#We can disagree but remain civil

[libertarian-druid-in-greater-vt]

It's insane to me that some anime icon having weirdo, who's now blocked me, can accuse me of being someone else (for legalities sake I am New here) and make up something I didnt say, and then a swarm of rightoids can come out of the woodwork with anon hate again. At least you're being reasonable...

But no, your situation doesn't give more weight to anything cause anecdotes are rarely useful or relevant when giving ones opinions on public policy, especially regarding ones rights to ones own body and pregnancy from you, a man. Framing removing a brainless clump of cells as "murder" is pretty christian, to my mind, at least culturally anyway. Since most people who study the human body don't consider it murder. But thats neither here or there rn.

originally, I was speaking to a maga delulu cultist, who finds it ok to force other women to have children against their will, but shrieked and started a whole stink when I said that they should face the circumstances they so easily and casually were willing to force, legislatively, on others. Hypocrisy. From christians? par for the course, lol.

If I had been arguing at the time with someone against say, what I consider common sense gun control, I would have said "I hope you have to live through a shooting event that makes you reconsider". Or on a different track- I would hope some anti-public transit person, Id wish them nothing but traffic and exhaust fumes, because the empathy free dont realize they could be wrong or change their minds until something effects them personally.

And Im not offended when someone says to me "I hope your support for democratic socialism gets you (insert rightoid holocaust fantasy about evil denmark style socialism)" because I understand thats just words on a screen, not a "wish" or a "threat" lol. Could my wording have been better originally? Probably? Who knows or cares though?

This is only still going on cause some rightoids and neonazis keep bringing it up so they can pretend to be offended by me, as fascists do, to ignore reality. And also to pretend to defend a white chick and her virtue against a mouthy jew who sources stuff. Its all clownery and mostly from maga cultists 😂.

I can appreciate you being reasonable about it though, which is why I bothered to reply at all. Sorry for the rambling.

Okay, this is a long one, so I'm gonna kinda break it up a bit for ease of reading.

Thank you for being reasonable in return, just because we disagree doesn't mean we can't be civil, which is a thought process I wish both sides of the aisle would be more open to. There are admittedly people on both sides that agree with that sentiment, but not nearly enough.

My point is that it's still a life, snuffing out innocent life will always be murder to me, whether it's a year old, a decade old, a century old, or a second old. Every life has inherent value so long as it retains innocence. I appreciate the honesty in saying that it's because I'm a man and that your original points about rape and Christianity were more or less just repeating talking points (I know that's going to come off as sarcasm, but I assure you it isn't).

I don't tend to care much for the religious portion of the issue, if you're having unprotected sex, there can be consequences. One of those consequences can be impregnation. I can agree that being forced to carry the child of your rapist is wrong, I don't believe it should be forced, so much as deregulation of adoption so that abortion isn't the go-to solution. I think you can probably agree that despite the circumstances, the child is still innocent of their father's crimes. So while I wouldn't force it upon anyone, I would say it would be wrong to end a pregnancy, and continue to disagree with that portion of the decision. If being brainless is what makes it okay to you, then it stands to reason that upon the third gestational week, abortion should be off the table, as that's when brain tissue begins to develop. If not, feel free to correct me.

Yeah, I can agree that the phrasing could have been better, it comes off like you're wishing pro-life people would get raped in the post. And honestly, the modification to the scenarios you present isn't much better. But it also doesn't help the situation that I'm in full support of all natural rights, self defense being one of those. I actually offer to teach anyone how to shoot in a defensive manner, especially my Romani "family" and Jewish folks given the situations regarding those groups internationally and here in the US. That said, if you're more comfortable having to look your attacker in the eye while bludgeoning or stabbing them in defense, then more power to you, I can almost relate. As far as public transit goes, I support opening the market to private competition, partially to lower costs and partially to improve the services. I'd also avoid calling them "empathy free" just because they disagree. I assure you, in most cases, they're not sociopaths.

My issues with socialism arise from family history, and how many times socialist economies have failed/converted to capitalist ones. While it makes tyranny an easier goal to achieve, that's less of an inherent worry for me than the fact that it seems to fail so often. I'd hope you'd consider that it's largely only a good system on paper given how things actually work, but your views are yours to hold, and possibly change, on your own.

Can you honestly say that the people arguing against (what they view as) murder (to which you disagree) are fascists though? Is it possible that they simply don't want to have a society in which the murder of children is acceptable? I don't think the government should regulate it, so much as it should be deregulating alternatives such as adoption. If an adoptive parent wants to help take care of the child as it is developing in the womb, and then raise said child, I see no harm in that. However, there is already a wait list for adoptions, and not really much going into helping to shorten that wait. If the government should be doing anything that would actively use tax dollars, it should go towards helping out adoptions and adoptees. As someone who was adopted (I know, I've got a whole lot of skin in this) it generally works out for the best for all involved parties. That said, I understand that "generally" is different than "always" and the concern some have if it's not something with a 100% success rate. Most folks are a lot less willing to take risks than they were 20, 30, 50 years ago.

If you're interested in continuing the conversation, or if I skipped something you feel is relevant, my dms are open, asks are open, and of course, reblogs will remain available.

I ask that you use reblogs if any are applicable, but won't demand it. Just helps to keep things organized.

[randomnameless]

🎶 In the fandom, the woeful fandom, the stans are sealioning tonight. 🎶

Seriously, can't some of these stans get the message and use the block button instead of coming in uninvited and trying to harass others for not liking/agreeing with their waifu?

You know what,

I never cared that much about sealions, but in the last 6 months I've learnt a lot about them !

And again, saying you disagree or talking and exchanging headcanons or just making your point is fine, really, hell a mutual and I disagreed on basically everything in a Fandom we both love, and it's alright ! We agree on things, we disagree on others and it's fine, no discourse starting with "it's a you problem", like, my dude, of course I post about my opinions and views on my blog ?

I was thinking about making a photoshop with a whoopee cushion, a pile of salt and a dolphin, but I figured it would be a waste of my time.

Even watching paint dry is a better use of ressources and time than replying to those stans.

[buckyispunk]

Aloha

Aloha part one ~ Bucky Barnes x f!Reader (no use of Y/N), read part two here!

masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: You arrive at a Hawaiian resort for your ex's wedding and a man named Bucky buys you a drink. You proceed to spend the next day with him, getting to know him and his friends.

A/N: New series! There will probably be five or so parts, with much more smut, angst, and fluff to come :) let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series!

Warnings: unwanted touching (not by Bucky), dom!bucky, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, spitting, choking, orgasm delay/denial, oral (f receiving), fingering, drinking, Bucky's got a filthy mouth

Word Count: 11k

Fucking Brock. You sit on the couch staring at the little cardstock rectangle in disbelief.

Join us in celebrating Brock and Marisssa’s special day! surrounded by hibiscus flowers and a tropical design. The flowery invitation theme makes sense when you read that the wedding is in Hawaii. 

You hadn’t seen Brock in years. Three, to be exact. It had been in the soup aisle of the grocery store.

You had been reaching for a can of tomato paste to make spaghetti to eat alone in your little apartment. You looked a mess, having stopped at the store on your way home from a long day of work. You heard him call your name - his nonchalant, egotistical voice recognizable anywhere. 

“Oh my god, how’ve you been? It’s been too long!” He had said, as if he had made any attempts to reach out to you - or had any desire to - since you had broken up. 

“Oh,” you turned around to face him, “fine, you?”

“I’m doing great! Just here to buy some soup for my girlfriend, she’s been under the weather lately.”

Not even a minute into conversation and he’d mentiioned his new girlfriend. You had just broken up two months before. You tried your best to keep the look of shock and sadness from your face. How had he moved on so quick? Did your almost four year relationship meant so little to him? 

You managed to give a small noncommittal smile and nod. He wasn’t paying enough attention to you to notice anyway, grabbing a couple of cans of chicken noodle soup and turning back the way he came. 

“We should get together and catch up sometime!” he had shouted over his shoulder as he walked away.

That was the last time you had seen him. It wasn’t like the two of you were on bad terms or anything. The break up had been civil - civil as a breakup can be, anyway. You and Brock had begun dating in your freshman year of college. One day, in the middle of you and Brock’s senior year, he sat you down and said he needed to talk to you. He said that you were great and he’d always have a special place in his heart for you, but he just couldn’t picture himself with you for the rest of his life - so there’s no point in wasting anymore time, as he had put it. To be honest, you didn’t disagree.

You had been unhappy towards the end of the relationship. You could tell that Brock was distancing himself and the two of you got in little fights almost every day. You knew it wasn’t going to work out, but it had still left a huge hole in your heart. Brock was a big part of your life every day for four years, then all of a sudden he was just gone. A big piece of you was missing and you had to rebuild it yourself. Turns out Brock rebuilt that piece with another girl. If he ever had a piece that needed rebuilding in the first place, that is. 

You really had wanted to stay friends with him after the breakup, or at least remain civil with him. He had never reached out after that day in the grocery store and you had no desire to reach out to him - you had healed yourself and decided you were better off without him. 

You sit on the couch running your fingers over the rough material, rereading the words over and over again, trying to make sense of it all. You really don’t care that Brock is getting married, it’s not like you want him back or anything. But, at the same time, you weren’t necessarily chomping at the bit to go watch him and his fiancee celebrate their special day. 

A vacation did sound nice, though. You’d always wanted to go to Hawaii. Plus, you figured some of you and Brock’s friends from college would be in attendance. The two of you had been in the same friend group when he asked you out. You lost touch with the friend group after the break up. You would see some of them in passing or in classes and share small talk, but you had stopped getting invitations to hang out with them. You weren’t one to hold a grudge, though, and it would be nice to see them again. 

You mull it over for a little while before deciding that it would be a good move on your part to go, show Brock that you were still on good terms with him and that him getting married doesn’t bother you. You could take a break from work and get some much-needed sun and relaxation. You RSVP and check no, you will not be bringing a plus one.  

The months leading up to the wedding follow the same, monotonous routine. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Occasionally your coworkers would drag you out to the bar after work and you would go - desperate to feel some sort of belonging. Despite your efforts over the years, you had never gotten close with any of the girls at work. You got along with them okay, but you wouldn’t exactly call them your friends. Acquaintances was a more fitting term.

You do, however, have one best friend. The only issue is that she lives almost a thousand miles away. You had moved to New York for school and she had stayed back home in Illinois. You stay in contact with her and your family. Most days, talking to them makes you more homesick than anything else. You’d considered moving back more than once, but had ultimately decided against it each time - you’re scared to look like a failure. You don’t want to come running back home at the first signs of struggle. You want to prove to everyone back home that you can make it in the big city by yourself. 

As the days go by, you find yourself looking forward to the special day. Not because of the wedding, but because you’re ready to escape the numb hell that your life has become. The wedding is on a Friday. You’re flying in on Monday and leaving Sunday morning. Six nights at the tropical resort Brock and Marissa have picked. 

It’s the Sunday night before you leave. Your bags are packed and waiting by the door. Sleep comes easy, knowing that by this time tomorrow you’ll be drinking cocktailas at a pool-side bar, free from work stress and city traffic. Away from the city where you feel lonely among millions of people.

Usually when the ear-piercing, dread instilling sound of your alarm rings, you hit the snooze button and pull the covers tighter in attempt to hang on to your last moments of comfort and peace - or as close as you can get to that, these days. Today, however, is different. When you hear the all-too familiar noise coming from your phone, it leaves you with a feeling of excitement rather than depression. 

You sit up, smile on your face, and get ready for the day. After showering and putting on your comfiest plane clothes, you grab your bags and head outside. You hail a taxi and can’t even bring yourself to be upset when he doesn’t offer to help you with your luggage. You smile the whole way to the airport.

I repeat, flight DL4567 is delayed by two hours. Boarding will begin at 12:10.

The universe has found a way to put you in a bad mood again. You’re certain whatever higher power there is had sent this sudden thunderstorm just for you. You look at your phone to check the time - 9:45. You had been sitting here for an hour already. The hard chair is starting to get uncomfortable, so you decide to get your second cup of coffee for the morning. You stand and grab your luggage, making your way to the end of the Starbucks line. You order your go-to drink and some breakfast.

Once you get your coffee and food you find a little table to sit at and pull out your book. You find yourself enthralled in your book and the time flies. A voice over the loudspeaker breaks you out of your trance. 

Flight DL4567 now boarding. 

You snap your book shut and clean up your table. You grab your bags and head back to your gate. After waiting in line for a little while, you finally take your seat on the plane. You put in your earbuds and watch the grey clouds outside - thankful you got a window seat. By the time the plane starts moving, you’re smiling again and counting down the time until your arrival. 

You spend the first five hours of your flight reading and watching TV - you’re pleasantly surprised to see that they have your favorite show. Sometime after they serve lunch, you fall asleep. When you wake up, there’s only two hours left until arrival. 

You watch the fluffy clouds outside your window and find that time passes quickly when you think about all the things you want to do in Hawaii. You also find that the time passes impossibly slow when you let your mind drift to New York and all your responsibilities. How is it that you haven’t even landed in Hawaii yet and you’re already dreading returning back home?

You see the beaches and the luscious green that fill the ground beneath you. You take in all the sights as best you can as you get closer and closer to the ground, preparing for landing. Your ears hurt slightly from the pressure change, but you’ve got other things on your mind.

After waiting some more to get your luggage, you finally manage to get on a shuttle and you’re on your way to the resort. You watch the mountains in the distance and the palm trees on the drive. You’re listening to your playlist through your earbuds and this is the happiest you’ve felt in a while. You could get used to this, you think. 

Your jaw drops when you pull up to the hotel. The huge building is right on the beach. Sure, that’s what it had said online, but the real thing it’s even more staggering in person than it had been in the pictures. The sun beats down on you as soon as you step out of the shuttle, but there’s a nice breeze that makes it enjoyable. A worker hands you your bags from the back of the bus and you thank him. You roll them inside the resort, eyes widening even more when you see the inside of the place. You can’t wait to get your bags in your room and explore. 

The receptionist is nice as can be and tells you to enjoy your stay as she hands you your key cards - like you’ll be needing more than one. You wheel your luggage into the elevator and press the number five. You’re astonished by the view when you step into your room. Your balcony faces the beach and you can see mountains in the distance. The evening sun is still shining bright and there’s not a cloud in the sky. 

It’s just after seven o’clock by the time you’re done changing. You head down to the main floor and set off to explore. There’s a spa, an indoor and outdoor bar, a pool, a hot tub, a gym, and a restaurant. You decide to hit the outdoor bar and enjoy the last of the daylight. 

You slide into a barstool. The warmth of the sun and the refreshing sea-side breeze, along with a couple cocktails, quickly put you into a relaxed headspace. You’d been looking forward to this for so long and it’s definitely all you’d imagined it would be. 

