#this is not a good thing an employer reference is way better

[the-land-of-snr]

Me when my male teacher does a patriarchy to oppress me, so I run outside but oh no the guy at the coffee shop does an oppression! I'm trapped!

I will be simplifying, but by "men" and "women" I refer to what society sees as such - cis people, closeted trans people and non closeted trans people that society doesn't accept as what they are.

Patriarchy is, by definition, "a system of society or government in which men hold the power and women are largely excluded from it." It seems like a pretty autonomous concept to me. I wouldn't call people stupid on the internet after I just said something idiotic if I were you.

As it is a system, complicated and deep rooted in society, rather than "when man hates woman", it, to different extents, negatively affects both sides and it is perpetuated by both sides. Men are victims of the patriarchy too, in different ways, they don't suffer nearly as much as women do from it but the myth that patriarchy is good for men is just a myth. Under the patriarchy men can't show weakness and emotions to the point they will internalise everything and they are at a higher risk of suicide; they are taught not to interact with each other and women in healthy ways which results in bad relationships for everyone and a reduced quality of life; they have less freedom of expression than women (a gay man is more likely to be discriminated against that a lesbian, doing "feminine" things as a man will get you more hate than doing "masculine" things as a woman, being a trans woman (which society sees as a deviant man) will make you become the main target for conservative hate movements and get significantly more abuse than a trans man (which society sees as a deviant woman)); men are more likely to be victims of violent crimes perpetuated by other men, and men being more likely to be violent criminals is influenced by patriarchy, etc.

As well as how women can (and at least where I'm from, almost always do) perpetuate patriarchy. In the way mothers teach their kids, the way girls at school still can bully you if you walk outside the norms set for them, the way being a female employer doesn't automatically make you see through sexist workplace biases, the cringy tradwife YouTube channels, women in countries where they are still property to men saying that they don't want their ways changed (whose voices then get amplified over the voices of the women who actually want a better life).

I am not that hardly against "I hate men" jokes or saying it 'cause you're frustrated, I can even support similar phrases used in protests if done right, but if you genuinely believe that, if you hate half the world's population based on a trait they can't change about themselves, you're not an advocate for anything, you just need someone to hate. That's fine, most humans need another group of humans to hate. It's probably something in our psychology that most of us are too ignorant to change. Don't be a coward and mask it as advocacy for a movement that saved so many lives and still fights to do so, own up to it. And, as I said, feminism isn't a movement about hate. Feminism benefits everyone.

If you want more than cis women in your feminism then you need to stop saying you hate men.

[muirneach]

the funny thing about me is that on job apps i HAVE employment references i could use but i dont wanna bother my old coworkers so i always just use my teachers lmfao

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[joelsbloodyhands]

Mine

Din Djarin x Reader, The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: Your employer is pissed when you come back from getting information about a bounty with a bruised hand mark around your neck.

A/N: I kinda just wrote this one because I had a vague idea and ran with it. I think everyone is going to learn very quickly in my writing that clearly jealous/overprotective Din is my fave version of him 🙈

Warnings: reader gets choked and not in the nice way (only talks about it), overprotective Din, Din is your employer but clearly wants to be more, death and m!rder (all in the name of love) 🤗, mentions of blood and bodily harm, mentions of slave traders, fluff with a little bit of spice✨, soft!Din but also a little bit reckless!Din 👀 smut references but not written too explicitly but still MINORS DNI, business associates to lovers arc? 😅 not set at any particular point during the series.

READER does not have a specified gender, they/them pronouns used. Reader does not have a visible disability.

You’d been gone too long and Din was getting anxious.

This hadn’t been his original plan.

The contact for information regarding the bounty had unfortunately been highlighted as a previous foe of his. He’d busted them prior when their bounty puck had fell in his lap over a cycle ago.

Trust Karga to let the man redeem himself by providing intel on high-level bounties with the incentive of remaining out of the hands of the Rebellion that for some reason unbeknownst to Din, wanted his head on a stick.

Why had Din let you go and barter for the information again?

“He won’t suspect me to be a threat.”

Oh right, yeah. That’s what you said.

Except Din was probably worrying about the wrong thing because the biggest threat would be the ex-criminal you were meeting with at Mos Espa Cantina.

“Go say hi to Boba for me. Get the boy fed and I’ll be back soon.”

Din was losing his edge.

On what kriffin planet did he give in to such a request?

You were in danger and he knew it.

He knew it and he still sat in the markets with Grogu, twirling wupiupi coins in his fingers for the past half hour while his son slurped another bowl of pog soup.

Why?

Well, that was easy.

Since the past year you had been travelling with him, Din had grown to have affections for you.

To start he kept you at arms length.

Brief answers to your curious questions turned into nightly talks between your bunks. Subtle touches to guide you through busy and sometimes treacherous places turned into lingering holds in his grasp, fear of losing you to the crowds. He found himself watching you far longer than he ever had before and during times when he didn’t necessarily need to. The sound of you using the fresher while he tucked in his little green son had his heart pounding and a certain area of his armor feeling a little bit too uncomfortable.

He grew more and more protective the further you strayed without him.

He no longer wished for you to venture into dens alone to ask for information on his behalf but he couldn’t deny that you were good at it.

Better than him.

You were calm and collected.

You had a level head.

Something that he could very easily lose control over should Grogu and yourself be threatened by a contact. Though it was the one thing you had learned you could assert yourself over since Din’s change of heart.

You had a job that needed to be done and you were the best person for it.

So Din caved far quicker than he normally would with allowing you to go the cantinas and talk about bounties, pay and information. It sped up the process for Din to track them and also meant he didn’t have to deal with the unwanted chit chat that came with meeting up with Karga.

Something you enjoyed. Something that had Din’s palms itching whenever Karga took your hand to help you stand from the booth, Din’s clenched fist aching to wipe the smug look of his face when he turned back in his direction.

“I like her, Mando. She’s good at getting what she wants.”

He knew you were.

Din wasn’t sure if he was included on the list of things you wanted but you sure as hell were on his.

There was times he had a inkling.

Especially when he was feeding the kid and he caught you looking away when his eyes found you scraping away at your lunch.

Times when you would grab his hand without hesitation and pull him through midnight markets towards the sights of fireworks. Din’s heart warming at the wide smile plastered across your face, the powdery shades of red, blue and green lighting up in your eyes from the sky.

Damn, he was down bad and he had no idea what to do about it.

Technically, he was your employer.

Juggling Grogu and his job was a difficulty. Most of the time he was happy to venture out with Grogu in his carrier or pod but his bounties got, let’s say, brave in their efforts to deter him. Going so far as to aim shots towards the child. They learned his weakness and Din hated it.

So with much reluctance to start, he asked Peli if she would be interested in babysitting him for a price but of course she refused; even with the money on the table.

“Not a chance but I know just the person for the job.”

He had slid the money off the table and walked back to the ship without another word until she scrambled after him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Just hear me out, okay?” Din had sighed, turning back to her from the top of the ramp while she stood hands on her hips and a smile growing. “There’s this kid that needs a job. Call ‘em a distant relative, if you will. They’re desperate. Need money, board, food, water and they’ll make sure your little boy is taken good care of. I swear!”

“Have they taken care of children before?” Din asked inquisitively but also with a half mind to ignore Peli completely and close the ramp in response to her proposal.

“Yeah! Loads of times! They’re a professional!”

Din doubted that very much. He knew Peli’s tactics for selling him an offer and he couldn’t deny that she was good at it.

Fine, he’ll bite. Again.

“Call them.”

He just remembers Peli’s grin, your soft voice on the end of a comlink and then a speeder sounding just outside.

She had presented you to him like a rare gift and he was less than happy to receive you at the time but more than a few rotations later, you had thrown yourself in front of a bounty that had tried to commandeer his ship, their blaster aimed for Grogu in his bunk, taking a graze to the side before Din shot him dead.

You were willing to die to protect his son.

That was more than he could’ve ever asked for.

Later when Din was back at the Crest, you returned.

He had spent the past hours pacing up and down the ramp like a mad man.

Originally, he had planned to detour from the markets with Grogu over to the cantina but you had used your comlink to tell him you were already near the ship.

That was interesting because Din got back to the ship and you weren’t even here.

Which begs the question, why did you lie that you were already nearby?

Maybe he was being paranoid. His fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly, stressing about your whereabouts and the obvious reason as to why he was so stressed to begin with.

So when he’d heard your footsteps up the ramp, your voice calling for Grogu, you were both surprised to see the other staring back.

“Where have you been?” Din questioned gently but you sensed an underlining annoyance to his tone.

“I detoured, sorry,” you sheepishly smiled, holding up a bag of frog meat. “I saw a vendor selling this and I knew Grogu would be happy about it. Not to mention,” you brush past him, eyes focused solely on the sleeping child snuggling into his hammock on Din’s bunk, “it would be nice to see him not eat a whole frog for once.”

You laugh and it eases Din.

Of course he was just being paranoid.

“And the contact?” He says and you remain with your back to him, reaching your hand in carefully to tug the blanket over Grogu’s body. “He give us what we need?”

“He did,” you respond and Din satisfied, presses the button to bring up the ramp and close the hatch. The sound of it whirring so loud, in need of some oiling so much so that you had probably thought he missed your quiet words.

“What was that?” His helmet turns your way when the hatch closes with a loud creak.

“I said, somewhat.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t being paranoid after all.

Din feels his nerves wash over him, noticing how you’re not even turning around as you address him. He takes you in. You don’t seem discomforted, angry or emotional. You’re incredibly calm.

Though that was worrying.

Normally, you came back from having debriefs with the informants with a story to tell.

“It was quite scary actually. They had this wookie with them but then you’ll never believe this guy! Stood there, blaster in hand, immense glare in his face, goes and shoves a fist in his satchel, I’m ready to throw hands and I shit you not, Din…wookie pulls out a cookie and starts crunching away at it!”

“Have you ever met a Gungan, Din? I think they’re my favourite people I’ve ever met. I mean they were all like, yousa follow us now, okeyday? Seriously! Oh gooberfish! I love them!”

“What do you mean by somewhat?”

You sigh.

This wasn’t good.

“I’m sorry, Din. They gave us the last location. I think that’s the most important thing.”

“What about if they’re solo or run with a crew? We need to know what we’re walking into, otherwise we could get bombarded the moment we land.”

This wasn’t a simple bounty. This guy was one of the worst out there.

A slave trader.

It angered Din to even think about it.

“Something happened,” he doesn’t let you tip-toe around the subject. “What are you not telling me?”

You fall silent and that’s enough for him.

Something did happen and what’s worse, you don’t want to tell him.

