#i could engage with other people for a whole profession!!!!!

[b-blushes]

i feel like in the last year i'm really, like, meeting myself if that makes sense? which is a really wild experience. like, i'm suddenly realising that perhaps what i thought of as immutable personality-trait Shyness was in fact Severe Clinical Anxiety as the aftermath of/alongside being autistic for nearly two decades without knowing it and Struggling with it, and i'm learning all kinds of things about my me! I've been to two groups for people with some of the health stuff i have over the last year, one a long-term hospital program and the other a fun thing, and i'm suddenly able to not only confidently and competently talk in front of a group but also, like, have a personality??? :P I was at one of the groups earlier today, realising i could straight up talk about my first impressions of an artwork i was seeing in front of everyone (mostly total strangers I'd only met minutes before) and i got home and was suddenly like HELLO?!!?!?!? I can just straight up DO this?! the main two thoughts i've had on realising this are 1. huh that kind of sucks! wild to have lived most of my life unable to kind of, like, develop much identity/self-knowledge of what i *did* like/think because i was So So Afraid In General! 2. if i had physical energy to go along with this i would be *such* a menace >:) which on one hand is kind of sad, but on the other hand it's like *looking at myself with awed wonder* there's things in my me???

NICE!

[headspace-hotel]

It's important to not force your human morals onto non-human nature, like "this creature, since it disgusts me, is bad" or "this creature, since it has behaviors I interpret as sweet and heartwarming, is good"

But if you study nature whether in life or in profession, nature will make you feel disgusted and uncomfortable, it's not necessary to act as if those feelings don't exist within you, because they are part of your encounter with the otherness of nature, and contain sensitivities that can be sharpened into their own ingredient to knowledge and awareness

Coexisting with discomforting parts of the reality of Nature without trying to resolve them into a moral or aesthetic framework you are happy with, reflects maturity

It is no good to "redeem" a hated animal if the redemption is another false idea of the animal as innocent and good. This implies that a creature's "goodness" is a valid reason it deserves existence. It is also no good to treat a beloved animal with hatred to make things fair.

A good example is with dolphins and sharks, dolphins were seen as good and cute and almost human, whereas sharks were seen as bloodthirsty killers, and this has cost the lives of sharks while dolphins are given more sympathy, so some people have tried to turn it around, portraying sharks as gentle and good while pointing out that dolphins can be violent and rape other dolphins.

A lot of dolphin behaviors are certainly upsetting, definitely it makes sense to be upset that an animal can engage in what appears like cruelty, but human morality isn't made to apply to non- humans, and a particular behavior is not the entire reality of what a whole species is like. Dolphins also engage in behaviors that humans judge as friendly, compassionate, altruistic, curious and playful

Think of a particular dog or cat and the variety of complex behaviors they are capable of—an entire species, made of individuals with their own complexity, must be far more complex. All of your emotional responses to dolphins are recognizing the immense complexity of these animals and how they are both like and unlike you, which is important to think about to expand your understanding of the universe

Fitting a creature to a flat framework for your own comfort or internal resolution is a disrespect to the creature. Certainly with sharks, everyone should know the facts about them rather than sensationalistic misinformation—shark attacks are rare, humans are not a preferred food for sharks, and most shark bites are exploratory investigations of a strange object or animal rather than feeding upon a selected prey item, however this doesn't mean sharks are "good" by human standards and it certainly doesn't mean sharks are "safe."

Seeing a video of an enormous Great White swimming placidly I feel that her presence is not just breathtakingly beautiful, but awesome—in the more archaic sense of something that inspires awe, something so great and powerful it could destroy your fragile human life without malicious intent. Likewise with any shark, it is respectful to recognize that they can be dangerous, it is disrespectful to think of them as ocean puppies and try to touch them and grab them.

Fear, disgust, anger—each is an instinct that functions to protect you and is reactive towards potential or perceived threats. Your brain allows you to evaluate things that cause these responses and choose how to act.

All parts of this whole are important because the natural world contains actual threats but knowledge and intentional behavior are important to protecting yourself.

For example, once when I found a tick crawling on my clothing, I felt disgusted and startled, which is appropriate, but my instinctive reaction was to immediately flick the tick off, flinging it onto the floor or furniture nearby where I no longer knew where it was. In this way my response didn't actually protect me but instead increased the level of risk

There are plenty of other examples—if someone sees a venomous snake they might think it is important to kill it, but trying to kill the snake is much more dangerous than leaving it alone, since the snake will try to defend itself. Spraying pesticides to kill bugs can unbalance the ecosystem causing more harmful pests than you started with because the natural predators are also killed. Using poisons to kill mice and rats will also poison their natural predators. Killing coyotes just causes them to disperse and reproduce at a higher rate, and killing wolves causes overpopulation of prey, which causes disease to proliferate and forests to be stripped bare of saplings that could grow up and regenerate the forest...

...And it also works the opposite way with human responses of affection, love and sociability: humans often may feel that they want to make an animal their friend, but often it would be cruel to take that animal into a human house and treat it as a pet. White-tailed deer may seem cute and sympathetic but hunting some of them is important for the health of the ecosystem, and trying to make them tame puts the deer and the humans in danger. Domestic cats are our friends but they are also invasive species in much of the world, destroying populations of birds, mammals and amphibians.

Domestic cats aren't serial killers or murderers either, they are just predatory animals that instinctively hunt and kill prey.

It is hard for facts about animals to be propagated while those facts must be presented as reasons the animal deserves to live or deserves to die. Virginia opossums are important to their ecosystem and deserve to exist. They also don't actually eat ticks, that came from a very flawed and sloppy scientific study that was contradicted by later studies, and sadly the reason this misinformation got so far is that it was "proof" that opossums are valuable and shouldn't be killed for no reason.

Wolves are keystone species and vital to their ecosystems, but it's not true that they never attack humans, there have been a small handful of wolf attacks on humans, it's very few and wolves generally avoid humans but they're not "safe." They shouldn't have to be "safe" to deserve to live.

Fact is, most animals can harm a human if they feel threatened or end up in an unlucky situation! Most animals can spread disease one way or another! We have to live with this, we have to learn and use strategies to keep ourselves safe, we can't just sterilize the world of animals because of a possibility that an animal could hurt someone, any more than we can cut down every tree because trees fall on people sometimes.

No one likes hearing that there's no way to for-sure eliminate all possibility of ticks from your yard, you just have to take precautions against them, but it's true! Just like there's an inherent possibility a wasp could sting you, an inherent possibility a snake could bite you, an inherent possibility a mountain lion could eat your livestock, but you can dramatically lower your risk of these things by knowing how to coexist with these animals.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What do you make of the moment when Kate shrugged William's hand on a Christmas show in 2019? The sugars use this to show how they actually hate each other, but I've always thought Kate just reacted immediately because they never did PDA and she was caught by surprise, as in to say "what are you doing? we're working"

I've been following the BRF since the Sussex drama, so I don't have decades the reflect on, but from what I've seen, it really seemed there was a no PDA rule. They also appeared much stuffy, even towards each other, with Kate standing straighter, making sure she was walking behind William, often keeping her hands in front of her as if to protect herself. But the last years, the seem more at ease in public, allowing some hands on the back here and there. And I've actually been wondering if H&M overdoing it with the PDA meant the BRF could actually relax a bit and allow some touching without looking unprofessional.

There isn’t a “no PDA” rule. The rule is that everyone is expected to be professional at work. And PDA - over the top PDA like the Sussexes - is not professional behavior in any industry, in any profession, in any country in the world.

William and Kate are affectionate and playful with each other. They always have been, long before Meghan had Harry in her claws:

Before their engagement: L - Graduating St. Andrews in 2005 C - Saying hello at polo in 2006 R - Paparazzi catching them making out. Date unknown, suspected sometime 2009 (based on William's hair).

Newlyweds: L - Canada, July 2011 C - Edinburgh, July 2011 R - London Olympics 2012

Early Parenthood: L - Christmas Walk, December 2013 C - Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, July 2014 R - Rugby World Cup, September 2015

Before the Love Bomb: L - Hiking in India, April 2016 (there's a well-known story from royal reporters on the India trip that William and Kate were close and affectionate until they spotted the reporters and photographers. Once they saw the royal rota, they immediately separated and became more formal/professional.) C - Private family ski trip, February 2016 R - Canada, September 2016

Before Meghan made her official debut with Harry and the BRF: L - Heads Together awareness event, February 2017 R - Wimbledon Men's Final, July 2017

And no, I didn't see "the incident" as Kate shrugging off William's hand because it was PDA. I see that moment as Kate adjusting her position in her seat and William briefly touching her. If you watch the clip, you'll notice that Kate's whole body wiggles; her shoulders, her trunk, and her legs. William just happened to touch her in that same moment. If she was shrugging him off, if she was recoiling from his touch, only her shoulder would have moved. It was a harmless, normal moment that happens to everyone.

Others may see it differently, and that's fine.

Harry and Meghan overdoing it with the PDA didn't open any doors for anyone to be more affectionate or show more affection. All they did was highlight the difference between working professionals who a) know they're on the job, b) know their roles for the job, and c) know that their job is bigger than their individual needs and people who think their love and togetherness is more important than the job.