The resort is pretty full, but not to the point where it gets on your nerves. The bar is occupied by a group of girls who look a little younger than you and some married couples.

You’re just finishing your second drink when something catches your attention - a loud, boisterous laugh coming from the other end of the bar. You lean forward to see a group of guys you hadn’t noticed before. The laugh comes from a man with chocolatey, smooth skin. He’s sitting with a gigantic blond man who is currently looking down at the bartop and shaking his head, a half smile on his face. The last man, though, is what makes you do a double take. 

He’s got dark, fluffy hair. Though his stubble tries to hide it, you notice his sharp jawline. His shoulders are broad and his biceps stretch the sleeve of his t-shirt. He’s smiling, pearly white teeth on display. You find that you’re still watching him as he brings a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a swig. 

You’re only snapped out of your trance when he looks in your direction. You quickly divert your eyes, but you aren’t quick enough. He catches your gaze for the briefest of seconds. You might be imagining things, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth curl up into a smile before he looks back to his friends - still laughing and yelling about something.

The sun has finally set and you decide on having one more of the fun, tropical drinks before heading up to your room. 

You prepare to flag down the bartender, surprised when you find him already stopping in front of you, one of the cocktails you’d been drinking in hand. 

“Courtesy of the gentleman at the other end of the bar.”

You quickly thank the bartender and look back to the other end of the bar where the group of guys had been sitting. They’re the only men sitting at that end of the bar.

The brunette is already looking at you. He gives you a million dollar smile and shoots you a wink before he turns, following his friends back into the hotel.

You sit in shock for a solid minute, replaying the wink over and over in your mind. Sure you’ve got a solid buzz and you haven’t been laid in a long time, but even if that wasn’t the case, you’re sure it would’ve been just as sexy. You’re only slightly ashamed of the small amount of wetness you feel in your panties.

You down the free drink and head back into the hotel. On your way to the elevator, you notice the man that’s been occupying your thoughts for the last 30 or so minutes standing at the reception desk. His hair is wet and his clothes are soaking through. 

You quickly make your way to the elevator and repeatedly press the up arrow. You’re not sure where the sudden embarrassment is coming from, but your cheeks are red and you don’t want him to see you right now. 

Unfortunately for you, you hear footsteps behind you and turn to find the same piercing blue eyes you had met across the bar staring back at you. 

“Friends stole all the towels out of my room,” he tells you, holding up a stack of fresh ones.

Well that explains why he was at the reception desk, also why he’s soaking wet. 

“Oh,” you manage a small chuckle as you look down at your feet. 

You can’t help but feel embarrassed when he’s looking at you so intently, like you’re the only thing on his mind right now. It doesn’t help that he’s one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen and he’s talking to you of all people. 

You force yourself to meet his eyes again, “Thank you, um, for the drink earlier,” you manage in a somewhat steady voice. 

 “Course, doll,” another smile. 

The elevator doors finally open and he extends his arm, “After you.”

He follows you into the elevator and presses the number five. 

“What floor are you on?” he turns, waiting for your response.

“Same as you, apparently,” you smile up at him. 

You weren’t close enough to tell before, but he’s tall. At least six feet. 

“I’m Bucky, by the way. Sorry ‘bout leaving before I could introduce myself earlier, but my friends were being a pain in the ass - pardon my language.”

You tell him your own name and he holds out his hand. You put your hand in his and expect him to shake it, but what he does next surprises you.

He gently raises your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he rolls your name off his tongue, still holding your hand.

You try your best not to make it obvious that you’re swooning over this man. Heat returns to your core at the feeling of his rough hand engulfing yours. 

The elevator bell dings, letting you know you’ve reached your floor. Bucky carefully drops your hand as the doors open. The two of you step out of the elevator and he stops.

“I’ll be seeing you around,” he says, holding eye contact with you.

“I hope so,” your buzz encourages you. 

You smile at each other and when he turns to head to his room, you do the same. 

“Goodnight, doll,” he shouts over his shoulder before disappearing into his room.

You can’t keep the smile off of your face the rest of the night. You’re in fucking Hawaii. A man straight out of your fantasies had bought you a drink, and he plans on seeing you around. You know it’s too soon to be thinking this, but maybe you’ll find a more unconventional way to relieve stress this week. 

After you wake up and get dressed for the day, you head down to get breakfast from the buffet. You load your plate and find a table. You’re in the middle of chewing a bite of waffle when you see Brock. Him and a woman, you assume it’s Marissa, are grabbing plates and getting into the breakfast line. 

Brock doesn’t notice you until after him and the woman have gotten their own food. You watch him as he scans the room for a table, his eyes eventually landing on you. 

He calls out your name and leans down to tell the woman something. 

“So glad you’re here! Are these seats taken?” he asks, not waiting for a response as he sits down, leaving the woman to follow. 

“Go ahead,” you say. You’re somewhat glad to have some company, even if it’s a little awkward.

“This is my fiancée, Marissa.”

“So nice to meet you,” she offers her hand and you shake it. 

Breakfast is filled with awkward conversation. You and Brock catch up a little bit, telling each other what you’re up to these days. After a few minutes, Brock pulls out his phone and doesn’t put it away for the rest of the meal. You talk to Marissa about the wedding planning and do your best to seem interested as she talks about flower arrangements for ten minutes. 

Eventually, conversation lulls and you take the opportunity to get up. 

“So nice catching up with you, Brock. And nice to meet you Marissa!” you say, heading to your room.

You decide on heading to the pool today and change into your bikini. It’s a black set that shows off your body without being too skimpy. You throw some clothes over it and grab your book before stepping out of your room. 

Before you reach the elevator, you hear your name being called. You turn and see Bucky standing by his door.

“Where are you headed to?” 

“I’m gonna go lay by the pool for a bit, wanna join me?” you answer, not sure where your courage is coming from.

Bucky grins as he responds, “Nothing else I’d rather do.”

You feel your face heat up.

“Lemme put some trunks on and I’ll meet you down there?”

“Sounds great, Bucky,” you nod at him before slipping into the elevator.

Once at the pool, you grab two towels. By some miracle, you manage to find two empty lounge chairs together. You set your things down and lay the towels over the chairs. You strip out of your clothes, leaving you clad in only the bikini, and apply sunscreen before laying down. You put your earbuds in and close your eyes and bask in the sun. 

Maybe it's the sunshine, maybe it’s the fresh ocean air, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but you’re feeling the happiest you’ve been in a long time. You notice that instead of your usual RBF, you've been smiling almost constantly since your arrival.

When you open your eyes, you see Bucky standing a few feet away from you, steel blue eyes raking up and down your body. 

“Oh, Bucky,” you pause your music, blush returning to your cheeks, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Shit,” he says your name, realizing he’d been caught staring, “I swear I just got here like ten seconds ago. I’m so sorry. Feel free to revoke my invitation because I was being a creep,” he grimaces, expecting you to be mad at him.

The way he looked at you was different than the way most men would look at you in a bikini, though. It wasn’t gross or pervy. It looked like he was genuinely just appreciating your body, rather than plotting how to get you into his bed. And he didn't make any disgusting comments or cat call you like other guys have in the past. Besides, you'd be lying if you said you didn’t get a boost of confidence from the way he looked at you.  

“Hmm,” you put your finger on your chin, pretending to mull it over, “I’ll let you sit down, but only if you buy me another drink first.”

That familiar grin spreads across his face again. 

“You got yourself a deal. You want another one of those gross cocktails you were drinking last night?”

“Um, excuse you, Mr. I’m too manly to drink cocktails, but I’ll have you know those were delicious.”

He chuckles and promises to be back shortly before walking toward the bar. 

You play your music and wait for him to return. After a couple minutes, he returns holding a colorful, fruit filled cocktail and a beer bottle.

Bucky takes his seat next to you, beer bottle in hand. He lets out a sigh of relief as he lays back in his chair. 

“So, not to be rude, but is Bucky your real name?”

“My full name is James Buchanan Barnes, if you must know. All my friends and family call me Bucky.” 

You nod and take a sip of your drink. 

“Man, it’s hot,” Bucky takes a drink from his bottle before setting it down and reaching down to grab the bottom of his shirt. You find it’s your turn to stare as he pulls it over his head, exposing tan skin and rippling muscle. Bucky gives you a cocky smirk when he notices you staring with your drink frozen midair, on its way to your mouth. 

You quickly avert your eyes and feel the familiar dusting of pink return to your cheeks. 

“Like what you see, doll?”

You simply shake your head at his teasing and smile, flustered as can be.

“So what do you do for work, Bucky?”

“Well I was in the army until a couple years ago. Now I’m a mechanic, I got my own shop with my buddies.” 

You make a mental note to thank the army for mandating PT as you watch a drop of sweat roll down Bucky’s washboard abs.  

“Is that who you’re here with?”

“Yeah. Me and Steve have known each other since we were little, actually. We met Sam when we joined up and after we all got out we opened up shop together,” a reminiscent smile plays upon his lips. “Those two knuckleheads are basically family. We decided to take a trip to celebrate the shop’s one year anniversary.”

“Speaking of family, do you have any?”

“My, uh,” his brows furrow, “my dad died when I was little, but I have a mom and a sister who’s a little younger than me. About your age, probably.” 

His expression returns to normal in a split second, “Enough about me. Do you have family?”

“Yeah, but I moved away for college and never went back home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Ohio. I live in New York now.”

Bucky seems almost excited at this bit of information. 

“Is that so?” he raises an eyebrow. “I live in Brooklyn.”

“Me too,” you share a smile.

Needing a break from the sweltering sun, you stand and grab your drink. 

“I'm getting in the pool, care to join?”

Bucky wordlessly stands and follows you to the pool, smiling. You walk down the steps, drink in hand. Bucky, however, stops at the edge of the pool and watches you. 

“You coming in or what?”

“In a minute, doll.”

Surprisingly, the pool isn’t that crowded. It’s huge, so the people that are in the pool are able to spread out and stay out of each other’s way. 

It’s only once you’re standing in the pool, water up to your bikini top, that Bucky decides to enter. 

Via cannonball. 

You register what he’s about to do as he jumps in the air and wraps his hands around his knees and you yell at him, Barnes don’t you dare! but it’s too late. Next thing you know, you’re drenched. Your hair and face are soaked and there’s pool water in your drink.

Bucky emerges from under the water, smirk dancing across his lips. His expression falters for a second when he notices your angry expression, but you can’t keep the smile from your face when he shakes his hair out like a wet dog. 

“You ruined my drink.”

“I’ll buy you another,” he says, taking the drink out of your hands and setting it on the edge of the pool. 

He walks closer and closer to you until you’re just inches apart. He tentatively moves his hands under the water until they’re resting on your bare hips. His grip is soft, barely there. He’s giving you a chance to reject his touch, but all you do is gently move into his hands. 

His grip becomes more firm and his eyes light up with a glint of mischief. Before you know what hit you, you’re being lifted out of the water, Bucky’s muscles flexing as he raises you up. Before you have a chance to stop him - as if you’d stand any chance against his nearly super human physique - he launches you back into the water. 

When you emerge from the water, you see Bucky nearly doubled over laughing at the angry expression on your face. You really do try your best to be mad at him, but his shimmering smile and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes makes it hard. 

“What. The. Hell,” you make your way back to him and move to smack his chest. Bucky has quick reflexes, though, and you find that your hand is trapped between one of his own and his muscular pec. 

“That was revenge for the way you’ve been staring at me all morning when I’m unable to do anything about it.”

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at his flirty words in an effort to keep up your mad facade.

“What if I drowned Bucky?” you deadpan.

“Wouldn’t let that happen,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Well, you’re still a jerk.”

“A jerk who’s talking to the prettiest girl in this resort,” he counters with a shit-eating grin.

Bucky drops his hand and, instead of moving yours away, you wrap both your arms around the back of his neck. 

“Not for much longer if you pull another stunt like that, Barnes.”

“Sorry, doll,” the amused grin he’s still sporting makes you doubt his apology.

His hands return to your hips and he pulls you closer. He’s a fair bit taller than you and you have to tilt your head up to look at him. The sun is reflected in his ocean blue eyes and water drips down his face, getting caught in the scruff spanning his jaw. 

Bucky leans down and lifts one of his hands to gently grab your chin between two long fingers. He softly directs you toward his own face. You can’t stop your eyes from flicking down to his pink, pillowy lips. You close the rest of the distance on your own. 

Bucky is quick to kiss you back after your lips meet his. He caresses your lips with his own and he moves his hand to the back of your neck, pressing you against him harder. He swipes his tongue across your lips and you part them for him. You let out a small moan into his mouth and he gently takes your bottom lip between his teeth.

He pulls away, letting your lip free. You feel a throb in between your legs when he gives your neck a quick squeeze before letting his hand fall back to his own person. 

“Fuck, doll. Don’t make me throw you into the water again.” He waits until he thinks you’re not looking before reaching down to adjust his swim trunks.

“You started it,” you reply as you make your way to the steps and climb out of the pool. “I need another drink,” you make sure to sway your hips as you walk back toward the bar, not needing to look back to know he’s watching. 

You lean against the bar and are waiting to be helped when you suddenly feel a hand on your hip. You turn around and expect to see Bucky, only to be met with the sight of a man you’ve never seen before.

“Can I help you?” you remove the man’s hand from you.

“Nice bikini, baby. Lemme buy you a drink,” the slur in his words and his unsteady stance letting you know that he’s certainly not sober.

“No, thanks,” you turn back to the bar, making it clear you’re not interested. 

The man either doesn’t get the hint or decides to keep trying anyway, because you feel both his hands land on your hips this time. He steps closer to you, his chest pressed up against your back.

Just as you’re preparing to throw an elbow into the man’s ribs, you feel his hands being ripped off of you. You turn around to see the man falling to the ground, Bucky standing over him. 

“Get up,” Bucky demands, looking down.

The man, surprisingly, manages to get back on his feet and gives Bucky a death glare. Before he has a chance to give Bucky a piece of his mind, as you’re sure he was about to, Bucky grabs him by the collar of his shirt and leans into the man’s ear. He says something too quiet for you to hear and emphasizes it by using his grip on the man’s shirt to shake him. A few people around you are starting to stare.

The man’s face goes slack and he nods in response to whatever Bucky had said. Bucky shoves the man away and he nearly falls to the ground again. Bucky stares him down as he turns and walks away. Once he’s sure the man isn’t coming back, he returns his attention to you. Thankfully, everyone’s attention seems to be back to whatever they were doing before the commotion.

“You okay, doll? I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault, Bucky,” you give him a half smile to let him know you’re okay, just sick of men thinking they have a right to touch you. “I’m okay.”

“You still want another drink? Told you I’d buy it,” he goes to flag down the bartender. 

You gently rest your hand on his bicep and he looks at you “Thank you, Buck,” you hope your genuine expression conveys that you’re not just thanking him for the drink.

