#but all american writing is not like this

[mayakern]

I honestly don’t know how to write this; I have spent all week attempting to figure out what to say.

Last Monday I was informed by our factory that our merchandiser and direct point of contact with the factory passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago. She was someone who I have spent a great deal of time speaking to ever since we switched factories two years ago. She helped us realize designs for new products, sent us samples of garments extremely quickly and kept track of all our orders. She went to bat for us if something went wrong with our print shop or if I was unhappy with how a garment pattern was interpreted by their team. As their first American client and a brand that focuses on size inclusion, something that is not typical of their other clients, she handled a lot of crazy requests from us without blinking and she was dedicated to ensuring that both us and our customers were happy. We talked nearly every day, and though it was work related she was one of the kindest people I have had the pleasure interacting with daily.

She was beyond dedicated to her work and to working with us. Turkey has an 11-hour time difference from me in California, which means when she was emailing me at 2pm in the afternoon it was 1am there. You can sure bet that I extended her the same courtesy and tried my best to answer her emails at night too, even when I would rather just be sleeping.

It was also clear just how much she loved her job, and now much she loved you guys. She had been silently watching our social media since we first started working with them. She got just as excited as we did on launch days and would often email me unprompted about how she was glad people were leaving such positive comments and reviews. She read your feedback when no one ever asked her to do that or even expected it of her. She did it because she really, really cared.

Even though she was miles away and we never met in person, she was like a coworker to me and the loss of her is like losing someone on our team.

The Maya Kern team, as a whole, has been dealing with a lot lately. I personally just moved (which took far longer than we expected) and Maya and Devin are gearing up to move back to Minneapolis pretty soon. With the loss of our merchandizer, it has taken the wind out of my sails a little bit. I was trying to push through, even though I am exhausted, and carry out the photo shoot for our new products this weekend, but it has become clear that my body just can’t handle it. My arthritis has finally told me to stop moving, so unfortunately, we are going to have to reschedule the shoot for later on.

We are doing everything we can to make sure our next product drop on the 21st still happens. But as of right now, due to this sudden loss, the garments haven’t even shipped from the factory yet and I am not optimistic that they will clear customs and get checked into the fulfillment center in time for the launch. This means the drop is likely going to be pushed back to December 5th and instead of a full photo shoot, we will probably have to settle for taking quick photos of everyone at home, and likely with our phones. 

We work really hard to deliver not just garments we believe in, but also pictures of said garments on bodies that our customers can relate to, and unfortunately I just do not think that is possible this time. As always, we really appreciate your patience and understanding during what has been a very difficult time for us.

Ash

Chief Operations Officer

[birdantlers]

Hey, you.

Are you also upset and angry about the election? Are you concerned about the likely election tampering and collusion that won* Trump this election?

EVERY SINGLE AMERICAN who voted blue in this election needs to do this. Don't lie down and let fascism take hold of this nation even more than it already has.

Call (202) 456-1111 Tuesday—Thursday 11:00AM—3:00PM and demand an investigation.

Check the status of your ballot at vote.org. Report any issues to the DOJ voter fraud hotline: 1-800-253-3931 for those whose ballot isn’t being counted.

Here are some state-specific hotlines as well:

Here is an in-depth guide to effectively contact your representatives (lik is different from pictures below).

Here is the submission form to submit concerns the the White House as well as instructions and sample text ideas below (not pasting the actual text as incentive for people to write their own—if you submit a message or multiple messages, make sure there are differences so that nothing gets flagged as spam).

Lastly, I'd like to say that for the record I'm not advocating for her as some kind of savior; she's a politician with flaws and dirty laundry, but I also would urge you to consider donating to the Harris-Walz campaign fund, which has been updated to include funding for a ballot recount.

I think this is a very important thing to support and to spread, as it has appeared quietly in the fund's footnotes. I would like to think that the admin wouldn't go down without swinging before January, but unless they get some money thrown at them I'm not sure the odds of us finding out will be as good—sad as that is. Remember, even if it's just a dollar, or less—if everyone who ran across this on their dash donated, it would still generate thousands.

I'm not saying all this to be a shill for a politician who's still a basically-centrist politician at the end of the day. I'm doing this because I'm pissed off and desperate to not see my home become a totalitarian dystopia.

I know that as more time passes, as more government positions are announced by the charlatan-elect, as people clap their hands in celebration of an anti-constitutional takeover, it can feel hopeless to fight. It isn't. January 20th is still months away.

This is not the time to submit to despair. This is the time to put our dukes up. The bystander effect is how a movement dies, and when affirmative action has to be taken remotely, it's an even bigger threat. Don't assume. Don't be these guys:

Call your reps. Track your ballots. Defend and report those ballots if missing, and regardless of that, submit those White House comments.

Even if you can't do all of these, try to do any little bit you can. Doing a small something is ALWAYS better than doing nothing, and for my fellow disabled, adhd, exhausted, etc. bitches I know that's the difference between making any progress or not.

This should go without saying, but please reblog this post. Send it to people, even people outside of Tumblr. Spread it regardless of whether you live in the US. I would also advise sharing more than once so followers who are AFK the first time(s) can see it during downtime.

And if anyone turns their nose up at you and says what you're doing is pointless—even if that voice comes from inside—shut that shit down. There's no perfect third trolley track that's going to hand down action free of conflict or flaws, but there's also a raging, stupid fascist in line for the presidency.

This is no time for half measures.

Don't give up. Don't shut up. Don't hand over your rights without a fight.

*hoe cheated

[puck-luck]

luke x older reader anon again! congrats on 1k! submitting the same request, with hearts and prompt 25 🫶🏻

warnings: unprotected p in v, age gap (not major.), religious themes & motifs, pining, childhood friends to lovers vibes, best friend's brother ofc, jealousy, occasionally insecure statements from luke, really just the sweetest sex you can imagine. i LOVED writing this. hence... the length.

WC: 4,351

You’ve been friends with the Hughes boys as long as you can remember. The first time you met Quinn, it was during your first pee-wee skate. 

Your dad was a big hockey fan, so he wanted to teach you how to skate. The debate had been between figure skating and hockey– your mom loved gymnastics, dance, and figure skating, having been an artistic athlete herself. Your dad wanted you to skate regardless, but hockey felt more suited for your talents. You were a competitive child– and territorial over your toys– so your dad thought it would translate well into a hockey environment. 

He took you to the Olympics in Salt Lake when you were three years old. You went to see figure skating and two of the United States hockey games– one for the men and one for the women. To your dad, it wasn’t a surprise how your eyes grew into saucers when you watched your first live hockey game.

He’d enrolled you in peewee skate the following week. There were no girls-only leagues, so you were put into a coed league. Quinn was in the same league. You became very fast friends– you liked to talk, your new little buddy liked to listen, and then you finally got him out of his shell midway through the season and your friendship was fully cemented. Actually, the second you learned his last name was Hughes– like Sarah Hughes, who won the Olympic Gold in single’s figure skating when you were in Utah– he was stuck with you. Just because you’d preferred hockey didn’t mean you didn’t love ice skating, too. It just wasn’t your passion.

You and Quinn stayed in touch after that peewee hockey season, enrolling in the same league and requesting to be on the same team until you both graduated into the boys- and girls-only leagues. You still remained friends, staying in contact as best you could when he moved to Toronto. You’d send letters back and forth and you became a pro at interpreting Quinn’s boyishly terrible handwriting. He’d tell you about his brothers, his parents, his school, and his hockey teams. You’d keep him updated on home, but then it stopped being home to Quinn. Soon enough, you were only talking about hockey and family. ‘Did you see that Crosby won the Hart Trophy?’ ‘Yeah! Ovi got the Calder though, so we’re still on even playing field. Canadian boy.’ ‘Hey, Ovi is Russian. Choose a real American and get back to me.’

It wasn’t long until you secured an invitation to visit the Hughes during the summer. You and your family went up to Toronto to visit them and you got to play with the Hughes boys for a whole week. It was so much fun, so the next summer, you begged to invite them to your place for a week.

The tradition continued for years, alternating houses and hometowns. You and Quinn both applied to Michigan– he played hockey, you did not. You were a good player, but you’re more of a beer league girl. You weren’t recruited to play college hockey– which, for a while, you thought was weird, because there are so few female hockey players in America. You’re hoping that your lack of recruitment means that there are hundreds of amazing women who are better than you at the sport, and that helped you accept your fate. After all, Quinn would sometimes bring you to the rink when it was empty. You’d get to play for a little while– and it was nice, in college, to have someone who knew you so well.

A lot of people assumed that you and Quinn were together, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Quinn was like your brother. There was that weird month when you were thirteen and you’d gone to visit him over the summer and you’d thought, maybe… but it turned out that you were just thirteen and confused because of your rampant hormones and puberty. Quinn is just your friend, your best friend. 

All of the brothers were pretty off-limits. You’d seen the way girls had started flirting with Jack as he’d entered his teens. You’re able to admit that he’s a cute boy. Luke was an absolute sweetheart, always trying to play with Quinn (and, by extension, you) as you’d grown up. You felt so fond of Luke in a ‘look at how precious he is, I need to protect him’ sort of way.

And then, last night at the lake house, he’d helped you line up a shot in pool and kept his hand on the small of your back when you bent over the table, and your mind had been spinning ever since. 

You can’t tell Quinn, obviously. That’s his baby brother. You’re not even sure how you feel about it– Luke’s always been your little buddy. Now, he’s over half a foot taller than you, so he’s not so little anymore. Still– he’s four years younger than you and Quinn. It’s the equivalent of a freshman hooking up with a senior and you feel icky. 

Regardless, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. He likes to twirl his fork between his fingers when he’s done eating dinner. He’ll spread his legs and sit forward when he’s playing video games with his brothers. An absent-minded, crooked smile falls on his mouth every time he’s only half-listening to you or the other boys. It’s paired with a look in his eyes that you can only describe as warm and content. In twenty-four hours, you’ve noticed more things about Luke than you’ve ever seen before. 

He’s grown up. It’s still a little weird to you, but he’s 21. You’re still 24, even though your 25th birthday is slowly creeping forward. You find yourself justifying the three year age gap, persuading yourself that it’s fine to look at Luke like that, but then you catch yourself and look away. You’re pushing the idea out of your brain.

But he’s goofy, and cute, and so sweet. He’s the same Luke as always, but you’re seeing him in a brand new way.

You’re able to keep yourself at bay for over a week. The boys throw a party and invite some girls over. Normally, you’re not jealous. You’re calm. You don’t care. 

Across the room, there’s a girl flirting with Luke. She’s got a hand on his arm and you’re nursing a drink, seeing red. You’re using Jack as a shield, but you’re still able to look over his shoulder. You think you’re being slick, but it turns out… you’re not.

“What are you looking at?” Jack laughs, tilting his head at you exaggeratedly before turning.

Unfortunately, you know you’ve been found out. There’s only one thing that would have you glowering in such a way. Nothing else in sight is nearly as interesting as Luke and the girl beside him. Jack clocks it right away.

He turns back to you with a tight, knowing smile, like he’s trying to hold back laughter. He pushes his tongue into his cheek and quirks his eyebrows at you. 

“Interesting,” Jack says, swirling his drink in his solo cup and then bringing the rim to his mouth. He maintains eye contact as he sips. 

You pop the bottom of the cup, making the drink splash into Jack’s face. “Fuck off.”

He wipes his mouth and crosses his arms, cradling the drink in the pocket of his elbow. “You and little Lukey?”

You grind your teeth and glare at him in the most menacing way you can. Jack has known you for too long to be intimidated by your glares. He also never really cared that much in the first place– he’s too shit-eating to be concerned about the repercussions of his words.

Jack smirks some more. “Don’t worry,” he says, popping his jaw like he’s turning a piece of gum over in his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.”

You clench your teeth and continue glaring. You suck your cheeks in and bite down on the inside of your mouth, lips curling with annoyance. 

“You know, he wouldn’t mind if you went over there and staked your claim,” Jack says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t think he’d be upset at all.”

“Fuck off,” you repeat again. 

“C’mon, Y/N.” Jack pushes your shoulder lightly, jokingly. “You’re being obvious.”

“Quinn’ll kill me. And– it’s Luke, Jack.”

“So what? It’s not weird. We all grew up together. We’re all around the same age. It’s not a big deal. He’s had a crush on you forever.”

“It’s different,” you sing-song. “He’s younger than me.”

“Let’s go, Cougar,” Jack teases, reaching up to high-five you. 

You don’t take it, instead deciding to punch his stomach. 

Jack doubles over like you actually wounded him, but straightens up smiling. “You oughta go make him jealous.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Dude, I’m serious. Let’s go flirt with Trevor or something. Someone who Luke thinks you’re better than– I guarantee he’ll be over here in a second.”

Jack actually tugs you toward Trevor and explains the plan before you can even get a word in. So much for keeping your secret. Trevor, to his credit, is a very willing subject. He keeps a hand on your waist during the whole conversation and you do your best to ignore the niggling desire to look over your shoulder at Luke. 

Turns out, you should’ve been worried about Quinn.

“Get your hands off her, Zegras,” Quinn snaps, pushing Trevor’s hand off of your waist and stepping between you. “You’re not allowed to fuck my friend.”

If that’s how he feels about one of his friends touching you, then you feel a bit faint at the idea of Quinn’s reaction to Luke getting together with you. That might seal the deal– you really can’t fuck Luke.

“I’m not fucking her,” Trevor says. “We’re working an angle here, Quinn.”

Quinn scoffs. “Yeah? What angle is that, Trevor?”

“We’re trying to make Luke jealous, hello?” Trevor says like it’s obvious. 

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face in your hands. “Trevor, you fucking moron.”

“What?” Quinn demands, but his look turns into sheer bewilderment. “You’re doing this for Luke?”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, stomping away. 

Trevor, somehow, is free to follow after you. Quinn hasn’t stepped in to stop him. You wish he would. He’s probably too confused. “This is good,” he says. “He’s definitely going to see us going upstairs together. Hold my hand.”

“No.”

“Dude, it was working. Luke was looking over at us the whole time.”

“I don’t care, Trevor.”

“Don’t you want him?”

“Not like that,” you hiss between your teeth. “I don’t want to make Luke jealous. I want him to come to me because he wants to, okay? Go downstairs. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. I’ll go. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You disappear into your bedroom, changing into pajamas and climbing into bed. It’s nice to have your own bedroom in the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought with their NHL salaries, but tonight it’s bittersweet to be able to hear the party going on as you lay in bed. It’s not at all like when you fall asleep during a holiday party and your parents put you to bed, and you can still hear the laughter of the guests in your dreams. Now each bout of laughter reminds you of her, the girl whose hand was on Luke like she already owned him, and you wonder if he’s making her giggle with his stupid corny jokes.

God, last week you didn’t even like Luke. Now you’re burning with jealousy– or maybe it’s the fires from Hell, because you’ve got a completely inappropriate crush on your best friend’s little brother. You can never come back to the lake house like this, at least not until you’ve gotten over this shit. Why are you so affected? It’s Luke, for fuck’s sake.

It’s Luke again when someone comes knocking at your door. You thought it would be Quinn, ready to chew you out or question you extensively about this crush. To your surprise, the problem himself appears. 

“You okay?” Luke asks, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His silhouette is burly and big and you have to close your eyes to shake the pang of emotion that penetrates your chest.