He moves towards you and you turn on your heel, ready to protest. Din had only meant to just embrace your shoulder gently to ease you into a conversation he thought you needed to have but the slightest wince had him drawing back almost immediately.

With his steps halted in front of you, the air cold, the crest filled with silence, Din’s visor drops instinctively to your neck.

Was it getting cool? Sure, when it was getting late. Though right now, it was still early afternoon and you never wore a scarf in Mos Espa outside the settlement and in the dunes.

“Did he touch you?”

Din has to bite back the growl threatening to crackle through his modulator.

Your head drops, eyes on the floor and the look of regret on your features make Din pray to the Maker that he’ll kill the man just for the expression on your face.

Then you unravel the scarf and Din wastes no time.

His hand had pulled your collar back gently, his shoulders stiffening at the purpled marks there.

You grimaced before trying for a smile but he sees the way your eyes plead with his, “Before you ask, it looks worse than it feels. I’m fine, Din. Let’s just go.”

He remembers you calling his name after that.

Only once because you knew as you watched him brush past you, grabbing two vibroblades from his armoury and charging down the steps towards the town, that there was nothing you could say to stop him.

And you were right because less than five minutes later, Din’s blades were impaled on the informants hands, stapling him indefinitely to the table at the cantina while onlookers ran completely, hid or dropped their heads from his view.

Then his gloved hands were on his throat, squeezing the life out of him.

An eye for an eye.

You hadn’t explained why the man had strangled you and it was pointless anyway.

He had no right to touch you.

To hell with Karga.

He’d lose an informant but that informant chose to fuck with what was his and that was worth more than any information.

When Din felt the life leave him, he dropped a number of credits to the table, looked up at the barman and walked away. His last words being, “you can keep those,” shrugging his shoulder towards the blades on the way out.

Now back at the ship, you sit rigidly on the bunk while Din gently swipes a lotion of bacta over your wound with a cotton wipe.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Your eyes flicker to his visor and you know he’s evading your gaze.

You sigh and for a moment, he think you’re not going to reply until your hands gently take his, stopping him from tending to you.

He lifts his visor then, meeting your concerned eyes, your fingers intertwined with his on your lap.

“I can handle myself. You know that, right?”

Oh. So that’s what this was?

You were worried he thought you incompetent to end up in this circumstance?

Of course you would think that. He’s your employer. You only want to deliver good work for him.

That’s not all this is anymore though and Din can’t pretend and let you go on feeling like a failure especially with the tears dancing on your waterlines.

“You are very capable, mesh’la but-“ Din sighs.

How can he even begin to explain to you that he’s more angry at himself for not protecting you like he’s supposed to?

Kriff, you’re not even a bounty hunter. Trained to use a blaster as a novice, he noticed how you flinched whenever you’ve had to pull the trigger on his behalf. You’re at your calmest when you’re rocking the small boy before bed, singing lullabies to him in a hushed tone probably so Din couldn’t hear. You had no idea that he stood just above the ladder to the cockpit and listened.

You were ethereal and he couldn’t get enough of you.

That’s why it made his hands shake to even think that anyone would harm you.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts, he misses the way your eyes widen at the term of endearment he let slip and the quick gesture as you shake yourself from how affected you are by it.

“I just…” you break through his racing thoughts, his eyes latching onto your dipped chin, eyes shadowed in the corner of the docking port, just outside his bunk. You look solemn but rather than feel dread, Din’s heart stills when he notices the flush of pink across your features.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were nervous.

“I just want to be able to do more for you.”

The words play on a loop, almost like they’re colliding against the inside of Din’s helmet, repeatedly soaring through his ears again and again.

“I want to be more useful for you. Ya know?”

Useful? You think you’re not already useful?

“Sometimes I just feel like I have more to offer. I know you brought me in to be a babysitter but I can be more than that. For you.”

Was the carbonite freezing system failing or was it getting hotter in the crest?

Din felt like he needed to tug the shroud off from around his neck. The air was suffocating.

“Please say something?” Your small voice says quietly.

“You are more to me than you will ever understand, cya’rika.”

Your eyes meet his then.

Well, his visor at least and Din curses his creed for having him hide his face at a time when he wants- no needs you to see how much he means what he says.

You’re silent but the increasing rouge of your cheeks is enough to see that you understand him and that perhaps there was some truth in his suspicions.

You felt for him just as much as he felt for you.

“Din…”

And just like that, his eyes roll back momentarily hearing his name leave your tongue like a pleading prayer.

He couldn’t pretend like you weren’t affecting him too.

He needed you to know.

“Get in the bunk, ner kar’ta.”

Your body stills a moment in surprise and you don’t move.

Maybe he misjudged or maybe he’s being too forward but then you stand and without taking your eyes away from him, you seat yourself on the side of his bunk.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for further instruction just like you’ve been doing ever since you walked onto his ship.

One thing he realised he misjudged.

All those times you obeyed every command, it was never out of the need for his money.

You never questioned him, never refused an order but with Din and the matter of Grogu’s safety, it was never a request and that’s all it was to start.

It was just a matter of his sons safety until he realised he loved you too.

Din stands and steps in front of you, you look up at him as he tugs the shroud from around his neck loose.

He notices how your eyes drop to his waist, evading the reveal of his tanned skin while you’re positioned below him. He wraps the material a couple of times before placing the fabric over your eyes.

You don’t move.

You don’t flinch.

You just allow him to remove one of your senses, leaving nothing but darkness over your sight. His heart aches at the trust you have in him, allowing him to render you vulnerable before him.

He ties it behind your head, making sure it’s not too tight as to hurt you.

He’s not the same type of man as the monster from earlier today.

His fingers itch at the memory and he shrugs his gloves off, setting his bare fingers against the cold metal of his helmet.

You await patiently and he watches as you jerk your head slightly at the familiar sound of his helmet releasing.

The sound you’ve only ever heard from a nearby room, hiding away from him when you brought him supper.

You await patiently while Din removes each piece of armor, setting it aside.

Then there’s just silence.

Until you hear his knees hit the ground in front of you and a warm breath hits your neck, a shudder running up your spine.

“Is it okay if I show you something?”

His whispers hit your ear drum in the most delightful way.

You nod dreamily.

Then you feel rough, warm lips graze your neck.

If heaven was travelling at light-speed through space, it was right here and now with Din’s lips travelling along your jawline, mapping out the path to seal against your lips. He tugs gently, coaxing you out of the shy shell you had created when you realised the butterflies he made you feel when you first met had more to do with how attracted you were to him than to how intimidating most people found him.

Every step he took on each planet you travelled, Din carried a powerful aura that most people cowered away from but it only drew you to him more.

You knew Din was strong.

You knew not many could beat him in a fight, yourself included but that was the whole point.

Din would never abuse his strength over you.

Ever.

Though, you wish he would, in special circumstances.

Like right now.

“How do you feel, cya’re?” Din inquires breathlessly, lips pressing soft kisses down your throat while you bite back the urge to be vocal.

“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you say uneasily, your hands gripping the bunk below you.

Din’s chuckle hits your ear, reverberating against your ear drum exquistively.

“Din?” He hears your voice rattle with every nestle of his lips stroking over your skin.

“Yes, mesh’la?” He raises his head, lips brushing the underside of your jaw, watching your lips turn up into a small smirk. Though you couldn’t see his expression returning yours, his adoring smile awaited your next words patiently.

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

You feel a thumb smooth over your bottom lip.

“He deserved it,” you shake your head slightly, fighting away an amused smile on your lips that he quickly wipes away, replacing with an expression of longing when his lips meet your ear.

“You’re mine.”

[tsublue]

Asteroid Aura in Astrology (1488)

All Rights Reserved to @tsublue

What does the asteroid represent?

The name of the asteroid can be much of an explanation. It’s the energy you may give off to other people and what their first impressions of you could be.

Please do not take astrology as something you “have to act” like or blaming problems on placements. Astrology is a tool of self discovery and development.

Please do not copy, rewrite, repost etc posts. If needed to reference or use parts always contact the autor and always give credit.

Aries - 1, 13, 25 deg

At the first impression you can come off as someone competitive, feisty and passionate. You can also seem to people as someone really outgoing and fearless.

Taurus - 2, 14, 26 deg

At the first impression you can come off as someone a bit untouchable and expensive, yet really clean. You have a caring aura and seem to be dependable to people and that may leave you with lots of responsibility.

Gemini - 3, 15, 27 deg

At the first impression you come off as pretty sociable and someone with a big social circle and knows what they’re doing. You come off as flowy and can offer an helping hand anytime, especially to new people in a social environment.

Cancer - 4, 16, 28 deg

At the first impression you’ll have a really calm presence and can look as if you’re really relaxed with your inner world and are comfortable with what you are or have and don’t need to prove anything. You do incredible work and are basically all an employer can ask for and more. Your warmth can really make people around you comfortable.

Leo - 5, 17, 29 deg

You come off as someone with a wide imaginative world who has incredible ideas and is ready to share them immediately and has a good voice to do so. You get things going as time pleases and have an amazing work persona with a strong inner world. Closed off people can be thrown off by it at first, but you’ll prove yourself and others.

Virgo - 6, 18 deg

You come off as you are here to get things done and nothing else much. You have incredible work ethic, but need to plan it out so it won’t be too excess, for your own well being. Everything has to go by your plan and word or it won’t work out. You’ll feel this especially during a deadline or a crisis. People are really appreciative over you even if it’s not physically shown out loud.

Libra - 7, 19 deg

You come off as someone with insanely creative ideas and warm persona. You are good at voicing your ideas and know what to do in order to achieve something, even if you doubt yourself. You have charming nature which can attract people to focus more on you as for inspiration and more. You are most likely first one to get paired up or get a work buddy because people enjoy being around you and you have amazing team work skills.

Scorpio - 8, 20 deg

You may come off as someone a little mysterious’, but have a really warm persona. You are amazing at taking the word ‘no’ and fixing yourself for the better for the next time. Your presence is powerful which people want to give you respect in order to be liked or tagged along. Little like Kris Jenner if you’d like to take it that way.

Sagittarius - 9, 21 deg

You come off as really friendly and down to earth. You can corporate any idea from others into your work. even if you don’t favor it that much you’re a good sport and know how to handle it. You can be a perfectionist in projects and have an ideal image made out in your head before starting something. Even if you know how to accept the ideas of others, it can sometimes come off as blunt and strange, but everyone knows your heart is in the right place.

Capricorn - 10, 22 deg

You can come off as someone who really knows what they’re doing even if you don’t. You are ready to give an helping hand or a tool anytime anyone asks. Even if your creative world is not always working to the maximum, you’re excited to tag along for any project. Thanks to your amazing thinking, practicalizing & caution skills you’ve really earned a firm spot.