He gives you a curt nod, “Don’t mention it. Just trying to be a gentleman.”

A few minutes later, armed with another round of drinks, you and Bucky are making your way back to the lounge chairs.

“So where are your friends today?” you inquire.

“Finally got those punks outta my hair for a little while. They went to hike up some mountain. Or maybe it was a volcano, I really don’t know.”

“You didn’t want to go with them?”

“I-uh,” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “let’s just say heights aren’t really my thing,” an adorable redness spreads across his face.

You nod, deciding to spare him any further embarrassment from teasing. The two of you sit down on the sides of your chairs, facing each other. 

“So why are you here?”

You figured the question would arise eventually, but you had been dreading telling him the reason. It just sounds embarrassing to admit that you’re attending your ex’s wedding. 

“I’m actually here for a wedding.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s getting married? Not you, I hope,” Bucky chuckles at his own joke but stops when you don’t so much as crack a smile. His face drops and he stares at you for a second before you notice his expression.

“No. God- no. I’m not engaged, Bucky. Very much single. It’s my ex’s wedding.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, wow,” you can tell he’s unsure how to respond.

“I’ve hardly talked to him since the breakup a few years ago. We’re on good terms, though. Actually ate breakfast with him and his fiancee this morning.”

“Well that’s good, I guess. That you’re on good terms, I mean. Why did you choose to come? Sorry if I’m being nosy, you dont have to answer.” “No, it’s fine. It’s a little weird, I get it. For the most part, it was a good excuse to take a vacation and hopefully see some old friends. It’s not like I still have feelings for Brock or anything, so I really couldn’t care less that he’s getting married. His fiancee seems nice enough. And things went okay this morning, so I’m hopeful that things won’t be too awkward at the wedding. Plus there’ll be an open bar at the reception,” you crack a smile.

Bucky listens and nods along. “Well I hope everything goes okay. I’m certainly not complaining that you’re here,” he gives you a soft smile.

Sunbathing next to Bucky and sharing laughter-filled conversation leaves you with such a serene feeling that you physically feel lighter and your mind feels clearer. You decide in that moment that this vacation was definitely worth it, you can feel your mental health improving by the hour.

At one point, you doze off and are woken to Bucky’s hand gently shaking your shoulder. You open your eyes and see him leaning over you, radiant smile on his face. 

“Probably shouldn’t stay out here too long or you’ll burn to a crisp.”

You sit up and nod, “Good point.”

You and Bucky get dressed and gather your things before depositing your towels in the proper bin and heading inside the hotel. Once you and Bucky reach your floor, you stand and shuffle your feet, unsure of what to do next. Bucky sets a hand on your arm and you look up at him. 

“My friends and I are going out to dinner tonight and, I’m sorry if this seems weird, but would you want to come with us? You don’t have to say yes, just thought I’d throw it out there,” he has a nervous look on his face and he chews on his lip while he waits for an answer.

You couldn’t be more thrilled at the fact that he still wants to spend more time with you, even though you’d been together a large chunk of the day already. You want to say yes, both because you have no other plans and because you’d love to spend more time with the man in front of you, but you don’t want to seem overly eager. 

“Yeah, I’d like that. Only if you’re sure your friends won’t mind, that is.”

Bucky looks almost relieved and gives you a boyish grin. “Nah, Steve and Sam will be fine. I’m sure you guys will get along great.”

“Okay, Buck, looking forward to it.”

“Can’t wait, doll. I’ll meet you here at seven.”

Bucky seems to hesitate for a moment, but then leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips, which you happily return. He pulls back and heads off to his room.

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

You decide you have a bit of time before you need to start getting ready for dinner, so you grab your book and sit out on the balcony. You find that you have a hard time focusing on the words in front of you, though. The ocean waves and palm trees blowing in the breeze paired with the distant sounds of laughter and music coming from below makes for a pleasant distraction. Before you know it, it’s 6:45 and you scramble to get back inside and start getting dressed. 

It isn’t until you’re searching through your clothes that you realize you don’t know where you’re going for dinner or how to dress. You only packed three dresses, a sundress, the dress you’re wearing to the wedding, and the one you decide on for tonight.

The black dress comes down to your knees with a slit up the thigh. It’s tight and shows off your curves. The back is open, with straps crossing in the center of your shoulder blades. The cut in the front is low enough that it shows off your cleavage while maintaining a classy enough appearance. 

You decide to dress it up with heels - also black. They’re only a couple inches tall, so you can still walk in them somewhat comfortably. You’re thankful that you packed a decent selection of jewelry and throw on some silver earrings and a necklace.

You take a quick look at yourself in the mirror and can’t help but smile - damn you look good. You grab your clutch and open your door. You nearly walk into Bucky as you step into the hallway. 

Bucky is wearing tight grey dress pants with a snug-fitting short sleeve black button up. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, giving you a peek of the toned chest hiding beneath. He’s paired the outfit with a black belt and matching shoes. He speaks before you have a chance to compliment him.

“Doll,” he looks you up and down, eyes wide, “wow. You look gorgeous.”

You feel yourself flush as you thank him. 

“You look really good too, Buck. Where’s Steve and Sam?”

“I told them to wait downstairs for us. Wanted to prepare you for them. They can be a bit,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “much, sometimes. I told them to be on their best behavior tonight. They just have a way of embarrassing people, Sam especially. I’m sure they’ll be teasing me nonstop, so just ignore anything they say.”

You chuckle lightly, “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

You and Bucky step into the elevator and take turns sneaking glaces at each other. Just before you reach the ground floor, Bucky leans over you, effectively trapping you between him and the elevator wall. Even in your heels, he has to lean down to be eye level with you. “I mean it, doll, you look stunning,” his eyes search yours, “Can I kiss you?”

You respond by closing the distance between the two of you. He reaches up and places a hand on the back of your head, holding you to him. The feel of his soft lips on yours makes you forget where you are. All too soon, the elevator door is opening and before you and Bucky have a chance to break away from each other, you hear a whistle.

“Damn, Barnes! Moving quick!” 

Bucky quickly steps away from you but stays in front of you, shielding you while you take a second to collect yourself. 

“Shut it, Sam,” Bucky says sternly. You don’t miss the red that creeps up the back of his neck. Nor do you miss how his tight pants do wonders for his ass.

After a second you step out from behind Bucky and extend a hand to the man, deciding to play it off.

“So you must be Sam,” you introduce yourself as he shakes your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve responds when you shake his hand.

Steve and Sam lead the way out of the resort and you trail behind with Bucky. 

“We heard about this place some locals recommended that’s supposed to be really good. We’re gonna take a taxi there. That okay with you?”

“Sounds great,” you smile up at him.

The four of you wait in front of the resort for the taxi. 

“So,” Steve says your name, “you really spent all day with Bucky and he hasn’t made a fool of himself yet?”

“Whoa whoa whoa, I never said that. He’s lucky I’m even here right not after he threw me into the pool earlier. Although he did almost get into a fist fight defending me, so I guess it cancels out.”

Sam gives Bucky a grin, “Attaboy.”

“When me and Buck were younger, I used to get myself into all kinds of trouble and Bucky would have to end up kicking some dude’s ass for me almost daily,” Steve reminisces.

Bucky huffs and nods his head, “Punk dragged me into all kinds of trouble. Believe it or not, he wasn’t always this big. Needed to help him out or he woulda ended up bleeding out in an alley somewhere in Brooklyn.”

Steve’s cheeks heat up, but you have trouble picturing the man in front of you as anything other than he is now - huge and intimidating. 

After a couple minutes of getting to know Steve and Sam a little bit, the taxi arrives. It’s a five seater car, Steve sits in the front with the driver and you, Bucky, and Sam climb into the back. Bucky sits in between you and Sam. The car is plenty roomy enough, but Bucky makes sure to sit close enough that his thigh is pressed up against yours. The drive is short and Steve pays the driver when you arrive. Everyone gets out of the car. Bucky offers you his elbow and you link your arm in his. He leads the four of you into the building.

“Hi, we have a reservation for Barnes.”

The hostess leads you out back to the outdoor seating and your jaw drops. The palm tree surrounded patio is right on the beach and you have a perfect view of the sun setting on the water. Fairy lights and tiki torches give the place a soft glow. A live band plays soft Hawaiian music on a stage. 

Once you reach your table, the hostess sets down menus and silverware, before heading back inside. Bucky unlinks his arm from yours and he pulls out a chair for you. Before you sit, you turn to him.

“Bucky, this place is beautiful.”

“Glad you like it, darling.”

You sit and Bucky takes the seat next to you. By the time you snap out of your awestruck trance, Sam and Steve are both holding menus and arguing about something. You go to pick up a menu and notice Bucky’s eyes trained on you. He gives you a smile before looking down at his own menu. 

The waitress comes to take drink orders and the three men all order whiskey. You decide to get something other than a fruity cocktail.

“I’ll have the same,” you say when the server looks to you. 

You notice the way all three of their eyebrows jump at your choice. The waitress leaves and Bucky gently sets a hand just above your knee. He turns to look at you, as if asking for permission and you give him a reassuring smile. Conversation flows and when the waitress returns with the drinks, Sam and Steve immediately take a sip of theirs. Bucky’s eyes fall on you as you raise the glass to your lips. You keep eye contact with him as you take a drink, holding a straight face. You see of flash of something dark flash in his eyes and he moves his hand higher up your thigh and gives it a firm squeeze. 

You continue to read the menu and decide on seafood - you have to, you’re in Hawaii - and so does everyone else at the table. It is the restaurant’s specialty, after all. By the time the waitress comes to take your order, the four of you are all getting along great.

“So you guys all work on cars, huh?” 

“And bikes,” Sam nods at you.

“Do you guys all have motorcycles?” you glance around the table.

“Yeah, we do,” Bucky confirms.

You can easily picture him leather-clad, thick thighs straddling a Harley and his hand resting on the throttle. The thought makes you clench your thighs together and, based on the way Bucky’s thumb begins to rub circles into your thigh and he smirks at you, you assume he notices. 

“So what do you have planned for the rest of the week?” Steve questions you, oblivious to Bucky’s hand on you underneath the table.

“Well I’m going snorkeling tomorrow. I also want to hit the beach, maybe take a surf lesson. Horseback riding and hiking sounds fun too, though. What all have you guys done?”

“Well,” Sam starts, “we just got in yesterday, so we haven’t really done much yet.”

“Oh, so you guys got here the same day I did, then. When are you guys leaving?”

“Saturday, how about you?” Bucky answers you. 

“Sunday morning.”

“I’m sure you’ll be sick of Bucky by then,” Sam chortles.

Thinking about spending the rest of the week with Bucky puts a smile on your face and you hope he wants to spend more time with you, too. Eventually, the food comes and you all dig in. It’s so delicious that you’re not even mad about how expensive it was. Bucky lets out a groan of delight as he takes his first bite. 

“This is so good, doll. You want to try?” 

You nod and he raises his fork to your lips. He feeds you a bite of his food and you agree, it is delicious. You pull your attention away from Bucky just in time to see Sam whispering something into Steve’s ear, to which Steve chortles and nods.

“What are you guys talking about?” Bucky returns his attention to his friends.

“Nothing, man,” Steve dismisses him.

Bucky shoots them a warning look but drops it. 

The rest of the meal is filled with stories from their time in the army and Steve informs you that Bucky was a sergeant. You’re thankful that they don’t pressure you with too many questions about your boring life back in the city. The conversation flows easy and after a couple more rounds of drinks, the four of you are laughing so hard that you’re drawing attention from other tables. When everyone finishes eating, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and find your waitress. You give her your credit card, insisting that she charges the bill to your card.

You’d been having a great time with Bucky and his friends so far and you wanted to thank them for inviting you to have dinner with them. They had been so welcoming to you and have made your trip less lonely, even if only for one night. You return to the table.

When the waitress comes back to your table, she returns your credit card to you and the three men share a confused look.

Bucky cocks his head at you, “Did you pay for yourself already, doll? I was going to.”

“She actually covered the whole table,” the server informs them before leaving.

“Wait, what? You paid for us all?” Steve asks in disbelief.

Sam looks to you, waiting for an answer. Bucky just looks at you, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah. I just wanted to thank you guys for being so inviting. I enjoyed hanging out with you all tonight,” you look down at the table, feeling almost as if you’d done something wrong. 

Sam says your name, “That was really unnecessary, but thank you. We enjoyed your company. We get sick of each other, it was nice to have you join us. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Steve concurs, “I’m glad you could come. You really didn’t have to do that, but thank you, sincerely.”

“It’s not a big deal, guys. It was no problem.”

You turn to look at Bucky. He’s still in the same position - eyes trained on you and brows furrowed. You worry you’ve done something wrong and gently reach between the two of you and take his hand in yours. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and finally speaks. 

“Thank you,” you can tell there’s more he wants to say, though. Your group stands and heads to the front to wait for another taxi. After you step out the front doors, Bucky softly grabs your arm, holding you back. Steve and Sam continue walking. 

“Thank you for paying, I really appreciate the gesture. But I invited you tonight because I enjoy spending time with you and I wanted you to meet my friends. You shouldn’t have had to pay for your own dinner tonight, let alone everyone else’s. I do appreciate it, though, and I know Steve and Sam did too,” he gives you a sincere look and you sheepishly look down at the ground. He lifts his hand to cup your face and tilts it up to him, forcing you to make eye contact. “But all that being said, don’t you dare try and pull that again,” he says in a more authoritative tone.

You feel a wetness forming in your panties at the soft yet demanding tone he uses. You’re too shocked at the sudden dominance that you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod up at him. 

“Good girl,” he praises in a low voice.

“You guys coming or what?” you hear Sam’s voice call.

You hadn’t even realized that taxi had arrived. Bucky leans down and presses a kiss to your lips before leading you to the car with a hand on the small of your back. Bucky sits inbetween you and Sam again and rests a hand on your thigh, dangerously close to slipping underneath the hem of your dress that had ridden halfway up your thighs. All you can focus on the whole car ride back to the resort is the feel of Bucky’s calloused hands on your leg and the pulsing at the apex of your thighs.

After what feels like hours, the cars pulls to a stop in front of the resort and you step out of car, followed by Bucky, who places his hand back on you immediately after he gets out. Steve and Sam make conversation, Bucky occasionally making a noncommittal grunt in response. After the elevator brings all of you to the fifth floor, Steve and Sam say goodnight and thank you again for dinner. You don’t miss the way Bucky’s hand tightens around your hip when they mention you paying for dinner. You say goodnight to them and they look at Bucky, probably expecting him to say goodnight and follow them back to their rooms. 

You’re not quite sure what you expect Bucky to do, but all you know is that the tension is thicker than Bucky’s biceps that are currently straining against his shirt sleeves.

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a little bit,” he tells his friends without taking his eyes off you.

“Okayyy,” Steve drags out the word as him and Sam turn and walk away, muttering and laughing to themselves.