[elderberries-and-honey]

Autumn, 1900

Once the tennis match began, it was obvious Vernon was more skilled at the sport than the rest of them, including his own teammate, but Lawrence had enough of a competitive edge to keep the game stimulating for their small audience. Not another word was spoken about what had transpired between Winifred and Hettie; in fact, Winifred did not speak another word to anyone other than Lawrence for the rest of the afternoon.  Winifred knew she was being juvenile, and maybe even spiteful; and she was not oblivious to the fact that she was the one causing the stiffness to linger in the air among them, but she couldn't help it. She was hurting - and rightfully so, too.  She and Mrs. O'Doyle were not what one would call close, but they engaged in what she considered meaningful enough conversation over the years, that the idea of her gossiping about her wardrobe to her sister was cutting. But it was she who made the first jab, which meant she was the one to blame. However, what troubled her the most over the whole thing, was that she could not figure out why she had started it in the first place.

next / previous / first

transcript below the cut

<leaves crunching> <distant chatter>

Mr. O'Doyle: Afternoon, Baudelaires; We're thrilled you could join us. Lawrence: Ah, well we appreciate the invitation. Mr. O'Doyle: You will be playing against my son, Vernon, and his old classmate, Clarice. <whispering> We suspect a romance may be blossoming. <giggling in the distance>

Mrs. O'Doyle: And this, is my sister Hettie. Hettie, these are our friends Mr and Mrs Baudelaire. Hettie: Pleasure to meet you. Mrs. O'Doyle: Mr Baudelaire is a funeral director here in town. Hettie: <high-pitched> Oh, my...what a fascinating profession that must be... I wish I had a service like that for my Hugh. Lawrence: Hugh? Mrs. O'Doyle: My sister's husband <sighs> He passed...oh, three months ago now? Lawrence: I am sorry to hear that. My condolences. Winifred: Your husband passed only three months ago, yet...you wear no mourning clothes?

Hettie: Well, Mrs. Baudelaire, I certaitnly understand your curiosity over my personal wardrobe, but some of us do not enjoy dressing in mourning attire <spins finger> year round...

Vernon; Father, are we going to play, or not? Mr. O'Doyle: Be right there, Son! Vernon: What was that about? Mr. O'Doyle: <sighs> Nothing to worry about. Winifred: I told you I don't fit in with these types of people, Lawrence Mrs. O'Doyle: <whispering> Why would you say that?! She is going to know I told you that!

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-Fi prompt from Anonymous Supporter:

For the Econ Topic, an analysis on a society that has magic and fantasy races would be nice. Or maybe how a guild of Thieves or Assassins would work in either real life, fantasy or sci-fi setting.

The former is far too varied and complicated a topic to fit into 500 words, but I can definitely make the latter work... by explaining what the fuck a guild is.

These days, the words guild and union are used more or less interchangeably, and they do admittedly have some overlap in modern capitalist society. In the historic Europe that many of these settings are inspired by, the word guild had a more specific meaning.

Let's unpack some of what the economic structure is in these settings.

Large, overarching companies engaging in multinational work are rare in those historic settings. You have some trading/merchant organizations (e.g. the Dutch East India Company) that fit that bill, work that couldn't be performed without a large, existing structure to back it (e.g. mining), and domestic agricultural lordship (you know, feudalism).

For the rest of the economy, though, you have small businesses. Technology isn't at such a point that something bigger can be done. Factories aren't a thing until the industrial revolution, but we do have division of labor, so there are people who specialize in baking, or weaving, or shoemaking, or pottery.

Many of these professions require years of training, from apprenticeship to journeyperson to mastery. Trade secrets are a big deal, you marry off your daughter to your apprentice to secure the line and prevent competition, and you try not to give up those secrets because if you do, what's to keep your lord and other rich folk from taking advantage of you, and paying you less than your worth?

That's where the guild comes in.

No matter how good you are at keeping secrets, the competition does exist. You cannot be the only baker, dressmaker, shoemaker, bricklayer, carpenter in town, unless your town is very small indeed.

Price competition isn't a great idea when profit margins are already low, and you are a small business that doesn't have the diversification or coffers to take the hit for a few weeks. If your lord tries to force you to sell low, you can't just refuse him! He's the one that pays whoever uses the swords!

If only you and all the other trained professionals in your industry could hold together and tell him, "Yeah, that's as low as the price can go. You are paying for the bare minimum of materials and labor with that. So sorry, can't go lower without taking an actual loss, and everyone else will tell you the same thing."

Joining a guild was often the only way to perform that craft or service in a given city. This prevented untrained, untested individuals from trying to peddle something that wasn't up to standard, but also acted as a form of gatekeeping that could prevent the market from becoming oversaturated with competition. The formation of a guild was often related to, or even reliant on, approval from local government or a monarch.

Guilds did absolutely have negative impacts, by the way, often through market manipulation and rent-seeking behaviors. They stifled innovation, gatekept skills, and were capable of price-gouging and price-fixing beyond the basic "this is how we keep from getting screwed over by the rich guys." While the guilds themselves were arguably intended to ensure minimum standards and protect against wealthy clientele, they were just as prone to stagnation and greed as any organization.

The guild differs from the unions in that the guild is for trained professionals that, by and large, own their business to some degree. The unions, meanwhile, are for laborers who work for someone else, and formalized labor unions only began in the mid-18th century, while trade guilds, or something like them, date back over four thousand years.

Remember how I said that factories as we know them, and that whole Big International Company format, didn't really start being a thing until the Industrial Revolution? You know how the Industrial Revolution started in the mid-18th century?

We now see the connection.

So, what does a guild of thieves or assassins mean, at its core?

Well, they have to be doing this professionally. Someone who's just killing for the fun of it isn't a professional assassin, being paid by other people for it, just like how the baker's guild isn't going to care overly much for the farmer's wife making her own bread for dinner. Thievery is a bit less obvious in terms of 'what counts as professional.' Does the person who picks pockets to pay their rent qualify as professional? Or just the ones who steal on behalf of someone else? What about burglars?

So part of what you'd need to untangle is what qualifies as professional for the thieves themselves.

Then, given that these are generally illegal acts in the first place, what purpose does the guild serve? Is the guild supported by the crown as a form of control over theft and assassination in the first place, like privateering? Does the guild institute rules on who can be stolen from, whether or not it's within guild rules to kill individuals of certain ages or genders or classes? What punishments does the guild implement on those who violate those rules?

If the crown allows the assassin's guild so long as members of the royal family are not targeted, is there a rule that any client who requests the assassination of a monarch must be reported, or killed on the spot? What government fees does the guild have to pay in order to exist? If they exist as an underground, unofficial group that is not affiliated with the government, how do they deal with the government? How do they hide? Do they dictate pricing? Do they pay off cops to stay under the radar? How do they advertise their services without getting found out?

For the thieves guild, it's even more wiggly. Who qualifies as a professional? Is it the pickpockets, the cat burglars, the people who climb into dragon's caves to locate ancient treasure and get out unseen? Is there a minimum yearly income threshold? How is that calculated? What about membership fees? Is membership singular, or can it be done as a couple, a team, a family? Are there groups that are off limits? Maybe there are two thieves guilds, one for those who can be Hired By Adventurers, acknowledged by the crown, and a second for those who work in the seedy underground away from official oversight.

There really is no one way for this to play out, and will probably vary from town to town or planet to planet in-story, but hopefully I've given you the framework to build up the various guilds you need for your story!

(Prompt me on ko-fi!)

[senditcolton]

I Get to Love You

Thigh squeezes. Reaching over and resting your hand on their outer thigh, perhaps giving a gentle squeeze. Feeling their eyes on you as they try to decipher your motives. Whether the touch is teasing, loving, reassuring, or just for fun.

part of my Valentine's Day prompts requested by @pyotrkochetkov | word count: 0.6k | warnings: none!

The breeze blowing in from the ocean was a pleasant sensation against your skin. You sit in your designated white wooden folding chair on the large patio, the scent of flowers filling your nostrils. The gentle music floats above you as you watch the adorable parade of kids making their way to the altar. You shoot a quick glance back at Kevin, rocking on his heels, his eyes trained at the end of the aisle.

“Kev looks like he��s about to cry already,” you whisper to Brady, sitting next to you.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Brady questions, his eyes turning to look towards his friend.

“Of course it is,” you lightly giggle. “Which reminds me; if you don’t shed a single tear during our wedding, I might have to call the whole thing off.”

The teasing in your voice is evident, that mischievous smirk on your face as you look back at your fiancé. Brady shares your grin, leaning in to place a quick kiss on your lips.

“If that’s the case, then I promise I will be a sobbing wreck. And if I’m not, you can subtly kick me in the shins until I start crying.”

Another gentle laugh escapes you and you press a kiss onto his lips. The music swells and you see the officiant lift their hands – an indication for you to stand. You do, angling your body towards the entrance of the aisle. Brady’s hands come to rest on your hips, his need for physical touch making you smile.

You watch as Katya makes her way down the aisle, holding the elegant bouquet of white florals, the material of her dress dancing in the breeze. You sneak another glance towards Kevin and you look just in time to see him wipe a tear away. Katya makes it to the altar, kissing her father on the cheek and handing off the bouquet to her maid of the honor before taking Kevin’s hands in hers. Once everyone has settled back down into their seats, you listen intently to the exchanging of vows, the smile never leaving your face.

