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abbyromanoff · 1 year

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Can I request an omegaverse where R is a beta but when she meets Alpha! Agatha, R’s body changes and become in omega! R?

Please 🥺

SAY YES TO HEAVEN

PAIRINGS: Agatha Harkness x reader

WORD COUNT: 1,832

WARNINGS: ABO universe, smut, car sex, handjobs, breeding, multiple orgasms, creampies, marking, possessiveness, praise, degrading, think that’s all :))

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Agatha never intended to fall in love with someone like you, someone who wasn’t part of her kind. You were a beta, failing to fit in with the majority of society and often finding yourself as an outcast to most, but that only seemed to make your girlfriend fall harder.

You tried to understand what her role as an Alpha meant and the fact that she was destined to be with an Omega, something you weren’t but now wish you could be. She wasn’t like any of the Alpha’s you came across, she cared about more than sex and saw you as a human being, not just a piece of meat to use and throw away once she was done.

But eventually, over the course of nine months, you noticed changes in your body. It started out small when you noticed a growing heat in your lower region, but you assumed it was natural. Then when she was stroking your face, her fingers pumping deep inside of you, an almost purr-like noise left your gaping mouth. You could tell the effect it had on her as well, she had been waiting to hear her partner release such sounds of pleasure.

Then came the need, it was more than ever before, even looking in the woman’s eyes caused a throb to erupt on your clit. What was happening? You didn’t know, which meant you did the only logical thing and visited your doctor.

Agatha offered to take you to the appointment after you informed her of your emotions and physicalities as of late. She had been sensing it too, your smell felt like it was pulling her in, and the urge to claim you as hers only grew.

“It’s going to be alright, my love. If anything happens I’ll be right there with you.” Her words and sweet smile seemed to ease the shaking of your leg before a knocking was placed on the door. The older woman stepped through with what seemed to be an irritated look, she must’ve had a long day, you thought.

“So, tell me, Y/N, what seems to be the problem today?” Came her voice after a few minutes of small talk. A blood-pressure pump was wrapped around your arm and had been squeezing tighter and tighter, cutting off your circulation before you slowly gained it back after release.

“Well, uhm,” Agatha gave you a reassuring look. “I’ve been noticing- the both of us have, actually that there seems to be a change in my body lately and I don’t really know what to do or what it could mean.” You explained, receiving a hum from the doctor as she continued to type on her laptop.

“Mm, and your wife here- is she also a beta?” You blushed at the title she gave your girlfriend and noticed she shared the same reaction.

“Uh, my girlfriend is not a beta, no. She’s actually an alpha.” Her eyebrows rose before shaking it off, but you were used to the reaction, it wasn’t considered normal to see a pair like you together.

“Alright, I think it’s best if I perform a thorough exam, just to be safe. Why don’t you take off your clothes and I’ll be right back.”

The rest of the exam went considerably well, but it almost pained your partner seeing the professional place their hands on your body, on her body. You were hers, it felt almost predatory how much possessiveness could be caused by such a small act.

But when the painfully long wait finally came to an end, you were greeted with the news you had been starting to expect, your body was developing to match your mate’s, you were forming the traits of an omega.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s actually much more common than you think.” The doctor tried to persuade you, but your mind was still swirling a mile a minute. When earning nothing but silence from your end, Agatha spoke for you.

“Uh, thank you, Miss, we appreciate your help.” She left with a nod and the two of you soon left after her, Agatha secretly smiling to herself as she opened the car door for you.

“You know, it’s really not that bad if you think about it.” There were barely any cars in the parking lot besides yours, most likely because they were nearing closing hours.

“Are you really that upset about this?” She didn’t understand why you kept your head in your hands while leaning forward, did you not want to be her omega?

“I’m not upset, I’m just-” You couldn’t finish as a small whine left you, not quite quiet enough to slip by her listening ears.

“Then tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby.” She tried to bring herself closer to you in hopes of getting a hold of you, only to feel your lips being placed on hers in a hurry. You used both hands to grasp harshly at her cheeks, already starting to climb over the dashboard as you found comfort on her lap.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ve just been needing you so bad this week. I’ve been thinking about how nice it would be to have your marking, to finally be your omega.” You kissed hastily down her neck and near her jawline, letting yourself leave purple hints that some may suspect were bruises, luckily, purple was her favorite color.

“And then she told me what I’ve been waiting to hear, and I knew I just needed to have you as soon as possible.” Your arms wrapped around her shoulders as your hips started a grinding motion, all previous nerves disappearing as you got lost in a trance of overwhelming pleasure.

“There- someone could see us…” She mumbled, not being able to stop the moans that flew out of her. You were coming in perfect contact with her length, she was becoming just as desperate as you.

“I don’t fucking care, let them see. I thought you wanted people to know I’m yours, has that changed?” Your head was thrown back as her hands came in contact with your waist, causing the pace you started to quicken to her liking.

“Don’t fucking tease me, Y/N.” The way your name spilled out of her mouth in a haunting whisper sent shivers down your spine and caused goosebumps to erupt over your entire being. Your chuckle drove her mad as she pressed her mouth against your exposed neck, leaving stains of her lipstick across the layers of your skin.

“Or what? You’ll fuck my brains out, hm?” Your nimble fingers trailed down to her pants that were harboring a small wet patch. You reached for her belt and untangled it loosely, tossing it in the back before unzipping her khakis. She decided to help you and lifted her hips before lowering her bottoms, her erect cock coming to show and you nearly drooled at the sight.

“I need you inside me so fucking bad, you have no idea.” You stroked her rapidly, feeling her pre-cum drench your hand.

“That’s it, just like that.” She whimpered soundlessly, almost inaudible.

“Oh, yes! Y- you’re doing such a good job, such a good fucking girl.” You smirked teasingly before leaving a lingering kiss on her lips, letting her chase back in hopes of feeling you once again.

“Aren’t I giving you enough? Or is this not enough for your greedy little cock?” You fauxed a pout of sympathy, laughing to yourself when she thrusted into your enclosed hand.

“Awh, it’s so cute seeing you like this, so needy and distressed. I think I know how to fix that.” You brought her fingers against your inner thigh, slowly dragging it closer and closer to your heat. Feeling you through your tight jeans wasn’t enough, she felt as though she would die if she couldn’t feel you.

“Get in the back,” She stated firmly. “Now!” You nodded, a sudden act of submission that brought you by surprise. She followed soon after, smiling as you started discarding yourself of your clothing.

“You’re so perfect, and all fucking mine.” Her lips wrapped around your nipple, the bud hardening the harsher she sucked.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.” It wasn’t a request as it was a statement. Her mouth fell upon your neglected breast as she lined herself up with your entrance, there was no need for foreplay as you were already dripping, it nearly brought shame seeing just how wet you were.

“Please, please- ah! Oh, God!” Her face contorted into pleasure as your warmth surrounded her, she felt like she was going to collapse at any given moment.

“Shh, the only one who gets to hear your moans is me, you got that?” You nodded, unable to form words as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Her head stuck in your neck as she cried, sensing her orgasm approaching. The previous acts only edged her further, but now with your walls clamping around her, she knew there was no hope in stopping herself.

“So fucking tight! Oh, fuck, I-I’m gonna cum inside you. Can I cum, baby?” You could hear the pure want and desire looming in her breath and knew you couldn’t deny her.

“Yeah, just- please cum inside me, I want your pups, Aggie.” Your breasts were pressed together and your legs wrapped around her ass, pressing her closer into you in hopes she’d be able to thrust even deeper.

“C’mon, Alpha, give me your pups.” Her release emptied deep inside of you, causing you to groan in satisfaction. She painted your walls white and you enjoyed every second of it, and so did she.

“You feel so good, I need more.” She didn’t halt her movements, no matter the overwhelming shock that coursed through her veins.

“You’re gonna cum with me, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yeah.” She pulled herself up and grasped onto your hips, pulling you in even further as your legs clenched even tighter around her.

“You see that? That’s how deep I am inside of your needy little cunt.” She pressed against the bulge appearing on your stomach with a wicked grin, pulling you by the back of your neck so your vision lined up with her. You moaned at the sight, reaching out to interlace her hand with yours on the newfound interest.

“Shit, you’re so deep.” There was no warning when her cum shot deep inside of you, some oozing out and dripping down to your butt. You took it as permission to let go, soaking in the orgasmic state you shared.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted, my love, you’re gonna look so precious carrying my babies.” You connected your lips in a hungry kiss, refusing to pull away until you both were gasping for air.

“I- I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop, you don’t know how badly I want to mark you right now.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x reader smut #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x female reader smut #agatha harkness x reader fluff #agatha harkness x reader angst #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you

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leviathanleva · 4 months

Text

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[5.5k words]

[Angst, Power Play, Light Degradation, 18+]

Chapter 1 "Raspberry Tart"

Hound.