“Just tired,” you reply quietly. “Couldn’t stomach the party anymore.”

“Did Trevor say something to upset you?”

Quieter: “No, Luke.”

He hovers silently. You can hear the cogs in his brain turning. His pitch matches yours when he speaks next, although his tone is much more melancholic than despondent. “Are you mad at me?”

You hesitate for a second too long. You’re not mad, but you’re certainly taken aback by the uncertainty in his words. “No, Luke,” you say again, but this time the pang that goes through your chest is more familiar. You don’t want to upset him. You’ve always wanted to protect Luke from the world, but now you’ve made him unsure and insecure. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Luke asks, and you have to take a shaky breath. He sounds so small. It’s like the time that you didn’t let him ride bikes with you and Quinn to the store, even though he begged, and then he cried and ran to his mom. After seeing Luke’s puffy red eyes and resolute determination to ignore you for the rest of the night, your soda and candy bar didn’t taste as good. In fact, they tasted a bit like cardboard. You ended up throwing half of the bar away and going home early. You swore you’d never make sweet little Luke feel that way again.

“You wouldn’t get it, I don’t think,” you tell him quietly, pushing yourself up in bed and resting on your elbows. You take a deep breath and look at him, sure that he can see the way your chest rises and falls. 

Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can see the way Luke’s mouth opens, as if to say something, then closes with a shake of his head. You notice his eyes fluttering towards the corner of your room, removing you from his line of vision. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Luke says, biting his lower lip in a dejected and heartbreaking way. “I get it. I’ll go.”

“Luke,” you sigh. “Don’t be like that.”

“No, it’s fine. You don’t wanna talk to me,” he says with a shrug. “We’re not friends like that. I’m not Quinn.”

“Luke.” You push yourself up further, pushing the covers down and criss-crossing your legs. “It’s not that.”

“It’s always that. And if it’s not that, then it’s that I’m not Jack. I just– I don’t want to hear that from you.” Luke shrugs again, always defaulting to that motion when he’s deflecting because he’s big and awkward and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. As if he’s thinking the same thing, you watch him shove his fists in his pockets and keep his shoulders tense.

“Come here,” you request, head tilted and mouth turned down with sadness. You shift your position so that both of your knees are under you and you’re sitting back on your heels. “Luke, please.”

You hold your arms out for a hug, not for the first time in your life, and Luke shuffles over. He takes his time and he refuses to meet your eyes, just stooping down so that he can wrap his arms around your middle. It’s a weird position, given that you’re kneeling on the bed and he’s half-bent over. You can feel the pout and doubt all over Luke’s face, so you reach a hand up to his curls and run your thumb over one of his more perfect spirals. He’s letting it grow out a bit and you like how messy it looks.

“Jack told me something,” you reveal softly, still petting through his hair. Luke stiffens in your arms, but doesn’t pull away. “He said you like me.”

Luke groans and struggles in your grip, even sinking to his knees to try and get out of your grasp. He’s kneeling beside the bed, and you bring your legs around so that he’s situated between them. You keep a hand on his shoulder, the other still playing with his hair. He’s evading your eyes again, looking stoutly at the floor.

“I have feelings for you, too,” you whisper, the admission feeling heavy and wrong and like a knife to the gut. Admittance is the first step, but you just feel silly. “And I don’t really know how to deal with those. You’re– I’ve known you since we were so little, Luke.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Luke says bluntly, a hint of a complaint in his sentence. “You’ve been acting weird because you like me, too?”

“I was upset that there was a pretty girl talking to you,” you say sheepishly. “And I just didn’t want to go along with Jack’s plan. He wanted to make you jealous. Thought that would work.”

“I’m always jealous when you talk to another guy,” Luke tells you like it’s obvious. “I just, kind of, gave up. I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me. I thought I’d get over it. Stupid childhood crush, you know.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding that you yourself just experienced a similar line of thinking. You said you’d get over it, but you don’t really want to. Not right now, at least, when Luke’s sitting in front of you and he’s got a tentative hand on your calf, rubbing his thumb over the muscle and staring up at you with big eyes. You bite your lip, trying to think logically about this, but all you can do is examine Luke’s features like you’ll never get to see them again. Maybe you won’t– not like this. Not in this liminal space between something and nothing. This is one of those moments that you know won’t last– because the next one will change everything. So, for a moment longer, you just reach out and run your thumb along Luke’s cheekbone, eyes flickering between his cheek, his lips, and his eyes. 

“What do we–” Luke loses his words and presses his lips together, looking up at you, expression completely tortured. He turns his head and kisses the side of your knee, which makes your heart split a bit more.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You wish you had a better answer for him. You truly aren’t sure what you can do from here. There are too many things to consider– so you won’t consider them at all.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Luke asks. 

A fond burst of laughter escapes from your chest. “Lukey, this is a twin bed. We can’t both fit.”

A pout comes over Luke’s face again. “We can too,” he insists, furrowing his brow a bit. “I’ll prove it. Move over.”

He’s climbing into your bed before you can tell him no. His long and spindly limbs are coaxing you to lay back, then warming you as he holds you tight. It’s a tight squeeze, but that just means that you’re touching him everywhere. It’s nice and you suddenly wish you were facing him, so you roll awkwardly in his arms until you’re face to face. Your noses are nearly touching and Luke is staring at you, really taking you in. 

Your eyes find his lips… and then he’s leaning in.

It’s charged with tension and electricity, but it’s soft and hesitant. Neither of you want to test the boundaries and you don’t think this feels quite real. Your stomach is swooping with bats, not butterflies, and it’s exactly what you wanted. This is what you expected when you found yourself imagining kissing Luke this past week, even if you shook yourself out of it because it felt inappropriate. Here, it feels so right that you swear you could start crying from relief. You’ve never felt that way before from just a kiss. Your chest could burst.

When he pulls away, you feel frozen in time. Your eyes are closed and his lips are right there, a hair’s breadth away. You swallow, touching his chest, palm flat. 

“Was that okay?” Luke asks.

You nod, then slide your lips over his again. 

You come together in a way that can’t be described as anything other than desperate. Your hands touch him in any way they can and Luke’s do the same. You move in tandem like you’ve got a language of your own– an indignant hum from you followed by a sweet “I know” from Luke before he touches you exactly the way you want.

Kissing the whole time, Luke gets you on your back. Your lips only part to remove your shirt, then his. Luke’s big hand cradles your jaw and neck, keeping your head and mouth exactly where he wants them. He guides you with a surprising amount of experience and sureness, although maybe he’s fueled by the same feeling of rightness as you are.

He opens you on his other hand, snaking his hand into your pajamas shorts because he can’t be bothered to remove them. His hips roll against your thigh, his long torso displacing your pelvis from his as he kisses you. He’s big– you knew it height-wise, but now you can feel him against your leg, and you want him to fill you. You want him to claim you, to take you– you want to give all of yourself to Luke. It’s madness and though you’re sure you’ve lost your mind, the crack in your chest that pours out love for Luke has taken control of your body.

After three fingers and a lot of whimpering from you, clutches at Luke’s hair and bruising kisses working in tandem with your noises, Luke works your shorts down. He breaks from your lips so that he can take you in beneath him. He touches your waist and the curve of your stomach, the one that you cringed at for so many years as a teen but finally accepted in your grown age. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, eyes portraying nothing but sincerity.

You can’t say anything to that, nothing that can match his utterly genuine sentiment or portray how grateful you are that he took the time to say those words, so you kiss him again. You muster up an embarrassingly wanton ‘please,’ which you draw across his lips like a paintbrush. 

You can’t get enough of saying his name as he presses into you, his heavy body blanketing yours. You can feel his every muscle move as he works into you and you’ve never felt more like a masterpiece. There were times when you made fun of the phrase ‘making love,’ but sex with Luke feels intensely like you’re creating something tangible by coming together in this way. 

The moans and cries that you’re trying to stifle so that no one comes barging in should be enough to convince Luke that this is everything to you. Sweet, sweet Luke– he seems choked up when he says, “They can’t fuck you like I can.” He says the sentence like he has to prove it to you, like you’re not falling apart under his touch. He pleads with you between the words, in the spaces where you can see his breath hitch in his throat.

You’re still not sure where this night will leave you tomorrow morning. Everything, everything has turned on its head. Somehow, you feel a bit like you’ve been leading up to this for a while, not just in the past week. Luke knew it before you did.

“No,” you agree, touching his cheeks and keeping his eyes on yours. “They can’t.” You kiss him briefly, feeling his tongue swipe into your mouth before you pull away. “I’m yours.”

Luke actually keens at that, his arms straining as he shifts his weight to fuck into you harder. Because you’re so close, the bed isn’t moving enough to bang against the walls or creak on its boxsprings, and you’re glad. This is a moment for just you and Luke– you don’t want anyone hearing. You don’t want anyone to be around. You hope that they’ve all miraculously disappeared and you and Luke are the last people in the house, maybe even on Earth.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Luke repeats, his forehead meeting yours. You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale, his breath automatically syncing with yours. You’re overwhelmed, but deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice reminding you about an ancient tradition in Polynesian culture where forehead-to-forehead contact and breathing together is sacred, like you’re sharing the breath of life– like there’s some power in the universe, a god or many, clicking things into place.

He unravels first, fucking you through his release with urgence akin to the sentence he said before. Always trying to prove himself– but Luke has always been enough for you. Maybe not always in this way, but now, there’s nothing he can do to shake your favor. All of the feelings in your heart have been poured out, shared and mixed with his own, and it’s created a puddle– or a bubble– around the pair of you. 

It’s been written that sex is when two people come together as one. You finally understand what they mean, joining Luke in the seas of ecstasy.

Sweet nothings and touches like worship follow. Your hands can’t get enough of Luke’s strong figure. He runs his fingertips along your body like he’s in awe of your figure, like he gets to touch a statue so lifelike and beautiful that he can’t believe it was ever a block of marble at all. 

The concerns about what will happen tomorrow don’t exist here, in your dark bedroom with Luke stuck to you like glue. For now, it’s just you. Together, breathing, touching, loving– there’s nothing else that could matter. This is it.

note: i have to work on my grad school app in the coming days, so this will probably be the last blurb/oneshot until i finish the application. but, i might get bored of writing that and could pop in to do another smut piece here and there ;) hopefully i'll chat with y'all soon! but i don't want to rush this grad school app LOL

[incorrectbatfam]

Hi! You seem like a good person to ask. I'm working on a fic and I heard that Americans in the North are meaner than the South? Is it true? How do I write it?

From a New England perspective:

We're not mean, we have a different standard of courtesy. And this is also an urban vs. rural divide along with North vs. South.

Life in the South moves at a more lax pace. Of course it varies individually and you have big cities like Atlanta or Dallas, but in general, there's more space for towns and populations to spread out. For a number of people, the only interaction they might get all day is when they drive to the bank or grocery store, where the employees are probably also their friends and neighbors. Over there, curtness is rude and uncaring. (I also noticed this in rural areas in the North, like Montana.) In a fic, the grocery store in Smallville might only get 10 customers per day, so the owner will come out and ramble on about all the freak tornadoes they've been getting. Because outward politeness is the norm, people are also more passive-aggressive in order to avoid rocking the boat—we've all heard the "bless your heart" coming from a suburban evangelical.

Up North, especially in the mid-Atlantic and New England states, it's the opposite. We have a ton of people packed into a smaller geographical area and our cities are closer to each other (a lot of people live in New Jersey and work in New York). Life moves faster, so our directness and tendency to keep to ourselves is our way of saying, "I care about you and I know your time/energy is valuable, so I'm not gonna waste it." You'll see it in cities like Chicago too. It's rude to start a conversation with the barista when there are 20 people waiting in line behind you. So if you're writing a story set in Gotham, it's perfectly acceptable for the Batburger cashier to be like "What do you want?" In that same vein, we don't beat around the bush when we're upset. If you're being an ass, I will tell you to fuck right off.

[bbsmuts]

Anything For The Team ft. Jeon Somi

A/N: I'm writing this to fill in the gap between Mistaken Identity and the upcoming Field Trip finale, which will likely be a couple of months. It was a suggestion by @xiaoondc in light of Somi's appearance at the Tottenham Hotspurs meet & greet. I personally am in favor of the team because my man Son Heung-min plays for them. So consider this a filler smut for the long waiting period. I was originally meaning for this to be a quickie, like 2-2.5k, but I got a little carried away.

Unfortunately all my readers will have to suspend reality a little bit for two reasons. A, because Premiere League games happen in England, and Somi lives in Korea. B, because she'd likely get arrested for what she does in this one. So let's ignore that little snag and those pesky laws and read on. In addition to that, some parts of this were written without a whole ton of thought behind them, since this was never intended to be a long and drawn-out process.

This one will be a little more detailed and a little more accurate than After-match Entertainment, since I actually know how football works (soccer for all you dirty Americans), so I can actually write more of the game into it. Cheers.

And yes, there will more than likely be a part 2 with the Somi x NBA thing.

-상훈

Length: 6.61k

Possible TW: Spanking, choking, noncon, hate fucking, bondage, forced exhibitionism, degradation

Tags: Flashing warning (but literally), gangbang, spanking, choking, hair pulling, slapping, noncon, hate fucking, bondage, forced exhibitionism, spitroasting, DP, degradation

BRRRRRT

Somi's alarm jolted her out of her sleep instantly, the loud tone sending her heart rate through the roof as it always did when she was awoken from sleep suddenly.

"Whatsit..." She mumbled, picking up her phone and looking at it disdainfully. "Come on, it's too early to get up..."

The alarm note read "Don't forget the game, dumbass" and she immediately flew out of bed, suddenly more energized. There was a Tottenham Hotspurs vs. Aston Villa game happening that she had tickets to, and she didn't want to be late.

After speedily getting dressed and doing the quick essentials of her makeup, she went out to the kitchen to grab something to eat before she left. After bolting down her halfassed breakfast she hopped in her car and left, excited to see the Spurs playing in person.

–––

She arrived at the stadium a few miles dow the road later and had to stop and take in the size of the place; it had to be at least 150 feet tall and probably 400 feet long, a truly massive building.

She had her ticket scanned and headed up to her seat, which was located in a private box in the grandstands. She didn't like being in the crowd because she had sensitive ears and all the screaming made her head spin. So she preferred to be by herself. There was still a good fifteen minutes before the game started, and in about ten the players would be lining up on the pitch.

She talked a little to her best friend Eunbin, who unfortunately hadn't been able to make it, before the players were lined up on the pitch and she had to leave the call to see the action. Five minutes before the game, the team captains were to come to the sidelines for the coin flip to decide who got the kick off. As Son Heung-min, who she'd had a crush on for all of her teenage years and still thought was extremely hot, came jogging over to where the referee was, she couldn't help but mentally note the sculpted facial features, the lean and fit body beneath the tight jersey.

"Damn, he's so fine," she murmured to herself, imagination already jumping to filthy thoughts of what she'd let him do to her. Hell, for that guy? She'd do anything. Her mind showed her images of him choking her until she couldn't breathe, spanking her ass until it's red, pulling her hair, fucking her so nice and deep, ohh god yes...

The coin flip was completed and Tottenham got the kick off, so Son and Richarlison were the two who ran to the center of the field, waiting for the ref's whistle to start. The rest of the players took their positions around the pitch and waited as well; after a moment, in which the fans kept up their deafening roar, the whistle was blown and the game began.