There was something magical about weddings – an entire day devoted to celebrating love. They were one of your favorite events to attend and you loved every second of them: the ceremony, the first dance, the reception. But your favorite part was the vows. Listening to two people profess their love for each other in front of friends and family was beautiful, especially when it always looked like the couple was in their own world. Just the two of them – no one else around.

You smile as you see Kevin and Katya seemingly caught up in their own perfect bubble.

A hand landing on the top of your thigh pulls your attention away from the bride and groom and towards your soon-to-be-husband. Brady looks at you with a soft smile on his face, his strong grip gently squeezing the flesh of your upper thigh, his thumb running over the silken fabric resting there.

You understood the action – one that could have many different intentions driving it – was one of excitement and love. You grin back at him, your head coming to rest naturally against his shoulder. Brady presses a kiss into the crown of your head and you hear his gentle voice whispering into your hair.

“Only three more months. Then that’s going to be us up there.”

Your smile grows, your left hand coming up to rest on top of his. Your engagement ring catches the sunlight, sparkling like an exclamation to the end of Brady’s statement. You lift your head, resting your chin onto his shoulder, watching as Brady turns to stare into your eyes.

“Three months can’t come fast enough,” you whisper. Brady smiles, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you both turn your attention back to Kevin and Katya.

Weddings were magical. And you knew in your heart that yours and Brady’s wedding would be the most enchanting of them all. You couldn’t wait for that day.

[sweetredbeans]

Just gonna randomly ramble some things here about the Sonic Movies okay cool. (PS. This is absolutely not meant to be mean if you didn't like the trailer: you are 100% allowed to dislike it. This is just me rambling my own thoughts ^v^)

I'm already immediately tired of people absolutely BLASTING the movies for choices that they don't like without actually thinking about why those choices might have been made.

Tom being a cop. Okay. What other Earth profession follows the stereotypical "hero" role (the role that Sonic fills in his games) any better? So, a profession where you are saving people from "bad guys" by beating them up. Because that is what Sonic does in Sonic 1. Follows Robotnik around and beats him up and rescues the people (flickies) he was being mean to. They clearly wanted to parallel that idea and yeah, Sonic doesn't like cops and that makes sense given who he is, but I can also look at the movie and go "Oh, they wanted that parallel for a reason and that's why they made that decision" not just because they want to engage in copaganda.

Why is Amy not here yet. Money. Plain and simple, guys. Amy doesn't sell as well as Shadow. Period. Sorry. And nobody knows if they'll get another movie after this. They might, yeah, but 3 movies in a franchise like this is already a lot, and 4 is REALLY a lot. Yes, it is being more common now for something to have 700 sequels, but it is VERY not guaranteed, and if they wanted to get more hype and make more money, then Shadow coming first makes WAY more sense. And trying to shoe-horn her into this movie would absolutely be a disservice to her personality and backstory, as well as Shadow's--they wouldn't be able to properly develop either of them in one 2.5 hour long movie.

Sonic is working for GUN so he must be pro-military. I reblogged a much better-worded post about this earlier, but I am HIGHLY inclined to believe that GUN is USING Sonic to get to Shadow by playing off something adjacent to "He's gonna destroy the world oh noooooo". Let's be real here: GUN would NEVER let Sonic go get Robotnik again, they blackbooked him HARD for a reason. So I am highly inclined to believe that while Sonic may START working for GUN because they ask for his help, they are not going to stay amicable for the whole movie (especially given the fact that we see soldiers around Maria's dead body and somebody is going to tell Sonic about that) But clearly they aren't going to give something like that away in the first 2 minute trailer guys.

Gerald is here. I don't have a great answer for this one aside from the fact that they needed someone to play Eggman's role from SA2, and Eggman himself isn't set up to do it. Theoretically, SOMEONE had to bust Shadow out of GUN prison, and having Gerald be a hologram or robot or something set up to take revenge on GUN later would make a lot of sense. It's also possible that he was also frozen or stasis-ified and got let out once GUN figured out Project Shadow still existed and then took his revenge idk we'll just have to see won't we?

This is just a random last point but...if you go back and watch the first trailers for either of the other Sonic movies, they are VERY different from what we actually saw and LOADS of stuff is either massively changed or majorly taken out of context so...that could be good or bad.

In conclusion: we'll just have to wait and see, but these are my thoughts and predictions woo!

[beevean]

Hey now how could you say such nasty things about the show? Don't you realise how important it is for lgbt representation? I bet you're some bigoted neckbeard!

Go back to your jumping pixels on the ps2 and leave us alone you gatekeeper!>:(

I know you joke and all, but it's honestly baffling to me how NFCV (and esp Nocturne) got the reputation of being woke because of one (1) bi threesome, when it's shockingly bigoted itself.

Wallachians are depicted as backward hillibillies brainwashed by the Church and engaging in bestiality: classism and xenophobia due to them being Eastern European, plus a general shallow caricature of history.

Alucard mocks the Belmonts by accusing them of being "mentally ill hoarders" and engaging in pagan rituals such as sacrificing chickens and mummifying cats: ableism and xenophobia, not helped by the fact that he's technically a nobleman looking down on common people (so classism).

Trevor is an alcoholic because of genuine childhood trauma. He's constantly mocked by other characters (and even the fucking music sometimes), he's pushed aside in favor of Alucard who is the first person who disrespects him, and eventually ditched by his own story.

Carmilla, the quintessential lesbian vampire in popular culture, jokes about being willing to fuck Godbrand only if all the men, half of the women and some of the animals dropped dead: equates having sex with women with having sex with animals.

Isaac's backstory is being a slave owned by a Catholic priest, so historically inaccurate that it can only come from the preconception that black people can only exist in Europe as slaves.

Isaac is a self-professed Muslim man who gleefully worships a demonic creature and agrees with his idea of killing "impure" people for a superior mission, justifying his sins by misquoting the Quran. His hypocrisy is never pointed out, and we're meant to admire him all the way through. I cannot make this shit up.

The generals in Dracula's court come from all over the world, with prominent Indian and Chinese vampires, but they are literally props only there to pretend the world is bigger than it actually is: the focus is given to two white Northern European vampires, Godbrand and especially Carmilla.

Striga and Morana are the laziest form of lesbian representation you could possibly have, literally Disney level of "seventh first gay character".

Alucard got "revealed" as bi in a tweet as if to reassure us that no, he wasn't raped, he enjoyed it! Pure biphobia.

Hector's whole story in S3 and 4 is disgusting rape apologism stemming from sexism, both against men (men are inherently horny and they cannot get sexually traumatized) and against women (women are never a threat and everything they do is inherently titillating).

Vampires, unholy creatures who can only exist by causing harm to humans, are treated as if they were their own separate race, and as if the Belmonts are committing ethnic cleansing against them. Case in point, Alucard being such a cunt to Trevor because oh no, his ancestors killed vampire children and kept their skulls in their hold! As if "vampire children" would be anything else than a cursed existence. (and never forget about the "cabal of vampires" controlling the slave trade in Nocturne, or how in that show vampires are the literal ruling class to be crushed by the revolution.)

oh but game isaac is offensive because he looks like a bdsm stripper or stuff. sure whatever.

At least Nocturne had the decency of fleshing out its gay couple. Yay, progress.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Happy Birthday, Elystan! Have you read any good books recently? (Or, alternatively--anything you really disliked?)

Elystan: I was reading a brilliant book, a translation from the Rurakravian, before I came to school--Flight of Fantasy by Mrs. Ioannova. But Her Majesty took it away and hid it, and it took me months to find it and slip it into my valise for the journey to school. I finished it on the train while she was sleeping. I've never read another book that has whirled in my head as much as this one. The hero is clever but he's an idiot but he's tragic but he's horrible and I spent half of the book wanting to argue with him and the other half wanting to be him if I grow up. And then--I don't know if you've read Flight of Fantasy, lots of people haven't because it's daunting if you're an inexperienced reader, but I'm going to spoil the ending for you anyway--it just ends! Unresolved! Apparently there are more volumes, but no one has translated them yet. I wish I know Mrs. Ioannova's address so I could coax some answers out of her, but I don't know if she reads Coregean or even if she's still alive. I suppose I'll just have to learn Rurakravian for myself then. How difficult can it be?

Another book I've read recently was the Duchess of Arclis's new novel. Don't tell Delclis. Or do. I don't care. He could use a shock. She may have been a rubbish monarch, but she's quite an amusing author. I was roaring with laughter the whole time. It's called A Woman of Great Importance, and it's about a lady artist starving in an attic or something who ends up having to impersonate a society woman and has so much fun doing it that she decides to make a profession of impersonating wealthy people--they engage her to do it so they can take a holiday from their lives in peace--and of course it leads to misadventures. Quite entertaining.

And yes, I did read something that I want to obliterate from the earth. Her Majesty very kindly purchased me one of those trifiling little schoolboy magazines to read on the train, as if I were eight years old, and I had to read it in front of her or I wouldn't have heard the end of it, and the very first story was exceptional stupid even by these magazines' standards. Some drivel about some self-righteous prigs of prefects at a school forcing a boy who has a doctor's note for a bad heart to play rugball for the school anyway, because anyone who has such a note is just shamming so they can slack off. They convince him to do this by applying their swagger-sticks to him until he admits the note is a forgery, and then he has to play, and the school wins the match, which is of course the only desirable thing that can ever happen. There were more school stories in the magazine, and they were all more or less like that. If this is what the other boys here are reading, it explains a lot about them.