A fitting callsign for a dog that only knew how to follow orders. A mindless beast whose chain had been thrust into his hands forcibly and now he was to be your navigator, your Northern star in a sea of black. He’d have had no problem taking you under his wing, but you weren’t just some rookie in need of training. He couldn’t crack a cheesy joke and make you snicker, couldn’t relate to you in any way, couldn’t find common ground to start a conversation.

He’d tried to break you, poking at the squishy unknown beyond the stone exterior in the hopes that there was something still there. It was incomprehensible, you were a living contradiction to the natural order, an anomaly made reality by nameless, faceless, suited figures scrambling for power and drowning with money. He was a stoic man, cold-blooded, ignorant of his trauma, and suppressive of any flicker of tenderness that tried to wiggle out. He was trained in the heat of battle, under the rain of bullets and among the hills of corpses. He taught himself to withstand anything thrown his way. You, on the other hand, had nothing to withstand. You weren’t stoic or calculative or cold.

You were indifferent.

It irked him.

Late at night, when he was left to his thoughts, he wondered what they had done to you.

What chemical turned a human’s sclera black and devoid the iris of color? What concoction was fused into your blood to make your muscles grow so dense you could punch through walls, at will? How could you pick up the heartbeats of enemy forces without even entering their headquarters? How did you see in the dark without any gear save for a peculiar oxygen mask?

What sort of poison had been pumped into you? Had it hurt? Does it hurt now?

You were a macabre sigh.

You don’t look healthy; gaunt features sharp enough to cut glass and dead eyes that burrowed into his soul. There were no bags under your eyes, you slept well at least, perfect for someone whose hands reeked of blood. The fat was barely any, it was impossible to retain the supple softness of femininity with your condition, and if it wasn’t for the perky tits showing beneath your loose tee he could have easily mistaken you for a scrawny man. A paradox; porcelain skin devoid of scars blanketing over a heap of muscle that could tear limbs like they were loose threads.

You’d been a pretty thing once, before the augmentations. He could tell.

You barely reached his collarbone and yet you could take a grenade head-on and live unlike him. And you had, for him. He’d nearly lost his mind when you had, tucked you into his chest because he’d lost too many good men already and you were fresh in his squad and dying under his care. A bleak moment of weakness on his end that he’d believed you’d have no recollection of because half your fucking face was missing. But then the flesh had crept back onto your exposed cheekbone and he’d pushed you away as quickly as he’d hugged you. His mask did well to hide both horror and bewilderment. It had taken you under two minutes and you were ready to go again.

He’d thought your files were a joke, had read them absentmindedly over a glass of bourbon then tossed them aside and waited for the actual reports. They weren’t a joke at all.

You were his shield. It’s been a year since you joined Task Force 141 and you had taken so much damage in his stead it was mindboggling still. There was no fear, no hesitation, no doubt, or rebellion; you simply sprawled yourself over him like a ballistic shield, soaking in anything lethal coming his way. It was a heartwrenching scene, but how could he feel empathy when he’d seen you rip people apart.

You were his weapon, a leal monster, ready to pounce at the flick of his wrist. But your loyalties to him were temporary, shallow compared to the ones you held for your torturers, your makers. He hadn’t expected you to abandon Gaz to fend off the enemy alone when you’d heard a vocalization of the target’s whereabouts over the coms. On that deployment, Ghost had learned that you held no value for human life, you cared not for the well-being of your teammates. Mission first, success at any cost.

After that display, he’d spend hours arguing with Price while trying to find a loophole that would let him kick you out of the squad. A seemingly endless exchange of words led to nothing, the Captain had taken a few long phone calls, all fruitless aside from some measly promises to instruct you better. You’d been summoned shortly after and the phone had been passed onto you because the bastards couldn’t even be bothered to correct your ways face to face.

“Protect all your teammates at all costs, not just the Lieutenant.”

“Do not abandon a comrade.”

“Your squad comes before your target.”

Simon had nearly missed the last sentence; it had been whispered so lowly over the line.

“Unless the target is within direct line of sight.”

He was left seething. He didn’t want you here. He’d tried again, stating more facts, adding more blood and bone-chilling scenarios to the list of reasons why you needed to be transferred, to no avail. He’d been hit with a stygian truth after. Either Task Force 141 or some blokes from KorTac, there were no other organizations that would take you in without downright exploiting your capabilities.

Judging by what little he knew about you, you wouldn’t care, but he would. He’d be caught dead before letting you walk into those war criminals’ grimy paws and have them lock your attention on him as your next target. No. You were his weapon, his shield, his hound; if anyone was going to lead you into a massacre, it would be him.

His charge, his responsibility.

His pet.

He’d settled after that, begrudgingly letting you stay.

And it wasn’t all bad. Over time he grew accustomed to your presence, you’d eat together, train together, sit together in some forgotten corner of the base and enjoy a moment of silence. Ghost was an intimidating man, both rank and appearance kept most people out of his way, but with you constantly on his heel and your docile nature out of combat, he grew fond of your companionship. Some days he forgot you were even there, skulking in his shadow.

Rarely did you speak without being spoken to, never whined or complained. It was as refreshing as it was disturbing. He dealt with it for the most part, but sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes he wanted to see you shatter, find a crack in the masquerade for the sake of his own sanity. He needed you to crumble, to find a way to break you because then he would have some sort of reason to cling to. Some vague explanation for the turmoil you caused inside him without even meaning to.

He was torn between hating you with everything he had, leaving you be and retaining the fickle peace between the two of you, and obsessively delving into your being in search of some long-forgotten spec of humanity that yet lived.

It was becoming a problem.

Finally, he snaps out of his morning sulking and remembers he has a cup of black tea secured in his hand. He bunches up the skull mask on his nose and takes a candid sip, then grimaces.

“It’s cold.”

A soft remark muffled behind a mouthful of buttered toast. His eyes trail up, tired and distant, to find yours studying him like he was an intel chart.

You spare his drink a glimpse, offering wordlessly, then lick the grease off your thumb and let your fork rest against the leftover scrambled eggs on your plate.

“Want me to reheat it, Lieutenant?”

He hadn’t even noticed when you’d gotten up for a second serving, the only indicator being the stained empty tray lying next to your current one. You ate a lot, had to in order to regain the energy you exerted during missions, at least that’s how he understood it. A part of him hoped it would stick, add some more curvature to your form, show him there was still an ounce of normalcy in your existence, at least physically, but it never did.

“You can heat shit too now?” the rasp in his voice is still heavy with sleep. He’s drained and bitter after another night of nothing but restless tossing and he’s poking fun at you as strain relief.

And as usual, it flies right over your head.

“No. I meant in the microwave.” you motion past your shoulder, pointing at the cutlery set up in the back of the mess hall. When he remains silent you extend an arm towards the mug, palm spread out and waiting. “I don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t, you’re a good mutt. The demeaning slew nearly succeeds in slipping past his lips, he snuffs it out with more stale tea.

“Nah.” he turns down your offer and tucks the mug closer to his body. “ ‘S fine.”

“Pyrokinesis is preposterous.” you say, cooly, addressing his previous snark after a beat or two.

It pinches a nerve.

It’s not meant as a jab at his intelligence, just a fact based on your experiences with human experimentation. It’s never a joke or a cocky scoff or anything that would allude to a personality.

“You’re bloody preposterous.” he barks back and his eyes crease in distaste.

The wannabe super soldier telling him what was and wasn’t possible was not on his tolerance list for the day.

There’s a pause, one which he doesn’t appreciate as you’re stripping him bare without consent or clemency. Your stare is degrading, has been since day one, and you’ve no interest in privacy or personal space. The only reason you keep everyone at arm’s length is to minimize any possibility of injuring your subordinates, as instructed by your shadowy puppeteers. Each action, word, and thought from you seems normal at surface level, human, until one understands the reasoning behind it. Everything about you is twisted, it’s creeping up on him, warping his reality.

You’re prying through a blank visage, no remorse, chipping away at his persona and feigning concern.

It’s sickening, it feels so real.

“You’re snippy again.” you note, mow down the rest of your breakfast, and push away the food tray. “You’ve not slept. Again.” it was a statement rather than a question. Your hands clasp together, fingers intertwining as you abandon your hunched-over pose and adjust to a professional stance. “Have you considered – ”

Your maternal tattle is cut short when a phone is thrust into your face. You blink a few times as the image registers:

A puppy. A Labrador puppy all fluffy and adorable stares back at you from the screen.

You look up unamused, letting Soap’s smug grin beam down on you, a ray of sunshine on such a rainy morning. He’s a chipper one, carries both your apathy and Ghost’s grimness on his shoulders like it’s nothing.