Once you and Bucky are alone in the hall, he gently backs you up against the wall. He leaves one hand on your hips and tangles the other in your hair. He pulls you into a kiss that you fervently reciprocate. You’re sure that your panties are soaked at this point. You clench your thighs together, desperate for some friction. Bucky spreads your legs with his knee and slots his thigh against your center, forcing your dress to rise up. You moan into his mouth at the relief and buck your hips into him, your drenched underwear are dragging across his pants and you’re sure they’ll leave a dark spot from your arousal. 

Bucky pulls away from the kiss, but pushes his thigh harder against you. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Dirty fuckin’ girl,” his voice is filled with lust, “Rutting up against my thigh in the middle of the hallway, skirt up so anyone can see how soaked your panties are for me.”

You whimper into Bucky’s ear. It turns you on to hear such filthy things coming from his usually polite mouth.

“Please, Bucky,” you beg, desparate for release.

“Please what, babydoll? Tell me what you need,” he demands.

He presses his bulge into your stomach and you can’t string together a sentence.

“I know, honey. You just wanna come, huh?” he looks down at you with a pitying expression and you nod your head so hard you get dizzy, too fuzzy-headed to care how desperate you look. He chuckles at you, “Say it. Tell me you need me to take care of you.”

“Please, Bucky! Make me come, take care of me. Just do something, please!” you sound absolutely wrecked and the groan Bucky lets out while he rocks his hips into you lets you know he gets off on it. 

“Fuck. Unlock your door, princess,” he tells you, pulling away and waiting by your door.

You’re surprised at how quickly you manage to dig you key card out of your purse and open the door in your aroused state. As soon as the door is open, Bucky grabs you and spins you around to face him.

“Jump,” he orders.

You drop throw your purse onto the table and wrap your arms around Bucky’s neck before jumping. He catches you by the backs of your thighs and effortlessly carries you to the bed, peppering kisses along your face and neck the whole way.

He throws you onto the bed and pulls off your shoes, placing a kiss to each of your shins. He then flips you onto your stomach and unties your dress. The way he manhandles you so easily sends a fresh gush of arousal to your core. He helps you shimmy out of your dress as he kicks off his shoes. You’re left in only your panties and he takes in the sight of your practically naked body and groans. He uses one hand to undo his belt and uses the other to reach down and palm your breast. 

“Goddamn, babydoll. No bra?” 

You don’t have the mental capacity to explain that you wouldn’t have been able to wear one with the open back dress, settling instead for reaching up and pulling him down by his collar until he’s straddling your hips. He leans back and unbuttons his shirt, exposing his broad chest and defined abs one button at a time, throwing it to the floor when he’s done. He has a dark trail of hair leading down into his dress pants where you can see the large outline of his hardened cock. He leans down atop of you, veiny forearms resting on either side of your head. 

He snakes a hand down between the two of you and dips his fingers in the waistband. “Can I take these off, babydoll?”

You nod and reach to his neck, trying to pull him down for a kiss. Much to your dismay, he doesn’t budge. 

“Need words, honey.”

“Yes Bucky, please.”

“Good girl,” he rewards you by leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

His hand makes its way beneath your panties and he runs a finger through your abundant wetness, dragging it up to your clit. He uses your slick to rub circles into the sensitive bud. He pulls away from the kiss and you try to chase his mouth. He stops you by holding your head to the mattress with a hand on your jaw. He squeezes your cheeks until your mouth opens. He looks down at you and spits directly into your mouth.

“Swallow for me, baby.”

You follow his order without a second thought. Once you swallow, he brings his hand down to your neck. He rewards you by bringing a finger to your entrance and slowly pushing into your tight hole. 

“Fuck, doll. I wanna be in this perfect little pussy. Do you want that? Want me to fill you up with my big cock? Wanna feel me deep inside you?”

“Yes, Bucky! Fu- I want it so-fuck so bad.”

He quickly adds a second finger and begins pumping them inside you at a brutal pace. His hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly and he watches your face to gauge your reaction. When your eyes roll back into your head and your pussy clamps down on his fingers, he grins and tightens his grip a little more.

The lack of blood flow to your head makes you feel fuzzy in the best way. You feel yourself getting close to your orgasm. Bucky keeps his pace as he fucks you on his fingers and keeps a careful eye on you, watching for the telltale signals of your climax. When he sees you squeeze your eyes shut and feels your pussy clench, he pulls his hand out altogether. 

You look up at Bucky and loosens his grip on your neck, but keeps his hand resting there. You buck your hips up, your orgasm fading away rapidly. Bucky uses one hand to pin your hips to the bed.

“Bucky, no,” you whine, “I was so close.”

“I know, doll,” he gives you a mischievous smirk. “You were a bad girl earlier when you paid for dinner. You’re supposed to let me treat you. Let me take care of you. You wouldn’t let me take care of you then, so I’m not sure I should take care of you now.”

“Bucky please,” you beg, “Won’t do it again, promise. Just-nngh just take care of me please. Need you to make me come,” you hope your pleading is enough to convince him.

Bucky lets out a deep groan and smashes his lips against yours. He makes his way down your torso, stopping to pay special attention to your nipples. He ever so softly bites down on your nipple and you thread your fingers through his hair. He continues to trail kisses down your stomach. When he reaches your panties, he places wet kisses against the soaked fabric. You try to buck up into his mouth, but his hand is still pinning you down.

Finally, he reaches into the waistband of your panties and you raise your hips, allowing him to pull them down your legs and throw them on the floor with your dress. You get another glimpse of the rock-hard bulge in his dress pants and you know that can’t be comfortable for him, but his attention is all on you right now. He makes himself comfortable between your legs and uses his hands to spread your pussy apart, getting a good look at it.

“Fucking perfect. Prettiest damn pussy I’ve ever seen, baby.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his lips are on you. He sucks your clit into his mouth and flicks at it with his tongue. You grab onto his hair with one hand and grab the sheets with the other. The screams you let out are almost pornographic. He alternates between licking your arousal up from where it’s seeping out of your hole and giving your sensitive clit attention. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, you feel yourself returning to the edge of the orgasm you’d just been denied. 

He laps at your core and uses both hands to hold your hips down onto the bed. When your heavy breathing and the movement of your hips give away your oncoming orgasm, he pulls away again. 

“NOO,” you practically scream, on the verge of tears. “Bucky,” you sob. 

“That one was for giving me a hard on at dinner when you downed that whiskey.”

Before you have a chance to complain anymore, he places one last kiss on your clit and stands from the bed. You watch as he undoes his pants and they pool at his ankles. You can see a wet spot on his boxers where he’d been leaking precum. He drops those too and you’re met with the sight of him. His cock bobs up against his stomach.

He’s thick and long, with a patch of dark curly hair at his base. The tip is pink and shiny with his arousal. Your mouth waters at the sight and you want nothing more than to lick it off, but he crawls back onto the bed before you can make any move to do so. He hovers over you and you can feel the weight of his cock resting on your lower stomach. 

“You want this, honey? Want to come all over my cock? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk in the morning?” he ruts against your stomach, waiting for a response.

“Please, Bucky. ‘S all I want. Ah- fuck. Need it so bad. I need to come.”

“I got you, sweet girl,” he gives you a reassuring look as he grabs his base and guides himself to your drenched core.

He pushes his fat tip into you, watching your face for any signs of pain. You’re so wet and aroused that he almost slides right in. You try to push your hips down, desparate to feel him deeper. He’s quick to pin you down again. 

“Greedy girl.”

He eases himself into you at his own pace until his hips are flush against yours. You feel his pubic hair rubbing at your clit and begin to claw at his back, needing him to move.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Ah- god damn it,” you look up at him with pleading eyes, “Need you to move, baby.”

For the first time tonight, he listens to one of your demands. He slowly pulls all the way out, letting you feel every inch of his cock before he slams back in so hard it pushes you up the mattress. He braces himself with one arm on the bed and holds your hip with his other hand and sets a brutal pace. He thrusts deep and hard, tip pounding against your cervix with every punishing thrust. He moves the hand on your hip to rub at your clit.

“I’m not gonna last long baby. Fuck- be ah- be a good girl and come for me.”

You’re not far off and when he hits that spongy spot inside of you, you let out a scream. 

“Fuck, right there!” you pant.

He rubs at your clit and thrusts into your g-spot. You feel yourself hurdling toward your orgasm for the third time tonight. Except this time, when you clamp down around Bucky’s cock, he redoubles his efforts instead of stopping. You see stars when you reach your peak and you drag your nails down Bucky’s back. 

“Such a good girl for me, fuck. Where-ah where do you want me baby?”

“Inside, Bucky, please,” you want to know what it feels like to be full of his cum. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, doll. So fucking good for me. My girl’s so good.”

You don’t miss the way he calls you his girl. And you certainly don’t mind it.

Bucky’s thrusts become shallow and his pace falters. He slams into you one last time and buries himself as deep as he can before shooting hot ropes of his seed into you. Once he empties his balls into you, he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so as not to crush you. He slots his lips against yours and the two of you share breaths as you come down from your highs.

Once the two of you have caught your breath, he slowly pulls out of you. He places a kiss on your forehead and walks to the bathroom. You eye the dimples in his buttcheeks as he walks away. He returns shortly with a wet cloth and kneels between your thighs. He gingerly cleans his mess, aware of how sensitive you are. 

When he finishes, he throws the cloth onto the floor and climbs up the bed to join you. You climb under the sheets and fold them over on the other side, offering Bucky the space. He happily lays down next to you and pulls you into his chest.

“You’re beautiful, doll. I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.”

“It was so good, Buck,” you manage to respond in your exhausted state. 

“I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if I didn’t have to punish you, too,” you can’t see his face, but you know he has a cocky smirk on his face.

“You’ll have to show me, then.”

“Oh, believe me, sweet girl, I plan to.”

You fall asleep against Bucky’s strong chest, his hand scratching soothingly at your back.

[todaysjewishholiday]

7 Menachem Av 5784 (10-11 August 2024)

Shabbat Chazon concluded with the havdalah ceremony and we’re now in the final countdown to Tisha B’Av. If you are fasting this week, remember to hydrate heavily across the next 48 hours. Get what rest you can, and stay out of the sun. If fasting would be dangerous to your health, please remember that Judaism is a religion of life, and that we are commanded to choose life and not to afflict ourselves in harmful ways. There are other ritual ways to remember the sadness brought about by the two burnings of the Beit haMikdash and the resulting periods of communal exile and spiritual turmoil that do not involve self-harm. Fasting is one specific form of mourning for those for whom it is medically safe.

The years of rebellion against the Roman Empire were long difficult years. Factional conflict within the Jewish community and rebel leadership did not make it easier. And as is often the case the most extreme factions were often just as willing to target their own people as they were to attack the enemy they claimed to be fighting.

The Qanai’im (Zealots) and Sicarii (Dagger Bearers) had been advocating the overthrow of Roman occupation long after Nero’s excesses persuaded the rest of Judaean society to join the cause. Deeply aware that their views remained unpopular with the majority of Jews, they sought to force the majority into alignment with them through campaigns of terror. The Sicarii were so known because of their campaign of assassination against Jewish collaborators with the Roman authorities. The Qanai’im had taken their own name from the biblical word for zeal (as in the pasuk “the zeal of your dwelling has consumed me”) but were called Biryonim (Hooligans) by the authors of the Talmud, who blamed them for the revolt’s failure and the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash.

According to tradition, the wealthiest men of Jerusalem had pledged stockpiles of food and fuel to help the residents of the city survive an extended Roman siege. The Qanai’im encouraged a more aggressive campaign of attack against the Roman army, but were rebuffed by the other factions, who were convinced that Jerusalem’s strong defensive position was one of the rebellion’s greatest assets, and that a direct onslaught against the larger and better armed Roman forces was doomed to failure. The story goes that on the 7th of Av 3829, the Zealots set fire to the stockpiles of food and fuel that prepared the city for a siege, convinced that if the residents of Jerusalem had no choice but to fight than the revolt would succeed. When the majority still balked at a direct attack on the Romans the Qanai’im then seized control of the city and took retribution against those who disagreed with them, plunging wartime Jerusalem into civil war. Within a year, the city was in ruins and the Beit HaMikdash destroyed. The zealots has barricaded themselves within the walls of the temple in the final days of the siege, and while the Romans may have destroyed it under any circumstances in their revenge upon the city, the Talmudic sages were certain that the presence of rebels in the sanctuary using it as a fortress was a Jewish desecration which preceded and helped bring about the foreign desecration of the holy place.

[dragoneyes618]

"Many people woke up on October 7 sympathetic to parts of woke ideology and went to bed that evening questioning how they had signed on to a worldview that had nothing to say about the mass rape and murder of innocent people by terrorists.

The reaction to the attacks—from outwardly pro-Hamas protests to the mealy-mouthed statements of college presidents, celebrities, and CEOs—has exploded the comforting stories many on the center-left have told themselves about progressive identity politics. For many years, they opted for the coping mechanism of pretending that the institutional capture of universities, corporations, and media organizations by the woke mind virus was no big deal. “Sure, students shutting down events they disagree with is annoying,” they would say, “but it’s just students doing what students do.”

October 8 was a wake-up call for those who didn’t appreciate that the ideology of the campus has spread to our cities, supercharged by social media.

We woke up on October 8 to the clamor of street protests in cities across the West condemning Israel even before any major Israeli response to the attacks. We watched celebratory crowds brandish swastikas and chant “gas the Jews” at events purporting to be about the loss of Palestinian lives. We saw Black Lives Matter chapters lionize terrorists. 

In London, where I live, we watched the mayor deliver glib assurances that “London’s diversity is our greatest strength” in the midst of a wave of antisemitic attacks, and as Jewish schools were forced to close because of safety concerns. 

Across the West, we noticed that our representatives refused to condemn Hamas’s kidnappings, and that the legacy media was all too eager to swallow and regurgitate Hamas propaganda.

Prior to the October 7 massacre, many students, alumni, and donors with the “unconstrained vision” trusted that the university—for all its many problems—remained the West’s best environment for civil discourse. 

But then they watched university presidents who were quick to issue statements condemning the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the killing of George Floyd fall silent, or offer the most slippery, equivocal statements carefully crafted to avoid offending anti-Israel groups. They watched an Israeli at Columbia get beaten with a stick, and heard reports about the physical intimidation of students on campuses across the country. They read about dozens of student organizations at Harvard signing a letter holding Israel “entirely responsible” for the massacre of Israelis. 

The events of the last two weeks have shattered the illusion that wokeness is about protecting victims and standing up for persecuted minorities. This ideology is and has always been about the one thing many of us have told you it is about for years: power. And after the last two weeks, there can be no doubt about how these people will use any power they seize: they will seek to destroy, in any way they can, those who disagree."