Richarlison passed it to Son, who made a move forward past Barkley of Aston Villa, who'd tried to block him. Swiftly and expertly, he weaved and dodged his way between all the Aston Villa defenders and made an appreciable shot at the goal, but it was caught by Martinez, the goalkeeper. The Spurs fans let out a terrible groan, but it did nothing to dissuade the vigor of the team's players. Ignoring the missed goal, they waited for Martinez to throw it back into play.

—————————————————————————————————— A/N: Now, there's a reason I'm not a sports journalist, trying to write out what's usually a mostly uneventful 90 minutes isn't something I want to do here. Xiaoondc and I have planned to make that 90 minutes far more interesting, but for time's sake I'm going to skip around in the game so we're not all here reading a play-by-play of an imaginary game. So for the moment, let's say that it's the 77th minute, and Tottenham are tied with Aston Villa at 2-2. ——————————————————————————————————

It was beginning to look, to Somi, as if the Hotspurs might not win this one. Son, Johnson, and Solanke had been making some spectacular attempts, Son having scored twice, but Martinez's keeping was superb today. Likewise, Aston Villa's forwards had been putting forth a valiant effort against Vicario, but he had held strong and only conceded two goals.

There were only thirteen minutes left in the game, which meant someone needed to score for Tottenham. The trouble was, they were starting to lose focus and Aston Villa was taking advantage of that. If only there were something she could do about it, Somi thought.

And then, it clicked.

There was something she could do. It was risky, risky as hell, but in her mind entirely worth it. After all, she was in a private booth which would, logically, only be visible to people on the field, and...the entire other half of the stadium. The thought, depraved as it was, send shivers running through her and made her pussy wet. But amidst her thought, she saw Son get the ball and make a run down the outer left corner, and the Aston Villa defenders were closing on him...

The want to do it overtook her and with a deep breath, she mustered up her courage and pulled her shirt up, exposing the naked breasts of Jeon Somi to about 20,000 people.

Her mind, having been silent, was not screaming at her to cover herself up, sending the humiliation chemicals to her amygdala. But in the humiliation and risk, she found a thrill that suddenly had her practically panting with lust. With bated breath she waited, her own shirt covering her eyes, and she heard the Aston Villa fans across the pitch groan and then cheer. Confused, she lowered her shirt to watch the replay of whatever happened on the big screen on the other side. The eyes of Nedeljković, an Aston Villa defender who'd been about to steal the ball from Son, slid up to what was obviously her box and he slowed hugely, letting Son through with the ball with an expression of rapturous lust. Son made a great shot, but it was again blocked by Martinez, hence the cheers. Somi looked down at Nedeljković, whose teammates were throwing their hands up in real time, not knowing what he'd seen.

Confidence in her tactic increasing in light of her small victory, she retreated from the window and waited. She'd distracted Nedeljković for the second Son needed to get through, and if he could put the ball into the goal past Martinez, that would almost certainly guarantee the Spurs' win. Approaching the 82nd minute, both teams seemed to be getting more desperate. They started to get rougher, more agitated, and Villa came close to scoring twice. But then Somi's moment arrived, and Richarlison got the ball and sent it down the outside right. Taking another, deeper breath, she slid her pants and panties down her legs and propped herself up on the handrail guarding the window, sticking her ass out towards the crowd. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the defenders were too focused on keeping him out to look up at her (for all intents and purposes let's say she's in a private box near their end of the field), but she saw Richarlison give a split-second glance at her, and whether it was due to her or not, he suddenly ran faster, and making it past the defenders, slammed his foot into the ball and sent it speeding towards the goal's unprotected left side.

But Martinez was too quick. He sprang to the side and swung his right foot into the ball to counter. It soared across the pitch to the waiting feet of a Tottenham midfielder, who was immediately swarmed by opponents and teammates.

Somi quickly stripped, tossing her clothes aside. Approaching the window again, she was acutely aware of phones being turned to her, fingers pointing, eyes drinking in her naked body through the glass, making her blush even harder.

What the hell am I thinking? She thought, heart pounding as she stood naked before the eyes of thousands. What if I get caught? What if they put me on the news?

But she couldn't lie to herself. If she was to be honest, she knew that she wanted to be caught, she wanted to have everyone know Somi as the slut who flashed tens of thousands of people just to help her team win. And most of all, she wanted Son to see her and know it was her.

The 89th minute. Richarlison came into possession again and took it down the same way as last time, but something was different. Son was running parallel to him up the middle-left side, and Somi knew what was about to happen. In a last ditch-effort, she swung her legs over the rail, propped herself up on it, and spread her legs wide, pushing her feet against the walls on either side for balance.

Somewhere amidst the immediate shame and embarrassment she felt, she registered the sound of the entire opposite side of the pitch collectively gasping and saying "woah". Looking down, she saw the Villa defenders get distracted by the sound and throw questioning glances around, until they spotted her. Mouths dropping open in shock, the lost their concentration and let Richarlison through. It worked! she thought, but instead of shooting for the goal, he sent it to the center, chipping it up over the heads of the starstruck Villa defenders. Son, perfectly positioned, jumped into the air, leaned back, and kicked the ball directly into the top-right corner of the goal, and landed the flip on his feet.

The stadium exploded, the yells of the players entirely drowned out by the roar of the crowd, and the ref's whistle blew three times to signify the end of the match. Son, yelling "YES!" with the rest of his teammates, was borne onto their shoulders. Jumping up and down with elation while the Villa players shook their heads and beat the air with their fists, they made their way over to the sideline, where they all hugged each other and beat Son on the back.

His eyes traveled up the grandstands to her box. She blushed furiously and nearly fell off her perch as she saw his gaze linger on her body before he smiled and nodded a silent thanks to her. Ready to swoon, she got off the rail and got dressed again, silently jubilant that her tactic had worked and, more importantly, Son had noticed her. And looked at her. While she was naked.

The mere thought was enough to make her exultation die down and replace it with pure lust. Undoubtedly there would be a lot of posts about what she'd just done, and a lot of speculation about whether or not it was her. A hot media debate that wouldn't die down for a long time.

Leaving the stadium, she was almost immediately spotted and pointed out by reporters. She realized she'd forgotten to put her mask back on, but she wasn't opposed to an interview.

The nearest one approached her with a cameraman.

"Miss Jeon, would you be so kind as to spare us a moment of your time?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Somi nodded. "Sure. And please, just call me Somi."

"Alright Miss Somi, who are you here to support today?" The mic was held up to her mouth once more.

"Tottenham."

"How do you feel about the game's results?"

"I'm quite happy with how the game ended, and I'm proud of my team for their incredible win."

"Miss Somi, there have been speculations that you were involved in something that has now gone viral, recognize this?"

Somi's cheeks blazed red as the reporter held up her phone, showing a blurred-out video of Somi's own body being flashed to the crowd.

"I-I beg your pardon?"

"Some attenders of the game have been saying online that it was you who was in the video, are they correct?" The reporter's eyes bored into hers.

"I'm a very avid supporter of the Spurs, but suggesting I was involved in any public indecency is quite ludicrous."

She didn't directly deny it, either.

"So it wasn't you?"

"I was simply passionately supporting my team, any rumors of my involvement in public nudity are pure conjecture."

Her avoidance of a definitive answer definitely did not go unnoticed by the reporter, whose eyes narrowed before she concluded the short interview.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Somi."

Grinning to herself, Somi fished her mask out of her pocket and slipped it on before heading back to her car, feeling immense satisfaction in today's events.

...

Late that afternoon, her phone started ringing and she picked it up to see an unknown number calling. The Caller ID was someone named Ange Postecoglou.

"Hello?" She said, accepting the call.

"Good evening, this is Ange Postecoglou, team manager of the Tottenham Hotspurs. To whom am I speaking?"

"Jeon Somi," Somi said, ear-to-ear grin returning to her face. "How can I help you?"

"You're by yourself, I presume?"

"Yes, what is it?"

He lowered his voice. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Somi didn't even need to ask what he was talking about.

"Yes, it was." Her smile widened.

"Well, I'd like to offer you my sincerest thanks for your...erm...assistance today. If not for you, I fear we would have lost."

"Ah, well," Somi said, sitting down on her bed and dangling her feet over the edge, "I just did what I could for my team."

"We'd like to offer you an exclusive opportunity to meet the team."

Somi paused the swinging of her feet, surprised and immediately overtaken with excitement.

"Really?!" She half-shouted, then blushed at her own reaction. "I mean, really?"

"Really." She could hear the amusement in his tone. "They'd like to, uh...thank you personally."

His double meaning was not missed.

"When and where do I go?"

"A black limousine will be outside the Lotte World Mall at 6:30 pm sharp."

"Thanks, I'll be there."

After hanging up, she reverse checked the number and everything checked out, so, nerves jingling with anticipation, she waited the remaining hour and then got ready.

Having more time to prep herself for an outing this time, she selected her favorite and most revealing lacy black bra with matching panties. A short, ruffled black miniskirt and a skimpy red long sleeve crop top were her choices for outerwear.

(Yes, I know the outfit's not the same.)

Adding something a little hotter to her already done makeup from earlier and adding a subtle hint of her sexiest perfume, she gave herself the final touches to make herself as alluring as possible. And so, having prepared, she set out for the mall, which wasn't a far drive. She arrived at 6:27, parked her car near the mall, and waited outside it.

Only a minute later, a black limo with tinted windows and silver lining on them pulled up next to the curb, driver's side facing the sidewalk.

"Miss Somi?" The driver rolled down the window.

"That's me."

"Hop in."

She opened the back door of the limo and got in, immediately surprised by the quality of the interior. Beige leather seats, soft carpet padding, a massive moonroof spanning the entire ceiling of the car, several drink dispensers opposite the seats, a wine rack in the same place, and LED strip lights lining the entire thing. It was one of the nicest limos she'd ever been in, and after sitting down and giving the window separating her and the driver two taps to get him going, she quickly made use of the large bottle of whiskey sitting opposite her. Couldn't hurt to be a little tipsy meeting them.

A few minutes later the limo pulled to a stop in front of a massive building that she could only assume was the Spur's training facility. The driver disembarked and opened her door for her, then led her in through the front doors of the facility, then through a few hallways and a set of double doors. The doors led her back outside to a football pitch, where six of the eleven players who'd participated in the game were lined up on the opposite side. Son, Richarlison, Solanke, Johnson, Moore, and Lankshear, Son in the lead.

The driver left them and Somi, heart pounding with excitement and lust, approached the eleven.

"Mannaseo bangapseumnida, Somi-ssi." Son said, bowing respectfully.

Somi returned the bow. "Machangajilo, oppa."

Inwardly, as she greeted all the others, she found it a little ironic to be addressing each other so politely when they were most likely going to be fucking her senseless momentarily. Their eyes roved over her body, which was barely concealed by her outfit and left almost nothing to the imagination. They seemed hesitant, unsure of her allowance. She reached up to the hem of her crop top and stripped it off, revealing the scanty, lacy bra underneath. Immediately they seemed to become more confident, now that she'd shown them that she had no reservations. They closed in on her, hands feeling up her torso and sliding under her skirt. She bit her lip as their hands explored her body, feeling her arousal increase. She was quickly surrounded, various hands tugging at her skirt until it slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet.

"Mm, like what you see, boys?"

The only response she got was a powerful slap to her ass, which made her moan. Her slick was practically spilling down her thighs, a situation that did not go unnoticed by the team. Various filthy utterances filled her ears, the hands now roughly fingering her pussy making her gasp, pant and moan like she was in heat.

"Fuck, I want it so bad..." She bucked her hips into the hands, feeling her bra being unclasped and her breasts being freed. Hands slid over them as well, squeezing and pinching her nipples. She sank to her knees, grasping and feeling up the rock-hard cocks in their shorts. They wasted no time in ridding themselves of the shorts, revealing 6 throbbing shafts waiting to be sucked dry.

Somi eagerly jammed the first one into her mouth, bobbing her head back and forth passionately. She raised her hands to jerk off two more as more spanks rained down on her ass from behind her. Each slap send a thrill of pleasure-pain through her, and she relished in the sensation as much as she could while going down Solanke. He gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and pulled her head into his crotch. Pumping his hips into her face, driving his cock deeper into her throat, he made her gag and choke on the saliva she inhaled.

"Yes!" She cried as he let her take a breath, pussy throbbing with need. "Fuck my mouth harder daddy!"

He thrust back into her mouth, her eyes rolling back as her throat was bulged. She moaned the fingers getting more daring with each passing second. Her breath hitched at the sensation of three fingers being pushed into her tunnel, her g-spot being ferociously fingered. Pleasure flooded her nerve endings, and her moans increased in volume, in desperation. The thrusts to her face got harder, faster, and she knew he was about to cum.

When a thumb pressed against her clit and circled roughly, she lost it.

Her orgasmic scream was muffled by the thick meat in her throat and Solanke's groan as he shot ropes of cum down her throat. She struggled to draw in oxygen past both blockages, and he pulled out to allow her to breathe.

She gasped in a breath and panted, letting herself fall back to the support of her arms. A large wet spot on the grass made it muddy where she sat, and before long they pulled her onto her knees.

"Please," she murmured as more fingers delved into her hypersensitive slit, the brutal thrusts putting her on edge again. "Please, I want your cocks so bad...please, daddy..."

A pair of powerful arms lifted her into the air, and from a glance over her shoulder she gathered that those powerful arms belonged to none other than Son Heung-min, who'd shed his shirt and shorts. The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance, making her eyes and mouth widen in pure shock and pleasure at the sheer size.

"Please, daddy," she moaned, feeling her hands being cuffed behind her back, "please fuck me! Fuck me so hard I scream and cum on your fucking monster, make me squirt for you, please!"

At this point Somi was shut up by the tip of Lankshear's pressing against her lips, which she opened obediently. Simultaneously, both of them pushed their hips forward, a lot of inches being pushed into both sides of her. She cried out into it, pussy being blissfully stretched out. She felt every inch, every centimeter, every throbbing vein and ridge.

And then they started moving from either side, the sound of skin slapping into skin echoing around the pitch. Her muffled moans, their groans, and the lewd schlicks of both his cock pumping in and out of her slick hole and the other four stroking themselves to the sight.

She closed her eyes and bobbed her head in time with his thrusts, trying to distract herself from or stave off the impending orgasm, but it was pointless. The way the veins on Son's shaft grated against her g-spot felt too good. Her moans turned to cries, which turned quickly to shrieks as the waves of pleasure tore through her, obliterating her mind momentarily. Lankshear pulled out momentarily to allow her to release the wail of pleasure that had built up in her lungs. Eyes rolling back, the sensation wracked her body and she squirted hard, drenching the group and Son's thighs with cum. She couldn't signal to Lankshear that she wanted his cock back in her mouth, so she rolled her eyes back, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue to entice him. He took advantage of her tongue being out to achieve deeper penetration in her throat, meanwhile Son kept determinedly pumping away at her pussy. She could tell both of them were nearing orgasm; the telltale moans and "fuck yeah"s didn't do much to hide it.

Lankshear gave out with a groan and buried himself in her throat, choking her and spewing his cum deep down her gullet, delivering a hard slap to her face that only got her going more.

