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insult-2-injury · 1 year

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The First Unkindness - Chapter 1

Time Travel Fem Reader x Zandik (set in Akademiya days)

With a strike intended to kill, Il Dottore sends you flying back through time, where you find yourself face to face with the first, but no less sinister version of himself.

AO3 Link, 3k wc, eventual smut, eventual romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Chapter 1

You suppose you should’ve known something was off when the chatty shopkeep stopped talking for even a split second. When the unstoppered commotion of the Sumeru marketplace plummeted before suddenly picking up again, like a radio dial spun quickly back and forth; tuning in.

But it was just a glitch in time, you’d thought, hopeful. One of those funny little moments when reality and memory collide. Deja vu, they called it, so strong it rocked you sideways. Yes, just that; you thought until seconds later, the shopkeep dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, and complete silence suffused the din.

You froze, one arm still outstretched, an apple clutched in your palm so shiny you thought perhaps if you squinted hard enough, you could see the approach of your own reckoning from behind.

Fear was a strange thing; had you numbly taking the time to bag the rest of your purchases before turning stiffly. The warm glow of lanterns bathing cobblestone that had seemed so friendly in the bustle seemed now to cast an eerie spotlight on the figures. Dozens of prone forms littered the ground, some of them bent at odd angles, their full weight having crashed down suddenly and without warning.

An unnaturally cold gust of air bit into your cheeks.

Well, you thought, you suppose you should’ve known better; staying in Sumeru any longer than you ought. You recalled when you’d moved here from your tiny little village just outside Gandharva Ville; when the hope of a bright future at Akademiya had eclipsed the sight of the rot beneath it all. This place was a utopia once. Not anymore.

You were headed somewhere where there were no monsters beneath the floorboards, where the worst creature that could lunge from the shadows was a Rishboland tiger.

But the current foe did not lunge, he crept toward you with an undue ease.

The Fatui harbinger tucked a device neatly into his jacket pocket, walking with the slimy confidence of someone who had laid his groundwork precisely and was here to reap his reward.

Il Dottore. The Doctor. You never had seen him in person. And Archons, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him, every inch of his countenance built to scream of power. An intricately patterned gray overcoat over a cobalt shirt crowned with a gold-lined cravat. Black pants slimming down into opulent, intimidating boots of the same colors. Everything about him was jagged and deadly; from the knife-edged slant of his jaw drawing into a pointed chin to the sharp, hawk-like beak of his mask – something that did little to hide the ghost of smirking lips beneath. An unruly head of steel blue hair sprouted and fell in almost lazy curls to frame his face.

Following him were two Fatui soldiers.

“So you managed to retain consciousness. Bravo.”

Your blood ran cold at the timbre of his voice, smooth and rumbling as a far-off storm. “Although I do find myself wondering how that is…”

He continued. “The pitch produced by this device is wholly indiscernible to the human ear. Oh, let’s call it something tantamount to an amplified dog whistle. ” Dottore spoke derisively, like he was trying to explain the concept of sound to a simpleminded commoner. Your heart started up a terrible rhythm as his voice lowered in mock seriousness. “It would require a great deal of mental endeavor for even one with the gaze of the gods to withstand such a blow to their Akasha, but, unless I’m mistaken, you’ve been gifted with no such vision.”

“You’re not mistaken,” you confirmed. “Will they die?”

“Who?”

Your eye twitched.

“Ah. All these delightful people, you mean.” You swore you saw a flash of razor sharp teeth. “Why, they are merely asleep.”

Archons, he was a villain in the truest sense of the word. You gnawed the inside of your cheek, a profound hatred melding with anxiety to create a nauseating brew in the pit of your stomach.

“Well, what do you want?”

He hummed almost appreciatively. “So forward, I’d almost admire your brashness if it weren’t coupled with a shocking lack of observance. A little forethought and you could have been miles away by now. Imagine.” The corner of his lips creased wickedly.

“Imagine,” you retorted with a boldness you didn’t feel, fingers ticking on the apple in your palm.

“Tell me, driyosh, what did inspire you to rewire your terminal?” His voice was too light, too inviting. “Moreso, what could have possibly motivated you to flee the city at such a time?”

Dottore was toying with you like a cat would a mouse. You were nothing but a ball of yarn between his sharp claws as he batted you around for information he most certainly already had. And by the smirk on his face, he knew you knew that there was nothing to do but buy time.

You spoke carefully.

“To be honest, I don’t find my values… aligning with the Akademiya anymore.”

“Your values? Hm.” His dark, rolling chuckle accused you of more than any words could. You felt a tingling heat creep to your cheeks and you swallowed down a wave of humiliation. “We’re fast approaching a new era of enlightenment; I do think most would call your judgment into question.”

“Yeah, well…” You bit out, tilting your head toward the sea of unconscious forms. “Seems not everybody’s in their right minds these days.”

Dottore smirked. Your hand itched to grab the gun hidden at your side, but doing so would be a certified death sentence. A shot of electro, devastating to most, wouldn’t hold water to whatever sort of power he must hold to have been crowned a Fatui harbinger.

You knew when it came down to it, the power imbalance was all too inequitable. He didn’t seem the type to expend time and energy going after the insignificant himself, though; which meant to some degree, however miniscule, you posed a threat. But how to appease a Fatui harbinger on a mission? Perhaps you just had to keep him talking. Easy enough, you thought, he seemed to very much enjoy the sound of his own voice.

“Besides, propaganda is a powerful tool,” you stalled, toying with the apple within your sweating palms. “And is it so bad to want to dream, anyway? I’m not the first to mess with my terminal and I likely won’t be the last. Does all this really warrant arrest now?”

Do the matra have nothing better to do than to send a Fatui harbinger to do their grunt work? No, you knew better than to think this had anything to do with your tampering with your terminal. This was only the first rap of his knuckles against your proverbial egg shell.

“Oh? Are you so important to warrant an arrest?” he responded simply, head cocking.

A shock of fear, cold and electric crept your spine at the implication. You blinked. You hadn’t considered the possibility of your life ending right here where you stood. He’d brought a hydro and a cryogunner, which you thought had spoken of intent to capture, but the two of them stood almost completely useless behind him, and who were you to guess the motive of a madman?

You couldn’t help the stomach-sinking feeling that he’d only brought them to confuse; to tease. Your gaze turned back to the sharp void of his mask. Steeling yourself, you took a breath.

“Why don’t you wear your Akasha, then, Doctor?” you asked and his chin lowered slightly at the use of his epithet. You relaxed your shoulders as much as you could. “Don’t you want access to the arcane wisdom of our new god? Don’t you dream, then? And is dreaming not the personification of irrational thought, of unintelligence? ” His lips were all you could see, but the small grin at your sardonic tone was almost playful as you mimicked the words of the Akademiya’s most recent decree. You swallowed down a ball of nerves, a flicker of hope alight in your chest at his seemingly genuine amusement, however feline. “People become so dredged up in it all, they don’t stop to think where their dreams are going – or just who is listening to them.”

“Oh, they do think,” he responded simply, “but like you said, propaganda is a powerful tool.”

Dottore raised a gloved hand to signal his soldiers to stay put and stepped toward you alone, hands falling behind his back, terrifyingly casual. Your lower back met the rickety wooden cart behind you with a thud as you jarred away from his slow approach. His lips curled slightly but he surprisingly did not push further, halting at a conversational distance.

“You do pose a fair question, I suppose. But alas, what is the worth of a dream to the sleepless? Perhaps there is a tormented segment of myself who does still dream,” he said indifferently, “I just don’t care enough to ask. In any case, I am not one of them.”

You frowned. Segments?

“And I will go ahead and infer from the spirit of this conversation that you don’t approve of my scientific methods here in Sumeru. I’ll be the first to call into question the Akademiya’s more… rigid history.” His voice dropped, the words formed around a sharp smile, like he was letting you in on a private joke. “But when the old ways have been set in stone, when the rot of a bygone era travels deep, the creation that rises from the floorboards must serve as a symbol of power. Of wisdom.”

The word sounded so ridiculously insincere you could have laughed.

“You don’t really mean that,” you dared.

Dottore studied you but did not respond to your doubt, one corner of his lips curling slowly into a sinister grin, filling you with a sudden, heart-pounding anticipation.

“And what of your involvement, driyosh?” he said lowly.

You licked your lips, a fresh wave of panic slithering through your veins. “I felt just a tad… just a tad deceived, I guess.”

“Do elaborate.”

You observed him.

The work had started out light; unassuming. Everyday tasks handed down to you from the Grand Sage: tedious things like hunting down borderline ancient research papers or transferring messages across Akademiya grounds – frustrating, admittedly, for a gunslinging driyosh with a thesis paper to write. But further requests had you descending into madness; Azar’s requests for you to sketch out blueprints for a bigger and better weapon. One that could harvest latent elements from the world around it, transfer it into a clean source of elemental energy.

But for what? And why? For who? The questions were endless and the potential for misuse even more so, but… you were interested in the work. Couldn’t help yourself. And to be seemingly taken both under the wing and into the good graces of the Grand Sage was no common feat. So you continued.

That is… until the rumor came of the awakening god beneath the floorboards. Of the sighting of a Fatui harbinger. Oh, it must’ve felt such vacuous gossip to those who’d followed Akademiya’s orders and left their terminals on permanently. But to those like yourself, who had caught on a hair too late to the Akademiya’s betrayal, the knowledge latched on with a terrible sense of trepidation. Something was coming. Something bad.

And you’d been able to do nothing but slow its progression.

You cleared your throat and continued. “Me thinking I was anything but a puppet to the Akademiya. Thinking the Grand Sage chose me for my talent over simple convenience.” You shrugged through the rush of anger that stung your cheeks, pulling your lips into a small frown. “I should never have gotten involved.”

“Oh, don’t pity yourself so,” he said, disapproval coloring his tone. “After all, you’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you. Star pupil of Spantamad; remarkable aptitude in biomechanical weaponry.” You narrowed your eyes, his praise unexpected and holding a wormy, underhanded cut of ridicule. “The gods deprived you of your own vessel of release, so you created your own.”

He nodded subtly to the hidden guns holstered at your side and you tensed. “An elemental destabilizer. Not the first of its kind, no, but mildly impressive for one so young as you. You did grab my attention for a short while, I will say– so impulsive to throw yourself into a project with so few questions; so little understanding of the desired outcome. No, you just wanted to be of use. And you were, weren’t you? Yes, for every blind inch Azar granted you, you took a mile. To that end, I do applaud you.”

Your cheeks blazed at his disparagement, feeling like a tiny ant amidst the cobblestones under his derisive gaze. You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised it was the Doctor that had chosen you by hand, considering what you’d recently come to learn of his proclivities.

“It is a shame you never saw the potential in scaling up your craft,” he said, “but you did have your uses.”

“Thank you,” you bit out.

Dottore hummed. “...Anyhow.” His gloved fingers tapped against his biceps in thought. “I do grow tired of inconsequential chatter. It’s about time we get to the point.” He took a step forward and with a lazy flourish of his wrist, two massive needles materialized out of thin air, floating idly on either side of his head. You choked on a gasp and pressed backward.

You stared in wide-eyed horror.

“You started asking questions, driyosh,” he said simply.

"N-no." There was no getting out. There was no capture. His intent was abundantly clear. "P lease.” Your voice was small and crackling and even in all your terror, you found yourself despising how weak you sounded begging.

Your hand flexed toward your thigh. Your heart plunged in your chest before shooting to your throat like a fist punching upward. Dottore matched every panicked step of yours backward with an easy one of his own and you blanched as the needles caught the light of a nearby streetlamp.

Someone wake up. Someone wake up and stop him. Stop him.

“Stop! Stop. Let me explain–”

“As a scholar, first and foremost, I did admire your tenacity, your determination to uncover the truth… but thwarting plans, dredging up information that didn’t belong to you. And now leaving. ” He tsked in mock offense. “Such potential wasted.”

The world tilted. Breath became scarce.

Funny, a little. How the brain slowed to such mire when faced with its own reckoning. You’d always assumed it would work the opposite; blood thrumming with that kind of hopeless adrenaline that had mothers lifting carts off their children. And it certainly did, for a moment in time.

But then…no. It slowed. Like a fuse that had burned too hot and too quick; a half-crazed fear easing between the breadth of a single step into a strange, cold rationality. Two pairs of boots clicked on cobblestone as he backed you across cobblestone. Your eyes caught on the eerie red gleam reflecting off the front of his mask from something behind you.

“Dottore–”

“I really am sorry things had to end like this,” he continued, “but everyone must pay the price for what they learn. Although, it is a poor turn of luck for you that he sent me, I must say. I rather think another segment would’ve found you charming enough to keep around for a day or two.”

You were never going to make it out and if you did, the things he had in store for you were far more unpleasant than death. Fuck him. Fuck this project. And fuck this city.

Your hand reached to wrap the handle of your gun and you watched as his lips twitched down in disapproval, as if he were disappointed you’d fallen back on such base methods.