[It's my OC Elystan's birthday, ask him anything!]

[gremlingottoosilly]

Just one shot [Military photographer!Reader x CoD characters] part two

You successfully escaped the hell of the art school — in debt, with nothing but your(shitty) camera, a diploma and disappointed parents who never understood your life choices. Being a part if the military wasn’t your first option, but what else can you do? And at least, people here are fun to work with…

Content: female!Reader, lots of bad jokes, young!Reader, nationality is not stated but has a strong accent, a little bit of angst, I have really vague understanding of the army, Reader is short&not really strong, slow burn, Reader is shy and not very social

Character focus in this chapter: Soap, Gaz

🤨📸

Being one of the few women on base, who were not constantly engaging in combat or military trainings, had more downsides than benefits. You are not just weaker than your fellow soldiers, since your profession let you escape the gym as long as you wanted, but also more desirable to pick on. Short, shy, forced to talk to everyone so you make photos for the yearbook of each unit, while working exclusively alone — by all means, you are the perfect victim to evil pranks and not very clever romance attempts.

Right now, for example, you were clinging to your camera, while desperately trying to look for the way to escape a soldier’s grasp without making too much noise or attack him directly. You are good with riffles, and the camera is heavy enough to be considered a weapon — but still, you are not a close combat fighter.

Of course, this guy was trying to ask you out — a typical behavior for boys who haven’t been in touch with reality for a whole months straight, and were seeing you as an easy target. You hated this and you hates the feeling of helplessness that came with such situations — but there was mostly nothing you could do.

— Aye, mate. I would advise yer stop bothering our fine lassie out here and shut yer puss.

Oh.

There he is, your prince with mohawk and accent that you still can’t quite process.

You never knew that seeing his weirdly serious expression would make you cheeks blush, but you decided to blame it on the general anxiety of this situation. A recruit who was harassing you quickly disappeared after a friendly hand of Soap resting on his shoulder. You didn’t exactly knew what he was saying to him, but it was clear, that not something all fun and cheerful.

And still, Johny — even if would never dare to call him that — saved you. Now you were standing in the hallway, with your camera held close to your chest, and shaky, still unstable legs.

— Thank you, sergeant. I was…well, I wasn’t expecting him to being so stubborn about wanting to know me.

— Yer were standing here like a deer in headlights. He was quite a munter, but why didn’t you said anything, lassie?

— Thought we were alone and it would be useless. Plus, I was really worried that he could broke my camera if I would refuse him too harshly, so…yeah.

You tried to smile, to make some silly joke out of this situation, but Soap clearly wasn’t convinced. If anything, he looked even more worried — and placed one hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing soft skin under your jacket. He tilted his head, now looking a little bit like a bird — cute, curious one. You tried not to think about how pretty his concerned eyes were, but failed.

— Next time, you gonna bring yer arse to me second some hackit would try to bother you again. Got it?

Ah yes, because you really want to bother your very attractive superior about some idiots trying to get to you. On the other hand, however…he looked really worried. And it’s not like you would be constantly clinging by his side — even though you would still need a few photos for the 141 album.

It wouldn’t hurt, to hang out with him and the other members a little bit more, right? For purely professional purposes, of course, you don’t want to seem like a silly little recruit who is hanging out with people way out of her league. Even if this is true, and they are way too cool for someone like you.

📸📸📸

— I’m just not sure whether he likes me or just tolerates me. I get mixed signals and I’m terrible at reading them.

— Mate, if Soap would hates you, he’ll be very vocal about it. You can’t just shut him up most of the time, so I doubt he hates you. Seems like the opposite, really.

Gaz was the easiest person to get along with — and the most friendly as well. Your photoshoots quickly became a way for you to share latest gossips and just chat in each other’s company for a little bit. You liked having a friend like him — while not particularly close one, he was also very acceptable of your way of (over)thinking and shy personality.

And he looked great in sunglasses.

It’s funny, because you actually hated making photos of people in sunglasses, darker lenses would always direct light right into the lense and would mirror everyone in front of it, but Gaz somehow make it less terrible — while looking like a freaking superhero movie character.

— You sure? He always uses his dialects on me and, um, I know English, but he somehow makes me feel like I don’t.

— What kind of words does he using? And you can always ask him to just speak normal English, you know.

— This would be insensitive! I appreciate his culture and don’t want to seem like an ignorant jerk. And, erm, he is calling me bonnie all the time, which is weird, because I am clearly not a rabbit.

Gaz froze in place for a second — a perfect pose for you to make another photo. Then he bursted out in pure laughter and, quite frankly, you have no idea what so funny about Soap basically calling you a bunny without any reason.

— And I thought I am bad at clues. He likes you, for real, if he calls you this.

— Wait, then what…what does this mean?

Gaz laughed again — a pure sound that is forcing you to also start giggling a little bit, only saving a little bit more stability in the camera because of your professionally trained and experienced hands. You smiled, trying not to look at him too much — but really, Gaz is very pretty when he is smiling.

So making a lot more photos feels a little bit obligatory.

— It means that he called you pretty. Like really, really pretty. Scottish dialect and everything.

Soap…called you pretty? Oh no. Oh no, no, no, you can’t have that! You both needs to be professional and…well, you really should stop thinking about these two guys. Way out of your league. You just a photographer, and they are legends.

Gaz patted your shoulder, bringing you to a little but awkward, but still warm hug. And to be quite honest, you never wanted to break this hug. Ever. Especially when he was holding you gently, in a way that didn’t feel threatening. Making you smile every second of it.

Do you have a multiple attraction problem?

[scotianostra]

On June 18th, the day after Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned at Lochleven Castle, The Palace of Holyrood House was overrun by religious zealots destroying the Royal Chapel and plundering the building.

The author James Boswell lamented in May 1758 the state of the church in his poem “An evening-walk in the Abbey-church of Holyrood-house” mentioning the state of the Royal Vaults as also the “venerable roof” which fell “a prey to the rude winds, and Winter’s stormy blasts!”

The biography of Mary Stuart describes the event as such:“The insurgent nobles, on the 18th of June, seized the Queen’s plate, jewels, and other moveables, in Holyrood-house: They coined the whole of her plate. On the same day, Glencairn went with his servants into the Queen’s chapel of Holyrood-house, and broke down the altars, and demolished the pictures, images, and ornaments. This outrage was highly commended by the preachers, as a work of great godliness: But, the other insurgent nobles were somewhat displeased; as he had done this mischief, without any order, and before they had resolved, how to deal with the Queen.

It is a curious circumstance, which marks the real design of the rebellious nobles: They immediately took the most decisive, and vigorous measures against the Queen, in violation of their public professions, and in breach of their solemn engagements, to serve, and obey her; while they did not pursue Bothwell, or take any measure to prevent his escape; though they always avowed one of their chief objects to be, to inflict condign punishment on Bothwell, for the King’s murder: Morton and Maitland, who were his complotters, knew, that he could charge them with their guilty conduct, in that abominable deed.”

So it really shows the anger shown towards Bothwell was merely an end to a means, they wanted Mary dethroned. This was confirmed on 24th July 1567, she was forced to abdicate.

In the years that followed the Abbey’s alters and stain glassed windows were destroyed along with the tombs of Kings David II, James II and Mary’s father James V.

There were attempts to rebuild the building, these were after 1758 when its high vault collapsed, but the repairs were disastrous and did not stand up to the task, by 1766 they were beginning to deteriorate.

Scots Magazine and reported a two stage failure.

“On the 2nd of December, about noon, part of the walls and roof of the church of the Abbey of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, gave way and fell in; and in the night following a great part of the remainder fell also. This is said to be owing to the enormous weight of a new stone roof laid over the church some years ago, which the walls were unable to support. The pillars and ornaments of this edifice, though for many years waste, and almost ruinous, were greatly admired, as one of the finest Gothic remains in the Island. The vaults, where the bodies of some of the royal family, several of the nobility, and a great number of the gentry, were deposited, were by this accident laid in ruins. – The church however, is, it is said, to be speedily rebuilt.”

Throughout these times the Abbey was still a place of interest for the people of Edinburgh and visitors alike, it was especially popular as a romantic place to take a walk, especially in the the twilight.

The Abbey is now in the care of Historic Scotland, but much to my annoyance you cannot just go and visit, you have to pay the best part of £20 to the Royal Collection Trust, which look after the royal palaces, I have no interest in visiting the Palace of Holyrood House, nor contributing to the trust, so only have vague memories of visiting when it used to be free when I was a young bairn.

[4th-make-quail]

May I ask a clarifying question on your boundaries? I don’t consider myself “proship” or “anti” as I think those terms are reductive, and two people who may both fit under one label could have incredibly different opinions. However, I believe that the way I interact with media could be something that someone would call “anti”, in that I find it more interesting to look at fiction through the lens of reality rather than “fiction doesn’t effect reality”, by which I mean when reading Lolita I like to go “okay so what is this saying about how the psych profession saw csa at the time?” “How was this influenced by Nabokov’s own experiences?”, I see Marius and Armand as a reflection of child sexual abuse and enjoy analysing it under a more realistic lens, and would find wincest more interesting as a look at enmeshment between siblings under an abusive parent, rather than a ship (although what people mean by the term “ship” is also really vague and can differ wildly).