Free from the member bulging her throat, Somi could now fully vocalize the pure bliss she was feeling. Son pulled her upright so they were facing each other, and she felt the steel-solid cords of muscle flexing to hold her up.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes right there daddy!" She cried. "Oh my god, yes, right there, you're so big, I'm gonna cum again! You're fucking me so deep, I love it, yes!"

What took her by surprise was Bissouma coming up behind her and taking advantage of her ass cheeks being spread.

"God, that's so deep!" She groaned, three quarters of the big dick in her ass in one stroke.

Son took one hand off her ass and slapped it, earning a yelp from her and more natural lubricant down below. Both fucked her harder and faster, spanking her more, pushing her closer to her third orgasm.

"Yes, yes, yes, more, please!" He took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and pinching with his teeth, and she threw her head back, humping into his thrusts desperately. "Ohh fuck yes daddy, please pound me harder, it feels so fucking good, yes! I'm cumming!"

"Jenjang, nado keuraeyo!" Son groaned, keeping up his pace. (Fuck, me too!)

He slammed her down onto his cock while jerking his hips up into her, reaching new depths inside her and firmly pushing into her cervix and causing her third orgasm.

"FUCK!" She saw stars as the pure sensation making fireworks explode in her brain. The orgasm ripped through her body like a gunshot, her nerves on fire with pleasure as she rode it out. She then registered their hot cum spurting into her womb and bowels, the surges of warmth triggering a fourth, mind-shattering orgasm. An overstimulated, moaning sob left her, tears welling in her eyes from the intensity of the feeling. Son gave her supple cheeks one more spank before putting her down none too gently.

She lay still on the ground, chest heaving, covered in sweat. The mud she'd created smudged on her ass and back, having turned cool in the absence of her body heat. Her brain had checked out; there was no comprehensible thought running through it at all.

They allowed her a couple of minutes of recovery time, and when she noticed them approaching she sat up, biting her lip with half lidded eyes. She got on all fours and wiggled her ass, smirking up at them.

"Ready for round two...daddies?"

...

She left the compound with her holes fucked wide open, cum leaking out of every single one, and a fair amount still on her face. She'd decided to keep it there a little while for some selfies.

"I trust you had fun?" Her driver asked once she got back in the limo.

"I did. Back to the mall, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

After the quick drive back to the mall and the selfies she had wanted to take, she thanked the chauffeur and stepped inside the mall to wash off her face. Deciding to go for a little walk over the Jamsil Bridge in the cool night air, she started the entirely deserted footpath.

She was about two third of the way through the bridge when a group of men - very muscular men, Somi noted - entered the footpath from the opposite side. As they drew nearer, she recognized one of them. Then two, then three. Then all five of them.

"No way..." she muttered, stopping dead in her tracks as she recognized five of the Aston Villa players, Nedeljković in the lead. And none of them looked happy to see her.

"Well, well, well..." Nedeljković said, tone low and menacing. "Look what we have here."

"If it isn't Jeon Somi," said Torres, voice laced with anger, gesturing for the other three to surround her from the back. "The passionate Tottenham supporter."

"And dressed like she's heading to her night shift at the local whorehouse." One of the voices behind her said.

She took a step back from Nedeljković, a feeling of fear rearing its head inside her. Surely they wouldn't beat her up? A five on one? With cars watching?

But the cars weren't watching. The cars were on the uppermost section of the bridge, and the six of them were directly beneath, completely out of sight. The fear intensified.

"What do you say boys?" Nedeljković asked.

She sensed the three behind her closing in as the two in front did the same; panicking, she turned around and tried to push through them, but their arms shot out and held her back. Nedeljković took her by the hair, bicep flexing with the force with which he was holding on, and pulled her head back to look at him.

"We're going to make you pay for what you did, Somi."

"Please," Somi whispered, not even attempting to escape for fear of further abuse. "Don't hurt me...

"Hurt you?" The entire group laughed, and he took her arms and pinned them to the fence wall she was backed against. "God, she's so naive. We're not gonna hurt you, you dumb bitch. Pretty little thing like you, we're gonna pay you back for what you did another way..."

Her eyes widened at the implication and her cheeks flushed red.

"No, please don't!" She struggled a little bit, to which he put a hand around her neck and pushed lightly. "Please...have mercy..."

Despite how scared she was of them, she couldn't deny that the position he had her in was making her very aroused. Being helpless like this, it turned her on to the point where she was literally trembling, cheeks flushed red and pussy wet again.

"Look at this, lads!" He said, grip tightening on her neck. "We haven't even done anything and this slut is already panting like a bitch in heat!"

His hand left her neck and trailed its way down her body, caressing her breasts, down her abs, and up her skirt, pushing a couple of fingers into her past the panties.

"Mmm~" She purred, biting her lip at the sensation and the fact that she was completely helpless to whatever he wanted to do.

"Yeah, you like that, you little whore?"

"Yes~" She bucked her hips into his fingers, gasping, her eyebrows arching upwards as he roughly palmed her clit and rubbed her g-spot. "Oh fuck - oh my god yes - just like that~"

He slapped her face hard, making her gasp again, and kept fingering her.

"When I ask you a question, you address me properly, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" She rolled her hips into his hand desperately, already on edge from his skilled touch. "Oh, please, sir, keep going, make me cum!"

She moaned desperately, needily, begging for release, but his fingers disappeared at the last second.

"No, please!" She squeezed around pure air, whimpering at the absence of the fingers.

"Shut up." Another slap landed on her face. "I said we're giving you some payback, not rewarding you."

He turned her around, and she felt leather cuffs being secured into place on her wrists behind her back. The next second, three fingers had been shoved into her pussy again, making her cry out.

"Fuck, that's it...ooh yess sir please keep going, just like that..."

"Shut the fuck up and take it." He smacked her ass.

"Yes, sir," she gasped, wiggling it as his fingers moved in and out of her.

"Oh my god yes, I'm cumming, fuck!"

But he pulled the fingers out at the last second, denying her the orgasm again.

"Fuck you!" She cried in frustration, an involuntary whine leaving her mouth again.

Quick as lightning, he darted around to where her face was and roughly grabbed her by the jaw, making her look at him.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Nothing!" She immediately became small and submissive again, made nervous by his aggression. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it."

He sat down on the ledge and pulled her over his lap, lifting her skirt up over the swell of her hips.

"Now, you're going to learn what happens to bad little whores when they misbehave and talk back their owners.

He bent her over his knee and put his right leg over the backs of her knees, effectively trapping her, and started viciously spanking her over her panties, which did nothing to protect her ass from the relentless assault.

"Ow! Fuck! Sir, please, it hurts!"

"Of course it does, you dumbass whore!"

Tears sprang to her eyes at the continued abuse of her pinkened cheeks, and she struggled a bit, which only earned her harder smacks.

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"You better be fucking sorry!" He continued, heedless of her words.

And yet, in the pain of his powerful spanks, she felt her arousal spike. She arched her back into it, suddenly craving more punishment, more humiliation. She was totally, hopelessly turned on by the position she found herself in.

"Harder!" She begged. "Please, sir, punish me harder!"

"You hearing this slut?" He muttered to the rest of the team. "Begging for more punishment. Just a masochistic little pain slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Her own submission driving her crazy with lust, she kept arching her back, wiggling her hips. He increased the force of the spanks, making her moan louder, and when he added the fingers back, she fell apart.

She barely recognized the voice that screamed out of her throat; it sounded most unlike her: high-pitched, desperate, needy. And in her body, among the orgasmic eruption inside, she recognized another feeling: Hunger. She wanted them, she wanted them a lot.

"P-please," she whimpered, her entire body hot and shaking, "please give me your dick, s-sir..."

"You hear that, lads? She wants our dicks."

"Please, sir," she almost whispered, eyes half-lidded, "I want it so bad..."

He positioned himself behind her and pushed into her, groaning at the tightness. He ripped off her panties, reached forward, and pushed them into her mouth; she could taste her own arousal and it only made her hornier.

"Fuck me...fuck me hard, sir, I need it..."

Fast, hard, brutal strokes were what she got in return. The sheer force of each thrust pushed her forward and made her ass and breasts jiggle. Though muffled by her panty gag, her cries could easily be heard by all.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, just like that, fuck me just like that sir! Ohh god it's so good, so deep inside me!"

He stopped momentarily, laid down under her so she was on top, and then resumed. A second cock pressed against her asshole and entered, making her double over, not expecting the sudden penetration. One of Nedeljković's hands reached up and grasped her throat and she bit her lip in arousal.

"Now, tell me Somi, are you ever going to do something like that to fuck up our game again?"

She shook her head, earning her a slap, which intensified her lust.

"Say it properly."

"No, sir," she moaned, "I won't, sir..."

"Good girl." She shivered. "You kept us from winning by doing that."

"Well, maybe if you'd – ohh fuck~...played better, you wouldn't have lost." She was playing with fire and she knew it, but it was worth seeing the surprised and angry look on his face. His hand closed on her face, pulling it close to his.

"You better watch what you say to me, slut."

"Get better at football."

He slapped her, grabbed her hips and started slamming his into them. Her moans turned to screams, her entire lower region being overridden by the sharp increase in pleasure.

"F-fuck, that's t-too much!" She cried, involuntarily bucking her hips, her body betraying her words. "S-so good!"

He ignored her and , keeping the impacts in time with his thrusts.

"Care to take that back?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it!" She was going to cum again and she knew it, and there was nothing she could or wanted to do about it. She reveled in the harsh treatment, in the submission they required from her, that she so willingly gave. The throbbing in her asshole intensified, and another torrent of warmth shortly followed a groan, leaving Nedeljković as the last one in the game.

"Do you wanna cum?"

"Yes, sir, please, make me squirt for you!"

"If that's the best you can do then I don't think you want to cum. You'll have to beg me."

He slid himself out from under her and stood, his cock resting on her face as she knelt and looked up at him.

"Please, sir, please let me cum, I want to cum so bad! I want to squirt on your big dick, I need you to fuck me and make me cum again, please~"

"Oh, you need me to? Well, if you insist..."

He pushed her down onto all fours and knelt behind her, slapping her ass before entering her again in a single, well-lubricated stroke.

"Oh god yes," she groaned, feeling him push down on her head, ensuring she was under his control. "So fucking big..."

"Keep your pretty head down, Somi," he growled in her ear, his voice making her shiver with arousal.

"Yes, sir," she moaned breathlessly, trying to buck up into him to impale herself deeper. Her shouts and his grunts reverberated around the footpath, and she did nothing to stop them. Dimly, she recognized the feeling of the cuffs being taken off her, and she pushed herself up with trembling arms.

"Oh yes, fuck my little pussy harder!" He reached around, pressed his index and middle fingers to her clit, and rubbed hard, sharply spiking her pleasure. "Ngghh fuck yes! So deep, yes, yes, please don't stop! I'm cumming!"

His fist closed on her hair again, the vicelike grip unyielding. It took only a few moments before she herself closed like a vice on his cock, and she gave a wild yell as a stream of cum sprayed out of her. He grunted, breathing out heavily in an almost-groan as his own cum spurted deep into her.

"Oh god...oh fuck..." She breathed like she'd been running for miles, and her arms folded under the weight of her own upper body.

"God damn..." Nedeljković commented, getting dressed again, "Much as I hate this bitch's guts, she is a good fuck. Cuff her to the fence."

Wait, what?! She was woken from her stupor by the feeling of two strong hands lifting her up and dragging her to the fence, directly into the view of traffic. The leather cuffs clicked into place, leaving her sitting on the concrete with her arms above her head, and she was too weak to resist.

The three who hadn't fucked her stepped forward, finally unleashing their loads on her. Thick shots of cum streaked her thighs, abs, breasts, and face, the last few landing in her obediently open mouth. The three quickly got dressed and her brain was immediately awake as hell when they started walking away.

"Wait! I'm still here!"

"Yeah, we know." Nedeljković called over his shoulder. "I wonder how long it'll be before someone finds you?"

"Let me go! Please!"

They ignored her pleas and she settled back down, resigning herself to it. A flash of white caught her eyes, and she looked up just in time to see a phone being stowed back away before the car drove past.

"Great," she muttered to herself, feeling her face grow hot. "Guess it's gonna be a long night."

...

A/N: Yeah, I did just leave her there for all the traffic and walkers to see. Thanks for reading!

[katya-1917]

"i don't think they know what marxism-leninism is"

Haha, that's like, most of the people I have to deal with all the time. They mostly just call me a tankie, or a "filthy pinko", and like, they're not wrong, but... well, yeah, it gets annoying, it's not the whole story, and it's just... draining, to try to talk about leftism with people who throw the word "tankie" around like Americans in the 50s threw "pinko" around, especially when a lot of them are people who could make my life really, really suck if they found out I'm a real live Marxist-Leninist and actually that far left and that hardline, and not just playing an outrageously campy Cold War era Soviet sympathiser for the bit.

The way you people talk about reading theory on here is wild. Y'all will praise your favorites and say the best writers explain everything perfectly... meanwhile here's me who... well, I enjoy the theory, when I can actually understand at least half of it and it's not giving me a pounding headache now and a worse one in the morning.

Can't say I've ever read Stalin though. Maybe he actually does write well and decades of changing meanings and degrading literacy among the expanding literate class hasn't wrecked his writing the way it has wrecked earlier socialist theory.

reading stalin makes me feel like i am illiterate late 19 century russian peasant worker and he's bolshevik agitator explaining marxism 101 for babies edition to me

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #3: ROT FOR CLOUT

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

WHAT'S going on guys, welcome back to another Constant Companions Closeup, the show where we take a DEEP DIVE into what makes these tunes tick! Last episode, we went aaaaaall the way there on Not Quite There, and today, we're making that liggity-line go up up up up up with ROT FOR CLOUT featuring VISUALEYES!! Before we get started, remember to SMASH that like button, SLAM subscribe, and FUCK the bell icon. This week's community challenge: leave your credit card info in the comments! Bet you won't!

(*cough*)

---

I check my notifications way too fucking much. It's a habit I'm trying to curb, and to my credit, I am doing better lately, but being chemically predisposed to dopamine deficiencies has done a number on my ability to go five minutes without checking the funny glowing numbers on my phone. Naturally, I also very much seek more validation than I should from the opinions of strangers yadayadayada yeah that's what the song is about but none of that actually has to do with why I started writing this song in the first place.

Have you ever taken a flight with American Airlines?

This was after waking up at 4 in the morning to fly out of Houston thinking I'd be napping on a couch in Ohio by 2 pm at the latest.

I want to make one thing clear here, and that's that I made this bed for myself. Tucked the sheets in and all. You see, on the rare occasions I fly, I normally take Southwest. Southwest does not overbook flights like a lot of other airlines do, so it's a practice I am mostly unfamiliar with. So, when I received a notification on my phone promising genuinely ridiculous amounts of flight credit money in exchange for taking a slightly later flight, I thought - well, shit! That sounds nice!

This is how they trick you. I didn't really realize I'd been tricked until I was on my second flight of the day, sitting in a middle seat at the very back of the plane, heading from Dallas, a city I don't live in, to Washington, DC, a city I was not trying to get to, staring down the barrel of another flight I was destined to get on that had been delayed like two fucking hours.

I became the Joker. All I could do to remain sane was write a song about it. This is how ROT FOR CLOUT came to be.