Aquarius - 11, 23 deg

You can come off as someone who really knows how to solve difficult and electronical issues which makes many come to you for problem solving. You have an incredible helping hand. You can come off as distant or not interested in a conversation which is not always true. You love designing things that go out the norm and go outside the box which can bring you success.

Pisces - 12, 24 deg

You can come off as someone who doesn’t really think their ideas through which can make people not always listen to you. You got incredible creative skills that you can incorporate anywhere and everywhere. You have a friendly presence and come off as someone who really gets it which can make many open up to you. You may have an attractive or calming voice which can make people really listen to you.

Yours truly, Tsunami

[captain-sodapop]

I’m bored, so I am going to add to this spn class discourse with the following:

It is absolutely true that the Winchesters grew up poor. Nobody is disputing that. We don’t see a lot of them struggling with it in the show - throwaway lines about having to hustle to eat, occasionally sleeping in the Impala (though we do most often see them in motels before the bunker), etc. - but as someone pointed out, as a struggle, it’s not a primary focus.

I know people are pointing out that Kripke said that the brothers are blue collar and hunting is their “job”, but really, that’s not exactly correct if we want to be accurate here. For starters, they don’t get paid, so it’s not a job. It’s vigilante shit. They’re self-appointed (or Chuck-appointed, if you want to get into the whole, Chuck-was-writing-a-story-the-whole-time bit, which I’d say Is worthwhile to point out) supernatural law enforcers, essentially. But they’re not actual, paid law enforcement. So it’s not actually a job. Also, Kripke can be wrong. He was certainly wrong about male sexual assault being funny, so.

“Black collar” does seem to be a term, though it appears to be more colloquial in nature and doesn’t have as many references as white or blue collar. It seems to refer to “unreported employment”, or illegal work done without reporting to the government for tax payment. And Sam and Dean definitely aren’t paying taxes.

However, as we learn at the end of the show, Charlie gave them some hacked credit card that always works. It’s always good. They don’t have to hustle anymore, they can just use the card and they have unlimited cash. So they aren’t paying taxes, their pockets are bottomless…it’s a billionaire’s wet dream. Until their luck gets fucked up, they are doing just fine financially. More than fine. Someone did point out that having a blue collar job does not equal poor, same as a white collar job does not equal rich; it’s the nature of the work that gets the designation. Secretarial work is white collar work. That doesn’t mean the secretary is loaded. A lot goes into a person’s financial situation in relation to so many things. So, to the person who said they’re an economist and pronounced Sam and Dean as blue collar: it sounds a lot like you’re equating being blue collar with being poor, buddy.

So, I mean…if Sam and Dean aren’t getting paid, and they aren’t paying taxes, and they don’t report any earnings to the government because they don’t have any, and the job they have isn’t actual law enforcement, and the way they get money by the end of the show isn’t by hustling, card games, or odd jobs but instead by a hacked credit card with unlimited money…it really isn’t wholly accurate to call them blue collar. It’s obviously not some huge crime to call them blue collar offhandedly, but I do think the black collar moniker fits much better. They are making money through illicit means, and are performing a job that doesn’t exist as a paid position, and are doing it under the cloak of darkness because as we know from the show, when what they do is discovered by the general population, they get arrested…for crimes. Including credit card fraud, which is - you guessed it - generally considered a white collar crime.

Also, because this came up for some reason: sure, I bet Dean has eaten women out. I don’t see what that has to do with money, but I will say that eating a woman out doesn’t make someone a feminist, either. So. Yeah.

[nolita-fairytale]

did you ever end up writing the phone call blurb?? i am STRUGGLING to find it and im so desperate 😭😭😭

called you again (extended)

a/n: ok so i never got to writing the actual phone call that transpires between carmy and reader, that gets her to chicago in the first place. and if i recall correctly, @cool-girl-is-hot was also patiently awaiting this phone call. since i'm doing the follower celebration, what a perfect time for me to bring this back, @bunnywritesmarvel.

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 

And it’s as if a fog clears, like you've been waiting to hear it for a long time.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft, yet hesitant.

You're met with a long silence on the end of the other line as the two of you dance around whatever it is Carmy called to say. There's a part of you that wants nothing more than to spill everything, lead the conversation like you always do, but after months of radio silence, you know you can't do that. If Carmy wants to reconnect, then he's got a whole of groveling to do considering he pretty much ghosted you since he moved back home.

"I uh. I heard," he finally says, in reference to your recent change of employment.

"Oh," you sound, your voice higher in pitch than you imagined it would be as you scramble to find a better word than 'oh.' "I... um. Yeah. My heart wasn't in it anymore."

What you want to say is, my heart moved to Chicago and forgot how his fucking phone works.

"Yeah," Carmy replies, and you can practically hear him pacing back and forth as he searches for something to say.

You share another silence, this one much more tense than the last, like a hot pot of water about to blow its lid off in pressure, as you wait for him to ask you something -- anything. How hard could it be?

How are you? What's been going on? Sorry I haven't called.

But he doesn't say anything of these things. Instead, when he finally speaks again, all he says is:

"So listen. I uh-, I got this guy. He’s- he’s self taught but he’s got a lot of potential,” Carmy explains, his delivery becoming more and more confident as he hides behind the work.

“He just needs a good teacher – someone to inspire him – give him some of the foundations he would’ve gotten in culinary school. I think uh, I think you'd like him.

So after four months of no contact he... needs something from you? You can't help the feelings of anger and disappointment that grow inside of you.

Was he upset that you quit the restaurant -- here to talk you into going back -- now that he needed a favor? A stage?

“Just for a week, maybe?" Carmy suggests, his voice going up at the end, almost as if it's a question.

"I can’t pay you much but uh, well we’ve got a little money, which is a whole other story, and I can talk to my brother-in-law. He can put you up somewhere… you know… if you want to. If that helps.” 

Oh.

He's asking you to come to Chicago.

While it feels like it changes things, you're still ambivalent and you certainly don't want to get your hopes up.

"Carmy..." you trail off on an exhale. "I don't know."

"Sure," Carmy nods, chewing on his lip, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious about asking you in the first place.

He wants to take it all back, tell you it was a stupid idea, and apologize for even saying something in the first place. But he doesn't. He can't. Because after working himself up to call you for the last few hours, there's no way he's going to back out now.

Let it rip, Bear.

"I uh... well, I understand. If can't-. Don't want to. Maybe I shouldn't've uh..." Carmy stammers through, the heat rising to his cheeks.

"It's just uh. Tim told me... you might be looking for some inspiration."

Right.

You pause before asking:

"Can I... Can I think about it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sure," Carmy is quick to answer, because he really wants to make this okay for you.

For the both of you.

And because hearing your voice for the first time in four months feels better than he ever could've imagined.

"Okay. I'll uh... I'll think about it," you drag out, because you know you'll need some time to process this.

"Listen, I uh. I'm late to meet Liz. But I'll let you know. Either way."

"Yeah, okay. Okay," he answers, nodding eagerly.

"Okay," you reply, listening to Carmy bid you a soft spoken goodbye before ending the call.

"Holy shit," you hiss, putting your phone down on the table, your hand folded over your heart as you can feel it race.

Well, you've got quite the decision to make.

[aster-blogging-dracula]

Ok so today's entry is definitely gonna be important for the analysis on how the topic of sexuality (which is one among MANY topics that this novel covers) is explored throughout the story and throughout the concept of vampirism in it.

I wanted to note these things down for myself cause this is a topic that really boils my blood when seeing academic analysis of it but I want to read the full text carefully through Dracula Daily and make a proper personal opinion of it before reading anything else (academia.edu PLEASE stop emailing me things I will crush my head on the wall). (For now, my overall opinion on this topic is that academics focus way too much on making a metaphor out of everything when a lot of things in this story make more sense when analyzed as parallelism, or as a literal part of the plot with no further meaning...)

Anyways. This is the first time in the story when a scene of (almost) vampire feeding is narrated, and the scene that makes Johnathan go "this is it, nowhere is safe". So this kind of settles a first impression on what being preyed upon by a vampire feels like (at the same time it could also serve as reference for when vampire feeding feels WAY differently from today, and therefore can be interpreted differently). We have:

The feeling of seduction of some sorts(EDIT: I should point out that vampire seduction by this time was already, from The Vampyre to Carmilla, along with several folklore, a well established trope). Is Johnathan's initial fear out of an unconscious feeling that they're vampires? Because of their sudden appearance in the otherwise empty room? Because he loathes being disloyal to Mina? Could be a mix, we will never know. But it's interesting to ask oneself these things.

I'm not going to expand on why the description of how the girl approaches Johnathan's neck is erotic, just go read it. I listened to the Re:Dracula entry today and aw lawd that's... The academics win on this one that does sound like a sexual thing good god.

It also sounds quite monstrous tho. The licking of the teeth, the red tongue, is similar to how the wolves were described on may 5th (and later, Dracula's gesture towards the other girls is compared to the one he used with the wolves, This is actually the first direct association between wolves and vampires as a similar being I think)

Dracula's "I too can love" speech and him undressing Johnathan is a whole topic for a different post which I do Not Have The Energy To Make (and that someone out there will probably do better than me today)

Lastly, we have Johnathan's dread at the end. That's a lot of dread wow, even worse than Dracula. Now, of course, a big part of this is due to them being VAMPIRES. WHO WILL KILL HIM. Because this is a vampire story. But it also leads us to other questions. Could this dread also be a dread of the desire he felt? Because of loyalty to Mina or because of the dominant stance the vampiresses took (which was Inappropriate in victoriam standards)?. These are the questions academics usually explore. There's also the less "This symbolizes That" approach which takes the fact that vampires=dreadful because of plot reasons, and draws the conclusion that making such a dreadful creature have a sexual attitude, said attitude is demonized. Additionally, in the Dracula Daily fandom, there are also people noticing how his dread is akin to the feelings of an SA victim. (Which leads us to the question of How Did Bram Know That?)

In any case. One thing is clear. They're vampires. They want his blood. Poor boy has been sleep deprived, questioning his sanity, and being manipulated by his employer for more than a week now. His employer who has just saved him from getting eaten. That's a shock. That's a big fucking shock alright.

[ouroboros-hideout]

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OC

Name

Vladimir Volkov

Nicknames

Everyone usually just addresses him as Vlad. He prefers a less pretentious form of speech. He is also universally famous and infamous under the name Firebird and has something of a national ‘legend’ status as a result. Firebird refers to the mythical creature of the phoenix, which dies and rises again from its ashes. Vlad died three times during his time working for the police, the KGB and finally in the Secret Police for SovOil and was ‘resurrected’ through the wonders of technology. 