"To a new era-"

You managed to get a single shot off before a needle slammed through your shoulder, blood a soft spatter on the ground behind as your arm ripped. And for a moment, as you stumbled backward, all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide in shock before an impossible pain had your knees collapsing beneath you.

“You said earlier you weren’t content being a puppet," he snarled between his teeth, "I wanted to properly test that theory.” With a cold twitch of his head, the second needle crashed into your other shoulder, launching your limp body backward. Your back hit hard stone and you couldn’t tell which of them cracked upon impact. Ah, an ancient waypoint, that's what you'd hit, your mind peculiarly filled in the blanks as a strange cerulean flash of light enveloped you upon the devastating collision.

So this was dying; bright colors and sounds all amalgamating into a blur of unfiltered agony. Thoughts flashing before you of not what you could’ve done with your life, but what you could’ve done with his if you’d just pulled your gun out fast enough. You would've killed him. You wanted to kill him.

Blood rushed in your ears, your pulse pounded in your neck and you could feel it all, your world filtering and narrowing into its simplest form. Vines like arms stretched from the ground to wrap you in their viselike grip, pulling you down, down, down.

To a new era of enlightenment, you thought, before it all went dark.

Hey pals, thanks for reading! I hope you like what I have in store - lots of spice but hold the nice. I'd love to hear what you thought of the first chapter. Stay weird. ~ Sulty

#dottore genshin #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore #il dottore #genshin impact

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sednonamoris · 8 months

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vienna waits for you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: After a one-off meeting with a young Lieutenant Price, you assume you'll never meet again. A mission in Vienna proves you wrong.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, description of knife wounds, lots of blood, strong language, excessive dog puns, pre-relationship, pre-slowburn

Word count: 3,027

A/N: A little prequel action for hellhound (cross-posted to AO3)!! Thank you thank you thank you to the people who love this series as much as I do - your enthusiasm and joy has written this series just as much as I have 🩷

—

Ever since Belfast they’ve called you Hound.

Ever since Price, really. Hellhound, he had said, but it got shortened quick enough. One less syllable to trip through as they tease you.

Dog’s dinner again, eh, Hound? in the mess hall.

Well sure, every dog has its day, when you make top marks in training.

Pretty as a speckled pup, you are, cooed mockingly on a rare night spent out of fatigues drinking with the lads just off base.

One of the newer recruits even tried whistling at you during a sparring match. He ended up in the med bay for that one, while you were reprimanded by Command yet again.

In the dog house, your squadmates titter as you march out of your captain’s office with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and anger itching beneath your skin.

The teasing is fine. You like it, even, making your fair share of awful puns just to get a laugh out of the boys. What you can’t shake is the feeling of discontent with your superior officers. You joined up with the Irish Armed Forces at eighteen to do something. When they sent you up the ranks to the ARW just a few years later it was supposed to matter more. Save the good guys when you could, take down the bad ones when you couldn’t. ACTION had been promised by every recruitment poster in big bold letters. And yet, it seems like every time you take some all they do is give out to you.

You’re not good for much more than taking orders and pulling triggers, you know, but still it feels like something’s missing. Like you could do more if they’d just let you.

—

Weeks later you get your chance: another team-up with the SAS. When it’s announced to the regiment you’re the first one geared up and ready to go.

For a silly, self-indulgent moment you let yourself wonder if Lieutenant Price will be there, too.

—

Between the SAS and ARW, a burgeoning terror cell has been tracked to Vienna. It’s being run by Wesley Martin, an English expat coming off a dishonourable discharge from MI6. Rather than fading quietly into obscurity, he’s taken the opportunity to sell out his country’s secrets and incite insurrection not just against them, but most of Europe as well. He staged an attack on Irish soil months ago, but the trail had gone cold - until now. England was the one to find him again, and Austria’s task force has offered its support, working out negotiations between the three nations as to who gets to make the arrest and on exactly what counts and which soil he will be tried. If the whispers up the chain of command are true, Ireland gets dibs on cuffing him.

But that’s all above your pay grade. You’d just like to nab the prick.

When your boots hit the tarmac you have a stretch and breathe deep. It was a cramped plane ride with your squadmates. Jacks had snored on your shoulder the whole way, and Murph wouldn’t shut up about his latest shag, who apparently gave him quite a memorable experience in a pub stall over leave. He’d spared no detail. Lieutenant Doyle, of course, was the one who kept egging him on; even a glare from Captain Guiney hadn’t been enough to stop him from asking what color her knickers were. He produced a rather spectacular lacy red thong from one of his pockets in answer.

Chatter cuts as you make your way over to where the SAS team stands in formation.

“Pint short as usual, Guinness,” Captain MacMillan’s thick brogue snarks. “You’re late.”

“They are early,” a less amused Austrian woman corrects. Anna Ebner, if it’s the same person who coordinated and shared all the intel reports.

“Only by Paddy standards, which is to say none at all.”

Ebner rolls her eyes.

“Je-sus,” Guiney says in greeting, “how’d I get stuck working with you cunts?” His wide grin and open arms counteract the words.

A series of warm handshakes are exchanged, but then it’s right to business.

Ebner informs the group that Austria has opted to sideline its men with the promise of support only if things go very, very wrong. They’ll be on comms for the whole operation. That leaves two mixed-company teams to infiltrate the safehouse apartment; one from the front and one from the back. Once the ground floor is secured, Alpha Team will head upstairs while Bravo covers the cellar and makes sure no one gets in or out of the building.

Team assignments are handed out with efficiency before everyone piles into the vans. Most of your squadron ends up with Alpha, headed by Guiney. You and Jacks are the only ARW soldiers on Bravo, which will be led by MacMillan and his lieutenant.

“Looks like we’re top dogs today, Hound,” Murph crows, elbowing you in the ribs before heading over to join the others with Alpha.

You grin and flip him off while Jacks tells the lot of them to go fuck themselves, and turn to find Lieutenant John Price looking right at you. Your eyes go wide and your spine snaps straight.

“Hound, is it?” Barely-there amusement curls at the edge of his mouth.

“It is, yeah.” There should probably be a sir attached to that, but you’re too caught up in the starstruck realization that he remembers you to care.

It’s a stroke of luck that he doesn’t seem to mind. Just hums at the back of his throat with a twinkle in his eye before nodding his head toward the van behind him. “With me.”

—

It’s tight quarters inside the vans, so many soldiers pressed knee to knee. Price is seated across from you. At your side, Jacks is shooting shit with the other Brits in your temporary squad. Already he’s insulted the Queen - your favourite pastime, usually - but you ignore him in favor of quietly observing Price, who in turn is quietly observing you.

He hasn’t changed much in the months since your last meeting.

His face is clean-shaven with an ever-present threat of stubble. The rest of his hair is tucked beneath a dark beanie that either hides a buzz cut or a seriously impressive cowlick - it’s hard to say which would suit him more. His broad frame fills his tactical suit, and the stars in your eyes make him seem that much broader. But it’s his eyes that strike you the most. Clear-cut, no-nonsense blue that sees straight to the heart of you.

What has he found there, you wonder?

In Price it feels like you’ve found the answer to a question that’s been difficult to put to words. He’s so sure. Sure of himself, of his team, of his mission. Every doubt you house is a certainty in him - it’s no wonder they’ve already named him a lieutenant while you can barely keep your rank as sergeant.

“They didn’t court marshal you, then,” he breaches the silence between you.

“Not for lack of trying.” Your smile is crooked and self-deprecating. “I’m fairly certain ‘loose cannon’ is at the top of my file in red ink.”

He huffs a laugh. “Better than ‘temper management issues’.”

“Oh, please,” you say. “Yours has got to be something like ‘hero’ or ‘patriot’. Maybe ‘golden boy’. I bet the recruitment campaigns can’t get enough of you.”

“They tried to get me to pose for a commercial,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

“Told them to sod off.”

You cackle. “Too right!”

The rest of the van ride is spent trading quips back and forth, bantering like you’ve known each other for ages and not just from a one-off meeting months ago. In the time that’s lapsed between then and now you’ve imagined working beside him plenty— more than you should have, being honest. It should be impossible for the man to live up to the myth you’ve manufactured in your mind.

Somehow he exceeds it.

Somehow you’re not surprised.

—

The muffled sound of Bravo team breaching the cellar door is the only thing that breaks the midnight silence of Vienna’s neighborhoods. Combat boots creak down wooden steps, guns at the ready and night vision gear engaged. Captain Macmillan leads the charge, sweeping the space with practiced authority.

“Clear,” he announces. His voice is too-loud and rough in the cramped space.

Though no targets are on this level, a wealth of information seems to be. There’s not an ounce of modern technology to be seen, but every inch of unfinished wall is covered in the paper trail three respective countries have been chasing in vain for months.

“Seems like your man is starting to lose the plot, eh?” Jacks says with his crooked smile, gesturing to documents pinned on corkboards and clipped across strings that hang from the low ceilings.

Your mouth snaps shut on your reply at MacMillan’s warning to keep quiet, but disagreement is plain across your features. Martin is paranoid, certainly, but you wouldn’t call him crazy. Though this organization system is beyond you, it makes sense in theory; Who better than a former MI6 operative can appreciate how insecure cyber storage is, even with encryptions in place?

Paper maps cover one of the walls wholly, marked up in unfamiliar code you’re sure some poor interns will have a field day with. Whatever his next moves are, they must be hidden there. Many of the hanging sheets read like weapons orders, others like mercenary pay stubs, all in a myriad of languages. Everything else is too much text to be anything but a manifesto. You snag one of the sheets for yourself and read a few cursory lines of down with the status quo and death to the Other - nothing that hasn’t been done before.

With a nod from his captain, Price starts barking orders. Everything must be taken down and packed away; this kind of evidence is every operation’s dream. You all set about the work as quietly as you can in case things still aren’t clear inside. MacMillan radios Guiney for a sitrep off to the side before he joins in.

In all of a second it isn’t necessary.

Shouting sounds from inside, then gunfire.

You hear the tinkling of broken glass and the impact of a body hitting the ground and the thunk, thunk of a flashbang falling down cellar stairs before it goes off. Harsh, blinding white overwhelms your senses and forces your eyes to close in a painful squeeze. There’s a ringing in your ears that feels like it’s coming from everywhere. Someone screams. You tear your night vision gear off in a blind panic and blink sightlessly at the chaos.

Fuck.

Fuck!

There’s a dark shape at the foot of the stairwell going up, and before you register what your body is doing you can feel yourself lurch after them. You’re not even sure if you have your gun.

You stagger outside to see Price giving chase to someone who can only be Wesley Martin - him or one of his close associates. Doesn’t matter now. You join in hot pursuit, the thick soles of your boots pounding across Vienna’s pavement. Your lungs burn and your vision is still blurred but you can’t afford to slow down. Price is still several metres ahead.

Without breaking stride he takes aim with his gun and nails Martin squarely in the back. The crack of the shot echoes sharp in the night and lays him flat out in the street. Price continues his sprint, only slowing a few steps out from the body.

Except it isn’t just a body; he’s still alive. You see him move - he must be wearing kevlar - but before you can shout a warning he whips his body around and takes Price out at the legs. Moonlight flashes off the wicked threat of his unsheathed knife. He shoves the blade up hard into Price’s ribs and slashes a wide arc through his belly. You swear it’s happening in slow motion, like those nightmares where you run and run and run but your legs won’t move.

“Get off him, you bastard!” you shout. Martin’s head turns to see you come barrelling at him. He smiles. The knife drips blood. Price gasps and stumbles backward where he’s shoved aside, fingers clutching desperately at the wound.

Your hands feel for the familiar weight of your gun only to find it gone. You must have lost it in the confusion. Martin could easily kill Price now - it’s what you would do, if the situation was reversed - but instead he takes your momentary distraction as a chance to take off again.

It’s his mistake.

You’re close enough and determined enough now that it takes only a few strides to overtake him, and while you don’t have your gun you sure as shit have a knife. The collision happens all at once and in fragments. Your body against his. Your knife in his neck. The scalding spray of blood as you pull it out. The sluice of flesh as you drive it back in. You’re not sure when you stop stabbing, but it’s long after he stops twitching.

His body is limp and strange beneath you. You roll off and stagger to your feet only to retch in the street beside it. Bile bites the back of your throat and you wipe at your mouth with a grimace. Your hands are shaking. Command is going to fucking kill you.

Sirens sound in the distance, now, but the only thing that breaks your thousand yard stare from the man you just killed is the sound of Price’s labored breathing a few metres away.

You blink and all of the sudden you’re knelt in front of him. It takes a moment for him to register that you’ve come back; his eyes stare unseeing, clouded with pain.

“You killed ‘im,” he slurs. “K-I-bloody-A.”

“That’s not important right now,” you snap. “Focus on staying alive. One breath at a time, yeah?” You move his hands from the wound to assess the situation and nearly retch again. Martin stabbed clean through the kevlar, and now his guts are threatening to spill into the street. “Did you radio anyone?”