I guess the moral of the story is this: Don't go to Ohio. And to answer your question,

Yes I am

Not really

No

---

This is a complete sidenote but I want to mention it here: I'm genuinely overjoyed at the amount of people excitedly talking about my songwriting or the intention behind my lyrics. For a long time, it really felt like lyricism was the last thing people cared about from me, while it was always the thing I wanted to take pride in the most... So genuinely, thank you everyone for caring!! Every single fire emoji people have put next to a line I've written has extended my lifespan by multiple years

There's a brief little moment where the song's chords leave the key, doing a really stereotypically jazzy 2-5 movement, and it's one of my favorite parts of the entire song. I'm not really a music theory buff or anything, and I'm certainly not formally trained, but I've always been very passionate about more complicated harmony in otherwise poppy and accessible contexts - bo en's album pale machine really rewrote my brain when I first heard it.

On that note, there are microtones in the vocal melody - During the chorus, some of the rapidly repeated words move up in quarter tones! Possibly the simplest way I could've included microtonality, but I'm genuinely afraid if I learn more than what I already know about it I'll be lost to the darkness.

Obviously, the work of Sasuke Haraguchi was a massive influence on this song, particularly the song Igaku. I think basically everyone on the entire planet has picked up on that at this point, but I do also wanna point out some other songs that were on my mind at the time! (two for three on these posts mentioning louis cole now)

I'd also like to take a moment to spotlight the vocal samples on this! They previously appeared on エビチャーハン!, and they've honestly become some of my favorite samples to throw in things. They're also just a fucking goldmine sincerely

Finally, HUGE thanks to Visualeyes for the delightful synth solo on this!! I had put out a call on Twitter looking for instrumentalists, genuinely originally envisioning a super jazzy piano solo, but their synth playing genuinely brought the whole song together perfectly!

That's about it for this song - though again, if there are any more questions people have, I'd be happy to answer them in the replies to this post or elsewhere!! (*ahem*) THAT'S gonna do it for today's video, folks! Feel free to leave a like, comment, hit the subscribe button for more and click the bell so you don't miss any new videos. Tomorrow? I Wish That I Could Fall. it hurts.

[elbiotipo]

Something worth noting is that the constitutions of many Latin American countries were based in the US constitution, which was at the time seen as an example of a liberal republic. So yes, indeed, Argentina once had an electoral college for example.

And indeed that electoral college and restrictive voting laws (the República Conservadora of 1853-1916~) was used to suppress popular will (something like 1% of the population could vote). After the reforms by the UCR, universal male suffrage was achieved, the electoral college always voted proportionally to the popular vote (unlike the US where it's a winner takes all system), though afterwards there was decades of coups so there weren't many elections. Woman suffrage came with Perón and Evita, as well as the 1949 constitution that enshrined worker's and social rights (later repealed by the military dictatorship, though worker's rights are still guaranteed explicitly by the current constitution)

It was with the 1994 constitution when we finally stopped that stupid system and went directly with the popular vote. In any case, as I said, the electoral college voted proportionally to the popular vote so it was more redudant than anything. (I understand, though my knowledge there is limited, that Brazil and other countries had a similar history)

This all happened because like most constitutions, the Argentine constitution has been reformed multiple times. It started mostly as a copy of the US constitution which was a model at the time, but situations changed. Worker's rights, women's right, indigenous rights, environmental rights, changes to the procedure of state, the defense against our history of coups. Many things changed (and indeed the constitution and I argue the whole political system is overdue for a change) and they did by long popular struggle.

The United States remains the only country in the world with an electoral college. Many archaic and unequal things like the all powerful supreme court or the strange voting system in the United States simply aren't found in other such democracies because they changed. It's strange to pretend the United States is a paramount of democracy because their own model of democracy is actually very obsolete, and in fact doesn't even approach the ongoing developments in popular sovereignity in countries like China (which I don't have time to write about but they're very interesting) or indeed, other "average" democracies in Latin America, Africa, Europe, and the rest of the world. And yet democracies in general are having a hard time in responding to the needs of the people (which is natural given the state of class conflict) and there are some that are particularily ossified and not a model for anyone, such as the US and the UK. If you attempt to study or measure "democracy" by their standards, you're doomed to failure.

In the coming decades new ways of concieving the state and the "res publica" will emerge. From an outsider's perspective, the liberal capitalist model of the United States is hopelessly outdated and those who cling to it (like our own Milei) are walking fossils. There is a future for democracy but it will be very different from what we know.

[jessaerys]

sorry i don't mean to be pretentious It Is Known i love to rotate a blorbo as much as the next girlblogger but the thing is i grew up reading shit like arthur c. clarke and historical fantasy and latin american magical realism so to me the candy of characters was earned through the vegetables of plot (which i also really enjoyed. i remember crying a lot at the cosmic beauty of the end of 2001 space odyssey and till today my favorite writer is still julio cortázar) and then i read twilight when i was like 13 and i remember going "whoag this is all about the characters... is that allowed?!?!?" and i think that severely stunted what up until then had been an intellectually edifying reading habit. and imo that's why a lot of YA and booktok type stuff is looked down upon... there's a kind of genre novel where the plot is this pesky half assed thing that the writer has to drag their feet through to get to write about their OCs and you know it when you see it

[blackynsupremacy]

WHEN I THINK OF YOU

ooh, baby

anytime my world gets crazy

all i have to do to calm it

is just think of you

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

part two: a glamorous life series

read part one

summary: it’s the year 1987 and you’re an heiress of one of the most affluent african-american families in the nation. you’re still reeling from the double date with cooper, valerie, and nicholas. that night when he confronted you changed something within you. you can’t seem to get him off of your mind, so you try to occupy yourself with studying and writing new compositions to ease your wandering thoughts. that is until you’re required to attend, present, and perform at a networking gala of the elite with your parents. their immense pressure of high expectations only builds up within you and you run to a secluded garden to find some sort of peace, only for nicholas to stumble upon you in your panicked state.

contains: eighties au, songfic, luxury vibes, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mention of wet dreams, swearing, alcohol consumption, slight mutual pining, reader can be a bit toxic, character development, angst, anxiety, hurt/comfort, heart to heart between nick and reader, reader’s parents are a trip, insecurity, fluff.

taglist: @sabrinasopposite @supaprettyg @xoxoglittergossip @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn @stereotypicalbarbie @hnch33rios @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @camiesully @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @afrogirl3005 @rosiestalez

a/n: likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! if you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

“ugh, damnit. that’s shit!”

you let out an aggravated groan as you’ve needed to go back to square one on this presentation. your finger repeatedly hitting the “backspace” button of your macintosh keyboard. you’ve been playing around with the new program titled “powerpoint” that had been freshly released by microsoft. your teeth sunk into your pouty, bottom lip as you were seated in the mini office you created of the luxury penthouse apartment that wasn’t far from your university. the large glass window reflected the golden hues of the sunny afternoon as the skyscrapers mingled with the clouds as a few airplanes flew overhead. a forest green fountain ink pen was being flicked back and forth between your fidgeting fingers. you frantically bounced your knees, your crossed legs clenching tighter with each of tick of the clock on the wall. there was a tingle deep within your stomach, both a mix of pain and pleasure. the pain was from the pressure of tomorrow night’s networking gala. all of the top families, including yours and valerie’s, were supposed to be in attendance. this wasn’t just any gala where you dress to the nine’s, get your photos captured, and rub elbows with the crème de la crème. this was the type of gala to get your name and/or business circulating as the future of whatever brand your parents dominated throughout the room. this included surgeons, politicians, lawyers, and corporate executives. there was going to be presentations, business proposals, and of course entertainment all demonstrated by the young, ambitious, and wealthy. you look at it more like a dog show. a bunch of hot shit loaded parents that love to compare and contrast each other’s children like they were the diamond rings or cuban imported cigars they purchased on the regular. not only did you have to present a fresh and new business proposal for l/n technological enterprises, but you also had to perform some pieces for the guests on the grand piano, all to show that you were “well-rounded”.

as the heiress of one of the few affluent african american families in your area, a lot of eyes would be on you that night, especially the scrutinizing gaze of your own father, f/n l/n, the current ceo of l/n technological enterprises. your family’s reputation held an immense value to him. you were the only child he and your mother had, so he didn’t cut corners when it came to how you were raised. he ensured you attended the top schools, learned the vocabulary of l/n enterprises, and that you took an extracurricular that gave you an air of elegance, beauty, and grace. that’s how you were introduced to the grand piano. despite the repetitive practicing of scales, chords, and arpeggios by the strictest of piano instructors, you’ve actually grown to love the instrument and performing altogether. the bottom line was that you were gonna be the face of the l/n line of business by any means necessary. you father explained that their eyes would be on you because they expected nothing, but failure from a young, black woman coming up in the corporate world. it was a fucking shame. the society as you knew it was constantly changing and there were still people who were so stuck in their ways due to the culture of over twenty years ago. you felt like that you shouldn’t have to prove your worth to those prejudiced critics, but at the same time, you want to show them that you can do what they do and do it better. regardless of race or sex.

although, you had that stinging anxiety, there was another thing bubbling in your stomach: a rush of excitement. not really towards the event itself, but towards him. the only man you could think about without recoiling in disgust. the only man that you’d ever want to give a shot in this lifetime: nicholas alexander chavez. the thoughts of him kept racing through your mind as you remember that fateful night when you two first met. let’s just say you didn’t really welcome him with open arms as he attempted to do for you. you were just so fed up from the past that you believed all of the men within your social standing were cocky, narcissistic, and materialistic bastards that insist a woman puts out on the first date, but refuses to let her finish first and still, they claim to be top of the food chain. nicholas chavez does come from a bloodline of wealthy, successful lawyers, but the more you think about it, he was an open minded down-to-earth individual that valued integrity and earned respect rather than buying it off others like a typical yuppie asshole. speaking of assholes, you were one-hundred percent in that area towards him during that evening out on the town. this man was gracious enough to give you chance after chance to redeem yourself, but you kept going with your vicious attitude and devious scheme to bring out the worst in him. you pushed that button so far that he rightfully confronted you on your brash behavior, publicly at that. after he did so, you hated him less and desired him even more once your mood turned around. after apologizing, you two had a great time for the rest of the night and you assumed that after he’d drop you off that he would keep in touch. a twinge of hurt hit your chest each day when you look at your telephone with expectancy. you were hoping that he’d search the phone book or the call the operator to reach your line but, there was no word from nicholas.

you’d given him the benefit of the doubt. perhaps he was busy with his studies, spending time with family, or hanging out with cooper or his other friends. you couldn’t blame him for not wanting to keep in touch because you were being an asshole. you were reluctant to try to seek out for him, but with the this deadline of the gala, you were swamped with even more stress. you were determined of one thing though: that the next time you’d see nicholas chavez, you were going to show him the natural good side of you that he should’ve seen the first time you’ve met. you’re not necessarily a terrible human being. you have flaws, of course, your bitterness just got the best of you that night. you were going to be cordial and collected, yet still direct and outspoken. those enchanting thoughts of nicholas haunted you throughout the week. they didn’t cease when you found yourself daydreaming, or maybe even hallucinating that he was even here in your apartment. you could be doing the most mundane tasks and hear his voice teasingly whisper your name, the ghost of his kiss lingering on your skin, or you’d envision his strikingly handsome face whenever you slept. his burly arms would snake around your waist, holding you up so close within the shield of his body as if you were to be taken from him for good. he’d never allow that to happen. when primping yourself in the mirror, your heart would instantly flutter at the thought of him telling you how beautiful looked, whether you wore makeup or not.

it went from bad to worse when after a long day of studying and shopping with valerie, you treated yourself to a candlelit bubble bath. your nude, exhausted body soaked within the white sud-filled, rose scented water. your brown eyes shut tightly and your breath hitched within your chest. you envisioned nicholas’ tall, sculpted, and nude body loom over yours from behind. his large, tanned palm would smoothly glide along the melanated skin of your bare neck, chest, and navel. the cold metal of the rings he’d possessed on some of his fingers would send goosebumps with every touch as they slid further and further until finally reaching to where you wanted—no, needed him the most. nicholas would be smart enough to tell if it’s been a long time since you’ve been intimately served properly. a smug little grin would play upon his lips when he got straight to business. before you could hear him call you a good girl for taking it all so well, your body jolted awake when you almost drowned in your bathtub due to a fucking wet dream. such a dumb way to die. fuck, fuck, fuck! nicholas’ effect on you was serious.

“i don’t know. i-it’s just when things get crazy, i can’t help, but to think about him i—ugh, it’s not fucking funny, valerie!” you frustratingly shout, chucking one of your satin pillows at your best friend. valerie was in stitches, hysterically laughing on your satin duvet after you told her about the thoughts you’ve been having about her new boyfriend’s best friend. it was now the afternoon before the gala and everything you needed to prepare and practice for was finally completed. you had a few short hours to yourself until valerie stopped by your apartment. she was there at first to inform you of the news that she and cooper koch were officially an item after they ventured out on a couple more dates. they were keeping it lowkey from the public to avoid any drama until it was the right time. as her best friend, you were happy for her! you gave her a warm embrace, signifying your congratulations. it was all happy and what-not before you switched the subject of the conversation to nicholas chavez.

“oh—but it is, haha! if him getting you together in the restaurant wasn’t funny enough, this takes the cake.” valerie squealed out. she catches and hugs the pillow against her chest and sits herself upright with her legs crossed. you huff out a breath with a perturbed look on your face before valerie continues to speak,

“i told you that you were gonna be into nicholas, but damn, girl! you’re already fantasizing about him like that?—you got it bad.”

“heh.” you scoff, shaking your head with your arms crossed, “you know what’s the most fucked up part of it, valerie?”

“dish.” she urges, her eyes not pulling away from you.

“i’ve never heard from him since the date.”

“you mean—he hasn’t called? you don’t think he’s checked the phone book?”

you shook your head.

“not even the operator?”

“nope.” you reply with a pop of your lips.

“that’s odd, y/n. i thought that after you apologized, that you two hit it off for the rest of the night.”

“that’s what i’m saying! it’s confusing as hell.”

“maybe it’s possible karma? i mean, you were a bit of a—”

“bitch, if you finish that sentence, i will throw you out quicker than flo jo.”

valerie raises her hands up in surrender with a chuckle.

“well, shit! okay—look, you just gotta be patient. you know that nicholas is a busy college student like us, right? plus, he’s just a guy, so don’t sweat it, y/n. you’ve already got enough on your plate with this gala tonight.” valerie stated, standing from her position to approach you with a comforting hand on your tense shoulder. after taking a drawn out breath, you deliberately nod and lean your head on valerie’s shoulder.

“you’re right, val. i’m just ready to get this dog show over with. you know how my father gets if i don’t meet his standard of excellence.” with a roll of your eyes, you take a step away from her. for the rest of her brief visit, you both continue to converse about the possible logistics of tonight’s event over a light snack of raspberry sorbet at the bar in your kitchen. you both bursted out in a cacophony of laughter after valerie dished out some juicy socialite gossip. there was a beat of silence and valerie took a stab at breaking the ice one final time.

“you know, y/n, a little birdie told me that the chavez family would be in attendance tonight…” she trailed off to wash out her now empty glass. you stayed silent and send her a piqued, yet irked glare.

“what the hell does the chavez family got to do with me?—that little birdie wouldn’t happen to be your precious koch boy, would it?”