-Konstantin Kisin

[rzvera]

the next world mural can be interpreted in different ways, and the nihilist interpretation, i think, is interesting and worth examining. however, i also want to bring (or maybe bring back?) another perspective on it, more hopeful and, well, communist.

so let's start from the game's text, and see what Harry has to say about the mural:

1. You: All that remains is to wreak havoc on the middle class. ReputationGrows("communist")

2. You: The middle class are not to be blamed. It's *human nature*. ReputationGrows("ultraliberal")

3. You: I like it, but can't we wreak havoc on *other nations* instead? ReputationGrows("revacholian_nationhood")

4. You: I must have voted (and possibly even lobbied) to remove the thing because I don't believe in that rubbish one bit. ReputationGrows("moralist")

and yes, Harry is definitely not a communist the game encourages you to be, but some of his communist replies are not just for a laugh. and i think that this one is pretty serious, too.

this is the answer to the ultraliberal and fascist options:

Did anyone ask what you believe in, man with the smelly toilet ledger? What do you want to tackle next? Or are we done?

with the answer to the moralist option not being very different:

No one cares what you believe in, man with the smelly toilet ledger. What do you want to tackle next? Or are we done?

but this is how the game handles the communist option:

In any case, it appears to have been a rare case of civil activity in the Quarter. And agreement as well. What do you want to tackle next?

much less irritated, isn't it? the game is not making fun only of the communist option here, and the communist option is agreeing with the message of the mural. it is also noted that keeping the mural was some sort of a communal action and people agreed on its message -- and this agreement is mentioned right after harry speaks in support of wreaking havoc on the middle class! "wreak havoc on the middle class" comes right after the message that expresses the dissatisfaction with the current world in contrast to the next world and, therefore, implied to be the way to achive the next world. so, people are not only agreeing on the impossibility of love, they agree that it can be possible, and to make it possible, a war on another class should be started.

and this is where comes the hopefulness! you see, the most hopeless version is the ultraliberal one -- blaming the impossibility of love on the human nature. saying that something is "in the nature" is basically saying that it cannot be changed. capitalist ideology loves to justify the capitalist order by proclaiming that, due to corrupted nature of humans, there's no working alternative to capitalism. you see, humans are competitive by nature, and they also won't work without financial stimul (which is not being able to make your needs meet without subjecting yourself to exploitation) due to their nature and so on. there, we see, the ultraliberal option is blaming lovelessness on the human nature too.

moralist option is disagreeing completely with the message of the mural, but this is also important for understanding the game's take on it as moralist options are usually about not having an opinion, or taking a middle ground. but here, suddenly, a very strong opinion comes! because now, at the age of moralism, everything is good! and love is possible too, because this is the best version of the world we are living in, how can it not be possible? and also, any changes to the social order are bad and should never happen.

the mural itself, i think, is hopeful. and it's important for its hopefulness that it doesn't ignore the failures of the world as it is. right now, in the current world, true love is not possible, but in the next world it will be. and, what is more important -- there is a way to fight for that world to come.

i think the fascist option here is very interesting too, and it actually opens a path to nihilist interpretation of the mural. fascist Harry does not reject the message of the mural wholly, as moralist Harry does, he expresses his approval, he likes it. he even thinks, unlike ultraliberal Harry, that things can be changed. but can we, maybe, wreak havoc on the other nations instead of the middle class?

this is what the innocence of nihilism does. he, too, states that the world is to be changed, and changes it trough wreaking havoc, but -- and i think this is crucial -- he wreaks havoc on other nations.

fascists often claim that the current movements for queer or women rights are damaging for the holy love between a "normal man" and a "normal woman". and their understanding of true love includes the traditional fantasy version of heterosexual family, with the husband-provider and the housewife, and magically the income of the husband is enough for a family of, at least, four people: father, mother and two or more kids, and maybe grandparents too. and this is actually possible for the middle class in the imperialist countries, all thanks to exploiting other nations while "wreaking havoc" on them.

i think this is where fascist Harry's (and nihilist too) agreement on impossibility of true love in the current world comes from, as well as disagreement on means to make it possible, as well as the image of what true love even looks like. he agrees that something is wrong now, but his understanding of what exactly is wrong and how to change that is very different from the communist understanding.

why, though, am i saying that it's communist to assume that true love is not possible, and why is the middle class to blame? now, i think, it is reasonable to turn to communist theorists' works. here's what Engels writes in The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State (emphasis mine):

Sex-love in the relationship with a woman becomes, and can only become, the real rule among the oppressed classes, which means today among the proletariat -- whether this relation is officially sanctioned or not. But here all the foundations of typical monogamy are cleared away. Here there is no property, for the preservation and inheritance of which monogamy and male supremacy were established; hence there is no incentive to make this male supremacy effective.

...

In the countries where an obligatory share of the paternal inheritance is secured to the children by law and they cannot therefore be disinherited – in Germany, in the countries with French law and elsewhere – the children are obliged to obtain their parents’ consent to their marriage. In the countries with English law, where parental consent to a marriage is not legally required, the parents on their side have full freedom in the testamentary disposal of their property and can disinherit their children at their pleasure. It is obvious that, in spite and precisely because of this fact, freedom of marriage among the classes with something to inherit is in reality not a whit greater in England and America than it is in France and Germany.

...

But by transforming by far the greater portion, at any rate, of permanent, heritable wealth – the means of production – into social property, the coming social revolution will reduce to a minimum all this anxiety about bequeathing and inheriting. Having arisen from economic causes, will monogamy then disappear when these causes disappear?

One might answer, not without reason: far from disappearing, it will, on the contrary, be realized completely. For with the transformation of the means of production into social property there will disappear also wage-labor, the proletariat, and therefore the necessity for a certain – statistically calculable – number of women to surrender themselves for money.

...

Here a new element comes into play, an element which, at the time when monogamy was developing, existed at most in germ: individual sex-love.

...

Our sexual love differs essentially from the simple sexual desire, the Eros, of the ancients. In the first place, it assumes that the person loved returns the love; to this extent the woman is on an equal footing with the man, whereas in the Eros of antiquity she was often not even asked. Secondly, our sexual love has a degree of intensity and duration which makes both lovers feel that non-possession and separation are a great, if not the greatest, calamity; to possess one another, they risk high stakes, even life itself. In the ancient world this happened only, if at all, in adultery. And, finally, there arises a new moral standard in the judgment of a sexual relationship. We do not only ask, was it within or outside marriage? But also, did it spring from love and reciprocated love or not? Of course, this new standard has fared no better in feudal or bourgeois practice than all the other standards of morality – it is ignored. But neither does it fare any worse. It is recognized just as much as they are – in theory, on paper. And for the present it cannot ask anything more.

the sentiment of impossibility of true love in the current -- capitalist -- world is the part of the communist theory, as well as the possibility of true love in the next world. for the working class, the class which doesn't own anything, and the new class that appeared with the development of the capitalism, as well as the class that is going to be the driving force of the communist revolution, true love is becoming possible. and it will be possible after the communist revolution, in the next world, for the new people, when the classes will no longer exist and anxieties about property will disappear completely. "arranged love" will be left in the past, as there will be no property to arrange it for.

the middle class -- whether that term is used to mean petty bourgeoisie or people with middle/higher income -- definitely is the class with something to inherit. and this is why it might seem appealing to be a part of the middle class, to own something, to own more, and this appeal is also promoted by the capitalist ideology -- if you work really hard, if you integrate in the system, you can own something, a house and a car, and you can make it seem like the poverty is not likely to happen to you, you can become middle class. the existence of middle class justifies capitalism by creating an illusion that it is possible for anyone, who works hard enough (i.e. deserves it), to thrive under capitalism.

but for the middle class, true love is not possible. their morality denies true love and only recognizes marriage which is arranged by property-owning parents. moreover, middle class, due to its relatively good position in the capitalist system, and in hopes of taking an even better position (i.e. becoming a part of the ruling class), is more likely to aling itself with the bourgeoisie, so middle class people are more likely to be reactionaries, and oppose any significant changes to the social order.

not to mention that due to its reactionary leanings as well as due to profiting from opression of marginalised working class people, middle class is likely to have opressive views: on women, on queer people, on people of colour. and speaking of this, it is also worth paying attention to that, in Elysium, and particularly in Revachol, it was the communist party to legalize homosexuality, thus taking another step towards a world where true love is possible.

THE DESERTER – "Lax sexual morals are a bourgeois ploy," he gargles a spit ball. "As to pederasty, the Party legalized it in '04. My Party, not your liberal masters." He spits it out on the dying coals.

so, i think, "wreaking havoc on the middle class" is, broadly, about disturbing capitalist social order. it is about rejecting capitalist ideology, and capitalist morality, and capitalist system instead of trying to integrate into it. it is a reminder that the alternative to capitalism is possible, and the middle class way is not the only way to build your life and for society to exist.

as to the words "it's too late for us", i think, they definitely can be understood as "well, there's no use in doing something meaningful since we are in the current world, we're doomed anyway so who cares", and this is where nihilist interpretation seems way more fitting. but, as i said earlier, the fascist and St Miro's nihilism comes to the conclusion that other nations should suffer for us being hopeless, while communists turn their dissatisfaction to the class that is making true love impossible.

so, "too late for us" can express sadness of the communists who will try to build a better world, but may not live to see it. the new people may be understood as those who will grow and live in the next world and won't be subjected to capitalism and it's ideological influence that makes true love impossible for us.

moreover, the mural should not be interpreted independently of the other events in the game. Harry's past love, which, at least partly, was doomed because Harry was poor and Dora was middle class, should be taken into account. their love wanished as Dora faced the consequences of being with a "poverty-stricken" man. their love was made impossible by the difference in their class position even without Dora's parents preventing them from being together. and in the world where love depends on your class position, is true love possible at all?

and now let's come back to communist Harry's response to the message of the mural. as it starts with "all that remains", it may be interpreted as rather gloomy. however, this is coming from a man with a hole in his heart; of course he is even less hopeful for the possibility of true love. but his words may be understood in a more hopeful way too: all is left for us is to fight. Harry is not a part of the middle class, and, what is more important, he will never be a part of it. he doesn't have an option of becoming middle class, integrating into system doesn't get him a possibility of a better life. and he also doesn't have an option of getting Dora back, because their love is impossible in this world.

Harry tried to integrate into the capitalism by becoming a cop in hopes of making their love with Dora possible. and it didn't work! for him there's no use in trying to win the unfair and loveless system, the only thing he can do is to wreak havoc on it. the only thing he can do is to fight against it, so the next world, the world free of exploitation, the world where true love is possible will come.

[matan4il]

To the Nonnie who (we really need to find you a better nickname) asked me about the Druze and the Bedouins in Israel, you're very welcome, and likewise, I appreciate your kind words! :)

I still think Israel should strive to include our closest brethren in law as much as we can

We actually refer to Arabs as our cousins. ;) I think the Druze in particular, as well as the Israeli Arabs and the Bedouins who are not hostile to Israel, who do not support terrorism and violence against Jews, are in fact generally seen as closer than that. And I already said in my first reply to you, that I absolutely think that Israel, like all countries, should constantly strive to make life as good and inclusive for its minorities as possible. So on that point, we def agree, Nonnie. To me, it's also clear that Israel must remain the Jewish nation state, while to you it isn't (you say you're undecided what the answer is, to me there's not even a question), and I'll admit, I'm not sure why. Being a Jewish state, doesn't mean Israel is solely a Jewish state (meaning, it is NOT a state for Jews only), but we've already covered that. You want it not to be solely Jewish on a national level as well, not just that of citizen rights, or who gets to be one. You still haven't provided me with an explanation of why you think Jews are the only ones not deserving of a nation state? Historically, many bigger and more powerful unions, have disintegrated into smaller nation states, because no one group wanted to feel controlled by, or dependent on the good will of another. Why is that acceptable for the former Yugoslavia's Serbs, Bosnians and Croats, Slovenians, Macedonians and Montenegrins (as one example), but not for Jews?

And why do you think anyone will thank the Jews for throwing our right to self determination away? The Druze, for example, have been forced to do exactly this. Under the French Mandate in Syria and Lebanon, they were given self rule from 1921 to 1936. Then, as part of establishing the independent Syria, the Druze State was taken away from them, and it was forcibly integrated into Syria, while they were still allowed some autonomy. By 1944, that was canceled, too. And what has happened to them since? Syria doesn't even recognize them as a distinct ethno-religious, let alone one that deserve protection or rights. In Syria's official demographics, the Druze are registered as Muslims (in fact, the only country in the Middle East that recognizes the Druze as a distinct group, is Israel). And according to at least one Druze researcher, the Civil war in Syria has made the Druze realize that their very existence there is in danger. And this is despite the fact that the biggest Druze population in the world lives in Syria, and that since the rise of the Allawi minority to power through a military coup, at the expense of the Suni Muslim majority, minorities in Syria were treated better than in most of the Middle East (while the majority was oppressed, leading to the war).

Groups without any power, without self protection, marginalized and vulnerable, have NOT been historically treated well. I don't really know many examples to the contrary, if at all. We, as Jews, should know that better than anyone. I know that you know this, but I want to emphasize it. NO ONE will thank the Jews if we throw away our right to self rule away, and NO ONE will protect us, if we choose to make ourselves once more weak and defenceless. It's just not how human nature works.

From your last ask, it sounds like your environment is very radical, and likely anti-Zionist? And I commend you for not being as extreme, as well as for being able to carry on a respectful dialogue. I think that's maybe the biggest counter to hatred, the ability to communicate respectfully even with people we disagree with. So I don't take it lightly, that you disagree with me, but we can still have a nice conversation. But I think you can and should pose some of these questions to the people around you, who you implied are radical. Do they recognize the Zionist nature of Judaism, and the unbreakable bond of Jews to their ancestral homeland in Israel, that Judaism sanctifies? Do they recognize that before the Jewish state, and the self rule and self defence it provides us with, Jews were horribly abused in the Middle East? Do they understand how Israel continues to save Jews since its inception, both by giving them refuge in Israel, and by protecting them in the countries around the world where Jews live? Do they understand and care, that dismantling Israel as a Jewish state, takes that protection away from Jews worldwide, at a time when antisemitic narratives about us are at their strongest since WWII? And why do they think it's okay for Jews to be the only ones deprived of the right to have a nation state in their ancestral land? Hopefully, you can have a respectful dialogue with these people about these questions. But even if not, I think it's vital to ask them, because Jews have suffered too much, for too long, and there's too few of us left, to risk the safety of those of us still left on this earth, by just being optimistic, or going on a sanitized version of the past (in which nothing was ever wrong between Jews and Arabs in Israel before the advent of 19th century Zionism), and not truly confronting the real facts, history, and rights regarding Jews, and the consequences of depriving us of a nation state.