He just blinks up at you, dumb with shock and bloodloss.

You curse.

With one hand you fish around for the meager med supplies you keep on you, and with the other you call in for help. The radio is sticky with blood. You’re not sure whose. Price has gone so pale. Blood leaks at the corner of his mouth. His teeth are stained red.

You’re only a block over from whatever remains of your squadron but it might as well be miles. They say they’re on the way, but there are so many wounded already. Looking at Price, you know it won’t be fast enough, anyway. You only have a disinfectant wipe, a needle, and surgical thread. Sutures have never been your strong suit, but if it’s not you and it’s not here and now then it’s lights out. You’ll just have to make do.

“No bloody dying,” you warn. “This is gonna hurt.”

You lay Price back carefully, carefully, and smear the alcohol wipe around the edge of the wound. It stings - it must - but he only sucks a sharp breath in without complain. Pinching the skin together, hands slick with blood that isn’t yours, you poise the needle over him.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself.

He stares up at you with the most lucidity he’s managed since being stabbed. Clear-cut. No-nonsense. So very blue. “Ready.”

—

Your stitch job is crooked and atrocious, but the hospital staff inform you later that it saves his life.

“Be a hell of a scar,” Price laughs from the sterile white of his hospital bed. The sound wheezes out of him. You can tell it hurts, but he seems in good spirits.

So good, in fact, that he’s managed once again to talk you out of a court marshal. He didn’t let up until he’d convinced Command that Wesley Martin had to be put down. That there was no salvaging the mission otherwise and that your actions saved not just his life, but the lives of many. Once those interns deciphered the rest of his plans they were quick to agree. Now you’re all done up in your service dress for an award ceremony later this afternoon. You wanted Price there, but the hospital staff wouldn’t release him from their clutches. A visit just before will have to suffice.

“Something to remember me by,” you say.

There’s something fond and familiar in his eyes that makes your throat hurt. “I would be hard-pressed to forget someone like you, Hound.”

“Running with the big dogs, now,” you grin. He rolls his eyes at the pun. “Next time I kill a target I’m not supposed to I bet they promote me.”

“I don’t doubt it. You do good work.”

“So do you, Lieutenant.”

There’s more you want to say, questions you want to ask him, but they all die in your throat the longer you look at him lying there. Even battered and beaten he’s still so sure. Certainty stinging in the creases of his eyes. Sunshine slatted past hospital window blinds. Dated rock music filtering grainy through the radio one of his lads must’ve brought in. Half-wilted flowers at his bedside. Sitting upright in an uncomfortable bed wrapped in starchy white sheets he is every inch the soldier you’ll never be.

“If you’re ever in England again…” he starts. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised he’s offering, but you are. A delighted smile lights your face.

“I’m never in England if I can help it,” you say honestly. He laughs. “But give us a call if you hop the channel, yeah?”

“I will do,” he says.

It’s silly to think you’ll actually meet again. Truly, why would you? But it feels like he means it. Like you’re dogs of war, set on intersecting paths to hell.

Somehow, some way, the two of you are always going to find each other.

Somehow, some way, you don’t think you mind.

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii x reader #hellhound #fran writes

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jungle-angel · 4 months

Text

A Rancher's Best Helper (Miles Miller x Reader)

Summary: A farmer's best friend has always been his canine companion

Tagging: @floydsmuse Meggy I think it's safe to say this is gonna be our thing (lol).

Miles, Otis and the other hands herded the last of the cattle into the pen at the back of the barn. Miles held onto the horse's reins with one hand and protectively held two year old Benny with the other, the little one all bundled up in his little tan Carhartt jacket, knit hat and mittens. It was barely three in the afternoon and the snow had already started, but amidst the sea of loudly mooing cattle, Miles saw a blob of grey, black and white darting in and out and behind them.....Shaggy.

Miles, Otis and the hands whistled and commanded the cattle towards the pen while Shaggy did his part and herded them in. As soon as the bolt had been thrown across the fence, the most arduous part of their workday was done.

"That's it Shaggy," Miles called to the dog. "You're all done."

Shaggy barked and stood on his hind legs, eagerly accepting the homemade bacon treat that Miles had pulled out of his jacket pocket.

Miles dismounted first, adjusting his black cowboy hat on his head before lifting Benny off the saddle and onto his hip. One of the hands took the horse and brought her back to the stables before Miles sauntered off with Shaggy beside him to go and finish the rest of the chores before sunset.

"We gonna go get eggies again daddy?" Benny chirped.

"Yep," Miles told him. "We've gotta go get eggies for the morning."

Miles lifted the latchkey on the door to the chicken coop, taking the black wire basket that hung on a nearby hook. Inside was full of the hens clucking to each other, some huddling together in the nesting boxes to keep warm and their chicks nestled beside or underneath them. The rooster had been feeling particularly broody the last few days, often allowing a few chicks to sleep in his end of the hut while the head hen had been feeling the same. Sure enough, in the nesting box were seven unfertilized eggs which Kathy would no doubt, be using to make the egg casserole for Christmas morning.

A few of the hens that remained outside were quickly herded in by Shaggy, loudly clucking and flapping their wings from having been suddenly startled. "Good boy," Miles said, giving him another one of the bacon treats.

Once the work in the coop was done, Miles let Shaggy run for a good long while, before going to close up the rabbit hutch for the night. The hutch had been built from an abandoned shed on the property, now repurposed to house the rabbits whose shedded hair could be used to make soft wool and fabric.

"Uh oh, uh oh," Benny suddenly chirped. "Daddy! Daddy where's Peter?!"

"Aw shit," Miles swore. He counted again to see how many bunnies were in the hutch and had counted only thirteen, the fourteenth nowhere to be found.

Shaggy came running back with something in his mouth a moment later, a tan and cream colored little bunny with long ears, holding him gently by the scruff of his neck.

"There you are you little shit," Miles chuckled. "You know Peter? This shit's gotta stop sooner than later. There's coyotes, bears and a bunch of other creepy stuff in the woods."

He wasn't lying, not at all. Montana wasn't particularly known for its friendly variety of wildlife. Miles had learned quickly that if you were a rancher in the field, it was always best to carry a rifle, feeling much less antsy about doing so ever since a grizzly bear had tried to sneak into the pasture the previous winter. The bears had been the reason he hated when it got dark early. That first encounter had scared him so shitless that he and Otis had agreed it best to have the critters in before dark.

Peter was promptly put with his brothers and sisters for the night and the rabbit hutch firmly and doubly locked up for the night, the fresh sawdust bedding having been laid down the night before after Otis had cleaned up the woodshop.

The goats, the sheep and the pigs were the last ones to go in for the night. Unusually enough, the poor little runty piglet had been left behind, trying to keep up with his brothers and sisters, but luckily Shaggy had caught him the same way he had Peter.

"Alright buddy," Miles said, scooping the piglet up and tucking him into his jacket. "Let's go in."

Miles brought him into the section of the barn where Bertha and Hamlet tended to their own brood of piglets. The big boar came right up to Miles as he stooped to his level and let him sniff the little piglet before the runty little thing dove from Miles's hands and right to his sire. He tried to push his way in to nurse with Bertha shoving aside some of the more well fed ones so that the runt could have his share.

With everything done at last, Miles brought Benny back to the cottage and Shaggy with him. It felt so good to at last, get out of the freezing winter evening and into a warm house. Christmas Eve would be the very next day with family and friends coming from all over the states to spend the holiday with you and Miles.

"Well good evening o' husband of mine," you chuckled.

"Hi sweetpea," Miles said, kissing your lips and then Baby Jesse's little head before stripping off his jacket.

You very gently handed two week old Jesse off to Miles, having just fed him a half hour ago, his soft coos filling Miles's ears as Miles rocked him gently.

"Sweet, sweet boy," Miles softly cooed. "You and your brother are so loved......yes you are."

Miles could have swore he saw a little smile on Jesse's sleepy face as he went and seated himself on the soft green sofa in the living room. Shaggy jumped up beside him and began sniffing Baby Jesse before Miles snapped his fingers. "Down," he commanded. "Lay down."

Shaggy laid right down, his paws stretched out in front of him as he yawned, sniffing Jesse a little gentler than before. You snuggled in beside Miles as the fire crackled away and Benny joined you. You were so happy and so grateful for the family that you had, especially a furry companion who had made a huge amount of difference for you both.

#miles miller #miles miller x reader #bad times at the el royale

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hazel-of-sodor · 9 months

Text

What’s Lost is Found

Ch.5: The Hound

Other Chapters

Screech thundered down the line, coal cars from the Henaint mines stretched behind her, and Avon's mid-day train in front of her. The strain of constantly starting the long train was hard work even for an engine of her size...

Screech loved it. The feeling of hard work stretching her cylinders and motion, of actually being challenged as she took the weight of both trains. Avon had initially tried to pull her share of the weight until she saw Screech happily panting after the first run. She had rolled her eyes and grumbled something about crazy mainline engines that Screech didn't quite catch. The next run Avon had just pulled enough to keep her weight off the train and let Screech do the work.

The climb to Din failed to slow the train. Screech whistled in gleeful challenge, the passengers shuddering at the feeling of the sound twisting around their minds.

The sound startled the birds from the vibrant green treetops around them, and the sky was filled with fowl and smoke.

They plunged into the tunnel, Avon's answering whistle echoing along its length even as they burst through onto the viaduct. Hikers in the valley below stopped to take in the sight of the two engines racing atop the stone arches.

They reached Din early, stopping at the points to uncouple Screech and her train, allowing Avon to continue to the station while Screech shunted the coal trucks into their sidings.

Once their trains had been sorted the two were parked at the shed while their crews took their lunch break in the crew hut.

For a moment all was quiet. Avon sighed happily in the shade of the shed. Screech took the chance to unfurl herself without risking her human crew, the shadows and light twisting around her in a nauseating kaleidoscope of angled and colors, tendrils sprouted and lay on the ground around her like Medusa's mane, and her eyes glowed as brightly as the sun above them. The two, engine and beast, had almost dozed off before a commotion erupted behind the shed.

Mali came skidding around the corner, clutching something to her chest, snarling and yapping coming from behind her.

Before either engine could react she had leaped onto Screech's running-board and pressed herself against the eldritch engine.

Her pursuer rounded the corner, only to come face to face with Screech. The mongrel stared down the eldritch behemoth before it, matted fur standing in end at the sight as countless tendrils rose into the air, ready to strike.

"I would suggest you hunt elsewhere," Gwyllgi suggested mildly, the ground shaking under the restrained power of her voice.

Unfortunately, the mutt had less sense than grooming and chose to growl at the shadow before it.

Screech's eyebrow twitched before she stretched a tendril toward"s the mongrel.

Flick

***

Bowrooooooooo...

The town of Din looked up to see a mangy hound flying north towards the sea as if thrown by a giant.

***

Far away on the Cronk and Harwick Narrow-gauge Railway...

"And how would you care for a dog?" Sapphire asked amusedly. The quarry Hunslet was basking in the sun before her next train.

"Our crews could feed and water it." The 2-6-4 across from her bounced excitedly as she shunted the wagons of hay together.

Jenning stirred lazily next to Sapphire, "It's not your crew's job to care for your pet."

"Further," Sapphire continued before Leek could answer, "where would you even find a dog?"

The large tank engine pouted, "I'm sure I could find one."

Sapphire snorted, "I'll make you a deal Leeks," the 2-6-4 perked up. "If a stray dog finds its way to the sheds, we'll ask our crews if you can keep it."

"Deal!"

Jennings rolled her eyes, "here we go again."

Sapphire smirked and whispered to Jennings, "Unless one falls from the sky, there's no way a stray dog makes it to the shed without a child claiming it."

The 0-4-0 considered a moment before nodding in agreement, "Fair enough."

Leeks tilted her head, "what's that noise."

The engines all listened.

A sound could barely be heard in the distance, growing louder quickly.

"AaarrrrrrooooooooooooooOOOOO!"

Crash!

A black shape hurtled from the heavens, smashing into the line of hay wagons. Hay and wood flew everywhere as the object plowed through the wagons, finally slamming to a stop against the back wall of the last truck before Leeks.

Silence reigned in the yard for a long moment. Leeks had flinched back from the impact, closing her eyes against the rain of hay and splinters. She slowly opened her eyes, peering cautiously at the back form in the wagon before her. The shape groaned, raising a matted head drunkenly.

"Aroo?"

"A dog!" She exclaimed, her safety valves lifting in excitement. "The Lady sent me a dog!"

"Are we even sure that's a dig and not a bloody gremlin!" Screech swore.

"Gremlin. Yes, that's their name! Who's a good gremlin!"

The mongrel managed to tiredly wag its tail under the hay.

Sapphire flinched back from the glare from Jennings's direction.

***

Screech collapsed herself back into hiding, grimacing at the nosebleed Mali had already developed.