Age

Born in 2022 (the exact date is not known - he celebrates his birthday on the 23th of october. That's the day he was adopted from an orphanage) 

Pronouns

He / Him 

Sexuality

Heterosexual

Hair Color and style

He has short black hair that is slowly graying and which he always wears neatly combed to one side. The sides of his head are shaved short. 

Eye Color

In the course of his life, he has had various optics, technology that was made available to him or that was prescribed for his job. He chose the current ones with the golden irises himself. They give him a rather demonic look, which is exactly what he wants to achieve. Fear. They also match the rest of the gold-coloured cyberware he owns, and he's a perfectionist and very keen to match everything.

Height

Something around 1,80 m

Body Type

Robot KEK - Most of his body is replaced by cyberware, but overall he is very athletic. He has full cybernetic arms, a Sandevistan, power legs, a thick layer of subdermal armor and the core piece of his enhanced body is an artificial heart. 

Personality

He can be your best friend or your worst nightmare. If you only know him casually, e.g. his colleagues, you either get on quite well with him or find him completely obnoxious because he can be an arrogant arsehole. He is extremely good at his job, which is why he has climbed the career ladder relatively quickly, and he doesn't hold back in letting anyone who questions his abilities know that. In a social or private setting with people he is comfortable with, he is charming and polite. Simply a well-mannered businessman.  If you get to know him better, it is very likely that sooner or later you will discover the depths of his damaged psyche. Due to the many modifications and the fact that he was repeatedly brought back to life by his employers, he suffers from severe cyberpsychosis. His mind has split further with each of his deaths and this has left traces, or rather voices. Each of them has its own personality and endeavors to ‘help’ Vlad through life. One of them is a brutal and disturbed man who knows nothing but destroying and killing to protect himself. Another is an extremely cunning, but also judgemental and sometimes even contemptuous man who helps Vlad to function more or less normally, but condemns and verbally punishes him for many of his decisions. The last voice is that of reason, remorse and compassion, but it hardly ever gets a chance to speak, as the other two are far too dominant.  Accordingly, Vlad's moods are very different depending on which of his personalities is triggered and can change from one moment to the next. People he gets particularly close to, such as a love interest, will always learn this trait from him the hard way. 

Tattoos and/or Piercings

Nothing 

Any definable features such as: Birthmarks, Scars, Freckles, Beauty Marks, Accent when they talk, Lisp, Natural slurring of words, Walk with a subtle limp, ect.

The most remarkable thing about him is probably the amount of chrome he wears. If it weren't for that, you probably wouldn't be able to tell him apart from any other man in the corporate world. He has a small scar on his forehead from an ‘accident’ he had as a young boy, but it barely stands out from everything else that's been done to his body. 

Hobbies

He loves classical music and everything that goes with it in the broadest sense, such as concerts, ballet, opera and theater. He also enjoys listening to it at home or when traveling. His adoptive mother was a teacher of literature and linguistics and was able to teach her son several languages in the years before her death. As a result, he speaks fluent Russian, German, English and French and has been trying to expand his knowledge of these languages ever since. She also fuelled his existing interest in books and reading. In his youth he did a lot of athletics, which later became rather obsolete due to all the body modifications, and he quickly lost the ambition to achieve anything in this field when he entered professional life as a policeman. Two other things that fascinate him are wine, especially red wine, and perfume, which he collects and consumes with a passion.  Travelling is a hobby that he always shared with his mother, but which was somewhat forgotten after her death and a corresponding lack of time due to his work. His favorite places were the entire Mediterranean and countries such as the south of France, Spain, Italy, Greece and Morocco. For personal reasons, he has not traveled to many of these countries for over a decade, with the exception of France, where he is still invited by his best and probably only friend. 

Gang/Occupation {Mox, Max Tac, etc}

He is not in any gang but his allegiance belongs to SovOil and the Neo-Soviet-Union. Since he worked for the police and the KGB before joining the company, he has one hundred per cent connections to all possible Russian gangs. Connections from which he naturally benefits as the corrupt bastard that he is. 

Do they smoke?

Only occasionally in company. For example, when he is invited to dinner by colleagues and they usually sit together afterwards with a high-proof drink and/or cigars. He also likes to use smoking as part of his undercover work, as it makes him less conspicuous. A man who just sits in a café and stares in front of him is much more eye-catching than someone who simply enjoys a cigarette, for example. 

Do they drink? If so, what's their poison of choice?

He drinks, but only for pleasure. I headcanon that he can only get drunk with great difficulty or not at all anyway due to the many body modifications. His favorite drink is red wine, preferably Cabernet Sauvignon from France. 

What do they usually wear on a normal day?

A black shirt, with tie or without, suit trousers, some chic shoes. A heavy black coat if he needs to go outside, his two pistols hidden underneath in a harness. Casual corpo-guy look if you like. 

What do they wear when they "Get dressed up"? And what would be considered a "special occasion" to them {such as an "Oh they're gonna be there so I have to look my best." Or an "It's our anniversary".}

Since his normal attire is already what other people would wear if they get dressed up he simply chose higher quality fabrics for his clothes or extravagant brands. His favorite color is burgundy, although he rarely wears it in everyday life. He prefers accents or entire items of clothing in this color all the more when he is invited to dinner or goes to events in his free time. 

What do they smell like? {For example: they smell like cinnamon flavored liquor, cigarettes, leather, and motor oil.}

Like a floral-woody blend of jasmine, saffron, amber and cedarwood. Because these are the main scents of his favorite perfume Baccarat Rouge 540. If he wasn't wearing it, I would describe his fragrance as rather unsettling. Somehow artificial, metallic like copper or blood and somehow cold. Somewhat like you are standing in a cold storage (I can't describe smells holy shark.)

How do they walk? Do they sway their hips? Do they walk with a sense of determination? Do they bounce as they walk? Etc.

Overflowing with self-confidence and strength. Upright, elegant, sometimes very pretentious. But he is incredibly good at adapting to certain situations when he has to work undercover, and therefore changes his posture to blend in more credibly with his surroundings. 

Are they more of an early bird or a night owl?

A mixture of both. Since he doesn’t get tired really fast, he can stay up for at least a few days until exhaustion kicks in.  So night and day doesn’t have much relevance for him except if his job requires him to be present at a certain time. 

If you had to use one word to define them, what word would you use?

Broken

What words or catchphrases do they say that's unique to that character?

He doesn’t say it often, at least I will write it down only one time but a catchy metaphor he likes to use is: ‘Seems like neither heaven nor hell want to let me through its gates’, when asked how he feels about his resurrections. Would say that's kind of unique. 

Favorite Season

Summer

Favorite type of weather {Thunderstorms, sunny, etc}

Warm and sunny

Do they have someone they're with relationship-wise? If so, who?

He had a relationship with a mercenary called Ghislaine who lived in Tanger. He hasn't had a steady relationship since then, except with a young woman called Dasha from St. Petersburg, but it didn't last very long because no one could replace his ‘Gazelle’, as he liked to call her. 

Main Ship/Pairings

My main ship would be him and Ghislaine since it's the only impactful he ever had in my headcanon. I don’t have a name for it yet. 

Side Pairings

There are some AUs with friends who ship him with their OCs.

Favorite/Self-indulgent Pairings

Ship: 4ever_alone // Ship:he_doesnt_deserve_anyone // Ship: broken_psycho_searching_for_love_but_is_not_able_to_express_it // Ship: don’t_touch_this

How do they show affection to their loved one?

He was never really a very deeply sensible person. Of course he was very fond of his ‘one true love’, as he called her, but he always had problems showing or feeling much affection. This was probably due to the harsh living conditions he had grown up in, the rather cold way his adoptive parents treated him and the fact that his way of life was very different from hers. Therefore, his main means of showing affection were gifts, which were always expensive, to show the value the person has for him, and a lot of charming words and usual romantic gestures like kisses and all that. This didn't change when his emotional world completely shattered after his first death, but his affection is often questionable as to whether it's really sincere. He then acts extremely pushy, possessive and even abusive, which in his fucked up little mind is a way to show how much he cares. 

How do they sit in a chair?

It depends on where he is. At home: simply relaxed, letting go of all tension. When he's around people he needs or wants to impress, he sits very elegantly, upright, with his legs crossed - you know how posh, rich people sit in a chair. When he needs to assert his dominance, whatever the occasion may be in his working day, he makes himself tall/strong/terrifying, whatever, to intimidate those around him.

How do they sit in a chair {uncomfortable version}

He simply doesn't sit uncomfortable. 

What do they wear to bed?

Depends on how long he sleeps or how the circumstances are. It happens quite often that he just falls asleep in his regular attire sitting on his couch or wherever he’s resting while listening to his music. If he goes to bed on purpose he just wears his underwear. 

How do they usually sleep? {Side sleeper, back, fetal position, backwards, nest sleeper, blanket mountain, etc}

Straight on his back, hands tightly folded on his stomach, legs sometimes crossed. If it occurs he has some of his night terrors he switches a lot and a few times he even sleep walks. 

How do they sleep in a place they don't know? {Can't due to anxiety, in small bursts of sleep that are short lived, holding themselves, etc}

If he sleeps then only at home or in hotels or whatever and that doesn't make any difference for him. If necessary he does short power naps wherever he feels safe enough to let his guard down for a few minutes even if his senses are on alert the whole time. 

Do they have to have a form of "white noise" in order to sleep? {The sound of a fan, the sound of rain, the sound of a city, etc}

I think he has enough “white noise” in his head already. He doesn’t need more distracting stuff that keeps him from resting. Though I can imagine he listens to some of his favorite classic music before going to bed to soothe his mind.

What's a place they go to feel comfortable, that's their "spot" they always go when they're upset?

Considering that his head is 99% of the reason why he gets upset in the first place, it sounds odd when I say that he also takes refuge there to calm down. Whenever the voices in him get too loud and provocative he turns on his music to silence them. This is the only way, as he found out after a while, to keep his thoughts from drifting and to keep a clear mind. at least for a short time. His surroundings don't play a role, it's more about what's happening inside him. 

What do they do when they're nervous? {Fidget with jewelry, pick at nails, bite nails/lips, play with knife/zippo lighter, etc}

He’s a high functioning psychopath so he knows how to mask unfavorable emotions quite well. If he’s highly upset and he can hardly contain the voices screaming in his head he tends to get nervous ticks like a twitching eye, shaky hands or trying to soothe ‘the pain’ like a headache by pressing the usual energetic points such as the temples or the bridge of the nose or by taking a few deep breaths. 

What is their "tell" for lying?

He knows how to use words as effectively as any other weapon. You can't really tell if he's telling the truth or lying, no matter what he does. 