I'm glad my posts and opinions helped you reflect on and form your own. And I'm happy to share whatever knowledge I have, or why my conclusions and beliefs are what they are... I would be happy to meet for a coffee, and to kvetch together if you come to Jerusalem, and you're absolutely welcome in my inbox! Have a great day and week, and I hope you really enjoyed your Hanukkah! ^u^

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[eretzyisrael]

by Peter Reitzes

About 25 minutes into the event, SJP activists simultaneously stood up and slowly walked out, screeching chants of “Bari Bari, you can’t hide, you’re committing genocide.” Of course, she was not hiding. She was on stage, engaging in public discourse, offering to take questions from community members, including the very activists screaming at her.

The “walkout” amounted to a heckler’s veto that prevented the speakers from talking. Uniformed police, followed by Provost Clemons, ushered SJP activists out of the event. Some activists remained outside the auditorium, heckling and shouting at the audience after the event finished an hour later.

The conversation between Bruni and Weiss offered a model of how two people can engage in civil discourse about important issues while sometimes disagreeing. I will not summarize the impressive conversation here, except to say that Weiss mentioned how her highly respected media website — the Free Press — had recently received criticism for publishing a column by Andrew Sullivan that was viewed as being strongly critical of Israel.

UNC offered free pizza to attendees as we left. There were many uniformed police officers outside, and SJP activists were shouting chants and attempting to intimidate attendees who were leaving. A group of four masked SJP activists shouted at us and followed my group. Police officers appeared to follow the activists who were following us.

One reason SJP activists feel emboldened to act in such menacing ways on campus is that UNC continues to allow them to conceal their identities during protests and disruptions. UNC policy and North Carolina law prohibit the use of masks to hide identity. The great preponderance of the masked audience were SJP members, who were easily recognized as they sat in the same two areas and walked out in unison.

The “arguments” SJP activists screamed at us after the event indicated these young adults have no interest in engaging in difficult conversations. The activists following us were yelling about what they called “genocide pizza” and “apartheid pizza” that UNC offered.

[polarisdelphi]

A little character study I did a while ago, trying to figure out new ways of painting, style changes while remaining more on the realistic side... And sword props, 'cause I LOVE drawing swords.

(And I made up the thing written on Excalibur, I know the Legend says it's "Take me Up/Cast me Away", but I wanted something more tied to Arthur's character and why he's the only one who can wield it)

King Arthur and his Knights are one of my favourite stories, so I wanted to work on some ~character designs~ for them (a little d&d-ish like...?)! Working as well on presentation and something I'd enjoy having on my portfolio/doing as a character comission/project/first draft.

Also, tried to test some different layers while colouring, ended up with a sort of vitral looking thing for him:

Which I also enjoyed a lot :3

Now, regarding character and clothes and all - and some of my takes on Arturian Legend, and just me being a big Arthur and his Knights fangirl overall, under the cut ^^

When it comes to King Arthur, I enjoy more the historical findings and more modern retellings that Arthur would have been a war general, not a king, around the 5th century - fighting saxons on the bloody fiedls of Britain while praying to pagan gods. So that's the direction I'm going for here - even if I took some ~historical liberties~ regarding how everything looks.

(alsooo BIG DISCLAIMER: I'm a product of catholic school and I have a personal beef with all the religion/God/catholic values of the ~legends~ hence why I prefer seeing all of them as a bunch of normal guys surviving the drenched in blood politics of the 5th century rather than chaste, virtuous knights of the 11th century - it's a personal stance, you are more than welcome to disagree in a civilized manner ^^)

Here we have him then: Arthur, uncrowned king of Britain, probably Uther's bastard son, one hell of a war general and politician dealing with the saxons and pulverized british kings fighting for the Great King crown - who just dreams of having a normal life in a nice place with Guinevere and watch his sons grow in a land with peace and justice.

Oh, Arthur, my sweet summer child, I've got news for you...

I Used red on him as a more ~regal colour~, even if usually purple are more the colours of kings and royalty (historically speaking, as far as I know, I'm not really a historian T-T).

Now, a lot of his armor - and looks - comes from Bernard Cornwell's The Winter King book series, that is about Arthur and his Knights. I remember reading Arthur's appearance in a field of war for the first time and my own imagination had me in awe of how stunning (heroic like, not beauty like) he was HAHAHAHA

Shiny dragonscale armor, white vests, white cape, bright sword, mounting on a white Shire Horse (one of the biggest horse breeds ever) that only he and his Knights mounted, making them famous for it... A vision, to say the least!

The white cape and clothes didn't work for this design though. I wanted to make a white cape, dirty with mud and blood, but overall, not good for the design. Went with red because it looks better, it's a royal looking colour for me and it has that blood thing. Arthur might have been fair and with great morals for his time, but he was a killer drenched in blood, head to toes, just like every other great war general.

I want to make a series of Arthurian Legend related illustrations and such, so this is the Arthur I picture and the one I've always had in mind: idealistic, fighting for peace and justice, suffering a lot in a world where blood and corruption is the accepted currency; but even so, he won't abandon his own values and will keep fighting for a better Britain, even if he has to coat himself in the blood of his enemies.

After reading a LOT on Arthur and his Knights - be it classic Arthurian Legend tales, Le Mort D'Arthur, Mists of Avalon, all the Arthurian movies ever made, researches, university talks on Arthur as a character and who were the historical figures he was based on, Bernard Cornwell's books, and a bunch of other stuff told ya I'm an Arthur fangirl :') - I decided to work on my own take of the story, as a lot of people have done before.

Whenever you see any illustrations from me, it's going to be this idea I have in my mind of how his story was like - and what I would've liked to see in books/movies on Arthur and his Knights :)

just you wait for my Lancelot and my Guinevere

[freyjas-musings]

Just wanted to say I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with hate comments (that are truly so hate-filled it’s senseless). You should be able to enjoy fandoms without being personally attacked over a ship of all things😅 (especially since they clearly haven’t seen your blog: it’s in the opener that GWYNRIEL (not “Elucien”) is mentioned… legit like, do they have the wrong blog?😂 or are they AI?? because they did not understand basic being a human on the internet etiquette).

We should just be here to have fun over a book! Anons out there: you can disagree (honestly without even messaging someone… it’s Tumblr, if you don’t like it don’t look… I’m sure there are plenty of other bloggers that share your opinion and would love to enjoy whatever that is with you😊). If you enjoy disagreeing and want a friendly debate, then please stick to “middle-school debate team” rules; make sure it’s mutual, keep it civil, hear the other out, and don’t make it personal; this is fiction. You are allowed to respectfully disagree, but respect is key. Fandoms should be fun and a break from the world, not a drain that hurts people more.

So, I just wanted to hop on here, and give you a nice ask box mention for the day too! As well as remind you just in case it helps (I know it’s just a fandom, but it’s still not fun to get random hateful comments) so it never hurts to hear: one anon’s unkind opinion is NOT a consensus. Personally, I love your blog! I have appreciated & enjoyed your content, and addition to the fandom (you’re in my long list of favorites)! And while I don’t know you as a person beyond that; I do not think any shippers are “the worst kind of human” because of an opinion on two FICTIONAL characters. I’m sorry they said all those things, but please know you (and all shippers, Gwynriel, Elucien, WHATEVER/WHOEVER it is) are ALWAYS welcome in the fandom! 💕

Dear Anon,

Thank You for the sweetest message ever, while I am used to a fair amount of hate from the some sections of this fandom , my experience has been largely positive and I have made some incredible friends here.

I think people try and cause issues between Gwynriels and Eluciens because we are very supportive of one another and that threatens them.

Some of my best friends are Eluciens and I will always support them in whichever way I can , it's not about the ship it's about the real people who I consider dear.

I truly appreciate the message you sent. Thank You for being kind and empathetic 💙

Gwynriel is the reason I joined the fandom and they are truly my favourite and I will always be obsessed with them and I love making content for them. Gwynriels have largely been positive and fun .... I love this corner of the fandom and i simply stick to it. So the fandom remains fun for me.

As for the Anon they perhaps randomly picked me because I commission a fair bit of art or all the gorgeous elucien week content took a toll on their bitter heart. Either ways it's fine. My friends and I simply laughed when I shared it with them.

[fireproofphoenix]

So I've been playing Palworld and it's scratched that itch I had back when Ark was also new and wonky as all hell. I love finding wonky shit that will be patched soon enough that I otherwise would never had seen if it was a polished game already. That's not the point. The point is the day I reached 365 in-game days on my character, I was taken to Hell and God spoke to me.

This is a somewhat long tale because I can't seem to tell a story without lots of details but ehh.

Now I know it wasn't intended as such but I know what I know man. See I'm all about breaking games. I enjoy speed running and clipping objects, and let me tell you about unintended files stored as magic boxes behind a fireplace in Skyrim! Naturally then, I have used some less than authentic things in the year.

Have I maybe held a conversation about the pros and cons between two Chikipi in the inventory of a Black Marketeer while my Quivern roasted him alive in the background so I could loot his corpse of 35k gold? Perhaps.

Have I ever intentionally instigated a riot in one of the only civilized parts of this island of nightmares? Have I led that bloodthirsty mob then against the leaders of the cults and/or organizations that control the island with the intent of forcing their leaders and their partner creature into a sphere thanks to an exploit allowing me to catch them? It's possible.

But no, instead me and Immortal the Shadowbeak decided to visit his home realm. See I was doing the now-known trick of butchering a pal and then riding them to prevent them from dying. Didn't realize how it worked, really, i just knew to try riding him during the second loop of the animation. I'd discovered this from dropping the controller in a panic as my cat made a mad dash and knocked over my coffee.

I figured out the rhythm of it. I was killing and harvesting this beast endlessly! It refused to stay dead under my guiding hand. Sure it was eternally blurred out with that pixil-y cloud, but that's because we should not gaze directly upon the divine, as this death transcendent hippogriff clearly was. I explain this in a sleep deprived mania to my roommate. They suggest a nap. I disagree. Another coffee means I can continue the immortal butchering.

Then we Fell the first time. I'm no stranger to being out of bounds in a game mind you. Hell my favorite mining route meant clipping through a mountain in another game. This is Fine™ so I land in the water under the map. Recall people saying online that the dungeons and whatnot are just hidden pockets under the world. Maybe that's where I was? Didn't care. Immortal Shadowbeak was there with me still. I continued the butchering unimpeded. Must get technology books for unlocking more shelves.

Over time I have repeatedly entered the Undersea. Sometimes its from exploring, but no, I have a Rushoar and he is called Sæhrímnir and he will take me to the Undersea every time. No matter what. Every other Immortal has regenerated every reload of the save and lost their pixel cloud, but remains censored to this day. But a man needs bacon for his eggs so I butcher him like his namesake to feed the people.

Now, like every good casserole recipe, the backstory is finally set, so onto the tale. On the day of my character's 365th day I rolled out of my bed and walked out of my keep. I did a full tour, remembering my tiny three walls and a roof to how far I'd come with my Pals. It'd been a long year, but I decided a feast! We must celebrate! Not just me and my party, but all of us shall enjoy Sæhrímnir! No salads for breaks today!

So me and Sæhrímnir get into position on the Bloodstone. I'd read having one stone foundation away from everything helped with not falling through the ground and while it worked for everyone else, Sæhrímnir is more Divine and thus immune to that so once again I'm riding his not-a-corpse down to the Undersea. I figure I need more meat to fill everyone, what with food level 7s everywhere, so i continue meat making.

Sæhrímnir decided I'd been flaunting his immortality I guess because later at the party he suddenly burst from his palsphere and I was like "Weird, but okay" and decided I'd try "petting him and calming him down" before tossing him back into the sphere. I was still holding the butcher knife I guess and started disembowling him on the table in the center of the picnic area in front of everyone. Only the Immortals knew what they were, having been killed at the Bloodstone far from the eyes of the rest, and now they knew.

But I wasn't gonna let Sæhrímnir die, so I went through the rituals the same as always and down to the Undersea we went. I prepare to go back to base via the keep inventory option in conjunction with the die and respawn button in the menu. It's routine at this point.

"Come" I hear an older man and younger woman say at the same time. I just happened to be looking at Sæhrímnir, about to return him to his sphere. His pixilation ended at that one word and then we started falling through the Undersea. In that short fall, I wondered if we'd fallen somehow into one of those dungeon pockets. As we landed I knew this was truly not somewhere I was supposed to be.

See, the grass was much more gray than green, but there was grass and ground under my feet in every direction I could see. The issue was, I could not see that far, only about five to ten feet through the thick white mist that was static and yet animated. No wait, that part just moved, but the smoke texture wasn't animated. I cautiously begin moving through the mist, careful that the ground may end yet again. Try finding Sæhrímnir, but he's gone. My palspheres aren't working, my character not even trying to throw an empty hand.

On the side of the screen, I see my character has eaten another plate of bacon an eggs. I'm still alive and eating, so that's a bonus. Means this isn't unsalvagable, but curiosity has me. I check and I have all my weapons. The firearms shoot into the White Void and my ammo count went down, so they work. I reload and set off further and faster into the mist.

Even fully sprinting there's nothing but knee high gray grass and flowers and the mist that is everywhere. I opened the map and it says I haven't left my base. I know I've been running in the mist for easily five minutes. I encounter a tree. It's texture is on inside out and is more or less just a mass of spiky vectors in a dead tree shape. I continue. Minutes pass, more trees appearing in the fog. I saw a pal fragment node but it vanished as I approached.

eventually as I get bored, I notice the day is about to end and I consider respawning and going back. The Sun turns into a Moon in the dial and I hear a crashing sound like a felled tree. Everything flashes and the grass is suddenly green, but the mist is turning black like ink. Horror movie vibes as hell. I'm rooted in place watching this glitch and needing to know how it ends.

The double-voice says something again, but they're no longer saying the same thing. Too brief to comprehend what it was. Haywire audio files, no big thing. Happens a lot. Sæhrímnir then appears, or perhaps another boar like him. It squeals and does its death animation as the fog finishes becoming black. Night must've finished falling in the Overworld---

Lights start coming to life around me, brightening and dimming slowly. Lifmunk Statue green and data log/fast travel blue lights started pulsing in the void. I made the mistake of trying to run to one. The camera spins as I start running. Moving is controlling the camera now and the camera is moving the character now. No problem, lemme just unlearn decades of gaming muscle memory real quick.

"COME" the Twin Voices cried suddenly, static accompanying the word. Feel backdoor room vibes and get goosebumps. My nerves are suddenly both taught and shot at the same time. My character has fallen into the distortion world ffs. Time to abort. I select Respawn in the menu. My character doesn't die. Try several more times to no avail. Try double jumping and my Galeclaw still refuses to answer my summons. Palspheres are still not working.