Mali slowly uncurled from her position on Screech's footplate, her hand clasped around something.

Freda and Gwyn came around the corner followed by Avon's crew, drawn by the commotion.

"Mali dear are you alright?" Freda asked, pulling out a rag to wipe at the nosebleed.

"Yes Miss Freda," Mali said, wincing as the blood was scrubbed away. "I lept onto Screech's running board to get away from a dog and she was unfurled..."

"Be grateful that was all that happened Little Thief." Screech warned, "Had you looked too closely you could have been driven mad."

"Well, I had to save her!"

'Who is this her,' the whisper sighed.

When Screech repeated the question, Mali opened her hands.

Mew?

A small soot-covered kitten pressed itself into the girl's hands, staring at Screech apprehensively.

"A kitten!" Avon exclaimed delightedly.

"I saw the dog chasing her," Mali explained, "I just grabbed her and ran."

The kitten stared at the eldritch behemoth unblinking.

The giant snorted. "It has far too much attitude for something its size," she said, tapping the kitten's nose with a tendril.

The kitten hissed and swatted at the tendril.

Screech chuckled, the sound rumbling through the ground beneath them.

"It's certainly unafraid of you." Freda laughed. She began rubbing the kitten under its chin, causing it to pur, struggling to maintain its starring contest with

Screech.

Screech gave the engine equivalent of a shrug, "Animals seem to see more of me than humans. Their simpler minds are better at accepting my existence without crumbling. She most likely already has a far better idea of what I truly look like than you do."

"One would think that would make her more afraid of you," Gwyn observed.

"It's a cat," Screech stated dryly. "The only thing they hold in awe is food."

#Uman and Dim #Uman and Din Railway #ttte fanfic #rws fanfic #fanfic release #eldritch train #eldritch engine #U&D #U&DR #engines that go bump in the night #no animals were harmed in the making of this fic #Cronk and Harwick #Cronk and Harwick Railway

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fuckyeahreligionpigeon · 2 years

Text

You’ve been warned....

Somber warning from a Pastor about the intentions of Evangelical "conservative" christians in American politics.

Pastor John Pavlovitz:

“I’ve been a pastor in the church for over two decades, much of that in predominantly white churches in the American South.I’ve spent countless hours in church staff meetings and men’s Bible studies and youth pastor conferences.

I’ve stayed connected on social media with thousands of people still there in those churches. I read what they share and post and amplify and I know how they think and what they believe.

I need you to understand something and I say it without any hyperbole: white Evangelicals need to be stopped, now.

This is not alarmist, sky-is-falling histrionics, it is the clear and sober forecast from someone who knows these people better than anyone. Over the last decade and a half, as my theology shifted and my beliefs grew more and more progressive, I’ve been a kind of undercover Liberal in an increasingly extremist movement, that while once relegated to minor fringe noisemakers is now at the precipice of Roman Empire-level power. They are less than two years away from having a dominance that they will wield violently and not relinquish.

I was speaking regularly at the Billy Graham headquarters when Fox News reporters and Republicans like Sarah Palin started walking the halls with frequency. I saw the messages at pastor’s conferences grow more incendiary and urgent, and heard the supremacist dog whistles become louder and more frequent.

Yet, they were still a largely powerless, dying dinosaur until 2016, when Donald Trump acquired the presidency and gave the Evangelicals the perfect amoral partner to serve as the biggest bully pulpit they’ve ever had. Combine that with a fragmented Left, a general fatigue by the larger population, a ceremonial victory in Congress (thanks to Joe Manchin and Krysten Sinema), and Republican attacks on voters’ rights— and we are now a hair’s breadth from the subjugation of diverse humanity here.

These are not followers of Jesus despite the trappings and window dressing. They are Jesus-less extremists: blind zealots for nothing but power. They have been conditioned by decades of polluted theology and FoxNews alternative facts to see diversity as a threat, to see progress as attacks on America, and to interpret more people being treated with dignity as oppression of white people.

Women will lose autonomy over their own bodies. LGBTQ people will have the rights to marry and adopt taken away. People of color will be fully squeezed out of the electoral process. Immigrants will be denied access to opportunity and refuge here.

These are not creative projections. They are precisely what Evangelicals have repeatedly stated as their intentions, and they’re closer than they’ve ever been to having a rubber stamp.

We can still stop it, though.We just need a unity and coordination that transcends theirs. We need a sustained, passionate, dedicated defense of humanity that rivals their relentless assaults on it.

I hear many people say they’re terrified, but being terrified alone doesn’t do anything but help these people.

Be terrified and get angry.

Be terrified and get busy.

Be terrified and go to work.

Be terrified and fight like hell.

I wish more decent people in America remembered they are among the vast majority instead of acting as if they are helpless victims of Republican Christians. We could defeat them, and we need to. We just need to stop lamenting how much damage they are doing and start doing something to oppose them.

We’ve seen this play out throughout history and we know how it ends. We know what unchecked religious extremism is capable of and we know the cost of the silence and inaction of good people. We also know what people are capable of when they refuse to accept fascism and white supremacy cloaked in the Bible and wrapped in the flag, when they fight for something inherently good together.

As someone who knows just how much these Christians have lost the plot of their faith tradition, believe me when I tell you that they cannot be allowed to steer this nation. It will not end well for the disparate people who call it home or who one day wish to. Love and equality and diversity are in the balance.

It’s time we made a choice.

It may be the last one we get.”

Pastor John Pavlovitz

#atheism #christianity #judaism #islam #catholicism #mormonism #baptist #jehovah witness #scientology #Religion

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

Text

By: Wokal Distance

Published: Feb 16, 2023

Recently there was another dust up about what we mean when we talk about “woke.” This was sparked by a Television interview where Bethany Mandel, who I consider a friend, was interviewed about her new book and was asked by the host Briana Joy Gray to define woke. Unfortunately, Bethany had difficulty giving an on the spot definition of the term, and simply responded by saying the Woke was difficult to define.

Predictably, this lead to something of a pile on as a tweet of the moment went viral on twitter. In short, a large number of left leaning accounts proceeded to say words to the effect that when conservatives call things woke, all they are doing is dog-whistling various bigoted sentiments. In other words, “woke” is just a term that conservatives use as a slur. Here are just a couple of examples:

This is all part of a strategy that is being employed by Critical Social Justice (AKA “woke”) activists in order to protect their ideology and worldview from criticism. As we will see, what they are doing is attempting to prevent us from giving their ideology a name or a label in order to protect it from criticism.

So I am going to explain how and why they do this, and what we can do about it. Let’s begin.

1. Sketching the problem

No doubt readers of this substack have heard people who claim to fight for Social Justice say things like: "White privilege is a product of systemically racist social structures which center whiteness and marginalize people of color while reproducing white supremacy. This reinforces dominant power structures and a cultural hegemony that benefits cisgendered heterosexual white males at the expense of BIPOC, Latinx, and LGBTQS2+ folx."

We've all seen that jargon coming from people with similar views, politics, and ideas, all demanding sweeping social change from the left. They might be doing advocacy in different areas of society, and with respect to different topics, but the similarity of the language, the overlap of the concepts, and the fact that the arguments are always concerned with oppression, privilege, systemic power, diversity, equity, inclusion, inequality, ability status, sex, race, and gender indicate that here is clearly a coherent worldview at work here. However, every time we try give that worldview a name they say the name we pick is problematic, wrong, incorrect, bigoted, misleading or otherwise problematic.

Many names have been tried, but every time we try to name this ideology: woke, Critical Race Theory, Socialism, neo-marxism, cultural Marxism, Critical Social Justice, The successor ideology, and we are told none of this is appropriate or correct.

This inability to give the ideology in question a name prevents people from being able to talk about the project of social, cultural, and political change coming from the left. They want to agitate, advocate, and demand social change without acknowledging, much less defending, the worldview at the center of their project.

The result is that there is a large number of ideologically connected but formally unconnected social movements which all proceed from the same worldview while all denying that there is a single distinct worldview, mindset, or ideology at work. We have:

BLM

Defund the Police

Critical Race Theory

Queer theory (aka, gender ideology or radical gender theory)

Drag Queen Story Hour

Diversity Equity, and inclusion

And a host of other social and political movements, all of which use similar language, have similar policies, similar concerns, and which work together in “solidarity” with each other, all while claiming that there is no underlying common worldview which can be given a label.

They will tell you that they want to change society, change the world, and change the culture, but if you ask them to put a name to their ideology it always comes up empty. Sometimes they will say “oh, this is just kindness,” or “we call it fairness.” This is absurd. Most people do not think “society is constructed by systemic power which socializes people to accept the legitimacy of a system which reproduces white privilege at the expense of POC and which needs to be decolonized in order to make space for non-binary folx” when they are trying to talk about fairness.

So what exactly is going on here?

2. The strategy at work.

So I would like to now explain what I think is going on using Zebras as an analogy. This will make sense I promise you.

Many animals have fur, feathers, or skin that blends in to their environment. This acts as camouflage so they can blend in to their environment and hide. This owl is a fine example:

Zebras, however, are different. They use camouflage, but they way they use it is entirely different. Zebra’s are covered in black and white stripes even though the environment they live in is mostly brown and green. If you see a zebra by itself, it's very easy to see.

It's like they have a neon sign over them saying "lions, please eat me." Look at this picture below, this Zebra does not blend into it’s background at all:

So how does Zebra Camouflage work? Well, its simple: Zebra camouflage works by making zebras blend with the herd so that lions can't focus on any one zebra and target it. In order for Lions to kill a zebra they need to be able to pick one Zebra, focus on it, and then go after it. If the lions are unable to pick a target then the Zebras are safe.

What Zebras Camouflage does is to make the Zebras blend into the heard. It makes them all blend in together with each other so that it becomes near impossible for the lions to select any one zebra to attacks. If lions can't pick a target to go after, then the Zebras are safe. And as you can see in the pictures below, when the Zebras are in a single herd it becomes nearly impossible to pick out any one of them:

Scientists discovered this as they studied Zebras and got confused about which individual zebra was which, and that happened because the zebras camouflage causes them to all blend into the herd.

So, they tried to fix this by tagging a zebra with red paint so they could recognize it from the others and keep track of it.

Guess what happened?

The Lions killed the tagged Zebra. A tagged zebra stands out from the herd so lions can tell it apart and focus the hunt on it. The Lions don't catch weak zebras, they catch the *IDENTIFIABLE* Zebras they can focus on. If a Zebra stand out from the herd, or gets separated from the herd it no longer blends in with the rest of the herd and it loses the benefit of it's camouflage, at which point the lions can focus on it, target it, and kill it.

This is a great analogy for the game the woke are playing.

Once a worldview is named and defined, it can then be pointed out, highlighted, and subjected to criticism. Once you can *IDENTIFY* a worldview or set of ideas you can focus on it. Naming an idea lets us separate it from the herd of other ideas and examine it up close. The woke don't want anyone to be able to give a name or label to their ideology because if that happens we can "tag" examples their ideology with a label when we see it. This allows us to highlight it, point it out, and examine it when we see it.

We label and name things to help us "tag" them, so we can point them out and focus on them, the woke are trying desperately to destroy all of our linguistic "tags." Woke activists do not want us to be able to single out their ideas and subject them to criticism. Woke ideas really can't withstand proper rational and logical analysis. The lions of truth: evidence, logic, rationality, etc, will eat the Zebras of Wokeness, Gender Ideology, Critical Race Theory, and Critical Social Justice for lunch. But only if the lions of reason can focus on and identify the Zebras of woke ideology.

This is what the woke want to avoid. The woke think our criticisms are not legitimate and merely an attempt by us to attack them so we can hold on to "power and privilege." For that reason the woke seek to insulate themselves from our "illegitimate" criticism.

So, to avoid getting eaten by the lions of reason the woke want to camouflage their ideology in a way that makes it impossible to it to be seen, pointed out, highlighted, or (in woke parlance) "made visible." They want hide their worldview by making it impossible to focus on and impossible to tag, label, or name. so they can say they are "just doing history" or "just discussing gender," and "blend in" as though wokeness fits right alongside reason, evidence, logic, and rationality.

We need to use labels to be able to point at, highlight, and otherwise tag woke concepts so that they can be seen and then held up and examined for criticism. Using labels like "woke," "CRT," AND "Critical Social Justice," lets us tag woke ideas so we can hold them up to the light and examine them. Labels help us point out wokeness to other people so they can see it too.

This is what the woke want to avoid.

What the woke want is to act like all the bits of woke activism we see are unconnected phenomena spontaneously springing fourth in the name of justice in an organic and decentralized way. They want to act as though things like BLM, Defund the Police, “Diversity, equity, and Inclusion,” and Drag Queen Story Hour are diffuse and unconnected movements when in fact they are all connected by their adherence to an underlying worldview and ideology.

The formal name of this ideology is Critical Social Justice,1 or in common parlance, wokeness.