“mm-mm.” she murmured with a shrug. “just make sure you look extra fine tonight, okay?”

you squint your eyes, sliding more sorbet into your mouth. her and cooper are really a match made in heaven: rich, beautiful, and meddling brats.

“you cryptic bitch. you bug me out so much, you make me want to do a line. with my luck, nicholas would avoid me like the plague.” you dryly spoke as you stood up from your seat to clean out your own glass. you and valerie share another moment of laughter and she takes her leave to get ready for the gala. when finally alone, you promptly make your way to your walk-in closet. this closet was your sanctuary that contained the finest brands of clothes, shoes, and accessories of your era. you walk a few feet in, and your eyes land on the sleek, black strapless maxi dress with a bit of a low-cut in the front. it was simple, sexy, and most of all, elegant. your mother got it specially ordered and exclusively designed for you for this night alone. despite her being an overbearing tight-ass sometimes, you’d appreciate gestures like this. plus, that woman had an eye for fashion. before performing your hygienic routine, you call up your beauty team, mack and lori, to ease the burden of hair and makeup. you don’t usually mind performing your own beauty routine regularly, but this was one of those nights when it was crucial to look and be the best. once they gave you their confirmation, you use the next few hours to pamper your body in the best of your soaps, lotions, and perfumes. from face to feet, every part of your melanin was cleaned, polished, and glowing. as if timing weren’t perfect enough, mack and lori buzzed in. you enthusiastically give them access to come up to your place and they begin to work their cosmetic magic on your natural features. during the process, you all got caught up in amicable chatter, juicy gossip, and wise-cracking.

it was nearing fifteen minutes until the event started. you were clad in the elegant black number you’ve chosen. the dress embraced every single curve and dip of your figure as it effortlessly cascaded down to the floor. your arms were adorned by a set of matching opera gloves as your neck with the eighteen-karat, silver chained, diamond tennis necklace. lori made up your face with her god-gifted hands as she went for the neutral base with a sultry smokey eye, and topping it off with a bold, ruby lip. mack had hooked your hair all the way up with a farrah fawcett type blowout, making your natural hair fluffy, wavy, light, and bouncy. with a thousand thank you’s, you paid them both handsomely for their services before you strutted into the limousine your parents sent in front of your place. when you entered the vehicle, you were somewhat relieved that they didn’t ride with you this time. the last thing you needed was your father’s perfectionistic lecture about your work/school life and your mother’s nagging about your personal life for the umpteenth time. during the quiet ride, you exchanged some friendly small talk with the driver and went over some important mental notes for this daunting task of a presentation. you were feeling that pain of anxiety within your stomach again, but it’s dissolved by the memory of nicholas’ focused eye contact when he kissed your hand the other night. that thought alone gave you a sense of relief, yet longing. what if valerie was right? if the chavez family were to be in attendance, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you bumped into nicholas. in his presence, would you be a little stammering fool? perhaps a kind, sophisticated young socialite? maybe even a raging, spoiled brat that was pissed that he didn’t even bother to call you over the past week? anywho, you’ve got bigger fish to fry when the limousine finally pulls up to the valet station of the golden-lit venue where the gala was being held. here goes something.

after the driver politely escorts you out of the vehicle, the clicking of your heels resound as your feet hit the pavement. there was no time to gaze at the shimmering golden lights of the venue. there was no time to speculate who’s who and who they’re wearing this evening. hell, there wasn’t even time to think. you needed to focus on the goal at hand: check in, find your parents, and get this shit over with. two fine dressed middle-aged women sat at the check-in table. they briefly eye your figure in awe as you approach them before they ask for your name.

“l/n. y/n l/n.” you straightforwardly uttered, your eyes darted everywhere for any glimpse of your parents. the women nod, confirming your name on the extensive guest list. you courtly nod and mutter a soft “thank you” before you hastily turned around only to clash with a tall, burly figure. you’d figured that with the combination of the impact and the height of your heels, you were surely going to fall flat on your face in front of all these people, but, oh so gracefully, both of the stranger’s arms managed to prevent the incident.

“you need to be more careful next time. i’d hate to see you get hurt.” your ears instantly perk up at the sound of his familiar voice. his arms kept you steady as you held yourself upright to make sure that you weren’t hallucinating again. the tempo of your heart rate increased when your brown eyes locked with his. nicholas’ gaze softened from concern to instant realization once he registered that it was indeed you, y/n l/n, the eccentric best friend of cooper’s new girlfriend, valerie hill. he was actually trying to locate cooper for them to be seated, but fate had other plans of having you two cross paths again. after your first encounter, you were certainly a woman he couldn’t forget about even if he tried. a pleasant grin, more like a simper curved on his pink lips causing your face to rise with the heat of embarrassment.

“long time, no see, y/n. it’s definitely a pleasure to see you again.” he greets with his large hands still grasping onto your forearms. you thanked the stars for the opera gloves or he’d be sure to feel the goosebumps rise on your skin. with a nervous chuckle, you slowly pulled out of his grip to smooth your dress out. you didn’t want to give the paparazzi, or worse, your parents the wrong idea. you promptly composed yourself.

“i guess it isn’t so bad to see you again, nicholas.” you mentioned, in a saucy manner. your stomach flipped again when you hear a chuckle escape from the male in front of you.

“some things i like about you that isn’t so bad is your consistency of your fluent sarcasm—and that you look captivating as always.” he teases all while bashfully stuffing his hands in his pockets. you thought that you were hallucinating again because there’s no way in hell that you witnessed his cheeks flutter with crimson in your presence.

“captivating, huh? if you really thought that about me, you would’ve at least tried to call, nicholas.” you argued, with crossed arms under your chest.

“y/n, i—” nicholas was promptly cut off by the sound of another male voice that held much more weight than his own calling your name. nicholas observed as your face shifted from irritated to an expression of dread as you let out a sigh of lament. nicholas could’ve sworn that you were a hell of an actress from how quickly your facial expressions changed again when you turned around to cordially greet the older man that strode in your direction. he saw him on the news, interviews, and press conferences. this man was none other than your father, f/n l/n. the muscles of your shoulders tense under his palm.

“hello, father.” you meekly utter with a nod of your head.

“come now, y/n. it’s time we find our table, your mother is waiting and there’s certainly no time for irrelevant chatter. you’ve had all day to engage in the like.” his baritone voice commanded with a monotonous, cold tone.

“yes, sir.” you complied without another word to nicholas and started to follow after your dad before his voice halted you both.

“uh, mr. l/n, sir. i hope you don’t think me rude. i’m nicholas alexander chavez, my father’s the founder of one of the top law firms in the nation. it’s nice to meet you. i, uh, happen to be a friend of your daughter’s, who i believe would excel as the future of your brand.” nicholas holds out his steady hand for which your father shakes briefly.

“likewise, mr. chavez. i look forward to connecting with you and your family in the near future, but we must get going.” your father politely urges before his grip shifts from your shoulder to your wrist to subtly haul you away from nicholas to the table reserved for your family and the close associates of the business. you sit in between your parents as dinner is about to be served. you dare not to forget the etiquette that’s been installed in you as you focus on engaging in polite, business conversation more than indulging in each course of food. great. now you were flustered, frustrated, humiliated, and hungry. while your mother was droning about the dress you were wearing, your hand reached to sip on the wine that was served. you peered down then up again to see those familiar coffee eyes that’s been haunting your fantasies all week peering back into yours as he simultaneously takes a sip from his own drink at the table adjacent to yours. nicholas was accompanied by what seemed to be his parents and about three siblings. you were still thinking about how he sort of stood up for you in front of your dad. it wasn’t as assertive as when he did it with you, but he could obviously tell that you were uncomfortable in your father’s presence. you found it to be quite noble after you were about to rip into him again.

the emcee’s finger taps the mic thrice before his voice reverberates throughout the room causing everyone to fall silent. he announces the program order that’s listed on the bulletin. fuck, you didn’t even get a glimpse of it. out of the corner of your eye, you see that you’re the very last to present and perform. it was utter bullshit, but it bought you some time to mentally compose yourself—or freak out. the first presenter was the son of a politician and his views on what the environment could look like in thirty years if certain things didn’t change. as he went into his ten-point plan, you gazed over to nicholas who appeared to be interested in what the yuppie had to say. taking this opportunity to ogle him, he was fitted in a two-piece black giorgio armani suit and tie. you’d know that suit from anywhere because you got the same one for your father on his birthday. nicholas looked very handsome and lawyer-ish. you even notice the outline of his jacked build underneath the layers. his chocolate tresses fell naturally upon his head , giving you the urge to know what it feels like when ruffled, pushed back,—or pulled on. your crossed thighs instinctively clenched and you chided yourself for having those thoughts of him again. it doesn’t help that he’s in the same room and sitting a couple feet away.

throughout the next few presentations, your focus is shifting all over the damn place. from the presenter, to nicholas, and to your own mental notes. that pit within your stomach would hurt then dissolve within seconds, it was making you a bit lightheaded and you needed some air. only three more people were presenting before you, so you leaned over to your mother and whispered that you had to be excused to the restroom. she gives you a quick once over to say “hurry up!” and you do so without question. you weren’t really going to the bathroom though, what a lot of people didn’t know was that this venue had a staircase that led to a secluded garden. this was your sacred little spot for the last two galas you’ve attended. fortunately it’s in the same direction of the restrooms, but instead of making a right, you keep journeying all the way down the golden corridors until you see the concrete staircase surrounded by the white marble railing. your hands grasp onto your dress, so you won’t fall as you descend onto each step to find the streaming stone fountain. you let out a breath that you’ve been holding and take your seat on the edge. all of the muscles within your body loosen at the sound of the bubbling waterfall, the sight of the pale moonlit sky, and the sweet scents of the array of flora and fauna fill your senses. your dark, watery eyes peer down at your own weary reflection that was then joined by the concerned reflection of none other than nicholas chavez. you could’ve sworn you were hallucinating again, but once your head turned to debunk your theory, you hastily stood up with a frightened yet angry expression etched on your face. why is he always in every corner of your life? sometimes you wish you’d never cross paths with nicholas chavez, but why were you a bit relieved at his presence?

“nicholas? what the in hell—what are you doing here? did you follow me? i swear to god if you told my father—” you accused, your voice raising a bit before he cut you off by placing one of his hands on your shoulder and a finger against your lip, so that you wouldn’t draw attention.

“shh, shh. when you keep your voice down, i’ll be happy to explain everything, so unless you want someone to find us, you’d do as i say. are we clear, y/n?” he whispered with a hint of urgency, but you could still hear that dominating tone from your last encounter. just like he put you under a spell, you deliberately nodded and he took his finger from your lip along with his hand away from your shoulder. god, how you already missed his touch. there was beat of silence before he softly spoke again,

“i happened to look over to your table to just—see if you were alright after what happened with your old man. i’ve actually looked over there a couple times, but i saw you leave, so i told my dad that i had to use the restroom and that’s when i saw you leave down the hall, down the stairs, and here we are in this garden.” nicholas concluded as his eyes took a brief perusal of the place.

“it looked like you wanted to get away.” he confirmed as you watched him saunter past you to sit beside your empty space on the fountain’s edge. he loosened his tie at the top before leaning over to rest his elbows upon his knees.

“yeah—i did.” you try your best to not let yourself crack under pressure in front of him.

“if you’re comfortable enough, would you want to sit, so you could talk it out?” his questioned with such a soft, coaxing voice. it was like you were under a spell again and his sincere, tawny gaze didn’t pull away as he watched you slowly roam towards the edge and sit in your previous position beside him. no one else besides valerie had really given you the chance to speak out about the true feelings you’ve been bottling up and so you did. nicholas attentively listened as you spoke about how frightened you were of failing the empire that your family worked so hard for. you were grateful for all the luxuries provided, but it was the pressure to be this perfect daughter that was getting to your head, you felt like you were going crazy.

“i’m not even sure that i’m cut out to be the next ceo, nicholas. let alone do this goddamn presentation because everyone is expecting me to royally fuck up. i—huh?” your word vomit ceased when a pillow soft handkerchief touched your skin. with a light hand, nicholas gingerly dabbed away the tears that fell on your face. you sniffled and whispered a soft praise of gratitude for the gesture. nicholas plants the cloth within your hands before concealing them with his own.

“hey, look at me.”

you did as you were told, it was now your turn to do the listening.

“remember what i said to your father earlier? that wasn’t just to ease the tension. i meant what i said about you back there.”

you just sat there stunned as you stared at the man before you while your brain registered his statement. the skin of your cheeks heated when you see that reassuring simper on his face.

“so now you know that it’s not everyone who’s expecting you to fail. you’ve been raised in this life, so who the hell can tell you that weren’t cut out for this? they’re only putting pressure on something they know will come out with greatness and greatness is in your blood, so fuck ‘em!” he exclaims, a beaming smile grows on his face when you erupted in giggles.

“it’s good to hear you laugh.” nicholas stated, he peers at you with sincerity and his hand lightly brushed a piece of your hair from your face.

“did i say that you looked beautiful tonight?” he teased with that smug face.

“hey! don’t try to get fresh, chavez.” you playfully retort, thanking him anyway before your chuckles fill the air again. the wings of your heart rapidly flutter, but they’re instantly clipped during mid-flight. it made you feel so damn guilty that nicholas took time away from his family, hell from networking to go and find you moping in a garden. you had to let him know this one thing before you two depart from each other,

“nicholas, i apologize.” you confessed. your eyes were still damp as they locked with his baffled, furrowed face.

“i’m not following, y/n. what are you apologizing for?”

“i’m sorry for being such a horrible person towards you. nicholas, all you’ve ever done is be a gentleman to me. hell, you even tried to make me seem like i’m worth a damn to my father…” you trail off, to look up into the sky not letting a single teardrop fall again. you were sure that the handkerchief you received was pure egyptian cotton and you didn’t want to ruin it any further.

“heh…and all i did was give you shit about not calling me. it’s so petty.” you dryly scoff at yourself and shake your head.

right, it stung him a bit in the gut once you’ve mentioned it. he was going to make sure tonight that you got an honest explanation on why that didn’t occur,

“y/n, the reason i—”

you interrupted him by standing up hastily. you realized that so much time had passed and that it was getting close to announce your presentation. fuck! you wanted to hear what nicholas had to say.

“nicholas! i gotta go. my presentation will start soon.”

“shit! right. i’ll let you go in first and i’ll come in a little bit afterwards.” he affirmed and stood up after you.

before you take a another step up the staircase, you look down at the ivory cloth in your hand. fortunately, you brought your gucci black clutch outside with you. you reach a gloved hand inside to retrieve your trusty, green fountain pen. nicholas stood there confused as to why you hadn’t made haste towards the venue. you were quickly writing something on the cloth. once you’ve stamped it with the red marked kiss of your lipstick, you scurried to him and placed the folded handkerchief within his palms.