What is their favorite color?

Burgundy

Favorite flower/plant

Wolfsbane

Favorite sweet of choice

He is not a person who generally eats a lot, especially nothing that’s only “for pleasure” like something sweet. He has his wine kink for that. His favorite fruit is pomegranate. It's sweet, so I would go for that answer. 

Do they have any pets? If so, tell me about them

No he doesn’t have any pets. If so I’d see him as a dog person. 

What are their triggers {If they have any}? If so, what calms them down?

He has a rather disturbed attitude towards romantic relationships. He killed his girlfriend and great love Ghislaine after a series of unfortunate and unforeseen circumstances to which both probably contributed. It also happened shortly after Vlad had died for the first time and the extremely experimental technology that had kept him alive since then had taken its toll on his psyche. The event traumatized him for the rest of his life and since then he has found it very difficult to have a normal romantic relationship as he can no longer trust anyone and has lost almost all forms of sincere affection. Accordingly, everything that slightly reminds him of the day and the reason why his relationship ended back then is a huge trigger. And pity to those who have to experience one of his episodes. Another trigger is his father. He gave his son a lot of freedom when he was young. He allowed him to go his own way, even though he actually wanted Vladimir to work for SovOil like himself as soon as he was an adult. After watching his son die due to a few missteps, he decided to take his life into his own hands by ensuring that he was brought back from the dead, much to his mother's regret. Even though she had a rather cool relationship with her son, she was always the more caring part of the family. And she is a strong advocate of the movement that cyberware is something bad and cruel. Seeing her son as a walking corpse broke something in her, which is why she fell seriously ill and died just a few months later. The relationship between Vlad and his father had been very difficult ever since. On the one hand, he blamed him for his mother's death, but he was also ultimately the one who had given him back his life and ensured that he continued to be “improved” with more and more technology, which fueled the side in him that is hungry for power. However, he also has extremely high expectations of his son and does not hold back in showing him contempt when he is unable to fulfill them. Accordingly, every encounter with him is a severe test.  His third trigger is the memories he has of the events that led to his death. He can’t remember every single detail of them but enough to fall in a very tense state of mind every time he’s getting into a similar situation. His last trigger and basically the only reason I created him at all is Aon. He was tasked with hunting her down after she escaped from Moscow and, in the best case scenario, bringing her back to face punishment. However, this task turned out to be impossible, which put him in a situation where he could only report his failures over and over again, which after a few years raised doubts about his abilities and took a huge toll on his ego and reliability. Whenever he set off to a new attempt to catch her you really don't want to be one of the poor souls who have to accompany him on that task. 

If they could visit anywhere in the world, where would they go and why?

There are two places, but he only visits one of them more or less regularly. The place he is desperate to visit again is Tanger in Morocco, because that's where he met his Ghislaine and spent some of the best moments of his life with her. But if he were to return there, it would trigger him insanely. At least he is aware of that. The second place he likes to visit is Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, where his best friend Roy invites him at least once a year during the ‘Fête du Beaujolais Nouveau’. Their connection is very special to him because he can talk to him about all his interests and they both keep out of each other's work and love lives, so there's nothing to really bother him. It's a carefree time where it feels like a lot of weight is falling off him. Of course, they sometimes meet up in Moscow or wherever their schedules coincide, but the time in France is always very special for him.  

What is their favorite comfort meal?

I know I said he doesn't like sweets, as in candy or such but his favorite food is Apple Strudel. His adoptive mother used to make it every week fresh and the smell of cinnamon and warm pastry are a fond memory for him. 

Do they have a food they hate?

Anything that's incredibly bland, stale or cheap. It reminds him of the “food” they had to eat in the orphanage and he’d rather forget everything about that time.

What is their favorite {non-alcoholic} drink?

The tears of his enemies. Probably just water or any fancy cyberpunkish drink with supplements that keep his tech running. 

What are their plans for the future {if they have any}?

He's so deep in the corporate world that his only plan is to continue climbing the career ladder. Apart from that, at a certain point he is so dissociative that it doesn't even occur to him to plan far ahead. For him, almost everything takes place exclusively in the present, at least as far as his private life is concerned, and he has no one at his side, except perhaps his best friend, who could give him a glimpse of something else. 

What's a song that "fits" them?

If I had to choose a theme song for him it would be Du hast kein Herz. 

Give me 5 facts/random bits of information about them

- His guns are called “Dies irae” and “Ab imo pectore” - The voices in his head have a very specific tone so that he can distinguish between them. The one that literally drives him mad, that makes him lose all control, sounds like his own but is heavily distorted. It sounds like an artificial entity and is often nothing more than a deep growl. The second voice, which is more commanding and judgemental towards him, sounds like his father. So whenever he is near his real father, as he is still alive, the voice either falls silent or he has to try very hard to distinguish which voice is the one in his head and the one in real life. The third voice, which he unfortunately never gets to hear in my headcanon or only perceive as a faint whisper, is again his own, but has the tone of voice and choice of words of a young and innocent boy.  - The only person he would describe as his one true friend is Elroy Vincennes - His favorite piece of music is Mozart’s Lacrimosa  - In rare moments of clarity he hates every little bit of tech that’s in his body

Give me their backstory {can be long, or brief.}

Vlad lived the first 8 years of his life in an orphanage in St. Petersburg before he was adopted by a wealthy couple and grew up to be a well-mannered corporate boy. As soon as he was old enough he got a job in the police force, shortly after completing his training he was given the opportunity to work in the KGB due to his outstanding skills, but this proved to be his undoing. A botched mission cost him his life which, unfortunately, was not the end for him. His father, a high-ranking member of the SovOil corporation, ensures that his son is revived by experimental technology and kept alive from then on by an artificial heart. The psychological consequences that this procedure and many others that followed had on Vlads psyche played a minor role for everyone involved. They saw the potential he carried within him and did not hold back from using it to their advantage. Since then, Vladimir, like his father, has worked for the mega-corporation for the Secret Police and has taken care of the interests of his employers in countless missions, most of them under cover.  In the mid-2050s, he met a young woman named Alyona for the first time, who kept him on the run across the country for a long time just a few years later and arguably became his greatest nemesis. 

Free Space! Give me any sort of extra information about them you'd like to share

It's been a wild ride creating this man. From the first draft in my head, where he only existed to be Aon's antagonist, to now, where I have to admit he's grown on me a lot, even though he's still a terrible guy. But I'm a sucker for the morally gray, he's definitely on the dark gray side, but the character development he's gone through in the last few months has just been insane and he's gained a lot of depth.

[ankh-morporkianpostalworker]

Anatomy of a Hero - Samuel Vimes

He wanted to go home. He wanted it so much that he trembled at the thought. But if the price of that was selling good men to the night, if the price was filling those graves, if the price was not fighting with every trick he knew... Then it was too high. History finds a way? Well, it would have to come up with something good, because it was up against Sam Vimes now.

Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

Fantasy has created some truly remarkable characters, and it's fair to say that Samuel Vimes of the Discworld series is among them - and he's a personal favorite.

This is the first in a (sporadic) series of posts analyzing my favorite fantasy protagonists and what I think makes them work as characters and how they fit into their stories.

Samuel Vimes is the protagonist of eight of Terry Pratchett's seminal Discworld novels - specifically, Guards! Guards!, Men at Arms, Feet of Clay, Jingo, Fifth Elephant, Night Watch, Thud!, and Snuff. These novels make up what is colloquially referred to as the City Watch series, and they answer the question "what if the city guard in a fantasy series got stuff done?"

Vimes is the head of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch and starts off as a parody of the drunken watch captain, literally waking up in a gutter at the start of Guards! Guards!. While it's obvious from the start that he has a sense of justice and a desire to see justice served, years of being beaten down by a city that doesn't need him anymore has left him at his lowest point. In fact, Guards! Guards! is about him getting her proverbial groove back and solving his first real mystery in ages.

We then see Vimes grow into a respected member of the community, transforming the City Watch from a joke (at the start of the series, it's four people) into a pillar of the City, an institution in its own right.

Vimes himself struggles with addiction throughout the series with the help of his wife, Sybil, and members of the Watch (especially his right-hand man, Carrot), going from alcohol to cigars to bacon sandwiches by the end of the series.

We also see how Vimes fits into the central theme of the City Watch - social inequality and the importance of overcoming it. Sam starts the series with a... not-great view of the non-human residents of the city of Ankh-Morpork (although this view is better described as general misanthropy than racism, with him distrusting anyone who isn't his wife or a member of the Watch). This view is changed as the series progresses - between the first two novels, a coalition of minority groups successfully sues the city of Ankh-Morpork for employment discrimination in government positions and Vimes is forced to allow non-human people into the Watch. He comes to recognize that these people are, well, people with value not only as people but as law enforcement officials. Twice, Vimes uses his social power to advocate for downtrodden species to be treated as people, with full rights and protections under the law - for golems in Feet of Clay and goblins in Snuff, and the City Watch becomes the most diverse organization in the entirety of Discworld.

The last thing I'll talk about is Vimes' aforementioned desire for justice. Night Watch gives us a view into the life of an early Sam Vimes (Vimes is sent back in time to just before the Glorious Revolution, a now-forgotten struggle against a despot) - indeed, in his youth Sam was a revolutionary, inspired by Sgt. John Keel (whom Vimes takes the place of after finding Keel dead). During this Revolution, young Sam Vimes witnessed a number of things that would impact him for the rest of his life, including the torture chambers of The Unspeakables, a secret police force who committed horrible crimes in the name of the public good and who act as the antagonists of the novel. The quote that started this essay comes from near the climax of the novel, and I think it really encapsulates that desire for justice and why Sam Vimes works as a protagonist - one of the best in fantasy.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Cruella De Vil x AFAB!Assistant!Reader || Smexcerpt

Plot: You find out what your dumbass co-worker has been doing to further her career- you decide to take a leaf outta that book.

Warnings: Smuty. Employer/Employee. References to pussy eating. Unedited.

Imagine walking up to Cruella De Vil's office to hand in some of the designers' works for her to review, all enclosed in a pretty leather-bound folder with straps to tie it closed, and when you approach the door you hear...

Well. Noises.

Immediately your eyes widen, like, oh fuck is that?-

Moaning!??

And what the h e l l is that... wet sound??

The door is ajar. Casey, Cruella's other assistant, was always sloppy about things like that- you did not understand why that whiny little bint got all the good tasks. Going to fancy parties and shows with the Mega Bitch while you stayed in the office doing paperwork. Going through the designs with the Mega Bitch while you got them coffee and dinner orders-- even though she s u c k s at her job!! You are objectively way better, you have the eye just like Cruella does and the confidence to speak up to her. All the designs that Cruella ends up picking, you pointed out. All the outfits Cruella wears so successfully to those events and shows?? YOU PUT THEM TOGETHER!-

... But now, peaking and seeing what's inside the Mega Bitches office- you finally get why.