Based on that, and what you say in your pinned post, would you prefer I don’t interact? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable!

Okay so to preface this, I don't go into much detail in my pinned because I hate the whole thing, and I hate spaces which are super dedicated to the pro/anti discourse. I try to keep my online spaces free of discourse and drama because its simply not fun! I don't want to spend my days steeping in negativity.

This got very long, so I'm gonna put it under a cut!

So. The thing is anon, the proship label originally came about as a response to antis, to describe people who don't actually care what other people ship ("ship and let ship", "your kink is not my kink and that's okay" and all that), but it's been massively conflated these days and now people take it to describe what they call problematic ships or art. You're right about them being reductive terms - and in fact, I have a lot of freak friends who are super into things I personally dislike or am outright squicked by (and vice versa), because we're not a monolith.

My stance entirely is this: I don't care what other people ship. I don't care how they ship it, or how they want to analyse and engage with that source material. I think what people ship and what art people enjoy has no say at all in what their morals might be.

What you describe as how you engage with those pairings is a completely valid interpretation! Preferring to look at a relationship through those lenses is perfectly fine, and in fact lots of people do this under the umbrella of meta.

What I personally mean by "ship" is the usual description - I want those two characters to have a romantic and sexual relationship. However, I also have no issues with people who don't have that viewpoint because it quite literally doesn't affect me unless they go about harassing others.

Liking a "problematic" ship dynamic doesn't mean you also condone that thing in real life. There's a reason one of the top sexual fantasies is noncon (see: any women's magazine list of these), and it's not because the person secretly really wants to be raped in real life. It's because human beings enjoy exploring taboo subjects in a safe and fictional environment.

Where my opinion stands on this is simple. If you think it's okay to harass people for the ships they like, if you think it's acceptable to write call out posts and smear people's names because of the ships they like, then I don't want to know you. If you think liking Marius/Armand makes that person a paedophile, or that liking underage ships leads to the person eventually moving on to real life kids, or that being an incest shipper means you're gonna go fuck your own sibling, again, I don't want to know you.

The same goes for both sides of this frankly stupid issue - far too many people who call themselves proship proudly love to dunk publicly on antis or people who don't share their viewpoints, which imo makes them just as bad! If someone's out there being awful to people who don't ship their problematic ships, then it's just as bad!

This is also why I don't do any DNIs or anything like that. If I see someone start to follow me and they have big obvious "PROSHIP DNI" in their info, then I will go ahead and block them, but otherwise I'm not interested in policing who can interact with me in that way. It's not for me to decide whether someone else wants to interact with me, it's on you to decide if you want to.

I'm not gonna be going out and ripping on people who dislike a ship I like, or who engage with art in a different way to me. However, if I come across posts in my tracked tags or on my dash expressing anti sentiments, or going on a negative rant about something I love, then I will also probably unfortunately be blocking that person. I don't like seeing negativity about shit I love on my dash or in the tags (really, does anybody? lol) so I'm proactive about that because a) it depresses me, and b) I spent a long time in the ffxiv fandom, where people think liking Garleans makes you a nazi apologist, and where they love to go on ranting screeds about how my favourite characters should die painfully, and I'm honestly not about that in my fandom life.

Anyway, all this to say: if you're comfortable interacting with me, a Marius/Armand bitch who does indeed enjoy their fucked up relationship because of how fucked up it is (and finds it incredibly sexy, actually), then I'm fine with you interacting with me. I'm not gonna be sharing or posting about that specific ship anyway, and I'm certainly not gonna be awful about people who find it distasteful or triggering or even just plain don't like it for whatever reason. It won't make me uncomfortable in any way to interact with you because you engage with those things in a different way to me, as long as you don't also engage in the other activities I discussed further up.

Sorry this got so long, anon! Hopefully it all makes sense. As an aside, I'm not interested in having any debates about these issues with anyone and will not be engaging with arguments about it. Sensible discussion, yes. Arguments, discourse and wank? No. Thank you for understanding! 💚

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.3/10 | ghost/soap/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 3.2k, total: 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: Ghost knows he’s caught, feels it crash over him like a bucket of ice water, freezing him in place. But Soap doesn’t tell König to stop, just maintains eye contact from under his lashes. Ghost thinks he sees Soap smirk with his teeth still set in König’s skin. The teeth marks in Ghost’s shoulder throb as if it’s him who’s being bitten.

Soap doesn’t seek him out privately again after that. He makes sure he’s never alone with Ghost, goes out of his way to survey any room Ghost is occupying to check for other people before he enters, save for when they’re out in the field together and it’s unavoidable.

They’re almost done with the mission in Turkey, currently stationed at the Izmir Air Station, and it’s business as usual save for Soap’s cold shoulder. He speaks to Ghost only when necessary for the mission and ignores him outright otherwise. One-Four-One senses that something is off, and give both Ghost and Soap a wide berth. If Ghost’s a little less forgiving, a little harder on them all than he had been while chasing Hassan, they don’t comment on it.

Krueger and Nikto are called in the day before they’re set to infiltrate a facility where six more stolen missiles have managed to be smuggled overseas under the noses of the American military. More fire power never hurts, Laswell had reasoned over the phone. Frankly, she had added, they're the only operatives within a couple hours flight of Turkey.

Ghost and Price stand on the tarmac and watch as the An-124 descends smoothly from the clouds and comes roaring to a stop on the runway in front of them. For all that the military is known for efficiency, it’s another twenty minutes before Kreuger and Nikto exit the aircraft. Ghost and Price discuss the best way to utilize the additional team members while they wait.

“Ghost, Price,” Kreuger acknowledges as he and Nikto approach. His face is unobscured by the tactical veil Ghost had seen in the photo in his file. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He grasps Ghost’s hand in greeting. “Price, you’ve gained a little weight since I last saw you, ja ?”

“Kreuger,” Nikto snaps, his gruff voice muffled under the faceplate. Kreuger doesn’t look the least bit chastised, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth as he clasps Price’s forearm in a handshake.

“Ta Kreuger, I’ve missed your charming sense of humor,” Price says.

“You’re an even worse liar than I remember, alter mann,” Kreuger says.

“Could say the same about you, nervensäge,” Price responds.

Nikto doesn’t introduce himself to Ghost, doesn’t acknowledge Price, but instead turns back to the aircraft.

“Och, there he is. Invited himself. Asshole,” Nikto says and gestures to where König’s is descending the ramp. He looks out of place as he strides towards them, a little unsure at how his unexpected presence will be received, hunched a bit to make himself appear smaller. He narrowly avoids running into a rolling cart of luggage and weaponry that’s being unloaded onto the tarmac.

Ghost keeps it professional. His ability to compartmentalize born decades ago from the love of his profession. Fraternizing with Soap had been a risk right from the start, even before they had done anything more than flirt over comms, but he’ll be damned if he allows it to bleed into his work and affect the success of the mission. He shakes König’s proffered hand when he reaches them, and introduces König to Price who’s looking over The Allegiance contract he’s got on his clipboard to make sure he hadn’t simply forgotten about König.

“You two’ve met?” Price asks.

“Few years back in Argentina, we requisitioned an operative who spoke German. Laswell sent König,” Ghost says.

“Don’t tell me,” Price says, searching his memory. “Was that the time with the Nazis?”

“The first time with the Nazis,” König says.

“There’s more than one?” Price asks.

“Three in all,” Ghost says.

“Don’t worry, they’re dead now,” König adds brightly.

“It was absolute scenes every time,” Ghost acknowledges.

He recalls watching König snap a Nazi’s neck, had admired the deadly grace with which he had dispatched the man. For all that he was lanky, Ghost knew under the awkwardness was a whipcord killer with a secret ferocity, cut from the same cloth as Ghost himself. König had earned his respect as an operator during the brief times they had worked together. That respect feels tainted now by something Ghost refuses to name. He’s grateful for his mask all over again, sure the disdain must be evident on his face.

Price shakes his head and extends his hand to grasp König’s.

“Welcome to The One-Four-One, König. We’re happy to have you with us.”

“Happy to be here, Captain Price,” he says.

Price leads them towards base camp, Kreuger and Nikto walking next to Price and discussing opspecs for tomorrow’s mission. König trails behind them, walking shoulder to shoulder with Ghost.

“I heard Sargent MacTavish was deployed in Turkey. Is he stationed in Izmir?” König asks. He’s almost a full head taller than Ghost, all leg with long strides that nearly outpace him.

Why do you care, Ghost wants to say. Instead he asks, “Now how’d you hear that.” Mission details are usually on a need to know basis where contractors are concerned.

König gives him a sidelong glance, blue eyes bright behind through the veil, then lowers his gaze back to the ground. “I heard Kreuger mention it to Nikto,” he says and shrugs. It’s an obvious lie.

“Soap’s around somewhere” Ghost offers. “Prob’ly in the canteen or the mess for tea. Can’t stand to miss a meal, that one.”

König laughs, as if he understands, as if he has any right to. Ghost wants to punch him.