“No?” the smile dies on his face and his subtle crow’s feet disappear.

“No.” you answer with a small shake to your head and earn a scoff. “It’s just a dog.”

“Fucking hell, Hound.” he slumps on the uncomfortable metal bench next to Ghost, swiping at his phone before tucking it in his pocket. The pout lasts a few seconds as he rubs a hand over his stubble. “I’ll find yer weak spot one day. Mark my words.” then he turns to the hulking mountain of a man beside him. “Mornin’, Lt.”

John MacTavish had taken a liking to you early on, shining antipodal to the rest of Task Force 141. He’d made it his goal to work a smile out of you and it had begun with dad jokes, then evolved to funny videos, now it was cute animals.

It was a doomed cause, but also none of your business. How he spent his free time was not your concern so you went along with it as long as it didn’t involve you actively participating.

“Mornin’, Johnny.”

“You’re a dedicated man, Sergeant.” you offer simple words and snap your mouth shut before they degenerate into anything derogatory.

“Unlike yourself.”

The cafeteria was lively with soldiers seeking a strong coffee and a hearty breakfast. The cacophony of chatter kept your hearing busy, your senses were dulled, you were relaxed, but you weren’t deaf. You didn’t miss the Lieutenant’s cynical nip.

The ambiance has slowly turned hostile, he’s extra cranky. You pinpoint it to his silent dwelling earlier and leave it t your tongue to resolve the matter before it escalates.

“You’re displeased with me today.” you lean back and let your hands glide off the table, resting them in your lap and appearing smaller. A subtle change, but one you’d learned he fancied; being smaller than him gave him more authority room and indulged his masculine pride. “Have I done something wrong, Lieutenant?”

He likes to stay high on a power trip and humiliate you, keeps your leash secure and short as if governing over you is a boast.

“Don’t like you in general.” casual, passive; he’s peeking at you from beneath light brown lashes. “Think we already established that.”

It’s always a step forward and a thousand back. He’ll be approachable one day, open to discussions on many topics, which are more monologues than dialogues. Then the frail serenity will snap and he’ll want to crawl out of his skin by simply being in your presence. You knew little of his internal wars, knew better than to carve a seat to a psychological bloodbath with no predetermined outcome. But it was confusing, he bore too many burdens and he was making it your problem.

You took bullets for him, would endure anything for him, you’d walk into a minefield if he so wished. You obeyed without question, proven your loyalty yet he refused to change his outlook and continued to treat you with as little fairness as possible.

He was a reject yet he judged you for your difference to the rest of his men. A hypocrite. How unnecessarily…bothersome.

He speaks with subtle malice, yet his body plays a different tune and you run your mouth before thinking. There is no backbone to his passive aggression.

“You lie.”

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to humble your higher-up in a public setting, especially in front of his most trusted subordinate. However, you cared little for social norms and interaction standards.

He’s mustering a counterattack, as cold and as fowl as his tea, but it never leaves the confines of his skull mask because you continue to yap.

“A truthful man does not sweat. His pupils don’t shrink.”

The stab is made worse by the lack of satisfaction in your voice. You’re indifferent that you’ve caught him in his untruthfulness and it serves to twist the knife deeper.

The least you could do is show him grace by reciprocating his hatred with your own, but you don’t.

You don’t care.

Fuck you.

Ghost rises with the intent to leave, doesn’t spare you another glance, only stares straight ahead, past the crown of your head, and towards the exit.

A year, a whole year since you were assigned to him and still you were a dense twat with not a drop of regard for anyone, not even yourself. It was infuriating how stuck in your ways you were, he’d tried to rupture a change and the results were null. He’s fed up.

You’re a lost cause and his nerves are stretched thin, he’s inclined to simply avoid you today.

“Lt, wait.”

Soap, always the buffer to your scuffle, the voice of reason, but there’s nothing to cushion this time. The cord’s been cut, Simon’s let go of you for the moment and he’s in need of some good alone time to properly simmer down.

He’s stuffed his hands in his jeans, thumbs sticking out and glossing over the stitching. He doesn’t turn back when he offers a response.

“Appetite’s gone.”

If he was any shorter, he would have disappeared in the sea of soldiers, but he’s too easily distinguishable for such mercies. His steps are thunderous, you’ve committed the beat of his stride to memory. He was your highest priority on the battlefield, everything about him has been burned into your mind and it’s left a mark in your day-to-day. He could be on the other side of the base and you’d find him with a blindfold on.

A good soldier, the best. Why couldn’t he appreciate that?

You watch him unblinking as he rounds the corner and disappears out of sight.

An exasperated grunt makes your head reel back.

“Life of the party as always, Hound.” Soap snips, disappointment dripping past his teeth. It’s a gentle scold, as a big brother would his younger sibling after they’ve misbehaved.

“He lied.” you retort and your expression hardens in self-defense. “He wouldn’t be upset if he hadn’t lied. Why did he lie?”

“Ask em yourself, you blind eejit.”

The gravity of his words doesn’t register until they slip out.

There’s no stopping you now, there’s a goal set in front of you. He’s almost stirred enough to stop you, but a meek nag in the back of his head prevents him. Maybe it’s for the best that you talk it out and snuff out the fire before it has a chance to grow. He pities Ghost in a way. Of all the people he could have…

You secure the abandoned mug of tea and are already trailing after the Lieutenant.

“Oh, here we fucking go…” John is left with his cheek resting in his hand and scouring the mess hall for a livelier company to lighten his morning break.

You follow him by scent alone – a pleasing musk that characterized him well aside from the cologne. You maneuver around the horde of military personnel, washed out in a cluster of camo and rugged limbs. The rain has only worsened, battering against the row of windows gracing the corridor, you can almost smell it through the glass. It’s a lovely aroma, but Ghost’s is favored and it guides you through the limbo of concrete, up a few flights of stairs until you understand you’re heading towards his office.

He’s a good man, the Lieutenant, a wonderful man – stern and fair, caring in his unique decrepit way. So why does he insist on treating you like a disgruntled mentor?

If he’s feeling generous, you’ll find out soon enough.

You let yourself in absentmindedly, barge in like the inelegant brute you are and if there had been a conversation bubbling beyond the door it would have rattled you back to cognitive thinking. But the silence had only welcomed you.

He’s sat behind his desk, looming over sparse documents that are of no interest to you, a cigarette languidly burning in the ashtray next to his elbow, smoke sucked out by the ajar window.

His eyes lift at your intrusion.

The fucking audac –

“Why did you lie?”

Straight to the point as usual. No wordplay, no gentle gestures to picture a power imbalance and ease him into it. He’s your superior and you’re supposed to show respect. Tough luck when you forget that little detail.

“Didn’t give you permission to enter.” he watches the sentence seep in as you set his tea at the edge of his desk, mulling.

Without a word, you walk out as whimsically as you’d entered, tiny body made gangly by the white lights illuminating the hallway. The door closes with a creamy click and despite his irritation, he snorts.

A beat of nothingness before three curt knocks sound, it’s comical. You’re a God damn clown.

“Enter.”

You walk in and clear your throat and that blank expression never falters. With legs spread wide and steady, you clasp your wrist behind your back, nose brought high to expose your neck, spine straight and stretched like a violin string.

“Permission to speak, Lieutenant.”

He has the spite to deny your request, cut your escapade short and shoo you away.

“Granted.” he says instead.

The clock above your head ticks and soothes the stale silence, that and the storm outside. The lights are off, the blinds hold back the scant sunlight overshadowed by an ocean of clouds. The only lamp alive is the one on his desk, deep yellow and warm, casting grim shadows over the skin-tight skull mask. The pen hoisted between thick, battle-worn fingers is still.

He’s waiting, watching you like a prowling predator, chin dipped low and eyes half-hidden behind the ridges of his eyebrows.

“Why did you lie?” you repeat with less zest and your shoulders slack a tad.

You’re the best person to share with openly, would take his confessions to the grave, and have no reason nor will for judgment. All he needed to do was ask for you to never mention this to anyone and you could be tortured to death and not budge. It was so simple, you were simple, ranks be damned, you were here for him.

Though Ghost was anything but one-dimensional. He was a complicated individual with a rich past, he was comfortable trusting you with his life, not his secrets.

He steers away from your question and offers a crappy tease instead.

“Fishing for a Psychology degree, Cadet?”

“That’s not a proper answer.” you’re bullet fast to voice your displeasure with his evasiveness. Your paper-white gaze holds his honeydew brown one, displaying openness and hoping for reciprocation.

“And I’ve taught you proper interrogation.” he spits back with growing mock, taut in his chair, muscles solid and ready.