As I get the idea to just hard-close out the game, the sun begins to rise. Like a disney movie, rays of gold and orange shoot through the black and dispel it....why are the rays of light twisting? They start bending around and twisting around invisible objects my character doesn't collide with. Wait, that thing over there kind of looks like part of the assembly machine---

The entire screen suddenly turns white and I hear a sound like a dozen digital demons as the game crashes. I reboot the game and I'm standing in the middle of the party, still in full swing around 4 in the afternoon on the 365th day. Nevermind my night going through the Shadowrealms like I'm mfing Ra crossing the Duat. Nevermind that I saw beyond the veil as many Islanders wish for and I found only horrors.

I prepare to log out when I check my party. Sæhrímnir is gone. He never returned with me.

The Immortal Pal Experiments have been halted at this time.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Published: Jul 12, 2023

A few months ago my doorbell rang unexpectedly. In the spirit of curiosity, I went downstairs to see my surprise guests, who quickly revealed that the purpose of their visit was to share with me the good word of the Lord. I graciously expressed my lack of interest, and thanked them for stopping by. To their credit, they left agreeably, and neither tried to make me feel like an unrepentant sinner, a hateful reactionary, or someone who was actively obstructing their ability to exist. We went our separate ways without conflict, something only possible in a culture that values freedom of religion.

Which includes our culture, for the most part. It’s a standard tenet of classical liberalism: you believe how you want to believe. Even for those who see the United States as a “Christian nation,” most are content to let others have their different faiths, so long as they’re not proselytizing or engaging in acts of violence. Live and let live.

Door-to-door evangelism is a kind of activism I can respect, even when I disagree with the message. Compare this to the kind of activism happening at Kellie-Jay Keen’s ‘Let Women Speak’ events: people screaming at and physically assaulting people with whom they disagree. Even if we aren’t completely aligned on exactly how much free speech we should tolerate in a civilized society (shouting fire in a crowded movie theater? I say no!) and whether there is a meaningful difference between objectionable words and physical violence (I say yes!), it remains true that every person has a right to express their thoughts and feelings. Likewise, opponents have a right to express their disagreement. But they do not have a right to respond with physical violence.

The question of “when is violence justified” is out of scope for this essay. However, I think most people would agree that when those Jehovah's Witnesses showed up at my door and tried to persuade me to join their church, neither of us possessed the right to bring physical violence into that conversation.

Gender identity ideology, the belief that there is a gendered spirit that exists separate from the body, is a religion in all but name—and its successful penetration of our institutions depends on it not being seen as a religion. What makes it a religion and not ‘a natural progression of enlightened thought,’ as gender activists claim, are three things:

1. A hysterical disregard for evidence-based, reproducible research. ‘Children are dying! No time to wait for studies!’ 2. The levels of initiation (like Scientology), in which one can ascend up the ladder from ‘cis ally’ to some variant of ‘trans’ (or chic alternative), often combined with increasingly complicated and risky “gender-affirming” surgeries. 3. Resistance to any kind of critical inquiry (of even its most extreme positions). “Trans voices” have unquestionable authority and must be treated as gospel.

Understand that I'm not attacking religion here. I’m saying that gender activists framing their belief system as the only morally justifiable worldview and calling for all unbelievers to be shunned is the type of thing that religious fundamentalists would do, not civil rights activists.

Nor am I attacking gender identity ideology. I just want it to be understood for what it really is. As an increasingly alienated leftist, I’ve seen too many of my own friends absorbed into this leaderless cult, suddenly unwilling to contemplate or discuss any other perspective. Whether they’ve adopted it intentionally or through community osmosis, the believers argue that gender identity ideology is true, has always been true, and to express anything other than wholehearted support is equivalent to injury.

I do think it's possible for people to believe in gender identity without resorting to intolerance or the worst excesses of the self-appointed revolutionary vanguard. But those people, quietly trying to live their lives, are not the theatrical attention-seekers who publicly delight at forcing ideological compliance. Part of my motivation in writing this is to inspire a more nuanced conversation about "trans rights" in the culture wars. It is a legitimate subject worthy of discussion. What rights do trans people have, and not have? In what cases, if any, are their rights more important than the rights of women who want to have single-sex spaces? If the gender identity activists truly want to create long-term change that actually benefits their demographic, they will need to do politics instead of just bullying their neighbors into submission.

It is the lack of willingness to have discussions about the thorny areas where their wants come into conflict with the wants of others that make this such an intolerant movement. And the one message we keep hearing is that if you do not believe as the gender activists do, you are a problem, and your lack of proper belief justifies the use of violence against you. This is a textbook example of religious extremism.

What is the significance of it being religious in nature? Because religion occupies a special niche in our culture: it shapes our ideas of the sacred and the profane. But even though there is widespread disagreement on the specifics of what constitutes each, we've managed to form some kind of common ground along the lines of respecting each other's personal freedom to act and believe as we choose, so long as our actions and beliefs don't interfere with others exercising their own freedom. ‘The Golden Rule,’ if you will. Most people, I think, would argue that people are free to worship however they choose. Of course, this ideal picture of tolerance is not always the case. History is full of crusades and jihads and persecutions for heresy under various names. Human society has a long relationship with the virtues and the horrors of religion. We know what it is, even if we still struggle with it.

So we can recognize, understand, and even empathize with a person motivated by religious fervor. We can respect the passion shown by a person in a state of religious ecstasy. But none of that requires that we unconditionally lower our psychic boundaries and adopt their beliefs at gunpoint. If such a person can accept that they will not convert you, and go their own way, there is no issue. But if that person threatens you with social repercussions or even physical harm for not assimilating, that is extremism.

Therefore, we hold religious people to certain standards. We accept their idiosyncrasies, while reserving the right to arrive at one’s own faith uncoerced. If we see gender identity ideology for what it is—a religion dressed up as a civil rights movement—we would be much less willing to entertain those ideologues in our schools and institutions. Also, in the United States, thanks to the First Amendment’s Establishment Clause, the legal standing for gender identity ideology in government goes away completely once it is accurately classified as a religion. 

Gender identity ideology as a religion further means that we can (and should) have reasonable boundaries around how children are exposed to it. Here's a fun thought experiment: Would you be OK with a devout Christian, Jew, or Muslim going into your child's public school kindergarten class to lecture them about Jesus, Moses, or Mohammad? Probably not. If you were at the grocery store and you ran into a 6-year-old wearing a crucifix who told you that you were going to hell unless you devoted yourself to the church, you'd probably walk away from that encounter thinking, “well, that was weird and disturbing." But right now, gender disciples around the world are perfectly on board with a 6-year-old girl telling them with complete certainty (to the extent a 6-year-old can be certain about anything), "I am not a girl, I am a boy." No need to critically examine the circumstances, because it is a holy sign. Even the Abrahamic religions have a concept of Age of Majority, but in the world of gender identity, no age is too young to be sacrificed on the altar of hormones and surgeries.

Here's another thought experiment: next time you read the words “transwomen are women,” imagine it says “Jesus is Lord” or “Praise Allah.” It’s the same thing! 

The most important difference between gender identity ideology and other religions is that it has no concept of the divine. There is no greater power at the center of the belief. The highest authority of gender identity ideology is the self. Thanks to social media, never before have young narcissists been able to organize with middle-aged narcissists so effectively, and then claim to speak for all queer people. The rest of us are not given the choice to opt out. Gays, lesbians, and bisexuals are forcibly conscripted into this doctrine, or we are excommunicated.

Humans are social animals. We are deeply influenced by each other. It’s one of the reasons that politics and religion exist. So, considering this kind of cultural dispute isn't anything new, why is the conversation about transgenderism so fraught?

Because the issue of men trying to be women (and vice versa) mirrors the central, much larger conflict in our society right now: the issue of humans trying to be God. There is a mischievous aspect of our nature that seeks to be subversive, to upend conventions, to do the impossible. This inclination to push against our limits has brought us the great technological gifts of the modern era. Yet this mischievousness is a double-edged sword, like so many other aspects of human nature that walk a fine line between adaptation and maladaptation. The only way out of this unsolvable predicament is to put down our fantasies, and to stop the foolish exercise of insisting to be that which we are not.

Am I anti-trans? No. I am anti-delusion. I want to live in a world where people are free to play with gender expression in self-love and with full, conscious acceptance of their bodies. The notion that anyone could be born in the wrong body is among the cruelest ideas to emerge from the unholy marriage of postmodernism and late-stage capitalism. There’s no profit to be made in teaching us how to love ourselves, but every gender-nonconforming person that embarks down the pathway of medicalization becomes a prisoner of the gender industry, and a customer for life.

We can argue all day over how much of the self is caused by nature versus nurture, but understanding the mechanics of our own existence is secondary to finding the ability to live at peace with one another, and to share in both the joys and hardships of life. Let us not be children, demanding that we submit to each other’s capricious, imaginary worlds. Let us be adults, willing to talk to each other as living beings worthy of mutual respect.

The author is a bisexual man living in the Northeastern U.S.

==

I don't participate in other people's delusions. Of any kind.

[jozor-johai]

Revisiting the Rat Cook Epilogue: Looking ahead to TWOW aboard two Rat-free ships

This part didn’t really fit for the main series (which you can read here) because I was trying to avoid too much speculation in the main posts.

However, if you’ve followed the series, and if you’ve been convinced of the symbolism and the relations of power that I’ve identified, then I want to briefly point out two scenarios where we might use these symbols to predict certain trajectories in TWOW and beyond.

As usual, you can actually just read this alone, even though it's the epilogue. It's just that I'll be speeding through a lot of the symbolic analysis, because it's been all covered already.

Dany's Rat-Free Ship

Considering all the weight of Rat Cooks, cannibalism, desperation, rebellion, vengeance, and cycles of violence, it’s damned interesting that as soon as Daenerys’ dragons are big enough to act on their own, one of the first things they do is hunt rats.

Dany leaves behind Qarth—and the rats chewing their own tails—and sails off in a grand ship, renamed Balerion in honor of Aegon the Conqueror. This ship, briefly, becomes Dany’s ideal world—she is at peace, her dragons are free, and everyone comes to love her.

Part of what earns them that love is their ability to kill rats:

At first Groleo had wanted the dragons caged and Dany had consented to put his fears at ease, but their misery was so palpable that she soon changed her mind and insisted they be freed. Even Captain Groleo was glad of that, now. There had been one small fire, easily extinguished; against that, Balerion suddenly seemed to have far fewer rats than she'd had before, when she sailed under the name Saduleon. And her crew, once as fearful as they were curious, had begun to take a queer fierce pride in "their" dragons. Every man of them, from captain to cook's boy, loved to watch the three fly . . . though none so much as Dany.

If we understand “rats” as those underfoot, angry at their own oppression, then the time aboard Balerion with far fewer rats is consistent with that symbolism; here, aboard Balerion, there is no civil unrest. Instead, Dany paints a pastoral image: on this rat-free ship, the dragons fly constantly overhead, and “every man of them, from captain to cook’s boy, loved to watch the three fly”.

Three flying dragons, beyond the literal, also evoke the three-headed-dragon Targaryen banner flying in the wind. Therefore, not only do they love the dragons, but the people aboard the ship love the return of the Targaryen rule, and “take pride” in it together.

And that means everyone, from the great Lords, represented by the captain, all the way down to the smallfolk, represented by the cook’s boy.

Wait, the cook’s boy? That motif is present too—just as in the Rat Cook story, the smallfolk are encapsulated by the cook, a very necessary person, yet unnamed even here. Aboard Balerion, we are shown the son, uneaten, not transformed into a rat, and we are reminded of the absence of the Rat Cook, for there are so few rats. On Dany’s rat-free ship of dreams, the children of the Rat Cook are not doomed to run from their father for eternity.

However… It's worth considering how this lack of unrest was achieved. We’ve examined “rathood” as a certain way for the powerless to regain moments of agency and their willingness to survive and return. If “rats” are dissenting smallfolk, this ship is a realm where that unrest has been eradicated by brute force. Using Toyne’s and Baelish’s language, these rat’s have been “skewered” and “burned” with Dany’s flaming-sword dragons. And so we see the cook's boy, but not his father.

From that perspective, then, Dany’s dragons hunting the rats on the ship might instead be a straightforward foreshadowing of her ability to rule by actual force… and to demand the same uniform fealty that Aegon the Conqueror once did, and to kill anyone remaining who disagrees. As we’ve seen, this is an unrealistic utopia. In the Red Keep, there seem to be “thousands of rats,” per Jaime, but on this closed-world of the ship, Dany actually can kill enough rats to rule peacefully.

-

Not only this, but these few sentences about her time on the ship might actually predict her entire storyline… or at least how she hopes it goes.

At first, Groleo had wanted the dragons caged, and Dany contented to put his fears at ease.

Groleo was the captain before Dany arrived, and so he represents the existing rulers who consent to work with Dany—in Meereen, this is Hizdahr, Reznak, the Green Grace, etc. This moment on the ship is Dany caging her dragons in the dungeons because the “captains,” incumbent leaders, fear them.

However, this just leads to the dragons' misery—and, since Dany and the dragons are so emotionally linked, this is also Dany’s misery in Meereen feeling as caged-in as her dragons.

On Balerion, the dragons are eventually let loose, as they are in Meereen, by Quentyn in Dany’s absence. We’re only just beginning to see the next steps. On Balerion, they had “one small fire, easily extinguished,” which, at the scale of Meereen, might be less small and slightly less easily extinguished.

Still, someone on Dany's side might ask: wasn’t that destruction worth it on Balerion? The rats are all gone, and all the survivors take a fierce pride in them now, whatever they felt before.

With the dragons free again, everyone comes to love them… save the rats, who have become dragon food. Oh well, though, from the dragon’s perspective—an infinite number of rat-children for eternity only serves to feed dragons.

For the Rat Cook, infinite rats and infinite hunger was a depressing possibility: no matter how many of his rat-children he ate, he was never satisfied. Dragons are different, though; dragons grow as big as the space they’re in allows them. These dragons might never be sated eating all the rats in the world, but the more rats are born, the more the better—Drogon can feed and grow ever larger, and grow, and grow, because you can kill all the rats if you have big enough weapons. It's just that you might kill some “Hazzea”s too.

Drogon’s not only the ship-bound rat-hunter, though, interestingly enough.

Rat hunting on the Cinnamon Wind

Immediately before Sam arrives in Oldtown, he too spends his own time on a ship hunting rats, in AFFC Samwell IV:

He scrubbed decks and rubbed them smooth with stones, he hauled on anchor chains, he coiled rope and hunted rats, he sewed up torn sails, patched leaks with bubbling hot tar, boned fish and chopped fruit for the cook.

You might say: Sam is doing a whole lot more besides. Surely him hunting rats is just one part of his Rocky-esque training montage.

And I might say: that may be true, except we’ve been introduced to a few “rats” that Sam might be heading straight towards.

Catelyn names them as early as the first book, in AGOT Catelyn III:

"We have no steward," Maester Luwin reminded her. Like a little grey rat, she thought, he would not let go.