3. What is the solution

Do not let them do this. Do not let them play games and use linguistic and rhetorical sleight of hand to hide their worldview. You do not need to give an exhaustive definition every time they invent a new term, or every time they present you with some new bit of jargon. All you need is a definition of wokeness that communicates its ideas in a clear way so people can examine it.

I would like to provide what I think is an accurate definition of wokeness that even a person who is “woke” would be willing to accept.

Woke: (sometimes called Critical Social Justice) is a type of social justice politics that claims systemic identity based discrimination such as racism, sexism, homophobia, white privilege, and other sorts of injustice are baked into the fabric of society. In short, society is oppressive. They believe this occurs through “systems of power” which were created for the benefit people who are white, straight, and male, at the expense of everyone else. This power operates through cultural hegemony (cultural dominance) and by socializing people into accepting the legitimacy of this oppressive system, and accepting their place in it. Wokeness claims these systems of power warp every element of western culture in a way that harms people, and for that reason all of society must be radically restructured. Everything, including science, knowledge, truth, beauty, economics, education, sports, music, film, agriculture, justice and everything else on society are full of bigotries, biases and self-interest which are a product of the systems of power which were created by and for straight white males. On this view even such things as math, biology, physics, and chemistry must be radically rebuilt with a focus toward diversity, equity, inclusion, social justice, anti-racism, and so fourth.

To give you something that is a little easier to memorize and pull out in conversation, Neil Shenvi has offered a definition of wokeness which fits into a single tweet:

Wilfred Reilly offers and even shorter definition that is excellent for use in everyday conversation:

With a proper definition of wokeness now in view we should now proceed to make sure that we carefully, accurately, and carefully label things as Critical Social Justice or “Woke” when they fit that definition. We should have absolutely no hesitation in doing so.

These woke activists have labelled everyone they disagree with as:

racist

bigot

sexist

white supremacist

nazi

fascist

transphobe

homophobe

ableist

misogynist

anti-black

They absolutely do not get to complain when we label them as “woke.”

Label fairly, use labels from their literature, and label accurately, do not hesitate to label those woke ideas and then subject those woke ideas to the bright light of rigorous criticism and analysis.

Thanks for reading.

Sincerely,

Wokal_distance

1 Özlem Sensoy and Robin DiAngelo, Is Everyone Really Equal? An Introduction to Key Concepts in Social Justice Education, second edition. Teachers College press. 2017. P.19

An alternate approach is to ignore the definitions entirely.

I don't really care what name you want to call it when:

everything is seen through paranoid, invisible power dynamics and emotional abuse and manipulative lies are used to coerce people who have done nothing wrong;

or when the most fragile, most ideologically possessed can, and do, weaponize the worst, most intellectually dishonest reading of a statement or situation and insist you're a bigot if you don't accept it as true;

or when black kids are told that society is structured around "anti-blackness" and white kids are told that they are oppressors;

or when the liberal mainstay of colorblindness (reducing the social signifiance of skin color) is itself regarded as "racist", and the new morality declares the opposite is required;

or when equality and merit are treated as bigotry, and standards must be lowered;

or when racial segregation is rehabilitated as a virtue;

or when objective reality is denied, objectivity itself is bigoted, and truth becomes merely an opinion;

or when gay conversion therapy is being endorsed by supposed LGBT organizations;

or when parents transition their kids because they liked the wrong toys;

or when doctors and hospitals lie about the need for medical experiments on kids, or that they're doing them at all;

or when people keep pretending they don't know how babies are made;

or when organizations are consumed with ideological activism and become incapable of fulfilling their actual mission;

or when our knowledge-producing institutions are tearing themselves apart and dismantling our knowledge-making processes in order to restructure themselves instead for the production of religious piety as ideological convents;

or when words are redefined or eliminated entirely for the purpose of controlling thought and re-engineering society;

or when the most privileged, most entitled people in the world in the freest countries in the world are roleplaying as oppressed victims;

or when people in those countries voluntarily implement defacto blasphemy laws to suppress or punish wrongthink, and even arguing in favor of freedom of speech is recast as a "dogwhistle" for "hate";

or when it's somehow both the case that LiTeRaLLy nO oNe Is DoInG tHiS and you're a bigot for getting in their way.

I don't care what you call this.

It just has to end.

#Wokal Distance #woke #wokeness #woke ideology #wokeness as religion #woke activism #wokeism #cult of woke #language manipulation #language games #word games #religion is a mental illness

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hellfiredemon · 6 months

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15 people, 15 questions

tagged by @cuoredimuschio 💞

are you named after anyone? My English name comes from a Diana Wynne Jones’ character, like a straight up kid's book. My Chinese name is really embarrassing. It comes from a historical figure. My dad came to the US for his education and his father was resentful that he wanted to immigrate here and would not be able to spend as much time with his family in Hong Kong, so when my grandfather chose my name, he named me after a historical figure who was given away to* barbaric foreigners.* I want to change my name to something else but haven’t and only my relatives in HK call me this but I haven’t been back in so long so it doesn’t matter as much.

when was the last time you cried? About a month and a half ago, my friends put down their dog and Facetimed me so I could say goodbye to him.

do you have kids? Nope and can honestly say I’ve never wanted to have them. I understand from an aging standpoint that it makes sense to spawn a caretaker but I don’t think I’d be able to care for another human being like that, I can barely take care of myself and my dog as it is.

what sports do you play/have played? I dance a lot now, but I don’t compete so I don’t think it qualifies as a sport. In school, I did track and field, volleyball, and tennis.

do you use sarcasm? Frequently, but I’m also embarrassingly earnest about many things as well.

what's the first thing you notice about people? Probably how they dress, groom, and carry themselves and whether they seem comfortable to be in public or not.

what's your eye color? Brown

scary movies or happy endings? I don’t really watch horror, but maybe I do prefer scary movies because I like a lot of movies that are a little uncomfortable to watch, where you don’t know what will happen in the end. When it comes to movies, I think I’m ok with having a bittersweet or even unhappy ending, probably because movies tend to be shorter and less immersive for me. I guess I don't need a happy ending for me to enjoy something but the story's gotta be compelling.

any talents? I can whistle through my teeth, am an adept conversationalist IRL, and am good at interviews and general corporate bullshittery, which I think is how I’ve managed to stay employed but do very little work 🤐

where were you born? The US Midwest! But my parents moved a few months after I was born, so I never really lived there.

what are your hobbies? Reading, dancing, calisthenics, drawing, strategy games, playing with my dog, hiking, and admiring art, zoning out, floortime

do you have any pets? Yes, the love of my life and warmer of my cold feet, a 3.5 yr old muppet-ass looking border collie-poodle mix named Charlie. I couldn't figure out how to put a picture between the numbered list so his pic's at the end.

how tall are you? 164 cm 🥞 my mom's side is short 😔

favorite subject in school? English or history. I loved reading books and stories and talking about them, and still do.

dream job? I don't want to work, and don't dream of labor. The closest thing I can think of working for the US govt's Digital Service, which probably sounds crazy but I think at least that way I'd get to use my skills for something useful. I’d be perfectly content to pursue hobbies the rest of my life. I fantasize about moving to a country with universal benefits and not having to worry about the numbers on my paycheck and do something I actually think is good for the world or just work on art or dance full time. I wanted to be a mail carrier for a long while, walk around the city all day and listen to books or music and deliver people’s letters and meds and stuff, but you also have to deliver shitloads of stupid ads and bills as well. I think if I ever save enough money from my dumb corporate jobs that I still might try to work for the USPS. I don't know 15 people, tag yourself if you want to do it!!! And here's my lovely boy!!

#tag game #my life

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signalwatch · 10 months

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Dog Watch: Lassie (1994)

Watched: 07/13/2023

Format: BluRay

Viewing: Second

Director: Daniel Petrie

Like all good Gen-X'ers, I grew up in the aftershocks of the baby boomers, and Lassie - the very clever collie - was certainly a character and concept we knew of, if not through direct experience, then by osmosis. I guess there was a book, originally (1940). Our canine hero starred in wildly popular movies beginning in the 1940's (it's where Roddy McDowall got his start as a lad) and television - running for a cool 20 years, from 1954-1974. Plus several more movies and TV shows over the years people who are not huge Lassie fans probably are unaware of.

I know! That's a lot of Lassies.

The artificial monoculture created via mass media and limited outlets did, at least, give us a chance to have some familiar talking points, and you never knew where they'd coalesce. Personally, I didn't watch Lassie in reruns. Or the movies.* For most of us, Lassie was one or two jokes about kids falling down wells and dogs alerting us to calamity. Maybe we whistled the theme song at our dogs.

This 1994 film is more or less an original story, but if you know anything at all about Lassie from the TV show, etc... this movie carries on quite a bit of the world's bravest, smartest, wisest dog *and* best friend to a boy who needs one. This dog seems like it's ready to pick locks and drive cars. Three cheers for Lassie.

Our story:

A family is moving from Baltimore (I suppose they heard Omar's coming) and to the - get this - home of the now deceased mom, a farmhouse in rural Virginia (it was shot in West Virginia, more on that in a bit). Dad has made the very, very wise choice to remarry in the form of Helen Slater, who is game for this move that - upon introspection - seems kinda weird and sad. The daughter/ sister is relentlessly cheerful in the way of movie characters who need to exist for color but who will not be impacting the plot.

The son is, of course, roughly 12 or 13 and 90's-furious about being taken from the big city, complaining relentlessly while listening to Alice in Chains while skateboarding. He's that "cool" 90's kid you'd seen in commercials and catalogs from which visions of Poochie sprang. And allowed to mouth off to his parents in a way that would have gotten most kids in that era shot out of a canon.

Curiously, the 1950's Lassie show is diegetic to this show - something the younger sister watches - and lends its name to the Lassie of the film.

Ok, so, Lassie in this movie is the beloved pet and working dog of a faceless sheep rancher who dies tragically at the start of the film and the family gawks as authorities haul off the body. They then make off with the dog. It is... weird. But that's how they set up that this family has to do zero training with their thoroughbred dog no one noticed lurking around the accident scene (I guess fuck that guy's family, giving them something else to worry about). But it also seems like *someone* would have come around saying "my uncle died and we can't find his dog".

Here's the thing - this movie is *gorgeous*. That's my primary memory of the movie from 30 years ago. I couldn't really remember anything but "family moves to farm, there is a dog" and then sweeping scenery with rolling hills and beautiful trees and meadows. The DP is Kenneth MacMillan, who was a veteran of the film industry, and recently shot Henry V. By 1994, film stock itself was able to do an amazing job of capturing detail and color, and there's not much in the way of processed shots. They're just letting the background do the heavy lifting. I don't want to oversell it, but it's money well-spent in a movie that was probably imagined to be filmed on one of two ranches we've all seen a 1000 times before outside of LA.

Director Daniel Petrie was no slouch, either. He wasn't a prestige director, but he did work on high-end TV movies and some feature films.

I sold Jamie on the film, describing it as "the gentlest movie you'll ever see". But, because that was because I didn't really remember the movie. The film includes genuine attempts at telling an actual all-ages story about a family living in the shadow of death that winds up pulling together and a boy who works through his grief. I won't say it's *because* of the dog - but Lassie certainly helps move the story along. Also, we borrow heavily from Shane and ranchers wanting their grazing land at any cost. Admittedly, this makes way less sense in 1990's Virginia than in remote spots in the 19th Century west. But there's also stuff like... wolf attacks.

It's also a reminder that pre-2000 family movies were pretty open about dysfunctional or complicated families, taking trauma at face value and the fact that bad shit happens is part of life, but not something to drown in. It's something to overcome. Maybe with your dog. While fighting off wolves.

One thing Jamie pointed out was that these kids aren't... special. They aren't the best at anything or a star or popular. They're allowed to be "everyman" kids in a way that used to be SOP for kids stuff. They have friction with their folks and their greatest concern is *not* disappointing the parents and their expectations of them (which I feel is the go-to these days). Their parents are there and a focus, but they act as much as antagonist as ally. Also: Teens smoke. Mom's die and kids grieve them with no therapy. Dads move on and make huge life decisions for the family with minimal consulting of kids. Kids are dumb about guns.

That's not a call out of "we were right then, it's wrong now". I just find it an interesting pivot.

I'm not going to sell this as anything but a movie that is better than you probably expect and better than it had to be. The kid actors are not bad - this is the first film appearance of Michelle Williams! The adults include Richard Farnsworth as the dead-Mom's dad and Frederic Forrest as the rancher next door. I'm less familiar with John Tenney who played the dad. But, of course, Helen Slater is lovely.

The dog itself is very well trained, and almost always nails what it's asked to do except maybe the one key thing dog trainers rarely figure out: how to make the dog look like it cares at all about the actor who is supposed to be their best friend.

Like, look, I live with dogs. I know what it means to have a dog deeply focused on you, and the dog looking off camera stone-faced awaiting their next command ain't it. Of course, I watched ten minutes of the recent Call of the Wild on cable, and a CGI dog acting like a cartoon ain't it, either. But, man, if dogs acted crazy the way they do when they want to tell you they love you? That would sell it. Here, it makes the final scene a little... underwhelming.