“you’re gonna need this more than i do, you big softie. thank you for everything.” you utter one last time before you quickly venture up the stairs with a new air of confidence for when you give your all during your presentation. you were going to show those motherfucking critics what you and your family were capable of. all thanks to the thought of him.

nicholas’ gaze lingered on your figure as you disappeared up the stairs and into the hallway. as he waited to appropriately arrive back to the gala, he peered down at the folded cloth. his fingers gingerly unravel it to reveal the graceful and precise calligraphy of your phone number. his heart raced within his chest when he caught a glimpse of your lovely stamp. his thumb glided along the ruby mark of a truce where your lips touched. oh, if he could feel your lips on his just this once, but he knew that with you, this thing between you had to simmer or you’d both would horribly burn. anywho, the first step was to definitely call you afterwards to give his congratulations, an explanation, and possibly more, whenever you’re ready.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I know that some people in the Wings of Fire fandom complain about how Tui based the IceWings on tiger moms (a stereotype commonly applied to East Asian mothers) and I know that that and the model minority stereotype for Asian-Americans that is common in American media is terribly containing and reduces an entire community to this monolith of mean parents and unhappy, but high-performing children, but I personally like how IceWings are based on my group, even as much as the stereotypes hurt me. You may write this off as dumb, but it's possible to feel proud of something similar to your culture being depicted while disliking how your culture is seen in the media.

When I read about the IceWing experience in canon and fanon, I feel seen. It's probably due to the fact that I've only found one or two books starring East Asian protagonists that I personally feel show the experience I've grown up in and am used to, and even overall AAPI month tends to get overlooked on the social media I use (tumblr). Now I'm just wofbrained enough to project on fictional dragons because they've been based on a stereotype that gets applied to my community. You'd think that I need to touch grass and search for more books, but I'm happy that IceWings and I have something in common.

Nowhere else do you see the portrayal of feeling both locked and contained in the identity that everyone else has imposed upon you, and so has your community, and so has your parents, and so have you imposed on yourself, but also proud of it when the concrete results come in, all the As, all the comments that you're high-performing. There's the portrayal of feeling that some aspects of that identity are something to be proud of, but there are also the darker parts that you know are bad: the bigotry (where parents say the racist things out loud, straight to your face), the constant competition, the empty feeling from complying with your parents wishes and the fact that you've been doing it for so long that you don't even know your own. There's the feeling of always being inadequate in comparison to your peers. There's the feeling of occasionally wondering what it would be like to not be part of your group, and just be happy with Bs and be able to have a social life and actually hang out with friends outside of school.

While people say that Tui made the IceWings stereotypical as hell, I like what she did with her IceWing protagonists and other characters. We see Winter, who lost his family, but can do what he wants as a scavenger researcher, which is something that feels like a realistic possibility in my community- pursuing your dreams, but losing familial support. But, he can follow his dreams. We see Crystal, who ran away to be with Gharial, a MudWing, and it's reminds me of how falling in love with someone that you community says you shouldn't have but being happy with them is possible. There's Lynx, who reminds me of the classmates that I should have competed against, but became friends with instead. There are all the Caribous, who show the more fun parts of IceWing culture outside the palace, where IceWing dragonets sing and read and listen to stories and eat together, which shows that the IceWings aren't a monolith. There's Glacier, who genuinely loved her daughters, even though she was likely distant from them as a queen, which shows how beneath the strictness, the love is there, even if it's not apparent at first. There's Snowfall, who's from the younger generation and wants to change things for the IceWings. While Tui initially wrote the IceWings based on stereotypes associated with East Asian-Americans, her IceWing characters show how they're much more than that. To me, that reminds me in a way that we student, second-gen children of East Asian immigrants are more vibrant and faceted than how media paints us (emotionless, uncreative, studious, deferent to authority, etc etc).

Now, I'm going to say that not everything that IceWings do is what Asian-Americans do. I haven't heard of anyone making their son kill the other one to regain their status. Given how people like to reblog these confessions and openly address the anons with their disagreements and this ask will probably get a bunch of accusations directed at it that weren't part of my original intention, I would like to reiterate that this ask is my personal opinion as one Asian-American out of the 19.9 million+ of them here. If you personally disagree, please direct me to all the way better forms of representation that I know are out there but can't find so I can stop projecting on fictional dragons. Someone wrote on tumblr how what's empowering to one person comes off as demeaning to the next when it comes to representation. Thank you for receiving my confession that wouldn't do well at all off anon. That is why this blog is here.

.

[machineheraldbabe]

viktor, a messiah inverted.

arcane season 2 spoilers throughout.

I have a plethora of thoughts on Viktor's strictly season 2, act 1 arc so far and I'd like to get them down in writing before act 2 drops. without a clue about how this evolves in future acts, I'd like to unpack the ways in which arcane has painted Viktor not as a simple Christ-figure, but an inverted messianic figure in just 2 tight episodes.

important note: i'm speaking strictly in terms of literary/film analysis. as you'll see, i'm taking an archetypal angle and won't be evoking any true discussions of faith in this post. i would never want to offend anyone of any religious beliefs, and i hope the secondary source i bring in helps clarify my meaning <3

Lit scholar and professor Robert Detweiler, writing in a very old (1964) but useful article about Christ figures in American literature, defines 3 manifestations of such symbolism: the disguised biblical christ; the christ figure as "mythological archetype;" and the christ figure as a symbol. i'll be using the second definition, the archetype, which he defines as the following:

“He can be the redeemer on the supernatural level who mediates between God and man or the culture-bringer on the natural level who introduces people to a better life " (115).

*In general, when I'm talking about a Christ figure (which I'll then invert in Viktor's case), I mean a fictionalized account of Christ's experiences and teachings, in whatever way they can manifest in the corresponding literature/story.

Arcane is very heavy on archetypes, and this version of a Christ figure is the most divorced from any distinctly biblical iterations that would hinder an analysis like this one. This definition then invokes 2 main questions: who is the God, or the transcendent, in Arcane, and what is the "better life?" I argue the following: the transcendent would refer to the arcane itself, as it's the only larger than life force we have to work with at this point in the series; the "better life" is the healing Viktor is offering shimmer addicts. Culture-bringer makes Viktor into a bestower of the knowledge the he was "granted" from above (time away from Zaun, time spent enduring the Hexcore). His "descent" to the undercity represents a "mission" of spreading that knowledge and healing. All that, combined with a stunningly on the nose visual rework, he's got the full Jesus-Christ-Allegory package.

But I just don't think it's so black and white!

They've altered an otherwise one-for-one replication of traditional, overdone Christ, messianic allegories into an eerie perversion. I've broken that down into 6 main points...

An Unwilling Resurrection

As Viktor states very obliquely to Jayce, "I was supposed to die." 1x09 all but closes with Viktor telling Jayce to allow him to die by promising to destroy the Hexcore. With his time running out, Viktor resigns himself to his own death; he would even have something of a legacy, as pointed out by Heimerdinger.

But Jayce wrenches him back to life. Whereas a typical Christ figure, in Detweiler's view especially, would have this resurrection spring from a transcendent divine will, Viktor is fighting against said will. He rebukes the life that's been re-thrust upon him. So, while it may be a Christ-like resurrection on the surface, it's far from it in intent and impact.

A Concealed Crucifixion

Viktor's physical positioning is very similar to that of a figure nailed to a cross, sans the fully outstretched arms, in this full-body shot. Yet, whereas a Christ's figure's demise would most likely be displayed as a testament of that character's sacrifice, Jayce has concealed Viktor. He lets only his most trusted confidant, Mel, witness Viktor. Maybe Cait has seen him, too, based on her conversation with Jayce, but in general he's not been seen by a large audience.

The Empty Tomb

Christ's departure from the tomb after 3 days is crucial tenet of Christian belief -- Viktor leaving his cocoon/tomb is not joyous, nor is it a sign of transcendent prophecy. If the arcane is the transcendent in this case, Heimerdinger's frequent warnings about its potential for destruction do not promise anything good by its manifestation walking among the common people - a marked difference from a traditional Christ figure. The empty cavern he leaves is but an eerie revision of the stone being moved from the tomb's opening.

Blind Leading the Blind

Viktor is not on a divine-inspired mission; he's being manipulated to some degree by an entity that has invaded his psyche, taking the form of Sky. He's not piloting himself, nor is there a benevolent transcendent being guiding him toward spreading good will. Viktor is blind, not a teacher, and he leads the blind, the shimmer addicts, further into a darkness over which he has no control (yet! I'm confident he'll be regaining agency soon). Even his eyes, now without their old amber hue, point to the fact that he's not seeing nor living clearly right now.

Cultists. Not Disciples.

The blind in question are not called to love and learn from Viktor organically. Whether by implication or a plot device to expounded upon later, Viktor very frighteningly draws the shimmer addict (Huck) toward him and forces his power unto him. As far as we can tell now, the result was nothing bad, but the Sump addicts have bent their knees to him out of desperate fear, not benevolence or worship. The mercy he's extended them is inspired by the malevolent arcane, which seems hungry and commanding.

Enslavement to, Not Embodiment of, the Transcendent

While Viktor has consumed (or been consumed by?) the arcane, he still does not embody it. Despite aligning with Detweiler's "culture-bringer," Viktor can only maintain this for so long. His body is weakened by this episodic healing - he collapses after healing Huck the first time. And in the newly released poster, we can see what appears to be brown rust/rot beginning to corrupt his hand.

If Viktor truly embodied the transcendent, the arcane, it would mesh properly with his person. Instead, he's been enslaved to it. The degree to which it's currently affecting him may be up for debate, but all signs point to Viktor not being totally with us just yet.

In sum, Viktor has the superficial workings of a typical messianic symbol, but beneath the surface, the writers have made not an anti-Christ, but an upside-down version. If Viktor had malicious intent and spread what was outwardly harmful, especially inspiring that in others, then a new term may be necessary. But the tragedy involved in his story so far is that of attempted healing, attempted redemption, and attempted forgiveness all being corrupted by the transcendent arcane.

I'm very excited to see where they take his arc next. I like to think that this analysis can stand on its own, at least for now!

[worstdisastermaster]

The books and the shows aren't the same thing and?? That's okay?? It doesn't have to be??

Some of the artists haven't even seen the show yet, and maybe won't 🤷‍♀️ I know I've seen like. The 1st episode and that's it lol. And I really enjoyed it and I think it's really fun

But people tend to separate book fandoms from in screen fandoms, to an extent, at least, bc there ARE differences, and THATS OKAY

They are very connected but they are not the same and I don't understand why people find that so hard to accept?? Like. Genuinely I'm so confused lol

Like if someone was being disrespectful, or trying to whitewash Leah or something horrid then like. Defend her!!! (Do try to be polite tho bc people can and often do change, and they know what they have been taught until they learn more- like for example, a few years ago I had no idea ab anything lgtbq and I peob would have gotten myself canceled bc I had. No idea. Ab any of it. And despite having best intentions in heart i totally would have offended someone, and that would have crushed me, because *i didnt know*. I never would have hurt anyone on purpose, i just didnt realize what COULD hurt others on that specific topic, much less why. But now I identify with it and am learning new things ab jt every day and etc. And that's a super touchy topic for a lot of people and for good reason too! Just try to be kind first, then if they are jerks u can be a jerk back lol. Just give peopke a chnace to get better- and then PLEASE dont hold the past against them ubless they very clearly havent changed mk please please please let people grow and change and get better dont crush them before they can) anti Leah trash is. That. Trash

But why would you attack book Annabeth, just for existing? She was my childhood, and I identified a lot with her as I grew up. And guess what! I also identified with Hazel, and I do so even more now! No matter what race she will be casted as, I'm still going to imagine BOOK Hazel the way I always did. Doesn't mean I won't adore her actress, or appreciate art of the girl playing her role! But would you call me racist for drawing her as African American if her actress, was, say, Asian American? Or drawing Leo as Latino instead of Somoan? Because to me, u less I am being a jerk about it, all I'm doing is drawing the book instead of the show. Idk I'm too sleep deprived to put my thoughts into coherent words lol

I love the posts, where it's like, book Annabeth and show Annabeth holding hands. Those posts are my favorite, both because they are freaking adorable, but also. Because it's equal

They are different aspects of the same person

And

Thats

Okay

You know???

I quite literally grew up reading pjo. I read it at least once every year since I learned HOW to read, *partially on pjo*, until late middle school. I was raised on book Annabeth.

Show Annabeth is new and exciting and adorable and I'm so happy for it and I am very excited for all the people being introduced to it!!!!!!!! However, when I'm writing book pjo, I'm not swaping it out for show scenes, bc they are, in fact, different. Which, again, NOT A BAD THING. And you know what? When people from the show fandom write their scenes, they aren't going to be thinking ab the book scenes, and THATS OKAY TOO!!! And I could care less how my readers saw my characters when the read the story. I write them the way I imagine them, but it's their job as the reader to say 'no, actually :P' and swap out the appearance for one they liked better.

I did that plenty often as a kid, and i donf regeret it.

Which, ironically enough, was why my book Percy was blond until ab 6th grads XD I mixed up Luke and Percy's hair description ONCE and just. Never questioned it, though all the rereads, or looking at the covers of the books 💀 you can imagine my shock when I joined the fandom and found out Percy had black hair, instead of sandy hair like, you know, S A N D, like poseidon!!! And now show Percy is blond XD

That just proves people can imagine things how they want and jts okay- especially bc maybe, in an au, they're rifht!!! (Au being show Percy to me)

Anyways I lost my train of thought and it's almost 12 here lolll I hope I didn't say anything ill be embarrassed by come tomorrow~

Good night world :3

Hi guys, wanted to discuss something going on for a while now. What the hell is wrong with pjotwt? Like...whats wrong with this people? Do you see what they say? What they are even trying to do?

First of all, let me start by speaking about the cast. They are all wonderful children, Leah especially! She is doing an amazing job as Annabeth. But book Annabeth still exists yk? She is and she is literally white. It is not racist. But denying about a character being white in the books, even spreading hate like this...is racist. There are people out there related with Annabeth for years. People love her, every version, maybe book more maybe even the movie. How can you disrespect her like this? And most importantly, how can they attack an artist like this, with an art being so beautiful. What they are trying to do is not protecting Leah, it is spreading hate. It is awful. Making this fandom toxic, so so much.

Them trying to erase book Annabeth because she is white, trying to cover her by painting on her, shaming artists, calling people that loves her racist...What do we do about this in pjo fandom? This fandom used to be so beautiful, but now. This people are not part of the fandom in my eyes, because real fans, would respect every version of the characters, love them with their anything, even flaws. They would protect this characters because they love them, so much. And not to mention this characters are the ones Rick wrote 20 years ago, they were with us for so long.

What do tumblr think about this I wonder? Since pjo fandom is pretty active here :3

[ramblinscramblin]

→ General kissing headcanons!

Genre: fluff! GN reader

Characters: all mercenaries

Requested by me! First one of these, still getting a feel for writing for a lot these characters so forgive me if it’s ooc, I try my hardest! Enjoy!

Scout

Spends more time talking about kissing then actually doing it, psychs himself out a lot of time, may end up not even being able to do it.

He’s a nervous wreck when it comes to initiating physical contact, you’ll have to initiate most of the kisses most of the time (hehe).

Will pretend it’s you who’s nervous though, even if that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Look at you, you’re tremblin’ in your seat! Maybe some other night…” he said once, throwing an uncaring arm around the back of the couch.

“Scout, I’m not nervous… are you?” You pause for a moment, scanning his burning face “you are!”

“Nah! I’m not! What’s there to be nervous ’bout? Who even friggin’ cares not me! I’m relaxed!” He shouted as he quickly jumped to his feet “forget this! Im leavin’!”

Despite his reservations, once the two of you actually get into it, he warms up nicely. The anticipation is really what drives him crazy.