Catelyn is thinking poorly of Luwin because she is grief-stricken and generally annoyed, but she may be onto something here. Whatever their differences over Brandon, Lady Dustin certainly would agree with Catelyn about the maesters as grey rats.

Lady Dustin uses the same words in ADWD The Prince of Winterfell—the same chapter in which Wyman called for the “Rat Cook” song. Theon is privy to that insight, too:

As Maester Medrick went to one knee to whisper in Bolton's ear, Lady Dustin's mouth twisted in distaste. "If I were queen, the first thing I would do would be to kill all those grey rats. They scurry everywhere, living on the leavings of the lords, chittering to one another, whispering in the ears of their masters. But who are the masters and who are the servants, truly?”

I’ve been holding onto this quote for the entire series, even though Lady Dustin says plainly what I’ve been arguing: “rats” use their special, privileged access as supposedly-subservient people with no actual power in order to enact a de facto power that usurps the de jure power from beneath the Lords when it is most important.

If these Maesters are like “grey rats” the way that Catelyn and Lady Dustin say, then perhaps it's portentous that Sam got some training in hunting rats while aboard the Cinnamon Wind.

In fact, like Balerion, the Citadel might be appropriate rat-hunting grounds, as it seems to be something of an insular place. Perhaps you really could hunt all the “rats” in the Citadel without any more making it in.

Of course, we can’t know until TWOW, and I can’t help but imagine that there are even more clues to be found for the path ahead. That's all I have to say about the Rat Cook for now.

[dragoneyes618]

"I'm not saying people don't have a right to express their political views. Obviously they have the right to say whatever they want, and the right to not care what I think about it. I just wish people wouldn't use Facebook for politics. I get politics spewed at me almost everywhere else I go on the Internet. I'd rather not also see it sandwiched between pictures of people's grandkids.

It's not the specific political views I dislike; it's the tone. I wouldn't mind if people said something like, "Hey, here's what I think about this issue, and here's why." And maybe even: "What do you think? Let's have an open-minded discussion!"

But that's almost never the tone. The default tone of political discourse - and not just on Facebook; it's everywhere - is angry, even CAPS LOCK ANGRY. It is also often wildly melodramatic. Everything that happens is THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED. And to round out the unpleasantness, the tone is also often lecture-y, sneering, contemptuous, condescending, self-righteous, smug. No matter what the issue is, the message is: This is what I think, and there can be NO DISCUSSION about it because the only possible reason you could have a different opinion is that you are stupid, or evil, or stupid AND evil.

Perhaps you're a conservative, and you think I'm talking about progressives here.

Or perhaps you're a progressive, and you think I'm talking about conservatives.

Either way, you're wrong. I'm talking about you.

I'm not saying don't care about politics.

I'm not saying don't stand up for what you believe in.

I'm not saying don't debate people you disagree with.

What I'm saying is: Don't hate them. Try talking to them, instead of calling them names. Try listening to them. And even if you disagree with them - even if you hate what they're saying - don't let your hate consume you. Remain calm. Inhale. Exhale. Remember this: however bad you think things are today, however stupid you think your fellow Americans are, this country has seen worse times, including - to name a few - the Civil War, 9/11, the Great Depression and six seasons of Jersey Shore. We muddled through those times. We will muddle through these.

So let go of your anger. Even if you think I'm a naive fool to be optimistic about the future, you should still let go of your anger. It's not helping your cause, and it's not hurting the people you perceive as your enemies. Mainly what it's doing is making you unhappy.

Just let it go."

- Dave Barry, Lessons from Lucy, pages 119-121

[lizzie-is-here]

like the dawn

part xvi- the storm

“i want you to always remember me. will you remember that i existed, and that i stood next to you here like this?” - haruki murakami

summary: the mad titan comes calling

wordcount: 1.9k (my tiny bby 🥺)

warnings: cussing (i think? idk honestly), lil fluff, violence ig, uhh infinity war but just the beginning, forgot bucky got the hot arm and had to include that, sad foreshadowing slay

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @itsivymusic

a/n: IM BACK BITCHES. sorry this part is short but the next part is coming up very soon bc i’m excited to hopefully make y’all cry 👍 as always, love you, very proud of you, stay hydrated and eat something pls and hope u enjoy! this may not be my best work but i’ll make it up to you when… the stuff happens lmao 💀 happy 2023!!! 🤍🤍🤍

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“He came out of nowhere.”

You stare up at the holographic screen.

You’ve been back for barely a week, and there’s something new on the horizon. From out in space, a genocidal maniac has made himself known.

He calls himself Thanos. The last survivor of a planet whose civilization fell long ago. And he’s hunting for stones that can apparently control every part of the universe.

You’re lucky the team received the warning in time. Thor, Bruce Banner, and the remaining Asgardians had narrowly escaped the titan, and fled to Earth to warn you of the danger.

The god had asked a few questions about your wings, as fascinated by them as you were about the magical hammer he carried.

Despite what the others said, you quickly realized that Thor wasn’t dumb, not even dense. Just unaccustomed to modern life. Much like you and your boys.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit dense.

Alongside them, another addition had arrived in the form of a sorcerer by the name of Stephen Strange. His demeanor reminded you of a certain genius.

But there wasn’t time to worry about much other than preparing for the coming siege. There wasn’t time to warn the governments of the world. You needed to suit up. Quickly.

“What’s his objective?” Steve asks, one hand on the small of your back and the other entwined with Bucky’s flesh hand.

“He’s a plague,” Bruce rasps. “He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out half the population. He sent Loki.” He points to the rather greasy reformed god, who frowns.

“So this is it,” Tony hums. The billionaire is oddly composed, silently calculating. “What’s our timeline?”

“No telling. He has the Power and Space Stones. That already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his hands on all six stones, Tony…”

Strange cuts in. “He could destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of.”

You wrinkle your nose a bit.

“Did you seriously just say ‘hitherto undreamt of’? God, you sound like my grandfather.” you ask.

“Are you seriously complaining about how I talk when you’re 100 years old?”

“Physically, I’m about 30, so-“

Bucky sighs. “Joacă frumos, păpușă [Play nice, doll].”

Tony speaks before you start arguing with the sorcerer again. “If Thanos needs all six, why don’t we just stick Mr. Sparkles’s stone down the garbage disposal?” he asks, gesturing to the Time Stone held in the amulet.

“No can do,” the man retorts. Wong, another sorcerer explains.

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone with our lives.”

Tony shrugs. “And I swore off dairy, but then Ben & Jerry’s named a flavor after me-“

“Ok, boys, how about we table this conversation for a time when we aren’t in danger,” Nat snaps.

“Ok, look, Thanos has the biggest army in the universe, and he’s not gonna stop until he gets… Vision’s stone.”

You nod. “Then we have to protect it.” The android, from his place staring out the window, disagrees.

“No, we have to destroy it. I’ve been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head. About its nature.” He pauses, stepping towards Wanda. “But also its composition. I think if it were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source, something very similar to its own signature, perhaps-“

Vision leans close to the girl. “-its molecular integrity could fail.” You knew what he was asking. All of you did. But no one wanted to say it.

“Yeah, and you with it,” Wanda chuckles, disbelieving. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can’t get it,” he presses.

“That’s too high a price.”

Your chest aches as the android gently takes her face in his hands.

“Only you have the power to pay it. Thanos threatens half the universe. One life cannot stand in the way of defeating him.”

“But it should,” Steve says. “We don’t trade lives, Vision.” You rest a hand on his arm, nodding when he looks to you for support.

“Captain, 70 years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people?” Vision queries. Despite being a robot, his voice is laced with uncertainty. Fear. “Tell me, why is this any different?”

Tony, Bruce, and Peter look up from where they were discussing.

“Because you might have a choice,” the doctor says. “Your mind is made up of a complex construct of overlays. JARVIS, Ultron, Tony, me, the stone. All of them mixed together, all of them learning from one another.”

Wanda takes a sharp breath. “You’re saying Vision isn’t just the stone?”

“I’m saying that if we take out the stone, there’s still a whole lot of Vision left, perhaps the best parts.”

“Can we do that?” Nat asks.

Bruce shakes his head. “Not me, not here.”

Peter, as quiet as he’d been, raises his hand. “I know someone! And somewhere.”

You raise a brow. “So do I.”

“Shuri,” both of you say.

“How do you know her?” Bucky asks. The teen sheepishly shrugs.

“She started sending me advice on how to fix my suits from Instagram.”

FRIDAY’s voice echoed over the speakers. “Boss, something’s entered the atmosphere in lower Manhattan.”

Tony curses under his breath. “Shit, okay. We’ve gotta split up.”

“Okay, normally I’m all for your plans, but that seems like a horrible idea,” Sam says.

“We don’t have any other choice. You go to Wakanda, Thor and his crew can head into space to recruit any help we can get, and we’ll stay and handle this,” the billionaire says, gesturing to himself, Peter, and the sorcerers.

A knot forms in your gut. “And if it’s Thanos?”

No one responds. It’s a real possibility that none of you want to think about.

“Then we’ll hold him off until you get there.”

———————————————————————

The quinjet has never flown faster. A quick call to T’Challa and Shuri meant that you were rushing off the plane the moment you arrived, before the princess grabbed Bucky, Steve, and you.

“Come with me. I have an upgrade for that outdated arm of yours,” she calls.

“Is there time?” the brunet asks. Entering her lab, dozens of doctors hurry over. Bucky grabs yours and Steve’s hands, unsure of how to navigate this.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve assures. You nod, following as they lay him down on a table.

They’re unbelievably quick as they work, a hologram providing a view into everything going on. Within minutes, he’s gone under and they’ve started removing the heavy titanium.

Shuri herself carefully implants a new base for the arm, which clicks into place with little trouble. That’s when you see the arm.

It’s gold and black, crafted with careful detail but still bulky enough to balance out. You lift it gently, finding the weight to be much lighter than the old one. Vibranium.

Doctors take the arm from you with knowing smiles, precisely but swiftly locking it in place.

When he sits up minutes later, you hold your breath.

Flexing the new hand, Bucky stares in awe at the prosthetic.

“I… I can feel again.”

He reaches for you and Steve, and can’t believe it when he can truly feel your wings with his left hand. The sensation isn’t perfect, but he’ll take it over the cold, unfeeling HYDRA arm any day.

“What’s it like?” Steve asks, holding Bucky’s face with one hand.

“Perfect.”

A voice calls from the door.

“As cute as you three are, we’ve gotta hurry.” Nat holds up a projection. “Tony says Thanos isn’t in Manhattan.”

The rest of the group is hurrying in behind her, guiding Vision onto the operating table as Shuri prepares for a much more difficult procedure.

“The structure is polymorphic,” she comments.

Bruce nods. “Right, we had to attach each neuron non-sequentially.”

“Why didn’t you just reprogram the synapses to work collectively?” You don’t understand what they’re saying, but by the look on Bruce’s face, she’s made an excellent point.

“… Because we didn’t think of it.”

The girl purses her lips to hide a smile. “I’m sure you did your best.”

Wanda and Shuri begin to discuss the complications of the procedure, but you wander to the window. It’s too perfect. The sky is dappled with clouds and Wakanda is going on as normal as possible with the impending disaster looming on the horizon.

Right on cue, Sam’s voice rings through your earpiece.

“Hey, Cap, we got a situation here.”

You watch as a vessel crashes into the protective shield that surrounds the city, blowing up and leaving no damage.

“Don’t start celebrating yet. We got more incoming outside the dome,” Rhodey groans.

Fire blazes into view as more ships crash into the earth. You feel your heart rate increase.

“It’s too late, we need to destroy the stone now,” Vision says. The look on Wanda’s face is enough for you to shake your head.

“Get your ass back on that table,” you press.

T’Challa nods. “We will hold them off.”

Steve turns to the anxious Sokovian. “Wanda, as soon as that stone’s out of his head, you blow it to hell.”

“I will.”

———————————————————————

You soar above dozens of hovering vehicles as the aliens approach the barrier. It’s hard to get a clear view of the enemy, but below you, you can clearly spot Bruce in the Hulkbuster and Nat, Bucky, and Steve on a carrier. Beside you, Rhodey and Sam scope out the area.

One small disadvantage of your abilities. Flight comes naturally. No tech. No heat scanners or AI. No extra help. Just your powers and your wings.

At the tree line, one huge alien and one smaller one stop. The Wakandan forces fall into formation, and you watch from the air as Nat, Steve, and T’Challa go to face the two.

No surprise, it goes horribly. The crash-landed ships open, and you can make out hundreds of ugly, dog-like aliens barreling through the forest.

You land next to your boys just in time to hear Bucky mumble, “What the hell?”

“Looks like we pissed her off,” Nat mumbles.

“They’re killing themselves,” Okoye whispers in horror. She’s right. Only a few make it through the barrier before being immediately killed. The rest are sliced by the force field.

Bucky shoots down some and Bruce fires lasers while the Wakandans take out the rest.

At your side, you twist your hands. It’s been months since you’ve used your powers. Partly out of fear, but also as a way to forget all of the memories that came with them.

While you worry, one alien makes it through Bucky’s rain of gunfire, jumping towards you with a slavering mouth full of yellowed teeth.

Quick as ever, you swing out your hand, and the burst of light is so potent that it disintegrates on contact.

“Well, good to know that that still works,” Steve says, arm still raises from where he went to defend you. Twin shields are mounted on his wrists, with razor-sharp points.

“Cap, of these things circle the perimeter and get in behind us,” Bruce begins. “There’s nothing between them and Vision.

“Then we better keep ‘em in front of us,” Steve replies.

“How are we supposed to do that?” you ask. It’s not like you can tell them where to go.

T’Challa swallows. “We open the barrier.” He lifts a hand to his earpiece before you can protest. “On my signal, open North-West Section Seventeen.”

“This will be the end of Wakanda,” a man you don’t quite recognize says.

Okoye doesn’t hesitate. “Then it will be the noblest ending in history.”

Glancing to Steve and Bucky, then back to the barrier, you inhale sharply. “To the end of the line?”

“To the end of the line.”

[cloudmancy]

It's so weird that literal professional public figures are victimizing their friend because some people don't like him. Calling it bullying and saying if you don't like this white man that you're a bad person. Turning someone being disappointed about a show they watch on their personal blog into an attack that you need to defend your rich white man from is insane! The quotes on your tweet are acting like you said "mm should die if he doesn't read coc fan theories" all you said was that you're disappointed! I feel like I've lost my mind! I'm gonna be honest reading through your blog it feels like we disagree on a lot but I truly don't think you've done anything wrong I'm going crazy

genuinely something is in the water because how is it that d20 fans can all remain civil while disagreeing with each other and respectfully having conversations but the critrole fans are calling THIS fandom toxic. there's actual huge creators in the TTRPG twitter sphere right now making snarky videos calling their fans unwashed and poor. did I wake up in an alternate dimension 2 days ago or what