Your mouth falls open, seeing Casey on her knees under the huge folder Cruella's flipping through- and between her legs. The moans are from her, Casey, and the wet noises??

Those are coming directly from your bosses cunt.

... God. Damn., you think, eyes wide and partly outraged.

If that's what it takes you certainly could've fucken done that!! And better, too. If Casey licked pussy as bad as she did everything else but where a skirt, you knew you could do it better.

Holy shit-

~

The next day you get yourself totally worked up in the bathroom during your break, right before Casey's; ever-so-slowly rubbing your clit between your folds, over your underwear. You got your pussy unbelievably drippy- and you did it thinkinh about the Mega Bitch, your horrible boss, Cruella. Who woulda thought?

Then you slipped off your stockings, sent Casey for her break, grabbed the designs you forgot to hand in yesterday due to the boiling hot career outrage (and, alright, lust- ) with shaky hands, and headed confidently (Determindly) to Cruella's office.

Knock knock, "Ma'am? I have those designs."

She doesnt even look up from her paperwork, speaking surprisingly coherently around the cigerette stick tucked between her molars. "Mhm, you know where they should go Y/N. Hurry up and put them there and get out- I need a coffee. Now."

"Right." Awkwardly, you set them down in the organiser tub labelled designs. When you don't leave after that, instead hovering at her desk (nervous, and unbearably horny), Cruella rolls her eyes, groans, and straightens up with an irritated gait.

"?? Coffee?? Now?? Where bloodywell is it!?" She snaps, such a familiar tone to you. Hopefully that will change, after this, you think with an eye roll.

With that thought, enough to push you forward, you carefully rest your hands on the desk; Leaning down and speaking lowly to the woman. "... Look. I saw what you had Little Miss Short Skirt doing in here, yesterday."

If you expected Cruella to be surprised, ashamed, or flustered in any sense, you were wrong. Good thing you weren't expecting that. Not out of her- you've been her assistant long enough to k n o w the bitch. In the face of your revelation, Cruella just raises an undaunted eyebrow. "... so?"

"I think you and I both know I'd, uh, how should I put this?... perform that particular task, better." Feeling the heat still throbbing inside your underwear, you go on. "And- and I want to."

"... you do?" Cruella sounds deadpanned and uncertain; disbelieving. After a second, she rolls her eyes and goes on, looking back down at her work. You're losing her. "Y/N, I thought you were a serious girl. You took your career seriously. I know that, and so-- that's how I've been treating you. You have potential, don't squander it."

She thinks you have potential?!! She wouldn't say it if she didn't believe it, so- Then how bloody come she's been giving you all the g r u n t work!????-

You know what? Whatever. Keep calm, keep going.

"I won't. I would never." You admit. It's true- you wouldn't do anything to jeopardise your future (Fashion is everything to you and you will make it in the industry.), but you would do anything to make it. "... that's why I'm doing this."

Then you slip down to your knees on the floor, creeping under the table and between the older womans thighs.

It's funny, you've known her so well for so long (as her assistant) it feels half natural to be doing this finally. Like it was building up to this, your lips on her glistening cunt; Your tongue inside her.

It's evident she feels the same, because its no time before her clawed fingers dig into your hair, scraping against your scalp, dragging you deeper against her pussy.

[pillarsalt]

its weird being in feminist spaces online bc on the one hand, we all understand that women have womens shelters because they actually worked towards gathering resources and opening these physical spaces. like they did actual work and didnt just wax poetic about the necessity. but then you have discourse about womens clothes and its like. you guys know there ARE brands out there creating functional clothing for the female form, right? and they end up shutting down due to lack of support? because we arent putting any action behind our words? and are just wishing good womens clothing into existence? like there are no mens shleters bc men didnt make shelters. there are no good female clothing brands because we 1) dont make them and if we do, 2) they dont get enough patronage to stay afloat. so yea guys, keep making tumblr posts about the lack of functional female clothing instead of seeking out and supporting those businesses. ill keep wearing my dads hand-me-downs because im economically and ecologically based.

Ooh anon we're playing with fire here... Alright everybody, feelings caps off and critical thinking caps on. This is in reference to a post I made a few nights ago about how I don't quite believe how many women claim they are incapable of wearing men's section clothes, a post which was itself in reference to another post that made the rounds on tumblr earlier this year. I wrote it after having had six beers and I'll be the first to admit, it was pretty inflammatory and worded in a way that lead a few people to reply defensively and angrily, so I turned off RBs and deleted it when I woke up the next day as damage control. The general gist of my post was that there are shitloads of options in the men's section that are far comfier with better quality materials than women's section clothes, that oversized clothes are easily adjusted for functionality ie. rolling up cuffs and wearing a belt, and that I think a lot of the women claiming they couldn't possibly wear men's section clothing are maybe just unwilling to "look bad," but again I wrote it in a way that obviously would not inspire good faith interaction with those whose choices I criticized. I'd like to take the opportunity to try again with this ask.

First of all, I also had a couple people say that they've had to wear the men's uniform at their job and it was ill-fitting and sucked. Of course I'm not arguing that women should not be accounted for in creating work equipment and PPE omfg, that's not what I'm talking about at all! That's a matter of safety and equality in employment, completely not what I'm saying. And I'm also not saying that women SHOULDN'T have clothes that are comfortable, functional, and properly fitting that are made with them in mind. We should be demanding this! What I am saying is that... we don't have that right now. Anon points out that there are businesses that have tried to do this and couldn't find enough patronage to stay afloat. Of course I want these clothing manufacturers to succeed, it would be the best case scenario, but in the mean time, we have two options: uncomfortable, flimsy, revealing, shit-ass-material that won't keep you warm women's clothes; and men's clothes that are possibly ill-fitting.

From the replies I did get, sounds like the biggest problem is with the hips to waist ratio, in men's pants the waist is too big when the hips fit. Yes, I get it! But I was also surprised to learn how many women are completely opposed to wearing belts?? I always thought belts were a wardrobe staple for most everyone, my Mom always wears one, I've been wearing one when necessary since middle school age. But happily for the non-belt-wearers, I've discovered that many men's pants actually have drawstrings, sometimes they're inside behind the buttons and zipper, so you can make them as tight or loose as you like. I have four pairs of pants like this, I wear them to work where I walk around and bring heavy things up and down stairs all day, they are sooo comfyyy.

The other thing is all my pants are from the men's now, and I have to tell you: sizing discrepancy is popularly framed solely as a women's clothing issue, but it's not really. Last week I bought two pairs of men's jeans from the thrift store, both size 34, without trying them on. One pair fits quite tightly around my thighs to the point that I will probably only wear them to events and not all day at work, while the other is the perfect size and so comfy I could sleep in them (don't worry, I won't.) It's trial and error all around when it comes to finding clothes that fit properly. There's not One Shape of men's pants. The changing room is your friend! Hang out in thrift stores long enough and you will absolutely find items that fit you wonderfully and feel comfortable.

So then we come to my main point: There are a lot of women who claim that men's clothes are just too big for them to wear and therefore they must resort to women's section clothes which supposedly fit them so much better... *FROM MY POINT OF VIEW* it seems a sort of convenient excuse to look the way a patriarchal society wants you to, in the same way that "sensory issues around body hair" is now a common stated reason to continue shaving and participating in sexist beauty culture without having to examine why you feel compelled to do so. I think when some women say they're unable to wear men's clothes, it's because they can't wear men's clothes and look as conventionally "good" as they do in women's clothes. And it's true, men's clothes are gonna be a bit looser and a bit more formless, but men aren't expected to be shrink-wrapped into their outfit like women are anyway. I understand the pressure to "look good," often women are treated poorly when they don't, but it's in your best interest and in the best interest of other women to resist that sexist pressure, or at least question it honestly.

Do I think you're a bad person for choosing to wear exclusively women's section clothes, absolutely not. I don't think women who shave or wear makeup or heels are bad people either. But I do think it's worth examining why you really feel like you couldn't branch out from the women's section.

Men's pants have a baggier crotch and ass area, but women's pants are often so tightly compact in the crotch that they can cause gynaecological problems. Men's shirt sleeves are quite roomy and may need rolling up, but many women's t-shirts have tiny sleeves that pinch your arms and draw your attention to the fact that your arm fat is being compressed. Men's pants can be quite long for a short woman, but cuffing them is simple: like anon said you can easily hem them, and if you don't sew like me, you can literally just cut them shorter and roll up the cuffs twice and KABOOM they become as short as you like. I want to reiterate that I do think women deserve to have clothes that are made with their comfort in mind, and I hope we do someday soon. But with the options we do have, there is a clear winner in terms of functionality, dignity, and quality. Men's clothes are made to be worn, women's clothes are made to adorn, decorate, be looked at.

Last point, when I hear someone say they're just too short or fat for men's section clothes... I can't believe them because I have seen A LOT of short and fat women wearing men's section clothes and doing just fine. You all have never met a short and/or fat butch lesbian? Ever? They look damn good in men's section clothing. I have a coworker who is 4'11" and shops 50/50 mens and womens clothes including pants. Like... I'm seeing short women wear mens clothes with slight alterations and zero problems. I really believe you can do it too. I believe!!!

In the end, I'm just a random tumblr blogger typing on my random tumblr blog, and you the reader have no obligation to take anything I say with more than a grain of salt. Try not to take this post personally, I'm not out to attack you. If your reasoning is simply "I don't want to," I can respect that and we don't have to agree. I think we can all agree the clothing situation for women generally sucks. If anyone including this Anon has recommendations for companies who make clothing that is legitimately created for women with women's bodies in mind, please let me know and I'll boost! Perhaps we can make a difference with our wallets.

[l00rem]

Sammy Lawrence character analysis

I had a small epiphany recently about Sammy’s character which just recontextualized his entire character for me and I really wanted to write it down so here’s a mini essay about our beloved musician and prophet :)

I think one of the biggest questions people often have about Sammy as a character is why he never left JDS despite the fact he seemed quite aware of how horrible it was for his mental health and that he had the talent to get a better job. My answer to this is also the main basis of this entire analysis: Sammy is a person who would rather be treated horribly then be useless.

There are many examples of this throughout the entire series. To make things easier, I’ll be going through his character in a mostly chronological order.