He fights a war not of the physical world, a solitary brawl, in which you refuse to participate. There is no point in such self-induced struggles; the debate of the heart and mind is a phenomenon known to all and it can be a slippery slope. Hence it had been chemically removed from your system.

At least you can see it bothers him, whatever it is he’s musing over. You’d offer advice, you’d help if he let you dip your toes in the problem, but he was too stubborn.

You fail to understand that you’re the problem.

“You’re avoiding the question.” dry and bland, a boring fact both of you have come to acknowledge.

“I don’t need to answer your fucking question.” the pen and papers are pushed to the side as his attention is fully directed towards you. He readjusts and even while sitting down he seems larger than you. “Mind your bloody tone with me, Dog.”

You startle at that, tighten like a board and your expression falters for a second. It’s not his sharpness that shakes your awareness awake, it’s your behavior – obtrusive and insolent, insulting him with nonchalance unacceptable for a soldier of your rank when conversing with a superior. Your nails dig into the fluff of your palm to ground you, and your knee trembles with the barely repressed need to bend and dig into the floor.

It’s a fleeting sight, but he sees you stagger. An alien sensation coils in his stomach.

Finally.

Finally…

A glint of normalcy is peeking beneath the crooked façade. You’re brooding, maybe even experiencing something, branching out from the year-long unbreakable apathy.

“I apologize, Lieutenant.” you yield, backtracking until you settle into a less casual mindset. “I’ve no right requesting any information of you.”

“Damn straight you don’t.” he sinks his teeth in the opportunity, strangely eager to coax a more prominent reaction out of you, obsessive even. Speaks to you with a demeaning twinge, egged on by the split second in which your brows dip. “Forgot your place.”

His tone is biting, but his movements are fluent as he stands and rounds his desk to approach you. He towers over you unapologetically and you’re left staring at the center of his collarbones, avoiding his eyes as a sliver of respect.

He clips your chin between two calloused fingers, burdens you with a look of contemplation as he debates an idea.

“Open.” he commands and you oblige.

Your jaw lowers as your lips part without an ounce of hesitation. The hairs on his arms rise in anticipation, concealed beneath the course military blouse.

His thumb travels up, past the dimple of your chin, and over your plush bottom lip. His skin grazes your bottom teeth before he presses down on your tongue.

“Suck.”

Your lips curl around his salty digit, tasting the smoky cigarette he’d mouthed a few minutes prior. His concentration wanes, his pupils expand briskly before he catches himself softening. He pushes on the roof of your mouth to guide your vision to lock onto him.

Your rhythmic suckling sparks a warmth low in his abdomen. A dull aching pulse licks deliciously at his loins and he sinks his canines into the side of his cheek to snap out of it. He can’t afford this, not with you, you don’t deserve to witness tenderness when you have none to offer in return. So he remains an explorer and keeps pushing boundaries if not to see you uncomfortable, then for his own curiosity.

“You do as I say, when I say.” he rumbles a guttural reminder of your place, then slips his thumb out of your slithery hold and takes a step back. “On your knees.”

Your legs fold in an instant, knees digging into the tiled floor with a deaf thump. You’re face to face with his crotch and a sickening thought passes by him that makes his thighs clench.

Pushing boundaries, that’s all this was. Nothing more.

He rests a hand on the hem of his jeans and fiddles his zipper, alluding to actions he didn’t intend to follow through with. A somber attempt at making you react, but you don’t. There’s not even an involuntary twitch of a muscle – you’re still as a statue and just as emotionless.

He’s stuck between pondering if you’ve called his bluff or you’re simply passive to the idea. Either way, what he’s hinting at is vile and you being this pliant is unnerving.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re just gonna let me…” he trails off and swallows the bile rising in his throat.

What if you were left in the hands of a less gracious leader? What if some fucked up bastard had gotten a hold of you before him? What if he’d succeeded in kicking you out and you ended up in KorTac…?

What would they have done to you?

What if –

“ – I do as you say, when you say, Lieutenant.”

He snarls at that. Grabs a fistful of your top and boosts you to your feet. The tips of your boots are barely touching the ground and he’s lurched over you, so close that you’re overwhelmed by his breath.

Toothpaste, cigarettes, a feint hint of bourbon from the night before.

You inhale slowly, too comfortable in his grip and it makes no sense to him considering his treatment, then exhale audibly and speak again.

“Why does it bother you so much? My condition.”

“It’s not normal.” he gives you a solid jerk, emphasizing his words, spewing poison. “It’s shit. How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t give a flying fuck about me…or the team?”

“I would never let – ”

“ – Don’t gimme that crap.”

You’re an adaptive creature. You remember the intricacies of man despite no longer seeing any value in them. His frustration is evident, a spout of bio-chemicals thickens around him, from which adrenaline and oxytocin are the most prominent. He’s torn between protecting himself from you and protecting you from the rest of the world. And at the end of the day, he’s only human and has spent too much time with you, a member of the opposite sex, to be unaffected by your presence.

You do the first thing that comes to mind. A short-circuited move in the name of self-preservation while also not causing him any harm as per your orders.

You kiss him. Inch close while he’s in a haze of despicable turmoil and press your lips where his would be hidden behind the mask.

His lethal tantrum ceases.

He’s stunted, shaken to the bone as he stares right through you. His eyes are bulging, accentuated by the charcoal face paint. His whole body is pulsing, you hear his heartbeat, steady but clamorously loud in your ear, then he cocks his head to the side and you begin to question if your choice of action had only worsened his state.

“I’m sorry.” you blurt. “I misread you, I didn’t – ”

He’s clawing at his mask until it catches on his nose and graces you with a strong jaw littered with nearly blond stubble. You bite your tongue before more words spill and risk shattering the desperate trance he’s succumbed to.

He devours your mouth with a hoarse grunt, the force causing your neck to crane back. The large hand holding you in place vanishes shortly before he starts pawing at your hips, clutching at the firm flesh and then seeking refuge in the dip of your ass.

“Lieut – ” you suck in a breath when he hoists you up like you’re nothing and nudges your legs until they’re wrapped around his thick waist. Your ankles lock over the small of his back and you hold a steady grip on his collar as he shushes you with a husky “shut up”.

His stubble grazes and prickles as he reclaims your wet lips with bruising vigor.

The chain lies broken, his resolve has been torn to shreds after months of no reciprocation. He’s a starved man, too battered and scarred to seek his fix from a stranger. So he’s looked to you, an amalgamation of senseless strength and a hollow heart, an abyss devoid of feeling or emotion, the worst possible option, but in his mind – the only option.

Desperation blinds even the strongest of warriors.

With wobbly steps, he squishes you between the wall and himself, lets words flow without a single sound, and twirls his tongue around yours as you perfectly follow his shaky guidance. He sucks at whatever he can find, made mad with a craving for your essence despite never having tasted you before, slobbers you like a touch-starved dog.

Crushed into the warm safety of his body, in the darkness of his quarters, you're hidden from the world as he gingerly indulges his wants. Senses peaking from overdrive, you only hear, smell and feel him, a fleshy mountain carrying the scent of what you learn is home. What little exposed skin you find is scalding, he shudders while you unintentionally map out his shoulders in search of purchase.

He peppers heated pecks down your jaw with a resounding groan and finds the even pulse in your neck.

You jolt as his teeth encase the spot and he freezes.

“Want me to stop?”

His head is nestled in the crook of your neck, away from the possible judgment of your sight. His voice is low, a scratchy reverberation, strained with a need too great to be put out by his self-restraint alone. He’s a mess, oozing hormones, jittery and uncertain but too lost in his delight to retreat.

He’s slipped inadvertently and wound up vulnerable.

“No.”

He’s satisfied with your answer only for a moment before the nagging reality starts chewing at his gut. You aren’t normal. You’re not the typical bird he’d pick out in a bar after a particularly heavy mission and one too many glasses of scotch. You’re fucked up.

He doesn’t want to keep asking, wishes so direly to stay blind and dumb to the facts spitting acid in his face. But he’s too grounded for such fantastical blessings.

“Want me to keep going?” he looks up with a clenched jaw.

His breathing slows, preparing for a hit similar to a bullet to the chest, but there is no Kevlar to shield him from the devastation. He’s bare before you, at your mercy despite his stoic composure keeping him visibly untouchable. You should pity him, feel something because your situation hints at him being more than an ally or friend. You should muddle the truth or let him down delicately, he deserves as much.

He wanted you to want him. He didn’t want to be alone in his desires.

But you’re no liar, you’re not a gentle soul. You offer him a curt, tasteless answer.

You stare him straight in the eyes and shoot.

“No.”

It stings more than it should.

“I want for nothing.”

The fire in his belly is extinguished, it feels as if the blood is sucked out of his body. The stab leaves his pulsing cock flaccid with only a stain of precum smeared against his boxers as a reminder of the blossoming need you’d snuffed out mercilessly.

