compared to some other double standards I witnessed, it was a tipping point.  I challenged the senior on why he had made my script journalistically worse. He made up a bad excuse. I told him I couldn’t do this anymore and walked out of the newsroom, crying. 

Truth-telling about CBC That evening at home, the nausea and the anger dissolved, and for the first time in six weeks I felt a sense of peace. I knew it was untenable to stay at CBC. At a team meeting the following week, in mid-November, I said the things I had wanted to say since the start of Israel’s assault on Gaza. I prefaced the conversation by saying how much I loved my team and considered some coworkers friends. I said the problems weren’t unique to our team but across the CBC.  But the frequency of Palestinian guests getting cancelled, the pressure to pre-tape this one particular group, in addition to the unprecedented level of scrutiny being placed on them, demonstrated a pattern of double standards. I said there seemed to be an unspoken rule around words like “genocide.” I pointed out that Arab and Muslim coworkers, especially those who were precariously employed, were scared of raising concerns, and that I and others had heard dehumanizing comments about Palestinians in the newsroom. (The CBC told The Breach that there “have been no specific reports of anti-Palestinian and Islamophobic comments in the newsroom for managers to respond to or follow up”.) 

I said that two decades since the US-led invasion of Iraq, it was widely-acknowledged that the media had failed to do their jobs to interrogate the lies used to justify a war and occupation that killed one million Iraqis—and that as journalists we had a special responsibility to tell the truth, even if it was uncomfortable. A couple of coworkers raised similar concerns. Others rolled their eyes. (CBC told The Breach that it doesn’t recall there was anyone else who raised concerns in the meeting, but audio recordings show otherwise.) The question of why there was nervousness around this issue came up. I said one reason why we were adverse to allowing Palestinian guests to use the “G-word” was because of the complaint campaigns of right-wing lobby groups like HonestReporting Canada.  Indeed, in just 6 weeks, there were already 19 separate instances of HonestReporting going after CBC journalists, including a host on our team. HonestReporting had also claimed responsibility for the firing at two other outlets of two Palestinian journalists, one of whom was on maternity leave at the time.  All this had a chilling effect. Hosts and senior colleagues would frequently cite the threat of complaints as a reason not to cover Israel-Palestine. During my time there, a senior writer was even called into management meetings to discuss her supposed biases after a HonestReporting campaign targeted her. Her contract was cut short.

This policing of media workers’ output reinforced existing institutional tendencies that ensured CBC rarely deviated from the narrow spectrum of “legitimate” opinions represented by Canada’s existing political class.  Certain CBC shows seemed to be more biased than others. The National was particularly bad: the network’s prime time show featured 42 per cent more Israeli voices than Palestinian in its first month of coverage after the Oct. 7 Hamas attack, according to a survey by The Breach.  Although some podcasts and radio programs seemed to cover the war on Gaza in a more nuanced way, the problem of anti-Palestinian bias in language was pervasive across all platforms.  According to an investigation in The Breach, CBC even admitted to this disparity, arguing that only the killing of Israelis merited the term “murderous” or “brutal” since the killing of Palestinians happens “remotely.” Images of children being flattened to death in between floors of an apartment building and reports of premature babies left to starve in incubators suggested otherwise.

It seemed the only Palestinian guest CBC was interested in interviewing was the sad, docile Palestinian who talked about their suffering without offering any analysis or solutions to end it.

I spoke to many like-minded colleagues to see if there was any action we could all take to push back on the tenor of our coverage, but understandably others were reluctant to act—even collectively—out of fear doing so would endanger their jobs. Some of those colleagues would have loved to have walked out, but financial responsibilities stopped them. There had been previous attempts at CBC to improve the public broadcaster’s coverage of Israel-Palestine. In 2021, hundreds of Canadian journalists signed an open letter calling out biases in the mainstream media’s treatment of the subject. A number of CBC workers who signed the letter were hauled into meetings and told they either weren’t allowed to cover the subject or would have any future work on the issue vetted. A work friend later regretted signing the letter because she got the sense that she had been branded as biased, leading to her pitches on Palestine being more readily dismissed. 

Smeared as antisemitic In mid-November, after laying out my concerns to my colleagues, the regular weekly pitch meeting took place. It was then that I pitched the two genocide scholars, before having to attend that virtual meeting with my executive producer—where he suggested I go on mental health leave—and yet another meeting with two managers who raised concerns over my pitch the next day. But the most unpleasant meeting with management was about to come. A week later, I was accused of antisemitism on the basis of something I didn’t even say. According to a manager, someone had accused me of claiming that “the elephant in the room [was] the rich Jewish lobby.”  (CBC told The Breach that “employees expressed concerns” that what she said was “discriminatory”.) The accusation was deeply painful because of my Jewish heritage and how my dad’s life—and, as a consequence, my own—was profoundly damaged by antisemitism. But I also knew I could prove that it was baseless: I had recorded what I said, anxious that someone might twist my words to use them against me.  What I had actually said, verbatim, was this:  “I just want to address the elephant in the room. The reason why we’re scared to allow Palestinian guests on to use the word ‘genocide’ is because there’s a very, very well funded [sic], there’s lots of Israel lobbies, and every time we do this sort of interview, they will complain, and it’s a headache. That’s why we’re not doing it. But that’s not a good reason not to have these conversations.”  I stand by my statement. HonestReporting Canada is billionaire-funded. In December 2023, HonestReporting bragged about having “mobilized Canadians to send 50,000 letters to news outlets.” The group has also published a litany of attacks on journalists at CBC and other publications who’ve done accurate reporting on Palestine, and created email templates to make it easier for their followers to complain to publications about specific reporters. Other, similar pro-Israel groups like the Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting in America (CAMERA) and the Canary Mission employ similar tactics to try to silence journalists, academics, and activists who tell the truth about Israel-Palestine. I told the manager it was telling that instead of following up on the racist comment I had heard from colleagues about Palestinians, I was the one being accused of antisemitism and discrimination—on the basis of words I hadn’t even uttered.