There remains a constant trickle of Lassie material, including a cartoon and live action movie out of Germany, I believe. I guess American kids don't give a shit about dogs these days. But - as you may have picked up on - I'm fascinated with how stuff that was popular for decades will quietly get consigned to the pop-culture dust bin. From cowboy stuff to heroic dogs to Dick Tracy.

A quick Google search will tell you that the breeding of Lassies and who owns the idea and whatnot of Lassie and the pedigree is almost as messy as Rin-Tin-Tin, with a lot of dead URLs. I can't quite figure out who owns the bloodline, but it looks like it's now an offshoot of the Rough Collie and registered with AKC? But much like Rin-Tin-Tin, it's very confusing and I figure there's maybe a few hundred to a few thousand who know what the full story is at this point, and that ain't me.

I once saw a Lassie at the mall I worked at in Austin (Highland Mall, circa 1997) and had planned to stand in line to meet Lassie myself til I figured out it was at least an hour wait with moms and their young daughters. I chose to not look like a psycho to the moms in line and just head on out. And I regret it. A nice, signed 8x10 from Lassie would have been nice.

All in all, I'd rather meet Helen Slater. And now I'd ask her to sign my Lassie disc.

Also, did not have this on my "Lassie Research Bingo Card".

Apparently, according to what I read: a strong maybe?

*I did watch a Rin-Tin-Tin show, briefly, on The Family Channel, but not the original movies or TV show

https://ift.tt/47OQBa8

from The Signal Watch https://ift.tt/bnuDdw1

#lassie #movies #movie reviews #1990s cinema #helen slater

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tribbetherium · 1 year

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another big ask clump 2

I've kind of run out of ideas for that one, sadly. But everyone's free to contribute, expand and write more concepts into it! As long as they credit and tag, of course.

I'd imagine something along the lines of the game Jurassic World Evolution lol.

I'm no good at game modding but I've seen some mods turn its dinosaurs into different creatures entirely? Hmmm...

So far, none yet. I'm trying to avoid oversaturating the project with sophonts as some projects seem to sometimes do: it kind of creates the impression, intentional or not, of "goal-oriented evolution" with sophonce and civilization as its peak, rather than a rare circumstance, a lucky fluke of evolution, that simply arises whenever conditions are right and is not inherently better or more perfect than other organisms.

Given that even closely related animals such as horses, zebras and donkeys can make such wildly different sounds I imagine they wouldn't really sound much like their earth counterparts. A factor that might add is the presence of cheek pouches that many species use partly or entirely as a means of sound production or amplification. I do sort of imagine loupgaroo calls to be somewhere between wild dogs' whooping cries and more rodent-esque whistling pitched down, and for the calls of tigerillas to be deep throaty vaguely ape-like hooting (Sheather apparently did some sound clips of some Serina creatures' calls, I have no idea how to do similar sound mixing).

I haven't really considered the idea of how they'd work in outside contexts, especially outside the sci-fi genre and well into the fantasy genre with supernatural and magical elements. Though I can picture that in such scenarios their main advantage would be numbers and sheer ferocity, and for the individual races the Bruteriders' rakatusks, the Rockcookers's metalwork and the Squeakwegs' seagoing skills and specialization at hunting large marine animals could make these three in particular the best suited for such settings and able to pose a threat to rival non-harmster factions. Frazettas would just be akin to savage trolls and the Decadents and Purebloods are weak, inbred royalty that didn't even endure the onslaught of fellow harmsters, let alone more overpowered fantasy races.

The forbidding of cannibalistic behaviors, for one. To harmsters it has a ritual and cultural significance of "partaking of their fallen enemies and making their strengths their own" but once they realize that's a vector of a nasty plague that would be the first thing to go. They were reduced to a few hundred individuals at that point so inbreeding would have brought about some problems too: the dwindled population and the lack of rival factions might have forced a unity to survive, but given their socially conditioned aggression that fuels their innate psychology and instincts, such a unity would be likely tenouous and if their populations managed to grow again there would be a fragmentation of factions once more. Alternatively, it may force an ideal akin to the mountain harmster onto them: while still somewhat savage and darwinistic, they wouldn't consider it worthwhile to fight and kill each other on a whim.

Sundown is a mixen with some boldmark ancestry. Bigpup is a brownhound, and the rest of her adopted children are mixens too, of varying genetic ancestries.

Northhounds don't always reject young that are different, more often than not accepting them perfectly well as long as they are capable of living a normal life. However, the mixens are a very diverse blend of cultures and bloodlines incorporating elements of both the red northhounds and the brown northhounds, so there are varying cases of superstitions among them, and as with all intelligent species, there are just an occasional few who happen to be jerks.

Darker, melanistic colorations are considered more attractive in many brownhound cultures, while lighter ones less so, so the leucistic Snowcloud is just a particularly "ugly" one to them.

The two individuals in the Pink Sky are a drysander and a boldmark: the drysanders, living in harsh climates and being wary of dangers and "different" things, are not quite welcoming of "different" outsiders very much, which is why the two snuck off together.

Small, skink-like rattiles, such as the whiatlards, are basically found on every continent at this point, as are the wingles due to their ability to fly. The burrowurms are also widespread thanks to rafting, but the para-venomous piedvipers are found mostly in Mesoterra and Arcuterra. The predatory shearwurms are found only in Mesoterra.

The heavy-bodied chelonian-like shingles are found in Gestalia, Arcuterra and South Ecatoria, the semiaquatic freshwater ones are found more in tropical Gestalia and Arcuterra where there's less competition from the freshwater leviahams and the croctopi, the ones of South Ecatoria and Austro-Easaterra are small hibernators due to having to deal with southern winters.

Arboreal shingles are found more on Gestaltia and Arcuterra: Gestaltian tree shingles are slow and heavily armored as they feed on sabertrees, Arcuterran tree shingles are more of agile tree-climbers with flashy patterns and are ancestral to the wingles.

Myrmecophagous pangolin-like hameleons are a Gestaltia endemic, and the aquatic sterapins and monisaurs that are still semi-terrestrial can be found on basically every continent's coast thanks to their ability to swim long diatances. North Westerna and Isla de Oof have flightless wingles, the Midland Archipelago has the carnivorous varats, and Fragmus has large herbivorous armored shingles loosely comparable to Galapagos tortoises.

#speculative evolution #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative zoology #hamster's paradise #ask

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hcolleen · 2 years

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Sharing because I need to laugh and I figure others might.

On the Subject of Penises... by Sailor Jim

Jim pauses in his latest endeavor and frowns. After a moment's contemplation, he saves his work and firmly closes his new fantasy G4 titanium PowerBook. After a meditative sip of his drink, he addresses those around him.

"There are some literary subjects that have become total cliché and attempting to describe an erect penis is one.

"I am writing a sex scene and my hero is now crossing the room while fully erect. So, basically, his stiff dick is bobbing like a demented conductors baton as he crosses the room ... however, one cannot simply write, 'He crossed the room, his stiff dick bobbing like ... ' and so forth. Well, one could if one was writing that sort of scene (and one was half plastered), but this one cannot.

“To write anything referring to his 'turgid manhood' is also somewhat tacky. Hell, just the term 'manhood' to describe the penis strikes me as idiotic. A dick is no more one's 'manhood' than a hymen is one's 'maidenhood.'

'He strutted across the bedroom, his hard manhood pointing the way' sounds somewhat he owns a badly named seeing-eye dog. 'Sit, Hard Manhood ... good boy.'

"Just describing the state of erection is tough. It is a simple matter of erectile flesh and hydraulics, but damnably difficult to put into terms romantic. 'His penis, reacting to his viewing her naked flesh, achieved satisfactory erection, proving good vascular response and socio/psychological adjustment.'

Oh, yeah ... baby, baby.

"Terms like 'throbbing,' 'pulsing' and all other variations of this nature make it sound as if the silly thing had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around it. 'His fleshy organ quickly surged into full alertness, throbbing and pulsing and otherwise scaring the shit out of him.' When I envision something throbbing, I imagine an action somewhat akin to a bullfrogs throat sack as it croaks. THROB! Frankly, with this in mind, if my dick ever took to throbbing, I'd call a doctor. Matter of fact, I would think that any woman, faced with an actively throbbing pulsing penis, would be somewhat concerned as well. (I don't know this for a fact, though ... Dian says that in certain situations, the sight is somewhat exciting, but the first time she experienced this situation, she looked for a stick to kill it with.)

"And then there is the matter of size, shape, color and texture. Well, he's the hero ... I suppose it should be heroic, but somewhat shy of practical joke size. Shape, now, there's another difficulty ... as well as color and texture. Hell, let's face it ... a dick is a fairly funny looking, if not downright ugly, piece of equipment. Veins, bumps, ridges and all that; a color that never matches the sheets, much less the surrounding flesh (or any flesh, for that matter); an overall look of a plum precariously balanced on a badly whittled rod. Let's not even mention it and simply stick to the concept of a literary description of my hero approaching the heroine.

"Okay, he's naked and fully aroused ... does he stride? Stalk? Strut? Strikes me as a situation that calls for something more than 'walk,' but something less than 'bound.' I could have the silly sod moonwalk across the floor, but the resulting mental image ... damn, too late! Oh, well...another round of therapy.

“And what does the erect penis actually do while he crosses the floor? Does it bounce against his belly, producing its own applause? Does it wave about in some sort of vague response to his stride? Would it be feasible if I simply had him hang a towel from the damn thing and skip the entire description?

"And what about the heroine? She is languidly reclining on the bed...and doing her level best to not bust a gut laughing, I suspect. Should she stare? Gasp? Giggle? Ogle? Chant 'boingy, boingy, boingy' as he approaches or whistle the 'Elephant Walk' in time to the swaying? This is supposed to be a moment of strong passion and deep emotions... but a bouncing, throbbing, column of manhood slowly moonwalking forward...damn, gotta stop that image ... strutting towards her cannot be what every woman dreams of in her fevered imagination. I want this scene to be equally stirring to both men and women, but fear that this is impossible."

Sailor Jim stares into the fire for a moment, then opens his PowerBook once more. "Screw it ... or, rather, let's not. I'll simply segue from her starting to slip out of her clothes to the morning after. Y'know, the standard story cop-out. Thanks for letting me talk this one through."

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indigenous-gender · 10 months

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I love when people who are less marginalized and more privileged with then you will silence you and tried to argue with you over basic facts that you’re trying to educate them about anyways, this is just to say that if you use freezing like rape is a male violence issue. You are using turf, dog whistles, and racist violent rhetoric. I shouldn’t have to whip out statistics, but if you’re going to weaponized to six to invalidate everything that black and brown people of all genders go through when it comes to sexual violence, and claim that all men are evil basically an arm and a rapist, which is statistically untrue, and in accurate to say the least because y’all want to sit here and be like 95% of rapes are committed by men and I look at it, and I see the majority of rapes are committed by white people and something incredibly disgusting they got brought up by someone else and this is exactly how I know how dementedly racist and genderphobic y’all are this person really said that legally rape is defined as penetration by a penis therefore, if any other situation arises in your raped, it’s not rape. So y’all literally are hearing how our unique oppression is built into the system and you’re still going to sit there and say that all men are rapists and rape is a male violence issue like what the fuck are you talking about trans men are more than twice as likely to be assaulted then cis women we are literally more likely to be assaulted in y’all Indigenous people of all genders are more than twice as likely to be assaulted than any other race and you’re gonna sit here and try to say that rape is a male violence issue when socially speaking, it is generally understood to be socially unacceptable for men and boys to be predators and sexually harass people or sexually assault people but to this day, when it is a man or other gender person who is a victim of a woman, they literally say, which is why that Person brought that point up that not only in terms of social understanding of what sexual assault is, but in legal terms as well woman cannot be a rapist or abuser, and a man or another gender cannot be a victim of a woman. Y’all are literally gaslighting and speaking over sexual assault survivors while trying to claim in the same breath that you are about protecting women and protecting women of color and protecting sexual assault victims. Literally you’re speaking over us and silencing us and gaslighting us because you personally hate men and you feel the need to tell random indigenous people how much you hate our men that’s some fucking weird shit you need to go to therapy and work out and not project on everyone else on the Internet, because statistically and from experience when as a sexual assault survivor, you’re completely wrong and your records directly harming us It’s Icing that you want so desperately to pin all sexual violence on men when the majority of abusers are white, and the majority of victims are black brown indigenous people of all different genders, especially LGBTQ and cultural genders

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sarah-dipitous · 1 year

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 121

All Dogs Go to Heaven/The End of Time Part 2

“All Dogs Go to Heaven”

Plot Description: Sent to investigate an apparent werewolf attack, Dean and Sam follow the clues to a mother and son with an unusual dog

(FINALLY someone listed Dean first. It is his birth right as the elder sibling)

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: probably not. Guy didn’t stand a chance, and he didn’t make any horrifically stupid mistakes

Crowley is fucking ruthless

I love the boys being absolutely RUDE, downright INSULTING to the cops while posing as feds

Damn, Sam. You said DEAN was the shoot first ask questions later guy. But now you don’t even wanna INVESTIGATE this guy before definitely declaring him a werewolf??