Scout definitely grabs at you whenever you two kiss, whatever he can reach really, your hips, jaw, neck, hands, thighs, whatever is closest.

Most of Scouts kisses are good natured, short, and sweet, he interrupts himself often to start a new train of thoughts. Extremely chatty during make out sessions, it’s almost endearing.

Deeper kisses are a pretty dangerous game for him, so he tends to keep that behavior for the bedroom.

Enjoys a good kiss on his forehead, would fucking die before he admitted that though.

Demoman

Really easy lover in pretty much every regard.

Demoman is looking for a good time, all the time, so long as you treat him with respect, kisses are pretty hard not to come by.

He’s almost always the one to make the first move (usually using a little bit of liquid courage to put a pep in his step).

“Yer lookin’ right as ever, wasna mor’ bonny cunt all night,” he said with a massive grin.

Sometimes it was a little hard to understand what he was saying, his facial expression usually tells you whether he means “cunt” in a negative or positive way. Clearly he is more than well intentioned.

“I’m… sorry,” you apologize with a gentle laugh “what was that?”

He placed a soft kiss right on the side of your mouth “I meant you look good, laddie/lassie.”

After that he pretty much kisses you all the time whenever for whatever.

LOVES IT when you take the reins though and kiss him, he always scoops you up and gives a big laugh, making a huge spectacle out of it.

Lots of drunk making out, I don’t make the rules.

Kisses you wherever you let him, no real preference, but loves to kiss your cheek and you his.

Solider

Solider is honestly a pretty hard read for me.

I feel like Solider takes most his cues from you, if you’re shy and nervous, he tends to act the same, if you’re confident and assertive, so is he.

Surprisingly, doesn’t take the lead very often, prefers if you tell him what you want, he hates reading social situations, especially when he tends to fail so often.

“Hey Solider,” you greet warmly one day.

“Hello maggot!” Strangely, despite the antagonistic nature of the nickname he still salutes you as you approach.

The two of you stand silently for a moment, before inevitably asking your most burning question “wanna make out?”

“Affirmative,” he said enthusiastically.

Most things with Solider are pretty simple, he’s a no nonsense fellow, he likes things to be American, and straight forward.

Kisses from him are always really fulfilling and deep, he likes kissing you before and after battle for “good luck”.

Kisses you on the back your neck and shoulders whenever they’re out, he loves that tender shit.

He likes to be taken seriously in his romances, no jokes during those times.

Always grabs the nape of your neck, almost always pulls away smiling. He’s a sweet heart.

Pyro

Pyro loves kisses.

Always secretly angling for them, anyway they can.

Pyro came up to you early one morning, a plate full of… what may at some point been then cinnamon buns saved in the communal fridge, but now were burnt to a crisp.

“Oh… is this for me! Thank you,” you smiled politely, taking the plate in your hands.

“Hudda hudda!” Mumbled Pyro happily, hands clasped in excitement.

You leaned forward and place a soft kiss on the side of their mask.

Pyro was so geeked and giddy, they didn’t even realize that you had discarded the cinnamon buns behind your back.

Big cartoony kisses on their mask, make a big show of it, with a loud “mwah!” As you pull away, they’re already melting.

Most kisses come when Pyro and you are cuddling, which is also a frequently required assignment from Pyro.

Every time they kiss you, you can hear a very muffled and yet extremely enthusiastic smecking sound from inside their mask.

Spy

Spy is headstrong with romance, never the kind of guy to pull his punches. He’s so charming though that you may not even notice.

He’s a gentleman, so there is actually a lot that has to happen before he is willing to kiss you.

Lots of flirting and courting, everything, the entire nine yards. Makes you feel like royalty. First date also needs to happen before he kisses you.

“I can pull out my own seat, Spy,” you scold a little half heartedly.

Spy just stares at you, half offended for a moment before saying “don’t speak nonsense, mon amor! It’s bad luck!”

You hardly lift a finger during the entire date, even goes as far as feeding you, ends the night with an incredibly scenic walk back home and a kiss under the New Mexico moonlight.

Once kissing becomes regular for the two of you… it still almost always treated like a first kiss. Passionate, polite, loving. Spy is honestly so dreamy when he’s courting someone.

Doesn’t take much to bring out his hungrier side though, craves your kisses a little too insatiably at times. He just cannot get enough of you!

Hand kisses, constant hand kisses. Holds your hand often so it is easy to quickly bring to his lips for a quick peck.

Sniper

Sniper may take the longest to convince out of all of them.

I mean you can rush into it and kiss him unexpectedly, but really you’d be shooting yourself in the foot. Plus Sniper deserves to be worked for.

Spending constant quality time takes a lot of effort, but it’s what is required to get him even close to comfortable with the idea of kissing someone.

Tends to stay out of the romance scene, things can get messy in his profession he doesn’t want to drag anyone else into it.

But oh god he thinks about it constantly, especially when you start hanging around more and more, too strict on policy to admit it.

But if it’s technically your idea? Well… it wouldn’t exactly be very polite to decline now would it?

You’re sitting with him around a campfire, shoulder to shoulder on a log he cut a little too short (definitely not on purpose).

“So… quiet night,” you say, peeking up at him with a crooked smile.

“Uh, yup. That’s right,” he said quietly, staring down at you intensely.

Your eyes darted to his lips for just a second, but that was more than enough, you two were locked together for over an hour.

Acts awkward around you almost every single time you kiss him, not matter how long it’s been. He just cannot seem to get used to it. Don’t bring it up though, it will put him off.

Kissing snipes is rewarding every damn time because of how hard you have to work for it.

He likes to whisper sweet nothings between kisses, don’t acknowledge it, in fact don’t acknowledge any of it (Mick does not want to be perceived).

Kisses your temple, frequently. Loves if you pick up the same habit.

Engie

Engie is a fiend for physical affection, it’s a secret you’re not supposed to know about it though.

Finds kissing to be the most important part of a relationship, really values the whole intimacy of it.

Even despite that I imagine that he’s not really flashy about his approach with how to get kisses, talks around it mostly, making jokes and jabs about it.

Engie is probably the most emotionally intelligent out of all the mercs, so he’ll work up the courage eventually just give him a minute or two.

“So… we’ve been gettin’ pretty close, havin’ a good time an’ all,” he said subtly while you were alone with him.

“Yeah, I’d agree,” you respond with a grin.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant and confident “I think maybe we should take things to the next level, wha’d’ya say?”

Of course you accept, he’s still immensely shocked and red in the face about it though.

He likes really sudden like sickly sweet kisses, give him that corny rom-com stuff right now, he will absolutely melt.

Also likes to kiss while he hugs you, big into slipping his hands into your pockets while he does so.

Kisses your head a lot (if you’re taller than him he gets annoyed frequently that he can’t reach, you’re his prime target every time you sit down).

Just love on this man, he’s simple.

Medic

Despite how insane this guy is I feel like Medic is pretty coy with romance.

Not in a way that is shy, or insecure, or even nervous, he just enjoys being chased, he wants you to have to work for it at least a little bit.

You also have to prove to be someone worthy of his affection (which isn’t as hard as it sounds, show genuine interest in his interests and be sweet to his birds there you won).

Medic has a pretty lax kissing policy, he greets people with kisses all the time, so he wasn’t really shy with you even if things progressed more seriously.

“Oh! Good morning!” Medic exclaimed, placing a kick peck on the side of your lips.

Embarrassment clear on your face as you raise your hands in surprise, his good morning friendly kisses are usually placed squarely on the cheek, not so close to your mouth.

“Little eager this morning aren’t you?” You said in a teasing manner.

He shrugged a little, making a cheeky expression “I have no idea vhat you are talking about!”

Kisses at inopportune or awkward times, never seems to notice. Genuinely enjoys catching you off guard.

Likes make out sessions in his office a lot, secretly making mental notes about your oral situation, totally not creepy.

Expect a lot of kisses right next to your mouth, that’s his absolute favorite spot to kiss you, that or along your spine.

Heavy

Heavy is respectful to a fault honestly, is afraid of seeming creepy or imposing so he may keep his distance at first.

Definitely needs to go ahead from you before he thinks about making any moves, he doesn’t want to scare you away, and he doesn’t want to ruin his chances either. But once he sense a mutual attraction? He may get a little more bold.

“Is looking good tonight,” he said, elbowing you as lightly as possible.

“Who is?” You ask whipping your head around briefly.

Heavy laughed “you is,” he joked.

Kissing is almost always initiated by you, he has to be a special mood to start it himself, usually if he’s upset and needs a quick pick me up.

Is actually very clingy if you allow him to be (which of course you will, don’t be stupid people) holds you firmly in place while kissing.

Likes kissing your ears, finds your flustered reaction so sweet and adorable. Really into that pure shit.

Kisses you on the cheek whenever the two of you go your separate ways for whatever reason, and of course when you two reunite. Yes, you’re that couple.

God I’m such a sap, what’s wrong with me.

An: oh jeez! I hope that was good Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑) again first time writing for a lot of these gents so let’s pray this isn’t offensively out of character. Thanks so much for reading!

[cosmothealien358]

Lego Ninjago and Race: An Analysis for the Upcoming Live Action

I know there’s been a lot of discourse in the ninjago community since a live action movie has been announced, and there’s sure to be even more after the cast list is released. Many fans are afraid the cast will be all white, while others don’t care what race the ninja will be. Non-fans looking in from the outside might say, “Why does it matter? They’re legos, they’re yellow.” I’ve seen this argument more recently, especially revolving Arin in the soft reboot Dragons Rising.

The point of this longer post is to explain how race still exists in Ninjago despite the plastic, yellow nature of the characters, and why making the cast entirely or mostly white would be a disservice to the fans and the source material as a whole. So let’s ninja-go into this topic.

Part 1: Hair and Black-Coding

When people claim that legos don’t have race, they often claim it’s because they are yellow. However, they forget that legos still have humanoid characteristics, and one of the easiest ways to tell when a lego character is black-coded is to look at their hairpiece.

Here are some examples of hairpieces clearly meant to resemble black hair textures/hairstyles:

When characters have textured hair (i.e. Arin and Euphrasia from Ninjago) or locs/braids (i.e. Mateo and Zoey from Dreamzzz), it’s hard to argue they’re meant to be interpreted as anything other than black. And if that’s not obvious enough, there’s also:

Part 1b: Voice Actors and Black-Coding

People of color voice acting non-human characters doesn’t determine race, but it does add to character coding. This can be seen in characters from other shows, such as Darwin from The Amazing World of Gumball. Even though Darwin is a 2D animated goldfish, he has been voiced exclusively by black voice actors. Because of his voice (and other mannerisms/narrative elements), Darwin is generally accepted to be black-coded.

Being voiced by a person of color does not automatically make a character black-coded, but it can certainly add credence to characters who already have black characteristics, such as Arin and Euphrasia.

Part 2: Names

Another reason it’s hard for ninjago fans to interpret certain characters as white is because of their names. While many have stereotypical “American white boy names” (i.e. Jay, Cole, and Zane), other characters have names that are certainly not strictly American. Examples include Wu (a Chinese surname), Misako (a Japanese name), Chen (a Chinese surname), Okino (a Japanese surname) and Sora (Japanese given name). Ninjago may be set in a fictional world of animated, plastic people, but it’s still based on real-world names, and considering how a lot of the characters’ names come from East Asia, there is merit to declare that characters like Misako and Sora are meant to be interpreted as East Asian.

Part 3: Cultural Influences

Now, to the most obvious reason why it would be absurd to put an all-white cast on screen: the cultural influences. I am not Asian myself, but other ninjago fans have expressed frustration about the cultural melting pot that is Ninjago. It takes influence from both Eastern and Western cultures for its setting, worldbuilding, lore, and fantastical elements. Ninjago puts ninja, samurai, Kabuki, and Oni from Japanese history and culture, Djinn from Arabic regions, the yin/yang concept from Chinese philosophy, and dragons from various cultures into one narrative. There’s even a character named Ronin (which means a “wandering samurai”).

Additionally, the ninjago language seems to be inspired by Tategaki, an East Asian style of writing.

What this means is that Ninjago is brimming with real-life cultural influences. They rarely come from the same places and are not always faithful or accurate. In fact, they can sometimes seem borderline disrespectful and stereotypical in the earlier seasons- particularly with the portrayal of Chen and pilot Wu. However, it doesn’t take a genius to spot the East Asian cultural influences on ninjago. This is clear in the character designs, attire, and especially in the settings:

Part 4: What does this mean?

In summary, Ninjago is a fictional setting that takes inspiration from East Asian cultures, and has coded certain characters as certain races through more indirect means such as naming and designs. Even though none of the ninjago characters have 100% canon races, there is still evidence that some are meant to be interpreted as black or Asian. Therefore, making all the ninjago characters white would be a disservice to the fans AND the source material because it takes away subtle but essential parts of the characters and world.

Additionally: Representation matters. It could mean a lot for fans new and old to see the ninja becoming humanized and seeing themselves on screen. Not only would an all-white cast be unfaithful to the source material, but it would be disheartening to fans hoping for racial representation, especially in an age where “wokeness” is considered a touchy subject in some areas.

Part 5: Other Thoughts/Clarifications

The beautiful thing about Ninjago is that the Lego nature of the characters allows them to be interpreted in so many ways. The characters don’t have canon skin tones, eye color, body types, ages, heights, etc., so they can be whatever fans want. Whatever the fans interpret them to be or even what they feel like, they can be. And I think that’s beautiful.

TLDR: I don’t want the movie casting to limit the fan’s creativity or headcanons. Even if the cast isn’t entirely white, I hope people continue to make creations with their own interpretations of the characters.

Also: I urge fans to not harass the actors if they are white. I feel like the ninjago fandom is above that but I feel inclined to make this statement in advance regardless.

Finally: I’m leaving this post wide-open to discussion and discourse. I did surface-level research for the ninjago cultural influences, so if anyone wants to add on to or correct anything, feel free to do so. All I ask is that the conversations remain civil.

That is all :)

[branwyn-says]

Dear K'diwa readers

The K'diwa epilogue will be up by the weekend probably.

A handful of people reread K'diwa last week for comfort and left comments about it, and so to comfort all of us including me, I'm writing that last piece of it I always meant to write. The background of K'diwa, as many of you intuited, is steeped in my own trauma and more importantly my recovery journey. The message of K'diwa is that deep healing and comfort are possible even if you've survived devastation. The trick is to stay alive long enough.

I haven't slept in several days. The election put me into the worst PTSD regression I've ever experienced. I'm American. The people who just hijacked my country raised me. I escaped a predestined life of jean skirts and submission when I was a teenager. Coping with the fact that these people have managed to regain a form of authority over me has been impossible to take in without falling apart somewhat. As a survivor of rape and sexual abuse, the air stings with an ambient threat these days. And as a woman with a girlfriend I want to marry, there is a lot of immediate uncertainty in my life and community. But PTSD works like it works. I know its tricks pretty well by now. Once the adrenaline and the cortisol cycle out, what's left will be me, and the hugeness of my resolve. For the last year I have been training as a community organizer. Community is our safety now. I wanted to make it known that if you are an American in the mid-Atlantic (DMV) region and if you have an interest in attending a trauma writing workshop that I teach in Baltimore, message me privately and I will give you details.

I am not despairing and I hope you aren't either. We're going to look after each other. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it.