He holds your gaze as the spark in his shrunken orbs vanishes, then slowly sets you down and tears himself away with disgust; regretful and insulted.

“Get out…”

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[I'm a bit uncertain about this one. It's a niche idea, but it's been swimming in my head for some time now. Someday I'll be satisfied with my writing, but for now I'll settle for this. I'm not great at COD characters so if anyone seems OOC forgive me. I try my best, but I'm a rookie.]

#ghost fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 fanfic #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year

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I want to address a problem that seems to arise repeatedly in public discussions about green growth and degrowth. Some prominent commentators seem to assume that the debate here is primarily about the question of technology, with green growth promoting technological solutions to the ecological crisis while degrowth promotes only economic and social solutions (and in the most egregious misrepresentations is cast as “anti-technology”). This narrative is inaccurate, and even a cursory review of the literature is enough to make this clear. In fact, degrowth scholarship embraces technological change and efficiency improvements, to the extent (crucially) that these are empirically feasible, ecologically coherent, and socially just. But it also recognizes that this alone will not be enough: economic and social transformations are also necessary, including a transition out of capitalism. The debate is therefore not primarily about technology, but about science, justice, and the structure of the economic system.

[...]

Ecological economists point out that when we scale back our assumptions about technological change to levels that are, to quote the physicist and ecological economist Julia Steinberger, “non-insane,” and when we reject the idea that growth in rich countries should be maintained at the expense of the Global South, it becomes clear that relying on technological change is not enough, in and of itself, to solve the ecological crisis. Yes, we need fast renewable energy deployment, efficiency improvements, and dissemination of advanced technology (induction stoves, efficient appliances, heat pumps, electric trains, and so on). But we also need high-income countries dramatically to reduce aggregate energy and material use, at a speed faster than what efficiency improvements alone could possibly hope to deliver. To achieve this, high-income countries need to abandon growth as an objective and actively scale down less necessary forms of production, to reduce excess energy and material use directly.

[...]

Degrowth does not call for all forms of production to be reduced. Rather, it calls for reducing ecologically destructive and socially less necessary forms of production, like sport utility vehicles, private jets, mansions, fast fashion, arms, industrial beef, cruises, commercial air travel, etc., while cutting advertising, extending product lifespans (banning planned obsolescence and introducing mandatory long-term warranties and rights to repair), and dramatically reducing the purchasing power of the rich. In other words, it targets forms of production that are organized mostly around capital accumulation and elite consumption. In the middle of an ecological emergency, should we be producing sport utility vehicles and mansions? Should we be diverting energy to support the obscene consumption and accumulation of the ruling class? No. That is an irrationality that only capitalism can love. At the same time, degrowth scholarship insists on strong social policy to secure human needs and well-being, with universal public services, living wages, a public job guarantee, working time reduction, economic democracy, and radically reduced inequality. These measures abolish unemployment and economic insecurity and ensure the material conditions for a universal decent living—again, basic socialist principles. This scholarship calls for efficiency improvements, yes, but also a transition toward sufficiency, equity, and a democratic postcapitalist economy, where production is organized around well-being for all, as Peter Kropotkin famously put it, rather than around capital accumulation. The virtue of this approach should be immediately clear to socialists. Socialism insists on grounding its analysis in the material reality of the world economy. It insists on science and justice. Yes, socialism embraces technology—and credibly promises to manage technology better than capitalism—but socialist visions of technology should be empirically grounded, ecologically coherent, and socially just. They should emphatically not rely on speculation or magical thinking, much less the perpetuation of colonial inequalities. Green growth visions fall foul of these core socialist values.

#jason hickel #degrowth #green growth #technocracy #ecosocialism

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batsarebetterthanpeople · 2 months

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Punk music is, politically speaking, a vehicle that was built to express sentiments of working class rage and destructive tendencies. That doesn't mean it's perfectly left wing, poor people are not perfectly left wing. From the patches and safety pins and ripped denim that are staples of punk fashion to the subject matter of songs by the Dead Kennedys, The Clash, Black Flag, and even the Sex Pistols, its all class rage and resentment all the way down.

Goth and Punk both as subcultural movements have relatively clear intentions, even if the politics get jumbled. They're nihilistic, angry, angsty reactions to a world that beats down on poor people. It's the idea that there is something deeply wrong with a society that doesn't take care of its people and using music to express how you feel about that situation.

I came up in the 2010s, which meant that Emo was on the back end of its moment when I was discovering music outside of my parent's taste and whatever was on the radio. I've heard a lot of things about the emo movement as it relates to other subcultures but one thing I heard that I want to respond to here is that it's not about anything, which is not perfectly correct but it looks that way on the surface and is actually a very interesting observation. Punk's about how we can't pay the rent our government is taking advantage of us, rich people are taking advantage of us, and unlike those hippies who think they can solve all the worlds problems with peace and love and non violent protest, we're gonna break stuff. We're gonna make it everyone else's problem. Goth coming from the punk scene was less angry and more purely nihilistic and death obsessed but still had that sort of vibe of the aristocracy's time has come, look how easily I can look like a decaying version of them. Emo doesn't really have that clear of a message by comparison.

I would like to posit that this is because Emo is end of history punk. There's still that feeling that there's something deeply wrong, there's still angst and rage and nihilism and resentment, but by now the enemies of the United States' capitalistic global hegemony have fallen, there is no alternative, terrible things keep happening but the propaganda machine is pumping it into your brain every single day that this is the best of all possible worlds. The problem can't be society it has to be you.

So punk music evolves, we're not doing a revolution anymore the revolution is dead, we're not watching it decay anymore because this shambling corpse won't drop dead and has managed to convince us it's immortal. But the feelings are all still there. So they turn inward. The destruction becomes self-destruction. You can't be feeling this way because society is bad, it must be you, you must be depressed, that girl you didn't really like that much broke up with you, maybe it's that. It couldn't possibly be the fact that you're poor and you're sick but can't get help and the corporations are destroying the planet and you can't do anything about it. This is the best of all possible worlds, remember? You are an acceptable casualty of that, if you don't like it you can either suck it up, take pills, or slit your wrists, the choice is yours. And the emo scene says maybe I will slit my wrists because I can't live like this.

I think now both punk music and emo music along with the fashion are having a bit of an interesting revival, and I don't think the revival is good but I definitely think it is necessarily a sign of the times. The common person has been given access to a certain level of celebrity, the cracks in the political hegemony that the 90s and 00s propaganda told us would last until the heat death of the universe are showing, corporations in their quest for endless growth have made us into modern serfs and commodified every aspect of our lives. We see so much death every day from covid from state violence that used to be easier to cover up. The apocalypse we were warned about but unable to stop is here. There's an appetite for the nihilism, the rage, the self destruction from the failure to change anything, and in pursuit of profit, the companies see that appetite and respond to it with fast fashion and industry plants, and the common person who is under constant surveillance and has been convinced it's what they want has prettied up the grittier aspects of the scene in order to make it social media ready. The goth bars close and the regular bar has an emo night, social media influencers who used to bully you for your DIY fashion does a "Tradgoth" makeup trend that looks more like Gottmik than Siouxie Sioux just to wipe it off and post it for a Sephora sponsorship. You say anything about any of it and you get accused of being more hardcore than thou even though you're just making observation about the scene you've been in for a decade. And you look around you and the same thing is happening to hip-hop and the state of the music scene is even worse for normies so this is clearly a universal problem.

#punk #punk rock #emo #goth #punk history

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alexjcrowley · 1 year

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I am watching Heat and making it everyone else's problem, BUT Al Pacino and De Niro in there are top tier queerplatonic relationship goals. Obviously no hate to the shippers who see them romantically involved, it's definitely something that I could see, but let me push my aromantic agenda here.

Because, honestly, Pacino and De Niro being like "this hunt, this kind of rush is my life, I can only get a woman to stay with me for limited time, because it's this what gets me going, being a criminal/hunting criminal"? SIRS MAY I SUGGEST YOU ARE BOTH LOOKING FOR A ROMANTIC PARTNER BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE WHAT YOU SHOULD DO BUT YOU'RE PRETTY GOOD ON YOUR OWN?

Don't get me wrong, I feel like Pacino cares about his wife and his wife's daughter a lot, but he doesn't love his wife romantically, you know what I mean? He chose a woman he likes and likes to have sex with, and he cares about her but no romo. Even when she says "I'm going out" without him, he doesn't explode into a jealous fit, he is just like "okay, I get you're angry with me, I'll go do my thing now" and that's that.

Robert De Niro being the only one of the group without a partner AND NOT EVEN LOOKING FOR ONE (it's Eady who goes to him). And I'll be honest, him meeting a woman and asking her to move to New Zealnd with him after two weeks to me seems a pretty forced writing choice. Just because they wanted to get him a woman, you know?