The banality of whitewashing war crimes When I handed in my resignation notice on November 30, I felt relieved that I was no longer complicit in the manufacturing of consent for a genocidal war of revenge. Despite my experience, I still believe in the importance of the national broadcaster to act in the public interest by reporting independently of both government and corporate interests, presenting the truth and offering a diverse range of perspectives.  However, I believe that CBC has not been fulfilling these duties when it comes to its coverage of Israel-Palestine. I believe that in the future, historians will examine the many ways that CBC, and the rest of mainstream media, have all failed to report truthfully on this unfolding genocide—and in doing so likely accelerated their delegitimization as trusted news sources. Before resigning, I raised the issue of double standards with various levels of the CBC hierarchy. While some members of management pledged to take my concerns seriously, the overall response left me disappointed with the state of the public broadcaster.  After my appeal to my coworkers in mid-November, I had a phone conversation with a sympathetic senior producer. He said he didn’t think my words at the meeting would interfere with my chances of getting the permanent staff job I had long dreamed of. Despite this assurance, I was certain that I wouldn’t get it now: I knew I’d crossed the line for saying out loud what many at CBC were thinking but couldn’t say openly. Indeed, I wouldn’t have spoken out if I hadn’t already decided to resign. As a kid, I had fantasies of shooting Hitler dead to stop the Holocaust. I couldn’t fathom how most Germans went along with it. Then, in my 20s, I was gifted a copy of Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann In Jerusalem: A Report On The Banality Of Evil by anti-Zionist Israeli friends. I’ve been thinking a lot about that piece of reportage when trying to make sense of the liberal media’s complicity in obfuscating the reality of what’s happening in the Holy Land. As Arendt theorized, those who go along with genocides aren’t innately evil; they’re often just boring careerists.  To be sure, while there are a number of senior CBC journalists who are clearly committed to defending Israel no matter its actions, many journalists just follow the path of least resistance. The fact that permanent, full-time CBC jobs are in such short supply, combined with threats of looming cuts, only reinforces this problem.  I still hear from former colleagues that pitch meetings are uphill battles. Some shows are barely covering Gaza anymore.  Being a journalist is a huge privilege and responsibility, especially in a time of war. You’re curating the news for the audience; deciding which facts to include and which to omit; choosing whose perspectives to present and whose to ignore. I believe that a good journalist should be able to turn their critical eye, not just on the news, but on their own reporting of the news. If you’re unable to do this, you shouldn’t be in the profession. I purposefully haven’t given away identifiable information about my former colleagues. Ultimately, this isn’t about them or me: it’s part of a much wider issue in newsrooms across the country and the Western world—and I believe it’s a moral duty to shed a light on it. If I didn’t, I’d never forgive myself. Just as I’m not naming my colleagues, I’m writing this using a pseudonym. Although the spectrum of acceptable discourse continues to shift, the career consequences for whistleblowers on this issue remains formidable. I encourage fellow journalists who refuse to participate in the whitewashing of war crimes, especially those with the security of staff jobs, to speak to like-minded coworkers about taking collective action; to approach your union steward and representative; and to document instances of double standards in your newsrooms and share them with other media workers.  It was scary, but I have no regrets about speaking out. My only regret is that I didn’t write this sooner. 

[headcanonfiringrange]

I know that it's a widely accepted fanon that Alex Mercer can flawlessly impersonate anyone he's consumed, but I'm gonna drop a hot take here: he's actually a terrible actor. He can memorize lines just fine, but he can't convincingly deliver anything except for bland military comms like "Roger that, this is squad delta niner-niner, we are currently en route."

The only reason why Alex was able to get away with his terrible acting while infiltrating military bases in Prototype was because he didn't need any acting skills to accomplish his objective. As long as he appeared "in uniform," used the correct military jargon & followed (or pretended to be following) orders, nobody looked any closer.

Alex never even had to affect any kind of persona (other than basic military professionalism), because his own brand of "terse & constantly on edge" fits right in with the miasma of stressed, exhausted masses that are military personnel on the front lines of war.

In the game, there's an escort mission where Alex has to go undercover as helicopter pilot. I failed that mission SO many times, but I'm actually glad I did because on one of my many retries I got to hear the following line of dialogue:

Mercer (psyching himself up before responding to a radio hail): "Okay, okay. You can do this! Just play it cool..."

This man could be absolutely cooked in any espionage setting that requires real, actually convincing acting skills & not just memorizing all the words/phrases used in military comms.