Before being hired

To repeat what I said earlier, people find it quite strange that Sammy didn’t leave considering his level of talent and artistic genius. But I think it’s important that we flip this around. If Sammy has so much talent, how come before being hired by Joey he was taking on jobs that he clearly didn’t really want to be doing? To quote one of his scenes at the party:

‘ The man at the piano shook his head. He seemed annoyed.(…) Sammy was not a fan of attention and definitely didn’t like putting on a show like this’

So it’s obvious that performing to audiences isn’t how Sammy wanted to be using his talent. But judging by the amount of praise Joey heaps onto him, he could’ve gotten any job he wanted right?

This is where I’m going to start heading into headcannon territory, because we don’t really know much about Sammy before working with Jack apart from the fact he once worked for the cinema.

I think it’s highly possible that Sammy suffers from the case of being really gifted , but still not good enough. He’s definitely talented, he knows this himself. But for whatever reason he was never good enough to be hired to compose for movies or anything else he seemed he’d rather be doing. Perhaps this was because of his personality putting people off? He’s quite a straightforward guy, I wouldn’t be surprised if his employers didn’t appreciate his unsolicited criticism of their works ( in other words, they can’t handle his autistic swag lmao). In fact, going off of how suspicious and distrusting he is of Joey, Its possible that he’d been tricked or scammed by his past employers. Whatever the reason, it lead to him having to settle for less and not pursue his passion the way he truly wanted to.

This is why I think he’s surprisingly so easily hired by Joey. Sammy continuously acts like he’s disinterested in Joeys offer, even though we know he’s going to be working at this place for the next 16 years of his life. I believe this is because Sammy knows JDS needs him, he is too talented for this place which makes him important. Which means he’s useful and won’t be thrown away. This makes sense when you consider the state the music department is in when Sammy demands to see it.

‘ I opened the door to the small music room. An upright piano and music stand were tightly packed inside, barley able to fit in the space. (…) This definitely did not look impressive.’

The fact that Sammy immediately begins demanding things after seeing it says a lot too. It’s as if he’s immediately pushing to see what Joey will allow, to see how badly he needs him. The more desperate Joey is to hire him, the more safe and secure this job will be for him.

And so he takes as much control as possible, demanding complete creative control over his area. The more he’s responsible for, the more he’s proving himself useful. Even if this will lead to him having waaaay too much work for one person to handle.

Working at JDS

Sammy’s 1935 tape shows us just how much he’s willing to put up with as long as it means he’s useful. He’s completely aware of how overworked he is, but ignores this in favour of ‘ keeping the little devil happy’ which most likely refers to Joey. Despite how much he complains, I think he prides himself on being able to get so much work done in such little time. Perhaps he even sees being overworked as proof that the studio just needs him that much? That he’s that significant to the success of the cartoons? Joey probably also used this tactic to manipulate Sammy, to convince him that he’s only giving him so much work because he trusts and believes in him so much.

I think Joey also figured this out from the way he talks about Sammy in Tiol. In fact it’s as if he’s actively mocking him.

‘ I wouldn’t say I was lucky to get him as part of my team, nor that I’m lucky he’s stayed with me all these years.’

‘I can’t make anyone do anything, even as a boss.’

‘ I’d never trade Sammy Lawrence for anything.’

= ‘ oh yeah he’s really talented and could totally have another job if he wanted but I actually need him and would never throw him away! He totally has the will to leave if he wants to but he stays because he knows he’s wanted here :)’

Jack’s 1943 tape does seem to confirm that the studio needs Sammy. By 1943, bendy wasn’t very relevant. Most people hadn’t really heard about the cartoons. And yet Sammy and Jack were still winning awards for their songs. In Sammy’s mind this probably solidified that the studio needs him. He doesn’t care that Joey took the credit because that’s not what matters to him. Better to know your doing good at your job then to risk upsetting your employer.

It seems he prides himself on being able to take on so much work too. In the employee handbook there’s a newspaper article on how Joey mistreats his employees and here’s what Sammy has to say about it:

‘Some people can’t take it and that’s fine’- he’s highlighting the fact that he is someone who can take it and therefore is useful to the studio. He even seems to be projecting, calling those who drop out ‘ useless’.

I think ‘ love requires sacrifice’ isn’t actually something Sammy made up to appease bendy, it’s something he lived by for most of his life. He’ll sacrifice his entire mental health if it means he’ll be loved in return. Of course, this would later take on a more darker and literal meaning.

In fact, I think there’s another factor that contributed to Sammy not being able to leave. @threadedsafteypin wrote this analysis on how Sammy may have struggled with imposter syndrome:

https://www.tumblr.com/threadedsafetypin/668068661627600896/sammy-lawrence-having-imposter-syndrome-its-more

So this gives him another reason as to why he can’t leave. If he’s working at JDs because it enables him to feel wanted and useful, then quitting because he’s struggling would be literally admitting that there’s an area in music he struggles with. In his mind he’d be proving his insecurities right, that he’s not as amazing and talented as the world thinks he is.

But Sammy had people who cared about him that would’ve been able to prove to him he’s worth more then what he can do for others right? Probably, but I think he failed to see that because of how important it is for him to feel wanted.

Let’s look at his partnership with Jack. I do believe that they truly trusted each other and remained friends during their time at JDS. However, it wouldn’t surprise me if Sammy deliberately distanced himself from Jack. Sure, Jack is one of the few people Sammy seems to actually like, but would he leave Sammy for someone better if he realised how much Sammy was faking it? I doubt it. But Sammy’s fatal flaw is his lack of trust in other people, he’s so paranoid of being worthless in the eyes of other people that he’d rather isolate himself then risk losing them. Especially someone like Jack who is directly linked to him through his talent in music.

Tragically, I think his fallout with Susie would have confirmed this paranoia for him. From his perspective, Susie doesn’t like him anymore because she no longer works for him. He isn’t her boss, isn’t there to direct her anymore and is therefore useless to her. Of course, we know this isn’t the full story. Joey intentionally orchestrated Susie’s firing so that she’d think it was Sammy’s fault. It isn’t that she stopped caring about him because she didn’t need him anymore, it’s because she thought he’d abandoned her. This outcome is very beneficial for Joey, it��ll make Sammy more desperate to seek validation from working for Joey rather then his relationships with other people. So he’ll be more reliant on Joey, no matter how much work is shoved onto him. The moment someone doesn’t need him they’ll cut ties with him, so it’s best to stay with someone who obviously needs him.

Serving the ink demon

Sammy’s devotion to bendy is the best example of how far he’s willing to go to be useful to someone. I think when Sammy accidentally drinks ink for the first time he was actually in a very desperate position. In his letter to Joey at the start of Batdr he seems uncharacteristically worried.

Considering what we’ve established, it makes sense that he’d try to help the studio not shut down. If it does, not only will he lose the place he feels secure in, but it will also show that he wasn’t good enough to keep bendy successful ( this isn’t actually the case, we know it’s all Joeys fault for his spending habits, but I think this is how Sammy would see things).

Furthermore, by the time he gets infected Susie would have been fired for a while and Jack seems very absent in DCTL ( probably because he was murdered by Joey off screen) so Sammy would be lacking what little support system he actually had. Suffice to say, he would not have been doing mentally well.

Sammy knows this company is going down hill, it’s inevitable that it’ll go bankrupt at this point. He’s losing his purpose. Enter the ink demon. A terrifying and powerful being who promises to give him a new use. Sammy says it himself in Dctl:

‘It wanted me. He wanted me.’

‘The more I felt him. Heard him. I need to please him.’

He was so desperate to not be cast aside that he was literally willing to sacrifice his coworkers in order to be of use to someone.

And then he gets sent into the ink realm at some point and the ink demon presumably stops talking to him. He’s lost his purpose but doesn’t even have the option to leave anymore. So no wonder he deludes himself Into thinking bendy will set him free. He basically has no choice, if he faces the reality of his hopeless situation will he even be able to keep going?

He convinces himself that it’s all just a test, he hasn’t been abandoned, bendy does everything for a reason. He just needs to get him to notice him again through sacrifice to remind bendy of how useful he can be.

Bendy killing Sammy was a massive reality check for him. It sends him into a complete spiral as he’s forced to confront the truth that he’s been thrown away yet again. But he still can’t fathom why he’d been ‘ left to rot’. After all, he’d kept on sacrificing people like bendy originally wanted hadn’t he? He’d remained faithful even after being ignored for years, spent years praising bendy’s name despite all possible logic pointing against it!

He has nothing. He’s worth nothing. All the suffering he endured was for nothing. We can clearly see that Sammy despises being useless more then anything else. If bendy had kept on talking to him, even if it was all lies, he would have probably have been happier then facing the truth.

Having no purpose

He may have a stupidly small amount of screen time in batdr, but I think his jail scene still tells us a lot.

I’d go as far to argue that the Sammy we see in prison is probably his lowest point in the series that we’ve ever seen.

I mean just look at him. He doesn’t even turn to look at Audrey when she enters. He’s been told that his lord is dead, that he’s a false prophet, that nothing he’s done has mattered because no one is coming to free him. If this is how Sammy acts when he feels worthless it’s no wonder that he lied to himself about bendy being his lord. He’s completely dejected of all hope.

To add to this feeling of uselessness, it doesn’t even seem like he knows how to play anymore. It sounds like he’s trying to play hellfire follis but miserably failing. Not only does he fail as a prophet, but he can’t even be a musician- the last part of his identity he could even latch onto at this point.

And honestly, as happy as an ending as Batdr seems for most of the cast, I don’t think this’ll be the same for Sammy. After all, his lord has completely left the ink realm. He has no one to serve anymore. He’ll lose all his purpose, and everyone around him tells him this is supposed to be for the better? He’s supposed to be content with remaining an ink man for the foreseeable future just because there’s no other option?

I think Sammy actually has the potential to be a villain in the next game ( assuming we get one judging from that scene at the end). Maybe someone from gent, like Alan Grey, will somehow get in contact with him and promise to give him a use again. All he has to do is go against the residents of the ink realm in order to serve him. And if Sammy’s desperate enough, I wouldn’t be surprised if he accepted.

I really do hope we see more of Sammy. I don’t think the meatly is a particularly good writer so I’m not expecting some amazing character ark but tbh I’ll take any crumbs at this point. As long as they don’t make him forgive Joeys bs ‘redemption’ ark I don’t think they can mess up his character too badly. But I’ll guess we’ll have to see when the next bendy game comes out in five years.

[shieldmaidenofgod]

Writing Our History—Part 4

Apologies for the long wait in between chapters. I posted this to ao3 and then realized I forgot to post it here! This is a sort of “back at the ranch” hold-over chapter.

“Monsieur Hawthorn!” Dominique cried, frantically waving a folded piece of paper. “Une lettre! For you! It is sent from Valentine!”