Of course the conversation at the bar between Pacino and De Niro is an iconic movie moment per se, but if I put my aro lenses on watching it I love it even more. I like to think their experiences are similar also because they don't need romance in their life, they basically have no place for it.

Pacino is like "my sentimental life is a mess and I wouldn't want it any other way if it meant abandoning what I think is my life purpose" and De Niro is like "Nah, I get it, to keep doing what I do I'd too drop everything that could stop me, romantic partner included".

I don't know, it's like "aromantic meets another aromantic for the first time in their life, turns out they have quite a lot in common".

And I like the idea of them developing some sort of qpr also in a sense that their relationship with eachothers, as cop and criminal, is what keeps them alive and makes their life interesting. That's what fuels them, not a happy ending with their loved one, but the thrill of the hunt!

I know obviously the movie wasn't intended to be aromantic and I don't mean to flatten the interpretation of Heat by reducing it to a queer reading, but there are basically zero movies about aromanticism and when I see a film in which at least one character could be interpreted as aro (usually when they're very focused on their job and they seem to gain more issues than benefits from romantic relationships) I can't help but being like "me! They're like me!". So indulge me, please.

Pacino and De Niro in this movie really feel like Sherlock and Watson in a way, let me explain. I always disliked that part in Sherlock adaptation when John ends up with Mary and wants to marry her and move on from his aventurous life with Sherlock, and not because I want John to be romantically involved with Sherlock, but because I think John is giving up a fantastic, intriguing, exciting life to...be married. If you were to aske me "would you prefer to settle down with a ring on your finger or live the rest of your days solving mystery wuth your best friend" that's not even a question for me, I choose the second option.

And Pacino and De Niro in Heat are people who would choose the second option in a blink like me! Yes, they want to keep ghe hunt going, the adrenaline pumping, they couldn't sit at home watching tv and eating roast, where's the adventure, where's the fire???? The best moment of their day is not at home with their partner, in on the field, oursmarting the other!!!! As far as I am concerned, they said aro rights to me, I don't care. Qpr goals, they wouldn't settle down together, they would play the cat and mouse game for as long as they can meeting weekly in cafe to update the other about the rest of their life and flirt.

After spending 5 days hiding in some secret cove, De Niro walks into a bar where Al Pacino held a sit for him, they order coffee and Pacino is like "What are you doing this days?" "Oh, same old stuff, caught Starsky & Hutch on TV yesterday" "Oh, so you're hiding in a place that has a TV and decent enough signal :)" "Yeah, you got me, what about you ^-^"

It makes sense in my head I swear. They flirt all the time but in a queerplatonic way you know what I mean. You know it.

#heat 1995 #al pacino #robert de niro #aromantic #aro spectrum #movies #queer reading #vincent hanna #neil mccauley #vincent x neil #qpr #queerplatonic relationships

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rametarin · 2 months

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A thought

Cybernetics and 3d printing and regenerative medicine are going to overlap in a way that some may consider disgusting, but is actually absolutely fantastic.

Okay, so. Currently, we grow agricultural animals for food, and byproducts, like wool. Be it sheep wool, alpaca wool, llama wool, cow leather, horn, etc.

We do not currently farm some animals, despite their superior quality, because doing so is difficult. Like spiders for silk. Yes we do have silkworms and things, but it's not the same.

Nature and animals have manufactured exotic things just as a consequence of adaptation and survival for hundreds of millions of years, and some extremophiles have devised strategies that fit into nature yet offered absolutely surreal amounts of mastery over any given thing. Be it gecko feet being adhesive free super sticky pads, or camouflage, or what have you, or the strongest teeth in nature belonging to a SNAIL.

And they don't use exotic ingredients; they just use common everyday basic minerals and ways to express them at ultrafine molecular levels that make them biologically. So.. It stands to reason, someone that can organize and program proteins and cultures of meat, could program structures to grow these things in controlled conditions.

If you're not picking up what I'm putting down here, I think we're going to have 3d printers that use animal proteins as a base in a chemical nutrient sludge to start them, and then grow those special parts of an animal like they're on a mutant specimen that just so happens to only be, for example, a sheep's skin. So you grow these absolutely enormous sheets of wool uniformly without the necessity of taking care of hundreds of sheep.

Now, logically there's no need for that; you're fighting with agriculture for blankets and shit. Unless you're a psychotic vegan trying to crash the natural grown wool market and ruin profit margins for sheep herders, there are so many better, more exotic and difficult to acquire things you COULD be doing with the technology. For example, you could have the 3D bio-printer make snake venom to make antivenins. You could have this synthetic pit made of viper DNA that is just a gigantic venom gland, literally producing as much venom as the entire family of snakes produce in a year, or have ever produced since nature gave us snake with venom as a defense mechanism.

Isn't that fucking wild?

Or how about an entire tunnel lined with bacteria and acid producing pumps leading to an enormous series of artificial bowels that do nothing but turn food waste into forms of methane that can be sequestered and made useful, dealing with the problem of breaking down bio-matter without intense heat, fires, smoke, or atmospheric contaminants? Dealing with every bit of garbage for unutilized calories and preventing it from just producing millions of tons of methane in a landfill, which pound for pound/kilogram for kilogram can be worse for the atmosphere and the environment than millions of cars on the road? Because organic structures made to exist independent of an animal could do that.

In theory there'd be no biohazard elements, it'd be as dangerous as having a goat die. Yes there's some risk of bacteria and shit, but. it's just a dead body, not a nuclear wasteland.

And speaking of nuclear wasteland; What about artificially generated biological containers for bacteria that consume radioactivity? Imagine some sort of techo-organic GI tract that could consume the Elephants Foot faster than that bacteria have eaten it where it currently lays in Chernobyl. Nuclear waste that would've taken tens of thousands of years, or centuries after vitrification, gone in months.

Organic 3d printing is so much more than just the ability to rapidly fabricate cloned hearts, nerves or any other organ.

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female-malice · 1 year

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Late on Saturday, as members of Congress scrambled to strike a deal for legislation that would raise the nation’s debt ceiling, they agreed to a total non sequitur in the text they would release the next day. After a series of late-in-the-game interventions by lobbyists and energy executives, the draft bill declared the construction and operation of a natural gas pipeline to be “required in the national interest.” It wasn’t really germane to the debt ceiling, at least not in the literal sense. But then again, it wasn’t any ordinary pipeline.

Building the Mountain Valley Pipeline, a 303-mile conduit to deliver fracked gas from West Virginia to southern Virginia, has been a top priority for Senator Joe Manchin III of West Virginia since the project was announced in 2014. The problem, for him and the project’s other supporters, is that it has been fiercely opposed by grass-roots groups and landowners living in the project’s path for just as long. Construction on the project was recently stalled after federal judges found that regulatory agencies had repeatedly failed to comply with environmental laws.

By forcing through this pipeline, the Biden administration rounded out the ransom sought by Republicans holding the global economy hostage and paid off a debt of its own to Mr. Manchin for his crucial vote last year for the Inflation Reduction Act.

But if the Senate passes the bill the House passed on Wednesday, an insidious piece of misinformation will be enshrined in federal law: the claim that the pumping, piping and burning of more fossil fuels is — despite all scientific evidence and common sense to the contrary — a climate solution.

Natural gas is predominantly made up of methane, a climate-warming superpollutant that is responsible for about a third of the warming the world has experienced to date. If completed, the M.V.P. will be a very large and long-lived methane delivery device. At the wells that feed it and along the way, some of that methane will inevitably leak into the atmosphere, where each molecule will exert 86 times the heat-trapping power of carbon dioxide over 20 years. At the end of the line, the methane will be burned in power plants and furnaces, producing carbon dioxide. Taken together, by one estimate, the M.V.P. would generate yearly emissions equivalent to what’s produced by 26 coal plants.

And yet the bill’s text asserts — in a brazen stroke of climate gaslighting — that the pipeline will “reduce carbon emissions and facilitate the energy transition.”

Businesses and governments have long claimed gas was a bridge to a clean energy future, a transition fuel that would tide us over until renewables were ready for prime time. But now that wind, solar and battery storage are indeed quite ready and, in many places, cheaper than gas, the jig is up. That makes the M.V.P. a project in search of a rationale: There are cheaper sources of gas available via existing pipelines, and the U.S. Energy Information Administration projects that demand for gas in the Mid-Atlantic and Southeast regions will continue to drop off in the years and decades ahead.

Though the assertions that the pipeline is necessary and good for the climate defy logic, the political calculus is clear enough. Congressional Democrats and President Biden want to reward Mr. Manchin, who is weighing whether to run in what is sure to be a tough re-election fight in 2024.