I’m sorry…what?? I mean, sure it was the dog. You could glean that from the description but…this is…it’s disturbing

Oh god, is the DOG THIS LADY’S EX(/a werewolf)???

SAM!!! That is circumstantial evidence at BEST. (And we know it’s not her)

Sam really would sell anyone to Satan for a corn chip these days. Damn.

Oh no. It’s not a werewolf, but I’m pretty sure it’s wildly disrespectful to indigenous people if *I* say what it actually is

SAM. *SAM*!!!! It shouldn’t be funny. But Sam addressing this dude like a literal dog (because that’s the form he’s taken the whole time) and then answering the guy’s “go to hell” with “already been. Didn’t agree with me” he’s so sassy

There’s THIRTY of them?? Oh…it’s…as Dean said, a sleeper cell. He was supposed to turn the family he’s been staying with once he gets the word

Sam noooo not the whistle and trying to get him to play fetch. Stoppppp

The entire episode is just me yelling “Sam!! No!!” He wanted Dean to take the shot on the pack leader even with innocent people in the way

Oh…so you can just shoot them normally, I guess?? It’s super anticlimactic when you can just shoot them normally, though Bobby usually has whatever the boys need to kill a monster, so it’s not like that’s typically a problem

Sam telling Dean the things he’s done since losing his soul, and then saying that even though things were harder when he had one, he wants to go back to being that guy. I won’t lie, if he’s not lying, I’m proud of him.

“Been On My Mind…”: Nope. 3.

“The End of Time Part 2”

Plot Description: The Doctor faces the end of his life as the Master’s plans hurtle out of control

I DON’T WANT HIM TO GOOOOO. I literally waited til the last minute I thought I could possibly get through this before midnight arrived. My decompression time after work needed to be a lot longer than normal

God…I kinda wish I knew more about Old Who. I know precious little about the Time Lords outside the Doctor and the Master (though obviously less about him).

Is it bad that Donna’s making me wanna dye my hair again? I’ve been really good at not because I might wanna go back to my natural color…but who knows??

HE CALLED HER HIS BEST FRIENDDDDDD 😭😭😭 like I know it but…to hear him say it

These moments between the Doctor and the Master…can you imagine having one person and one person only in the entire universe who could possibly understand everything you’ve gone through? And they do, and they HATE you, and you COULD love them if they’d only back down a LITTLE (aaaaaaaaand I’ve just described Touya and Shoto again. godDAMMIT)

THIS BODY WAS BORN OUT OF DEATH, ALL IT CAN DO IS DIE?!?!?!?!?!?! When will these writers from 2009/2010 stop hurting my feelings about 2022/2023 manga things????

Yeah, this rescue could be better

Wilf is so excited (if a little scared) to be in space. Bless him

I can’t tell if the camera just moved or if the ship actually fell a little…but it’s in SPACE WITH NO GRAVITY. It shouldn’t do that

Hilarious that “night has fallen” so all 6 billion or something people/Masters HAVE to start just listening as though there aren’t ones who are potentially still asleep from….like, does he have no idea about time zones? Bit of an oversight for a TIME lord, if you ask me

OKAY. Time out. There’s allowing whatever to happen in your sci-fi and then there’s allowing JUST ANYTHING to happen. The Time Lords threw a diamond from inside the time lock into a projected image of Earth from the end of time and it showed up on real Earth in 2009?? Come on…

Oh, sweetie, your condition just keeps getting worse

I still don’t trust this woman who talked to Wilf on the TV and has now found him on the alien ship

…the Master changed not just alive humans but corpses too? Skeletons?? What the absolute fuck

“We must look like insects to you” “I think you look like giants” 💔 The Doctor and Wilf have such a special and sweet relationship. It’s gonna rip my heart out when he’s the one who will knock four times

Oh wow. There’s a lot I forgot. Hearing Wilf tell the Doctor to not put the Master ahead of making sure that every human returns to being themselves

The terror on David’s face when he hears what the diamond is

(Ok I’ve got another Touya parallel to the Master, but I might have to wait and do an edit later because we are running out of time)

Of course the Doctor can just fix the ship, all parts of it…just like that in a couple minutes

I was gonna say “this is some Star Wars shit (neutral)” but that would actually be very appropriate for today.

Yeah, bestie, that’s what happens when you jump out of a space ship, through glass, onto a marble floor with no parachute

I AM SO FUCKING INTERESTED IN EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED IN THE TIME WAR

I sympathize with this seemingly impossible decision…but the decision to destroy the gate is so great

AND THEN THE MASTER SACRIFICING HIMSELF AND GETTING HIS REVENGE ON THE TIME LORDS WHO IMPLANTED THE DRUMS IN HIS HEAD

(I might not end in time for midnight…this is a longer episode than I thought, I’m pretty sure now)

The melodrama of the Doctor’s agony in the box with the radiation vs it just ending and he just…gets up

Oh…he’s doing his farewell tour, saving his companions and/or their family members

Man, now we’re even in a Star Wars-esque cantina…I swear I didn’t do this on purpose

Oh, the granddaughter of the woman from The family of blood

Well, midnight came and we’re at Donna’s wedding

Wilf blowing a very tiny kiss to the Doctor as he turns and leaves 😭😭😭😭😭😭

GODDDD I FORGOT HE VISITS ROSE IN 2005, TOO

“The universe will sing you to your sleep” can you IMAGINE???

My heart hurrrrrts watching this. I don’t wanna say good bye to Daviddddddd

Oh hi Matt! You strange giraffe of a man

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023 #it’s a few minutes late because I didn’t want to go

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automatismoateo · 2 years

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Somber warning from Pastor John Pavlovitz about the intentions of Evangelical "conservative" christians in American politics via /r/atheism

Somber warning from Pastor John Pavlovitz about the intentions of Evangelical "conservative" christians in American politics

“I’ve been a pastor in the church for over two decades, much of that in predominantly white churches in the American South.

I’ve spent countless hours in church staff meetings and men’s Bible studies and youth pastor conferences. I’ve stayed connected on social media with thousands of people still there in those churches. I read what they share and post and amplify and I know how they think and what they believe.

I need you to understand something and I say it without any hyperbole: white Evangelicals need to be stopped, now.

If the 2022 midterms elections allow Republicans to gain control of Congress, Conservative Christians will decimate this nation, and LGBTQ people, Muslims, women, people of color, and non-Christians will never have equality under the law again. We will all be at their mercy—and they will no longer have use for mercy. This is not alarmist, sky-is-falling histrionics, it is the clear and sober forecast from someone who knows these people better than anyone.

Over the last decade and a half, as my theology shifted and my beliefs grew more and more progressive, I’ve been a kind of undercover Liberal in an increasingly extremist movement, that while once relegated to minor fringe noisemakers is now at the precipice of Roman Empire-level power. They are less than two years away from having a dominance that they will wield violently and not relinquish.

I watched it all unfold from the inside: I was at a North Carolina megachurch when Obama was elected and I saw the shift take place firsthand. I saw the fear slowly being ratcheted up and the agenda become solidified and the prejudices leveraged. I was speaking regularly at the Billy Graham headquarters when Fox News reporters and Republicans like Sarah Palin started walking the halls with frequency. I saw the messages at pastor’s conferences grow more incendiary and urgent, and heard the supremacist dog whistles become louder and more frequent.

While many decent people around this nation celebrated the progress of a black president and the many civil and human rights victories and gradually let down their guard—the white Conservative church set off the alarms and prepared for a holy war. Yet, they were still a largely powerless, dying dinosaur until 2016, when Donald Trump acquired the presidency and gave the Evangelicals the perfect amoral partner to serve as the biggest bully pulpit they’ve ever had. Combine that with a fragmented Left, a general fatigue by the larger population, a ceremonial victory in Congress (thanks to Joe Manchin and Krysten Sinema), and Republican attacks on voters’ rights— and we are now a hair’s breadth from the subjugation of diverse humanity here.

Trust me when I tell you that we won’t recover from the theocracy Evangelicals are constructing once it is established. If we fail in 2022, they will have a political power that will render every election null and void, and we will never have a voice again in our lifetimes. Women will lose autonomy over their own bodies. LGBTQ people will have the rights to marry and adopt taken away. People of color will be fully squeezed out of the electoral process. Immigrants will be denied access to opportunity and refuge here.

These are not creative projections. They are precisely what Evangelicals have repeatedly stated as their intentions, and they’re closer than they’ve ever been to having a rubber stamp.

We can still stop it, though. We just need a unity and coordination that transcends theirs. We need a sustained, passionate, dedicated defense of humanity that rivals their relentless assaults on it. I hear many people say they’re terrified, but being terrified alone doesn’t do anything but help these people. Be terrified and get angry. Be terrified and get busy. Be terrified and go to work. Be terrified and fight like hell. I wish more decent people in America remembered they are among the vast majority instead of acting as if they are helpless victims of Republican Christians. We could defeat them, and we need to. We just need to stop lamenting how much damage they are doing and start doing something to oppose them.

Pastor John Pavlovitz

Submitted June 03, 2022 at 12:19AM by G8BigCongrats7_30 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/No2X5wj)

#reddit

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thealtoduck · 2 years

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Can I make a headcanon’s request? Y/N is the son of Auradon’s greatest and most famous Layer/Fashionista, Elle Woods! He’s already showing promise at being the best like his mom and is dating Ben and friends with the VK kids!

Being Elle Woods son and catching the eye of Ben…

Ben x Male Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Your cute, he’s cute, it’s the perfect match…

(A/N: Whoever requested this we must share braincells)

——

You’re pretty much Auradon’s sweetheart together with your mom, you’re kind, generous, intelligent and fashionable. So when you got together with the king no one was really suprised. In most people eyes you deserved nothing less than a king.

Ben really was something else compared to most guys, he was loving, compassionate, supportive, etc…

Whenever you got stressed about your law studies Ben was always there to either help you study or help you relax, whatever you needed at the moment.

And you were always there to give Ben a different perspective and an alternate way of thinking when it comes to his kingly duties. You also added some much needed color variation to his closet. He now owns a full piece suit in hot pink silk.

When you first started going out with Ben and told your mom she decided she wanted to meet him so she could see how he treats you and that he wasn’t like Warner.

And she was happy to see that he’s a total sweetheart and absolutely adores him.

You are both also friends with the VKs, infact when they first arrived in Auradon you were probably the first person who really made friends with them because you saw them in the hallway and went over them being drawn in by their awsome outfits, you excitedly told them you loved their outfits which made the girl with blue hair smile brightly.

The other three didn’t seem to care as much about your opinion about their outfits but they soon came to realise you were pretty cool and accepting despite being from Auradon.

You and Evie would probably become the closest as you had similar interests and are both far smarter than you appear on first glance.

You also took her to Paulette to get her hair and nails done which became one of her favorite places... + You and Paulette taught her the bend and snap.

You would also get along really well with Carlos as you both loved dogs and you’d let your dogs play together.

+ forgot to mention how you met Ben…

You met on a particullarly hot day when the sun was shining bright and you wanted to tan and the sun shone brightest at the tourney court so you got a folding sun chair and went to the tourney court and set up beside it.

+ the tourney team was practising which was just an added bonus.

So you sat there reading magazines half-naked when you then heard a wolf whistle from the court and by default yelled ”I object”. You then looked up to see half the tourney team staring longingly at you including Prince Ben.

So you smiled at them and waved happily to them.

#ben x male reader #ben x male!reader #ben florian x male reader #ben florian x male!reader #descendants x male reader #descendants x male!reader #x male reader #male reader #x male!reader #x male reader fluff #male reader insert #male!reader #disney x male reader #disney x male!reader

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queenoftheworldisdead · 3 years

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Could you maybe write something with dark dark Steve who has a huge size kink and crying kink and loves to humiliate?

School Days

Note: sorry it took so long. been kinda down. also hope i did OK with humiliation.

Summary: Co-worker makes you feel uncomfortable.

Warning: 18+Only, short reader, size kink, crying kink, humiliation kink, non consent, forced fingering and cock warming i think

Dark Coach Steve x Short Teacher Reader

📚

You had always had a love of teaching. Growing up your friends would always groan when it was your turn to pick what to play, because you always chose to play school.

You knew exactly what you wanted to do when you got to college. You wanted to shape young minds. It was fascinating watching them grow and learn right before your very eyes.

Shelby elementary hired you two years after you received all of your certificates. Replacing their beloved Mrs.Pepper Potts after she moved out of town with her husband.