Price gathers One-Four-One and the Allegiance contractors together in the MIO’s conference room to introduce Kreuger, Nikto, and König to Gaz, Soap, and the two Turkish operatives, Ersoy and Demir. König gravitates towards Soap during the introduction, shakes Soap’s hand and puts on a good show for everyone. For all that Price knows, this is their first time meeting. Ghost hadn’t previously known they were acquainted either, can’t pinpoint when they possibly could have crossed paths.

All together, they’re nine of the world’s deadliest soldiers gathered under one roof, some of the most brilliant tactical minds by any military’s standards. As they stand around the conference table, Price at the helm and outlining the plan of action, he feels suddenly nostalgic. It reminds him of how it had felt when Ghost Team was assembled in Las Almas.

He thinks of Soap then, watches him from across the conference table where he’s stood at attention with his arms folded over his chest, sleeves of his shirt pulled taut across his biceps. The feeling that settles in his chest is unfamiliar, he can’t quite name it until ah, yes, there it is: yearning. He suddenly misses their easy banter and Soap’s soft smiles. Has acquired at least three new jokes that he would normally have relayed to Soap by now, to the tune of Soap’s derision.

Price dismisses them with an order to get some sleep and a final reminder that the helos depart at oh six hundred and do not be fucking late god damn it. Before Ghost can exit the room, he hears Price ask Soap and König to stay behind.

The conference room isn’t soundproofed. Ghost pauses outside the closed door, waves off Demir’s invitation to spar before dinner. The others leave, and Ghost leans against the wall, turning his head so that his ear is almost pressed against it. He tries to act like he’s not eavesdropping by rifling through the mission specs Price had provided each of them. The underrated art of hiding in plain sight.

“Soap, König, I know you’ve just met,” he hears Price say. Ghost wants to laugh in his face. “We’re short on rooms in the VQs and I didn’t think it was appropriate to send König to the barracks. I’ll have a cot brought to Soap’s room, you two will be bunking together for the night.”

Ghost hears their “yes, sirs” and Price’s “dismissed.” The door handle clicks and it’s too late to hide so Ghost lifts his chin and finds Soap’s eyes as they exit. Soap isn’t even surprised to see him there and meets his gaze, doesn’t break eye contact as they pass, side by side with König so that their shoulders are nearly bumping.

König doesn’t even spare him a glance.

-

Like before, Ghost hears Soap before he sees them.

After dinner, Ghost had come to the gym behind the VQs, which were far removed from the otherwise bustling pavilion in the center of the base. In fact, the gym is closed for renovations, which is why Ghost has been sneaking into the locker room to shower. It’s the kind of privacy he’s not used to, having grown accustomed to shared living quarters. He keeps the mask on as much as is possible any time he’s deployed, but bathing in it was too ridiculous to consider.

He’s standing under the spray of the shower, mask set on a plastic stool beside a serrated tactical knife just outside of the stall. He’s never been one to luxuriate in creature comforts, that was trained out of him long ago, but he stretches out his aching right shoulder under the spray of hot water, old injuries and rifle recoil having created a sticking soreness that has only gotten worse through the years. He washes his hair and body without thought and turns the shower off, grabs his towel from the hook just outside of the stall.

He’s half dressed in jeans and mask, seated on the bench in front of the wall of lockers, droplets of water still running down his bare torso as he searches his duffel for Vaseline, when he hears them.

“Shi-hi-i-it,” Soap moans. Unmistakable. The sound echoes from the indoor pool area into the locker room, the tile serving to amplify the noise into something penetrating and urgent.

Ghost freezes, withdraws his hand from his duffel. Soap moans again, what sounds like König’s name, impossible to ignore. He rises from the bench and rounds the corner of the locker room entrance out onto the pool deck. He sees a door half-open directly across from him, a darkened room beyond the doorway save for the soft red glow of an overhead lamp. It must be an office or storage closet, but it’s half filled with furniture, a holding space during the renovation.

Ghost bites the inside of his cheek and swallows, the decision already made. He takes a step into a crouch and moves around the pool towards the doorway, keeping low, back against the far wall. He reaches the doorway and looks in on the scene before him.

Soap’s sat on a desk facing the door with König, with his back to Ghost, between Soap’s spread thighs. König’s big hands grip the meat of Soap’s legs, pulling Soap’s hips into his deep, grinding thrusts. They’re completely naked, not just fooling around but full on shagging, König even stripped of his helmet and veil. The muscles of his bare ass flex til he’s trembling with it, pushing in as far as he can, trying to keep his cock buried deep. Between the red light and the hand Soap has fisted at the base of his scalp, Ghost can’t make out the color of König’s hair, cringes to think he’s blond like Ghost.

“Mein liebster,” König groans, his voice breathy with exertion and something else. Reverence, maybe.

“Harder, make me fucking take it,” Soap says, using his grip in König’s hair to make him meet Soap’s eyes. His other hand is out of sight, likely stroking his cock.

König obliges, moves to grip Johnny under his ass so he can nearly lift him from the desk to get the best angle.

“Fuck me, fuck me, don’t you fucking stop,” Soap babbles, sounding delirious with pleasure. Ghost thinks he’s laying it on rather thick.

“Ja, yes,” König chants. “Ich möchte hören, wie Du darum bettelst.” Ghost can hear what Soap is doing to him by the gravel in his voice, pitched lower than Ghost has ever heard it. Soap scratches the hand that had been in König’s hair down his back, hard, leaves behind marks visible to Ghost from where he’s crouched, blood bright under the glow from the lamp. It makes König fuck him into him harder, hips snapping brutally. Ghost can see the desk begin to slide, tipping and thudding back down to the floor with the force of König’s thrusts.

“Fucking need it,” Soap moans. “Steamin' bloody Jesus, you’re fucking deep.” He braces both hands on the desk behind him and rocks his hips down onto König’s lap.

“You take me so well, schatz. Made for my cock. Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr, stretched around me like this?”

König does heft Soap into his arms then, elbows slotted under the back of Soap’s knees to support his weight. He bounces Soap on his dick like he weighs nothing, Soap using his thighs to cling to König’s narrow waist while his arms come to wrap around the back of König’s neck. 

The position is obscene and Ghost doesn’t know how much more he can take when Soap bites into the meat of König’s shoulder and looks up from beneath heavily lidded eyes to stare directly at Ghost in the doorway.

Ghost knows he’s caught, feels it crash over him like a bucket of ice water, freezing him in place. But Soap doesn’t tell König to stop, just maintains eye contact from under his lashes. Ghost thinks he sees Soap smirk with his teeth still set in König’s skin. The teeth marks in Ghost’s shoulder throb as if it’s him who’s being bitten.

The sweat slick slap coupled with the knowledge that Soap knows that he’s watching them, is maybe even putting on a show for him, sparks a thread of want in the pit of Ghost’s stomach, and without his consent he feels his dick start to fatten in his briefs.

Ghost throws himself away from the door, his arousal underscored by a white hot pang of jealousy. That should be me, he thinks, and hates himself for it, hates Soap and König, as he strides back towards the locker room. He pulls on a shirt and hastily packs his belongings, shouldering his duffle bag and shoving his feet into his boots. The urge to get as far as he can from Soap and König’s brutal coupling is like a stinging slap in the face. He just wants to focus on the mission, damn them. 

He tears out of the gym and heads towards Demir’s room, hoping the invitation to spar still stands.

-

An hour into sparring, a thought occurs to Ghost: why hadn’t they fucked in Soap’s quarters? Price had practically gift wrapped that arrangement for them.

He’s shirtless and dripping sweat on the sparring mat, in need of another shower already. Demir is a worthy combatant, plays dirty like Ghost which makes for an interesting match. What he lacks in muscle power he makes up for in sheer cunning, something Ghost learns the hard way when he winds up on his ass twice in less than two minutes, bruises already blooming on his chin under the mask and over his ribs.

Ghost is about to call it quits and retire when Soap enters the auditorium, adjacent to the mess hall where the sparring mats have been set up. Soap catches his eye, lifts a shoulder and jerks his chin towards the door, an unspoken command for Ghost to follow him outside.

Ghost watches his retreating back. He makes a quick excuse to Demir, claiming the need for an early night, and follows Soap out and into an obscured enclave in an alley just left of the barracks.

“I’m sorry,” Soap starts before Ghost even has the chance to open his mouth. He looks fucked out, skin glowing, the tension he often carries in his shoulders and back is nowhere to be found.

“No you’re not,” Ghost snaps.

“Aye, you’re right Lt.. I’m not sorry.” Soap smirks, the same smirk as before, when he had riding König’s dick and eye fucking Ghost. “But, I need to ask you this. Why does it bother you so much?”

Soap stares at Ghost, eyes hard and daring him to speak. Ghost can’t find the words, doesn’t know what he would say even if he could understand why he feels this way. The tight clutch of possessiveness that has enshrouded his relationship with Soap might be mimetic desire. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s never shared well, has a horrible track record of partners who have cheated on him, which was the main factor in his decision to stop pursuing long term relationships altogether once he’d entered his thirties. He’d instead committed himself to SAS, a sordid love affair still unfolding, with a likely violent and abrupt conclusion.

But he’s never been on the other side of it, has never desired to play the role of the lothario. He feels like the interloper in König and Soap’s relationship, and that bothers him.

“Do you know what ‘Ned amoi ignoriern’ means?”