Mr. Manchin was also a supporter of another large gas pipeline that would have originated in his state: the Atlantic Coast Pipeline, which I have been reporting on since 2019. The two pipelines were twins, announced on the same day in 2014 and approved by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission on the same day in 2017. They would have crossed similarly steep and landslide-prone Appalachian terrain. But the Atlantic Coast Pipeline was canceled in 2020 after years of tenacious grass-roots resistance and legal challenges.

Mr. Manchin seems determined to rescue the M.V.P. from this fate. And with it, his gas industry and power utility donors — whose lobbyists helped him in the final hours of debt ceiling deal making — will be able to further strengthen their hold on the energy system.

White House officials have said that the project would probably have secured the remaining federal permits regardless. But the provision authorizes all necessary permits and bars further judicial review of any of them — thus neutering an essential tool for ensuring that infrastructure projects comply with existing laws and regulations. It’s the legislative equivalent of overturning the Scrabble board in a fit of pique when you’re losing a game fair and square.

For many of those living in the project’s path, who watched as its construction has so far triggered over 500 recorded violations of water quality and other regulations, it’s a terrible betrayal. But it also sets a dangerous precedent. It is safe to assume this won’t be the last time this tactic is pursued to shield fossil fuel projects from judicial review or scientific scrutiny if they happen to be deemed by their developers and political allies to be in the national interest.

Senator Tim Kaine of Virginia has cited this risk in explaining his opposition to the M.V.P. provision. When Mr. Manchin succeeded in getting a similar carve-out attached to the continuing budget resolution to fund the government last September, Mr. Kaine refused to vote for it. “If the M.V.P. owners are unhappy with a court ruling, they should do what other litigants do and appeal,” he said. “Allowing them to fundamentally change federal law to achieve their goal would surely encourage other wealthy people and companies to try the same. I won’t participate in opening that door to abuse and even corruption.”

Mr. Kaine, along with other Democratic members of the Virginia congressional delegation, remains opposed; this week he said he’s against any debt-ceiling bill that exempts the M.V.P. from judicial review. Meanwhile one of the lead Republican negotiators told reporters this week the pipeline provision is a “huge win” for his party because it puts “Democrats on record supporting a conventional energy project that removes or ties the hands of the judiciary.”

Democratic leaders will surely bristle at the suggestion that they are helping the gas industry obstruct the transition to clean energy. After all, they passed the Inflation Reduction Act, the most significant climate legislation in U.S. history, and protected its raft of clean energy incentives from cuts in the debt ceiling deal. It’s clear that the deal makers regard themselves as the grown-ups in the room, making the tough trade-offs needed to avert financial catastrophe. But when the stakes are this large, one need not grant them that deference.

There’s always a political “crisis” gathering on the near horizon that will supersede concerns about the climate — that will cause us to look away from the dizzying rise of methane concentrations, currently spiking to levels not seen in over 800,000 years, a trend tracking with the worst-case climate scenarios.

This is what it looks like to shuffle along toward climate chaos, one misguided compromise at a time.

#cc

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hitechhotwater · 9 days

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Heat pump hot water systems are a vital part of modern Australian homes. However, they can sometimes encounter electrical issues that may hinder their performance.

Understanding these electric hot water system problems and recognizing the importance of professional intervention is key to maintaining your system's reliability and longevity.

Understanding Electrical Issues in Heat Pumps Overview of Electrical Problems: Electrical issues in heat pumps can range from minor wiring problems to complete system failures. These issues can significantly affect the efficiency and safety of the device.

Key Electrical Issues: Faulty Wiring or Connections: Loose or damaged wiring is a common cause of many heat pump failures. These issues can disrupt the normal operation of the heat pump, leading to intermittent problems or even complete system shutdowns.

Sensor Malfunctions: Sensors play a vital role in regulating the heat pump's operation by measuring temperature and pressure. If water heater sensor failure occurs, they can send incorrect signals to the system, leading to inefficiencies and potential breakdowns.

Signs of Electrical Issues in Heat Pumps Recognizing the signs of electric hot water system problems early can prevent more significant problems down the line. Symptoms may include unusual noises, frequent resets, inconsistent heating, and unexpectedly high energy bills.

If you notice any of these signs to upgrade your water heater, it might indicate an underlying electrical issue, such as problematic wiring or sensor malfunctions and may need emergency hot water heater repair.

Why Regular Maintenance is Crucial

Regular maintenance of your heat pump is essential not only for preventing electrical issues but also for ensuring that the entire system operates at peak efficiency. Here are additional points highlighting the importance of regular maintenance:

Extended Equipment Lifespan: Regular maintenance extends the lifespan of your heat pump by ensuring that all parts are functioning as intended. Well-maintained systems are less likely to suffer from the wear and tear that can lead to premature breakdowns.

Cost Savings: Maintenance might seem like an additional expense, but it actually saves money in the long run. A well-maintained heat pump uses energy more efficiently, which reduces your monthly energy bills.

Additionally, catching and fixing small problems with heat pump water heaters early through routine maintenance can prevent expensive repairs or total hot water system replacement down the line.

To know more about Why You Require Professional Heat Pump Repair Click Here.

#electric hot water system problems #hot water system problems #common heat pump problems #water heater sensor failure #problems with heat pump water heaters

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onthespothvacplano · 9 months

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Signs That Your AC Needs Repair and When to Call in the Pros: A Guide by On The Spot Air Conditioning & Heating Plano

Maintaining a comfortable indoor environment is crucial, especially during scorching summers. Your air conditioning (AC) system plays a vital role in keeping your home cool and comfortable. However, like any other mechanical system, AC units can experience wear and tear over time, leading to various issues that may affect their efficiency. Recognizing the signs that indicate the need for AC repair is essential to prevent minor problems from turning into major malfunctions. In this article, we'll explore common signs that your AC may be in trouble and when it's the right time to seek professional assistance, brought to you by On The Spot Air Conditioning & Heating Plano.

Insufficient Cooling:

If you notice that your AC is struggling to cool your space adequately, it could be a sign of a malfunction. This may manifest as uneven cooling, warm air blowing from the vents, or a noticeable decrease in overall cooling efficiency. Issues like a refrigerant leak, a malfunctioning compressor, or a clogged air filter could be the culprits.

Unusual Noises:

Unusual sounds coming from your AC unit can be indicative of underlying problems. Hissing, grinding, squealing, or banging noises may suggest issues with the fan, compressor, or other internal components. Ignoring these sounds could lead to more severe damage, making it crucial to address them promptly.

Frequent Cycling:

An AC system that cycles on and off frequently, known as short cycling, may be experiencing issues with its thermostat, refrigerant levels, or a malfunctioning sensor. Short cycling not only reduces energy efficiency but also puts unnecessary strain on the system, potentially leading to more significant problems.

Poor Airflow:

Inadequate airflow can result from a dirty or clogged air filter, a malfunctioning blower fan, or blocked ducts. Reduced airflow not only diminishes the overall cooling capacity of your AC but also puts a strain on the system, leading to increased energy consumption.

Water Leaks:

If you notice water pooling around your AC unit or water leaks inside your home, it's a sign of a potential issue. The most common causes include a clogged condensate drain, a refrigerant leak, or a malfunctioning condensate pump. Ignoring water leaks can lead to water damage and mold growth.

When to Seek Professional Assistance:

While some minor AC issues can be addressed through regular maintenance and DIY troubleshooting, certain signs warrant professional intervention. Consider seeking assistance from On The Spot Air Conditioning & Heating Plano in the following situations:

Lack of Cooling: If your AC is not producing cool air or fails to maintain a comfortable temperature, it's time to call in the professionals.

Unusual Noises: Strange sounds emanating from your AC unit should be inspected by a qualified technician to identify and address potential problems.

Frequent Cycling: Short cycling can indicate an underlying issue that requires professional attention to prevent further damage.

Water Leaks: Any signs of water leakage should be addressed promptly to prevent damage to your home and the AC system.

Electrical Issues: If you experience electrical problems, such as frequent tripped circuit breakers or issues with the thermostat, it's advisable to consult a professional technician.

Regular maintenance and prompt attention to signs of AC trouble can prolong the lifespan of your system and ensure optimal performance. If you notice any of the mentioned signs, don't hesitate to reach out to On The Spot Air Conditioning & Heating Plano for professional AC repair services. Timely intervention can save you from costly repairs and keep your home cool and comfortable throughout the seasons.

#business #hvac services #hvac repair #hvac contractor #hvac installation #hvac #economy #ac repair #hvac company #heating repair #heating services #furnace repair #air conditioning #aircon servicing

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silversdragonemporium · 2 years

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The Heat House

Ship: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Byleth Eisner (male)

Summary: Byleth, as an omega, had been to more than his fair share of heat houses. In the heat house, he would get anonymously paired with an alpha, and from there he would help them with their rut and he would get help with his heat.

