not to foxpost on the foxblog but I think we should all talk more about the cognitive dissonance that the GAR, and the Guard specifically, would have to deal with on an ongoing basis. they're brought up and had it drilled into them for a decade straight that the Republic is worth fighting and dying for, that it stands for justice and freedom and [insert patriotic buzzwords here]. they get deployed directly into a slaughter on Geonosis. they get assigned to Jedi who intentionally get them killed. they get assigned to the Guard and listen to Senators treat the war like an abstract, distant concept and the clones like equipment to be manufactured/replaced/disposed of. they're treated as subhuman by civilians. they're slaves in this system that was built up to be a shining star, a perfect example of democracy, the thing they're born to die for.
so what do you get. indoctrinated beliefs versus lived experience. sure, some of them turn (Slick) or desert (Cut), but most of them have to reconcile that conflict without walking away from the army altogether. Dogma is one end of the spectrum, going the route of "my indoctrinated beliefs must be true, so I'll selectively validate parts of my lived experience to align with them and seek out proof of them". Fives is, on Umbara at least, the opposite end, going the route of "my lived experience must be true, so I'll recontextualize my indoctrinated beliefs to match it". the Republic is still worth everything, but maybe we can't trust the Jedi, or the Kaminoans, or the Chancellor.
but the majority of them are going to fall closer to Dogma, otherwise the GAR would stop functioning or try to collectively rebel, right? it's easy to skirt around how deep brainwashing runs and how far people will go to resolve dissonance, but fmngmfng
so you take Fox in the context of Commander of the Guard, and you get "the Republic must still be worth it, so these rules and regs are in place for a reason, and even if they're not then they do work to protect us, and the Senate is doing its best with a bad situation, and the Chancellor wouldn't commit xyz atrocity because he is the Republic" and on and on and on to try to reconcile it all in his poor fucked up brain. how would he carry on with the slog of his job? how could he possibly have the space to wrestle with the contradiction? then the longer you lean into one justification, the deeper it sinks in and reinforces itself
anyway this has been needless over-analysis hour
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Consider:
A modern stucky pairing acting on out a humiliation scene that involves public speaking. Like, yes, this is crack, but treat it seriously with me for a moment...
Bucky sets up the scene complete with a presentation projected onto a blank wall at their local dungeon and an audience of their fellow kinksters--in this scene, big sub Steve has to speak about what turns him on. There are pictures of him engaging in these activities, each more and more exposing, and charts (that may or may not just be bullshit, random numbers) comparing each kinky activity to the others, ranking how hot they were and how much he enjoyed it, taking into account how deep he went into subspace, how many times he orgasmed, how long the marks and/or soreness lasted (if there was any), etc.
Throughout the scene, every time Steve says the word, "uh," "um," or otherwise stutters, and each time he breaks eye contact from the audience--looking down at the floor, staring at the presentation for too long, whatever--he has to remove an item of clothing. He starts out fully clothed, not totally inappropriate to go out into the real world in, just suggestive, tight, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination pants, a nice shirt, a jacket, and a collar, but as the layers are stripped away, it becomes more and more inappropriate. Steve is blushing more and more, the flush spreading rapidly from just spots of color high on his cheeks to all the way down his chest and belly. Eventually, when Steve is stripped totally bare, that's when the whispers start...
Under his stuttering, choked-with-embarrassment words, there are currents of people commenting on, aw, would you look at that, he's blushing so much! Or, he's quite the freak, isn't he? He gets off on that? All of that? Or, really, that's hot to him? Huh. Or, oh, cute, look at how hard his little dick is from all this! He's just talking about it, and he's throbbing! Or, God, look at how badly he's blushing, poor thing! Or, at least, he's embarrassed about all this... he really should be.
Steve wants to explode. He wants to cry. He wants to touch himself.
Really, fuck, he wants Bucky to stand from where he's reclined cooly in his chair, happily watching the squirming, blushing, stammering show with a grin painted sadistically across his handsome face, prowl toward him from the crowd, and come to a stop, towering over him in front of all these people. He wants the bigger, thicker man to put a hand around the back of his neck, barely having to scruff him before he crumbles, weak at the knees.
He wants Bucky's touch to make his ears ring, so he drowns out all of the voices. But either way, Steve knows they're talking about him, they're talking about his cock, they're talking about how needy he is, about turned on he is, about how freaky he is, how weird, and, and--
Slowly, Steve realizes that he has stopped talking completely.
Bucky clears his throat amongst the looming silence, his smirk only widening. Bastard.
Someone laughs when Steve fails to do anything but stand in place, helpless and, surely, looking spacy and dumb.
Then, suddenly, everyone is chuckling at him, some people more shameless than others--all out laughing or snickering softly.
And, oh, it's all Steve can do to stay standing against the wave of mortification and shame that crashes into him. Against the torrent of rushing, sharp pleasure, he doesn't have enough time to even bite his lip to stifle the pathetic whimper that gets punched from deep in his gut. His eyes want to roll back into his head, it's so fucking embarrassing.
His little sound makes them all laugh more. Laughing at him.
Steve's eyes water, he's really going to cry. Or, shit, oh, God, with a full-body shiver, Steve realizes that he's about to cum.
How long has he been dripping for? Standing in front of this crowd, red enough to imitate a stop sigh from his head all the way down to his belly, squirming from foot to foot, squeezing his thighs together like he has to piss but doesn't have permission to go, stuttering over every word no matter how easy or simple, panting because he just can't keep air in his lungs, palms sweaty, and dripping onto the floor? Jesus Christ. He's a mess.
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