“Give over with the German, I fucking get it,” Ghost growls, furious that he even let Soap lead him here, into this ambush.

“I don’t think you do,” Soap says, a hiss in his voice. “Its literal translation is ‘don’t even ignore.’ It means that someone isn’t even worth the dignity of deciding to ignore them.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I told König about us,” Soap says.

“Why the bloody hell would you do that?”

“I think it could be so good between us. The three of us. But he’s not interested if you cannae ask for what you need.”

Realization dawns on Ghost. “You wanted me to see you together,” he accuses.

“Aye.”

“Why?” Ghosts repeats.

“Because I won't ignore this,” Soap asserts with an edge of desperation, gesturing between himself and Ghost.

Something in Ghost snaps. He surges forward and grips Soap’s shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt. He uses that grip to practically lift Soap and back him against the brick façade of the barracks. To fuck or fight, he’s not sure, but the decision is made for him when Soap yanks the mask up and brings their lips together in a punishing kiss, hands coming up to grab his face and dig his thumbs into the hinges of his jaw, forcing his mouth open against Soap’s. One of Ghost’s hands slides down to grab Soap’s ass and pull him flush against Ghost. He wonders if König was wearing a condom.

They bite at each other’s lips and jaws and necks, grappling against the wall. Soap is pushing his hands up into Ghost’s hair under the mask, not lifting it off but letting himself in. He tastes something unfamiliar on Soap’s lips. It’s not strong, traces of honey and salt, but it’s there, different from anything he’s experienced where kissing Soap is concerned.

Undeniably, it’s König he can taste, and the thought sends a hot thrill through him, followed by the muted agony of seeing König give Soap everything he’d asked for. Fury sparks behind his eyes. He releases Soap’s shirt and punches the wall behind his head, splitting his knuckles as he rips himself away from Soap’s mouth and puts some distance between them, backing up against the wall opposite where he had just been kissing Soap. They’re both panting hard, staring at each other’s kiss bitten lips.

“If you’re in his bed,” Ghost says, “I don’t want you in mine.”

Soap steps toward him, crowds Ghost up against the wall this time until they’re nose to nose.

“Liar.” His eyes search Ghost's, gaze punishing.

“Piss off,” Ghost says

Soap does.

*******

alter mann: old man nervensäge: pain in the neck, often aimed at siblings or close friends mein liebster: my dearest schatz: treasure/sweetheart/darling Ich möchte hören, wie Du darum bettelst: Let me hear you beg for it Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr: Feels good, doesn't it Ned amoi ignoriern is actually Austrian-German but it felt awkward to mention that in the fic

[the-fandom-abyss]

Hey, are your match ups open?

If they are, may I request one from marvel (any gender)? Spiderverse-specific would be great but I understand if you aren't familiar enough with the characters to write for that so any marvel characters would also be fine.

Because I do not understand the concept of brevity, I have my matchup information pinned to my blog. I really hope that won't be too much of an issue for you. I just don't want to clog your asks with my ramblings.

Anyhow, thank you so so much!

I ship you with Felicia Hardy (Black Cat)!

You mentioned that due to your dancing background that you walk on your toes. Felicia adores that about you, she likes to think that you glide as an angel should never touch the ground. With her profession, it can also be a blessing with the amount of sneaking she has to do, she draws inspiration from your movements and implements them into her own.

Now what is a black cat without her witch? The fact that your wardrobe happens to match her alter ego, well Felicia absolutely loves it. This fact alone is why she calls you her special nicknames like witchy, sorceress, enchantress etc. She’ll even go as far as to use cheesy lines such as “I’m under your spell” or “it must be the love potion”.

After what has happened in her past, she tends to avoid large crowds or events that could lead her back to her past. So she likes to be amongst a smaller group, she doesn’t mind what they’re doing as long as it doesn’t involve a whole party of people. She’s like you in a way, happy to stand outside the venue and continue the conversation, it’s more personal that way. She sighs when you tell her, thankful that someone else just gets it. She feels safe around you.

To maintain your interest and engage in your need to not be bored, Felicia shares little jobs with you. She will hand you floor plans, locations of security cameras. She’ll ask you to stake out the staff, gain an idea of their schedules. She will lead you to safes or vaults that are encrypted, just so you can spend your time searching for the code. There is never ending jobs to be done that there is no time to be bored.

If that isn’t enough, in her down time, she will make sure to plan dates or experiences or holidays with you. It will have all the thrills with the added bonus of together time. Which Felicia has a hard time balancing so she tries her best to accomodate both her personal and work life.

There would be no sneaking around if you were in Hogwarts. A ravenclaw often attracts another and that is exactly what happened. You two would cause chaos in class with the amount of smarts and wit that you possess. I feel you would give the Weasley twins a run for their money, always in competition to see who can one up each other

1k Follower Celebration

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I understand that the evidence to support Paul being not-completely-straight is less robust than the evidence that suggests John was likely bisexual, but his heterosexuality shouldn’t be a foregone conclusion, imo. Obviously I’m in the land of speculation here, but I find it hard to believe that Paul’s feelings toward John were 100% platonic, 100% of the time. The visible, fizzy chemistry between them often strikes me as flirtatious, and the idea of Paul as a passive receiver (lol) of unrequited adoration doesn’t align with anything I’ve observed. I also find Paul’s seeming preoccupation with the physical closeness he often enjoyed with John — the intimate way in which he describes sharing beds, songwriting (eyeball to eyeball), tripping, etc. — to be a telling indicator of feelings he may not have fully understood while John was alive. He seems to put a lot more emphasis on physical proximity when describing their relationship than is typically seen in platonic relationships (between men in particular). However! I have an obvious bias as a shipper that might be clouding my judgment. What do you think?

What a delicious ask!

I hear you, in general. I don't think it's weird to wonder, really. Like, I see how Paul's behaviour falls within the range of what someone who was full-on in love with John would do.

Though sometimes I feel I get a bit lost in the weeds of terminology. When you say Paul didn't always feel 100% platonic towards John, what specifically do you mean? That he actively fantasized about kissing/having sex with John? And let's say he did, I think there is actually a legitimate grey area of curiosity there. I'm actually of the belief that probably the concept of engaging in some type of non-platonic behaviour with John occurred to Paul at some point. (or, you could even say it unequivocally has, judging by his "if I had been a girl, I could have–" comment). Does the idea crossing Paul's mind constitute him having certified non-platonic feelings? I'm asking honestly, because I feel like sometimes people are talking past each other due to these terms not being clarified enough. What if it was even a semi-regular thought of his, that sort of toed the line between fixation and fantasy?

I think flirting is something people engage in without necessarily desiring anything, especially someone like Paul who seems to do it almost accidentally sometimes. I'm not sure what you mean by Paul being a receiver of unrequited adoration not aligning with anything you've observed? Because I think this is a point I've tried to make that often feels sort of misunderstood. I do think Paul was very attached to John and consistently sought out his approval as well as to connect with him, regardless of the nature of his attraction to him. I also wonder if Paul, as you suggested, maybe only considered his feelings might have been non-platonic after John had died, then… could it not be something Paul legitimately never figured out about himself? This is another completely serious question. Is it not possible that Paul has wondered but now no longer has a way to find out?

(I also genuinely think John dying and Paul having to constantly reaffirm to the world they were friends has made him grow gradually more over the top in professing his love for John. Part of what bothers me about some of the way shippers engage with what he says is that it basically feels like it's unself-awarely playing into all of this. Like, "Why does he always bring up John?" For you, partially. Also, that whole murder thing like actually happened, y'know?)

I also take your point re: Paul emphasizing his physical relationship with John a lot. I don't actually know how uncommon it is for men to talk about physical closeness. I've mentioned this before, but groups of men sharing small spaces aren't uncommon in society really (sports teams, the army, etc.). I actually feel like it would be a lot more outside gender norms if Paul emphasized how often he and John talked about their feelings to each other. Also, my far more grim reading of Paul's emphasis is that he, being insanely insecure about his relationship with John, clings to material proof of John liking him, and John being physically close to him is the most irrefutable argument he can think of. I also think he regrets having not been openly affectionate with John ("I should have hugged John all the time", he's said, I think) and thus really treasures those moments of closeness. It also seems like he's often emphasizing the smallness of these moments. John's tiny bedroom, the cramped spaces they were forced to share, Mimi's porch… I think Paul has also attached pre-fame nostalgia in general to John, because he seems to so often be recalling John before the Beatles became successful (I actually think this might be a key factor in his love of mentioning the Paris trip).

I don't know, I see how it's romantic, but I also have similar memories with my best friend that are really important to me, if I'm honest.

In the end, I hear you, it is possible, I just don't find it conclusive enough to feel overly comfortable going against Paul's own word, if that makes sense. If you have more thoughts I'd like to hear them though.

[metamorphosisff]

|Two| It’s Over Now

There are plenty of things I need to be doing, going over the quizzes from one of the three psych classes I taught, following up with three judges about cases I had updates for, and so on and so forth. Yet, here I was rereading the same four words that were sent to my phone earlier this week: Try with somebody else. Jamila Cortez was an enigma that I was drawn to which kind of unnerved me. When was the last time I actively wanted to get to know a new person? For the last few years I had been content within my bubble that consisted of what I thought was a happy relationship, building connections in the educator world, and increasing the distance from my checkered past. Keeping my head down, focusing on my goals served me well until it didn’t, and that bubble popped.