It didn’t mean anything. It was just a biological circumstance. A simple give-and-take that remained completely anonymous.

But for some reason, he just can’t stop thinking about his house leader…

The first of my double entry for @dimilethfever’s Hot Flash Round #3 (Anonymity)

Warnings: A/B/O (omegaverse), anonymous sex in gloryholes, lots of pining, a sprinkle of breeding kink (as you do)

Rating: Explicit

AO3 Link

Alphas and omegas were assumed to be incredibly rare, but the truth of it was that they were more common than people wanted to admit. After all, both were suppressing themselves all of the time. Making it appear as if they weren’t one missed dose of suppressant from being dominated by their animalistic drives. However, one cannot indefinitely suppress. Alphas and omegas had to lay off the suppressants now and then and let their rut or heat pass them by. If they didn’t, they risked their mating cycle overriding the suppressant in the worst circumstances possible. Alphas needed to fuck, and omegas needed to be fucked. Since it was inevitable that they’d have to give in to their instincts eventually, why not arrange a compromise?

The concept of a heat house was quite simple, really. Omegas would routinely cease their suppressant regime to induce their heat. Then, they would go into rooms that had convenient slots for them to basically hang their ass out into a room where alphas that were off their suppressants would find the nearest hole and go to town. No names, no mating bites, no problem. Once either party was satisfied, they could leave quietly and be replaced by another alpha or omega in need. Nobody could really care when their partner had been replaced. Byleth knew he could take about two knots before his heat would finally leave him be for the next couple of months until he’d have to go back to the heat house before his heat would override the suppressant.

There was really no shame in using the heat house, it was merely a thing of necessity. There were people with reputations, jobs, and things to do —people like Byleth— that didn’t have the luxury to wallow in some ivory tower and trying to rub out a heat, wishing that the wooden knot-toy they covered in their sweet-smelling slick were a real, thick alpha cock pumping between their legs. Not to mention, just fucking it out of one’s system actually made these things much more manageable than trying to avoid it.

When Byleth had presented as an omega, about the time he assumed he was old enough for puberty, Jeralt had been practical. He taught him about heat houses and suppression. They had work to do, and Byleth knew that it was simply the best choice to combine his suppressant routine with going to the heat house to deal with his problem.

They say that one never forgets their first time, but Byleth couldn’t really remember it. All of his times in the heat houses were a blur that melted together into a similar experience over and over again. It was nice, and it worked for him, so he just kept at it.

Granted, there was the small issue of having to take the abortifacient after the fact, which always messed up the stupid omega part of his brain that wanted to keep the pup and find the parent to be a happy little family together.

Fortunately, Byleth was the Ashen Demon. So he just drank that bitter brew and went back to his usual routine. Back to pretending to being a beta. Someone normal and dependable, that wasn’t biologically wired to be used and bred.

Someone like Dimitri.

Dimitri was the picture-perfect beta. Calm, polite, reasonable. Not a needlessly aggressive douchebag like Felix. Not a vapid manwhore like Sylvain. He was just… always in control. Always able to lead his classmates with a small smile.

Dimitri’s muscular build had piqued Byleth’s interest in a vague “oh wow, he’s hot” way. But with every passing month, Byleth started to notice more and more of his student’s blessed physique. His thick neck. The hint of beard Byleth had once seen an early morning, before Dimitri diligently shaved it away. The way sweat made his loose linen shirt cling to his muscles when he trained. His sky-blue eyes that had a blade-sharp edge to them whenever he asked a question during class. Almost as if he were an alpha that was about to pounce on him and fuck him in front of the entire class to see.

It was around that point that Byleth conceded that it was time for a visit to the heat house.

It was a Sunday, and instead of taking the class for an excursion, Byleth gave them the day off. Like any large enough town, Garreg Mach had a heat house tucked away from public view, but easy enough to find if one knew how to look for it.

The heat house in the town was actually managed by the Church of Seiros. The amenities were posher than most of the heat houses Byleth had been in. The other heat houses just gave you a bucket of water to clean yourself after you were done. This one had a bathhouse just next door to where the omegas were set to get fucked. And— actually, it was divided into small closet-like rooms, keeping the privacy of each omega not only from the alphas on the other side, but amongst themselves.

If Byleth was gonna stay in Garreg Mach as a teacher, he could get used to this.

But regardless of how nice the amenities were, Byleth soon found himself in a familiar position: on his hands and knees, waiting for an alpha.

He didn’t have to wait long. Behind him, he could feel a pair of hands open up his buttcheeks, and a low growl of approval at the drooling hole they found.

My alpha, thought the heat-struck part of him.

No. It was just man or woman in a rut. An alpha. Not his alpha. Byleth didn’t have an alpha. He was single, and he’d stay that way for the foreseeable future.

The alpha grunted, and then Byleth could feel a tongue lapping up at his hole: eager but slightly clumsy. Byleth could even feel the alpha’s long eyelashes against him as they drank up his slick.

In all of his years of experience, no alpha had ever done that. It was too much of a courting gesture. You don’t really give foreplay in a heat house. That’s not really the point.

But fuck, that felt nice.

If Byleth ever had a partner, he knew he’d have to ask for this.

“Yes, yes,” he babbled incomprehensibly, feeling his heat burn him from the inside. “Use me, use me…”

The alpha chuckled. Low and deep. Powerful.

Oh fuck, I need their knot, cried out the omega in Byleth. I need it so bad.

That was just the heat talking. Byleth would be fine once it was over.

Byleth didn’t have much time to think about it when the alpha’s cock started to breach him. As always, it felt good. More than good. It felt right.

I was born for this, sang that stupid omega part of himself. I was born to be filled and used by him! To be his little, tight, warm hole. That’s the only reason I—

No. He was the Ashen Demon. The scourge of—

“Ngh…” his alpha grunted, fucking his cock deeper inside, long lost in his animalistic drive. “Professor… you feel so good, Professor…”

What was that feeling, twisting in his stomach? Was it omega-in-heat excitement? Or was it absolute terror at being discovered?

It’s him, squeed his omega brain. He’s my alpha!

Shit, was this a student? One of his?

Byleth wanted to think that it was his heat-driven omega-brain that immediately conjured up the image of Dimitri, with his golden hair and polite smile— but no. It wasn’t only the omega that wanted to belong to him. Every part of Byleth desired to be his. Either as a whore, a lover or…

Mate. Spouse. Husband.

Stupid. Byleth was being stupid.

“You take me so well,” Dimitri said. “You really needed this, didn’t you, Professor?”

No. There was no way that was Dimitri.

Dimitri was a beta. A reliable, normal, dependable beta.

…Wasn’t he?

Shit, it’s not like one could tell these things easily. Byleth doubted anybody saw his deadpan face on the battlefield and immediately knew that he’d want nothing more than to be fucked stupid on an alpha’s knot, bent over and bred in the throes of his heat.

“Alpha,” whined Byleth. “Please, please… give it to me!”

“You like being my little heat bitch, don’t you professor?” The alpha, that might or might not have been Dimitri, let out a small cruel chuckle.

“Yes, yes!” Byleth nodded. He could imagine how Dimitri’s face must have looked like, red with exertion. “I’m your cum slut, your heat bitch, your whore. Just fuck me, please, fuck me!”

“You needy little thing,” the alpha slapped his ass. “Why don’t you come on my knot, and how me just how much you want to get bred?”

Byleth let out a delighted little gasp. Shit. This was so much better than all the other times. Usually, it was impersonal. The cocks that were stuffed into him were practically indistinguishable from the next. The words they said in the mating were as meaningless as other guttural grunts and moans.

But this… it was more. Was it because it was possible that Dimitri was the one fucking him? That Dimitri could’ve been the one thrusting deep inside him with an even and relentless rhythm?

That when he came, Dimitri would be the one filling Byleth’s belly with his thick spent until it quickened?

It was that thought that made Byleth come with tears in his eyes.

“Dimitri…!” Byleth moaned, unable to hold back the name of the one he wished was the one burying his knot inside him. Byleth felt the alpha coming deep inside him.

“Byleth,” Dimitri let out a satisfied moan. “You’re mine now.”

So. It was Dimitri. He was the alpha that just fucked the heat out of him.

It didn’t mean anything…

It means everything, the omega in him cried out. I’ll carry Dimitri’s child. He’s my alpha. I’m his omega.

Byleth would probably have to think over what this would mean for them.

Later.

For now, he would just let himself relax and enjoy his alpha’s knot.

#silverfic:complete #silvercoldbrew #dimileth #fe3h fanfic #mdimileth #DimilethHotFlash

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