You taught first graders. You preferred teaching the lower grades. The higher grades were a bit difficult. Competing for attention when most of the students where dealing with raging hormones proved an exhausting endeavor. Your short stature became a reoccurring issue too. During your student teacher days you realized the taller they got the more they seemed to not take you seriously.

At least working with the lower grades you were less likely to be confused as a student. You had lost track of how many times you were stopped in the hall by a colleague. With the lower grades you towered over your class and commanded respect with little effort.

📚

You felt exhausted. Your first parent teacher meeting was over. It was endearing and encouraging that so many parents had so many concerns about the development of their little ones. But their critiques on your credentials didn't fail to strike a nerve, an issue new teachers faced all the time. You smiled through it as you normally did. Letting them have their back handed remarks as you answered and waited out the clock.

When it was all over you needed a drink. You cleared up the mess they left for you, a preview of what to expect from their spawn.

When everything was in its place you tackled the blackboard. Taking out your stool you stood on tip toes erasing. You had the bright idea of outlining your curriculum on the board for all the parents to view. It was hard getting it all on the massive board, but with your step stool you got as high as you could go.

"Hey! Whoa you know that's dangerous." A voice rushed to your side as your stool tilted.

"Are you OK little one?" he asked helping you down.

God he's tall. You barely came eye to eye with his chest. You tensed in his arms and when he realized his mistake he released you.

"Oh sorry" he rubbed the back of his head slightly embarrassed. "I'm Steve Rogers." He reached out a hand for you to shake. You took it and introduced yourself. His firm grip swallowed your hand, when he squeezed you held in the hurt from the pressure.

Steve's presence was intimidating despite the smile he wore. When he released your hand, you took as step back, but he stepped forward.

He is just a close talker. Don't over analyze.

"Sorry again with your clothes I just assumed you were..." He motioned at your clothing.

Taking inspiration from Ms Frizz, your favorite animated teacher, you always wore colorful puffy skirts that depicted various things related to education or fairy tails. The look kept the attention of the youngsters, but it certainly didn't look childish.

"It's OK, but I am afraid you are a bit late for the meeting."

Spinning away you move to the other side of your desk to give yourself more space. "If you wouldn't mind filling in your information, encase of emergencies or special needs. I know you probably filled it out for the front office, but I like to have my own copy." You explained as you handed him a pen and the piece of construction paper with the other parents info.

He took it and filled it out. "I just erased the curriculum, but I can email you a copy."

"Did you also used to teach at Camdien?" Steve inquired, bending over your desk as he wrote. While you waited you packed up your belongings.

"Um yes I was a student teacher there. Did you have a child there too?"

"I coached there actually. Well was." He rose and approached you. Slipping your purse straps on your shoulder, you tried to remember if you seen his face before. You didn't recognize it. As striking as he was you doubted you would forget it.

But the athletic department lived in a world separate from the teachers. Their multiple championships brought in funding that went to their brand new athletic facility. The highly coveted building allowed them to live above the peasant class of the faculty. You had even heard a nonsensical rumor that they even had a Starbucks and onsite masseuse.

When he handed it back you reached out, but Steve pulled the paper just out of reach. Hovering it over your head like a bully playing keep away. You huff and frown after two attempts. You were not a child and would not be treated as such. Pursing your lips you made a move to leave. You would just go through the admin office to get the information.

"Aw don't pout, but I must say you do look adorable when you do." He smiled down at you as he blocked your retreat. His wholesome grin did not match the darkness in his eyes. There was a disconnect somewhere. You felt like a mouse before a lion. Were the other teachers like this? You were so eager to get started working you did little research in the school that so swiftly hired you. "Here you go."

Snatching the paper away you say, "thank you." It sounded slightly annoyed, but you did your best to choke down the edge.

Unhooking the lip of your bag you placed it with the others as his shadow clouded you. Ignoring it you side step him.

"Yeah I remember. I used to see you at Camdien." Steve recalled, blocking you once more. You stopped just short of bumping into him as you closed your bag. "Cute little thing, roaming the halls." Steve informed you, stepping closer once more, making you take a step back. The alarm bells blared in your head at that comment.

"Boy wasn't I relieved I wasn't crossing the line with all the thoughts I had." He chuckled as your back hit the chalkboard. You had to strain your neck to look him in the eye this close.

The principal was making his rounds soon. He wouldn't try anything right?

"Mr. Rogers-"

"Coach" he interrupted. He didn't touch you but that fact gave you very little relief. You felt your nails dig into your palm as you gripped the thin strap of your bag. Your arm the only barrier between you two. "Just call me Coach."

"Rogers!" Your saving grace, Principal Barnes, exclaimed from the door. Steve's body blocked you from James. "There you are. Nice to see your getting to know your colleagues."

"Yeah, just sharing stories from Camdien" Steve stepped aside to greet Principal James. His hand landed on the top of your head, messing your hair as he patted you playfully like a dog. You swallowed the discomfort as he moved to talk to James. You gathered the rest of your things as they focused their attention on each other.

"Oh yeah I forgot you both came from their."

You took that opportunity to make your exit. Walking fast mumbling a 'goodnight,' you bolted toward the door. They replied back, but you ignored it, allowing their chatter to fade the further down the hall you got.

📚

The first week of school was hectic. Lost students, late students, little accidents here and there, it ran the gambit. But nothing worried you more than P.E. period.

Steve was listed as your classes gym teacher and made the drop-off a chore. It surprised you how increasingly inappropriate he was becoming. Always stretching out your name flirtatiously in front of the children causing them to taunt you with 'OOO's, and pepper you with questions about the nonexistent relationship until you departed.

They stayed in line as you approached the double doors that led to the gymnasium. He was there, dressed in his sweat pants, gym shirt and the whistle dangled from his lips.

As you ushered them inside he caught site of you as he wrangled another group and smirked. It was unnerving especially when your students egged him on by making kissy noises loudly when they noticed him too. On one occasion he sent a note with one of your students asking you out. You ignored it.

You should've reported him you know, but what would they say 'Oh he was just being friendly' or any number of things to justify his behavior. You'd been in enough situations to know without evidence that met their standards nothing would happen.

📚

In the teachers lounge Steve made his presence known. You stared at your custom coffee mug as it sat high on the edge of the third shelf. You had half a mind to take and break his, as it taunted you from the first. You were growing more and more tired of his antics. This wasn't the first time and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

Two arms planted themselves on either side of you as something rested on your head.

It was him you knew it. Who else would it be?

"Need some help little one?" He hummed.

"God damn it Steve get off me" you barked You elbowed him, but the mountain of a man didn't budge.

"No need to be nasty."

You felt him push you into the counter, crushing you against it as he reached for your cup on the high shelf.

"Here you go" he said placing it daintily in front of you.

Calm down don't blow your lid he is doing this to fuck with you.

"Shouldn't you be watching my class?" You asked as you waited for him to move out of your way.

"Student teacher got me covered. You remember what that's like? Give them the work while we teachers kick back and relax."

He backed away allowing you to get the coffee, but stayed glued to your side. You ignored him, pulling out your phone and flopped on the couch, waiting for gym time to end.

Steve of course sat next to you crowding you into the corner. He boldly placed a hand on your thigh, you brushed it off, cursing at him to 'go away'. If you got up he would only follow so you crossed your legs and leaned into the arm of the couch. Don't let him get to you.

Steve stretched out his arm on the back of the couch. Even sitting next to you he towered over you. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you in snugly. Your head resting against his tone chest. "God your so adorable."

"Steve!" you almost shriek at him as his other hand slyly crept under your skirt. "Jesus Christ what the hell is wrong with you."

You try to stand suddenly, but get jerked back down. Landing in the same awkward situation as before.

"Fuck you let me go" you hissed at him. He only chuckled as you tried to stop his hand from advancing up your skirt again. You became panicked the further he got.

Clamping your thighs tightly together as he wedged between your crossed legs. Your eyes shifted to the door before you, the couch sat across from the only entrance. If anyone came in they surely would be under the wrong assumptions.

His arm refused to budge as you attempted to pry him away. Steve was nothing but muscle, struggling was getting you no where, each shift pressed him hard against your sensitive area.

📚

"You know I've been nothing, but nice to you" Steve sounded disappointed.

"Stop please" you sounded panicked and desperate. Your nails dug into his arm as you tried to fight back an ache that taunted you as he teased.

"But you always give me attitude." He stated casually.

You slapped him. The sound loud in the empty room. Your eyes blurred with tears of frustration. Your hit did nothing, only leaving his cheek red, but from the smile on his face he liked it.

"And violent too. Hope you don't act that way around your class" he tsked while poking hard at the growing wet spot. You felt your spine curve and breath become heavier, your toes curled in your shoes as he increased his friction.

"Oh look at you. You like that don't you" he teased rubbing circles after noticing the tension in your legs relax. You cocked back to slap him again, but stopped when you felt his other hand at the back of your neck. It squeezed softly, but it was a warning nonetheless. You felt defeated. Not only was Steve bigger than you, he was stronger. Tears of frustration finally fell as you lowered your hand and let him do as he pleased.

"God your even cuter when you cry." He preened. "Tell you what. Since we don't have that much time....Kiss me and I will stop." You bristled as you felt him peel your panties to the side.

He didn't wait for your reply. Steve crashed his lips on to yours without warning. You flinched expecting pain, but it was soft. It was so tender that with anyone else they would given and close their eyes, accept it, but you couldn't.

"Stop..Steve.. Please" You panted over his lips, pushing at his chest as his fingers pushed into you. He didn't stop, the kiss only embolden him to go further. You whimpered and moaned as he took from you.

"Give me your panties" he asked pulling away from you, but his fingers still curled inside. "You promised you'd stop" you remind him, wiping away tears.

He wasn't going to relent, you could tell by the determination in his eyes. You felt exposed and embarrassed. Anyone could walk in at any moment and he knew it. He would probably get a slap on the wrist while you would need to find employment else where to escape the shame.

"I promise this time" he said lowly. "No tricks."

Swallowing your pride you lifted in your seat, he moved just enough to let the fabric pass. Rolling them down your knees quickly you hand them over. His hands slipped from you as you pass it. He held them up to the light and examined the wetness he created. Wiping away tears, you stood and bolted toward the door, but stopped when Steve whistled loudly.

"I think you forgot something."

You turned to find him pointing at your discarded mug.

"If you leave it, I leave this in it", he waved your shame in the air.

"Don't forget to wash it....don't want it to leave a stain" he ordered from the couch. You walked back on edge. Snatching the mug from the other side of the table. You rushed to the sink and rinsed your cup. More tears fell as you felt the wetness between your legs. The mirror mounted above the sink allowed you to examine yourself. Your mascara bled a bit and lipstick smeared, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a dab of a napkin.

You swore to never step foot in the lounge ever again. If you needed to eat you would do it in your car or at your desk. This was supposed to be a magical time for you, but with Steve it had turned into a nightmare.

You sniffed as you blinked away the tears, forcing yourself to stop crying. Gym time was almost over and you needed to pull yourself together and collect your class.

"You know how often I wonder about you" Steve said rising from the couch, you watched him carefully from the mirror. You fumbled your mug, the water splashing back at you.

"Steve you promised" you said meekly, utterly defeated. He stared at you through the mirror, you felt his eyes watch your discomfort as you picked up the cup.

"What would the parents think if they knew their kids teacher walks around the class with no panties on" he tutted. You hung your head low and noticed your panties balled up in his hand as he rested it on the counter.

"I also wonder" He said pressing you into the sink. You felt his resolve through his sweat pants. "Do you fit?"

Fit?

Then it became clear. You felt his cock against your backside. You tried frantically to flea, but Steve caught you by the neck.

"I'm willing to bet you can't even fit half of me inside" he whispered in your ear as he bent you over the sink, crushing. "If I'm wrong I will let you go." Your eyes rounded as he hauled up your skirt. You whimpered as the cool air of the staff room tickled your exposed rear.

Steve was really going to fuck you in the staff room. These walls were paper thin and he knew it. Your head swirled in panic as you pleaded with him to stop. He only chuckled and shimmied down his sweat pants as you swatted back at him.

He angled and aligned himself as you sobbed. The tip slipped through your wet thighs, finding the target of its need.

You choked down a guttural moan as he breathed out 'good girl'. He watched your face as every inch stretched through your insides.

"Its is too much" you gasped out, trembling from the pressure, dancing on your tip toes as you adjusted around him.

"Its all inside" he praised the accomplishment. Forcing you to look at the mirror. "You fit me so good...see."

The mirror reflected your assault to your horror. "All cute holding me inside, taking everything I got" he said while stretching you.

Shooting pains radiated from your core as sharp breaths escaped you.

"Look at you" he taunted "coming apart just for me.... "

You heard the door to the room open and close quickly as you panted wildly. Steve didn't pull out, unabashed, letting whomever take in his pale ass as he continued to stuff you.

You didn't know who saw you, you only hoped his massive body hid you and your shame.

📚

#dark steve x reader #dark steve x black reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve x black!reader #black writer

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