Apparently, the approach I took to reshaping my life caused my ex-girlfriend Mariah, of the last four years, to abandon all of the plans we made for the future. She claimed I wasn’t the same and I hurled the same accusation back. Now I was single for the first time and free from that bubble. I had spent these last few months trying to submerge myself back into the world, catching up with friends that I neglected in favor of hers, and trying experiences that actually interested me. It felt like I was discovering myself again, going through yet another transition, although I had no idea what the end result would be. My previous transitions were brought on by intrinsic motivations, this one? Was extrinsic by all intents and purposes, so I was riding the wave and seeing where it took me. It kept crashing into Jamila.

With me being one of the ten supervisors that worked for the non-profit Helping Hand I met all kinds of people. HH was designed to give people who have had minor brushes with the law a chance to give back to society by cleaning up and volunteering around the community. Along with my job as a professor, it gave me the chance to use the clinical psychology degree I spent four years getting. I loved social work, being on the ground, and getting to know people. My love and genuine care for others was another point of contention between Mariah and I. She didn’t like the way I always had to engage in conversation but it was a quality that served me well in my profession. I was able to see things in people that most would overlook. In Jamila I saw a sadness so profoundly deep I’m sure she didn’t even know how far down it reached and it reminded me of my own cemented over well of sorrows.

It became a goal of mine to strike up conversations with her because something told me her story would be interesting and I could learn from it. That girl was tough as nails though because she had no patience for me. I’ve been trying to think up a response that would adequately do but can’t seem to grasp how. My skills worked better in person I was starting to note. Right as I began to put my phone down, it began to vibrate, and flash with Mariah’s number. Taking a deep breath, I answer.

“Yeah?” I don’t have time or the space to give her pleasantries she does not deserve.

“Hey Xav, I uh, have quite a few of your things here. Are you coming to get them?” she asks in the airy tone I used to adore but now found quite grating.

“What things Mariah? Clothes?” I asked, trying to remember what I’ve left over her new home over the past year.

“Clothes, products, workout stuff,” she lists with a sigh like I was the one inconveniencing her. It seemed that our whole relationship had been one big inconvenience to her in hindsight. “Things like that. So what do you want me to do with them?”

There was no way I was getting on a plane for what was probably less than five hundred dollars worth of belongings. “Donate them or trash them. It’s whatever Mariah.”

“You don’t have to be like this. I was hoping that-

“That what? That we could be friends? After the shit you pulled?” I questioned, mindful not to raise my voice since I was in one of the adjunct offices at the university. There were six in a row in this wing of the floor and the walls weren’t the thickest. I didn’t need to disturb my colleagues with this drama. “What exactly were you hoping for?” 

“I tried to talk to you before any of this happened! You were always too busy helping this convict or that student. You were ignoring me,” she shrieks.

“So it’s my fault you fucked someone else? That’s a new one,” I chuckle dryly though I am not amused. It’s been three months since we last talked, I should have known this call was about to be some bullshit.

“I made my mistakes but so have you. You aren’t perfect either Xavier,” she said.

“And I never painted myself to be Mariah but I was loyal. Cheating isn’t a mistake, it’s a choice, and you still can’t stand on the choice you made. That’s unfortunate but that has nothing to do with me,” I said.

“Wow, it’s crazy you can even say that because it has everything to do with you,” Mariah says.

I closed my eyes as I took another breath because I can tell from the wobble in her voice that she is about to cry. If she does, I might actually lose my shit. She always thinks she can cry her way out of a disagreement. It’s as tiring as it is disingenuous.

“We can do this all day Mariah but it won’t bring us back together. Nothing ever will. Please don’t contact me again,” I said, before hanging up the phone. 

It was the only way to end the conversation and for her to understand that I did not want to be bothered. Moving quickly, I blocked her number before yet another essay text hit my phone. I had been stalling on doing so but it was clearly time to let every part of her go once and for all.

“Fix that form nigga.”

Sweat poured down my body as I readjusted the bar on my back that held two hundred pounds of weight on it. There was only one way to clear my mind after a day like I had and hitting the gym was it. Lucky for me, my best friend Aiden was the ideal work out partner as he was a personal trainer at Equinox. 

“Better but not by much,” Aiden said, as I ascended from the squat. “Where is your head at? Cause it ain’t here.”

The thing about being friends with someone since elementary school is that they know you better than you know yourself sometimes. I reach for my bottle of water on the floor before saying, “Mariah called me earlier today and I’ve been in a funk since. Trying to snap out of it though.”

“Why the fuck you answer? That’s the problem right there. You did it to yourself,” Aiden said, switching places with me at the rack.

He wasn’t one to mince words whereas I considered each word before saying it. The difference between us was patience.

“Man, she hasn’t called me in months. I honestly didn’t know what to expect,” I said, closing my water back.

“You should have expected some bullshit because it’s exactly what you got,” Aiden said as he executed the five rep set without missing a beat. It was lighter than what he had been lifting lately.

“Pretty much but I finally blocked her so the problem is solved. Just dug some shit up is all,” I said, as we switched places again.

“That’s to be expected too X. She hurt more than your feelings, she hurt your pride, and that’s a motherfucker to come back from,” Aiden says.

He’s not wrong. The dig at my ego did and was doing a number on me. Even in the lowest of our lows, Mariah and I’s sex life never reached those dips. Not when she moved either or so I thought. It was one of the reasons I had held on so long even though the end was imminent before she cheated. To know that hadn’t been one of her reasons to hold on fucked me up. We were disconnected in every single way possible.

“She did but what’s done is done. It’s time for both of us to move on,” I said, as I glanced at my watch. I meant to check in on my progress during this workout but when I noted the time I cursed. “Aye bruh, I gotta get up out of here. It’s my turn with Granddad tonight.”

Vernon Taylor, my grandfather, was the heart of our family. That’s why when we got the diagnosis of dementia as an explanation for his frequent sudden bouts of forgetfulness, we were crushed. It would eventually progress toward Alzheimer’s but for now we did everything we could for him. Including alternating night shift visits between his children and their children so that my grandmother GiGi could get some help. If I rushed, I could make it to Queens by eight.

“Oh I forgot about that too. Tell GiGi I said I’ll be there soon,” Aiden said, outstretching a fist towards me.

I bumped it with my own as I gathered my belongings. “Will do, I’ll see you.”

With that I was off. My apartment was only a fifteen minute walk from the gym. Once there I showered quickly and threw on some lounge clothes. The overnight bag I used when going over there was already packed, so once I grabbed it and my work bag, I was in the back of an Uber before seven. For the next forty eight minutes, I used the ride to reflect on my day, deciding what would make it into tomorrow, and what wouldn’t go past today. It was a coping method I learned in undergrad that helped me regulate my emotions when I did not know quite what to do with them. By the time I made it to Queens Village to the yellow two-story home I spent almost every weekend in, I felt ready to deal with what awaited inside. Walking up the pathway, I fished my keys out of my pocket so that I could let myself inside.

“GiGi it’s me, Xavier,” I called out, as I locked both the screen door and front door. No one else would be coming today so I also went ahead and put the alarm on.

“We’re in the living room baby. I left your dinner in the oven, should still be warm,” GiGi called back.

“Ahh thank you, I’m starving. I’ll be in there in a minute,” I said, before heading upstairs to my dad’s old room which was the first one you saw once you reached the landing. 

I didn’t bother turning on the lights knowing it would be a minute before I was up here for good. Tossing my bag on the floor, I stepped out of my sneakers and into the slides I wore around the house. I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands and then downstairs to grab the plate stuffed with salmon cakes, sautéed vegetables, and rice, that was indeed still warm. Within ten minutes I had inhaled the plate between checking my email which was unsurprisingly even more full since I last looked. I’d spend a good portion of the night combing through them for real. The next few hours belonged to Grandad who was sitting in his favorite chair. Gigi sat beside him knitting while he looked ahead at a Knicks game. 

I walked over and dropped a kiss on her brown cheek before moving over to Grandad. “Hey old man, how are you doing today?” I asked, holding my hand out towards him.

His hand grasped mine as his eyes roved over my face trying to place me from the rolodex of memories he had left. “Doing good Lex, doing good. You checked in on your sister? You the oldest you need to keep up with her and Keith,” Grandad replied.

GiGi tossed me a small smile as she said lowly, “Today was a little rough. Sorry baby.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” I said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. Out of all of us, I knew this transition was hardest for her the most. She’s known him inside and out for forty nine years. Turning to face Granddad once more, I mustered a smile while saying, “That’s good Pops, I try but you know how your kids are.”

“Don’t I?! Y’all came out working a nerve let me tell you,” Grandad said, wheezing a laugh. 

“All done with love,” I say as I ease down on the floor beside him like I did when I was younger. His hand taps my shoulder a few times as I get comfortable. It is his form of affection because as a veteran it was hard for him to soften enough for constant hugs and kisses. “Who you got on the game?”

“Not these bums in blue and orange, they need Walt. Where his ass at? His team needs him,” Grandad said, shaking his head and causing me to laugh. The essence of his personality is prevalent.

As much as things were changing, I had to hold onto these moments as tight as possible to carry into however many tomorrows I had left on this earth.

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