Mr. Hawthorn, much calmer than his maid, took the letter—the name of the return sender being one “Aiden O’Malley”—from her hand and broke the seal. After opening the letter, he began to read its contents with an almost bored look on his face.

“What does it say?” Dominique asked timidly. “Is it about Mademoiselle (Y/N)? Is it from her captors?”

Mr. Hawthorn nodded, but did not elaborate. Dominique practically wailed in both relief and distress, drawing the attention of Mrs. Hawthorn, who came into the foyer from the drawing room.

“Dominique, for God’s sake, compose yourself,” the matron spat. “What does it say, Mr. Hawthorn?”

(Y/N)’s father looked up for the first time from the letter. “They want a ransom for her.”

Dominique gasped out a mon Dieu, and Mrs. Hawthorn rolled her eyes.

“Of course they do, they’re brutes! How much are they asking?”

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

It was Mrs. Hawthorn’s turn to gasp in horror. “How dare they even dream of asking so much of us?!” she cried, her petite dangling diamond earrings shaking in tandem with her rage.

Dominique was attempting to compose herself, albeit very badly. “How will we send them the money? We must get Mademoiselle home! We must give them whatever they ask!”

Mr. Hawthorn looked stunned, even incredulous, hardly the expression of a man missing his daughter by way of kidnappers. “Give them whatever they ask? Give them twenty thousand dollars? Dominique, do you even hear yourself? I know you know nothing of wealth, as you are our servant—” Dominique flinched at that; she much preferred to be referred to as their maid, which had a better connotation in her eyes— “but twenty thousand dollars is a considerable amount of money, an amount which we cannot afford to just give away to some—some criminal!”

Dominique was shocked, her eyebrows pinched as she rattled her brain for a rational explanation as to why her employer would not go to the ends of the world for his daughter, as anyone would for their child.

“This is not just giving money to ‘some criminal,’ Monsieur Hawthorn,” she said coolly. “This is your daughter’s life. You can save her and bring her home and yet you refuse? Simply because it would drain but a portion of your coffers? You are her father! You are to protect her from all harm, and now when you have the opportunity to save her from this danger, you refuse?”

“Enough!” Mr. Hawthorn roared, and his wife’s face was bright red to match his rage. “You will hold your tongue, girl, if you know what is good for you.”

Dominique held her head high, refusing to feel shame, knowing that she was right in her stance. Still, she could not risk being dismissed from her duties. She had nowhere else to go if that were to happen. “Oui, Monsieur.”

“Now get out of my sight.”

Dominique managed to hold back her tears until she reached the maid’s quarters, at which point it all bubbled over and she sobbed into her pillow.

(Y/N) had been such a close friend to her ever since Dominique had been employed by the Hawthorns, and now it seemed Dominique would never see her again. The only thing that made serving the Hawthorn family was gone. Dominique had no idea where her friend was, or if she was even alive.

Dominique rolled over on her bed to stare blankly at the ceiling as the thought fell over her.

Is she even alive?

It hadn’t occurred to her until then, but it was a terrifying possibility. There was a chance that (Y/N)’s kidnappers had killed her as soon as they’d been out of sight, and only asked for money in an attempt to quell fears and prevent any investigation or government involvement.

All Dominique could do was pray. Pray that (Y/N) was alive and unharmed, and pray that Mr. Hawthorn would come to his senses and pay the ransom.

[destielomegaversebigbang]

Equality Ain't Pie

Posting September 6, 2024

Fic by RavenFuchs

Art by hectatess

Banner by envydean

Rating: Mature

Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak have each been recruited to co-lead an elite team, Sexual Minorities Intelligence Tactical Endeavor (SMITE), created in reaction to the rise in attacks on alphas and omegas (called AOs), by Beta Rights Activists within the majority beta population. Prior to the team’s formation a plot to bomb an AO fundraising event was thwarted but the threat was serious enough to call for a law enforcement unit that had national reach and powers that superseded those of local and other federal agencies. Shortly after the team is assembled they are tasked with looking into AO youth living on the streets who are now missing as well as cases of product tampering where suppressants were replaced with a previously unknown super enhancer causing two unrelated college students to go into a dangerous heat cycle. Meanwhile, they face an enemy from within as well as mounting political pressure by some in government that do not want to see AOs have full rights in society and will do anything to see that they are removed from mainstream life. The stakes get higher when an attack on the team coincides with the kidnapping of the teen children of a pro-AO candidate with the rare occurrence of two AO children in one family. As the team continues to investigate they uncover a plot that could lead to making the public see AOs as unstable and needing to be removed from society.

Tags: Alpha Cas, Omega Dean, Kidnapping, murder, government plots, talk of conversion camps, talk of medical experiments on AOs, threats of sexual assault, mention of human sex trafficking, non-consensual drug exposure, panic attacks, past child abuse, alphas and omegas are commonly referred to as AOs

Excerpt below the cut

"Bobby, I'm gonna give it to you straight, the fact that you're even allowed to form this team is nothing short of remarkable. There's still a hell of a lot of pushback and prejudice against alphas and omegas and the LGBTQ+ communities that it's a miracle that it's happening at all. Your special task force will be able to do a lot of good and prevent a lot of harm. What's the extent of your operation?"

"Unlimited. We've been given unilateral scope to work nationwide and across all levels of law enforcement both military and civilian. We are authorized to be the lead agency in any jurisdiction. Surprisingly, they didn't fight me when I said that the team would be inclusive of AOs, as there is no sound reason not to hire alphas and omegas."

"That is a bit of a shock. Considering the ban on AOs serving openly in the military has only recently been lifted."

"Yeah, the LEOs were ahead of the curve on that one. Though I guess in a way it would make sense that law enforcement officers on the local, state, and federal levels would need to have some AOs to help deal with crimes against their community. AO crime vics seem to open up better to one of their own."

"Well, can you blame 'em? Betas still make up the majority of the population and hold all the cards when it comes to education, employment, and positions of power. They still place the blame on AOs for being victims. I hope to all that's holy that what you're doing will change things for the better."

"That's the plan."

[merriclo]

staring at you with autism in my eyes. tell me your haruno headcanons

how does it feel to be my favorite person ever in the entire world? i have so many headcanons for her omg.. you’ve opened the pandora’s box (’ω’)

Haruno’s around 23 years old, give or take, and was born in the spring. she’s a college graduate, and got her degree in accounting!!

i like to think that she vaguely knew Kunikida when they were in high school. they weren’t super close, but they were friendly enough! one day they ran into each other at the grocery store, and Haruno stopped by to say hi and catch up. when Kunikida learned that she was an accountant in need of a job, he immediately referred her to the Agency, since Fukuzawa had off-handedly mentioned needing a clerk. he was her reference, and she got hired pretty quickly.

that being said, i think her relationship with Kunikida has increased quite a bit since she was hired. obviously, she’s incredibly greatful for his help in employment, and she shows him that quite often. he’s also happy to work with her since she’s a good employee and great at what she does. sure, he’ll scold her for looking at Mii-chan pics on the clock, but she’s better than most of the others (cough Dazai cough) so. whatever. idk i just like to think that they’re buddies..

she acts as a kind of “head clerk,” which basically just means training the part-timers and making sure the technical things run as smoothly as possible. she’s very very good at her job, and the entire office appreciates it.

Natsume/Mii-chan kind of just. followed her home a few days after she was hired. she thinks she’s a victim of the cat distribution system, but in reality it was all very intentional. lucky for him though, she spoils him rotten. he hasn’t eaten this good in decades (he’s a little chubby because of it but that’s okay)

Haruno’s the one who primarily does the agency’s grocery shopping, since she’s pretty responsible and one of the few members who can drive (well)

huuuge coupon lover (which is another reason she does most of the shopping, she gets like ¥14,000 off.) she’ll gift people coupons too if she knows they’ll use them. canned crab coupon? here ya go, Dazai! fountain pen coupon? hey, Kunikida, check this out! candy coupon? ohhh Ranpo’s gonna love this!!! the agency’s wallet thanks her

Naomi and her hang out allll the damn time. working for the ADA means keeping your work life (and personal life, if you have an ability) under wraps. because of this, and having to keep Jun’ichirō’s ability hush, Naomi doesn’t have any real friends outside of Haruno. so, the two have weekly girls’ nights where they hang out and gossip and do face masks and such. Haruno wants Naomi to have as much of a standard teenage experience as possible, and this is kind of her way of giving that to her. (also they totally force Jun’ichirō to join them sometimes, so he always has these beautifully manicured fingernails.)

she was absolutely awful at brewing tea when she was first hired, but she’s put in a lot of work since then and is getting much better!! Fukuzawa deeply appreciates it

i think she runs pretty cold, which is why she likes wearing thick sweaters and opaque tights. i can totally see her coming into work in the winter, all bundled up with a thick coat and sweater, and immediately running to brew some hot tea to warm up

also sometimes she’ll spook her coworkers by randomly touching them with her cold hands. Kunikida and Naomi are the most common victims

oh as for sexuality headcanons. she’s a lesbian and you can’t convince me otherwise. she’s had like 1 girlfriend in the past and then got so absorbed in her work and cat that she’s never tried to get another. she thinks Yosano’s really pretty but, with peace and love, she cannot match her freak so. she’s not even going to try and flirt with her

that being said i can totally see someone flirting with Haruno and it going right over her head. she’s such a friendly lady that she assumes all flirting attempts are just friendly conversations. please Haruno use your eyes. the cashier at Trader Joe’s is in love with you

continuing again. i think some client of the ADA has made a passing remark about her and Kunikida dating, to which everyone just blankly stares at them because. no that’s not. that’s not chemistry. thats wlw mlm solidarity in the office, ma’am. sorry to disappoint

she’s definitely got a blog full of pictures of Mii-chan that has a freakish amount of followers. Fukuzawa was its first follower, and Naomi its second (to this day she’s still bitter that he got to it before her)

she loves showtunes, and did a lot of theatre in high school. she was going to pursue it professionally, but it didn’t end up working out. (fun fact: her namesake is a character in Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s book Naomi, who is an actress!!)

Atsushi gave her a little calico cat charm for her phone and she loves it dearly

sometimes she’ll do something super cringey and embarrassing when at home and then an intense wave of shame will wash over her because she knows Mii-chan’s judging the fuck out of her.. you can see it in his eyes….

her glasses are constantly just a littol bit smudged

i feel like she’d watch a lot of mindless, sappy television. like hopeless romantic j-dramas or shoujos. nothing that makes her think too hard after a long day of work

in conclusion i love her so much she is my favorite darling sweetheart and i want to kiss her forehead so damn bad. she is perfect and wonderful and i wish she got more screentime ɷ◡ɷ